A Ranch to Keep. Claire McEwen
mountain path and catch sight of a lizard sunning on a granite boulder. And the way her mouth lifted into a smile before she’d even realized the lizard was there, in that fleeting moment between when she saw it and when it skittered away.
She followed the sound of the creek. The mountains were veined with streams that tumbled down the steep slopes and spattered over boulders, making their way down to the Owens River in the valley that ran along the foot of the range. Some were famous trout streams that brought fishermen to the area all summer long. And others, like this one, were just little no-name creeks, not much visited and more beautiful because of it.
When she’d stayed on the ranch during summers, she’d taken this path almost every day. Grandma Ruth would put a battered basket in her hand, heavy with a book, a water bottle and a snack. Those snacks were always delicious. Chocolate chip cookies, apple pie, homemade bread and butter; her grandmother had spoiled her only grandchild during those special summer months.
Samantha tried to remember the last time she’d spent a summer here. It had been just after her freshman year in college, and she’d stayed only a few weeks. Then she’d returned to campus to intern for a professor, pushing herself to reach the solid, stable life she’d so craved. And every summer after that she’d worked and interned and her visits to the ranch had dwindled down to the occasional weekend, and then to nothing.
But her sacrifice paid off. Right after college she’d been hired at the advertising firm, and by carefully saving she’d bought her apartment a few years later. After the many countries and cities and schools of her nomadic childhood, it had been such a relief to finally have a home of her own.
The splash of the creek was getting louder, and around the next corner she came to the small waterfall she’d loved as a girl. Looking at it now, with a grown woman’s eyes, it barely qualified as a waterfall, just a spot where the creek took a leap down a few large rocks and formed a small clear pool at the bottom. But when she was young it had been a wonderland where fairies hid and boats made from leaves and sticks crashed down torrents of water on grand adventures. The air felt cooler here, making it a tiny oasis where a few summer wildflowers still bloomed, peeking between the rocks alongside the creek, vying for the precious water.
Her bruised ankle was starting to throb again. It probably didn’t help that Samantha hadn’t been able to face her ugly work boots this morning. Without them she’d had only the two pairs of shoes she’d packed for Ruth’s funeral to choose from. Since her stiletto boots were still recovering from the cowpie incident, she’d gone with her slightly lower, classic pumps, which clearly weren’t meant for hiking in the mountains. Luckily she’d had lots of practice walking on the steep sidewalks of San Francisco.
The flat rock she’d loved to picnic on as a child was still there, so she picked her way toward it, kicked off her shoes and sat down, easing her feet into the water. It was ice cold and made her gasp, but she welcomed the numbness that sucked away the heat of the morning and eased her ankle.
She shook her head as she remembered her mortifying tumble off the ladder in front of Jack Baron. She’d met the man less than forty-eight hours ago and had managed to fill that time with more embarrassing moments than she’d had in years.
To make matters worse, all the ridiculous things she’d done had made him smile, and that smile, and the way his eyes lit with humor, were haunting her. Between the memories of that smile and all her embarrassments, it was hard to think of much else. Samantha wasn’t used to being distracted and it was an uncomfortable, itchy sort of feeling. Hopefully this walk would help clear her head.
So far, it wasn’t working.
Reminding herself that she’d come out here to enjoy the scenery, not think about her neighbor, she turned her mind to the landscape around her. Across the creek, a few pine trees clung to the rocky edges of the waterway, and beyond them was pasture. Or, it used to be pasture. Her grandfather had used this area for fall grazing if she remembered correctly. Now the grass was knee-high and making its way up between all kinds of shrubs and the occasional pine seedling. The mountains were taking back the fields. While it was definitely sad, there was also a feral beauty to it that she admired.
Samantha closed her eyes, listening to the water tumble, letting it numb her sore ankle, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d just sat like this, doing nothing but relaxing and enjoying.
Maybe that was the problem between her and Mark right now. With the new clients they’d been pursuing, their relationship had become nothing but work. When she got back to San Francisco tomorrow she would suggest a vacation. Somewhere warm, tropical, romantic and just the two of them. They’d never taken a long trip before and it was time. In fact, maybe this explained all her thoughts about Jack Baron. She hadn’t had fun with Mark in a long time, it was no wonder she kept thinking about the cowboy next door.
It was getting close to noon and growing hotter. She looked up at the sky, hoping to see some clouds, some glimmer of a thunderstorm to roll through and cool the afternoon off, but the blazing blue above her held no sign of rain. Sweat ran down her neck and mixed with the dirt of cleaning and the dust of the walk up here, and suddenly she couldn’t stand it anymore.
Samantha rolled her jeans up as high as they could go and put her legs into the water up to her knees. It felt amazing, so she yanked off her T-shirt and set it aside. Standing on the gravel floor of the small pool, she cupped her hand to pour the icy water down her back and onto her neck. She splashed a little more on her chest, relishing the way the sweat disappeared and left her skin cool and clean. Inspiration struck and she sloshed carefully through the pool to the tiny waterfall.
If there’d been room to put her entire head under, she probably would’ve. She settled for scooping handfuls of water over her hair and rubbing it into her scalp. It was better than ice cream, better than a mojito, better than anything she normally craved on a hot day. It was like being a kid again and even her heart felt cooler, less anguished from Ruth’s death. The unexpected feeling made her laugh out loud.
“That good, huh?” His voice came from the bank behind her.
Samantha froze. This wasn’t possible.
She took her hand out of the waterfall and used it to try to smooth down her hair before she turned around, though it wasn’t much use. Her hair had gone rogue and there was no going back until she could tame it with a shower and about a half gallon of hair conditioner.
“You have the worst timing, Jack Baron,” she finally said, looking reluctantly over her shoulder at him. He was dressed for work in his jeans, boots and hat. His only nod to the heat was the old Rolling Stones T-shirt he’d put on, instead of his usual faded plaid. He was holding a rope and Samantha looked back to see a horse behind him, looking at her with its ears forward, curiosity evident in its keen glance. Even his horses knew how to make her feel ridiculous. “Hand me my top, please?” she asked.
Jack tied the horse’s rope to a sturdy branch of one of the pine trees and picked his way easily over the rocks to the other side of the creek where her shirt was. She noticed he carried an old leather bag over his shoulder. Samantha just stood there. Maybe if she didn’t look at him, he couldn’t see her.
“Here you go.” He tossed the shirt her way and she glanced back to catch it, catching sight of the grin on his face at the same time.
She pulled the top over her head and turned toward the flat rock, hoping fervently she’d be able to walk gracefully across the treacherous rocks and pebbles lurking underwater. “What are you doing here?” she asked him, trying to sound casual, as if he hadn’t just found her half dressed, splashing in a creek. She sat down on the sun-warmed granite and tried to rearrange her hair again, though she doubted there was much hope for it.
“I lost Gideon.” He motioned to the horse. “Figured he’d come down this way. He has before.”
“Do you often lose your horses?”
Jack smiled and glanced at the bay gelding, who was trying to bite a clump of grass at the foot of the tree. “Just this one. He’s an escape artist. I turned my back on him for a moment and he got the latch on the