by Myra Johnson
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
“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 co
unter 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 aro
und 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.”
