More Than a Rancher. Claire McEwen
Please, Jenna? Who knows if I’ll ever meet a real dancer again?”
Jenna sighed as the prospect of her comfortable bed upstairs faded a little farther into the distance. “Hang on.” She left the kitchen and found her purse near the front door. She rummaged inside for her iPod. As she headed back with it, Samantha and Jack looked at her curiously. “Don’t ask,” she said. It was just too silly that she was going to dance with a teenage boy in their kitchen.
There was an iPod dock on the counter. “What kind of dance do you want to try?” she asked Paul.
“Um...salsa?” His voice was uncertain and she could tell he was getting nervous. She found one of her favorite teaching songs, where the rhythm was easy to hear, and turned the volume up slightly, trying not to disturb Samantha and Jack’s peace in the living room.
“Okay. Stand next to me. Follow my feet.” She launched into a basic salsa step.
Paul watched her for a moment and then followed her moves effortlessly. He was instantly transformed. The gangly teenager was gone. Every part of his body was working together, all the moves initiating right from his center, as they should, everything fluid, connected and reflecting the rhythm. Hips swaying, Jenna led him around the kitchen and he followed.
“Okay, now a basic step in closed.” She showed him where to put his hands. “A little more tension between us. Tighten the muscles in your arm, but don’t make them rigid. Follow my feet.” It took only a moment for him to master the basic in closed position and then he lifted his hand and spun her in a perfect open turn. She laughed in delight.
“I got that from a video.” His grin was ear-to-ear.
“I’m impressed!” It was unbelievable. Paul the baby cowboy was a natural dancer. They continued to dance in closed position. And Jenna knew for certain that this was why she’d ignored her intuition this morning. This was why she’d gotten lost in a pasture. It was because of Paul. Because Paul needed encouragement to reach his dream, and here she was, in the perfect position to provide it.
“Paul!” Sandro’s tone was harsh. Paul and Jenna froze and he stalked across the room, touching the iPod to stop the music.
“What’s wrong?” Jenna asked.
“Why are you getting his hopes up?” Sandro was making a visible effort to calm down, but his voice was still rough.
“We were just dancing. And he already has hope—he’s that good. He just needs training!”
“What he needs is none of your business.”
“Now, that’s just rude!” Jenna felt her temper rising and reminded herself that Sandro was Jack’s good friend. She forced herself to make her own voice calm but couldn’t keep from pressing him. “Why are you angry? Shouldn’t you be proud of your brother? Excited for him?” Jenna knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to get involved in the family issues of a boy she barely knew, but Paul’s love of dance, and his natural ability, struck a chord with her. She knew well what it was like to come from a family who disapproved of dancing.
When Sandro spoke this time, he didn’t sound quite so angry. “Of course I’m proud of him. But that doesn’t mean I think he should be putting his energy and time into dancing right now. He should wait until he’s eighteen to get involved in that.”
Jenna stared at him, not knowing what to say. Finally she decided that the way to combat ignorance was education. “Sandro, with the right training, Paul could probably be a very successful dancer. But if he waits until he’s eighteen, every other talented dancer will have way more knowledge and ability than him. Why would you want to set him up for failure?”
“If he’s that talented, he’ll catch up. He can wait.” A muscle in Sandro’s jaw twitched and his brows were furrowed. Jenna could almost feel the stubbornness thicken the air around them. It was that strong.
“That’s not fair!” Paul argued. “I’ve told you, I don’t want to wait. This is what I want. You got to cook! Why can’t I dance?”
“Because there’s a price,” Sandro said heavily. His initial ire seemed to have dissipated and now he just looked depressed. He picked up a bag of produce and shoved it in Paul’s arms. “Go load these. And wait for me in the car.”
Paul didn’t move.
“Is there a way that Paul could get to a dance school?” Jenna asked. “I know there’s nothing in Benson, but in Carson City, maybe?”
“It’s too far,” Sandro answered shortly.
“Sandro, come on!” Paul rested the bag of produce on the counter. “What about those cooking classes in San Francisco you’re gonna do? On the weekends. I could go with you and take classes with Jenna.”
“You’re teaching cooking in San Francisco?” Jenna looked at Sandro in surprise.
“A weekend gig.” He glared at his little brother. “It’s temporary.”
Jenna couldn’t believe there was such a clear solution right in front of them. “It’s a good idea. I teach classes for teenagers on the weekends. It’s a sliding-scale fee—people pay what they can. It would be perfect!”
“No, it wouldn’t. Paul needs to help on the ranch on the weekends.”
“I’ll do extra chores during the week,” Paul countered.
Sandro opened the refrigerator with a little more force than necessary. He pulled out leftover ingredients and dropped them in the chest cooler. “I think we’re done talking about this.”
“Sandro, this is nuts!” Jenna exclaimed. “Why can’t Paul have the same chance you did to follow your dreams?”
“He can. When he’s older.” Sandro shoved the lid onto the full cooler and picked it up, signaling that the conversation was over.
Paul glared at his brother. “This is why I didn’t tell you about meeting her today! Because I knew you’d get all upset.” He looked at Jenna over the groceries. His eyes were sad, his mouth typical-teenager sullen. “Thanks, Jenna,” he told her. “For the dance, for the advice, everything.” He pushed his way out, the back door slamming behind him.
Sandro watched him go and then looked at Jenna. He must have seen the outrage in her eyes because he set the cooler on the counter and sighed. He looked away, running his fingers through his unruly hair in a gesture of frustration. “You must think I’m a jerk.”
“Pretty much,” Jenna answered truthfully.
“I’ve got my reasons.” He looked almost as sullen as Paul.
“I’m sure you think you do. But I wasn’t kidding when I told you he’s got talent. He’s a natural. Why won’t you let him pursue it?”
Sandro shook his head. “You wouldn’t get it, Jenna. You grew up in San Francisco, right? With Mommy and Daddy signing you up for your ballet classes and clapping at your recitals?”
She nodded. It had been true, once.
“It’s different out here,” Sandro told her. He picked the chest cooler up again.
“Wait.” Jenna stopped him. Her heart ached for Paul. She knew what it was like to want, more than anything, to dance. “I’ll be right back.”
Jenna went back to the hall for her purse, found her wallet and took out a business card. On the back of it she scribbled her cell phone number and her weekend class schedule. She returned to the kitchen, relieved to see that Sandro had waited. She pressed the card into his hand. “Take this,” she ordered, “in case you change your mind.”
Sandro studied the card for a moment. When he looked up, he was half smiling. “There’s glitter on your business card.”
“It’s ballroom dance. We’re way into our glitter. And sequins.” She