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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.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE PROBLEM WITH sticking to her goals on the ranch was the ranch itself. It was Sunday morning and Samantha had so much to do before driving home. But the freedom of the surrounding pastures, the grandeur of the sheer peaks pushing up behind them, the bright light and warmth of the fall sunshine, all pulled her away from her tasks.
Almost every window she cleaned provided a view that begged to be admired, and the time lost slowed down her progress considerably. Eventually it was just too hard to stay indoors at all and Samantha abandoned her bucket and mop in the upstairs hallway and headed out the back door.
She’d forgotten the beauty. She’d forgotten the way the air seemed to clean her lungs of all the city grit and lift the stress right off her shoulders. She’d forgotten how it felt to come around the corner of a narrow mountain path and catch sight of a lizard sunning on a granite boulder. And the way her mouth lifted into a smile before she’d even realized the lizard was there, in that fleeting moment between when she saw it and when it skittered away.
She followed the sound of the creek. The mountains were veined with streams that tumbled down the steep slopes and spattered over boulders, making their way down to the Owens River in the valley that ran along the foot of the range. Some were famous trout streams that brought fishermen to the area all summer long. And others, like this one, were just little no-name creeks, not much visited and more beautiful because of it.
When she’d stayed on the ranch during summers, she’d taken this path almost every day. Grandma Ruth would put a battered basket in her hand, heavy with a book, a water bottle and a snack. Those snacks were always delicious. Chocolate chip cookies, apple pie, homemade bread and butter; her grandmother had spoiled her only grandchild during those special summer months.
Samantha tried to remember the last time she’d spent a summer here. It had been just after her freshman year in college, and she’d stayed only a few weeks. Then she’d returned to campus to intern for a professor, pushing herself to reach the solid, stable life she’d so craved. And every summer after that she’d worked and interned and her visits to the ranch had dwindled down to the occasional weekend, and then to nothing.
But her sacrifice paid off. Right after college she’d been hired at the advertising firm, and by carefully saving she’d bought her apartment a few years later. After the many countries and cities and schools of her nomadic childhood, it had been such a relief to finally have a home of her own.
The splash of the creek was getting louder, and around the next corner she came to the small waterfall she’d loved as a girl. Looking at it now, with a grown woman’s eyes, it barely qualified as a waterfall, just a spot where the creek took a leap down a few large rocks and formed a small clear pool at the bottom. But when she was young it had been a wonderland where fairies hid and boats made from leaves and sticks crashed down torrents of water on grand adventures. The air felt cooler here, making it a tiny oasis where a few summer wildflowers still bloomed, peeking between the rocks alongside the creek, vying for the precious water.
Her bruised ankle was starting to throb again. It probably didn’t help that Samantha hadn’t been able to face her ugly work boots this morning. Without them she’d had only the two pairs of shoes she’d packed for Ruth’s funeral to choose from. Since her stiletto boots were still recovering from the cowpie incident, she’d gone with her slightly lower, classic pumps, which clearly weren’t meant for hiking in the mountains. Luckily she’d had lots of practice walking on the steep sidewalks of San Francisco.
The flat rock she’d loved to picnic on as a child was still there, so she picked her way toward it, kicked off her shoes and sat down, easing her feet into the water. It was ice cold and made her gasp, but she welcomed the numbness that sucked away the heat of the morning and eased her ankle.
She shook her head as she remembered her mortifying tumble off the ladder in front of Jack Baron. She’d met the man less than forty-eight hours ago and had managed to fill that time with more embarrassing moments than she’d had in years.
To make matters worse, all the ridiculous things she’d done had made him smile, and that smile, and the way his eyes lit with humor, were haunting her. Between the memories of that smile and all her embarrassments, it was hard to think of much else. Samantha wasn’t used to being distracted and it was an uncomfortable, itchy sort of feeling. Hopefully this walk would help clear her head.
So far, it wasn’t working.
Reminding herself that she’d come out here to enjoy the scenery, СКАЧАТЬ