Dancing with Dalton

“Nay,” Dalton alone said.

With another slam of her gavel, his fate was sealed. “The ayes have it. Next on the agenda—the Hot Pepper Festival’s food concessions. Frank, are you ready with your report?”

WHOA.

Dalton’s first glimpse of the hottie greeting him in the dance studio’s pale pink reception area had him doing a double take. “Um, you’re not blue-haired Miss Gertrude.”

Flashing a professional smile that didn’t reach her eyes, the vision said, “Miss Gertrude retired. I’m the studio’s new owner, Rose Vasquez. Are you the Dalton Montgomery I have down for a tango lesson?”

“That’d be me,” he said. For the first time since that week’s chamber meeting, he stopped cursing his fellow committee members. Maybe the whole dance gig wouldn’t be half-bad.

“Welcome.” She held out her slim hand for him to shake.

When their palms met, he felt a twinge in his gut. Her grip was firm, yet somehow fragile, as if the merest hint of a wind might blow her away. Aside from a trickling lobby fountain and humming drink machine, the studio was quiet—save for his racing pulse. He hadn’t expected them to be alone. Not that it was a problem. Just that, being in a small-town dance studio, he’d pictured himself surrounded by eight-year-old gigglers in pink tutus.

Clasping her hands over her gently curved belly, she said, “The woman who made your reservation—”

“My secretary—Joan.”

“Yes, well, Joan, mentioned you just need a crash course.”

“Yep. That’ll do it. The basics are all I need to get me through one heinous night.”

“That’s all well and good,” the woman said, her once lovely expression now sober, “but when you say you want to know just the basics about the tango, you’ve insulted not only me, but a tradition that has lasted more than a hundred years. Tango isn’t just a dance, and I hope that once we’re finished with our lessons, you’ll see that. I also hope you’ll treat this venture we’re embarking upon with the dignity and respect it deserves—even loyalty.”

Dignity and respect? Loyalty? Dalton figured he deserved an Academy Award—at least an Emmy—for the acting job he was doing in holding back a snort. They were talking about dance moves. This woman might be attractive, but she had a lot to learn about what in life deserved such sentiments. If anyone was an expert on what loyalty made a man do, it was him.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she said, tapping a purple pencil against the top of a yellow laminate reception desk. The girlie colors brought on indigestion, or was it the fact that he was for all practical purposes being lectured by a stranger that had his stomach in an uproar?

He reached into the chest pocket of his suit for a chewable antacid, but he was fresh out. Damn.

When he spotted her eyeing him funny, he withdrew his hand from his pocket. “I’m assuming from the tone of our one-sided conversation that either I play this dancing game all your way or hit the highway?”

She smiled, and the force of it nearly knocked him off his feet. She wasn’t merely hot, as he’d previously thought. She was beautiful. In fact, she could’ve launched an entire new category of beauty. Rich, olive-toned skin served as the perfect backdrop for soulful brown eyes and silky, raven-black hair that his fingertips itched to touch.

Snap out of it! his conscience cried.

She was a looker, but considering the tone of the speech she’d just delivered, she was also a few cupcakes shy of a dozen.

Smile not reaching her eyes, she said, “I can’t say anyone has ever paraphrased my wishes so eloquently, but yes, you’re right. If I agree to give you a crash course in tango, you must give me as close to one hundred percent of yourself as possible.”

When he opened his mouth to object, she shocked him by placing the pad of her index finger against his lips.

“No,” she said, “don’t speak. I can read your mind. You’re thinking how can you devote all your energy to learning this dance when work is what you live for, am I right?”

He nodded.

“As you’ll soon see, I’m not asking for much. Just your undivided attention.”

Right. From where he stood, sounded more like his soul.

“Do we have a deal, Mr. Montgomery?”

Telling himself he felt the same jolt of awareness every time he shook a female colleague’s hand, Dalton once again grasped the lovely Ms. Vasquez’s fingers in his. “Deal. Ready to start?”

“You mean now?”

“My secretary did make a reservation.”

“No,” she said with a faint shake of her head. “I—I’m sorry, but something has come up. I have lessons from noon until six tomorrow evening. You and I shall tango at seven.”

AFTER MR. MONTGOMERY left, Rose had trouble locking the door. Her fingers trembled as she remembered the spark of interest in Dalton Montgomery’s striking blue eyes. Her stomach clenched when she considered how close she’d come to reaching out to straighten a wayward lock of his unruly short, dark hair. At just over six feet, with a square jaw, high brow and Roman nose, Dalton exuded strength and undeniable sex appeal.

Why had she lectured him like that? Why had she turned away the good money she could’ve earned from tonight’s session?

The truth?

Not because she was eager to check on Anna as she’d told herself, but because for the first time since John’s death well over a year earlier, she’d found a man attractive, and the notion shook her to the core.

The thought of spending an hour in Dalton Montgomery’s arms while performing the dance she’d so loved with her husband, well…It was inconceivable. Which was why she’d bought herself a little extra time. To adjust to the idea that it was okay to find another man physically attractive.

Find him attractive yes, but feel warmth spreading through her limbs when he looked at her? What had that been about? How could she begin to process her mixed-up feelings in the all-too-brief time until they met again?

Somehow, some way, she’d found the strength to tackle each day since the motorcycle accident that’d stolen John from her and Anna. Rose forced a deep breath, knowing she’d capably handle this development, as well.

In the brief time they’d shared as man and wife, she and her husband had enjoyed a wholly fulfilling physical relationship. She’d always been a passionate woman. It was common sense that as a healthy female in her prime she would have certain needs. Logically, the attraction she’d felt for Mr. Montgomery had been purely biological—nothing at all to be concerned about.

Oh yeah? Then how come your pulse is racing at the mere thought of seeing him again?

She didn’t have an answer—at least one she was willing to admit, even to herself. Rose flicked off the studio’s lights then resolutely marched up the stairs to her and Anna’s airy loft.

In coming to terms with John’s death, Anna had been her rock. Tonight, whether the six-year-old knew it or not, she would again be her mom’s strength.

As for Dalton Montgomery, all Rose had to do to deal with him was convince herself that he was just another student and the tango was just another dance.

EARLY THURSDAY evening, an hour before her lesson with Mr. Montgomery, Rose trudged up the stairs.

Since crawling out of bed that morning, dread had settled low in her stomach. Now, entering the high-ceilinged kitchen she thought of as her private sanctuary, she didn’t bother masking full-on panic. Luckily, Anna was out for dinner and a movie with a friend.

Though Rose wasn’t hungry, it’d been noon since she’d last eaten, so she slipped off her heels, then prepared a light meal of tomato soup.

While waiting for the creamy liquid to boil, she gazed about the massive space, loving the slant of late-spring sun through the towering bank of west windows.

She adored plants and the brightness of the place—not to mention the high ceilings and lack of interior walls—allowed her to house a collection of trees. Palms, miniature oranges and even a red maple she’d been given as a housewarming gift but hadn’t quite gotten around to planting in the historic brick building’s postage stamp of a backyard. Her know-it-all brothers had assured her that the tree would die after being inside over a week, but months later, it still thrived.

Giving the soup a stir, she mused that a lot of people—especially her overprotective father and two big brothers—had thought her business would die. But it’d been ninety days since she’d opened her doors and while she wouldn’t say her business was thriving, it was holding its own. Just like her and Anna.

Together, they were learning to weather grief, life’s toughest storm.