A Ranch to Keep

by Claire McEwen

  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.