Read Online The Daddy Dance by Mindy Klasky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mindy Klasky
Ads: Link
frightened kitten. “Now, shift your foot to the gas. The truck will roll forward just a little—that’s the power of the engine pulling it, without giving it any fuel. When you’re ready, push down on the gas pedal to really make it move.” He waited a moment, but she could not move. “Come on,” he urged. “Let’s go.”
She looked out the windshield, her heart pounding wildly. “Here?” she managed to squeak.
“We’re in a parking lot. There’s not another vehicle around. No lights. Nothing for you to hit.” He turned the words into a soothing poem.
He was being so patient. So kind. She had to reward his calm expectation, had to show him that his confidence was not misplaced. She tensed the muscles in her calf and eased her foot off the brake. As he had predicted, the truck edged forward, crunching on gravel with enough volume that she slammed back onto the brake.
Rye laughed as he slid his thumb underneath his seat belt, loosening the band where it had seized tight against his shoulder. “That’s why they make seat belts,” he said. “Try it again.”
This time, it was easier to desert the brake. She let the truck roll forward several feet, getting used to the feel of the engine vibrating through the steering wheel, up her arms, into the center of her body. She knew that she had to try the gas pedal next, had to make the silver monster pick up speed. Steeling herself, she plunged her foot down on the gas pedal.
The truck jumped forward like a thoroughbred out of the gate. Panicked, she pounded on the brake, throwing herself forward with enough momentum that her teeth clicked shut.
“Easy, cowboy!” Rye ran a hand through his chestnut curls. “Remember—like an egg beneath the pedal.”
She set her jaw with grim determination. She could do this. It was a simple matter of controlling her body, of making her muscles meet her demands. She just needed to tense her foot, tighten her calf. She just needed to lower her toes, that much…that much…a little more….
The truck glided forward, like an ocean liner pulling away from a dock. She traveled about ten yards before she braked to a smooth stop. Again, she told herself, and she repeated the maneuver three times.
“Very good,” Rye said, and she realized that she’d been concentrating so hard she had almost forgotten the man beside her. “Now you just have to add in steering.”
She saw that they were nearing the end of the parking lot. It was time to turn, or to learn how to drive in Reverse. She rapidly chose the lesser of the two evils. Controlling the steering wheel was just another matter of muscle coordination. Just another matter of using her body, of adapting her dance training. Concentrating with every strand of her awareness, she eased onto the gas and turned the truck in a sweeping circle.
Rye watched Kat gain control over the truck, becoming more comfortable with each pass around the parking lot. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a woman who held herself in check so rigidly. Maybe it was her dancer’s training, or maybe it was true terror about managing two tons of metal. He longed to reach out, to smooth the tension from her arms, from the thigh that had trembled beneath his palm.
Mentally, he snorted at himself. He hadn’t lied when he told her that he’d taught each of his siblings. They’d been easy to guide, though—each had been eager to fly the nest, to gain the freedom of wheels in a small Virginia town.
Suddenly, he flashed on a memory of his own youthful days. He’d been driving his first truck, the one that he had bought with his own money, saved from long summers working as a carpenter’s apprentice. He’d just graduated from college, just started dating Rachel Morehouse.
She hadn’t been afraid, the way that Kat was. Rachel had tricked him with a demon’s kiss, digging into his pockets when he was most distracted. She had taken his keys and run to his truck, barely giving him time to haul himself
She looked out the windshield, her heart pounding wildly. “Here?” she managed to squeak.
“We’re in a parking lot. There’s not another vehicle around. No lights. Nothing for you to hit.” He turned the words into a soothing poem.
He was being so patient. So kind. She had to reward his calm expectation, had to show him that his confidence was not misplaced. She tensed the muscles in her calf and eased her foot off the brake. As he had predicted, the truck edged forward, crunching on gravel with enough volume that she slammed back onto the brake.
Rye laughed as he slid his thumb underneath his seat belt, loosening the band where it had seized tight against his shoulder. “That’s why they make seat belts,” he said. “Try it again.”
This time, it was easier to desert the brake. She let the truck roll forward several feet, getting used to the feel of the engine vibrating through the steering wheel, up her arms, into the center of her body. She knew that she had to try the gas pedal next, had to make the silver monster pick up speed. Steeling herself, she plunged her foot down on the gas pedal.
The truck jumped forward like a thoroughbred out of the gate. Panicked, she pounded on the brake, throwing herself forward with enough momentum that her teeth clicked shut.
“Easy, cowboy!” Rye ran a hand through his chestnut curls. “Remember—like an egg beneath the pedal.”
She set her jaw with grim determination. She could do this. It was a simple matter of controlling her body, of making her muscles meet her demands. She just needed to tense her foot, tighten her calf. She just needed to lower her toes, that much…that much…a little more….
The truck glided forward, like an ocean liner pulling away from a dock. She traveled about ten yards before she braked to a smooth stop. Again, she told herself, and she repeated the maneuver three times.
“Very good,” Rye said, and she realized that she’d been concentrating so hard she had almost forgotten the man beside her. “Now you just have to add in steering.”
She saw that they were nearing the end of the parking lot. It was time to turn, or to learn how to drive in Reverse. She rapidly chose the lesser of the two evils. Controlling the steering wheel was just another matter of muscle coordination. Just another matter of using her body, of adapting her dance training. Concentrating with every strand of her awareness, she eased onto the gas and turned the truck in a sweeping circle.
Rye watched Kat gain control over the truck, becoming more comfortable with each pass around the parking lot. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a woman who held herself in check so rigidly. Maybe it was her dancer’s training, or maybe it was true terror about managing two tons of metal. He longed to reach out, to smooth the tension from her arms, from the thigh that had trembled beneath his palm.
Mentally, he snorted at himself. He hadn’t lied when he told her that he’d taught each of his siblings. They’d been easy to guide, though—each had been eager to fly the nest, to gain the freedom of wheels in a small Virginia town.
Suddenly, he flashed on a memory of his own youthful days. He’d been driving his first truck, the one that he had bought with his own money, saved from long summers working as a carpenter’s apprentice. He’d just graduated from college, just started dating Rachel Morehouse.
She hadn’t been afraid, the way that Kat was. Rachel had tricked him with a demon’s kiss, digging into his pockets when he was most distracted. She had taken his keys and run to his truck, barely giving him time to haul himself
Similar Books
