A Ranch to Keep

by Claire McEwen

  I can’t wait to see you. Term here ends on June 6 and I am counting the days. Mama says I can get a plane ticket out to California on that day, as they will not be able to get back from Africa to see me before the summer starts. I will go to the airlines on my next half day and get the ticket and send you the information. Grandpa, the first thing I want to do is ride to the lake. Will you take me? Please?

  I love you both very much and miss you a lot. Please write me as often as you can, though I know you’re very busy.

  No wonder she was so good at being alone. It was all she’d known for most of her childhood. The loneliness she’d felt in that boarding school came back in a dull ache of old pain. Samantha sat on the bed, clutching the paper in her hand, staring blindly down at it. She’d put on a positive front for her grandparents, but she’d cried herself to sleep during her first year of high school. Some of the girls in the school had been kind, but most had left at holidays and weekends to be with their families. The hallways of the school had echoed with their absence.

  The memories of her summers on the ranch had carried her through the school years. She’d boarded a plane every June with a feeling of anticipation and delight that stayed with her across the Atlantic, across the country, until she got off the plane and ran into her grandparents’ arms.

  It struck her that in her race for success, her single focus on her career, she’d forgotten how much the ranch had meant to her. This box of mementos was a reminder of how rich with experiences and happiness her time here had been. It was the one piece of her childhood that she cherished.

  For a moment, Samantha wished she’d never come back to the ranch—she wished she’d sold it without ever visiting. By staying here, surrounded by the beauty of it, immersed in her memories, she was attempting the slow amputation of a part of herself. It would have been a lot easier to sever this connection if she’d never been back here, if she’d never come home at all.

  * * *

  SAMANTHA DIDN’T WANT to wake up from her dream. She was back at the lake with Jack, lying in the sun on a boulder by the shore. He was in the water and he swam over to her, looked up at her and held her gaze, his blue eyes radiating the most pure, intense love. A blissful feeling of contentment and gratitude flowed through her. Then she was sitting bolt upright in bed, knowing with certainty that something was wrong.

  Samantha’s heart thumped audibly in her chest as she strained to hear what had woken her. Suddenly she realized that the room was dimly lit with an orange glow and in that instant the sounds and smells came together in her mind as one cohesive thought. Fire!

  She scrambled over to the window and looked out over Grandpa’s back pasture. The light and heat were closer than she’d thought. The woodshed, directly behind the back wall of the house, directly below her room, was burning. The metal roof was glowing an eerie yellow and orange flames were licking hungrily at the clapboard siding of the old farmhouse.

  “No!” Fear and anger surged through her and Samantha reached for her cell phone, dialing 911 as she pulled on jeans, boots, a sweater. She ran down the stairs trying to remember if she’d seen an old garden hose anywhere. She grabbed her flashlight off the kitchen counter, and as she gave the dispatcher her information, she ran around the side of the house and down the dirt path to the old barn. There had been a lot of junk in there the day she’d found the ladder.

  Shining the light around the shadowy depths, she tried to remain calm and focused on the task at hand. There was nothing in the main aisle, but she leaned over the old stall doors, the beam of the light illuminating piles of old farm equipment. Finally, in the third stall, she saw a hose coiled underneath a pile of lumber. She jerked the door open, shoving and heaving at the wood until she freed the tangled lengths.

  Running back down the path toward the back of the house, stumbling under the awkward weight, Samantha prayed a litany of requests—please no wind, please don’t let the house go up, please let the faucet work... And then she was around the corner to the back of the house and up the slope to the spigot in what used to be Ruth’s kitchen garden. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with the hose. It seemed to take hours to screw it onto the faucet and crank the handle.

  Relief flooded her when she saw the water spurt out and then she was running toward the shed, icy water soaking her from the nozzle in her hands. She started on the wall above it first, hoping she could stop the flames from creeping over any more of her grandparents’ beloved home. The water seemed to be helping, but the overgrown weeds and shrubs around the shed were like kindling and soon they were hissing, catching and crackling. Samantha sprayed water in a circle around the sides of the shed to keep the fire from spreading. But as she sprayed one section another caught. She kept praying for the fire department to arrive, and for no wind.

  “Samantha! Are you okay?” It was Jack shouting, flashlight in one hand, axe in the other, plummeting down the trail. Another man followed more slowly with what looked like a shovel and a second hose.

  Jack stopped at the faucet, turned the water as far as it would go and over the hiss and pop of the flames he shouted, “Samantha, spray the water on the wall closest to me! Walt, shovel up the soil around the ground fire. Throw dirt on it to stop it. I’m going in!”

  Samantha did as she was told, and the other man, Walt, ran up with the shovel and soon dirt clods were landing on the flaming grass. Jack ran toward the shed, holding the axe above his head like some ancient warrior. He drove it in between the back of the shed and the wall of the house and then leapt back again as the wood crackled and the flames roared.

  “Keep the water coming!” he shouted. So she did, and the flames on his side of the shed seemed to hiss and give in. He drove the axe again and again until the side of the shed came away from the house, with Jack just barely darting out of the way.

  “Be careful!” Samantha shrieked, aiming the water between Jack and the flames.

  Jack ran around to the opposite side of the shed and Samantha sprayed water while he hacked and chopped and eventually that side of the shed tipped away from the house, too. Then the whole structure collapsed forward. Samantha turned the water onto the back of the heap, watching the water pour over the woodshed ruins. Jack and Walt used shovels to pull apart the smoldering boards and coals, making sure there was nothing left but charred wood and ash.

  Sirens ripped apart the quiet of the country night. Samantha heard shouting by the front of the house. Doors slammed and footsteps crunched on gravel. The beam of a flashlight lit up the corner of the house with a bobbing glare and three firefighters jogged into view. They slowed when they saw Samantha holding the hose over the embers and Jack and Walt wielding their shovels.

  Two more people ran up. As they got closer Samantha recognized the sheriff, Mike, along with a paramedic carrying a large medical bag.

  “Are you okay, Samantha?” Mike asked. “Why don’t you step back and let these folks finish this off?”

  “Okay,” she said as one of the firefighters took the hose from her. Now with nothing to do she was suddenly aware of how cold and wet she was. She shivered. “Thanks for coming, Mike.”

  The paramedic pulled an emergency blanket from his bag and settled it around Samantha’s shoulders. “Come sit down,” he said gently.

  “I’m okay.” She read the name on his uniform. “Louis. Thanks.”

  “No problem. We...”

  Just then the radio at Mike’s belt blared out something barely audible. Samantha recognized the word “backup.”

  Mike looked down at his radio and then reached for his gun. “My deputy’s out front. Something’s happened!”

  “I’ll go with you.” Jack was by her side, a grim expression under the soot that coated his skin.

  “No, stay here,” Mike commanded, before running toward the corner of the house. “I mean it!” he yelled back over his shoulder. Samantha
watched him disappear around the corner, wondering what gave certain people the courage to run headlong into danger like that.

  Then Jack was walking over to her. “It’s gonna be all right, Samantha,” he said, slipping his arm around her to stop the shivering. “You did great. You stopped the fire.”

  She sat huddled next to him, listening to his soothing words and worrying about Mike. She could tell Jack was worried, too, because he kept glancing at the corner of the house. Then they heard more shouts, and the slam of a car door. Footsteps hit the gravel along the side of the house and Jack stood, moving in front of Samantha as if to protect her. But it was Mike again. Out of breath, looking triumphant.

  “We got him,” he said as he slowed to a halt. “We got Rob Morgan.”

  They stared at him in uncomprehending silence and finally Samantha asked, “What does Rob Morgan have to do with any of this?”

  “Apparently everything,” Mike answered. “He set the fire.”

  “Why would Rob set my house on fire? What is he even doing here?” This was starting to feel like a strange dream.

  “My deputy found him on the other side of the house. He was climbing the fence into the front pasture.”

  Jack voice was low with fury. “That little weasel.”

  Mike held up his hand to placate Jack. “I know, I know. But he’s been caught. Samantha, evidently he saw your ranch as a fast way to pay off a bunch of debt. Looks like he was hoping you’d sell your land to him right away, no questions, no doubts. When you didn’t, he got desperate, and tried to scare you off. I guess he figured you’d be frightened and come running to him, and he’d get a good deal.”

  “If he thought she’d run away, he obviously doesn’t know Samantha.” Jack stepped off the porch, hands coiling into fists. “He’s in the patrol car?”

  Mike took a long look at his friend. “My deputy has him there. And he’s not going to let you near him.”

  Jack glared at Mike, but sat back down by Samantha.

  Samantha felt like there were snakes coiling in her stomach. She couldn’t make sense of the information Mike was giving her. “Did he write the notes? Throw the rock?”

  “It appears so.” Mike said quietly. “I’m sorry, Samantha.”

  “He seemed so nice. And he was Grandma’s lawyer. Jack thought Rob might be the vandal, but I didn’t believe him. It’s so hard to understand any of this.”

  “Well, in my experience, even nice people can do terrible things if they’re desperate enough,” Mike explained. “It sounds like the guys who Rob owes money to were putting a lot of pressure on him. If it’s any consolation, I only caught him because he regretted what he’d done. He figured he’d light the fire and you’d wake up immediately, and it would be one more, small scare. But you didn’t wake up, and on his way down to his car he could see the flames, but not you. He was running back to put out the fire just as you arrived with the hose. When I spotted him he was trying to sneak through the front pasture, back to his car.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s a small consolation,” Samantha said bitterly.

  Mike went on. “You were smart to put the goats in the pasture there. They were making such a ruckus—that’s what got my attention that anyone was out there.”

  “They were Jack’s idea.” A wave of exhaustion flooded her and she just wanted this night to be over. But there was one more thing she had to do. She turned to Mike. “Can I talk to him?”

  “To Rob?” Mike looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

  “Samantha, he tried to hurt you. Don’t...” Jack was beside her.

  She looked at Jack’s soot-covered face, the concern etched in lines, and remembered her harsh words to him last weekend. She’d defended Rob. Accused Jack. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I believed him, not you.”

  “I haven’t given you cause to believe much of what I say.” His voice was so much more gentle than she deserved at that moment.

  She had to see Rob. Had to look him in the eye and try to fathom how he could have done this to her. Samantha took the sheriff’s arm and they walked around the side of the house. “Mike,” she said, “how did I not see what Rob was up to?”

  “Samantha, I know Rob a lot better than you and never thought he’d go to these extremes to get the ranch. If I didn’t see it, how would you have?”

  “Jack saw it.”

  “Jack suspected. Now come on. It’s over. So let’s go give Rob Morgan a piece of your mind.”

  But when she saw Rob hunched in the back of the police car, filthy and crumpled and apologetic, she didn’t really have that much to say. It was sad to see him so broken. As he explained about his debt, and apologized over and over, all she could think was that life was complicated. And people made bad decisions every day— even good people.

  She finally interrupted what must have been his tenth apology. “Rob, I hear that you’re sorry. I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry that you thought money was more important than my safety. And I’m sorry you got yourself into so much trouble that your life has come to this.” She gestured to the police car.

  He looked at her in silence for a moment. “You’re a class act, Samantha. You really are. Your grandmother was, too.”

  “Good luck, Rob,” was all she could think of to say, and Mike took her arm and led her back to where the firemen were raking through the debris alongside the house, making sure every last spark was out.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SAMANTHA SAT on the back porch steps. She was tired, and strangely numb, and when Mike poured her a cup of coffee from a thermos, she accepted it gratefully.

  She watched Jack talking to the firemen but it seemed as if he was getting farther and farther away. She started to feel dizzy so she put her head between her knees. One of the firemen took her pulse then he pulled out a sports drink with electrolytes in it and had her drink some.

  Jack approached her perch on the back steps and held out his hand. Samantha took it without a word of protest, and the rough strength of him gave her enough energy to stand. He guided her up the trail to his house.

  Maybe it was weak, but there was no way she was going to sleep in the farmhouse alone tonight, and she was grateful he didn’t even ask. Once they were in the house Jack filled the guest room tub with steaming water and left her alone to soak.

  It was hard to relax, but the lavender scent of the soap and the hot water calmed her pulse and some of her adrenaline seeped out into the bathwater. When she was finished she found a pair of men’s pajamas and some fuzzy wool socks folded neatly outside her door. She put them on and headed downstairs to say good-night.

  Noise came from the kitchen and she followed it to find Jack there, leaning on the counter. He’d showered but his eyes were still reddened with smoke. He handed her a mug of steaming herbal tea and a shot of scotch.

  “I wasn’t sure which one you needed, so I made both.”

  “I probably need both.” The tea looked dangerously hot so she took a sip of the scotch. “Thank you, Jack.” She smiled, trying to convey her gratitude. “It seems like I’m saying that a lot lately. I bet you were hoping I’d stay in the city this weekend so you wouldn’t have to do quite so much rescuing.”

  Jack laughed softly. “Well, it gets pretty quiet here. You’re the most excitement we’ve seen in a while.”

  “Glad I’m good for something.” She smiled ruefully.

  He smiled back but then became more serious. “Last weekend I promised you I’d be completely honest with you, Samantha,” he said. “And all week I’ve been thinking about what that means. So I’ll be honest now. But you might not want to hear it.”

  Samantha didn’t know what to think. “Go ahead,” she told him.

  “Okay.” He actually looked nervous. “Here goes. I want you to know that at first I didn’t tell you I’d like to buy
the ranch because it seemed impolite so soon after your grandmother’s passing. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes.” It did, actually, knowing Jack.

  “Then I thought I might ask, but I didn’t because each time we were together it was fun. I liked being with you and I didn’t feel much like talking business, even though I knew I should.”

  “Okay.” She hadn’t wanted to talk business, either. She took another sip of scotch, waiting.

  “I was never trying to intentionally deceive you. I hope you can believe that. But the basic fact is, if you don’t want the ranch anymore, I would like to be the one who buys it—or at least have the chance to make an offer. I need all those pastures. Through renting or owning, I need them somehow.”

  She nodded.

  “And about my conversation with Rob, it was something I promised Betty I’d try. We were hoping to get him to see reason about developing around here. Because fighting off his crazy schemes is getting a little tiresome. And expensive.”

  Samantha sighed. “I’m so sorry I said those things about you being the vandal. I was really angry, but that doesn’t excuse anything.”

  Jack took a sip of his drink. “It’s okay. You had reason to be angry.” He came toward her, and Samantha watched him over the rim of her glass, marveling at how much she wanted him to kiss her.

  “Now that everything’s out on the table, can I be honest about one more thing?”

  Samantha put her glass down and Jack took her hands carefully, wrapping them in his own.

  “I didn’t think about much else this week besides kissing you.”

  Her voice came out breathless. “Well, that’s honest.”

  “So can I kiss you now?”

  “Yes.” Her answer was just a whisper. Jack’s eyes darkened with need and her pulse sped up. His broad hands came up to her shoulders and gently pulled her close, his long arms wrapped around her and he buried his face in her hair. Samantha knew she shouldn’t let this happen, but the scent of scotch and smoke clung to him and she held him tightly, reveling in his hard strength.