The Rancher's City Girl

“It would be very fun, though. I could take some time to paint.” She paused in her stride and looked up into his face. “I like the lines around your eyes.”

“Oh?”

“Here.” She raised her hand as if to touch him, then pulled back before making contact. “The lines—they speak of laughter, but also worry. And when the sun is at this angle—” She stopped, laughed uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”

“You were thinking about painting me, weren’t you?”

“Just your eyes. Eyes really are the window to the soul.”

They stopped as they reached another street. Beyond the intersection, houses lined the road. A little girl crouched over a driveway with a piece of chalk, and a boy sat in the grass, watching her with a bored look on his face. Somewhere in the distance, the tinkle of an ice cream truck surfed the breeze, and both children perked up immediately, then dashed toward the house, shouting for money.

“Should we head back?” Cory asked.

She nodded. “Sure.”

They turned around, their pace relaxed. They moved over as a young couple walked past them down the sidewalk, hands in each other’s back pockets. What was it about high school students? They seemed younger with each passing year.

“You probably know my dad better than anyone right now. I was hoping you might be able to give me some insight,” Cory said.

“Maybe in time spent with him,” she agreed. “But you’ll know him better in other ways—the things you share.”

“We don’t share much,” he muttered. They looked nothing alike physically—not to his eye anyway. They obviously felt differently about his mother, and their outlooks on life couldn’t be more opposed. If his father hadn’t confirmed that Cory was indeed his son, he might have questioned the fact.

“You share more than you think,” she replied. “You’re father and son. You share DNA.”

“There are a lot of things I’d rather not share with him. No offense, but he’s not exactly a role model to emulate.”

Eloise didn’t answer, but he could see in her expression that she understood. They quickly approached his truck in front of the produce store, and he felt a drop of disappointment that he had no excuse to spend more time with her. He slowed his pace.

“Do you want a ride somewhere?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, thanks. I like the exercise.”

He took the two bags of fruit from the back of his truck and handed them to her. She looked questioningly at the extra bag.

“Maybe you could give it to my dad. I thought—” He stopped, unwilling to articulate his frustration.

She held out her hand and he took it in a gentle handshake.

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. You really are a good guy, Cory Stone.”

“I’ll see you,” he said, then released her slender hand.

She smiled, her green eyes sparkling. “I’ll give you a call when he gives me an answer.”

As Eloise walked away, the bags of fruit swinging at her side and her slim, beaded sandals slapping cheerfully against the sidewalk, one thought remained uppermost in Cory’s mind: as gorgeous as she was, as sweet, as interesting...

Nothing could ever develop between them. She was a tempting city girl, but a city girl nonetheless. It took a special kind of woman to fit into a ranch, and no amount of wishful thinking could change it.

* * *

Mr. Bessler sank back onto his bed. His eyes fluttered shut, then open again and he licked his dry lips. The late-afternoon sunlight glowed from behind the closed curtains, one ray of light slipping past the thick fabric and illuminating the dance of dust motes.

“How are you feeling?” Eloise asked as she counted his pills into a little paper cup.

“I need those.”

“How is the pain, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Forty-two,” he rasped. “I think I’m getting addicted to those pills—not that it matters at this point.”

“They help with the pain, and that’s what matters most.”

Mr. Bessler propped himself up on an elbow to take the pills with a cup of water, then sank back onto his pillow.

“Mr. Bessler, you haven’t told me yet if you want to go to your son’s ranch.”

“The doctor will never agree to it,” he muttered.

“Actually, I talked to him and he said that now is the time to do these things.”

“Forget it. I don’t want to.”

“Mr. Bessler, if that’s your decision, then I’ll support you, but I have to point something out.”

He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“If you push away Cory, who will you have left?”

“You, Red,” he replied, then sighed. “That’s sad, isn’t it?”

“I’m great company, Mr. Bessler,” she said with a wry smile. “But I’m not family.”

He nodded, his eyelids drooping as the medication began to take effect. He lay silently for a couple of minutes while Eloise busied herself with tidying the small bedroom. His wife had died before him. Eloise’s husband hadn’t died, but his absence left a gaping hole in her life. She’d done her best to fill that gap, but she felt it. Finding someone to care about wasn’t the hardest part. Trusting again after betrayal—that was the challenge, and she suspected that she and her patient had more in common than she liked to admit.

Eloise paused at Mr. Bessler’s side and pressed a hand against his forehead.

“How is the pain now?” she asked. “On a scale of one to ten.”

“Three.”

“Much better.” She adjusted a light blanket over his shoulders. “You should be able to rest now.”

Eloise closed the curtains past that last ray of sunlight, dimming the room. The old man looked smaller in his bed, so frail and pale against the white sheets and blanket. Outside, children’s laughter and chatter mingled with the roll of skateboard wheels. When Eloise first began working with Mr. Bessler, he’d complain about the noisy children, but he no longer mentioned them. Perhaps he’d learned to enjoy their youthful enthusiasm.

“Do you need anything else, sir?” she asked quietly.

“No...” His voice was thin and soft. From the other room, the phone rang.