a shoebox. “We have a surprise for you.”
Cynthia stared at the box, then looked at both her mother and sister. “Tell me you didn’t.”
Jenny beamed. “We did. We voted and even Brad and Brett agreed and they’re exactly the right color and you’ll look so pretty when you’re dancing.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tightly squeezed herself. “When I grow up I want to be exactly like you, Cynthia. I want to go to a Halloween ball and be beautiful.”
Cynthia turned to her mother. “Are you sure about this? It’s just for one night.”
Betsy shrugged. “Sometimes that’s all you need to find a little magic in your life. You’ve been so good to all of us. We wanted to give something back.” She laughed. “Besides, they’re just shoes.”
They were more than that and Cynthia knew it. Money was tight in the Morgan household. Cynthia had used up the last of her pitiful savings to rent her finery for the evening. While the princess costume came complete with a tiara and fake jewelry, it hadn’t included matching shoes. She’d seen a pair of dyeable pumps on sale a week ago, but hadn’t had the money. Her mother had offered the household’s “what if” fund—a jar full of change that everyone contributed to. The rule was each member of the family had an equal vote on how the money was spent. Generally it went for a fun dinner out or an evening at a local arcade.
“I can’t believe you all wanted me to have these shoes,” she said and opened the lid.
Inside were a pair of aqua pumps that matched her rented dress perfectly. She slipped them on, then stood in front of the mirror while her mother and sister fussed over her. All of the Morgan kids were blond and fair. With the exception of Cynthia, they had big blue eyes inherited from their mother. Jenny was still too skinny and had a mouthful of braces, but in a couple of years she would be as pretty as Betsy. The ten-year-old twins—Brad and Brett—took more after their father and would grow to tower over the women in the family.
“Are you ready?” Betsy asked after smoothing the hem of the dress. “You look amazing.”
Cynthia met her gaze in the mirror and smiled. The rented dress smelled faintly of mothballs and her long, elbow-length gloves had been bought at a thrift store and mended. The tiara was rhinestones, the pearls around her neck fake, but for tonight none of that mattered.
“I feel great,” Cynthia told her and picked up her small handbag. “So if I stay out past midnight, will my car turn into a pumpkin?”
Betsy and Jenny followed her to the front door. “Not possible. It’s already a wreck,” her mother said cheerfully. “Pumpkin would be an improvement.”
Cynthia kissed Jenny’s cheek then her mother’s, and walked toward her battered car. “You’re right. Don’t wait up, Mom. I’ll be fine.”
“Promise me you’ll dance at least once with the most handsome man there,” Betsy called out as her daughter started her ugly but reliable car.
“I’ll do my best.”
She waved at her sister and her mother, then shifted into gear and started down the driveway. A shiver of anticipation rippled through her. For the first time in her life she was going to see how the other half lived. More important, she was actually going to speak to Jonathan Steele. At least that was her plan.
“I can do it, I can do it,” she chanted quietly to herself as she drove through the dark streets of Grand Springs. The mountain evening was cool and a starlit sky twinkled overhead. A magical night, she thought cheerfully. The kind of night where anything could happen. Meeting the great Jonathan Steele was the main reason she’d been so excited by the opportunity to attend the charity ball.
Two years ago she’d received a grant of seed money to start her new business. Now a relatively flourishing concern, Mother’s Helper existed because of Jonathan Steele’s generosity. The billionaire gave back to the community on a regular basis. He provided start-up capital for dozens of fledgling concerns. He was also the sponsor of the night’s charity ball.
“I will go up to him and, in a poised and confident manner, thank him. I will be gracious and brief and I will not trip or fall or forget to talk or anything else humiliating.”
Cynthia had a brief image of herself spilling punch down the front of his tailored, expensive tux and made a mental note not to be carrying anything liquid when she made her way to his side.
“Maybe we’ll dance,” she said dreamily, wondering what it would be like to be in Jonathan’s strong arms. He was so very handsome. Tall and dark and…
“And completely out of my league,” she reminded herself as she approached the well-lit Grand Springs Empress Hotel. Jonathan was a tycoon who dated incredibly beautiful, glamorous women. She was a struggling owner of a company that provided temporary live-in nanny care. If she was very lucky, she just might get to thank him, but that was it.
She paused at the crest of the rise to admire the twinkling lights of the hotel, glittering like a wedding cake in the rugged, rustic setting. The looming mountains were dark shadows in the distance. She breathed in the crisp night air and drove onto the hotel grounds.
She pulled up to the valet who took one look at her car and visibly shuddered. Cynthia glanced at the luxury car in front of her, then shrugged.
“My other car is much nicer,” she teased as she stepped out and accepted the parking ticket. “With this one I don’t have to worry about it being stolen.”
The valet, a young man about her age, relaxed enough to grin. “Like I believe that. Don’t worry, I’ve parked worse.” He jerked his head toward the open glass doors. “The ballroom is on your left. Have a nice evening.”
“I will,” she promised, speaking to both herself and to him.
Squaring her shoulders, she clutched her small, cloth bag in one hand and stepped forward, prepared to meet her destiny.
Jonathan Steele accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, then took a sip. He eyed the mingling crowd filling the oversize room and knew that it had been a mistake for him to come tonight. He wasn’t in the mood to play the game of gracious host. He hated events like these. Too many business acquaintances presumed on a relationship that didn’t exist. Too many women thought it was well past time he was married. Debutantes and their persistent mothers cornered him at every turn and more married women than he could count thought he would be a fun, if temporary, companion.
But convention demanded that he make an appearance, so he was here. As soon as he was able, he would make his escape and retreat to the solitude that was more comfortable, if not more preferred.
He took a second sip of champagne only to have the fizzy liquid choke him when he spotted a familiar couple across the room. Anger burned through him—a molten rage that made his fingers tighten dangerously on the delicate crystal.
Jonathan set down his glass on a nearby table, then walked through the crowd. His gaze never left the darkly handsome pair talking with friends. The man was tall, nearly his own height. The wife, a too-thin former model in a clinging black gown, had a haughty look about her pinched features.
He stopped beside his half brother and tapped David on the shoulder. “I would like a word with you,” he said.
David turned slowly,
