Patricia Johns - The Rancher's City Girl

“His version doesn’t jibe with what I was told all my life,” Cory said finally. “My mother told me that my father had swept her off her feet. He was kind, knowledgeable. She said that ultimately the age difference had been too much. But that he was a good man, and she wished things had been different—for all of us.”

“But she didn’t want you to contact him?”

“She said it was better to give him his space. I accepted that. Looking back on it now, I can’t help wondering if she wanted to avoid facing his wife. Maybe she was ashamed.”

Eloise didn’t answer, and she looked down, her hair, now loose in the gentle breeze, obscuring his view of her face.

“Regardless, she loved him,” Cory said with a shrug.

Eloise looked up, pulling her hair back with a sweep of one hand. “You resent that, don’t you?”

“What was the use?” he asked. “He didn’t love her back. She spent a lifetime still caring about that man, and for what? He was married to someone else and saw her as nothing but an error in judgment.”

Eloise’s brow furrowed, and when the breeze shifted some curls away from her face, he thought he detected sadness in those green eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low.

“Fine.” A smile flickered to her lips and she turned her attention in his direction.

“Liar.” The smile hadn’t reached her eyes.

Eloise sighed, and she didn’t seem inclined to answer at first. After a moment of silence, she said, “My husband left me for his mistress.”

A rush of regret hit Cory like a blow to the gut. Here he’d been, trying to untie the knot of his parents’ affair, and this poor woman was the collateral damage of another affair. He winced. “I’m sorry. I’m being really callous.”

“No, not at all.” Eloise waved it off. “These things happen, I guess.”

“No, they don’t.” Cory caught the bitterness in his own tone. “People don’t just accidentally cheat on a spouse. It’s not like a lightning strike or a tsunami.”

Eloise’s voice was soft. “Good point. But my situation isn’t your father’s, and I don’t want to mix in my personal baggage.”

“If it helps, I think your ex-husband must be an idiot,” he said.

“It kind of does.” She laughed quietly.

“So, what do you normally do on your days off?”

“I paint.”

Cory raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Houses?”

“No, artistically. Pictures.” She laughed and shook her head. “It’s therapeutic. I’ve loved painting ever since I was a child, but I didn’t take it very seriously until Philip left.”

“Did it help you deal with all of that?” he asked.

Eloise nodded. “I realized that I’d done a lot for Philip in our marriage, and not a lot for myself. That needed to change. It’s only been a couple of years, but at least I’m honoring my gifts now.”

“Where’s your ex-husband?”

“He has a law practice in Billings. He’s remarried. They have a two-year-old daughter.”

He squinted in the afternoon sunlight—the math not lost on him. “He left you for the pregnant girlfriend?”

Eloise nodded. “Afraid so. Maybe it was the right choice. At least his daughter will grow up with a father.”

“And you’re alone.”

“Not entirely. I have God, friends, family. I’m not married, but I do have a full life.”

“I didn’t mean to imply—”

She shrugged. “I know, it’s okay.” She touched his arm, her cool fingers lingering on his wrist for a moment. “You’re a good guy, Cory. I can tell.”

He felt a glow of warmth at her words. He found his gaze traveling her face. Her fair complexion betrayed every passing emotion, her auburn lashes entranced him. How her husband could ever have stopped looking at her, he had no idea.

“What about you?” Eloise glanced up and he looked quickly away, not wanting to be caught staring. “What do you do on your downtime?”

“What downtime?” he joked, then grew more serious. “It’s all work and no play, but I love all of it. I guess the best part is riding. Have you ridden a horse before?”

She shook her head. “I never have. Shocking for a Montana girl, I know.”

“You should try it.” Cory smiled. “There’s no feeling like galloping across a field—pure freedom.”

“One day,” she agreed. “I need someone to teach me.”

“I could volunteer. You’d have ample opportunity if you came out to my ranch.”

“That’s up to my patient at the moment.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“It would be very fun, though. I could take some time to paint.” She paused in her stride and looked up into his face. “I like the lines around your eyes.”

“Oh?”

“Here.” She raised her hand as if to touch him, then pulled back before making contact. “The lines—they speak of laughter, but also worry. And when the sun is at this angle—” She stopped, laughed uncomfortably. “I’m sorry.”

“You were thinking about painting me, weren’t you?”

“Just your eyes. Eyes really are the window to the soul.”

They stopped as they reached another street. Beyond the intersection, houses lined the road. A little girl crouched over a driveway with a piece of chalk, and a boy sat in the grass, watching her with a bored look on his face. Somewhere in the distance, the tinkle of an ice cream truck surfed the breeze, and both children perked up immediately, then dashed toward the house, shouting for money.

“Should we head back?” Cory asked.

She nodded. “Sure.”

They turned around, their pace relaxed. They moved over as a young couple walked past them down the sidewalk, hands in each other’s back pockets. What was it about high school students? They seemed younger with each passing year.

“You probably know my dad better than anyone right now. I was hoping you might be able to give me some insight,” Cory said.

“Maybe in time spent with him,” she agreed. “But you’ll know him better in other ways—the things you share.”

“We don’t share much,” he muttered. They looked nothing alike physically—not to his eye anyway. They obviously felt differently about his mother, and their outlooks on life couldn’t be more opposed. If his father hadn’t confirmed that Cory was indeed his son, he might have questioned the fact.

“You share more than you think,” she replied. “You’re father and son. You share DNA.”

“There are a lot of things I’d rather not share with him. No offense, but he’s not exactly a role model to emulate.”

Eloise didn’t answer, but he could see in her expression that she understood. They quickly approached his truck in front of the produce store, and he felt a drop of disappointment that he had no excuse to spend more time with her. He slowed his pace.

“Do you want a ride somewhere?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, thanks. I like the exercise.”

He took the two bags of fruit from the back of his truck and handed them to her. She looked questioningly at the extra bag.

“Maybe you could give it to my dad. I thought—” He stopped, unwilling to articulate his frustration.

She held out her hand and he took it in a gentle handshake.

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. You really are a good guy, Cory Stone.”

“I’ll see you,” he said, then released her slender hand.

She smiled, her green eyes sparkling. “I’ll give you a call when he gives me an answer.”

As Eloise walked away, the bags of fruit swinging at her side and her slim, beaded sandals slapping cheerfully against the sidewalk, one thought remained uppermost in Cory’s mind: as gorgeous as she was, as sweet, as interesting...

Nothing could ever develop between them. She was a tempting city girl, but a city girl nonetheless. It took a special kind of woman to fit into a ranch, and no amount of wishful thinking could change it.