More Than a Rancher

“You were dancing in the desert? Instead of changing your tire?” Samantha pulled Jenna into a side hug. “I love you, my friend. But I will never understand you.”

“Jenna’s a dance teacher.” Paul turned to Sandro, and Jenna could hear the excitement in his voice.

“Okay, enough.” Sandro’s voice held an authority that Jenna imagined must serve him well in busy restaurant kitchens. “Paul, I’m not paying you to get your groove on. And as much as Jenna’s adventures are entertaining to hear about, I respectfully request that you all leave this kitchen and let us cook you something awe-inspiring.”

“We’re happy to stay and help prep,” Samantha offered.

“No, we’re good.” His voice was just a little abrupt.

Jenna wondered if Samantha and Jack had noticed, but they seemed happy enough to wander into the living room and settle onto the couch in front of the fireplace. Jenna took one last look at Sandro, who had moved to the sink and turned his back to her. He was briskly pulling vegetables out of the box to wash. She gave Paul a little wave and followed her friends out of the room.

* * *

SANDRO WAITED UNTIL Paul had finished chopping the shallots. While his little brother added them to the skillet on the stove, Sandro tried to keep his voice casual. “So how come you didn’t mention meeting her today?” He tilted his head in the direction of the living room.

Paul shrugged as he rinsed the cutting board in the sink. “I dunno. It happened a lot earlier on. I did a bunch of stuff afterward.”

“But you changed her tire.”

“I change tires all over the ranch. It was no big deal.” Paul raised his eyebrows. “Why are you so curious about it, anyway?”

“I’m not curious. Just wondered why you didn’t say anything, that’s all. Usually you don’t shut up for more than two minutes.” Sandro didn’t know why he was so curious. Of course Paul would help anyone he found stuck out on the ranch or anywhere else.

There was just something about Jenna that was getting to him. Maybe it was the way her bright blue eyes had widened when she’d seen him. Or the way her delicate skin had flushed so pink when they’d been joking about the map. Or maybe it was because she was a dance teacher, and the last thing he needed was someone fueling Paul’s useless dreams. Dreams that would only lead him to a whole lot of heartache.

Sandro took the medallions of lamb he’d been marinating out of the cooler and put them in the roasting pan. He went to find the root vegetables he’d cut this afternoon. The murmur of Jenna’s voice from the next room was distracting him in a way it shouldn’t. She looked like a 1940s bombshell combined with a pixie. Her legs were slim in their pegged jeans, and the black Converse sneakers on her feet were retro and rebel all in one. They were a sharp contrast to the sweet button-up blouse she wore. Then there was the red hair, styled in an elaborate curl over her forehead and falling in perfect waves down her back. With the heavy makeup and the dark lipstick, she looked gorgeous and edgy and quirky. And that was a lethal combination for him.

Sandro couldn’t afford distractions right now. His plans were finally coming together just as he’d hoped. He was going to own a restaurant with Jack, the most upstanding guy he knew. He was going to have complete control over the menu and the running of a place for the first time in his life. Getting distracted had destroyed his dreams of making it big in New York. He wouldn’t let that happen ever again.

Well, Jenna was here, in Jack’s house, and obviously great friends with Jack’s fiancée. And she was about to come through the dining room door and eat his food. He’d just have to be polite, keep his distance and try to ignore how much he wanted to get to know her. And of course, he had to keep her from talking dance with his little brother.

Suddenly inspired, he looked over at Paul. “Hey, bro,” he said.

“Yeah?” Paul stopped hacking at the garlic for a moment.

“Wanna eat here in the kitchen tonight? Maybe keep an eye on things for me? I know hanging out with a bunch of adults and minding your table manners probably isn’t your thing.”

Paul looked relieved. “Sure!”

One problem solved. The dancer and the wannabe dancer wouldn’t get much opportunity to chat. Sandro pulled the greens he’d been sautéing off the heat, pouring in pine nuts and a shot of white wine. He stirred it all together and set it on a cool burner. They were half-cooked. He’d put them back on the heat and finish them off just before he served them.

Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hands on the dish towel at his belt. He was going to walk into that living room and announce dinner and keep in mind that whatever he’d felt around Jenna was no big deal. Just one of those odd little moments life threw at you that in the grand scheme of things meant nothing. And he’d remember, when her smile lit up the room, that he had a plan for the future, and that plan didn’t include Jenna Stevens.

* * *

THE LAMB WAS quite possibly one of the best things Jenna had ever tasted—and she didn’t even like lamb. Sandro had glazed it in a slightly sweet sauce and served it with a fragrant mixture of fresh herbs, garlic and olive oil. It was kind of like the chimichurri sauce they’d eaten with steak when her parents had hired an Argentine chef. Sadly, that chef hadn’t lasted long—Jenna suspected it had something to do with the flirtatious glances between her father and the chef’s wife—but she’d never forgotten the powerhouse flavors of the chopped fresh herbs on a perfectly grilled steak. And Sandro had re-created that, but better somehow.

Jenna tasted a slice of golden beet gleaming at the side of her plate like a coin. A tiny moan escaped her lips and she bit it back, but Sandro glanced over, an eyebrow raised.

“Okay, that was amazing,” she told him, as the now familiar blush crept over her cheeks. Why did she have to moan? She was eating the vegetable, not sleeping with it. But it was really, really good. She licked a spot of sauce off her lip and then noticed that Sandro was watching her mouth intently.

He shook his head slightly and his eyes found hers. Focused. “You think so, huh?”

“Yes.” She took a sip of wine to hide her confusion. He was still watching her mouth. And it hit her. He felt the same attraction she did. Even though she had no business being happy about that, it felt good. His attention was a balm for the sting of Jeff’s rejection. Because despite knowing that Jeff’s cheating was a result of his weak character, she still ended up feeling as if somehow she was the one lacking. She hadn’t been sexy enough for him. She just hadn’t been enough.

“Bet you can’t guess my secret ingredient.” He issued the challenge, watching her over the rim of his glass as he sipped his water. There was heat in his gaze, and something between them connected and sizzled.

Jenna knew it was wrong, but she’d felt so awful all week, and here was a chance to make herself feel a tiny bit better. A little harmless flirting might be good for her battered ego. Plus, being raised by parents who employed a private chef meant she had a good palate—she could answer him no problem.

She leaned over the corner of the table, giving Sandro a nice eyeful of cleavage in the process, and whispered, “Meyer lemon.” She quickly straightened and took a sip of her wine, waiting for his response from a safe distance.

His eyes were glazed. He looked satisfyingly befuddled.

“Well?” she asked. “Did I get it right?”

He seemed uncomfortable all of a sudden. “You got one of them right...but there’s a few.”

“Just give me time,” Jenna assured him. Of course, she wouldn’t take this any further, but it was nice to know that someone found her attractive enough to go a bit cross-eyed when she was near.

Jenna glanced down the table, figuring that was enough flirting with the chef. “Jack, this food is so good.”

“We’ll see if the people of Benson are ready for it,” Jack said.

“What do you mean?” Jenna asked.

“Well, Sandro is talented, but the food he loves to cook isn’t necessarily the food that folks in Benson traditionally want to eat. Let’s just say they’re a little more into the basics.”

“Roast this and roast that,” Sandro said ruefully. “But we’re hoping to shake it up a bit. So I’ve made roast lamb tonight, but the raspberry glaze and the herb sauce take it up a notch. And we’re serving it with a bunch of baby root vegetables instead of the usual potatoes.”

“So you’re trying to bring cuisine around here to a new level, without stepping too far out of people’s comfort zones.” Jenna took a sip of her wine. The Cabernet filled her mouth with a rich mix of flavors.

“Exactly,” Jack said.

Jenna turned to Sandro. “Is that the kind of thing you cooked in New York?”

Sandro went still for a moment. Whatever he was thinking or feeling etched a vertical line between his brows. Maybe she’d gotten the wrong impression when she’d started flirting with him. He certainly didn’t look pleased with her now.

Finally he answered in a casual tone, “I cooked all kinds of stuff in New York. Worked at a lot of places.” He ate a bite of lamb, making it clear he wasn’t going to elaborate. Jenna noticed he’d barely touched his wine.

Over dessert, Jack told them about a meal he’d had at one of Sandro’s restaurants when they’d known each other in New York. How people had lined up around the block to get a table. But it seemed to Jenna that the more Jack talked, the more remote Sandro became. Maybe it was just humility? But there was a darkness in his eyes, a bitterness in the lines of his mouth that Jenna didn’t understand. According to Jack, he’d been a huge success, but he didn’t look at all happy about the memories.

As Jack’s story came to an end, Jenna studied Sandro covertly. He was staring into deep space located somewhere between his water and wine glasses. Well, he might be a bit of a moody person, but it was clear to Jenna that Jack’s money would be well invested. Sandro had a gift, a talent for blending ingredients and flavors in new and fascinating ways that would be a huge hit. The delicate vanilla-bean flan that had finished the meal alongside a perfect cappuccino was the final proof.

She glanced down the table to where Jack and Samantha were holding hands and smiling at each other. “Nice work,” she whispered, interrupting whatever dark reverie he was lost in. “Jack and Samantha look like they’re in a blissed-out food coma.”

Sandro looked up and smiled at her, his mood apparently lightening, and her stomach did an odd flip. “The highest compliment,” he whispered back. “But you’re still clearheaded. Should I be worried?”

It took a moment to follow him but when she did, she giggled. “Because I’m not comatose? No. The food was delicious. But I’ve got a competition coming up and no matter how good the food, I have to eat a little less of it than most people.”