Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues

by MCLANE, LUANN

  I wrinkle my nose at myself in the mirror. No, he won’t know what go with the flow means, and leave out the dorky smile. This is serious stuff. Clearing my throat I begin rehearsing the end of my speech again. “Let’s let the chips fall where they may.” Grrr. He probably won’t know what that means either. “Let’s throw caution to the wind,” I venture with a dramatic wave of my hand. “Oh, that sucked!” And sounded way too risky. I’m so bad at this. So very bad.

  Licking my lips, I flip my ponytail over my shoulder and open my mouth to start again but I’m beginning to have my doubts that this is a wise thing to do. Then again, I went to sleep with Rio on my mind and woke up the same danged way, so how could giving in to my feelings for him make things worse? I think this resistance thing is just way too hard. I mean, why fight it? It occurs to me that I should ask him just who hurt him in the past to make him so cautious but I simply don’t have the nerve. Some chick must have done a number on him.

  With a sigh I decide to give it one more shot. “Rio, I know that we decided to resist this growing attraction between us and I fully understand the reasons why, but the fact is that I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve never felt this way before. You’ll only be here for a few weeks and I don’t want you to leave Misty Creek without giving our relationship a chance. I do believe that I would regret that for the rest of my life.”

  There. I nod my head at myself. The end might have been a little heavy on the drama but it’s the truth. If I don’t tell Rio Martin how I feel I will regret it. With the sudden passing of my daddy I truly know how fragile life can be and there should be no regrets. The saying “nothing ventured, nothing gained” comes to mind and I think it’s about time that I start venturing.

  “Oh no!” The red digital numbers on the bedside alarm clock tell me that breakfast is almost over. Knowing that Rio will be working me harder than ever, I grab my bag with my dancing shoes and extra towels to mop my sweat that is sure to come and hurry out the door. Sure enough, they’re closing down breakfast but I manage to snag a chocolate doughnut and a bottle of apple juice. I wanted orange juice but it’s all gone.

  While chewing on bites of doughnut and sipping the sweet juice I all but sprint down the hallway not really tasting my breakfast because I’m rehearsing my little speech in my head instead of thinking about eating. Not an easy task. When I reach the rehearsal room door, though, I get skittish, causing the doughnut to do swan dives into the puddle of apple juice sloshing in my tummy. I put a hand to my stomach in an effort to stop the flipping and flopping and then take a deep breath. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” I remind myself and armed with that thought I push open the heavy door.

  “Rio, I know we decided . . .” I begin but my perfect little speech dies on my lips when I see Rio talking in rather loud and rapid Spanish to the dark-haired woman from the dance videos. Their conversation is so intense and heated that they don’t even notice me.

  She’s beautiful . . . dark and exotic, petite and curvy—everything I’m not. Her cleavage is all but spilling out of her low-cut top, a deep ruby red that matches her pouting lips.

  My heart of course plummets like a sky diver whose parachute fails to open, and it feels as if it lands with a dull thud somewhere near my toes. With a long sigh I mentally rip my speech to itty-bitty pieces and imagine it falling to the ground like confetti. For a moment I simply stand there wondering if I could slowly back up without being noticed. I used to be pretty good at that as a teenager but I’m a little rusty.

  I’m contemplating doing just that but when the dark-haired woman places a small hand on Rio’s bare chest where his shirt gapes open and looks up at him with doe-like pleading eyes I’ve officially had enough. I clear my throat to get their attention but it sounds a little gurgled so I clear it again, more forcefully this time, and they simultaneously swivel their dark heads in my direction.

  “Abby . . .” Rio begins, his eyes stormy, but the pouting little siren interrupts him.

  “Ahhh,” she says, placing her hands on her rounded hips, “so this is the little redneck waitress that you were talking about.” Her voice is heavily accented with lots of long es and dripping with . . . venom or something equally not nice.

  “Angelina . . .” Rio warns in a frustrated low voice but she ignores him and gives me an amused grin like she knows some joke that I’m not in on. I don’t like that feeling and I have to wonder just what Rio said about me.

  I’m feeling like a dorky country bumpkin in my jean shorts and T-shirt, but luckily my southern manners kick in and I stick out my hand. “Hello, I’m Abby Harper.” I do my best to sound friendly but it’s not easy.

  “Oh,” Rio says, “forgive me. Abby, this is Angelina Perez. She will be taking the place of Anna, Danny’s partner, who had to leave due to a family emergency.”

  I swallow, wondering if this is good news or not. On one hand, Angelina is here on business, not to see Rio. Good. On the other hand, not only is she here to stay, but she’s also Danny’s partner. Poor Danny. Bad.

  Angelina gives me a quick dead-fish handshake, confirming my suspicion that she can’t be trusted. My daddy always said that a firm handshake is an indication of good character. Not that I like to prejudge people or anything but she’s giving me some bad vibes.

  “Rio,” Angelina says, dismissing me and turning her full attention to him with her pout back in place, “we need to talk.”

  “Our rehearsal time is tickin’ away, Rio.” I tap my watch, drawing a glare from Angelina, who certainly isn’t angelic even though the morning sunlight is beaming in the big picture window, casting a weird halolike glow over her head. This almost makes me giggle, so I cough instead to mask the impulse. I tend to giggle at odd times like when I get nervous, and, unfortunately, more often than not it’s not appropriate.

  “You can just wait a few minutes,” Angelina informs me and I would have given her a little static but I suddenly notice something. She’s kinda old. Not like really old, but in the glare of the sunlight I can see fine lines, making me guess that she’s maybe early thirties. I remember reading in Rio’s bio that he’s twenty-seven. Yes, she’s definitely got him by a few years. Interesting.

  “Angelina, Abby’s right. We need to rehearse.”

  I give her a there, now hit the door look.

  “Just a minute of your time, Rio,” she pleads, once again placing her hand on his chest.

  I have this almost uncontrollable urge to get in her face and say, “Don’t you go messin’ with my man.” But then I remember that Rio isn’t my man. Hey, but he is my dance partner and I give Rio a look that says so.

  “Angelina, esto tendrá que esperar.”

  At that she narrows her dark eyes at him. Then she trails her hand down his chest in a suggestive way that makes me want to growl the don’t-go-messin’-with-my-man thing again. But just when I think I might do that except say partner instead of man, she flips her hair over her shoulder, pivots on her high heels, and wiggles her hips out the door.

  For an awkward moment there’s silence.

  “So, she was your dance partner.” My voice is a little clipped but I can’t help it.

  Rio nods. “Yes.”

  “And she dumped you when you hurt your knee.”

  “That’s old news, Abby. Let’s get to work.”

  I nod and sit down on the bench to strap on my shoes. Rio remains quiet as he gives his attention to his notes. At first I think that I should just let it go and concentrate on the dancing but I just can’t. “So, are you still in love with her?” I say this in a conversational tone even though my heart is beating wildly. I know it’s rude of me to ask such a personal question but if I’m not going to let it go, then why beat around the bush?

  Rio’s head snaps up. At first I think he’s going to tell me to mind my own business and I suppose he would be right, but he surprises me by slowly walking over and sitting down on the bench next to me.

  “I’m sorry for being so nosy,” I tell him.
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  Rio looks at my nose with a frown but then he must catch my meaning because he says, “I don’t mind telling you. Angelina was a dance instructor at my family’s studio in Mexico City. She and I became dance partners when I was eighteen. She was twenty-five at the time . . . beautiful, sensual, a woman when I was used to giggling girls . . . and I immediately fell for her. We became world-class dancers, winning some major ballroom dance competitions. I was wild about her and we eventually became lovers.”

  When he goes silent I slide a glance at his face. His dark eyes are stormy once again and a muscle is ticking in his jaw.

  “She hurt you, didn’t she?”

  Rio turns his head to look at me. “I was young and stupid.”

  “Bull. You weren’t stupid. You were young and in love.” I say this so hotly that he grins. “So what happened?”

  “You’re right. She dumped me when I blew out my knee.”

  “That bitch!” I sputter and then clamp a hand over my mouth.

  Rio chuckles but then gives me a look that makes my heart kick into high gear. “Not something you would ever do, is it?” He says this like a statement rather than a question and gives me a look I can’t quite figure out.

  Not on your life, I think but I don’t say it because I don’t want it to seem like I’m trying to score points. “So, she broke your heart?” That stupid bitch, I think again but refrain from voicing my opinion out loud. I would have been bringing him breakfast in bed and giving him back rubs and stuff.

  Rio shrugs and then leans back against the wall. “I thought so at the time. I brooded and drank lots of tequila.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Ew, that stuff is rank.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Ah, then you haven’t had the good stuff.”

  “Guess I haven’t,” I answer and something suddenly hangs in the air between us like we aren’t really talking about booze.

  Rio’s gaze drops to my mouth and for a heart-stopping moment I think he might kiss me. He even leans slightly in my direction but then straightens and says, “As it turns out it was for the best. My father fell into ill health and I had to take over running the studio.”

  “So, you got over her?”

  “Yes.” Rio nods. “It turns out that my father had been ill and in my damned self-indulgence I didn’t realize how serious it was. We were in danger of losing the studio and my father, so I took over and threw myself into saving them both.”

  I think of my own father’s death and I put a hand on Rio’s thigh. “And did you?”

  “My father is a fighter,” he says with pride. “After open heart surgery he regained his health, thank goodness.” But then he shakes his head. “Had I been around to help instead of wallowing in my misery perhaps it wouldn’t have come to that.”

  “I understand where you’re comin’ from. I never thought my big strong daddy would up and die, so I guess I took him for granted. And my mama? She worked her tail off makin’ ends meet for me and Jesse. Until recently when Mitchell Banks was flirtin’ with her I didn’t realize how much she gave up when Daddy died. Don’t beat yourself up about it, Rio. We were kids. We didn’t understand.”

  He gives me a warm smile. “Thanks. You have, as you say . . . a good head on your shoulders. But I bet you were always there to lend your mother a hand working those double shifts and helping raise your little brother, right, Abby?”

  Looking at the floor, I shrug.

  “Just what did you give up, Abby Harper? What are your dreams?”

  “M-my dreams?”

  He tucks a finger beneath my chin, tilting my head up to look at him. “Yes. You want college for your brother. The diner renovated for your mother. Tell me, what do you want?”

  I want you, I think but I don’t say it.

  There is this one thing but I’ve never told anyone, so I say instead, “A new pickup with all the trimmings would be danged sweet.”

  He gives me a level look. “Okay, so you want a truck. But what are your dreams, Abby?”

  I look into his brown eyes that seem so sincere and caring and confess, “Well . . . I’ve always loved helping Mama bake her pies.”

  He raises his eyebrows like he thinks that’s interesting . . . or maybe weird. “Go on.”

  I nibble on my lip for a second and then admit, “Um, there’s this school, Sullivan University, in Louisville, Kentucky, where you can study culinary arts and baking.” I feel my face grow hot but I continue. “See, I always wanted to learn how to bake fancy cakes, cookies, and pastries. I have a weakness for chocolate chip cookies.”

  “So, do you bake a lot?”

  “I’ve fiddled around some in the kitchen, only after everyone else was gone, mind you, but there’s never much time. See, we have a dead period after lunch and I thought that if we had fancy cakes and such and got one of those cappuccino machines we could draw in some of the late shoppers for dessert and coffee.” He’s not laughing yet, so I continue. “Maybe add some music? Tourists could drop in and relax, you know?” When he nods I get excited. “Coffeehouses are so popular and both would be good take-out items, too.” But then I shake my head. “Silly . . . I know.”

  “No, it’s not silly at all. Abby, did you ever approach your mother about this?”

  I swallow hard. “No. She has enough on her mind. Plus, if I go off to school, who would help her? She needs me, Rio. And . . . and where would the money come from? Jesse is the smart one. He deserves to go to school, not me.”

  He gives me a slow smile. “I think fifty grand might help. Let’s get to work, my little future baker. We have the jive to learn.”

  “The one Danny did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do I get to wear a poodle skirt?”

  “That’s not my department but I’m guessing yes.”

  “How fun! Oh, but that dance is fast.”

  “Yes, it is,” he says, pushing up to his feet. “In fact, it is the fastest of the Latin dances with lots of kicks and twirling of the woman,” he says, circling his index finger in the air.

  I groan but he ignores my distress. What if I twirl into the crowd like Mary Lou Laker?

  “It will look like our feet are all over the place in every direction but the dance is actually very controlled. The feet should be under the body and the knees should always be close together.”

  “Okay . . .” I’m trying to picture doing this and I have to warn him, “But my big feet aren’t easily controlled.”

  “That’s about to change. We’ll be doing the flick, ball change a lot.” At my confused look, something he’s getting used to, he demonstrates, standing on one foot and kicking down at the same time. Holy cow. “Keep in mind that your toes are always pointed to the ground when kicking.”

  “Sure,” I say with a nod knowing full well that I’ll forget until I do this a million times and the thank-the-Lord muscle memory thing starts taking over. God had his thinking cap on when he put that little memory chip in our brains.

  Rio tugs me to my feet but before we begin I have to ask, “Rio, the studio. Did you save it for your daddy?”

  He hesitates as if this question sort of stumps him and then answers, “You could say that.”

  “Good for you. I know how you feel. I would hate to have my mama lose the diner.”

  “We have that in common, then.”

  I’m thinking that Rio and I have more in common than I once thought. At first he had seemed so sophisticated and out of my league, but now I feel yet another connection and it gives me hope. It’s good to know that we aren’t such worlds apart after all. Although I’m not totally convinced that he’s still not hung up on that Angelina chickie, I feel like there’s a chance for us. Now all I have to do is get past this silly resistance thing he insisted on. But first thing’s first: I have to learn the jive.

  13

  A Force to Be Reckoned With

  Just when I think I’ve reached the pinnacle of how nervous I can possibly get I’m put into a situation that’s worse th
an the previous one. Like now, here I am standing beneath the lights and cameras mangling Rio’s hand once again while we wait to see the first two couples to get the heave-ho. Given our high scores I think we’re safe but then again this is not only a reality show, but also a reality show spoof, so I’m thinking that anything can and will happen just like Mitchell Banks and Rio warned. As it is they’re doing all of the rotten things from reality shows combined . . . putting us in so-called bottom three and all that nonsense. Twice now Rio and I have been made to think we’re goners. While I realize that Comedy Corner is going over the top with this for the laughs it’s still just as hard on us as any other reality show. We all could use the money and we all want to win. Not to mention that although not every contestant is what you’d call my friend, they’re all good people. I’d even feel a little bad if Julia got the boot.

  The dance hall is packed and I can see Jesse and Mama looking as nervous as I feel. No, I take that back. No one could look as nervous as I feel without being a quivering puddle on the floor. My knees are so weak that I’m standing here with them locked and I know that that’s a sure-fire way to find yourself passing out. It happened just like that to Mary Lou Laker during the rehearsal, bless her heart. But it’s either locking my knees or flapping like a flag on a windy day, so my knees are locked.

  If that isn’t bad enough, on a giant screen behind us are interviews with Misty Creek residents who were obviously extremely eager to get on TV. Now, you’d think that Comedy Corner would have asked our friends and family . . . but oh no, they decided on interviewing random people from our places of work, teachers, and so forth. You get the idea . . . people you don’t really remember and who barely remember you. Now, just whodaya think they interview about me? You guessed it. Crusty old Pete Jenkins. Yep, there he is up there on the big screen in his grease-stained apron having a smoke out in back of the diner. When a microphone is thrust in his face he’s more than happy to flap his jaws.