Rancher For The Holidays. Myra Johnson

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      The tempting aroma of seared meat eclipsed any appetite Ben had for chopped salad. Fisting his knife and fork, he pinned Marley with his best imitation of a John Wayne stare. “Little missy, if you’re plannin’ on takin’ home any leftovers, you better guard that slab of beef with your life.”

      * * *

      Marley left the restaurant with a container packed with three quesadilla triangles, half her dinner salad, most of her baked sweet potato and maybe enough steak for a meager sandwich. Poor Ben. She’d finally taken pity on him and offered a few bites of her rib eye. He acted as if he’d died and gone to heaven.

      Guilt still plagued her for picking one of the most expensive restaurants in Alpine. Ben should have told her sooner about losing his job.

      On the other hand, she understood perfectly well about keeping certain parts of your life private. Thank goodness Ben hadn’t pressed for details about her background. She’d much rather talk about Candelaria.

      Except she’d almost blown it. Choking up like that? Good grief! At least Ben seemed to accept her explanation about the source of her tears. The truth was an ache with no cure.

      They’d driven over separately, so Ben walked Marley over to her car. “Mind if we exchange cell-phone numbers?”

      Her heart drummed out a few staccato beats. The cute city slicker wanted her number?

      “I mean, in case you figure out anything I can do to help with your committee.”

      “Oh, right.” She stifled a groan at her own foolishness. He was attractive and funny and easy to talk to, but struggling to make her business profitable, volunteering on the outreach committee and striving every day to keep her past in the past, she had no room for a man in her life. Besides, the moment he found another job, he’d be long gone.

      They traded phones to enter their contact information, then Ben helped Marley into the car with all her leftovers. He grinned hopefully. “If you need any help finishing those off...”

      Laughing, Marley opened the food container and passed Ben another quesadilla. “Here, have one for the road.”

      He ate it in two bites, then slammed a fist to his chest in mock gratitude. “Your kindness is exceeded only by your—”

      “By your flair for the dramatic.” Grinning, Marley slipped her key into the ignition and got the A/C running. “Goodbye, Ben. And thank you again for lunch.”

      “My pleasure.” He tapped his phone as she pulled her door shut and mouthed, Call me.

      She smiled and nodded, but a nagging inner voice told her getting involved with Ben Fisher, whether platonically on her Candelaria committee or otherwise, might be the biggest risk she’d ever take.

Chapter Three

      “I’ve got Jacob and Bryan signed up, Mrs. Hunter. You can pay me at the first class. And thank you!” Marley did a quick victory dance as she ended the call. One of her church friends had caught her after worship yesterday and asked to get her daughter on the list. Now Marley needed only one more student for the class. Some people were notorious for waiting until the last minute, and with two weeks to go, things were looking up.

      Mondays at the studio were usually quiet, which gave Marley time to work in the darkroom. She liked the ease and convenience of digital photography, but for her gallery pieces, nothing beat large-format film she processed and printed herself.

      Today she needed to select and print several landscape shots commissioned by a Texas travel magazine. The sooner she turned those in, the sooner she could cover next month’s rent on the studio. Artistic photography may be her first love, but magazine work, family portraits, senior class photos and weddings paid the bills—at least for now.

      Her thoughts drifted to the notice from her landlord. The studio was in a prime location for downtown foot traffic. The upside of moving to another part of town was lower rent. The downside? The old saying, “Out of sight, out of mind,” might well hold true.

      As she stood at the counter filling out the class registration for Mrs. Hunter’s boys, the front door creaked open, barely disturbing Marley’s shortened string of brass bells. A familiar face peered through the crack. “Is it safe?”

      She feigned a sneer to disguise her unexpected pleasure at Ben’s arrival. “Oh, please. Don’t be such a wimp.”

      He slid the rest of the way inside while keeping one eye on the bells. “A guy can’t be too careful around these parts.”

      Marley slid the registration form into the drawer, then circled the counter. “If you came back for the rest of the steak, you’re about—” she counted on her fingers “—thirty-nine hours too late.”

      Ben chortled. “The way you were chowing down Saturday, I’m surprised those leftovers lasted that long.”

      “They were sure good, though.” Marley offered a sincere smile. “I mean it—thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.” Thumbs hooked in the pockets of the Wranglers Marley had helped him find, Ben turned to study her photos of Candelaria. “This is my favorite.” He nodded toward the shot of the little girl boarding the school bus. “There’s something about her expression, like she wants to but doesn’t.”

      “Would you want to ride an hour and a half to and from school every day?” Marley stood beside Ben and recalled the morning she’d snapped the photo of Isabella Cortez. It was two years ago, the first day of school. “These kids want an education so badly, and they’re all such good students. It’s been a long, hard fight to get a school reestablished in Candelaria so the kids won’t have to be bused into Presidio every day.”

      “There ought to be a better way.” Frowning, Ben moved to another photo. “Like this little store. Can’t they get a big-box store to come in?”

      Irritation bristled. “Have I mentioned Candelaria is considered a ghost town? There aren’t enough families in the area to support a convenience store, much less a major supermarket.”

      “Guess I’ve lived in the big city too long. Can’t even imagine living under such conditions.”

      “Not many people can.” Returning to the counter, Marley angled the photography-class poster a little more toward the front entrance. “Was there a particular reason you stopped in?” She peeked over her shoulder and wedged a touch of humor back into her voice. “Besides checking up on my leftover steak?”

      “Actually, yes. Over the weekend I learned my aunt and uncle are about to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary. I’d like to give them something special and wondered if you’d do their portrait.”

      “Wow, forty years. In today’s world, they’re practically an endangered species.” Marley tried not to think about her own parents, who’d separated not long after her dad decided to go into politics twelve years ago. Between the threat of divorce and his delinquent daughter with her juvenile record, Dad and his election team had their hands full doing damage control.

      Then Mom had relented and promised to stick it out—if only for appearances’ sake. СКАЧАТЬ