I Hope You Dance Read online

  Of all of the various kinds of cooking Grant did for Leonard Ranch Ultimate Adventures—advertised as “luxury mountain glamping”—his favorites were the cookouts where he was waiting with a great meal when a string of horses and riders rounded a bend in the trail. He loved the surprised looks on the guests’ faces, and folks were often impressed by what he accomplished with a fire burned down to the perfect temperature, a good-sized grill grate, and a large, well-seasoned cast-iron skillet.

  Magic!

  At that moment the guide, Buck Malone, was helping the greenhorns in his party take care of their mounts so that the humans and horses could, as Buck put it, “graze together.” Grant turned his attention to the rainbow trout and thin slices of lemon cooking in the skillet. Another minute or two and the food would be ready. On the edge of the grill grate a tinfoil container—filled with baby potatoes, red onions, bell peppers, and mushrooms—had reached the perfection stage. Later, the guests would enjoy peach halves and brown sugar that had been grilled together, also in tinfoil. The dessert would be topped with the vanilla ice cream that was currently stored in one of the coolers with dry ice.

  Grant was thankful for this job, one of two he worked in Kings Meadow during the summer. June through September, whenever Ultimate Adventures had guests—excepting Sundays and Mondays—Grant’s days were spent at Chet Leonard’s ranch or in the mountains nearby. Several evenings a week, he was also the cook at the Tamarack Grill on the western edge of town. For the past two years, the owner of the restaurant, Skeeter Simmons, had increased Grant’s hours back to full-time duty once the Leonards’ glamping season ended. Skeeter had promised to do the same again when October rolled around, and Grant was more than a little grateful for it.

  He pulled the skillet away from the fire. “Come and get it!”

  After that, Grant was too busy to think of anything beyond the food he’d prepared and the guests he served. It wasn’t until an hour and a half later that he was alone once again at the cook site. As he returned supplies to the crates and bins in the back of the Leonard pickup truck, his thoughts wandered to other things.

  He’d received a phone call from his older brother last night. Vince still lived in Montana, not far from the ranch where Vince, Grant, and their eight younger brothers and sisters had been raised. Vince had called with the news that his wife, Segunda, was going to have another baby. Their fourth. If there was one thing the Nichols family knew how to do, it was to reproduce like rabbits. At the age of thirty, Grant was already an uncle to fourteen kids—all under the age of eleven—and in addition to Segunda, his youngest brother’s wife also had a bun in the oven.

  Every time one of his parents or siblings called Grant, the same two questions eventually came up: When was he going to get married? Shouldn’t he think about starting a family soon?

  No, thanks.

  The pressure to marry and have kids was one of the reasons Grant had left Montana. He’d wanted some mileage between himself and the rest of the Nichols clan. He loved his parents and every single one of his siblings, as well as his nieces and nephews. But he had no plans to add to the family numbers. He already felt as if he’d raised a passel of kids. As the second oldest in the family, he’d been called upon to help with his brothers and sisters on a daily basis when they were all still at home. Maybe someday he would find the right woman and decide to get married, but he still wouldn’t want any kids of his own.

  The right woman.

  The memory of Skye Foster popped into his head—and it wasn’t the first time it had happened since he’d met the dance instructor. She was a little thing, both in height and weight. A bale of hay probably weighed more than she did. He ought to know. He’d pitched plenty of hay bales as a kid on his dad’s ranch. But it was her big brown eyes and that bright smile of hers that he remembered most.

  With the last of his gear put away, Grant got into the truck cab and started the engine. But he didn’t drive away from thoughts of Skye as he headed toward the ranch complex. He had to admit, he was looking forward to seeing her again. He’d be happier, though, if dance lessons weren’t part of the bargain. All he could do was hope he wouldn’t stomp on her feet too hard or too often or fling her into the wall. Earlier today, Grant had expressed similar concerns to Buck.

  “Don’t worry,” his friend had answered. “Skye’s tougher than she looks. She’s run half-ton horses around barrels to beat the clock since she was eleven or twelve years old. I imagine she can steer you where she wants you to go.” Buck had grinned. “She made a regular twinkle-toes out of me.”

  They’d both laughed hard over that comment.

  Grant decided to not worry about it. His first lesson with Skye Foster would be on Monday afternoon. He would know soon enough if there was any hope for him on the dance floor.

  Or with Miss Foster.

  Charity and her mother, Sophie Anderson, were the last to leave at the end of the bridal shower.

  At the door, Charity gave Skye a tight squeeze. “This was so nice of you to do for me,” she said softly. As she drew back, she glanced at her mother. “I had no idea you’re both such good liars. And Sara too. I didn’t suspect a thing.”

  “I’m glad we fooled you,” Skye answered. “I thought for sure I’d give something away before we got here.”

  “Well, you didn’t, and it was great fun.” Charity moved through the open doorway onto the front stoop. “See you Tuesday night?”

  “Yeah. See you then.”

  Skye waited to close the door until Sophie’s Suburban and Charity’s Lexus disappeared around a corner at the end of the street. Almost at once, exhaustion swept over her. She dropped onto the sofa with a sigh, thankful the other ladies had insisted on helping clean up before they left. The shower had been a great success, which delighted her to no end. But what she wanted most now was a nap. She closed her eyes, and visions of white wedding gowns filled her imagination as she drifted off to sleep.

  Grant had been invited to Sunday dinner with the Leonard family. During the summer, it always felt strange to be at the ranch and not be cooking for the guests of their glamping enterprise. Strange, but nice for a change.

  Other than his dad, there wasn’t any man Grant admired and respected more than Chet Leonard. Nearly twenty years Grant’s senior, Chet had an easygoing way about him, even when life threw him curveballs. He also had a strong work ethic and an even stronger faith. It was the latter that had made him so important as a friend and mentor.

  Grant had been a brand-new believer when he’d moved to Kings Meadow. Despite the best efforts of his parents, he’d known next to nothing about the Bible and forgotten whatever he’d learned as a kid in Sunday school. At twenty-six he’d been partial to beer, cigarettes, swearing a blue streak, and wild women—in no particular order. A lot of his sinful habits had fallen away the night he’d given himself over to God. A lot of them, but not all. He’d still been a rough-around-the-edges Christian when he met Chet. The older man had taken an interest in Grant and had been guiding him ever since.

  Now, an hour after polishing off hamburgers, potato salad, baked beans, and cherry-topped cheesecake, the two men sat on the back deck, shaded from view by huge, decades-old trees. Both of them held open Bibles on their laps.

  “I understand what you’re saying.” Grant leaned forward. “And I love the honesty of the psalmist. But this verse seems to be talking about killing babies. How can that be right in God’s sight?”

  “The Bible is full of hard sayings, Grant. I believe God wants us to wrestle over the words we don’t understand and go to Him for answers.” Chet closed his Bible and moved it to a small table. “I also figure some things will remain a mystery, or we would have no need for faith.”

  “And it’s impossible to please God without faith,” Grant said, feeling a pleasant calm steal over him.

  Chet nodded. “Yep.”

  Grant thought about asking another question, but realized he had his answers for now. Then Chet’s attention wa
s drawn to the driveway leading to the highway. Grant’s gaze followed, and he saw a silver pickup approaching the ranch complex. He knew that pickup—and his pulse quickened. Unless someone else was driving it, Grant wouldn’t have to wait until tomorrow to see Skye Foster.

  In unison the two men stood and reached for their hats. By the time the truck began to slow as it approached the barnyard, Chet and Grant had left the deck and rounded the corner of the house.

  The driver’s side door of the Tacoma opened, and a moment later Skye dropped to the ground. Clad in boots and jeans, her hair covered with a straw cowboy hat, Grant thought her just about the cutest gal he’d ever laid eyes on. She kind of . . . sparkled.

  Now there was a word he’d never before used to describe a woman.

  Skye grinned when she saw the two men approaching. “Hey, Chet.” If she remembered Grant from their meeting outside the hair salon, she didn’t greet him by name, although she did nod at him. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything. Kimberly said it was okay for me to come out this afternoon.”

  “It’s fine, Skye.” Chet tipped his head toward Grant. “Have you two met? Skye Foster, Grant Nichols. Grant, Skye.”

  “Yes, we’ve met,” Skye said. “Hi, Mr. Nichols.”

  “Just Grant, please. Good to see you.” He touched his hat brim in her direction.

  Her smile broadened before she looked at Chet again. “I’m thinking about buying another horse. For competitions. I was hoping you might have a good prospect for me.”

  “You’ve retired Snickers, I take it.”

  Grant noticed a flicker of sadness in Skye’s eyes.

  “Yeah,” she answered. “He deserves to take it easier from here on out. He’s still got plenty of life in him, but his barrel-racing days are over.”

  “What about your mare?”

  Skye laughed softly, the sadness gone. “Milky Way? Oh, I love her to death, but I’m never going to use her to rodeo. Not if I want to win.”

  “I’ve got a few that might be right for you. One in particular.” Chet motioned with his head toward the barn, and Skye fell into step beside him as he set off in that direction. Grant stayed where he was, feeling like a fifth wheel.

  Chet stopped and looked back. “Coming?”

  “Sure.” Grant hurried to catch up with them.

  To Skye, Chet said, “Grant’s got a great eye for horses.”

  The praise felt good coming from the man Grant respected so much. It felt even better that Chet had said it to Skye Foster. Grant felt a need to impress her. And it wasn’t because he liked her looks—which he most definitely did. It was something more than that.

  Skye felt her heart skip a beat or two when she saw the blue roan at the far side of the paddock. “Oh, my,” she whispered.

  Chet Leonard chuckled. “He’s young yet. Turned three earlier in the spring. But he’s quick. Shows a lot of promise. He’s got speed and great confirmation.”

  Skye had been saving up for several years for another horse. Not that she truly needed another. She could retire from competing in rodeos, the same way she’d retired Snickers. After all, she’d taken this summer off and it hadn’t killed her. But oh, my. There was something about taking barrels as fast as a great horse could go that couldn’t be described with words. It had to be experienced. And once it was, it was hard to say Never again.

  “Come on.” Chet opened the paddock gate. “Let’s get a closer look at him.”

  Skye knew she should ask Chet the selling price for the gelding. Too much and she would need to look elsewhere. But she wanted that closer look he’d offered, so she kept the question to herself.

  As they approached, the horse tossed his head and then trotted across the width of the paddock. He was even more beautiful in motion than he’d been standing still. When he reached the far corner, he spun about and trotted toward Chet and the others.

  “Hey, fella.” Chet rubbed the gelding’s head.

  The horse nickered and bobbed his head.

  Skye ran her hand over the gelding’s coat while walking a slow circle around him. She listened as Chet shared some details. The names of the sire and dam. Date of birth. Training received. It was all important information, but Skye’s gut told her everything she needed to know. This guy was meant to be hers. She felt it in her bones. Same way she’d known about Snickers a decade earlier.

  “What do you call him?” she asked once she’d made her full circle and now stood looking into the horse’s eyes.

  “Nana Anna dubbed him River when he was a yearling. Said he’s the same blue-gray color of the boulders and rocks that line the rivers up here. The name stuck.”

  As if knowing the humans were discussing him, River shook his head and snorted.

  “He’s glorious.” Skye rubbed his muzzle.

  Chet said, “Thought you’d like him.”

  “Who wouldn’t?”

  Grant spoke. “I remember the first time I saw this guy. That same summer when Ms. McKenna named him River. If he’d been for sale back then, I’d’ve bought him myself. If I could’ve scraped together the money, that is.”

  Skye turned, and when her gaze met with Grant’s, she felt the strangest connection with him. Because they both liked the blue roan? Or was it something more?

  Chet took a long step back from the horse. “I haven’t listed him for sale yet. For a while I thought one of my boys might want him for rodeo events. He’s championship material. But they’ll both be in college come August, and they won’t be here to take on the training of a new horse. So now it’s time to sell him. I’d just like him to go to someone who knows what they’re doing.” He looked at Skye. “Somebody like you.”

  She knew then that Chet was going to offer her an incredible deal for the three-year-old gelding. She wouldn’t have to look elsewhere or settle for a horse she didn’t like quite as much as this beautiful blue roan. She would want to ride him first, put him through his paces, but she knew in her heart what her answer would be.

  “Hey,” Grant said. “Skye and River. River and Skye. With those names, I’d say you two were meant to be together.”

  The thought hadn’t occurred to her, but it seemed to confirm everything else she’d been feeling. She smiled at Grant, grateful, as if he’d given her some sort of gift.

  But she couldn’t begin to describe what the grin he sent back made her feel. It was simply . . . amazing.

  Skye opened the last of the blinds on the front windows of her dance studio, letting in the late-afternoon sunlight, then paused for a moment to capture her hair in a ponytail. Before she moved away, she saw Grant pull up to the curb in his Jeep.

  It can’t be that time already.

  She glanced toward the big clock opposite the wall of mirrors. Grant was fifteen minutes early. She wasn’t ready for him yet. Still, it pleased her that he appeared eager to start the lessons, despite his so-called two left feet.

  He pushed open the door and stepped inside. When he saw her, he grinned. “I’m early.”

  She had the same indescribable reaction to his smile that she’d experienced yesterday. “I noticed.” She turned and headed for the iHome stereo, needing a little distance so she could think straight again. “You’ll have to wait while I get organized. Tell me. What kind of music do you like?”

  “Country, mostly. And I listen to a lot of praise music when I’m cooking by myself.”

  Grant Nichols was an interesting combination, Skye thought as she scrolled through her iPod. He had an eye for horses, according to Chet, and he had the look of a real cowboy. Something more than the clothes he wore. A kind of western inner attitude. He made his living in the kitchen and made no apologies for it as some men would. However, he was ashamed of his dancing abilities. Still, because of his friendship with the groom, he was willing to try to change that.

  And how cool is it that he listens to praise music while he works?

  She stopped scrolling and selected a Vince Gill album. An extra-slow waltz number was in order
for this first lesson, and this album had one that was about seventy beats per minute. Perfect for a novice. When it was ready to play, she turned toward Grant again.

  “We’re going to start with the country waltz. Ever done it?”

  He shook his head. “Not really.”

  “Okay. Just a few basics. We’ll count it out like this: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.” She went to stand in front of him. “No leaning forward. Keep your own balance. Imagine a string pulling you up from the top of your head.” She put her right hand in his left, then positioned his right hand on her back. “Your knees shouldn’t be stiff. We want to compress into the floor so that our actions are nice and smooth as we move in a circle.”

  Confusion filled his eyes. “Compress into the floor? What does that mean?”

  “Just keep your knees flexible. You’ll get the hang of it.”

  “What about spins and going backward?”

  She smiled, hoping to encourage him. “That’s a ways off. All we want right now is to glide. Let’s try it without music first, shall we? I’ll count off six, and then we’ll begin on the next one. Okay?”

  He nodded. His hand tightened on hers. To the point of pain.

  “Relax your grip, Grant. You’re going to do fine.”

  He released a humorless laugh.

  She counted to six, then, “And one—”

  Grant’s boot came down hard on her toes.

  Ouch! Somehow she managed to only think the word, but she couldn’t keep from wincing.

  He froze in place. “See. I told you. I’m a lost cause when it comes to dancing.”

  “Mr. Nichols.” Skye showed him her best serious-teacher expression. The one she’d perfected for her elementary school students. “Do you give up so easily on everything you try?”

  “What? No. But this is different. I’ve tried this before.”

  “Not with me you haven’t.”

  Grant opened his mouth as if to say more, then closed it.