The Daddy Dance

by Mindy Klasky

  “Let me just come in with you….”

  Kat shook her head. Once her mother started in on straightening the studio, she’d stay all morning. Susan wasn’t the sort of woman to walk away from a project half-done. Even if she had a recuperating husband who needed her back at the house.

  “I’ll be fine, Mama. I know this place like the back of my hand. And I’m sure Rachel left everything in good shape.”

  Good shape. Right.

  The roof was leaking in the main classroom, a slow drip that had curled up the ceiling tiles and stained one wall. Kat shuddered to think about the state of the warped hardwood floor. Both toilets were running in the public restroom, and the sinks were stained from dripping faucets. Kat ran the hot water for five minutes before she gave up on getting more than an icy trickle.

  The damage wasn’t limited to the building. When Kat turned on the main computer, she heard a grinding sound, and the screen flashed blue before it died altogether. The telephone handset was sticky; a quick sniff confirmed that someone had handled it with maple syrup on their fingers.

  In short, the dance studio was an absolute and complete mess.

  Kat seethed. How could students be taking classes here? How could her parents’ hard-earned investment be ruined so quickly? What had Rachel done?

  Muttering to herself, Kat started to sift through the papers on the desk in the small, paneled office. She found a printout of an electronic spreadsheet—at least the computer had been functional back in January.

  The news on the spreadsheet, though, told a depressing story. Class sizes for the winter term had dwindled from their robust fall enrollment. Many of those payments had never been collected. Digging deeper, Kat found worse news—a dozen checks, dating back to September—had never been cashed. Search as she might, she could find no checks at all for the spring term; she couldn’t even find an enrollment list for the classes.

  Susan had been absolutely clear, every time Kat talked to her: Rachel had shaped up. Rachel had run the dance studio for the past six months, ever since Mike’s diagnosis had thrown Susan’s life into utter disarray. Rachel had lined up teachers, had taken care of the books, had kept everything functioning like clockwork.

  Rachel had lied through her teeth.

  Kat’s fingers trembled with rage as she looked around the studio. Her heart pounded, and her breath came in short gasps. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, angry tears that made her chew on her lower lip.

  And so Kat did the only thing she knew how to do. She tried to relieve her stress the only way she could. She walked across the floor of the classroom, her feet automatically turning out in a ballerina’s stance, even though she wore her hated blue boot. Resenting that handicap, she planted her good foot, setting one hand on the barre with a lifetime of familiarity.

  She closed her eyes and ran through the simplest of exercises. First position, second position, third position, fourth. She swept her free arm in a graceful arc, automatically tilting her head to an angle that maximized the long line of her neck. She repeated the motions again, three times, four. Each pass through, she felt a little of her tension drain, a little of her rage fade.

  She was almost able to take a lung-filling breath when heavy footsteps dragged her back to messy, disorganized reality. “There you are!”

  Rye stopped in the doorway, frozen into place by the vision of Kat at the barre. All of a sudden, he was catapulted back ten years in time, to the high school auditorium, to the rough stage where he had plodded through the role of Curly.

  He had caught Kat stretching out for dancing there, too, backstage one spring afternoon. She’d had her heel firmly anchored on a table, bending her willowy limbs with a grace that had made his own hulking, teenage body awaken to desire. He could see her now, only a few feet away, close enough for him to touch.

  But his interest had been instantly quenched when he’d glimpsed Kat’s face, that day so long ago. Tears had tracked down her smooth cheeks, silvering the rosy skin that was completely bare of the blush and concealer and all the other makeup crap that high school girls used. Even as he took one step closer, he had seen her flinch, caught her eyes darting toward the dressing room. He’d heard the brassy laugh of one of the senior girls, one of the cheerleaders, and he’d immediately understood that the popular kids had been teasing the young middle-school dancer. Again.

  Rye had done the only thing that made sense at the time, the one thing that he thought would make Kat forget that she was an outsider. He’d leaned forward to brush a quick fraternal kiss against her cheek.

  But somehow—even now, he couldn’t say how—he’d ended up touching his lips to hers. They’d been joined for just a heartbeat, a single, chaste connection that had jolted through him with the power of a thousand sunsets.

  Rye could still remember the awkward blush that had flamed his face. He really had meant to kiss her on the cheek. He’d swear it—on his letter jacket and his game baseball, and everything else that had mattered to him back in high school. He had no idea if he had moved wrong, or if she had, but after the kiss she had leaped away as if he’d scorched her with a blowtorch.

  Thinking back, Rye still wanted to wince. How had he screwed that up? He had three sisters. He had a lifetime of experience kissing cheeks, offering old-fashioned, brotherly support. He’d certainly never kissed one of his sisters on the lips by mistake.

  Kat’s embarrassment had only been heightened when a voice spoke up from the curtains that led to the stage. “What would Mom think, Kat? Should I go get her, so she can see what you’re really like?” They’d both looked up to see Rachel watching them. Her eyes had been narrowed, those eyes that were so like Kat’s but so very, very different. Even then, ten years ago, there hadn’t been any confusing the sisters. Only an eighth grader, Rachel hadn’t yet resorted to the dyed hair and tattoos that she sported as an adult. But she’d painted heavy black outlines around her eyes, and she wore clunky earrings and half a dozen rings on either hand. Rachel had laughed at her sister then, obviously relishing Kat’s embarrassment over that awful mistake of a kiss.

  Rachel must not have told, though. There hadn’t been any repercussions. And Rye’s fumbling obviously hadn’t made any lasting impression—Kat hadn’t even remembered his name, yesterday at the train station.

  Kat stiffened as she heard Rye’s voice. A jumble of emotions flashed through her head—guilt, because she shouldn’t be caught at the barre, not when she was supposed to be resting her injured foot. Shame, because no one should see the studio in its current state of disarray. Anger, because Rachel should never have let things get so out of hand, should never have left so much mess for Kat to clean up. And a sudden swooping sense of something else, something that she couldn’t name precisely. Something that she vaguely thought of as pleasure.

  Shoving down that last thought—one that she didn’t have time for, that she didn’t deserve—she lowered her arm and turned to face Rye. “How did you get in here?”

  “The front door was open. Maybe the latch didn’t catch when you came in?”

  Kat barked a harsh laugh. “That makes one more thing that’s broken.”

  Rye glanced around the studio, his eyes immediately taking in the ceiling leak. “That looks bad,” he said. “And the water damage isn’t new.”

  Kat grimaced. “It’s probably about six months old.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s been six months since my father got sick. My sister, Rachel, has been running this place and…she’s not the best at keeping things together.”

  Rye fought the urge to scowl when he heard Rachel’s name. Sure, the woman had her problems. But it was practically criminal to have let so much water get into a hardwood floor like this one. He barely managed not to shake his head. He’d dodged a bullet with Rachel, seeing through to he
r irresponsible self before he could be dragged down with her.

  But it wasn’t Rachel standing in front of him, looking so discouraged. It was Kat. Kat, who had come home to help out her family, giving up her own fame and success because her people needed her.

  Rye couldn’t claim to have found fame or success in Richmond. Not yet. But he certainly understood being called back home because of family. Before he was fully aware of the fact that he was speaking, he heard himself say, “I can help clean things up. Patch the roof, replace the drywall. The floor will take a bit more work, but I can probably get it all done in ten days or so.”

  Kat saw the earnestness in Rye’s black eyes, and she found herself melting just a little. Rye Harmon was coming to her rescue. Again. Just as he had at the train station the day before.

  That was silly, though. It wasn’t like she was still the starry-eyed eighth grader who had been enchanted by the baseball star in the lead role of the musical. She hardened her voice, so that she could remind herself she had no use for Eden Falls. “That sounds like a huge job! You’ll need help, and I’m obviously in no shape to get up on a ladder.” She waved a frustrated hand toward her booted foot.

  Rye scarcely acknowledged her injury. “There’s no need for you to get involved. I have plenty of debts that I can call in.”

  “Debts?”

  “Brothers. Sisters. Cousins. Half of Eden Falls calls me in from Richmond, day or night, to help them out of a bind. What’s a little leak repair, in repayment?”

  “Do any of those relatives know anything about plumbing?”

  Rye looked concerned. “What’s wrong with the plumbing?”

  For answer, Kat turned on her heel and walked toward the small restroom. The running toilets sounded louder now that she was staring at them with an eye toward repair. She nodded toward the sink. “There isn’t any hot water, either.”

  Rye whistled, long and low. “This place looks like it’s been through a war.”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Kat shrugged. “As I said, my sister’s been in charge. She’s not really a, um, detail person.”

  “How have they been holding classes here?” Rye asked. “Haven’t the students complained?”

  And that’s when the penny dropped. Students would have complained the first time they tried to wash their hands. Their parents would have been furious about the warped floor, the chance of injury.

  Kat limped to the office and picked up the maple-coated telephone handset. She punched in the studio’s number, relying on memories that had been set early in her childhood. The answering machine picked up immediately.

  “We’re sorry to inform you that, due to a family emergency, Morehouse Dance Academy will not be offering classes for the spring term. If you need help with any other matter, please leave a message, and one of our staff will contact you promptly.”

  Rachel’s voice. The vowels cut short, as if she were trying to sound mature. Official. Kat’s attention zeroed in on the nearby answering machine. “57” flashed in angry red numerals. So much for “our staff” returning messages—promptly or at all.

  Kat’s rage was like a physical thing, a towering wave that broke over her head and drenched her with an emotion so powerful that she was left shaking. If students hadn’t been able to sign up for classes, then no money could possibly come into the studio. Rachel couldn’t have made a deposit for months. But the water was still on, and the electricity. Susan must have set up the utilities for automatic payment. Even now, the studio’s bank account might be overdrawn.

  Susan was probably too stressed, too distracted, to have noticed any correspondence from the bank. Fiscal disaster might be only a pen stroke away. All because of Rachel.

  Kat’s voice shook with fury as she slammed her hand down on the desk. “I cannot believe her! How could Rachel do this? How could she ruin everything that Mama worked so hard to achieve?”

  Of course Rye didn’t answer. He didn’t even know Rachel. He couldn’t have any idea how irresponsible she was.

  Somehow, though, Rye’s silence gave Kat permission to think out loud. “I have to get this all fixed up. I can’t let my mother see the studio like this. It would break her heart. I have to get the floor fixed, and the plumbing. Get people enrolled in classes.”

  “I can do the plumbing myself,” Rye said, as calmly as if he had planned on walking into this particular viper’s nest when he strolled through the studio door. “I’ll round up the troops to take care of the leak. You can get started on the paperwork here in the office, see if you find any more problems.”

  “You make it sound so simple!”

  He laughed, the easy sound filling the little office. “I should. It’s my job.”

  She gave him a confused look. “Job?”

  “Believe it or not, I can’t make a living picking up stranded passengers at the train station every day. I’m a building contractor—renovations, installations, all of that.”

  That’s right. He’d said something as he handed her the roller bag yesterday, something about Harmon Contracting. Rye was a guy who made the world neater, one job at a time. A guy who made his living with projects like hers. “But didn’t Lisa say you were living up in Richmond now?”

  A quick frown darted across his face, gone before she was certain she had seen it. “I moved there a month ago. But I’ve been back in town every weekend. A few more days around here won’t hurt me.”

  What was he saying? Why was he volunteering to spend more time in Eden Falls?

  Kat wasn’t even family. He didn’t owe her a thing. What the hell was he thinking, taking on a job like this? More hours going back and forth on I-95. More time behind the wheel of his truck. More time away from the business that he really needed to nurture, from the promise he’d made to himself.

  This was Marissa, all over again—a woman, tying him down, making him trade in his own dreams for hers. This was the same rotten truth he’d lived, over and over and over, the same reflexive way that he had set his dreams aside, just because he had the skills to help someone else. Just because he could.

  But one look at the relief on Kat’s face, and Rye knew he’d said the right thing.

  And Harmon Contracting wasn’t exactly taking Richmond by storm. He didn’t need to be up the road, full-time, every day. And it sure looked like Kat needed him here, now.

  She shook her head, and he wasn’t sure if the disbelief in her next words was because of the generosity of his offer, or the scale of the disaster she was still taking in, in the studio. “I don’t even know how I’ll pay you. I can’t let my mother find out about this.”

  “We’ll work out something,” Rye said. “Maybe some of my cousins can take a ballet class or two.”

  Kat just stared. Rye sounded like he rescued maidens in distress every day. Well, he had yesterday, hadn’t he? “Just like that? Don’t we need to write up a contract or something?”

  Rye raised a mahogany eyebrow. “If you don’t trust me to finish the job, we can definitely put something in writing.”

  “No!” She surprised herself by the vehemence she forced into the word. “I thought that you wouldn’t trust me.”

  “That wouldn’t be very neighborly of me, would it?” She fumbled for a reply, but he laughed. “Relax. You’re back in Eden Falls. We pretty much do things on a handshake around here. If either one of us backs out of the deal, the entire town will know by sunset.” He lowered his voice to a growl, putting on a hefty country twang. “If that happens, you’ll never do business in this town again.”

  Kat surprised herself by laughing. “That’s the voice you used when you played Curly!”

  “Ha!” Rye barked. “You did recognize me!”

  Rye watched embarrassment paint Kat’s cheeks. She was beautiful when she blushed. The color took
away all the hard lines of her face, relaxed the tension around her eyes.

  “I —” she started to say, fumbling for words. He cocked an eyebrow, determined not to make things easier for her. “You —” she started again. She stared at her hands, at her fingers twisting around each other, as if she were weaving invisible cloth.

  “You thought it would be cruel to remind me how clumsy I was on stage, in Oklahoma. That was mighty considerate of you.”

  “No!”

  There. Her gaze shot up, as if she had something to prove. Another blush washed over her face. This time, the color spread across her collarbones, the tender pink heating the edges of that crisp black top she wore. He had a sudden image of the way her skin would feel against his lips, the heat that would shimmer off her as he tasted….

  “No,” she repeated, as if she could read his mind. Now it was his turn to feel the spark of embarrassment. He most definitely did not want Kat Morehouse reading his mind just then. “You weren’t clumsy. That dance scene would have been a challenge for anyone.”

  “Except for you.” He said the words softly, purposely pitching his voice so that she had to take a step closer to hear.

  Her lips twisted into a frown. “Except for me,” she agreed reluctantly. “But I wasn’t a normal kid. I mean, I already knew I was going to be a dancer. I’d known since I was five. I was a freak.”

  Before he could think of how she would react, he raised a hand to her face, brushing back an escaped lock of her coal-black hair. “You weren’t a freak. You were never a freak.”

  Her belly tightened as she felt the wiry hairs on the back of his fingers, rough against her cheek. She caught her breath, freezing like a doe startled on the edge of a clearing. Stop it, she told herself. He doesn’t mean anything by it. You’re a mess after one morning spent in this disaster zone, and he’s just trying to help you out. Like a neighbor should.