A Ranch to Keep
Claire McEwen
Samantha Rylant’s life is coming together as planned—promising career, awesome friends, perfect boyfriend. Then she inherits her grandmother’s ranch and the sweet childhood memories come rushing back to her. Now this city girl is torn, wondering where she truly belongs. And the handsome cowboy down the lane is only complicating matters!Jack Baron and his handsome, aggravating self is around every corner offering a helping hand, sharing his unwanted opinions, and in general messing with Sam’s heart. The logical thing to do is to sell the ranch and return to her life in San Francisco. But maybe this is one decision that requires the heart, not the head….
What she planned…or what she wants?
Samantha Rylant’s life is coming together as planned—promising career, awesome friends, perfect boyfriend. Then she inherits her grandmother’s ranch and sweet childhood memories come rushing back to her. Now this city girl is torn, wondering where she truly belongs. And the gorgeous cowboy down the lane is only complicating matters!
Jack Baron and his handsome, aggravating self are around every corner offering a helping hand, sharing his unwanted opinions and in general messing with Sam’s heart. The logical thing to do is to sell the ranch and return to San Francisco. But maybe this is one decision that requires the heart, not the head….
Hadn’t she dismissed this cowboy already?
But Jack just stood there, eventually letting go of the ladder and strolling to the fence a few yards away. “Well, how about I stay here a few minutes longer, until you get the hang of it?”
“Oh, no, please, you don’t have to,” Samantha said. She could figure this out on her own.
He said nothing, just hoisted himself up on the top bar of the fence and sat there.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” she asked in disbelief.
“Not at the moment.” He smiled at her pleasantly.
“Fine, suit yourself.” Knowing she sounded a bit like a peeved child, she turned toward the ladder. While he was still as gorgeous as he was yesterday, evidently he was a bit of a chauvinist, too. She didn’t appreciate all his worry. She thought of her work in San Francisco—people there knew that she could handle pretty much anything the world threw at her, including some rickety old ladder. But, if the man had nothing to do today but watch her pry boards off her windows, that wasn’t her problem.
Dear Reader,
I am a very happy person these days, but several years ago, I wasn’t. I had taken a few wrong turns in my career and my personal life, and I felt pretty lost. There were days when I wished I had the courage to get in my car and drive away, into some new kind of life.
A Ranch to Keep was born from that fantasy. What if I did get in my car and drive away? Who would I hope to meet and what kind of place would I end up in? Since I didn’t feel as if I could actually leave my life behind, I created Samantha and sent her on that journey instead.
Samantha loves her life in San Francisco and the career that gives her the stability she didn’t have as a child. She likes to be independent, and keep her life simple and predictable. Then she inherits her grandparents’ ranch in the wild and scenic Sierra Nevada, and finds herself on unfamiliar ground, in plenty of situations that she can’t handle on her own. And the last person she wants help from is the gorgeous cowboy next door who makes her feel way too many complicated emotions!
That cowboy has been nursing a bruised heart for a long time now, and Samantha’s arrival disturbs Jack’s peaceful world in more ways than one. For one thing, she’s thinking about selling the acres he’s leased for years. If she does, his business will be ruined. He needs to make sure that if she sells, he’s the buyer. But her beauty and determination are inspiring feelings he’s pretty sure he’ll regret when she heads back to the city. He loves the land, but is it worth risking his heart again?
I hope you enjoy this story about two people who find love in the wrong place, with the wrong person. But maybe two wrongs can heal old wounds and make their lives just right?
And as for the unhappy-me of several years ago? Well, I got in my car and drove to my first Romance Writers of America conference! Writing brought a new joy into my life. And eventually my own all-wrong hero showed up, and just like Samantha, we left the city behind, not for a ranch, but for a cottage by the ocean, which is just right for our own happily ever after.
With gratitude,
Claire McEwen
PS—I love to hear from readers. Please visit my website, www.clairemcewen.com (http://www.clairemcewen.com), or find me on Facebook or Twitter!
A Ranch to Keep
Claire McEwen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Although teaching, bartending, dancing and farming were all wonderful jobs, Claire McEwen thinks writing novels is her best career yet. She always dreamed of becoming a writer and A Ranch to Keep is proof that dreams can come true! She lives by the ocean in Northern California and, when not writing, can often be found digging in the garden, playing on the beach with her son or dancing with her own romantic hero, also known as her husband. Claire enjoys getting to know her readers and can be reached on Facebook, Twitter or at her website, www.clairemcewen.com (http://www.clairemcewen.com).
For my family—
Melanie, Beth, Sally, Danny, Steve, Cisco, Sallie, Melia and Linnea, thank you for years of crazy plot ideas and laughter and for your boundless enthusiasm for this book.
Mango, sweetest pup ever, you were my loyal friend and writing buddy and always made sure I took my walks! I miss you every day.
Shane, you inspire me to pursue my dreams and so much else that is wonderful.
Arik, you gave us a love story that is more romantic than anything I could possibly imagine. You believed in me, you believed in my writing and you made me believe in true love.
Contents
Chapter One (#u5b144de0-b1b7-55fa-9f27-4267eb091520)
Chapter Two (#u86c66ece-e093-518f-b499-ae14f8737c77)
Chapter Three (#uef078805-0e10-52ef-b0b1-ac00ceaa279d)
Chapter Four (#ud7834643-7434-58b2-9d29-72b27cd990e9)
Chapter Five (#u4062b367-9666-5ddb-9067-0ff41f5492db)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
THE EASTERN SIDE of the Sierra Nevada Mountains was the perfect setting for fleeing a funeral. The high drama of the granite peaks rising abruptly from low, jagged hills, the earthy scent of sagebrush and pine, the open space of the high desert, were naturally suited to thoughts of life and death.
Grandma Ruth had loved these mountains. She’d lived most of her life in them. Driving down the scenic highway, marveling at each gorgeous view, seemed a much better way to celebrate her life than sitting in a musty Reno funeral chapel. Samantha still wasn’t sure how she’d ended up on this impromptu road trip. One minute she’d been listening to the pastor’s words, and the next an outraged voice was screaming in her head that this service wasn’t doing justice to Ruth. The rote text didn’t describe the loving, vibrant grandmother she knew. Samantha couldn’t stand it anymore, so she’d fled.
Running away wasn’t like her. Samantha felt her forehead, wondering if she was getting sick. She was known for showing up, helping out and always doing the right thing. But instead she’d abandoned the funeral and then, from the parking lot, called work to let them know she wouldn’t be in today. She’d cancelled all her meetings and now, instead of the many things she should be doing, she was speeding down this scenic highway to the ranch outside of Benson.
Her ranch. That idea would take some getting used to. Samantha smiled. In the past few years, Grandma Ruth had tried to get her to be more adventurous. Maybe leaving her the ranch was her last attempt to shake her granddaughter up a bit. “Well, Grandma,” Samantha said aloud to the mountains, “you have definitely stirred things up this time.”
Samantha turned up the volume on her iPod and let the strains of opera soar. Maybe it was melodramatic, but it had seemed like the only music appropriate for the splendor of this drive, the sadness in her heart and the emotion of this homecoming.
A few tears insisted on rolling down her cheeks. Samantha brushed them off and took a deep breath. All this crying wasn’t her usual style. More evidence that it would do her good to be away for a few days, to see something other than the crowded streets of San Francisco and the busy conference rooms of Taylor Advertising. She pictured the ranch as she remembered it from childhood. It might make her sad to be there without her grandparents, but how amazing to see the ranch again after so many years. Growing up, it was the closest thing to a home Samantha had known.
She glanced at the keys on the seat beside her, hooked on a ring neatly labeled Rylant, Ranch House. What would the old house be like? Ruth had moved to Reno ten years ago—what had she left behind? And in what state? The will had promised Samantha four thousand acres of ranch: barns, house, outbuildings “and all items found on the premises therein.” She hoped some of those items included furniture or it was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER TWO
JUST PAST the highway sign for Benson, population five hundred seventy-five, another weather-beaten sign read Blue Water Mercantile-Groceries, Beer, Fishing. Under the letters, a painted and peeling fish jumped out of faded water with a smile, holding a beer can in its chipped fin. The local store beneath the fish looked the same as it always had, just smaller and lower, as if it was retreating into the earth. It had been years since she’d been here, but she still remembered climbing down from Grandpa’s truck, holding on to his strong hand and hurrying him indoors to get a popsicle or a soda.
An old pickup was parked in front of the store and a man in a battered cowboy hat was leaning on the cab door, talking on a cell phone. As she pulled her car up to the curb, Samantha caught a glimpse of long legs in faded jeans, broad shoulders in a plaid shirt and white teeth that flashed when he talked. A perfect, modern Western scene, she thought, taking in the contrast of the cowboy, the old truck and the cell phone.
She smiled to herself. The sight of a good-looking man in a cowboy hat in San Francisco generally meant one thing—he was not interested in women. Out here that stereotype might not apply, and she couldn’t help but glance again at the stranger, appreciating his silhouette. Then she remembered Mark and turned away with a stab of guilt. The last thing she should be doing was looking at another man when she already had a boyfriend—even if that boyfriend hadn’t been around much lately.
Samantha crossed the small parking lot and reached for the handle to pull open the glass door of the shop. She jumped, startled, as a much larger hand swooped over hers to pull it open for her. “I got it,” said a deep voice in her right ear, and she recognized the navy plaid shirt on that long arm and knew it was the same man she’d seen in the parking lot. Glancing up to voice her thanks Samantha froze, her breath caught in her teeth.
Tall, she thought incoherently. He’s really tall. Her gaze slid down to a wide chest underneath faded flannel. Everything else was just a series of impressions—a silver belt buckle, lean muscle, fair skin tanned to gold, dark blond hair that was a little shaggy under the hat, curling a bit at the collar. She looked up quickly and met blue eyes with a brilliance in them that caught the light. Dark honey lashes surrounded them, thick and long. He looked like a man who spent plenty of time out in the elements. There were creases from sun and smiling etched on his angular face. Samantha hadn’t known a man could be so beautiful. She just stood there like a fool, staring, trying to remember how to breathe.
The cowboy regarded her with a wide grin, as if he knew just what she was thinking. Then he took a long, slow look at her before saying “You’re not from around here, are you?”
It took another attempted breath to get her heart beating again. Glancing down at herself she saw what he saw...the long, black pencil skirt, the high, spiked heels on her boots, the chunky gold ring on her hand, the black cashmere sweater. She was definitely not dressed for life in a small mountain town.
With an embarrassed smile tugging at her mouth, she forced herself to look up at those eyes and act as if they weren’t paralyzing her. If her friend Tess were here, she’d have the perfect, appropriate-yet-sexy reply, not this vast blankness that had taken over her mind.
Finally she managed, “Nope, I guess not,” and pushed past him into the store, hoping he couldn’t see her heart pounding through her sweater. She heard him laughing softly as he closed the door behind them with a clang of the bell.
Samantha grabbed a basket. This was ridiculous. Losing Grandma Ruth must have destroyed her confidence. She shopped at the Marina Safeway, for crying out loud, the most notorious singles pickup spot in all of San Francisco! She was used to fending off men asking for cooking advice in the pasta aisle. Back home she brushed those men off easily, but walking to the back of the dusty store, she felt the cowboy’s glance lingering on her and just prayed she wouldn’t trip and fall.
Samantha heard him greet someone at the counter. She forced herself to focus on her shopping.
Everything about the store brought back a memory. She smelled the unforgettable combination of dust, firewood and the faint odor of the bait sold out of the freezer in the back. There was the ice cream case, and the small section of toys. And in the air there was something she hadn’t felt in years—the peace of childhood summers, solidity and home. Tears prickled for what must have been the twentieth time that day and she blinked them back quickly. She was an emotional wreck, one moment running out of Ruth’s funeral, the next lusting after some random guy in a cowboy outfit, and now missing her grandparents so much it hurt! Disgusted with herself Samantha turned her attention to filling her basket with provisions and cleaning supplies, and kept her mind busy with plans for opening up the long-neglected farmhouse.
A man in a fishing vest sat behind the counter. She noticed his face was lined and weathered, much like the sign in front of the store. He smiled at her with a “Morning, ma’am,” and she smiled back, dumping her basket onto the counter.
There was no sign of the cowboy she’d met at the door. He’d probably left, and Samantha gave a small sigh of relief at his absence. The last time her heart had pounded that fast was during her first formal pitch at work...about five years ago? It wasn’t a pleasant feeling and not one she felt like repeating anytime soon.
“You look like you mean to stay awhile.” The grocer’s friendly eyes twinkled at her from beneath his gray brows. “You here for the fishing?”
“It’s been a long time since I tried it.” Samantha pulled out her credit card as he totaled her purchases on an archaic-looking cash register. No scanners and barcodes at the Blue Water. He took her card, set it in the holder and began to place a paper slip over it. Reading the name on the card, he stopped and looked up at her in surprise.
“Rylant? Are you any relation to Ruth Rylant?” The lump she’d suppressed rose in her throat again. She hadn’t thought this through, hadn’t taken into account all the people in Benson who’d known Ruth. Figuring she’d better get used to it, and quickly, she swallowed the lump yet again and stuck out her hand to the beaming face across the counter.
“Yes. I’m Samantha Rylant, Ruth’s granddaughter,” she told him as she shook his hand. “I’m not sure you heard, but Ruth passed away earlier this week.”
She heard the emotion in his voice. “Yes, I did hear...stupid of me not to give my condolences right away. Ruth was a fine woman. We all missed her when she moved away. I’m sorry to hear she’s gone.” They were silent a moment and then he continued, “Well, but here you are and I’m being impolite. I’m Dan Sanders, owner of this fine establishment. Welcome to Benson, Samantha. You staying in town?”
“I thought I’d stay out at the ranch.”
Dan’s gaze shifted down to her hands, eyeing the bold rings and the manicured nails. “Oh, I see. Have you been out there recently? You might want to try the hotel for a while until you can get someone in to clean up the place.”
“Believe me, I called, but it’s full. A fly-fishing tour. But it’s okay, I’ll figure something out. I guess I’m just going to have to clean the house up myself.” At Dan’s incredulous look she pushed on, needing to explain, maybe to herself as well. “She left it to me...so I guess I just want to spend some time there, figure out what I’ve got on my hands. I haven’t been out there since before she moved away.”
“Wait a minute!” Dan interrupted. “I remember you now! No wonder you stopped here—you know this place. I remember Ruth bringing you in here from time to time when you were just a kid! And your grandpa, he always used to buy his fishing license here. If I remember right he’d take you fishing right along with him.” He grinned and stacked her groceries in a paper bag as he continued. “You were just a skinny little thing, all big green eyes and arms and legs.”
“Not much has changed since, has it?” The cowboy’s deep voice spoke right behind her. Samantha nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned quickly, hitting her elbow against a rack of sunglasses. “Whoa, steady there!” He caught the wobbling rack and Samantha grabbed her elbow, wincing at the pain sizzling up her arm. “Are you okay? That looked like it hurt.”
Her traitorous heart thumped and her pulse raced at top speed as she stared at him, momentarily stunned into silence. What was wrong with her? “I’m fine, really,” she managed. Time to gather the shreds of her dignity.
She pulled her eyes away from his handsome face and drew herself up to her full five-and-a-half feet, forcing herself to let go of her stinging elbow. She deliberately turned her back to him and gave Dan the most dazzling, confident smile she could muster, ignoring the cowboy’s presence behind her. “Mr. Sanders, it was nice to meet you. I look forward to seeing you soon. Thank you for your kind words.”
If Dan noticed the flushed cheeks and contrived dignity he said nothing. He took her hand, a kind expression on his face. “You come on by if you need anything, Samantha. And don’t pay attention to the clown behind you. He’s just fond of causing trouble. If he wasn’t one of my best customers I’d kick him on out of here for you!”
There was another laugh behind her, courtesy of the gorgeous cowboy. Samantha gathered her bags and turned to go. Mr. Perfect stepped out of her way, tipping his hat in her direction. She refused to look at him. Brushing past his broad shoulder she turned to Dan. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t pay attention to him.” More laughter, deep and warm, crested behind her like a wave that prickled her skin and washed her out the door into the bright fall sunshine.
* * *
THE PHONE TRUMPETED a faint snippet of Beethoven’s Fifth and Samantha pulled the car onto the gravel shoulder, reaching for her purse. Hopefully it was Mark, dutifully calling to apologize for not attending the funeral with her. Or, more likely, he’d be calling to talk about work. Still, maybe his familiar voice would banish the memory of the handsome cowboy, whose laughter still echoed in her ears. Ugh.
The screen was flashing her mother’s name. Ignoring the stab of disappointment that her boyfriend continued to be AWOL, she answered.
“Samantha! Are you okay? How’s it going?” Her mother sounded revved and excited. She always did, especially before any type of global travel.
“Mom, I’m not even at the ranch yet, but almost. It’s nice here.” She looked around at the ridges rising above her. “Peaceful. Beautiful.”
“Wow, you’re making me miss it.” Samantha could hear an unfamiliar, wistful note in her mother’s voice.
“Really? You know you never liked it here. No one speaking Swahili, no volcanoes erupting, nothing exciting enough for you.”
Her mom laughed. “You’re right. It’s a little tame for your father and me. But gorgeous, nonetheless. Speaking of Swahili, we’re at the airport now. We should be back in Kenya by tomorrow.”
Samantha had spent most of her life on a different continent from her parents, but the familiar pang returned. No matter how often she reminded herself that they were happy this way, traveling the world and making their documentary films, a part of her never stopped wishing they would just stay in one place at least for a little while. She opened her door and stepped out of the car, wanting fresh air to blow out the ghosts of accumulated disappointment. Her foot landed in something unexpected, soft and yielding. She looked down in horror. “Oh, no!”
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“Mom, you won’t believe this. I just stepped in a cow pie.”
Her mother’s giggles filled her ear as Samantha tried to extricate her foot from the clinging green mass. “No, it’s not funny! It’s disgusting!”
“I know dear, it’s just so ridiculous is all. Welcome to the country. And I bet you didn’t follow my advice and pick up some hiking boots before you drove down?”
“I tried mom, but they were all too ugly. I just couldn’t do it.”
“Well, unfortunately Manolo Blahnik doesn’t make anything suitable for ranch living but...”
Samantha listened to her mother’s good-natured teasing as she hobbled over to the grass at the side of the road and attempted to wipe the manure off her boot, trying not to worry about the butter-soft Italian leather she’d paid way too much for. It was awkward, trying to get cow poop off stiletto heels, and she was bent over, using a stick to scrape at it when the last voice she wanted to hear said, “Do you need some help there?” causing her to jump at least three feet in the air. She turned and faced her intruder.
“Mom,” she interrupted, “I have to go. Call you later. Love you.” She shoved the phone into her pocket. The store cowboy, alias Mr. Perfect, was leaning against his truck, arms folded across his chest, looking relaxed and confident. How had she not heard him drive up? How long had he been there, watching her hop around in the grass? She felt a blush creeping up her neck again. “That’s the third time in fifteen minutes you’ve startled me like that!” Her voice was shrill, but she didn’t care. Sometimes the best defense was a good offense.
“Well, not to be rude, but you seem to scare pretty easily.” His eyes were mocking her, again, the lids creased in a smile that she could tell he was trying, and failing, to keep away from his mouth. At least he had the courtesy to try. Only then did she realize that she was pointing a stick covered in cow poop at him.
A thought occurred to her and she advanced, stick extended. “Why are you here? Are you following me?”
“Lady, you’ve been living in the city too long! No, I’m not following you. I live around here and when I saw you pulled over by the side of the road, I thought I’d offer help. That’s what we do out here. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called being neighborly?” He paused for a moment and put his hands up, palms out, as if in self-defense. “And how about putting that stick down?”
Could this get any more embarrassing? First she was hopping in the bushes, now she was threatening assault with cow manure? She looked at the stick, then at him. “Er...manure,” was all she could manage to say. When he looked at her blankly she stumbled on. “I mean, I stepped in it, and I was, well, trying to...” Oh no, this wasn’t going well. Why couldn’t she talk around this man? He leaned slightly back and eyed her warily and her face got even hotter. Maybe it was best just to get out of here and clean the cow manure out of the car later.
She set the stick gingerly down on the ground between them. He relaxed and the smile he’d been trying to contain came out in full force and there was actually a dimple in one cheek. It wasn’t fair for a man to look so good, especially when she looked like such an idiot. She gestured to her car. “Um...well. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait,” he said. “Now that you’ve put your weapon down...” The glance he gave the foul stick was pure amusement. “I bet I’ve got an old rag in my truck that you can use.” He turned around to rummage in the cab, and she tried her best not to stare at his long back and tight, faded Levi’s. It was hard to look away.
Shaking her head, she walked carefully across to her car and braced herself against it, still radiating embarrassed heat but genuinely grateful when he handed her an old Led Zeppelin T-shirt. She bent down and began wiping at the boot, wincing at the pungent smell of cow.
He leaned against his truck, watching. “So, you weren’t planning on a trip to the mountains? Those shoes aren’t exactly meant for the terrain around here.”
Exasperated, she glared at him. “Don’t start! I was getting a lecture from my mother on the same topic when you pulled up.” She finished wiping her poor boot and stood up. She didn’t know what to do with his T-shirt, now covered in filth, so she just held it. “I’m from San Francisco. And you’re right. I didn’t really know I was coming here when I left home.”
He nodded toward the T-shirt. “And you’ve had quite a welcome.”
“Yes, locals keep sneaking up on me, and the resident livestock even left me a welcome gift.” He laughed at that and she couldn’t help but join him. It was all just so ridiculous. So far, her return to her roots was not going at all smoothly. Jenna, one of her best friends, would say these events were all some sort of sign. If that was true, she should turn around and head back to San Francisco as fast as she could.
“So, San Francisco, what brings you to our neck of the wilderness?” The cowboy gestured to the vast peaks unfolding behind them. “I take it you’re not a hiker, or a fan of fly-fishing?”
“Don’t assume you know everything about me just because you don’t like my shoes!” Samantha retorted. She was starting to like this exchange, now that some of the embarrassment was fading. “I’ve caught some fish around here in my time.”
“Hey, I’ve got nothing against the shoes...they’re very sexy.” He flushed. “Sorry, I mean they’re very...um...”
Oh, how nice to see him at a loss for words for a change! It was tempting to just stand there and watch him bury himself in the hole he was digging. But he’d stopped to offer her help so she took pity.
“Pungent?” she suggested. “Odiferous? Expensive and quite possibly ruined?”
His look was genuine gratitude. “Yeah, all of the above.”
“Anyway, you’re right. I’m not exactly here for the fishing, or the hiking. I’m here because my grandmother passed away and I was at her funeral in Reno, and I just couldn’t stay there anymore. So I left and started driving.” Ugh, too much information there. One minute she couldn’t talk at all and the next she was telling him all this? She looked away, out at the fence line on the hill behind him. The posts had weathered to silver and were spotted with lichen.
His voice was serious. Soft. “I’m sorry for your loss. But, yeah, funerals can be rough. Most times they don’t seem to have much to do with the person who’s passed on.”
Samantha studied the fence for a moment longer. The tears were back, blurring her vision. The lump was back, making it hard to speak. She looked down at the messy shirt and he held out his hand.
“I’ll take that for you.”
She looked up and saw his eyes, and they were no longer bright with laughter but deep with compassion. All she could muster was, “Thanks. Look, it was nice of you to stop, but...” She opened the car door to leave, but he stepped forward.
“Wait.” He threw the old shirt into the back of his truck. “Before you go, I might as well introduce myself. I’m Jack Baron.” He wiped his hand on his jeans and then held it out.
Samantha shook it, noting rough callouses, and the strength of his grasp. Somehow she didn’t really want to let go and the shake went on just a beat too long. She pulled her hand away quickly. “Samantha Rylant,” she said. “Do you live around here?”
“Yup, I do. Up this road a bit. Hang on...” He looked at her more closely. “Did you say Rylant? Is...was...your grandmother Ruth?”
“Yes. Did you know her?” Her voice was scratchy but it still worked, barely.
“I only met her a few times, but enough to know she was one of the great ones. I was really sorry to hear that she’d passed away.” His glance was sympathetic. Then he shifted and cleared his throat. “Actually, there’s more to it.” He continued. “I rent...rented...a lot of land from your grandma.”
Her tenant? Oh no, this gorgeous guy was her tenant? The lawyer had mentioned a tenant, but when he’d used the word “rancher” she’d pictured an older man with gray hair and a beer belly. Not a man so beautiful he removed her powers of speech! Not this man, who’d seen her looking ridiculous several times in their very short acquaintance. It was mortifying, and she found herself wishing fervently that she’d never stopped at the Blue Water today.
He regarded her with a searching look, waiting in silence for her reply.
“Wow,” she finally said. Wow? Not a word usually found in her vocabulary. “I’m sorry, you just caught me a little off guard. You see, I inherited the ranch from Ruth. That’s why I came today....”
His slow smile was back, creasing his face, lighting his eyes under the brim of his hat. The wider his smile, the unsteadier her legs felt and the tighter she held on to the car door.
“Well, I guess if you’ve inherited the land from her that means you’re my new landlady. So, welcome to the neighborhood, landlady. Guess we’ll be seeing each other around.” The smile had become a grin, with straight white teeth flashing.
There were definitely butterflies in her stomach at the thought. That was a first. “Yeah, see you,” she replied, and quickly lowered herself into the car and shut the door. With an awkward wave she fired up the engine and started on up the road, ready to put as much distance as possible between her and her new tenant. She glanced in her rearview mirror and could swear he was laughing again as he stepped up into his truck.
CHAPTER THREE
FOCUS ON THE ROAD, Samantha commanded herself. But it was hard to focus with her heart beating fast and her glance flicked back to the rear view to note that the cowboy was now driving behind her. For a split second she thought he might really be following her, but reason prevailed. Of course he was behind her—his ranch bordered hers and if she remembered correctly, they actually shared a driveway for a few yards.
She looked down the curving road, trying to see when that driveway was coming up. It had been a long time since she’d driven here and she didn’t want to miss it. Despite her efforts, the old mailbox flashed past before she even registered that it was there. She groaned. Now she had a wrong turn to add to her collection of embarrassing moments in front of her new neighbor.
With a sigh she slowed down and looked for a safe place to turn around. At least she was providing Jack with all kinds of stories to tell down at the local bar. They’d definitely be good for a few laughs. She found a turnout and slowed to a stop then U-turned back toward the ranch. As she pulled into the driveway she saw Jack stopped on the left-hand side. He rolled down his passenger window and she pulled up next to him, lowering hers.
His face positively glowed with tamped-down humor. “Everything okay there, San Francisco? I was beginning to wonder if I’d have to go flag you down.”
“Thanks for your neighborly concern, Jack.” Sarcasm was always a good weapon when deeply embarrassed, she’d found.
“Think you can make it from here?”
She found herself staring at his smile, and the place where his lower lip curled up a bit. Catching herself, she rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah, I brought my compass.”
He nodded in mock-seriousness. “I’ll rest easy then. Well, nice to meet you again, Samantha.” This time he went first and she felt only relief when he turned off toward his own property. At least if she drove into a ditch getting her city slicker car up this old road, he wouldn’t be there to witness it.
Taking a deep breath, Samantha revved the engine up the hill. To her surprise, the driveway was recently graded and fresh gravel had been spread. Who’d been maintaining it? Her gaze roved to the pastures sloped down to the main road on either side of her. She knew from what the lawyer had told her that the fields on her left were leased to Jack. The lawyer had mentioned that her tenant had horses and she could see a mare and foal grazing busily just beyond the fence.
In contrast, the fields to her right were overgrown with weeds and shrubs. No stock had grazed here for a long time and some of the fences were sagging with disrepair. A wave of loss swept over her as she remembered these pastures years ago, when The Double R Ranch had thrived under Grandpa’s hands. He’d kept a few sheep and goats down here through the fall to graze the field into an even-cropped, green swath that ran right up to the picket fence of the front yard. He’d have been disappointed to see the state of it now.
She rounded one last turn and the house was in front of her. The well built, turn-of-the-century farmhouse was bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon. A closer look revealed three stories of peeling white paint, boarded-up windows and a sagging porch that ran along all sides of the building. Off to the right it was doing more than sagging—it looked like it might soon detach itself completely.
Samantha turned off the engine and sat, taking in the changes, letting the memories flood over her. Grandma Ruth’s wide smile as she came out to greet her granddaughter at the beginning of each summer. The tears she’d tried to hold back as she sent her off again in the fall, with hand-knit sweaters and cookies. Grandpa sitting on that porch mending a harness in the evening while Grandma read to him from the swing that used to hang by the front door—it had been her favorite place to sit. In the past there had always been a border collie or two barking at visitors, romping and jumping with excitement. In contrast with her memories, the silence and stillness of the house was almost oppressive.
Tears slid cool paths down her cheeks while she let the memories run their course. Then she straightened, blew her nose and got out of the car. Staring at the boarded-up windows, panic hit her. What had she been thinking? This place was dirty and dilapidated. She should’ve just waited for another time, when there was room at the hotel and she wouldn’t have to sleep here. “Samantha, get a grip,” she said out loud to the silence. She’d grown up living in rural villages, in huts with dirt floors, in countries where the insects grew as big as your hand. Surely she could handle a few years’ worth of dust and neglect. Squaring her shoulders, she popped the trunk of the car. It was time to get to work.
Samantha unloaded her cleaning supplies, stacking them on the porch. She unlocked the front door of the old house and pushed it open. The room was dim, with just a trickle of light seeping between the boards on the windows. Samantha stepped in and flipped the switch by the door, relieved when the old bulb in the entryway flickered on. The utility company had kept its promise. She had electricity, and hopefully she’d have water, too.
With each flick of a light switch, the house came alive a little more. Samantha allowed herself just a few moments to wander through the downstairs rooms. It was like stepping back in time.
All the furniture she remembered was still there, shrouded in cloth, waiting to be brought to life. For the first time, Samantha wondered when Grandma had decided that the ranch would be hers. When she left for Reno ten years ago? Knowing Ruth, she probably had.
Samantha imagined her grandmother carefully placing the furniture covers, making sure the house would be ready for her granddaughter when the time came. Friends sometimes wondered where Samantha had gotten her talent for organization. It was hard to trace that back to her parents, whose constant traveling and artistic pursuits had mystified the people of Benson. But Samantha knew that all those traits had skipped a generation and come straight to her from Ruth.
Well, she’d definitely put that organization gene to good use now. She headed back to the porch, ready to start cleaning. Beethoven’s Fifth rang out again, jarringly loud in the quiet house. She dug her phone out of her deep leather purse and touched the screen. Still not Mark, but it was good to see her friend Jenna’s name on the display.
“Where are you?” Jenna’s voice sounded distracted. “Are you home? Are you really sad?”
“I can’t quite hear you. Are you there? You’re fading.” Samantha used her free hand to yank a canvas cloth off the armchair in the farmhouse living room. Bad idea. A small cloud of dust rose from the fabric and she backed away from it. Once the dirt settled, she carried the canvas gingerly through the kitchen and out to the back porch, dumping it off the edge into the long grass below.
“Oh, sorry, Sam, I was doing turns. Warming up for a wedding couple. Oh joy.” Jenna taught ballroom dance at a popular studio in San Francisco. She had a love-hate relationship with her job, the love part being the dancing, and the hate part being couples who snarled at each other throughout their lessons.
“You’ll be fine. Just wear your referee jersey and bring a whistle.”
“You’re not kidding.” Jenna giggled. “Anyway, what’s going on? Did the service go well?”
Samantha took a deep breath. “Well, I’m not home. I didn’t go home. I’m in Benson. At my grandmother’s ranch.” She looked past the overgrown gardens to the gray, granite peaks rising beyond. A patch of snow on a high peak was glowing a crisp white. Long shadows darkened the high valleys.
“Samantha, that’s fantastic!” Jenna exclaimed. “I’m so proud of you! I thought you didn’t go anywhere that didn’t have a Starbucks!”
“Jenna!” Samantha protested, happy to let the familiar teasing chase away the melancholy she’d been feeling. “I go places! I take vacations! Sometimes.”
“You deserve some time off after this huge loss. Make that boyfriend boss of yours do some work for once instead of always leaning on you.”
“Well, you know me. I brought my laptop and I’ll probably work from here. Plus, I’m not sure this counts as vacation. The house was shut up for ten years. It’s pretty run-down and dirty.”
Jenna’s voice faded out for a moment, then came back and Samantha imagined her wafting about the studio, graceful and elegant with her red hair and dancing dress, holding a cell phone to her ear. “Just watch out for mice and dust and stuff. You don’t want to get some weird disease.”
“Disease?” Samantha joked. “Like old house disease? I didn’t know about that.”
“You know what I mean!” Jenna giggled down the line and Samantha could tell she’d stopped turning. “Like that mouse disease, the hantavirus? Or tetanus from old rusty nails.”
It was Samantha’s turn to laugh. “Okay, Jenna, I’ll watch out for mice and nails.”
“And weird people. You might get some real crazies out there. Hermits, unibombers, survivalists.”
And gorgeous cowboys, Samantha added silently to her friend’s list. “I’ll watch out for them, too.”
“Tell me more about...oh, wait, don’t tell me more. Mr. and Ms. Miserably Engaged have just arrived.”
“There’s not much more to tell anyway.” Samantha answered untruthfully. “We’ll talk later. Don’t get in the middle if they start brawling.”
Samantha felt so much lighter when she hung up the phone. Jenna and her silly humor were exactly what she needed, and what this house needed. It had gone too long without the life and laughter it had sheltered when Grandma and Grandpa were alive.
Samantha looked around the room. She’d free the furniture first. There was something magical about uncovering the familiar pieces, the worn upholstery emerging like the faces of old friends. It really was a comfort to be in the place that Ruth had loved so much.
Being so sentimental wouldn’t help though, Samantha chided herself. The reality was, she’d have to sell this place. There was no way she could keep up this ranch and take care of all these acres. She could barely keep her apartment in San Francisco livable. Better to think of this trip as a way to have some closure. As a way to somehow say goodbye.
Samantha willed herself to be practical. If she spent the rest of the afternoon working hard she could get the kitchen, downstairs bathroom, downstairs bedroom and living room clean by tonight. Tomorrow she’d pull some of the boards off the windows and then she’d have a nice space to live in until she figured out what in the world she was doing here.
Grabbing the rest of the old canvas, she threw it out in the backyard, watching the clouds of dust and memory billow and scatter, disappearing into the high mountain air.
* * *
SAMANTHA WIGGLED the old ladder to the left, then back again to the right, trying to get it stable against the wall of the house. It tipped toward her, and she shoved it back again. When it hit the wall, dirt showered down and carpeted her face, sticking in her hair and eyelashes.
“Ugh!” Samantha spat out what she hoped was just dust and blinked her eyes. She’d been sweating and the dirt added one more layer to the film on her skin. She wiped her face on the shoulder of her T-shirt and for the tenth time that morning wondered why she felt such a strong need to take on this house herself. There was no reason not to hire someone else to do it...in fact that would make the most sense, and leave her free to spend her days here hiking and exploring. But the answer came back, as it had ten times already. This was her grandma and grandpa’s house and she was responsible for it.
Yesterday she’d cleaned until midnight, and the entire downstairs gleamed. It felt satisfying to see the results of her work and good to use her hands.
She’d headed into town early this morning and found a pair of work boots—she was still coming to terms with their lack of aesthetic appeal—gloves and a crowbar, and had returned to the ranch ready to tackle the boarded-up windows so she could let in light and fresh air. She’d finished the lower windows on this side of the house, so next up were the ones on the second floor.
Samantha looked up and the top of the ladder seemed to disappear into an ethereal distance. Her heart sped up in an anxious dance and her breath came with a shudder. She hated heights. Hated ladders. Especially spidery, rusty, rickety ladders leaning up against old houses.
“Come on,” she muttered to herself. “You can run a national ad campaign. This ladder is nothing to you.” She wished she believed her own pep talk.
Taking a deep breath, she tucked the crowbar under her arm and put a foot on the ladder. So far, so good. The metal frame was cool and damp under her sweaty hands as she began to climb. Up and up, shaking hand over shaking hand, trying to ignore the quivers and groans of the rungs, until she was at second story window level. Gripping the sill with white knuckles, she looked down and the ground spun beneath her. Quickly she leaned her head against the wall, trying to compose herself and fight the dizziness.
When the spinning slowed to a gentle rotation, she gingerly lifted up her head and moved far enough back from the wall to position the crowbar under the first board. It looked old and rotted, and sure enough, it yielded easily to her prying. So easily in fact that it popped off and slammed into her arm before it fell to the ground, hitting the ladder with a resounding thud on its way down. The ladder moved with the impact and Samantha let out a yelp as she scrabbled for the windowsill, trying to steady herself.
“You okay up there?” The deep voice that rose from the foot of the ladder made her jump again. She gripped the sill even more tightly as she slowly turned her head and looked down.
There was a cowboy hat about ten feet below her. A cowboy hat set on broad shoulders. Jack Baron. Why had he decided to pay a neighborly visit now? “I’m fine, thanks,” she called down, trying to sound like she climbed huge ladders on a daily basis. “I was just wondering when you’d show up and startle me, again!”
Jack was looking up at her and she saw those slate-blue eyes, lit by mischief, glittering with humor. His lips were curled into a lazy smile that flashed a dimple onto a cheek with a day or so of stubble on it. “Startled you, huh? I was afraid for a moment there that I was going to have to catch you!”
“No catching necessary.” She knew she sounded annoyed, but her heart was still racing, whether from nearly toppling over or from his sudden arrival, she couldn’t be sure. “Can I help you with something?”
“Well, it looks like I might be able to help you with something, Frisco. Why don’t you come on down here and let me take a turn with that crowbar?”
She didn’t want to acknowledge the relief Jack’s suggestion sparked in her. Especially when he was obviously assuming that she was incapable of a simple task like this. “That’s okay. I’ve got it!” she called down to him, forcing her mouth into what she hoped was an easy smile. She turned a little more to see him better, suddenly aware of the awkward nature of her position on the ladder, and the view of her that, by the expression on his face, he appeared to be enjoying.
“Well then, I’ll just stay here and hold this ladder for you. You don’t look too steady up there.” His voice was like amber, warm and spiced and traced with laughter.
“Jack, I don’t need help. Thank you for coming by and offering, but I’m sure you have work that I’m keeping you from.”
She thought she’d dismissed him but he just stood there, then let go of the ladder and strolled to the fence a few yards away. “Well, why don’t I just stay here a few minutes, until you get the hang of it?”
“Oh no, please, you don’t have to.”
He said nothing, just hoisted himself up on the top bar of the fence and sat there.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” she asked in disbelief.
“Not at the moment.” He smiled at her pleasantly.
“Fine, suit yourself.” Knowing she sounded a bit like a peeved child, she turned toward the ladder. Well, he was still as gorgeous as yesterday, but he was evidently a bit of a chauvinist. She didn’t appreciate all his worry. She thought of her work in San Francisco. People there knew that she could handle pretty much anything the world threw at her, including some rickety old ladder. But, if he had nothing to do today but watch her pry boards off her windows, that wasn’t her problem. She turned toward the wall again, and wedged the crowbar underneath the next board, pulling with what she hoped was a professional flourish.
* * *
JACK LEANED BACK against the split-rail fence, enjoying the shade of the pine trees and the view of the ladder where Samantha was perched. He’d told himself he was just coming by to be neighborly, but looking up at her determined form on that ladder, he knew he’d wanted to see her again. Something in him refused to leave her alone, even if that’s what she’d prefer.
Plus, he figured a view like this was the best argument he could think of for helping one’s neighbor. From his vantage point he could see a mile of slim legs ending in tempting curves covered in low-cut jeans. As Samantha reached out with the crowbar, her T-shirt lifted, exposing the pale smooth skin at her waist. Her black hair wasn’t straight like it had been yesterday. It was piled in a messy knot of curls at her neck and he already knew he’d love to see it down, tangled around her striking face.
He hadn’t meant to make her angry with his offer of help, but he was kind of glad he’d pissed her off. Her eyes had gone from that rich green to a sharp emerald in an instant—the transformation was fascinating.
As Samantha wrenched another board off, a stab of admiration hit him in the gut. She was clinging to that ladder with the determination of terrier, though she obviously didn’t like it up there. Samantha wedged the crowbar under the next board, along the rim of the window, and leaned over to get better leverage. The board wouldn’t budge and she leaned just a little farther.
He saw it coming but he was just a split second too late. She threw her weight into the crowbar and the ladder shifted suddenly, throwing her off balance. There was a brief, awful moment where everything—Samantha, the ladder and the crowbar—seemed to be suspended in space, and then all three came down with remarkable speed.
It felt like an action film, but unfortunately he was in it. He dodged the ladder as it slammed into the fence next to him and sprinted for Samantha as she hit the grass at the foot of the wall with a sickening thud. It occurred to him as he ran that he hadn’t heard her scream. Then all thoughts were banished as he reached her inert form and frantically tried to remember all of the first aid he’d ever been taught.
She was on her side, facing him. He knelt and felt her breath on his cheek in a flood of relief. Her eyelids fluttered. “Samantha!” he called, checking her over for blood. None. Her limbs didn’t look twisted, but who knew how this had affected her back or neck. “Samantha!” Damn. He didn’t know her. What if she had some kind of medical condition? He reached into his pocket for his cell phone.
“Wait.” Her voice was like a whisper and he couldn’t remember when he’d been so glad to hear a sound. “I’m okay.” She was staring up at him, looking a little startled.
“Stay still,” he ordered. “Don’t move. You’ve had a bad fall.”
“No, really...” She started to push herself up.
“Samantha, stay still!” he barked, ferocious now with worry. “You don’t know what could be wrong with you. I’m calling 911!”
* * *
SAMANTHA LAY on the ground watching Jack fumble with his phone. As far as she could tell, all of her arms and legs were intact, and her breath was starting to come back to her. Embarrassment flooded her as she realized what had happened. She’d pretended to be so capable and confident in front of him, and then had fallen right off the ladder.
Another thought occurred to her. If he called 911, the whole town would know that she’d made a fool out of herself on her first day at the ranch. She wasn’t sure why that mattered so much but it did. She was dizzy and her head was pounding but she tried to sit up, ignoring the sharp pain that sizzled in her ankle, and reached for the phone. “Please, don’t call an ambulance. I’m fine. I just need a few moments.”
It took a minute to convince him that she wasn’t about to expire, but he finally put the phone away, checked her pupils, which were, apparently, still the same size, and let her try to stand. She leaned heavily on his arm as they walked around to the front of the house, grateful for his strength. His mouth was a grim line as he sat her firmly on the porch steps.
“Let’s get a doctor out here, at least,” he said, sitting down next to her.
“I don’t need a doctor.”
He paused, his brow creased in a frown, and he gave her a long look. Suddenly the frown passed and she knew she’d won. “Fine. No doctor then, if that’s the way you want it. But let me get some ice...and do you have a first aid kit around here? It looks like you got a couple of cuts.”
She looked at him, puzzled, and he pointed. “On your arm, there.”
Samantha twisted her arm around and looked down, seeing the scraped elbow and the gash on her upper arm for the first time. A small trickle of blood was making its way toward her wrist.
She directed him to the car for the first aid kit, and the freezer for ice. He came back and reached for her arm but she pulled away. “I can take care of it.”
He caught her chin in his hand, just for a moment, and turned her head to face him. A slight smile tilted his mouth but his eyes were serious, looking intensely into hers. “No 911, no doctor, and now you won’t let me help. Looks like you’re used to looking after yourself, Samantha. That’s great. But out here we like to help out our neighbors. So let me help you. Okay?”
A blue lake on a sunny day. That’s all she could think of as she looked into his eyes. A lake you could drown in if you weren’t careful. Her brain couldn’t form a complete sentence so she mumbled “Okay” and sat quietly while he put a bag of ice on her ankle and opened the first aid kit.
Jack tilted back the lid and let out a laugh as he eyed the contents of the box. “Samantha, you are one of a kind!” He continued to chuckle, obviously amused by something.
She hated to take the bait but she had to know. “What? What’s so funny?”
“Your first aid kit! I’ve never seen anything like it.”
She looked over at the neat stacks of Band-Aids, the miniature scissors, the bottles of disinfectant and rolls of bandages. “Don’t you have a first aid kit?” she asked, bewildered.
“Yes, but not one that looks like this!” The chuckles subsided a bit. “I’m pretty sure the contents are alphabetized. Are you always so organized?”
Samantha felt herself blushing for what seemed like the millionth time since they’d met yesterday. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.” She ignored his teasing grin. “I like to keep things in order.”
“I’ll bet you do.” He was suddenly more serious. “You like to keep things under control.” His big hands dwarfed the cotton ball as he covered it with disinfectant, but his touch was gentle as he lifted her arm and stroked the soft, cool liquid over her cuts.
Samantha tried to focus on the conversation instead of the strength of his fingers on her skin. “I guess I do keep things under control,” she admitted. “It’s actually an important part of my job.”
Jack ripped open a bandage. “So, is coming down here and cleaning up this old house on your own a part of getting things under control?”
She winced as the truth of his words hit her. How did a complete stranger know things about her that she hadn’t even realized herself? She’d had no control over what had happened in her life lately. She hadn’t wanted to lose Ruth, but it had happened anyway. Her parents were off on another continent again and she’d certainly never been able to do anything to make them stay. Even Mark seemed to be disappearing from their relationship lately. And now she owned an enormous ranch that she didn’t know the first thing about running. Maybe cleaning it up was her way of imposing order on the chaos of all this change.
Samantha closed her eyes, wanting Jack to keep touching her arm, even if he was just sticking gauze on with some white tape.
Jack tucked the supplies neatly back into her kit and got up to stow it back in the trunk of her car. The air felt cold on her skin after the warmth of his hands.
“Nice wheels.” He grinned as he turned back toward her, patting the BMW roadster appreciatively.
“Thanks!” she answered brightly, grateful that he wasn’t going to analyze her personality any further. Cars were a much safer topic.
He came back to the porch and sat down beside her, looking at her with genuine concern. “How’s the ankle? Are you able to walk?” His hand came up and brushed back the hair that had come loose from her bun and fallen across her face. He gently tucked it behind her ear, and she froze, caught in the fire of his gaze. She’d swear heat was rippling down her neck from the spot he’d just touched, warming her.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could only stare into those blue depths and wait. A breeze gently lifted the sandy blond hair that tumbled down his forehead. Jack’s jaw was strong, firm, a little square and definitely stubborn. He leaned closer to her. His fingers wove further into her hair, his strong hand pulling her gently toward him. Samantha felt her mouth part just a little to accommodate her quickening breath. Her lips felt unbearably tender, as if anticipating his touch. The wanting she saw in his eyes intensified and wrapped around her. She leaned slightly in and froze as the shrill tones of her cell phone sang out Beethoven from somewhere underneath her, jolting her back to reality.
Jack stopped and unfurled his hand from her hair, tilting his head inquiringly in the direction of her rear end. “Expecting any important calls?”
If she spent any more time with this man she would burn up, either from desire or nerves, she wasn’t sure which. “Well, at least my phone survived the fall. Excuse me for a moment.” She grabbed the cell phone she’d wedged in her back pocket this morning and answered it. “Samantha Rylant.” She kept her voice casual, as if she hadn’t been about to kiss a man who was essentially a complete stranger. Unfortunately the voice on the other end of the phone was Mark’s.
“Mark, how are you?” she asked. There was a strange, squeaky note to her voice.
She looked over at Jack and instinctively got up and walked to the far end of the porch, as if the distance might erase whatever had almost happened just now.
Rather than apologizing for not returning her calls, Mark was complaining. He needed her at work. He was busy and wanted help. Finally, Samantha could stand it no longer and interrupted him.
“Mark, I know you need me, and I’ve been working remotely as much as possible. But you’ve got to understand. My grandmother died, and then she left me a ranch! I had to come see it for myself.”
She glanced at Jack, who was writing something on the notepad she kept in her car. He set it on the porch, gave her a quick wave and walked to the trail that connected the front yard of the old house with his property. She watched him go as he started up the hill—her annoyance with Mark inexplicably growing with every step Jack took.
Samantha turned away and tried to focus only on Mark. He wanted her to come home and work and she wanted him to be a more supportive boyfriend. It was very clear that they were not going to see eye to eye today.
“Mark, I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll be there on Monday and I’ll see you then.” She tried to ignore Mark’s sullen reply as she disengaged herself from the conversation and ended the call. Why was he being so pushy? Didn’t he, of all people, understand why she needed some time off right now? He was her boyfriend. He should want her to do what she needed to do. He should want her to feel better.
Speaking of feeling things, what had just happened on the porch with her neighbor? She’d practically kissed him, and probably would have if Mark hadn’t called. The thought knocked the wind out of her and she sat back down on the steps, putting the ice back on her sore ankle. She leaned over, pressing her head to her knees with a groan of self-disgust.
Mark might have been a little flaky lately, and not the most supportive today, but he was a sweet guy overall and a good boyfriend. He deserved her respect and her loyalty. Not this.
She took a deep, calming breath and raised her head, idly looking out over the front yard, the pasture and down the driveway toward the valley below. She’d just gotten sucked in, that’s all. Sucked into blue eyes and a macho manner that was different than what she was used to. Simple as that.
Except it wasn’t really so simple. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to forget the way his hand had felt on her arm, and the gentle way he’d tangled his fingers in her hair. All his movements had exuded strength, yet were controlled to create the softest touch. Just thinking about it made her blood feel hot and uncomfortable in her veins.
Pushing herself up on her feet, she caught sight of her notepad, leaning against the wall of the house. The printing was elegant but strong, with bold black lines and capital letters. Not what she’d expect from a horse rancher, or horse farmer, or whatever you called a man who lived out in the middle of nowhere on a ranch with a bunch of horses. She scanned the page, hearing the humor in the tone of the note.
Frisco,
It seems that the city has caught up with the city girl. I didn’t want to intrude. I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon to pull down the rest of the boards. Stay off the ladder until then!
Jack Baron
So on top of being unbelievably sexy, he was nice. Great. That didn’t make it any easier to ignore what she’d just felt with him. Samantha looked out over the driveway to the shrubs and weeds of her front pasture and sighed. She hated to admit it, but she really didn’t want to get up on that ladder again. Jack was right. She was a city girl, and being a city girl meant she wasn’t stupid enough to fall off the same ladder twice. She’d finish the rest of the ground floor windows herself and then she’d accept his neighborly help for the high ones. And she’d admire his handiwork from afar because obviously it was hazardous for her to get too close to him.
You’re here to clean up, she reminded herself, not to make a mess. And what she’d just felt for Jack was very, very messy.
What she needed were goals to keep her mind off the cowboy next door. Clean up. Get this place organized. Those were her goals, and the sooner she got to work on them, the sooner she could head back to her real life in San Francisco. Her real job. Her real boyfriend. Her real home, conveniently and ideally located far, far away from Jack Baron.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE PROBLEM WITH sticking to her goals on the ranch was the ranch itself. It was Sunday morning and Samantha had so much to do before driving home. But the freedom of the surrounding pastures, the grandeur of the sheer peaks pushing up behind them, the bright light and warmth of the fall sunshine, all pulled her away from her tasks.
Almost every window she cleaned provided a view that begged to be admired, and the time lost slowed down her progress considerably. Eventually it was just too hard to stay indoors at all and Samantha abandoned her bucket and mop in the upstairs hallway and headed out the back door.
She’d forgotten the beauty. She’d forgotten the way the air seemed to clean her lungs of all the city grit and lift the stress right off her shoulders. She’d forgotten how it felt to come around the corner of a narrow mountain path and catch sight of a lizard sunning on a granite boulder. And the way her mouth lifted into a smile before she’d even realized the lizard was there, in that fleeting moment between when she saw it and when it skittered away.
She followed the sound of the creek. The mountains were veined with streams that tumbled down the steep slopes and spattered over boulders, making their way down to the Owens River in the valley that ran along the foot of the range. Some were famous trout streams that brought fishermen to the area all summer long. And others, like this one, were just little no-name creeks, not much visited and more beautiful because of it.
When she’d stayed on the ranch during summers, she’d taken this path almost every day. Grandma Ruth would put a battered basket in her hand, heavy with a book, a water bottle and a snack. Those snacks were always delicious. Chocolate chip cookies, apple pie, homemade bread and butter; her grandmother had spoiled her only grandchild during those special summer months.
Samantha tried to remember the last time she’d spent a summer here. It had been just after her freshman year in college, and she’d stayed only a few weeks. Then she’d returned to campus to intern for a professor, pushing herself to reach the solid, stable life she’d so craved. And every summer after that she’d worked and interned and her visits to the ranch had dwindled down to the occasional weekend, and then to nothing.
But her sacrifice paid off. Right after college she’d been hired at the advertising firm, and by carefully saving she’d bought her apartment a few years later. After the many countries and cities and schools of her nomadic childhood, it had been such a relief to finally have a home of her own.
The splash of the creek was getting louder, and around the next corner she came to the small waterfall she’d loved as a girl. Looking at it now, with a grown woman’s eyes, it barely qualified as a waterfall, just a spot where the creek took a leap down a few large rocks and formed a small clear pool at the bottom. But when she was young it had been a wonderland where fairies hid and boats made from leaves and sticks crashed down torrents of water on grand adventures. The air felt cooler here, making it a tiny oasis where a few summer wildflowers still bloomed, peeking between the rocks alongside the creek, vying for the precious water.
Her bruised ankle was starting to throb again. It probably didn’t help that Samantha hadn’t been able to face her ugly work boots this morning. Without them she’d had only the two pairs of shoes she’d packed for Ruth’s funeral to choose from. Since her stiletto boots were still recovering from the cowpie incident, she’d gone with her slightly lower, classic pumps, which clearly weren’t meant for hiking in the mountains. Luckily she’d had lots of practice walking on the steep sidewalks of San Francisco.
The flat rock she’d loved to picnic on as a child was still there, so she picked her way toward it, kicked off her shoes and sat down, easing her feet into the water. It was ice cold and made her gasp, but she welcomed the numbness that sucked away the heat of the morning and eased her ankle.
She shook her head as she remembered her mortifying tumble off the ladder in front of Jack Baron. She’d met the man less than forty-eight hours ago and had managed to fill that time with more embarrassing moments than she’d had in years.
To make matters worse, all the ridiculous things she’d done had made him smile, and that smile, and the way his eyes lit with humor, were haunting her. Between the memories of that smile and all her embarrassments, it was hard to think of much else. Samantha wasn’t used to being distracted and it was an uncomfortable, itchy sort of feeling. Hopefully this walk would help clear her head.
So far, it wasn’t working.
Reminding herself that she’d come out here to enjoy the scenery, not think about her neighbor, she turned her mind to the landscape around her. Across the creek, a few pine trees clung to the rocky edges of the waterway, and beyond them was pasture. Or, it used to be pasture. Her grandfather had used this area for fall grazing if she remembered correctly. Now the grass was knee-high and making its way up between all kinds of shrubs and the occasional pine seedling. The mountains were taking back the fields. While it was definitely sad, there was also a feral beauty to it that she admired.
Samantha closed her eyes, listening to the water tumble, letting it numb her sore ankle, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d just sat like this, doing nothing but relaxing and enjoying.
Maybe that was the problem between her and Mark right now. With the new clients they’d been pursuing, their relationship had become nothing but work. When she got back to San Francisco tomorrow she would suggest a vacation. Somewhere warm, tropical, romantic and just the two of them. They’d never taken a long trip before and it was time. In fact, maybe this explained all her thoughts about Jack Baron. She hadn’t had fun with Mark in a long time, it was no wonder she kept thinking about the cowboy next door.
It was getting close to noon and growing hotter. She looked up at the sky, hoping to see some clouds, some glimmer of a thunderstorm to roll through and cool the afternoon off, but the blazing blue above her held no sign of rain. Sweat ran down her neck and mixed with the dirt of cleaning and the dust of the walk up here, and suddenly she couldn’t stand it anymore.
Samantha rolled her jeans up as high as they could go and put her legs into the water up to her knees. It felt amazing, so she yanked off her T-shirt and set it aside. Standing on the gravel floor of the small pool, she cupped her hand to pour the icy water down her back and onto her neck. She splashed a little more on her chest, relishing the way the sweat disappeared and left her skin cool and clean. Inspiration struck and she sloshed carefully through the pool to the tiny waterfall.
If there’d been room to put her entire head under, she probably would’ve. She settled for scooping handfuls of water over her hair and rubbing it into her scalp. It was better than ice cream, better than a mojito, better than anything she normally craved on a hot day. It was like being a kid again and even her heart felt cooler, less anguished from Ruth’s death. The unexpected feeling made her laugh out loud.
“That good, huh?” His voice came from the bank behind her.
Samantha froze. This wasn’t possible.
She took her hand out of the waterfall and used it to try to smooth down her hair before she turned around, though it wasn’t much use. Her hair had gone rogue and there was no going back until she could tame it with a shower and about a half gallon of hair conditioner.
“You have the worst timing, Jack Baron,” she finally said, looking reluctantly over her shoulder at him. He was dressed for work in his jeans, boots and hat. His only nod to the heat was the old Rolling Stones T-shirt he’d put on, instead of his usual faded plaid. He was holding a rope and Samantha looked back to see a horse behind him, looking at her with its ears forward, curiosity evident in its keen glance. Even his horses knew how to make her feel ridiculous. “Hand me my top, please?” she asked.
Jack tied the horse’s rope to a sturdy branch of one of the pine trees and picked his way easily over the rocks to the other side of the creek where her shirt was. She noticed he carried an old leather bag over his shoulder. Samantha just stood there. Maybe if she didn’t look at him, he couldn’t see her.
“Here you go.” He tossed the shirt her way and she glanced back to catch it, catching sight of the grin on his face at the same time.
She pulled the top over her head and turned toward the flat rock, hoping fervently she’d be able to walk gracefully across the treacherous rocks and pebbles lurking underwater. “What are you doing here?” she asked him, trying to sound casual, as if he hadn’t just found her half dressed, splashing in a creek. She sat down on the sun-warmed granite and tried to rearrange her hair again, though she doubted there was much hope for it.
“I lost Gideon.” He motioned to the horse. “Figured he’d come down this way. He has before.”
“Do you often lose your horses?”
Jack smiled and glanced at the bay gelding, who was trying to bite a clump of grass at the foot of the tree. “Just this one. He’s an escape artist. I turned my back on him for a moment and he got the latch on the arena gate open.”
“He probably sees all this long grass down here and can’t resist grabbing a snack.”
“He’s stubborn as a mule, but he’s a beauty.” Jack crossed back over the creek and loosened the rope so the horse could actually reach the coveted grass. He gave him a pat on the neck and came back toward her, watching her with that half smile...and those deep blue eyes.
“So I gotta say it’s not every day I see a beautiful, half-dressed woman at my favorite lunch spot.”
Samantha wondered if Jack might simply attribute her bright red face to sunburn. It was blazing-hot out, after all. “Well if I’d known it was going to get crowded I’d have made a reservation.”
Jack laughed. “Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining.” He winked and sat down on the rock next to her. Reaching into his decrepit old bag he pulled out a sandwich and held it out to her. “Hungry?”
“No, thanks. I’d better get going actually.”
“I don’t mind your company.” His eyes were serious for a moment and then the usual humor was back. “Though you might want to consider keeping your clothes on.”
Samantha couldn’t help it. It was impossible to maintain her casual demeanor. “Enough!” Her voice was pained. “Ever since I got here two days ago I’ve done one stupid thing after another, all in front of you! It’s all been incredibly embarrassing and I just don’t get it. This isn’t me! I am not like this!” She gestured at the creek in front of them.
“You mean you don’t usually want to cool off on a hot day? I wouldn’t call it embarrassing, Samantha, I’d call it human. If it hadn’t taken me so long to find old Gideon there, you’d have probably come across me in this creek. And there’d have been a lot more clothing than just a T-shirt sitting on that rock!”
Samantha stared at him, trying to absorb the image of a stark-naked Jack Baron splashing in the creek. It was an unsettling picture and she tried to banish her visions of lean muscle and golden skin and all the other bits she might have seen. She came back to the present and saw him grinning at her with an enjoyment that told her he knew exactly where her thoughts had been.
His eyes were lit with a mischief and she wanted to stay and look at them longer, but that wasn’t a good thing so she decided to go. “Well, I’m going to take my red-faced self back to the house and get some work done before I leave today.” She reached for her pumps and started to pull them on.
Jack took one look at her footwear and his grin faded. “Are you trying to sprain your other ankle? Where are your work boots?”
She glared at him. “They’re ugly. I couldn’t face them this morning.”
Jack’s expression was half amusement and half disbelief. “They’re work boots, Samantha! They’re not supposed to be cute, they’re supposed to protect you!”
“My feet are fine.” He looked so horrified that she grinned, succumbing to the temptation to tease him. “In fact, these shoes are incredibly useful. If I meet a bear I can just smack it across the head with one of the heels. They’re Italian. Well made. Dangerous.”
Jack burst out laughing. “That’s quite an image. I don’t know whether to pity that bear or envy him!”
The naughty reference sunk in and she laughed sharply, surprised at his wicked humor. What was it about him that made her want to dish it right back? “Somehow we always end up talking about my shoes, Jack. I’m starting to wonder about you.”
“Wonder away.” Jack pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, which the sunlight spun into dark gold. He gave an exaggerated wink. “I’m just glad to know I have a place in your fantasies.”
“I’m not sure that’s what I’d call them. Concerns, maybe?”
His laugh rang out over the sound of the creek and the little horse, who’d been happily munching by the pine tree, looked up at the sound. Samantha watched him watch Jack for a moment, and then go back to his grass clump. When she looked away, Jack was regarding her intently, the last fragment of his smile still curling his lip. His eyes were serious in contrast.
“You’re something else, Frisco.”
“Probably.” She couldn’t move. She’d grown roots, and her body was heavy. All she wanted was to stay there, lost in that look that held her so firmly. Sitting next to him on the rock she was inches away from the bronzed skin of his arm, from the biceps that rose below the sleeve of his shirt, and she could see the way his hair trailed over his collar at the back. He smelled like salt and horse and something else...something comforting.
It had that same feeling from yesterday, on the porch. Liquid heat, as if her muscles had gone soft with wanting him. She was glad she was sitting down. The image of herself collapsing into a puddle on this rock was enough to pull her out of her trance. The last thing she wanted was another embarrassing moment. Or to kiss her neighbor. It was past time to put some distance between her and Jack Baron.
“Well, Cowboy, this has all been very informative but I’d better get back and let you eat your lunch in peace.”
“I’m feeling pretty peaceful right now.” His eyes darkened, the way she’d noticed they did when he grew serious.
“I need to go.” Samantha stood up. She wanted to turn away from him and run. She wasn’t comfortable with the way those eyes made her feel.
“I’ll be down to finish the upstairs windows this afternoon.” His voice was casual again, the moment of intensity gone so quickly it was easy to pretend it hadn’t existed.
“Oh yes, about that,” Samantha said. “I have a lot of work to do this afternoon. Would you understand if I didn’t come out to help?”
He met her request with his usual wry smile. “No offence, Friso, but after yesterday I was thinking I might be a little safer doing the job on my own anyway.”
Relief shifted through her. And just a fleck of disappointment, which she quickly squelched. “I guess I can see why you might feel that way. It seems that prying off boards isn’t one of my innate talents.”
“Well, I’m sure you have many others,” Jack assured her.
“So I’ve been told.” She laughed, glad to have the buffer of humor back between them. “I’ll see you later then.”
Samantha turned and picked her way down the path toward the house. As she got to the turn in the trail where the lizard had been, she turned to look back. Jack had just finished pulling his shirt off and when he spotted her looking he gave her an enthusiastic wave. Then he splashed into the pool and let out a wild whoop which wafted across the quiet stillness of the hot hillside. Suddenly she wanted, fiercely, to go back there and be with him—to be close to all that light and humor.
Shaking her head at her own inexplicable thoughts, Samantha turned back to the task of picking her way across the rocky ground in heels without breaking her ankle. It was time to get to work. She had hours of cleaning ahead of her, and her email inbox was full enough to cause panic whenever she glanced at it. In the morning she’d pack up early and head back to San Francisco. Six hours of driving and the bustle of the big city should be enough to wipe out this wild and impractical desire to splash in a mountain stream with an undressed Jack Baron.
* * *
IT WAS STILL HOT. Hotter, actually, thanks to the afternoon sun reflecting back at him from the clapboard siding of the old house. The refreshing chill he’d felt after his visit to the creek earlier was a distant memory. Sweat rolled down his back in rivulets. Jack wiped what felt like steam out of his eyes and cursed the misguided sense of chivalry that had gotten him here, balanced on this shaky ladder alongside the old Rylant farmhouse.
Hoisting the crowbar up, he wrenched a board off the window and was rewarded with yet another shower of wood dust and paint chips. The board hurtled to the ground and landed with a thud amongst its fellow discards. Only one more window to go and then he was heading straight to the shower and the iciest beer his fridge had to offer.
Jack climbed down to move the ladder over and caught a glimpse of Samantha through the dining room window. She was at the old mahogany table, a laptop in front of her, papers scattered all around, and she was talking on the phone. She ran a hand through her tousled curls and tapped her pen impatiently while she listened to the person on the other end of the line.
She looked amazing and completely out of his league. Dark-framed cat’s-eye glasses, perfect for a 1950s librarian, rested on the bridge of her nose. He hadn’t known that he’d had librarian fantasies before, but he was pretty sure he’d just developed some.
Realizing that his current position bordered on stalking, Jack quickly got off the ladder. Grabbing the sides, he walked it carefully over to the next window and tipped it back against the wall, steadying the legs as best he could on the uneven ground. He climbed up with his crowbar, thankful this was the last round in his fight with Samantha’s windows.
As he pried, his thoughts returned to his new neighbor. More specifically, his new neighbor in a lacy black bra, with her hair tumbled and wild, playing in his creek pool.... Well, her creek pool, technically, but in all these years of renting land from Ruth, he’d never seen anyone else there. He’d come to think of it as his. But hell, if she was going to show up there and take a swim in her Skivvies, he was happy to share.
He still couldn’t believe he’d almost kissed her on her porch yesterday. And given a few more minutes by the creek he’d have figured out a way to kiss her there. Which would be completely stupid for a long list of reasons. But why such a strong reaction to her? It was frustrating that the first real attraction he’d felt for someone in years happened to be for a woman whose life was firmly entrenched in a city about six hours away.
But damn she was pretty...well, more than pretty. It was all her contradictions that had him so intrigued. With so much spirit in her green eyes and her dark, curly hair cloaking her pale, delicate face, she looked like some kind of otherworldly fairy queen. But as soon as she started talking it was obvious she lived very much in the real world: intelligent, tough and driven.
She had such a cool, controlled demeanor most of the time, but he’d seen that she could laugh at herself, and he liked that a lot. She was tough as nails in there working at the dining room table, or throwing his teasing right back at him, but he’d seen her face at the pool today as she’d watched Gideon. Her expression had been all gentleness and warmth. The controlled, collected woman she appeared to be at first glance was capable of melting, and that thought was making him crazy. He wanted to see what would happen if she truly started to thaw.
The last board was the messiest of all and had him picking splinters out of his eyes. With a choice epithet he tossed the offending board to the grass and climbed down the ladder with a sense of relief and a promise to himself to be more careful about what he volunteered for in the future. Even if the beneficiary of his altruism was the most beautiful and intriguing woman he’d ever met.
Well, none of it really mattered anyway. She wasn’t going to be hanging around the ranch much, he was sure of that, and he didn’t have a lot of free time to spend in San Francisco. So he’d just have to find a way to get all these thoughts of her out of his head. Lucky for him he had a new project starting tomorrow, and it was going to be an interesting one to put it mildly.
Jack usually worked with quarter horses, helping them learn everything from trotting to winning trophies. But a few weeks ago he’d started talking with a guy at the local bar. Over a beer, Todd had told him about the plight of the wild horses that had been living out in the high deserts for generations. Jack had never paid much attention to that particular cause, just because there weren’t any herds close by, but Todd had.
The herds were overpopulated so every few years a roundup took place and many horses were caught, and if new homes weren’t found for them, they were destroyed. Todd had finally broken down and adopted a handful of them. Now he had a bunch of wild horses in his paddock and no idea what to do with them. Which is where Jack came in. Though he didn’t know much about wild horses, either, he figured they were just the wild and crazy relatives of the horses he usually worked with. And he hoped that with enough patience, he’d be able to settle them down.
And now it turned out that Todd’s timing was perfect. Taming mustangs, on top of his usual commitments, wouldn’t leave much time for thoughts of Samantha Rylant.
He walked around the front of the house to return the crowbar. Just as he rounded the corner, Samantha shouldered through her front door, her arms laden with various bags. She didn’t see him, just clicked efficiently across the front porch and down the stairs, moving so lightly in the same heels she’d been out hiking in earlier. The memory of that made him grin, and forget his plan to forget her. She threw her belongings into the trunk and turned to go back to the house. That’s when she saw him standing there like a tongue-tied yokel trying to approach a princess.
Her face lit up in a wide smile. “Jack, I was just going to look for you! I wanted to thank you for taking the boards off the windows.”
“No problem.” She was all business now. In fact she vibrated with an impatient energy that made it hard to even connect her with the woman at the creek, or the woman on the porch yesterday.
He walked toward her and saw her expression change. A hint of laughter twitched at the corner of her perfectly lipsticked mouth, lit her green eyes with a golden light. There—that was the woman he’d been getting to know. “Okay, Samantha, what’s funny now?”
“It’s... I mean...I think you might have gotten a bit dirty. Would you like to come in and wash up?”
“It’s okay, thanks,” he answered. “I’m used to dirt.” And that was a perfect example of why he and Samantha would never work. She couldn’t handle a guy with a little dirt on him, and he spent most days being dirty.
Her mouth twitched a little more. “Well, okay, but...hang on.” She went back to the car and rummaged in one of her bags, bringing out a small mirror. “Here,” she said, handing it to him.
He peeked into the tiny mirror and instantly knew why she’d been laughing. His face was filthy. Layers of dirt, small wood chips, old paint, probably toxic with lead, had made a mask over his features. Glued there by sweat no doubt. His hair was gray with dust and there was a cobweb across one eyebrow. He grimaced. So much for making a good impression on his beautiful neighbor. He handed the mirror back. “Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer, after all.”
She opened the front door of the house and he was amazed to see how spotless it was. Everything gleamed and the room smelled fresh, like herbs. No way was he going to track a bunch of dirt across this pristine living room. “You don’t mess around, Samantha. How’d you get this place cleaned up so fast?”
“I don’t know...I just couldn’t stand the dirt, I guess. The upstairs is still a mess. Something came up last minute for work today and I couldn’t spend any more time cleaning.”
“I can’t come through here like this. I’ll meet you round back and wash up in the kitchen.”
She didn’t protest so he walked back around the house and up the rickety steps to the back porch. Part of him just wanted to take off running up the hill toward home, now that he’d seen how filthy he was. But he wasn’t a coward, and just because she was dressed to the nines and seemed to have secret housecleaning superpowers, didn’t mean he had to turn tail and run. Especially since he’d gotten dirty by way of helping her out.
He kicked his boots off at the back door, and when she opened it he went straight to the big, white farmhouse kitchen sink, turned on the faucet and put his head under. The cool water felt invigorating, and he scrubbed the layers of sweat off of his face and neck and the dust out of his hair. If the sink had been any bigger he would have stripped down and put his whole self in there, just to feel that cool water taking away the remnants of this too-hot day.
Samantha didn’t say a word, just handed him an old rough cotton towel when he was finished. He scrubbed himself dry, looked up and caught her staring. Her lower lip was caught in her teeth and her fascinated expression was heated by the desire he could see in her eyes, which had now darkened to the green of pine trees.
Something in his stomach twisted and something lower hardened—he held the towel in front of him just in case. What the hell was wrong with him? Had he suddenly been transported back to junior high?
She suddenly seemed to realize that she’d been staring. Her porcelain cheeks flushed a deep pink and she turned away quickly.
“Can I get you something cold to drink?” she asked, reaching for a glass in the old pine cupboard above the counter.
“Something cold would be great,” he managed. Like an icy shower. She opened the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of water.
“Nothing fancy, I’m afraid. I haven’t exactly stocked the cupboards.”
“It’s perfect,” he croaked, reaching for the glass. His hand brushed hers and he couldn’t help it, he held it there for just an instant, loving the way her soft skin felt against his, the warmth of her in contrast to the chilled glass. Then her hand was gone and he told himself that it was for the best if he was going to be able to walk out of there without making a complete idiot of himself. He took a long drink of the water, watching her. She had a rag and was swiping at a speck of dirt on the counter that only she could see. She didn’t look at him.
“So you’re packing the car up,” he offered, regretting the words as soon as they were out. Talk about stating the obvious.
“Yes,” she answered, and turned, her eyes cautious and veiled, making him wonder if he’d imagined the deep green wanting he’d seen moments ago.
“Heading back to San Francisco?” He wasn’t earning any points as a conversationalist, that was for sure, but he wanted to be with her a few more minutes. He had no idea when he’d see her again, and he wanted to know more about this woman who’d invaded his thoughts and held them hostage ever since.
“Not home to San Francisco right away, actually. Los Angeles for a day or two first.”
“You’re driving to L.A. tonight?” It was almost six hours to L.A. from here and it would be dark soon. He didn’t like the idea of her alone at night in the rugged country between here and Southern California.
“Yes, I know, it’s a long ways. Not exactly what I had planned, but I got a call that I’m needed at a meeting there tomorrow, and it’s a really good opportunity for me, so I said I’d go.”
“What kind of opportunity?”
Samantha’s face lit up. “Well, I’ve been with this advertising firm for six years, and last year I was made a vice president. But after putting in so many extra hours, and giving up so many weekends, I think I’m ready to take on more. But—” she paused for a moment, a worried look flitting across her features “—for various reasons, I haven’t really felt comfortable asking my boss about it. At this meeting in L.A., I’ll be working with my boss’s boss, so this will be a great opportunity to show him what I can do.”
“You really love your work, don’t you?”
Samantha looked at him quizzically. “Well, love is a pretty strong word. But yes, I like it. It’s what I do.”
He studied her, standing in the old kitchen, so strong and independent. She wasn’t a big woman, in fact her frame was slight and graceful. He tried to imagine what might happen if she had a blowout or engine trouble and was stuck on her own on a pitch-black road in the middle of nowhere. The thought made him queasy. “Samantha, I get that you want this promotion, but is it absolutely necessary to drive six hours in the middle of the night?”
Annoyance flashed across her face. “I’m perfectly capable of driving after dark. That’s not a skill specific to men, Jack.”
“Look...I’m not questioning your abilities. Just drive safely. It’s a rough road and there’re not a lot of towns along the way. Just make sure you fill your tank when you get to Bishop.”
“Thanks for the tip. Now, the sooner I get on the road the less dark I’ll be driving in.” She’d softened a little, but not much. Questioning this trip had been the wrong move. She was way too independent to listen to some guy she’d just met telling her to be careful. But he knew he’d be up all night thinking about her anyway, and he’d prefer it if that thinking didn’t include worrying if she was okay or not.
She’d picked up her last few bags and was heading out to the porch. He rinsed out his glass, grabbed his boots and followed her. The car loaded, she came up onto the porch next to him to lock the front door.
“Samantha.” She stopped and looked at him. In her heels, fancy jeans and leather blazer she looked beautiful and totally out of place. Like some exotic flower that had just sprung up somehow in the old ranch yard.
“Yes?”
“Out here on these mountain roads a lot can go wrong. The roads wind through a lot of wilderness areas. They get washed out and rough sometimes. Do me a favor. Take my phone number and send me a message when you get there? So I know you made it okay?”
Her eyebrows drew together in a scowl and her chin tilted up defiantly. “Jack, obviously you’ve experienced some sort of trauma with a woman driver at some point in your life, and I’m sorry for that. But trust me, I’m fine! I don’t need someone worrying about me like this. I’ve made it this far through life without it. And I, for one, have great confidence in my driving abilities!” Her eyes were flashing an amazing emerald color, which he’d appreciate more if it didn’t mean she was furious with him. He stood wary, choosing silence as his best defense.
“Thank you so much for everything you’ve helped me with this weekend.” The easy familiarity that had been between them at the creek earlier was gone. She was icily polite. “But I don’t need your help with this particular task. I’ll see you in a week or two.” She stepped into her car and closed the door firmly behind her. With a wave, she started the engine and drove the sleek, black machine down the driveway.
Jack turned away, shaking his head in frustration. He admired her stubborn independence, but not when it had her ignoring a common-sense safety precaution like letting someone know when her long drive was over. And he was frustrated with himself. What was wrong with him? Samantha might be beautiful and funny and smart, but she clearly wasn’t going to stay around here long, and he needed to stop wanting her to.
A whinny echoed faintly down the valley, reminding him that it was feeding time. Jack started up the rocky trail that separated the two ranch houses, deep in thought. Samantha was a complex woman who’d made him feel complicated things all weekend. And some of those complicated things felt a little too familiar. Like maybe history was repeating itself. What was that old saying? “Those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it”? It seemed like he had some unpleasant memories to study up on. He thought he’d learned his lesson about getting involved with a city girl a long time ago, but apparently he needed a refresher to stop him from wanting Samantha.
Jack covered the last yards of the trail with big strides and stepped with relief onto his own property. His old wooden barn, stripped of paint long ago by the harsh mountain weather, was a welcome sight. He was ready to get back to his own world. It might get kind of lonely at times, but it was far simpler and a whole lot more peaceful.
CHAPTER FIVE
MARK’S TEXT READ delayed—20 mints. Samantha smiled, despite the rising annoyance that he was keeping her waiting even longer. Life Savers? Peppermints? She thought it was kind of cute that despite being addicted to his smartphone, Mark had never really mastered texting shorthand.
She looked around the coffee shop where she’d been sipping her cappuccino and sighed. Just one more hazard in the bumpy road of dating her boss.
They always tried to leave work separately and meet up somewhere a safe distance from the office. Tonight he’d given her the thumbs-up about a half hour ago and she’d closed up the file she’d been working on, said good-night to a few colleagues who were working late, and headed nonchalantly out the door. She didn’t think anyone at work suspected, which was pretty miraculous considering that she and Mark had been dating for over a year now.
As much as she cared for Mark, sometimes she wished she hadn’t fallen for her boss. All the required sneaking around lost its romantic mystery after the first few months, and now it just felt like extra work sometimes.
Samantha stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the gray-green water of San Francisco Bay. The steel towers of the Bay Bridge rose beyond. At least they’d picked an espresso bar with an inspiring view for their rendezvous. And the cappuccino was fabulous. Organic, of course, with the “artisan, micro-roasted” beans ground just before the sleek barista made the coffee, and the milk was fresh from a farm just thirty miles north of the city. This was the Ferry Building in San Francisco after all; the old terminal had been converted to an enormous farmers market, and a mecca for politically correct diners.
She might make fun of it a bit, but she loved the space, with the sky-high ceiling, the warehouse feel and the bay visible through every window. Plus, where else could you get your caffeine with a “coffee-compatible edible,” as the sign above her boasted?
Glancing again at Mark’s message, she calculated the time until he got here. It took about five minutes from their office to the street below, if the elevator was its usual slow self. And it took another ten minutes to walk from there, which meant that Samantha had at least thirty-five minutes to kill. She could answer emails on her phone, but she hated the inefficiency of poking away at the microscopic keyboard when she knew she could get the same message written in a fraction of the time on her computer. Wishing she’d brought her laptop, though—she hadn’t thought she’d need it on a date—she decided to go for a walk.
The damp wind hit her the moment she stepped out the door and onto the waterfront walkway. When she’d first moved to San Francisco she’d been so frustrated with the wind. The fog was always blowing in or out of the bay, and whenever she went out, she always arrived at her destination windblown and messy. After a year or two it occurred to her that this was a trademark of San Franciscans. They blew through doorways with coats pulled around them, hair flying over their faces, looking like they’d been somewhere exciting and perhaps a bit treacherous. It was part of the mystique of living there. At least this is how she consoled herself when she arrived somewhere and glanced in a mirror to find her hair standing on end and her cheeks and nose bright pink from the wind.
Wrapping her wool coat tightly around her and tucking her purse carefully under her arm, Samantha headed south toward the Bay Bridge, savoring the scenery. Treasure Island and the East Bay hills beyond hadn’t yet been engulfed by the incoming fog and were lit up with the last bit of sunlight. Dodging joggers, cyclists and even a few salsa dancers with a boom box, Samantha took in the view and tried to keep her mind in the present—enjoying her adopted city that had come to feel like home, and looking forward to finally spending time with Mark. But her mind wouldn’t be still, her thoughts slipping back to the weekend, to the ranch and to the way she’d felt when she’d been near Jack Baron.
Maybe it was his eyes, she mused. No one had a right to eyes that blue, or that compelling. There’d been a happiness about him, too, a contentment that radiated, as if he was exactly where he wanted to be in life. That was something she definitely wasn’t used to. Most people she knew were fairly happy, but they were always reaching for something more...a promotion, a relationship, a vacation, or the mastery of a new hobby. Jack didn’t seem to be reaching. Just enjoying.
It occurred to her that Grandma Ruth had been content like that, and her grandfather as well. She suddenly remembered something Ruth had said a few years ago, on what had turned out to be her last visit to San Francisco. They’d been sitting in a Union Street café near Samantha’s apartment, taking a rest from window shopping and watching the weekend crowds stroll by. Ruth had taken Samantha’s hand across the table, patting it gently. “You’ve chosen a beautiful city to live in, Sammy,” she’d told her. “But I look at these people going by, pushing their designer baby carriages, walking their beautiful dogs, with cups of fancy coffee in their hands, and I worry about you. All these people have so much, but no one looks very happy to me. No one ever seems satisfied here.”
At the time Samantha had teased her grandmother. “Happiness is overrated, Grandma,” she’d replied. “In San Francisco it goes along with a lot more, with accomplishment and with living well and doing things the right way. You can see why my perfectionist self fits in so well!” They’d laughed at the truth in that and Ruth had said no more about it.
Now it occurred to her that maybe Ruth had left her the ranch in an attempt to give her the type of happiness she’d enjoyed throughout her own life. But if the core of that happiness was contentment, then how could Samantha Rylant, vice president at Taylor Advertising, ever achieve that on a ranch in Benson? How could she possibly be satisfied living out in the middle of the mountains?
Samantha felt a stab of guilt at the realization that she wasn’t going to be able to fulfill Ruth’s dream for her, that she was very likely going to have to sell Ruth’s beloved ranch.
But Ruth must have also understood that Samantha had a different dream, one with a different type of happiness—more ephemeral maybe, more based on career and accomplishment. With that came a little less contentment perhaps, but wasn’t it a lack of contentment that drove people to keep striving and achieving more?
Her phone jangled and she grabbed at it, startled out of her thoughts.
Mark’s voice sounded annoyed. “Samantha, where are you?”
Surprised, she immediately turned around and started back. “Mark! I’m so sorry. I went for a walk while I was waiting. I guess I lost track of time!” Lost track of time? That wasn’t normal for her. She mentally kicked herself, and Jack Baron, for proving to be such a distraction, even from so many miles away. “I’m on my way back now.”
“Well, it’s getting really late,” Mark complained. “We’re going to miss the movie at this rate.”
His accusing tone grated but she tried to keep her voice pleasant. “Mark, I apologize for not being there when you arrived, but I’m also not the only reason we’re running behind. How about we just get dinner and we can see the film another time?”
With a sigh he agreed and hung up. Samantha shook her head. The male ego astounded her. True, she wasn’t at their meeting place, but he’d kept her waiting an hour. She dialed the restaurant to change their reservation for the second time that evening and was relieved when the host said that it wasn’t a problem. It was hard to even get into the popular waterfront eatery, with its divine Vietnamese-Californian cuisine.
Breathless, she pushed through the doors of the café. Mark pulled her into his side with a one-armed hug and kissed the top of her head. “Hey, Kiddo, been doing some jogging?”
Kiddo? He finally gave her a nickname and it was Kiddo? “Hi, Mark.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “It’s so nice to see you in real life again.”
“You mean as opposed to office life?” He led her through the double doors and back out into the street, now lit by the glow of streetlights, steering them alongside the docks to the restaurant.
“Yes. Office life doesn’t count, really,” she joked.
His voice was suddenly serious. “I think it counts a lot, actually.”
It always took a while to warm Mark up; though once he shed his professional skin he could be quite sweet and funny. “You know what I mean,” she chided him teasingly. “Of course it counts. But it doesn’t compare to time spent like this, with just us, together.”
His mouth relaxed back into a smile as he glanced down at her. “You’re right, of course. Sorry about that. It’s just been a challenging few days, with you gone for the funeral and then running out on me to go to some ranch. And then going to L.A., where, by the way, you made a pretty great impression on the boss. So you can see, I’ve had nothing but work on my mind for a while now.”
“You poor guy. But I didn’t run out on you, you know. I did invite you to come along.”
“Well, you know, I’ve never much enjoyed funerals, particularly of people I’ve never met.” He stopped them for a moment and took her gently by the shoulders, his brown eyes serious beneath his shock of light brown hair. “But I am sorry I made you go alone, Samantha. I realize it was selfish of me.” He leaned down and kissed her mouth gently, his lips soft and undemanding. “Forgive me?”
It was hard to resist his apology. “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t a very enjoyable event. I didn’t actually stay until the end. Plus—” she lightened the moment “—someone had to stay home and pick up all the slack!”
He pulled her toward him for another lopsided hug. “And speaking of all that slack, there’s still a bunch of things I need to run by you since we’re gearing up for the big pitch next week.”
“Now?” Samantha asked.
“Why not?”
Samantha tried to focus as he went through the talking points he was considering for tomorrow’s planning meeting, but her mind kept wandering away.
Maybe it was grief over losing Ruth, but one moment she was listening to Mark’s discussion of their next brainstorming session, and the next she was noticing how graceful the lines of the old shipping warehouses were. How had she never seen that before? And there was the familiar shape of Coit Tower, all lit up on top of Telegraph Hill, but tonight, wrapped in fog, its lights were blurry, almost mysterious.
Her mind wandered even further away, back to the intense look on Jack Baron’s face as he’d placed the Band-Aid on her skin. The memory scorched her. The resulting guilt shook her out of her reverie. What had gotten into her? How could she be picturing him at all when she was on a date with Mark?
Luckily Mark had a lot to say, and with a few well-placed yeses and I-sees they made it to the restaurant without him noticing her distracted state. Soon they were seated at their table right by the water, just as she’d requested, and were ordering exotic cocktails from the menu the waitress placed in front of them.
Noticing the waitress glancing and smiling at Mark, Samantha mentally kicked herself. San Francisco had many wonderful attributes, but a large supply of handsome, single, career-oriented straight men was not one of them. She needed to stop thinking about some random hick cowboy she’d known for a couple of days and start appreciating the good-looking, sweet and successful boyfriend in front of her.
As they ate their meal, she asked him questions about what else had transpired in the office while she was gone, and offered to take on some extra work to ease the burden he was feeling. It would mean that if she went back to the ranch this weekend she’d have to do some work, but there wasn’t much to do out there in the evenings anyway.
It wasn’t until Mark paid their bill and they were picking up their coats to leave that he finally asked, “So tell me about this ranch you inherited? Did you have fun playing cowgirl over the weekend?”
Samantha started for the door. “I wouldn’t exactly call it playing cowgirl. More like playing housecleaner, except unfortunately I wasn’t playing.”
Pushing the door open for her, Mark looked at her, surprised. “You stayed away the whole weekend so you could clean? You never really did know how to take things easy, hey, Kiddo?”
She winced again at the nickname. Kiddo? Not Beautiful? Or Sexy? Or pretty much anything else that didn’t make her sound like his little sister? “Probably one of the reasons you hired me, right, boss?”
“Well, that and the fact that you’re gorgeous, of course.” He stopped suddenly and swept her into a hug. “Missed you!”
Samantha wrapped her arms around his broad back and returned Mark’s embrace. It felt good to be with him again. Sure, maybe they talked about work too much, but she was glad to feel his strong, reliable arms around her. She turned her face up toward his expectantly, but he just planted a playful kiss on her nose then turned and continued walking, pulling her with him.
“I guess you’ll need to get a real estate agent, then?” he asked. “I know some good ones. I’ll email you their information.”
Tension coiled through her, and Samantha sighed, leaning her head against Mark’s shoulder. “I don’t really want to think about it, but yes, I guess I’ll need to sell it at some point.”
“I guess? You’re not thinking of keeping it, are you, Samantha?”
“Not forever, no. But, Mark, this has all happened pretty fast and I don’t think I’m ready to let it go just yet. Not this week, anyway. I’m still wrapping my mind around the fact that she left me her ranch!”
“Look, I understand why you’re feeling sentimental, Samantha, but remember, while you’re getting used to the idea, the tax bills are adding up.”
“I’m thinking of going there again this weekend, actually.” Samantha hadn’t really been sure until she said it aloud.
“What? You just got back from L.A. yesterday!”
“I know. But it’s like you just said. The tax bills are adding up and if I’m going to go through Grandma’s things, I should do it soon. Plus, I can’t really explain it, but I feel like I need to spend a little time there before I can let it go.”
“You’re sounding really groovy, there, Samantha. ‘Let it go’? Maybe your buddy Jenna’s rubbing off on you.”
Her temper flared. “Mark, if it was your childhood home, wouldn’t it be hard for you to sell it? Wouldn’t you need to go through it, pack things up and say goodbye?”
“You’re right, Samantha. I’m sorry. It’s just that this is a new side of you. I’m used to my practical, efficient Samantha, not this new conflicted one.”
“Well, maybe it’s a good thing I can still surprise you, right?”
“If you say so. You know me, I’m not too good with surprises. I’m too much of a planner, just like you are...er...were.”
She gave his arm a smack, laughing. “Enough! I haven’t changed, truly. I just have a ranch...which feels really weird to say, by the way. I’m still me, just with a bit more property.”
“Well, I’ll miss you this weekend, but I get why you need to go, I think.”
“Come with me.” She blushed as soon as the words were out. Why was she acting like a spineless, needy girlfriend? He’d already declined once.
He stopped, looked down and suddenly his face was clouded and troubled, and Samantha felt even worse. Now she’d made him feel obligated. The last thing she ever wanted was for someone to feel obligated to spend time with her.
“Mark, I know you’re busy,” she assured him. “Forget it.”
“I wish I could go with you, Kiddo.” He took her hand as they walked and gave it a squeeze. “I have a lot of work to do, especially since my star employee is disappearing into the mountains again.”
“No, really, Mark, I get it. It’s fine.”
“And then Sunday I’m flying to New York, remember? I’ve got those meetings there until Tuesday night.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten. No worries, I’ll just go play cowgirl on my own.”
“That’s my girl.” He leaned over and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “That’s another thing I appreciate about you. You get it. You get what it’s like to do my job and you don’t resent the time I spend at it. In fact, you’re the only person I’ve ever met who probably works even more than I do.”
She stopped them and put her arms up around his neck. “I’m glad you appreciate all my excellent, understanding-girlfriend qualities.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his mouth, feeling his lips warm and familiar under hers. Instead of kissing her back he looked down at her with a sheepish grin.
“So, perfect girlfriend, can I ask for just a little more understanding?”
She smiled. “Don’t push your luck.”
He gently smoothed back her hair, looking down at her seriously. “I am really, really beat. I know we talked about me staying over tonight, but would you mind if I just went to my place? I think what I need more than anything is a good night’s sleep. In my own bed.”
Ouch. Samantha took a step back and fixed a smile on her face. She understood him intellectually, of course. There were nights when she was really tired and wanted to curl up alone in her bed, but she hadn’t expected that from Mark. Not tonight at least, after she’d been gone for almost a week. And the previous week he’d been away at a big meeting, and the week before that he’d been really busy as well.
Karma, her guilty conscience suggested. This dry spell was the universe’s retribution for lusting after her gorgeous cowboy neighbor. She shooed the thought out of her head. Maybe Mark was right. Maybe she was spending too much time with superstitious Jenna.
“Sure, I get it,” she told him. She took his hand and started walking toward the cabs that often waited at the foot of Market Street. “Rain check, okay?”
He pulled her close and leaned his cheek into her hair as they walked. “Absolutely.”
A thought struck her. “Mark? Since I’m the most perfect, understanding girlfriend, can I ask you to be the most understanding boss?”
“Uh-oh,” he teased. “What now? More time off?”
“A half day on Friday so I can leave at noon and beat the traffic out of town?” She gazed adoringly up at him, batting her eyelashes in a mock plea.
Mark smiled. “Don’t you have to get everyone ready for the pitch next week?”
“We were ready last week. You know I’d never leave something so important until the last minute!”
“Don’t we have a conference call at two? You know I’ll need you on that.”
“Two hours will get me through Sacramento and I can avoid the worst traffic jams. At two I can pull over and take the call from wherever I am.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that. Just make sure you have reception.”
“Mark, I’m a big girl, remember? The one who’s landed you three huge accounts in the past six months? Not to mention a bunch of smaller clients, too. Trust me, I’ll make sure I have reception.”
“Okay, sorry. Didn’t mean to patronize. And you know I’m grateful for all those accounts.” Mark stopped and pulled her close, pressing her against his torso. “As well as everything else you do for me.”
“Does this mean you’re changing your mind about tonight?” she murmured as he bent down to kiss her.
“Sadly for me, no. Believe me, I want to, but it’s a busy week and I need my sleep.”
A cab pulled up to the curb near them. “Do you want to take that one?” he asked. Cabs were few and far between in San Francisco.
“Hang on,” Samantha said and went to the car window. “Can you wait a second, please?” she asked. “Start the meter and I’ll be right there.” The driver nodded his head and set the meter. Samantha turned back to Mark.
“Hey, I feel bad that I’m leaving again this weekend. Do you want to get together sometime in the next couple days before I go?”
“If I have time,” he answered. “Check calendars?”
They pulled out their phones in the familiar ritual, but there was no shared free time in their schedules.
“I think we should take a vacation together,” Samantha said. “Let’s just get away somewhere warm and relaxing where we don’t have to compare calendars like this.”
“Sounds great,” Mark answered, with a half smile.
Samantha looked up sharply, disappointment growing. “Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”
“No, Kiddo...don’t take it like that! I’m just tired. A vacation would be nice. But we’re both so busy right now. Maybe we can talk about it in a couple of months.”
Samantha sighed. She admired Mark’s work ethic, but it meant she was going to have to work harder to improve their relationship while closer to home. “You’re right. We are really busy. But what about if, in the future, we schedule each other in first? Then make our other plans?”
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