More Than a Rancher

by Claire McEwen

  “You’re my daughter. I should have been helping you all along. I want to help you now.”

  “That’s just guilt talking.”

  “Maybe a little. But if you think this is going to make my guilt go away or is going to allow me to forgive myself for all that I’ve done wrong, then you can’t possibly understand how devastated I feel.”

  Something in Jenna still hesitated. Over the years, she’d coped with her parents’ disapproval by nurturing a stubborn pride. She hadn’t taken a dime from them since she left home. Could she start now? It felt like a threat to everything she’d worked so hard to create on her own.

  “You could take it as a loan if it makes you feel better,” her mother said. “Please? This is your big dream, Jenna. Let me help make it happen?”

  Jenna reached out and took the check. Her hopes were right there on that piece of paper. She’d never felt despair as she had in the past couple weeks. Her life had fallen apart and she didn’t know how to pick up the pieces. Yet somehow the universe was giving her what she needed. It was just so odd that it was providing it via her mother.

  “Thank you, Mom. I appreciate it—I really do. It’s hard to say how much.” She felt as if she was in a daze, her mind jumbled with so many conflicting emotions. Gratitude, excitement, fear.

  “Go teach your classes now. And hold your head up high around Brent. He is going to rue the day he left your partnership when he sees the wildly successful ballroom you are going to create.”

  Jenna hugged her mother and stumbled out the door. At her car she stood, inhaling the hot baked smell of the dry earth, taking in the bright blue sky patterned by the oaks that grew over the rehab center’s driveway. Thank you, she said silently, turning her face up to the sky, to the universe—mind-boggling and endless—so far out beyond the blue. She closed her eyes and felt a beam of sunlight fall across her face. Thank you.

  Driving back to San Francisco, across the Golden Gate Bridge, Jenna tried to fathom the events of the day. She pressed the button to open the sunroof and let the fog swirl through the car, cranking the heat to lessen the cold and damp. With the music turned up, she glanced above her to see the rusty red towers coming in and out of view with the incoming fog. Misty air blasted her face and sent her hair flying upward.

  Her mom was in rehab, starting to heal. Now it was Jenna’s time to heal herself. But she had no idea how. When she thought about Sandro—which she did often—her heart felt vacant, like a fragile shell webbed with cracks.

  In her worst moments, she wondered if she’d made an enormous mistake. Brent ended their partnership right after she’d left Sandro behind in Benson. What if that had been a sign that she never should have said goodbye to Sandro? Maybe her destiny was to stay in Benson with him, and she’d taken a wrong turn? In the worst moments, she ached, mind, body and soul, for Sandro, feeling as if she’d easily give up all of her dreams for just one more day with him.

  But there were glimpses of healing. In her best moments, Jenna thought of falling in love with Sandro as a short-term, beautiful gift that she could be grateful for. Like those gorgeous pears wrapped in gold foil and tucked into a fancy box that her great-aunt always sent her mom at Christmas. They were lovely but not meant to last. Just savored and enjoyed for a week or two.

  Jenna slowed for the tollbooth. She was striving to feel a little better every day. To cultivate a good attitude. To be grateful for what she had rather than mourning her losses. To trust that she would be okay, eventually.

  But she wasn’t there yet. Despite all her good news today, she still missed Sandro. Hopefully, she’d get used to living without him. But for today, she’d just have to put one foot in front of the other and inch her way forward. Thanks to her mom, she now had a destination.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  HIS MOM HAD organized a barbecue and put Sandro in charge of the grill. At least it gave him something to do, since he didn’t feel like socializing. He hadn’t felt like doing much since Jenna left two weeks ago.

  Sandro flipped a burger and it went sailing through the air and landed on the grass nearby. With a word he shouldn’t have uttered at a social occasion, he stomped over and picked it up, tossing it into the trash.

  He couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. Everything was fine. Great, actually. He’d finished building the bar. The wood had varnished to a gorgeous gold that brightened the room. He was almost ready to order the kitchen appliances. He’d been working on his recipes and Joe and Gabe had actually liked a few of his test meals.

  Sandro was even getting along pretty well with his dad. They talked often these days, and his dad was a little more appreciative of the time Sandro put in on the ranch. When Sandro talked about his plans for the restaurant, his dad stuck around to listen—he’d even asked about them once or twice.

  His entire family seemed happier now. It had been like that since Jenna’s visit. It was as if she had shown up in Benson and waved her wand, or sprinkled her fairy dust, or whatever hocus-pocus she got up to, and his whole family was different. His mom was actually trying to give Paul advice on his choreography! Paul complained, but it was obvious he loved the attention. And his parents had gone out dancing the past couple weekends, coming home late, with a new spark between them.

  Everyone was happier but him. Thoughts of Jenna and their last conversation were making him crazy. How had he allowed her to leave like that? The sadness in her eyes had been clear even while she’d held her head up, trying to be so brave.

  He’d been keeping himself busy every waking minute trying to forget her, but at night the memories haunted him. The way her ivory skin had felt like satin under his hands. How her body curved in such outrageous ways, muscled from dance but soft and pliant in his arms. How free she’d been with him. How generous. She was beyond beautiful in his eyes.

  A few of his parents’ friends came up for burgers and Sandro forced himself to greet them cheerfully, reminding himself that everyone at this barbecue was a future customer at his restaurant. He couldn’t afford to be distracted or brusque; he had to put his thoughts of Jenna aside. But it seemed as if no matter what dark, dusty corner of his brain he tried to shove his memories in, they just popped out again, bright and dancing in a swirl of sparkly skirts and red hair. He wished he could see her again. Wished that she’d agreed to move to Benson.

  Burgers served, Sandro leaned back against the stone wall behind him, waiting for the next order. Across the lawn, he and his mom had set up long tables covered with all kinds of appetizers and salads—mostly Sandro’s creations. He watched as people wandered along the buffet, helping themselves. He couldn’t help but notice that standard fare like deviled eggs and his mom’s Jell-O salad were disappearing rapidly. His dishes had barely been touched.

  Jenna’s words about San Francisco came back to him again. You could make the wildest, most innovative cuisine and people would love it. He thought of Gavin’s success with Oliva and the fun they could have working together again. For the millionth time he imagined opening his own place in San Francisco. It would be a bistro, the best of French and Spanish rustic cuisine, filled with fresh ingredients from all the organic farms within a few hours of the city. It would be incredible to visit some of those farms and cultivate connections with those farmers. If his restaurant succeeded, he could commission crops—heirloom tomatoes, exotic tubers and rare greens.

  “Can I get a burger, man?” He looked up to see a guy he knew from high school, whose name he couldn’t remember, holding out a paper plate.

  “Sandro?” The man stuck out his other hand for a shake and Sandro took it, trying not to wince in the meaty grip. “Blake Henson. Remember me?”

  Sandro had a sudden memory of being fourteen years old and shoved up against a locker with Blake’s pale eyes squinting into his while he asked what the hell Sandro was doing in his math class. Shouldn’t you be in ho
me economics where you belong?

  He’s a future customer, Sandro reminded himself. Just hand him the burger and move on. He slapped the burger onto the paper plate just a little too hard, so that the ex-bully had to scramble to keep it from falling. “Yeah, I remember you, Blake. Enjoy the party.”

  Sandro turned off the grill and walked toward his cabin. With every step, he left the noise of conversation and laughter farther behind him and his relief grew. At the cabin door he stopped. It held memories of Jenna now, incredible memories, and he couldn’t face those at the moment.

  Sandro walked back down the steps and around behind the cabin to a tiny trail through the woods that zigzagged up the steep hill. Each muffled step on the pine-needled forest floor soothed him. He inhaled the clear air, only faintly tinged with barbecue smoke now. After a few hairpin turns, he left the trail for a smaller one, following it as it wound up the mountainside, meandering along a stream. At the top of the hills, he came out of the trees and into open granite spaces and there was the boulder. The same one he’d visualized when Jenna had made him think peaceful thoughts while she dealt the tarot cards. He scrambled up to sit on top.

  It was just as he remembered it. From here he could see the entire valley, past Benson and out over the high desert beyond, shining gray and brown in the late-summer heat. So dry and dusty and yet covered in shrubs and plants that were quietly impressive for their toughness, their ability to survive extreme conditions.

  Sandro wished, suddenly, to have some of their strength, their ability to weather stress by digging their roots down deep to find their own sources of water and nutrients. He’d never figured out how to do that. He’d always sought something outside of himself to give him sustenance. He’d pressed forward, to the next job, to the next party, to the next good review of his cooking and, finally, to Benson. When he couldn’t run somewhere new, he ran away in his head with alcohol, drugs and all that casual sex. He’d never learned to just stand still and deal with whatever life threw his way.

  I’m no expert, but I think that kind of safety has to come from inside you. Jenna’s words were so clear, as if she were sitting right there next to him. She’d been right. She’d been right so damn often he was starting to think she did have some kind of psychic powers.

  She’d certainly gotten it right with those crazy tarot cards. The knight in black on the white horse. Death. Rebirth. He remembered how she’d explained it. The end of an old phase of life that’s served its purpose and the beginning of a new one.

  Insight hit him so hard that Sandro stood bolt upright on his rock, jumped off the back and was heading back down the trail before he was even conscious of moving. He’d mourned long enough. This phase had served its purpose. He’d come home to mourn his dream of New York and the mistakes he’d made. He’d come home with a corpse of regret slung across his shoulders. But somehow he had to set that burden down and move on. He had to find the courage and inner strength to put down his roots where they belonged. Just as those plants out in the desert did.

  He was running down the trail, feet pounding into the soft turf. He rounded a sharp corner and almost crashed into his dad. Swerving to avoid him, Sandro skidded on the pine needles and went off the path, landing hard on the steep hillside below.

  “Son!” His dad’s face was a confused expression of alarm and humor.

  “Hey, Dad.” Sandro slowly swiveled his legs around until he was upright, then scooted back a few inches until he was sitting with his back against the copper scaled trunk of a huge pine. “You looking for me?”

  And then they were both laughing, huge peals that rang out through the quiet air. His dad gasped for breath. “Hell, son, I thought I’d lost you for a minute there.”

  Sandro thought of Jenna—she’d laugh if she were here right now, and he’d love to see her laughing again.

  “Were you coming to find me? Do you need more burgers?”

  John Salazar sat down on a piece of granite that bordered the trail. “I saw you leave the party all of a sudden. Just wondered if you were okay.”

  Sandro envisioned his eyes bugging right out of his head—he was that surprised. He tried to remember if his dad had ever sought him out to see if he was all right. When he was a little kid, sure. But not since.

  “I’m okay. Better now. I think I’ve got something to tell you.”

  “That you’re leaving the ranch?”

  “Pops, what the...?”

  “I guess I can see how the land lies now, Sandro. It’s obvious that you belong in the city.”

  Sandro stared at his father, speechless.

  “I’m starting to understand it a little more. Your mom’s been talking to me a lot about how I need to start accepting that my sons are all different. That I need to appreciate it.” He paused, picked up a pine needle and rolled it in his fingers, studying it. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’ve gotten to the appreciating part yet. But I think I’m at least ready to stop fighting it.”

  “That’s great, Dad.”

  “I know one of the reasons you came back here was to try to make things better between us. And I appreciate it, more than I can say. It was a bad day for me when you left. It was hard every day that you were gone.”

  “I wish I’d done it differently. Not hurt you all so much.”

  “I wish we’d done it differently. I’m pretty sure the blame for you leaving sits squarely on my back. But you came home, and you threw your heart into the ranch and into this family and I’m glad you did.”

  Sandro braced himself. His revelation was so new it was hard to figure out how to voice it. “But my heart’s not really in it.”

  “I know.” His dad leaned forward on his rock, bracing his elbows on his knees, feet planted firmly in the dust of the mountains he loved. “I think I realized it when Jenna was here.”

  “I realized it just now.”

  His father laughed, a guffaw that echoed on the quiet hillside. “It’s a rare moment that I’ve ever been a step ahead of you, son.”

  “Well, maybe times have changed.” Sandro picked up a pine needle of his own. It was dry and he snapped it into pieces. “I sure don’t feel on top of stuff these days.”

  “Welcome to adulthood.” His dad smiled ruefully, the deep web of lines around his eyes crinkling. “You’re officially a real man when you realize you have no idea what the hell you’re doing.”

  He stood from the rock and held out a hand. Sandro grasped it and let his dad’s iron strength help haul him up from the base of his tree. “Just do me a favor, son. Don’t tell your mom you’re leaving until after the party today. You know how much she loves her annual barbecue.”

  “Will do, Dad.”

  “And don’t spit on anyone’s burger.”

  “Pop, I wouldn’t!”

  “Well, when I saw that bozo from your high school was here today, I figured you’d be tempted.”

  “I sure was. But, hey, I’m a professional, don’t forget.”

  “I won’t, son. Honestly, eating your food the past few weeks, I’ve felt damn proud of your talents.”

  They walked back to the party in silence. Sandro didn’t know what his father was thinking, but he was busy replaying his dad’s last comment, filing it away in his memory under the category of Miracles.

  * * *

  SANDRO’S TRUCK WAS packed and all that was left were the goodbyes. Joe and Gabe had clapped him on the back earlier and disappeared out in the hills on horseback for a day out checking on the sheep. His mom, dad and Paul had stuck around to say goodbye.

  “Take care of yourself, Sandro.” His mom hugged him hard. “Keep your focus. Don’t let the city dictate your choices.”

  He’d sat up late with his parents last night and finally told them about what had really happened in New York. Not everything, not the women, not the Dumpster, but
all about the drinking and drugs. They deserved to know.

  “I won’t, Ma. Nothing like that will happen again.” His heart thudded like a sickly thing in his chest. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He’d found a way to be sure of that. It was called Alcoholics Anonymous and he had his first meeting tonight. As soon as he put his stuff down at Gavin’s apartment, he was headed there.

  He hoped it would do more than keep him sober. He wanted that inner strength and resilience he’d realized he lacked. Hopefully, the Twelve Steps would teach him some of that.

  “Can I come stay with you? After you get settled?” Paul’s face was alight with hope and eagerness. “There’s a performing arts high school in San Francisco. Some of my friends from Jenna’s class go there. It’s public—you don’t even have to pay for it.”

  “Hush now, Paulo.” Sandro’s mom tucked Paul under her arm firmly. “You told me yourself that auditions aren’t until the spring. Don’t ask your mother to think about losing her baby today, too.”

  Sandro’s dad pulled him in for a rough hug. It was awkward but also heartfelt and golden. “Come back and visit as often as you can. Bring Jenna with you.”

  To Sandro’s surprise, his own voice came out gruff. Too much damn emotion. “If I’m lucky, Pops, I’ll bring Jenna. If not, you’ll have to settle for only me.”

  “You just tell her that your mom and I have a few more dances to teach her.”

  Sandro grinned. There was so much surprise in this new version of his parents. “I’d better get going. I have that meeting tonight.”

  He got in his truck and slammed the door. Then he leaned out the window for one more look at his family. “I love you guys. Thanks for giving me a place to get my head on straight.”

  “It’s called home, son.” His mother smiled gently at him. “And it will always be here when you need it.”

  He blew her a kiss. Heading down the driveway toward the valley, he remembered the last time he left home for San Francisco. He’d been a kid and he’d left before dawn. He’d hitched a ride out of town with a trucker.