finding Reese.: a SAFELIGHT novel vol.2 (SAFELIGHT Series) Read online

  We arrive at the medical center, and after Jackson is called to enter the therapy room, I step outside and head towards the large fountain in front of the building. I need to speak with Kaelan.

  “Catalina! So nice to hear from you!” she answers the phone. “I presume by now you’ve heard . . .”

  “Yes, though I was unsure you were in the know. What are your thoughts?”

  “I think it’s a great idea, Catalina. Why do I sense you don’t approve of a follow-up story?”

  I smile as I look at the fountain. Kaelan’s shrewd intuition reminds me of my own. “Jackson needs to focus on healing at his own pace, not because the press demands to know whether or not he’ll snowboard again. Xsports can down play this all they want, but I know it’s a ploy to secure an exclusive. I feel I’m being used for my friendship with Jackson.”

  Kaelan laughs softly over the line. “That is true. However, you have to see this as an opportunity for Jackson to get off his ass and get back in the game. I agree with you on everything you’re saying, but you and I both know he needs this. Everyone loves a great comeback story, and who better than you to write it? I saw an online proof of your article. Clever title by the way. I’ll admit you captured Jackson better than anyone ever has. Hell, I think you see him better than he sees himself . . .”

  “That’s very kind of you, Kaelan. Thank you.”

  “Nonsense, Catalina, no need to thank me. Your work speaks for itself. While I haven’t discussed it with Jackson, I’m moving ahead with your magazine’s proposal, and like last time I am making it a condition that you, and only you, write the article. There is no one I trust more.”

  “Okay, I’m in. I’m with Jackson at the medical center . . . Would you like for me to tell him about the proposal, or do you prefer to tell him?”

  Kaelan hums, and with a happy sigh, she says, “I think he’ll be more receptive if the proposal comes from you. Tell him that you have my blessing, and this is something he must do, okay?”

  I nod. “Indeed.”

  We chat for a bit, talking about my stay in Casper and Jackson’s recovery, and then we end the call. Placing my cell in my pocket, I walk through the revolving door of the medical center, and wait for the elevator to arrive. When it chimes and the steel doors open, I’m greeted by a smiling Jackson. I look at my watch and realize an hour has zoomed by.

  “Where’d you go?” he asks.

  “I was on a call. I’m sorry. I lost track of time. How’d it go? What’s the word?”

  Jackson gives me an ear-splitting grin.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yep. I’m regaining mobility in my ankles and if I keep on track, I won’t need surgery. I talked with the good doctor and asked him about dancing. He says it won’t be a problem, though I’m not allowed to do lifts. I’m thrilled!”

  I jump up and down, and clap my gloved hands excitedly. I wrap my arms around Jackson’s neck, and kiss his cheek. He returns my hug, and just when he’s about to lift me, I smack the back of his neck. We both laugh, and unlock from each other to walk towards the truck. As we drive away from the medical center, I ask Jackson where we’re headed.

  “Downtown . . . I’ll show you the way, okay?”

  We make the journey down the serene streets of downtown Casper. There is a vintage feel to this town, and unlike New York City you can pull up to any one of the many shops and find a place to park. Everyone knows each other, and outsiders are seen as curious yet welcome. I love the old-time charm of this place and while it isn’t really home, I feel like it could be.

  “Pull up here,” Jackson says, pointing at a vacant spot in front of a shop.

  Reese-Moore Dance Company.

  Instinctively, I grip the steering wheel harder than usual tense at the possibility of facing Olivia without Stryder. It’s not that I don’t count on Jackson to keep her in line. It’s just that she’s not a nice person.

  “It’s not the Reese you’re thinking of, Cat. This place belongs to my oldest sister, Kathryn, and her husband, Gregg Moore,” Jackson chuckles. Stepping out of the truck he walks around to open my door. “This is going to be great!”

  “Do they know we’re coming? I don’t think I’m dressed properly . . .”

  “Girl, you’re fine. Stop being a pussy, and come meet my sister. She’s dying to meet you!” he exclaims, dragging me along the sidewalk and through the doors of the studio.

  As soon as we walk in, I see a class in progress. Six adult couples are dancing to Lee Ann Womack’s “I Hope You Dance.” I watch in fascination as their bodies sway to the beat of the country song. There’s a mystic feeling in the air as, couple by couple, they move across the amber-colored dance floor. I keep my eyes focused on the teacher and her partner, who dance perfectly in each other’s arms.

  Jackson leans closer, and pointing towards the couple I can’t take my eyes off from, he whispers, “Kathryn.” I nod and keep watching, fascinated by the effortless movement of their feet, and of Kathryn’s lean body and long arms as she points her fingers in the air while her partner holds onto her body. When the song ends they bow to the other couples present, and I find myself clapping. All eyes turn to focus on me, and I’m positive my cheeks are red.

  Kathryn’s gaze meets Jackson’s and she races towards him, her steps so graceful she looks like a wild gazelle. Her shoulder length sandy blonde hair bounces with each step. Jackson opens his arms and she crashes into them with a gleeful squeal. I’ve only heard of her before, and like her Dad, she often travels with her husband around the world for dance-related events. We aren’t acquainted, but it’s easy to see she is nothing like her younger sister. The only common trait they share is their stunning looks, and while Kathryn is shorter than Olivia, she has an incredible smile and crisp blue eyes like Jackson.

  “Jaxy!” she cries amid tears, and they hug like they haven’t seen each other in years. When they finally let go, Jackson drapes his arm over my shoulder and makes introductions.

  “Kathryn, this is Jupiter’s better half, Catalina Pardo. Cat, meet my wiser and awesome big sister, Kathryn Moore,” he says with a smile.

  I extend my hand, and shake hers. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Moore,”

  “The pleasure is mine, Catalina. Please, don’t call me Mrs. Moore. It will only make my husband’s, erm, ego grow. Kathryn, just call me Kathryn.” She giggles, letting go of my hand and wrapping me in a tight hug. “Thank you for saving my baby brother’s life. Now, tell me, Catalina . . . what’s it like to tame a wild bull like Jupiter?”

  I’m at a loss for words, so I simply laugh. “Well−well . . . it’s nice, or so I’m told.”

  Kathryn and Jackson laugh loudly, and another song starts playing. “All right, ladies and gents, let’s show our guests how a Rumba is danced, okay?” Kathryn calls to the people in the room. Redirecting her attention to me, she speaks. “Jaxy told me you want to learn how to dance. With those beautiful hips of yours it shouldn’t be a problem,” she says appraisingly.

  “Oh, no . . . You don’t understand. These hips are for show. My feet are the problem . . .” I explain seriously, but again Jackson and Kathryn break into laughter.

  “Come on, Cat. Anyone can dance. Our parents have ingrained that belief in us, and I have yet to see someone prove them wrong. Have some faith and confidence in yourself, will you?” Jackson encourages, and Kathryn agrees with a nod.

  “You see that handsome grump over there?” Kathryn says, pointing at the man standing in front of the mirrors. “That’s Gregg, my husband. He had two left feet, and now we co-teach. We’ll whip you into shape in no time. Trust me.”

  I nod, but I’m still skeptical. Kathryn goes on. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but Jupiter is the best dancer of all of us right behind our parents. The man is fierce on the dance floor.”

  Jackson looks at me and gives me an I-told-you-so look. “That’s why I want to learn. I don’t want him to be embarrassed with my dance-on-one-tile routine,” I mumble, blushi
ng.

  “Then you’re in the right place, Catalina,” she says. “Jackson told me we have several weeks before Jupiter returns. By then we’ll have the basics covered, and you’ll blow his socks off the next time you go out. Sounds like a plan?”

  “Yes,” I exclaim, thrilled and terrified at the same time.

  “Wonderful! I’ll pair you up with Gregg, and you can work on basics as soon as the class is over.”

  “No, Kathryn,” Jackson says. “I’ll be her partner.”

  “But your ankles, Jaxy, not to mention you haven’t danced for a while. I figured Gregg might be a better fit for her,” Kathryn says, resting her hands on her hips.

  Jackson cups his sister’s face and kisses her forehead. “I’m okay to dance. The doctor has given me the go-ahead, plus you and I both know dancing is the best medicine.

  Kathryn nods. “Okay, brother, but no lifts and I’d hold off on the jive too. Got it?”

  Jackson nods and hugs Kathryn again. “I’m happy to do this with you, sis. I’m going to take Cat back there and find her some shoes. Send me the bill, okay?”

  “Oh shut up, Jax. Just get her the damn shoes. New clay to mold, Gregg! I’m excited!”

  There I stand, feeling a mixture of self-doubt and exhilaration, just like when I went snowboarding for the first time. Ever since Stryder Martynus and Jackson Reese walked into my life, I’ve experimented with new things . . . things I would never have done on my own.

  Jackson takes hold of my hand and leads me to a backroom filled with dancewear and equipment; from ankle bands to footwear. He picks up a pair of heeled shoes . . . and suddenly, I’m no longer feeling so confident. I don’t mind wearing stilettos to go out, but dancing in them is a whole different thing. I pick up a cream-colored pair and sigh.

  “IT’S GOING TO HURT, CAT. Not going to lie. You will have blisters, and you’ll learn to love and hate the very shoes you’re holding. What’s your size?” he asks, smiling.

  I lift one shoe and look inside the heel. It’s a size nine. “I think these will do.”

  Jackson takes them from me, and shakes his head. “Nope. You’ll need a half-size larger. Reason being, you don’t want the back to rub against your heel. Not to mention, you want to have enough leeway for tape. Trust me on this.” I smile, and giggle as he flips lids off shoeboxes looking for the perfect pair. As he goes deeper into the room, my phone chirps with an incoming text message.

 

 

 

  I giggle and look around, making sure no one including Jackson notices our sexting.

 

  “Found them!” Jackson calls from the back of the room, and I jump.

  “Okay,” I call shakily, and then my phone chirps again. I’m eager to read Stryder’s response, and when I do my cheeks grow warm.

 

  My hand rises to cover my mouth, and I close my eyes imagining just that. A small moan escapes my throat, and when I open my eyes Jackson is standing in front of me with a shoebox in his hands and a knowing smile on his lips.

  “Do you need me to call the Fire Department?” he asks with a click of his tongue. My eyes widen in horror; if a few moments ago my cheeks felt warm, now they are on fire. I’m mortified, and shove my phone into my pocketbook avoiding eye contact. “What? It’s perfectly normal to sext with your boyfriend, Cat,” he chuckles.

  I look at him and laugh, bringing both of my hands to my hot cheeks. “Damn . . . Was it that obvious?”

  “Yeah, a bit.” He nods. “Come on, you dirty girl. Let’s dance.”

  Jackson grabs my hand and leads me toward the office, where he opens a locker and shoves my purse inside. After placing the dance tape Jackson gave me over the tops of my toes and heels, I take a few steps, trying to get a feel for the shoes. These feel different from normal heels and with the tape in the mix, walking feels downright awkward. Jackson’s laughter stops me dead in my tracks, and resting my hands on my hips, I scowl.

  “What.”

  Jackson tries and fails to stifle his laughs. I give him the blankest of stares, and tap my fingers impatiently against my pelvis.

  “Nothing . . . You’re walking like a newborn horse, that’s all,” Jackson mumbles, then laughs harder, prompting tears to spill from his eyes. He’s right. I am walking like a foal taking its first steps. This shit feels weird. Huffing loudly, I walk as best as I can towards the door. Jackson grabs my hand and leads me out with a whispered, “Come on, pony, attagirl,” which earns him a nice smack on the ribs.

  He’s laughing now at my walking . . . wait till he sees me dancing. I’m preparing myself mentally for the mockery that will ensue when they realize I’m no good at it. My footsteps click loudly against the hardwood floor. The class that was in progress has ended, and the studio is vacant. Kathryn smiles when she sees me and, with a quizzical look on her face, she observes my walking. Unlike Jackson, she doesn’t laugh, and when I stand in front of the mirrors and cross my arms against my chest, she walks toward me in strides.

  Sweet Lord! Her grace is infallible, and nothing short of a model’s runaway walk. Kathryn stops in front of me, and rests her hands on my shoulders.

  “Listen closely to what I’m about to say, Catalina.”

  I nod.

  “Anyone can dance. It’s all in your head. Jackson told me you didn’t know a lick of snowboarding and you got the hang of it pretty quick. This is no different, yeah?” Again I nod, but stay quiet because she’s in her zone.

  “Good. Dancing is meant to be fun, and it’s an honest way to express oneself. Think of it as art; your body and feet are the paintbrush, the dance floor is your canvas, and on it we will make a masterpiece. I will push you, break you and put you back together again, but we will put all that we have on this floor. I will give you my very best and I expect the same in return. Half-assed dancing is unacceptable. Do I make myself clear?”

  There’s something extraordinary about Kathryn; her sharp yet fantastic approach has ingrained itself in my mind. I feel empowered, brave, and eager to show her I don’t do half-assed. I look at her square in the eye, and reply, “Crystal.”

  She squeezes my shoulders and lets me go, and from the corner of my eye I notice Jackson watching our exchange. I redirect my attention to Kathryn as she walks around me like a shark swimming around prey.

  “Your posture isn’t bad, but it can be improved. Raise your hands as if you were dancing with Jupiter, please.” I comply, and jump when I feel her palm pressing against my spine. “Good . . . now breathe through your diaphragm.”

  I breathe in and out and my arms quickly grow tired. When they fall down, though, I quickly raise them and shuffle my feet to regain my balance. When I do this, Kathryn mumbles, “Very good.”

  “She’s going to be great,” Jackson shouts from across the room.

  With measured steps, he approaches us and when he’s standing before me, I admire our reflections in the mirrors. Despite his injuries, Jackson stands tall with a posture I’ve only seen once before on the day I agreed to go snowboarding for the first time. Smiling, Jackson extends his arms and takes my hand, directing my other hand on his shoulder. Once locked in each other’s hold, he inches us closer to the mirror.

  “Frame and posture, meet Catalina,” Kathryn says. “Catalina, meet posture and frame.” I giggle at her methodology. “Frame and posture is everything; it can make or break a dance. You will learn how to keep your frame and posture while in hold; whether it’s a Viennese Waltz or an Argentine Tango. Believe it or not, this will be the hardest part of dancing. Your
feet will follow along, Catalina,” she says, as if reading my thoughts.

  We stand in front of the mirror working on my frame, and every time my body slumps, Kathryn is quick to swat it back into position. Two hours later and completely drenched in sweat, Kathryn finally gives me a break to catch my breath. My toes and feet are killing me. Jackson hands me a bottle of water, and walks towards Kathryn with a smile.

  “Be gentle, Kathryn,” he says, as he opens his hold for her. Gregg presses a button on the sound system and Mazzy Star’s “Fade Into You” starts to play. They dance a slow waltz, my jaw drops as I watch Jackson dance for the first time. His steps are slow and measured, and judging by his taut facial expressions, I can tell he is pushing past pain to get through the dance. It’s so mesmerizing to watch them cover the expanse of the wooden dance floor, and more than once I find myself sighing. I’ve seen Stryder dance with Olivia, and Kathryn with Gregg, but there’s something incredibly inspiring about watching Kathryn and Jackson dance, capturing the somberness of the song. It’s as if I’m watching a story unfold before my eyes.

  Gregg walks over and sits beside mine.

  “It’s something to behold, isn’t it?” he asks with a smile, and I nod.

  “Definitely . . . If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he does this every day instead of snowboarding! When they told me they were dancers I had a good laugh, but having seen Stryder and now Jax I feel like an ass. These boys are really talented.”

  Gregg chuckles and replies smugly, “You’ll be showing them up in no time. You have what it takes to be a great dancer, Catalina. My wife is right. It’s all in your head. Believe in your capabilities.” He shifts in his seat, and winks wickedly. “Dancing has other benefits too, and Jupiter is the best of the best, or so I’ve heard.”

  My face feels like it’s on fire. “Indeed,” I mumble, my finger suddenly interested in rearranging my bangs. “I just want him to be able to do what he loves with me. For too long I’ve sat down to watch others dance. It’s time for me to start doing . . . I want to surprise him when he gets back.”