“I don’t think he’s here right now, but let me go check.” The hostess winked at Jenna and turned on her heel to stroll through the crowded room toward the kitchen.
She didn’t come back for a while. Jenna stood awkwardly as patrons tried to get around her in the small foyer to put their names on the list. It felt way too familiar, as if she were still Jeff the musician’s girlfriend, waiting around for him to pack up his gear after a show.
“Sorry ’bout that.” The hostess was back, peering at Jenna from under her thick black bangs. “He’s not in yet.”
Where could he be? She’d left the ballroom after he had and come straight here.
“Jenna!” It was Gavin, parting the turbulent activity of his restaurant, people whispering and pointing in his wake. The head chef of Oliva was a local celebrity. “When Eloise here told me there was a redhead asking after Salazar, I thought it might be you!”
He swept Jenna up into a hug as if they were old friends. “Have you made up your mind to leave that lout and be mine forever?” he asked when he set her down.
“Well, we should probably get to know each other a little first,” she teased, and Gavin roared with laughter.
“Sandro, that lucky dog, is out right now. We’re expecting him soon. You’ll wait, right? Can I get you a drink or something to eat?”
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stand around waiting like a groupie tonight. “Thank you, Gavin, but I have to go. Would you mind telling him I stopped by?”
“Of course,” he said. “And come in for a meal soon, okay? We’ll have wine together. Sandro’s no fun now that he’s sober.” But he said it with a grin and a wink that told Jenna he was proud of his friend.
Jenna thanked Eloise and headed out into the street, glad to be out of the crowded restaurant. She turned down Valencia, ready to get home, take off her heels and run a steaming-hot bubble bath after such an emotional evening.
The wind was getting stronger and she’d forgotten her coat this morning, lulled by the September weather that was San Francisco’s real taste of summer. Jenna clutched her thin cardigan around her chest and put her head down, willing her legs to go just a little faster.
She passed the local dive bar. Light spilled out into the street through the open door, jukebox music following it. The melody was familiar and Jenna stopped abruptly. It was one of the songs she and Sandro had danced to that night in Benson—one of the happiest nights she’d ever spent.
“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Sandro was standing beside her, taking off his leather jacket and handing it to her. “Put this on—you’re freezing.”
“What are you doing here?”
He grinned. “We’re neighbors, remember? I was on my way to Oliva.”
Jenna pulled his coat on—it was still warm from his body. “I don’t know if I can get used to running into you.”
“Well, if you spend a lot of time with me, you won’t have to worry about running into me. You’ll know where I am.”
She laughed. “That’s true.” Then her horrible words from earlier came back to her. “Sandro, I feel awful about what I said. I was surprised, but it’s no excuse.”
“No, I get it. You’re already dealing with alcoholism. You’ve gotta decide if you’re up for taking on a work in progress like me.”
“I think it’s obvious after today that I’m a work in progress, as well.”
“I should have let you know I was here. I was selfish. I didn’t consider that you might be having a hard time. You seem so grounded, Jenna. Like you were going to be just fine without me. Like you’ve got it all figured out.”
She stared at him. “You’re kidding me. Sandro, I’ve got nothing figured out. But I think I realized after you left this evening that I don’t need to have it all figured out. I just have to trust that I’ll be okay, no matter what happens in the future.”
“I want to be in your future,” Sandro said, and his expression was solemn now. He took her hand and Jenna marveled that it was still so warm in the cold air. The man was like a heater. “I love you, Jenna. You are the most important reason that I moved here. I know it’s early days for us but I also know that I’m completely crazy about you. I want to spend all my spare time with you.”
Jenna put her hands up to his cheeks, stood on tiptoe and kissed him slowly on the mouth, filling her kiss with all the emotion in her heart. “I love you, Sandro,” she whispered against his lips. “And I want to spend my spare time with you.”
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her in tightly to his warmth, and he kissed her back, his mouth strong and sure against hers. It felt like home in the best possible way—languid, comforting, promising. Then she felt his lips curve into a smile under hers and he slowly pulled away, looking down at her with the knee-weakening smile she loved and feared. She kept her arms on his shoulders just in case she started to fall over.
“Don’t you think it’s a little strange that we ran into each other like this? In front of a bar that’s playing what might be the only country-western music in this entire city?”
Jenna grinned, realizing where he was going. “And playing a song we had such a good time dancing to in Benson?”
“You know what it means, don’t you?” He tilted his head to hers so their foreheads touched.
“It’s a sign!” She didn’t mind the teasing. Not when the sign had led her to him.
Sandro pulled her in close again. His laughter blended with hers. Then he pivoted, tucking her under his arm in the way she’d come to love. “Let’s get you inside before we both freeze.”
“What about Oliva?”
“If there’s one excuse Gavin will accept, it’s that I’ve just convinced the woman I love to love me back. He’ll understand why I have to skip work for the celebration.”
Jenna stopped and looked up at him. “What celebration?” she asked.
Sandro turned, and there on the dirty Valencia Street sidewalk he went down on one knee. Jenna’s hands went up to her mouth and she looked down at him in a mixture of wonder, excitement and pure terror. He pulled a black velvet box out of his pocket and flipped the lid. The rubies on the woven gold band glimmered in the streetlight overhead.
“Red, I am the worst bet. I’m an alcoholic who doesn’t really know much about having a real relationship—since I’ve never actually had one. And I’m a guy crazy enough to try to open a new restaurant in a city that has great food on every square block.”
Jenna smiled at his humor, though her mind was racing right along with her heart, trying to absorb what was happening.
“You are the first woman I’ve truly loved and it’s clear to me that I will love you forever. You are this magical person who can talk anyone into just about anything—and now I’ve got to somehow convince you to take a chance on me.”
“I think I already have,” Jenna answered, trying to breathe and keep her feet on the ground.
“I can’t ask you to marry me right now—there’s too much in my life that I have to straighten out first. But I want you to know, without any doubts, how much you mean to me. Jenna Stevens, will you be a work in progress with me? Will you love me and dance with me and cook with me and let me love you?”
Jenna just nodded. It was hard to speak with such deep feelings caught in her throat.
“And in a year or two, when I’ve proven to you that I really can be a healthy, somewhat normal guy, will you at least hear me out when I get down on my knee one more time, to ask you to marry me?”
Jenna looked down at the gorgeous, complicated man kneeling in front of her, and at the beautiful ring he offered. She loved him. She would be with him, but she couldn’t help teasing him, just a little, about his offbeat proposal. “That’s a whole lot of questions, Sandro. Are you looking for an itemized response?”
A small crowd of pe
ople had gathered around, watching the romantic tableau they’d created. “Just say yes!” someone shouted.
“You heard the guy.” Sandro gave her the cocky smile he knew she could never resist. “Just say yes. To all of it.”
Jenna took a deep breath. “Yes.”
Sandro let out a whoop and slipped the ring on the third finger of her right hand. “I’m not kidding about the next proposal,” he explained. “You have to leave your ring finger bare for the real thing.”
“If you play your cards right, cowboy,” she said.
“Oh, I will, Red. I will.” He stood and swooped Jenna up, swinging her around as he kissed her. Their audience clapped. And once he’d set her down and they’d finished shaking hands with everyone who’d stopped to listen to his not-a-proposal, Sandro took Jenna by the hand and led her into the bar. They snaked past the barstools and into the space back by the jukebox where an old Johnny Cash song was playing.
“Love is a burning thing,” Sandro sang softly into her ear as he held her close and danced her around in some freewheeling version of a two-step.
Jenna closed her eyes and let him lead her around the tiny dance floor. He was strong and steady and made it easy for her to know where to put her feet. She loved him, and he loved her, and they were going to figure it all out, together. Her happiness was mixed with an awe that somehow, through all the twists and turns their lives had taken since they met, it had come round to this moment, this love that truly did burn inside.
Sandro stepped away and she opened her eyes. He let go of one of her hands and raised the other so she turned beneath it, coming back around into his arms. She couldn’t stop smiling. He was looking at her with a combination of tenderness, desire and joy that exactly mirrored how she felt inside.
After all her worry and all her attempts to think things through, suddenly everything seemed very clear. Love was like being a follower in a dance. You had to give up control and just see where it took you. And trust that you could keep your balance, no matter what happened next. It was that simple, and that beautiful.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from HUSBAND BY CHOICE by Tara Taylor Quinn.
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CHAPTER ONE
“SHA SHA, MAMA. Sha sha! Geen, Go! Geen, Go!”
Easing her foot slowly off the brake as the traffic signal turned from red to green, Meredith Smith Bennet tuned out Caleb’s chatter because she had to.
And took comfort from it at the same time. The blond-haired toddler, strapped into his car seat behind her, kicked his feet repeatedly with glee. Sha sha—French fries. That was all it took for him to be happy. The anticipation of a French fry.
With a glance in the rearview mirror, keeping the small green car four vehicles back in the other lane in sight, she turned left at the familiar Santa Raquel corner.
“Sha sha, Mama! Sha sha!”
She’d promised Caleb French fries at his favorite fast food place—a treat on the one day a week he had to spend an afternoon at day care—and he’d had his eye on the Golden Arches where they’d been heading before she’d been forced to turn off the main drag.
“Sha shaaaaa!”
Instead of excitement, she heard the beginning of tears in his voice as the arches disappeared from view. The green car had made an illegal right turn, cutting off another vehicle to cross over two lanes.
“I know, Caleb,” she said. Her son was not going to suffer. Or know fear. Not by her hand. “In a minute,” she said, keeping her voice light and cheerful—her husband’s description of her “mommy” voice. A voice he was certain he’d never tire of hearing.
But he’d also been certain that Steve was in the past.
“Mama’s going a different way,” she continued, changing lanes without a signal and making a quick left turn the second she saw the chance.
As luck would have it, she was able to cross three lanes and make a right and then another left turn before the not new, not old, not big and not particularly small green car with the black-haired man behind the wheel could follow.
She’d lost him.
For now.
* * *
PEDIATRICIAN MAX BENNET was finishing up his afternoon’s charting, listening to the chatter of the front office staff in the clinic he shared with several other family physicians. His private cell phone buzzed at his hip.
Last he’d spoken to his wife, she’d been leaving to take Caleb for French fries on his way to day care. But Meri knew his last patient, a four-year-old needing a well-check, had been at three. She probably needed him to stop for milk on the way home. Or vanilla wafers. Caleb was addicted to them. And since they were the only sweets the little guy was allowed....
The caller wasn’t his wife of three years. It was Caleb’s day care.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Dr. Bennet, but Mrs. Bennet isn’t here yet and Caleb’s not happy. He’s been upset since she dropped him off, but it’s gotten steadily worse. He’s crying so hard he just threw up.”
He and Meredith had disagreed on the whole day care thing. He’d thought it was important that Max be integrated. She’d wanted to keep the toddler with her or a private sitter.
She was paranoid about safety. With good reason.
But Caleb had grown too attached to them—the separation anxiety he was experiencing was, in part, their fault.
They couldn’t let Meri’s fears paralyze their son.
“It’s three-forty-five,” he said, glancing at the clock on his wall—a Seth Thomas he and Meri had purchased together at a little shop in Carmel. “What time did she say she’d be back?”
“Technically she’s not due until four but when he was so upset at her leaving, she said she’d be back by three.”
It got earlier every week. “What time did she drop him off?”
“One.”
They’d gone from one full day a week to one half day. And now it was down to two hours?
Still, it wasn’t like Meri to be late collecting their son. Ever.
“Mrs. Bennet had a client this afternoon,” he told the woman on the phone. “I suspect she ran over. I’ll be done here in another fifteen minutes or so and will stop by there on my way home. If she shows up in the meantime, have her wait for me, will you?”
They’d have to talk about increasing Caleb’s time at day care again. Later. Maybe over a glass of wine. When Meri was relaxed.
“Yes, sir. What do you want me to do with him in the meantime?”
“Tell him to go play,” Max said. He supposed he sounded harsh. But his son had to learn to cope away from his mother’s watchful eye.
At two years of age, Caleb was showing no signs of asserting his own independence.
Clicking to end his call, Max dropped his phone to his desk. And closed the file on his laptop. He wasn’t going to get any more work done. Might as well pack up and get Caleb.
But first, he put in a call to his wife. She wouldn’t answer if she was still in session with the little boy who had Down syndrome. His parents had hired her for private therapy one day a week in addition to the speech pathology work she did with him at the elementary school where she worked part-time.
; Not surprised when she didn’t pick up—if she was out of session, she’d be getting Caleb—he put his cell phone in the breast pocket of his lab coat and headed out to the minivan he’d purchased when they’d found out they were expecting Caleb.
He pretended that he was as relaxed as he knew he should be. Meri was fine. There was nothing to worry about.
Trouble was he’d told himself that once before—in another lifetime. About another woman. His first wife.
And he’d been wrong.
She hadn’t been fine at all.
She’d been dead.
* * *
WAVING GOODBYE TO DEVON, who stood with his mother in the doorway to their home, Meredith hurried to her white minivan, a much less posh version of the one Max drove—her choice because she didn’t like to stand out or attract attention. With the remote entry device in the palm of her hand, her finger poised over the panic button, she waited until she was in front of the car, with a view of both sides of the vehicle, ensuring there was no one there waiting to jump in one door as she climbed in the other, and then, pushed the unlock button.
Ten seconds later she was safely inside with the doors locked. Mrs. Wright, Devon’s mother, was just closing their front door.
Adjusting her rearview mirror, she stole a panoramic glance of the road behind her. No green vehicles. No vehicles in the street at all.
And no one sitting in a car in a driveway that she could see.
No one loitering in the yards or on the sidewalks or the street.
Nothing suspicious looking at all.
Unless the absence of human life outside was suspicious....
Starting the van, she slowly pulled away from the curb. She was late. She’d told the day care she’d be there to pick Caleb up at three. But technically, based on the agreement she’d made with Max, she was supposed to leave Caleb at Let’s Pal Around until four.
She’d told her husband she’d try to leave him that long but hadn’t expected to succeed. Today, thanks to the new at-home client and the many questions his mother had asked, she just might make it. She just might manage to leave Caleb at day care for the full three hours.
More Than a Rancher Page 27