The Rancher's City Girl. Patricia Johns

to disturb Eloise while she was working with his dad, he couldn’t just leave a man to lose blood, either. So he headed down the hallway and knocked on his father’s bedroom door.

      “Yes?” Eloise opened it.

      “We’ve got an injury. Can you come?”

      “Give me two minutes. I just have to make sure your father is comfortable. Can someone keep an eye on him?”

      “Zack says he can stick around. He wants to know if there is anything he needs to do.”

      “Just listen in case he asks for something.” She flashed him a smile.

      “Okay.” He jutted his chin in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll be out there when you’re ready.”

      Cory went back to the kitchen and leaned against the counter, his gaze overlooking the horse pasture. Zack hunched over the schedule, an eraser in one hand and a pencil in the other, deep in concentration.

      This land—this soil—had seeped into Cory over the years. At first, it had been the summer weeks he spent with his grandfather while his mother worked in Billings in a hotel laundry room. She couldn’t afford child care to watch him during school summer vacation, so she sent him to be on the ranch with her parents. This was the place he’d learned about life.

      He had also learned important lessons with his mother, but times were harder in Billings. They couldn’t waste money, and they carefully measured out the milk, never wasting a drop. He saw his mother exhausted from a long day at work, and he listened to those late-night conversations when she’d call her parents on the ranch and refuse to take any money.

      “No, no, we’re fine. I’m doing some overtime. Thanks for inviting Cory to come this summer. I’m going to miss him, though.”

      He’d learned thriftiness and self-reliance at home with his mother in their one-bedroom apartment, and on the ranch, he learned responsibility and hard work as he got up with the sun to start chores. He learned about delayed gratification when he raised a coop full of chicks to maturity before he started gathering eggs. He learned about the birds and the bees when he witnessed enough calves being born to spark the right questions.

      His grandfather had been the male presence in his life, and those early-morning rides out to the herd when the sun eased over the horizon, or those evenings when they stood together in the mudroom, washing their hands with a big bar of soap before going in for supper, were moments that formed him.

      His mother would visibly relax when she drove them up that winding drive, the worry lines in her face softening, and she’d heave a sigh of relief.

      “You’ll have fun this summer,” she’d say. “And I’ll be back in two weeks to spend a couple of days with you. You’ll behave yourself, right? You do as you’re told and listen to Grandma and Grandpa.”

      The lectures hadn’t been necessary, of course. Cory wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his time on the ranch. It was the one place on earth where he could drink all the milk he wanted and roam as far as his legs would take him. Looking out over the pasture, watching the horses graze always reminded him of those summer weeks when his grandfather shouldered the pressures, and Cory got to dream about owning his own horse one day.

       Who knew I’d have the ranch?

      He still felt a familiar surge of gratitude at that thought. This ranch meant more to him than anything else.

      A rustling sound behind him pulled him out of his memories and he turned to see Eloise in the doorway of the kitchen. She hesitated, green eyes meeting his. She pulled her curls away from her face, and her lips parted ever so slightly, and he could feel all of his orderly thoughts slipping away. What was it about this woman that addled his brain like that? He cleared his throat.

      “You ready to head out?” Cory asked. “It’s a pretty deep cut, apparently.”

      “Sure. Let me grab my supplies—”

      “I’ve got a fully stocked kit in the truck.” Cory pulled his thoughts away from dangerous territory and surveyed her attire. Her jeans were all right, but the delicate teal blouse didn’t look as if it would survive long out here. Dare he say anything? There was an injured ranch hand waiting.

      “Then let’s go.” She turned to Zack. “Thanks for checking on Mr. Bessler for me. He’s almost sleeping now. His painkillers have taken effect.”

      “No problem,” Zack said with a wave. “It’s good to have you here.”

      She turned and followed Cory to the door, then out to the truck. He pulled open her door, then headed around to the driver’s side. When he hopped up into his seat and the truck rumbled to life, Eloise eyed him tentatively. “Your father wants to scatter his wife’s ashes one of these days soon.”

      “Okay.” He put the truck into Reverse and eased out of the drive, then pushed it into Drive and headed down the gravel road. “Here?” he clarified. “Does he want me to do anything?”

      It felt awkward to be suddenly so intimately aware of his father’s dying wishes. Moving from boyhood fantasies of a superhero of a father to the startling reality of the dying old man was a shock to the system, and he felt mildly embarrassed at the mention of Ruth. He’d seen the pictures on the wall in the Bessler house, but so far, Ruth Bessler was little more than a shadow—a name his father mentioned with a look of annoyance shot in Cory’s direction. At least right now they were a father and son in the same house, but as soon as Ruth came up, it was as if miles suddenly slid between them.

      “I said I’d help him with it, so you don’t need to worry.” Eloise cleared her throat. “He wants to do it off your property.”

      Cory couldn’t say he was surprised. His father jealously protected Ruth’s memory, and he didn’t imagine that the old man would want to lay her to rest on his illegitimate son’s land.

      “That’s understandable,” he said. He scanned the passing horse barn out of habit, his eyes skipping over each gate to check that it was locked.

      “Why do you put up with him?” Cory’s tone was sharper than he intended and he winced inwardly.

      “It’s part of the job.” Eloise frowned. “But then again, he’s not my father, so I don’t have the same expectations you do.”

      “I don’t have a lot of expectations. I don’t even know the man.”

      “My patients all give me something unique. Your dad is no different.”

      “You must see a different side of him, because I can’t get beyond his surliness.”

      “He definitely can be a grump. But when he talks about Ruth...he really loved her. Still does, I daresay.”

      Cory didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure how much a man could love a woman while cheating on her, and anger simmered inside him again. For all of Robert’s adoration for Ruth, he hadn’t been able to love his only son, and that fact still rubbed him a little raw. Eloise turned her gaze out the window and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Is it far?” she asked.