The Rancher's City Girl

She stopped, smiled and brushed a spiral curl away from her cheek. Cory didn’t know her at all, but he had a good instinct when it came to character, and Eloise seemed like a good person. His father, however, hadn’t exactly endeared himself yet.

Cory had expected someone more impressive. His mother had always described his father as a strong, powerful man, but this quivery gentleman looked nothing like the father he’d imagined. Frail. Old. Ornery.

I should be at the ranch, trying to find a medic to replace the guy who quit, he thought dismally. What am I doing here? I have a hundred better things I should be doing...

Eloise moved over to the couch and sat down. She idly adjusted a doily across the arm of the couch. The same errant curl she’d just brushed from her face fell back against her creamy skin, and Cory found his attention fixed on her. Her composure surprised him.

“So she’s still your nurse?” Cory clarified.

“What is that to you?” his father asked. “I can fire her if I want to.”

Eloise’s gaze flicked up at Cory, and she glanced quickly between both men but didn’t speak.

“Do you feel like a big man when you cast women aside?” Cory couldn’t veil the chill in his tone.

“Is that your way of asking about your mother?” the old man demanded. He coughed and slouched lower in his chair.

“No,” Cory said. “My mother told me enough.”

“What a horrible man I was?” his father asked with a bitter smile.

“No, she thought more of you than that.”

“Where is she now?”

“She passed away a few years ago.” Images of his mother’s last days filled his mind. She’d died in a hospital, a gaunt figure, pain medication pumping into an IV that left a purple bruise over her bony hand. Her hair had begun to grow back in soft gray curls over her head—chemotherapy had been abandoned at that late stage of the illness. His mother had slipped away one afternoon, dying while he was out getting a breath of fresh air. He’d never fully forgiven himself for that.

His father frowned and dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” Cory said, but words could never encompass the feelings that welled up inside him when he remembered his mother’s passing.

“What took her?”

“Breast cancer.” Cory sat down on a chair and turned it to face his father. He hadn’t decided how much he wanted to tell this virtual stranger about his time with his mother, but he had some questions of his own that he’d been waiting a lifetime to ask. He cleared his throat. “I know you don’t want any kind of relationship with me, and that’s fine, but I had a few things I wanted to ask you.”

“Fair enough,” his father replied.

“When did you meet my mother?” Cory asked.

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

Irritation plucked at his practiced calm. “Why not?”

He was met with a chilly silence. Eloise shifted in her seat, and Cory glanced toward her to find her green eyes full of compassion. Her pink lips parted, and he was struck anew by her unaffected beauty. Cory pulled his gaze away from her and tapped his hat against his thigh.

A smile flickered at the corners of the old man’s lips. “Are you married, boy?”

Cory shook his head.

“Then I can’t expect you to understand.”

“Were you married when you met my mother?”

Another silence, but it seemed to answer his question.

“And you chose your wife over my mother?”

His father gave a weak shrug. “Someone had to be hurt, young man. Either your mother or my wife. I chose to protect my wife.”

It explained a lot. Cory’s mother had never told him much about the relationship she shared with his father, only that it was a short fling and that it hadn’t lasted after she told him she was pregnant. He let his gaze move over the walls of the little sitting room, and he spotted a few faded pictures of a woman with a 1960s’ hairstyle at various ages. She had a bright smile and a slim figure.

“Is that your wife?” he asked, nodding at the picture.

“Never mind Ruth,” the old man snapped. “She isn’t your business.”

That was true, Cory knew. He wasn’t even sure what to ask the old man now. He’d had a million questions over the years, but now as he faced his father, he couldn’t seem to pull them out of the tangle of his emotions. One thought shot through the murky mess in his mind: I’m the child of an affair.

The thought had occurred to him in the past but had never been verified. Cory had preferred to believe that his mother had met a man and the relationship had simply gone sour, not that she’d been the other woman in someone else’s marriage.

“I guess that’s it.” Cory shrugged, shoving away his disappointment. He’d driven for two hours, at the worst possible time to leave the ranch, just to meet his father. He hadn’t expected tears and hugs exactly, but he’d hoped for something—some sort of connection that would identify them as father and son. So far, he’d met with only cold disdain. “There’s a lot I want to know, but you don’t seem willing to talk. I’m not going to beg. Is there anything you want to know about me?”

The old man shook his head. “No.”

“All right, then.” Cory rose and tapped his hat against his palm. This wasn’t going the way he’d expected, and while he didn’t want to simply walk away from his father, he had the undeniable urge to be by himself. If he were back at the ranch, he’d get on his horse and ride, but here his options were limited. He searched the old man’s lined face once more for some sign of softness but found nothing. “Thank you for your time.”

Eloise sprang to her feet, but when he looked in her direction, annoyance flashed in her green eyes. She planted her hands on her slim hips and darted a look between the two men.

“That’s it?” she demanded.

Both men looked at her mutely. Cory wasn’t sure what she expected him to do.

“This is how you want to leave it?” She pulled the curls out of her eyes and shook her head. “Sit down.”

Cory stared down at the petite woman in surprise. She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly, and he briefly considered turning his back on her, but he discarded the thought almost immediately. He sank back into his seat.

“After all these years, you can’t just leave things like this.”

“Sure we can,” his father countered. “We’ve met. We’ve talked. We’re done.”

Eloise pointedly ignored the old man’s retort and turned her bright gaze onto Cory. “Now, Cory, what do you do for a living?”

“I own a ranch.”

“See, Mr. Bessler? That’s an interesting career, isn’t it?” She pulled up a chair and sat on the edge. “And what drew you to that line of work?”

“I grew up on that ranch. I inherited it.”

“Does Mr. Bessler have any grandchildren?” she pressed.