A Ranch to Keep

by Claire McEwen

  Her green eyes flashed fire at him. “Why would they? It makes no sense! Jack, I’m sorry I screamed, and I’m sorry you heard it, but I think you’re making way too big of a deal out of this whole thing. My grandmother lived out here on her own for years after Grandpa died, and never had a problem. It was probably a deer, like we said before.”

  It had been a very long day and it must be about midnight, or past it by now. Jack’s adrenaline was wearing off and fatigue was quickly setting in. “Samantha, I know you can take care of yourself.” He gestured at the two-by-four she was still clutching in her hands. “It’s the second time since I met you that you’ve threatened me with a stick and I have no doubt you could use it if needed.”

  He was gratified to see a corner of her mouth creep up to a smile. Progress. He knew he was begging and at this point he didn’t care. “Think of it as a personal favor to me. It’s freezing out here tonight and I’m stiff as a board from sitting on that rock. But for some reason, I’ll never sleep knowing you’re down here on your own tonight.”

  “That’s not really my problem, Jack.” But she didn’t sound convinced and he knew he was reaching her.

  “You don’t want to be responsible for my early demise by sleep deprivation, right? I mean, that would be a terrible thing to have on your conscience.”

  “Maybe...” Her smile had grown now. “Or maybe I can exact my revenge for your poor behavior last weekend.”

  “I promise I will apologize for the rest of the weekend, and beyond, if you will please go inside, grab what you need and come up to sleep at my house. Trust me, all I want at this point is some food, a glass of whiskey, a roaring fire in my fireplace, and to not have to worry about you for a few hours. And just think, if you come with me, you’ll be able to put that club down and relax a little, too.”

  Humor worked where begging had failed and she finally gave in. “Well, if you put it that way, let me get my things.” Leaning her weapon neatly against the porch, she paused, and grinned up at him. “Okay, I’m ready for my first apology.”

  “I think it’s actually your second, counting earlier today. But I’m a man of my word—I’m sorry I overreacted about Rob and the ranch.”

  “Very nice.” She turned and ran into the house.

  Jack watched the lights flicker on upstairs with gratitude, despite the weariness he felt to his bones. This definitely wasn’t the way he’d imagined taking her home with him, but if it meant she was safe, he wasn’t about to complain.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A SMOOTH SINGLE MALT was not at all what she’d expected when Jack had mentioned whiskey. Weren’t cowboys supposed to drink Jack Daniel’s or moonshine or something? Of course Jack’s house wasn’t at all what she’d expect from a cowboy, either. She looked around, realizing that nothing about this house fit the image she’d had of Jack Baron.

  The downstairs was one great room, with an open kitchen and farther on a dining area. Some walls were made of pine logs, some of natural stone. The ceiling was high and supported with vast tree trunks for beams. Floor-to-ceiling windows, now dark with night, framed views of the mountains and valleys surrounding them. A massive river-rock fireplace dominated one wall. The floor was some kind of rock...slate maybe? And it was warm. He must have radiant heating under there.

  Armchairs clustered on a Navajo rug in front of the fireplace. Samantha couldn’t resist the thick sheepskin tossed on the floor directly in front of the hearth. She sat down on it and watched the flames in the fireplace, while slowly sipping her scotch. A huge yawn had her eyes watering and she realized how tired she was. She’d only left San Francisco this morning, but it felt like days ago.

  It was hard to fathom this day with its charged emotions and events. Why would someone want her to go away from her grandmother’s house? She stared at the fire, turning ideas over and over, but none made sense. Had she really seen someone ducking around those bushes tonight? Or was all this stress finally getting to her?

  Plots from mysteries she’d read flitted through her tired mind. Had someone been using the property to manufacture drugs while it had stood empty? Had someone been squatting there and now they were upset that the owner was back? But Jack would have noticed anything suspicious going on next door.

  The thought crept in slowly. What about Jack? He had more reason than anyone to want her gone. He’d already made it clear he wanted the land and he was willing to be dishonest to get it. Had he really been watching over her to protect her tonight? Or just watching? Had he written on her porch last week? Or thrown the rock earlier today? He’d come running from the opposite direction of the shadow tonight, so that couldn’t have been him. Or at least not him working on his own....

  Samantha shivered, and looked around the room, hoping for clues about its owner. He obviously had money, and this house, in all its beauty, didn’t seem like the property of someone who would take desperate measures to scare her off her ranch. Samantha noticed the signed landscape painting hanging by the stairs. Unless, she thought sarcastically, he’s already spent all his money on decorating.

  The man in question appeared by her side, setting a tray of crackers, cheese and olives on the rug next to her. Jack had showered and his hair curled around the nape of his neck. It was mussed, as if he’d carelessly pushed it back as he was preparing their food. He was barefoot, with a soft flannel shirt hanging untucked, and clean jeans, worn to a soft white in places. Samantha looked away, realizing that despite her suspicions, she still found him incredibly attractive. She wished she didn’t.

  Jack sat down on the other side of the tray and grabbed his own glass, holding it up to the fire and examining the color of the scotch inside. He took a long swallow and sighed. “It’s not much.” He gestured to the tray. “But I figured it’s good enough for a midnight snack.”

  Samantha hadn’t known she was hungry until she saw the food, but now she set down her glass and helped herself. She bit into a salty cracker and watched Jack furtively, while he watched the fire. He certainly didn’t look like someone who’d vandalize her house. But what did she know? She’d certainly been wrong about men before, and very recently, too.

  His voice broke into her thoughts. “You look like you’re getting ready to throw that at me.” He nodded his head at the half a cracker she was still holding.

  Her own laughter surprised her. “I’m not always on the verge of attack, you know.”

  “Could have fooled me. What were you thinking about just now? If it’s not me, is there someone else you wanted to decapitate with a saltine?”

  The sign of a good sense of humor, Samantha decided, was someone who could crack you up even when you were thinking terrible things about him. Through her giggles she managed to assuage his fears. “No. I’m not decapitating anyone in the near future. I was thinking about men, however, and my really, really poor judgment about them lately.”

  Jack’s voice was kind. “Aren’t you being a little hard on yourself? So you missed the signs with one guy. It sounds like he was working pretty hard to make sure you missed them.”

  “But who’s to say I’m not making other lapses, even as we speak?” Samantha watched him, waiting for a reaction.

  Understanding lit his eyes and he turned to face her, sliding the tray out of the way. “Ah. So we’re talking about me now, are we? And after I came to your rescue tonight?” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “You’ve got no sense of gratitude, Frisco.”

  She kept her tone light to match his. “Came to my rescue? Maybe. Or were you stalking me from your favorite rock? My new, skeptical self tells me that’s another possibility.”

  “I guess it’s one possibility.” Jack sobered. “I hadn’t thought how that might look. I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but I promise you I’m not your stalker.” He was silent for a moment, staring at the fire. “Or your vandal.”

 
Samantha studied his profile, and the way the fire cast warmth and shadow across the cheekbones and planes of his angular face. It was a lived-in face, she decided, and an honest one. She just wasn’t ready to believe he was deceiving her, even if it meant she was only deceiving herself for a while longer.

  His deep voice broke into her thoughts. “I honestly don’t know why I feel like I need to keep an eye on you, Samantha. You certainly don’t make it easy to. I can try to back off, though it seems like every time I do you’re falling off a ladder or attacking a pine tree with your bare hands and a small car.”

  She laughed at the memory. “Well, I guess I should be grateful. I’m sure you’ve figured out how much I hate needing assistance with things, but even I can see that I’ve been lucky to have your help a few times now.” She raised her glass in his direction. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.” He clinked his glass gently against hers in a silent toast.

  She couldn’t keep looking at the lopsided smile he was giving her. He wasn’t for her, she reminded herself, and steered the conversation to safe ground. “So how did you—” Samantha gestured vaguely around the room “—end up here?”

  “You mean, how did a hick guy like me end up in a nice place like this?”

  “Those were not my words.” She winced, though. He’d read her mind.

  “Yeah, but I know you’ve had me pegged for a backwater cowpoke from the moment we met.”

  She gave in. “Maybe I’d stereotyped you a little. Okay, maybe a fair amount. But you’ve got to admit, you dress the part and there’s that big old truck and the horses and the dogs, and I’m pretty sure I heard some kind of country music drifting down the hill the other day.”

  “Okay, you got me! Maybe I do fit the mold, a little. But I thought you San Franciscans were all supposed to be open-minded and nonjudgmental.”

  “I didn’t judge you, I just stereotyped you. I’m pretty sure that’s different. And since you constantly remind me that I’m from the city and therefore incapable of understanding the nuances of country life, I think we’re probably even.”

  “Ah, but I am not guilty of stereotyping, since you consistently prove me correct in all my assumptions.” He grinned. “I see you trying to navigate the terrain around here in those high-heeled boots you like so much. I see you checking your email and phone about a thousand times a day.” He put up a hand to fend off the pillow she tossed in his direction. “Yup. There’s a reason I call you Frisco, Samantha. You are city through and through.”

  “And what does a hick cowpoke like you know about the city anyway?”

  Jack took a sip of scotch. “A fair amount, actually.”

  “Really?” Samantha had been trying to ignore all of her questions about him, but her curiosity was too much. “Jack, I have to know...you’re like some kind of superhero, a man of mystery, swooping in to rescue me in your cowboy suit, but really hiding out in this mansion. Do you lead a double life?”

  Jack flashed her a smile. “You are a whole lot funnier than you let on, Samantha, speaking of mysteries. I’ll tell you my secrets, but honestly, they’re not that exciting.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “Well, after high school I got involved in rodeo for a while. Did pretty good, made some money and got a few trophies. But it beat up my body pretty bad, and after a while it seemed clear that I needed a less dangerous way to make a living. So I went to college, and discovered I really liked numbers, and solving problems. So then I got my MBA and got a job in New York City, working in finance. Turned out, I was pretty good at it. I invested, made some good decisions and saved a fair amount of money.

  “I liked New York, for a while, at least. And then I got sick of working all the time and being inside in an office all day, so I got out. And drove across the country until I found the spot that felt right—this land right here. After I bought it, I lived in a trailer while I fixed up the barn a bit and then I bought my first horses.” He paused, his eyes burning shadows in the flickering firelight. “And then I got really sick of my trailer and built this house.”

  “I can see how it’s definitely a few steps up from trailer living,” Samantha said, looking around admiringly.” Staring at the sparks and flames, she tried to digest what he’d told her. Jack Baron had worked in New York? In finance? He looked so natural here on the ranch she’d never imagined him anywhere else, with any other life.

  He broke into her thoughts. “What about you, Samantha? Have you found a place that feels right?”

  The answer to his question used to be a lot simpler. “A few weeks ago I would’ve told you yes. But now, I don’t know. Work has always felt right. It’s always what I’ve been best at.” She paused, considering her words carefully as she sifted through her feelings. “And I still love San Francisco. But lately, things have just been different. It’s a little hard to feel like I belong anywhere right now.”

  “I can see how that might be true,” Jack said. “Considering that you’ve pretty much had your world turned upside down these past few weeks.”

  Samantha sipped her scotch, thinking about his words. Thinking about Jack and his gorgeous house and his history in New York City and trying to digest the fact that her hick cowboy neighbor was not a hick at all. Part of her wished she didn’t have all this new information about him. It was a little easier to ignore the way she felt around him when she thought they were completely different. Her mind hurt from so much uncertainty, so much unknown. She yawned again. “Jack, thank you for all of this. The fire and the food and the scotch.”

  “You ready to hit the hay?”

  She laughed. “Don’t try all that cowboy lingo with me, Jack Baron. I’m onto your secret identity now!”

  He grinned and stood up, offering a hand and pulling her to her feet. “Hey, I may have spent some time wearing a monkey suit in the city, but I’m still an Oklahoma boy through and through. Come on. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

  They walked up the grand staircase to the landing above and then down a hallway. Jack opened a door into a room that belonged in an upscale bed-and-breakfast. An arched window showcased the night sky brilliant with stars. A bed with an aged iron headboard was covered in fluffy white duvets.

  “There’s a bathroom through there, and I put out some towels and stuff.”

  “This is perfect.” Samantha turned around to face him. “Amazing. Unexpected. And as much as I hate to admit it, I do appreciate the rescue tonight.”

  Jack was leaning on the doorjamb, his face in shadow, but she could see his mouth curve into a smile. “You’re welcome. I should be thanking you for staying here and giving me the rest of the night off from my superhero duties. I’ll be glad of the sleep.”

  She didn’t want him to sleep. She wanted him to stay and kiss her. It made no sense, her reaction to him. There was no future here, no stability, no safety, and those were the things she’d always craved. Yet she wanted him, wanted to feel the close strength of his body, his mouth on hers.

  Her eyes were level with his chest, broad under faded flannel. Her hands came up, a whisper of movement, embodying her desire to unbutton his shirt, to lay her palms on his smooth skin, to feel his warmth, and his steady heartbeat there. She clenched her fists and willed them back down to her sides.

  Then Jack stepped forward and his blue eyes were on hers, mesmerizing in their intensity. “Good night, Samantha.” He leaned down and she stood breathless, but his lips merely touched her cheek and then he was gone.

  Samantha turned toward the window and stared blindly at the sky. Just a kiss on the cheek and she’d been standing there wishing for so much more. She had to stop this wanting. He’d already made it clear that he wasn’t interested in her. Made it clear that he was mainly interested in her land.

  There was a soft knock. “Yes?” she said, turning toward the sound.


  Jack was there and on his face was written the desire she’d hoped for. He crossed the room in three steps and his mouth came down on hers and all her doubts receded in the wake of his need for her.

  His strong hands wove into her hair and held her still. Samantha swore she could feel the power of his kiss flooding her entire body. Without thought, she kissed him back, over and over. He buried his face in her neck and his hands slid to her waist, gripping the curves there. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms and the world narrowed to the feel of his skin, the iron muscles beneath his clothes, the thrill of his arms around her. They stayed there for a long moment, just holding on.

  Jack straightened with a shuddering breath and looked into her face. “I’ve been wanting this for a long time,” he told her and he slid his thumb gently over her bottom lip, tracing the full outline. His mouth followed, softly at first, and then deepening the kiss until his mouth was ravaging hers, and the heat of it blotted out all other sensations. Samantha slid blindly into pure desire, surfacing just long enough to think that kissing him was probably a huge mistake. And then his mouth found her neck and the only word her mind could shape for a very long time was more.

  Somehow, through the wanting, through the ache of longing in her breasts as his hands caressed them, through the rough sound of their intermingled breath, other words formed. Words of fear and caution. Jack’s angry words last weekend. His words of apology earlier today. He’d said he was sorry for being unkind, but he’d never told her what she truly needed to hear: that he wanted her, not her ranch. And now here she was, wrapped in his kisses and setting herself up for last weekend’s hurt to happen all over again.

  Samantha pulled away and looked at the darkness behind the window. She saw her reflection faintly in the glass, her lips parted, her hair wild, cradled against Jack’s chest. She had to find some logical brain cells in her clouded mind to help her end this.