Rancher For The Holidays. Myra Johnson
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town.”
Marley couldn’t resist giving him the once-over. Another slim-fitting polo shirt in a mossy shade of green complemented his tan. The khakis were gone, but his citified jeans and the same polished loafers made him look more country-club than country.
“He’s right, isn’t he?”
Swinging her gaze back to his face, Marley winced as heat rose in her cheeks. “I’m sorry—who are we talking about?”
“My uncle.”
“Oh, right.” Maybe this was a conversation better continued at eye level. Marley stepped from the car and folded her arms. “So you’re here visiting your uncle?”
“He has a ranch a little ways out of town. He says he knows you.”
As long as she’d lived in Alpine, Marley had never quite gotten over the twinge of anxiety such a statement always evoked. She tried to mask the tension in her tone. “What’s his name?”
“Steve Whitlow.”
A wave of relief washed over her. “Yes, Steve and Jane—great people. We don’t attend the same church, but they’re regular supporters of our Candelaria outreach.”
“So I’ve been told.” Ben cocked a hip. “Like I said, I’ll probably be around awhile, so Uncle Steve thought maybe I could help with whatever you’re doing out there.”
The way his voice dipped suggested he wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea. Marley lifted her chin. “I appreciate the offer, but if you’re looking for something fun and exciting to do while you’re in town, Candelaria isn’t it.”
Hands upraised, Ben took a step back, his expression hardening. “Believe me, fun is the last thing on my mind at the moment.”
“I’m sorry. It just sounded like—”
“No, I’m sorry. Guess I’m a little touchy these days.” He sighed and attempted a smile. “You were just leaving. Don’t let me keep you.”
“Yeah, and you have some shopping to do.” Relaxing a little, Marley couldn’t resist a smirk.
Ben tapped his aviators against his thigh as he studied her. “You have somewhere else to be right now?”
“Nowhere special.” Why did she just say that? Did she want to blow any chance of catching someone in the church office this morning? “Why do you ask?”
Nodding toward the store entrance, Ben shrugged. “I was thinking I could use a little fashion advice.”
“I don’t know...”
“Please? You don’t want me embarrassing my aunt and uncle, do you?” He nudged her out of the way of her car door and pushed it shut. “Come on, give me half an hour and I’ll buy you lunch.”
Marley narrowed her gaze. “Restaurant of my choice?”
“You name the place.”
“City slicker, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
* * *
Ben couldn’t believe he’d just asked a girl to lunch.
Or that she’d accepted.
Not a date exactly, but as close as he’d come in a long, long time. His climb up the career ladder hadn’t left much time for a social life. Maybe his meteoric crash into unemployment had an unexpected perk.
Or so he thought until he read the menu prices at the restaurant Marley selected. He smirked. “You have excellent taste, Miss Sanders.”
Her pupils darkened as she studied the entrées, and he could swear she was actually salivating. “For obvious reasons, I don’t come here often.” She peered over the menu and wiggled her brows. “But you did say I could pick anywhere I wanted.”
“I certainly did.” Ben returned his attention to the menu. Maybe he’d settle for a salad. And water.
At least he’d gotten out of the department store without breaking the bank. Three colored T-shirts, two pairs of Wranglers, a package of tube socks and a pair of heavy-duty sneakers. Plus a nifty gray ball cap. Marley had reminded him that, even with the approach of fall, the high-desert sun could be brutal. And all his purchases amounted to less than what he typically paid for his favorite brand of dress slacks.
Or Marley’s meal, apparently. She went all out, ordering an appetizer, salad, ten-ounce rib eye and baked sweet potato with all the trimmings.
Ben narrowed his gaze. “Skipped breakfast, huh?”
She shot Ben a sheepish glance as she passed her menu to the server. “I’ll probably take half of it home.”
“Now I’m subsidizing your grocery budget?”
Marley gave a playful sniff. “It’s the least you can do, since you never came back to buy one of my photographs.”
“I wish I could. It’s just—”
The server cleared his throat. “Sir? Have you decided?”
“Chopped salad, balsamic vinaigrette on the side.” Closing his menu, Ben motioned toward the miniature loaf of dark bread the server had brought with their waters. “And can we have a couple more of those?”
“Salad? That’s all you’re having?” Marley grimaced. “You must think I’m a glutton.”
“Not at all.” Ben sliced off a thick piece of bread and slathered it with butter. “I realize my city-slicker duds probably made you think I’m loaded.”
Marley harrumphed as she buttered a slice for herself. “Not to mention your fancy red convertible.”
“The truth is, I was laid off two weeks ago. If I don’t find another job soon, it may come down to selling the Mustang so I can pay my rent—on a much smaller condo.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.” Marley shot an embarrassed glance around the restaurant. “If you can find our waiter—”
“Forget it. I’m not broke yet.” Ben paused to savor a mouthful of warm bread oozing with melted butter, then wiggled his brows. “Anyway, I owe you for helping me pick out my swanky new wardrobe.”
“Still, I’d have been just as happy with a burger and fries at the DQ.” Marley stared guiltily at her bread slice before nibbling a tiny bite.
“Yes, but the ambience here is so much nicer.” Not to mention the view across the table. Marley wore her hair down today, and Ben liked the way it framed her face. He imagined touching those silky auburn strands...
Suddenly the clinking of tableware and the conversations of other diners seemed amplified a hundred times. Ben blinked and buttered another piece of bread. No point in starting something he couldn’t finish, seeing as how he didn’t envision sticking around Alpine once he found another job. He was only here for some R and R. A rented beach house on Galveston Island would have been his first choice, but Uncle Steve and Aunt Jane had offered free room and board.
The server returned with Marley’s appetizer, a platter of cheese quesadillas. She nudged it toward Ben. “Have all you want. You’re buying, after all.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” As Ben helped himself, he watched Marley scrape the pico de gallo off hers. “Not into hot and spicy?”
She slurped up the melted cheese dripping from her quesadilla, then shook her head. “Not even after ten years in Texas.”
“Ten years? I took you for a native. Where are you from?”
At that exact moment, Marley stuffed the rest of her quesadilla into her mouth. Making exaggerated chewing motions, she waved her hand to signal she couldn’t answer yet. Ben spooned her unwanted pico de gallo onto another quesadilla and polished it off while he waited. He didn’t