Rancher For The Holidays (Love Inspired) (2 page)

“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

“Y
our 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.”