At the back of her mind, Casta realized Joaquin had not participated in the first few dances. But she barely had a moment to contemplate why before she was swept into a schottische with Berto, then an Irish jig with Cisco, and a polka with a gentleman named Richard. Sitting out one dance allowed her to catch her breath and dab at her damp face with a lace-edged handkerchief.
Strident vihuela strums caused her to turn toward the sound, and she noticed a familiar man who worked on Rancho El Ocaso was who created the music.
Pedro let out a yodeling warble. “Grab your partners for a bolero.”
Cheers rose from around the room.
A dance of my heritage. Casta inhaled and looked around, wondering which man might approach and request a dance. This one required a more intimate hold, with the dancers’ bodies closer together, and she really wanted only one partner.
Joaquin stepped close and held out his left hand. “Baila conmigo?”
“Con mucho gusto.” Her stomach tripped. Jacketless, he wore a royal-blue shirt that set off his tanned skin. She followed his lead to the dance floor. Once there, she slipped her right hand into his, stretched her left to rest on his upper arm, and took a sliding step to the right. Lifting on her toes, she stepped forward and crossed her left foot in front of her right. Joaquin’s grip on her hand and at her waist guided her through a raised arm slow spin, leading to a quarter turn where she shifted her weight between her feet while swinging her hips.
Joaquin returned them to a closed position and swung through the sliding four-four rhythm, circling them expertly together and apart.
Dancers formed a ring around the half-dozen couples and clapped to the strumming.
Captured by his gaze, she kept her chin lifted and her focus on the man who moved her with such easy grace. She’d observed his prowess on the back of a horse but had not expected to see this natural rhythm carried over to dancing. Her anticipation of this dance didn’t rank anywhere close to her experience of being under his spell. Her heart beat faster, and she stretched her senses to take in everything about these few moments. The curve of his lips, the arch of an eyebrow, the slide of a calloused palm, the warmth of fingers on her waist, his sandalwood scent. A young girl’s fancy to dance like this with Joaquin was coming true. She registered a swirling sensation in her chest. The girl she was at thirteen hadn’t known how wonderful being held in his strong arms would feel…but she’d hoped. Now that Casta experienced the actual event, she yearned for more.
He guided them through the steps like they’d been dancing together for years. Around her, everything else blurred, and all she saw was Joaquin—his dark, staring eyes under a broad forehead exposed by slicked-back wavy hair.
A guitar flourish and long trumpet note ended the song.
Too soon. She swallowed back her disappointment. Suddenly, other noises crept into her awareness—applause to thank the musicians and voices as people moved away, chatting.
Joaquin slipped a hand onto the small of her back. “Should we get a drink?”
Using her right hand, she fanned air against her cheeks. “I’d like that.” Her breaths came too fast. Was the slow-paced dance the cause, or was being Joaquin’s focus the reason?
While they waited, he leaned close. “Casta, I want to thank you for sharing your clothes. My sisters look lovely in their gowns. More importantly, wearing something new has made them very happy. You provided them with something my father could not.”
Warm breath wafted over her left cheek, almost distracting her from his words. She didn’t dare meet his gaze, afraid she might give away the tumult roaring through her chest. “The war has been hard on us all. Simple gifts and gestures are often the most memorable.”
Nodding at the older woman behind the punch bowl, he accepted two cups. “Gracias, Mavis.” He jerked his head toward the far wall. “Let’s sit over there.”
Casta followed and claimed the chair to his left. She sipped the tart-sweet lemonade garnished by a strawberry slice, savoring the liquid that quenched her thirst.
“I wanted to talk in private.” He quaffed his drink and set the cup on the floor by his feet.
“All right.” Her thoughts whirled. What could be the topic? His appreciation for the loan of gowns had been sufficient.
Leaning back in the chair, he crossed an ankle over the opposite knee. “My method of treating the bull is not working.”
She fought against the disappointment that the subject wasn’t a personal one. “What have you done?” With the conversation turning to an animal, she didn’t have to worry about giving away her runaway feelings. Casta angled her body so she could meet his gaze.
Dark brows bunched at the bridge of his nose. “Soaked it in Epsom salts and in the rancho’s mineral water. Kept weight off the leg by suspending him in a sling.”
“With any improvement?”
“Nada.” His lips tightened.
Nodding, she sipped and pondered the dilemma. Now that they weren’t in motion, she spotted shadows under his eyes and deeper grooves around his mouth. Very clear symptoms of worry. For a quick moment, she had the urge to gloat. Having him turn to her expertise boosted her confidence. At the same time, she recognized how requesting her help might be difficult for Joaquin. “Are you asking me to ply my trade?” As she studied his expression, she kept her voice restrained.
Angling his head, he flattened a hand against his chest. “This is me apologizing for belittling your skills.” A smile spread on his lips, and his dark eyes glowed. “You have every right to toss my rejection of your offer back in my face.” He leaned sideways and bumped his shoulder against hers. “But I hope you don’t.”
Tingles built from the point of contact and spread down her arm. His teasing tone also relaxed his expression. “Um, I won’t. That conversation isn’t important. The animal and its suffering will be my focus.”
Then he pressed his hands together prayer-like and lifted his brows. “You’re agreeing to help?”
Finally, she could be of real use to her host family. “Por supuesto. With pleasure.” She smiled and nodded. “I’ll start tomorrow.”
Joaquin laid a hand atop hers. “Not until I return in the afternoon.”
The idea of the animal hurting longer than was needed made no sense. Especially since it had already suffered because of Joaquin’s stubbornness. Sucking in a breath, she stiffened. “Why? I am perfectly capable—”
He laid a straight pointer against her lips. “Tornado isn’t used to women. He’s only been handled by men. I don’t know how he’ll react.” His eyes narrowed. “Prometeme.”
At the gentle pressure on her mouth, she inhaled, her entire awareness focusing on that thin connection. Joaquin had no idea about the years of healing experience she possessed. How could he, when they hadn’t talked like this in years? A public event wasn’t the place to go into a long explanation. But she really didn’t relish giving him the wrong idea or speaking empty words.
“Casta?” A dark brow inched higher.
“I agree.” As long as the animal isn’t in pain. “How about another dance?”
Footsteps approached and then stopped.
“Miss Casta, another reel is announced.” Berto held out a hand. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?”
Casta looked up at the man with the lean face and eyes set under prominent brows. In their other dance, she had the impression his enthusiasm shone more than his dancing skill. She glanced toward Joaquin with a raised eyebrow, hoping he claimed the dance.
Not taking his glare from Berto’s face, Joaquin shook his head. “I don’t dance reels or jigs.”
Que triste. She yearned for more time spent in Joaquin’s arms. Letting out a breath, she stood and slipped her hand in Berto’s proffered one.
Berto squared his shoulders and smirked. “Your inadequacy, Galtero, is my gain.”
Hearing the neighbor’s nasty tone made her stomach flip. Berto’s snide attitude displayed his true colors. What rivalry had she walked into the middle of? The pressure on her hand increased. She stepped toward the center of the room, even if she’d rather have remained at Joaquin’s side. She glanced over her shoulder and mouthed, the next waltz?
Joaquin tapped a pointer to his forehead, then shoved it forward in a salute.
As she lined up for the next dance, she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that Joaquin looked like a man who lacked a friend.