“A d-dance?” Savina turned from the counter where she stacked dishes. “When?”
Estefan turned his head and noticed her sparkling eyes. Made sense she’d be interested.
Trent picked up the paper, and his brows bunched together. “August Terp-si-chore, whatever that is.”
Savina approached the table and looked over her cousin’s shoulder. “What a p-perfect name for a d-dance. Terp-sich-ore is the Greek muse of d-dancing and singing. Almost a p-patron saint of those who work in theatrical companies.” Smiling, she clasped her hands against her chest and shuffled a dance step up and back from the table. “Folks from the Rolling M g-go, d-don’t we? P-please say you’re p-planning to, Trent.” Biting her lip, she shifted her gaze to connect with Estefan.
The uncertainty in her green eyes hit him in the middle of his chest. Besides the hour he spent each morning instructing her, they hadn’t had a single private moment since the night of Tronar’s illness. Their individual goals occupied all their time. After a couple days, he’d told himself that situation was exactly how it should be. But in this moment, in seeing her excitement at the possibility of enjoying what she loved, he smiled and was glad to see her reciprocate.
“If Trent’s not going…” Hans stood next to his chair and sketched a short bow. “I’d be proud to escort you, Miss Savina.”
Estefan’s hand tightened about the cup handle, and his jaw clamped. As soon as the event was mentioned, he should have anticipated an invitation might be extended.
Frowning, Trent glanced between his employee and his friend. “We’ll all go together. If we leave around five o’clock, everyone will have the afternoon to get gussied up.”
Cheers erupted from each person around the table.
~**~
That night, Savina sat at a table she’d dragged from the storage room into her bedroom and started a letter to her aunt. A railroad trip east for her audition meant she’d pass right through North Platte. Not stopping for a visit with her aunt and uncle would be unforgivable. Luckily, the route didn’t go through Missouri so no obligation to visit her family existed.
Thinking of how to word this re-acquaintance letter had her stumped. Every time she thought the opening was right, she realized how occupied with her professional life and absent from family news she’d been. In the end, she opted for a light and breezy tone.
Dear Aunt Kay and Uncle Perry,
Have five whole years passed since we last saw one another? I believe Louella’s wedding was the last happy occasion we shared.
I have to start by saying I don’t know what I would have done after my foot injury if Trent hadn’t provided me with a roof over my head. Over these past weeks, my injury has healed, but I don’t see myself returning to the rigid training needed for my roles in the opera house ballet.
Never fear, I am putting my skills to use but for a different type of performance. I was excited to discover newspaper clippings and articles in the scrapbook that pointed me toward a new career. I’m developing a bareback trick riding act and plan to travel to New York City soon to audition for America’s National Entertainment. Of course, I hope you’ll allow me to visit you in North Platte and demonstrate my skills. If Uncle Perry wants to give me any pointers, I’d be all ears—seeing as he’s acquainted with Buffalo Bill himself.
I’d appreciate hearing any news of the goings-on related to the Wild West show.
Your loving niece, Savina
P.S. I know Uncle Perry wasn’t on the best of terms with Mother—at least as of four years ago. But if he should happen to hear from her, please don’t share my plans.
~**~
All week, everyone on the Rolling M had been looking forward to Saturday’s dance. Laughter resounded in the warm summer air as the group traveled into Morgan’s Crossing. Trent tried to convince her to ride on horseback, but Savina held out for the buckboard. Even in the side saddle, her fanciest dress—the coral one with lace-edged swags criss-crossed over the back of the skirt—would have been horribly wrinkled upon arrival. Besides, she was happy to ditch the cowboy boots and walk with a lighter tread in the flat-heeled satin slippers she used to wear for non-ballet roles.
The wagon rumbled over the wooden bridge, and Savina leaned forward, her anticipation growing. Almost two months had passed since she’d danced, allowing her body to move in rhythm with music, and she really missed the activity. On the wagon’s descent down the main street, she saw several people walking toward the big meeting house.
Trent waved to a person who’d called out his name.
As she waited for the men to tie a rope corral among the trees to contain the horses, she caught several people staring. One woman, accompanied by five men, must present a strange picture. When the men were finally finished, she made sure to loop her hand through Trent’s elbow on the walk across the street.
He glanced her way with an eyebrow raised.
Not wanting to be too obvious, she leaned close and whispered, “People were staring at our unbalanced group. Walking in together seemed the right thing to do.”
“Suppose this means I’m paying your entry, too?”
Her footsteps halted. “Why didn’t you tell me to bring money?”
Grinning, he tapped her on the nose. “Just teasing, cousin. Three cents won’t break my piggy bank.”
“You’ve just earned the first d-dance.” A line had formed at the door, and Savina tapped her foot as people inched forward. Restraint was needed so she didn’t sneak a peek over her shoulder to locate Estefan.
Just past the doorway stood a table where a red-haired Missus Andrusha sat. “Welcome to the Terpsichore. Oh, good evening, Savina.”
“You’re looking well, Cinnia. I’m excited to b-be here.” She glanced toward the building interior, but people greeting one another had formed a group and she couldn’t see past them. “I’ve missed d-dancing while my foot healed.”
Cinnia smiled and waved toward the blonde at her side. “Then you have my friend, Dorrie Sullivan, to thank. The dances are all her doing.” She reached out a hand and tapped Dorrie’s arm. “Dorrie, this is my friend, Savina, who danced ballet at the Ming Opera House.”
The woman turned from gazing into the room and smiled. “Nice to meet another member of the theatrical family.” Her blue eyes were vivid, highlighted by a swath of solid blue fabric gathering across the neckline and forming the over-the-shoulder cap sleeves. “Thank you all for coming.”
Savina hadn’t thought about how unbalanced the genders would be in a mining town. “Your d-dress is lovely, D-dorrie. I like the c-cotton sprigged with tiny b-blue flowers.”
Dorrie waved a hand at Cinnia and dipped a curtsey. “Thanks to our resident seamstress extraordinaire.” Then she motioned the group forward. “Trent, you and your ranch hands will be in competition with the miners to find a dance partner.”
Someone behind them in line cleared his throat.
Savina stepped away from the group and moved deeper into the room. On the back wall hung the painted backdrop with the Grecian columns Cinnia had described from her vaudeville act. In front was a small stage about a foot high. For a moment, she unfocused her eyes and imagined herself back at the Ming, standing in the wings and waiting for the first note from the orchestra to cue an entrance. Missing were the heat from the gaslights and the smell of greasepaint and Katie Putnam’s perfume. And the sisterhood of her dance troupe. The nostalgic memories brought tears to her eyes.
As she’d always done, she ran a hand over the front of her garment—which fit looser around the waist than it used to fro, all her exercise—and then lifted a hand to check if the pins still held her hair in a tight bun. Although tonight, she’d opted to pin back only the top part of her hair and let the rest hang in loose waves. Probably she’d never again stand backstage, waiting to begin a dance routine.
Releasing a sigh at that maudlin thought, she turned to explore the other decorations. Never good with specific names, she noted bouquets of purple, blue, an
d pink flowers tied with satin ribbons around the stems. Tall yellow sunflowers stood in separate vases. The air was filled with sweet and pungent scents, and the hum of genial conversations.
“Are you all right, Savina?”
For just a second, she closed her eyes at the familiar rasp of Estefan’s voice—the same low tone he used while working the horses. Calm and intimate. After mashing her lips tight then licking her lips, she opened her mouth. But her previous emotional response to the theater-like setting locked her words in her throat. Dipping her head twice, she turned and gave him a smile. “I-I’m fine.”
“If being here upsets you, we can take a walk through town. Away from these people.” He stepped closer, his dark gaze intent. “Or sit on the bench in front of Nic’s shop.”
That he was sensitive to her moods touched her. As she gathered her thoughts, she noticed how handsome he looked in the cream-colored shirt against his tanned skin. The brown woolen trousers were a pair she hadn’t yet seen. His dark hair had grown almost to his ears and needed a trim. “The b-backdrop made me remember my last p-performance in Helena. Before my—”
The sound of a single person clapping halted conversations, and the crowd faced the back of the room.
Dorrie stepped onto the stage and stood next to a seated blond man. Across his lap was a triangular stringed instrument with a wood surface.
“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the August Terpsichore. That name’s a mouthful.” Smiling, she raised her arms in an encompassing gesture. “I’m pleased to see so many of you here from Morgan’s Crossing and from outlying ranches. To those of you who attended last month, the man to my left needs no introduction. We all enjoyed the wonderful music he provided. Please welcome Mister Valerik Andrusha.”
Whistles and foot-stomping erupted.
Trent appeared at her side.
Seeing him do a double-take at Estefan’s presence sent her thoughts scrambling for a distraction. Since Tronar’s illness, Trent started acting like the big brother he wasn’t—even though he’d agreed to her helping through the night. Cupping a hand around her mouth, she leaned toward her cousin. “What type of instrument d-does he have?”
“Name is too complicated to remember, but the sound reminds me of a banjo.”
The string of strummed notes sounded like a reel. Estefan’s hand covered hers, but she eased it away. “I p-promised Trent the first d-dance. Sorry.”
People moved to the center of the floor and formed opposing lines of dancers—women in one and men in the other.
As the forward and back and all hands round steps played out, Savina remembered dancing reels in her family’s home. The movements were so loose and free, quite different from controlled ballet. With the do-si-do, she grabbed hold of her skirts and swished the fabric as she circled around Trent. Happiness at the lively music and active steps bubbled up until she couldn’t contain a belly laugh.
The reel bled into a polka where Hans suddenly appeared and sashayed her away. The music ended when they were on the opposite side of the room, and Gordon swept her into a two-step before she caught her breath. She had to stiffen her arms to widen the space between them because he stomped on her toes more than once. On one twirl, she thought she spotted Estefan’s scowling face, but when she looked again, he was swinging Dorrie around the floor.
For the next number, Savina begged off a second invitation from Hans and hurried to the refreshment table, anxious for a drink of water. By keeping in motion, she hoped to appear like she was headed to meet someone and could catch her breath.
The music stopped, followed by clapping and whistles.
Dorrie hopped up on the stage and waved her hands above her head. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have an addition to the musical program. I have the honor of introducing a visitor to Morgan’s Crossing who is an experienced violinist. Missus Magic Rose McKay has agreed to share her talent by starting with a waltz.” She gestured toward the approaching performer before starting the welcoming applause.
The woman with wavy dark hair carried herself with a regal air and then settled into the recently vacated seat. Her off-white blouse allowed the fine-shaped violin tucked under her chin to show to good advantage.
“I claim the waltz.” Estefan cupped her elbow then swung her into his arms.
By the second of the three-cadenced steps, Savina knew her partner was an accomplished dancer. His guiding touches were so strong and confident, she didn’t have to worry about bumping into other dancers. Even better was spending the entire musical number looking into his intense gaze. The connection from a week ago returned, and her spirit pirouetted.
The tempo changed to a four-four beat, and he pulled her closer enough to whisper, “Trust me, Savina?”
Only a second passed before she nodded. His embracing arm rode high across her back, and she stretched her arm along the ridge of his shoulder. Through the clasp of their other hands, he signaled the direction of his next move. Barely two inches separated their upper bodies, and she wondered at the lecture she’d have to endure from Trent later.
“Take four steps backward. Feel the tempo, bend your knees. Move your center a second before your feet.”
His whispered instructions puffed warm air across her cheek, and her body responded to his masterful lead. Only vaguely was she aware he’d moved them away from the other dancers. A touch at her hip guided her sideways, and they walked side by side, dragging the back foot. Then he pulled her tight and drew her backward several steps, always gazing into her eyes.
At the next downbeat, he relaxing his hold and widened the frame. “Improvise. Move to the rhythm for eight counts.”
Years of practice kicked in, and she chasséd in one direction bringing her stiff arms up to chest height then stepped-together-stepped in the other. Moving into as broad a modified arabesque n as her dress allowed, she jerked her head and wiggled the hand poised over her head.
Estefan clasped her hand and, with his other hand at the small of her back, pushed her into a slow turn before dragging her close and leaning her backward over his bent and extended thigh.
Thrilling to the sensation, Savina tossed her free arm over her head, her fingers grazing the floor and held the pose.
Until the buzz of whispers started from the half dozen people gawking in their direction.
Estefan pulled her upright and close to his side. From the corner of his mouth, he spoke. “Take a bow.” He executed a deep formal bow.
Heat flushed her cheeks, Savina lowered into a graceful curtsey.
“Folks, Miss Savina and I have provided you with a short demonstration of a dance known as the Rio Plata Tango. A business associate from Argentina introduced the steps on his last visit. The tango is gaining popularity in my region of New Mexico Territory.” Smiling, he scanned the crowd. “Remember this night, because soon many will be begging to learn this dance.”
She stifled a giggle behind her hand then turned her back to the group then arched an eyebrow. “B-begging? How c-can you b-be sure?”
“I won’t be here to have to support my statement. Better give them something to anticipate, so the gossip doesn’t fly as fast and furious as it might.”
Hearing him state aloud their time together would soon end dampened her spirits. But she forced a bright smile. “Well, I d-don’t p-pay attention to g-gossip. D-dancers have never b-been g-given the highest respect. The tango is fun and exciting.”
He leaned close and pressed his forehead to hers. “And those were the tamest steps I know.” Then he grinned and pulled her toward the refreshment table. After gulping a cup of lemonade, he tugged her hand. “Let’s stand just outside. I need a bit of fresh air.”
Savina glanced over her shoulder and didn’t spot her cousin’s disapproving glare so she hurried to the open doorway. Just as she reached the bottom step, she heard violin playing from somewhere out of sight. “Listen, isn’t that wonderful?”
Estefan circled his hands at her waist and leaned his chin on her shoul
der.
Swaying, she covered his hands and closed her eyes. The delicate quaver of the heartfelt notes reminded her of saying farewell to a loved one, knowing much time would pass before meeting again. The vibrato strings pierced right to her soul, and her throat clogged. At the touch of his hands curling around her fingers, she readied to spin and swing into a waltz in the dry ground outside the meeting house. Muted light from the half moon cast his features in shadow. The warmth of his lips closing over hers didn’t stop their feet from executing the waltz steps. At the edge of her awareness came a single word. “Magic!”
Estefan eased her head down to rest on his chest, and she felt the steady beat of his heart against her cheek. The scent of rosemary wafted from his shirt.
Had someone cried out, or had she only thought the word?
Chapter Seven
Estefan snapped the reins and set the pair harnessed to the sulky—Mancha, a white with red leopard spotting and, Nube, a gray with a solid white rump blanket—trotting along the oval track. Weeks of training ripped the pasture grass down to bare dirt. Not the same conditions as at a real race track, but good enough to get this second team used to working together. Each morning when he set out, he told himself the focus was on analyzing the three year olds’ strides and pushing them for speed.
At some point each day, his thoughts went back to last week’s dance and the kiss he shared with Savina in the moonlight. He shouldn’t have led her to believe the kiss was anything more than an enjoyable interlude. A romance didn’t fit into his immediate plans. By the first week in September, he had to be at The Red Mile in Lexington, Kentucky for an important race.
Heat from the midday sun rose around him, making sweat trickle along his temples. His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it. Helping Savina, while rewarding, cut into the necessary training for the pacers. With his deadline approaching, he couldn’t spare even thirty minutes to head back to the ranch house for a meal. Guilt always hit when he returned to the barn to find a covered plate with a sandwich waiting in the tack room.
Montana Sky_Hearts In Rhythm Page 7