Dancing with Dalton. Laura Altom Marie
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a smoky club in the heart of old-town Buenos Aires. What fun she would have showing this uptight banker how to loosen up.
Their chemistry was intoxicating. But as badly as she longed to be held in a man’s arms, she was afraid of opening her heart again only to potentially lose it.
Despite the warning, the part of her that longed to laugh and play and dance, not because it was her job, but for the sheer joy of it, urged her to spend more time with Dalton.
When they were both out of breath, Rose pulled away with a gleeful clap. “That was so much better!”
“It was?”
“Absolutely.” Even as she laughed and playfully swatted him, Rose wished her breathing would return to normal. Though Dalton had still made plenty of mistakes, something about his style was intrinsically rhythmic. Like her, though he might not know it, he’d been born with an artist’s soul. Once he’d lost his fierce scowl of determination and allowed his mind and heart to go where the music took him, he’d easily fallen into the spirit of the dance. “Ready to go again?”
“I think so.”
“You think?” She shook her head. “No, no. You should say, of course,” she said with a grin.
For the first time in she couldn’t remember when, she was having fun and didn’t want the night to end.
She ignored her earlier misgivings, choosing to enjoy herself. Soon enough, she’d be back upstairs with Anna, fighting to sleep through the night. Maybe if she exerted herself rest would come more easily.
That in mind, she inserted a new CD, putting herself and her student through rigorous moves.
“Whew.” Twenty minutes later, again out of breath, Rose pulled away, reaching for a towel she’d hung from the ballet bar. “I’d say you’ve gone as far as you can with la caminita.”
“And that would be?”
“All that means, is the walk, which is the most basic of all tango steps. Now that you’re walking, we can start to run.”
“Great,” he said with a chuckle. “And I suppose we’re going to start that running right now, Miss Energizer Bunny?”
“Ha-ha.” With her towel, she swatted him. “Actually, you and I are done for today. I have a date.”
“A date, huh? Is he the cause of last night’s tears?”
For a second after Dalton asked the question, Rose felt like a deer in the headlights. What was she supposed to say? Was now the time to tell him about her husband?
“Hey,” he murmured, tone soft, as if he sensed her distress. “Why you were crying is really none of my business.” He glanced down, then looked back up into her eyes. “Trouble is, I kind of took the whole our dancing will go easier if we’re friends speech seriously, and seeing how friends don’t let friends cry alone, I—”
“My date is with my daughter. She wants to bake sugar cookies with pink sprinkles.”
“You have a little girl? I mean, I assume she’s little, judging by your age.”
“My advanced age?” With a wink and grin, she swatted him with her towel again.
For a moment he stilled, as if he wanted to say something, but propriety kept him quiet. “That’s not at all what I meant, and you know it.”
“Yes, I do,” she said with a nod, matching his easy smile. “And in answer to your question…”
“I didn’t ask a question.”
“Your eyes did.” She turned her back on him while wrapping herself in a hug. The kindness in Dalton’s eyes told her it was safe to share her pain with him. “My girl is indeed little. She’s six. And in answer to your unspoken question, her father…died.”
“Sorry,” he said quietly. She imagined him cupping his warm, strong hands over her shoulders, infusing her with much needed courage to go on. Instead, he hovered, not taking the liberty of actually touching her, but letting her know he was there. “Is he the reason for those tears?”
She nodded. “The last time I seriously tangoed—you know, beyond teaching vacation-bound senior citizens or Girl Scout troops—was in his arms. So you can see where…”
“Dancing again—with a man—would be rough?” He did touch her shoulder then, and lightly turned her to face him. The warmth of his eyes and tender set of his mouth, his solid yet gentle grip, told her what words never could. That he cared. That she wasn’t alone. Sure, she had friends, but no one with whom she’d ever considered sharing the depth of her pain.
“Want to talk about him?” he invited.
“Yes. Someday. But not now.”
“Sure.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you about him, just that it hurts to dredge up the past.”
“I get it. Only, the way you were crying, I’m thinking your husband’s death isn’t yet in the past—at least not where your heart’s concerned.”
“ANNA, HONEY, be careful or you’ll drop Barbie’s purse behind the display.”
“I’m being careful, Mommy. Look! She’s dancing!”
Dalton froze at the entry to Bell’s. He had been dreading the mission to get fitted for the gaudy red shoes he was required to wear with his equally hideous tux. But from his first sight of Rose and her cute, brown-eyed daughter, trying on black-patent Mary Janes, his outlook on the mission had miraculously brightened.
“Ladies’ day out?” he asked the pair, pausing in front of the battered, red-carpeted platform serving as seating for what Mona Bell had dubbed her kid zone.
“Hi,” Rose said, her wide grin making his pulse race. “My baby’s feet seem to get bigger every day.”
“I know the feeling,” he teased, wagging one of his size thirteens.
Her daughter giggled. “You’ve got the biggest feet I’ve ever seen.”
“Anna!” the girl’s mother scolded.
“It’s okay,” Dalton said with a chuckle. “Especially since it happens to be true.”
“There are bigger feet in this town,” Mona said, a hint of her Cajun heritage flavoring her words. In her arms were three shoe boxes. “Dalton, nice to see you finally showed up. If we don’t get your shoe order in pronto, you’ll be dancing barefoot.”
“Sounds like an improvement over the getup you all want me to wear.”
Snorting, Mona said, “Remind me to tell your momma what a misfit she raised.”
“She hears it all the time.”
Ignoring him, Mona turned to Rose’s daughter. “Stick out your feet, there, toots, and let me slip these on.”
“She’s a cutie,” Dalton said to Rose, seeing how Mona had pretty much taken over the operation.
“Thanks.”
“Anna’s a nice name. I’ve always liked it.”
“We named her after my grandmother, Anna Lucia Margarita Rodriguez. In her day, she was the darling of Buenos Aires.” Whispering behind her hand, she added, “She reportedly juggled up to ten suitors with ease.”
Mona grunted. “Shoot, what gal in her right mind would want that many men?”
“Barbie!” Anna squealed, pirouetting the doll in a dazzling move that sent tiny pink plastic shoes and a matching purse flying. They landed behind the seating platform. “Oops.”
“Oh, honey,” Rose said, hands on her hips. “I told you that was going to happen.”
Tears