Читать книгу Rancher For The Holidays - Myra Johnson - Страница 12

Chapter Two

“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.