New Year, New Man. Natalie Anderson

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      “He’s going to level the trees that surround your grandmother’s house. Put in a competition-size swimming pool under a huge bubble. Sure, he’ll have a couple miles of paved trails—wouldn’t want to scuff your running shoes on actual dirt.”

      “He’s not going to demolish the entire forest,” she argued.

      “It changes things, Sara. Crimson is special. We don’t need another Aspen-type playground for the rich and famous. Can’t you see that?”

      She did see it, but the knowledge left her in a precarious position. “What I see is that I need money and Richard Hamish has it. I haven’t sold yet. You still have time, the entire season, to line up financing. But if not, you know what I have to do.”

      He crossed his arms over his chest. “Spoken like a true Californian.”

      “Was that the reason you let me come today, to prove some kind of point?” Despite her rising anger, her heart hammered in her chest anticipating his answer.

      He stared at her, then sighed and said, “No. I wanted you to see this because it’s amazing and breathtaking. I thought you’d like it. Both you and Claire.” Reaching out, his thumb trailed across the skin exposed above the collar of her V-neck sweatshirt. “I wanted you here.”

      She itched for a fight, a reason to funnel her traitorous emotions into anger. She needed to pull away, from this man and his daughter, from the house that her grandmother had loved. The place that, despite her best efforts, Sara had quickly come to consider home. The honesty of his response and the warmth in his gaze melted away her defenses, and she felt herself more drawn to him than ever.

      Her hand lifted to his, her fingers rubbing his calloused palm. “Let’s focus on that, okay? Just for now. Can you do that? We’ll have lunch, make Claire happy and deal with the rest later.”

      Her own version of a peace offering.

      He lifted her fingers to his mouth and rubbed his lips across her knuckles. Butterflies flitted along her spine in response. “Later,” he murmured.

      Somehow she didn’t think he was talking about their problems.

      Which scared her even more.

      * * *

      Sara left Josh and Claire in the equipment garage two hours later and brought the backpacks into the kitchen to clean up. The afternoon had been perfect, relaxed and easy, with dad and daughter actually having a real conversation about Claire’s homesickness for her old friends. Josh had suggested setting up Skype on the office computer so Claire could stay in touch, which had made Claire happy.

      Neither had brought up Claire’s mother or her dubious summer activities. The question remained what would happen once school started. But that was another issue to deal with later. And not hers, she reminded herself.

      She couldn’t quite wipe the grin off her face and was relieved April didn’t seem to be around to ask questions about the afternoon. She bent forward to put the leftover apples back into the fridge.

      “You’re avoiding me.”

      At the sound of the voice, Sara jumped, banging her head on the top of the refrigerator. “Then take a hint, Ryan,” she said, rubbing the bump.

      “We need to talk.” He stood, one hip hitched up on the counter, wearing a wrinkled polo shirt, cargo shorts and flip-flops.

      “I don’t think so.” She pointed at his feet. “What kind of help can you be on a ranch wearing those?”

      “I had a meeting in Aspen earlier.” He raised a brow. “Besides, I saw you take off with Josh. Looks like I’m not the only one playing hooky today.”

      She blew out a breath. “He wanted to take Claire for a ride. It made her more comfortable if I came, too.”

      “You’re still as much of an addict as me, Sara.”

      “I was in that rehab center for publicity and you know it. I am not an addict.”

      “I’m not talking drugs or alcohol. People and their problems. You’re addicted to fixing other people’s issues. Makes it easier to ignore your own.”

      “You’re crazy.”

      “Tell me why you’re here.”

      “Because this house belongs to me now,” she said, holding tight to the refrigerator door handle but unsure why she needed the support. “I can make more money from a successful season than a bust.”

      “And what will you do then?”

      “Repay April the money that you gambled away. Finally start the yoga center she wants.”

      “Her dream. Her problem.”

      “She’s my friend, Ryan. The only one who’s stuck with me all these years. And I want to run a business. I want to do something. Something real. Can’t you get that?”

      “Read for the part. That’s real. Do you really think you can go back to L.A. and run an exercise studio? Cater to whatever star of the week flounces through the front door looking to use yoga as a front for her latest eating disorder?”

      Her eyes narrowed. “It would sure beat waiting tables and clearing up their plates of barely touched food.”

      “You’re an actress, Sara. It’s in your blood. You have something to prove still. I know it. Don’t give up on your dream.”

      “Acting wasn’t my dream, Ryan. That one belonged to my mother.” It was true, but so was his comment about Sara having something to prove. She hated that her career had fizzled so publicly. If she’d been able to walk away on her own terms, with some of her pride intact...well, maybe that would have made a difference. She didn’t know. What could she do about it now? Read for a part and open herself up to more ridicule? She’d swallowed loads of that in the past and wasn’t sure she could stomach any more.

      “Your mother’s here right now.”

      Her gaze flicked to Ryan’s face. He looked guilty and sheepish. “Why?” she said on a growl.

      “To help you. Sell this place to her boyfriend. He tells me he made you a pretty good offer.”

      “It’s not worth what he plans to do to this place. It was my grandmother’s house, Ryan. Her home. I may not have known her well, but I have to respect what she built here. I can’t let it be destroyed without at least trying to save it.”

      Her mind strayed to the photo album on the dresser upstairs and the genuine smile on her eight-year-old face sitting on that porch swing. She thought about the pure joy she’d felt racing through the forest earlier, the way the mountain peaks felt like they cradled this valley and the peace it brought her. A feeling she hadn’t known for years, if ever.

      Ryan’s voice broke through her reverie. “He wants the property, Sara. He’s going to get it one way or another.”

      “Not from me.” Sara didn’t have much to hold on to in her life, but that СКАЧАТЬ