Patricia Johns - The Rancher's City Girl

* * *

Mr. Bessler sank back onto his bed. His eyes fluttered shut, then open again and he licked his dry lips. The late-afternoon sunlight glowed from behind the closed curtains, one ray of light slipping past the thick fabric and illuminating the dance of dust motes.

“How are you feeling?” Eloise asked as she counted his pills into a little paper cup.

“I need those.”

“How is the pain, on a scale of one to ten?”

“Forty-two,” he rasped. “I think I’m getting addicted to those pills—not that it matters at this point.”

“They help with the pain, and that’s what matters most.”

Mr. Bessler propped himself up on an elbow to take the pills with a cup of water, then sank back onto his pillow.

“Mr. Bessler, you haven’t told me yet if you want to go to your son’s ranch.”

“The doctor will never agree to it,” he muttered.

“Actually, I talked to him and he said that now is the time to do these things.”

“Forget it. I don’t want to.”

“Mr. Bessler, if that’s your decision, then I’ll support you, but I have to point something out.”

He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“If you push away Cory, who will you have left?”

“You, Red,” he replied, then sighed. “That’s sad, isn’t it?”

“I’m great company, Mr. Bessler,” she said with a wry smile. “But I’m not family.”

He nodded, his eyelids drooping as the medication began to take effect. He lay silently for a couple of minutes while Eloise busied herself with tidying the small bedroom. His wife had died before him. Eloise’s husband hadn’t died, but his absence left a gaping hole in her life. She’d done her best to fill that gap, but she felt it. Finding someone to care about wasn’t the hardest part. Trusting again after betrayal—that was the challenge, and she suspected that she and her patient had more in common than she liked to admit.

Eloise paused at Mr. Bessler’s side and pressed a hand against his forehead.

“How is the pain now?” she asked. “On a scale of one to ten.”

“Three.”

“Much better.” She adjusted a light blanket over his shoulders. “You should be able to rest now.”

Eloise closed the curtains past that last ray of sunlight, dimming the room. The old man looked smaller in his bed, so frail and pale against the white sheets and blanket. Outside, children’s laughter and chatter mingled with the roll of skateboard wheels. When Eloise first began working with Mr. Bessler, he’d complain about the noisy children, but he no longer mentioned them. Perhaps he’d learned to enjoy their youthful enthusiasm.

“Do you need anything else, sir?” she asked quietly.

“No...” His voice was thin and soft. From the other room, the phone rang.

Eloise looked back at her patient to find his eyes shut. She adjusted the fan so that it would reach Mr. Bessler, then slipped out the door. Eloise looked at her watch and headed toward the living room. They didn’t get phone calls often. She picked it up on the fourth ring.

“Hello, Mr. Bessler’s residence. This is Eloise, how may I help you?”

“Is this Robert Bessler’s house?” a female voice asked.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I thought he was a widower. Do I have the wrong number?”

“I’m his nurse.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” The woman laughed uncomfortably. “Is he there?”

“He’s resting right now. Could I take a message?”

“This is Melissa Wright. I’m his cousin’s daughter. We heard he wasn’t doing too well.”

“Who did you hear from?” she asked cautiously.

“The pastor at his church. My father used to live in Haggerston years ago. We were trying to find him to tell him about a family reunion, and the pastor told us about his situation.” The woman laughed nervously. “I wish I’d gotten to know him before—before—” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, maybe I could talk to him later.”

“I’ll let him know that you called.”

From the other room, Mr. Bessler’s voice broke the stillness. “Who is that, Red?”

“Would you hold just a moment?” Eloise said, then brought the phone with her into his bedroom and covered the mouthpiece with one hand.

“This is your cousin’s daughter. She wanted to say hello. Are you up for it?”

Mr. Bessler gestured for phone and she handed it over.

“Hello?” he said.

Eloise left the room to give her patient some privacy, but she could still hear his one-word responses. The quiet was truncated by grunts and “uh-huhs” coming from the other room. After a few minutes, he heaved a sigh.

“No— Melissa, was it? No. I’ve already written a will and decided where my estate will go.”

Eloise cringed and covered her eyes with one hand.

“I understand completely,” Mr. Bessler went on. “But I’m not interested in funding your education. Goodbye.”

The phone beeped as he hung up the handset. For a long moment, no sound emerged from the room, but after a couple of minutes, Mr. Bessler’s voice wavered as he called, “Red?”

Eloise pushed open the bedroom door. Mr. Bessler lay on his bed in the dim bedroom, the phone atop his chest. “Yes, sir?”

“That 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.