Читать книгу A Ranch to Keep - Claire McEwen - Страница 9

CHAPTER ONE

THE EASTERN SIDE of the Sierra Nevada Mountains was the perfect setting for fleeing a funeral. The high drama of the granite peaks rising abruptly from low, jagged hills, the earthy scent of sagebrush and pine, the open space of the high desert, were naturally suited to thoughts of life and death.

Grandma Ruth had loved these mountains. She’d lived most of her life in them. Driving down the scenic highway, marveling at each gorgeous view, seemed a much better way to celebrate her life than sitting in a musty Reno funeral chapel. Samantha still wasn’t sure how she’d ended up on this impromptu road trip. One minute she’d been listening to the pastor’s words, and the next an outraged voice was screaming in her head that this service wasn’t doing justice to Ruth. The rote text didn’t describe the loving, vibrant grandmother she knew. Samantha couldn’t stand it anymore, so she’d fled.

Running away wasn’t like her. Samantha felt her forehead, wondering if she was getting sick. She was known for showing up, helping out and always doing the right thing. But instead she’d abandoned the funeral and then, from the parking lot, called work to let them know she wouldn’t be in today. She’d cancelled all her meetings and now, instead of the many things she should be doing, she was speeding down this scenic highway to the ranch outside of Benson.

Her ranch. That idea would take some getting used to. Samantha smiled. In the past few years, Grandma Ruth had tried to get her to be more adventurous. Maybe leaving her the ranch was her last attempt to shake her granddaughter up a bit. “Well, Grandma,” Samantha said aloud to the mountains, “you have definitely stirred things up this time.”

Samantha turned up the volume on her iPod and let the strains of opera soar. Maybe it was melodramatic, but it had seemed like the only music appropriate for the splendor of this drive, the sadness in her heart and the emotion of this homecoming.

A few tears insisted on rolling down her cheeks. Samantha brushed them off and took a deep breath. All this crying wasn’t her usual style. More evidence that it would do her good to be away for a few days, to see something other than the crowded streets of San Francisco and the busy conference rooms of Taylor Advertising. She pictured the ranch as she remembered it from childhood. It might make her sad to be there without her grandparents, but how amazing to see the ranch again after so many years. Growing up, it was the closest thing to a home Samantha had known.

She glanced at the keys on the seat beside her, hooked on a ring neatly labeled Rylant, Ranch House. What would the old house be like? Ruth had moved to Reno ten years ago—what had she left behind? And in what state? The will had promised Samantha four thousand acres of ranch: barns, house, outbuildings “and all items found on the premises therein.” She hoped some of those items included furniture or it was going to be a long night.