Rancher For The Holidays
Myra Johnson
Her Could-Be CowboyDownsized from his corporate job, Ben Fisher's donning boots and a cowboy hat to try ranching through the holidays on his uncle's spread. The handsome city slicker turns heads wherever he goes—but he soon begins to fall for one special redhead. Marley Sanders has the work-obsessed bachelor doing the unthinkable—volunteering in the community and dreaming of wedding bells and babies. But his sweet country girl insists she's never leaving Alpine, Texas, and he's set to ride out with the first job offer. Unless Marley can convince him to take the job of her forever cowboy.
Her Could-Be Cowboy
Downsized from his corporate job, Ben Fisher’s donning boots and a cowboy hat to try ranching through the holidays on his uncle’s spread. The handsome city slicker turns heads wherever he goes—but he soon begins to fall for one special redhead. Marley Sanders has the work-obsessed bachelor doing the unthinkable—volunteering in the community and dreaming of wedding bells and babies. But his sweet country girl insists she’s never leaving Alpine, Texas, and he’s set to ride out with the first job offer. Unless Marley can convince him to take the job of her forever cowboy.
“Show me what you’ve got, city slicker.”
Ben glanced back as he hauled himself into the pickup bed. Why did Marley have to look so gorgeous? He shouldn’t even be here, at her mission, much less succumbing to an attraction with no future.
Marley cocked her head. “You gonna stay up there all day?” Her smile faded. “I understand, really, if volunteering isn’t your thing—”
“Not at all,” he said. Then he grabbed one of the boxes.
After they’d unloaded all the supplies and sat sipping cold sodas, Ben couldn’t resist glancing at her.
Don’t mess with Marley.
Her coworker’s subtle warning shouldn’t bother him. He had no intention of letting anything develop between him and Marley. Yeah, there was something special about her.
But he had no intention of staying.
He should make some excuse and get out of here. Cut and run right now.
His mind was made up…so why couldn’t he move?
Award-winning author MYRA JOHNSON writes emotionally gripping stories about love, life and faith. She is a two-time finalist for the ACFW Carol Award and winner of the 2005 RWA Golden Heart. Married since 1972, Myra and her husband have two married daughters and seven grandchildren. Although Myra is a native Texan, she and her husband now reside in North Carolina, sharing their home with two pampered rescue dogs.
Rancher for
the Holidays
Myra Johnson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.
—Romans 12:9–13
For my amazing agent and cherished friend, Natasha Kern, who never gives up on a good story.
Acknowledgments (#ulink_945ff1be-a0de-522d-beda-323d571b0d5e)
I’m sincerely grateful, first of all, to my longtime friend Peggy Gallagher Fisher, who mentioned in a Christmas letter one year that she thought the real town of Candelaria, Texas, could be a great basis for one of my novels. Through a series of emails, Peggy introduced me to her friend Lynn Misch, who with her husband, Pastor Steve Misch, has regularly participated in mission outreach efforts to the people of Candelaria. Lynn graciously supplied me with myriad details about this tiny Texas border town and its people. While my story and characters are purely from my imagination, the ongoing needs in Candelaria are very real.
Special thanks to my editor, Melissa Endlich, and her staff for the opportunity to share this story with Love Inspired readers. Also to the ladies of Seekerville (seekerville.net) for sharing their wisdom and experience through the publication of my first Love Inspired romance story.
Contents
Cover (#u997af6c6-e53a-50fd-88fc-12a40ca7bd46)
Back Cover Text (#u2c71fc72-79dd-5e45-b53d-341e21a9e36d)
Introduction (#udfcf1e85-db43-5930-a821-d04d4add4380)
About the Author (#ucab7c99d-13c5-56fe-bfc3-fabb22b5aed6)
Title Page (#u5b46a8e6-2ddf-59b5-84d9-e2eab2ac2f72)
Bible Verse (#u228c4fe0-c9ab-5004-aa4b-78a842517a74)
Dedication (#uf5e0d58c-7fa1-5646-b28c-14f464c717d9)
Acknowledgments (#ulink_289de987-faed-5f85-aee8-5066c7fe2d24)
Chapter One (#ulink_46d17cc5-c5d2-5630-8e51-74bf141e2181)
Chapter Two (#ulink_3b49939a-0ae4-5d18-b1dc-bd29eeecc795)
Chapter Three (#ulink_f5aa139a-33c0-5732-92ce-c94809ef1652)
Chapter Four (#ulink_3a5c4cc9-532a-5263-8c71-2159ebb21214)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_00f2f1e0-2560-57ec-a3c7-717dd4cf2240)
The end of the road—that’s what it felt like for Ben Fisher.
Not literally, of course. Alpine, Texas, was some seventy or eighty miles from the Mexican border. Touristy chic in a Western, high-desert kind of way. Big Bend country, seasoned with the flavor of Mexico.
An interesting town, and a place Ben truly enjoyed visiting. He and his older brother, Aidan, had spent many summer vacations pretending to be cowboys and exploring their aunt and uncle’s ranch outside town.
The only problem this time? A prolonged stay in Alpine, Texas, was not on Ben’s current agenda.
Or it hadn’t been until two weeks ago, when a memo from the Home Tech Revolution CEO changed the course of Ben’s life.
He paused in the shade of a bright blue awning and gazed unseeing into a shop window along Holland Avenue. He’d already browsed through several gift shops, art galleries and specialty boutiques, none of which piqued his interest. Mucking stalls and hefting hay bales might be more therapeutic, but between Aunt Jane’s concerned glances and Uncle Steve’s penchant for handing out unwanted advice, Ben had needed to get away from the ranch for a while.
Except he’d slightly overdressed for a leisurely walk around downtown Alpine. When sweat threatened to soak through his maroon polo shirt, he decided to step in out of the September heat. As he pushed open the shop door, a blast of chilly air raised goose bumps on his arms. He dodged a string of jangling brass bells, but one managed to slap him in the forehead anyway.
“Ouch.” He rubbed the spot as he nudged the door closed with his elbow.
“Sorry.” A young woman appeared from the back of the shop. She wore a dark blue apron over jeans and a T-shirt, her straight auburn hair pulled into a ponytail. “The bells are a new addition. Guess I didn’t consider my taller customers.”
At barely six feet, Ben didn’t consider himself particularly tall for a guy. He arched a brow. “You usually cater to munchkins?”
“This time of year, yes.” The woman was almost Ben’s height, even in her sneakers. She nodded toward a nearby counter, where a placard announced an upcoming after-school photography class for children. “I take it you aren’t here to enroll your child?”
“Uh, no. I mean, I don’t have any kids. I’m not even—” Ben clamped his teeth together and forced an apologetic grin. “Truth is, I just stepped inside to cool off.”
“Oh.” She sounded so disappointed that Ben almost wished he did have a kid to sign up for her class.
Almost. Marriage and family remained way down his list of priorities—and would until he got his career back on track.
Barely disguising a sigh, the attractive proprietor stepped across the room and reached up to straighten a poster-size framed photograph of a little girl climbing onto a school bus. A long, black braid swung down the child’s back. The photo had captured the girl as she peered over her shoulder with a wistful, world-weary smile.
Only then did Ben take a serious look at his surroundings—another art gallery. More accurately, a photography studio. A few cityscapes and landscapes were displayed, along with portraits of children and teens, family groups and wedding parties. Typical professional photography fare.
But as he browsed the wall where the picture of the little girl hung, Ben felt as if he’d stepped into another world. These photos captured real people doing everyday things. Kids swatting at a piñata. An elderly woman knitting. Two boys playing catch. And most of the subjects appeared to be Hispanic.
He stepped closer. As a promotion manager—okay, former promotion manager—he knew more than a little about photography and composition. Whoever snapped these pictures had talent. He slid his gaze to the young woman. “You take these?”
She offered her hand. “Marley Sanders, at your service.”
“Ben Fisher. Pleased to meet you.” He noted her confident grip. If he still had his job back in Houston, he’d have wasted no time asking for her portfolio so he could present it to the ad team. “Even if I don’t have a kid to sign up, is it okay to look around?”
“Be my guest.” Marley looked at her watch. “For fifteen minutes, anyway. I’m closing at four so I can get to a meeting.”
“Ah, a woman with an agenda. Okay, I’ll hurry.” Hands in his pockets, Ben moved along the wall, each photograph more impressive than the one before. “Are these for sale?”
“Sure!” An eager response if Ben had ever heard one. She cleared her throat. “I mean, yes, anything you see here is available for purchase. I also have a number of photos on display at various businesses around town, so if you don’t see anything you like—”
“I see plenty I like.” Ben studied a photo featuring a bright red portable building shaped like a barn. The double doors stood open, and inside a young Hispanic mother with a baby on her hip perused shelves lined with canned goods and other grocery items. He doubted this woman ever shopped at Home Tech Revolution. He glanced at Marley over his shoulder. “Interesting subject. Is this somewhere around here?”
“It’s a little town called Candelaria, about ninety miles west.” A faraway look darkened her dusky brown eyes even more. Anticipation? Concern? Ben couldn’t tell. “Most of the photos in this group were taken there. It’s a special place.”
“Must be, if you’ve spent so much time photographing it.”
“It’s not just the town. The people are amazing—” The chirping of a cell phone interrupted her. She slid an iPhone from her back pocket. “Hi, Pastor. On my way right now.”
Ben started toward the door. “Guess you need me to clear out.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. Watch out for the—”
Too late. As Ben pulled open the door, the brass bells bounced off and beaned him again.
“Oops.” Behind him, Marley tittered. “I really need to shorten those things.”
“Or up your liability insurance.” Shooting her a wry smile, Ben stepped onto the sidewalk. “Nice meeting you, Marley Sanders. You do good work.”
She wiggled her fingers in a tentative wave before locking the glass door behind him. Pointing at the dangling string of bells, she mouthed, Gone tomorrow. Promise.
He gave her a thumbs-up and decided a brief stay in Alpine might be exactly what his bruised ego needed.
* * *
Wow, nice guy. Except why couldn’t he have been a nice dad enrolling his kid in Marley’s photography class. She needed at least four more registrants just to break even. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was go to her father again for another infusion of capital. His subsidies were always secret, naturally, since Missouri State Representative Harold Sanderson had a reputation to protect.
Exactly why she’d moved a thousand miles away to Alpine, where no one knew her as anyone but Marley Sanders.
How many years had she worked to make it on her own, to prove to herself and her parents that she could live a responsible, productive, meaningful life? Her messed-up past was marred by lousy high school records and too many appearances in juvenile court. But the one mistake that finally brought her to her knees was a tragic auto accident that left Tina Maxwell, her one true friend, in a coma for six weeks.
With so much going against her, Marley had had no choice but to let Mom and Dad pay her way through college. She’d chosen Sul Ross State University in Alpine because of its remote West Texas location, then fell in love with the area and the people and decided to stay.
During her college years she became interested in photography. After she graduated, her father continued to send money while she got her studio up and running. But income remained sporadic, and more than once her father had not so subtly suggested she might want to switch to a more lucrative career.
That is, if he contacted her at all.
Time to stop dwelling on the past. She couldn’t change it anyway, so the most she could hope for was to live purposefully in the present and try to make a difference.
And make her business profitable enough so she could stop depending on Daddy’s money.
Maybe the nice Mr.—what did he say his name was? Fisher. Maybe Mr. Fisher would come back tomorrow and actually buy one of Marley’s photographs. He sure seemed interested. Even looked as if he could afford her prices, judging from his designer-label polo shirt and neatly pressed khakis.
Oh, and the trendy haircut. Short but spiky, like one of those intentionally messy movie-star dos, and an interesting shade of light brown mixed with hints of sun-kissed blond. His hair color looked natural, but Marley knew plenty of women who’d pay their stylists big bucks to get such attractively subtle highlights.
Yep, the dapper Mr. Ben Fisher was definitely an out-of-towner, and since not many locals actually bought her stuff, all the more reason she needed to rely on income from her commercial photography and children’s classes.
After flipping around the Closed sign in the front window, Marley turned off the lights, ditched her apron and headed out the back door. She jogged to the small parking lot at the end of the alley, then climbed into her ancient green Honda Civic and drove across town to the church.
By the time she sidled into the library and found an empty chair at the conference table, Pastor Chris’s Spirit Outreach meeting appeared to be well under way.
“Glad you made it, Marley.” Pastor Chris tapped a pen against his legal pad, which was propped on the edge of the table. “We’re discussing ways to step up our outreach efforts.”
Marley’s friend Angela Coutu, seated across the table, spoke up. “Which isn’t easy, considering the size of our congregation. We’re doing all we can.”
“We could do more,” her husband, Ernie, said. “I’d like to see us affiliate with an organization like Big Bend Assistance Alliance. They’re doing amazing work in the cities where they’re active.”
Marley tapped her nails on the tabletop. “Too bad they don’t have a branch in Alpine.”
“I hear they’re looking into it,” Pastor Chris stated. “But it’ll be after the first of the year at the earliest, and we’ve still got two Candelaria trips to organize between now and Christmas. We need to think about fund-raising, getting supplies together and rounding up volunteers.”
Straightening, Marley folded back the cover on her tablet computer. “We’ve got the next work trip covered for volunteers, right?” She had really wanted to go along but couldn’t break away from the studio that week. At least she could look forward to the trip the week before Christmas, when several college students from a Texas Tech campus ministry would join them.
Discussion continued, and with the work trip details finalized, the committee talked more about their Christmas plans for Candelaria.
Running a hand across his crew cut, Pastor Chris checked his notes. “The Texas Tech group will be doing some fund-raising on campus between now and the end of November, and the director’s counting on seven or eight students to sign up for the holiday mission trip.”
“That’ll be a big help.” Marley typed the number 8 and a question mark next to “visiting mission team” in her planning list. “I think we should consider a major fund-raiser of our own, though. I want to give those kids and their families a really special Christmas.”
Judy Jackson, a silver-haired retired teacher, flipped backward through her spiral notebook. “In the past, we’ve done things like car washes, pancake breakfasts, and church-wide garage sales. Those are all fine and dandy, but if we want continued support from the community, we need to come up with something original.”
An hour later, the Spirit Outreach committee had tossed out several ideas for possible fund-raisers, none of which the entire group could agree on. Some were too complicated, others too corny, and by the time Pastor Chris adjourned the meeting, Marley’s frustration level had reached its peak. She’d grown so fond of the little town and its people, and all she wanted was to put an end to the haggling and do something tangible to help.
Pastor Chris walked Marley out to her car. “Hang in there. You know how committees work. We’ll eventually get this figured out.”
Marley answered with a smile and a shrug.
“How’s your class sign-up coming?”
“Not good. I’d hoped for some return business from kids who took my summer classes, but I guess they lost interest.”
“September’s a busy time for parents. Maybe they’ll get around to it once the kids settle into their school routines.”
“Maybe.” Marley didn’t feel optimistic. She opened her car door and tossed her shoulder bag and tablet case across to the passenger seat. “Oh, well, if the class doesn’t happen, I’ll have more time to get ready for Candelaria.” She gave a heartless laugh. “Not to mention I’ll be saving money on utilities.”
Pastor Chris leaned against the fender. A concerned frown creased his brow as he squinted against the afternoon sun. “You doing okay? Financially, I mean?”
Marley shrugged. “I’ll make it.” She climbed into her Civic, wincing as heat from the black vinyl upholstery penetrated her jeans. “Let me know when the next meeting is, Pastor. In the meantime, I’ll work on the list of craft supplies the ladies asked for.”
One hand braced on the door frame, Pastor Chris fixed Marley with a pointed stare. “Track your expenses, okay? We’re taking up a special offering every Sunday this month, so we can reimburse you out of the donations.”
“I will, I promise.” Marley couldn’t afford to do otherwise, but she looked forward to the day when she could give more than just her time and talent to the cause she cared so much about.
* * *
“Ouch!” Ben was beginning to wish he’d worn a crash helmet for his trip into Alpine.
True, he should have taken the last dip a little slower. Uncle Steve had warned him the ranch road didn’t offer the best driving conditions for Ben’s low-slung cherry-red Mustang convertible. Rubbing his head with one hand and gripping the steering wheel with the other, he eased off the accelerator. On this washboard of a road, speed was not his friend.
The western sky had darkened into breathtaking shades of purple, gold and magenta by the time Ben pulled up next to his uncle’s stone-and-cedar ranch house. Stepping from the Mustang, he glimpsed Uncle Steve watching from a front-porch rocking chair.
“Thought I might have to send out a search party.” His uncle moseyed down the porch steps. “Have a good day exploring the city?”
City? Houston was a city. Dallas was a city. Ben might even call Abilene a city. As for Alpine... Ben shrugged. “Looks pretty much the same. Except maybe even more artsy-craftsy than I remembered.”
“The artist community does bring in tourists.” Uncle Steve motioned Ben to one of the rockers. “Aunt Jane’s fixing supper. Want an iced tea while we wait?”
Nothing sounded better. Even with the Mustang’s windows shut tight and the A/C set to recirculate, Ben’s mouth tasted as if he’d swallowed dirt all the way from town. While his uncle went inside to fetch a glass, Ben settled into a rocking chair and gazed toward the rugged mesas and distant mountains stretching across the horizon. He could already feel a difference in the air temperature as the sun slipped lower. One extreme to the other.
Just like Ben’s life.
The screen door banged, and Uncle Steve passed Ben a frosty tumbler of iced tea before returning to his chair. “Jane says fifteen more minutes. We weren’t sure when you’d get back.”
“You didn’t have to wait. I’m used to fending for myself.” Ben tossed back a big gulp of tea and let the coolness wash the dust from his throat. He liked Aunt Jane’s special blend, with hints of mint and citrus and sweetened just right.
Uncle Steve looked askance at Ben’s khakis. “Son, when are you gonna get yourself a regular ol’ pair of blue jeans? You go around dressed like a city slicker and folks around here are liable to laugh you straight back to Houston.”
“I have jeans.” Ben’s reply sounded whiny, even to his own ears. He rocked harder. “Just haven’t unpacked them yet.”
Glancing toward Ben’s dust-coated Italian loafers, Uncle Steve snickered. “Might want to get yourself some boots, too.”
The rocker stopped. With a barely suppressed grin, Ben slowly swiveled his head toward his uncle. “Yes, sir. Let me know when you’re through criticizing my wardrobe.”
A moment later, Aunt Jane pushed open the screen door. “Chow’s on the table, boys. Y’all come on in and wash up.” She patted Ben on the shoulder as he stepped through the door. “Don’t pay that old coot any mind. It’s nice to have a man around here who shows a little class.”
“Thanks, Aunt Jane. And for the record, I think you’re one classy lady.” He tweaked one of her platinum curls before following her to the kitchen.
Unfortunately, Uncle Steve was right. Here at the ranch, Ben’s casual-Friday slacks and Ferragamo loafers were the height of impracticality. He’d noticed the pretty photographer eyeing his attire as well—probably seeing dollar signs and hoping he’d snap up one of her photos.
If she only knew how fast his bank account was dwindling. Not that he was anywhere near destitute—he’d been careful to sock away hefty chunks of his salary into savings—but with no idea how soon he’d be employed again, he couldn’t afford to be frivolous.
Ben took the chair at the opposite end of the table from his uncle and breathed in the zesty aromas of homemade enchiladas, Spanish rice and cheesy refried beans. “Wow, Aunt Jane, you could open your own restaurant.”
She laughed as she refilled Ben’s iced-tea glass. “Honey, I’ve got my hands full riding herd over your fool of an uncle.”
“Pass me your plate, boy,” Uncle Steve said, reaching across the table, “and I’ll serve you up some grub.”
Aunt Jane’s enchiladas tasted as good as they smelled. She hadn’t skimped on the jalapeños, either. Ben was no stranger to hot-as-you-can-handle Tex-Mex, but by the time he’d polished off a third helping, he could almost feel the smoke pouring from his ears. He huffed and puffed and fanned his mouth. “Anybody got a fire extinguisher?”
“Milk’s the best thing.” Laughing, Aunt Jane rose and took a glass from the cupboard.
As soon as Ben gulped the ice-cold milk, the pain subsided. He patted his full belly and leaned back. “I mean it, Aunt Jane. With you as chef, we could go into the restaurant business and make a mint.”
Both his aunt and uncle chuckled and shook their heads, and Ben didn’t have the guts to tell them he was half-serious. He desperately needed to come up with some kind of plan to jump-start his stalled career. Nothing in a million years could have prepared him for getting laid off from his dream job. Just proved how naive he was, assuming a thriving brick-and-mortar chain like Home Tech Revolution was immune to the growing trend toward internet shopping.
After helping with the dishes and putting away leftovers—barely enough for someone’s meager lunch, after the damage Ben had done—Ben collapsed on the leather sofa in the great room and kicked off his loafers. While Uncle Steve flipped satellite channels on the big-screen TV, Aunt Jane pulled out some kind of yarn thing to work on. The quick action of her fingers mesmerized Ben.
He raised on one elbow for a better look. “What are you making?”
“It’s a baby blanket.” Aunt Jane’s eyes sparkled over her silver-rimmed reading glasses. “We have a ministry at church where several ladies knit afghans, prayer shawls and the like for people who have a special need or could just use something soft and comforting in their lives.”
“That’s nice.” He wasn’t really sure what a prayer shawl was, but then lately he hadn’t had much practice with prayer. These days he wasn’t on very good terms with God.
“This blanket’s for a sweet young mom in Candelaria.”
It was the second time today Ben had heard the name. He pictured the photo of the mother and child selecting food items in the little red barn. He sat up again and planted his feet on the floor. “You wouldn’t by chance know the photographer in town with all the pictures of Candelaria.”
“Marley?” Aunt Jane looked up with a smile. “She’s a doll. And so dedicated to helping the families out there.”
Uncle Steve turned down the TV volume. “Did you find Marley’s gallery while you were in town?”
“Yeah, I happened upon it. She’s really talented.”
Aunt Jane and Uncle Steve exchanged glances, then nodded as if sharing some secret communication. Uncle Steve grinned at Ben. “Son, we just might have some ideas to put you to work while you’re here.”
Ben didn’t know whether to be grateful or scared. Then the possibility of seeing Marley Sanders again took hold, and he felt the first twinges of anticipation he’d experienced in weeks.
Chapter Two (#ulink_c8a1964c-18a4-560a-9156-fe1567c7780a)
“Your total comes to sixty-three dollars and eighty-four cents.”
Marley offered a tight-lipped smile as she fished her debit card from her wallet and ran it through the scanner. The cashier stuffed Marley’s craft supplies into three plastic bags, then handed her the receipt. She tucked it next to her cell phone so she wouldn’t forget to give it to Pastor Chris after church tomorrow.
Otherwise, especially after the notice she’d received from her studio landlord yesterday, she might be eating cold cereal three times a day for the foreseeable future. The landlord had decided to give the buildings on her block a face-lift, which meant a rent increase beginning in January.
With less than four months to raise her profits, where was her wealthy patron of the arts when she needed him? Apparently, Mr. Designer-Label Fisher had better uses for his money than returning to purchase one of the photos he’d admired yesterday. Since she’d even kept her promise to shorten the string of bells, Marley couldn’t suppress a sad chuckle.
But why expect this guy to be any different from the usual tourists strolling through the arts district? They mostly just browsed anyway. Despite frequent assurances they’d stop in again after shopping around, few ever did.
In the shopping center parking lot, Marley tossed the bags in the trunk of her Civic, then settled behind the wheel and started the engine to get the A/C running. While the hot air blasting her face gradually cooled, she pulled out her phone to check messages and email. Surely there’d be at least one more registration for her photography class.
Nothing.
She tipped her head against the steering wheel and groaned. Dear God, don’t make me break down and call my dad.
Maybe she’d drive by the church right now and see if Pastor Chris or his secretary happened to be in the office on a Saturday morning. She didn’t look forward to scrounging through the meager leftovers in her fridge to find something for tonight’s supper.
As she started to back out of her parking space, a car horn blared behind her. She slammed on the brakes. In the rearview mirror she glimpsed a flashy red convertible with the top down. A guy in smoky aviator sunglasses glowered at her from the driver’s seat before gunning his engine and swinging into the empty space on her right.
Marley groaned. Must be another wealthy out-of-towner. She couldn’t resist an annoyed glance as the driver opened his door. At least he took care not to bump her car. More likely, he was trying not to scratch his own.
Then he caught her eye through the window. Oh, no, the trendy-haircut guy? Marley’s breath hitched.
He must have recognized her, too. Grinning, he whipped off his sunglasses and motioned her to roll down her window.
“Can’t,” she answered with a shrug, hoping he could hear her through the glass. “It’s broken.”
He nodded and stepped around to her door while she lowered the driver’s-side window. “Marley, right? Remember me? Ben Fisher.”
“Of course.” Ben Fisher wasn’t exactly a forgettable kind of guy. “Don’t tell me you’re here to shop? I pegged you for more of a Saks Fifth Avenue type. If we had one of those around here.”
His grimace told her she’d touched a nerve. “Since it looks like I could be around awhile, thought I’d stop in at the local department store to pick up a few T-shirts and maybe a pair of sneakers.” A funny smile stole across his lips. “According to my uncle, I gotta quit dressing like a city slicker or risk getting laughed out of town.”
Marley couldn’t resist giving him the once-over. Another slim-fitting polo shirt in a mossy shade of green complemented his tan. The khakis were gone, but his citified jeans and the same polished loafers made him look more country-club than country.
“He’s right, isn’t he?”
Swinging her gaze back to his face, Marley winced as heat rose in her cheeks. “I’m sorry—who are we talking about?”
“My uncle.”
“Oh, right.” Maybe this was a conversation better continued at eye level. Marley stepped from the car and folded her arms. “So you’re here visiting your uncle?”
“He has a ranch a little ways out of town. He says he knows you.”
As long as she’d lived in Alpine, Marley had never quite gotten over the twinge of anxiety such a statement always evoked. She tried to mask the tension in her tone. “What’s his name?”
“Steve Whitlow.”
A wave of relief washed over her. “Yes, Steve and Jane—great people. We don’t attend the same church, but they’re regular supporters of our Candelaria outreach.”
“So I’ve been told.” Ben cocked a hip. “Like I said, I’ll probably be around awhile, so Uncle Steve thought maybe I could help with whatever you’re doing out there.”
The way his voice dipped suggested he wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea. Marley lifted her chin. “I appreciate the offer, but if you’re looking for something fun and exciting to do while you’re in town, Candelaria isn’t it.”
Hands upraised, Ben took a step back, his expression hardening. “Believe me, fun is the last thing on my mind at the moment.”
“I’m sorry. It just sounded like—”
“No, I’m sorry. Guess I’m a little touchy these days.” He sighed and attempted a smile. “You were just leaving. Don’t let me keep you.”
“Yeah, and you have some shopping to do.” Relaxing a little, Marley couldn’t resist a smirk.
Ben tapped his aviators against his thigh as he studied her. “You have somewhere else to be right now?”
“Nowhere special.” Why did she just say that? Did she want to blow any chance of catching someone in the church office this morning? “Why do you ask?”
Nodding toward the store entrance, Ben shrugged. “I was thinking I could use a little fashion advice.”
“I don’t know...”
“Please? You don’t want me embarrassing my aunt and uncle, do you?” He nudged her out of the way of her car door and pushed it shut. “Come on, give me half an hour and I’ll buy you lunch.”
Marley narrowed her gaze. “Restaurant of my choice?”
“You name the place.”
“City slicker, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
Ben couldn’t believe he’d just asked a girl to lunch.
Or that she’d accepted.
Not a date exactly, but as close as he’d come in a long, long time. His climb up the career ladder hadn’t left much time for a social life. Maybe his meteoric crash into unemployment had an unexpected perk.
Or so he thought until he read the menu prices at the restaurant Marley selected. He smirked. “You have excellent taste, Miss Sanders.”
Her pupils darkened as she studied the entrées, and he could swear she was actually salivating. “For obvious reasons, I don’t come here often.” She peered over the menu and wiggled her brows. “But you did say I could pick anywhere I wanted.”
“I certainly did.” Ben returned his attention to the menu. Maybe he’d settle for a salad. And water.
At least he’d gotten out of the department store without breaking the bank. Three colored T-shirts, two pairs of Wranglers, a package of tube socks and a pair of heavy-duty sneakers. Plus a nifty gray ball cap. Marley had reminded him that, even with the approach of fall, the high-desert sun could be brutal. And all his purchases amounted to less than what he typically paid for his favorite brand of dress slacks.
Or Marley’s meal, apparently. She went all out, ordering an appetizer, salad, ten-ounce rib eye and baked sweet potato with all the trimmings.
Ben narrowed his gaze. “Skipped breakfast, huh?”
She shot Ben a sheepish glance as she passed her menu to the server. “I’ll probably take half of it home.”
“Now I’m subsidizing your grocery budget?”
Marley gave a playful sniff. “It’s the least you can do, since you never came back to buy one of my photographs.”
“I wish I could. It’s just—”
The server cleared his throat. “Sir? Have you decided?”
“Chopped salad, balsamic vinaigrette on the side.” Closing his menu, Ben motioned toward the miniature loaf of dark bread the server had brought with their waters. “And can we have a couple more of those?”
“Salad? That’s all you’re having?” Marley grimaced. “You must think I’m a glutton.”
“Not at all.” Ben sliced off a thick piece of bread and slathered it with butter. “I realize my city-slicker duds probably made you think I’m loaded.”
Marley harrumphed as she buttered a slice for herself. “Not to mention your fancy red convertible.”
“The truth is, I was laid off two weeks ago. If I don’t find another job soon, it may come down to selling the Mustang so I can pay my rent—on a much smaller condo.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” Marley shot an embarrassed glance around the restaurant. “If you can find our waiter—”
“Forget it. I’m not broke yet.” Ben paused to savor a mouthful of warm bread oozing with melted butter, then wiggled his brows. “Anyway, I owe you for helping me pick out my swanky new wardrobe.”
“Still, I’d have been just as happy with a burger and fries at the DQ.” Marley stared guiltily at her bread slice before nibbling a tiny bite.
“Yes, but the ambience here is so much nicer.” Not to mention the view across the table. Marley wore her hair down today, and Ben liked the way it framed her face. He imagined touching those silky auburn strands...
Suddenly the clinking of tableware and the conversations of other diners seemed amplified a hundred times. Ben blinked and buttered another piece of bread. No point in starting something he couldn’t finish, seeing as how he didn’t envision sticking around Alpine once he found another job. He was only here for some R and R. A rented beach house on Galveston Island would have been his first choice, but Uncle Steve and Aunt Jane had offered free room and board.
The server returned with Marley’s appetizer, a platter of cheese quesadillas. She nudged it toward Ben. “Have all you want. You’re buying, after all.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” As Ben helped himself, he watched Marley scrape the pico de gallo off hers. “Not into hot and spicy?”
She slurped up the melted cheese dripping from her quesadilla, then shook her head. “Not even after ten years in Texas.”
“Ten years? I took you for a native. Where are you from?”
At that exact moment, Marley stuffed the rest of her quesadilla into her mouth. Making exaggerated chewing motions, she waved her hand to signal she couldn’t answer yet. Ben spooned her unwanted pico de gallo onto another quesadilla and polished it off while he waited. He didn’t think she’d ever finish chewing and swallowing.
When she finally did, she must have forgotten his question. “Were you serious about getting involved with the Candelaria ministry?”
Ben sipped his water. “Sure. What exactly do you do?”
“All kinds of stuff. I was at the craft store to pick up supplies for the ladies. A while back, a fabric store donated several sewing machines, and the ladies create some lovely handcrafts. Then several state-park gift shops sell the items on consignment.”
Marley went on to tell how college students from Austin had built the little red barn he’d seen in the photograph. “It’s a reimbursement store stocked by volunteers, and one of the local women manages it. Everything is sold at cost, so they don’t have to deal with the whole sales-tax issue.”
Ben squinted in disbelief. “Wait—you’re telling me there’s nowhere else in Candelaria to buy necessities?”
“They have nothing. No stores, no gas stations, not even a real school anymore. The nearest town with shopping and schools is fifty miles away.”
“Then why don’t they—”
The server interrupted him to deliver their salads. Ben drizzled dressing over the lettuce and was about to pick up his knife and fork when he noticed Marley folding her hands.
“Do you mind if I offer grace?”
He should be used to this. Aunt Jane and Uncle Steve gave thanks before every meal, just as Ben’s parents had always done. Mealtime prayer was a ritual he’d let slide sometime during college. Guess he’d grown too complacent relying on himself to give the Lord any credit. But then, God had let Ben down too many times in the past couple of years.
Awkwardly, he dropped his hands to his lap and waited while Marley whispered a simple but heartfelt prayer. Her ease with the words and the intimate tone of her voice suggested she felt totally comfortable conversing with the Lord.
She finished, and Ben retrieved his fork. He almost hated to break the reverent silence. “That was...nice.”
Marley smiled as she took a bite of salad. “Before the waiter came, you were about to ask me something.”
It took him a moment to remember. “You said there’s nothing in Candelaria. So why don’t the people just move to a bigger town?”
“First of all, no one ever talks about who or how many, but it’s likely some of these families crossed over illegally, so Border Patrol keeps a close eye on anyone coming or going. For another reason...” Marley pushed a tomato around her salad plate, her expression suggesting he could never understand. “Candelaria is home to these people. Whole families have grown up there or across the border in San Antonio del Bravo. They have pride in their history, a connectedness to their roots that—”
She broke off abruptly and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Marley?” Ben stretched his hand across the table to touch her wrist. His chest tightened when a tear slipped down her cheek.
With a self-conscious laugh, she dabbed her face with her napkin. “Guess you can tell I’m rather passionate about this subject.”
Ben had the feeling her tears stemmed from something deeper than altruism, but he didn’t know her well enough to pry. He was thankful the waiter returned at that moment to serve Marley’s entrée.
“Do you need any steak sauce, ma’am?”
“No, thanks. I’m sure it’s fine.” Anticipation filled her eyes, now as big as her dinner plate. She sliced off a juicy bite of rib eye.
The tempting aroma of seared meat eclipsed any appetite Ben had for chopped salad. Fisting his knife and fork, he pinned Marley with his best imitation of a John Wayne stare. “Little missy, if you’re plannin’ on takin’ home any leftovers, you better guard that slab of beef with your life.”
* * *
Marley left the restaurant with a container packed with three quesadilla triangles, half her dinner salad, most of her baked sweet potato and maybe enough steak for a meager sandwich. Poor Ben. She’d finally taken pity on him and offered a few bites of her rib eye. He acted as if he’d died and gone to heaven.
Guilt still plagued her for picking one of the most expensive restaurants in Alpine. Ben should have told her sooner about losing his job.
On the other hand, she understood perfectly well about keeping certain parts of your life private. Thank goodness Ben hadn’t pressed for details about her background. She’d much rather talk about Candelaria.
Except she’d almost blown it. Choking up like that? Good grief! At least Ben seemed to accept her explanation about the source of her tears. The truth was an ache with no cure.
They’d driven over separately, so Ben walked Marley over to her car. “Mind if we exchange cell-phone numbers?”
Her heart drummed out a few staccato beats. The cute city slicker wanted her number?
“I mean, in case you figure out anything I can do to help with your committee.”
“Oh, right.” She stifled a groan at her own foolishness. He was attractive and funny and easy to talk to, but struggling to make her business profitable, volunteering on the outreach committee and striving every day to keep her past in the past, she had no room for a man in her life. Besides, the moment he found another job, he’d be long gone.
They traded phones to enter their contact information, then Ben helped Marley into the car with all her leftovers. He grinned hopefully. “If you need any help finishing those off...”
Laughing, Marley opened the food container and passed Ben another quesadilla. “Here, have one for the road.”
He ate it in two bites, then slammed a fist to his chest in mock gratitude. “Your kindness is exceeded only by your—”
“By your flair for the dramatic.” Grinning, Marley slipped her key into the ignition and got the A/C running. “Goodbye, Ben. And thank you again for lunch.”
“My pleasure.” He tapped his phone as she pulled her door shut and mouthed, Call me.
She smiled and nodded, but a nagging inner voice told her getting involved with Ben Fisher, whether platonically on her Candelaria committee or otherwise, might be the biggest risk she’d ever take.
Chapter Three (#ulink_179e000f-e8e3-57f9-a53b-7243d5703492)
“I’ve got Jacob and Bryan signed up, Mrs. Hunter. You can pay me at the first class. And thank you!” Marley did a quick victory dance as she ended the call. One of her church friends had caught her after worship yesterday and asked to get her daughter on the list. Now Marley needed only one more student for the class. Some people were notorious for waiting until the last minute, and with two weeks to go, things were looking up.
Mondays at the studio were usually quiet, which gave Marley time to work in the darkroom. She liked the ease and convenience of digital photography, but for her gallery pieces, nothing beat large-format film she processed and printed herself.
Today she needed to select and print several landscape shots commissioned by a Texas travel magazine. The sooner she turned those in, the sooner she could cover next month’s rent on the studio. Artistic photography may be her first love, but magazine work, family portraits, senior class photos and weddings paid the bills—at least for now.
Her thoughts drifted to the notice from her landlord. The studio was in a prime location for downtown foot traffic. The upside of moving to another part of town was lower rent. The downside? The old saying, “Out of sight, out of mind,” might well hold true.
As she stood at the counter filling out the class registration for Mrs. Hunter’s boys, the front door creaked open, barely disturbing Marley’s shortened string of brass bells. A familiar face peered through the crack. “Is it safe?”
She feigned a sneer to disguise her unexpected pleasure at Ben’s arrival. “Oh, please. Don’t be such a wimp.”
He slid the rest of the way inside while keeping one eye on the bells. “A guy can’t be too careful around these parts.”
Marley slid the registration form into the drawer, then circled the counter. “If you came back for the rest of the steak, you’re about—” she counted on her fingers “—thirty-nine hours too late.”
Ben chortled. “The way you were chowing down Saturday, I’m surprised those leftovers lasted that long.”
“They were sure good, though.” Marley offered a sincere smile. “I mean it—thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Thumbs hooked in the pockets of the Wranglers Marley had helped him find, Ben turned to study her photos of Candelaria. “This is my favorite.” He nodded toward the shot of the little girl boarding the school bus. “There’s something about her expression, like she wants to but doesn’t.”
“Would you want to ride an hour and a half to and from school every day?” Marley stood beside Ben and recalled the morning she’d snapped the photo of Isabella Cortez. It was two years ago, the first day of school. “These kids want an education so badly, and they’re all such good students. It’s been a long, hard fight to get a school reestablished in Candelaria so the kids won’t have to be bused into Presidio every day.”
“There ought to be a better way.” Frowning, Ben moved to another photo. “Like this little store. Can’t they get a big-box store to come in?”
Irritation bristled. “Have I mentioned Candelaria is considered a ghost town? There aren’t enough families in the area to support a convenience store, much less a major supermarket.”
“Guess I’ve lived in the big city too long. Can’t even imagine living under such conditions.”
“Not many people can.” Returning to the counter, Marley angled the photography-class poster a little more toward the front entrance. “Was there a particular reason you stopped in?” She peeked over her shoulder and wedged a touch of humor back into her voice. “Besides checking up on my leftover steak?”
“Actually, yes. Over the weekend I learned my aunt and uncle are about to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary. I’d like to give them something special and wondered if you’d do their portrait.”
“Wow, forty years. In today’s world, they’re practically an endangered species.” Marley tried not to think about her own parents, who’d separated not long after her dad decided to go into politics twelve years ago. Between the threat of divorce and his delinquent daughter with her juvenile record, Dad and his election team had their hands full doing damage control.
Then Mom had relented and promised to stick it out—if only for appearances’ sake. With Marley, however, Daddy found it easier to quietly relocate her and change her name so he could pretend she never existed.
Until she ran short of funds. And dear old Dad wouldn’t think of being late with a check for fear his little girl would reappear at the most inopportune moment to utterly humiliate him. He couldn’t seem to appreciate how desperately Marley struggled not to go to her father for assistance. Nor did he get the whole concept of turning one’s life around, maybe because he had such a hard time doing so himself.
“Marley?” Ben’s gentle tone drew her thoughts to the present. “You looked a million miles away.”
“Just planning in my head what kind of portrait your aunt and uncle would like. I’m thinking a location shoot right there at the ranch.”
“I like it. I could see the two of them on the porch swing, with the mountains in the background, maybe around sunset—”
“Hey!” Laughing, Marley waved her hands. “I’m the photographer, last time I checked.”
Ben rested an elbow on the counter. His lazy grin did something to Marley’s insides. “Isn’t the customer entitled to offer suggestions?”
“Only if he doesn’t get in the way of my creative vision.” Marley crossed to the other side of the counter and pulled out her appointment book. “When do you want to do this?”
“I’ll need to check with Uncle Steve and Aunt Jane. They don’t even know about the idea yet.”
“Just let me know. For a full-size portrait on canvas, I have to send the proof to a photo lab, which takes time.” Marley laid a catalog on the counter and began flipping pages. “You need to decide what size portrait you want, then whether you prefer traditional stretched canvas or mounted on foam board. Then you have framing options—”
Eyes glazing, Ben raised his hands. “Why do I have a feeling this is going to be a lot more expensive than I bargained for?”
It happened every time. People came in wanting a family portrait or looking for a wedding photographer, and when Marley started talking prices, they looked as if she’d hit them with a stun gun. Would she ever get the hang of easing the client into the monetary portion of their discussion?
Pasting on a patient smile, she closed the catalog and slid it onto the shelf beneath the counter. “Don’t sweat it. We have lots of options, and I’m perfectly willing to try to work within your budget.”
“That’s good, since I don’t have one. I’m unemployed, remember?”
“Hard to forget, Salad Man.” Marley winked. “I have an idea.” She opened a drawer and brought out a gray vellum envelope. Inside was a blank gift certificate, which she laid on the counter in front of Ben. “We don’t have to talk prices now, but I’ll write in ‘one professional portrait sitting and print,’ and you can present it to your aunt and uncle. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
Ben ran his index finger along the certificate’s silver border, then looked up at Marley with a grin. “This is perfect. Thanks.”
His gaze held hers so long that she almost forgot how to breathe. She straightened and reached for her calligraphy pen. “All righty, then, I’ll fix this right up for you.”
* * *
Forty years. Ben had a hard time wrapping his head around the number. How did two people stay together so long, and look so happy doing it? But then, if Mom hadn’t died, she and Dad would have celebrated their thirty-sixth anniversary this year. Ben and his brother, Aidan, used to be mortified by their parents’ public displays of affection. Keith and Emily Fisher had had the kind of marriage Ben had always secretly wanted for himself someday.
And then came Paula. Thoughts of Ben’s brassy new stepmother made Ben shudder worse than fingernails on a chalkboard. But when Dad chose to remarry so quickly, he hadn’t asked for anyone else’s opinion, least of all his own sons’.
All these thoughts played through Ben’s mind that evening when he presented Uncle Steve and Aunt Jane the gift certificate Marley had prepared. Their enthusiastic response reminded him all over again why Steve and Jane were his favorite aunt and uncle. First they hugged him until he begged for mercy, and then they hugged and kissed each other like a couple of newlyweds.
“Sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for us.” Aunt Jane wiped tears from her eyes. “We haven’t had a nice portrait done since our twentieth.”
“Not counting those church directory pictures every few years.” Uncle Steve grimaced. “Regular cattle call, the way they rush you in and out.” He stroked Aunt Jane’s cheek with a tender touch, his voice softening. “And last time they airbrushed away all my sweetheart’s character lines.”
“Character lines, my foot.” Giving her husband a playful punch on the arm, Aunt Jane winked at Ben. “Sounds to me like your uncle needs a new pair of bifocals.”
“I think you’re gorgeous, Aunt Jane.” Ben fetched the coffeepot and refilled everyone’s mugs. As they returned to their seats around the kitchen table, he asked, “So, can we set up a time with Marley soon?”
Ben’s aunt put a hand to the silver curls brushing her neck. “All depends on when I can get a salon appointment. If we’re going to be preserved for posterity, I want to look my best!”
“I should have my suit dry-cleaned, too,” Uncle Steve said. “Only ever wear it to weddings and funerals.”
“No suits allowed.” Ben smirked as he stirred hazelnut-flavored creamer into his decaf. “Seriously, I want to remember you just like you are today.”
“Aw, Ben.” His aunt patted his arm. “You’ve always been like a son to us. Having you around more than makes up for not having kids of our own. I’m glad your mama was willing to share.”
“Me, too.” Ben glanced away. Even two years later, he couldn’t keep the lump from climbing into his throat. “I miss her.”
“I miss her, too,” Uncle Steve said, glancing away. “My little sister was the best.”
The kitchen grew quiet for a few moments, and Ben couldn’t stop thinking that God must really have had it in for him. First his mom’s death, then Dad’s remarriage. And now, on top of everything else, the career Ben had fought so hard for had been ripped away.
As if sensing he needed to change the subject, Aunt Jane picked up the gift certificate, a bemused smile tilting her lips. “Still can’t get over you doing this for us. Marley’s really going to set up her camera stuff out here?”
“The ranch landscape will be the perfect backdrop.” Ben fought to shove down the niggling resentment, a side of himself he was growing to dislike more every day. “If we can decide soon on a date, she may be able to get it done before her after-school classes start up. Plus, it sounds like she’s really busy with this mission outreach stuff.”
Uncle Steve sipped his coffee. “I heard they’re planning a trip to Candelaria the week before Christmas. Got a call from Marley’s pastor over the weekend asking if we’d let them use our RV.”
“You should join Marley’s committee,” Aunt Jane suggested. “I’m sure they could use someone with your business sense.”
Ben scratched his head. “What do I know about church committees? Anyway, I should be spending my time job hunting.”
Aunt Jane rose and began putting plates in the dishwasher. “I thought you were taking some time to regroup before you jump back into the job market.”
“I can’t put it off indefinitely.” Ben carried his and Uncle Steve’s empty coffee mugs to the sink. “I’m still paying rent on my Houston condo, and then there’s my expensive toy sitting in your driveway.” He nodded out the window toward his Mustang.
“Maybe you should let the condo go,” Uncle Steve said. “You can stay with us as long as you like. Haven’t I always said I’d turn you into a rancher someday?”
Ben couldn’t help but laugh at his uncle’s persistence. “You know I’m not cut out for country living.”
Aunt Jane elbowed him. “Give it a chance and you might be surprised.”
From the kitchen window, Ben glimpsed some of Uncle Steve’s white-faced Herefords grazing in a nearby pasture. As boys, Ben and Aidan had visited a few times when their uncle had been preparing to ship cattle off to market. Ben always got attached to a favorite cow and hated saying goodbye when it came time to load the trailer. For weeks afterward he wouldn’t touch a hamburger or steak, fearing it was his cow.
He had a sudden image of Marley Sanders wolfing down her rib-eye dinner, and he laughed out loud.
* * *
Ben spent most of the following two days combing job-search sites for anything in his field. His aunt and uncle’s satellite internet connection wasn’t the fastest, but he didn’t have much choice unless he wanted to drive all the way into Alpine and find a coffee shop with free Wi-Fi.
He had to admit, though, the backyard view while sitting at Aunt Jane’s kitchen table sure beat the gray walls of his former office cubicle overlooking I-635. Rolling hills and rugged mesas dotted with desert plants, cattle grazing on stubby tufts of grass, a couple of horses cavorting in the near pasture—the Whitlow spread was a landscape straight out of a western film.
Uncle Steve entered through the back door and tossed his dusty straw Stetson onto a chair. “Having any luck?”
“Not much.” Ben closed his laptop, then leaned back and stretched.
“Maybe it’s time for a change.” Uncle Steve grabbed a tall plastic tumbler from the cupboard, then filled it with crushed ice and water from the fridge dispenser. He took a big gulp and sat down across from Ben. “I’m serious, son. This layoff might be God’s way of telling you He’s got other ideas for your life.”
“Then He should have told me before I invested all those years getting an MBA.” Ben couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his tone.
“I’m not saying He doesn’t intend for you to use the education and experience you already have. God doesn’t waste anything.” Uncle Steve’s mouth twisted in a thoughtful frown. “But there could be other ways to use your skills besides sitting behind a desk in a high-rise office building.”
Groaning, Ben ground his knuckles into his eye sockets. “I know you’re trying to help, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. But if you’re trying to convince me to stay here and look for work in Alpine, it’s not happening.”
“Now hold on, Ben, and hear me out. I know you love it here. I know because you’re like a different person, a happier person, every time you stay for a while. And like Jane and I have said time and again, you’re like a son to us. So it’d mean the world to me if you’d consider—if you’d just think about—partnering with me here on the ranch.”
Uncle Steve’s words touched a deep place in Ben’s heart, and it was true, he did love the ranch. Loved every minute he spent here. Blowing out a sharp breath, he scraped a hand down his face. “I can’t even tell you what an offer like that means to me, Uncle Steve. But I just don’t see it happening. You can put me in boots and jeans. You can trade in my Mustang for a bucking bronco. And I’ll still be a confirmed city boy. It’s who I am now. It’s the only life I know.”
Ben yanked the plug from the wall, grabbed up his laptop and trudged down the hall to the guest room.
Good jobs weren’t about the view. Who had time to notice the view, anyway, working fifty or sixty hours a week?
Ben flopped on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was his father who’d suggested Ben spend a few weeks with Uncle Steve. He’d also made Ben promise he wouldn’t even think about looking for work right away. “You’re flush with savings,” Dad had said. “Don’t rush into anything. Use this time to get to know yourself again.”
This from the man who obviously didn’t know himself at all, who had remarried only nine months after Mom died.
And Uncle Steve certainly didn’t know Ben if he honestly thought Ben was cut out for ranch management.
Someone tapped on his door.
“It’s open.”
Aunt Jane peeked in. “Just got back from town. I stopped in to see Marley and set up an appointment. She’s coming out Sunday afternoon.”
“Great.” Ben sat up and shifted his legs off the side of the bed. He cast his aunt a sincere smile. “Your hair looks nice.”
“Thanks for noticing.” Aunt Jane patted her curls, a good two inches shorter than when she left that morning. “I’ll be amazed if Steve even realizes I’ve been gone all day.”
“He realized, all right, about the time he figured out we had to make our own lunch.”
“Oh, that big ol’ baby.” Shaking her head, Aunt Jane stepped toward the hallway. “I’ll start supper soon. Hope you like eggplant parmesan.”
“Love it. Need any help?”
“Not right now. But you might give Marley a call. She mentioned the Spirit Outreach committee is having a workday on Saturday. Bet they could use an extra hand.” With a wink, Aunt Jane sidled out the door and pulled it closed.
Thinking of Marley lightened Ben’s mood. She’d certainly been a bright spot in his life lately. Since stopping in at her studio on Monday, he hadn’t come up with a plausible excuse for another trip into town to see her. He found her name and number in his cell-phone contacts and tapped the call icon. “Hey, Marley. It’s Ben.”
“Hi.” Her voice sounded breathy with surprise. “I saw your aunt earlier. We’re all set for Sunday.”
“She just told me. If there’s anything you need me to do before then—”
“Maybe scout around for some fun places to shoot. I’d like to try several backdrops and lighting situations so they can pick what they like best.”
“Will do.” Ben toed the carpet. “Aunt Jane mentioned you’re having some kind of workday this weekend. Need any help?”
“That would be great. A small team is going down to Candelaria next week to do painting and repairs on some of the homes, so we need to get supplies organized. If you’re available, I’ll put you to work.”
Available didn’t begin to describe Ben’s current state. “I’ve got nothing better to do—” He cringed. “Wait, that didn’t come out right.”
Marley laughed. “Don’t apologize. Just show up at 9 a.m.” She gave him directions to Spirit Fellowship Church.
Ben snatched up a notepad from the nightstand and hurriedly copied down Marley’s directions. “I assume jeans and T-shirt is acceptable attire?”
“If you show up in your designer polo and no-iron khakis, I will personally escort you off the premises,” she teased.
“I’d like to see you try.” In no hurry to end the call, Ben shifted some pillows and settled against the headboard. “You won’t banish me if I arrive in my Mustang, I hope?”
Her tone became soft and flirty. “Not if you promise to take me for a spin after we’re done.”
“You’re on.”
They chatted a few more minutes about Saturday before Marley said a timer was going off in her darkroom and she needed to get back to work. Ben laid the phone on the nightstand and stretched out, hands folded behind his head. He should not be looking so forward to spending time with a girl who’d likely be out of his life in less than a month.
Unless you stay in Alpine.
His uncle’s offer, impractical though it was, had somehow burrowed its way into Ben’s brain. He’d have to be crazy to even consider it.
But then...getting laid off unexpectedly was enough to make any sane man go a little crazy.
* * *
Had she actually just flirted with Ben Fisher?
Marley checked the color balance on the landscape photo she’d just printed. Thanks to an advance from her dad a couple of years ago, she’d invested in a state-of-the-art film processor and could do her own developing. The creative control, not to mention the convenience, counterbalanced the discomfort of knowing her father had subsidized her photography business.
Too bad she didn’t have the same control over her emotions. Hinting for a ride in Ben’s cute red Mustang? What did she really expect to come of...whatever this was? Ben wasn’t likely to stick around Alpine once he got his career back on course—which he wouldn’t waste any time doing, if she read his signals correctly. There was a restlessness about him that no amount of casual banter could hide.
But there was something more. Beneath his polished persona, Marley sensed a man of depth, commitment and concern. She’d seen it in his eyes as he’d studied the photo of Isabella climbing onto the school bus, and later as Marley had described the Candelarians’ struggles. Ben truly cared.
Finishing up in the darkroom, she hung her apron on a hook and turned out the lights. Time to go home to her apartment and scrounge up something for supper. She smiled to herself, recalling the steak dinner she’d wheedled out of Ben. No steak tonight. Maybe some canned tuna, a boiled egg and a salad.
As she walked down the alley toward her car, her cell phone rang. A tremor of anticipation shot through her, and she wanted to kick herself for hoping it might be Ben. She took her time fishing the phone from her purse. If it was Ben, she certainly didn’t want to sound overanxious.
The caller ID didn’t give a name, but she recognized the St. Louis area code, and all traces of excitement fled. She answered with a tentative “Hello?”
“Marsha?”
“Mom.” Calling on another of Dad’s burner phones, obviously. Marley reached her car, glad as always to find it shaded by a building this time of day. She sank sideways into the driver’s seat with the door open and her feet on the pavement.
“How are you, honey?”
“I’m fine. Why’d you call? Is something wrong?”
Silence, then... “Does there have to be something wrong? Can’t I simply call to hear my daughter’s voice? Please, Marsha—”
“It’s Marley, remember? The daughter you don’t have.” She should be over this resentment by now. Hadn’t she willingly agreed to the name change? Once upon a time, it had actually felt good to be free of all the baggage, to reinvent herself and start over as Marley Sanders.
Her mother whimpered softly into the phone.
“Please, Mom, don’t cry. I’m sorry.” Marley leaned forward to catch the light breeze. “Tell me what’s going on there. Did Dad decide if he’s going to run for another term?”
“Of course he will.” Mom gave a disdainful sniff. “He’s giving a talk to the Kiwanis Club this evening. I’m sure it’ll turn into a political rally before he’s done.”
Here we go again. Marley’s mother might put up a convincing front for their constituents, but she never hid her bitterness from Marley. Or Dad, either, most likely. “Are you going with him?”
“I’m pleading a headache.” She sniffed. “Can we not talk about your father? I want to hear about you. How’s your little studio doing?”
“Business is plodding along.” She wouldn’t mention the rent issue. Mom would only worry, and probably pester Dad about sending money. Marley didn’t need another of his lectures about her incompetence as a business owner. Instead, she said, “My next kids’ class starts a week from Monday.”
“That’s nice. And this...mission thing you’re involved with? Are you going back to that dreary little town anytime soon?”
“Not until mid-December, but there’s still plenty to do to get ready.” Marley could tell her mother wasn’t really interested. These phone calls usually only came when Mom’s unremitting loneliness surfaced. She couldn’t talk to her husband, and Marley’s three older siblings learned long ago to separate themselves from their parents’ drama. The Sandersons had also cut ties with the church they used to belong to, which was especially sad, because Zion Community Church had been one of the few positive influences in their lives. Now, even a thousand miles away, Marley had become her mother’s primary support system.
More sniffling, then a choked sob. “Marsha, baby, I miss you so much! I wish you could come home.”
“You know why I can’t.” Marley slid her legs beneath the steering wheel and leaned against the headrest. “Mom, I really have to go. I—I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” Home. Eating my tuna and salad. Alone.
“Okay. But keep this number. I’ll have this phone for a while, so call me sometime.”
“Right. Sure.” Marley squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she would never make the call. “I love you, Mom.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_5cd32260-f90c-5daf-aead-4b6d21ba1adf)
Choosing a parking space outside Spirit Fellowship Church, Ben huffed a sigh of relief to see only a couple of other vehicles in the lot, one of them Marley’s Honda. Unsure what to expect for a mission’s committee workday, he’d arrived early, hoping Marley could ease him into this whole outreach thing. He didn’t want to humiliate himself by doing or saying something stupid in front of her pastor and the other committee members.
As he stepped from the Mustang, a blue pickup pulled in a couple of spaces down on his left. A dark-haired guy in his late thirties wearing a beat-up Stetson climbed from the driver’s side and strode around to the tailgate.
“‘Mornin’,” the man called with an appraising grin. “Nice wheels. Looking for someone?”
“I’m a friend of Marley’s. She asked me to come help with whatever they’re doing today.” Holding his new gray ball cap behind him, Ben nonchalantly scraped it along the side of his car where road dust had collected. He wished he’d thought to scuff up his sneakers, too, so they didn’t scream “new” so loudly.
“Always use an extra hand.” The man lowered the tailgate and tugged a box to the edge, then dusted off his palms. He extended his right arm. “I’m Ernie Coutu.”
“Ben Fisher.” Ben accepted Ernie’s firm grip. He glanced toward the pickup bed, crammed with cardboard crates and paint buckets. “Need help unloading?”
“That’d be great. These are Candelaria donations from a few businesses in town.” Ernie wrestled the nearest box into his muscled arms. “We’re storing everything in an empty Sunday-school room. Grab whatever you can carry and follow me.”
Ben slapped on his ball cap and leaned into the truck bed. He set his sights on a couple of five-gallon paint buckets. Good grief, they had to weigh nearly fifty pounds each! He managed to get them out of the pickup, but after taking only a few staggering steps, he let the cans hit the pavement with a thud. Flexing his aching fingers, he gasped several breaths.
“Ben, are you crazy?” Marley jogged toward him. She towed a heavy-duty yellow wagon. “Set the paint in here.”
So much for avoiding looking stupid. He massaged a cramping bicep. “Didn’t realize they’d be so heavy.”
Marley smirked. “I’m guessing it’s been a while since you bought paint.”
“You’d be right.” Lifting the buckets one at a time, Ben hoisted them into the wagon. “Looks like room for one more. I’ll toss one down to you from the pickup.”
“Yeah, you do that.” Grinning, Marley pulled the wagon over to the tailgate.
Ben glanced over his shoulder as he hauled himself into the pickup bed. Why did Marley Sanders have to look so gorgeous in denim capris and a pink-and-white-striped cotton top? He should not even be here, much less succumbing to an attraction that held no future for either of them. Giving himself a mental shake, he hefted another paint bucket and worked his way to the tailgate.
Before he could lower himself to the ground to move the bucket into the wagon, Ernie returned and grabbed the handle. “Careful, there. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Thanks.” Ben stifled a twinge of envy as Ernie effortlessly shifted the paint can into the wagon. Note to self: find new gym.
Or he could get back in shape lifting hay bales for Uncle Steve. His uncle certainly hadn’t been shy about hinting he’d like to get Ben more involved in ranch work. Sure, it had been fun for Ben and his brother when they’d visited as kids. But moving to Alpine permanently? Working at the ranch full-time? Ben just didn’t see that happening.
Hands on hips, Marley cocked her head. “You gonna stay up there all day?”
“Sorry, I zoned out for a sec.” Ben eased to the ground but kept one eye on Ernie as the man effortlessly hauled the wagon toward the church building. “Still not real sure I should be doing this.”
Mouth puckered, Marley glanced away. “I understand, really. If this isn’t your thing—”
“I won’t lie to you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anything to do with church.” He should cut and run right now, while she offered him an easy out. But the disappointment in her eyes slashed through his belly, and the next words out of his mouth seemed as if they came from a complete stranger. “Hey, I may be slightly out of my element, but I’m teachable. Besides, it’s for a good cause. How can I say no?”
Marley’s expression relaxed, but a hint of worry still pulled at the corners of her eyes. “Are you sure your aunt and uncle didn’t guilt you into volunteering?”
“Let’s call it applying a little positive pressure. No guilt involved.” Hoping to convince her, Ben grabbed one of the smaller boxes out of the pickup bed. “Let’s get this stuff unloaded. Lead the way to your storage room.”
Two more trips, plus Ernie’s help with the wagon, and all the supplies had been moved inside. Marley opened a cooler and passed around cold cans of soda, which they sipped while sitting on paint buckets in the small classroom. Ben couldn’t resist glancing in Marley’s direction to admire her long, tanned legs and the way the end of her ponytail feathered across her shoulders.
She caught him looking at her and smiled. “Sure glad you’re here. I expected we might have a low turnout today, but I never dreamed it’d be just the three of us.”
“Glad I could help.” Ben’s chest warmed, and he sat a little straighter. “After all the time I’ve spent behind a desk, it actually feels good to do something physical.”
Ernie cleared his throat, reminding Ben he and Marley weren’t alone. “What’s next, Marley?” Ernie asked. “We need to inventory this stuff?”
Marley popped up from her paint bucket. “I’ll get my list.”
As Marley darted from the room, Ernie gave a low chuckle. “Thought you two had forgotten about me for a minute.”
With a self-conscious laugh, Ben stood and pawed through the nearest box to see what it held. Paintbrushes, masking tape, stir sticks...
Ernie ambled over, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t mess with Marley. You get my drift?”
Ben straightened. “Hey, if you two have something going—”
“Nothing like that. But hurt her, and you’ll answer to the entire congregation of Spirit Fellowship.” The smile never left Ernie’s face as he spoke, but his humorless tone left no doubt he meant every word.
Ben lifted both hands in a defensive posture. “I’m only in town for a few weeks. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Let’s hope not.” Ernie glanced toward the door as footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Marley appeared, tablet computer in hand. Her confused gaze darted between the two men. “Did I miss something?”
“Just guy talk.” Sliding a glance toward Ben, Ernie bent over a crate. “Got that list?”
While Ernie and Marley checked off the supplies, Ben stepped to one side and pretended to study a paint-bucket label. Ernie’s warning shouldn’t bother him as much as it did, especially since he had no intention of letting anything develop between him and Marley. Yeah, he found her attractive—and not just because of her unpretentious good looks. There was something special about Marley, something that made Ben think she was exactly the kind of girl he could go for.
If he weren’t unemployed with no prospects on the horizon.
Which meant it wasn’t fair to either of them to risk letting a casual friendship turn into something more. He should make some excuse and get out of here. Right now.
Then Marley’s softly spoken plea froze him in his tracks. “Ben, I could really use your help.”
* * *
Marley held her breath as she waited for Ben to reply. Her instincts told her he was ready to bolt, and she felt pretty sure it had something to do with whatever he and Ernie had talked about while she was out of the room.
Leave it to Ernie to act like her big brother with Ben. Like so many of her friends at Spirit Fellowship, Ernie and his wife, Angela, kept a close watch on Marley and made sure no one took advantage of her. Especially when it came to dating.
As if they had anything to worry about. Keeping her past private made Marley supercautious.
On the other hand, Marley didn’t mind having Ben around while it lasted. She tried again. “How about it, Ben?”
He turned slowly, a resigned look flattening his expression. He reached for his soda can and drained the last few drops, then tossed it into a nearby garbage bin. “Whatcha need?”
“If you’ll sort through the crates with us, we can finish a lot faster.”
“Where shall I start?”
“Just pick a box. As we check things off, you can stack it on the other side of the room.”
Ernie kept up a friendly chatter as they worked, but Marley couldn’t help noticing Ben’s silence. Was he that sorry the Whitlows had talked him into helping with the outreach team? She certainly didn’t need a reluctant volunteer.
Nearing the end of her checklist, she stretched her tired back muscles. “That’s pretty much everything. Ben, if you need to get out of here, Ernie and I can wrap this up.”
Ben closed the flaps on the cardboard box he’d just set aside. “If you’re sure...”
“No prob. We’re almost done.” Marley offered an agreeable smile to cover the disappointment churning through her.
“Okay, then.” Pulling a key ring from his pocket, Ben edged toward the door. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Marley cast him a blank look. “Tomorrow?”
“The anniversary portrait. At my aunt and uncle’s place.”
With an embarrassed chuckle, Marley slapped her forehead. “Too much on my mind lately. I think I told Jane I’d be there around two o’clock.”
“They’re looking forward to it.” Ben straightened his baseball cap. “Okay, then,” he repeated. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you.” Marley’s lungs deflated as Ben disappeared down the corridor.
Turning back to Ernie, she gave her checklist a final glance. “Looks like we’re all set. Thanks for coming over this morning. Everyone else must be busy with family stuff.”
Ernie brushed at some dust on his pant leg. “Nice that Ben could lend a hand.”
Marley couldn’t miss the unspoken question in his tone. “Don’t get any ideas. He’s just a new friend.”
“Who’d like to be more, unless my radar’s way out of whack.”
With an exasperated sigh, Marley dug her fists into her hips. “Ben’s between jobs. He isn’t interested in anything except filling time until someone hires him again.”
“Coulda fooled me. I saw the way he looks at you.”
Marley shut off the lights and stepped into the corridor. “You’re imagining things. And by the way, what did you say to him while I was out of the room earlier?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Ernie pulled the classroom door shut behind them and made sure it was locked. “We should leave a note for Pastor Chris. He’ll be glad to know we have most of the supplies accounted for.”
“No hurry. He and Natalie went to visit her parents this weekend. Won’t be back until Tuesday.” Halting in front of the exit doors, Marley confronted Ernie. “And you’re changing the subject.”
Ernie shot her a butter-couldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth grin. “Forgot there’ll be a substitute pastor preaching tomorrow. Always nice to have Reverend Hinkhouse back in the pulpit.”
“Er-r-r-nie.” Marley’s eyes became slits.
His shoulders slumped. “I told your city-slicker boyfriend he’d better not hurt you, or he’d answer to me and the entire congregation.”
Chagrin knifed through Marley’s abdomen. “Oh, Ernie, you didn’t!”
Ernie’s shoulders drooped. “You’re like family, Marley, and the plain truth is I don’t trust this guy. He’s a rich out-of-towner with time on his hands, and that’s the worst kind.”
“You sound awfully judgmental for a Christian. Give Ben a break.” Marley pushed through the doors and marched toward her Civic. She could only wonder how Ernie and the rest of the congregation would react if they ever got wind of her troubled past.
“Marley, wait up.” Ernie jogged past her and skidded to a stop next to her car door. Frowning, he pawed the back of his neck. “I can see you like the guy. And you’re right, it’s not my place to pass judgment, especially since I just met him. But you hardly know him, either. Don’t you think you should be a little bit careful?”
“Take my word for it, you have nothing to be worried about.” Marley shook her head as she dug through her purse for her car keys. “Anyway, Ben is Steve and Jane Whitlow’s nephew. I’m sure they’ll vouch for his good character.”
Ernie flinched. “The Whitlows? Why didn’t you say so?”
“Why should I have to?” Marley reached past Ernie for the door handle. “Admit it, you had Ben pigeonholed the minute you laid eyes on his Mustang. You never even gave him a chance.”
“Okay, I didn’t give him a fair shake. I apologize.” Both hands lifted, Ernie backed away. “But do you really think he’s gonna be much help with our outreach committee? I got a really strong vibe that he hasn’t spent much time in church lately.”
Marley pulled open the car door and tossed her things inside before pivoting to face Ernie. “Again, you are prejudging. And even if you’re right about Ben, people can change. People can learn from their mistakes, repent and become better human beings. Isn’t that why Jesus died for us?”
Ernie’s lips quirked in a curious grin. “Maybe they should have asked you to fill in for Chris tomorrow, Pastor Sanders.” Heaving a resigned sigh, he lowered his head. “And I totally get your point. Sorry for jumping to conclusions about Ben.”
“I’m sorry, too.” Marley grimaced. “Stepping off my soapbox now.”
Turning toward his pickup, Ernie paused and snapped his fingers. “Almost forgot. Angela told me to invite you over for burgers tonight.”
Relieved the tension had eased between them, Marley smiled her thanks. “Sounds great. I’ll call Angela later and ask what I can bring.”
They said their goodbyes, and Marley climbed into the Civic. With the air-conditioning cranked up, she drove toward her apartment, intending to freshen up and then open the studio. Weekends usually brought more shoppers to the arts district, and with the rent increase looming, she couldn’t afford to miss out on any potential customers.
By the time she pulled into the parking space outside her apartment, she’d replayed her conversation with Ernie several times. People can learn from their mistakes, repent and become better human beings. Good grief, could she sound any more preachy? Not that she didn’t believe every word she’d spoken, but it had less to do with Ben than with herself. She had repented after her juvenile delinquent past and become a better person, hadn’t she? Candelaria was her atonement, her way of doing something good for others to make up for all the stupid, hurtful, downright dangerous things she’d done as a teen.
Yes, better to concentrate on the Candelaria outreach than to dwell on the past—worse, to entertain unrequited feelings for Ben Fisher.
Except now he’d volunteered to help with the outreach committee. He could still back out, though, and maybe he would. If he didn’t, how would she ever stay focused?
* * *
As Ben parked the Mustang outside the garage, his uncle came around from the other side of the barn. Seeing Ben, he jogged over to the car. The crevices around his eyes were definitely from worry, not from squinting into the sun.
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