Rancher For The Holidays. Myra Johnson

chewing and swallowing.

      When she finally did, she must have forgotten his question. “Were you serious about getting involved with the Candelaria ministry?”

      Ben sipped his water. “Sure. What exactly do you do?”

      “All kinds of stuff. I was at the craft store to pick up supplies for the ladies. A while back, a fabric store donated several sewing machines, and the ladies create some lovely handcrafts. Then several state-park gift shops sell the items on consignment.”

      Marley went on to tell how college students from Austin had built the little red barn he’d seen in the photograph. “It’s a reimbursement store stocked by volunteers, and one of the local women manages it. Everything is sold at cost, so they don’t have to deal with the whole sales-tax issue.”

      Ben squinted in disbelief. “Wait—you’re telling me there’s nowhere else in Candelaria to buy necessities?”

      “They have nothing. No stores, no gas stations, not even a real school anymore. The nearest town with shopping and schools is fifty miles away.”

      “Then why don’t they—”

      The server interrupted him to deliver their salads. Ben drizzled dressing over the lettuce and was about to pick up his knife and fork when he noticed Marley folding her hands.

      “Do you mind if I offer grace?”

      He should be used to this. Aunt Jane and Uncle Steve gave thanks before every meal, just as Ben’s parents had always done. Mealtime prayer was a ritual he’d let slide sometime during college. Guess he’d grown too complacent relying on himself to give the Lord any credit. But then, God had let Ben down too many times in the past couple of years.

      Awkwardly, he dropped his hands to his lap and waited while Marley whispered a simple but heartfelt prayer. Her ease with the words and the intimate tone of her voice suggested she felt totally comfortable conversing with the Lord.

      She finished, and Ben retrieved his fork. He almost hated to break the reverent silence. “That was...nice.”

      Marley smiled as she took a bite of salad. “Before the waiter came, you were about to ask me something.”

      It took him a moment to remember. “You said there’s nothing in Candelaria. So why don’t the people just move to a bigger town?”

      “First of all, no one ever talks about who or how many, but it’s likely some of these families crossed over illegally, so Border Patrol keeps a close eye on anyone coming or going. For another reason...” Marley pushed a tomato around her salad plate, her expression suggesting he could never understand. “Candelaria is home to these people. Whole families have grown up there or across the border in San Antonio del Bravo. They have pride in their history, a connectedness to their roots that—”

      She broke off abruptly and squeezed her eyes shut.

      “Marley?” Ben stretched his hand across the table to touch her wrist. His chest tightened when a tear slipped down her cheek.

      With a self-conscious laugh, she dabbed her face with her napkin. “Guess you can tell I’m rather passionate about this subject.”

      Ben had the feeling her tears stemmed from something deeper than altruism, but he didn’t know her well enough to pry. He was thankful the waiter returned at that moment to serve Marley’s entrée.

      “Do you need any steak sauce, ma’am?”

      “No, thanks. I’m sure it’s fine.” Anticipation filled her eyes, now as big as her dinner plate. She sliced off a juicy bite of rib eye.

      The tempting aroma of seared meat eclipsed any appetite Ben had for chopped salad. Fisting his knife and fork, he pinned Marley with his best imitation of a John Wayne stare. “Little missy, if you’re plannin’ on takin’ home any leftovers, you better guard that slab of beef with your life.”

      * * *

      Marley left the restaurant with a container packed with three quesadilla triangles, half her dinner salad, most of her baked sweet potato and maybe enough steak for a meager sandwich. Poor Ben. She’d finally taken pity on him and offered a few bites of her rib eye. He acted as if he’d died and gone to heaven.

      Guilt still plagued her for picking one of the most expensive restaurants in Alpine. Ben should have told her sooner about losing his job.

      On the other hand, she understood perfectly well about keeping certain parts of your life private. Thank goodness Ben hadn’t pressed for details about her background. She’d much rather talk about Candelaria.

      Except she’d almost blown it. Choking up like that? Good grief! At least Ben seemed to accept her explanation about the source of her tears. The truth was an ache with no cure.

      They’d driven over separately, so Ben walked Marley over to her car. “Mind if we exchange cell-phone numbers?”

      Her heart drummed out a few staccato beats. The cute city slicker wanted her number?

      “I mean, in case you figure out anything I can do to help with your committee.”

      “Oh, right.” She stifled a groan at her own foolishness. He was attractive and funny and easy to talk to, but struggling to make her business profitable, volunteering on the outreach committee and striving every day to keep her past in the past, she had no room for a man in her life. Besides, the moment he found another job, he’d be long gone.

      They traded phones to enter their contact information, then Ben helped Marley into the car with all her leftovers. He grinned hopefully. “If you need any help finishing those off...”

      Laughing, Marley opened the food container and passed Ben another quesadilla. “Here, have one for the road.”

      He ate it in two bites, then slammed a fist to his chest in mock gratitude. “Your kindness is exceeded only by your—”

      “By your flair for the dramatic.” Grinning, Marley slipped her key into the ignition and got the A/C running. “Goodbye, Ben. And thank you again for lunch.”

      “My pleasure.” He tapped his phone as she pulled her door shut and mouthed, Call me.

      She smiled and nodded, but a nagging inner voice told her getting involved with Ben Fisher, whether platonically on her Candelaria committee or otherwise, might be the biggest risk she’d ever take.

Chapter Three

      “I’ve got Jacob and Bryan signed up, Mrs. Hunter. You can pay me at the first class. And thank you!” Marley did a quick victory dance as she ended the call. One of her church friends had caught her after worship yesterday and asked to get her daughter on the list. Now Marley needed only one more student for the class. Some people were notorious for waiting until the last minute, and with two weeks to go, things were looking up.

      Mondays at the studio were usually quiet, which gave Marley time to work in the darkroom. She liked the ease and convenience of digital photography, but for her gallery pieces, nothing beat large-format film she processed and printed herself.

      Today she needed to select and print several landscape shots commissioned by a Texas travel magazine. The sooner she turned those in, the sooner she could cover next month’s rent on the studio. Artistic photography may be her first love, but magazine work, family portraits, senior class photos and weddings paid the bills—at least for now.

      Her thoughts drifted to the notice from her landlord. The studio was in a prime location for downtown foot traffic. The upside of moving to another part of town was lower rent. The downside? The old saying, “Out of sight, out of mind,” might well hold true.

      As she stood at the counter filling out the class registration for Mrs. Hunter’s boys, the front door creaked open, barely disturbing Marley’s shortened string of brass bells. A familiar face peered through the crack. “Is