This must be what it felt like to fly, Violet thought as the handsome stranger whirled her around the dance floor. Guided by his strong arms and innate dexterity, she nearly laughed.
This was what she’d been wanting all night.
This… and maybe more.
Enchanted, Violet gazed up into the stranger’s arresting face. Clearly, this was the man who’d had all the town’s wallflowers aflutter. Indeed, as she examined his wavy dark hair, piercing blue eyes and impeccably arrayed features, she did feel a bit dizzy. A bit bedazzled. A bit swoony.
He was…perfect.
He delivered her an abashed smile. “Thank you for letting me sweep you away just now. I’m in your debt, Miss…?”
“Benson. Violet Benson.” Beset by her rapidly galloping heartbeat, Violet sucked down a breath. She executed another turn in the dance. This had to be some sort of mistake, but she’d be jiggered if she’d miss this opportunity to kick up her heels. Politely, she asked, “And you are?”
“Cade Foster. I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Benson.”
Hearing her name on his lips made Violet feel downright light-headed. How did he manage to make her ordinary name sound so extraordinarily intimate? So intriguing? So…wonderful?
On the verge of asking him exactly that question, Violet stopped herself. Instead she blurted, “You’re new in town.”
It was not a smooth entrée to further conversation. But a person would not have guessed as much to look at Cade Foster’s appealing smile—a smile that engaged twin dimples in his cheeks.
“Not anymore.” He tightened his hand on hers, sweeping them both in an elegant arc across the room. “In your company, Miss Benson, I suddenly feel quite welcomed to Morrow Creek.”
Goodness, he was charming. And he was charming her! Awed by the realization, Violet prayed her feet wouldn’t lose all sense of rhythm. She glanced downward. Blessedly, her feet seemed to be keeping up very well…even while the rest of her dithered.
“Well, I have that effect on people,” she confessed. “My friends say I’m a veritable one-woman hospitality committee. Probably owing to all my charity work. You see, I do a great deal of volunteering among the destitute, the sick, the needy—”
“They’re fortunate to have you. As am I, tonight.”
“Oh. Now you’re teasing me.”
“Not at all.” Mr. Foster danced them both near the raffle cage and its attendant cash box. “I’m enjoying you. I think you’re enjoying me, too—at least if your smile is any proof.”
Caught, Violet tried to tamp down her wide, telltale smile. But it was no use. It was simply too delightful to be flirted with this way! Especially by such a dashing man. Also, she couldn’t help noticing that several conversations had quit at the edge of the dance floor. A few dancers had even slowed to gawk. The whole place, it seemed, was fixated on Violet and her gallant dance partner. The sensation was altogether novel.
She, Violet Benson, was the center of attention!
This must be what her friend Adeline experienced every day.
Encouraged by that realization, Violet gazed up at him. “My smile doesn’t prove a thing about my supposed feelings for you, Mr. Foster,” she said in her most coquettish tone. Until now she had only employed that tone in her imagination. It felt much more fun in truth. “I always smile when performing a good deed. It makes me happy to lend a hand to those in need.”
Mr. Foster appeared dumbfounded. “Charity? You’re likening me to a charity case?” He raised his eyebrows. “I assure you, Miss Benson, I do not need help. Not from you or anyone else.”
“Are you sure?” Violet angled her head, studying him. “When you first invited me to dance, I felt sure I detected a certain air of…desperation about you. I know it sounds strange, but—”
He stumbled. For an instant, they both lost the cadence of the dance. Then his hand closed more securely around hers, they both recaptured the necessary steps, and Violet reconsidered.
Undoubtedly, Cade Foster had never been desperate for anything in his life. He seemed the sort of man for whom everything fell into place, lickety-split. Still, during those first few moments, she had definitely felt…something from him.
Something, if not desperate, then very, very needful.
“You move very well, Miss Benson.” Cade Foster presented her with his flawless profile. If he noticed the avid stares and gossipy whispers directed their way, he gave no sign of it. “The men in town must be bereft that you threw away your dance card.”
She gawked at him, all thoughts of his potential desperation forgotten. “You saw that? You saw…me?”
“Of course I did.” Mr. Foster glanced sideways. He frowned. “Why did you do it? Why did you throw away your dance card?”
Still enraptured with the notion that she might move well, as he’d said, Violet felt a shiver race through her. He was the one who moved well—the one who danced with effortless poise. Cade Foster’s skill was to make his partner seem equally adept.
Doubtless he possessed several similar talents…all of which would be scintillating and assured and unlikely to be shared with Violet beyond this night and this dance. Maybe that’s why she let herself fling her usual caution to the wind.
“Why did I throw away my dance card? The answer to that question, Mr. Foster, will cost you another dance.”
He smiled, seeming impressed. “You’re bold. I wouldn’t have expected that from a self-confessed do-gooder.”
“I prefer ‘aid worker.’ And a straight answer.”
Mr. Foster laughed. “And bolder still.” He twirled her as the last flourish of music played. He glanced sideways, then muttered a swearword under his breath. “But I have to refuse.”
“Why?” Violet kept her tone light. “Are you afraid I might save you with a dose of well-placed charity work?”
“No.” Inexplicably, he paled. “I’m beyond redemption.”
His voice sounded fraught. Troubled, Violet dared to touch his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was being flippant. I didn’t mean—”
“Take this.” As the next dance began, Mr. Foster gave her something: a dance card. Her dance card. “You’ll be needing it.”
Violet boggled at it. How had he come to possess her dance card? “I don’t need it. There was a reason it was empty.”
He didn’t seem to hear her. “Thank you for the dance.”
“We could have another. I still haven’t answered your—”
“Your father is headed to the mescal booth to celebrate his recent win at cards.” Mr. Foster nodded. “I’m
