Ann Roth - The Rancher She Loved

“I’ll keep that in mind. You say you also want to look around town?”

“That’s right.” Sarah saw no reason to hide the truth. “I was adopted, but I recently learned that I was born in Saddlers Prairie.”

“No kidding. I know just about everyone. Who are your kin?”

“They don’t live around here anymore, but their last name is Becker—Bob and Judy.”

“The people you asked about.”

Sarah nodded. “They may have left the area before you arrived. I know they sold their house here about twenty-nine years ago.”

“There are folks in town who’ve been here longer than that. Someone will surely know the family you’re looking for.” Mrs. Yancy sipped her coffee. “I’ll ask around and see what I can find out.”

“Would you?” Fresh hope bubbled through Sarah. “I really want to know the kind of people I come from.”

“I understand.” The landlady looked thoughtful. “Over my sixty-six years of living, I’ve learned a few things.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if she were about to divulge a secret. “One of the most important, which my John taught me, is that who you are matters more than your people or where you came from.”

Sarah wasn’t sure she agreed. “I still need to know,” she said. “If you were standing in my shoes, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose so. I wish I could help.” She looked genuinely sorry.

“You already have,” Sarah said. “By listening to my story.”

Clay had listened, too, with just as much interest.

She wished she could stop thinking about him. When she’d dated Matthew, she’d all but managed to forget Clay, and she wasn’t about to waste her time pining for him again.

If only he hadn’t kissed her.

A long and very thorough kiss that had stolen her breath and chased away her common sense. For those few moments, she’d been right back where she was three years ago, caring too much, too quickly for a man who couldn’t be trusted.

“—know a few ranchers around here who fit what you’re looking for and would love to be interviewed for your article,” Mrs. Yancy was saying. “If you want, I’ll give you names. There’s a pen and paper in the catch-all drawer under the phone.”

As soon as Sarah returned with the writing supplies, the woman rattled off the names, addresses and phone numbers of two ranchers. By heart.

“You’ll definitely want to contact Dawson Ranch,” she said. “Adam and Drew Dawson own about the most successful ranch around. Now the Lucky A Ranch isn’t as profitable, but Lucky Arnett is a good man with plenty of stories about his life as a rancher. I don’t want you to get writers’ cramp so I’ll save the rest for later.”

Smiling at the little joke, Sarah flexed her fingers and traded the pen for her mug. After months of grief and anger, Mrs. Yancy’s warmth and friendliness were like a balm to her parched soul.

“Wait—there is one more person you might want to talk with,” the older woman said. “He’s a celebrity with star power the world over, and he’s chosen Saddlers Prairie as his new home. I’m sure you’ve heard of him—his name is Clay Hollyer.”

Sarah almost choked on her coffee. “As a matter of fact, I know Clay. I interviewed him for an article a few years ago.”

Mrs. Yancy looked both impressed and curious. Not about to answer any questions about that time, Sarah hurried on. “Funny thing. Earlier this afternoon, when I first arrived in town, I stopped at the house where the Beckers used to live. The man who bought it from them still owns it, and I hoped to talk with him. It turns out, he doesn’t live there. He rented the house to Clay.”

“I know that place, and I know Ty Phillips. He runs the lumber company outside town, and has for years. I don’t think he lived in that house for long. Shelley wanted something brand-new, and after they married, he custom-built her a real nice home. Right now, they’re in Europe, taking a long-overdue vacation.”

“That’s what Clay said. So that house has always been a rental?”

“Since I’ve lived here. Mind you, Ty hasn’t always been able to find a renter. From time to time the place has stood empty. Even so, he’s managed to keep it in pretty decent condition.

“Back to Clay. He just bought the old Bates Ranch, a neglected ranch on the other side of town, and renamed it Hollyer Ranch. The main house there was in particularly bad shape, and he had it torn down. Now he’s building his own custom house and working on plans to start up a stock contracting business.”

Clay had mentioned building a house but hadn’t said a word about buying a ranch or beginning a new career. But then, Sarah hadn’t asked. His life seemed to have changed drastically from the spotlighted fame of before.

“I’m not sure I know what a stock contractor is,” she said.

“Those are the folks who supply stock—bulls, steers and horses—to rodeos around the country. A good business for a man who knows his bulls, as Clay does, wouldn’t you say? You should probably interview him, too.”

Oh, that would go over well. He’d probably slam the door in her face—or worse. Sarah managed a smile. “Thanks for the lead, but I’ll stick with ranchers who’ve been in business for a while.”

Chapter Three

As always, Clay awoke around 4:00 a.m., a good hour and change ahead of the birds. He’d had a bad night, and rolled over and tried to fall back into dreamland. But his mind wouldn’t cooperate, and thoughts buzzed in and out of his head like pesky gnats.

Groaning, he flipped onto his back. Before the accident, he’d always slept like the dead. Now, no matter how late he turned in or how tired he was, he woke up at this ungodly hour.

Propping his arms behind his head, he stared up into the darkness. And thought about Sarah. That kiss.

He still couldn’t believe she’d shown up at his door with her story and those big eyes, or that he’d let her in. If she’d just gone away when he asked her to. She’d had to ruin everything by stubbornly insisting she wanted to see the attic.

He wasn’t about to let her up there and wasn’t about to check it out himself, either. Not even to erase her pleading look. With his leg in the sorry shape it was, climbing a ladder would be agony.

Did she have a boyfriend? Probably, and if he found out about that kiss, he’d go ballistic. Clay would.

In any event, it had done its job, chasing her away. There was only one little problem—Clay hadn’t figured on the restless energy and hunger that kiss had stirred up, making him want what he had no business even thinking about. Sarah, naked under him, flushed and passionate.

He scoffed. Like that would ever happen. She thought he was a player.

“I’m no player,” he insisted into the silence. “I’m a straightforward guy who likes women.” What the hell was wrong with that?

Before he’d started winning bull-riding contests and making serious money, he’d even worked at building a solid relationship with the thought that it might lead to marriage. Denise had been too impatient, though. She’d wanted to get married right away, and when Clay wasn’t ready to commit, she’d walked. Same issue with Hailey, and a couple of years later, with Cara.

After striking out three times, Clay had finally figured out the problem. He’d been infatuated with his girlfriends, but nothing more. Not counting his mom, sister, aunt and grandmothers, he’d never loved a woman, and probably never would.

So he dated casually. He never led a woman on, always admitted up front that he was interested in having a good time, period.

“If that makes me a player,” he muttered, “then so be it.”

Sarah hadn’t even paid him the courtesy of checking out the facts. God knew where she’d gotten the cockeyed idea that he went around lying to women and breaking hearts.