The Rancher's City Girl

“No better. I’m dying.” He opened his eyes to shoot her an irritated look.

“You aren’t gone yet, Mr. Bessler.” She took the cup away.

“I heard voices in the other room.” He turned his head toward the wall. “You have a boyfriend visit when I sleep?”

“Hardly.” She chuckled. “You give me too much credit for a personal life.”

“Then who is it?” the old man demanded.

“A visitor for you.”

“Who?”

Eloise turned her back to get the old man’s slippers and brought them by the bed, then busied herself with his wheelchair.

“Do you want to come out to the living room to talk to him?” she asked. “Or would you rather have him come in here?”

“I’ll go out there.” Mr. Bessler pushed himself up and allowed Eloise to steady him as he slid his feet into the slippers. “Why on earth would I have somebody into my bedroom? Can’t a man have any privacy?” He grumbled until he was settled in his chair.

“Ready now?” Eloise asked cheerily.

“Who is it?” he repeated.

“You’ll see,” she replied as she wheeled him out into the hallway.

“If there are balloons and a cake, you’re fired,” he muttered, and Eloise chuckled.

“I would expect nothing less.”

As Eloise rolled Mr. Bessler’s chair into the room, Cory rose. He towered over the small sitting room, broad shoulders blocking out the light from the window behind him. A piano sat against one wall, and doilies adorned every surface from side tables to the back and arms of the couch—Mr. Bessler’s late wife’s addition to the decor. Cory scrubbed a hand through his dark hair and he locked dark, pensive eyes on the old man.

“Whatever you’re selling,” Mr. Bessler said, “I’m not interested.”

Cory’s gaze flickered toward Eloise, then back to his father. “I’m Cory Stone.”

Eloise settled her patient by the couch. She held her breath, utterly unsure of what to expect from her charge. For a long moment, no one said a word; then Mr. Bessler broke the silence.

“Your mother gave you her last name. Seems appropriate.”

“She thought so,” Cory agreed.

“And why are you here?” the old man queried.

“To meet you. You’re my father.”

“To get my estate, perhaps?” Mr. Bessler held up one finger and waggled it in his son’s direction. “You think I owe you something?”

A dark look crossed Cory’s face, and the muscles along his jaw tensed. “I’ve done well for myself. I don’t need your money.”

“That’s good, because you aren’t in my will.”

Cory glanced at Eloise, eyebrows raised questioningly. Mr. Bessler scowled, and Eloise bent down close to her patient’s ear.

“Mr. Bessler,” Eloise murmured. “I know this is a shock, and I’m sorry about that. But this is your son.”

“You’re a quick one,” the old man quipped.

“If you’ve ever wanted to speak to him, tell him something—this is your chance. You’ve mentioned him before, and time isn’t on our side.”

“It’s me who has no time,” he retorted. “You’ve got plenty.”

Eloise let his comment pass, knowing from experience that he expected no reply.

The old man turned his attention to Cory. “So, what exactly do you want?”

“You’re my father.” Cory cleared his throat. “I wanted to—”

“Why now?” the old man interrupted. “I’m dying, you know.”

Cory didn’t answer.

“But you seem to know that.” Mr. Bessler twisted in his chair to cast a scathing glare at Eloise, then shook his head slowly. “You called him, didn’t you, Red?”

Mr. Bessler had called Eloise “Red” since her first day on the job. Lately, he’d consented to use her proper name, but the old nickname gave his words a deeper sense of betrayal.

“Yes, sir, I did,” she admitted. “You’ve been lonely, and when you mentioned your son—” She swallowed the hot, rising anxiety. She’d crossed a line in calling her patient’s son without his permission. She was here to help keep the old man comfortable. Her job did not include manipulating her patient into confrontations he wanted to avoid, no matter her intentions. While she’d truly believed that Mr. Bessler wanted to reconnect with his only son, it appeared now that she had been wrong and for one fleeting moment she wished she could go back in time and undo that phone call to Cory Stone.

“I see.” The old man turned around. He nodded several times, eyeing the big man before him. “You’re fired, Red,” he said, his gaze pinned to his son instead of the woman he was addressing. “I won’t require your services any longer.”

* * *

Fired? Cory’s gaze snapped between the hunched old man and his pretty nurse. Eloise blinked twice before she looked down, her long lashes veiling those deep green eyes from his scrutiny.

“Fired?” Eloise’s tone registered little surprise. “Mr. Bessler, you fire me once a week. You don’t really mean that, do you?”

“Why would I want a nurse who lies to me?” he barked.

“I didn’t lie.”

“You went behind my back,” he retorted.

“Yes, sir, I did. And I’m sorry about that. It was an error in judgment. I really did think you would appreciate this last chance to know your son.”

“Did you?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“If I’m fired, then I’ll call the agency to find you another nurse.” She rose to her feet and started to walk from the room, but his father heaved a sigh.

“You aren’t fired,” he muttered. “Come back.”