Claire McEwen - 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.