Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues (14 page)

“Lordy, I feel like a rock star or one of them
American Idol
people,” Mary Lou says and then giggles.

I have to admit that it’s enough to make a person feel special.

“Hey, look at this,” Travis Tucker says and pushes a button to open the sliding sunroof. “Ain’t that sweet?”

Betty Cook, the lunch lady who served me gummy macaroni and cheese and various versions of casserole surprise, suddenly stands up, pokes her head out the roof, and begins to wave to the crowd. She’s rewarded with cheers and whistles. With a little squeal, Daisy Potter joins Betty and they proceed to throw kisses and wave like they’re Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie when they were still friends.

The Bluegrass Dance Hall is on the opposite end of town, a big barnlike structure that’s mostly used for square dancing, clogging, and country line dancing on Saturday nights. Ballroom dancing here, I’m sure, is a first.

When we arrive cameramen are waiting to film our each and every move, but we’re all getting so used to this that we barely pay them any mind. We’re all chatting and laughing in an excited but nervous kind of way. Danny, who was riding in the other limo, heads in my direction but is sidetracked by Julia. Oddly enough, I’m relieved.

And then I’m annoyed. I’ve been waiting all my life for Danny to be interested in me and then Rio comes along, a guy who will be in and out of my life in just a few weeks, and he’s all I can think about. Danny is a hometown boy, a hard worker and successful in his own right. He is the kind of guy I need to be setting my sights on. Not a Spanish-speaking, world-class ballroom dancer who makes me melt but is way out of my league.

I need to do more than
resist
Rio Martin. I need to not think of him in that way at all. I’m only setting myself up for a fall if I do. So from here on in I’m really going to start thinking of Rio as my dance instructor and nothing more.
There
, I feel better already.

“Hello, Abby,” says a deep, smoky voice laced with a doggone Spanish accent that can only belong to one person.

My traitorous heart begins beating triple time but I carefully school my features into a nonchalant smile and turn around to face Rio. “Good mornin’.” I incline my head politely. He gives me an equally bland smile and a crisp all-business nod. Good. We’re still on the same page. Perhaps this won’t be so hard after all. I just won’t think about how hot he looks in tight black pants and an ice blue formfitting shirt or how sexy his long hair is pulled back in a short ponytail. Where I come from guys don’t do this, but on Rio it works . . .
not
that I’m noticing or anything. I’m certainly not going to think about how his inky black hair feels sifting though my fingers. Nope, not me. Shaking my head as I follow him inside I ask, “Did you get here early?”

He nods. “Yes. I wanted to get a feel for the layout of the dance floor. We’ll all get turns rehearsing and I’m happy to say that we’re first. Are you ready?”

“I was born ready.”

Rio chuckles at my comment and flashes me a grin that makes it so darned hard to remain aloof. Note to self: no more jokes. His broody bad-boy scowl is hard enough to resist but his laughter lights up his face and warms my fast-beating heart. But there’s a hint of sadness about Rio that has me wanting to make him smile in spite of my resolve to resist my growing attraction to him. There’s so much more that I want to know about him but then I remind myself to concentrate on the competition that’s important to my family.

As I pass by him into the dance hall he says, “Are you okay? You look so . . .
serious.
”

“Got my game face on.”

He frowns like he doesn’t understand and then I realize that he probably doesn’t.

“I’m concentratin’ on the task at hand, Rio. That’s the plan, right?”

“Ye’re danged tootin’,” he says, making my head whip around. When I raise my eyebrows he explains, “Heard that big truck driver use that phrase a couple of times. Seemed like an appropriate time to use it. You know, when in Rome . . .”

I roll my eyes but have trouble not smiling. “Um, you’ll have to work on that accent to be convincin’.”

“Ye’re danged tootin’,” he repeats, attempting to sound southern but ending up sounding like a Spanish John Wayne.

I have to laugh, which is a mistake because when Rio joins me my resistance starts to dissolve as quickly as a sand castle slapped by a big wave. I’m thinking that I don’t have a lot of willpower when it comes to chocolate chip cookies or Rio Martin. In fact, he looks good enough to just gobble right up and I’m sure I’m gazing at him like I want to do just that, but resist I must. That’s the plan. Clearing my throat I say, “Okay, well, let’s get this show on the road.”

“Pardon?”

“Let’s get this party started.”

He shakes his head. “Party?”

“Let’s
dance
, Rio.”

He grins. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

I return his smile, glad that I’m able to keep things lighthearted and upbeat. We go through a series of stretches and warm-ups when Rio turns on the music. Finally after he decides we’re limber enough we settle into the closed position with my hand resting lightly on his arm, and I suddenly understand the meaning of sexual tension. The brush of his fingertips down my back raises goose bumps on my skin, making me wish I had worn something more substantial than this thin cotton T-shirt. I try to concentrate on the sequence of the dance steps and to ignore the hum of desire that being in his arms creates, but the beat of the music, the Cuban motion of our hips sends a sensual message that my body will not deny. My heart beats faster and faster while my breathing becomes quick and shallow. I follow Rio’s lead, feeling the rhythm and dancing the routine without even thinking about the steps.

“That’s good, Abby. You’re improving by leaps and bounds.”

“Thanks.” I hope he thinks my breathlessness is from the exertion.

“We want to dance closer to the judges if possible. I’ll have to adjust where we begin the dance.” He points to a long table set up where there are usually high tables with bar stools. The huge dance hall is rustic, with a western flair, and I’m guessing they will leave it this way to contrast the elegant dancing with the hoedown atmosphere. Lighting is being set as we speak and I notice for the first time that a camera has been filming us.

“Ignore the media,” Rio says, noticing my gaze. “You can’t allow yourself to be distracted by the cameras or the crowd.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“But at the same time we must play up to them.”

“Okay.” I nod but I’m a little confused. How can I play up to them and ignore them at the same time? “Shouldn’t I just concentrate on the dance?”

Rio shakes his head. “I wish that were the case. But this is a reality show, Abby. The most popular couple will win. Unfortunately, we can be the best dancers and still come up short, so we have to play both angles. Am I making sense?”

“Yes,” I answer slowly but I can’t suppress a little nervous quiver in my voice. “People watch Comedy Corner to laugh so they might vote for the funniest couple, right?”

“Exactly. We don’t have any control over that.”

“That won’t be our angle, will it?”

“Funniest?” Rio chuckles. “Do I look like a funny guy?”

“Uh . . . no.”

“Exactly. I couldn’t pull that off if my life depended on it. But we can entertain. I’ve won enough competitions to know how to work the audience and the judges.”

“Yes, but I haven’t. Rio, I don’t have a
clue
as to how to do this.”

“Remember the chase of the cha-cha. Show some of that cheeky personality. Woo the judges and wow the crowd.”

“You really think I can do that?”

He takes a step closer. “I
know
you can.”

But then he gives me an intense look that has me asking, “Oh boy, there’s something more, isn’t there?”

Rio nods but remains silent as if what he has to say is going to make me uncomfortable.

I sigh. “It’s okay. Lay it on me.”

“Lay it on you?” He frowns and seems to mull this over.

“Spit it
out
, Rio.”

“Spit
what
out?” He runs his tongue over his teeth as if he’s afraid he’s got some food stuck there.

“Mercy me. Just tell me straight up, will you? I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

He throws his hands up in the air.
“¡Para la consideración de Dios, habla inglés!”

“Speak
English
, Rio.”

“That’s what I just told
you
to do.”

“I’m speakin’ English!”

“But I’m hearing you in Spanish and the literal translation of your redneck lingo isn’t making sense.”

I narrow my eyes and thin my lips. “Did you just call me a redneck?”

“Is there a problem with that? I mean, you
are
a redneck, right?” He gives me another confused look.

“Yes, I
am
,” I tell him and add a little head bop but I’m suddenly wondering why the hell I’m getting all fired up. I think it has something to do with suppressing the need to kiss him senseless. Still, I take a step closer and try to look all big and bad like when I try to intimidate Jesse even though it never works. I don’t think it’s working now, either. Suddenly remembering my train of thought that was sidetracked by Rio’s too sexy self, I add, “And I’m proud of it.” I feel the need to jam my thumb toward my chest for emphasis.

“And I’m proud to be Mexican. Just where are you going with this, Abby?” His voice is a low, exasperated growl and Lord help me, I want to kiss the man.

“I—I don’t rightly . . .
know.
” My own voice is barely above a whisper and I can’t help but stare at his mouth that is so very close to mine. “I guess I’m a bit confused and feeling . . . um, frustrated.”

After glancing over at the cameras Rio takes my hand. “Come with me.”

Like he’d have to ask twice. Weaving past the tables and bar stools, I let him lead me out the side door away from the prying eyes of the media and camera crew. Once outside I take a deep breath of cool morning air and give Rio my attention. “Okay, spill.”

“Spill?” He rolls his eyes. “I’m guessing that translates to tell you what I mean.”

“Yes.” I sigh. “I’m going to have to refrain from pop culture references and redneck slang.”

“That would help.”

I shrug. “Sorry, it’s who I am.”

“No need to be sorry, Abby. I like who you are.”

“Real—” I begin but then stop myself.

He tucks a finger beneath my chin and says gruffly, “Yeah,
really.
”

Swallowing hard I back up a step and come up against the brick wall behind me. “So . . . so, what is this thing you need to tell me?”

“We have something that, as far as I can tell, no other couple in this competition has.”

“And just what is that?”

He takes a step closer and rests his palms on the wall behind me. Mere inches separate us. He blocks out the bright sunlight and replaces the cool breeze with the warmth of his body and yet I shiver. “We have chemistry, Abby. Something smoldering between us.” He leans in even closer but not yet touching and whispers in my ear, “Do you feel it?”

I nod. “You know I do. Just . . . just what are you doin’, Rio? I thought resistance was the plan.”

“It is, but only
off
the dance floor. On the floor we must sizzle. This is the thing that will separate us from the pack. I think the only way we have a chance to win this is to play up our chemistry. What do you say, Abby?”

“I reckon I’m down with that.”

He gives me a half grin. “
Down with that
means that you’re in agreement, right?”

I start to say yes. I should say yes. But instead I put a hand on his chest and shock myself by saying, “I suppose. But why? We’re both adults and there
is
something between us that we can’t deny. There’s no rule that says we can’t be together, Rio. I checked. Why fight it?”

He goes very still, making me regret my outburst. His heart is pounding beneath my hand and for a moment I think he’s going to throw caution to the wind and lean in and kiss me. “It would be a mistake, Abby. We’ve already discussed this.”

“A mistake, Rio? Or a risk? There’s a big difference.”

“It would be both.” A shadow of sadness passes over his features. “A mistake I’m not willing to make and a risk I’m not willing to take for both of our sakes.”

I open my mouth to protest but he places a gentle finger on my lips. “I do care about you, Abby. But I know what this money would mean to your family. I was so wrong to let my desire and my feelings overcome what I know is best. Now let’s get back in there and rehearse before our time is up.”

Although I nod in agreement I see regret in his eyes and deep down inside I know that I’m not ready to give up.

Dancing with the Rednecks

You might think that there is a limit to how nervous a person can get, but with each passing minute while Rio and I wait our turn to dance in the first live competition at the Bluegrass Dance Hall my nerves stretch tighter than a rubber band on a slingshot. My stomach feels like it’s sailing over the first hill of a roller coaster . . . rising up and hovering near my throat before plunging like a bat outta hell.

“I have to pee.” We’re waiting our turn in what they call the greenroom but in reality is a big storage area that’s been cleared of beer cases and
hello
, the walls are white. “I’ll be back in a minute . . . or maybe never.”

“Abby, how can that be?” Rio takes his gaze from the television monitor where we can watch the performers dance and gives me another worried once-over. “You’ve gone twice in the past thirty minutes. There couldn’t be anything left in your bladder.”

“The second time I didn’t pee. I barfed.”

“Barfed? What is barfed?”