Rancher For The Holidays. Myra Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ into breathtaking shades of purple, gold and magenta by the time Ben pulled up next to his uncle’s stone-and-cedar ranch house. Stepping from the Mustang, he glimpsed Uncle Steve watching from a front-porch rocking chair.

      “Thought I might have to send out a search party.” His uncle moseyed down the porch steps. “Have a good day exploring the city?”

      City? Houston was a city. Dallas was a city. Ben might even call Abilene a city. As for Alpine... Ben shrugged. “Looks pretty much the same. Except maybe even more artsy-craftsy than I remembered.”

      “The artist community does bring in tourists.” Uncle Steve motioned Ben to one of the rockers. “Aunt Jane’s fixing supper. Want an iced tea while we wait?”

      Nothing sounded better. Even with the Mustang’s windows shut tight and the A/C set to recirculate, Ben’s mouth tasted as if he’d swallowed dirt all the way from town. While his uncle went inside to fetch a glass, Ben settled into a rocking chair and gazed toward the rugged mesas and distant mountains stretching across the horizon. He could already feel a difference in the air temperature as the sun slipped lower. One extreme to the other.

      Just like Ben’s life.

      The screen door banged, and Uncle Steve passed Ben a frosty tumbler of iced tea before returning to his chair. “Jane says fifteen more minutes. We weren’t sure when you’d get back.”

      “You didn’t have to wait. I’m used to fending for myself.” Ben tossed back a big gulp of tea and let the coolness wash the dust from his throat. He liked Aunt Jane’s special blend, with hints of mint and citrus and sweetened just right.

      Uncle Steve looked askance at Ben’s khakis. “Son, when are you gonna get yourself a regular ol’ pair of blue jeans? You go around dressed like a city slicker and folks around here are liable to laugh you straight back to Houston.”

      “I have jeans.” Ben’s reply sounded whiny, even to his own ears. He rocked harder. “Just haven’t unpacked them yet.”

      Glancing toward Ben’s dust-coated Italian loafers, Uncle Steve snickered. “Might want to get yourself some boots, too.”

      The rocker stopped. With a barely suppressed grin, Ben slowly swiveled his head toward his uncle. “Yes, sir. Let me know when you’re through criticizing my wardrobe.”

      A moment later, Aunt Jane pushed open the screen door. “Chow’s on the table, boys. Y’all come on in and wash up.” She patted Ben on the shoulder as he stepped through the door. “Don’t pay that old coot any mind. It’s nice to have a man around here who shows a little class.”

      “Thanks, Aunt Jane. And for the record, I think you’re one classy lady.” He tweaked one of her platinum curls before following her to the kitchen.

      Unfortunately, Uncle Steve was right. Here at the ranch, Ben’s casual-Friday slacks and Ferragamo loafers were the height of impracticality. He’d noticed the pretty photographer eyeing his attire as well—probably seeing dollar signs and hoping he’d snap up one of her photos.

      If she only knew how fast his bank account was dwindling. Not that he was anywhere near destitute—he’d been careful to sock away hefty chunks of his salary into savings—but with no idea how soon he’d be employed again, he couldn’t afford to be frivolous.

      Ben took the chair at the opposite end of the table from his uncle and breathed in the zesty aromas of homemade enchiladas, Spanish rice and cheesy refried beans. “Wow, Aunt Jane, you could open your own restaurant.”

      She laughed as she refilled Ben’s iced-tea glass. “Honey, I’ve got my hands full riding herd over your fool of an uncle.”

      “Pass me your plate, boy,” Uncle Steve said, reaching across the table, “and I’ll serve you up some grub.”

      Aunt Jane’s enchiladas tasted as good as they smelled. She hadn’t skimped on the jalapeños, either. Ben was no stranger to hot-as-you-can-handle Tex-Mex, but by the time he’d polished off a third helping, he could almost feel the smoke pouring from his ears. He huffed and puffed and fanned his mouth. “Anybody got a fire extinguisher?”

      “Milk’s the best thing.” Laughing, Aunt Jane rose and took a glass from the cupboard.

      As soon as Ben gulped the ice-cold milk, the pain subsided. He patted his full belly and leaned back. “I mean it, Aunt Jane. With you as chef, we could go into the restaurant business and make a mint.”

      Both his aunt and uncle chuckled and shook their heads, and Ben didn’t have the guts to tell them he was half-serious. He desperately needed to come up with some kind of plan to jump-start his stalled career. Nothing in a million years could have prepared him for getting laid off from his dream job. Just proved how naive he was, assuming a thriving brick-and-mortar chain like Home Tech Revolution was immune to the growing trend toward internet shopping.

      After helping with the dishes and putting away leftovers—barely enough for someone’s meager lunch, after the damage Ben had done—Ben collapsed on the leather sofa in the great room and kicked off his loafers. While Uncle Steve flipped satellite channels on the big-screen TV, Aunt Jane pulled out some kind of yarn thing to work on. The quick action of her fingers mesmerized Ben.

      He raised on one elbow for a better look. “What are you making?”

      “It’s a baby blanket.” Aunt Jane’s eyes sparkled over her silver-rimmed reading glasses. “We have a ministry at church where several ladies knit afghans, prayer shawls and the like for people who have a special need or could just use something soft and comforting in their lives.”

      “That’s nice.” He wasn’t really sure what a prayer shawl was, but then lately he hadn’t had much practice with prayer. These days he wasn’t on very good terms with God.

      “This blanket’s for a sweet young mom in Candelaria.”

      It was the second time today Ben had heard the name. He pictured the photo of the mother and child selecting food items in the little red barn. He sat up again and planted his feet on the floor. “You wouldn’t by chance know the photographer in town with all the pictures of Candelaria.”

      “Marley?” Aunt Jane looked up with a smile. “She’s a doll. And so dedicated to helping the families out there.”

      Uncle Steve turned down the TV volume. “Did you find Marley’s gallery while you were in town?”

      “Yeah, I happened upon it. She’s really talented.”

      Aunt Jane and Uncle Steve exchanged glances, then nodded as if sharing some secret communication. Uncle Steve grinned at Ben. “Son, we just might have some ideas to put you to work while you’re here.”

      Ben didn’t know whether to be grateful or scared. Then the possibility of seeing Marley Sanders again took hold, and he felt the first twinges of anticipation he’d experienced in weeks.

Chapter Two

      “Your total comes to sixty-three dollars and eighty-four cents.”

      Marley offered a tight-lipped smile as she fished her debit card from her wallet and ran it through the scanner. The cashier stuffed Marley’s craft supplies into three plastic bags, СКАЧАТЬ