A Ranch, A Ring And Everything

PROLOGUE

WHEN the old woman stepped off the curb, seemingly oblivious to the approaching bus that Samantha Yeager had been waiting for, Sam did what any normal, redblooded soul would do. She grabbed for the woman.

She was sturdier than she looked and Sam’s first effort didn’t budge the soon-to-be victim. Energy surged from some hidden reservoir and Sam spun the woman around, out of the path of the massive vehicle bearing down on her.

She yelped like a puppy as she landed in a heap in the gutter. Her second, terror-filled cry triggered a keening blare of a horn, an awful grinding of gears, and the screeching of brakes. The sounds came in syncopated rhythm, like the last exaggerated measure of a tragic opera.

The fine hair on the back of Samantha’s neck stood on end as a silver monstrosity filled her vision. I’m going to miss my bus again, she thought inanely. The blinding pain that preceded her slow motion fall into darkness seemed as inevitable as a final curtain.

CHAPTER ONE

THE man stood by the window, haloed by light too rosy to be anything but the early morning sun. Samantha watched him long enough to know she had no idea who he was or why he was here. Same for the room she was in. No doubt, it was a hospital room, and a hospital bed, but she wasn’t sure why she was in either.

He wasn’t a doctor—or at least she didn’t think so. If he was, he would surely be visiting room after room instead of lost in thought in hers. Statue still and standing in the midst of an unbelievably large display of beautiful roses, every dark hair was in place and his etched nose and strong chin completed a perfect profile.

Then the man turned her way, destroying the illusion. No statue had brilliantly blue eyes that came alive with interest the moment he realized she was watching him.

You’re awake, he said, advancing out of the backdrop of greenery.

She nodded and wished she hadn’t. The motion made her head feel like a seventy-six-piece band marched around inside it. She sank deeper into the pillow.

You’re in pain? He frowned as he came to a stop beside the bed. I’ll get the nurse.

No. She touched the sleeve of his dark suit as he reached for the call light beside her. I’ll be all right if I don’t move.

You’re sure?

She made the mistake of nodding again and winced.

Dave said you would probably have a fair-size headache when you woke.

Samantha frowned.

The doctor, he answered her unspoken question. David Crisp.

What am I doing here? she asked.

You don’t remember?

No. She frowned. And if you aren’t my doctor, who are you? What are you doing here?

I promised my grandmother I’d stay with you until she gets back, the man explained. His smile turned his ice blue eyes warm and transformed him into the most attractive man she’d ever seen. The white contrast with his tan left her breathless.

Your grandmother?

Elizabeth Chandler. Genuine concern hid the smile behind a twisted frown. You don’t remember her? She was here most of the night.

Elizabeth Chandler. The name jarred an image in her mind: the image of a pleasant woman with eyes that matched this man’s, except her eyes had been dulled by worry. Sometime during the wee hours of the morning, the woman had gently smoothed her hair back from her forehead and helped her sip water from the glass on the bedside stand. The mental picture changed and suddenly the elderly woman was stepping off a curb…

Samantha’s heartbeat quickened and she blinked hard as the rest of the memory rushed her. Oh, my! Remembered terror made her voice box rusty as she pushed the words past it. Squeezing her eyes shut, she inhaled deeply, then let it slowly out. The effort made her chest hurt like hell.

You remember now?

That’s why I’m here! It wasn’t a question so she didn’t need the man’s confirming nod.

And is she—your grandmother—all right?

She has a few bangs and bruises, but she’s pretty good, considering, he added. You took the impact for her.

She let that sink in, grateful that she didn’t remember that part of it at all. And am I…pretty good—considering? she asked.

He eyed her speculatively. Not bad, considering.

If he was commenting on how she looked rather than on her injuries, his skepticism wasn’t very flattering.

That bad, huh? She took a quick mental inventory of her aches.

You were hit by a bus. I’d say not bad…considering. He reached across her. Pulling the bedside table over her, he lifted the top to reveal a mirror. See for yourself.

Samantha’s eyes were the only familiar part of her face and they widened in dismay as he gently propped an additional pillow behind her head so she could see more easily.

The entire right side of her forehead was raw. One of her high cheekbones held a wide, dirty-looking smudge. She fingered the bruise gently. Do I look like this all over?

I haven’t seen you all over. He didn’t sound averse to the idea.

You didn’t happen to hear any rumors, did you?

The question earned a pleasant-sounding chuckle from him. They tell me the scrape across your forehead and right arm are your only open wounds, he said.

She lifted her arm to inspect it in the reflection. It was covered with the same reddish mess as her forehead.

It could have been worse. The driver swerved and bumped you away from the bus.

Samantha traced the line of her swollen mouth. Her lips were normally wide and bow-shaped, one of her favorite features. She tried a smile. It looked grotesque.

You’ll heal, he offered.

"I certainly hope so. This can’t all be bruises," she added as she tried to sit up.

You’re pretty much covered with them.

She eyed him. "I thought you said you hadn’t seen all of me."

"I hear," he emphasized with a chuckle, that the especially colorful bruises are on your hip.

He had an easy laugh, she thought, pushing aside the tray. She gingerly began an exploratory search of the rest of her body. She prodded her tender ribs. His eyes followed her progress with interest and she dropped her hands to her sides self-consciously.

He shifted his gaze further down her sheet-draped body. The worst, of course, is your leg. It’s broken I’m afraid.

Samantha concentrated her examination on the cantaloupe-size padding beneath the covers and discovered it wasn’t all bandages. It doesn’t hurt, she commented.

Probably won’t as long as you don’t move.

That might be tricky, she said ruefully, realizing that on a normal day, she would be getting ready for work about now. What time is it, anyway?

The man glanced at his watch. ’Bout six.

She had a little time yet to call to her temporary employer, but what else was she forgetting? She frowned.

Don’t worry, we called your mother, he offered. She was upset, of course, but Dave talked to her and assured her you weren’t in any real danger, he added quickly when he saw her immediate concern. Then Grandma talked to her and promised we would make certain you are well taken care of. Believe me, he added, almost to himself, my grandmother is determined to take excellent care of you.

Samantha sighed then scowled again.

Would you like me to help you call your mother now? He misinterpreted her expression.

No.

He raised a dark eyebrow.

She can’t do anything from St. Louis and I am all right, she explained. Don’t you think a call at this time of the morning might just alarm her?

He glanced at his watch. I wasn’t thinking, he apologized. I’m a morning person so I guess it never occurs to me that everyone else isn’t up this early.

She smiled. She knew he had to have a flaw. She’d just found it.

The police said you live alone. You are going to need someone to take care of you when you get out of here. Do you think she—your mother—would be able to come? You aren’t going to be able to do much for yourself for a few weeks.

Damn. Damn. And double damn. She just remembered what had been so important. She’d been rushing to her interview when the accident had happened. That meant they’d probably hired one of the other applicants to fill the position she’d wanted so badly.

What’s wrong? He stepped closer to the bed.

She was stunned by his instant perception. She hadn’t realized she’d made her disappointment so obvious. She tried to smile. Nothing, she murmured.

His eyes narrowed doubtfully.

Except that I have no idea who you are, she said quickly.

Mark Chandler. Elizabeth Chandler’s grandson. A very grateful Mark Chandler, he added, settling on the side of her bed. It dipped with his weight and she gasped at the movement. Sorry, he offered.

It’s okay, she assured him, closing her eyes momentarily. I guess you know who I am.

Samantha Yeager, he answered.

A nurse’s aide bustled in and stuck an electronic thermometer in her mouth. You might want to wait out in the hall, the woman commanded Mark. We’ll get Samantha ready for breakfast since she’s awake. She stared pointedly over the top of her glasses at him until he moved. Then she recorded Samantha’s vitals on the clipboard beside the bed.

Samantha didn’t get any information from the aide that she hadn’t from Mark, just an assurance that her doctor usually made his rounds before nine.

When the woman left a few minutes later, Mark returned and restlessly propped himself in the open door. He crossed his long legs at the ankles and folded his arms across his muscular-looking chest.

Listen, she said, you don’t have to hang around here-

I promised. He lifted one shoulder lazily. I don’t make my grandmother mad if I can help it. And my promise to stay was the only way I could get her to go to a hotel and get some rest. She’s very concerned about you.

Would you mind doing me a favor, then?

Of course not.

Would you help me make a phone call? I need to let my supervisor know I won’t be able to work today.

Let me just do it. His eagerness confirmed that he didn’t enjoy the inactivity being forced on him. I have several calls I need to make anyway. So you just lie there and rest.

She gave him the number and her supervisor’s name. And please, would you explain? She fumbled for words. I mean, I really need—

Don’t worry. I’ll make sure everything is fine. He winked. How could they hold being a genuine heroine against you? With that, he wandered off down the hall to find a pay phone.

Samantha couldn’t resist checking her mangled face again in the mirror once he was gone. His not badconsidering was an understatement, she decided. She looked like something the cat wouldn’t drag in. It was just her luck that on the day she met the most handsome man she’d ever seen, she had to look like this. She wondered if ice would help reduce the swelling in her lips.

Samantha?

She jumped, paying for the movement in pain again as the elderly Mrs. Chandler came in. You had us very worried last night, the woman scolded.

I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you, Samantha assured her, smiling stiffly. "I had nightmares about you and that bus all night. I hope I didn’t do more damage to you than the bus would have."

Mrs. Chandler’s chuckle matched her eyes. They were alive and cheerful beneath her snowy brows. Combined with her round, rosy cheeks, she reminded Sam of a thin version of Mrs. Santa. Her white hair looked thick and soft.

I have a few new aches now, she admitted cheerfully. But when you’re my age, the aches remind you that you’re alive. I’m just grateful to be feeling anything. I can’t begin to thank you properly, Samantha Yeager.

I think you’ve started. She waved toward the flowers filling one side of the small room.

Mrs. Chandler laughed again. Mark sent those.

Oh? She raise both brows. She never would have guessed. "Then I’ll tell him how beautiful they are."

The woman extracted a white, long-stemmed rose from one of the vases. I tried to tell him this might be a bit excessive. You can smell them clear down the hall. She looked at the flower tenderly then handed it to Sam. But he’s always been overly extravagant with his thankyous.

Sam had to agree in this case. How many are there anyway? The petals felt soft and soothing against her cheek.

One for every year of my life. Her grandson’s gesture obviously touched Mrs. Chandler. It would’ve been all over but the shoutin’ if you hadn’t been there.

I’m glad I was. Samantha covered the hand the woman had rested on the side of the bed with one of her own. The friendly handclasp mutated into a gentle hug.

Grinning broadly, Sam realized Mrs. Chandler was right. The aches were worth the end result.

Now, Mrs. Chandler asked, "what can I do for you? Do I need to contact anyone?"

Samantha shook her head. Your grandson is making a call for me right now, she said. He told me you talked to my mom last night. Thank you. I hope she wasn’t too worried.

The wrinkles around the older woman’s face tightened. Of course she was worried. I promised her I would make regular progress reports so I’ve talked to her three times. I’ll help you call her later. Now, is there anything else? she asked.

Noooo, Samantha answered.

But? Mrs. Chandler patted her hand. Something else is worrying you.

Sam took a deep breath and decided to find out just how anxious Mrs. Chandler was to do something for her. Well, I do have one silly, but fairly major concern.

Then let’s hear it, Samantha, she said. If it’s something I can take care of, it might make a slight dent in what I owe you.

If I give you my key, Sam said hesitantly, would you go take care of my puppy?

Of course, my dear. Mrs. Chandler’s eager acceptance of the simple-sounding request made Samantha