A Ranch to Keep. Claire McEwen
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wind hit her the moment she stepped out the door and onto the waterfront walkway. When she’d first moved to San Francisco she’d been so frustrated with the wind. The fog was always blowing in or out of the bay, and whenever she went out, she always arrived at her destination windblown and messy. After a year or two it occurred to her that this was a trademark of San Franciscans. They blew through doorways with coats pulled around them, hair flying over their faces, looking like they’d been somewhere exciting and perhaps a bit treacherous. It was part of the mystique of living there. At least this is how she consoled herself when she arrived somewhere and glanced in a mirror to find her hair standing on end and her cheeks and nose bright pink from the wind.
Wrapping her wool coat tightly around her and tucking her purse carefully under her arm, Samantha headed south toward the Bay Bridge, savoring the scenery. Treasure Island and the East Bay hills beyond hadn’t yet been engulfed by the incoming fog and were lit up with the last bit of sunlight. Dodging joggers, cyclists and even a few salsa dancers with a boom box, Samantha took in the view and tried to keep her mind in the present—enjoying her adopted city that had come to feel like home, and looking forward to finally spending time with Mark. But her mind wouldn’t be still, her thoughts slipping back to the weekend, to the ranch and to the way she’d felt when she’d been near Jack Baron.
Maybe it was his eyes, she mused. No one had a right to eyes that blue, or that compelling. There’d been a happiness about him, too, a contentment that radiated, as if he was exactly where he wanted to be in life. That was something she definitely wasn’t used to. Most people she knew were fairly happy, but they were always reaching for something more...a promotion, a relationship, a vacation, or the mastery of a new hobby. Jack didn’t seem to be reaching. Just enjoying.
It occurred to her that Grandma Ruth had been content like that, and her grandfather as well. She suddenly remembered something Ruth had said a few years ago, on what had turned out to be her last visit to San Francisco. They’d been sitting in a Union Street café near Samantha’s apartment, taking a rest from window shopping and watching the weekend crowds stroll by. Ruth had taken Samantha’s hand across the table, patting it gently. “You’ve chosen a beautiful city to live in, Sammy,” she’d told her. “But I look at these people going by, pushing their designer baby carriages, walking their beautiful dogs, with cups of fancy coffee in their hands, and I worry about you. All these people have so much, but no one looks very happy to me. No one ever seems satisfied here.”
At the time Samantha had teased her grandmother. “Happiness is overrated, Grandma,” she’d replied. “In San Francisco it goes along with a lot more, with accomplishment and with living well and doing things the right way. You can see why my perfectionist self fits in so well!” They’d laughed at the truth in that and Ruth had said no more about it.
Now it occurred to her that maybe Ruth had left her the ranch in an attempt to give her the type of happiness she’d enjoyed throughout her own life. But if the core of that happiness was contentment, then how could Samantha Rylant, vice president at Taylor Advertising, ever achieve that on a ranch in Benson? How could she possibly be satisfied living out in the middle of the mountains?
Samantha felt a stab of guilt at the realization that she wasn’t going to be able to fulfill Ruth’s dream for her, that she was very likely going to have to sell Ruth’s beloved ranch.
But Ruth must have also understood that Samantha had a different dream, one with a different type of happiness—more ephemeral maybe, more based on career and accomplishment. With that came a little less contentment perhaps, but wasn’t it a lack of contentment that drove people to keep striving and achieving more?
Her phone jangled and she grabbed at it, startled out of her thoughts.
Mark’s voice sounded annoyed. “Samantha, where are you?”
Surprised, she immediately turned around and started back. “Mark! I’m so sorry. I went for a walk while I was waiting. I guess I lost track of time!” Lost track of time? That wasn’t normal for her. She mentally kicked herself, and Jack Baron, for proving to be such a distraction, even from so many miles away. “I’m on my way back now.”
“Well, it’s getting really late,” Mark complained. “We’re going to miss the movie at this rate.”
His accusing tone grated but she tried to keep her voice pleasant. “Mark, I apologize for not being there when you arrived, but I’m also not the only reason we’re running behind. How about we just get dinner and we can see the film another time?”
With a sigh he agreed and hung up. Samantha shook her head. The male ego astounded her. True, she wasn’t at their meeting place, but he’d kept her waiting an hour. She dialed the restaurant to change their reservation for the second time that evening and was relieved when the host said that it wasn’t a problem. It was hard to even get into the popular waterfront eatery, with its divine Vietnamese-Californian cuisine.
Breathless, she pushed through the doors of the café. Mark pulled her into his side with a one-armed hug and kissed the top of her head. “Hey, Kiddo, been doing some jogging?”
Kiddo? He finally gave her a nickname and it was Kiddo? “Hi, Mark.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “It’s so nice to see you in real life again.”
“You mean as opposed to office life?” He led her through the double doors and back out into the street, now lit by the glow of streetlights, steering them alongside the docks to the restaurant.
“Yes. Office life doesn’t count, really,” she joked.
His voice was suddenly serious. “I think it counts a lot, actually.”
It always took a while to warm Mark up; though once he shed his professional skin he could be quite sweet and funny. “You know what I mean,” she chided him teasingly. “Of course it counts. But it doesn’t compare to time spent like this, with just us, together.”
His mouth relaxed back into a smile as he glanced down at her. “You’re right, of course. Sorry about that. It’s just been a challenging few days, with you gone for the funeral and then running out on me to go to some ranch. And then going to L.A., where, by the way, you made a pretty great impression on the boss. So you can see, I’ve had nothing but work on my mind for a while now.”
“You poor guy. But I didn’t run out on you, you know. I did invite you to come along.”
“Well, you know, I’ve never much enjoyed funerals, particularly of people I’ve never met.” He stopped them for a moment and took her gently by the shoulders, his brown eyes serious beneath his shock of light brown hair. “But I am sorry I made you go alone, Samantha. I realize it was selfish of me.” He leaned down and kissed her mouth gently, his lips soft and undemanding. “Forgive me?”
It was hard to resist his apology. “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t a very enjoyable event. I didn’t actually stay until the end. Plus—” she lightened the moment “—someone had to stay home and pick up all the slack!”
He pulled her toward him for another lopsided hug. “And speaking of all that slack, there’s still a bunch of things I need to run by you since we’re gearing up for the big pitch next week.”
“Now?” Samantha asked.
“Why not?”
Samantha tried to focus as he went through the talking points he was considering for tomorrow’s planning meeting, but her mind kept wandering away.
Maybe it was grief over losing Ruth, but one moment she was listening to Mark’s discussion of their next brainstorming session, and the next she was noticing how graceful the lines of the old shipping warehouses were. How had she never seen that before? And there was the familiar shape of Coit Tower, all lit up on top of Telegraph Hill, but tonight, wrapped in fog, its lights were blurry, almost mysterious.
Her mind wandered even further away, back to the intense look on Jack Baron’s face as he’d placed the Band-Aid on her skin. The memory scorched her. The resulting guilt shook her out of her reverie. What had gotten into her?