More Than a Rancher

by Claire McEwen

  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 f
or 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.