Her Grumpy Cowboy (Fit Mountain Cowboys #3)

1. Jasmyn

Chapter One

JASMYN

I push open the door to the studio, my dance bag slung over my shoulder as I get ready to face my last day of teaching ballet.

When I step into the room, the scent of wood polish and sweat hits me. But something’s different. The lights are off.

“Surprise!”

Suddenly, the lights flick back on and the room erupts in a chorus of excited voices. My students and their parents beam as they crowd around me. And that’s when I see the giant banner hanging on the far wall: “Thank You Ms. Jasmyn!”

Underneath it, a table holds an enormous cake decorated with ballet slippers.

“Oh my goodness!” My voice catches. “What’s all this?”

One of my students, Maisey Clayton, runs up and wraps her arms around my waist. “Since today is our last class, we wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done for us.”

I hug her back, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “You’re so welcome, sweetie. This is incredible.”

One by one, the children and parents approach me. Hugs, handshakes, and heartfelt words blur together in a whirlwind of emotion.

The lump in my throat grows with each kind word.

When my boss told me last month that our building had been sold and that the studio was closing, I tried to stay positive. And I promised myself I wouldn’t get emotional. But now, seeing all my students like this, I can barely hold it together.

“Ms. Jasmyn?” Maisey tugs at my sleeve. “Will you still teach us somewhere else?”

I kneel down to her level. “I’m not sure yet, sweetie.” I brush a blonde curl away from her face. “But I promise I’ll always be cheering you on, okay?”

She nods solemnly, then throws her arms around my neck. I hug her tightly, willing myself not to cry.

This little girl has come to mean so much to me over the past year.

From the first day she stepped into my studio, I saw a reflection of myself in Maisey. Like me, she doesn’t have the typical ballerina build. Her sturdy frame and cherubic face stand out among the willowy girls in the class.

But what she lacks in traditional aesthetics, she more than makes up for in pure, unbridled passion.

Maisey is also the only girl in the class without a mom, and I can’t help but feel a special connection to her because of that. Growing up, it was just my dad and me against the world after Mom passed away when I was six.

I remember how hard it was, especially when it came to all the typically “girlie” activities like dance classes. Dad did his best, but there were some things he just couldn’t relate to as a man. I would have been so lost without the women in my life who stepped up to fill in the gap.

That’s why I’ve tried to be there for Maisey in any way I can, offering a listening ear and a supportive hug whenever she needs it.

I take Maisey’s hands in mine. ”Maisey, I want you to know that you are an incredible dancer. Your passion and joy shine through every time you step into the studio. No matter what happens, never stop dancing. It’s a part of who you are.”

She sniffles and nods, her little chin quivering. “I don’t want you to go away, Ms. Jasmyn.”

“I know, sweetie.” I squeeze her little hands gently. “But even if I’m not your teacher anymore, I will always be here for you. Whenever you need someone to talk to or a hug, I’m just a phone call away. I promise.”

Maisey’s lower lip trembles as a single tear rolls down her chubby cheek. She holds out her tiny finger. “Pinky promise?”

I link my pinky with hers. “Pinky promise.”

A watery smile spreads across her face.

I give Maisey one last squeeze before standing up and turning to face the rest of the class. “Alright, my beautiful dancers! Let’s make this last class together extra special, okay?”

The students scurry to their spots and I demonstrate the first position, my arms flowing gracefully as I begin the warm-up routine. “Remember to keep your shoulders down and your chin lifted.”

I’m just about to transition into second position when my eyes lock with a pair of striking blue ones across the room.

They belong to Luke Clayton.

Maisey’s dad.

He stands near the back, his worn jeans hugging his muscular thighs and his blue plaid shirt stretched across his broad chest. A Stetson cowboy hat sits atop his dark hair, casting a shadow over his chiseled features.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, his biceps bulging under the rolled-up sleeves.

Luke’s intense gaze rakes over me, igniting a tingling sensation that starts in my chest and spreads all the way down to my toes. I falter slightly in my demonstration, but quickly regain my composure and continue the warm-up routine.

Things have been tense between Luke and me ever since Maisey started coming to my class. Unlike the other moms who hover and obsess over every little detail, Luke just stands in the back of the room and frowns at me.

He never actually speaks to me beyond a gruff “hello” or “thanks” when he picks up Maisey. But I can always feel his eyes on me, tracking my every move as I guide the students through their routines.

Part of me wonders if he disapproves of my teaching methods or if he thinks I’m not good enough for his daughter. But another part of me, a part I try hard to ignore, wonders if there could be something more between us.

I shake my head, trying to clear these thoughts. I need to focus on the class, on making this last day special for my students.

But as I continue the lesson, I can’t help but wonder what Luke sees when he looks at me.

And why, of all days, does he have to look so devastatingly handsome on my last day at the studio?

“Daddy, look!” Maisey calls out, executing a wobbly pirouette. “Did you see?”

Luke’s face breaks into a rare smile as he watches his daughter twirl across the studio floor. “I sure did, darlin’. You’re doing great.”

Maisey beams at him, her little chest puffing out with pride. She does another pirouette, this one a bit more stable, and then launches into a series of sloppy but enthusiastic pliés.

Luke’s grin widens as he watches her, and I feel a tug in my chest at the sight.

Maisey is Luke’s entire world. I can see it in the way his eyes soften when he looks at her, the way his gruff exterior melts away in her presence. He may be a grumpy cowboy on the outside, but when it comes to his daughter, he’s all heart.

As Maisey continues to dance, I catch a few of the moms sneaking glances at Luke.

They whisper to each other behind their hands, their eyes roving over his muscular frame appreciatively.

I feel a pang of something hot and sharp in my gut. It takes me a moment to recognize it for what it is - jealousy.

I know I have no right to feel this way. Luke is older than me, and he’s Maisey’s dad. But I can’t help the way my stomach flips when I see those women eyeing him like he’s a piece of meat.

I force myself to tear my gaze away from Luke. “Alright, everyone. Let’s try that combination from the top.”

The music swells, and I demonstrate the move, my body flowing with the rhythm. “Remember, it’s all in the spot. Keep your eyes focused as you turn.”

I catch sight of myself in the mirror, moving in perfect sync with my students. A wave of emotion washes over me. These kids, with their boundless enthusiasm and unwavering trust, have become such an integral part of my life.

“And... hold that final position!” I call out as the music fades. I clap my hands, a wide smile stretching across my face. “Great job, ladies! You’ve all worked so hard today. Let’s take a ten-minute break, and then we’ll continue with the second half of our last class together.”

The students chatter excitedly as they disperse, some heading for their water bottles while others rush to their parents for hugs and praise.

As I watch Maisey, my mind drifts back to the promise I made earlier. I told her that no matter what happens, I would always be there for her. That even if I’m not her teacher anymore, she can always reach out to me.

But how can I keep that promise if I don’t have a way to stay in touch? There’s only one thing to do.

I have to give Luke my number.

I make my way across the studio to Luke before I can second-guess myself. He’s kneeling down, helping Maisey adjust the strap on her ballet slipper.

“Mr. Clayton?” My voice comes out a bit shakier than I intend. “Could I speak with you for a moment?”

Luke straightens up, his eyes meeting mine. “Sure, Ms. Martin. What’s on your mind?”

I fidget with the hem of my leotard, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his piercing gaze. “Well, I just wanted to let you know how much I’ve enjoyed having Maisey in my class. She’s an incredible little girl with a real passion for dance.”

Pride shines in his eyes. “She sure does love it. Been talking about nothing else for weeks now.”

I smile. “I’m so glad to hear that. Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. “I know today is my last day at the studio, but I made a promise to Maisey that I would always be here for her, even if I’m not her teacher anymore.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. “Yes. I was wondering if... if it would be okay with you if I gave you my personal cell phone number. That way, if Maisey ever needs any extra support or someone to talk to, she can always reach me.”

His jaw tightens. “Extra support?” His voice is laced with an undercurrent of something that sounds suspiciously like anger. “You trying to say that my daughter doesn’t have enough support at home?”

My eyes widen, panic rising in my throat. “No, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” I say quickly, my hand instinctively reaching out to touch his arm. “I would never imply that Maisey doesn’t have a loving, supportive home.”

Luke stiffens under my touch, his muscles tensing beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. I snatch my hand back as if burned.

“You know what, nevermind,” I say quickly, my face burning with embarrassment. “Forget I said anything.”

I turn to walk away, desperate to escape this mortifying situation before I can humiliate myself any further.