Shall We Dance? Read online

  Dear Reader,

  Home, family, community and love. These are the values we cherish most in our lives—the ideals that ground us, comfort us, move us. They certainly provide the perfect inspiration around which to build a romance collection that will touch the heart.

  And so we are thrilled to have the opportunity to introduce you to the Harlequin Heartwarming collection. Each of these special stories is a wholesome, heartfelt romance imbued with the traditional values so important to you. They are books you can share proudly with friends and family. And the authors featured in this collection are some of the most talented storytellers writing today, including favorites such as Laura Abbot, Roz Denny Fox, Jillian Hart and Irene Hannon. We’ve selected these stories especially for you based on their overriding qualities of emotion and tenderness, and they center around your favorite themes—children, weddings, second chances, the reunion of families, the quest to find a true home and, of course, sweet romance.

  So curl up in your favorite chair, relax and prepare for a heartwarming reading experience!

  Sincerely,

  The Editors

  LYNN PATRICK

  is the pseudonym for the writing team of Linda Sweeney and Patricia Pinianski. Shall We Dance? was inspired by “some of the most romantic mediums we’ve ever seen”—the dances of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. “They told an entire story in a single dance, and we always secretly wished they were together in real life, as well.”

  HARLEQUIN HEARTWARMING

  Lynn Patrick

  Shall We Dance?

  Shall We Dance?

  To Fred and Ginger,

  for all the wonderful hours

  of entertainment you gave us

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PROLOGUE

  Hollywood, 1953

  “FEELING BLUE, KIDDO?”

  “Hmm?” Snapping out of her pensive mood at the sound of Lucille Talbot’s gravelly voice, Anita Brooks whirled around to face her dressing room door.

  Lucille cracked the door open farther and stuck in her sharp-featured face. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  “Anything wrong?” Lucille asked again. “Seems like you could use a little cheering up before you go back on the set.” Warm and supportive as usual, the woman who provided comic relief for the Brooks/Garfield movies gave Anita a one-armed hug, careful not to muss the multiple spangled ruffles that trimmed the straps and low-cut bodice of the white satin evening gown. “Tell Auntie Lucille all your troubles.”

  Anita forced herself to smile reassuringly at the woman she considered a good friend. Lucille was her professional mentor, always giving her advice on how to milk a laugh or a tear from a scene. And the older woman was unfailingly sensitive to Anita’s personal problems, as well. But this time was different, Anita thought, as she tried to bluff her way out of explaining.

  “There’s nothing wrong, Lucille. I’m always nervous before I have to dance in front of the camera.”

  “After three weeks of constant rehearsal?” Lucille rolled her eyes. “Honey, you must have those steps memorized. It’s a wonder you don’t hoof it through your dreams.”

  “I do dance in my dreams,” Anita admitted, laughing.

  “With Price Garfield, of course.”

  Anita glanced down, unwilling to let Lucille see the emotion in her eyes. “I’d better check my makeup and hair.”

  She turned toward the large curving mirror that hung above the dressing table. A vision in silvery white with the lacquered strawberry blond waves, heavily mascaraed lashes and red rouged lips of a 1930s starlet stared back at her. Even though she’d seen herself in professional makeup many times before, Anita was still surprised at how much older she appeared—no one would guess she was only eighteen. She licked a finger and smoothed down the only errant hair she could find.

  “Your hairdo looks fine, so leave it alone. The makeup and hairdressing guys don’t like it when we tamper with their work.” Lucille glanced over Anita’s shoulder and made a rueful face. “Not that they can do that much for me.”

  “You look lovely,” Anita insisted, admiring her friend’s long, graceful neck and beautiful dark eyes.

  “Let’s get back to the subject of Price. You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  Faced with a direct question, she couldn’t quite deny it. “I…I think so.”

  “And he loves you, too, right?”

  “Maybe.” Anita sighed, feeling very uncomfortable, and not only because she was uncertain of Price.

  “The man has to be in love with you. His whole expression changes when you dance. He actually looks like a romantic hero.”

  Anita nodded. “He’s certainly different on and off the dance floor.”

  As well as on and off the movie set. But she had learned to appreciate the quieter, more serious side of Price, too.

  Both women jumped at the sound of a loud knock at the door. One of the director’s assistants shouted, “Ready on the set!”

  “Oops, got to go,” Anita murmured. Thank goodness. She picked up the edge of her long fluted skirt and hurried outside, heading for the expanse of polished dark floor already lit by bright lights.

  “Break a leg,” she heard Lucille call after her as the other woman also ran to take her place.

  But Anita’s attention had already shifted to the tuxedoed man who awaited her at the edge of the set. Price Garfield was leaning against one of the painted white railings of the set’s Art Deco nightclub. He appeared relaxed and nonchalant in spite of the surrounding film crew, cameras, lights and “audience” of extras and other actors who were seated at tables set on built-up tiers that curved around the dance floor. But Price’s cool manner was only a facade. He straightened, his intense green gaze meeting hers. She felt his suppressed tension when he took hold of her hand.

  “Anita,” he murmured, the intensity of his tone thrilling her as always.

  The director stepped forward and interrupted the private moment, “Take your positions.”

  And assume your character, Anita thought, not finding it at all difficult to imagine herself the reluctant but lovestruck heroine of White Tie and Tails, an homage to the 1930s musical. More lights came up, their brilliance hot against her skin and nearly blinding. She blinked, willing herself to ignore them and concentrate. She was playing a woman who was already engaged to another man but was drawn to Price’s character, anyway.

  And so the music began.

  Anita forgot about the cameras entirely as Price sang the lyrics of “Dance of Love,” an ardent invitation: “Come here, darling, let me hold you in my arms….” When the music paused and she turned away, he grasped her wrist and pulled her back, continuing to sing, “Life was meant to be a dance of love.”

  Heated by his yearning touch, Anita almost acquiesced right then, but she remained reluctant, as the part demanded. He stepped closer, his eyes searching, his feet already moving slowly into the rhythm of a sophisticated mating dance. When she tried a cursory escape, Price swung her into his arms, imprisoning her with a secure grasp and moving her across the floor with sensuous, flowing steps.

  “Don’t you love me?” asked the music.

  Don’t you love me? asked Price with eloquent gestures.

  As if to give her time to think about an answer, he released her for a moment. The
y danced a few steps side by side, then reunited, dipping and whirling, Anita’s skirt flowing gracefully around them.

  The music built. Their movements became more intricate, more quickly executed. Price spun around, daringly wrapping himself in Anita’s embrace. Then he grasped her waist and lifted her above him. Their eyes locked. He let her down slowly, holding her body against him as the music continued to climb.

  Yes, I love you, Price, Anita admitted for the second time that day, telling him with her eyes alone.

  Jubilant, he swung her down in a swirl of skirts and she melted into his arms. Finally they danced cheek to cheek, for the characters loved each other and would eventually whirl off the screen to live happily ever after.

  If only life were as simple.

  The music peaked and Anita clung to Price, every expression, every nuance revealing her feelings for him. Her love for the real man gave credence to her character and wings to her feet. She would never dance so well with another. Only with him.

  Only with Price Garfield…

  CHAPTER ONE

  New York, Present Day

  GABRIELLE BROOKS LACROIX reached the half-open doorway in her mother’s second-floor apartment just in time to catch the final clinch of the “Dance of Love” scene in White Tie and Tails. As she watched her mother’s youthful monochrome image lovingly embrace that of Price Garfield, Anita herself looked on raptly from the peach-colored couch in front of the television.

  “Life was meant to be a dance of love….”

  Gabby instantly recognized the theme song from the famous nostalgia musical set in the thirties. After teaching three classes in a row, she’d left her first-floor Broadway Bound Dance School to relax in her own apartment upstairs. Even though she was pooped, Gabby couldn’t ignore the fact that her mother was viewing her old movies again.

  Opening the door wide, she asked loudly, “Feeling nostalgic today?”

  Anita started and glanced over her shoulder. “Oh…hello, sweetheart.” She immediately clicked the remote control, shutting off both the television and the DVD player. Then she smoothed back her white hair, as if she were trying to wipe away her guilty expression. “I didn’t notice you standing there.”

  “I wasn’t. I just heard the music and decided to see what you were up to.”

  Gabby wouldn’t really care about her mother watching the old movies if Anita could do so unemotionally. Maybe, by now, that was possible. It had been quite a while since Anita had dug one of them out.

  Her mother looked over Gabby’s new lavender leotard and matching wrap skirt. “You look good in that color. You ought to wear it more often.” She motioned to the overstuffed chair across from her. “Sit down and tell me how your classes are going.”

  Not particularly in the mood to discuss her work, Gabby skirted the couch to plop down in the chair. “The classes are fine. What have you been doing this afternoon?” she asked pointedly. Since Anita only coached a few special students herself, the older woman had plenty of time to indulge in past triumphs and troubles.

  “Oh, a little of this and that,” Anita hedged before changing the subject. “Did Heather get that part she tried out for?”

  “Nope.”

  “Too bad.”

  Gabby sighed. “None of our students has gotten a job lately.”

  “Kirk’s still dancing in that off-off-Broadway horror musical.”

  “If you can call doing the limbo as a zombie dancing.”

  “Ah, well, that’s not the worst job in the world,” Anita insisted. “Broadway candidates have to pay their dues.”

  In hopes of getting somewhere, Gabby thought, though many never did, including herself. She’d been fed up with the constant rat race by the time she’d retired last year. At thirty-three she’d been a little long in the tooth for Broadway chorus lines, anyway. She stretched out her legs, glancing down at her tights and kidskin dance slippers, eternal reminders of what might have been.

  “If you want to go somewhere, I can get Jane to take my tap class this evening,” Gabby offered, thinking she could use some extra time away from the school.

  “I don’t want to go anywhere. Can’t we just sit here and share some small talk?” Anita asked sweetly. “I’m always interested in the business.”

  Certainly not because of the income, Gabby knew. When her father died of a heart attack two years before, he’d left his wife with enough investments to retire on and still continue to live comfortably in the Greenwich Village building they’d bought years ago.

  “The school’s in the black and everyone’s doing a fine job,” Gabby said. Her mother had given over the management of the business to her youngest child when Gabby had agreed to work with her. “I’m satisfied.” She glanced at the television, thinking about the topic the older woman had cleverly avoided discussing. “How come you’re watching your old movies, anyway? You know how they get to you.”

  Anita smiled reassuringly at the child she’d always been closest to. “You don’t have to worry. I wasn’t sitting here mooning over the past.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Gabby remained suspicious. At seventy-five her mother was in excellent physical and mental health but still capable of becoming distressed over Brooks/Garfield movies. The first time Gabby had caught her mother viewing her personal copy of White Tie and Tails—with a VCR in pre-DVD days—Anita had been weeping openly. Ten-year-old, empathetic Gabby had been very upset and had needed to be comforted and urged to keep the secret from her absent father.

  “I just wish you’d quit carrying a torch for that jerk Price Garfield, Mom.”

  Gabby was still resentful of the man who’d ruined her mother’s life in more ways than one. Undoubtedly aware that he’d been second best, that his wife would never love him as much as he loved her, Robert Lacroix had immersed himself in his surgery practice ever since Gabby could remember. He’d been an uninvolved, distant father.

  “I know Price for what he is,” Anita said, sounding exceptionally calm.

  Gabby was surprised. Her mother’s faded blue eyes seemed brighter, as if, for once, she was more excited than sad after viewing the old film.

  “Besides, Price wasn’t dancing alone in those movies. I also enjoy watching myself,” Anita went on. “After all, I don’t have any film clips from my Broadway musicals.” She laughed shortly. “Not that the critics would think that was footage worth saving.”

  “The Broadway critics were blind.” Gabby was certain her mother’s career had floundered merely because of bad luck precipitated by the split with Price Garfield. Anita had been the victim of lackluster scripts, forgettable songs and poor timing. “You were always a wonderful performer. You just didn’t click with the right material.” Something that had also happened to her the few times she’d won small roles, she reflected.

  Anita rose to give Gabby a hug. “Have I told you lately you’re a beautiful, wonderful daughter?”

  “Not for a while.”

  “Well, you are. And you’re a fabulous dancer to boot. Never forget that.” Anita patted her daughter on the back before moving away. “A professional needs a healthy ego.”

  “Thanks, Mom. My ego can always use some strokes.”

  Gabby almost said she only wished she were still in the professional category, but thought better of it. Having feigned to be happy in retirement, to consider the school a new, invigorating challenge, she would only upset her mother if she admitted otherwise.

  “Actually, I had a more practical reason for looking at White Tie and Tails this afternoon,” Anita admitted as she headed for the bedroom. “Come on, I want to check on something.”

  Curious, Gabby followed, her footsteps muffled by the apartment’s cream-colored, wall-to-wall carpeting. The peach shades dominating the living room carried through to the bedroom, as well, though the bedspread and the drapes were a pale Pacific aqua. A portrait of her mother—commissioned by her father just after they were married—hung over the
bedroom fireplace, reminding Gabby of how much she looked like Anita.

  “Here we are.” Her mother threw open the lid of a small trunk that had been dragged outside the closet. Leaning over, she riffled through wads of tissue paper to withdraw a slippery satin gown. The smell of mothballs permeated the air. “Remember my costume from the ‘Dance of Love’ scene?”

  “Of course I do.”

  The dress was her mother’s favorite piece of memorabilia, one Gabby hadn’t seen in years. Anita had kept her stash of old costumes, props and scripts hidden from her family, but Gabby had managed to find them. Another secret she’d had to keep from her father, she thought sadly as her mother stroked the material. Now yellowed with age, the once-white garment was a beautiful recreation of the thirties bias-cut.

  “It’s still gorgeous,” Gabby murmured, fingering one of the skirt’s wide godets. “The Metropolitan Museum’s costume department would love to get their hands on this, especially since the Brooks/Garfield movies are considered classics of nostalgia.”

  “Well, I’m not giving it to them.” Anita held the gown at arm’s length, lining it up against Gabby as she narrowed her eyes. “Hmm, you’re a little taller than I, and you have wider shoulders, but this dress might fit, anyway…”

  “You want me to try it on?”

  “Don’t you think that would be fun? We’ve got the same coloring, same eyes, a similar shade of hair.” Anita paused. “At least I used to be a strawberry blonde.” She sighed. “Time flies. Come on—let’s see what you look like in this.”

  Unable to figure out why her mother was insisting, Gabby took the dress from her. “I suppose I can try the dress on, if that would make you happy.”

  “Making you happy is what I’m most concerned about.” When Gabby raised her brows, Anita went on, “I don’t want to do this just to get even, you understand. I’m hoping you can make a name for yourself.”