Dancing With Dalton (Fatherhood)

by Laura Marie Altom

  “I not only think it’s possible for you to tango,” she said, warring with her stinging eyes to keep tears at bay, “I know.”

  Sashaying to the stereo, she selected a favorite Latin CD, then cranked the volume. When the walls pulsed with the music’s life, she held out her arms. “It is customary for the man to ask the woman to dance, but since you seem to be feeling a bit shy, how about it? Care to escort me on a trip around the dance floor?”

  She didn’t give him a chance to answer.

  In the time span of two beats, she placed one hand on his bicep and held her other up, palm out for him to meet. Her palm kissing his, Rose willed her pulse to slow. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, she listened for the beat. Remembered what it used to be like onstage with John in the moment before the curtain rose…

  Earlier, admitting she found her new student attractive had been easy. Being held in his unexpectedly capable arms while the beat she and her husband had so loved pulsed all around them was proving impossible.

  Stopping, hands to her forehead, Rose said, “That’s enough for tonight.”

  “But—”

  She marched to the stereo, turning it off. The resulting silence was deafening.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Of course.” Turning her back to him, Rose swiped a few sentimental tears. Though she’d danced the tango with other men since John’s death, something about this man’s provocative hold made the dance different. Special.

  “Then why are you crying?”

  He’d crept up behind her. He stood close enough that his radiated heat scorched her, but he didn’t touch her. For that she was vastly relieved. It’d been so long since she’d shared another human’s—a man’s—touch. Oh sure, she hugged Rachel and Anna all the time, but somehow it wasn’t the same. In her new student, she sensed a hidden gentle quality she suspected he preferred to hide. But that was dance’s magic. It stripped a man—or woman—to the soul, baring innermost secrets for even a casual partner to see. Dalton’s touch had been tentative. Soft. Respectful. All of which was good, but at the same time bad. For those qualities were the very things urging her to spin around for a hug.

  “Rose?” It was the first time he’d called her by her first name. He made the word lovely. Delicate. “I know my dancing’s bad. But surely not bad enough to reduce you to tears.”

  His stab at humor made her smile, then cry all the harder. She ran to the hall for privacy, but to her horror, Dalton followed.

  Hand on her left shoulder, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said, needing to be away from this man, from the overwhelming physical confusion being near him evoked. “I’m sorry, but our lesson is over.”

  “But—”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, more for her own benefit than his. “I just can’t.”

  “Do you still want me to come tomorrow night?”

  She shook her head, then nodded before dashing off to the stairs leading to her loft.

  Chapter Three

  “Tell me, son,” Dalton’s father asked over the phone the next morning. “How did your dance lesson go? Are you going to make the family proud?”

  “My lesson?” Let’s see, considering the fact that his dancing had been so bad his teacher had run from the studio in tears, it couldn’t have gone better. Dalton held the phone in one hand, and a family-size jug of antacid in the other. “It was swell. I’m thinking one more session ought to be all I need to get the hang of it.”

  “You’re joking, right? You can’t possibly expect me to believe you learned the tango in one night. The first year I performed at the pageant, it took me a good six weeks to get the hang of all those twists and turns.”

  Could a guy OD on antacid? Dalton scanned the label before taking another swig. “I get the one, two, three walk thing. What else is there?”

  “Everything. You have to feel the music. Absorb it into your body and soul. According to Miss Gertrude, you have to let the music take your heart where it wants you to go.”

  It took everything in Dalton not to choke. “Have you been taking your medication? How is it that the man who once told me to shut off my heart is now telling me to listen to it?”

  “Yes, well…” His old man cleared his throat. “That was before all this mess that’s landed me on my keister. I’m currently of the opinion that it’s all right to feel a little something—at least if the touchy-feely stuff lands you that much closer to achieving your business goals.”

  Dalton rolled his eyes.

  A certain raven-haired instructor had put it a bit more meaningfully than that, and look where that speech had left him. Not merely listening to his heart, but looking deep into Rose’s sultry brown eyes, then watching her burst into tears. Logic told him there had to be more to the waterworks than him, but what?

  “Dalton? You still there, son?”

  Unfortunately. “Yeah, Dad. I’m here.”

  “Good. Listen up. Not to put any added pressure on you, but my ticker’s not getting better, and watching the festival I founded go off without a hitch means a lot. Your mother and I both are looking forward to your performance. Miranda, too. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  After pressing the phone’s off button, Dalton reached for a pencil, then snapped it in half.

  Do I make myself clear?

  God, he was so sick of hearing that phrase.

  Especially in regard to the not-so-subtle hints that he settle down with Miranda Browning—a woman he’d known since they’d both been kids. Their parents thrust them together at every possible moment, and while Dalton enjoyed her company as a friend, that was it. More than a few times, his mom had suggested Dalton marry Miranda.

  At first, the notion had been ludicrous, but lately, he’d begun wondering if maybe his parents were right. Especially considering what a disastrous choice he’d made when following his own heart.

  FRIDAY NIGHT, Dalton arrived at the dance studio, stomach churning. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Would his teacher be the teary-eyed wreck he’d last seen, or the fireball with whom he’d shared dinner?

  He entered Hot Pepper Dance Academy not sure he even wanted to be there. He had enough of his own troubles. Did he really want the added burden of someone else’s?

  The lobby was deserted.

  From the studios came the muted beats of tangos and sambas. Or were those mambos and salsas? Before he had the chance to decide, a rowdy bunch of women stampeded through the glass door of studio three. Sweaty women. Women with messy nests for hair and lifeless sweatsuits for costumes. They looked fresh from gym class.

  Rose emerged looking as if she’d spent a night dancing between the sheets. Her skin wasn’t blotchy from exertion, but glowing. Her hair didn’t look tangled, but tousled. Her formfitting, fire-orange dress was every male’s fantasy. As for her endless legs? He forced a deep breath. Don’t even get started.

  “Mr. Montgomery,” she said, her voice raspy. “I’m so glad you decided to give tango another try.”

  To hell with the tango. I’m here to see you. To solve the mystery behind your tears.

  “Sure. I’m, ah, looking forward to getting back on the proverbial horse.”

  “Wonderful.” Red-tipped fingers singeing his forearm, she graced him with her smile. So, she’d reverted to fireball status. “Let me reschedule these ladies for next week, then I’ll be right with you.”

  Her touch had been casual. After she flitted from him, she used the same friendly gesture on five different people, but somehow, that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but that his arm still hummed with her heat.

  Forcing a deep breath, reminding himself he wasn’t here for a date, but to fulfill a business obligation, Dalton aimed for the studio the women had just left. He groaned when the space still smelled of Rose’s tropical perfume. The rich scent brought to mind orchids. Ocean. Hot sand. Even hotter bodies glistening with coconut-scented oil.

  He swallowed hard.<
br />
  “There you are.” The teacher, in all her raven-haired, full-lipped glory strolled through the door. “I’d hoped you hadn’t escaped.”

  “Not for lack of wanting,” he managed to say with a wry smile.

  “Tsk, tsk. What kind of attitude is that for our second lesson?”

  Why did you run from our first lesson crying? he longed to ask. Instead, he shrugged.

  “Well?” She clapped her hands, rubbing them together as if she was looking forward to the coming hour. “Should we jump right in, or would you like to spend a few minutes reviewing what you’ve already learned?”

  “Let’s dive,” he said, trying not to feel hurt about her apparently having no wish to tell him what had been wrong the previous night.

  “Excellent.” Thrilled to be done with the small talk that had her heart racing, Rose escaped to the stereo. She was careful to play a more lively tune than the one that’d reduced her to tears. True, all tangos followed the same basic beat, but the moods changed.

  When “La ultima cita” began, she said, “All right, Mr. Montgomery, now I’m going to really challenge you.”

  He sighed.

  “This isn’t the time to cop an attitude. All I’m asking you to do is dance backward.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” She stopped in front of him, adopting the classic pose with her hand on his upper arm. “Imagine we’re in a vast ballroom filled with dancers. There will be young men impressing the girls with their fancy footwork, still-in-love grandparents following rhythms it’s taken them a lifetime to absorb. And then, there’s us…” She took a deep breath, offered what she hoped was an encouraging grin. “Feel like giving it a try?”

  He grudgingly gave in and half an hour and a lot of laughter later, Rose and Dalton were moving about the floor like pros. Well, not quite, but at least they hadn’t tripped over each other in the past few minutes.

  Rose closed her eyes and let the music and feel of his arms transport her not to her familiar grief, but to a smoky club in the heart of old-town Buenos Aires. What fun she would have showing this uptight banker how to loosen up.

  Their chemistry was intoxicating. But as badly as she longed to be held in a man’s arms, she was afraid of opening her heart again only to potentially lose it.

  Despite the warning, the part of her that longed to laugh and play and dance, not because it was her job, but for the sheer joy of it, urged her to spend more time with Dalton.

  When they were both out of breath, Rose pulled away with a gleeful clap. “That was so much better!”

  “It was?”

  “Absolutely.” Even as she laughed and playfully swatted him, Rose wished her breathing would return to normal. Though Dalton had still made plenty of mistakes, something about his style was intrinsically rhythmic. Like her, though he might not know it, he’d been born with an artist’s soul. Once he’d lost his fierce scowl of determination and allowed his mind and heart to go where the music took him, he’d easily fallen into the spirit of the dance. “Ready to go again?”

  “I think so.”

  “You think?” She shook her head. “No, no. You should say, of course,” she said with a grin.

  For the first time in she couldn’t remember when, she was having fun and didn’t want the night to end.

  She ignored her earlier misgivings, choosing to enjoy herself. Soon enough, she’d be back upstairs with Anna, fighting to sleep through the night. Maybe if she exerted herself rest would come more easily.

  That in mind, she inserted a new CD, putting herself and her student through rigorous moves.

  “Whew.” Twenty minutes later, again out of breath, Rose pulled away, reaching for a towel she’d hung from the ballet bar. “I’d say you’ve gone as far as you can with la caminita.”

  “And that would be?”

  “All that means, is the walk, which is the most basic of all tango steps. Now that you’re walking, we can start to run.”

  “Great,” he said with a chuckle. “And I suppose we’re going to start that running right now, Miss Energizer Bunny?”

  “Ha-ha.” With her towel, she swatted him. “Actually, you and I are done for today. I have a date.”

  “A date, huh? Is he the cause of last night’s tears?”

  For a second after Dalton asked the question, Rose felt like a deer in the headlights. What was she supposed to say? Was now the time to tell him about her husband?

  “Hey,” he murmured, tone soft, as if he sensed her distress. “Why you were crying is really none of my business.” He glanced down, then looked back up into her eyes. “Trouble is, I kind of took the whole our dancing will go easier if we’re friends speech seriously, and seeing how friends don’t let friends cry alone, I—”

  “My date is with my daughter. She wants to bake sugar cookies with pink sprinkles.”

  “You have a little girl? I mean, I assume she’s little, judging by your age.”

  “My advanced age?” With a wink and grin, she swatted him with her towel again.

  For a moment he stilled, as if he wanted to say something, but propriety kept him quiet. “That’s not at all what I meant, and you know it.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said with a nod, matching his easy smile. “And in answer to your question…”

  “I didn’t ask a question.”

  “Your eyes did.” She turned her back on him while wrapping herself in a hug. The kindness in Dalton’s eyes told her it was safe to share her pain with him. “My girl is indeed little. She’s six. And in answer to your unspoken question, her father…died.”

  “Sorry,” he said quietly. She imagined him cupping his warm, strong hands over her shoulders, infusing her with much needed courage to go on. Instead, he hovered, not taking the liberty of actually touching her, but letting her know he was there. “Is he the reason for those tears?”

  She nodded. “The last time I seriously tangoed—you know, beyond teaching vacation-bound senior citizens or Girl Scout troops—was in his arms. So you can see where…”

  “Dancing again—with a man—would be rough?” He did touch her shoulder then, and lightly turned her to face him. The warmth of his eyes and tender set of his mouth, his solid yet gentle grip, told her what words never could. That he cared. That she wasn’t alone. Sure, she had friends, but no one with whom she’d ever considered sharing the depth of her pain.

  “Want to talk about him?” he invited.

  “Yes. Someday. But not now.”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you about him, just that it hurts to dredge up the past.”

  “I get it. Only, the way you were crying, I’m thinking your husband’s death isn’t yet in the past—at least not where your heart’s concerned.”

  “ANNA, HONEY, be careful or you’ll drop Barbie’s purse behind the display.”

  “I’m being careful, Mommy. Look! She’s dancing!”

  Dalton froze at the entry to Bell’s. He had been dreading the mission to get fitted for the gaudy red shoes he was required to wear with his equally hideous tux. But from his first sight of Rose and her cute, brown-eyed daughter, trying on black-patent Mary Janes, his outlook on the mission had miraculously brightened.

  “Ladies’ day out?” he asked the pair, pausing in front of the battered, red-carpeted platform serving as seating for what Mona Bell had dubbed her kid zone.

  “Hi,” Rose said, her wide grin making his pulse race. “My baby’s feet seem to get bigger every day.”

  “I know the feeling,” he teased, wagging one of his size thirteens.

  Her daughter giggled. “You’ve got the biggest feet I’ve ever seen.”

  “Anna!” the girl’s mother scolded.

  “It’s okay,” Dalton said with a chuckle. “Especially since it happens to be true.”

  “There are bigger feet in this town,” Mona said, a hint of her Cajun heritage flavoring her words. In her arms were three shoe boxes. “Dalton, nice to see you
finally showed up. If we don’t get your shoe order in pronto, you’ll be dancing barefoot.”

  “Sounds like an improvement over the getup you all want me to wear.”

  Snorting, Mona said, “Remind me to tell your momma what a misfit she raised.”

  “She hears it all the time.”

  Ignoring him, Mona turned to Rose’s daughter. “Stick out your feet, there, toots, and let me slip these on.”

  “She’s a cutie,” Dalton said to Rose, seeing how Mona had pretty much taken over the operation.

  “Thanks.”

  “Anna’s a nice name. I’ve always liked it.”

  “We named her after my grandmother, Anna Lucia Margarita Rodriguez. In her day, she was the darling of Buenos Aires.” Whispering behind her hand, she added, “She reportedly juggled up to ten suitors with ease.”

  Mona grunted. “Shoot, what gal in her right mind would want that many men?”

  “Barbie!” Anna squealed, pirouetting the doll in a dazzling move that sent tiny pink plastic shoes and a matching purse flying. They landed behind the seating platform. “Oops.”

  “Oh, honey,” Rose said, hands on her hips. “I told you that was going to happen.”

  Tears flooded the child’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

  “It’s okay.” Already on his knees, Dalton finagled himself into torturous contortion that with gritted teeth and a grunt netted one shoe. Then he used a nearby display rack’s metal prong to fish out the spiked pink heel’s mate and the purse. “Voila,” he said, winded from the ordeal.

  “You got ’em!” Anna squealed happily, leaping from the platform to wrap her arms around him. The simple gesture warmed him to the core. He’d always loved kids, had planned on having a half dozen of his own by now, but time had a way of vanishing.

  “Thank you,” Anna said, her brown eyes serious.