Читать книгу More Than a Rancher - Claire McEwen - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“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.