More Than a Rancher Page 10

  “Don’t listen to him.” Sandro’s voice felt strained with embarrassment. “Gavin, your ability to spin a yarn is as masterful as always.”

  “And you’re worried because I talked to a few girls after class today?” Paul asked indignantly.

  “Learn from my mistakes, grasshopper.” Sandro put this elbows on the table and rested his forehead in his hands. “My life is your cautionary tale.”

  “Evidently,” Jenna said dryly.

  “Well, I can see a few scythe-wielding farmers haven’t slowed you down any,” Gavin assured him. “You must still have the legendary Sandro mojo if you’ve managed to woo fair Jenna here.”

  Jenna was blushing now. “Gavin, I think you’ve got the wrong idea.”

  Paul started laughing. “Bro, there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”

  “There’s no mojo. And no legends,” Sandro said. This was going from bad to worse.

  “No legends? You are asking me to sit here with a captive audience and refrain from telling any more stories of the infamous Sandro Salazar? Not even the one with the New York Times restaurant critic?” He turned to Jenna and Paul with a salacious wink. “Rumor has it she got a chance to review a lot more than just his food!”

  “Okay, buddy.” Sandro put a hand on Gavin’s arm, trying to get his friend to be serious. “We’ve got some underage folks at the table. It’s past time to change the topic.” He tried to keep his voice light but anger was bubbling in his blood. Not at Gavin but at himself. He should never have brought Paul and Jenna here, where they would be exposed to his sordid past. “So, new subject. Tell me how you managed to get your hands on such a piece of prime real estate for this joint you have here.”

  Gavin laughed. “Let’s just say the landlady is a special friend.” Then he sobered. “But seriously, Sandro, I need a wingman here. I had no idea when I opened this place how crazy San Franciscans are for good food. We’re swamped every night and I’m tired. Any chance I can talk you into joining me?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Sandro saw Jenna look at him sharply. He wondered what she was thinking. Would she want him here in the city? She’d want Paul here—that much was obvious. But after the stuff she’d heard about him tonight, she’d most likely prefer he keep his distance. Which was fine because cities like this were off-limits to him. He’d already proved once that he couldn’t handle it.

  Maybe Gavin had done him a favor tonight by bringing out some bits of his wild past and putting them on display. No way was he going to regress to that person he’d been. “Thanks for the ask, Gavin, but I’m done with city life. I’m just here teaching a few classes, building my savings. Then I’m opening a place in my hometown.”

  “What? Tell me you’re not going to go serve up a bunch of bland food to a handful of Basque sheep herders.”

  Sandro laughed. Gavin had a way of getting right to the heart of things. “I like to think times have changed, even in Benson. I’ll keep some of the old Basque ways. Some tables will be family style, and I’ll stick with some of the most popular dishes. But I’ve been coming up with all kinds of recipes where I take traditional Basque dishes and transform them with modern influences.”

  “Nice.” Gavin nodded thoughtfully. “I’m impressed. You think there’s a market out there for food like that?”

  “I do.” He hoped there was.

  “I wish you well, my friend. And if your gamble doesn’t pay off, there’s always a place for you here. As long as you keep your paws off my customers. The angry daddies of the Mission District have a lot more firepower than those guys who chased us in Spain.”

  * * *

  JENNA DECIDED SHE was truly glad for Gavin’s plainspoken teasing. She needed this extra reminder about Sandro. She’d been so caught up by what had happened today. He’d helped her with Marlene, cared for her after the bike accident, brought her to this amazing meal and she’d gotten sucked in. So mesmerized that she’d forgotten Jack’s warning. Sandro was wild, he was a womanizer, and he was most definitely not for her.

  She stood up, her chair scraping the bricks of the patio. “Gentleman, this has been amazing. I cannot thank you enough. But I think my disaster via bicycle is catching up to me.”

  “What? You are running out on this man?” Gavin turned to Sandro in mock dismay. “Have you lost your touch, my friend? I’ve never known you to...”

  “Gavin!” The annoyance Jenna had noticed in Sandro’s face earlier was in his voice now. “Jenna and I are not dating.”

  Of course they weren’t. So why did the strange disappointment Jenna felt thicken her throat, making it impossible to speak? Logically, he was the last man she should be dating. But if he wasn’t interested, why so much tenderness after the accident?

  She knew the answer, thanks to Gavin. Thanks to Jack. Because this is what Sandro was like when it came to women. She pictured him as he’d been this morning, leaning over the desk at the ballroom, charming Marlene. He was a pro, and she knew it—and she’d fallen for it anyway.

  Sandro stood up and took her hand again. “Jenna, let me take you back to your apartment.”

  The last thing she was going to do was let the “legendary Sandro mojo” anywhere near her apartment. Anything that mojo might inspire between them would mean nothing. His kindness meant nothing. The way his hand had felt wrapped around hers right now meant nothing. He’d just said so himself.

  “I’ll walk.” She took back her hand. “The fresh air is just what I need.” She thanked Gavin, and said good-night to Paul, with disappointment and recrimination roiling through her veins.

  Outside the restaurant she hauled her poor bike out of the back of Sandro’s truck. It was bent and wobbly but she could wheel it the four blocks home. The weight of it made the cuts on her hands sting. Her pride stung, too.

  When she was out here in the cold air like this, she knew what she wanted—to stop spending her time and energy on men like Sandro Salazar. So why was it so hard to remember that goal every time she was with him?

  She started down Valencia Street, regretting her choice of routes immediately. The sidewalks were crowded with people. They spilled out of bars and art galleries and stood in line for restaurants. She steered around the various groups carefully until she finally turned down Twenty-Fifth Street, leaving the chaos behind. It was never very safe to walk through her neighborhood at night, but tonight she didn’t care. The damp wind, blowing her hair every which way, settling moisture onto her skin, was soothing. And after such a confusing evening, it was a relief just to be alone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JENNA TURNED ON the iPod and walked quickly back onto the dance floor, where Brent was waiting. She put her left hand on his upper arm, the right poised with his in the air. They’d danced together so long that the frame they created felt like home. She gathered the muscles of her back and her abdomen and concentrated on feeling every one of Brent’s movements, ready to respond in kind with her own.

  The familiar notes of the upbeat music surrounded her and soon she and Brent were flowing across the floor, working as one body within the dance, all of her aches and pains from her bike accident forgotten as the hours of practice, the connection and chemistry between them worked their magic.

  They came to the point where the first lift would be and stopped. Brent tipped her into a dip that wasn’t a part of the choreography. Jenna gasped in surprise, and Brent looked down at her, an impish grin on his face, and kissed the tip of her nose. “Stop!” she told him, and he set her back on her feet.

  “That’s what you get for being so adorable in that dress today.” His compliment inspired only annoyance. He was wasting their time.

  “Brent, you have to stop messing around! We have so much work to do—”

  “Your cowboy is here.”

  So that was what the kiss had been about. He must have s
potted Sandro while they danced and decided to mark his territory. Jenna resisted the impulse to kick her partner in the shins.

  “He’s not my cowboy,” she growled at him. “Let’s try it with the lift now.” She couldn’t help glancing over to the tables, where Sandro was helping Paul unpack his duffel bag.

  “Don’t be mad at me,” Brent said.

  Jenna looked back at him. His pale skin was flushed with exertion. “You do this every time!” she said.

  “I do what?” Brent was staring at her, genuine confusion in his pale blue eyes.

  This was what made their situation so strange. He didn’t realize that he only chased her when he thought someone else was interested. He couldn’t see the pattern in his actions. And she didn’t have the energy to have the fight she knew they’d have if she tried to explain.

  “Can we just focus on the dance, please?” She turned away and walked back to the iPod to start the song again. When she turned toward the dance floor, Brent was right there behind her. He took her hand and led her back to the middle of the floor. He never did that. One more display meant for Sandro’s benefit. She glared at him and they got into hold so they could dance the opening of the routine again.

  It went even better this time, despite their little spat. When it all came together like this, it was the most exhilarating feeling. Jenna spun across the floor away from Brent, relishing the way the steps fit the music. She paused, held her pose along with the elongated notes of the song, then turned, arms back, chest out, to look at Brent. They made eye contact and she went for the lift.

  With running steps she crossed the floor, making sure her timing was just right. One final turn and with her arms raised, she launched herself at Brent, noticing only when she was already airborne that he wasn’t looking at her anymore—he was staring at Sandro.

  Jenna gasped and Brent turned and tried to catch her. It was too late. He was able to get one arm under her leg so he broke her fall a bit, but most of her slammed into the floor. The shoulder she’d hurt the night before flared with pain as she landed hard.

  Brent was kneeling by her side within seconds. “Jenna? Jenna, are you okay? I’m so sorry! That was my fault.”

  Jenna put her head up warily. As far as she could tell, nothing was permanently damaged, but a lot of things hurt. Again. “What happened?” she asked. “How did you drop me?”

  Brent didn’t answer, just looked over her head with a worried expression spreading across his features.

  Jenna craned her neck to see behind her, trying to figure out what had caught his eye. Sandro was standing right there.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sandro’s voice was low but it carried perfectly, the words riding an audible wave of fury. He was towering over them, fists clenched, mouth a grim line. “Why the hell were you looking at me instead of Jenna?”

  “Dude...” Brent started.

  “Sandro.” Jenna turned all the way around, wincing and stiff. She looked directly up at him. “Falls happen. Brent made a mistake. It’s okay.”

  He knelt down next to her. “It’s not okay. He’s your partner. He’s supposed to take care of you, but instead of paying attention to the dance, he kept smirking at me.”

  “Brent?” Jenna asked. “What’s going on?”

  Brent sighed. “I’m sorry, Jen. I got distracted for a second. I messed up. I’ll do better next time.”

  “Next time?” Sandro looked at Jenna. “Is there going to be a next time? He could have seriously hurt you!”

  “Of course there will be a next time.” Jenna tried to check the rising annoyance. He was making a scene at her place of work. She didn’t need to add to her problems with Marlene.

  “Look, I don’t know what any of this has to do with you,” Brent told Sandro. “But Jenna’s my partner and my friend, and I won’t let it happen again.” Brent looked visibly shaken and more remorseful than Jenna had ever seen him.

  “Good,” Sandro said. “You’d better not.”

  “Who are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?” Brent stood up. Sandro stood, as well. Both of them had hands curled into fists.

  “Stop it.” From the floor, Jenna glared at both of them. They were such idiots. Such boys. “Stop arguing.”

  They stopped. But from the way they were glowering at each other, Jenna knew they weren’t finished. Sandro held out his hand to Jenna. “Can I help you up?”

  Jenna didn’t want help, but she also didn’t want to fall over again in front of him. She grudgingly took hold of Sandro’s hand and used his strength to support her while she stood carefully, feeling how her knees and ankles took her weight, thankful beyond measure that nothing seemed to be broken or strained.

  This past twenty-four hours had been completely hazardous to her health. Was the universe trying to tell her something? The only message she could decipher was that gravity seemed to have gained new strength where she was concerned.

  “I can’t believe you’re even doing a jump like that after last night,” Sandro admonished.

  “What happened last night?” Brent turned to Jenna. “What’s he talking about?”

  “You didn’t tell him about the bike accident?” Sandro glared at both of them now. “Jenna, you should be taking it easy today, and as her partner, you should be helping her do it!”

  “What bike accident?” Brent stared at her in alarm.

  Jenna tried to fathom how she was the one who’d been dropped and hurt, yet both of them were now upset with her. “I didn’t say anything because our competition is in a week and we’re not ready. We need to practice.”

  “Not if you’re hurt,” Sandro interjected.

  That was enough. Jenna rounded on Sandro. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come in here and get involved in my life!”

  “Not to split hairs, Jenna, but you sure got involved with mine, which is the only reason I’m here in this ballroom right now.”

  “You made the ultimate choice to bring Paul, not me.” She didn’t want to fight with him. Not here. She took a deep breath. “Sandro, I’m fine. I know you’re trying to help but I don’t need your assistance. Can you please let me work this out with Brent?”

  “Only if this yahoo promises to be a little more careful!”

  “Sandro...” Jenna started.

  “Yahoo?” Brent burst into mocking laughter.

  “Well, I’m sure I can come up with some other names that would suit you better.”

  Jenna saw Sandro’s fist curl again. “Both of you, stop this now!” she commanded, keeping her voice low. Her students were arriving and a few of them were glancing over. It was time to restore order around here. “Stop telling me what I need! I am fine and neither of you has the right to tell me what to do. Brent, in the future, please focus on our routine, especially when there’s a lift involved! Sandro, stop yelling at him! Now, is everybody satisfied?”

  Both men looked chagrined. They nodded and if Jenna hadn’t been so upset, she might have laughed at their sullen expressions.

  “Then I need to go teach.” She turned and headed toward the dressing room for a moment of privacy—and maybe an ice pack for her shoulder.

  Sandro’s voice was soft, but it carried. “Jenna, can I have a moment?”

  She turned to face him. “To scold me some more? Or perhaps to threaten my dance partner again?”

  He walked toward her slowly. “I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t know what’s going on with me.” He ran a hand through his dark wavy hair. “I don’t know why I feel so responsible for you.” He looked away for a minute and Jenna waited, stilled by his words.

  “I know you don’t need me.... Maybe it’s that old idea that once you save someone’s life, you’re always connected to them. Except I didn’t save your life—I just helped peel you off the pav
ement....”

  He looked so muddled that Jenna felt kind of sorry for him. Then inspiration struck. This morning was not going well, but maybe something good could come from it for Paul. “Well,” she started, “if you’re really sorry, then make it up to me. Bring Paul to my dance competition.”

  “Jenna.” Exasperation flared in Sandro’s eyes again. “I just don’t think Paul needs—”

  She cut him off. “Fine. I get it. If you’re not really sorry—”

  “I am sorry,” Sandro interrupted. He sighed. “Okay, you win. I’ll bring him.” He glanced over to the DJ booth, where Brent was now chatting with Nicole. “And if that partner of yours drops you again, at least I’ll be there to scoop up the pieces.”

  “Sandro, you are not allowed to make another scene!”

  “But—”

  “If you do,” Jenna threatened, only partly joking, “I’ll just find another dance competition and make you escort Paul to that one, too. And then I’ll find another, and another...”

  Sandro smiled reluctantly at her ridiculous threat. “Fine. No scenes. I promise.” He glanced at Brent one last time. “Though it pains me to say it.”

  Jenna was impressed by her own brilliance. Paul would get to see a real, professional dance competition. She wanted him to stay inspired. He was too good to even entertain the thought of giving up. Jenna closed her ears to the voice in her head that was whispering about another benefit to all this: she’d get to see more of Sandro. She shouldn’t want that, but she did.

  “So I’ll see you at the competition, then?” She had only a few minutes to clean up and get that ice pack before class started.

  “Yes. And honestly? I’m looking forward to seeing you dance.”

  She studied his face, trying to ascertain whether he was sincere or just habitually charming. There was a tenderness in his eyes that startled her. Her stomach fluttered and her thoughts scrambled. “My class. I have to get to my class,” she managed to blurt out.