Page 2 of Her Grumpy Cowboy

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.

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