Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues

by MCLANE, LUANN

  Rio’s eyebrow slides back down to form a frown. “Wax my car?”

  “You know, wax on . . . wax off?” I demonstrate with circular motions but when he shakes his head I realize that references to The Karate Kid are wasted on him. “Never mind.”

  “What’s waxing a car got to do with anything?” he persists. His accent is getting more pronounced as the morning progresses. At one point he muttered a whole paragraph in Spanish and I don’t think it was anything particularly flattering.

  “I guess about as much as standing here like a tree!” Oh, crap . . . I said that out loud. I swallow nervously when a muscle jumps in his clenched jaw. He looks at me for a long heart-pounding moment and then says something under his breath. I strain my ears to hear but I do think it was once again in Spanish.

  Now I know that this is where I should apologize for my outburst. And normally I’m a pretty mannerly, laid-back person but his saying things about me in Spanish really ticks me off. Being careful not to raise my voice I say primly, “Would you please speak in English? It’s not right that I can’t understand what you’re sayin’.”

  “Well, half the time I can’t understand what you’re saying in English, so that makes us even,” he says smoothly and raises that doggone eyebrow!

  “Stop raisin’ your eyebrow at me!”

  “What?” This seems to take him off guard. “I don’t do that.”

  “Oh, but you do.” I point to the offending eyebrow. “The left one.”

  He mulls this over for a second and I think he’s going to apologize for the error of his ways but he says, “So it must be an involuntary habit. Get over it.” He adds a shrug for good measure.

  For a moment I’m admiring the play of muscle resulting from his shrug but then his rudeness sinks in and overpowers my good sense and I shove him with both hands right smack in the middle of his chest. Both eyebrows shoot up and he has to take a step backward to keep his balance.

  Holy crap.

  I swallow hard as two things hit me: One, that my hands are tingling from the contact with his hard, warm chest. And two, that I’m behaving very badly.

  Rio goes still and gives me a long, silent look.

  “I’m sorry . . . I—”

  “Don’t be,” he interrupts in a low silky tone. He takes a step closer . . . so close that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Suddenly I’m itching to touch him again but not to shove him away. He looks at me with those dark, fathomless eyes and I swear he must be the sexiest thing ever born. I remind myself that he’s an arrogant jerk but my body has other ideas and I sway toward him. He steadies me by placing both of his hands around my waist and whispers, “Thank God.”

  Ah yes, I think as I release a long sigh. Thank God! My eyes flutter shut and I wait for him to lean in and kiss me but he doesn’t. “Um, thank God for what?” I ask in a small, somewhat confused tone.

  “You do have some fire and passion. I was beginning to wonder.”

  I let this sink in and then I get it. With narrowed eyes I ask, “So, let me get this straight. You were baiting me all mornin’ to see when I’d crack?” I lean in so far that we’re standing almost nose-to-nose. He’s a couple of inches taller but I’m up on the balls of my feet.

  “It took longer than I expected,” he says calmly when he should be running for his ever-lovin’ life.

  “So posing like a warrior and a danged tree was to get my goat?”

  “Not exactly . . . Pilates is going to be part of our training. But I admit that I was pushing you. I wanted to see some spunk . . . some personality so that I knew just what I had to work with. Ballroom dancing is all about passion, Abby. A monkey can memorize the steps. I wanted to see if sparks could fly,” he says with a slow smile that does funny things to my stomach, “and they did.” After taking a step back he says, “You’ve earned a break. Go grab a bottle of water.”

  “Wait a minute. I’m being rewarded for bad behavior?”

  Rio throws back his head and laughs. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  I’m officially confused but I nod and then walk over to the cooler full of water and snag a bottle. I suppose I should be happy that I’ve somehow managed to please him but it bothers me a little that he planned the whole thing. And it bothers me a lot that I was feeling like grabbing him and kissing him silly when it was all just a ploy on his part to fire me up.

  I make a mental note not to fall for my instructor. That would be really, really stupid.

  Even so, while drinking my water I can’t stop myself from glancing over at Rio. His dark head is bent while he jots down notes in a small pad. Gee, I can only guess what he might be writing . . . maybe something like Hopelessly horrible but easily riled. Something he writes makes him grin and I don’t even want to think about it. Am I just a joke to him? That thought hits me hard and I make another mental note, no, make that a promise to show Rio Martin, Mitchell Banks, and the rest of the damned world that I can do this. I stomp my foot thinking about it and slosh some water down the front of my shirt.

  “Hell’s bells!” This draws a look from Rio. Great, that was classy. His darned eyebrow starts to go up but he seems to think about it and stops himself. I can’t help but grin and he smiles right back.

  “Are you ready to learn some dance moves?”

  “Yes!” I tell him with enthusiasm but then remember that my dancing skills suck. Maybe the tree pose wasn’t so bad after all. “Unless you want to stick to the Pilates for a while longer . . . you know, to make me limber and strong.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  I force a laugh. “Of course.”

  “We drew the cha-cha as our first dance.”

  “Good.” I nod like I know what the cha-cha is. “That is good, right?”

  “I think so. Have you ever seen the cha-cha danced before?”

  “Well . . . I . . . um . . .”

  “I’m taking that as a no.”

  I shrug. “My knowledge of ballroom dancing is . . . limited.”

  “That’s okay. I imagine that everyone else in this competition is in the same boat.” He points to a stack of DVDs. “I’ll give you some videos of dance competitions that I was in. It will give you an idea of what the dances are all about and to see how I move with a partner.”

  “I’ll bet you’re really good.”

  “I was.”

  “Was?”

  “A knee injury put an end to my career.” He shrugs again and gives me a nonchalant look that I’m not quite buying.

  I take a step toward him. “Oh, Rio, I’m sorry. How—”

  He waves one hand. “It’s a boring story. Not to worry, though. Surgery and physical therapy have made me good as new.”

  “Then why—”

  “The cha-cha is a lively, flirtatious dance,” he says as if not hearing my question.

  Something in his eyes makes me think that he’s been hurt and not just physically, but I know when to shut my mouth. My mama taught me never to pry into someone’s personal business.

  “It’s light and bubbly . . . all about the chase.”

  “The chase?”

  “Between a man and a woman.”

  His eyes meet mine and I swallow. “Oh.”

  “You should have a catch-me-if-you-can attitude.”

  I nod but I don’t quite get it.

  “In other words . . . flirt. Tease. Draw me in and then push me away.”

  “Oh. Sure.” I should probably warn him that I’m about as good at flirting as I am at dancing. Maybe worse.

  “There are five steps to four beats of music. One, two . . . cha, cha, cha.”

  “Okay . . .”

  Seeing my confusion, something I’m afraid he’s going to see a lot of, he demonstrates, “Step, rock, cha, cha, cha. Two, three, four, and one. Rock the hips. Feel the rhythm. The cha-cha is all about the Cuban motion, strong hip action . . . and the chase.”

  “Right . . .” For a moment I’m a bit mesmerized by his hip action. Mercy, how does he
do that?

  “Stay on the balls of your feet. Steps are crisp. Quick. Compact.” He demonstrates, adding a hip motion that I just know I’ll never master. Maybe he’s double-jointed or something. “Our movements will be synchronized. We’ll be working in parallel with each other. Ready to try?”

  “Yes!” Oh, hell no.

  “Okay, we begin by facing each other. Now join your right hand with my left. We must hold this position up at about your eye level. My right hand will rest on your shoulder blade. Your left arm should rest on my right arm in a comfortable, curved position. This is called the closed position and it will be our dance frame. It should always remain sturdy and well connected.”

  My head is spinning while I try to take this all in. It’s not lost on me that I’m confused and this is just the standing-still part.

  “Got it?”

  “Sure.” Not at all. Crap.

  “Okay, now step forward slightly with your lead foot, which is always my left, and your right. Shift your weight forward like I did before. Shift your weight backward onto your other foot. Use your hips! Okay, now we do the chassé.”

  “The what?”

  “The triple steps to the side.”

  “Huh?”

  “The cha, cha, cha, Abby.”

  “Oh. Why didn’t ya just say so?”

  “Let’s do it again. Slowly. Step, rock, cha, cha cha. Again.”

  “Okay.”

  “Two, three, four, and one. Balls of the feet, Abby. Step, rock, cha, cha, cha.”

  We do this about a million times . . . maybe two million . . . until I’m sweating like a pig and still totally messing up this basic move.

  “Count with me, Abby. It will help.”

  “Okay, one, two, cha, cha . . . Shit!” I clasp my hand over my mouth. “Sorry ’bout my potty mouth. I’m gettin’ frustrated.”

  “Try to relax. And by the way, you’re about to break my hand.”

  “Sorry!”

  “Okay, again . . .”

  “One, two, cha, cha, cha,” I whisper and finally manage to do it without faltering.

  “Much better!” He gives me a smile and I think I like making him smile.

  “Really?” Okay, I know I’m fishing a bit but it’s been a rough morning.

  “Yes, really. Now go take a short break.”

  “Thanks, Rio, for being so patient with me. I know that I’m a challenge.”

  He chuckles. “I imagine that there are others in this competition much more challenging than you. I consider myself lucky to have drawn you as a partner.”

  “Well, that was a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one, but I’ll take what I can get.”

  He laughs as he unscrews his water bottle and I’m relieved to see a little bit of the earlier tension leave his demeanor. “Well, this isn’t what I bargained for, but the contract is ironclad so I might as well make the most of it.”

  “You reread the contract for loopholes?” I’m a bit disappointed that he wants out so badly.

  He gives me a guilty look but then grins. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

  “Don’t know about you, but I’m in for fifty grand.”

  “Now, there’s the spirit, Abby Harper.” He gives me a high five. “Now back to work.”

  He wasn’t kidding and that’s not an understatement. I can squeeze a smile out of him once in a while, but for the most part he’s all business. By lunchtime I’m plumb wore out and there is another session later that afternoon! Not that I don’t need it, mind you, but I’m wondering how my calves are going to hold out.

  At lunch everyone else seems a bit more chipper and not nearly as exhausted as me. I’m wondering if this is because Rio is working me harder or if I’m just that hopeless. The food is delicious and thankfully not some fancy-schmancy stuff but sub sandwiches on warm, crusty rolls and fresh fruit on the side. After my meager breakfast I’m ready to dig in.

  “Hey there,” Danny says and slides into the seat next to mine. “How’s it goin’?”

  I take a sip of tea to wash down my big bite of sandwich. “Rough. Who knew that dancin’ was so hard?”

  “Tell me about it.” He agrees with a nod. “I’m doin’ something called the jive. I feel like my feet are all over the place and in every direction. I was told to boogie while doin’ this little wavy hand thing.”

  I snicker.

  “Yeah, boogie. I told my instructor that I don’t know how to boogie.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She’s one tough cookie. She said that I’d just have to learn to boogie.”

  “So, did you end up boogyin’?”

  “Damned tootin’.” He takes the top off his sandwich and checks out the contents before taking a generous bite.

  “Howdy,” Mac Murphy says as he eases his big frame into the chair next to Danny. His brown hair is curled up with sweat and he looks even more worn out than me. “This dancin’ stuff is for the birds,” he complains.

  “Aw, it ain’t so bad,” Travis Tucker comments as he sits down. “I found it invigorating.”

  “You gotta be kiddin’,” Mac grumbles. “Invigorating? What you been smokin’?”

  “My dance instructor called it invigorating and I happen to agree.”

  “You sound like a girl, Travis,” Mac tells him.

  “Hey, I boogied,” Danny admits with a grin and shows us his shaking hand wave.

  Mac sputters on a swallow of sweet tea. “Get outta here. Okay, I admit that I was instructed to twinkle. Apparently while dancing the quickstep you must twinkle. Can you picture me twinklin’?”

  I enjoy listening to them jaw back and forth while I eat my lunch. We collectively groan when warm chocolate chip cookies are delivered to our table.

  “Damn, these are good,” Travis says while licking a smudge of chocolate from his thumb.

  I savor the gooey cookie. Mama makes wonderful pies for the diner but homemade cookies aren’t something we get very often. I love to bake but I don’t get the chance much. I think of how much Jesse enjoys my chocolate chip cookies and I’m suddenly feeling homesick.

  “Hey, you okay?” Danny asks softly, close to my ear.

  I nod and give him a reassuring smile. “I suppose. This is just all so . . .”

  “Crazy?”

  “Yeah, crazy is a pretty good way of puttin’ it. This feels like I’m in a dream or something and I’m wondering when I’m gonna wake up.”

  “We’re all out of our element, Abby. Just try to enjoy yourself.”

  “I know, I know.” I polish off my cookie and then stand up. “I’m heading up to my room. Got homework to do,” I tell everyone. “See y’all at supper.”

  Once I’m back in my room, I flop down onto my bed and watch several of Rio’s dance videos. I’m amazed and impressed at how good he is. I can’t believe that he gave up competing when his knee is obviously as good as new. I also notice how he moves so sensuously with his beautiful partner. Sexual tension seems to smolder as they glide across the dance floor and I have to wonder if the dark-haired beauty has something to do with his decision to retire from competition.

  After a while my eyelids start to droop. A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells me that I have time for a short nap before the afternoon rehearsal begins. I set the alarm on my cell phone just to be on the safe side. Rio was quite clear with his feelings about tardiness.

  Leaning back against the down pillows, I sigh and close my eyes. I stretch my arms and tired legs, hoping that a short rest will give me my second wind. “Set, rock, cha, cha, cha . . .” I mumble while going over the steps in my head. Step, rock, cha, cha, cha . . . Yawn. Step, rock, cha, cha, chaaaaaa . . .

  7

  Up for the Challenge

  A loud banging disturbs my delicious dream where I’m cha-cha-cha-ing across the dance floor with Rio, doing a very find Cuban motion, like it’s my business, I might add. I turn beneath his outstretched arm during an open break and perform a crossover walk-arou
nd turn with ease just like he did with the dark-haired beauty in the video. We end the dance with a flourish when Rio bends me backward, nearly touching my head to the floor. The crowd jumps to its feet, roaring approval, and then Rio lowers his head . . .

  Bang, bang, bang!

  “Go ’way,” I grumble and sink my head into the soft pillow. I wait for Rio to kiss me but I’m awake now and . . . oh, crap! I jackknife to a sitting position and look over at the clock expecting to be way late for my rehearsal but thank God I’ve only been sleeping for twenty minutes. The banging on the door happens again and while brushing the hair from my eyes and, ew, the drool from the corner of my mouth, I hurry over to see what the commotion is all about.

  After peeking through the peephole I see that it’s a young guy with a package for me. Cool. I swing the door open with a huge smile (he’s kinda cute).

  “Abilene Harper?”

  “Yes?”

  “These are for you.” He thrusts a shiny red bag at me. “You are a size . . . wow, ten, right?” He glances down at my bare feet and I curl my toes into the carpet. I’ve always been a little self-conscious about my big feet.

  “Yes,” I admit stiffly and straighten up to my full height so that he has to look up.

  “Mr. Martin said to inform you that you should wear the dancing shoes to the rehearsal.”

  “Gotcha.” When he stands there and looks at me like he’s waiting for something I say, “Oh, I’m supposed to tip you, right?”

  “No, we’re not allowed to accept tips from the contestants. Everything here is taken care of for you.”

  “Oh.” I wait for him to elaborate.

  “You’re tall.”

  “Yeah, and my feet are big.” I roll my eyes. “Anything else?”

  “Are you a model? You look a little like Heidi Klum.”

  I blink at him for a minute waiting for him to burst into a fit of laughter and it ticks me off. I’ve had to deal with jerks like him since high school. But he doesn’t laugh. Oh. He’s serious? “Th-thank you.”

  After glancing right and left down the hallway, he leans in close and says softly, “And just between you and me . . . I’ve seen the other contestants and surely you’ve got a lock on this thing.”