Barefoot Bay: Dancing on the Sand (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 2

  “When you win? What about me? Or Glynnis?” Glynnis Chappell Wells was Allegro’s newest instructor. Somewhere in her sixties, she had been a competition ballroom dancer with her late husband. After his death earlier in the year, she had approached Jasper about teaching in order to fill some of the empty hours in her life.

  “You know what I mean,” he said with a wave of his hand, the nails of which had been painted the same green as his tank top. “The new free clinic here on the island can use all the money it can get. What about you? What would you do with the prize money? The grand prize is ten thousand dollars and is split between the two dance partners.”

  Amara didn’t have to think twice. “The adult literacy program at Hope Presbyterian Church. That’s why I can’t teach on Thursday nights. I teach there once a week.”

  “Good for you,” Jasper complimented. “It’s important for us to give back to our little island.”

  For all his crazy appearance, Jasper Vonderleith had a heart of pure gold. She knew he volunteered regularly at Hope’s soup kitchen and also taught line dancing at a retirement home on the mainland.

  “Do we know anything yet about who our dance partners will be? Or what dance we’ll be performing?”

  “We do,” Jasper said. “I’m dancing the samba with Libby Monroe. With her yoga background I believe she’s going to be an amazing partner. And Glynnis is doing the paso doble with Nino Rossi.”

  “Uncle Nino? He’s dancing?” Amara asked, surprised that the octogenarian was on the roster. He worked with his grandson, Gabe, for McBain Security, which was headquartered on the grounds at Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, and he was well-known for his unbeatable Italian cooking. Uncle Nino would be fun to watch, but easy to beat. She was sure she and a partner would dance circles around him.

  “Who is my partner?” she asked.

  “You got Ryan Kidd.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Who? Honey, I may look like the village freak, but even I know who Whiz Kidd is.”

  “Whiz Kidd,” she said flatly. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” She hoped he wasn’t a music video star or some billionaire bad boy who frequented the island’s exclusive resort.

  “Hotshot Major League Baseball pitcher? Rookie of the Year seven years ago? Ladies’ man extraordinaire from what I hear.”

  “Wow,” Amara said as she rolled her eyes. “Sounds like just my kind of guy.” Sarcasm poured off her in waves.

  “I’m not asking you to date him. You just have to teach him to tango well enough to place second.”

  “Second?” She slapped Jasper’s arm playfully. “In your dreams, mister. I always aim for first place.”

  Jasper’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Even if it means showing up your boss?”

  She put her hands on her hips and jutted out her chin. “Especially if it means showing up my boss,” she stated.

  Jasper said nothing, then his mouth broke into a wide grin, revealing a gold tooth. “That’s my girl. Athletes usually do quite well on that TV ballroom show. So this guy should catch on quickly.”

  “But will he be able to practice enough to learn a tango routine? What about his ball games?”

  “He’s not a player any longer. A shoulder injury sidelined him. He’s a pitching coach now, and the team’s management has promised their full support,” Jasper explained. “Just so you know, he’ll be here at eleven o’clock for your first practice. Be thinking about the music you want to use so I can line it up, though you know I’m very partial to dancing the tango to the Pussycat Dolls.” Jasper bent his fingers like claws and hissed. “By the way, I have to go home, change clothes and run several errands. Keep your checkbook handy so you can post bail for me since I have to go to the Super Min, and you know how I loathe that woman. I’ll be back before my noon student gets here.”

  Almost everyone loathed Charity Grambling, but it was difficult to avoid the woman on such a small island. “You can count on me, but if bail is too high, you’ll have to give me a raise.”

  Five thousand dollars. What a difference that could make to the literacy program. Amara couldn’t imagine not being able to read, but every week she encountered adults who, for various reasons, could not. She taught them, encouraged them and applauded them for taking the steps to overcome illiteracy.

  Her grandparents and her father had struggled with the language, too. Thankfully her grandparents had been able to attend adult programs that taught English as a second language, and her father had picked up the language in school.

  Her abuela often stated how proud she was of Amara. And Amara had no doubt her abuela would be proud of her participation in the dancing contest – especially if she won.

  Chapter Three

  Ryan stopped in front of the door leading to Allegro and took a deep, fortifying breath. He didn’t have many regrets in life. Experience had taught him they were useless. But Cutter’s comment about him being a ladies man gave him pause.

  Why did the enjoyment of beautiful women have to come back to haunt him? It wasn’t his fault women threw themselves at him. And the stories of his conquests were greatly exaggerated anyway. He didn’t have a girl in every port, or more accurately, at every Major League Baseball stadium. But what was he supposed to do? Let his appearance go to hell and dress in rags? At least the situation wasn’t as bad on Mimosa Key as it had been when he was still playing Major League ball.

  The Baseball Annies had come out in droves in every town, especially after he’d been named Rookie of the Year. They had all wanted a piece of him, and if he was honest with himself, he hadn’t minded having a piece of the few he’d invited to his hotel room from time to time. But the wisdom that came with age – all twenty-eight years of it – made him regret leaving such a sordid legacy in his short career.

  He had dated since he had moved to Mimosa Key and started working for the Bucks a year ago. But he had declared island girls off limits since Mimosa Key was so small and Charity Grambling’s gossip grapevine covered every single square inch of it. The other coaches had warned him about the older woman, and he took those warnings seriously.

  After another deep breath, he pulled the door open and took the narrow steps to the dance studio two at a time. When he stepped inside, the sight of a woman stretching in front of a wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors greeted him. She wore black tights and a long white tee shirt-like top that hit mid-thigh. In the mirror he could see a beach design with an umbrella and palm trees colorful against the white fabric. Her dark hair was cut short, and she had tied a red bandana around it to push it away from her face. With the high heels she wore, she looked to be nearly his height, which had her pushing six feet.

  He watched quietly as she went through an obviously familiar routine until she glanced up and caught his reflection in the mirror. She stopped, turned and took a step toward him.

  “Mr. Kidd?” she asked, smiling and lifting dark eyebrows that arched over equally dark eyes.

  “Uh, yeah. But call me Ryan. Mr. Kidd is my father.”

  She was definitely a beauty, so maybe this ballroom gig wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe he could charm his way through dancing just like he had charmed his way through high school and into the Major Leagues. Yeah, his fastball had been his real ticket to MLB, but charm hid his biggest secret.

  “Ryan, then. I’m Amara Perez, and I’ll be your instructor and partner for Dancing on the Sand. Do you have any experience with dancing?”

  Ryan grinned. “The sports writers used to say my curve ball danced right up to the edge of home plate and then dipped out of the strike zone.”

  Her smile faded, her chin dropped and her eyes closed.

  Damn. She’d gone from beautiful to disappointed in two seconds because of his smart-ass comment.

  “No. I have no experience with dancing. Not this kind anyway. I’m from Texas and I can do the two-step, but that’s it.”

  Her gaze raked him from head to toe and back again. “Then we have our work cut ou
t for us. The competition is four weeks from today, and we will be dancing the tango. If you’ll follow me, I have a video of the dance to show you so you’ll have an idea of what will be expected of you.”

  Ryan followed her to a corner of the studio where a laptop sat on a small table flanked by two folding chairs. He sat when she tapped the touchpad and brought the screen to life.

  By the time the video ended, Ryan was re-considering the idea of deliberately crashing the Harley. “I have to do that?” he asked, swallowing hard.

  “Our routine won’t be quite that complicated,” Amara began, “but it will feature some of the same sort of footwork and sharp movements.”

  “Am I going to have to wear a costume like in that video?” Ryan could already imagine the ribbing he’d get from the team if he had to wear skin-tight pants and a fire engine red shirt unbuttoned to the waist and with ruffled sleeves.

  Amara smiled. “Costuming is a big part of competition dancing. It creates a mood, and honestly I always believe I dance a little better in costume because I’m creating a character.”

  “But…I can’t…the guys…” Ryan struggled to articulate the horrified image coursing through his brain.

  “You won’t need anything that elaborate. The studio owner, Jasper, said you could look through his wardrobe to see if anything might fit, but you’ll have to buy your own shoes. I can get you a discount at a shop on the mainland, and Jasper said he’d pay half as sort of a sponsorship since you’ll be advertising the studio. You’ll be able to sell them afterwards online and get most of your money back.”

  Ryan glanced at his feet. “I can’t just wear my regular shoes?” He had noticed the black laced-up shoes with a higher than normal heel worn by the dancer in the video.

  “I’m afraid not,” she explained. “We’ll be dancing on a clean wood floor like here, and ballroom shoes have a suede sole that lets you glide on the floor with just the right amount of grip. Regular leather or rubber soles could actually grip too much and cause you to get hurt. And we don’t want that, do we?”

  Ryan rolled his right shoulder and remembered the same words coming from his Major League coach.

  “No, we don’t,” said a voice from behind him. “We don’t want any injuries. We just want fabulous, magnificent dancing.”

  Ryan turned and his jaw dropped at the sight behind him. A man with a pink-tipped blond mohawk stood with a large shopping bag in one hand and the other hand parked on his hip. His tank top was blindingly lime green and matched the polish on his fingernails. His green animal print jeans fit skin tight and looked like they’d been made from a nauseated leopard. If Ryan had been asked to describe the man, the only words that came to mind were that he resembled a cockatiel after an explosion at a confetti factory.

  “I’m Jasper Vonderleith. I own Allegro and I am beyond excited that you’ve so graciously agreed to dance with our Amara in the competition.”

  I didn’t exactly agree graciously, Ryan thought as his gaze darted from Jasper to Amara and back. But he wouldn’t verbalize the thought. Neither he nor the team needed any negative publicity.

  “And the tango,” Jasper exclaimed, glancing toward the ceiling and clutching one hand to his chest. “Lucky you. It’s the most romantic dance in my opinion, and you’re blessed with such a beautiful partner.”

  Ryan had to agree with him on that point. Amara was beautiful, all right. Up close he could see the fringe of dark lashes rimming her eyes, the olive hue of her skin, the way she nibbled her full lower lip – a lip that begged to be kissed. And that idea needed to disappear immediately. This woman was off limits for more than one reason. She was probably an island resident, so this would have to remain a strictly professional relationship.

  “You two are going to look absolutely marvelous in the spotlight. Let me see if I have any costumes that might fit you.”

  Spotlight? After being viewed in millions of homes on large screen televisions, Ryan wasn’t sure why the idea of a spotlight spooked him. But it did. Maybe he could convince—

  No. Cutter had made it quite clear.

  He was going to dance in this competition. End of discussion.

  Amara pulled a folder from a tote beside her chair and slid it across the table toward him. “I pulled together some material for you to read along with illustrations of some dance patterns. They’ll make more sense once we start actually doing the steps.”

  Ryan stared at the folder. He’d be up all night tonight and tomorrow going over all those papers. And then he’d be back on the field Monday working with the new recruit from North Carolina. Maybe Doc could help him out with the material in the folder.

  “Our practice schedule is in there, too. This studio has two other dancers also needing time to practice for the contest in addition to our regular classes. The team management assured me you’d be available to practice at least three times a week and more if I determined it was necessary. I’ll need you to be here Monday morning at six o’clock so we can get in a practice before I have to get to school. Can you do that?”

  “You go to school?” Ryan asked. She looked young but…

  “I teach English at Mimosa High. Can you be here at six? And then again at four that afternoon after I finish teaching?”

  Ryan nodded. Whatever schedule she wanted, Cutter Valentine would make sure he was available. He would have to let Cutter know what his dancing practice schedule was so they could figure out how to get the new pitcher in shape quickly.

  Yeah, broken legs were looking better and better every second. But it was too late to break them now. He was in this for better or for worse.

  Chapter Four

  The shocked look on Ryan’s face telegraphed his reaction to Jasper. And truthfully, she’d had much the same reaction when she first met the man. But he was a talented dancer, a patient instructor, a terrific boss and a compassionate human being. Most people never looked beyond his flamboyant exterior to see the man who volunteered at the local soup kitchen, visited shut-in members of the community and collected blankets for the homeless. And now he was forgoing hours and hours of paid instruction to place three teams in a charity competition, which would benefit a cause close to Amara’s heart should she win.

  And she would do everything in her power to make that happen.

  “Aren’t these amazing?” Jasper’s question broke through her thoughts. He smiled broadly and his gold tooth gleamed in the overhead lights.

  In one hand he held a pair of gold lamé pants with a matching shirt. A black sequined outfit dangled from a hanger in his other hand.

  Amara could see Ryan’s discomfort. “They are amazing, Jasper, but I’m not sure they’ll fit. You’re taller than Ryan and he’s broader across the shoulders than you. We really don’t want to ruin your costumes with alterations, do we?”

  She could hear the breath of relief hiss between Ryan’s teeth. In reality Jasper was the same height, but he wore lifts in his shoes.

  “Maybe you could go for a Miami Vice look then,” Jasper suggested.

  “What’s that?” Ryan asked.

  Amara saw the surprised reaction cross Jasper’s face. “What is that?” Jasper repeated. “Don Johnson. Five o’clock shadow. Pink tee shirt with an Armani jacket?”

  Amara knew Jasper binge-watched old television shows with regularity, not only for entertainment but as inspiration for retro dance routines. Just the week before she had ribbed him good-naturedly about singing the Love Boat theme while damp-mopping the floor.

  Ryan shook his head. “Sorry. All I can accommodate would be the five o’clock shadow. There’s not a single pink tee shirt in my closet.”

  Amara let her gaze wander to Ryan’s face. The strong jaw would carry evening whiskers well. Then her gaze dropped lower to the jeans riding low on narrow hips and a butt any woman would be tempted to ogle. The man would look good in anything.

  Or nothing at all.

  And where had that rogue thought come from? She shook it away and forced her
thoughts back on track.

  “I think a dark suit, a starched white shirt and a tie will work. Can you manage that?”

  Ryan nodded. “Thank you,” he mouthed in her direction as Jasper left the room to return the outfits to the costume closet.

  “Jasper is over the top, but he’s really one of the good guys. He fought to get this studio three entries in the competition since it’s here on the island. Regardless of who wins, the publicity will be great.”

  “Yeah, he’s something all right. And thanks for stepping in about those costumes. You know as well as I that I probably could have worn either one.”

  “True, but I’ve learned that a dancer who is comfortable in his attire is more relaxed and therefore is a better competitor. And given that you played Major League Baseball, I’m guessing you’re a competitor who likes to win.”

  “Fu—uh, heck yeah. Isn’t that what it’s about? Winning? Why bother if you don’t give it one hundred percent?”

  That was the attitude Amara liked to hear. She just hoped Ryan wasn’t a win-at-any-cost type – one who took too many chances and risks that could ultimately sabotage everything.

  “So, you have the handouts and our practice schedule. I’ll give you a call once Jasper makes arrangements with Elegance about the shoes. Hopefully that’ll be early next week. Start wearing them around the house, but do not wear them outdoors or it’ll ruin the soles.” She confirmed his phone number from the info sheet provided by the Bucks management office. “So I guess I’ll see you Monday morning to get started. By the way, we’re dancing to “Sway” by the Pussycat Dolls. If you’re not familiar with the song I’ll send you a download link to the version we’re using and you can listen to it. You’ll want to be familiar with every second of the song so that once you learn the dance steps you’ll be able to put them to the music right away.”

  “I know the song,” he said. “But send me the link so I can listen to the exact version we’ll be dancing to. Anything else?”