A Ranch to Keep

And now it turned out that Todd’s timing was perfect. Taming mustangs, on top of his usual commitments, wouldn’t leave much time for thoughts of Samantha Rylant.

He walked around the front of the house to return the crowbar. Just as he rounded the corner, Samantha shouldered through her front door, her arms laden with various bags. She didn’t see him, just clicked efficiently across the front porch and down the stairs, moving so lightly in the same heels she’d been out hiking in earlier. The memory of that made him grin, and forget his plan to forget her. She threw her belongings into the trunk and turned to go back to the house. That’s when she saw him standing there like a tongue-tied yokel trying to approach a princess.

Her face lit up in a wide smile. “Jack, I was just going to look for you! I wanted to thank you for taking the boards off the windows.”

“No problem.” She was all business now. In fact she vibrated with an impatient energy that made it hard to even connect her with the woman at the creek, or the woman on the porch yesterday.

He walked toward her and saw her expression change. A hint of laughter twitched at the corner of her perfectly lipsticked mouth, lit her green eyes with a golden light. There—that was the woman he’d been getting to know. “Okay, Samantha, what’s funny now?”

“It’s... I mean...I think you might have gotten a bit dirty. Would you like to come in and wash up?”

“It’s okay, thanks,” he answered. “I’m used to dirt.” And that was a perfect example of why he and Samantha would never work. She couldn’t handle a guy with a little dirt on him, and he spent most days being dirty.

Her mouth twitched a little more. “Well, okay, but...hang on.” She went back to the car and rummaged in one of her bags, bringing out a small mirror. “Here,” she said, handing it to him.

He peeked into the tiny mirror and instantly knew why she’d been laughing. His face was filthy. Layers of dirt, small wood chips, old paint, probably toxic with lead, had made a mask over his features. Glued there by sweat no doubt. His hair was gray with dust and there was a cobweb across one eyebrow. He grimaced. So much for making a good impression on his beautiful neighbor. He handed the mirror back. “Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer, after all.”

She opened the front door of the house and he was amazed to see how spotless it was. Everything gleamed and the room smelled fresh, like herbs. No way was he going to track a bunch of dirt across this pristine living room. “You don’t mess around, Samantha. How’d you get this place cleaned up so fast?”

“I don’t know...I just couldn’t stand the dirt, I guess. The upstairs is still a mess. Something came up last minute for work today and I couldn’t spend any more time cleaning.”

“I can’t come through here like this. I’ll meet you round back and wash up in the kitchen.”

She didn’t protest so he walked back around the house and up the rickety steps to the back porch. Part of him just wanted to take off running up the hill toward home, now that he’d seen how filthy he was. But he wasn’t a coward, and just because she was dressed to the nines and seemed to have secret housecleaning superpowers, didn’t mean he had to turn tail and run. Especially since he’d gotten dirty by way of helping her out.

He kicked his boots off at the back door, and when she opened it he went straight to the big, white farmhouse kitchen sink, turned on the faucet and put his head under. The cool water felt invigorating, and he scrubbed the layers of sweat off of his face and neck and the dust out of his hair. If the sink had been any bigger he would have stripped down and put his whole self in there, just to feel that cool water taking away the remnants of this too-hot day.

Samantha didn’t say a word, just handed him an old rough cotton towel when he was finished. He scrubbed himself dry, looked up and caught her staring. Her lower lip was caught in her teeth and her fascinated expression was heated by the desire he could see in her eyes, which had now darkened to the green of pine trees.

Something in his stomach twisted and something lower hardened—he held the towel in front of him just in case. What the hell was wrong with him? Had he suddenly been transported back to junior high?

She suddenly seemed to realize that she’d been staring. Her porcelain cheeks flushed a deep pink and she turned away quickly.

“Can I get you something cold to drink?” she asked, reaching for a glass in the old pine cupboard above the counter.

“Something cold would be great,” he managed. Like an icy shower. She opened the fridge and pulled out a pitcher of water.

“Nothing fancy, I’m afraid. I haven’t exactly stocked the cupboards.”

“It’s perfect,” he croaked, reaching for the glass. His hand brushed hers and he couldn’t help it, he held it there for just an instant, loving the way her soft skin felt against his, the warmth of her in contrast to the chilled glass. Then her hand was gone and he told himself that it was for the best if he was going to be able to walk out of there without making a complete idiot of himself. He took a long drink of the water, watching her. She had a rag and was swiping at a speck of dirt on the counter that only she could see. She didn’t look at him.

“So you’re packing the car up,” he offered, regretting the words as soon as they were out. Talk about stating the obvious.

“Yes,” she answered, and turned, her eyes cautious and veiled, making him wonder if he’d imagined the deep green wanting he’d seen moments ago.

“Heading back to San Francisco?” He wasn’t earning any points as a conversationalist, that was for sure, but he wanted to be with her a few more minutes. He had no idea when he’d see her again, and he wanted to know more about this woman who’d invaded his thoughts and held them hostage ever since.

“Not home to San Francisco right away, actually. Los Angeles for a day or two first.”

“You’re driving to L.A. tonight?” It was almost six hours to L.A. from here and it would be dark soon. He didn’t like the idea of her alone at night in the rugged country between here and Southern California.

“Yes, I know, it’s a long ways. Not exactly what I had planned, but I got a call that I’m needed at a meeting there tomorrow, and it’s a really good opportunity for me, so I said I’d go.”

“What kind of opportunity?”

Samantha’s face lit up. “Well, I’ve been with this advertising firm for six years, and last year I was made a vice president. But after putting in so many extra hours, and giving up so many weekends, I think I’m ready to take on more. But—” she paused for a moment, a worried look flitting across her features “—for various reasons, I haven’t really felt comfortable asking my boss about it. At this meeting in L.A., I’ll be working with my boss’s boss, so this will be a great opportunity to show him what I can do.”

“You really love your work, don’t you?”

Samantha looked at him quizzically. “Well, love is a pretty strong word. But yes, I like it. It’s what I do.”

He studied her, standing in the old kitchen, so strong and independent. She wasn’t a big woman, in fact her frame was slight and graceful. He tried to imagine what might happen if she had a blowout or engine trouble and was stuck on her own on a pitch-black road in the middle of nowhere. The thought made him queasy. “Samantha, I get that you want this promotion, but is it absolutely necessary to drive six hours in the middle of the night?”

Annoyance flashed across her face. “I’m perfectly capable of driving after dark. That’s not a skill specific to men, Jack.”

“Look...I’m not questioning your abilities. Just drive safely. It’s a rough road and there’re not a lot of towns along the way. Just make sure you fill your tank when you get to Bishop.”

“Thanks for the tip. Now, the sooner I get on the road the less dark I’ll be driving in.” She’d softened a little, but not much. Questioning this trip had been the wrong move. She was way too independent to listen to some guy she’d just met telling her to be careful. But he knew he’d be up all night thinking about her anyway, and he’d prefer it if that thinking didn’t include worrying if she was okay or not.

She’d picked up her last few bags and was heading out to the porch. He rinsed out his glass, grabbed his boots and followed her. The car loaded, she came up onto the porch next to him to lock the front door.

“Samantha.” She stopped and looked at him. In her heels, fancy jeans and leather blazer she looked beautiful and totally out of place. Like some exotic flower that had just sprung up somehow in the old ranch yard.

“Yes?”

“Out here on these mountain roads a lot can go wrong. The roads wind through a lot of wilderness areas. They get washed out and rough sometimes. Do me a favor. Take my phone number and send me a message when you get there? So I know you made it okay?”

Her eyebrows drew together in a scowl and her chin tilted up defiantly. “Jack, obviously you’ve experienced some sort of trauma with a woman driver at some point in your life, and I’m sorry for that. But trust me, I’m fine! I don’t need someone worrying about me like this. I’ve made it this far through life without it. And I, for one, have great confidence in my driving abilities!” Her eyes were flashing an amazing emerald color, which he’d appreciate more if it didn’t mean she was furious with him. He stood wary, choosing silence as his best defense.

“Thank you so much for everything you’ve helped me with this weekend.” The easy familiarity that had been between them at the creek earlier was gone. She was icily polite. “But I don’t need your help with this particular task. I’ll see you in a week or two.” She stepped into her car and closed the door firmly behind her. With a wave, she started the engine and drove the sleek, black machine down the driveway.

Jack turned away, shaking his head in frustration. He admired her stubborn independence, but not when it had her ignoring a common-sense safety precaution like letting someone know when her long drive was over. And he was frustrated with himself. What was wrong with him? Samantha might be beautiful and funny and smart, but she clearly wasn’t going to stay around here long, and he needed to stop wanting her to.

A whinny echoed faintly down the valley, reminding him that it was feeding time. Jack started up the rocky trail that separated the two ranch houses, deep in thought. Samantha was a complex woman who’d made him feel complicated things all weekend. And some of those complicated things felt a little too familiar. Like maybe history was repeating itself. What was that old saying? “Those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it”? It seemed like he had some unpleasant memories to study up on. He thought he’d learned his lesson about getting involved with a city girl a long time ago, but apparently he needed a refresher to stop him from wanting Samantha.

Jack covered the last yards of the trail with big strides and stepped with relief onto his own property. His old wooden barn, stripped of paint long ago by the harsh mountain weather, was a welcome sight. He was ready to get back to his own world. It might get kind of lonely at times, but it was far simpler and a whole lot more peaceful.

CHAPTER FIVE

MARK’S TEXT READ delayed—20 mints. Samantha smiled, despite the rising annoyance that he was keeping her waiting even longer. Life Savers? Peppermints? She thought it was kind of cute that despite being addicted to his smartphone, Mark had never really mastered texting shorthand.

She looked around the coffee shop where she’d been sipping her cappuccino and sighed. Just one more hazard in the bumpy road of dating her boss.

They always tried to leave work separately and meet up somewhere a safe distance from the office. Tonight he’d given her the thumbs-up about a half hour ago and she’d closed up the file she’d been working on, said good-night to a few colleagues who were working late, and headed nonchalantly out the door. She didn’t think anyone at work suspected, which was pretty miraculous considering that she and Mark had been dating for over a year now.

As much as she cared for Mark, sometimes she wished she hadn’t fallen for her boss. All the required sneaking around lost its romantic mystery after the first few months, and now it just felt like extra work sometimes.

Samantha stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows to the gray-green water of San Francisco Bay. The steel towers of the Bay Bridge rose beyond. At least they’d picked an espresso bar with an inspiring view for their rendezvous. And the cappuccino was fabulous. Organic, of course, with the “artisan, micro-roasted” beans ground just before the sleek barista made the coffee, and the milk was fresh from a farm just thirty miles north of the city. This was the Ferry Building in San Francisco after all; the old terminal had been converted to an enormous farmers market, and a mecca for politically correct diners.