More Than a Rancher. Claire McEwen

nine. Her classes would start soon anyway. “I guess we’re done for now?” she asked him.

      “You wore me out, pretty lady.” He winked at her. Years ago it would have melted her heart. Today it was irritating. She’d been trying to ignore his lavish compliments, hoping he’d get bored or that someone new would catch his eye like a bright, shiny toy, diverting his attention. “Coming, Marlene!” Jenna called.

      Brent shoved his straight blond hair out of his face. He needed a haircut and Jenna hoped he’d take care of it before their competition. “I’ll go get the music.” He strolled away, apparently in no hurry to talk with Marlene, and disappeared into the DJ booth at the opposite end of the room. Jenna walked over to the tall front counter that separated the ballroom from the lobby.

      Marlene looked up from the class schedule she had open on the desk.

      “Love the hair today, Marlene!” Jenna exclaimed. Marlene’s bleached-blond mane was piled up into a near beehive. Jenna and her boss sometimes clashed, but they both appreciated the beauty of vintage hairstyles.

      “Thank you,” Marlene said, bringing her hand up to pat her back-combed creation. Then she stood and placed her scheduling book on the counter so Jenna could see it better. “Nicole has approached me again about taking on some parts of the salsa program.” She didn’t look at Jenna, instead keeping her eyes glued to the book, obviously uncomfortable with what she was saying.

      Jenna didn’t feel much sympathy. Nicole happened to be Marlene’s niece, who Marlene had hired in a foolish act of nepotism. Now she was running Marlene ragged with her diva demands. Despite the fact that Nicole was still learning many of the advanced steps, she wanted to step into a head teaching role. Jenna’s role, to be precise.

      “The salsa program is doing really well, Marlene. Our classes are packed. Why would you want to take us out of them?”

      “Well, Nicole was thinking maybe she could take over for you a bit and have a chance to dance with Brent.”

      Well, at least her ambition to take my place is out in the open now. Jenna bit her lip to keep from actually saying her thought aloud. She and Marlene had been having these types of conversations a lot lately, and Jenna was losing patience.

      “Brent and I are partners, Marlene. We work together. Nicole needs to make connections with other dancers her age and find her own partner. That’s how everyone else does it, and that’s how she’ll be successful in the long run.”

      “Well, yes.” Marlene stared at the schedule, still not meeting Jenna’s eyes. “But she feels it isn’t fair that you and Brent have so many students.”

      Jenna looked away, out the wall of windows to the street. It was only nine o’clock on a Saturday morning, and Brannan Street was still pretty quiet. A few taxis meandered by, but this part of San Francisco generally slept late on the weekends. Jenna searched inside herself, trying to find some scrap of sympathy for Nicole that would prevent her from throttling the younger woman the next time she saw her.

      She remembered what it was like to be new at the ballroom—young and ambitious and hungry for your dreams to come true. But unlike Nicole, she’d recognized how much hard work that took. How the glamorous moments were few and far between, and most days were spent taking class after class, attending practice after practice and teaching private lessons to stumbling beginner students—computer nerds looking for an ounce of cool or the recently divorced, seeking endorphins. It was part dancing, part counseling, and it was important work, but Nicole didn’t see it that way. She snapped at her students, frustrated with their lack of skill within the first five minutes of the lesson.

      And because she was so impatient with them, most of those students never came back to her. They either fled the ballroom forever in search of a less stressful hobby, or they found another teacher. Just yesterday one poor man had pulled Jenna aside in the hallway and asked if he could start classes with her because he’d heard that not all teachers were as mean as Nicole.

      But how to explain this to Nicole’s doting auntie? Marlene had never had children of her own. She’d devoted her life to dance and to her business. And when Jenna saw her desperation for Nicole’s affection, she could tell that Marlene’s choices had left her with regrets. Dance could be a magical love affair, but it could also leave you jilted.

      Realizing that Marlene was waiting for an answer, Jenna turned away from the street scene out the window. “I understand that Nicole wants more students, Marlene, but people know Brent, and they know me, and they come here to take classes with us. If you just pull me out and pop Nicole in my place, they won’t be satisfied. And it’s not fair to me, either. It doesn’t reward me for my hard work in building the program.”

      “Well, yes, Jenna, I am aware of the risks, of course. I have owned this ballroom for several years now.”

      Oops. She’d stepped on Marlene’s toes again. It was easy to do. Jenna looked over at the empty ballroom. Where was Brent? He should be here right now supporting her, but he always seemed to vanish on some mysterious errand when these difficult meetings came up.

      “Of course, Marlene. I’m sorry if I sounded pushy.” Jenna tried a new tactic. “What if you gave Nicole a beginning salsa class on a night when Brent and I don’t work? Then she can build her own group of students from the ground up without feeling like she has to compete with us.”

      Marlene stared at the schedule, considering. Jenna looked at the book and pointed to the Wednesday column. “Look, there’s a seven-thirty slot available. That’s a great night for teaching.” And a night when she and Brent were busy with an outside gig. They were taking a break from Latin dance and focusing on the popular dances of the 1930s and ’40s at a local hotel ballroom. Swing, Lindy Hop and Charleston—it was rapidly becoming one of her favorite nights of the week.

      “That’s a good suggestion, Jenna.” Marlene paused. “And if I could ask you a favor...maybe you could mentor Nicole a bit? Help her work on her professional demeanor and create a bit more of a nurturing attitude in her classes?”

      Jenna groaned so loudly inside that she was sure Marlene heard it. Nicole seemed to hate Jenna even more than all the other people she disliked. Maybe it had something to do with Nicole’s obvious crush on Brent or her envy of her and Brent’s success. Whatever the reason, the girl spent a lot of time and energy trying to make Jenna miserable—Jenna was the last person Nicole would accept advice from.

      She had to tread carefully. “Marlene, I’d be happy to try to help Nicole. But honestly, I’ve noticed that she doesn’t seem that fond of me.”

      “Oh, I’m sure Nicole is just intimidated by you,” Marlene said dismissively. “Just be as nice to her as you are to your students and you’ll be fine.”

      “I’ll do my best, Marlene.” Jenna’s heart sank. In her experience, the nicer she was to Nicole, the worse she acted. Now Jenna was supposed to convince her to be more nurturing?

      Marlene was staring at something over Jenna’s shoulder. Her eyes were wide and her mouth turned up into a sultry half smile. “Can I help you?” she asked in a silky voice. Jenna glanced at her boss in surprise.

      “I’m looking for Jenna Stevens?” Sandro. That low voice, and the effect it had on Jenna, was unmistakable. Her nerves rippled to life, making her skin feel as if it were suddenly electrified.

      He was here. It had taken a couple weeks, and she’d pretty much given up hope, but he’d listened to her. Her heart lightened and she turned around, knowing she was grinning, trying to keep the triumph she felt off her face.

      “Sandro! Paul!” She held out her hand and took a few steps to shake each of theirs. “Welcome to the Golden Gate Ballroom!”

      Marlene looked at her with a whole new level of respect. She might be in her fifties but the woman sure did enjoy good-looking, younger men.

      “This is Marlene, the owner and my boss,” Jenna said.

      Much to her relief, Sandro made no cynical comments about