The Rancher's Homecoming. Cathy Mcdavid

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      Maybe a real estate agent was here showing the ranch to a prospective buyer. It had been for sale the past several years, though there had been few lookers and no serious offers. Despite the ranch’s claim to fame—a location used to film The Forty-Niners for eight years during the late ’60s and early ’70s—and a much reduced price, it was a bit of a white elephant.

      Annie was secretly glad. For as long as she could remember, it had been her dream to buy the iconic ranch.

      Since the fire, her only dream was to survive each day.

      At a noise from above, she started toward the staircase. “Hello!” Taking hold of the dusty newel post, she let her gaze travel the steps to the second floor.

      A figure emerged from the shadows. A man. He wore jeans and boots and a black cowboy hat was pulled low over his brow.

      Even so, she instantly recognized him, and her damaged heart beat as though it was brand-new.

      Sam! He was back. After nine years.

      Why? And what was he doing at the Gold Nugget?

      “Annie?” He started down the stairs, the confused expression on his face changing to one of recognition. “It’s you!”

      Suddenly nervous, she retreated. If he hadn’t seen her, she’d have run.

      No, that was a stupid reaction. She wasn’t young and vulnerable anymore. She was thirty-four. The mother of a three-year-old child. Grown. Confident. Strong.

      And yet, the door beckoned. He’d always had that effect on her, been able to strip away her defenses.

      A rush of irritation, more at herself than him, galvanized her. “What are you doing here?”

      Ignoring her question, he descended the stairs, his boots making contact with the wooden steps one at a time. Lord, it seemed to take forever.

      This wasn’t, she recalled, the first time he’d kept her waiting. Or the longest.

      At last he stood before her, tall, handsome and every inch the rugged cowboy she remembered.

      “Hey, girl, how are you? I wasn’t sure you still lived in Sweetheart.”

      He spoke with an ease that gave no hint of those last angry words they’d exchanged. He even used his once familiar endearment for her and might have swept her into a hug if Annie didn’t step to the side.

      “Still here.”

      “I heard about the inn.” Regret filled his voice. “I’m sorry.”

      “Me, too.” She lifted her chin. “We’re going to rebuild. As soon as we settle with the insurance company.”

      “You look good.” His gaze never left her face, for which she was glad. He didn’t seem to notice her rumpled and soiled khaki uniform. Her hair escaping her ponytail and hanging in limp tendrils. Her lack of makeup. “Th-thank you.”

      “Been a while.”

      “Quite a while.”

      His blue eyes transfixed her, as they always had, and she felt her bones melt.

      Dammit! Her entire world had fallen apart the past six weeks. She didn’t need Sam showing up, kicking at the pieces.

      “What are you doing here?” she said, repeating her earlier question. “How did you get in?”

      “The real estate agent gave me the keys.” He held them up in an offering of proof, his potent grin disarming her. “I always liked this place.”

      He had. They’d come here often when they were dating. She’d show him the areas off-limits to tourists, all the while going on and on about her plans to buy the ranch and turn it into a bed-and-breakfast. Plans Sam had shared.

      Now he was here, holding the keys.

      He couldn’t possibly be interested in purchasing the place. He lived in Northern California. Worked there. Had a wife and daughter there, the last she’d heard.

      “How’s your mom and grandmother?” he asked.

      “Fine.” She wouldn’t admit the truth. None of them were fine after losing everything and they wore their scars each in their own way. “I have a daughter now. She’s three.”

      His smile changed and became softer. “I’m happy for you. You always wanted kids. Your husband from Sweetheart?”

      “Yes.” She swallowed. “We’re not married anymore.” Good grief. What had possessed her to admit that?

      “A shame.” Emotions difficult to read flashed in his eyes. “Losing a spouse is hard.”

      He said it as if he had firsthand experience.

      “I’m managing,” she admitted. “We’re managing.”

      “Maybe you can let me in on the secret.”

      “You’re divorced?”

      “Widowed. My wife died a year and a half ago.”

      “Oh, Sam.” Her heart nearly stopped.

      “A drunk driver ran the light.”

      She’d never known the woman but felt bad for the late Mrs. Wyler and for Sam. Having one’s life implode was something she understood.

      “That must have been awful for you.”

      He nodded and glanced toward the empty kitchen with its large picture window. “My daughter’s here with me. She’s out back. I should probably find her. I told the real estate agent I’d meet her in town at five to sign the papers.”

      Sign the papers! Even as Annie’s mind formed the thought, he spoke it out loud.

      “We’re scheduled to close escrow tomorrow. I’m the new owner of the Gold Nugget.”

      * * *

      SAM FOLLOWED ANNIE out onto the porch, only to pause and watch her as she composed herself. He hadn’t thought she’d take the news of him buying the Gold Nugget so hard. The sight of her features crumbling would stay with him always.

      He leaned his back against one of the thick columns, giving her space. Like the ranch house and barn, the columns were constructed from indigenous pines harvested when the land was originally cleared. According to the plaque mounted by the entrance, that occurred more than two decades before ground was broken on the Sweetheart Inn.

      He should, he realized much too late, have chosen his words more kindly. Annie loved the Gold Nugget almost as much as she did her family’s inn. He’d been surprised to see the ranch listed for sale, assuming she and her mother would have purchased it years ago.

      Annie had always been able to trip him up without even trying. A glance, a touch, a softly whispered response and his concentration СКАЧАТЬ