More Than a Rancher Read online

She stared at him for a long moment. He saw pink wash over her cheeks like the sunrise. “I thought it was perfect just the way it was. I loved being with you and I don’t regret it. But I think that’s all we get. We don’t really have time for any more than that.”

  “But we could have more. We could have had this weekend if you weren’t in hiding.”

  “Well, yes.” She looked troubled. “But what’s the point? Isn’t today your last cooking class? You’re not going to be back here after this. We’d only get more connected, more attached, and then you’d be gone.”

  “Well, we could meet up. You could even come out to visit Benson.”

  She looked back at him, her blue eyes wide and dark, considering his words.

  “Look, Jenna. I know I seem like a bad bet. I was a bad bet. But I’m changing. And I want to spend time with you. Hell, you’re the first woman I’ve ever wanted to spend time with like this! Can we try it?”

  She sighed. “I want to. Of course I do. But long-distance relationships don’t work out. And I can’t spend my weekends driving to Benson. I need to teach as much as possible if I’m ever going to open my own ballroom.”

  “So we won’t have a relationship. Come to Benson just for the weekend. We’ll hang out, as friends.” Wow. He was really desperate. He’d just offered celibacy to a woman who had taken over all his fantasies. “I’d like more time with you.”

  “I can’t come to Benson,” she said.

  “Why not?” Maybe if she spent a few days in Benson, she’d fall in love with the place, as her best friend had. Maybe she’d fall in love with him. His own thought startled him. Did he really want that?

  He did. So he played his last card. “What if I told you that Paul needs you?”

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Alarm sharpened her voice.

  He shouldn’t be so envious of how much she cared for his baby brother. “He’s fine. But he’s got it in his head that he wants to enter this local talent competition. He’s decided to show everyone his dancing and just put it out there. But he needs my parents’ permission.”

  “He’s going to tell them? About dancing?”

  “Yup. And I was kind of hoping that we could both be there to support him.”

  “But won’t it be a little awkward if I’m there, too? I don’t know them.”

  “Maybe. But, Red, I’ve got firsthand experience with your powers of persuasion. If anyone can talk them into it, you can.”

  “We can. There’s no way I’m doing this without you by my side every step of the way!”

  Which was exactly what he’d been hoping to hear. He could feel his grin spreading from ear to ear. “Of course I’ll be there. I’ll even do most of the talking, I promise. So you’ll come? Next weekend?”

  She pulled out her phone and brought up her calendar. Frowned at it. “I’ll have to get someone to cover my classes.”

  “How about Brent? He was pretty happy to cover for you yesterday morning when you had your appointment.”

  “Oh, yes.” She flushed. “Sorry about that.” She looked away for a moment, studying the concrete wall of the ballroom. Then she looked back, and he saw determination in her eyes. “I know I’ve been rude. I’m sorry. It sounds cliché but I’m just trying to avoid getting hurt again. I guess I just need a break from heartache.”

  “I can see that,” he said. “But who’s to say this will end in heartache?”

  She rolled her eyes at him like the teenagers she spent her Saturdays with. “And can you think of any other way it might end?”

  “I’ll put my mind to it,” he teased. But he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he watched her open the ballroom doors and go inside, that for the first time in his life, the heartache at the end was going to be almost 100 percent his.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AS SOON AS she saw Sandro in a cowboy hat, Jenna knew she was in big trouble. It hadn’t occurred to her that the Sandro on his family ranch might look a lot different than the Sandro she’d seen in the city. As he strode toward her car, she had to put her hand to her jaw to make sure it wasn’t hanging open.

  “Red!” he called from a few yards away.

  She got out of the Mini and leaned on the door, but she still couldn’t answer him. She was way too busy taking in the faded and ripped jeans, the battered brown boots, the straw cowboy hat tipped down to block the late-afternoon sun. Jenna was a city girl through and through. She’d never thought much about cowboys. But she knew the image of Sandro in his ranching clothes was now etched permanently in her mind.

  “Howdy, pardner,” she said, hiding her confusion in a silly joke.

  “Hey,” Sandro stopped a little awkwardly in front of her. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Finally he broke the uncomfortable silence. “Um, I’m glad you’re here.”

  Jenna didn’t know how to act, either. She’d practically accosted him that night they’d had sex. And she figured that would be it. It was so odd that Sandro, the notorious womanizer, had been the one reaching out, wanting more contact. She’d been thinking about it, and she’d realized that she had no idea if his pursuit was genuine. Maybe he was just a guy used to getting everything he wanted from women, and for the first time he was experiencing disappointment.

  “This is gorgeous,” she finally said, waving her arm vaguely at the craggy peaks that rose behind the old gabled ranch house. Scrubby pastures rolled out on either side of them, speckled with sheep. More pasture stretched down the hill behind her to the flat valley floor below.

  “Thanks. So are you.”

  “Smooth, Sandro, very smooth.”

  He laughed aloud at that. “Well, I must have some skills left if I talked you into six hours of driving.”

  “It’s nice to see that your ego is recovering nicely after all your mishaps in New York,” Jenna teased. “But you know I’m only here because I’m crazy about your little brother.”

  He clutched his chest in mock pain. “You wound me, Red.”

  Their initial clumsiness with each other was gone. It was incredible to see him so relaxed and happy. But it also killed any fragment of wishful thinking that might have been wafting around her brain. Faint wishes she’d barely acknowledged, that maybe he’d decide he preferred San Francisco to his life of rural exile.

  “Want a tour?” he asked. “We have an hour or two before dinner.”

  “Which, by the way, I’m not looking forward to. What kind of masochist signs up to get involved in another family’s problems? As if I don’t have enough of my own.” She was only half joking. She wanted to support Paul and his dreams, but she wasn’t looking forward to dealing with his parents.

  “Well, Paul and I are incredibly grateful. Maybe I can drive out for your next family dinner. I’m going to owe you one.”

  “My dad would be thrilled to see you again, I’m sure.”

  “Hey, I thought he and I developed a nice rapport in the lobby that night.”

  Jenna could feel the laughter easing the tension she’d felt about coming out here. Maybe they really could end up friends.

  Sandro walked her around the side of the house and down a gravel drive that led to a huge barn, its wood siding gray with age. “Have you talked to your dad since the hotel?” Sandro asked quietly, much more serious now.

  “No. But it’s not like we were in the habit of talking much anyway.”

  “And your mom?”

  “Drunk dialing me every night, pretty much. I went over there once this week to try to talk to her about all the calls and the drinking, but she kept pretending none of it had happened. It was so surreal! Every time I brought it up, she’d say she was fine, that she was sorry if she’d called too late in the evening. Then she’d ask me some question about my life. If I didn’t know she was just trying to change the subject, I’d be flattered that
she suddenly finds me so interesting!”

  He laughed. “I dunno, Jenna. Drunk dialing was never my thing, as far as I remember. But it seems like she’s trying, in her own twisted way, to reach out to you. I’m not saying you should put up with it or try to talk to her when she’s drunk, but maybe it’s a sign that she senses something is wrong?”

  “It could be.... I never thought of that.” Jenna tried to muster some sense of hope. It didn’t come. “Or maybe she just wants to cuss someone out and I’m the lucky winner.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders and she allowed herself to lean on him for a moment. “I believe it’ll work out, Red. If I could change, so can she. Maybe she just needs her equivalent of a Dumpster, and rats.”

  “You really know how to give a girl a pep talk, Sandro!”

  “Ha! Come on, I’ll show you some sheep. Small fluffy ones. They’re bound to cheer you up.”

  * * *

  JOHN SALAZAR LEANED back from the dinner table, his weather-worn face creased in a scowl. The lamplight caught his peppery-gray hair and surprised Sandro. His father was getting older, something easy to forget during the day when John was stomping around the ranch barking orders.

  His father wove his broad, work-worn fingers together and contemplated them for a few long moments and Sandro resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment that involved the words any day now. He took a taste of wine instead, a rustic red his uncle made with grapes from the western foothills. Good, but not good enough for his restaurant. He put the glass aside and looked over at Paul, giving him a reassuring wink.

  His father finally spoke. “Absolutely not. Dancing is for girls.” Somewhere down the table one of his brothers snickered and Sandro glared in the direction of the sound.

  “It’s not, Pops. You know that. Ballroom dance is men and women dancing together.” There was a quaver in his voice but Paul was standing his ground.

  Jenna chimed in. “We have several young men training at the ballroom, Mr. Salazar. And honestly, Paul is more talented than all of them. I haven’t ever seen anyone with such an innate ability.”

  “And you’ve been teaching him? Without my permission?”

  Sandro saw Jenna’s face flush. “Pops! Please don’t be rude to my guest. Jenna had no idea. I signed the papers so he could take the classes. So if you’re mad at anyone, be mad at me.”

  “My apologies, Jenna. Of course I’m mad at you, Sandro.” His father’s brow furrowed. “You lied to me. You told me that Paul was helping you with your cooking program. Why would you be so dishonest?

  “You need to ask? After the way you just told him no? After the way you all treated me when I told you I wanted to cook?”

  Sandro’s mom was wearing a sorrowful expression that Sandro recognized all too well from the endless talks they’d had before he’d run away. “Paulo.” She always used the traditional versions of their names when she was upset. “Can’t you find a way to listen to your father? He needs you on the ranch on the weekends.”

  “I’ve been doing extra chores during the week,” Paul said.

  Sandro watched his dad, who had his head down, staring at his hands. “Pops,” he said quietly. “I know you don’t see it right now, but if Paul dances, things with the ranch will still work out. We don’t all have to be ranchers to be a family.”

  “But we have a family business. Ranching is our family business. Not cooking. Not dancing.” The words were so familiar. The memory of all the old fights—the fights that had led him to pack his bags—had Sandro’s fists curling under the old pine table.

  “Dad, you have two other sons who love ranching. Two sons who are happy to take up the family business. You don’t need all four of us.”

  “With all of you working together, you could take this ranch further than I ever could. Expand.”

  “Joe and Gabe will do that just fine on their own. You should be glad you’ve got any sons who want to ranch. Let alone two who are so good at it.”

  His father sighed and looked at Sandro with years of regret heavy in his face. “I don’t need reminding that my sons are not the same.”

  Luckily, Paul spoke before Sandro could bite out the angry words simmering inside. “Sandro’s right, Dad. Joe and Gabe will do an amazing job. You don’t need me.”

  And in what Sandro deemed a brilliant move, Paul turned to their mother. He was the youngest, her baby, and she couldn’t resist much that he asked. “Ma, remember when Sandro ran away?”

  His mother looked at Sandro, then away quickly. “Yes, of course. How could I forget?”

  “He ran off because cooking is his calling. He needed to do it. That’s how I feel about dance. Can you understand that?” Implied in his words was the veiled threat that if he didn’t get to dance, he might leave, too.

  “I can understand that I don’t want another of my sons to do what Sandro did. To go through what he went through.” Sandro’s mom glared at her husband. Sandro saw old bitterness there and for the first time wondered how his decision to run away had affected their marriage.

  Sandro’s father stood up abruptly, shoving his chair back in the process. “I’ve got a few things to check on outside,” he muttered. He walked quickly to the back door, grabbed a coat off the nearby peg and was gone, the screen door slamming behind him.

  “Boogie fever...” Gabe’s voice, twisted in an off-key falsetto, started the familiar disco tune.

  “I’ve got to boogie down!” Joe finished for him and the two dissolved in laughter.

  “Knock it off,” Sandro barked at them. “Give the kid a break.” The laughter subsided and Sandro pushed his chair from the table, needing a break. “I’ll clear, Ma,” he told her, and grabbed some dishes to head into the kitchen.

  “Don’t forget your apron,” Gabe called after him.

  Sandro set the dishes back on the worn tabletop and made his way slowly and casually to Gabe’s chair. He put his hands on the back and before his brother realized what was happening, Sandro pulled the chair so far backward that Gabe’s legs were waving in the air, his torso almost parallel to the ground. “Actually, I think it’s your turn for dishes, bro,” he told him. “So you can wear the apron tonight.”

  He let Gabe go and the chair crashed forward, almost toppling the younger man out as it fell. Sandro knew it was an incredibly immature move, but it gave him great satisfaction.

  Paul stood up. “I’ll clear the rest, Sandro. That way I don’t have to listen to these idiots.” Sandro looked at his little brother closely, trying to tell if the needling had gotten to him. But Paul was beaming, apparently relieved to have finally told his family about his dancing.

  “Okay,” he said reluctantly. He felt as though he should stay with Paul, but it seemed as if his little brother wanted to fight this battle on his own.

  “Go on,” Paul said. “Go show Jenna the happening Benson nightlife or something.”

  Sandro held out his hand to Jenna. “I’m not sure I can promise happening, but want to go out?”

  Jenna thanked Sandro’s mother, who responded cordially if not exactly warmly. Guilt seeped into Sandro’s conscience. Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten Jenna involved in his family drama. He led her to the front door and they bundled up in coats against the mountain night. “How about a drive?” he asked.

  Even in the darkened hall, he could see her eyebrow raise.

  “Not like that! I want to show you something.”

  The eyebrows went even higher, if possible. Then she burst out laughing at her own joke. “Fine. What are you going to show me, cowboy?” It was a suggestive murmur and he had to remind himself that she was just playing around. She’d made it pretty clear that she wasn’t going to allow a repeat of their night at Aquatic Park.

  “Come on, Red. Trust me.”

  “They all say that,” she countered, but
she followed him out the door and down the creaky porch steps. In the driveway, by his truck, she looked up at the sky. “This is incredible!” she exclaimed. “There’s no way you’d ever see stars like this in San Francisco.”

  A flicker of hope lit inside him and Sandro quickly squashed it. Admiring the night sky was a far cry from chucking her entire career to move to Benson.

  Sandro took an appreciative breath of crisp air and looked up, too. He’d come home for exactly this. For the air and the peaks and the big vistas in all directions. He’d come so he’d be dwarfed by the landscape, so he’d relearn his place in the order of things. His ego had raged out of control in New York. He’d been willing to endure a few insults from his family in exchange for the perspective that living out here provided.

  Despite Jenna’s protests that she was perfectly capable of opening her own door, he helped her into the truck. When he climbed into the cab beside her, he was way too aware of her warm presence in the cold dark. If they were dating, he’d reach over and take her hand, wrapping it up in his own. He took her hand anyway, happy when she didn’t protest.

  He spoke what was nagging at him. “You know, it’s kind of embarrassing to have someone witness the inner workings of my dysfunctional family.”

  He could barely see her in the shadows of the cab, but somehow he sensed her smile.

  “Well, then we’re even. And the conversation is actually startlingly similar to the ones we have at my family dinners. ‘Why do you want to dance? When are you going to get a real job?’”

  He laughed softly, wondering how she always seemed to say just the right thing to soothe him. “You probably don’t tip your brother back in his chair, though.”

  She giggled. “No, that’s a new one to me. But the next time my sister offers to help me get a real job, she might find herself stuck back in her chair, contemplating the ceiling. Though my mom would flip. All the chairs are antique, of course.”

  “Of course.” Sandro chuckled.

  Jenna looked out the window a moment before speaking again. “I’m not sure I’m helping much. So far your parents just seem to be mad at me. I feel like I’m intruding.”