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 out 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.