The Rancher's City Girl

by Patricia Johns

  “Oh no...” She bent to inspect her shoe, disappointment flooding through her.

  “You okay?” Cory held out a hand and Eloise slipped her fingers into his. He pulled her effortlessly to her feet, and as she rose, she found herself just inches from his broad chest. Her breath caught and she looked up into his face.

  “Sorry about your sandal.” His voice was quiet and low, and for a moment she imagined what it might feel like to have his arms wrapped solidly around her.

  “I should have listened to Zack,” she said, her voice breathless in her own ears.

  “Warned you, did he?” Cory’s voice stayed low and he didn’t move away from her, his dark gaze moving slowly over her face.

  He was so warm, so strong, so comforting standing there, that it took all of her self-control to force herself to step back. She rubbed her hands over her arms and sucked in a steadying breath.

  “Let me give you a ride back.” Cory gave her a grin. “I saw your driving from the window.”

  She laughed. “Hey, I haven’t driven a stick shift since I was sixteen! I think I did pretty well!”

  Cory’s dark eyes glittered with humor, and he opened the passenger door. “After you, ma’am.”

  Gripping his hand once more, Eloise felt herself being lifted upward and into the seat. She let out a squeak of surprise, but before she could say anything, her door banged shut and Cory was walking around to the driver’s side.

  The ride back to the house was uneventful, and Cory dropped her off with a tip of his hat. Zack came out of the house and hopped in the passenger side and they drove toward their ranching duties, leaving her alone at the house with her patient.

  “I loved these,” she muttered as she took off her broken sandal. It was beyond repair, and she sadly tossed the shoes into the garbage.

  After Mr. Bessler got up and had a small breakfast, Eloise suggested a walk out in the summer air, and for the first time in ages, the old man agreed. Eloise put on a pair of running shoes, making a mental note to watch where she stepped. Man-sized gum boots for a walk seemed like overkill.

  The sun was high, washing out the green fields on either side of the road, bleaching the red horse barn and leaving the air warm and still. Eloise hummed as she pushed the wheelchair down the gravel road. A light blanket covered Robert’s legs, despite the warmth of the day, but even her elderly patient seemed cheerier in the fresh air. Dust tickled her nose, and she found her mind wandering back to Cory in spite of her best efforts. She remembered the sensation of being lifted up into the passenger side of the truck by the strong cowboy. She sighed, pushing away the memory.

  Eloise turned and looked back, the house already smaller in the distance. The cow barn loomed to the left, but she kept going forward, tugged on by that addictive horizon. At the fork in the road, Eloise turned left, away from the barrack and into what seemed to be an endless sea of waving grass, split apart by the narrow gravel road.

  “Did you see my son this morning?” the old man asked.

  “I did. I went to check on a ranch hand who’d had too much to drink and punched a wall.”

  Mr. Bessler smiled and shook his head. “Young people are idiots.”

  “Not all of us.” She angled his chair around a pothole in the gravel road. “I’m sure you and Cory will have more time together.”

  Mr. Bessler shrugged his thin shoulders. “It seems a little late, doesn’t it? I mean, for all this father-son bonding.”

  “It’s never too late.”

  “Does he—” The old man cleared his throat. “Does he resent me?”

  “You’ll have to ask him,” she said. “But he invited you to come here, so I think that’s a good sign.”

  Mature trees stretched their limbs over the road, leaving dappled shade over the gravel up by the house, but out here there was nothing but sun and air. The wheelchair bumped over the rocks, and as they approached the end of the road, Eloise slowed her pace. The road tapered off, tufts of grass taking over the gravel for a few feet, and then field swallowed the rest.

  “Huh,” she said.

  “It’s hot,” Mr. Bessler said. “My head hurts.”

  Eloise pulled a bottle of water from her bag and gave the old man a drink. A gnarled tree stood in the field a few yards off and she looked back down the road toward the house and the sheltering shade so far off.

  “A bit of shade might help,” she suggested.

  “It would,” he agreed. “Wheel me over there.”

  The ground was bumpy and it took all of her strength to get the chair through the tough grass and into the shade. When she got him there, she heaved a sigh of relief.

  “It’s a lot cooler.” Eloise wiped sweat from her brow and leaned against the rough trunk of the tree.

  “We have a park by our house, and it had a tree like this.” He squinted up into the leafy branches. “There was a bench out there, and that’s where Ruth would go when I got her good and mad. I always knew where to find her.”

  Eloise grinned. “You don’t sugarcoat things, do you, Robert?”

  “Don’t see the point. Pretending things were different wouldn’t change history, would it?” He arched an eyebrow.

  Her patient had spent the past thirty-five years pretending he didn’t have a son, but Eloise didn’t see a point in bringing that up. Instead she asked, “What would you do to make her mad?”

  “Oh, what do men ever do? I’d say the wrong thing. I’d criticize her mother or comment that she’d gained a few pounds. Then I’d have to go and find her. She’d be sitting out there on the bench, rain or shine. She’d be really mad the times she went out with an umbrella.” He rasped out a hoarse laugh. “I’d have to apologize. She never believed me the first time, so we’d sit there together until she’d let me take her hand, and then I’d know we’d made up.”

  Eloise sighed. “You must have some pleasant memories with your wife, too.”

  “Some good, some bad. A lifetime of them make them matter more, I guess.”

  A crow cawed at them from the top of the tree, and farther away a swarm of sparrows wheeled and swayed through the sky as they moved from one copse to another. The field stretched before them, an ocean of green, rippling like water in the breeze.

  “Do you mind if I ask you something?” Eloise asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  “How did you do it? How did you last a lifetime with the same wife?”

  “You mean, having fathered Cory?”

  “No, no.” The warmth of embarrassment rose in her cheeks. She didn’t mean to pry into anything as personal as his affair.

  “I didn’t tell her.”

  Eloise looked at Mr. Bessler in surprise. “She didn’t know?”

  “Do I look crazy?” he retorted. “If telling her that her mother was a meddler and a shrew would send her out to that stupid bench, barely willing to speak to me, what do you think would have happened if I told her that I’d cheated?”

  Eloise remained silent.

  “I’m no fool, Red.”

  “They always say honesty is what makes a marriage last.”

  “Do they? Well, tell me this. If you could have kept your husband and never known about the other woman, wouldn’t that have been better?”

  Would she have preferred to stay ignorant of her husband’s infidelity? Some days she would answer yes to that, but most days the answer would be no.

  “Pretending things were different wouldn’t change history, would it?” Eloise repeated.

  Mr. Bessler waggled at finger at her and gave a faint smile.

  “Cory aside,” she said, “you must have had some secret that made your marriage work.”

  “Not getting divorced,” he replied.

  “Obviously.” She chuckled. “But—”

  “
I’m serious,” he interrupted. “We didn’t do it. That doesn’t mean we didn’t fight or make each other angry. We just didn’t have that option. And if I wanted a comfortable bed to sleep in that night, I’d better make her feel better, right?”

  “You make it seem so simple.”

  “It is. You kids these days make it more complicated than it needs to be with all your books and therapists. ‘Otherness.’” Mr. Bessler made air quotes with his fingers. “It’s marriage, not rocket science. Your generation is a bunch of young idiots. No offense.”

  “None taken.” Eloise laughed softly. “Maybe I’ll think the same thing when I’m your age.”

  “Heaven help us.” Mr. Bessler managed a laugh. Sheer determination hadn’t been enough for her marriage, and she wondered what they’d been missing in their relationship. If she were to get married again, how could she be sure it would be different?

  An image of Cory rose in her mind, and she forced it back. Why was it that every time she thought of love and marriage lately, images of Cory crowded into her mind?

  “What made Ruth special, though? What made her the one for you?” Eloise asked.

  Mr. Bessler shrugged. “She had me at hello the first day I met her, and she knew it.”

  Eloise smiled wistfully, her gaze moving out over the field and up to the sky, where a hawk slowly circled.

  Ruth had Mr. Bessler’s heart from the first day they met. Mr. Bessler strayed and went back to his wife. What about Eloise? Philip strayed and chose the other woman.

  But I know I was a good wife.

  Anger bubbled up inside her every time she remembered all that she had poured into her marriage. Eloise had been understanding and kind and seen to Philip’s comfort in every way she knew how. She listened when he talked about his day. She even quit her job in order to focus on their home and reduce her stress so that they could start a family. She’d put their marriage first every step of the way. Another woman caught his eye and he walked away.

  Another woman got pregnant.

  If she fell in love again, what would keep her new relationship together? She missed being married and sharing her life with someone. Maybe she’d get married again one day, and was it so terrible to imagine a man in her life as handsome and rugged as Cory Stone?

  “I’m ready to go back,” Mr. Bessler said, rousing her from her thoughts.

  “So soon?” she asked.

  “I’m tired,” he said. “I want to sleep.”

  “All right, then.” Eloise braced herself and took hold of the handles of his wheelchair. With all her strength, she pulled backward. The chair lurched back, almost started moving, then sank back into the soft grass.

  “Am I stuck?” Mr. Bessler’s voice rose in alarm.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out.”

  Eloise braced herself and pulled again. The chair lifted, and instead of letting it fall back into the ruts, she tried to keep the momentum and pulled harder. Her wrist wrenched, and with a rush of pain, she had to let go. The old man grunted in surprise as the chair dropped down again.

  “I’m sorry, Robert,” she said through gritted teeth. “I hurt myself.”

  “What happened?” he demanded.

  “My wrist. I think I sprained it.”

  “How are we supposed to get out of here?”

  “I’m going to have to call Cory to help us,” she said.

  He eyed her archly. “I’m looking forward to you explaining your way out of this one.”

  Eloise stoically ignored her patient’s ridicule, took out her cell phone and dialed.

  * * *

  Cory pulled up to a stop at the end of the road and shaded his eyes against the late-morning sun. When Eloise called saying they were stuck in a field, he’d thought she was joking and laughed. When he realized she was serious, he felt mildly guilty, hopped in the truck and drove the direction she said they’d gone.

  Eloise stood under the stunted elm tree in the field, his father sitting in his wheelchair like a monarch, his head cocked ever so slightly to one side.

  “What are you doing out there?” Cory called as he stepped out of the beaten-up pickup.

  “Resting,” Eloise called back. “We were too hot.”

  “Huh.” A smile lifted the corners of his lips. “So you pushed a wheelchair into a fallow field?”

  “At least I’m not in sandals,” she retorted. “I thought it would be nice out here. Are you going to help me or not?”

  Cory laughed as he picked his way across the field, his boots sinking into the soft spots. “Did you think about snakes or anthills?” he asked.

  Eloise looked around them in one frantic swoop, then regained her dignity. “I think we’re good.”

  “For now.” He stopped a couple of feet from her and gave her a teasing smile.

  “Cory Stone, use those big muscles of yours and get your father back to the road.” She slammed her hands onto her hips. “We’re hot, we’re tired and your father needs to get back for a rest.”

  “This is true,” his father piped up. “Although I am enjoying this.”

  “Please?” Cory prompted, then took a step back when she looked ready to swat him. “Okay, okay.”

  Eloise glared at him as he took hold of his father’s chair and pulled it out of the softened earth. It moved easily enough, and with one heave, he pushed it to firmer ground.

  “There you are,” he said with a grin. “You’re welcome.”

  Eloise gave him a sweet smile and moved behind the chair, but she favored one hand as she threw her weight behind it.

  “Wait.”

  She glanced up, her cheeks red from heat, exertion or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure which.

  “What happened to your arm?”

  “She hurt it,” his father said helpfully.

  “Let me see.”

  Eloise mutely allowed him to look at her swollen wrist. He slid his calloused hands over her soft arm, feeling the swell at her joint. He nodded.

  “That hurt?” he asked, squeezing gently.

  She sucked in a breath in response.

  “I thought so.” He released her arm and she cradled it against her body.

  “I strained it. It’ll heal.”

  “It’ll heal better once I wrap it,” he replied. “Come on. I’ll push.”

  As the chair bumped over the grass, Cory couldn’t help feeling a stab of guilt for his teasing. As ridiculous as she looked stranded in a field—what on earth had she been thinking?—he hadn’t realized she’d been standing out there in pain.

  “Thank you, Cory.” She’d lost her fight, and in its place was a small smile. “I guess I’m used to parks, not fields.”

  “It’s okay. I’m glad my phone was in range. It isn’t always.”

  “I feel like an idiot.”

  “You should.” He laughed and shook his head. “You really are a city girl, aren’t you?”

  Eloise gave him a wry smile. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “More than I should,” he admitted. “We don’t get city people out here too often. Some farms are turning into dude ranches for some extra money, but I haven’t gone that way yet.”

  “It actually sounds like a good idea.”

  She was naive when it came to the country, that was for sure, and the last thing he needed was anyone without a clue about ranch life wandering his property and getting stuck in a tree or worse.

  “I’d spend all my time fishing tourists out of wells.” He bumped his father up onto the road and grinned. “I think I’m better off sticking to cattle.”

  “Are they smarter?” she asked ruefully.

  “They might be,” he said jokingly. “They stay in herds better.”

  They were silent for a moment
as they made their way toward the truck, and he wondered if he hadn’t been a little hard on her. He’d been well aware just how green she was before he drove her out here, so he had to shoulder some of that responsibility.

  “Don’t worry too much,” Cory said. “You have a lot to offer, and I’m glad you’re here.”

  Eloise blushed, and he felt a wave of success at the pink rising in her creamy cheeks. She might be a city girl through and through, but she was also gorgeous—the kind of gorgeous that could make a man forget what he was supposed to be doing. And the worst part was that she seemed oblivious of her effect on him.

  “Come on,” he said, pushing the chair toward the truck. “Let’s get you two inside.”

  With Eloise’s directions, Cory lifted his father into the pickup truck, then boosted Eloise up beside him. She was as light as a calf, but smelled better—a combination of soap and warm vanilla. He found himself wishing he didn’t have to let go, but he quickly quelled that emotion. He knew better than that.

  They bumped back over the dusty road, turning at the fork, and then swooping down the mild slope toward the shade of the trees and the house. Once inside, out of the glaring sun, Eloise’s fair skin looked slightly burned, but his father was none the worse for wear.

  “Come on, then,” Cory said. “Let’s see that arm.”

  He rummaged around in a cupboard before he emerged with a first aid kit.

  “Sit.” He nodded toward a kitchen chair a few feet away from his father’s wheelchair.

  Her slender arm felt fragile in his big, calloused hands, and he could already see the purple bruise around the joint. She winced when he bent her wrist to see the extent of the injury.

  He unwound a tensor bandage, then lifted her soft hand in his once more.

  “How often do you have to bandage up your medic?” Eloise asked with a low laugh.

  “You’re not the first.”