Rancher For The Holidays. Myra Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

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