Rancher For The Holidays (Love Inspired)

by Myra Johnson

  “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.”
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  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

  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 a
t 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?”