The Rancher She Loved

CLAY DIDN’T TRUST Sarah, didn’t want her there and sure as hell shouldn’t go near her. But there was something about her he couldn’t resist.

Her eyes were huge and a little scared, but as soon as he brushed his mouth over hers, the look in them softened and her eyelids drifted closed.

Clay also closed his eyes. Her perfume, flowery and as fresh as a spring day, was different from before, but every bit as seductive. She’d cut her hair short, but it felt just as silky as when it had reached her shoulders.

If there were other differences, he didn’t sense them. She felt good in his arms, tasted sweet.

Just as he remembered.

With the little sigh he’d been waiting for without realizing it, she gave in and kissed him back. Her hands slid up his arms and wrapped around his neck, bringing her soft breasts tight against his chest.

Wanting to get closer, he shifted his weight. Wrong move. His leg screamed, snapping him out of his haze of desire.

What was he doing? Was he nuts? He dropped his hands and stepped back.

Looking slightly unfocused, Sarah tugged at her blouse. “Why did you do that?”

Because he hadn’t been able to stop himself. “I wanted to find out if you tasted as good as I remember,” he drawled. “And you do.”

Good enough that for a brief time he’d forgotten the searing pain in his knee. He needed to pop four extra-strength aspirin now, and then prop up his leg.

Not in front of Sarah. It was only out of sheer willpower that he managed to stay on his feet.

She as good as ran for the door.

Gritting his teeth, he strode after her and banged it open in time to let her out. “Goodbye, Sarah Tigarden.”

She left without a backward glance.

* * *

MRS. YANCY, THE sixty-something grandmotherly widow Sarah had rented a room from, seemed glad for the company. When Sarah returned from putting her things in the bedroom up a narrow set of stairs, her temporary landlady showed her around her colorful house, pointing out treasures she’d collected. She liked primary colors and flowers, and the fabrics of the drapes and furniture were filled with both. An eclectic selection of pictures and wall hangings decorated most of the wall space, and knickknacks crowded every available table and windowsill.

The woman herself was just as bright and energetic, and a whole lot friendlier than Clay.

But Sarah wasn’t going to think about him—even if she was still reeling from that kiss. A kiss every bit as potent as the ones she remembered.

What really rattled her, though, was that she’d enjoyed every moment of it so much. The hard strength of his arms, the delicious press of his mouth...

“The washer and dryer are behind those corded doors,” Mrs. Yancy said just before they entered a modest but homey kitchen. “You’re on your own for lunch and dinner, and if you want to cook your own meals, feel free to use the kitchen. You will get breakfast every morning. I hope you like eggs and biscuits. I didn’t know if you drank coffee or tea, so I stocked up on both.”

She clasped her hands at her ample waist, as if anxious for Sarah’s approval.

No one had cooked for Sarah in ages, and she relished the thought. “Eggs and biscuits sound delicious, and I’m a coffee drinker.”

“So am I, but if you decide you want tea, there’s a sampler box in the cabinet above the stove. Which reminds me—for groceries, head to Spenser’s General Store, about seven miles up the highway. You’ll find just about anything you might want there, including prepared food. If you’d rather eat out, Barb’s Café is right next door to Spenser’s. It’s our only real restaurant, and the food is excellent. We also have pizza and fast-food places.”

Sarah mentally stored away the information.

“If you have questions about anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask,” Mrs. Yancy continued.

Maybe the woman had known the Beckers. “Have you lived in Saddlers Prairie long?” Sarah asked.

“Almost twenty-five years. After John and I married, I moved here from Ely, Nevada. He was my second husband. The first one didn’t work out.” Briefly, her smile dimmed. “I’ll bet you’ve never heard of Ely.”

The woman jumped subjects like a leaping frog. “No, I haven’t,” Sarah said.

“It’s on the east side of the state. I met John when he came through town, offering insurance policies to ranchers. His home was Saddlers Prairie, so this is where we settled.

“At first, it seemed awfully small—even smaller than Ely. I didn’t know a soul besides my husband, and with him out and about, selling insurance to ranchers all over the West, I was afraid I’d get homesick. But the folks around here reached out to me, and in no time, I felt as if I’d lived here all my life. John’s been gone eight years now, and my friends here treat me like family. I’ve never spent a birthday or holiday alone.”

Now that Ellen was gone, Sarah wondered how she’d spend the holidays. Not that she didn’t have friends, but they had their own families.

“This sounds like a very special place,” she said. Even though Mrs. Yancy had arrived in Saddlers Prairie after the Beckers had sold their home, you never knew. “Did you by chance ever meet a family named Becker?”

The widow glanced at the ceiling, thinking, and then shook her head. “Not that I recall. But why don’t you join me over coffee and the oatmeal cookies I baked this morning, and I’ll think on it some more.”

At the mention of food, Sarah salivated. In the anxiety and excitement over seeing the house where the Beckers had once lived, her appetite had all but vanished, and she hadn’t eaten much breakfast or lunch. “That sounds wonderful,” she said.

Minutes later, she was sharing the kitchen table with her talkative landlady, two steaming mugs of coffee and a plate of chewy cookies.

“You never said why you’ve come to Saddlers Prairie,” Mrs. Yancy said.

“One reason is to do research for an article on ranching in eastern Montana.”

“I had no idea you were a writer.” She looked impressed. “It’s about time somebody sang the praises of Saddlers Prairie. I enjoy reading magazines. Which one do you write for?”

“I freelance for several.” Sarah listed them. “One of the editors who buys my pieces thought an article on ranching would appeal to her readers. I love the idea, and since I wanted to look around here, anyway, I happily accepted the assignment. I hope to meet with successful ranchers, but also those who are struggling, so that I can paint a realistic picture. Anything you can share about Saddlers Prairie will be a big help.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. You say you also want to look around town?”

“That’s right.” Sarah saw no reason to hide the truth. “I was adopted, but I recently learned that I was born in Saddlers Prairie.”

“No kidding. I know just about everyone. Who are your kin?”

“They don’t live around here anymore, but their last name is Becker—Bob and Judy.”

“The people you asked about.”

Sarah nodded. “They may have left the area before you arrived. I know they sold their house here about twenty-nine years ago.”

“There are folks in town who’ve been here longer than that. Someone will surely know the family you’re looking for.” Mrs. Yancy sipped her coffee. “I’ll ask around and see what I can find out.”

“Would you?” Fresh hope bubbled through Sarah. “I really want to know the kind of people I come from.”

“I understand.” The landlady looked thoughtful. “Over my sixty-six years of living, I’ve learned a few things.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice, as if she were about to divulge a secret. “One of the most important, which my John taught me, is that who you are matters more than your people or where you came from.”

Sarah wasn’t sure she agreed. “I still need to know,” she said. “If you were standing in my shoes, wouldn’t you?”