More Than a Rancher

by Claire McEwen

  “Give them time.” He’d seen the questioning way his mother had watched Jenna. “I have a feeling my mom is so desperate for a break from all the Salazar testosterone that she just might listen to you.”

  The road from the ranch wound toward the tiny group of lights that was the town of Benson.

  “It looks so small,” Jenna said. “Don’t you ever feel lonely, knowing this is all there is?”

  Sandro wanted to reassure her, to paint his town in a better light without actually lying. “Well, it’s not like we’re on the moon. Drive north and you’ve got towns like Gardnerville and cities like Carson and Reno.”

  “But they’re all hours away. It’s not practical for every day.”

  “Well, south of here you’ve got Bishop.”

  “That’s not much bigger than Benson! It doesn’t exactly count as city living.”

  “Nope,” he conceded. “Benson has enough civilization for me these days. You ever thought of living in a place like this?” He tried to keep his voice light, as if it weren’t a totally loaded question. Which it was.

  “When Samantha moved out here to be with Jack, that sure made me think about it. I mean, after all, the allure of this place took my best friend away from me.”

  “Well, I reckon it wasn’t just this place that pulled her away.” Sandro grinned in the dark, thinking about how hard his friend Jack had fallen.

  “Yeah. Love. It messes everything up,” Jenna said, and he wasn’t sure she was joking. Then she changed the subject. “So what’s up first on my tour?”

  “My restaurant.” He wanted her to see his dream in action. He pulled alongside the sidewalk in front of the old Basque Country Inn, owned and operated by his great aunt and uncle until about ten years ago, when they’d gotten tired of the routine and offered it to the highest bidder.

  When no one had wanted it, they’d just boarded it up and retired to a property outside of town. Uncle Carlo spent his days fly-fishing and his aunt kept busy with her hiking group, her horse, her sewing circle and general town gossip. They were two of the most content people he’d ever met, even more content now that Sandro was reviving their dream. They’d leased him the restaurant and everything around it—a dilapidated farmhouse, a couple acres of land and a big old barn—for barely any money at all. Once the restaurant was on its feet, he’d offer to buy the entire property from them.

  He cut the engine and looked over at Jenna. “You showed me the doorway of your soon-to-be dance studio. Ready to see what I’ve been working on?”

  “As long as there aren’t any cheating family members hanging around.”

  He put his hand on her arm at that. “Hey, you never know.”

  She smiled sadly and he went around to open her door for her, only to find her already on the sidewalk. “You city girls don’t believe in chivalry much, do you?” he teased, hoping to cheer her up. It worked.

  “I guess we just don’t need it.” She smiled at him. “Plus, what would I do sitting there in the truck while you walk around it? It seems so weird!”

  “The woman who reads tarot, believes in signs from the universe and baptizes people with bay water is calling a guy opening a car door weird?” Sandro shook his head in mock dismay and had her giggling again. He’d spend every day thinking of dumb jokes if he could make her laugh like that more often.

  He took her hand, leading her to the door of the old wood-sided building. “It is weird. But it’s tradition. Like this place. It dates back to the 1800s. It’s even got the old false front on it.” He opened the door and flicked on the lights. “Of course, it’s a mess right now. Definitely a work in progress. Kind of like me.”

  * * *

  JENNA’S FIRST IMPRESSION was sawdust. The smell of cut wood filled the air and though she could see that Sandro kept a neat workplace, a fine dust coated everything and a huge power saw sat in the middle of the huge dining room.

  “What a beautiful space.” It really was. Old carved molding with a floral motif surrounded the windows and ran between the walls and ceiling. An ornate chandelier hung from a plaster medallion in the center of the room. Matching sconces were on the walls. Jenna could see where Sandro had replaced some window trim and a few floorboards. “Are you leaving it mostly the same?”

  “Just making repairs,” Sandro replied. “I’m gonna take out the old wallboard and replace it with colored plaster. I want to keep the vintage feel but I think the plaster is a bit more classy—a European touch.”

  “It’ll be really lovely.” Jenna could picture exactly how it would look. Warm, rustic and inviting. “I think you’ve got a great vision.”

  “It’s good to hear you say that. Only Jack has seen this place, and my family.” Sandro motioned to the left and Jenna saw a second dining room.

  “This is a big place!” she exclaimed.

  “I think this is going to be more of a cocktail area, for people to wait and maybe order some bar food. It’s cold here in the winter. I can’t exactly ask folks to wait outside.”

  There were tools out on the bar and Jenna went over to admire what he’d been working on. He’d managed to match the shape of the trim to the window moldings.

  “When do you plan to open?” Jenna asked, picking up a catalog of chef’s equipment from the bar and thumbing through it idly.

  “Six months, I hope. Maybe a little later than that if I’m being realistic. I could hire a bunch of workers, make it go faster, but honestly, I’m having a good time doing it all myself.”

  “Therapeutic?” Jenna asked.

  “Kind of.” Sandro looked away, out at the dark night beyond the windows. “Sometimes I think I’m just procrastinating, you know? Making sure I’m on the right track before I step back into the world of the kitchen. I don’t want to mess this up.”

  “You won’t, Sandro. I’m sure of it. Besides—” she smiled at him reassuringly, trying to lighten his mood “—just how much trouble can you get into in this mini town?”

  He laughed. “Thanks for your faith in me, Red.”

  She wished she could see his smile every day. “You’re welcome. But are you sure you’ll be satisfied here? I saw how much you enjoyed Gavin’s restaurant, and you said yourself that there’s no market for food like that in Benson. Do you worry you’ll be bored?”

  “Being bored would be a good thing. I’ve had enough excitement to last a lifetime.”

  Jenna heard the strain in his voice and wished she could take back her question. It had been selfish. She’d been unconsciously trying to get him to consider relocating to San Francisco when she should have been accepting their situation as it was. She’d vowed not to try to change people, and here she was, doing it again. It was time to get back to their comfortable light humor. “Now, do you have any other hot spots of Benson you’d like to show me? The town hall maybe? The corner store?”

  “You obviously have no appreciation for small towns!”

  “I’m born and raised in the city, cowboy. You’re going to have to convince me of their charms.”

  “Challenge accepted.” Sandro opened the door and they stepped out into the night. “But there’s so much charm it’s going to be a busy weekend. We’d better get started.”

  He held out his hand and Jenna took it as he opened the car door for her. She loved the way it felt to have him touching her, even in this simple way. She felt as if she’d follow him anywhere as long as their hands were molded together.

  But when he pulled up in front of the local high school and led the way to a drainpipe, she wasn’t so sure.

  “C’mon, Red! It’s the best view in town!”

  “The gym roof? Are you serious, Sandro?”

  “You can’t say you know Benson until you’ve seen it from this angle. Just climb this fence.” He pointed to a rusty panel of chain-link next to them. “When you g
et to the top, put your foot on the bracket that holds the drainpipe to the wall. Grab the pipe, and you can pull yourself onto the roof. I promise I’ll catch you if it doesn’t work out.”

  “That’s comforting,” Jenna quipped.

  “You’re a dancer. An athlete. You’ll be fine.”

  “I’m a dancer who seems to fall every time you’re nearby.”

  Sandro pointed to the fence. “Up you go.”

  The night air was crisp and so clean it almost hurt her lungs. Jenna looked up at the roof. Responsibilities, common sense, adulthood all seemed to fall away in layers. She wanted to be a teenager, up on that gym roof with Sandro. She gripped the freezing metal links with her hands and climbed. Once at the top, she leaned over and put her foot on the bracket. She pushed off from the chain-link and grabbed the pipe with both hands, clinging there with a squeal, her heart pounding.

  “Good job!” Sandro jumped up onto the fence and in seconds was right next to her. He put a hand on her back to steady her. “See that pipe sticking out of the roof? It’s really strong. Grab it and use it to pull yourself up.”

  She reached over the roofline and grasped the pipe and pulled first one knee, then the other onto the roof. “Oof!” she exclaimed as her shin scraped the rain gutter. And then, “Oh, my gosh!”

  All around her were the stars, no longer just over the town but crowded and clustered across the enormous bowl of the sky to the horizon, running even denser in the crystalline river of the Milky Way. On one side of her, they blazed over the flat of the valley as far as she could see. On the other, the huge crags of the Sierra Nevada blocked them out with the deeper blackness of mountain silhouette. It was one of the most beautiful and awe-inspiring sights Jenna had ever seen. She lay down on the roof to try to take it all in.

  “See, there are things you miss out on when you spend your whole life in the city.” Sandro sat down next to her.

  “I guess so.” Her voice sounded quiet in all that empty air.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Well, like doesn’t seem like the right word for something so raw.”

  “I missed this living in New York. It’s like your senses go into kind of a daze in the city. There’s just so much stuff going on. Here I always feel connected to the sky, the land, the weather, the seasons. It’s all right here, in your face.”

  “And now that you’re living here, do you ever miss New York? I mean, not the bad stuff that happened but the city?” She wanted to kick herself as soon as she said the words. What pathetic part of her kept trying to get him to rethink his plans so he’d fit into hers?

  He paused then answered. “Sure. But Benson is a good place to live my life. I know I can make good choices here.”

  “Well, with this sky to watch every night, I can see how it might inspire you. Or at least remind you of where you really belong, in the big scheme of things.”

  Jenna’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Who could be calling her this late? She sat up and pulled it out. It was a number she didn’t recognize. Unease pitted her stomach. Weekends were Mom’s worst time. Could this be the call she’d been dreading? The DUI with jail time or the alcohol poisoning? She answered. It was her mother and her fears expanded. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. “Mom! What is this number? Are you okay?”

  “I am, actually.” Her mother’s voice was calm and polite and Jenna almost dropped the phone in surprise. Her mom was sober? No string of profanity? No slurred accusations?

  “Jenna, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.” She was confused, but at least she could breathe again.

  “Oh, good, I thought I’d lost you. The phone’s a little unreliable here.”

  “Unreliable where?”

  “I’m north of the city, in Marin. At a rehab facility. I checked myself in today.”

  Jenna did drop her phone then, but luckily, Sandro had quick reflexes. He handed it back to her. She took a breath shaky with gratitude. “That’s incredible, Mom! How did this happen?” She paused, realizing she was terrified to say the wrong thing. To make a mistake that would send her mom out the door of rehab and back to the bottle.

  “I don’t really know. I woke up this morning so sick of myself. Sick of sitting at home angry and drinking, getting flabby and bloated while your father’s out with half the women in this city.”

  “You know about the other women?” Jenna had spent the past week worrying about the photos she’d taken, wondering if she should show them to her mom. It would be liberating to delete the toxic images from her phone.

  “I think I’ve known for a long time. I just didn’t want to know. But when he didn’t come home at all the past couple nights, I guess it just finally became real. Something clicked. I called my friend Adriane. Remember her? She went to rehab a few years ago. She showed up on my doorstep within the hour and drove me here.”

  Jenna felt relief so profound it seemed to bend her limbs, relax the muscles she had no idea she’d been tensing for years. She glanced over and saw Sandro watching her anxiously. She gave him a thumbs-up and he smiled, looking relieved, as well.

  “Honey, I can’t talk much now. There’s only one phone and other people are waiting. And there’s a meeting in a few minutes. I’ll call you later with more details.”

  Jenna wondered if she’d ever be able to accept a call from her mother without wondering which version of her mom, drunk or sober, would be on the other end.

  Her mother said goodbye and hung up. Jenna sat staring at her phone. It was strange that such a tiny machine could impart such a life-changing message. Her hands shook and she could barely get the phone back into her coat pocket.

  “Are you okay?” Sandro asked quietly.

  She wasn’t sure she could talk without completely losing it. “Um...my mom is in rehab.”

  “That’s incredible!” His arm came around her shoulders, pulling her into his warmth. “I can’t imagine how good that must feel.”

  And then the tears came—as if leaning on him was the permission they’d needed to finally spill over and release the heartache, fear and constant anxiety that her mom’s drinking caused. Jenna cried for all the late-night phone calls, all the mornings she’d gone to the house to make sure her mom was still alive, all the stomach-wrenching times she’d pictured what it would be like if she wasn’t. And Sandro just held her, murmuring soft words of comfort into her hair, enveloping her in his tenderness and cradling her in the strength of his arms.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SUNLIGHT POURED IN through the tall window. Jenna got up, dragging a quilt with her against the morning chill, and looked out at the view, struck again by the grandeur. Mountains piled up and tumbling behind each other as far as she could see, lit from the east by the morning sun.

  But she would have had an equally nice view if she’d stayed at Samantha’s, and she wondered if she should have. It was awkward being here, a guest that Sandro’s parents didn’t want, bringing news about Paul that they didn’t want to hear.

  And then there was Sandro. She’d barely made it through the evening without kissing him. After she cried all over him on the gym roof, there was an intimacy between them that made a kiss seem inevitable. From the gym, they’d gone to a local bar, where she’d tried a Basque punch that sent her head spinning. But by drawing on every ounce of willpower she possessed, she’d managed to keep her hands off him.

  It hadn’t been easy. All evening, every time she looked at Sandro, that familiar thrill had moved over her skin—the quickening of her breath, the rippling memory of what it was like to kiss him, to feel his hands on her body. Somehow he was more irresistible than ever. She loved this cocky, cheerful, cowboy version of him. Paul’s decision to tell his parents seemed to have freed Sandro from some of his angst. Or maybe it was because he was in Benson, and this was where he was meant to be.


  One more day and one more night, she reminded herself. Thirty-six more hours of willpower, and then she’d be on her way back to San Francisco, knowing she’d done all she could to help Paul dance.

  With a sigh, she went to find her jeans. Apparently they were going riding today. Jenna just hoped she remembered how. Sandro had already rescued her from a collision on her bike and a crash in the ballroom. She didn’t relish adding a fall from a horse to that list.

  * * *

  SALAZAR FAMILY TRADITION required that once a year at the end of summer, they all rode up to the alpine meadow that overlooked the ranch and had a family picnic. Jenna was wrapping sandwiches in plastic wrap and helping Sandro’s mom place them in leather saddlebags for transport. Sandro and Paul were saddling the horses.

  If it weren’t for her uncomfortable purpose here, Jenna thought she might enjoy the day. There was something so homey about the farmhouse kitchen with its scarred pine table and wood-burning stove in the corner. But the silence coming from Mrs. Salazar was glacier thick. It was time to crack the ice between them and it was clearly going to be up to Jenna to do so.

  She put her last sandwich in a bag and turned to face her hostess. “Mrs. Salazar, I feel very odd being here. Sandro and Paul invited me thinking my presence might be reassuring to you. They thought that if you and your husband met me, you’d feel better about Paul’s dancing. That obviously isn’t the case and I’m sorry if I am intruding this weekend.”

  “Men,” Mrs. Salazar said disdainfully, surprising Jenna. “They think they know what’s best and they rarely do. And you can call me Barbara.”

  “Thank you,” Jenna said, wondering what to say next.

  Barbara solved her problem by speaking. “I’ve always known Paul was artistic. Sandro, too. They take after my side of the family. I’m a quilter, you know, and my mother paints. My aunt and uncle owned the restaurant before Sandro, and they were great cooks. So I understand my boys a little more than John does, I think.”