Make Her Wish Come True Collection. Ann Lethbridge
that she walked back to the table. She set down her plate, picked up her champagne glass and drained it. Then she went in search of a refill.
* * *
“ARE YOU DRUNK?” Dante asked.
Evie leaned back into the soft leather of his very expensive, very German car. She’d been driving the same dented, slightly rusty old Chevy for nearly five years. The seats were more spring than foam, the windows didn’t close right and the mechanic actually sighed every time she took her car in for service.
“This is nice,” she said, stroking the side of the heated seat. “I’ll try not to throw up.”
“Gee, thanks,” Dante said, turning his attention back to the road. “You are drunk.”
“I’m buzzed. There’s a difference.”
“It’s one in the afternoon.”
“I was at a brunch and there was champagne. Plus I had a fight with my mom and that took away my appetite.” She frowned, or at least tried to. She couldn’t exactly feel her forehead. “We didn’t fight. Not really. She said we should stop being mad at each other. I’m the kid. What did I ever do? That’s what I asked. Is she pissed I was born? But she didn’t have an answer. There’s never a good reason, you know?”
She turned to Dante and blinked. “What were we talking about?”
“You need to eat something.”
“Turkey. I’ll eat turkey.”
“That’ll help.” He glanced at her. “She said she was angry?”
Evie tried to remember May’s exact words. “She said she would like us to stop being angry at each other. Being annoyed at me is kind of implied.”
“Poor kid.” Dante briefly put his hand on top of hers.
For a second Evie enjoyed the warmth of the contact, then the meaning of his words sank into her slightly soggy brain. Poor kid? Poor kid? Is that how he saw her? As a child? What happened to her being a sexy vixen? Not that he’d ever used that phrase, but still. He’d implied she was. Or at least her dancer work clothes. She didn’t want to be a kid. She wanted to be vixeny. Vixenish. Whatever.
She leaned her head back against the seat and sighed. Life was far from fair.
Two hours later she’d munched her way through a fair amount of the veggie platter Heidi had put out and finished off about a half gallon of water. The buzz was long gone, as was the faint headache that had followed. Through careful maneuvering, she’d managed to avoid spending any time alone with her mother. Oddly enough, Dante had helped more than a little. He’d stuck beside her from the second they walked in the door.
Painfully aware that his concern was more fraternal than she would like, she told herself not to read anything into his actions. Dante was practically family. There was no way to avoid him while she was in Fool’s Gold, and as her plans had her staying well into the new year, logic needed to win over longing. Well, not longing. Acknowledging that Dante was smart and sexy was simply stating the obvious. It wasn’t as if she had a thing for him or wanted anything other than casual friendship.
“Halftime,” Heidi said, walking into the living room. “It’s time, people.”
“Time for what?” Dante asked.
“I have no idea,” Evie admitted, but stood along with everyone else.
Shane sighed. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
Evie pointed to the kitchen. “You know, the big turkey in the oven was our first clue.”
“Funny. It’s Thanksgiving, and if we get a big feast, so do the animals,” Shane said.
Dante groaned. “Including the elephant?”
“Especially the elephant. My racehorses have a very controlled diet, but everybody else gets a treat. Do you know what a watermelon costs this time of year?”
They all followed Shane and Heidi outside where a truck waited. The back of the pickup was filled with all kinds of holiday goodies. There was the massive watermelon for Priscilla, the elephant, carrots and apples for the goats, Reno, the pony, Wilbur, the pig, and the riding horses. Something from the local butcher for the feral cat who had taken up residence with Priscilla and Reno.
Evie and Dante were assigned the riding horses.
“You know what you’re doing?” Shane asked.
Evie sniffed. “Yes. We’ll be fine.”
They walked toward the corral. Six horses trotted over to greet them. Dante hesitated.
“They have really big teeth,” he said. “You’re okay with that?”
She smiled. “Keep your fingers away from their teeth and you’ll be fine.”
She took the knife Heidi had provided and sliced the apple in quarters, then put a piece on her hand, straightened her fingers so her palm was flat and offered it to the first horse. He took it gently, his lips barely brushing her skin.
“Impressive,” Dante said and did the same with another quarter of apple.
“Look out!” she yelled, just as the horse reached for him.
He jumped back, dropping the apple piece. “What?”
She grinned. “Nothing. Just messing with you.”
“Charming.” He took another piece of apple and held it out to the horse. “Sorry about that,” he said. “You know women.”
“Um, you’re talking to a girl horse.”
“She understands just fine.”
They finished giving the horses their holiday treats, then headed back to the house. When they stepped onto the porch, Dante paused. “Did you grow up here?”
Evie looked out at the rolling hills of the ranch. The air was cool, but the sky blue. To the east, snow-capped mountains rose toward the sun.
“Technically I was born in Fool’s Gold,” she admitted. “But I don’t remember much about it. We moved when I was pretty young.”
Her earliest memories were of the tiny apartment they’d had in Los Angeles. The three boys had been crammed into the larger of the two bedrooms. May had taken the smaller bedroom for herself and Evie had slept on the sofa.
“Are you happy to be back?”
“I like teaching dance,” she said, willing to admit that much of the truth. “I wasn’t sure I would, but it’s gratifying. The girls are enthusiastic and excited to learn.” A few were talented, but she’d discovered she was less interested in skill than attitude when it came to her students.
“Let me guess,” he said, glancing at her. “The clog dancing is your favorite.”
She laughed. “It’s a very important art form.”
“It’s loud and on top of my head.”
For a second she allowed herself to get lost in his dark blue eyes. Then common sense took over, and she gave him her best sympathetic smile. “It’s for the children, Dante. Not everything is about you.”
“It should be,” he grumbled. “Come on. The second half is starting.”
“You know, I was run over by a football player only a few months ago. Does it occur to you that watching the game could be traumatic?”
“Is it?”
“No. I’m just saying it could be.”
He wrapped his arm around her and drew her inside. “Stay close. I’ll protect you.”
For a second she allowed herself to believe he wasn’t just being funny. That he was someone she could depend on. She knew better,