Present Day…

“Sweetheart, I understand your concern,” Wainright Templesmith told his daughter, rubbing his temples as he did, “but what’s done is done. The board has already called for an election, as is their right.”

Sandy writhed in her chair across the desk from her father. Her jaw was clenched to the point of giving her a headache that extended to the back of her neck and down her stiff spine. “We can’t just sit back and let the Bonnevilles take the bank, Dad. It’s ours, and it has been from its founding.”

Wainright sighed. He leaned back in his large, leather chair and switched from merely rubbing his temples to scrubbing his hands across his weathered face, moustache and all. “I know that as well as anyone else, but there’s not a lot we can do.”

“There has to be something,” Sandy insisted. She scooted to the edge of her seat, ready to leap up and do battle if it would help. “The board has to know that that ridiculous fossil business had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the Bonnevilles and their money-grabbing.”

“And I’m sure most of them do know that,” Wainright said. “But there are other issues on the table now too.”

“Like what?” Sandy gripped the arms of her chair.

Wainright sighed again and squeezed his eyes shut. He looked worn out. His hair had gone grey years ago, but now it was close to completely white. Sandy had always thought he looked distinguished. Now she wondered when he had gotten so old. The love and concern she felt for him momentarily eclipsed her fury with the Bonnevilles.

“I’m not getting any younger,” he said, reflecting her thoughts. “I can’t keep doing this job forever.”

Sandy blinked, pulling back in surprise. “You’re not thinking of retiring, are you?”

Her father shrugged. “I love this bank. You know that. I’ve worked here almost fifty years and held every job from teller to CEO. I can’t imagine getting up every day and not coming in to work. But….” He drew out the syllable, then shrugged again instead of finishing his sentence. “You’ve got your law firm,” he went on, shifting the conversation and the way he sat. “Rita has her psychology practice. Your brother Ward has his brokerage in Salt Lake City. The closest family member I could hand off control of the bank to is your cousin Jonas, but he just got his degree last year and is still working on his MBA.”

“Jonas is brilliant,” Sandy argued. “He believes in the family legacy too.”

“And he doesn’t have the experience to take over as CEO, even if the board did vote to give him the job.”

As much as Sandy wanted to contest the point, she couldn’t think of an argument solid enough. The best she could come up with was, “That’s why you have to keep fighting for just a few more years.”

Wainright laughed. It was a tired, defeated sound. “What if your old man needs a rest?”

The aching, conflicted feelings of wanting her dad to be happy and wanting to keep the family legacy intact made Sandy even more restless. “Maybe if you scaled back, kept your position as CEO but had less to do with the day-to-day running of this place.”

Wainright sent her a lopsided grin and shook his head. “And how do you think that would play with the board? It would confirm everything Richard Bonneville has been saying about me behind my back.”

Sandy deflated, letting her posture sink into a slump. It was her turn to rub her forehead, wishing there were a way out of the sticky spot they’d found themselves in. “I should have gone into banking, not law,” she murmured.

“You would have been miserable,” her father said. She glanced up at him. “You love arguing too much.”

“I do not.” An ironic half-smile touched her lips. Listening to her father tell her she was too argumentative was right up there with peanut butter and jelly as far as comfort went.

“You need an outlet for all that righteous indignation you’ve got in you, sweetheart,” Wainright went on. “You’re not happy unless you’re throwing your weight around.”

Instead of enjoying her father’s teasing, his words struck a discordant note within her. She lost her faint smile. Jogi had said something similar. Not exactly the same, but close enough. She’d pushed him too hard, too far. She’d crossed the line. What worked like a charm in her professional life had ruined the most promising relationship she’d ever had.

“Now, now, what’s that face for?” her father asked.

“Nothing,” she lied, sinking back into her chair with a frown. “I just don’t like the situation we’re in.” That much was the truth. “And I hate the idea that the Bonnevilles could wrestle the bank away from us.”

“Me too, sweetheart, me too.”

A heavy silence fell between the two of them. The tension Sandy had been holding onto since her ill-fated attempt to get Ronny to call off his dad’s dogs ebbed, but not in a good way. All she could think about was the way Jogi had come to her rescue in the coffee shop when Ronny turned the tables on her. After the way she’d blown things with Jogi, he didn’t have to lift a finger to help her, but he had. Jogi was a great guy, a talented guy. He had a good heart.

“Sweetheart, I don’t like seeing you in pain.” Wainright broke the silence.

“Don’t worry about me,” Sandy sighed. “I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“You take yourself too seriously,” he went on, almost as if he hadn’t heard her. “Always have.” He shifted in his chair, his expression softening as he studied her. “Why don’t you do something fun to take your mind off all of this?”

Sandy arched an eyebrow. “Now is not the time for fun, Dad.”

He shook his head and waved away her protest. “I hear Howie is staging a dance competition, like that TV show that’s so popular these days. Why don’t you get involved in that?”

A rush of self-conscious heat spilled across Sandy’s face. “I signed up for it,” she admitted in a quiet voice. She didn’t know why she’d signed on for something so frivolous at the same time as everything else in her life seemed to be falling apart.

No, she did know why. She just wasn’t willing to admit it, wasn’t willing to admit how she wanted fate to step in and pair her up with Jogi for a second chance. But sign-ups had been more than a week ago, before the bank situation took a turn for the worse. It didn’t seem like the best use of her time now.

Her father’s face brightened. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. I think it’ll be good for you.”

She shook her head. “I’m thinking of dropping out, though.”

“Why?” Her father frowned.

“Because you need me here, fighting for you.”

Wainright let out a breath and sat back in his chair.

“I didn’t expect the board to call for a vote so soon,” Sandy went on. “I don’t want to be doing something silly, like dancing, when I should be setting up meetings with all of the board members and talking them around to our side.”

“You think you can?” Wainright asked.

“Yes,” she answered with confidence she wasn’t sure she fully felt. “The other day, Ronny implied that there were only a few votes that really matter anyhow.”

Wainright nodded. “Guy Sedgewick.”

“Exactly.”

“Richard’s won Guy over to his side, all right,” Wainright went on with a dark frown. “I never thought I’d see the day that Guy switched sides, but he’s as greedy and stubborn as the rest of them.”

“Yeah? Well he hasn’t knocked heads with me yet.”

Wainright sent her a weary smile. “I’d rather see you dancing than knocking heads with an old coot like Guy.”

“I can do both,” Sandy insisted. The idea of having a challenge to rise to made her feel better when nothing else had. “Just you watch me.”

Wainright laughed. The sound was still tired, but pride filled his eyes. “If anyone can do it, you can. I just don’t want to see you wear yourself out for something that’s inevitable anyhow.”

“Losing control of the bank is not inevitable,” she insisted, standing as the urge to get started with her mission of salvation took her. “We might not be able to stop the board from voting, but I can ensure that each board member votes the right way.”

Wainright held up his hands, leaning forward as if ready to go back to work. “I’m not going to stop you. But just be ready to lose.”

“I’m not the losing sort,” Sandy said. She stepped away from the desk, fetching her purse from where she’d left it on the table by the door. “They’re announcing the teams for the dance competition this afternoon, but I’m not going to let that stop me either. I’m going to go find Guy Sedgewick, and the rest of the board members, and I’m going to make them see what they have to do.”

“Your work is delightful, Mr. Sandhu. It has such a sense of space and grandeur.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sedgewick.” Jogi smiled at the gallery owner, hope surging through him. He watched as Abigail Sedgewick turned another page of his portfolio, her eyes lighting at what she saw. “I have many of these pieces framed already, and the rest I could have framed in short order.”

“I see.” Mrs. Sedgewick turned another page. “You really do have an extraordinary talent.”

“You’re too kind.” He smiled, but underneath the suspense was killing him. Patience had never been his strong suit. “I’m confident that if you provide me with the gallery space I need, I would be able to sell more than enough to make a small show worth your time.”

“I’m sure.”

It wasn’t an answer. Then again, Jogi hadn’t really asked the question. Mrs. Sedgewick continued to look over his portfolio, making sounds with each turn of the page as if she liked what she saw. The wait was killing him. He needed gallery space and a professionally organized show opening if he was ever going to make his mark as a photographer. Sandy would probably already have secured him the space and the biggest art show opening Haskell had ever seen if she’d been there. Heck, she wouldn’t have settled for Haskell. She’d have him showing his work at a gallery in Salt Lake City or Denver.

And she’d also have him relegated to a background piece in his own show. He reminded himself of that every time he started regretting the way he’d ended things between the two of them.

“Did you take these during the orienteering competition?” Mrs. Sedgewick asked. Jogi’s portfolio was opened to pages that contained some of the expansive landscapes he’d shot in the Shoshone National Forest.

“Yes,” he answered, no interest in going into any more detail. The images still carried far too much emotion for him.

Mrs. Sedgewick turned away from the portfolio to smile at Jogi. “I loved that winning photograph you took for the competition.”

Jogi forced a smile, swallowing the bitterness of the memory. “Thank you.”

“You made Sandy Templesmith look lovely,” Mrs. Sedgewick went on. “Although she is a lovely woman to begin with.” She added a knowing grin to the end of her statement.

“She is,” Jogi agreed, smile tighter than ever.

“I just love all these events and competitions Howie has been planning lately,” Mrs. Sedgewick went on, thankfully in a different direction than she could have taken.

If Jogi had to hear one more person suggest that he and Sandy should get together, he’d pull his hair out. He rubbed a hand over his beard. “Howie is a lot of fun,” he said, hoping for a way to bring things back around to the possibility of him getting gallery space.

“I can’t wait for this dance competition he’s doing next.” Mrs. Sedgewick’s eyes lit up as if she were sharing a juicy bit of gossip. “Are you participating in that one?”

“I am.” Jogi nodded. Although it hadn’t been his idea. Not that he had anything against dancing. He’d grown up learning traditional Punjabi Bhangra dancing and considered himself pretty darn good at it. But he wasn’t ready to be partnered with another woman for the competition. Not with Sandy still under his skin, irritating him every time he thought of her. In the end, he’d only put his name down to stop Laura from pestering him every spare second at work.

“Do you know if Howie is providing ballroom dancing costumes for you guys?” Mrs. Sedgewick asked on. “I love those costumes. All the feathers and sequins and things. It makes me wish I could participate in some way.”

“You probably could,” Jogi said, knowing full well it was too late for anyone new to sign up. The teams were being picked that afternoon, and sign-ups had closed more than a week ago.

Mrs. Sedgewick laughed and swatted his arm. “You’re too sweet. But everyone knows Howie only wants single people to participate. He likes playing matchmaker, you know.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Howie was the one who set me and Guy up in high school, after all.”

“Did he?” Impatience continued to prickle down Jogi’s back, but he had to play the game to get what he needed.

“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Sedgewick sent him a mysterious flicker of her eyebrow. “Apparently, Guy had his eye on me for ages. He worked on my father’s ranch. But I was too busy with my friends and social activities to notice him. Howie planned a camping trip for our class with the sole purpose of landing Guy and I in a leaky canoe far away from everyone else.” She sighed, blushing over the memory. “It worked, though. That’s all I can say.”

“What a lovely story.” Jogi shifted his weight restlessly.

“I hope that you get your own Howie-brand lovely story too, young man. As for gallery space….” She turned back to the portfolio. Jogi’s breath caught in anticipation. His lungs squeezed tight when Mrs. Sedgewick’s smile faded into a wistful look. “I’m afraid that I’m completely booked up for the next eighteen months.

Jogi’s heart sank like a rock. “Really?”

Mrs. Sedgewick closed his portfolio and handed it back to him. “I really do love your work, and I’d be happy to book you for a few months, but it’ll have to be sometime next year. Maybe longer.”

Disappointment rained down hard on him. “I was hoping to have some sort of a showing sooner than that.”

“I know. Most galleries book their showings months in advance, or more.” At least Mrs. Sedgewick looked genuinely regretful. “It’ll be hard to find anything available immediately. But I wish you luck, and I will have time for you in the future.”

“Thanks.” Jogi tucked his portfolio under his arm, uncertain what to do or say next. “I appreciate your time, Mrs. Sedgewick, and I’ll be in touch.”

It felt lame to leave without saying more, and without getting what he’d gone in for. Disappointment followed him out onto Main Street, distracting him so much that he walked right into someone charging up the sidewalk.

As soon as he heard her irritated gasp, he knew he’d bumped into Sandy. She stumbled back a step as he reached out to steady her. The flash of embarrassment over walking into her quickly turned to the anxious pain of looking into her beautiful but troubled eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Sorry,” she said at the same time, paused, pressed her lips together, then said, “I’m fine,” in curt tones.

It was a lie. Clearly she was out of sorts. Her brow was creased and the angles of her face were sharper than usual.

Neither of them moved on. They just stood there, staring at each other. Frustration radiated through Jogi, over more than just his failure at the gallery. He hated feeling so awkward around Sandy, especially since there was a time not that long ago when they’d felt anything but awkward together. And for her part, Sandy looked as though she wanted either to rail at him for running into her or throw her arms around him for a badly needed hug. The net result was complete paralysis from both of them.

“Trouble with the bank?” Jogi asked, taking a wild guess at what had her looking like she was on the warpath.

Her expression melted to something soft for a split-second before turning furious. “I will not let the Bonnevilles take what’s ours.”

Jogi nodded slowly in understanding. He had to admire Sandy’s single-minded determination. As long as it wasn’t aimed at controlling his life. He nodded to the gallery. “I’ve just been turned down for gallery space.”

Sandy’s expression shifted again, running through several emotions too fast for him to identify any of them. “Sorry,” she said.

And then the silence was back. Jogi wracked his brain for something more to say. What he wanted to say was that if anyone could defeat the Bonnevilles and save the day, it was her, that he would be there for her if she needed him, and that he had faith in her. But he couldn’t say those things. Not if he wanted to maintain his pride.

In the end, their impasse was broken by a shout of, “Hey, you two!” from the other side of the street.

They turned in unison to find Calliope and Melody Clutterbuck and Will Darling waving to them.

“Are you coming to the announcement of the dance competition teams?” Calliope called.

Jogi glanced back at Sandy. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, then answered with a loud, “Yeah, wait up. I’ll walk with you.”

Sandy looked up and down the street, then hopped down from the sidewalk to cross the road.

“Jogi, you coming?” Will asked.

It would have looked odd for him to say no or to continue walking on one side of the street with everyone else on the other. But it would feel beyond odd for him to fall in to a group with Sandy, as if nothing were wrong or ever had been. Any decision he made was a doomed one.

“Yeah,” he called at last, turning to cross the street. “I’m coming.”

He just hoped they got the team selections over with quickly.