Читать книгу Rancher For The Holidays - Myra Johnson - Страница 13

Chapter Three

“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.”