The Rancher's Dance by Allison Leigh Page A

tightening up.
    He set the toolbox and Shelby’s bag on a stack of lumber, and took his daughter’s hand. “Come on.”
    She gave him a startled look, but hurried to keep up with him as he strode to the barn.
    The door was pushed open to the warm afternoon, and as they stepped through, the music was so loud that it was almost deafening.
    And his heart damn near stopped in his throat when he saw Lucy sprawled face down, unmoving, on one of the wide blue mats that had been spread out atop the dark gray floor that took up most of the space.
    Curses floated inside his head. He should have had the presence of mind to keep Shelby at bay. He let go of her hand. “Stay here.” He didn’t wait for any more of an answer than her widening eyes, before he strode across the springy floor.
    He reached Lucy’s side and crouched next to her. Memories of the day he’d found his wife collapsed in their home crowded his mind, making his stomach churn and his hand shake as he reached out to touch the back of that blond head. “Luc—”
    Her head whipped up, her hair flying out around her back. Her pale blue eyes were clearly startled. “Beck!”
    Relief froze him into place. His heart climbed back out of his throat. Nausea seeped away.
    And all that was left was anger.
    â€œGoddammit, Lucy,” he cursed softly. “What the hell are you doing?”
    â€œWorking out,” she said and her voice had turned just as chilly as her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business.” She pushed up to her hands and knees and he could see the sheen of sweat on her face and her chest above the low scoop of her clinging pink shirt. A sheen that was echoed on her bare shoulders and arms.
    â€œWorking out?” He nearly choked. “Last night you couldn’t even make it up a staircase.”
    Her lips tightened. “That was last night.” She straightened her knees beneath her, sending her rear end—perfectly displayed in body-molding black pants that ended around her ankles—up in the air, and with her hands still planted on the mat in front of him, stretched. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my stretching.” She lowered her head and the long, thick strands of her nearly white hair slid over her shoulders to coil on the mat between her hands.
    He scrubbed his hand down his face and sat back on his butt. Images swirled inside his head. Harmony, racked with pain that he couldn’t alleviate as her eyes begged for release. Lucy, lithe, slender and golden, as she watched him with those otherworldly, sultry eyes.
    And now that body was on display in a clinging fabricthat assured him that even though she was thin, that thinness was comprised of perfectly sculpted flesh. Lean. Strong. Female…
    â€œDaddy?”
    He jerked, feeling like a damn kid caught staring at something forbidden, and Lucy’s head whipped up again.
    He was used to his daughter’s half-whispered voice, was always attuned to it. But how Lucy heard it above the music was something else.
    She straightened slowly and the blue of her eyes warmed as she spotted his pint-size daughter.
    She sent Beck a questioning look before she moved across the mat and hit a button on a large, outdated boom box. The music ceased and the silence that came after it seemed almost as deafening. “Who is this?” she asked. She walked toward Shelby, her gentle question clearly meant for his daughter.
    Shelby was staring wide-eyed at Lucy, her stuffed rabbit clutched protectively to her chest.
    Beck shoved to his feet.
    Despite the pain he’d seen on Lucy’s face the previous day, the way she was moving now told him that his worry had been for nothing.
    She moved as smoothly as water flowing over rocks.
    And watching her was just as mesmerizing.
    Dammit.
    â€œThis is my daughter. Shelby.” He headed toward her. “And we’ll get out of your hair.”
    Lucy