Samantha heard him greet someone at the counter. She forced herself to focus on her shopping.
Everything about the store brought back a memory. She smelled the unforgettable combination of dust, firewood and the faint odor of the bait sold out of the freezer in the back. There was the ice cream case, and the small section of toys. And in the air there was something she hadn’t felt in years—the peace of childhood summers, solidity and home. Tears prickled for what must have been the twentieth time that day and she blinked them back quickly. She was an emotional wreck, one moment running out of Ruth’s funeral, the next lusting after some random guy in a cowboy outfit, and now missing her grandparents so much it hurt! Disgusted with herself Samantha turned her attention to filling her basket with provisions and cleaning supplies, and kept her mind busy with plans for opening up the long-neglected farmhouse.
A man in a fishing vest sat behind the counter. She noticed his face was lined and weathered, much like the sign in front of the store. He smiled at her with a “Morning, ma’am,” and she smiled back, dumping her basket onto the counter.
There was no sign of the cowboy she’d met at the door. He’d probably left, and Samantha gave a small sigh of relief at his absence. The last time her heart had pounded that fast was during her first formal pitch at work...about five years ago? It wasn’t a pleasant feeling and not one she felt like repeating anytime soon.
“You look like you mean to stay awhile.” The grocer’s friendly eyes twinkled at her from beneath his gray brows. “You here for the fishing?”
“It’s been a long time since I tried it.” Samantha pulled out her credit card as he totaled her purchases on an archaic-looking cash register. No scanners and barcodes at the Blue Water. He took her card, set it in the holder and began to place a paper slip over it. Reading the name on the card, he stopped and looked up at her in surprise.
“Rylant? Are you any relation to Ruth Rylant?” The lump she’d suppressed rose in her throat again. She hadn’t thought this through, hadn’t taken into account all the people in Benson who’d known Ruth. Figuring she’d better get used to it, and quickly, she swallowed the lump yet again and stuck out her hand to the beaming face across the counter.
“Yes. I’m Samantha Rylant, Ruth’s granddaughter,” she told him as she shook his hand. “I’m not sure you heard, but Ruth passed away earlier this week.”
She heard the emotion in his voice. “Yes, I did hear...stupid of me not to give my condolences right away. Ruth was a fine woman. We all missed her when she moved away. I’m sorry to hear she’s gone.” They were silent a moment and then he continued, “Well, but here you are and I’m being impolite. I’m Dan Sanders, owner of this fine establishment. Welcome to Benson, Samantha. You staying in town?”
“I thought I’d stay out at the ranch.”
Dan’s gaze shifted down to her hands, eyeing the bold rings and the manicured nails. “Oh, I see. Have you been out there recently? You might want to try the hotel for a while until you can get someone in to clean up the place.”
“Believe me, I called, but it’s full. A fly-fishing tour. But it’s okay, I’ll figure something out. I guess I’m just going to have to clean the house up myself.” At Dan’s incredulous look she pushed on, needing to explain, maybe to herself as well. “She left it to me...so I guess I just want to spend some time there, figure out what I’ve got on my hands. I haven’t been out there since before she moved away.”
“Wait a minute!” Dan interrupted. “I remember you now! No wonder you stopped here—you know this place. I remember Ruth bringing you in here from time to time when you were just a kid! And your grandpa, he always used to buy his fishing license here. If I remember right he’d take you fishing right along with him.” He grinned and stacked her groceries in a paper bag as he continued. “You were just a skinny little thing, all big green eyes and arms and legs.”
“Not much has changed since, has it?” The cowboy’s deep voice spoke right behind her. Samantha nearly jumped out of her skin. She turned quickly, hitting her elbow against a rack of sunglasses. “Whoa, steady there!” He caught the wobbling rack and Samantha grabbed her elbow, wincing at the pain sizzling up her arm. “Are you okay? That looked like it hurt.”
Her traitorous heart thumped and her pulse raced at top speed as she stared at him, momentarily stunned into silence. What was wrong with her? “I’m fine, really,” she managed. Time to gather the shreds of her dignity.
She pulled her eyes away from his handsome face and drew herself up to her full five-and-a-half feet, forcing herself to let go of her stinging elbow. She deliberately turned her back to him and gave Dan the most dazzling, confident smile she could muster, ignoring the cowboy’s presence behind her. “Mr. Sanders, it was nice to meet you. I look forward to seeing you soon. Thank you for your kind words.”
If Dan noticed the flushed cheeks and contrived dignity he said nothing. He took her hand, a kind expression on his face. “You come on by if you need anything, Samantha. And don’t pay attention to the clown behind you. He’s just fond of causing trouble. If he wasn’t one of my best customers I’d kick him on out of here for you!”
There was another laugh behind her, courtesy of the gorgeous cowboy. Samantha gathered her bags and turned to go. Mr. Perfect stepped out of her way, tipping his hat in her direction. She refused to look at him. Brushing past his broad shoulder she turned to Dan. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t pay attention to him.” More laughter, deep and warm, crested behind her like a wave that prickled her skin and washed her out the door into the bright fall sunshine.
* * *
THE PHONE TRUMPETED a faint snippet of Beethoven’s Fifth and Samantha pulled the car onto the gravel shoulder, reaching for her purse. Hopefully it was Mark, dutifully calling to apologize for not attending the funeral with her. Or, more likely, he’d be calling to talk about work. Still, maybe his familiar voice would banish the memory of the handsome cowboy, whose laughter still echoed in her ears. Ugh.
The screen was flashing her mother’s name. Ignoring the stab of disappointment that her boyfriend continued to be AWOL, she answered.
“Samantha! Are you okay? How’s it going?” Her mother sounded revved and excited. She always did, especially before any type of global travel.
“Mom, I’m not even at the ranch yet, but almost. It’s nice here.” She looked around at the ridges rising above her. “Peaceful. Beautiful.”
“Wow, you’re making me miss it.” Samantha could hear an unfamiliar, wistful note in her mother’s voice.
“Really? You know you never liked it here. No one speaking Swahili, no volcanoes erupting, nothing exciting enough for you.”
Her mom laughed. “You’re right. It’s a little tame for your father and me. But gorgeous, nonetheless. Speaking of Swahili, we’re at the airport now. We should be back in Kenya by tomorrow.”
Samantha had spent most of her life on a different continent from her parents, but the familiar pang returned. No matter how often she reminded herself that they were happy this way, traveling the world and making their documentary films, a part of her never stopped wishing they would just stay in one place at least for a little while. She opened her door and stepped out of the car, wanting fresh air to blow out the ghosts of accumulated disappointment. Her foot landed in something unexpected, soft and yielding. She looked down in horror. “Oh, no!”
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“Mom, you won’t believe this. I just stepped in a cow pie.”
Her mother’s giggles filled her ear as Samantha