Dancing Shoes and Honky-Tonk Blues (7 page)

“Miss Harper, how nice of you to join us,” Mitchell says to me from the podium at the front of the room.

My smile fades when for a heart-stopping moment I think Mitchell’s angry with me, but when he winks I breathe a sigh of relief. Everyone, though, looks my way and I hope that the dim lighting hides my blush. Danny discreetly motions with a sideways nod for me to sit next to him. With a grateful smile I head to Danny’s table and slide into the seat next to him. This draws a bit of a frown from Julia, who is sitting directly across from Danny. I suppose if I think it’s over between the two of them I had better think again.

“Hello,” I say in general to everyone at the table.

Travis Tucker, the farmer, gives me a wide smile and a friendly nod. “Hey there, Abby.” His beard is trimmed and his rather long hair is slicked back. He’s wearing a white, neatly pressed dress shirt and it occurs to me that I’ve never seen him in anything other than worn overalls. I smile, thinking that he cleans up very nicely.

“Hey, Abby.” Daisy Potter, the cashier from the Piggly Wiggly, gives me a friendly nod but then turns her undivided attention back to Travis. I’m used to seeing her in a uniform with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. But now she looks younger and pretty in a soft yellow dress with her brown tresses framing her face.

“Hello, Abby,” Julia says a bit stiffly but I give her a smile anyway. Her hair is swept back from her face in a fancy twist and she’s wearing a cream-colored silk blouse, making me feel frumpy in my jeans and turtleneck. For the first time I notice that servers are bringing around tossed salads. With a glance around the room I see that everyone else is dressed up, too. Swallowing a groan I realize that this information must have been in the packet that I didn’t read. Deciding that I’m just going to have to wing it—and winging it is not something I’m good at—I take the fancy folded napkin and smooth it over my lap.

Patsy James, the florist, is sitting directly to my left. “Aren’t the flowers amazing?” she gushes.

“They’re lovely,” I agree and accept a basket of bread from her. When I fold back the white linen the yeasty aroma makes my mouth water and I realize that I’m famished. I immediately tear off a soft, warm piece and pop it into my mouth.

“Hungry?” Danny asks close to my ear. His voice is low and teasing, making me all too aware of what almost transpired between us just a little while ago. I nod and almost choke on my roll when his leg presses up against mine and he says, “Me too.”

An accident? I sneak a peek at him beneath my lashes but he’s busy buttering a slice of dark rye bread. I notice that Julia narrows her eyes at me but quickly averts her gaze when she realizes that I’m looking her way.

I’m wondering whether Danny is cozying up to me to get to Julia while I’m glancing randomly around the room. I suddenly think to myself that as far as I can tell all of the contestants in the competition are single. With a frown I look around again, thinking that I must be mistaken, but I’m pretty sure that I’m right. I wonder if this is because being away from a family would be harder for married people, but then again maybe this is for added drama? Jesse never mentioned that you had to be single to be a contestant . . .

“Ranch?” Patsy asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yes, thanks.” I accept the silver boat from her and drizzle some dressing over my salad before passing it to Danny. I pick up the smaller of the two forks and start to stab a cherry tomato when I hesitate. This isn’t like any salad I’ve ever consumed before. I poke at it a bit and wonder just what some of these greens are. There’s shaggy sprigs and purple leaves and not a carrot or radish in sight. The cherry tomato is the only familiar thing.

“Looks like a danged bunch of weeds,” Travis remarks and Daisy giggles. He takes a big bite and wrinkles up his nose. “Tastes like weeds too.”

“It’s a spring mix,” Julia says in a rather snooty tone but I notice that she isn’t exactly gobbling hers up either.

“Yeah, a spring mix of
weeds
,” Travis says and Daisy giggles harder.

I take a tentative bite and it’s not too bad, just a little limp or whatever, but maybe it’s just because I’m so hungry.

“I hope that the main course is a little more normal,” Danny says, voicing what I had been thinking.

Servers hover, refilling our water, iced tea, and coffee. When wine is offered I decline, thinking that I need my wits about me and since my strawberry wine incident I’ve avoided it altogether. I’m hoping that we aren’t given something that you have to crack open like crab or lobster since I know I would screw that up like Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman.
I’m wondering if all of this elegance is put before us as a kind of welcoming gesture or to trip us plain folks up. I’m hoping for the former but since I see that cameras are quietly filming us I’m thinking the latter. When I’m served my main course I place my hand on the waiter’s arm and ask in a low voice, “Could you tell me what this is?”

“Beef medallions, asparagus, and new potatoes.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, relieved that it’s not veal. I can’t stomach eating anything that’s a baby. Had I been asked I would have told them to hold the yellow sauce artfully drizzled over the rounds of beef, but when I dip my fork in for a tentative taste I actually like the tart, buttery flavor. I notice that everyone else at our table is picking and tasting except for Travis, who is tucking into his food like it’s his last meal.

“Well, this is just simply delicious,” Patsy says with a satisfied smile.

“Yeah, I sure could get used to this,” Daisy agrees.

I’m about to comment on the sauce when I suddenly remember that cameras are filming our every move. I wonder if there are hidden microphones in the flower arrangement or something.

“What’s wrong, Abby? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Danny said.

“I do believe that the cameras are rolling,” I whisper to him.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he whispers back. “You think somethin’s about to happen?”

“Didn’t your mama teach y’all that it’s not polite to tell secrets?” Julia asks with a little smile but there’s a bit of frost in her tone.

“We were just noticing that the cameras are rolling,” Danny says smoothly.

“Oh?” Julia looks around with wide eyes.

We all turn toward the front of the room when lights flash and music begins. A moment later Mitchell Banks steps up to the podium, the music fades, and he says, “Welcome, everyone! I’m Mitchell Banks, CEO of Comedy Corner and executive producer of
Dancing with the Rednecks.
” Putting up both hands he continues. “First of all I want to tell you that we are using the term
redneck
with a sort of tongue-in-cheek fondness and not in a derogatory sense. In fact, I’m so impressed and charmed by the town and residents of Misty Creek that although I usually turn the show over to the director at this point, I’ve decided to stay on and watch the competition firsthand.”

When he pauses we all applaud but I have to wonder if my mother is the one who charmed and impressed him. Mitchell is smooth, polished, and intelligent but if he does anything to hurt my mama I’ll have to kick his butt all the way back to sunny California.

Mitchell takes a sip of water while the applause dies down. “Hopefully you’ve had a chance to read through the orientation packet so you know how the competition will work. You will have long hours of rehearsals throughout the week with an instructor from Starlight Dance Studios, the top national chain of dance studios in the country. You will be allowed to leave Rabbit Run Lodge for emergency family or work-related situations but on a limited basis.”

He pauses, raises one eyebrow, and then clears his throat. “In case you haven’t already noticed, you are all
single
. We did this on purpose. First, it makes being away for weeks at a time easier, but second, this is a reality show. Part of the intrigue is the interaction between the contestants, and I will warn you that cameras will be rolling
everywhere
except of course in the privacy of your room. I’ll remind you that you’ve all signed release forms to allow anything and everything to air to the general public. We also have rules. Read them carefully and follow them. I would hate for someone to lose the chance at fifty grand because of breaking the rules.”

As I take a sip of iced tea, I make a mental note to read the darned packet as soon as I get back to my room. At the mention of the fifty thousand dollars Mitchell creates a buzz of excitement that seems to electrify the air. The music starts playing softly in the background and the bright fingers of light swirl around the podium. It’s obvious that something’s going to happen. I shift in my seat and my heart starts to pound.

“I know that I told you to expect the unexpected. In reality TV it comes with the territory. Well, a little while ago I was told that your dance instructors have already arrived and they are eagerly waiting to meet and greet you.” He pauses again while excitement ripples through the contestants, me included. A shimmering curtain behind the podium begins to open slowly while the music gets louder. Finally all twelve instructors are revealed standing on a platform resembling a stage. The women are in sequined dance costumes and the men are in formal attire. With a bow they hook up with a partner and begin to dance.

I watch, spellbound, as they swirl and twirl, bend and sweep . . . gliding with grace and ease. I have to wonder who my instructor will be and if I will ever be able to master anything close to what they’re demonstrating. When the music ends and they strike a pose, camera flashes are going off like strobe lights and I’m bummed that in my haste to get down here I totally forgot to bring mine. We applaud as loudly as twelve people can. In my exuberance I jump to my feet and thankfully others follow. This seems to please Mitchell since he’s smiling from ear to ear.

“And now,” Mitchell booms into the microphone, “let me introduce each of you to your Starlight Dance Studio instructors!” The light in the room goes from dim to bright as he begins calling out our names. I can see that the camera crew is catching all of this on film, and then something else is clearly evident:

The Starlight dance instructors have no idea what they have gotten themselves into.

The wide eyes and open mouths give them away. Most of them have the grace to recover and smile as they greet their students. Even the tall, leggy redhead in the purple sequins manages a big welcoming smile and deep bow to Mac Murphy, the big burly trucker. But then my eyes are drawn to one tall aloof man standing off to the side. His hands are folded across his chest and he has a—well, there’s no other way to say it—a pissed-off look on his otherwise strikingly handsome face. Other than that he’s tall, dark, and smokin’ hot. Midnight-black hair is slicked back from a face that could grace the cover of
GQ
. High cheekbones, a full mouth, and a strong jaw shaded with dark stubble give him a dangerous sexy appearance that has me feeling warm all over and reaching for my water. His billowy white shirt is open halfway down his chest, revealing tanned skin and a sculpted physique. Tight black pants and a bloodred sash at his waist give him the appearance of a swashbuckling pirate . . .

“Abby,” Danny says, breaking into my sudden fantasy of being tossed over the pirate’s shoulder, “they just called your name.”

I gasp. “You mean the
pirate
is my teacher?”

“It appears so.”

“I don’t want him!” I turn to Patsy and say, “Let’s trade.”

“Oh baby, I’d take him in a heartbeat. Kinda looks like Antonio Banderas. But, hon, they don’t allow tradin’ dance instructors. Didn’t you read your handbook?”

“Abby Harper,” Mitchell says again, “come on down and meet your partner, Rio Martin, esteemed instructor and ballroom dance champion from Mexico City.”

I swallow hard and stand up. Rio the dancing pirate looks my way and as luck would have it I stumble as I push my chair beneath the table. His pissed-off look gets more pronounced and it occurs to me that he probably doesn’t possess a sense of humor. I force myself to walk toward the front of the room when I really want to turn and hightail it out of there.

“Hello, Mr. Martin,” I venture, hating the little quiver in my voice, but I bravely stick out my hand in a formal greeting. “I’m Abby Harper. Nice to meet you.” The touch of his warm hand and firm grasp sends a tingle down my spine. He’s quite frankly the sexiest man I’ve ever come into contact with and I suddenly become tongue-tied. Now, just how in the world am I going to learn to dance with a man who makes my knees go weak? When I realize that I’m gawking with my mouth wide open, I snap my jaws shut and hope that I can gather my wits about me and say something remotely intelligent. Judging by the expression in his deep brown eyes, I do
not
impress him much. Of course the fact that I’m in jeans and a sweater doesn’t help matters.

“I—I didn’t realize that this was going to be a formal dinner,” I blurt out, but other than the deepening of his frown he remains silent. “I would have worn something more appropriate.”

“Oh.” This time he flicks a brief glance at my attire as if he hadn’t cared enough to even notice what I’m wearing and then shrugs his wide shoulders.

Okay, all of the other instructors are chatting with their partners. I have to say that I’m getting a bit miffed that Rio Martin, my Antonio Banderas wannabe, refuses to speak to me. I might be a hometown hick and he might be some fancy-schmancy ballroom dancer, but darn it, I deserve better than this. My anger is quickly overcoming my bedazzled state concerning his extreme sexiness. As my mama would say,
pretty is as pretty does
, and he ain’t being very pretty.

My heart thumps at what I’m about to say, but I’ve waited tables long enough to know how to deal with an arrogant jerk. “Look, Mr. Martin, I’m getting the impression that this isn’t what you bargained for but—”

“I’m afraid you don’t know the half of it,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand.