A Ranch to Keep

by Claire McEwen

  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 st
artle 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. He
r 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.