Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues (10 page)

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-around 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.”

If he hadn’t just refused a tip I would have thought he was playing me. “You think so?” I whisper back.

He nods and gives me a wink. “By the way, your feet are cute.”

I glance down at my feet and then back at him, still not convinced that he isn’t making fun of me.

“Good luck. I’m pulling for you.”

“Thanks,” I tell him with a smile and close the door. Heidi Klum? I look over at myself in the mirror and see . . .
me
, bed-head and sleep-rumpled. Still, I feel flattered. I’m smiling until I pull the shoes out of the box. “I’m supposed to dance in these?” I dangle them from my fingertips and look at the cream-colored, high-heeled shoes in horror. “I won’t even be able to walk, much less dance!” There must be some mistake, but then I remember the shoes the dark-haired dancer wore in the video with Rio and I realize that these are indeed dancing shoes.

I examine them for a moment. They’re lightweight and supple—I can see how they might be good for dancing. The heels are fairly high but sturdy and there is an ankle strap as well. Turning them over I run my fingers over the soft leather that’s sort of fuzzy instead of slick. “Makes sense. Maybe I can pull this off.” It’s just that because of my height I’ve always avoided high-heeled shoes, so I’m worried about falling over or twisting an ankle. “Well, if Rio says I have to wear them I might as well break them in.” I slip them on and buckle the ankle strap. Sitting on the bed I stretch my legs out and admire the prettiness of them before taking a deep breath and then standing up.

“Not so bad,” I whisper and decide to parade around the room. Of course I wobble, not to mention that I feel like the Jolly Green Giant! The heels are a good three inches, putting me over six feet tall. I walk in circles, barely getting my balance, when the hotel phone rings, making me just about jump out of my skin. I teeter over to the nightstand. “Hello?”

“Abby, it’s Rio. Did you get the shoes?” The low, sexy sound of his voice makes me feel all fluttery. “Abby?”

“Oh . . . yes, I got them.”

“Do they fit?”

“Like a glove.”

“Good. Wear them to practice but nowhere else, okay? They’re strictly for dancing.”

“Gotcha.” Lord, like I’d wear these things anywhere else.

“Oh, and wear shorts or a skirt instead of those bulky pants you wore this morning. They’ll be easier to move in.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“No, I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes! I glance over at my pile of stuff in horror. “Okay, if I were shorts just where would I be?” Of course the last duffel bag that I look into is where I find a couple of pairs. I didn’t really think to pack summer clothes since it’s February, so a pair of cutoff jeans is the best I can do.

So off I go in my Daisy Dukes, white T-shirt, and dancing shoes. What a redneck picture I’m painting, I think as I try to hurry down the hallway. It’s not until I’m in the doorway of the rehearsal room that I remember that I shouldn’t be wearing the danged shoes. I spot Rio at the other end of the room sorting through CDs and I’m thinking that I can slip the shoes off before getting caught, but of course he looks up and sees me. I give him a weak little wave of my fingers and try not to look guilty. As luck would have it, bad luck, that is, the first thing he does is look down at my feet.

“You’re wearing the shoes. I told you that they’re strictly for dancing.”

Think fast.
“Well, I danced all the way here . . . the cha-cha, of course. I even did the Cuban hip thing.”

He looks at me to see if I’m kidding or serious and I try to keep a deadpan expression so he can’t figure it out. I’m good at deadpan . . . learned how in high school so that no one knew when my feelings were hurt. I wore a deadpan expression a lot.

“Interesting that you didn’t even break a sweat dancing all the way from the other end of the lodge.”

“I’m in pretty good shape.”

His telltale eyebrow goes up and he doesn’t even try to stop it. “Really? We’ll see about that.”

I look at him closely to see if he’s teasing. Nope, I think not. “I’m up for the challenge,” I bravely boast with a lift of my chin but then wobble a bit, ruining the effect.

“Very well,” Rio says while he walks into the center of the room. He motions for me to join him. “So, show me this hip motion you’re so proud of.”

“I didn’t exactly say I was proud of it . . .” I warn him.

Folding his hands across his chest, he says, “Show me.”

I give my hips a tentative little wiggle.

“Surely, you jest.”

I’m pretty sure that jest means joke. “All righty, then.” I do another Cuban hip motion and this time I put some serious sway in it. He has the nerve to snicker. I narrow my eyes and—

“Stop!”

“Excuse me?”

“You look ridiculous.”

“These were the only shorts I could find.”

“Not that. I can deal with the shorts. It’s your hip motion that . . .”

“Sucks?”

“I was going to say
needs work.
” His lips twitch and for a moment I think he might actually smile but then he catches himself and gives me his scowl that somehow manages to be sexy. Everything the man does is sexy.

I purse my lips. “Well then,
show me
, Mr. Fancy Pants.” I put my hands on my hips and tap one foot. Oh . . . I suppose I should drop the attitude. What is it about this guy that brings out the bitch in me?

“Ah, good.” He takes me completely off guard with a grin.

“What?”

“You’re giving me some spunk, some emotion. That’s what we need for this dance. Cheeky is good, Abby.”

“Cheeky?” I twist my head and look down at my tush. Nope, my cheeks are covered . . . barely, but they
are
covered. “Right,” I say with a little head bop like I knew what I was doing all along.

He smiles like he’s on to me.

“Okay, I
give.
What is
cheeky
, exactly?”

“Mischievous, flirty. A bit of an attitude.”

“Oh, sure, good. That’s what I was goin’ for. Cheeky.”

“Excellent. You’ve done your homework. Keep it up. Let’s get some music going.” Rio heads over to a boom box and turns on some Latin music that has the distinct cha-cha-cha rhythm. He comes back to stand very close to me . . . so close that I catch a whiff of his cologne, and as always my heart does a little pitter-patter. “Okay, Abby. Move your feet apart and settle into your hips.”

I don’t really know what this means but I move my hips a bit like I’m settling or whatever.

“Now bend your right knee and then straighten up.”

I do this and he nods. “Okay, do the other hip but more like this.”

After he demonstrates I try to imitate his sultry movements but I teeter in the danged shoes.

“Again. Relax a bit. You’re much too stiff.”

“Okay.” I bend and straighten but he shakes his head.

“Let me help. ” With a sigh Rio places his hands on either side of my hips. “Step right,” he tells me and guides my movements with his hands. I’m trying to concentrate,
really
, but he’s so close! His fingers are curved around to my ass and his hips are moving in a very suggestive way with me getting me, well, all fired up and flustered.

“Abby, concentrate!”

“I’m tryin’!”

“Just do what I’m doing. It’s simple.”

“Easy for you to say,” I grumble but he ignores me.

“Step, rock. Feel the music. Come, close your eyes and let your hips sway.” His accent is getting thicker, so I know that I’m frustrating him. Well, he’s frustrating me too . . . just in a very different way. “Are you feeling it?”

“Oh . . . yeah,” I admit and I’m a bit embarrassed when my voice is breathless.

“Step, rock,” he says close to my ear, making a tingle go all the way to my dancing shoes. “Other foot, step, rock. That’s it.
Good
. Yes, much better.”

“Really?” I open my eyes but then ruin the moment when I wobble and lose my balance. He catches me firmly around the waist and keeps me from twisting an ankle. “Sorry, it’s the shoes.”

He gives me a deadpan
yeah, right
look but says, “You’ll get used to them. Now close your eyes again, Abby, and just let your body move with the music. Feel the rhythm.”

I try to forget that a handsome, sexy male is standing so very close and force myself to concentrate on the music. It’s difficult but after a few minutes my dancing becomes more in sync with the beat and I begin to feel more at ease. My body relaxes and my movements become more fluid. I’m not sure how long we do this, but it feels good and I
like
it.

“Okay, much, much better, Abby!”

I give him a shy smile. “Really?” Until now I hadn’t realized how much I wanted to please him.

“Yes, now let’s get into the closed position and put the hip motion with the basic steps that we learned earlier.”

“Can I open my eyes, Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

He chuckles so I guess he gets the joke, or then again maybe he just thinks I’m a little off center. “Yes. Now let me count into the beat. Okay . . . step, rock, cha, cha, cha. Just follow my lead and let the music take over.”

I stumble at first and groan. “Sorry, Rio. I’m such a klutz.”

“After a few days of doing the same steps and the same sequence over and over you will have what we call muscle memory. It will be almost impossible to mess up.”

“Oh, then you don’t know me that well.”

“No, not yet.” He chuckles, low and oh so sexy, in my ear and of course I miss a beat.

“Time for a break,” he abruptly announces and it might be my imagination but I think I hear a bit of huskiness in his voice as well. Is my nearness affecting him just a tiny bit?

I dance my way over to the water bottles as a joke but when I turn around to see if Rio’s entertained, my heart kicks it up a notch. I do think that he was checking out my jean-clad ass.

“You have legs meant for dancing.”

“I—I do?” I swallow hard.

He nods and gives my legs a once-over, but I’m disappointed when I suddenly feel like less of a woman in his eyes and more of a dancing machine. I realize that his interest is purely from a teacher’s point of view and not male appreciation.

“What?” He frowns at me. “You’re looking at me as if I’ve insulted you.”

“Oh, no . . . not at all,” I fib with a wave of my hand. I’m good at lying about my feelings. “I’m just surprised. Of course these long legs excited the high school basketball coach, but he was sorely disappointed in my performance and cut me.”

“I have more faith in you than that.”

“Well, as it is you’re stuck with me.”

He smiles and my heart turns over. “Not such a bad thing, Abby Harper. Give yourself some credit.”

My throat closes up with unexpected emotion and I turn away and take a swig of water to hide it.

“Did I say something wrong?” He comes up close behind me and I turn around, hoping that I’ll maintain my composure. Not trusting my voice, I simply shake my head. “Tell me, Abby.”

I inhale a shaky breath and set my water bottle down. “What am I doin’ here, Rio? I’m just a small-town waitress . . .” I’m mortified when a tear slides from the corner of my eye and down my cheek.

With a shake of his head as if to clear it he mutters,
“El bebé no llora.”