More Than a Rancher Page 9

  “You can’t serve that swill with this dinner.” Gavin’s hands went to his hips.

  “Gavin, you want him to have wine? Even watered down, it could cost you your license. You’re in America now.”

  “Yes. I know.” Gavin shook his head in evident regret. “And the liquor laws are idiotic and people’s palates appalling. But the money’s good.” With that he turned on his heel and left the patio in a flurry, hustling Raul inside, demanding that the wine, the hideous Coke, the olives all be brought to the table immediately. He reminded Jenna of a pirate captain rallying his motley crew. All he needed was a peg leg and an eye patch.

  There was a silence on the patio after he left, a calm after the storm that was Gavin.

  “Wow,” Jenna finally said. “He’s something else. You worked with him?”

  Sandro smiled ruefully. “And studied with him and lived with him for a year in Spain while we were apprenticing. It was never boring.”

  “I bet. The guy has the energy of about ten people.”

  “One of the reasons this place is so successful, I’m sure.” Sandro looked around at the patio. “I want a patio like this at my place. What do you think, Paul? That lot behind the building... Want to help me build a patio there?”

  Paul sighed. “Not really, but you probably don’t care.”

  Sandro laughed. “You’re right, bro. I don’t. I own you now that I’m helping you get these dance lessons. You should be grateful. Building my patio will teach you some real life skills to fall back on.”

  “Hey!” Jenna interjected. “Dance is a real life skill!”

  Sandro raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “I have a good job! I get paid decently!” Prickles of irritation surprised her.

  “And if the ballroom-dance fad fades?” There was real concern on Sandro’s face and Jenna remembered that this was all about Paul’s future. It wasn’t about her.

  “It won’t fade that much. And if it does, I’ll teach other types of dance, or exercise. It’s not much different than cooking. Restaurants come and go.”

  “But people always need food,” Sandro said emphatically. “They don’t need dance.”

  “People have always needed dance....”

  Raul interrupted their brewing argument with the wine, olives, salad and appetizers. The liver pâté wasn’t really Jenna’s thing, but there was a white-bean cream that was insanely delicious and between them she and Sandro wiped the dish clean with their bread. The salad greens were so fresh that their delicate flavor held its own with the tangy dressing. And just when she didn’t think she could eat more, Raul brought out pork with smoked pumpkin risotto and it smelled too good to pass up.

  After a few unforgettable bites, she turned to Paul. It was time to keep her promise to Sandro and earn her supper. “So what did you think of class today?”

  Despite his plea for a hamburger, Paul had been putting away large amounts of the gourmet meal with a blissful expression on his face. At the mention of class, his expression darkened. “Honestly? It was a lot harder than I imagined it would be. I can’t believe how good everyone else is. They know exactly what you mean practically before you’re done saying it.”

  “Only because most of them have been in dance classes since they were tiny, Paul,” she assured him. “Give it a few weeks of hard work and you’ll be on your way to catching up.”

  He sighed and took a sip of his soda. “Do you think it’s just too late? Maybe I’ve already missed my chance.”

  Jenna had no idea he’d felt so overwhelmed. “Look, with any new skill, there’s a language, a vocabulary that you have to master. As long as you still love dancing, everything else will fall into place.”

  “On the other hand,” Sandro interjected, “we could always find you another hobby. Basketball maybe?”

  Jenna glowered at him. “Let Paul figure out what he wants, Sandro.” One day of working with Paul had shown her more raw talent, more innate timing and grace, than she’d seen in any other student she’d taught. If Paul quit now, it would be an enormous waste of that potential. She wanted to help him become the dancer he was so clearly meant to be.

  And maybe she had a little self-interest in this. Training a student like Paul would be a feather in her cap, and she could use all the feathers she could get if she was going to open her own dance studio.

  She’d coach Paul a little more during class tomorrow to help him through this overwhelmed stage. And maybe she needed to think of ways to keep his spirits up. Jenna knew all too well how the everyday reality of being a dancer could tarnish your dreams. An idea struck.

  “Next Saturday night, Brent and I are competing just south of here, at one of the big hotels by the airport. It’s our biggest competition of the year. Maybe you two could come?”

  “Really? That would be awesome!” Paul said. “Sandro, can we go?”

  “I’ll get you the tickets. I could use a cheering section.” Jenna knew seeing the professional dancers would help Paul stay excited about dance. Seeing her peers kept her inspired.

  Sandro glanced at her, sending a clear message that this wasn’t the conversation he’d hoped to be having. “We’ll see. It will depend on you, Paul. If you keep your focus on your dancing, where it belongs, I’ll take you.”

  Paul paused, a forkful of risotto in midair. “What do you mean?” He looked at Jenna. “Did I mess up somehow?”

  Jenna glared at Sandro. She didn’t think the stern, scolding approach would help Paul right now. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong!” She smiled at her student. “You did great. I think your brother’s just a little worried about the social side of things in dance class.”

  “Oh, you mean the girls?” Paul flushed and took a sip of his Coke. “Yeah, I figured you’d be upset about that, San.”

  “You’re here to dance. Jenna has been great about letting you take this class. I’m risking our family’s wrath to get you here. So stay focused on the dance, not the girls.” Sandro’s voice was firm and Jenna could suddenly picture him as a dad. He’d be a good one.

  Paul rolled his eyes but his expression was good-humored. “Right, bro. Ignore the girls. Got it.” Then he sobered and looked at Jenna. “I promise I won’t let them distract me. I really appreciate this opportunity and I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t,” Jenna said, smiling gently at him. He was such a sweetie. Then she looked at Sandro and put a little steel in her expression. “And your brother knows it, too, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. He does,” Sandro conceded, smiling at her ruefully. “But he’ll be watching carefully, just in case.”

  Paul grinned at him. “Seriously, Sandro, you can relax. The girls are nice, but I’m here for the dancing. I have my goals and nothing’s going to mess with that.”

  “You’re a smart kid,” Jenna told him. She should borrow some of his wisdom. Here she was, with all her goals finally attainable. A possibility of winning another championship and almost enough money saved for her own dance studio. But instead of keeping her eyes on her dreams, she was so distracted by Sandro that her mind kept wandering to the way it had felt to lean on him after the bike crash and the way he’d touched her and told her she was beautiful.

  He was bad news. Jack had warned her about him—she needed to listen to that warning. But looking at Sandro right now, so protective of his kid brother, a complicated mix of love and concern on his face... A huge part of her wanted to get to know this dark, difficult and kind man, even if it made no sense, even if it put her heart at risk again.

  * * *

  SHE WAS A LOT tougher than he would have guessed. Sandro watched Jenna take another sip of her wine, set her glass down and sit up straight, stretching her back out just a little. She’d taken a horrible fall on her bike and her hands and elbows were peppered with bandages, but she’d st
ill come to dinner. And she was a great dinner companion. Funny and upbeat, and he liked the way she stood up for Paul, even if he didn’t always agree with her opinions.

  He took a sip of wine, then slid the glass away. The rich berry taste had hints of pepper and clove. It was a delicious combination and he savored it. A few sips was all he allowed himself anymore. A taste, just to get to know the wine, absorb its character and file it away for future reference. He wanted to be knowledgeable of wine—he was determined to serve the best of it in his restaurant—but he drank almost no alcohol anymore. It was amazing what waking up behind a Dumpster in the chill of a New York dawn could do to your partying instincts. In his case, it had pretty much obliterated them.

  Jenna was watching him when he looked back over at her. Her eyes were the brightest blue he’d ever seen. The corners creased as she smiled at him a little tentatively. When she laughed, her nose crinkled and a dimple appeared in her cheek. If he were a funnier guy, he’d make her laugh all the time just so he could watch the way it transformed her face.

  What was he thinking? He turned to the mundane to hide his confusion. “Are you feeling okay, Jenna? Do you still hurt?” he asked. The weird thing was, he really wanted to know. What was it about her that made him so protective? He’d never felt that way about a woman before. Quite the opposite. In his haze of ego at being one of New York’s most sought-after chefs, he’d prided himself on being the guy women had to watch out for—wild, unpredictable, always up for a good time. Women seemed to find it sexy, always seeking out his company—and he’d been happy to oblige. “We can take you to the doctor if you need it.”

  He knew he shouldn’t, especially with his brother watching, but for the second time that night he couldn’t resist touching her. He reached over and took her hand in his own. Her eyes widened and he could feel her pulse jump.

  “I’m fine,” she said weakly. “I don’t think I need a doctor.”

  “Let me know if you start to feel different.” He wanted to do something for her, to take her home and tuck her beneath some blankets. Give her tea and painkillers and make every bruise on her body go away. Which was bizarre because normally his fantasies about women didn’t involve tea and blankets.

  “I will.” She pulled her hand gently out of his. He let her go with reluctance, feeling the cool and empty night air on his palm after she’d gone. He picked up his water for something to do and took a gulp.

  There was a small tornado of movement behind him and he turned to watch Gavin’s approach. Behind him was a waiter—not Raul this time. Poor Raul was probably hiding after his boss’s earlier tirade. This unlucky employee was pulling a cart over the rough bricks of the patio, trying not to tip the coffeepot, the pyramid of cups or the array of desserts that looked like individual works of art. Chocolate towers, tiny tarts with glistening fruit in perfect patterns, cups of what looked to be chocolate mousse all teetered precariously.

  “Sweets for the sweet lady?” Gavin asked, gleefully rubbing his hands together. “Sandro, I’m going to steal this beautiful woman away from you. After falling in love with my brandied chocolate mousse, she’ll never want to leave my side.”

  Sandro ignored the stab of jealousy caused by his friend’s words and instead leaned back and pasted a relaxed smile on his face, making it clear that Gavin’s threat didn’t mean a thing. “Good luck trying. She’s not really mine, so stealing’s not necessary. But I happen to know that she’s a dancer and doesn’t eat a whole lot of dessert. So if you want to win her over, you might have to change your tactics.”

  “A dancer?” Gavin grinned at Jenna in pure delight. “And I didn’t think it was possible for you to be more perfect. Sandro, I’m in love.”

  It was time to change the subject. Jenna wasn’t his, but the more he listened to Gavin’s flirting, the more he wished she were, and that he really did have the right to tell Gavin to back off. “You’ve come into your own here, my friend. You should be truly proud of this place.” The envy was back but different. Gavin had what he wanted, and he was holding on to it, not screwing it up as Sandro had, with a career-killing cocktail of drugs, alcohol and sex.

  The mixture of regret and shame that twisted inside of him was familiar—Sandro had lived with it for almost a year. He reminded himself that Gavin was just ahead of him a little. His restaurant might not be Gavin’s Oliva, the hippest place in a big city, but it was going to be a solid, welcoming place in Benson. And Benson was where he belonged. It was a good compromise. It was a safe place to rebuild his career and reputation.

  “Thank you.” Gavin’s words jolted Sandro out of his thoughts. “It is a pain in my ass twenty-four hours a day...”

  “But you love it.” Sandro finished Gavin’s sentence for him. It was easy to. He knew the feeling well.

  Gavin sat down at the table in between Jenna and Paul, facing his old friend. “I have put my assistant in charge of the kitchen with the understanding that if he screws up in the next fifteen minutes, while I sit here and have coffee with my friends, he will be out on his ass. Sandro, you have twelve minutes left to tell me how the hell you ended up back in California and how you found the gorgeous Jenna and managed to talk her into eating a meal with your sorry self.”

  “We met in my hometown, through friends.”

  Gavin looked genuinely surprised. “That sounds pretty tame for the Sandro I knew before. No late-night bars? No secret rendezvous in the walk-in fridge?”

  He never should have brought Jenna and Paul here tonight. He should have known Gavin would want to talk about the past. “People change, Gavin,” he countered.

  Gavin laughed. “Sure they do.” He gave Sandro an exaggerated wink meant for all to see. “Jenna, did Sandro ever tell you about the night we got chased out of a village in Spain?”

  “No,” Jenna answered. “Sandro hasn’t told me much about himself.” She glanced at him briefly and Sandro wondered what she already knew. Jack might have said something.

  “Well, I’ll tell you, then.”

  “Gavin!” Sandro interrupted. “Let’s spare Jenna the sordid misadventures of our youth.” He didn’t want to revisit any of it ever again.

  “Oh, no.” Jenna was smiling now. “You heard all kinds of embarrassing things about me at Samantha and Jack’s house. Now it’s your turn to provide the entertainment.”

  “Trust me, it’s not entertaining.” Sandro took a gulp of the coffee, hoping the warmth would settle the waves of mixed emotions inside him.

  “I beg to differ, my friend.” Gavin grinned and leaned back in his chair, sipping some coffee and settling into his tale. “Sandro and I were apprenticed at one of the finest restaurants in Spain. It was in the Basque region, because Sandro here has always had this crazy idea of getting back to his roots.”

  “It’s not crazy.” Sandro had to defend himself a little. “And they’ve got some of the best restaurants in the world there, in case you missed that somehow.”

  “Okay, fine, the food is amazing. Insane. All this nouvelle cuisine, you know. They were some of the first to serve food that looks like some kind of sculpture. Sauces made from fresh ingredients all pureed together. That kind of thing. And every other building has a pintxo bar—”

  “A what?” Paul asked.

  “It’s like tapas.” At Paul’s blank look Gavin put his head in his hands in mock despair. “Sandro, have you taught this boy nothing? Tapas, Baby Sandro? Delicious food from Spain served in small portions meant to be sampled and savored?” Gavin took another sip of his coffee. “But I digress. So we’re living in this city, San Sebastián, working our tails off in this fabulous restaurant, and one day Sandro goes outside on his break and spots a man coming in to eat with his two beautiful daughters.”

  Sandro interrupted his friend. “Do you really have to tell this, Gavin? My little brother is here.”

  Gavin laughed and reach
ed over to deliver his signature punch to Sandro’s shoulder. “You bet I do, amigo.” He turned to Paul. “Listen and learn, Baby Sandro.”

  Sandro groaned into his hands. “Gavin!” he admonished one last time. The last thing he needed was for Paul to hear this pathetic tale. Especially when he’d just lectured him about staying away from girls.

  The animated chef gave a grin of pure glee. “So anyway, after this family was done eating, Sandro here sneaks out of the kitchen and follows them down the street. And he overhears that they live in this village just a few miles out of town.”

  “So basically, he’s a stalker,” Jenna interjected.

  She was still smiling but Sandro could see that the sparkle had faded from her eyes. Well, maybe it was best for her to know the truth about him. He’d hoped spending time with her would be the dose of reality he’d need to forget her, but it was clear that the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted her. So maybe this needed to happen. She’d get a dose of reality instead and want nothing more to do with him. In the long run, they’d both be better off for it.

  Oblivious to the havoc he was creating among his listeners, Gavin went on. “The next day we had some time off, so Sandro drags me to this tiny village and makes me wait around in the one café in the village square until finally these girls walk by. And then Lady-Killer here starts chatting them up in his bad Spanish. Somehow he pulls it off, and they sit down and we order more drinks and the future is looking pretty bright.

  “But I guess the girls’ father got wind of what was going on. The next thing I know, he’s by our table with a couple of his buddies, and they’re waving these massive scythes at us and yelling all kinds of words that I won’t repeat in front of such a lovely lady. So we jumped up and hightailed it out of the village with these scythe-wielding farmers chasing us!”

  “Why did they chase you?” Jenna was grinning and Paul had dissolved into laughter.

  “Well, it was a little hard to translate what they were yelling, since we were busy running for our lives, but apparently, Sandro here had already—” he glanced at Paul “—um...how should I put this...‘dated’...most of the girls in our town. He’d built up quite a reputation in the area, and these gentlemen weren’t about to let him expand his territory into their village.”