Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues (33 page)

Ben teases the audience again when the instructors come out and dance . . . all of them except for Rio, who has failed to show up yet. I’ve gone back and forth from anger to worry and back again. Right now I’m ticked. How dare he not be here for this! And then I picture him lying in a ditch somewhere . . .

Damn him! God, I hope he’s okay!

When the dance ends, the instructors twirl over to sit in chairs on the opposite side of the dance floor from where we’re sitting. Finally, just as Ben announces that he is going to reveal the winner of the contest, I see Rio slip into his empty chair. He’s dressed in a tuxedo like the other male instructors, so at least he got
that
memo . . . but what about the eight o’clock starting time? I’m going to kill him for this! But then relief washes over me. He’s here. He’s safe. Thank God.

“Now we’re going to announce the winner of
Dancing with the Rednecks
. . . right after the commercial break.”

“Oh, come on!” Julia hisses in my ear. “The suspense is killing me!”

“Me too,” I whisper back.

After making us squirm a few more minutes, Ben raises the micophone to his mouth. “Now I’m going to announce the winner of the fifty thousand dollars!” Ben says and is given a slip of paper. “Wait a minute,” he says, raising his hand, and the crowd gets restless. “Mitchell Banks, the producer of the show, wants to have the honors. Mitchell, come on up here and end this suspense.”

Mitchell, also dressed in a tux with his silver hair slicked back, walks up and takes the microphone from Ben. “Thank you, Ben.” He turns and gestures toward the judges’ table. “And a very big thank-you to Carson Sage, Myra Jones, and Peter Kelly!” The audience politely applauds but there is a feeling of restless anticipation in the air.

Mitchell clears his throat and begins. “The margin between Danny Becker and his partner, Angelina Perez, and Abby Harper and her partner, Rio Martin, was so slim that I didn’t feel right awarding the prize money to either contestant, so after careful deliberation, I decided to split the prize money between Abby Harper and Danny Becker! So we don’t have one winner but two!”

The audience hesitates, clearly wanting a winner and a loser, but one person begins clapping and suddenly everyone is cheering and whistling.

“Danny and Abby, come on down here!”

My heart is beating so hard and my legs are shaky but Danny comes over and assists me to my feet. I have to walk carefully in my long emerald green evening gown so as not to trip and end up as the watercooler clip of the day. My hair is piled high thanks to Jackie and Maggie, who both insisted on working on me, and a teardrop diamond that I get to
keep
makes me feel elegant.

Mitchell hands us each a big fake check to hold up to the crowd. Cameras, even though they were not supposed to be allowed, flash like strobe lights. I’m smiling from ear to ear, thinking that this tie’s not as good as winning but not as bad as losing. I’m glad that Danny will have half of the money but there is a bit of disappointment that twenty-five thousand can’t spread nearly as far as fifty grand.

“I have another announcement to make!” Mitchell says when the cheers die down enough for him to be heard. “There is a talented young man sitting in the audience. This young man is responsible for Misty Creek being chosen as the host of
Dancing with the Rednecks.
Jesse Harper, come on up here and take a bow!”

My heart just about bursts with pride as tall, handsome Jesse comes walking out onto the dance floor. He’s wearing a nice blue suit and looks so grown up!

“In fact, I was so impressed with Jesse’s comedic essay that I’ve created a scholarship in his honor. I’m awarding him a full ride to the college of his choice in the first annual Jesse Harper Comedy Corner writing scholarship!” Mitchell turns to shake Jesse’s hand.

I look over at Mama, who is beaming and dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a hankie, and I’m dabbing at my own eyes while itching to hug Jesse, but Mitchell says he has another announcement.

“Rio Martin, I believe that you have something to tell the residents of Misty Creek. Come on up here!”

Rio gets up from his chair and takes the microphone from Mitchell. Is it my imagination or did the women in the audience collectively sigh? Oh, maybe that was me . . .

Rio gives me a warm smile and my nerves relax a fraction even though my heart rate must be in the danger zone.

“Thank you, Mitchell. I have to admit that I wasn’t happy to be a part of what I thought was going to be nothing more than a joke.” He waves a hand toward the contestants and continues. “But I was wrong. In fact, I’m so impressed with this town that I’ve purchased the Rabbit Run Lodge and I plan on turning it into a ballroom dancing retreat so that people from all over the country can come to Misty Creek to learn ballroom dancing and to enjoy the other fine attractions in your wonderful town. One that comes to mind is Sadie Harper’s meat loaf.”

There’s a collective gasp and then wild cheering goes on for a few minutes until Rio holds his hand up for silence. Since he has single-handedly given Misty Creek hope for a prosperous future, they give him his silence.

“Something else happened to me while I stayed here for the past few weeks. I might be a ballroom dance instructor but it seems that I was the one swept off my feet . . .

“Abby Harper, may I have this dance?”

I nod and walk into the now familiar closed position.

“Wait a minute!” Julia Mayer comes out onto the dance floor holding a sparkling tiara in her hands. Rio grins, so I know he’s in on this.

Julia takes the microphone and says, “Abby Harper was never prom queen but I now crown her Redneck Dancing Queen!” She places the tiara on my head and gives me a hug while the crowd cheers.

A hush falls over the room, however, when the music begins and Rio and I glide over the dance floor like we’re floating on air. I pass my mama and she’s smiling with her arm linked through Mitchell’s.

Ben announces that all of the contestants and their partners should come onto the floor and join us.

“Te quiero,”
Rio says in my ear.

I look into his deep brown eyes and needing no translation I say, “I love you, too.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sarah says as she shifts the Jeep into reverse. “I never should have told you about Ben.” After looking both ways, she eases out into traffic. “Okay, your turn. Surely you had a Coyote Ugly night in the Windy City. Spill. We’re twin sisters, Candie. You
have
to share.”

“Yeah right, I would have been hard pressed to find someone ugly in the fancy martini bars downtown. It was the land of designer clothes and perfect teeth. Truth is, I never really fit in.”

Sarah gives me a sideways glance but remains silent.

“What?”

“You sure look like you could fit in, with your sophisticated hair and polished ways. What the hell happened to your natural curls?”

“I tame them with a flatiron and a little bit of product.” I reach up and touch my pencil-straight, chin-length bob. “Don’t you like my hair?”

Sarah shrugs. “I always thought your curls were cute. The highlights are pretty, though. And I like how it’s stacked in the back and angles toward your face.”

“I hear a but.”

“Okay,
but
you’re a Southern chick and you should have big hair. You need your accent back, too. It’s only right.”

Sarah says this so seriously that I have to laugh. “My hair will get big on rainy days, no matter how flat I iron it, and I’ve already said y’all twice today.”

“Humph,” Sarah grumbles and reaches up to fluff her own big tresses. She suddenly snaps her fingers. “Hey, I know what’ll put the redneck back in ya.”

“A moon pie?” I ask hopefully.

“A longneck and a game of pool over at Pete’s Pub. Whadaya say? I’ll let you choose the first song on the jukebox. Come on, let’s blow off a little steam and have some fun.”

When she gives me her hopeful pout, I can’t resist. “Oh okay.
One
beer,” I warn, holding up my index finger. “I want to get up early tomorrow and visit Daddy before heading over to the car dealership.”

“Sweet!” When we stop for a red light, Sarah looks my way. “Say, are you okay livin’ in that four-family? I know it’s kind of a dump. Daddy had planned on doing some renovations to the property, but that was before his health problems started. You’re welcome to move in with me.”

“It’s a little rough around the edges,” I admit, “but I promised Daddy to do some painting and gardening to spiff up the place a bit in exchange for the rent. Plus, it’s so close to the car lot that I could walk if I wanted to.”

“Well, the offer stands. If you’re wondering if I’m still a slob the answer is no . . . well, not as bad as I used to be anyway. My cooking has improved since I
thought
I was going to have to cook for Nick until he dumped me. I’m a big Rachael Ray fan.”

“Thirty-minute quick-and-easy meals?”

“You’re a fan, too?”

“Yep. I love the Food Network.”

“Cooking is something you and Mama had in common,” Sarah comments as she pulls the Jeep into the graveled parking lot shared by Pete’s Pub and Gayle’s Glamorous Nails. “I still pretty much suck but I’m improving.”

“Instead of cookin’, I’d like to have the Take-Home Chef, Curtis Stone, whip me up a fancy meal,” I comment as we pick our way over the lumpy parking lot. I’m wishing that I had on tennis shoes or boots instead of these dressy mules. My khaki slacks and pale blue oxford shirt aren’t exactly Pete’s Pub attire either, but since we’re only popping in, I’m not too concerned about how I look. Sarah is a bit more casual in Dockers and a pink golf shirt, but in Pete’s, you really need boots, jeans, and a tight T-shirt.

“I’d like that spiky-haired chef to do more than cook for me,” Sarah says with a grin. “Like
be
the dessert. Might require a little whipped cream . . .”

“Sarah!”

“Hey, I’m just sayin’—”

“His Aussie accent is kind of a turn-on,” I admit.

“And those eyes!” Sarah gushes as she opens the door to the pub.

“Oh I know!” I reply loudly so as to be heard over the music.

“Are we hard up and horny or what?” Sarah asks just as loudly, and as luck would have it, the music stops, making her comment heard loud and clear to a couple guys standing near the door.

“There’s a cure for that,” says a long-haired guy in a cowboy hat and Wrangler jeans.

“Oh shut up, Tommy,” Sarah shoots back. “We’re not
that
hard up.”

Tommy chuckles, flashing white teeth. “Let me know if y’all change your mind.”

“Don’t go holdin’ your breath,” Sarah says but smiles back at him.

“That goes for you, too.” While tipping his hat, Tommy winks at me with a good-natured grin.

I might have been offended if he hadn’t been so young and cute. Besides, I remind myself we’re in a honky-tonk, where the world isn’t always politically correct, not to mention that Sarah just shouted that we’re hard up and horny.

“Bud Light?” Sarah asks.

“Make mine a Heineken.”

Sarah’s mouth drops open. “I don’t think Pete has those here.”

“Just kiddin’. A Bud Light sounds good.”

“Lord, for a minute there, I thought we had lost you to Yuppieville. Don’t scare me like that. Be right back.”

While Sarah goes up to the bartender for our drinks, I look around and acknowledge that except for a couple flat-screen TVs suspended from the wall, Pete’s Pub hasn’t changed one bit. Battered round tables with equally worn chairs flank one side of the room, and the long wooden bar runs the length of the other. There are a couple ancient pinball machines in one corner and a dart-board in another. To the rear of the bar is a separate room with three pool tables, which always have a wait.

I’m still glancing around when Sarah presses a cold, wet bottle into my hand. “Thanks.” I tip the beer back and almost sputter when through the doorway to the back room, I watch a tall, jean-clad guy bend over to shoot some pool. “My . . .
my
, that is quite simply the nicest butt I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“Yeah, well that amazing butt belongs to a big ass.”

“Okay, that didn’t make a lick of sense.” I flick a glance at Sarah before my gaze is drawn back to the butt. Angling my head, I suddenly notice that the jeans are sporting a designer label. Guys from around here wear Wranglers or Levi’s. “Don’t tell me.”

“Yep. That’s none other than Carson Campbell, who is too high and mighty to do business with our little old used-car lot.” Sarah spits his name out like it’s something vile, yet I notice that her eyes are glued to his fine form as well.

Carson straightens up and turns so I can view his profile. “Wow.” He’s handsome in a Rob Lowe, almost too perfect way, and although he’s dazzling to look at, I prefer men who are a little rougher around the edges. Someone a bit more . . . “Holy crap.” My heart kicks it up a notch when Nick Anderson walks into our line of vision.

I shoot Sarah a look. Her eyes narrow and her lips thin before she tips her beer bottle up and takes a long drag.

Nick is standing there with one hand casually wrapped around his cue stick while Carson takes his shot. Nick is tall like Carson but more muscular, and there’s nothing pretty boy about him. Not that he’s not handsome, because he sure is . . . but in a “rugged, should be chopping wood, fixing a truck or tossing a football” kinda way.

Once I manage to pull my gaze from Nick, I turn to Sarah. The look on her face has me saying, “Let’s get outta here.”

“Not before I finish my beer.”

“Forget the beer!”