Dance With Me

By Dawn M. Turner

A Christian Romantic Women's Fiction novel sequel to In God's Time

A marriage in trouble.
A life at risk.

Heavily discouraged, Tara is ready to give up on her marriage, especially after receiving evidence that suggests her husband is having an affair. But the kids....

Then her world is turned further upside down when she's injured but can't remember how. Nightmares suggest danger lies at the root of it. Will the memories surface before nightmares become a lethal reality.

Buried in work by an unreasonable boss, Jack struggles to juggle it all and believes he's managing. Maybe not perfectly, but he's holding it together. At least, he thinks so.

Until life slaps him in the face with harsh reality - he's on the verge of losing his family. Can he save his marriage and put his family back together, or is evil about to rip that possibility from his grasp?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dawn M. Turner
• Release date: Dec 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215153123

Dawn M. Turner

Dawn lives in the high desert of Southern Arizona with her husband of over 20 years and a variety of furry and feathered critters. She enjoys photography, crochet, scrapbooking, spinning her own yarn from wool and alpaca, beading and jewelry-making, and lots of reading. When not doing those things, she writes romance, romantic-suspense, women's fiction under the name Dawn M. Turner, and medieval and urban fantasy with a Christian worldview under the name D.M. Turner. She took first place in the Contemporary Romance category, as well as winning the Grand Prize, in the 2011 Writers on the Storm Category Five Writing Contest.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Tucson, Arizona

Yeah? Hang on. Jack’s voice muffled as he spoke to someone briefly at his end of the phone.

A hand clenched around a manila envelope she’d received in that day’s mail, Tara bit back the desperate desire to demand he focus on his phone. On her. She took a slow, deep breath, or tried to. Tightness in her chest refused to relent, and tears threatened. Hold it together. Don’t fall apart. Not right now. Hold it together for the kids.

Uh, Jack Carlton speaking. His fingers clicked rapid-fire on a computer keyboard. A sound she’d become far too familiar with over the years.

It’s me.

Tara? The click-clack stopped.

How long had it been since she’d called him at work? September, right? Our anniversary?

I… I just…. Will you be home for dinner? Tara already knew the answer and tried to stay calm. Her gaze fell on the children, watching them color at the kitchen table a few feet away.

Faith, the oldest, retrieved a bright blue crayon from the mouth of the youngest, Micah, and cheerfully scolded him for trying to eat it. Hope and Daniel sat side-by-side, sharing a coloring book and arguing less than wholeheartedly over a purple crayon. The foursome chattered and laughed, seeming oblivious to Tara’s barely contained despair. Her facade appeared to be holding, despite the increasing strain trying to choke her heart and lungs.

She clenched one fist around the phone, and the other crinkled the envelope and its contents.

It really isn’t a good time. The distraction in his voice punctuated his continued hammering on the keyboard.

It never is, she whispered.

What was that? I didn’t hear you.

Nothing. Tara expelled a tight sigh. "I just…. I have to talk to you. I need you to come home."

I’ll be home later. His voice muffled as he spoke once again to someone at the other end.

Flagging patience faltered. Jack! She winced. A glance toward the table found four pairs of eyes locked on her with varying levels of surprise or concern. She gave the kids a half-smile.

What? I’m a bit busy here, Tara.

Yeah, I kinda get that. Tara kept her voice down as she moved into the living room to put some distance between herself and the children. "This is important. I need you to come home. We need to talk."

I’ll be home later. We can talk then. I’m up to my butt in rattlesnakes here, so I can’t get away right now.

What else is new? Defeat rose. Tears battled to the surface, but Tara tamped them down. She heard him talking to someone else again, the words nothing more than an indistinct rumble. Her shoulders slumped. I’m so tired of this. Is it even worth the fight anymore?

When he came back on the line, his distracted and detached tone of voice warned that he was barely with her. Tara, listen, we’ve got a major crisis here. This really isn’t a good time.

It never is, Jack. It never is. Without giving him a chance to respond, if he even bothered, Tara hung up and dropped onto the upholstered arm of the couch. They had a major crisis at home, too. Maybe I should’ve told him that. Not that it probably would’ve made a bit of difference. She swiped a shaky hand over her forehead. The headache she’d had before calling him had taken a marked turn for the worse.

Mom, are you okay?

Tara dropped her hand to her lap and looked into the sad eyes of her daughter, Faith. At the tender age of nine, Faith already possessed far too much wisdom and seriousness.

Is Daddy okay?

He’s fine, sweetie. He has to work late again, that’s all. Tara tried to put on her best smile. To her surprise and horror, tears welled in her daughter’s green eyes. Eyes so like her own. Rising to her feet, she hugged Faith close. It’s just another network crisis. After a deep breath, she set her daughter from her and forced a game smile. What do you say you help me fix dinner for the rugrats?

Sure. Faith’s hollow smile did nothing to hide the worry in her eyes as she headed for the kitchen.

Listen, I have to take care of something real quick. Why don’t you get the spaghetti started?

Okay, Mom.

Tara retreated to the bedroom, considering the fear on her daughter’s face. Perhaps she hadn’t hidden the state of her relationship with Jack as well as she’d thought. Have I only been deluding myself to think I can hide this mess from the kids? If so, how long before she and Jack did irreparable harm to the emotional health and well-being of the children they were responsible for? They had stood before God and sworn to raise their children in His Truth, in His Word.

Well, most of them. With a sour twist of her stomach, her thoughts turned to Micah. Though he was two years old, they had yet to do a dedication for him. They’d been so excited to do that with the older three, but with Micah… things fell apart.

Had Jack even noticed how much Micah looked like him? Every time Micah offered his best smile to avoid getting into trouble, the ache in her heart grew. So much like the mischievous, affectionate way Jack used to smile at me. She couldn’t even recall the last time he’d given her any sort of a smile, much less one of those special smiles meant only for her.

Tara stared at what she held in her hand, stunned, teary, not wanting to accept what it had revealed. She’d known they were in trouble, and part of her wanted to believe the evidence. It would almost be preferable to think—

Mom, I can’t find the pasta. Faith’s voice echoed down the hallway, jarring Tara, dropping her back into the reality of her responsibilities.

Dinner approached. The kids needed her, even if Jack didn’t.

She shoved the envelope and its contents into one of her dresser drawers before Faith might see the photo and closed the drawer just as her daughter appeared in the bedroom doorway. Doing her best to push away the agony running freely inside, she planted on a smile. Nothing had ever felt more unnatural, or fraudulent, but… keep up appearances for the sake of the children. They can’t know the truth.

Mom? Faith studied her with a troubled gaze that seemed to see beyond the facade and straight to the deepest hurts.

Unlikely. You’re just being paranoid. Tara put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze, ruffling unruly, red hair that matched her own. Why don’t you round up the others while I finish dinner? The pasta won’t take long.

Faith cast her another sideways glance then nodded and ran to do as asked.

Taking slow, steady, deep breaths, Tara choked back the desire to burst into tears and made her way to the kitchen to finish the dinner Faith had started.

The dark cloud hanging over her lifted momentarily. Faith had turned into quite the little helper, assisting with cooking, laundry, and the younger children. Too bad Jack was never around to see what a wonderful daughter they had.

Pain crushed short-lived pleasure.

Pounding little footsteps raced along the hardwood floor in the hallway.

Tara straightened and plastered on a smile. Someone had to protect the children, and it appeared she’d been elected by default.

~~~

By five-thirty, Tara had the children at the table eating, crayons and coloring books tucked away in a drawer. She tried to eat, to maintain the illusion of normalcy, but her stomach lunged in warning. Unwilling to push it and risk making herself sick, she nudged her untouched plate aside, hoping the kids wouldn’t notice.

Maybe a run would help. Get out for a bit. Burn off some tension. Have a good cry at the park. Then I can come home and pretend everything is fine. Guilt, weariness, and sorrow woven in a tight braid stabbed her heart. My life has become one big lie.

Tears threatened.

Before she could change her mind, Tara hopped up from the table and grabbed the phone off the kitchen counter. With a last glance to assure herself the kids were still eating and occupied, she stepped into the living room and dialed her parents’ number.

Her mother quickly picked up. Hello?

Hi, Mom. She forced a bright, positive tone, hoping it wouldn’t choke her. Another lie. I wondered if you could sit with the kids for a bit. I’d like to go for a run.

Well, sure, I can do that. Jack’s not home?

Tara winced, keeping precarious emotions firmly, if tenuously, in check. No, he had to work late again. She bit her tongue and managed not to add, As usual. Also as usual, he hadn’t bothered to phone home. If she hadn’t called him, she’d have been none the wiser until he didn’t show up for hours yet.

I’ll be right there.

Thanks, Mom. She set the phone handset on its base and turned, her gaze caught by a knowing, sorrowful look in Faith’s eyes as they studied her face. Tara forced a bright smile. Grandma’s coming over for a little while.

Daniel and Hope whooped in excitement.

Micah joined in, dropping yet more spaghetti on the floor.

The storm cloud around Faith only darkened. She shoved food around her plate, her gaze downcast, seemingly immune to her siblings’ excitement.

You guys finish eating, then you can play with Grandma when she gets here.

Four-year-old Daniel played with what remained of his spaghetti with both hands, sauce covering his face. His favorite food in the world. That month, anyway. He offered a handful to two-year-old Micah, who wasn’t any cleaner than his big brother. Neither was the floor around his high chair.

I probably should be annoyed with the mess. Instead, Tara laughed softly at the boys’ antics. Why do they play with their food when they finish eating? The girls never did it. Once, when Daniel was around Micah’s age, she’d commented on it. Jack had joked that boys could make toys out of anything.

Jack. Her spirits plummeted again. Amusement over the boy’s food play dissipated. Going to the sink with a sigh, Tara dampened a dishcloth and retrieved a handful of paper towels. Life had been so different before. Everything had. How did we get to this point?

Faith, can you help Daniel get cleaned up? Tara started cleaning Micah, unwilling to release him from confinement until he couldn’t spread spaghetti sauce all over the house. She’d made that mistake once with Daniel and wasn’t eager to repeat it.

Okay, Mom. Faith hopped up and led Daniel down the hall to the bathroom.

Hope tagged along, chattering like the spirited magpie she’d been since birth.

Micah wiggled and giggled when she tried to remove pasta from his clothes. She finally surrendered and removed his shirt then wiped sauce off of pretty much every inch of skin he possessed.

How did you get pasta in your hair, little man? After carefully removing it, Tara used the damp cloth to wipe away as much of the sauce as possible.

He lifted his hands out to his sides in a theatrical shrug. No know.

Well, you definitely need a bath tonight. You sure can make a mess.

No baff. Micah shook his head so hard his whole body swung back and forth, then he giggled and squirmed as she tapped his nose playfully with the rag.

Tara couldn’t help but laugh and leaned in to nuzzle his neck.

His giggles intensified, and he hugged her, throwing little arms tightly around her neck. Wuv you.

Choking up, she hugged him back and closed her eyes. I love you, too.

When he squirmed to be set free, she carefully lifted him out of the high chair, making certain to set him down well clear of the mess on the floor so he wouldn’t track it out of the kitchen.

The front door opened.

Her heart leapt at first then settled as reality crashed around her. Jack would come through the garage, not the front door. He rarely parked out front.

The door clicked closed.

Tara?

Micah charged out of the kitchen as fast as short, chubby legs would carry him to greet his grandmother, Daniel and Hope in his wake.

Faith stopped in the kitchen doorway where she could see both Tara and her grandmother.

In the kitchen, Mom. Tara knelt to scoop up the mess around Micah’s chair. She dropped it into the garbage and rinsed the rag, wiping the remainder from the floor with practiced movements.

After tossing the dirty dishcloth in the sink, Tara followed her children. She stopped at Faith’s side in the doorway, brushing a hand over her daughter’s hair before resting it on a small shoulder.

Mom scooped up Micah after hugging Hope and Daniel, either oblivious to or ignoring the fact spaghetti sauce on his pants transferred to her clothes.

Probably ignoring it. Emily Whitman wouldn’t let something as minor as the threat of spaghetti sauce stains stop her from loving on her grandchildren.

As you can see from Micah’s beautiful self-painting, they’ve eaten dinner. Tara stepped past her oldest and led her mom and the children into the living room. Going to the sofa table, she snapped the house key off her key chain and palmed it, avoiding her mom’s gaze. Don’t worry about the kitchen. I’ll take care of it when I get back. You guys be nice for Grandma.

A chorus of Okay returned to her.

"Don’t you worry about the kitchen, sweetie. We’ll get it all cleaned up. Won’t we?" Her mom directed the words to Micah, who nodded fervently, his eyes gleeful. Hazel eyes shot through with gold. Just like his father’s.

Rattled by the unexpected thought, Tara blinked rapidly as tears spiked her eyes again.

Her mother studied her with loving concern.

Control slipped another notch. Tara beat a hasty retreat before Mom asked what was wrong and shattered the fragile hold she had on her composure. Retreating to the room she barely shared with Jack, Tara caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror on the closet door.

I’m not as thin as I was before Jack and I married, not that Cindy Crawford ever had anything to fear from me or anything, but still… I’ve gained a bit of weight over the last ten years. She twisted one direction then the other. I still run three or four times a week, so I’m in decent shape. At least… for my age and having had four kids. Right?

Maybe not good enough? Her gaze rested briefly on the dresser drawer. Is that why Jack lost interest? When’s the last time he held me or said he loves me? Told me I’m beautiful. I can’t even remember.

Tears blurred her vision.

Now is not the time for this. Tara forced herself to finish changing clothes. In no time, she was in athletic shorts, a t-shirt, and her jogging shoes. She zipped the house key into a pocket of her shorts and headed for the front door. I’ll be back in a little while.

Tara.

Hand on the door, Tara halted as her mother came up behind her. Steeling herself to face the concern so evident in her mother’s voice, she turned.

Is everything alright?

Her breath stilled. She hadn’t lied outright to her parents since she was fourteen. She couldn’t start then, but Micah looked curiously on from her mother’s hip.

No, it’s not. She glanced in the direction of her other children only feet away in the next room. Tears struggled to the surface again. I’m losing that battle. I have to get out of here. I can’t talk about it right now.

Alright, sweetie. With an understanding smile, her mother tucked a wayward strand of hair behind Tara’s ear. Just know I’m here when you’re ready to talk.

Tara nodded, unable to find her voice.

~~~

Emily watched her daughter jog down the sidewalk in front of the house and make a right turn along the street. Tara wasn’t doing well. If only she’d talk to me, Lord. Or anyone, for that matter. Is she at least talking to You, or has she shut You out, too?

Grandma…. Voice soft, Faith came alongside her, shooting a glance at Hope and Daniel. Green eyes shimmered with repressed tears. She still cries at night after all of us go to bed.

Emily knew that pain. She and Faith had talked, and prayed, about it for a while, as had Ray, Tara’s father. Keep praying for her, Faith. She hugged the hurting child to her side. We both will.

Pay for Momma? Micah asked from her other hip, his gaze inquisitive, a tight frown wreathing his sweet little face.

Absolutely. Always pray for your Momma, Micah.

’Kay. Pay for Momma. He nodded hard.

Emily choked up and tightened her arms around her grandchildren. These little ones are simply too precious, Lord. Thank You for them.

~~~

Dusk rapidly approached, but Tara had plenty of light for a good run. Even after dark, she’d have illumination from streetlights to guide her. The heat would soon dissipate, since the sun had gone down. After having spent her entire life in Tucson, she could pretty accurately predict some things. If she started out slow, she could pick up the pace as the temperature dropped. That would keep the heat bearable. Though past mid-October, it had been almost eighty degrees by four that afternoon.

The soles of her shoes pounding the sidewalk at an easy pace, she let her mind wander to how good things had been when she and Jack were first married. They had believed they’d live happily ever after. After all, they’d been friends for so long and known each other so well. What could possibly go wrong?

Somehow, somewhere along the line, everything had gone terribly wrong. Tears flowed freely down Tara’s face as she ran.

Memories rose then fell in the wake of recent hurts. Tara telling Jack they needed to talk, only for him to grab a ringing phone when she was mid-sentence. Off he’d go again at Mr. Webster’s summons, promising to talk when he got home, but that hadn’t happened because he’d arrived home so late. Time and again, he’d put her off by answering his phone or running out the door. Even nights and weekends weren’t free of Mr. Webster, as Jack had worked increasingly long hours. Knowing the kids would be up early the next morning, she’d finally quit waiting for him. Short of being a screaming banshee and traumatizing her children, she wasn’t sure she could’ve gotten his attention even when he was home.

She kicked up her pace, trying desperately to outrun the pain of a betrayal she didn’t really want to acknowledge but couldn’t seem to avoid.

Free of responsibilities for a time, Tara allowed herself the luxury of tears. She stayed on side streets to avoid traffic and the inevitable lewd comments some men seemed unable to resist throwing out. They hadn’t made such comments when Jack ran with her.

I miss the days when Mom watched the kids so Jack and I could run together and talk and laugh. Since they were both competitive when it came to such activities, they’d challenged each other, one making the other push just a bit harder, give just a bit more effort. Those days seemed a lifetime ago. In a sense, they were. Jack and Tara hadn’t run together since shortly after she’d found out she was pregnant with Micah.

Jack didn’t have time anymore. He didn’t make time anymore. He had more important things on his mind and demanding his time. All of it.

When Tara reached the park near the periphery of their neighborhood, she slowed to a walk, relieved that the headache that had prodded at her all evening had finally relented. A run is exactly what I needed. Burn off tension. She stretched her arms above her head and rolled her neck and shoulders to further release the muscles.

A few kids still played in the gathering dusk, and a group of teenagers hung around on the basketball court, shooting hoops and joking around.

Keeping to the perimeter, she circled the park.

I know exactly when our lives started to go downhill. That job.

He’d taken it after they’d found out about Micah’s impending arrival. Better money, and no more out-of-state travel like his previous job had required. Before he’d accepted the position, she’d met his new boss, Mr. Webster, and instantly disliked the cold, callous, snide man. She’d tried to warn Jack, but he’d ignored her concerns, determined to do things his way, slipping further away from her and the kids ever since.

Leaving the park and cutting through a series of dirt alleys behind homes, Tara ran hard and fast until her right side cramped. She slowed to a walk to wait for the cramp to ease, only covering a block or so when she realized one of her shoes had come loose. Kneeling, she retied it.

Tara rose and dashed tears away with a swipe of her hand, her gaze falling on a hideous, battered red trashcan to the right, tucked up against a home’s back fence. Grimacing, she shuddered. Why would anyone paint a trashcan the color of congealed blood?

Before she could return to her run, sounds in a backyard to the left caught her ear. Grunts. Groans. A gasp. Pain? She frowned. Some boys tussling? Hopefully no one got hurt. Boys could be like that sometimes. They didn’t realize how rough they were playing until someone yelped or started crying.

Concerned, Tara stepped in the direction of the sounds to peer over a five-foot block fence, only to freeze in her tracks.

Chapter 2

Stopped at a red light, Jack wiped a hand across his eyes. A glance at the dash clock drew a sigh. Bright green numbers glowed in the dark. Nearing ten. He’d left the house before five that morning. What a horrifyingly long Thursday. He was supposed to be off until Monday. Yeah, sure. When was the last time I actually worked four tens instead of a seven-day week of fifteen or more hours a day?

Being salaried definitely had disadvantages. The worst? Never really being off the clock. At least, not with his job. Computers had an annoying tendency to act up at the most inconvenient times possible, especially in a company that skimped where they shouldn’t.

The light turned green.

Jack carefully accelerated through the intersection, trying to keep his mind on driving so he didn’t end up T-boned by someone running a red light, or possibly a drunk driver. He cringed at that thought, instantly taken back to when Tara had almost lost her life to a drunk driver before they married.

Tara. Chances were good that she’d be in bed when he got home. In the past, she’d waited up for him, no matter how late he’d dragged in. When exactly did that stop? Hm…. He dredged through his memories, trying to remember. The last time they’d talked into the night had been… before Christmas? That can’t be right. It can’t possibly have been that long ago. Can it?

They’d gone, as a family, to the cantata at church the Sunday prior to Christmas. He’d sat beside Tara with little Micah on his lap, enjoying the music and skits. They’d had a good time. At least, until Mr. Webster called right in the middle of a performance. A network crisis. Again. When Jack had explained that it was important, Tara had said only, I understand.

Those words echoed through his mind. Something about the way she’d said them, the look in her eyes, had been… off. At least, that’s what paranoia wanted him to believe. Jack shook his head. Stop imagining things. She understood that I had to work. Bills had to be paid, and kids needed shoes, clothes, and food.

I have to find time to sit down and talk with her, though. He missed their long, quiet chats once the kids were in bed. So often, those had been the highlight of his entire day. We need to get back to that. After that abruptly-ended phone call earlier that evening…. He couldn’t recall the last time she’d called his office.

Weariness settled deep into his bones, sapping already depleted energy. Tonight’s definitely not the time for a discussion. He was exhausted, and Mr. Webster or one of the guys would most likely call before daybreak. Besides, Tara will be sound asleep by now.

Jack pulled into the driveway, hitting the remote button for the garage door. As the door slowly drifted down after he’d eased into the garage, he slid out of the car. It took all the strength he could muster to make it into the house, gently closing doors behind him to avoid waking Tara and the kids.

Where have you been? His mother-in-law suddenly emerged from the living room as he came into the kitchen from the utility room off the garage.

Rearing back, Jack stared at her. What’s she doing here? I can’t possibly be so tired that I’m hallucinating, right?

Fear and anger clouded her features, way out of proportion to his coming in past ten. Balled-up fists were firmly planted on her hips.

He glanced at his watch. A quarter past ten. I’ve been later than that before. Then it occurred to him to wonder…. Mom, what are you doing here?

Tara called me to sit with the kids while she went for a run.

At this hour? Tara didn’t run after dark. At least, not that he knew. She wouldn’t have changed that particular habit since he’d been unable to go with her, would she? I hope not. The city streets were too dangerous after dark, even in their normally quiet neighborhood.

No. She left shortly after six and hasn’t come back. I haven’t heard from her.

The near hysteria in Emily’s voice parted the weary fog. Have you tried calling her cell?

She forgot it here.

Irritation flared. How many times have I reminded Tara to keep that thing on her? Jack forced down the anger. You’re tired and overreacting to the wrong thing. Chill, so you can think. Where would Tara go? Is it possible she decided to stop at Greg and Michelle’s? What about Tammy and Jerry? Not outside the realm of possibility. Her brother and sister and their respective spouses lived close by. As did her friend Eric and his wife. Or Eric and Patti? Maybe they’ve seen her.

I already called. None of them have heard from her. Jerry and the kids are sick, so Tammy’s got her hands full, but Greg’s out looking for Tara, as are Ray and Eric. Michelle and Patti are home in case she shows up or calls one of them. Emily grabbed his arm. Through that single point of contact, he felt her tremble, even as tears misted her fear-filled eyes. "She