A Ranch to Keep. Claire McEwen

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      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 startle 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 СКАЧАТЬ