THE EASTERN SIDE of the Sierra Nevada Mountains was the perfect setting for fleeing a funeral. The high drama of the granite peaks rising abruptly from low, jagged hills, the earthy scent of sagebrush and pine, the open space of the high desert, were naturally suited to thoughts of life and death.

Grandma Ruth had loved these mountains. She’d lived most of her life in them. Driving down the scenic highway, marveling at each gorgeous view, seemed a much better way to celebrate her life than sitting in a musty Reno funeral chapel. Samantha still wasn’t sure how she’d ended up on this impromptu road trip. One minute she’d been listening to the pastor’s words, and the next an outraged voice was screaming in her head that this service wasn’t doing justice to Ruth. The rote text didn’t describe the loving, vibrant grandmother she knew. Samantha couldn’t stand it anymore, so she’d fled.

Running away wasn’t like her. Samantha felt her forehead, wondering if she was getting sick. She was known for showing up, helping out and always doing the right thing. But instead she’d abandoned the funeral and then, from the parking lot, called work to let them know she wouldn’t be in today. She’d cancelled all her meetings and now, instead of the many things she should be doing, she was speeding down this scenic highway to the ranch outside of Benson.

Her ranch. That idea would take some getting used to. Samantha smiled. In the past few years, Grandma Ruth had tried to get her to be more adventurous. Maybe leaving her the ranch was her last attempt to shake her granddaughter up a bit. “Well, Grandma,” Samantha said aloud to the mountains, “you have definitely stirred things up this time.”

Samantha turned up the volume on her iPod and let the strains of opera soar. Maybe it was melodramatic, but it had seemed like the only music appropriate for the splendor of this drive, the sadness in her heart and the emotion of this homecoming.

A few tears insisted on rolling down her cheeks. Samantha brushed them off and took a deep breath. All this crying wasn’t her usual style. More evidence that it would do her good to be away for a few days, to see something other than the crowded streets of San Francisco and the busy conference rooms of Taylor Advertising. She pictured the ranch as she remembered it from childhood. It might make her sad to be there without her grandparents, but how amazing to see the ranch again after so many years. Growing up, it was the closest thing to a home Samantha had known.

She glanced at the keys on the seat beside her, hooked on a ring neatly labeled Rylant, Ranch House. What would the old house be like? Ruth had moved to Reno ten years ago—what had she left behind? And in what state? The will had promised Samantha four thousand acres of ranch: barns, house, outbuildings “and all items found on the premises therein.” She hoped some of those items included furniture or it was going to be a long night.

CHAPTER TWO

JUST PAST the highway sign for Benson, population five hundred seventy-five, another weather-beaten sign read Blue Water Mercantile-Groceries, Beer, Fishing. Under the letters, a painted and peeling fish jumped out of faded water with a smile, holding a beer can in its chipped fin. The local store beneath the fish looked the same as it always had, just smaller and lower, as if it was retreating into the earth. It had been years since she’d been here, but she still remembered climbing down from Grandpa’s truck, holding on to his strong hand and hurrying him indoors to get a popsicle or a soda.

An old pickup was parked in front of the store and a man in a battered cowboy hat was leaning on the cab door, talking on a cell phone. As she pulled her car up to the curb, Samantha caught a glimpse of long legs in faded jeans, broad shoulders in a plaid shirt and white teeth that flashed when he talked. A perfect, modern Western scene, she thought, taking in the contrast of the cowboy, the old truck and the cell phone.

She smiled to herself. The sight of a good-looking man in a cowboy hat in San Francisco generally meant one thing—he was not interested in women. Out here that stereotype might not apply, and she couldn’t help but glance again at the stranger, appreciating his silhouette. Then she remembered Mark and turned away with a stab of guilt. The last thing she should be doing was looking at another man when she already had a boyfriend—even if that boyfriend hadn’t been around much lately.

Samantha crossed the small parking lot and reached for the handle to pull open the glass door of the shop. She jumped, startled, as a much larger hand swooped over hers to pull it open for her. “I got it,” said a deep voice in her right ear, and she recognized the navy plaid shirt on that long arm and knew it was the same man she’d seen in the parking lot. Glancing up to voice her thanks Samantha froze, her breath caught in her teeth.

Tall, she thought incoherently. He’s really tall. Her gaze slid down to a wide chest underneath faded flannel. Everything else was just a series of impressions—a silver belt buckle, lean muscle, fair skin tanned to gold, dark blond hair that was a little shaggy under the hat, curling a bit at the collar. She looked up quickly and met blue eyes with a brilliance in them that caught the light. Dark honey lashes surrounded them, thick and long. He looked like a man who spent plenty of time out in the elements. There were creases from sun and smiling etched on his angular face. Samantha hadn’t known a man could be so beautiful. She just stood there like a fool, staring, trying to remember how to breathe.

The cowboy regarded her with a wide grin, as if he knew just what she was thinking. Then he took a long, slow look at her before saying “You’re not from around here, are you?”

It took another attempted breath to get her heart beating again. Glancing down at herself she saw what he saw...the long, black pencil skirt, the high, spiked heels on her boots, the chunky gold ring on her hand, the black cashmere sweater. She was definitely not dressed for life in a small mountain town.

With an embarrassed smile tugging at her mouth, she forced herself to look up at those eyes and act as if they weren’t paralyzing her. If her friend Tess were here, she’d have the perfect, appropriate-yet-sexy reply, not this vast blankness that had taken over her mind.

Finally she managed, “Nope, I guess not,” and pushed past him into the store, hoping he couldn’t see her heart

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