Make Her Wish Come True Collection. Ann Lethbridge
for an hour. While there was plenty of paperwork to do and she still had to decide on the last transition in the show, she was restless. Her muscles nearly twitched, and her brain was fuzzy. She knew the solution. The question was, would her body cooperate?
She banged the box of her toe shoes against the floor a couple of times to make sure she’d tied them on correctly. The music surrounded her as she raised her arm. She silently counted to eight in her head, then, as the familiar notes filled the studio, moved both her feet and arms.
She’d never performed the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy,” although she’d been an understudy twice. Now she kept time with the music, landing in effacé en fondu. Her body wobbled slightly, but she kept on. Revelé and passé. Up. With ballet, the dancer was always lifting. In modern dance, she would go down first, as if scooping from the earth before going up, but in ballet, the goal was the sky. A turn and—
Pain ripped through her leg and her hip. Ignoring the fiery sensation, she raised herself again, her pelvis tucked, her body a perfect line from her head to her toes. Arms extended, her fingers curved delicately. The music guided her, the count pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.
She risked a glance in the mirror and immediately saw everything that was wrong. The sloppy extension, the bend of her elbow, the slight tilt. Voices echoed in her head. Calls for more crisp footwork, faster beats. Precision, perfection. The room seemed to bend and fade as time shifted. She was seventeen again and walking into class at Juilliard.
The dance continued, and when the last note was silent, she came down on her feet and walked to the remote to start it again.
By the third time through, her leotard was damp with sweat. By the fifth, every muscle trembled and the fire in her leg had become a volcano of pain. She was both here and in her past. Remembering how eager she’d been, how full of dreams. How six months into her first year at the prestigious dance school she’d been told she didn’t have what it took. Yes, she worked hard, was disciplined and determined. But she lacked the raw talent. The best she could hope for was the corps, with a second-rate company. They offered her the chance to leave rather than to be thrown out. A testament to their affection for her.
Evie’s right leg gave way. Still-recovering muscles had reached the point of exhaustion, and she went down hard on the wood floor. She lay there, panting, shivering. After a few minutes she sat up and untied her shoes, then tossed them across the room and rested her head against her knees.
There were no tears. Nothing to cry for. She couldn’t complain about what had been lost. Not when she’d never had it in the first place. Slowly the pain became manageable. She forced herself to her feet and limped over to the CD player to silence it before heading to the small restroom in the back of the studio.
She washed her face and made sure the braids around her head were still secure. She could see the sadness in her eyes, the lingering shadows of the pain, but doubted anyone else would notice. Her girls were excited about the performance. They all wanted to do their best.
She remembered what it was like to feel that way—back before she’d known that those kinds of dreams were impossible to hold on to. But maybe one of her students would have what it took. Maybe one of them would make it onto the stage and dance with a major company. They were on a journey, and she wanted to offer whatever guidance she could.
* * *
“I DON’T WORK for you.”
Shane made the statement from his place on the sofa in Rafe’s ranch house living room.
Dante nodded. “I’m glad you recognize that.”
“Technically I don’t work for him,” Rafe pointed out. “I work with him.”
“I’m with Shane,” Clay said. He was sprawled in the big recliner with the best view of the big screen. Not that the TV was on. “So I don’t come to your meetings.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” Dante told him.
It was shortly after noon on Tuesday. Rafe had been working from home. As Shane’s horses were on his property next to his brother’s, getting him over to Rafe’s house had been easy enough. Clay had texted he was available, as well, so here they all were.
“This Saturday is a work party. Charlie and Patience are setting it up.”
“Patience?” Rafe asked. “Do I know her?”
“She’s a hair stylist,” Clay said. “Friends with Charlie, Heidi and Annabelle. You’ve met her.”
“I don’t think so,” Rafe said, then glanced back at Dante. “But, okay. What does Patience have to do with anything?”
Dante groaned. “The point is the work party.”
“What’s it for?” Shane asked.
“Your sister.”
The three brothers stared at him blankly.
“I thought she was renting her townhouse,” Clay said. “What does she need help with?”
“The sets,” Dante told them.
“Sets of what?” Rafe asked.
Dante had unexpected empathy for the women in his life who, from time to time, had stared at him like he was the stupidest man on earth.
“The sets for the dance.”
Shane frowned. “Evie’s going to a school dance?”
“The Dance of the Winter King, you morons. Your sister teaches dance. There’s a performance on Christmas Eve. The manager of the school took off, leaving Evie in charge of everything. This is a big deal to the town, and she has to make it happen. The sets for the production are in bad shape. There’s going to be a work party to refurbish them, and you will all be there to help.”
The brothers looked at each other and then back at Dante.
“Sure,” Shane said. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
Dante sank into the chair behind him and rested his head in his hands. “It’s too early for a beer, right?”
Rafe chuckled. “Don’t sweat it. Of course we’ll be there. When is it?”
“Saturday.” Dante told them where to be. “Bring tools and paintbrushes.” He raised his head. “Let me be clear. There won’t be any excuses and you will be on time. You’ll work hard, be cooperative and not do anything to upset your sister. Oh, and while I have you here, this is where I tell you that you will also be attending the performance. Got it?”
“Of course we’ll be there,” Rafe said, shifting in his seat. “We, ah, were always going to come.”
“Right.” Dante scowled at him. “You’re a crappy liar.”
“I know, but that makes me a good business partner.” Rafe drew in a breath. “Thanks for looking out for her.”
“You’re welcome.”
* * *
THE FIFTEEN OR SO GIRLS were crowded around Evie’s laptop, watching the DVD of the performance from three years ago.
“This is the part I was talking about,” Evie said. “Until that last four-count, the dance is beautiful. See how everyone moves together? Then it comes to an end and there are three beats of nothing, followed by everyone clomping off the stage.”
Melissa Sutton turned to Evie. “Do you really think they clomped?”
“I’m sure not in their hearts, but that’s what it looks like.” She walked away from the group, exaggerating her steps so she sounded more like an elephant than a dancer.
The girls all laughed.
“So we need something different,” Evie said. “Something more lyrical.”
Fifteen pairs of eyes watched her anxiously, both excited