More Than a Rancher

by Claire McEwen

  He got outside the apartment and into the hallway. No way was he standing around waiting for the elevator. No way was he putting himself in temptation’s reach for one moment longer. He saw the door for the stairs and pushed through it, scuttling down the endless flights like a man pursued. It wasn’t until he was outside in the clear, cold air and the bustle of the city street that he could slow down, breathe again and realize that the only things pursuing him were the demons in his own soul.

  He walked home, back to the hotel, back to his little brother whom he’d vowed to keep safe and whom, he realized now, he’d completely failed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “PAUL’S IN THE CAR. We’re going home and he won’t be coming back to class.”

  Jenna turned from the practice barre where she’d been warming up. It took a moment to register that Sandro was there, towering in front of her, unexpected at seven o’clock on a Sunday morning. When his presence finally sunk in, it brought with it a roiling stomach of hurt feelings and pure confusion.

  “Wouldn’t I’m sorry be a better choice of words?”

  “What?”

  How could he be so dense? “You left last night. Without saying goodbye.”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  Instead of looking apologetic, Sandro just scowled. It was as if the man she’d been getting to know had disappeared, replaced by the Sandro she’d dealt with in Samantha’s kitchen. Why did he seem so angry? She was the one who’d been ditched at the party. She was the one who’d wandered through the crowd looking for him, only to be pulled aside by her boss, who informed her that he’d thrown a punch and stormed out of the penthouse.

  At least Marlene hadn’t seemed that upset. In fact, she’d said that no one had known the guy who was hit—he was some kind of party crasher and he left right afterward. If anything, Marlene was now even more enamored of Sandro. Who knew that Marlene had such a thing for manly cowboys who punched people at parties?

  But Jenna wasn’t enamored. She was done. His desertion last night had hurt, and it showed her that she was already in too deep. She’d been telling herself that she could do this, kiss a guy just for fun, knowing she had no future with him, but she couldn’t. Not when it meant feeling the combination of disappointment and embarrassment that she’d felt last night. “Aren’t you going to enlighten me as to why you left without saying goodbye? Or why you hit some guy on the way out?”

  “Yeah.” Sandro looked away and shifted uncomfortably. He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “No, actually.”

  Jenna waited but he obviously wasn’t going to elaborate. Great. She’d asked a guy to go out with her and it had been so traumatic he could barely speak the next day. She’d thought spending time with Sandro might rebuild her confidence after Jeff, but it clearly wasn’t working out that way—quite the opposite. “Fine, don’t, then.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s hard to explain. I just can’t do this...be here, in the city, with you.”

  Well, at least he was honest. Jenna tried to ignore the rejection, regret and other bitter feeling that clustered around her heart. “You don’t want to go out with me again. I can accept that. But what does any of this have to do with Paul studying dance?”

  “It’s just not a good idea, Jenna. It’s like sending my little brother into a cage with lions.”

  “Lions? Sandro, what are you talking about? It’s dance class, not zookeeping. There’s no danger here.”

  His brown eyes had purple shadows under them. There was stubble on his jaw, and part of her, the tiny part that wasn’t angry that he’d walked out on her last night, was suddenly worried.

  “You just don’t get it.” He waved his hand around, taking in the ballroom and her in one weary gesture. “None of this is good for him.”

  Jenna suddenly felt tired of trying to understand this enigmatic man. She walked away from him, over to the window. The street was quiet at this hour of the morning. Fog trailed low to the ground. Sandro’s truck was parked outside and she could see Paul sitting in the passenger’s seat, facing straight ahead, looking miserable. She was crazy about that kid, and he’d worked so hard in her classes and done so well. She owed him one last attempt to reason with his insane brother, and that was it. One last try and it was out of her hands. She turned back to Sandro. “So explain it to me.”

  “It’s a long story, Jenna. You don’t want to hear it.”

  “Don’t you think I deserve to hear it? Don’t you think your brother deserves a chance for me to hear it? So that maybe we can come up with a solution for him?”

  Sandro was silent, studying the ground.

  “I’ve got rehearsal now and class all day, so how about this? I believe you have cooking classes to teach, right? So at least let Paul have one last day of dance instruction. And tonight we can meet up and you can explain why it’s so dangerous for Paul to pursue his dreams.”

  Sandro’s hand went through his hair again. The dark locks were getting pretty wild.

  “You’re exhausted, Sandro. Go back to your hotel, get some rest, teach the classes you’ve already committed to teaching and meet me for a drink later.”

  He still didn’t answer, so she went to her purse and rummaged around for the little notebook she kept there. She wrote down the name and address of her current favorite bar. When she looked up, he’d gone to the window where she’d been before and was staring out at his truck and Paul. She handed him the paper. “Mack’s Place. On Geary. Eight o’clock tonight, and if you can convince me that all this is really bad for Paul, I promise never to bother you again. Not even when I visit Samantha and see your little brother all miserable out in Benson. Deal?”

  He didn’t give her the smile she was hoping for. “You should have been a salesperson, Jenna. Or a lawyer.”

  “Yeah. My family thinks so, too. So can we let Paul out of the truck?”

  “I’ll take him to breakfast first. I think I owe him an apology.”

  Jenna almost smiled. “I think feeding him is a good idea. And you look like you could use a good meal, too. See you at eight?”

  He nodded and walked away, leaving Jenna to wonder if he’d show up tonight. If he didn’t, it would be sad only because Paul would miss out on his last couple of classes with her. Jenna was pretty sure that last night’s date-disappearing act had taken care of any romantic interest she’d had in Sandro.

  She was making one more effort on Paul’s behalf and that was it. If it didn’t work out, then Paul would have to find his own way to dance, despite his complicated family situation and his high-strung, mixed-up brother.

  * * *

  “WHERE YA BEEN keeping yourself, Wee Jenna?” Mack’s voice boomed across the room as she shut the door behind her and headed for the bar.

  Jenna smiled at the elderly gentleman in a kilt polishing glasses behind the bar. “It’s quiet tonight,” she said as she hopped onto a barstool and put her purse on the varnished wood.

  “Aye, the way I like it now,” he told her, setting a glass in front of her. Except when he said the word now, it sounded like noo. Mack had been behind the bar here for about twenty years but as far as Jenna could tell, he hadn’t lost a bit of his Scottish accent. “On most of the other nights nowadays, this place is filled with such young folk. All jabbering away and pretending they know something about scotch. I’m thinking I’ll retire soon if they don’t give me some peace and quiet.”

  But there was a twinkle in his faded blue eyes and Jenna knew he loved it. Loved being behind the bar and the center of all that energy, educating the young folk, as he called them, about his beloved single-malt scotch.

  “Where’s the lovely Tess tonight?” he asked as he swiped the counter with a cloth.

  “Working, of course.” Jenna grinned. “Sorry to disappoint you, Mack.”

  Mack’s broad
smile lit up his creased face. “Ach, Tess knows that one of these days she’s gonna get sick of all those young fellas she runs about with and settle down with me.”

  Jenna giggled. Tess and Mack carried on an outrageous flirtation despite the fact that Mack was a happily married grandfather on the cusp of retirement.

  “I’m sure Mrs. Mack will be very happy about that.”

  Mack lifted a bottle of The Balvenie off the shelf. “Ach, the missus knows I’m all hot air.” He grinned. “Thirty years of marriage, and ya think she’d have learnt to take me more seriously.” He pulled the cork out, then paused. “You want your favorite tonight, Wee Jenna? Or are you feeling adventurous?”

  “No, I’ve got enough adventure on the way. The Balvenie will be perfect.” She loved the sweet, smoky taste, and she and Mack both knew she rarely chose differently.

  “Adventure, is it? You’ll be meeting a young man, then?”

  “Mack, does bartending make you psychic?”

  He laughed at that, long and hearty. “If you’ve been doing it as long as I have, I think so.” A couple blew in through the door looking dazed. They were probably tourists, given that they were wearing shorts and evidently regretting their clothing choices in the thick fog of the typical San Francisco summer evening. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” Mack told her, and headed over to pour the newcomers a drink.

  Jenna took a sip of her scotch, savoring the mouthful of flavor, and looked around the room. The jukebox in the back was loaded only with Scottish songs. It was playing the tune Samantha always used to put on, “Mull of Kintyre.” She and Tess had teased their friend over the plodding, sentimental song, but Samantha loved Paul McCartney’s voice and said it reminded her of time spent in Scotland as a child.

  A pang of wistful memory washed over Jenna. She missed her friend. Of course, she was thrilled Samantha had found such love and was getting married soon. But Benson was too far to visit very often and she was used to having Samantha by her side for every life event, big or small. She missed their lunch dates and after-work drink dates and trips to the gym on the weekend for workouts that turned out to be more gossip and giggling than actual exercise.

  She still had Tess, the third member of their trio, but Tess was a different sort of friend. She was always there to listen, always there to comfort and protect, but she rarely talked about her own life. Sometimes Jenna felt it made their friendship a bit stilted, especially compared to the stories and secrets she and Samantha shared.

  “You started without me.” Sandro was there, looking slightly less tired but still as guarded and wary as he had this morning. Despite herself, Jenna wanted to smooth the lines of worry off his face, wishing she could be the one to calm whatever storm brewed inside him. His mouth was set in a tense line and it seemed strange to Jenna that just last night they’d been dancing and his lips had been so hot and demanding on hers.

  “Just a slight head start.” Jenna forced any memory of his kisses from her mind. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in any more of them.

  “Hope I’m not too late. I had kind of a hard time finding this place. I kept thinking I was in the wrong neighborhood. That you weren’t really meeting me in a bar in the Tenderloin.”

  Jenna was determined to keep their conversation as light as possible. “Hey, the ’Loin is an underrated part of San Francisco! In between the porn shops and liquor stores, you have gems like this—one of the best bars in the city, in my opinion.”

  Sandro shook his head. “I’m not sure you’re going to convince me. I’m not sure my truck will even be where I left it when we’re done tonight.”

  “It will! Well...” Jenna couldn’t honestly guarantee much if he’d brought his truck. “It probably will be okay. But trust me, if you spent time here, you’d grow to appreciate it! The Great American Music Hall is just a few blocks away. Ever been? It was a brothel when it first opened—all French-looking with gold scrolls and mirrors and fancy columns. They’ve left it pretty much the same.”

  “Except, I assume, it’s not a brothel anymore?” It was the first smile she’d seen on his face since she’d read his tarot cards last night.

  Jenna laughed. “No, just bands play there. Really good bands.”

  “It’s Wee Jenna’s young man!”

  “Mack!” A flush warmed Jenna’s cheeks. “He’s not my young man. Sandro, meet Mack. Bartender and local scoundrel.”

  Mack winked at her and turned back to Sandro. “What are you drinking, mate?”

  “Just a pint of lager, please.”

  “You’re not gonna join the young lady in a wee nip?”

  “No.” Jenna noticed how quickly the humor drained from Sandro’s face. “I try to stay off the hard stuff.”

  “Thanks, Mack,” Jenna said when he handed Sandro his pint. “Let’s sit over here.” She hopped off her bar stool and led Sandro to what Tess called the Conference Table. It was against the window, by the door and far enough away from the bar that she and her friends could usually have a pretty good session of girl talk.

  They sat down, and Jenna took a sip of her scotch, wondering how to start this conversation.

  “I was a total jerk.” Sandro started it for her.

  “Go on.” Despite the tension, Jenna smiled a little at his bluntness.

  “I should never have walked out on you last night. If I’d been acting like a grown man, I’d have at least taken a minute to find you before I took off.”

  “It would have been nice,” Jenna agreed. “Might have saved me a few minutes of anxiety.” Or a few hours of lying awake last night wondering why she was man repellant.

  Sandro took a deep breath and then a swallow of beer and then another breath. Obviously he was psyching himself up for something. “I don’t know you that well, Jenna. I don’t know what you’re going to think of me when I tell you what I need to say. But having subjected you to my various moods and outbursts for a few weeks now, I think I owe you some kind of explanation.”

  Jenna was glad she’d gotten here early and fortified herself with a bit of scotch.

  “There’s a reason I moved back to Benson from New York. A lot of reasons, really. But the main one was that I was out of control in New York.”

  “Out of control?” Jenna echoed. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting him to say, but this wasn’t it.

  “It’s hard to explain...but I kind of lost it.” Sandro stopped for a moment, traced a scar on the old wooden table. “See, I became this hotshot chef really young. I was given a lot of responsibility and power and a lot of attention from others, including the media. It went to my head. I thought I could have everything and do anything.”

  Jenna nodded encouragement, trying to take in what he was saying.

  “There’s something about my profession that brings out wildness in people. Or maybe those of us who are drawn to such insanely stressful work come to it with our own brand of wild. I don’t know—maybe it’s the long hours, but people can get pretty crazy in those kitchens. And it didn’t take long before I started acting crazy, too. I didn’t even realize how crazy.”

  “What do you mean?” Jenna asked. “What kinds of things do you consider crazy?”

  “Well, you heard the stories Gavin told the other night. I wish I could say he was exaggerating, but to be honest, that’s pretty much what happened. I did stuff like that all the time. Maybe in part because I was so young when I just up and left my family.”

  “You ran away.” Jenna remembered the first night she’d met him, when he’d told her.

  “When I was sixteen.”

  “Just a year older than Paul is now.” Jenna pictured herself at that age. She’d been so sheltered, there was no way she’d have been able to do what Sandro had done.

  “Yup. My family thought I was crazy for wanting to cook. I’ve got three bro
thers, but I’m the oldest and everyone wanted me to learn the ropes and run the ranch for Pops. So they took who I was, and what I loved more than anything, and ridiculed it. Constantly. And told me I couldn’t do it and made it clear I was an idiot for wanting to.

  “One day I couldn’t stand it anymore. I took all the money I could find and left. Hitchhiked here, to San Francisco, and worked in kitchens until I’d saved enough for a ticket to Europe. Talked my way into apprenticeships in some of the best restaurants in France and Spain. Learned it all from the ground up. Then I went to New York and did the same.”

  “You were such a kid.” Jenna tried to imagine it. It was so young to be out in the world, across the planet from all he’d known, burdened with his family’s disappointment.

  “For a while I was a kid, but it’s no excuse, Jenna. I got older, but I never grew up. I’m over thirty now, but until about a year ago, my behavior didn’t change. I was still acting like that teenager. I guess a part of that was because of my family—I felt all bruised, you know? I think I just had low self-esteem.

  “But I don’t want to make excuses. I drank and even took drugs sometimes. Just a little at first, to get me through a long day. But soon the partying became kind of an all-day, every-day thing. I guess I didn’t really notice because everyone around me was doing it, too.”

  He paused and took a sip of his beer, then pushed it away across the table. When he met her eyes, Jenna was shocked to see unshed tears there. “When I was in New York and pretty well-known, there were women. All the time.” He was back to tracing patterns on the table with his fingers. “I stopped respecting them, Jenna. I treated them like interchangeable, expendable bimbos and none of them deserved it. Between the drugs and the women and working all the time and never getting much sleep, I became someone I didn’t recognize.”

  The pain in his voice hurt her heart. “I can’t imagine. I’m sorry.”