The Rancher's City Girl

by Patricia Johns

  “I’m getting in the way of that time on your own, aren’t I?” Cory tipped back his hat and grinned.

  “Not at all. It’s nice to have some company.”

  “What were you going to do with your time off?”

  Eloise paused, shrugged. “I hadn’t decided yet. Just go where the day takes me.”

  He felt a smile come to his lips. “Would you care for a walk?”

  “Sure.”

  Cory put the bags of fruit in his truck on the way past, and they ambled up the street together. The clunk of his boots interspersed with the soft slap of her delicate sandals.

  “It mustn’t have been easy to hear about your parents.” Eloise’s voice was so quiet that he almost didn’t catch her words.

  “I guess there are two sides to every story,” he said. “I don’t know what I expected. My mother always held on to him, somehow. Wouldn’t say a bad word about him. He was my father and that counted for something. To her, at least.”

  “He cares. He just doesn’t know how to say that.”

  “I didn’t know he was married when they—” Cory cleared his throat.

  “Maybe your mother didn’t know, either,” she suggested.

  He nodded. He hoped that was the case, at least. It was too late to ask his mother now, but the idea that she’d been involved in someone else’s marriage tarnished something for him.

  “His version doesn’t jibe with what I was told all my life,” Cory said finally. “My mother told me that my father had swept her off her feet. He was kind, knowledgeable. She said that ultimately the age difference had been too much. But that he was a good man, and she wished things had been different—for all of us.”

  “But she didn’t want you to contact him?”

  “She said it was better to give him his space. I accepted that. Looking back on it now, I can’t help wondering if she wanted to avoid facing his wife. Maybe she was ashamed.”

  Eloise didn’t answer, and she looked down, her hair, now loose in the gentle breeze, obscuring his view of her face.

  “Regardless, she loved him,” Cory said with a shrug.

  Eloise looked up, pulling her hair back with a sweep of one hand. “You resent that, don’t you?”

  “What was the use?” he asked. “He didn’t love her back. She spent a lifetime still caring about that man, and for what? He was married to someone else and saw her as nothing but an error in judgment.”

  Eloise’s brow furrowed, and when the breeze shifted some curls away from her face, he thought he detected sadness in those green eyes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.

  “Fine.” A smile flickered to her lips and she turned her attention in his direction.

  “Liar.” The smile hadn’t reached her eyes.

  Eloise sighed, and she didn’t seem inclined to answer at first. After a moment of silence, she said, “My husband left me for his mistress.”

  A rush of regret hit Cory like a blow to the gut. Here he’d been, trying to untie the knot of his parents’ affair, and this poor woman was the collateral damage of another affair. He winced. “I’m sorry. I’m being really callous.”

  “No, not at all.” Eloise waved it off. “These things happen, I guess.”

  “No, they don’t.” Cory caught the bitterness in his own tone. “People don’t just accidentally cheat on a spouse. It’s not like a lightning strike or a tsunami.”

  Eloise’s voice was soft. “Good point. But my situation isn’t your father’s, and I don’t want to mix in my personal baggage.”

  “If it helps, I think your ex-husband must be an idiot,” he said.

  “It kind of does.” She laughed quietly.

  “So, what do you normally do on your days off?”

  “I paint.”

  Cory raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Houses?”

  “No, artistically. Pictures.” She laughed and shook her head. “It’s therapeutic. I’ve loved painting ever since I was a child, but I didn’t take it very seriously until Philip left.”

  “Did it help you deal with all of that?” he asked.

  Eloise nodded. “I realized that I’d done a lot for Philip in our marriage, and not a lot for myself. That needed to change. It’s only been a couple of years, but at least I’m honoring my gifts now.”

  “Where’s your ex-husband?”

  “He has a law practice in Billings. He’s remarried. They have a two-year-old daughter.”

  He squinted in the afternoon sunlight—the math not lost on him. “He left you for the pregnant girlfriend?”

  Eloise nodded. “Afraid so. Maybe it was the right choice. At least his daughter will grow up with a father.”

  “And you’re alone.”

  “Not entirely. I have God, friends, family. I’m not married, but I do have a full life.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  She shrugged. “I know, it’s okay.” She touched his arm, her cool fingers lingering on his wrist for a moment. “You’re a good guy, Cory. I can tell.”

  He felt a glow of warmth at her words. He found his gaze traveling her face. Her fair complexion betrayed every passing emotion, her auburn lashes entranced him. How her husband could ever have stopped looking at her, he had no idea.

  “What about you?” Eloise glanced up and he looked quickly away, not wanting to be caught staring. “What do you do on your downtime?”

  “What downtime?” he joked, then grew more serious. “It’s all work and no play, but I love all of it. I guess the best part is riding. Have you ridden a horse before?”

  She shook her head. “I never have. Shocking for a Montana girl, I know.”

  “You should try it.” Cory smiled. “There’s no feeling like galloping across a field—pure freedom.”

  “One day,” she agreed. “I need someone to teach me.”

  “I could volunteer. You’d have ample opportunity if you came out to my ranch.”

  “That’s up to my patient at the moment.”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  “It would be very fun, though. I could take some time to paint.” She paused in her stride and looked up into his face. “I like the lines around your eyes.”

  “Oh?”

  “Here.” She raised her hand as if to touch him, then pulled back before making contact. “The lines—they speak of laughter, but also worry. And when the sun is at this angle—” She stopped, laughed uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”

  “You were thinking about painting me, weren’t you?”

  “Just your eyes. Eyes really are the window to the soul.”

  They stopped as they reached another street. Beyond the intersection, houses lined the road. A little girl crouched over a driveway with a piece of chalk, and a boy sat in the grass, watching her with a bored look on his face. Somewhere in the distance, the tinkle of an ice cream truck surfed the breeze, and both children perked up immediately, then dashed toward the house, shouting for money.

  “Should we head back?” Cory asked.

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  They turned around, their pace relaxed. They moved over as a young couple walked past them down the sidewalk, hands in each other’s back pockets. What was it about high school students? They seemed younger with each passing year.

  “You probably know my dad better than anyone right now. I was hoping you might be able to give me some insight,” Cory said.

  “Maybe in time spent with him,” she agreed. “But you’ll know him better in other ways—the things you share.”

  “We don’t share much,” he muttered. They looked nothing alike physically—not to his eye anyway. They obviously felt differently about his mother, and their outlooks on life couldn’t be more opposed. If his father h
adn’t confirmed that Cory was indeed his son, he might have questioned the fact.

  “You share more than you think,” she replied. “You’re father and son. You share DNA.”

  “There are a lot of things I’d rather not share with him. No offense, but he’s not exactly a role model to emulate.”

  Eloise didn’t answer, but he could see in her expression that she understood. They quickly approached his truck in front of the produce store, and he felt a drop of disappointment that he had no excuse to spend more time with her. He slowed his pace.

  “Do you want a ride somewhere?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, thanks. I like the exercise.”

  He took the two bags of fruit from the back of his truck and handed them to her. She looked questioningly at the extra bag.

  “Maybe you could give it to my dad. I thought—” He stopped, unwilling to articulate his frustration.

  She held out her hand and he took it in a gentle handshake.

  “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. You really are a good guy, Cory Stone.”

  “I’ll see you,” he said, then released her slender hand.

  She smiled, her green eyes sparkling. “I’ll give you a call when he gives me an answer.”

  As Eloise walked away, the bags of fruit swinging at her side and her slim, beaded sandals slapping cheerfully against the sidewalk, one thought remained uppermost in Cory’s mind: as gorgeous as she was, as sweet, as interesting...

  Nothing could ever develop between them. She was a tempting city girl, but a city girl nonetheless. It took a special kind of woman to fit into a ranch, and no amount of wishful thinking could change it.

  * * *

  Mr. Bessler sank back onto his bed. His eyes fluttered shut, then open again and he licked his dry lips. The late-afternoon sunlight glowed from behind the closed curtains, one ray of light slipping past the thick fabric and illuminating the dance of dust motes.

  “How are you feeling?” Eloise asked as she counted his pills into a little paper cup.

  “I need those.”

  “How is the pain, on a scale of one to ten?”

  “Forty-two,” he rasped. “I think I’m getting addicted to those pills—not that it matters at this point.”

  “They help with the pain, and that’s what matters most.”

  Mr. Bessler propped himself up on an elbow to take the pills with a cup of water, then sank back onto his pillow.

  “Mr. Bessler, you haven’t told me yet if you want to go to your son’s ranch.”

  “The doctor will never agree to it,” he muttered.

  “Actually, I talked to him and he said that now is the time to do these things.”

  “Forget it. I don’t want to.”

  “Mr. Bessler, if that’s your decision, then I’ll support you, but I have to point something out.”

  He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

  “If you push away Cory, who will you have left?”

  “You, Red,” he replied, then sighed. “That’s sad, isn’t it?”

  “I’m great company, Mr. Bessler,” she said with a wry smile. “But I’m not family.”

  He nodded, his eyelids drooping as the medication began to take effect. He lay silently for a couple of minutes while Eloise busied herself with tidying the small bedroom. His wife had died before him. Eloise’s husband hadn’t died, but his absence left a gaping hole in her life. She’d done her best to fill that gap, but she felt it. Finding someone to care about wasn’t the hardest part. Trusting again after betrayal—that was the challenge, and she suspected that she and her patient had more in common than she liked to admit.

  Eloise paused at Mr. Bessler’s side and pressed a hand against his forehead.

  “How is the pain now?” she asked. “On a scale of one to ten.”

  “Three.”

  “Much better.” She adjusted a light blanket over his shoulders. “You should be able to rest now.”

  Eloise closed the curtains past that last ray of sunlight, dimming the room. The old man looked smaller in his bed, so frail and pale against the white sheets and blanket. Outside, children’s laughter and chatter mingled with the roll of skateboard wheels. When Eloise first began working with Mr. Bessler, he’d complain about the noisy children, but he no longer mentioned them. Perhaps he’d learned to enjoy their youthful enthusiasm.

  “Do you need anything else, sir?” she asked quietly.

  “No...” His voice was thin and soft. From the other room, the phone rang.

  Eloise looked back at her patient to find his eyes shut. She adjusted the fan so that it would reach Mr. Bessler, then slipped out the door. Eloise looked at her watch and headed toward the living room. They didn’t get phone calls often. She picked it up on the fourth ring.

  “Hello, Mr. Bessler’s residence. This is Eloise, how may I help you?”

  “Is this Robert Bessler’s house?” a female voice asked.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I thought he was a widower. Do I have the wrong number?”

  “I’m his nurse.”

  “Oh, that makes sense.” The woman laughed uncomfortably. “Is he there?”

  “He’s resting right now. Could I take a message?”

  “This is Melissa Wright. I’m his cousin’s daughter. We heard he wasn’t doing too well.”

  “Who did you hear from?” she asked cautiously.

  “The pastor at his church. My father used to live in Haggerston years ago. We were trying to find him to tell him about a family reunion, and the pastor told us about his situation.” The woman laughed nervously. “I wish I’d gotten to know him before—before—” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, maybe I could talk to him later.”

  “I’ll let him know that you called.”

  From the other room, Mr. Bessler’s voice broke the stillness. “Who is that, Red?”

  “Would you hold just a moment?” Eloise said, then brought the phone with her into his bedroom and covered the mouthpiece with one hand.

  “This is your cousin’s daughter. She wanted to say hello. Are you up for it?”

  Mr. Bessler gestured for phone and she handed it over.

  “Hello?” he said.

  Eloise left the room to give her patient some privacy, but she could still hear his one-word responses. The quiet was truncated by grunts and “uh-huhs” coming from the other room. After a few minutes, he heaved a sigh.

  “No— Melissa, was it? No. I’ve already written a will and decided where my estate will go.”

  Eloise cringed and covered her eyes with one hand.

  “I understand completely,” Mr. Bessler went on. “But I’m not interested in funding your education. Goodbye.”

  The phone beeped as he hung up the handset. For a long moment, no sound emerged from the room, but after a couple of minutes, Mr. Bessler’s voice wavered as he called, “Red?”

  Eloise pushed open the bedroom door. Mr. Bessler lay on his bed in the dim bedroom, the phone atop his chest. “Yes, sir?”

  “That was a young woman named Melissa.”

  “Yes, she mentioned that.” Eloise attempted to sound as impartial as possible.

  “She was very thoughtful,” he went on quietly. “She heard I was dying and had no children, and she very kindly offered to let me pay her school bills.”

  Eloise grimaced. “That’s horrible.”

  “She’ll probably make an excellent lawyer.”

  “I beg to differ,” Eloise muttered.

  “Anyhow, I told her I wasn’t interested.” Mr. Bessler breathed deeply through his nose. “I don’t want to take any more calls from her, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not a problem,” she replied. “I’m sorry about that, sir. Some people
are just heartless.”

  He waved it off. “It’s part of the package, I’m afraid.”

  “What package?” Eloise asked.

  “Someone has to get my money, and everyone thinks they deserve it.”

  Eloise remained silent, pity welling up inside her.

  “The ironic thing is,” the old man said softly, “There isn’t much left.” He laughed hoarsely.

  “There might be charities willing to help pay my wages—”

  “Never mind that.” Mr. Bessler shook his head. “I’ll pay you. But I won’t let some cousin’s daughter try to wring money out of my estate.”

  Tears misted Eloise’s vision, and she blinked them back. Facing death was hard enough surrounded by family and friends. She couldn’t imagine having to think about her own mortality without anyone close to her. It seemed like the time to reach out to people, but Mr. Bessler refused.

  “I’m all right, Red,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Don’t you waste those tears on me.” His eyes drooped again. “I’ve got Ruth up there watching over me, and the Lord hasn’t left me alone yet.”

  “And you have me, Mr. Bessler,” she reminded him.

  “Maybe it’s time you called me Robert,” he said. “It’s less formal, and you’re probably the best friend I’ve got right now, Red.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. You also have a son who doesn’t want anything from your estate,” Eloise pointed out.

  “You’re right.” Mr. Bessler sighed, his eyes shut. “He doesn’t need it.”

  His breath grew even and deep, and Eloise turned to tiptoe out of the room when his voice stopped her. “Maybe I’ll go see my son’s ranch, after all.”

  Hope rose in Eloise’s breast. “That would be nice, Robert.”

  The old man opened one eye. “I didn’t say I’d be nice, just that I’d go.”

  Eloise smothered a grin. She was happy that the old man would have a chance to see his son, and if she was utterly truthful, she was looking forward to seeing Cory, too. He’d been more than she’d expected, somehow—gentler, more complicated, more wounded. Even now she found herself wondering about the big rancher, how he was handling all of this. Mr. Bessler shifted, seeking a more comfortable position.