Книга - More Than a Rancher

More Than a Rancher
Claire McEwen


Does he dare to follow her lead?Ballroom dancer Jenna Stevens is done with all things romance. It's so much more satisfying to focus on her career. That is, until she meets Sandro Salazar-a handsome, brooding small-town chef and sometimes rancher. Jenna is drawn to him immediately, but there's no way Sandro could fit into her fast-paced, urban life. Still, as she gets to know this reformed bad boy, she begins to wonder if maybe their two worlds can merge. One thing's for certain-Jenna will have to take the lead if she has any hope of Sandro seeing what's possible for the two of them… together.







Does he dare to follow her lead?

Ballroom dancer Jenna Stevens is done with all things romance. It’s so much more satisfying to focus on her career. That is, until she meets Sandro Salazar—a handsome, brooding small-town chef and sometimes rancher. Jenna is drawn to him immediately, but there’s no way Sandro could fit into her fast-paced, urban life.

Still, as she gets to know this reformed bad boy, she begins to wonder if maybe their two worlds can merge. One thing’s for certain—Jenna will have to take the lead if she has any hope of Sandro seeing what’s possible for the two of them…together.


Jenna turned and came up against a chest.

An intriguingly muscular chest. It was wrapped up like a present in a tight white T-shirt. But instead of a bow, there was a belt with a silver buckle.

“Hey.” It was a low voice, kind of husky, and she finally looked up.

The owner of the chest, T-shirt and belt buckle took a step back. His skin was olive-toned, and his black hair curled over his forehead. Dark brown eyes studied her face. He smiled, and his full lips parted to reveal teeth that were white and just a little crooked.

“Hey,” she managed to say, and in an attempt not to gape at the man who looked as if he’d swaggered straight off the streets of Spain or Italy, she took the cloth grocery bag from his hand and set it on the counter.

“I’m Sandro,” he said quietly.

“Of course. Sandro the chef.” Her cheeks were on fire, and something was wrong with her brain. She stuck out her hand, and he took it, wrapping it in his long fingers and giving it a firm shake. “Um, nice to meet you. I’m visiting. From San Francisco.”

“I see. Well, I hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m always hungry,” Jenna blurted out. “I mean, I try not to eat too much—I’m a dancer…. You know, dieting and all.” This was ridiculous. Just a scant hour ago she’d given Samantha a speech about how her focus was going to be on her career, and yet now she couldn’t even think straight, or talk, just because of one good-looking guy.


Dear Reader (#ulink_ddad0143-e31f-5908-ad44-9a36ba334363),

Many years ago, I took my first Lindy Hop dance class and fell in love. It was an all-consuming love that I was lucky to share with a lively and dedicated group of dancers. And for a year or two I had a wonderful dance partner. We taught classes at a ballroom and everywhere else we could drum up work. It was a magical time.

Those experiences were the inspiration for Jenna Stevens. Dance is her passion, so when she meets a young man who dreams of becoming a dancer, she resolves to help him. But first she has to enlist the support of his older brother.

That older brother is Sandro Salazar, the rebellious eldest son of a Basque family who owns a sheep ranch outside of my fictional town of Benson, California. Basque culture is so intertwined with the Eastern Sierra Nevada, where Benson is set, that I had to have at least one character who hailed from these traditions.

Many Basque people moved to the western United States in the late eighteen hundreds as sheepherders, and restaurants serving Basque cuisine were established along their herding routes. Sandro is a chef who dreams of owning one of these restaurants and bringing a modern flair to his culinary roots. But he has a few personal battles to fight before he can make those dreams come true.

More Than a Rancher has many themes woven through it, and one of them is alcoholism. I am familiar with this disease because I was raised by someone afflicted with it. Many people know of Alcoholics Anonymous, or AA, which teaches alcoholics how to manage their addiction. In this book, Jenna attends Al-Anon, a program that is not as well known. Al-Anon, and its youth program, Alateen, are there to support anyone whose life is affected by someone else’s drinking.

AA, Al-Anon and Alateen programs cost no money and are available throughout the United States, Canada and countries all over the world. Please feel free to visit my website, www.clairemcewen.com (http://www.clairemcewen.com), where I have more information available.

I am excited to share Jenna and Sandro’s story with you. They took me on a complicated and romantic journey, and I hope you enjoy its twists and turns as much as I have.

Wishing you joy,

Claire McEwen


More Than a Rancher

Claire McEwen






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ulink_82909af0-e631-566c-b968-046fe7230bd4)

When CLAIRE McEWEN entered the first chapter of the first book she’d ever written into Mills & Boon’s 2012 So You Think You Can Write Contest, she didn’t place, or even final. But by some miracle, a very patient Mills & Boon Superromance editor asked to see her full manuscript. After much work, that rather jumbled draft became Claire’s debut novel, A Ranch to Keep, released in February 2014.

Before writing, Claire had a career in public education, with some detours into bartending, dance teaching and leading bus tours on a Greek island. Without doubt, pieces of her past adventures will show up in future books! She is currently working on more novels set in San Francisco and her fictional Sierra town of Benson, California.

Claire always dreamed of writing books and being a mom, and she is extremely grateful to be living both those dreams. She lives in a Northern California beach town, and when not writing can often be found

digging in the garden, playing by the ocean with her son or dancing with her own romantic hero, also known as her husband. Claire enjoys getting to know her readers and can be reached on Facebook, Twitter or at her website, www.clairemcewen.com (http://www.clairemcewen.com).


For my extraordinary editor, Karen Reid.

More Than a Rancher only exists because she was able to see Jenna and Sandro’s story far more clearly than I did. Her insight, ideas and talent for figuring out what I’m really trying to say makes my books possible.

I am forever grateful.

And for my sweet family.

Arik, who gives me endless encouragement and love, and who is learning the Lindy Hop, just for me.

And Shane, who is always happy to join me for a dance around the kitchen, with a smile that is pure joy.









ACKNOWLEDGMENTS (#ulink_b989bf7f-fcb4-534c-a42f-7e88fdb817fd)

I am blessed to be surrounded by friends and family who helped me with this book.

My brilliant agent, Jill Marsal, my sister Sally, my husband, Arik, and my writing buddy, Lia, all joined the fray as I wrestled my ideas into a coherent proposal. My brother-in-law Steve, a talented cook and all-around knowledgeable guy, helped me clarify Sandro’s culinary vision. And my dear friend, Debbie, generously shared her experiences growing up in a Basque family of sheepherders and ranchers. All mistakes, detours from fact and outright embellishments are entirely my own.

***

I had the privilege of working at a lovely ballroom with supportive colleagues and a wonderful dance partner, who was nothing like Jenna’s. The gracious and welcoming owner encouraged my dancing, and never gave our classes to her niece, or to anyone else. All characters in this book, along with their flaws and foibles, are completely imaginary.


Contents

Cover (#ue93e282f-2411-538f-81d0-621d8c712be5)

Back Cover Text (#u41aecff3-ef5d-5d78-8071-432392225f85)

Introduction (#u7cd4bba1-fcb0-5d23-82c6-9959c1ee8c92)

Dear Reader (#ulink_84ae7484-cf6d-5c1a-82ac-ab6276aa8338)

Title Page (#u65f13562-76d6-5cc0-a6a1-41b7630099d7)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#ulink_0aef60b2-197e-5e3f-adb2-06f1007fd46f)

Dedication (#u1aabe781-ee94-5174-b035-71d0e43a1c8b)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS (#ulink_020bbb6f-7d22-5297-8689-ff15ad74a465)

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_f0f81ceb-c2f6-5357-be25-04122707a2ff)

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_5d6a561c-1324-5ee4-b3cd-6c2e68a07dc2)

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_43a9ea64-067d-5727-b4e9-4ab9a1885ff0)

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_ddf73dcb-c8ca-5e7b-8af0-47b48163a249)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_9e33c9a7-2115-5729-802b-62e0b54bd0ac)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_21f446cb-df2d-5563-a735-d01f6915be9e)

WHEN JENNA’S BEST friend described the scenery in the Eastern Sierra, she’d called it soothing and peaceful. But as Jenna stood on a dirt road next to a barren pasture, staring at the pancaked tire on her beloved Mini Cooper, those were not the words that came to mind. She muttered a few of the four-letter variety instead and looked around, wondering what to do next.

Sagebrush, punctuated by beige grass, rolled along for miles eastward. To the west, beyond the highway she’d left behind a few bumpy miles ago, the Sierra Nevada sheered upward in an empty, vast wilderness of gray granite. The mountains rolled on, peak after peak, as far as she could see. Jenna and Samantha agreed on most things, but today Jenna would have to take issue with her best friend’s feelings about this place. There was nothing soothing here. Intimidating was a far better word.

Sighing, Jenna walked around to the passenger side and opened the door, taking her cell phone out of her purse. No reception, of course. Not when she needed it most.

This was crazy. She should have called off the trip when her blender exploded this morning. Jenna wasn’t completely superstitious, but the smoothie spattered all over her kitchen walls had felt like a sign. As if the universe was telling her to crawl back in bed, pull up the covers and stay safely home in San Francisco.

While she’d wiped up the smoothie bits, Jenna had fought the temptation to call Samantha and cancel their plans. She’d been up late last night, hosting a Latin dance party at the ballroom where she worked, and her warm bed had looked incredibly inviting. But her friend was planning her wedding and wanted help. Plus, Jenna felt guilty that she’d never even seen the ranch that Samantha lived on with her fiancé. So she’d dismissed her premonition and forced herself to load up her car and get on the road. And that was when everything started going wrong.

First was the phone call from Jeff. During that disastrous conversation, Jenna learned that there was nothing like an ex-boyfriend confessing to numerous infidelities to make a girl wish she’d stayed hidden beneath her covers all day. Jenna had pulled over, thrown up, cried, then driven to the nearest convenience store for the most massive soda she could find.

Sugar, bubbles and caffeine had worked their magic and she’d managed to continue her calamitous journey. And now here she was, with a flat tire, stuck beyond nowhere. The smoothie volcano had been a sign. And she’d been a fool not to pay attention.

Jenna opened the glove compartment and rummaged around for the owner’s manual. Next time she would listen to her instincts when her kitchen appliances started erupting. This was crazy—she had no idea how to change a tire. Opening the booklet, she started reading. She hated diagrams and instructions of all kinds, but maybe if she stared at them long enough, a miracle would occur and she’d figure them out.

For an instant she was back in school, trying to focus on the textbooks while her teachers looked on in disappointment. Panic fluttered. One step at a time, she told herself. That was the way to get through anything complicated, whether it was a dance routine at the ballroom or a flat tire on a wrong-turn dirt road.

The manual said there should be a jack in the back of the car, so Jenna set the little book on the roof, opened the hatchback and pulled out her bags to uncover the compartment where the tool was allegedly hidden. As she moved her duffel bag, her iPod slid out and dropped to the ground. She picked it up and automatically put the earbuds in. Music was a huge part of her life. It soothed her, helped her think—and she needed all the help she could get right now.

The iPod was set to the song that she and Brent, her dance partner, were using for their upcoming competition. Jenna touched the arrow to play it. At least she could get more familiar with the rhythms while she tried her hand at auto repair.

Jenna walked over to the offending wheel, clutching the object she hoped was the jack. She set it gingerly on the ground and began reading the manual again. The words still weren’t sinking in. Instead the upbeat tune vibrated through her body, and her mind drifted from the dry instructions on the page to the cha-cha routine she and Brent were choreographing.

Maybe if she just focused on dancing for a moment, it would clear her head and she’d be able to figure out how to remove this pathetic tire.

Jenna tapped her toe in time with the verse. When the chorus came around again, she launched into the spiral turns that Brent had suggested. It was fast-paced, but Brent was right. The turns fit beautifully.

Jenna did a few basic steps through the next verse and tried the turns again. Still perfect. She closed her eyes and pictured what came next. Oh, yes, a shimmy, then a body roll down...and then she heard a cough and whirled around in horror, yanking the earbuds out.

A man on horseback was watching her from a small rise several yards away. Wariness flooded Jenna as her urban instincts set in. She inched a little closer to the jack and casually picked up the handle. Weapon in hand, she felt embarrassment follow. Why had she decided to dance here, of all places?

The man walked his horse closer and she waited, shoving her iPod into the back pocket of her jeans. Then she saw a huge smile emerge from under the wide brim of the man’s cowboy hat. He was laughing. Relief seeped in when she saw that he wasn’t a man at all but a teenage boy with a wide, goofy grin. She set the jack handle down.

“Morning.” The boy stopped laughing and rode his horse a few steps closer. The big chestnut almost dwarfed his slight frame. “You’re a good dancer.”

Jenna looked up at him, shading her eyes against the sun to better see his face. He had olive skin and black hair under his straw hat. His eyes were wide and dark, framed in thick lashes. His grin was friendly, not sarcastic or self-conscious like some of the more surly teens who showed up at her youth dance classes.

“Thank you,” she said. “And that’s a lovely horse.” She stepped forward and held out her hand, the horse’s silky nose brushing gently over her knuckles. Looking down its flank, she saw the big hindquarters. “A quarter horse?”

“You know horses?” The boy seemed genuinely surprised and Jenna smiled for the first time that day.

“They do have them in other places,” she teased gently. “I grew up riding.” The scent from the horse’s strong, sun-warmed neck took her back in time to long adolescent afternoons at the stable in rural Marin County, north of San Francisco. She’d loved horses then. She’d even abandoned dance for a few years to ride as much as possible.

“Do you always dance outside?”

It was an innocent question but Jenna blushed. “My tire’s flat. I was trying to figure out how to fix it, but I got a bit distracted.”

“That happens to me all the time! It makes my dad crazy. My brothers, too. Well, everyone, really.”

“You mean you get distracted? Or get distracted and start dancing?”

His laugh was genuinely merry. “Both.” He swung a leg over the horse’s back and dismounted gracefully. “You look like you could use a rescue.”

She did need rescuing, but usually the damsel in distress had a handsome prince coming to her aid, not a kid. Just her luck. “I could absolutely use a rescue. I must’ve turned the wrong way off the highway. Is this your land? I’m sorry if I’m trespassing.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He waved his arm around in a vague gesture that encompassed the gigantic landscape around them. “It’s my family’s ranch.”

“Really?” Jenna asked. “Does that make you a cowboy?”

The boy grinned and pointed to his hat. “Well, I’ve got the gear. But we mainly have sheep. Shepherd doesn’t sound quite so good, though.” He walked his horse a little ways off the road to where a patch of weathered brown grass grew between the sagebrush. He left it to nibble and came back toward her, his eyes on the Mini. “That’s an awesome car.”

“It’s great for San Francisco—that’s where I live,” she told him. “It fits into the tiniest parking spaces.”

“Not so great for out here, though.” His smile was infectious and softened his words.

“Obviously not! I don’t know what I was thinking. Well, I do, actually. I was lost.” Distracted first, then lost. Distracted by a phone call from her traitorous, cheating boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, she reminded herself with a twisting feeling in her heart.

“Where were you headed?”

“My friend’s ranch. I think I turned off too soon. Or maybe in the wrong direction.”

“Well, I can help you get going again. But you need to be careful out here. No more off-roading.”

“Point taken.” Jenna smiled. She liked his teasing—he seemed like a sweet kid.

The “kid” didn’t even look at her manual. He just grabbed the jack and started cranking up the car. Jenna felt silly. He changed the tire as if it were the easiest chore in the world, and she hadn’t even been able to figure out if the jack was a jack.

In no time, he had the flattened tire off and was pulling her spare out of the trunk. “Can I ask you something?” He suddenly looked shy, more of an awkward teenager than he’d seemed before.

“Of course,” Jenna answered.

“Are you a dancer? A real dancer?”

Jenna looked at the boy in surprise. “Well, I’m not sure what you mean. I dance, I teach, I compete—does that make me a real dancer?”

He grinned. “Yes!” he answered emphatically as he set the spare tire in place and picked up a bolt.

“Well, this might make you change your mind about that—I’m a ballroom dancer,” she said.

The boy’s eyes widened. “You mean like on TV, on that celebrity dance show?”

Jenna couldn’t help it. His words were so unexpected she started to laugh. “I’m sorry.... It’s just not what I expected! You watch dancing? Ballroom dancing?”

“Yeah! I watch all the shows. I try to learn stuff off of the internet, too.”

The excitement in his voice was palpable and Jenna was amazed. She would never have pegged this boy, who looked so at home in this rugged country, to be a fan of television dance programs. “Do you study dance?” she asked.

He shook his head regretfully. “We have line dancing, Western dancing, that kind of stuff. But no dance school around here.” He glanced around as if worried someone might hear him. “Even if there was, I probably wouldn’t be allowed to take classes.”

“Why not?”

“My family doesn’t exactly approve of boys—” he made quotation marks in the air in front of him “—waltzing around in tights.”

“Oh, it’s like that, huh?” Jenna asked softly, studying the teen’s profile. His focus was back on the tire but his mouth was a grim, frustrated line. “If it’s any consolation, my family’s still trying to get me to go to law school.” She truly felt for him.

“Really?” His expression brightened at that. “Are you gonna go?”

“No,” she answered. “I’m a dancer, even if they don’t see it.”

“That’s how I feel!” He had the spare on now and was staring at her, eyes wide. Jenna realized she was probably the first person he’d ever met who understood that. She wished there were something she could do for him. If he lived in San Francisco, she’d give him her card and encourage him to come to the ballroom for lessons. But out here? Somewhere beyond the tiny town of Benson? There wasn’t much she could do.

She moved her bags to the backseat and the boy loaded the flat tire into her trunk.

“I can’t thank you enough,” she told him. The flat tire had been just one more bad event in a terrible day, but right now she was almost glad it had happened. She liked this kid.

He blushed and looked away. “It’s no big deal,” he said.

“I never got your name.”

“Paul.”

“Paul, I’m Jenna. I wish there was more I could do to help you get started dancing, but I’m only here for the weekend. But when you’re looking at videos, make sure they show real technique, not just where to put your feet. The instructor should show you exactly how to place your arms and legs, your torso, your head. They should talk about the shape of your hands—even what part of your foot hits the floor first. Go slow and pay attention to all that.”

Paul nodded, his face serious. He was obviously taking in every word. “I’ll do that. Thanks, Jenna.”

He stuck out his hand and she shook it awkwardly. “Do you know where you’re going from here?” he asked. “Want me to set you in the right direction?”

“That would be great. It’s Jack Baron’s place? It’s off of...” Jenna tried to picture the name of the street, scrawled on a piece of paper in her car.

“I know it,” Paul said. “He’s a friend of my brother’s. Head back to the highway and go south about a mile and a half before making a right turn. The road will take you back behind the town, then out toward the mountains. There’s a driveway off to the right that heads uphill. Take the left fork on that driveway and you’re there.”

“I’m lucky you came along.” More than lucky—profoundly relieved. “Good luck, Paul. And thank you again for the rescue.”

“Glad to help.” He tipped his hat in her direction and went to get his horse. Jenna watched him go. Kids were her soft spot. Especially teenagers. Maybe when she finally got her own dance studio, she’d create some kind of program for kids like Paul, living out in the country with no support for their dreams. They could train with her for the summer and stay with host families. Kind of like foreign exchange students but an exchange from rural to urban.

She looked around at the landscape that in some places looked more like a moonscape. The sun was getting high and a dry heat was building, baking the sagebrush and filling the air with its spicy scent. If this was Paul’s home, then a chilly summer in San Francisco really would be like a stay in a foreign country. And as for her, a city girl, this rocky pasture felt even stranger than that. An alien world, Jenna decided as she got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. And she was ready to get back to nice familiar planet Earth.

She turned the car around and started back on the rutted dirt road she’d somehow thought would lead her to Samantha’s ranch. Knowing now what it could do to her tires, she crept along, heart pounding. Watching Paul had given her some idea of what to do if she had another blowout, but she was already riding on her spare.

Gratefully, Jenna saw the highway getting closer. Motion in her rearview mirror had her glancing back. Paul was riding behind her, a little ways off the track to avoid the dust her wheels kicked up. She smiled. What a good guy—making sure she got back to the main road safely. This was why she loved working with young people. No matter how murky or dismal the future might seem, they always gave her hope.

Meeting an aspiring dancer out here was such an odd coincidence. Jenna remembered the way Paul’s face had lit up when he talked about dance. Maybe she’d ended up in the middle of nowhere for a reason—to encourage him in his dream. If that was the case, then she’d been wrong about the meaning of that exploding smoothie. Maybe today was somehow meant to be.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_40646325-15a9-545a-b122-958b30528eeb)

“WHERE WERE YOU?” Samantha came rushing out of the beautiful log-and-glass house and down the stone steps. “I was thinking about calling the sheriff!”

“Sorry to worry you,” Jenna apologized, getting out of the Mini and giving her friend a huge hug. “I had a small mishap on the way, but everything’s fine.”

Jenna held her friend at arm’s length, admiring her glossy black hair and the way the mountain sun had sprayed tiny freckles across her porcelain skin. Samantha was wearing green to match her eyes—eyes that looked happier and more relaxed than Jenna had ever seen them when her friend had lived in San Francisco. “You look wonderful!” Jenna exclaimed. “Being engaged suits you!”

Samantha laughed and waved her hand with the huge emerald ring on it. “Can you believe it? In three months I’ll be married. Who would have thought?”

“I would.” A deep voice, ringing with its customary humor, had both women turning to where Samantha’s fiancé, Jack, was approaching from the barn, two border collies trotting at his heels.

“Jack!” Jenna smiled in delight.

“Red!” Jack grinned, teasing her with the nickname he’d given her in honor of her hair. It was amazing how fast, how perfectly, Jack had fit in with his fiancée’s best friends. Jack wrapped her in a hug and squeezed her so hard he lifted her off the ground. “Thanks for coming out here and entertaining Sam for a few days. I hope you’re up for a lot of bridal magazines and seating charts.”

Jenna realized she hadn’t thought this through. How was she supposed to muster any enthusiasm for weddings when she’d just been so royally betrayed? She plastered a smile on her face. “I’m not surprised about the charts!” Jenna forced out a playful wink, but it must have come out more like a grimace, because Samantha looked momentarily alarmed. “What else would we expect from Miss Organization?”

Samantha shrugged sheepishly and Jack went over to put his arm around his future wife, kissing the top of her head. The love in his expression was so vivid that jealousy bit its sharp teeth into Jenna’s heart. How incredible to have a man look at you as if you were the only thing that really mattered. Would anyone ever feel that way about her? At this moment, it seemed pretty unlikely.

Shaking off that dream, she pasted on another smile. “We can’t just sit around reading wedding magazines! I have a competition in a month and you promised me lots of exercise!”

“Excellent. We’ll exercise and talk about weddings.”

Jenna hoped she could. Knowing how much heartache she was carrying around right now, she’d probably burst into tears the first time she opened one of Samantha’s magazines.

“I’m just glad you’re here, Jenna,” Jack said. “As much as I can’t wait to marry this woman, I could use a break from debating the merits of lace versus tulle!” Jack hugged Samantha even closer as he teased her. “I’ll be hiding in the barn this weekend. Doing manly things.”

Samantha looked up at Jack with a radiant smile and then turned and held out her hand to Jenna. “Come see the house.” She pulled her friend close and put an arm around her. “Jack, if you’re so into manly things, would you mind bringing Jenna’s bags in?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jack tipped his hat to his wife in mock subservience.

Jenna loved Jack. He was more of a big brother than her own would ever be. Maybe she was a little jealous of Samantha and Jack’s love, but she was genuinely happy for her friend. That happiness was what she needed to somehow keep her focus on this weekend. Her woes and heartache would have to wait until she got back to San Francisco on Sunday.

She followed Samantha up the steps and walked across the planks of the broad porch. It was furnished with wooden rockers and a porch swing. “This place is beautiful!” It really was. Another thing to focus on besides Jeff. “Look at the views!” Pine trees and mountain meadows rolled out to one side of the house. Pasture unfolded on the other. And the granite crags of the Sierra Nevada gave a majestic backdrop to all that beauty.

“I promise, it was Jack I fell in love with.” Samantha gave her a wink as she pushed open the heavy front door. “But I have to admit, I really like his house, too.”

Jenna gasped when they walked inside. “I can see why!”

A massive great room with a slate floor opened in front of them, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling arched windows that let in the light and framed the spectacular scenery outside. A river-rock fireplace rose on one wall.

Samantha led the way upstairs and Jenna tried not to envy the bedrooms filled with light and huge four-poster beds, the bathrooms Zen-like with limestone and more slate. When she saw the fitness room, bigger than her entire studio apartment in San Francisco, Jenna did a few pirouettes across the floor and stopped in front of the large mirror on the wall. “I think I’m in heaven! I may never leave!”

Her friend grinned. “I’d like that very much. Stay forever. There’s certainly room.”

She looked at Samantha in the mirror they were both facing. “You know me—I could never leave San Francisco.”

“And how is San Francisco?” Samantha asked.

“Still the same amazing city by the bay.” But even Jenna could hear the sarcasm in her voice.

“That good?” Samantha asked gently.

Jenna had promised herself she’d be cheerful for her friend, no matter what was going wrong in her own life. Samantha deserved a supportive, happy maid of honor. “Oh, you know, when is life perfect, anyway?”

Jenna turned away from the mirror, picked up a five-pound weight from the rack and did a few biceps curls. Glancing at Samantha, who was leaning against the wall watching her with a concerned expression, Jenna lifted the little barbell and pointed to her biceps with her free hand. “Look at those guns!”

Samantha smiled at the joke but Jenna’s attempt at diversion didn’t work. “Stop pretending everything’s fine. You always do this.”

“Do what?” Jenna switched the weight to her other hand. “What do I do?”

“Pretend you’re happy when I can tell from a mile away that you’re not.”

“I don’t want to bring you down,” Jenna admitted. “This should be a joyful time for you. You’re getting married.”

“Let me guess. Jeff?”

“Now known as He Who Cheats with Groupies.”

Samantha’s hand went to her heart. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Wish I was.” Jenna did a few more curls to distract her from the knots in her stomach—the knots that had been there for a week now.

“What happened?”

“I went to his show last weekend. I thought I’d surprise him backstage with a cake for his birthday. But someone had beat me to it—and her gift wasn’t cake.”

“He didn’t...” Samantha paused, eyes wide. “They weren’t...”

“Let’s just say her present didn’t involve clothing.” Jenna set the weight back on the rack.

“No.” Samantha crossed the floor in a few quick steps, pulling Jenna into a hug. “That is so unfair. Awful. I am so sorry, Jen.”

Jenna’s voice came out muffled against her friend’s shoulder. “I finally talked to him today. He called while I was driving out here. It turns out that wasn’t the only time he’s cheated.” The comfort in the hug was going to make her cry again and she didn’t want to. She stepped back.

“Unbelievable.” Outrage had Samantha pacing the room. “First my idiot ex, and now yours? What is wrong with these men?”

“I don’t know. But until I figure it out, I’m going to avoid them.” She couldn’t believe she’d missed so many signs with Jeff. If she’d been paying attention, she might have thought more carefully about what he might be doing all those nights on the road.

“But if you just avoid them, then you’ll never meet a good one.” Samantha paused, a dreamy expression flitting across her face. Jenna knew she was thinking about Jack. “And some of them are really great.”

“I’m starting to think you got the only good one.” Jenna hoped her words weren’t actually true, but at this point, post-Jeff, it seemed like a distinct possibility.

“You’ll find someone.” Samantha put a hand on her arm. “You’re beautiful. Look at you!” She turned Jenna gently until they were facing the mirror again and picked up a lock of her hair. “Long red curls, huge blue eyes, amazing figure. You look like a miniature Rita Hayworth!”

Jenna laughed. “Emphasis on miniature.” Samantha was about five foot eight. Next to her and four inches shorter, Jenna felt dwarfed.

“Stop that! It will work out, I promise.”

“Not until my radar gets better, it won’t. I choose these guys who cheat. Jeff always had other women hanging around after shows, but I just figured it was part of him being a musician. And when Brent and I dated, he didn’t technically cheat, but only because I broke up with him right before he was about to.”

“And has Brent started circling yet? Now that he knows you’re single?”

Jenna smiled. “You mean with his ‘I made the biggest mistake of my life letting you go’ speech? Not quite yet, but knowing my luck, he will soon.”

“What would happen if you ever dated him again? I mean, it was sweet and romantic when you were in love and dance partners....” The dreamy look was back. Now that Samantha was engaged, she wanted everyone to have their own happily-ever-after.

“He’d probably last about two weeks before he started looking over my shoulder for his next conquest. He just likes the chase. He isn’t and never was in love with me. Maybe I’m his backup plan for when he’s done playing the field.”

“Well, either way, he’s an idiot, too,” Samantha declared.

“It’s okay. He’s a good dance partner. And I’m not in love with him, either, anymore.” But she had been—very much so. The decision to keep working with him after he’d broken her heart was one of the hardest she’d ever made, but the smartest for her career. They really were good together and had two national championships to prove it.

A deep weariness hit Jenna in a crushing wave. She didn’t want to talk about Jeff or Brent or any other guy who’d left her. “Let’s get outside so you can show me this ranch of yours. Can I see your grandmother’s house? Where it all began?” Samantha had inherited her grandparents’ ranch last year, which was how she’d met Jack and fallen in love, leaving San Francisco to be with him.

Samantha giggled. “Where it all began. I like that. Maybe we should apply to make it a historical landmark.”

Jenna felt relieved that her subject change had worked. “It should be! The site where the extremely urban Samantha Rylant fell in love with mountains and a cowboy. It is kind of historic!”

They headed downstairs. Once outside, they walked down a narrow, rocky path that took them to the old ranch house. Its weathered white paint and sagging porch made it the complete opposite of Jack’s stone-and-glass modern home. Samantha took out a key. “We’re using it as my office and a guest house for friends and family.” She showed Jenna through the old rooms with their high ceilings and quaint wainscoting. Her office was so perfectly organized that it looked like one of those catalog photos of a home office, complete with neatly labeled baskets.

Jenna had never understood how Samantha had been able to live out here in the old, empty farmhouse by herself for days at a time. It seemed spooky to be alone in a house that had been closed up for years and was situated so far from everything. But now she got it. There was a cozy, comfortable feeling in the old home, such an air of happy history that Jenna couldn’t imagine not wanting to stay there.

Samantha locked the front door behind them and they started back up the path. Maybe the clean alpine air was exactly what Jenna needed. She inhaled huge lungfuls as they wandered through the ranch, trying to take in the purity of it and exhale all her anger. She just didn’t want to feel it anymore. Beyond the barn, they passed a few smaller corrals and started up a gravel road to the upper pastures, closer to the mountains.

Without a flat tire to worry about, the weathered ranch buildings and quiet pastures inspired serenity. The age-old mountains with their miles and miles of wilderness put her soap-opera troubles into perspective.

Samantha stopped by the wooden pasture fence. “Maybe we just need to set up some guidelines. You know, parameters to make sure you weed out the bad ones.”

“When you say weed, you’re not talking about plants, are you?” Jenna quipped.

“Men, of course!” Samantha had a look in her eye that Jenna recognized. It was her friend’s let-me-organize-your-life look.

Jenna leaned back against the fence to face her well-meaning friend, mourning the tenuous peace she’d found right before Samantha had spoken. “Did you really need help with wedding planning?” she asked. “Or did you get me out here because you wanted to fix things for me?”

Samantha laughed. “I do need help with the planning! But guess I did have a feeling, when we talked on the phone, that things weren’t going well. You always get hyper-cheerful when things are bad. Like you’re trying your hardest to pretend they don’t exist. So I figured I’d steal you away from your troubles for a weekend.”

“I don’t know if you can truly steal me from my troubles, Sam. They’re in my genes, I think! I mean, my mom puts up with my dad’s cheating. I’m a natural hereditary magnet for infidelity.”

“That’s ridiculous. Maybe you’re just too nice. You tend to believe the best about everyone.”

Jenna smiled ruefully. “You are very kind. But that’s the old Jenna. The post-Jeff version of Jenna is going to make sure to believe the worst.”

“No!” Samantha said laughingly. “I like my sweet friend. Don’t let one flaky musician change you.”

“Well, I have to do something different,” Jenna said. “Obviously my old ways aren’t working.”

“So let’s think of a plan that will keep you safe from cheaters.” Samantha was all business now. “Okay, this is the first guideline—no one who has been unfaithful. What do you think?”

Jenna smiled reluctantly. “That seems pretty obvious, so yeah.”

“And maybe you should rule out musicians. All those groupies are just too tempting.”

“Okay, no musicians,” Jenna agreed. After Jeff she had no problem giving up that particular category of men.

“You know,” Samantha said, “you do seem to go for these artsy types. Which makes sense because you’re an artist, too. But what about trying something different? San Francisco is full of all kinds of high-tech semi-nerdy, semi-creative types these days, right?”

“Well, yeah.” Jenna could feel the resentment in her stomach. “They make tons of money and they’re driving up the rents on all the apartments like you wouldn’t believe!”

“But that doesn’t mean they’re bad people. Someone like that might be perfect for you. Maybe another guideline should be—”

Jenna didn’t mean to cut off her friend, but the scrutiny of her love life was too much. Maybe she was just too raw after Jeff. Maybe it was a little too close to the advice her parents insisted on handing out at every opportunity. So she interrupted. “Okay, so no cheaters, musicians or artsy types. But mostly, I think I’m just going to take a break from being in a relationship.”

“But—” Samantha began.

“Sam, you’re in love. And it’s amazing! You found an awesome guy and you two will live happily ever after. And I know you want me to have the same thing. And who knows? Maybe I will someday. But right now I think this whole thing with Jeff was a sign.”

“A sign?” Jenna could see Samantha trying not to laugh. “You think everything is some kind of sign!”

“Not everything. But Jeff’s cheating is clearly a sign that I shouldn’t be in a relationship right now. I need to focus on my work and my dancing—without worrying about men.”

“Okay, okay.” Samantha bit her lip and studied Jenna closely, characteristically unsatisfied with her inability to make everything better. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.” She turned to look at the horses. “I’m just happy, Jen,” she said quietly. “And I want you to be, too.”

“I am happy,” Jenna said, moving so she stood next to Samantha. She looked at the horses grazing and the mountains unfolding behind them. The sun had sunk below the peaks and just the crags at the very top were lit up golden. A breeze shuffled through, chilling her skin. “When I’m dancing, I’m happy.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. You dance a lot, so that means you’re happy a lot.” Samantha must have felt the chill, too, because she shivered. “Let’s go in. I forgot to tell you, Jack has something really amazing planned for dinner.”

With one last look at the peaceful pasture, Jenna turned to follow her friend back to the house. For the first time in a week, she felt as if she was walking on solid ground. It might be hard to help plan a wedding right now, but Jenna was glad she was in this beautiful place, with the love and support of her best friend. There was comfort here, and she was grateful for any scrap of it she could get.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_58edca48-79e6-5201-8a58-a221291988f2)

“JACK’S OPENING A RESTAURANT?” Jenna stood in front of the mirror in the elegant guest bathroom, staring at the dark circles under her eyes. She took another sip of the cappuccino she’d begged Jack to make her.

“Investing in it.” Samantha looked up from her exploration of Jenna’s makeup bag. “You always have the best stuff. Sparkly mascara? And look at this eye shadow—it’s turquoise!”

“Well, you know how ballroom dancers are. We love our makeup. The more outrageous, the better!” Jenna yawned, trying to cover it with her arm. She picked up her lip liner and repaired her ruby-red lips. She rarely went anywhere without makeup, and bright red lipstick was one of her essentials. It made her feel like a 1940s movie star.

Samantha set the bag down. “Anyway, his friend, who’s going to be the co-owner and chef, wants to come cook us all dinner and try out some stuff for the menu. But I think you’re too tired. I’ll tell Jack to reschedule.”

“No, don’t,” Jenna said quickly. “I don’t want to cause a hassle when you guys have set this up already.”

“We can do it another night.”

“The poor chef has probably been prepping food all day.” Jenna dabbed some concealer under her eyes. “There. I’ll just cover up the evidence and be good as new.”

“If you’re sure,” Samantha said. “I promise that tomorrow we’ll spend the entire day in our pajamas. You can sleep in, we’ll look at magazines and then we’ll go to bed as early as you want.”

“Deal,” Jenna said, adding on a little blush before turning around. “So let’s go down to dinner. Here I was, thinking life on the ranch would involve some barbecue at best, and you’ve got a fancy chef coming!” Jenna laughed. “Your life is never dull, Sam.”

“Jack keeps it interesting, always.” Samantha smiled as she spoke.

Jenna drained her coffee cup and hooked her arm under her friend’s. “I promise that tomorrow, when we’re in our jammies, we’ll talk all about your wedding.” Maybe after a good night’s sleep she’d be able to do it without falling apart. They started down the stairs. “So who is this mysterious chef, anyways?”

“Someone Jack knows from when he lived in New York. It turns out he grew up out here and moved back recently. He’s really excited about the restaurant. Can you imagine, four-star cuisine in Benson?”

“Will there be anyone to eat it? This town’s like a postage stamp. Smaller. It’s like the glue on the back of a postage stamp!”

“Jenna! It’s not that small. There are all kinds of people who live outside of town. They’ll be thrilled to have a great place to eat. Plus, we get a lot of tourists.”

“Well, I’m impressed. Jack the restaurant entrepreneur. Is there anything that fiancé of yours doesn’t do?”

“Well, I don’t cook.” Jack was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs with a glass of sparkling wine for each. “Or at least not well. So tonight we get to try out a few of the dishes my partner, Sandro, has been planning for the menu.”

Jenna took the glass he offered, trading him for her coffee cup. “You might not cook but you do provide excellent drinks!”

He laughed. “Thanks, Red. I aim to please.”

A knock on the front door had the dogs jumping up suddenly from their bed by the fire, huffing and growling. “Quiet,” Jack commanded, and went to answer the door, the dogs following on his heels.

“He’s great, isn’t he?” Samantha said, looking after him and sipping her wine.

Jenna felt the nip of jealousy for the second time today and shoved it down hard. “He is a great guy,” Jenna assured her. She walked over to an end table and set her wineglass down. “So let’s go help him out.”

A blast of cold air preceded Jack into the room as he wrestled with the bags of groceries tucked under his arms. Jenna grabbed a bag stuffed with vegetables right before he dropped it, brought it into the kitchen and set it on the granite countertop.

As she turned away, she came up against a chest. An intriguingly muscular chest. It was wrapped up like a present in a tight white T-shirt. But instead of a bow, there was a belt with a silver buckle. A picture of a cowboy on a bucking horse was etched into the silver and Jenna stared at it for a split second before a tanned, lean arm reached around her and set a bottle of wine on the counter. “Hey.” It was a low voice, kind of husky, and she finally looked up.

The owner of the chest, T-shirt, belt buckle and arm took a step back. His skin was olive-toned, and his thick black hair curled over his forehead and down to his collar in the back. Dark brown eyes under black brows studied her face. He smiled and his full lips parted to reveal teeth that were white and just a little crooked.

“Hey,” she managed to whisper back, and in an attempt not to gape at the tall man who looked as if he’d swaggered straight off the streets of Spain or Italy, she reached out and took the cloth grocery bag from his hand and set it on the counter behind her.

“I’m Sandro,” he said quietly.

Of course. Sandro the chef. Couldn’t Samantha have warned her that he was absolutely gorgeous? She was probably so in love with Jack that she hadn’t even noticed. “Stevens. I’m Jenna. I mean...I’m Jenna Stevens.” Her cheeks were on fire and something was wrong with her brain. She stuck out her hand and he took it, wrapping it in his long fingers and giving it a firm shake. “Um, nice to meet you. I’m a friend of Samantha’s. Visiting. From San Francisco.”

“I see. Well, I hope you’re hungry.”

“I’m always hungry,” Jenna blurted out. “I mean, I try not to eat too much—I’m a dancer.... You know, dieting and all.” This was ridiculous. Just a scant hour ago she’d given Samantha a speech about how her focus was going to be on her career, and yet now she couldn’t even think straight, or talk, just because of one good-looking guy. Where were Samantha and Jack? This was awkward.

A noise at the door made her turn in relief but it wasn’t her friends. A boy shouldered in through the kitchen door with a chest cooler clutched in his hands. It looked heavy. “Sandro, you dick! Didn’t you know you could park in the back, right by the door?”

“Paul! Manners, bro,” the tall man commanded.

Paul? The boy set the cooler down by the door and turned around. The bright smile Jenna recognized from earlier today lit his face.

“Jenna!” He bounded toward her and then stopped, as if not sure what to do next.

Jenna stuck out her hand and he shook it. “Good to see you again, Paul. What are you doing here?”

“Helping my big brother. The master chef. I was hoping I’d see you!”

“How the hell do you two know each other?” Sandro’s voice was gruff with suspicion.

“Manners, bro,” Paul reminded him, and Jenna saw the sassy teenager in him and couldn’t help smiling.

“We met today, on a dirt road,” she told Sandro. “I had a flat and Paul changed it for me. It was really very kind of him. I’m not sure what I would have done if he hadn’t come along.”

“Well, nice to know he’s good for something.” There was pride in Sandro’s eyes that belied his belittling comment.

“You mean besides hauling all your gear? And chopping your vegetables?” Paul was smiling at his big brother’s needling. Clearly these two had a close relationship.

“Hey, I’m paying you a good wage.”

Paul sighed. “Yeah, you are, actually. I guess that means I’d better get to work. Great to see you again, Jenna.” He disappeared out the door and Sandro and Jenna watched him go.

Sandro stood so close that Jenna could feel heat radiating from him. “He’s a nice kid, your brother. I can’t tell you how helpful he was today.”

“Good.” Sandro looked down at her and she noticed again how full his mouth was and the dark, sooty way his lashes rimmed his eyes. “Though I gotta ask. Paul was down in our southeast pastures all day. It’s the most remote area of our ranch. How’d you end up on a dirt road out there?”

“You were on a dirt road?” Samantha’s voice came from behind her and Jenna turned to see that her friend and Jack had both entered the room and were staring at her with similar expressions of surprise. “Was this the mishap you mentioned earlier?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Jenna, you could have been lost for days out there!”

“Well, I wasn’t.” Jenna could feel her face getting hot again. The last thing she wanted was a scolding in front of Sandro, whom she barely knew, and who probably already thought she was nuts after her garbled introduction. He had stepped away and was unpacking groceries directly behind her. She swore she could feel the air move every time he did.

“How did that happen, anyway, Red?” Jack wasn’t laughing yet, but she could hear it behind his voice.

“Um...I had a little trouble with the map.”

“Upside-down again?” Samantha asked.

There was a snort of barely contained laughter behind her. Jenna glanced back and saw Sandro’s shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Maybe,” Jenna answered, grinning despite her embarrassment. Samantha knew her too well.

Sandro walked by her to put a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator, more composed now. “Ah,” he said mildly. “So this is a common problem?”

“Okay, so I can be a little directionally challenged!” Jenna admitted. “Can we change the subject?”

“Jenna’s a really great dancer!” Paul was closing the back door behind him with his shoulder, his arms wrapped around a cardboard box. He obviously wasn’t aware that Jenna was already the subject of conversation.

“And how would you know that?” Sandro turned from the refrigerator and looked from Paul to Jenna, concern etching lines onto his face.

“She was dancing when I found her.”

This wasn’t good. Jenna felt a little too fragile to be the butt of all the jokes this evening. “Well, just a moment of practice while I got up the nerve to change my tire.”

“No, it was awesome. She did these turns and then this shake-and-roll thing.” Paul imitated Jenna’s step so flawlessly that her jaw dropped. He’d imbued those two moves with more grace than she could ever muster.

“You were dancing in the desert? Instead of changing your tire?” Samantha pulled Jenna into a side hug. “I love you, my friend. But I will never understand you.”

“Jenna’s a dance teacher.” Paul turned to Sandro, and Jenna could hear the excitement in his voice.

“Okay, enough.” Sandro’s voice held an authority that Jenna imagined must serve him well in busy restaurant kitchens. “Paul, I’m not paying you to get your groove on. And as much as Jenna’s adventures are entertaining to hear about, I respectfully request that you all leave this kitchen and let us cook you something awe-inspiring.”

“We’re happy to stay and help prep,” Samantha offered.

“No, we’re good.” His voice was just a little abrupt.

Jenna wondered if Samantha and Jack had noticed, but they seemed happy enough to wander into the living room and settle onto the couch in front of the fireplace. Jenna took one last look at Sandro, who had moved to the sink and turned his back to her. He was briskly pulling vegetables out of the box to wash. She gave Paul a little wave and followed her friends out of the room.

* * *

SANDRO WAITED UNTIL Paul had finished chopping the shallots. While his little brother added them to the skillet on the stove, Sandro tried to keep his voice casual. “So how come you didn’t mention meeting her today?” He tilted his head in the direction of the living room.

Paul shrugged as he rinsed the cutting board in the sink. “I dunno. It happened a lot earlier on. I did a bunch of stuff afterward.”

“But you changed her tire.”

“I change tires all over the ranch. It was no big deal.” Paul raised his eyebrows. “Why are you so curious about it, anyway?”

“I’m not curious. Just wondered why you didn’t say anything, that’s all. Usually you don’t shut up for more than two minutes.” Sandro didn’t know why he was so curious. Of course Paul would help anyone he found stuck out on the ranch or anywhere else.

There was just something about Jenna that was getting to him. Maybe it was the way her bright blue eyes had widened when she’d seen him. Or the way her delicate skin had flushed so pink when they’d been joking about the map. Or maybe it was because she was a dance teacher, and the last thing he needed was someone fueling Paul’s useless dreams. Dreams that would only lead him to a whole lot of heartache.

Sandro took the medallions of lamb he’d been marinating out of the cooler and put them in the roasting pan. He went to find the root vegetables he’d cut this afternoon. The murmur of Jenna’s voice from the next room was distracting him in a way it shouldn’t. She looked like a 1940s bombshell combined with a pixie. Her legs were slim in their pegged jeans, and the black Converse sneakers on her feet were retro and rebel all in one. They were a sharp contrast to the sweet button-up blouse she wore. Then there was the red hair, styled in an elaborate curl over her forehead and falling in perfect waves down her back. With the heavy makeup and the dark lipstick, she looked gorgeous and edgy and quirky. And that was a lethal combination for him.

Sandro couldn’t afford distractions right now. His plans were finally coming together just as he’d hoped. He was going to own a restaurant with Jack, the most upstanding guy he knew. He was going to have complete control over the menu and the running of a place for the first time in his life. Getting distracted had destroyed his dreams of making it big in New York. He wouldn’t let that happen ever again.

Well, Jenna was here, in Jack’s house, and obviously great friends with Jack’s fiancée. And she was about to come through the dining room door and eat his food. He’d just have to be polite, keep his distance and try to ignore how much he wanted to get to know her. And of course, he had to keep her from talking dance with his little brother.

Suddenly inspired, he looked over at Paul. “Hey, bro,” he said.

“Yeah?” Paul stopped hacking at the garlic for a moment.

“Wanna eat here in the kitchen tonight? Maybe keep an eye on things for me? I know hanging out with a bunch of adults and minding your table manners probably isn’t your thing.”

Paul looked relieved. “Sure!”

One problem solved. The dancer and the wannabe dancer wouldn’t get much opportunity to chat. Sandro pulled the greens he’d been sautéing off the heat, pouring in pine nuts and a shot of white wine. He stirred it all together and set it on a cool burner. They were half-cooked. He’d put them back on the heat and finish them off just before he served them.

Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hands on the dish towel at his belt. He was going to walk into that living room and announce dinner and keep in mind that whatever he’d felt around Jenna was no big deal. Just one of those odd little moments life threw at you that in the grand scheme of things meant nothing. And he’d remember, when her smile lit up the room, that he had a plan for the future, and that plan didn’t include Jenna Stevens.

* * *

THE LAMB WAS quite possibly one of the best things Jenna had ever tasted—and she didn’t even like lamb. Sandro had glazed it in a slightly sweet sauce and served it with a fragrant mixture of fresh herbs, garlic and olive oil. It was kind of like the chimichurri sauce they’d eaten with steak when her parents had hired an Argentine chef. Sadly, that chef hadn’t lasted long—Jenna suspected it had something to do with the flirtatious glances between her father and the chef’s wife—but she’d never forgotten the powerhouse flavors of the chopped fresh herbs on a perfectly grilled steak. And Sandro had re-created that, but better somehow.

Jenna tasted a slice of golden beet gleaming at the side of her plate like a coin. A tiny moan escaped her lips and she bit it back, but Sandro glanced over, an eyebrow raised.

“Okay, that was amazing,” she told him, as the now familiar blush crept over her cheeks. Why did she have to moan? She was eating the vegetable, not sleeping with it. But it was really, really good. She licked a spot of sauce off her lip and then noticed that Sandro was watching her mouth intently.

He shook his head slightly and his eyes found hers. Focused. “You think so, huh?”

“Yes.” She took a sip of wine to hide her confusion. He was still watching her mouth. And it hit her. He felt the same attraction she did. Even though she had no business being happy about that, it felt good. His attention was a balm for the sting of Jeff’s rejection. Because despite knowing that Jeff’s cheating was a result of his weak character, she still ended up feeling as if somehow she was the one lacking. She hadn’t been sexy enough for him. She just hadn’t been enough.

“Bet you can’t guess my secret ingredient.” He issued the challenge, watching her over the rim of his glass as he sipped his water. There was heat in his gaze, and something between them connected and sizzled.

Jenna knew it was wrong, but she’d felt so awful all week, and here was a chance to make herself feel a tiny bit better. A little harmless flirting might be good for her battered ego. Plus, being raised by parents who employed a private chef meant she had a good palate—she could answer him no problem.

She leaned over the corner of the table, giving Sandro a nice eyeful of cleavage in the process, and whispered, “Meyer lemon.” She quickly straightened and took a sip of her wine, waiting for his response from a safe distance.

His eyes were glazed. He looked satisfyingly befuddled.

“Well?” she asked. “Did I get it right?”

He seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden. “You got one of them right...but there’s a few.”

“Just give me time,” Jenna assured him. Of course, she wouldn’t take this any further, but it was nice to know that someone found her attractive enough to go a bit cross-eyed when she was near.

Jenna glanced down the table, figuring that was enough flirting with the chef. “Jack, this food is so good.”

“We’ll see if the people of Benson are ready for it,” Jack said.

“What do you mean?” Jenna asked.

“Well, Sandro is talented, but the food he loves to cook isn’t necessarily the food that folks in Benson traditionally want to eat. Let’s just say they’re a little more into the basics.”

“Roast this and roast that,” Sandro said ruefully. “But we’re hoping to shake it up a bit. So I’ve made roast lamb tonight, but the raspberry glaze and the herb sauce take it up a notch. And we’re serving it with a bunch of baby root vegetables instead of the usual potatoes.”

“So you’re trying to bring cuisine around here to a new level, without stepping too far out of people’s comfort zones.” Jenna took a sip of her wine. The Cabernet filled her mouth with a rich mix of flavors.

“Exactly,” Jack said.

Jenna turned to Sandro. “Is that the kind of thing you cooked in New York?”

Sandro went still for a moment. Whatever he was thinking or feeling etched a vertical line between his brows. Maybe she’d gotten the wrong impression when she’d started flirting with him. He certainly didn’t look pleased with her now.

Finally he answered in a casual tone, “I cooked all kinds of stuff in New York. Worked at a lot of places.” He ate a bite of lamb, making it clear he wasn’t going to elaborate. Jenna noticed he’d barely touched his wine.

Over dessert, Jack told them about a meal he’d had at one of Sandro’s restaurants when they’d known each other in New York. How people had lined up around the block to get a table. But it seemed to Jenna that the more Jack talked, the more remote Sandro became. Maybe it was just humility? But there was a darkness in his eyes, a bitterness in the lines of his mouth that Jenna didn’t understand. According to Jack, he’d been a huge success, but he didn’t look at all happy about the memories.

As Jack’s story came to an end, Jenna studied Sandro covertly. He was staring into deep space located somewhere between his water and wine glasses. Well, he might be a bit of a moody person, but it was clear to Jenna that Jack’s money would be well invested. Sandro had a gift, a talent for blending ingredients and flavors in new and fascinating ways that would be a huge hit. The delicate vanilla-bean flan that had finished the meal alongside a perfect cappuccino was the final proof.

She glanced down the table to where Jack and Samantha were holding hands and smiling at each other. “Nice work,” she whispered, interrupting whatever dark reverie he was lost in. “Jack and Samantha look like they’re in a blissed-out food coma.”

Sandro looked up and smiled at her, his mood apparently lightening, and her stomach did an odd flip. “The highest compliment,” he whispered back. “But you’re still clearheaded. Should I be worried?”

It took a moment to follow him but when she did, she giggled. “Because I’m not comatose? No. The food was delicious. But I’ve got a competition coming up and no matter how good the food, I have to eat a little less of it than most people.”

“Sounds like you’re missing out.” He winked. “Especially when you’re eating my food.”

“Missing out on stuffing myself? I don’t see it that way. Dancing takes discipline. But the fun of it is way more than the pleasure I might get from a few extra bites of food.” Jenna paused and licked some flan off her spoon, noticing how Sandro’s eyes locked on to her mouth. “No matter how incredible they might taste.”

* * *

THEY’D MADE THEIR way to the living room to sit in front of the fire with the last of the wine. Samantha and Jack were curled up on the couch, staring at the flames. Jenna sat on the rug by the hearth, petting Zeke, one of the collies. He’d snuggled up next to her the moment she sat down. She wove her fingers into the soft, thick fur around his neck and he sighed in doggy bliss.

Sandro had flopped into the armchair but only stayed a few minutes before disappearing into the kitchen. Jenna could hear the clattering of dishes. “Shouldn’t we be helping?” she asked.

Yawning, Samantha lifted her head from Jack’s shoulder. “Good luck. Sandro never lets anyone help. Maybe it’s a chef thing.”

“Any particular reason you want to lend a hand, Red?” Jack was looking over Samantha’s head at her, grinning suggestively.

“Are you thinking that I—?” Jenna stopped, glancing toward the kitchen to make sure its occupants couldn’t hear.

“Jack, stop teasing her!” Samantha sat up and elbowed her fiancé. “Give Jenna a break. She can’t help it if she’s so beautiful that men fall all over her. But seriously, Jen, if there was any more chemistry between you two at dinner, this whole house would have gone up in flames.”

“There’s no chemistry,” Jenna lied to her friend, ignoring the feelings racing through her.

Jack gave Jenna a long look. “It’s obvious even to a dumb guy like me that there’s something there. I’ve known Sandro for years and I’ve never seen him quite like that.”

“What, talking with people at dinner?”

“No,” Jack replied. “That’s pretty standard. This is different. For one thing, he kept staring at you.”

That shouldn’t have been such interesting news, but Jenna’s pulse sped up at the thought. The last thing she needed was a gorgeous, moody man who lived a couple hundred miles away from San Francisco. But despite what she’d told Samantha, the chemistry she felt with Sandro was palpable. Flirting with him was addictive and she wanted more. Jack’s next words felt like cold water.

“Look, Red. You gotta know this. Sandro’s my friend and he’s a great guy. An amazing, dedicated chef, too. And he’s fine to flirt with. But his history with women... Well, let’s just say there’s a long, long history and it’s not pretty. He doesn’t take much seriously outside of cooking. Don’t even think about getting involved with him. I’ve seen way too many women regret that decision.”

There was disappointment but not surprise. Jenna had lived in San Francisco long enough to know that good-looking single men in their thirties were usually too good to be true. Mostly, she felt something close to horror. Only a few hours had gone by since she’d vowed to take a break from dating and thus avoid cheating men, and she was already drawn to one like some pathetic moth to a lethal flame.

She sighed. “You don’t have to worry, Jack. He’s good-looking and all, but I don’t want anything new.” Jenna hoped that if she just kept saying the words, they’d be true. “I just want to keep my focus on my dancing right now.” A funny thought struck her and she smiled. “Even if I was interested, we wouldn’t cross paths. I doubt he’ll be signing up for dance lessons in San Francisco anytime soon!”

Jenna stared at the whispering flames in the fireplace, trying to force Sandro out of her mind. Think about your dance studio, she commanded herself. The one she was going to create now that her long, exhausting search for the perfect place had finally produced a result. Jenna pictured the old ballroom, forgotten at the back of the run-down social club. It was like discovering hidden treasure, complete with crystal chandeliers. It was going to be perfect, as long as no one else noticed it before she could pull her money together.

She’d been with Jeff the day she’d found it. Such a fun day and they’d celebrated afterward at a bar that only served champagne—one of those businesses that could exist in a busy city where people loved their wine. They’d tried a few different kinds and then gone back to his apartment and...

Ugh! Why was she thinking about Jeff? Any thoughts of sex with Jeff were hideous now that she knew he’d been sleeping with other women. She stood suddenly, her heart pounding with the enormity of his betrayal.

“Are you okay?” Samantha asked sleepily.

“I’m good,” she lied. “But really tired. I think I’ll just say good-night.” She was exhausted, she realized. It had been a rough week.

She said good-night and went to thank Sandro and Paul for dinner. Dirty dishes were still scattered around the dining room table and she grabbed a stack of plates as she went by. In the kitchen, Paul was packing groceries back into the cardboard box. There was no sign of Sandro.

“Paul, how come you didn’t eat with us?” Jenna asked.

“Sandro needed me to stir the sauce and do the prep for the desserts. I ate in here. It was good, though.”

“Your brother’s got talent for sure,” Jenna told him. “Do you like to cook, too?”

“Nah.” Paul grimaced. “I mean, I’m happy to help out Sandro, but I’m not really into it.”

“Me, neither,” Jenna said. “I live on takeout. Way too much, probably.” She scraped the plates into the garbage and took them to the sink to rinse them off.

“Can I ask you for a favor, Jenna?” Paul kept his voice low and looked behind him for a moment, as if making sure no one would overhear.

“Sure,” Jenna answered.

“Would you be able to tell me...?” Paul’s face reddened. “I mean, it’s probably dumb, but can you tell me if I’m any good? At dance?”

“You looked pretty good when you were copying my moves in here earlier,” Jenna teased.

“No, I mean really good, like maybe I could actually be a dancer.”

“You want to dance? Here?”

“Yeah. Please, Jenna? Who knows if I’ll ever meet a real dancer again?”

Jenna sighed as the prospect of her comfortable bed upstairs faded a little farther into the distance. “Hang on.” She left the kitchen and found her purse near the front door. She rummaged inside for her iPod. As she headed back with it, Samantha and Jack looked at her curiously. “Don’t ask,” she said. It was just too silly that she was going to dance with a teenage boy in their kitchen.

There was an iPod dock on the counter. “What kind of dance do you want to try?” she asked Paul.

“Um...salsa?” His voice was uncertain and she could tell he was getting nervous. She found one of her favorite teaching songs, where the rhythm was easy to hear, and turned the volume up slightly, trying not to disturb Samantha and Jack’s peace in the living room.

“Okay. Stand next to me. Follow my feet.” She launched into a basic salsa step.

Paul watched her for a moment and then followed her moves effortlessly. He was instantly transformed. The gangly teenager was gone. Every part of his body was working together, all the moves initiating right from his center, as they should, everything fluid, connected and reflecting the rhythm. Hips swaying, Jenna led him around the kitchen and he followed.

“Okay, now a basic step in closed.” She showed him where to put his hands. “A little more tension between us. Tighten the muscles in your arm, but don’t make them rigid. Follow my feet.” It took only a moment for him to master the basic in closed position and then he lifted his hand and spun her in a perfect open turn. She laughed in delight.

“I got that from a video.” His grin was ear-to-ear.

“I’m impressed!” It was unbelievable. Paul the baby cowboy was a natural dancer. They continued to dance in closed position. And Jenna knew for certain that this was why she’d ignored her intuition this morning. This was why she’d gotten lost in a pasture. It was because of Paul. Because Paul needed encouragement to reach his dream, and here she was, in the perfect position to provide it.

“Paul!” Sandro’s tone was harsh. Paul and Jenna froze and he stalked across the room, touching the iPod to stop the music.

“What’s wrong?” Jenna asked.

“Why are you getting his hopes up?” Sandro was making a visible effort to calm down, but his voice was still rough.

“We were just dancing. And he already has hope—he’s that good. He just needs training!”

“What he needs is none of your business.”

“Now, that’s just rude!” Jenna felt her temper rising and reminded herself that Sandro was Jack’s good friend. She forced herself to make her own voice calm but couldn’t keep from pressing him. “Why are you angry? Shouldn’t you be proud of your brother? Excited for him?” Jenna knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to get involved in the family issues of a boy she barely knew, but Paul’s love of dance, and his natural ability, struck a chord with her. She knew well what it was like to come from a family who disapproved of dancing.

When Sandro spoke this time, he didn’t sound quite so angry. “Of course I’m proud of him. But that doesn’t mean I think he should be putting his energy and time into dancing right now. He should wait until he’s eighteen to get involved in that.”

Jenna stared at him, not knowing what to say. Finally she decided that the way to combat ignorance was education. “Sandro, with the right training, Paul could probably be a very successful dancer. But if he waits until he’s eighteen, every other talented dancer will have way more knowledge and ability than him. Why would you want to set him up for failure?”

“If he’s that talented, he’ll catch up. He can wait.” A muscle in Sandro’s jaw twitched and his brows were furrowed. Jenna could almost feel the stubbornness thicken the air around them. It was that strong.

“That’s not fair!” Paul argued. “I’ve told you, I don’t want to wait. This is what I want. You got to cook! Why can’t I dance?”

“Because there’s a price,” Sandro said heavily. His initial ire seemed to have dissipated and now he just looked depressed. He picked up a bag of produce and shoved it in Paul’s arms. “Go load these. And wait for me in the car.”

Paul didn’t move.

“Is there a way that Paul could get to a dance school?” Jenna asked. “I know there’s nothing in Benson, but in Carson City, maybe?”

“It’s too far,” Sandro answered shortly.

“Sandro, come on!” Paul rested the bag of produce on the counter. “What about those cooking classes in San Francisco you’re gonna do? On the weekends. I could go with you and take classes with Jenna.”

“You’re teaching cooking in San Francisco?” Jenna looked at Sandro in surprise.

“A weekend gig.” He glared at his little brother. “It’s temporary.”

Jenna couldn’t believe there was such a clear solution right in front of them. “It’s a good idea. I teach classes for teenagers on the weekends. It’s a sliding-scale fee—people pay what they can. It would be perfect!”

“No, it wouldn’t. Paul needs to help on the ranch on the weekends.”

“I’ll do extra chores during the week,” Paul countered.

Sandro opened the refrigerator with a little more force than necessary. He pulled out leftover ingredients and dropped them in the chest cooler. “I think we’re done talking about this.”

“Sandro, this is nuts!” Jenna exclaimed. “Why can’t Paul have the same chance you did to follow your dreams?”

“He can. When he’s older.” Sandro shoved the lid onto the full cooler and picked it up, signaling that the conversation was over.

Paul glared at his brother. “This is why I didn’t tell you about meeting her today! Because I knew you’d get all upset.” He looked at Jenna over the groceries. His eyes were sad, his mouth typical-teenager sullen. “Thanks, Jenna,” he told her. “For the dance, for the advice, everything.” He pushed his way out, the back door slamming behind him.

Sandro watched him go and then looked at Jenna. He must have seen the outrage in her eyes because he set the cooler on the counter and sighed. He looked away, running his fingers through his unruly hair in a gesture of frustration. “You must think I’m a jerk.”

“Pretty much,” Jenna answered truthfully.

“I’ve got my reasons.” He looked almost as sullen as Paul.

“I’m sure you think you do. But I wasn’t kidding when I told you he’s got talent. He’s a natural. Why won’t you let him pursue it?”

Sandro shook his head. “You wouldn’t get it, Jenna. You grew up in San Francisco, right? With Mommy and Daddy signing you up for your ballet classes and clapping at your recitals?”

She nodded. It had been true, once.

“It’s different out here,” Sandro told her. He picked the chest cooler up again.

“Wait.” Jenna stopped him. Her heart ached for Paul. She knew what it was like to want, more than anything, to dance. “I’ll be right back.”

Jenna went back to the hall for her purse, found her wallet and took out a business card. On the back of it she scribbled her cell phone number and her weekend class schedule. She returned to the kitchen, relieved to see that Sandro had waited. She pressed the card into his hand. “Take this,” she ordered, “in case you change your mind.”

Sandro studied the card for a moment. When he looked up, he was half smiling. “There’s glitter on your business card.”

“It’s ballroom dance. We’re way into our glitter. And sequins.” She tried not to sound defensive.

“Well, thanks, but I won’t be calling,” he told her, shoving the card into his back pocket, the hint of humor vanishing.

“Why not?” This was all so mysterious. Clearly she wasn’t going to win this argument, and she wanted to understand why.

He must have seen it in her face, because the steel in him softened just a little. “Because I can see down the road for Paul and it isn’t pretty. I wanted to cook and my family and my friends gave me nonstop grief for being different. I handled it, but it made me a lonely, angry kid. Eventually it made me a runaway. I don’t want that for my little brother.”

Jenna studied the stern lines of his face, new sympathy filtering through the irritation and frustration. Sandro might be misguided, but his motives were pure—he was protecting the brother he loved.

But poor Paul was going to have some long, bitter teenage years ahead if he wasn’t allowed to dance until he left home. She couldn’t do much more for him, but she had to try. “I’m sorry that happened to you, and I admire you for wanting to protect your brother. But don’t you think that if you forbid it, he’ll just want it more?”

There was a bag of groceries on the floor and Sandro was nudging it with his foot. Fidgeting, but possibly listening.

Jenna played her last card. “Maybe you should just let him try it. Dance training is hard. It’s difficult, repetitive and sometimes even boring. Most people end up quitting. Paul will probably lose interest when he gets to know the reality of it.” It was true that most people quit, but Jenna was pretty sure Paul wouldn’t. She could recognize a fellow fanatic when she saw one. Paul would make dancing his life—but Sandro didn’t need to know that right now.

He was watching her speculatively. For an instant she thought he’d say yes, but the moment passed and the wall was back between them. “I think I know what’s best.”

“Maybe.” Anger rose again. Her voice was sharper than she meant it to be. “I suggest you think a little more carefully before you squash his dreams.” She turned on her heel and left the room, sad for Paul and, oddly, sad for Sandro, too.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_5320efab-d564-519d-b17a-6c823e54d2d5)

“WHAT DO YOU mean you’ll be in San Francisco?” Joe shoved the fence post deeper into the hole they’d just dug and gave it a kick with his work boot to make sure it was solid. Sandro glanced at his brother, all six-plus solid feet of him. Joe was a year younger than Sandro, but people always assumed he was older. With his light brown hair and broad face, he took after their father in more ways than just looks. Joe loved the ranch, had never questioned that his future lay there. He was the oldest son in every way but birthright.

Sandro poured the quick-setting cement into the battered wheelbarrow. Paul brought the hose over and let the water spurt over the dry powder. Grabbing a shovel, Sandro started mixing. “I’m teaching classes at a cooking school. It’s a great gig. It’ll pretty much pay for all the new appliances in the restaurant.”

“Oh, yeah. The restaurant.” Joe said the word as though it tasted bad in his mouth. “It’s a big weekend, Sandro. Pops wants all hands on deck to move the sheep.”

“Well, Joe, Pops has to understand that the sheep aren’t my first priority. I’m trying to help out with the ranch as much as possible, but I came back here to start my own business.”

“Okay,” Joe said reluctantly. “I get it.” He bent down with a level to straighten the post. “But why take Paul with you?”

Sandro started shoveling the concrete into the hole and Paul picked up his shovel to help. They were careful not to look at each other. “I’ll need extra help. My class is completely full. If I don’t have an assistant, there’s no way I can pull it off.” He glared at Paul, silently cursing his brother’s endless arguing, two weeks of it, that had finally worn him down.

He hated to admit it, but Jenna had been right. The more he’d said no, the more Paul had insisted he had to take her dance classes. Sandro could only hope she was right about the other part, that Paul would change his tune once he realized how hard the training really was. He jabbed Paul in the ribs with his elbow. “Besides, he’s a whippersnapper. Not much use to you out there anyways.”

Paul stood up at this and punched Sandro in the shoulder.

“Easy there, little brother.” Sandro grinned. “You don’t want to mess with the big guns.” He set aside his shovel and flexed his biceps a few times while Paul cracked up.

“Will you two stop clowning around so we can get this done?” Joe grumbled. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we have a truckload of these to set in the next couple days. Besides—” he held out his own arm, enormous muscles bulging “—I wouldn’t go showing off those biceps around here, Sandro. You may be the oldest but you’re a scrawny bastard. Comes from spending your life in a kitchen instead of doing man’s work.”

“Well, it’s a pity we can’t all be muscle-bound meatheads like you, Joe. But given the choice, I’ll take my brains over your muscle any day.” He ducked as Joe’s giant fist came at him in a mock swing. “So it’s a done deal. I’m taking Paul to San Francisco and the rest of you mindless country boys can follow the sheep up the hills.”

The truth was, Sandro liked moving the sheep. Riding into the mountains on horseback, making sure the flock got up to the summer meadows, was a hell of a lot more relaxing than teaching a bunch of pretentious San Francisco foodies how to make a decent paella. And the route to the pastures was beautiful, too. But the cash he’d make from these classes was way too tempting. And if it meant that Paul would finally stop making his life miserable and get a dose of reality to cool his dancing obsession, that would compensate for missing the ride. Hell, he’d missed it for the past decade anyway—what was one more year?

Sandro gave Paul a wink to acknowledge the success of their ruse and picked up his tools to head to the next posthole. As his spade hit the rocky ground, he used all the force he could to tame his unruly mind. Because all week his mind had been on Jenna Stevens.

And he had no business thinking about her. His life was in Benson now, not with some woman from the city. She was everything he needed to avoid—gorgeous, funny and flirty. Distracting. He’d made a choice to leave women like her behind in New York and he wasn’t going to choose differently, no matter how much he might want to.

So far work had been his solution. When thoughts of Jenna’s bright blue eyes heated his mind, he worked. When haunted by the vision of her stalking away after dinner that night, all righteous and fiery, he worked even harder. Since he’d been thinking of her almost nonstop, it had been a very productive couple of weeks.

But the endless work didn’t get rid of the shame he felt, and it irritated him. Jenna was kind, and he’d been hostile to her when all she’d been doing was trying to help Paul. Sure, he didn’t want Paul to dance, but that was no reason to be rude to her about it. There was only one logical explanation for his behavior—one which Sandro was loath to admit. When he’d walked into the kitchen and seen Jenna dancing in his brother’s arms, he’d been jealous. Jealous of the fun his brother was having with her, making her laugh as she turned so easily across the floor. He’d been jealous of a fifteen-year-old kid, and that was downright pathetic.

Even more pathetic, he’d spilled his guts to Jenna about his past. And he never talked about that. Outside of his family and a few folks in Benson, no one knew he’d run away from home. He wasn’t even sure how he’d ended up telling her. She’d seemed to genuinely want to know why he didn’t want Paul to dance. And her compassion had somehow gotten him talking about his crappy teen years and how he’d run off. She must think he was a pretty sorry case. He wished he didn’t care so much about what she thought.

He was just like Paul, he realized, as he jammed the posthole digger farther into the earth. Wanting something simply because he couldn’t have it. Maybe he should just try to sleep with Jenna and get her out of his system. His stomach coiled at the thought, some uneasy combination of lust and anxiety. That was certainly what he would have done a few months ago.

But that was just one more reason why he wasn’t going to do it now. He wasn’t willing to go down that path again. He was different now. So he’d just keep his head down and his hands busy until his interest in her passed.

Maybe the upside of taking Paul to these lessons was that he’d see her at work with a bunch of teenagers. Hopefully, she’d look like every one of Sandro’s high school teachers did—tired and hassled. Maybe just like Paul, he needed a good hard dose of reality—though he had a bad feeling it would take more than that to rid him of his thoughts about Jenna.

* * *

JENNA WATCHED HER mother pour herself another glass of white wine. If she was counting correctly, it was her third, and that was on top of the cocktails her mom had insisted on before dinner. She hadn’t seen her mother drink quite like this since, well, since Dad’s affair came to light a few years ago. But she knew her mom drank when she was alone. Jenna got enough late-night drunken phone calls from her to know she was hitting the bottle solo on a fairly regular basis.

She looked down the gleaming mahogany table. Daniel, her older brother, was nodding off over his plate. He’d worked at the hospital last night and he was having coffee with his dinner instead of wine. Shelley, her older sister and a rising star at the San Francisco district attorney’s office, was speaking animatedly with her father about a high-profile case she was working on. Her father actually looked relaxed and happy as he listened, asking all kinds of questions about Shelley’s progress.

Jenna felt a pang of envy that was so old and familiar it was almost like a part of her body—an extra organ or limb. It had always been that way—Dad asking about Shelley’s day at school, buying her expensive gifts in honor of her perfect grades, crowing to their friends about her many accomplishments.

Jenna had worked hard in school, too, clocking far more hours in the library doing homework than Shelley ever did. Yet it never got easier. It was as if her brain had trouble translating the words in the textbook into coherent ideas. So she got Cs and Bs most of the time, and those hard-earned grades were a constant source of disappointment to her father.

Jenna knew now that she was full of imperfections he simply couldn’t understand. In his eyes, her dancing was an embarrassing hobby that stood in the way of real success. Her curvaceous figure and wild curly red hair held no beauty when contrasted with Shelley’s slender form and straight blond locks.

“Jenna!” Her father’s voice suddenly boomed down the table. “What were you doing today? Twirling around the ballroom?”

Jenna winced at the disdain in his voice. “Teaching, practicing, the usual.”

“And how’s John?”

“John?”

“You know, that musician you go out with?”

“Um...you mean Jeff?” Jenna shook her head in disbelief. She’d dated Jeff for two years, and her father had met him several times.

“Yeah. That’s right. Jeff. The drummer with the long hair. How’s that going for you?”

Jenna hated to give him any satisfaction, but she wasn’t going to lie. “We broke up.” Her brother and sister didn’t even bother to disguise their “I told you so” eye rolls.

“Well, good. You need to stop dating all these guys with no focus, no ambition. Shelley, Daniel, you must know some people from work Jenna could go out with. Or why don’t you let your mother help you find a decent boyfriend?”

Oh, like she found you? Jenna wanted to say but didn’t. A man who cheats on his wife?

Shelly cleared her throat. “Look, Jenna, I spoke with Ralph Clark yesterday.”

“Who?” Jenna turned to her older sister, who was smiling at her benevolently.

“Ralph Clark—a lawyer at my old firm? He told me that they need an administrative assistant. He’d like to interview you.”

Jenna stared at Shelley in disbelief. How was it possible they’d grown up in the same house, just a few years apart, and yet Shelley knew so little about her? She took a sip of her wine and suddenly felt sympathy for her mother. This family would drive anyone to drink eventually.

“Jenna? What do you think? Should I send you his email address tomorrow?”

She sighed. “Thanks for thinking of me, Shel, but I already have a job.”

“Oh, ballroom dancing? Jenna, that’s not a career—that’s a hobby.” Shelley was a perfect echo of their father.

“So why do I get paid, then?” Jenna tried to keep her voice calm, but she could hear the edge in it. “It’s not a hobby—it’s my career, and it has been for ten years now. And if you’d been paying attention, you’d know I am really good at it.”

Her father’s voice was softer than usual in attempted persuasiveness. “Jenna, Shelley is just trying to help you. Just go in for an interview. They’ll pay well. They have great benefits. You know your mom is so worried about you living in that tiny apartment. You could afford something better with a higher salary.”

“Dad, I like my apartment. I like my job. There’s nothing wrong with my life that you or Shelley or anyone needs to fix!”

“Honey, we just want you to be successful. Look at your sister. Did you know she’s considering a run for supervisor? She’ll be mayor of San Francisco one day—mark my words. And your brother here is so humble he wouldn’t mention it, but he’s just been promoted to head of surgery.”

“Congratulations, Daniel,” Jenna said to her brother, raising her glass slightly in his direction. He smiled at her sleepily. “Dad, I’m glad they’re doing so well. But I’m also successful.” She glanced around the table and saw the doubtful look on every face. “Look. I have a competition in two weeks. It’s a big one. If my partner and I win, we’ll be national champions for Latin dance—again. We won it the last two years, as well. Why don’t you come out and see for yourself?” She realized she sounded as if she was pleading with them. Pleading for attention and acceptance.

“I’ll be in Chicago for a conference,” Shelley said.

“Dancing’s not really my thing.” Daniel rubbed his eyes wearily. Her father didn’t answer at all, just poured himself another drink and looked down at the floor, as if his disappointment was so great he couldn’t even acknowledge her.

When would she learn? Jenna could have kicked herself for trying. She turned her focus to her mother. “So how are you, Mom? How’s your work going with the cotillion committee?”

Her mother took another swallow of wine, draining her glass. “Oh, you know...it’s fine...the usual...” Her voice trailed off and she didn’t seem to notice.

Well, at least the food was as delicious as always. A grilled salmon with a slightly brown buttery crust. All kinds of summer vegetables fresh from the farmers’ market, lightly sautéed. Their current chef was a really talented guy. Jenna’s thoughts immediately drifted to Sandro and the incredible meal he’d cooked at Samantha’s. And the bitter expression on his face when he’d found her dancing with Paul. He’d probably get along great with her family.

When her mother reached for the bottle to fill her glass again, Jenna couldn’t stand it any longer. Glancing down the table to make sure her father and sister were still engrossed in conversation, she put out her hand and stilled her mother’s. “Mom, I’m not trying to be rude, but it seems like you’re drinking a lot. And you’ve hardly touched your food. What’s going on?”

Her mother looked outraged, but under the indignant expression, Jenna noticed something else. A puffiness that no amount of expensive makeup could hide. This wasn’t the first night her mother had been hitting the bottle hard. Her heart sank.

“Jenna! What has come over you?” Her mother was going on defense. “We’re having a nice dinner and I’m having some wine. That’s all.”

“Mom, you’re having four glasses of wine. That’s an entire bottle. Plus you had a couple cocktails. I’m worried about you. Is something wrong? Between you and dad?”

“You’ve been counting my drinks? Jenna, I’m not a child. Why do you try to treat me like one? You have no respect for me. No respect for all the things I do!”

Her voice was rising, and Jenna’s father and sister stopped talking and looked down the table at them. Her mother seemed to appreciate the audience. “You don’t get to show up at this house and tell me what I should be doing! You ask me what’s wrong? I should be asking the same of you, Jenna. Why don’t you listen to us? We’re family—we want what’s best for you.”

“Because dancing is what’s best for me!” Disappointment had tears stinging her eyes. Her mom was so defensive about her drinking she’d attack her own daughter. “Mom, let’s not fight. I asked you about the wine because I love you and I’m concerned.” Jenna was using her full voice now. She figured her father and sister had probably noticed the empty bottles at their end of the table, too. Maybe they could all work together to find out what was wrong with Mom.

Her mother’s voice was icy. “You may be on one of your newest health kicks, Jenna, but I happen to enjoy a glass of wine with my dinner and I don’t see anything wrong with that. I’m just trying to have a nice evening with my family. I don’t see why you have to come here and cause a scene.”

“Mom, I wasn’t—”

“That’s enough.” Her father’s voice interrupted and it shook with anger. “Jenna, I wish we could just have a peaceful night as a family. Maybe in your life at the ballroom, with all those artsy dancers, this kind of drama is acceptable. But here in this house it’s not okay.”

“It’s not drama, Dad. I am worried about Mom. And maybe if you spent a few minutes paying some attention to her, you’d see that she’s drinking way too much!”

There was a silence at the table so solid that it felt like a wall around her. Jenna waited for her sister to say something. Or her brother. He was a doctor, after all—he should be the one bringing this up. And her father must be able to see how much her mother needed help.

Instead the silence seemed to go on forever before her father broke it up. “How dare you insult your mother like that?” His voice was low and mean and it occurred to Jenna for the first time that he really might hate her. Just for being her. And for being honest.

Shelley shook her head slowly, as if heavy with her displeasure. “Jenna, Dad’s right. This is really uncalled for.”

Jenna stood up. Her legs were shaking. She turned to her mother. “Mom, I’m sorry I offended you. I was only trying to help. I am worried about your drinking and you should be, too. And, Dad, I don’t think it’s drama to be concerned for someone you love. You should try it sometime.”

In the hall she grabbed her backpack and coat from the maid, who’d hustled to fetch them for her, and burst into the foggy night through the giant oak front doors, then closed them behind her—grateful for the thick wood between her and the bizarre evidence of her family’s denial. They truly did not believe, or didn’t want to believe, that her mother had a problem. They truly believed that Jenna was the problem. The cold mist mingled with the hot tears pouring down her cheeks. It was moments like these, when the differences between her and her family were so stark, that she felt the most alone.

Fumbling through the jumbled contents of her backpack for her keys, she cursed herself for opening her mouth. Why did she think that her concerns would make any difference to her family? They had no respect for her or for her work; why would they respect her opinion?

She snapped open the lock on her bicycle, threw the coiled cable into her backpack and shoved her helmet on her head. She hated that her hands were trembling so much she could hardly close the buckle.

Jenna pushed her bike into the empty street of the exclusive Seacliff neighborhood and started pedaling, swiping her sleeve at the tears trickling down her face. As always, exercise was an escape. She covered the two blocks to California Street in what seemed like moments, pumping hard, not bothering to switch gears on the slight uphill, forcing herself to stand on the pedals and put all her frustration into propelling the bike forward.

She swung left and got into the bike lane, thankful that the evening traffic rush was over. She pedaled furiously, the old shame and anger that her family inspired burning like rocket fuel inside. In record time she was turning right onto Arguello Boulevard, heading toward the black shadow that was Golden Gate Park at night. Pedaling around its shadowy edge—no way would she venture into its dark groves at this hour—she cut through the Haight-Ashbury, the famous old Victorian buildings a dim blur as she rushed past.

By the time Jenna got to Divisadero Street, her anger had cooled a bit, the bitterness had tempered and she pedaled at a steadier cadence past the neon marquee of the Castro Theatre. She automatically looked up to see what they were showing, and a small thrill interrupted her gloom when she saw that it was An American in Paris. Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron dancing together—a heavenly duo. Jenna tried to picture her class schedule for tomorrow. Maybe she could steal a few hours and escape to the theater’s vintage red velvet seats and indulge her love of old musicals. That would cheer her up for sure.

A few blocks more and she was pedaling uphill to the top of Dolores Park, close to her apartment now. She stopped on the sidewalk, her breath audible in the quiet of the night, her emotions finally calm enough to let her body rest.

Breathing deeply, Jenna visualized exhaling the last of the turbulence out of her system. It worked before dance competitions—why not now? She’d left the fog behind in the Haight-Ashbury and she inhaled the rare clear summer night, the feel of her body after exercise, the peace she felt up here on this hill, temporarily above the bustle. She exhaled anger, worry and that horrible sense of rejection her family was so good at serving up along with their perfectly cooked meals.

She inhaled the view. The downtown skyline lights were glittering. The familiar silhouettes mixed in with all the new buildings that were going up so quickly that the horizon seemed a little different each time she stopped to look. But no matter how it changed, it was always magical, always compelling her to explore it further, always making her glad she’d been born and raised in San Francisco.

Her heart calmed and her frayed nerves wove themselves back together. She looked up at the few stars bright and brave enough to appear despite the glow of the city lights. And she waited. Slowly a thought crystallized. The frustration and hurt she felt after tonight’s disastrous dinner was there for a reason. It was starkly obvious. There was a lesson in what had happened with her family tonight. She needed to stop hoping that people would change.

She shouldn’t have gone to dinner expecting her family to be supportive of her. They’d never supported her before, so what made her hopeful that they’d suddenly start?

She shouldn’t have expected she could have any influence over her mom’s drinking. All the literature from the Al-Anon meetings she’d attended for months, ever since her mom’s drunk dialing started, clearly stated that you couldn’t make someone else stop drinking.

In fact, at Al-Anon they said the Serenity Prayer, which was all about change. Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference. Jenna obviously needed that wisdom right now.

The only person she could change was herself. It was a lonely thought, but it was also oddly comforting. If she stopped trying to change others, it would mean less betrayal and hurt when people didn’t act the way she wanted them to. It might even mean she’d have more energy to focus solely on her own life—her dancing, her performing and hopefully soon her own dance studio.

Jenna leaned on her bike and watched the sparkling lights of the city. When she owned her own business, one or two of those fairy lights would be the lights of her ballroom. Back in Benson she’d vowed to devote all her time and energy to pursuing that goal. She might be on her own, with no family and no boyfriend to lean on, but if the result was that she finally made her dreams come true, then maybe being alone was a pretty good choice for now.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_2c6c6a4d-2f8f-529d-8c47-4ddb09497689)

“JENNA, BRENT, CAN I speak with you two for a moment?” Marlene Dale, the owner of the Golden Gate Ballroom, looking elegant in a pale pink cashmere wrap, was standing by the side of the dance floor.

Jenna let go of Brent’s hand. They’d been practicing since six in the morning and it was almost nine. Her classes would start soon anyway. “I guess we’re done for now?” she asked him.

“You wore me out, pretty lady.” He winked at her. Years ago it would have melted her heart. Today it was irritating. She’d been trying to ignore his lavish compliments, hoping he’d get bored or that someone new would catch his eye like a bright, shiny toy, diverting his attention. “Coming, Marlene!” Jenna called.

Brent shoved his straight blond hair out of his face. He needed a haircut and Jenna hoped he’d take care of it before their competition. “I’ll go get the music.” He strolled away, apparently in no hurry to talk with Marlene, and disappeared into the DJ booth at the opposite end of the room. Jenna walked over to the tall front counter that separated the ballroom from the lobby.

Marlene looked up from the class schedule she had open on the desk.

“Love the hair today, Marlene!” Jenna exclaimed. Marlene’s bleached-blond mane was piled up into a near beehive. Jenna and her boss sometimes clashed, but they both appreciated the beauty of vintage hairstyles.

“Thank you,” Marlene said, bringing her hand up to pat her back-combed creation. Then she stood and placed her scheduling book on the counter so Jenna could see it better. “Nicole has approached me again about taking on some parts of the salsa program.” She didn’t look at Jenna, instead keeping her eyes glued to the book, obviously uncomfortable with what she was saying.

Jenna didn’t feel much sympathy. Nicole happened to be Marlene’s niece, who Marlene had hired in a foolish act of nepotism. Now she was running Marlene ragged with her diva demands. Despite the fact that Nicole was still learning many of the advanced steps, she wanted to step into a head teaching role. Jenna’s role, to be precise.

“The salsa program is doing really well, Marlene. Our classes are packed. Why would you want to take us out of them?”

“Well, Nicole was thinking maybe she could take over for you a bit and have a chance to dance with Brent.”

Well, at least her ambition to take my place is out in the open now. Jenna bit her lip to keep from actually saying her thought aloud. She and Marlene had been having these types of conversations a lot lately, and Jenna was losing patience.

“Brent and I are partners, Marlene. We work together. Nicole needs to make connections with other dancers her age and find her own partner. That’s how everyone else does it, and that’s how she’ll be successful in the long run.”

“Well, yes.” Marlene stared at the schedule, still not meeting Jenna’s eyes. “But she feels it isn’t fair that you and Brent have so many students.”

Jenna looked away, out the wall of windows to the street. It was only nine o’clock on a Saturday morning, and Brannan Street was still pretty quiet. A few taxis meandered by, but this part of San Francisco generally slept late on the weekends. Jenna searched inside herself, trying to find some scrap of sympathy for Nicole that would prevent her from throttling the younger woman the next time she saw her.

She remembered what it was like to be new at the ballroom—young and ambitious and hungry for your dreams to come true. But unlike Nicole, she’d recognized how much hard work that took. How the glamorous moments were few and far between, and most days were spent taking class after class, attending practice after practice and teaching private lessons to stumbling beginner students—computer nerds looking for an ounce of cool or the recently divorced, seeking endorphins. It was part dancing, part counseling, and it was important work, but Nicole didn’t see it that way. She snapped at her students, frustrated with their lack of skill within the first five minutes of the lesson.

And because she was so impatient with them, most of those students never came back to her. They either fled the ballroom forever in search of a less stressful hobby, or they found another teacher. Just yesterday one poor man had pulled Jenna aside in the hallway and asked if he could start classes with her because he’d heard that not all teachers were as mean as Nicole.

But how to explain this to Nicole’s doting auntie? Marlene had never had children of her own. She’d devoted her life to dance and to her business. And when Jenna saw her desperation for Nicole’s affection, she could tell that Marlene’s choices had left her with regrets. Dance could be a magical love affair, but it could also leave you jilted.

Realizing that Marlene was waiting for an answer, Jenna turned away from the street scene out the window. “I understand that Nicole wants more students, Marlene, but people know Brent, and they know me, and they come here to take classes with us. If you just pull me out and pop Nicole in my place, they won’t be satisfied. And it’s not fair to me, either. It doesn’t reward me for my hard work in building the program.”

“Well, yes, Jenna, I am aware of the risks, of course. I have owned this ballroom for several years now.”

Oops. She’d stepped on Marlene’s toes again. It was easy to do. Jenna looked over at the empty ballroom. Where was Brent? He should be here right now supporting her, but he always seemed to vanish on some mysterious errand when these difficult meetings came up.

“Of course, Marlene. I’m sorry if I sounded pushy.” Jenna tried a new tactic. “What if you gave Nicole a beginning salsa class on a night when Brent and I don’t work? Then she can build her own group of students from the ground up without feeling like she has to compete with us.”

Marlene stared at the schedule, considering. Jenna looked at the book and pointed to the Wednesday column. “Look, there’s a seven-thirty slot available. That’s a great night for teaching.” And a night when she and Brent were busy with an outside gig. They were taking a break from Latin dance and focusing on the popular dances of the 1930s and ’40s at a local hotel ballroom. Swing, Lindy Hop and Charleston—it was rapidly becoming one of her favorite nights of the week.

“That’s a good suggestion, Jenna.” Marlene paused. “And if I could ask you a favor...maybe you could mentor Nicole a bit? Help her work on her professional demeanor and create a bit more of a nurturing attitude in her classes?”

Jenna groaned so loudly inside that she was sure Marlene heard it. Nicole seemed to hate Jenna even more than all the other people she disliked. Maybe it had something to do with Nicole’s obvious crush on Brent or her envy of her and Brent’s success. Whatever the reason, the girl spent a lot of time and energy trying to make Jenna miserable—Jenna was the last person Nicole would accept advice from.

She had to tread carefully. “Marlene, I’d be happy to try to help Nicole. But honestly, I’ve noticed that she doesn’t seem that fond of me.”

“Oh, I’m sure Nicole is just intimidated by you,” Marlene said dismissively. “Just be as nice to her as you are to your students and you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll do my best, Marlene.” Jenna’s heart sank. In her experience, the nicer she was to Nicole, the worse she acted. Now Jenna was supposed to convince her to be more nurturing?

Marlene was staring at something over Jenna’s shoulder. Her eyes were wide and her mouth turned up into a sultry half smile. “Can I help you?” she asked in a silky voice. Jenna glanced at her boss in surprise.

“I’m looking for Jenna Stevens?” Sandro. That low voice, and the effect it had on Jenna, was unmistakable. Her nerves rippled to life, making her skin feel as if it were suddenly electrified.

He was here. It had taken a couple weeks, and she’d pretty much given up hope, but he’d listened to her. Her heart lightened and she turned around, knowing she was grinning, trying to keep the triumph she felt off her face.

“Sandro! Paul!” She held out her hand and took a few steps to shake each of theirs. “Welcome to the Golden Gate Ballroom!”

Marlene looked at her with a whole new level of respect. She might be in her fifties but the woman sure did enjoy good-looking, younger men.

“This is Marlene, the owner and my boss,” Jenna said.

Much to her relief, Sandro made no cynical comments about the pink walls of the lobby or the giant portraits of the teaching staff that hung on them. Instead a perfectly behaved version of Sandro stepped forward. His relaxed demeanor and warm smile betrayed no sign of the angry anti-dancing man she’d left in Samantha’s kitchen. “Nice to meet you, Marlene.” He shook her hand firmly. “We really appreciate Jenna inviting us to your ballroom. My brother Paul wants to learn to dance and Jenna has been an inspiration for him.”

That was laying the charm on a bit thick. What was he up to?

“We’re happy to have you here, Paul. Welcome. And, Sandro, you’re not signing up for any classes yourself?”

“Well, if anyone could talk me into it, Jenna could.” Sandro’s smile was so sweet that Marlene blushed like a schoolgirl. He wasn’t wearing his cowboy hat, but his faded jeans ended in black cowboy boots and his tight T-shirt advertised the Reno Rodeo. Marlene’s eyes were wide, taking in his tall frame. Who knew the glamorous older dancer had a thing for cowboys?

“We saw her dance the other weekend.” Sandro sent a quick wink Jenna’s way. “I can’t say I’ve ever had much interest in ballroom dance before, but Jenna was something else. She’s a credit to your ballroom.”

Now he was getting carried away. Marlene might enjoy flattery but she also didn’t suffer fools, and Sandro was on his way to being one. Jenna sailed forward and took Paul by one arm, Sandro by the other. “I’m just going to give my new student a tour of the ballroom before class,” she told Marlene. “Excuse me.”

She steered her visitors through the lobby and into the main ballroom. The building had been an old hotel at one point in its past, and the ballroom was a testament to faded glory. Jenna loved the old crystal chandeliers that had shone on generations of dancers. Plaster roses adorned soaring columns around the arched edges, and one wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, filling the room with natural light.

“Great place,” Sandro said, looking down at her with that humorous smile that shook her confidence and made her let go of his arm abruptly.

“It’s awesome!” Paul added. “Can I go look around?”

“Of course,” Jenna told him, and watched him walk across the room to the main teaching area, where the wall was lined with mirrors.

Jenna and Sandro followed, walking more slowly. Jenna looked up at Sandro, unable to resist asking the question foremost in her mind.

“What were you doing back there with Marlene? Your flattery was very nice but not exactly sincere.”

“How do you know it wasn’t sincere? Your dance in the kitchen did make quite an impression.”

“An impression that really upset you!”

“Well, I’ve had some time to think, as you suggested. I’m sorry I was so rude that night.”

“That still doesn’t explain...” Jenna motioned vaguely toward Marlene, who had gone back to staring at the schedule, probably trying to figure out if there were any other of Jenna’s classes she could give to Nicole.

“We’d been standing by the door for a while.” Sandro turned to face her, serious now. “I guess you didn’t hear us come in, but I heard most of what she was saying. I figured she needed a reminder of what you’re worth.”

He could be nice. She’d had no idea. Was this really the same Sandro she’d met in Benson? She had a sudden image of Sandro crossing the Bay Bridge this morning in some old pickup truck, gazing at the fantastic view of the San Francisco skyline as he approached. Could the relaxed attitude that her home city was famous for work its magic so quickly? And now she was the one being rude. “Thank you,” she blurted out. “It’s nice that you tried to help.”

“Seems like I owed you one.”

She made the mistake of looking at his eyes. Dark chocolate, with the bitter and sweet both evident. She couldn’t look away—there was too much regret and warmth holding her there.

Sandro set her free by glancing at his watch, raising one dark brow when he caught sight of the time. “Paul, let’s get you set up in your tutu. I have to get to the cooking school.”

Reality came back into focus. No magic here. She had to stop that kind of wishful thinking. Sandro was merely here to drop his brother off, nothing more.

“Sure,” Jenna agreed, taking a step back from him and forcing her eyes away from the older brother to the younger. “Don’t worry, Paul, we don’t do tutus here.”

Paul hadn’t even heard his brother’s teasing. He was standing in the middle of the dance floor, turning slowly as he took in the grand ballroom. The smile on his face was pure wonder and excitement.

She looked back at Sandro, making sure to avoid his eyes. She looked at the line of his clean-shaven jaw instead. A firm jaw, defined and strong, and she tried to resist when her imagination took hold, conjuring the feel of it under her fingertips. “I can get Paul ready for the class. And I’m sure Marlene will be happy to help with your bill. Actually...” She looked over to where Marlene had abandoned the schedule in favor of leaning on the front desk and peering through the wide ballroom doors to get another look at Sandro. “If you smile at her like you did before, I’m pretty sure she’ll give you guys a full scholarship.”

Sandro glanced toward the desk and Marlene abruptly began studying the schedule again. He grinned, all arrogance, and Jenna could see why he had such legendary success with women.

“Hey, sometimes the cowboy thing opens doors. If it gives me a discount for this insane notion of Paul’s, I won’t complain.”

He turned that same smile on Jenna and she felt its power as her skin warmed. She backed away a few steps to avoid the heat. “I’ll just get Paul started, then. Good luck with your cooking classes. We’ll be done here at five.”

“Jenna, wait.” His voice was soft and he closed the distance between them. He glanced at Paul, suddenly the worried older brother. “Take good care of Paul, okay? This is a totally foreign world for him.”

“I will,” she promised, touched by his concern. “But I don’t think you need to worry. He looks pretty happy so far.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Sandro.” Jenna put her hand on his and instantly regretted it. The strength of him scrambled her thoughts. She pulled her hand back and continued. “It’s going to be okay. You did the right thing for him.”

“I doubt it.” A shadow of emotion crossed his face. “I’m not known for my good judgment, Jenna.” He seemed to catch himself and pushed whatever dark feeling haunted him aside, because the humor came back. His defense, she suddenly realized. “But it’s not like the kid gave me a lot of choice. He hasn’t shut up about taking your classes since you busted some moves in Jack’s kitchen. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Jenna said, ignoring the teasing sarcasm. She nodded to where her other students were starting to file in, dropping their duffel bags by the row of chairs along the wall, some already seated, changing their shoes. “And I’ve got to go bust a few more now.”

“And I’ve got to go tame Marge Simpson at the desk.”

“Be nice!” But she couldn’t help laughing. “I happen to love her hair! And if you say something nice to her about it, I’m sure you’ll make her day.”

“Your faith in me is touching.”

The conversation was obviously over, but Jenna was having a hard time looking away. Sandro’s smile gave warmth to the masculine lines of his face. His eyes lingered on her, too.

Neither of them said anything. Then Sandro seemed to re-collect himself, because he glanced around, breaking whatever strange spell had held them so still. “Thanks again for helping Paul.” He turned to go. “See you later, Jenna.”





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