“Did you take your meds?” Sandy asked as she adjusted the pillow behind her dad’s back as he sat watching TV after supper on Friday night.

“I don’t have to take them until bed time,” Wainright told her with a shake of his head.

“Did you drink enough water today?” Sandy asked on, heading to the kitchen to get him another glass.

“I’m not an invalid, Sandy,” Wainright called after her.

“Yes, you are,” she shot back.

“No, he’s not,” Ward said from the kitchen counter, where he was finishing up with the night’s dishes.

Sandy glared at him as she took a glass from the cupboard to fill with water from the fridge. “Well, he’s not the spritely young man he used to be.”

“In case the doctor forgot to inform you,” Wainright made himself heard from the living room, “the stent resolved the problem. It didn’t create more.”

“You still need to rest,” Sandy insisted. She nodded to Ward, making sure he got the message too, and as soon as the glass of water was mostly full, she carried it back into the living room. “You have to show the board that you’re in peak health as soon as possible.”

“Before the vote, you mean.” Wainright raised an eyebrow, seeing right through her.

Sandy’s face went hot. “Some days I think I care more about the bank than you do.”

“Don’t talk to Dad like that.” Ward walked into the room behind her, looking ready for a fight.

“Some days I think she’s right,” Wainright said. It didn’t come off as a defense of Sandy’s doggedness though. Wainright sighed. “Sweetheart, you need to take a deep breath before you end up having a heart attack to match mine.”

He was probably joking, but his words struck a chord. She thought of Jogi, thought of the way nothing seemed to pan out the way she expected it to in their relationship. Not that she wasn’t enjoying every moment she had with him. They’d had a fantastic time at dance classes all week long and an even better time afterwards. But everything about letting her heart go scared her. That was the heart attack she couldn’t avoid having.

And if she couldn’t control one aspect of her life, maybe she could get a firm grip on another.

“Mom and Rita are out shopping,” she told her father, close to scolding. “So don’t get up and start running around the house doing any heavy lifting.”

“Will you give it a rest already?” Ward crossed his arms.

“I’m just looking out for Dad.”

“You’re railroading Dad is more like it,” Ward insisted. “I would have thought you’d get over the need to bully everyone around you. You’re in a relationship after all, aren’t you?”

“So you and that Indian guy are official?” Wainright asked, a smile spreading across his strained and weary face.

Sandy sighed, not sure which of her male relatives she wanted to throttle first. Every one of her instincts told her to deny the relationship for the sake of maintaining her autonomy and authority, but she’d promised Jogi she wouldn’t.

“Yes, Dad, Jogi and I are officially dating,” she said, then moved to take a blanket from the back of the sofa to throw over his lap. “But don’t go thinking that just because I have a boyfriend I’m going to turn into some simpering, submissive nobody.”

“It’s ninety degrees out. I don’t need a blanket.” Wainright pushed the blanket aside as soon as Sandy stepped away. “And nobody ever said that a woman turns into June Cleaver the second she gets involved with a man.”

“Especially not in this family,” Ward added with a chuckle.

Sandy glared at him. She wanted to come back with something witty, but her chest squeezed with the worry that she would be the one to buck the trend and turn into exactly the kind of passive woman she didn’t want to be because of love.

“If you two are finished, I have a dance competition to nail tonight,” she said.

“Yeah, weren’t you supposed to be at the high school fifteen minutes ago?” Wainright glanced across the room to the clock on the mantle. It was almost as old as the house itself, and the house had been in the family since the 1870s. It was one of the few original buildings still standing.

Sandy’s frown followed her dad’s gaze only to find that he was right. “Crap.” She jumped into action, heading for the front hall where she’s left her purse. “I’m going to be late.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Ward hurried after her.

“You need to stay here and keep an eye on Dad,” Sandy shot back as they both reached the front door.

“I’m not an invalid,” Wainright called from the living room.

Ward gave Sandy an obnoxious, brotherly look, then held the front door open for her. They marched out into the steamy night together.

“I don’t understand why you’re even still here,” she said as they rushed up the path and around the corner to Main Street. “Don’t you have some big, fancy brokerage to tend and a pile of money to make?”

“Family is more important,” Ward answered. “And I’ve got partners at the firm who are on top of things.” Before Sandy could come up with a reply, Ward zipped on with, “You could learn a thing or two about letting the people whose job it is to handle things do just that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shot him a sideways look as they neared the crossroads with Elizabeth Street.

“It means that Dad has everything at the bank in hand, whether you want to admit it or not, and you should focus on your legal clients and your boyfriend.”

His comment set her teeth on edge. “I’m not letting the problems with the bank go just because I have a man in my life now. Dating doesn’t make me less of a person.”

Ward’s brow shot up. “Is that what you think? That being part of a couple makes you less of an individual?”

“It’s not what I think, it’s what the world thinks.” She pulled up just in time to avoid stepping into Elizabeth Street as a truck drove past.

Ward held out an arm to protect her, but she pushed it away. “You’re still the same Sandy you always were, Indian guy or not.”

“His name is Jogi,” Sandy grumbled and rushed across the street as soon as it was clear.

“Being in a relationship doesn’t make you less than you were before.”

As soon as they were on the other side of the street, heading for the road that ended in the high school’s parking lot, she sent him a peevish look. “And you’re such an expert on relationships, mister divorced guy?”

Ward’s face hardened. “Cynthia had her reasons for leaving. I had to respect them. But neither she nor I were ever ‘less than’ during our entire marriage.”

Sandy shook her head. She didn’t know why she was arguing in the first place. Ward’s wife had been a gold digger, as far as she was concerned. She would have been happy to be superfluous and submissive as his wife, except that Ward hadn’t played that game. But Cynthia’s marriage goals only proved the point that irritated Sandy like a good old Wyoming burr in the saddle. Not just Cynthia. Sandy was one hundred percent certain that if someone like Ronny Bonneville got his way, she’d be nothing but a trophy wife. She’d always known it.

“Funny, but I never imagined you being serious with a guy,” Ward went on. Sandy sent him a sideways look of warning, but he didn’t heed it. “You always struck me as a ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ sort.”

“You’d say that about your own sister?”

“Yes,” Ward laughed. “Because it’s true. And I want to know what’s so special about this Jogi guy that he’s made you forsake your life of determined spinsterhood for him.”

“We’re not called spinsters anymore,” she growled at him. “We’re called driven career women.”

“Fine.” Ward nodded. “But that still doesn’t answer my question. Why this guy? Why now?”

They reached the school’s side entrance, and Ward picked up his pace to hold the door for her. That gave Sandy the perfect opportunity to frown at her brother as they entered the building. It also allowed her to stall. Because in truth, she had no idea what it was that made Jogi special. And if Ward knew how close she’d come to messing the whole thing up, she’d never hear the end of it.

He must have sensed some kind of upset in her, because before they could turn the corner to head down the hall that led to the gym’s locker rooms, Ward stopped her. His hand on her arm was gentle, and his expression had softened.

“I’m not trying to give you a hard time,” he said. “I’m really happy that you’ve found someone you like enough to change your mind about the whole relationship thing.”

“I haven’t changed my mind about anything.”

He shook his head. “I’m your big brother, San. You might be able to fool other people, but I’ve known you too long. Long enough to see that this is hard for you.”

“It’s not hard,” she answered with a nervous laugh that contradicted her words.

“I was also there in the hospital the other day,” Ward said, one eyebrow raised. “Bringing it to a grand total of three times that I’ve seen you cry. Jogi was there for you, which makes him cool in my book. But don’t go telling me this is all easy for you.”

Frustration got the better of her, and before she could check herself, she burst out with, “This is not who I am.”

And before Ward could say anything about that, Jogi’s call of, “There you are. I was getting worried,” came from the other end of the hall.

Sandy gave Ward one last look, warning him not to go on talking about things, then turned to greet Jogi. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”

Her expression lightened and her heart beat in double time at the sight of him dressed in his tuxedo for the Quick Step. The standard ballroom dance would happen first that night, and then they’d tackle the elaborate Bollywood number Buffy and Carl had choreographed.

Jogi smiled as he reached them and held out a hand to Ward. “I’d stick around and chat, but if I don’t get your sister back to the locker room to put all those feathers on, we won’t be ready in time.”

“Understood.” Ward shook his hand. But before Jogi could let go and whisk Sandy away, he went on with, “Hey, how about you come over to dinner this weekend so that we can all get to know you better.”

Sandy rounded on her brother with a glare. “Not when Dad is recovering.”

“He’s not an invalid,” Ward said, his patience at an end. He turned back to Jogi. “I head back to Salt Lake late Sunday night, so how about Sunday dinner.”

Jogi glanced between Ward and Sandy. “I’d love to,” he said, hesitation tinging his voice. He looked to Sandy.

Ward glanced to her too, but with far more insistence than Jogi’s silent question. At least Jogi had that going for him. He wasn’t a bull in a china shop like her brother.

“Okay,” she sighed, throwing up her hands. “You win. Jogi, would you like to come to dinner on Sunday night?”

“Yes,” Jogi answered quickly, then took her hand. “But only after we kick some Bonneville ass on the dance floor tonight.” He nodded to Ward and set off down the hall, pulling Sandy with him.

“You’re in a good mood tonight,” she said as they reached the far end of the hall.

“I’m ready to go out there and make Ronny eat his words,” he said. “And now I have a Templesmith family dinner to look forward to.”

His enthusiasm sent ripples of anxiety rolling through her stomach. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the idea of Jogi spending time with her family. She did. Her parents liked him. Rita liked him. Even Ward liked him. But Jogi joining in as one of them was a big step. One she was overwhelmed by. The more he integrated into her life, the more it felt like her life would no longer be her own.

Jogi knew something was bothering Sandy the second he spotted her at the other end of the hall with her brother. But these days, it seemed like something was always nagging at her. He tried not to take it personally. She had tons on her plate—from the problems with the bank to her dad’s health to his plagiarism problems, which she’d taken on in the past week, and even to the competition itself. He was willing to let it all go until a little of the pressure eased up.

At least, he would have been.

“You’re trying to lead,” he murmured as they made their way around the dance floor in the Quick Step.

“No, I’m not,” she protested through the theatrical smile on her overly made-up face.

“Then what do you call this?” He stiffened his stance and tried to take her into an unchoreographed turn.

She resisted for half a second, almost stepping wrong and popping them out of rhythm. Only when he all but pushed her into the turn did she loosen up and go with the flow. She was still smiling on the other side of the turn, but her eyes flared with anger.

“Stick to the script,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Let me lead,” he shot back.

In the end, he won the argument. But he suspected the only reason for that was the strength of her desire to win the competition. The fact that they nearly collided with Ronny and Natalie might also have contributed. That and the smarmy grin Ronny sent their way when Jogi was forced to improvise a few steps to get them as far away from Ronny as possible.

In the end, they managed to complete the dance more or less in one piece.

“That was way harder than it needed to be,” Sandy sighed as they took their bows and headed out of the gym to change costumes.

“That sucked,” Marsha Pierce, the Haskellian half of the couple walking out just behind them said.

“We all sucked,” someone farther back in the line agreed.

“We spent too much time rehearsing the Bollywood number this week,” Marsha agreed as they reached the hall and wandered out of their lines on the way to the locker rooms.

“Let’s just hope we do better in that,” Sandy said.

The way things started out, it looked like they would. Jogi felt far more comfortable in a sherwani and churidar than he had in a tuxedo. Sandy looked downright gorgeous in her lengha. He might have to get his auntie back in India to send over a custom-made lengha for her when the competition was over. Although there was a fair chance that Sandy would balk at having him buy clothes for her.

But that was a problem for a different day. As the competitors took their spots on the dance floor, and as soon as the familiar strains of a medley of the most popular Bollywood songs began to play over the loudspeaker, all Jogi had room to think about was acing the dance and crushing Ronny.

The five remaining couples each struck their opening poses as the strains of the music dictated. And as it happened, Jogi and Sandy were positioned immediately next to Ronny and Natalie in such a way that in the few seconds during which they held that opening pose, Jogi and Ronny were toe to toe and eye to eye.

“You’re going down, Apu,” Ronny hissed through teeth clenched in a theatrical smile.

“Get ready to eat my dust, Bonny,” Jogi growled right back.

The music reached an opening crescendo, then launched into a lively bhangra beat. Jogi snapped away from Ronny and threw everything he had into the spirit of the dance. He dipped into a deep knee bend, then popped up to shake it like it was meant to be shaken. Sandy, who had been distracted at best up until that point, opened her eyes wide and flashed him her first genuine smile all night.

That alone made everything worth it. Even more than the swelling cheer of the crowd as all five of the remaining couples burst into sweet moves. Dancing was icing on the cake to the way Sandy caught his enthusiasm and got into it. They worked their way through a few group steps, all of the couples shifting position in the choreography they’d practiced hard all week. But as far as Jogi was concerned, it was just him and Sandy in a swirl of color and fun.

Jogi didn’t let up on the intensity of his enjoyment of the dance and Sandy when they transitioned into their individual dances. It wasn’t the right time to launch into an entire conversation about how they could do this—not just win the competition, but figure out a way to be with each other and have fun—but he tried to communicate the feeling anyhow. He couldn’t tell if Sandy was getting the message, if she could feel how much he enjoyed being with her, more than just in bed. If her smile was any indication, she at least had a hint.

And then it was their turn. The couples shuffled through some choreography, putting Jogi and Sandy front and center. The music swelled to a tune from one of his favorite movies growing up, and he let loose. He wasn’t just dancing to win, he was showing the whole room just how much he loved the woman he was dancing with. That’s what dancing was all about, after all. It was how people had expressed joy that couldn’t be contained since the dawn of time.

The crowd responded with wild enthusiasm, cheering Jogi as he let it all hang out. And when he and Sandy ended their spotlight with a dramatic lift that highlighted both his strength and Sandy’s beauty, they roared with appreciation.

Best of all, Sandy was beaming. She was truly happy. Even if it was just that moment, with her in his arms, the music playing, and everyone supporting them, she shone like the sun. More than a little part of Jogi was certain that if that moment didn’t win the entire competition for them, nothing would.

He was soaring high as the group shifted again, giving Ronny and Natalie a chance to shine. He didn’t notice Ronny inching too close to him, didn’t see his foot sticking out beyond where it needed to be for the dance. His mind and heart were a million miles away when he tripped hard over Ronny’s foot, sprawling to the gym floor. A jolt of pain in his wrist shocked him as he attempted to catch himself. For a split-second, he was too stunned to process what had happened.

The audience gasped. The first thought that rushed back to Jogi’s mind was that Sandy had managed to stay upright. Good for her. Better still, she had the presence of mind to scoop down and help him to his feet again as fast as possible. His wrist throbbed, his head spun from the suddenness of everything that had happened, but he was able to catch up and resume his place in the dance. It was a blessing in disguise that Ronny and Natalie were still strutting their stuff and that the choreography for the other couples was minimal.

“Are you all right?” Sandy asked, eyes wide with panic, as they shuffled again, giving the last couple a chance to show off for the judges.

Jogi’s wrist throbbed. He had bruises and twists in half a dozen places. But one glance across the floor to a smirking, triumphant Ronny, and all he could say was, “I’m fine.”

Sandy obviously didn’t believe him, but she didn’t have time to do anything more about it. The dance continued, and the difficulty of the choreography picked up. Jogi thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t have to lift Sandy again. As light as she was, with his wrist, he knew he couldn’t do it. He broke out in a cold sweat as he gritted his way through the rest of the now painful dance. He could only hope that the judges would interpret his grimace as a smile.

As soon as it was over, the audience burst into applause, and fury replaced the determination to get through that Jogi had been holding on to. It was all he could do to keep it together as they all took their bows. At least the crowd had half a clue what had happened. They cheered extra loudly for Jogi and Sandy, and booed Ronny. The judges were too busy handing over their scores to Jonathan for tabulation for Jogi to tell what they thought.

“What a thrilling dance.” Howie took to the microphone before any of the dancers had a chance to leave the floor, before Jogi had a chance to look for someone to check out his wrist. He had to hold his arms together to stop from shaking with pain. “I know none of you want to wait for the announcement of which three teams will be continuing on to the finals next week, so judges, if you could add up the scores and bring them to me as quickly as possible.”

Jonathan already had the score sheets in hand and seemed to be doing the math as he walked from the judges table to the side of the dance floor where Howie stood. He sent a sympathetic look Jogi’s way that had Jogi’s heart sinking. They must have failed. There was no way Jonathan would send him a look like that if they’d made it to the finals. Ronny’s cheating had paid off. Jogi could feel the heat rushing through him. He would strangle Ronny the second they got off the dance floor.

“Here we go, here we go,” Howie said as soon as Jonathan handed him three out of the five score sheets. “Our three finalists, in no particular order, are….”

He paused for effect, milking the crowd for a reaction. Jogi growled aloud, eager for him to get it over with. Sandy grabbed his arm and hugged it. She wore a look of concern that had nothing to do with the competition.

“Marsha Pierce and Kyle Mercer!” Howie announced.

The crowd cheered. Marsha and Kyle jumped and clapped with relief, hugging each other.

“Natalie Warner and Ronny Bonneville,” Howie said with less enthusiasm.

Half of the crowd cheered. Half booed. Over top of that, several people shouted, “Go, Natalie!” A few others took up the call, but no one cheered for Ronny. That didn’t bother Ronny. He preened and waved to the crowd as though they thought he was God’s gift to the dance floor. Natalie stood by, red-faced and embarrassed.

“And our final finalist….” Once again, Howie paused for effect. Jogi glanced down, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hide his disappointment when— “Sandy Templesmith and Jogi Sandhu!”

The crowd swelled with cheering. More so than they had cheered for Marsha and Kyle. Much more than for Ronny and Natalie. The two couples who hadn’t made it smiled and clapped with genuine happiness. Natalie shouted, “Yes!” then turned to Ronny with a vindicated snarl. The last people to react were Jogi and Sandy themselves.

“Did he just say our names?” Jogi asked.

“I think he did,” Sandy answered over the shouting.

It rushed in on him then, and he swept Sandy into his arms in spite of the pain in his wrist. “We did it.” He hugged her for all he was worth. His heart sang when she squeezed him back, then even more when she planted an enormous kiss on his lips, right there for everyone to see.

The cheering swelled and the audience cat-called. Nothing else mattered, as far as Jogi was concerned. His wrist would heal. Ronny would always be an asshole. But he hadn’t won. Not yet. Jogi and Sandy were in the finals, they still had a chance of winning, saving the bank, and landing him a gallery show, and best of all, they were together.