The Rancher's City Girl. Patricia Johns

was a young woman named Melissa.”

      “Yes, she mentioned that.” Eloise attempted to sound as impartial as possible.

      “She was very thoughtful,” he went on quietly. “She heard I was dying and had no children, and she very kindly offered to let me pay her school bills.”

      Eloise grimaced. “That’s horrible.”

      “She’ll probably make an excellent lawyer.”

      “I beg to differ,” Eloise muttered.

      “Anyhow, I told her I wasn’t interested.” Mr. Bessler breathed deeply through his nose. “I don’t want to take any more calls from her, if you don’t mind.”

      “Not a problem,” she replied. “I’m sorry about that, sir. Some people are just heartless.”

      He waved it off. “It’s part of the package, I’m afraid.”

      “What package?” Eloise asked.

      “Someone has to get my money, and everyone thinks they deserve it.”

      Eloise remained silent, pity welling up inside her.

      “The ironic thing is,” the old man said softly, “There isn’t much left.” He laughed hoarsely.

      “There might be charities willing to help pay my wages—”

      “Never mind that.” Mr. Bessler shook his head. “I’ll pay you. But I won’t let some cousin’s daughter try to wring money out of my estate.”

      Tears misted Eloise’s vision, and she blinked them back. Facing death was hard enough surrounded by family and friends. She couldn’t imagine having to think about her own mortality without anyone close to her. It seemed like the time to reach out to people, but Mr. Bessler refused.

      “I’m all right, Red,” he said, as if reading her mind. “Don’t you waste those tears on me.” His eyes drooped again. “I’ve got Ruth up there watching over me, and the Lord hasn’t left me alone yet.”

      “And you have me, Mr. Bessler,” she reminded him.

      “Maybe it’s time you called me Robert,” he said. “It’s less formal, and you’re probably the best friend I’ve got right now, Red.”

      She smiled. “Thanks. You also have a son who doesn’t want anything from your estate,” Eloise pointed out.

      “You’re right.” Mr. Bessler sighed, his eyes shut. “He doesn’t need it.”

      His breath grew even and deep, and Eloise turned to tiptoe out of the room when his voice stopped her. “Maybe I’ll go see my son’s ranch, after all.”

      Hope rose in Eloise’s breast. “That would be nice, Robert.”

      The old man opened one eye. “I didn’t say I’d be nice, just that I’d go.”

      Eloise smothered a grin. She was happy that the old man would have a chance to see his son, and if she was utterly truthful, she was looking forward to seeing Cory, too. He’d been more than she’d expected, somehow—gentler, more complicated, more wounded. Even now she found herself wondering about the big rancher, how he was handling all of this. Mr. Bessler shifted, seeking a more comfortable position.

      “I’ll let him know,” she said.

      “Now leave me alone,” he grunted. “I want to sleep.”

       Chapter Three

      The next morning, the house vibrated with rare excitement. Robert sat by the window, pretending not to watch for Cory’s truck. He scowled at Eloise as she rechecked his oxygen tanks, but when she turned away, she’d catch the scowl fading out of the corner of her eye.

      Eloise felt cheerful and upbeat about this trip. It would be good to get away from the musty little house—a holiday from the ordinary. She’d never seen a ranch before, except for what she could glean from movies, and the prospect was both exciting and mildly daunting. She had packed some painting supplies so that she could make the most of her time there.

      “I’m bringing your favorite shirts—the soft ones,” she told the old man as she tucked the last of the clothing into a suitcase. “I’m also packing your winter robe, just in case it gets chilly.”

      She chatted away to her patient, getting little response, but each time she looked over at him, she’d catch the anticipation in his eyes, quickly veiled for her benefit. When Cory’s truck rumbled to a stop outside, Robert turned away from the window.

      “Is he here?” Eloise asked.

      “Looks like.”

      “Are you ready?” she asked.

      “It’s only a couple of hours away. You’re acting like we’re leaving for a month.”

      “I only want to be prepared.” She straightened. “It’ll be fun, won’t it?”

      He didn’t answer. Instead he attempted to wheel himself toward the bookshelf.

      “Can I help you with something, Robert?”

      He waved her off. “I have to put something in the suitcase.”

      From the bookshelf, Mr. Bessler took the ornate urn that held his wife’s ashes, and with some effort, he tucked it into the open bag. Eloise didn’t attempt to help him. When it came to Ruth, Mr. Bessler didn’t like interference.

      A knock on the door drew her attention and Eloise went to open it. Cory stood on the doorstep. He pulled his hat from his head, his warm gaze meeting hers, and gave her a nod.

      “Morning, ma’am.”

      She chuckled at his formal manners, a novelty she didn’t come across often in Billings. She instantly liked it. “Come on in.”

      Behind her, she could hear her patient struggling to clear his throat.

      “Hi, Mr. Bessler.” Cory lifted his hat slightly, then dropped it back on his head and bent to pick up their bags. “Can I take these out?”

      Eloise nodded and Cory’s boots reverberated on the wooden floor as he headed out, his arms flexed under the weight of the luggage. She caught herself watching his muscular form as he strode back out to the truck. He was strong in a way she didn’t often see. This wasn’t muscle tone from working out at a gym—this was strength from hard, manual labor, and it looked different somehow, more natural. She tore her gaze away, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. Robert didn’t seem to notice, much to her relief.

      It didn’t take long for their items to be stashed in the back of the pickup, and Eloise wheeled Robert out the side door and down the ramp. They settled the old man in the backseat of the four-door truck, his oxygen beside him. Cory then gave Eloise a hand up into the front seat before heading around to the driver’s side.

      “Are you comfortable, Robert?” Eloise asked.

      “It’ll do.”

      Cory hopped up into the driver’s seat, the scent of his aftershave wafting through the cab. She knew he was a tall man, but proximity to him made him seem larger still. His broad hands slid over the steering wheel as he eased away from the curb, and he gave her a smile.

      “I guess we’ll all get to know each other a little bit,” Cory said as he pulled out of the drive and into the street. “I think you’ll like it out there in Blaine County, sir.”

      “You might as well call me Robert, too,” the old man sighed. “All these formal manners are agonizing.”

      “Thanks. Have you always lived in town?” Cory tried again.

      “All my life.”

      “So you must know a lot of people.”

      “I