A Ranch to Keep

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.