Читать книгу A Ranch to Keep - Claire McEwen - Страница 11

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.

Well, she’d definitely put that organization gene to good use now. She headed back to the porch, ready to start cleaning. Beethoven’s Fifth rang out again, jarringly loud in the quiet house. She dug her phone out of her deep leather purse and touched the screen. Still not Mark, but it was good to see her friend Jenna’s name on the display.

“Where are you?” Jenna’s voice sounded distracted. “Are you home? Are you really sad?”

“I can’t quite hear you. Are you there? You’re fading.” Samantha used her free hand to yank a canvas cloth off the armchair in the farmhouse living room. Bad idea. A small cloud of dust rose from the fabric and she backed away from it. Once the dirt settled, she carried the canvas gingerly through the kitchen and out to the back porch, dumping it off the edge into the long grass below.

“Oh, sorry, Sam, I was doing turns. Warming up for a wedding couple. Oh joy.” Jenna taught ballroom dance at a popular studio in San Francisco. She had a love-hate relationship with her job, the love part being the dancing, and the hate part being couples who snarled at each other throughout their lessons.

“You’ll be fine. Just wear your referee jersey and bring a whistle.”

“You’re not kidding.” Jenna giggled. “Anyway, what’s going on? Did the service go well?”

Samantha took a deep breath. “Well, I’m not home. I didn’t go home. I’m in Benson. At my grandmother’s ranch.” She looked past the overgrown gardens to the gray, granite peaks rising beyond. A patch of snow on a high peak was glowing a crisp white. Long shadows darkened the high valleys.

“Samantha, that’s fantastic!” Jenna exclaimed. “I’m so proud of you! I thought you didn’t go anywhere that didn’t have a Starbucks!”

“Jenna!” Samantha protested, happy to let the familiar teasing chase away the melancholy she’d been feeling. “I go places! I take vacations! Sometimes.”

“You deserve some time off after this huge loss. Make that boyfriend boss of yours do some work for once instead of always leaning on you.”

“Well, you know me. I brought my laptop and I’ll probably work from here. Plus, I’m not sure this counts as vacation. The house was shut up for ten years. It’s pretty run-down and dirty.”

Jenna’s voice faded out for a moment, then came back and Samantha imagined her wafting about the studio, graceful and elegant with her red hair and dancing dress, holding a cell phone to her ear. “Just watch out for mice and dust and stuff. You don’t want to get some weird disease.”

“Disease?” Samantha joked. “Like old house disease? I didn’t know about that.”

“You know what I mean!” Jenna giggled down the line and Samantha could tell she’d stopped turning. “Like that mouse disease, the hantavirus? Or tetanus from old rusty nails.”

It was Samantha’s turn to laugh. “Okay, Jenna, I’ll watch out for mice and nails.”

“And weird people. You might get some real crazies out there. Hermits, unibombers, survivalists.”

And gorgeous cowboys, Samantha added silently to her friend’s list. “I’ll watch out for them, too.”

“Tell me more about...oh, wait, don’t tell me more. Mr. and Ms. Miserably Engaged have just arrived.”

“There’s not much more to tell anyway.” Samantha answered untruthfully. “We’ll talk later. Don’t get in the middle if they start brawling.”

Samantha felt so much lighter when she hung up the phone. Jenna and her silly humor were exactly what she needed, and what this house needed. It had gone too long without the life and laughter it had sheltered when Grandma and Grandpa were alive.

Samantha looked around the room. She’d free the furniture first. There was something magical about uncovering the familiar pieces, the worn upholstery emerging like the faces of old friends. It really was a comfort to be in the place that Ruth had loved so much.

Being so sentimental wouldn’t help though, Samantha chided herself. The reality was, she’d have to sell this place. There was no way she could keep up this ranch and take care of all these acres. She could barely keep her apartment in San Francisco livable. Better to think of this trip as a way to have some closure. As a way to somehow say goodbye.

Samantha willed herself to be practical. If she spent the rest of the afternoon working hard she could get the kitchen, downstairs bathroom, downstairs bedroom and living room clean by tonight. Tomorrow she’d pull some of the boards off the windows and then she’d have a nice space to live in until she figured out what in the world she was doing here.

Grabbing the rest of the old canvas, she threw it out in the backyard, watching the clouds of dust and memory billow and scatter, disappearing into the high mountain air.

* * *

SAMANTHA WIGGLED the old ladder to the left, then back again to the right, trying to get it stable against the wall of the house. It tipped toward her, and she shoved it back again. When it hit the wall, dirt showered down and carpeted her face, sticking in her hair and eyelashes.

“Ugh!” Samantha spat out what she hoped was just dust and blinked her eyes. She’d been sweating and the dirt added one more layer to the film on her skin. She wiped her face on the shoulder of her T-shirt and for the tenth time that morning wondered why she felt such a strong need to take on this house herself. There was no reason not to hire someone else to do it...in fact that would make the most sense, and leave her free to spend her days here hiking and exploring. But the answer came back, as it had ten times already. This was her grandma and grandpa’s house and she was responsible for it.

Yesterday she’d cleaned until midnight, and the entire downstairs gleamed. It felt satisfying to see the results of her work and good to use her hands.

She’d headed into town early this morning and found a pair of work boots—she was still coming to terms with their lack of aesthetic appeal—gloves and a crowbar, and had returned to the ranch ready to tackle the boarded-up windows so she could let in light and fresh air. She’d finished the lower windows on this side of the house, so next up were the ones on the second floor.

Samantha looked up and the top of the ladder seemed to disappear into an ethereal distance. Her heart sped up in an anxious dance and her breath came with a shudder. She hated heights. Hated ladders. Especially spidery, rusty, rickety ladders leaning up against old houses.

“Come on,” she muttered to herself. “You can run a national ad campaign. This ladder is nothing to you.” She wished she believed her own pep talk.

Taking a deep breath, she tucked the crowbar under her arm and put a foot on the ladder. So far, so good. The metal frame was cool and damp under her sweaty hands as she began to climb. Up and up, shaking hand over shaking hand, trying to ignore the quivers and groans of the rungs, until she was at second story window level. Gripping the sill with white knuckles, she looked down and the ground spun beneath her. Quickly she leaned her head against the wall, trying to compose herself and fight the dizziness.

When the spinning slowed to a gentle rotation, she gingerly lifted up her head and moved far enough back from the wall to position the crowbar under the first board. It looked old and rotted, and sure enough, it yielded easily to her prying. So easily in fact that it popped off and slammed into her arm before it fell to the ground, hitting the ladder with a resounding thud on its way down. The ladder moved with the impact and Samantha let out a yelp as she scrabbled for the windowsill, trying to steady herself.

“You okay up there?” The deep voice that rose from the foot of the ladder made her jump again. She gripped the sill even more tightly as she slowly turned her head and looked down.

There was a cowboy hat about ten feet below her. A cowboy hat set on broad shoulders. Jack Baron. Why had he decided to pay a neighborly visit now? “I’m fine, thanks,” she called down, trying to sound like she climbed huge ladders on a daily basis. “I was just wondering when you’d show up and startle me, again!”

Jack was looking up at her and she saw those slate-blue eyes, lit by mischief, glittering with humor. His lips were curled into a lazy smile that flashed a dimple onto a cheek with a day or so of stubble on it. “Startled you, huh? I was afraid for a moment there that I was going to have to catch you!”

“No catching necessary.” She knew she sounded annoyed, but her heart was still racing, whether from nearly toppling over or from his sudden arrival, she couldn’t be sure. “Can I help you with something?”

“Well, it looks like I might be able to help you with something, Frisco. Why don’t you come on down here and let me take a turn with that crowbar?”

She didn’t want to acknowledge the relief Jack’s suggestion sparked in her. Especially when he was obviously assuming that she was incapable of a simple task like this. “That’s okay. I’ve got it!” she called down to him, forcing her mouth into what she hoped was an easy smile. She turned a little more to see him better, suddenly aware of the awkward nature of her position on the ladder, and the view of her that, by the expression on his face, he appeared to be enjoying.

“Well then, I’ll just stay here and hold this ladder for you. You don’t look too steady up there.” His voice was like amber, warm and spiced and traced with laughter.

“Jack, I don’t need help. Thank you for coming by and offering, but I’m sure you have work that I’m keeping you from.”

She thought she’d dismissed him but he just stood there, then let go of the ladder and strolled to the fence a few yards away. “Well, why don’t I just stay here a few minutes, until you get the hang of it?”

“Oh no, please, you don’t have to.”

He said nothing, just hoisted himself up on the top bar of the fence and sat there.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” she asked in disbelief.

“Not at the moment.” He smiled at her pleasantly.

“Fine, suit yourself.” Knowing she sounded a bit like a peeved child, she turned toward the ladder. Well, he was still as gorgeous as yesterday, but he was evidently a bit of a chauvinist. She didn’t appreciate all his worry. She thought of her work in San Francisco. People there knew that she could handle pretty much anything the world threw at her, including some rickety old ladder. But, if he had nothing to do today but watch her pry boards off her windows, that wasn’t her problem. She turned toward the wall again, and wedged the crowbar underneath the next board, pulling with what she hoped was a professional flourish.

* * *

JACK LEANED BACK against the split-rail fence, enjoying the shade of the pine trees and the view of the ladder where Samantha was perched. He’d told himself he was just coming by to be neighborly, but looking up at her determined form on that ladder, he knew he’d wanted to see her again. Something in him refused to leave her alone, even if that’s what she’d prefer.

Plus, he figured a view like this was the best argument he could think of for helping one’s neighbor. From his vantage point he could see a mile of slim legs ending in tempting curves covered in low-cut jeans. As Samantha reached out with the crowbar, her T-shirt lifted, exposing the pale smooth skin at her waist. Her black hair wasn’t straight like it had been yesterday. It was piled in a messy knot of curls at her neck and he already knew he’d love to see it down, tangled around her striking face.

He hadn’t meant to make her angry with his offer of help, but he was kind of glad he’d pissed her off. Her eyes had gone from that rich green to a sharp emerald in an instant—the transformation was fascinating.

As Samantha wrenched another board off, a stab of admiration hit him in the gut. She was clinging to that ladder with the determination of terrier, though she obviously didn’t like it up there. Samantha wedged the crowbar under the next board, along the rim of the window, and leaned over to get better leverage. The board wouldn’t budge and she leaned just a little farther.

He saw it coming but he was just a split second too late. She threw her weight into the crowbar and the ladder shifted suddenly, throwing her off balance. There was a brief, awful moment where everything—Samantha, the ladder and the crowbar—seemed to be suspended in space, and then all three came down with remarkable speed.

It felt like an action film, but unfortunately he was in it. He dodged the ladder as it slammed into the fence next to him and sprinted for Samantha as she hit the grass at the foot of the wall with a sickening thud. It occurred to him as he ran that he hadn’t heard her scream. Then all thoughts were banished as he reached her inert form and frantically tried to remember all of the first aid he’d ever been taught.

She was on her side, facing him. He knelt and felt her breath on his cheek in a flood of relief. Her eyelids fluttered. “Samantha!” he called, checking her over for blood. None. Her limbs didn’t look twisted, but who knew how this had affected her back or neck. “Samantha!” Damn. He didn’t know her. What if she had some kind of medical condition? He reached into his pocket for his cell phone.

“Wait.” Her voice was like a whisper and he couldn’t remember when he’d been so glad to hear a sound. “I’m okay.” She was staring up at him, looking a little startled.

“Stay still,” he ordered. “Don’t move. You’ve had a bad fall.”

“No, really...” She started to push herself up.

“Samantha, stay still!” he barked, ferocious now with worry. “You don’t know what could be wrong with you. I’m calling 911!”

* * *

SAMANTHA LAY on the ground watching Jack fumble with his phone. As far as she could tell, all of her arms and legs were intact, and her breath was starting to come back to her. Embarrassment flooded her as she realized what had happened. She’d pretended to be so capable and confident in front of him, and then had fallen right off the ladder.

Another thought occurred to her. If he called 911, the whole town would know that she’d made a fool out of herself on her first day at the ranch. She wasn’t sure why that mattered so much but it did. She was dizzy and her head was pounding but she tried to sit up, ignoring the sharp pain that sizzled in her ankle, and reached for the phone. “Please, don’t call an ambulance. I’m fine. I just need a few moments.”

It took a minute to convince him that she wasn’t about to expire, but he finally put the phone away, checked her pupils, which were, apparently, still the same size, and let her try to stand. She leaned heavily on his arm as they walked around to the front of the house, grateful for his strength. His mouth was a grim line as he sat her firmly on the porch steps.

“Let’s get a doctor out here, at least,” he said, sitting down next to her.

“I don’t need a doctor.”

He paused, his brow creased in a frown, and he gave her a long look. Suddenly the frown passed and she knew she’d won. “Fine. No doctor then, if that’s the way you want it. But let me get some ice...and do you have a first aid kit around here? It looks like you got a couple of cuts.”

She looked at him, puzzled, and he pointed. “On your arm, there.”

Samantha twisted her arm around and looked down, seeing the scraped elbow and the gash on her upper arm for the first time. A small trickle of blood was making its way toward her wrist.

She directed him to the car for the first aid kit, and the freezer for ice. He came back and reached for her arm but she pulled away. “I can take care of it.”

He caught her chin in his hand, just for a moment, and turned her head to face him. A slight smile tilted his mouth but his eyes were serious, looking intensely into hers. “No 911, no doctor, and now you won’t let me help. Looks like you’re used to looking after yourself, Samantha. That’s great. But out here we like to help out our neighbors. So let me help you. Okay?”

A blue lake on a sunny day. That’s all she could think of as she looked into his eyes. A lake you could drown in if you weren’t careful. Her brain couldn’t form a complete sentence so she mumbled “Okay” and sat quietly while he put a bag of ice on her ankle and opened the first aid kit.

Jack tilted back the lid and let out a laugh as he eyed the contents of the box. “Samantha, you are one of a kind!” He continued to chuckle, obviously amused by something.

She hated to take the bait but she had to know. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Your first aid kit! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She looked over at the neat stacks of Band-Aids, the miniature scissors, the bottles of disinfectant and rolls of bandages. “Don’t you have a first aid kit?” she asked, bewildered.

“Yes, but not one that looks like this!” The chuckles subsided a bit. “I’m pretty sure the contents are alphabetized. Are you always so organized?”

Samantha felt herself blushing for what seemed like the millionth time since they’d met yesterday. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.” She ignored his teasing grin. “I like to keep things in order.”

“I’ll bet you do.” He was suddenly more serious. “You like to keep things under control.” His big hands dwarfed the cotton ball as he covered it with disinfectant, but his touch was gentle as he lifted her arm and stroked the soft, cool liquid over her cuts.

Samantha tried to focus on the conversation instead of the strength of his fingers on her skin. “I guess I do keep things under control,” she admitted. “It’s actually an important part of my job.”

Jack ripped open a bandage. “So, is coming down here and cleaning up this old house on your own a part of getting things under control?”

She winced as the truth of his words hit her. How did a complete stranger know things about her that she hadn’t even realized herself? She’d had no control over what had happened in her life lately. She hadn’t wanted to lose Ruth, but it had happened anyway. Her parents were off on another continent again and she’d certainly never been able to do anything to make them stay. Even Mark seemed to be disappearing from their relationship lately. And now she owned an enormous ranch that she didn’t know the first thing about running. Maybe cleaning it up was her way of imposing order on the chaos of all this change.

Samantha closed her eyes, wanting Jack to keep touching her arm, even if he was just sticking gauze on with some white tape.

Jack tucked the supplies neatly back into her kit and got up to stow it back in the trunk of her car. The air felt cold on her skin after the warmth of his hands.

“Nice wheels.” He grinned as he turned back toward her, patting the BMW roadster appreciatively.

“Thanks!” she answered brightly, grateful that he wasn’t going to analyze her personality any further. Cars were a much safer topic.

He came back to the porch and sat down beside her, looking at her with genuine concern. “How’s the ankle? Are you able to walk?” His hand came up and brushed back the hair that had come loose from her bun and fallen across her face. He gently tucked it behind her ear, and she froze, caught in the fire of his gaze. She’d swear heat was rippling down her neck from the spot he’d just touched, warming her.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She could only stare into those blue depths and wait. A breeze gently lifted the sandy blond hair that tumbled down his forehead. Jack’s jaw was strong, firm, a little square and definitely stubborn. He leaned closer to her. His fingers wove further into her hair, his strong hand pulling her gently toward him. Samantha felt her mouth part just a little to accommodate her quickening breath. Her lips felt unbearably tender, as if anticipating his touch. The wanting she saw in his eyes intensified and wrapped around her. She leaned slightly in and froze as the shrill tones of her cell phone sang out Beethoven from somewhere underneath her, jolting her back to reality.

Jack stopped and unfurled his hand from her hair, tilting his head inquiringly in the direction of her rear end. “Expecting any important calls?”

If she spent any more time with this man she would burn up, either from desire or nerves, she wasn’t sure which. “Well, at least my phone survived the fall. Excuse me for a moment.” She grabbed the cell phone she’d wedged in her back pocket this morning and answered it. “Samantha Rylant.” She kept her voice casual, as if she hadn’t been about to kiss a man who was essentially a complete stranger. Unfortunately the voice on the other end of the phone was Mark’s.

“Mark, how are you?” she asked. There was a strange, squeaky note to her voice.

She looked over at Jack and instinctively got up and walked to the far end of the porch, as if the distance might erase whatever had almost happened just now.

Rather than apologizing for not returning her calls, Mark was complaining. He needed her at work. He was busy and wanted help. Finally, Samantha could stand it no longer and interrupted him.

“Mark, I know you need me, and I’ve been working remotely as much as possible. But you’ve got to understand. My grandmother died, and then she left me a ranch! I had to come see it for myself.”

She glanced at Jack, who was writing something on the notepad she kept in her car. He set it on the porch, gave her a quick wave and walked to the trail that connected the front yard of the old house with his property. She watched him go as he started up the hill—her annoyance with Mark inexplicably growing with every step Jack took.

Samantha turned away and tried to focus only on Mark. He wanted her to come home and work and she wanted him to be a more supportive boyfriend. It was very clear that they were not going to see eye to eye today.

“Mark, I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll be there on Monday and I’ll see you then.” She tried to ignore Mark’s sullen reply as she disengaged herself from the conversation and ended the call. Why was he being so pushy? Didn’t he, of all people, understand why she needed some time off right now? He was her boyfriend. He should want her to do what she needed to do. He should want her to feel better.

Speaking of feeling things, what had just happened on the porch with her neighbor? She’d practically kissed him, and probably would have if Mark hadn’t called. The thought knocked the wind out of her and she sat back down on the steps, putting the ice back on her sore ankle. She leaned over, pressing her head to her knees with a groan of self-disgust.

Mark might have been a little flaky lately, and not the most supportive today, but he was a sweet guy overall and a good boyfriend. He deserved her respect and her loyalty. Not this.

She took a deep, calming breath and raised her head, idly looking out over the front yard, the pasture and down the driveway toward the valley below. She’d just gotten sucked in, that’s all. Sucked into blue eyes and a macho manner that was different than what she was used to. Simple as that.

Except it wasn’t really so simple. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to forget the way his hand had felt on her arm, and the gentle way he’d tangled his fingers in her hair. All his movements had exuded strength, yet were controlled to create the softest touch. Just thinking about it made her blood feel hot and uncomfortable in her veins.

Pushing herself up on her feet, she caught sight of her notepad, leaning against the wall of the house. The printing was elegant but strong, with bold black lines and capital letters. Not what she’d expect from a horse rancher, or horse farmer, or whatever you called a man who lived out in the middle of nowhere on a ranch with a bunch of horses. She scanned the page, hearing the humor in the tone of the note.

Frisco,

It seems that the city has caught up with the city girl. I didn’t want to intrude. I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon to pull down the rest of the boards. Stay off the ladder until then!

Jack Baron

So on top of being unbelievably sexy, he was nice. Great. That didn’t make it any easier to ignore what she’d just felt with him. Samantha looked out over the driveway to the shrubs and weeds of her front pasture and sighed. She hated to admit it, but she really didn’t want to get up on that ladder again. Jack was right. She was a city girl, and being a city girl meant she wasn’t stupid enough to fall off the same ladder twice. She’d finish the rest of the ground floor windows herself and then she’d accept his neighborly help for the high ones. And she’d admire his handiwork from afar because obviously it was hazardous for her to get too close to him.

You’re here to clean up, she reminded herself, not to make a mess. And what she’d just felt for Jack was very, very messy.

What she needed were goals to keep her mind off the cowboy next door. Clean up. Get this place organized. Those were her goals, and the sooner she got to work on them, the sooner she could head back to her real life in San Francisco. Her real job. Her real boyfriend. Her real home, conveniently and ideally located far, far away from Jack Baron.