Free The Daddy Dance by Mindy Klasky Page B

that it had taken a real disaster to bring her back to Eden Falls. Not the piddling demands that his family made on him day after day.
    He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. It had been a mistake to agree to renovate the dance studio. He was building his own life away from Eden Falls. He couldn’t let the first woman who’d caught his attention in months destroy his determination to make Harmon Contracting a success.
    But he’d already done that, hadn’t he? He’d already roped himself into finishing that damned plumbing job. And repairing the ceiling leak wasn’t going to be easy, either. And he had a really bad feeling about what he’d find when he really looked at the hardwood floor.
    He glanced over at Kat. What did Gran always say? “In for a penny, in for a pound.” He’d started teaching Kat how to drive, and he’d let her scare herself half to death. She was his responsibility now. It was up to him to convince her to change her mind. To find the nerve to get back in the truck—if not today, then tomorrow. Wednesday at the latest.
    He barely realized that he was committing himself to spending half a week away from Richmond.
    Kat hopped out as soon as Rye pulled into the driveway. She didn’t want to look at the weeds, at the lawn that was impossibly exhausted, even though it was only spring. “Thanks,” she said as she slammed her door, and she tried to ignore the hitch in her stride as her boot slipped on the gritty walkway.
    Rye didn’t take the hint. He followed her to the front door, like a boy walking her home from a date.
    Now, why did she think of that image? Rye wasn’t her boyfriend. And they most definitely had not been out on a date. Besides, it was broad daylight, the middle of the afternoon.
    She opened the unlocked door with an easy twist of her wrist. Not daring to meet his eyes, she pasted a cheery smile on her face. “Thanks for all your help at the studio this morning. Everything’s coming along much faster than I thought it would.” She stepped back and started to close the door.
    Rye caught the swinging oak with the flat of his palm. “Kat,” he said, but before he could continue, she saw him wince. He tried to hide the motion, but she was a dancer. She was an expert on all the ways that a body can mask pain.
    “You are hurt!”
    “It’s nothing major,” he said. “My shoulder’s just a little sore from the seat belt.”
    “Come in here!” She opened the door wide, leaving him no opportunity to demur.
    “I’m fine,” he said.
    She marched him into the kitchen, switching on the overhead light. “Go ahead,” she said, nodding. “Take off your shirt. I need to see how bad this is.”
    Rye shook his head. He was used to his mother clucking over him like a nervous hen. His sisters bossed him around. And now Kat was giving him orders like a drill sergeant. From long experience, he knew he’d be better off to comply now, while he still had some dignity intact. He undid the top two buttons of his work shirt before tugging the garment over his head.
    That motion did twinge his shoulder, and he was surprised to see the darkening bruise that striped his chest. The seat belt had done its job admirably, keeping him safe from true harm, but he’d have a mark for a few days.
    Kat’s lips tightened into a frown. “Ice,” she said. She turned toward the pantry with military precision, collecting a heavy-duty plastic bag. The freezer yielded enough ice cubes to satisfy her, and then she twisted a cotton dishrag around the makeshift cold pack.
    “I don’t think—”
    “I do.” She cut him off. “Believe me, I’ve had enough bruises that I know how to treat them.”
    He didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think about her body being hurt, her creamy skin mottled with evidence of her harsh profession. As if he were accepting some form of punishment, he let her place the ice pack over his chest.
    “That’s cold,” he said ruefully.
    “That’s