By Leaps and Bounds

  By Leaps and Bounds

  By

  Jacqueline Diamond

  This digital edition published 2012 by

  K. Loren Wilson

  P.O. Box 1315

  Brea, California

  Copyright 1990, 2012 by Jackie Hyman

  Reedited and updated for this edition

  ISBN 978-1-936505-18-0

  First print edition published 1990 by Harlequin Books

  Second print edition published 2010 by Harlequin Books

  All rights reserved

  No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the author or publisher except where permitted by law.

  Publisher’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to events or to a person or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Prologue

  The sleet started before they were even out of New York State.

  "This is awful." Kerry peered forward between the windshield wipers, which were straining to scrape away the mess. "Maybe we'd better wait."

  Beside her in the car, George didn't answer.

  She turned to look at him. His famous profile seemed carved out of stone, his eyes focused entirely on the road as if he hadn't heard her. Which wasn't unusual.

  "George?" she said.

  "We can't wait." So he had heard her, after all. She wished he would acknowledge her more quickly; sometimes, with him, she felt almost invisible. "I start rehearsals on Monday, and you refuse to tell your parents about our engagement over the phone."

  "I'm sorry," she murmured. "It just seemed like they ought to hear this in person."

  Couldn't he ease up a little? His perfectionism about his work was part of what had made George so successful, but wasn't he carrying things a bit too far?

  On the other hand, maybe she had been foolish, Kerry reflected, insisting they set off for Boston late at night. But she had only three days until her next performance with the New American Ballet, and his job as assistant conductor of the New York Philharmonic gave him even less time off, not to mention that he would be flying to Europe next month to make his first recording with a German orchestra.

  Besides, she wanted to share the thrill of tonight's triumph with her parents. Maybe when they learned that she was finally a star, finally someone they could be proud of, she would at last break through the polite, distracted fondness with which they usually treated her.

  Kerry looked back out the window, hoping that somehow the storm would have lessened. Fat chance. November was a tricky month, and tonight it had decided to play one of its worst practical jokes on them.

  Leaning her head against the seat, she wished she didn't feel so let down. Yes, tonight had been important to her career, but right now she and George were embarking on a new life together. Shouldn't she feel more excited? And shouldn't he act as if he cared more about meeting her parents?

  It had seemed like an incredible stroke of luck, meeting George Carlisle at a party four months ago and finding that he was attracted to her. Kerry had never considered herself particularly beautiful. She generally kept her honey-blond hair pulled severely back and only put makeup around her light blue eyes when she was going onstage.

  George had wined and dined her around New York, showing her off to his friends, toasting her at the finest restaurants. Kerry could never quite believe her luck. He was handsome and a genius, even if he was sometimes moody.

  It wouldn't be easy, of course, blending their two careers, but George didn't seem to mind spending time apart. In fact, he obviously liked his privacy.

  Kerry sighed. This wasn't the kind of marriage she'd dreamed about as a child, but surely things would change after they were married; they'd talk more about personal things, share their fears and hopes, begin to plan for the day when they could have their own family....

  She huddled beneath her coat. In spite of the blast from the BMW's heater, the cold was seeping inside her. To fight it, she tried to revive the way she'd felt earlier in those last, wonderful moments onstage, the feeling of melting into ecstasy, the sense of completion.

  In all her years of ballet training, Kerry had never before experienced anything like it—the unfamiliar lightness, the exhilarating flow. She had become part of the air, part of the wind, part of the night. She had been transformed into someone other than Kerry Guthrie, someone free of anxieties and insecurities and the need to please. Someone who defied gravity.

  It had startled her, the applause thundering toward her at the end. She'd forgotten, for a few minutes, that she was a dancer in front of an audience, and she might have stood there in a daze if her partner, Alfonso Carrera, hadn't led her forward to take her bows.

  Then afterward, as they retreated backstage, he'd told her quietly that it was obvious this company had a new star ballerina.

  Alfonso had said that—Alfonso, a veteran of ten years with the company and Kerry's former teacher; she valued his opinion more than almost anyone's.

  "I can hardly see where I'm going." George's cross words broke into her reverie. "This is crazy."

  "I'd really like—I mean, my parents would..." Kerry's voice trailed off. She hated disagreeing with George.

  "Your parents will understand. Do you think they want us to end up in a snow bank?"

  He was probably right. Her parents were terribly rational about everything. Which was part of why Kerry wanted so much to share this high point of her life with them.

  Her engagement to George and her professional triumph, both in one night. Surely that would finally impress Everett and Elaine Guthrie, would make up for the fact that Kerry could never follow in their brilliant musical footsteps—her father's as concertmaster of the Boston Symphony, her mother's as first cellist. On the other hand, George had a good point. If only he could be a little more sympathetic about it.

  Kerry swallowed the bitter disappointment. "I guess you're right."

  "I'll get off at the next exit." George began to edge the car to the right.

  "We could go next weekend—no—well, maybe in two weeks," Kerry said. "Just overnight."

  He shook his head. "I'm tired of waiting. I want to make an announcement. All my friends are asking questions." After a moment, he added, "Besides, after your success tonight, think how much press coverage we'll get."

  "Really? I mean—I guess so." It hadn't even occurred to Kerry that the press would be interested in their engagement. She wasn't sure she liked the idea. Certainly she expected coverage of the premiere of a new ballet. Her personal life was something else.

  She supposed it all sounded like the kind of story the public loved: a ballerina becomes the rising star of her company and simultaneously swears undying love to a brilliant young conductor.

  Only, was it undying love?

  Startled, Kerry turned to look at George. He was so elegant and assured, so cosmopolitan. It would be an incredible privilege to share his life. Then why did he seem more concerned with getting publicity than with meeting her family?

  The uncertainty that rose up in Kerry scared her. More than anything, she wanted to make this engagement official so there would be no turning back. No more doubts.

  Everything would be all right. They just needed more time together, more closeness. After they were married...

  "There," George said. "Isn't that the exit sign, just up ahead?"

  She would never know where the truck came from. One minute she was absorbed in quiet thoughts, and the next minute a huge hulk was skidding toward them sideways. It felt unreal, like some
thing out of a movie. Even the terrible jolt and the rending cry of metal didn't register as something that was happening to her.

  Kerry felt herself flopping sideways against her seatbelt and then everything turned upside down and crossways. She heard someone screaming and realized it must be her.

  The last thing that registered was the intense, crushing pressure against her hips and the searing pain in her legs.

  Chapter One

  The little girl appeared smaller than her ten years. She had fine black hair and a slender body that looked as if it would snap in a strong wind.

  It was the firmness of her uptilted chin that caught Kerry's eye, and the fierce set of the slim shoulders.

  She wanted to say something to reassure this determined little girl in the tattered swimsuit and the tense mother who waited beside her in the dance studio. The mother had the same slender build, although overwork and anxiety had worn premature lines in her face and added early gray to her hair.

  But this was no time for reassurances. Not yet.

  "Have you had any dance training?" As always, Kerry made a point of standing like a dancer, her arms and legs carefully placed to form a smooth line. The simple black leotard and coordinated skirt were stark, as was her hairstyle, but in a strange way they felt like a refuge.

  The little girl shook her head.

  Kerry checked the sheet in front of her. "Your name is Suzanne?"

  "Everybody calls me Suzie." The child's voice trembled slightly.

  "All right." Kerry wanted to soften toward her, but she didn't dare. A ballet teacher had to be ruthlessly objective toward her students. To give them false hope was, in the long run, the cruelest thing of all.

  "You can see she would need a scholarship," the mother broke in. Her name, according to the paper, was Vivian Ezell.

  "She's been crazy about ballet ever since she saw a program on TV. She reads about it, watches every program she can. She even tries to practice in her bedroom. I'm afraid she'll do something wrong and hurt herself."

  "Practicing alone isn't a good idea." Kerry could see the child's eyes fill with tears; she was afraid she'd ruined her chances. "Let me see your feet."

  Puzzled, the little girl extended first one foot and then the other as Kerry bent to examine them. They were shaped well and not distorted by bad training. It was a tragic fact that incompetent teachers sometimes put young dancers on their toes much too soon and ruined their feet.

  "Good," Kerry said. "Now come to the barre."

  Dutifully, the little girl followed her to the waist-high barre that ran along two mirrored walls of the studio.

  For one disorienting moment, Kerry imagined herself back in one of the studios where she'd trained in New York. They were all like this one, sparse and unadorned with a scarred wooden floor, a few old folding chairs along the walls and a battered upright piano to one side. From down the hall came the tinkling of a piano from the character dance class.

  But this was Brea, California, not New York City; this was the Leaps and Bounds Studio, not the New American Ballet School. And she was Kerry Guthrie, ballet teacher, not ballerina.

  Firmly, Kerry forced her attention back to the little girl in front of her. "I want you to make a plié, like this."

  Kerry demonstrated how to stand with the toes and legs turned out, and then executed a deep knee bend. As always, she could feel the pain start to tingle through her legs, as if a hundred bits of crushed bone pressed against hidden nerves.

  Wordlessly, Suzie imitated her. The child was limber enough, although her movements displayed the awkwardness of inexperience.

  "Now, come away from the barre." Kerry moved into the center of the room. "Turn your feet so they're almost reversed—this is called third position. I want you to jump and change feet in the air, like this."

  Kerry steeled herself against the twinges. They weren't so bad anymore, not really. Sometimes she wondered if she might dance again, moving through the pain like the mermaid in Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale, but she knew the agony would erode her stamina. And the doctors said she might do herself permanent harm.

  Suzie followed suit dutifully, if a bit clumsily, biting her lip so hard Kerry feared the child would draw blood.

  "Now you make a reverence. Like this." Kerry demonstrated the elegant bow. "We do this at the end of each lesson."

  Suzie made her reverence and then folded her hands tightly in front of her, waiting.

  "We have very few scholarships," Kerry said. The fear in the child's eyes almost overwhelmed her, and she added, "However, you have a good build and flexibility. It's impossible to tell at this point whether you'd make a good dancer, but I'm willing to give you a chance."

  A smile transformed Suzie's thin face. "Really?"

  "Our first-year students take classes three times a week." Kerry walked to the piano and lifted down some papers she'd left there earlier. "The work is very basic and sometimes boring, but we expect a great deal of dedication and some sacrifice."

  "I will!" Suzie said. "Oh, thank you!"

  "Just a minute." Kerry handed the papers to Vivian Ezell. "Although your lessons will be free, you will have some other expenses. You'll need a proper leotard and ballet slippers—no toe shoes yet—and some costumes for our performances. You must always be on time, and wear your hair pulled back so I can see every muscle."

  "Yes, yes!" The girl's eyes shone.

  "Now you'd better go change."

  As soon as Suzie left the room, her mother spoke up. "I can't tell you how much this means to us. I could never afford dance lessons on my salary as a receptionist, and it would break my daughter's heart to give up her dream."

  Kerry smiled, hoping her own pain didn't show. "I have to warn you that if she doesn't work hard, we'll have to drop her."

  "You can see what she's like. She'll do anything you say."

  "Yes, but—" Kerry knew she had to give the mother a realistic picture. "At the end of the first year we weed out the class. We get transfer students in the second year, and we need to keep the group small. Some girls simply don't have the aptitude, no matter how hard they try. We have to be honest with them."

  Vivian squared her shoulders. It was almost six o'clock, and she'd clearly had a hard day at work, yet her gaze was frank and direct.

  "We'll deal with that if and when it happens," she said. "I only wish—my son, Jamie, is sixteen. He's been drifting since his dad left us three years ago, and I'm afraid he's fallen in with a bad crowd. I only wish he'd had something like this, something of his own, to hold on to."

  "Adolescence is another problem," Kerry admitted. "Two or three years from now, Suzie's interests could change sharply."

  "Well—"

  The little girl dashed back into the room, clad in jeans and an oversize T-shirt that made her look even frailer than she was. "I'm ready!"

  Her mother put an arm around her shoulders and led her out. "Thank you, Miss Guthrie. So much."

  "You're welcome."

  After they left, Kerry stood in the empty studio just letting her thoughts wander, letting herself feel and breathe and listen as she'd learned to do in therapy. Through it all came the staccato of the piano down the hall, thumping out flamenco rhythms for Myron's class.

  Thank goodness for Myron Placer. He'd been planning to retire from the New American Ballet about the time of Kerry's accident. If he hadn't invited her to help establish this new dance school, she didn't know what she would have done with her life.

  Kerry shook her head. That had all been seven years ago. She'd long ago settled into life here, even buying a small house not far from Brea's redeveloped downtown area, where the school was located.

  Patting down her skirt, she stepped into the hall. On the way to her office, she couldn't resist pausing in a doorway to watch Myron at work.

  He was an older man with an incongruous goatee. That and his longish gray hair made him stand out in conservative Orange County, but the parents and students quickly accepted
him once they heard his gentle voice and saw how good a teacher he was.

  There were half a dozen advanced students in the class, three boys and three girls. Tom Hadley, Myron's top pupil, was dancing sensuously opposite Melanie Layne.

  Kerry wrapped her arms around herself, watching them.

  Tom was more of a show dancer than most of their students and would probably use his training on Broadway or TV. He had a flair for presenting himself well, for dramatizing every movement.

  Melanie was just the opposite. Despite her fifteen years, she had a mature grace and perfection of line that sometimes took Kerry's breath away.

  The flamenco didn't really suit Melanie's light, fluid style, although she had mastered its moves. She was every inch a ballerina, in Myron's class as well as in Kerry's.

  The music crashed to a stop. At the piano, Bella Beltran folded her music, her dark eyes still youthful in her creased old face as she nodded in appreciation to the dancers.

  The youngsters made their bows and filed out. Kerry stood aside until Melanie reached her.

  "Mel? May I have a moment?"

  The girl turned, her face flushed from dancing. "Of course, Miss Guthrie."

  Kerry waited until the hallway was empty around them. "I've been meaning to talk to you about next summer."

  Melanie looked puzzled. "But it's only September."

  "I know, but some things require time to decide." Kerry took a deep breath. "You're our best ballerina and I'd hate to see you go, but I think that next year may be time for you to move on."

  A stricken look came into Melanie's eyes. "But I don't want any other teacher! Besides, there's nobody in L.A. any better than you."

  "That wasn't what I meant." Kerry knew enough of Melanie's family situation to be aware that this was a ticklish issue, but it had to be raised. "The New American Ballet holds auditions for its summer school in New York."

  Melanie stared at her. "New York? Dad would never let me.”