Rancher For The Holidays. Myra Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ cap. Marley had reminded him that, even with the approach of fall, the high-desert sun could be brutal. And all his purchases amounted to less than what he typically paid for his favorite brand of dress slacks.

      Or Marley’s meal, apparently. She went all out, ordering an appetizer, salad, ten-ounce rib eye and baked sweet potato with all the trimmings.

      Ben narrowed his gaze. “Skipped breakfast, huh?”

      She shot Ben a sheepish glance as she passed her menu to the server. “I’ll probably take half of it home.”

      “Now I’m subsidizing your grocery budget?”

      Marley gave a playful sniff. “It’s the least you can do, since you never came back to buy one of my photographs.”

      “I wish I could. It’s just—”

      The server cleared his throat. “Sir? Have you decided?”

      “Chopped salad, balsamic vinaigrette on the side.” Closing his menu, Ben motioned toward the miniature loaf of dark bread the server had brought with their waters. “And can we have a couple more of those?”

      “Salad? That’s all you’re having?” Marley grimaced. “You must think I’m a glutton.”

      “Not at all.” Ben sliced off a thick piece of bread and slathered it with butter. “I realize my city-slicker duds probably made you think I’m loaded.”

      Marley harrumphed as she buttered a slice for herself. “Not to mention your fancy red convertible.”

      “The truth is, I was laid off two weeks ago. If I don’t find another job soon, it may come down to selling the Mustang so I can pay my rent—on a much smaller condo.”

      “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” Marley shot an embarrassed glance around the restaurant. “If you can find our waiter—”

      “Forget it. I’m not broke yet.” Ben paused to savor a mouthful of warm bread oozing with melted butter, then wiggled his brows. “Anyway, I owe you for helping me pick out my swanky new wardrobe.”

      “Still, I’d have been just as happy with a burger and fries at the DQ.” Marley stared guiltily at her bread slice before nibbling a tiny bite.

      “Yes, but the ambience here is so much nicer.” Not to mention the view across the table. Marley wore her hair down today, and Ben liked the way it framed her face. He imagined touching those silky auburn strands...

      Suddenly the clinking of tableware and the conversations of other diners seemed amplified a hundred times. Ben blinked and buttered another piece of bread. No point in starting something he couldn’t finish, seeing as how he didn’t envision sticking around Alpine once he found another job. He was only here for some R and R. A rented beach house on Galveston Island would have been his first choice, but Uncle Steve and Aunt Jane had offered free room and board.

      The server returned with Marley’s appetizer, a platter of cheese quesadillas. She nudged it toward Ben. “Have all you want. You’re buying, after all.”

      “Don’t mind if I do.” As Ben helped himself, he watched Marley scrape the pico de gallo off hers. “Not into hot and spicy?”

      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 СКАЧАТЬ