The Rancher's City Girl

Healing the Cowboy’s Heart

When Cory Stone discovers the father he never met is gravely ill, he brings the ornery man to his Montana ranch, along with his round-the-clock nurse. Once again Cory finds himself falling for the wrong woman—a city slicker, like the ex-fiancée who broke his heart. But in Eloise LeBlanc, Cory also finds a kindred spirit. The caring beauty knows firsthand about love and loss. Neither of them is looking for a new romance, and Cory certainly isn’t searching for love. But can the independent city girl heal the heart of a broken cowboy?

“That’s the last time I ride a horse.”

Eloise wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks with her palms.

Cory led the horses toward the barn door and Eloise beelined toward the fence.

He could hear the guffaws of the ranch hands already—if he chose to tell the story, that was. They loved a good city slicker story. He wouldn’t tell it, though. He knew that already. She might not be much of a cowgirl, but she didn’t deserve to be mocked.

Don’t fall for her, he chided himself. As she walked away, her fiery curls whipping in the wind, he led the horses into the barn.

“Lexie,” he murmured to his horse. “You should have known better than to gallop with her.” But it wasn’t the horse’s fault, nor Eloise’s. It was his, for having expected something that he never should have hoped for.

Why was he doing this to himself? He had to stop this—whatever it was between them.

But right now nothing short of divine intervention would make him stop falling for her.

PATRICIA JOHNS

willfully became a starving artist after she finished her BA in English literature. It was all right, because she was single, attractive and had a family to back her up “just in case.” She lived in a tiny room in the downtown core of a city, worked sundry part-time jobs to keep herself fed and wrote the first novel she would have published.

That was over ten years ago, and in the meantime, she’s had another ten novels published, and her dedication to the written word hasn’t diminished.

She’s married, has a young son and a small bird named Frankie. She couldn’t be happier.

The Rancher’s City Girl

Patricia Johns

www.millsandboon.co.uk

My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

—Psalms 73:26

To my husband, John,

who is my inspiration for all my heroes. I love you!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

A knock on the front door echoed through the small house. Eloise Leblanc glanced quickly toward her patient. Robert Bessler lay on crisp, clean sheets, his papery eyelids closed in sleep. A fan oscillating in the corner shifted his white hair against his forehead, but he didn’t stir.

Eloise pushed herself up from the chair next to his bed and stepped into the hall, angling her steps toward the front door. She paused at the door, tucking a fiery curl back into the loose bun at the base of her neck, then stood on her tiptoes to peek through the peephole. A tall man looked down, his face obscured by a cowboy hat.

Eloise paused for a moment and sucked a deep breath.

This is it.

She opened the door and the man lifted his gaze to meet hers in frank evaluation. He pulled off his hat and held it across his chest. His hair hung in dark, disheveled waves across his forehead and his piercing dark eyes sparkled. A dusting of stubble softened his chiseled features, and he smiled hesitantly.

“Hi,” he said. “Is this the home of Robert Bessler?”

“It is.”

“You must be Eloise. We spoke on the phone.”

“Of course. Cory?”

He nodded and she stepped back, allowing him entrance. “Your father is sleeping right now. Would you like to have a seat and wait for a few minutes?”

“Thank you.”

Eloise performed a veiled inspection as Cory Stone stepped past her and into the small entryway. She’d only moved to the town of Haggerston six months earlier for the job with Mr. Bessler. She’d grown up in Billings, the largest city in Montana, and while she was well acquainted with cowboys—what Montana girl wasn’t?—she still felt a sense of admiration when she saw the real thing. He loomed head and shoulders taller than she was, and his cowboy boots clunked solidly against the hardwood floor. A hint of musk lingered near, and despite his wide shoulders and obvious strength, he moved with ease.

“Please sit down.” Eloise gestured into the sitting room, and the big man dwarfed the sofa as he sank into its depths.

“How is my father doing?” Cory asked.

“He doesn’t have much strength left, and he’s in a lot of pain,” she replied, perching on the edge of a chair opposite him. “It’s better to let him sleep when he’s able to. Sometimes the pain keeps him awake, so the more rest he can get, the better.”

Cory nodded. “It’s okay. I don’t want to wake him up.”

“He doesn’t know I called you.” Eloise blushed and cleared her throat. “So this will be a little delicate.”

A grin broke over the man’s face. “I’ll be a surprise, then.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“So, how did you find out about me?” he asked.

“From him.”

“My father told you about me?” Cory raised his eyebrows.

Eloise paused, unsure how much information to divulge. “He always said he had no family, so when he mentioned a son, I did an online search. I was a little surprised to find you as quickly as I did. I thought it best to tell you that there wasn’t much time left if you wanted to connect with him.”

Cory nodded slowly and fiddled with the edge of his hat. His hands were calloused and rough, nothing like Eloise’s ex-husband’s smooth fingers. She swatted back the memories, irritated with how quickly they seemed to rise lately. Philip had left her for another woman two years ago. He’d moved on with the woman, but obviously, if Eloise was comparing a rugged rancher to her lawyer ex-husband, she wasn’t as over him as she’d like to think.

“You didn’t say how much time he has when we spoke,” Cory said.

Eloise pulled her attention back to the task at hand. “I don’t know. His cancer is aggressive and he’s refused more treatment. So it won’t be very long.”

“How long have you worked for him?”

“For the past six months.” Eloise glanced in the direction of Mr. Bessler’s bedroom. “Your father is a very complicated man, but he has a softer side, too. I’m sure you know that.”

“I don’t know him at all,” Cory admitted. “I’ve never met him.”

“Never?” Eloise sucked in a breath. “You didn’t think to mention that on the phone?”

“I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

“He’ll be angrier than I thought.” She smiled wanly and tucked that stray curl behind her ear once more. “I’d just assumed that you would have seen him at some point from the way he talked about you.”

Cory looked uncomfortable. “No, ma’am. He was out of the picture before I was even born.”

“I suppose I should warn you, then. The medication doesn’t control the pain as well as it used to, so—”

“He’s cantankerous?”

Eloise nodded. “He doesn’t mince words.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”

Eloise pushed the feeling of dread back down into her stomach. She’d gone through this scenario in her head a hundred times since their telephone conversation, but not once did she imagine she’d orchestrate the meeting between a son and father who had never laid eyes on each other.

This is so much worse than I thought...

A thin voice wavered from the bedroom, “Red?”

Eloise forced a smile and stood. “It looks like he’s awake now. I’ll be back.”

As she left the room, her heart hammered in her chest. A week ago, this seemed like the best course of action, but now she wasn’t so sure. Not that it mattered—the time of reckoning had come. She wished she could close her eyes and be anywhere else—a play, perhaps, or in a bustling little coffee shop in downtown Billings, a city big enough to swallow her up. Instead it was time to face the consequences of her phone call to Cory Stone.

Entering the bedroom, she found Mr. Bessler struggling to sit up, and he grunted with effort. Eloise hurried forward and helped him the rest of the way. He nodded his thanks, his breath coming in short gasps. Eloise put the breathing tubes in his nose and turned on the flow of oxygen-rich air.

“Where are my pills?” he muttered, and she pushed a paper cup of pills forward. He tipped them into his mouth with a shaky hand and slurped the water she offered him. He shut his eyes, inhaling through his nose.

“You slept for a few hours,” Eloise said quietly. “How do you feel now?”

“No better. I’m dying.” He opened his eyes to shoot her an irritated look.

“You aren’t gone yet, Mr. Bessler.” She took the cup away.

“I heard voices in the other room.” He turned his head toward the wall. “You have a boyfriend visit when I sleep?”

“Hardly.” She chuckled. “You give me too much credit for a personal life.”

“Then who is it?” the old man demanded.

“A visitor for you.”

“Who?”

Eloise turned her back to get the old man’s slippers and brought them by the bed, then busied herself with his wheelchair.

“Do you want to come out to the living room to talk to him?” she asked. “Or would you rather have him come in here?”

“I’ll go out there.” Mr. Bessler pushed himself up and allowed Eloise to steady him as he slid his feet into the slippers. “Why on earth would I have somebody into my bedroom? Can’t a man have any privacy?” He grumbled until he was settled in his chair.

“Ready now?” Eloise asked cheerily.

“Who is it?” he repeated.

“You’ll see,” she replied as she wheeled him out into the hallway.

“If there are balloons and a cake, you’re fired,” he muttered, and Eloise chuckled.

“I would expect nothing less.”

As Eloise rolled Mr. Bessler’s chair into the room, Cory rose. He towered over the small sitting room, broad shoulders blocking out the light from the window behind him. A piano sat against one wall, and doilies adorned every surface from side tables to the back and arms of the couch—Mr. Bessler’s late wife’s addition to the decor. Cory scrubbed a hand through his dark hair and he locked dark, pensive eyes on the old man.

“Whatever you’re selling,” Mr. Bessler said, “I’m not interested.”

Cory’s gaze flickered toward Eloise, then back to his father. “I’m Cory Stone.”

Eloise settled her patient by the couch. She held her breath, utterly unsure of what to expect from her charge. For a long moment, no one said a word; then Mr. Bessler broke the silence.

“Your mother gave you her last name. Seems appropriate.”

“She thought so,” Cory agreed.

“And why are you here?” the old man queried.

“To meet you. You’re my father.”

“To get my estate, perhaps?” Mr. Bessler held up one finger and waggled it in his son’s direction. “You think I owe you something?”

A dark look crossed Cory’s face, and the muscles along his jaw tensed. “I’ve done well for myself. I don’t need your money.”

“That’s good, because you aren’t in my will.”

Cory glanced at Eloise, eyebrows raised questioningly. Mr. Bessler scowled, and Eloise bent down close to her patient’s ear.

“Mr. Bessler,” Eloise murmured. “I know this is a shock, and I’m sorry about that. But this is your son.”

“You’re a quick one,” the old man quipped.

“If you’ve ever wanted to speak to him, tell him something—this is your chance. You’ve mentioned him before, and time isn’t on our side.”

“It’s me who has no time,” he retorted. “You’ve got plenty.”

Eloise let his comment pass, knowing from experience that he expected no reply.

The old man turned his attention to Cory. “So, what exactly do you want?”

“You’re my father.” Cory cleared his throat. “I wanted to—”

“Why now?” the old man interrupted. “I’m dying, you know.”

Cory didn’t answer.

“But you seem to know that.” Mr. Bessler twisted in his chair to cast a scathing glare at Eloise, then shook his head slowly. “You called him, didn’t you, Red?”

Mr. Bessler had called Eloise “Red” since her first day on the job. Lately, he’d consented to use her proper name, but the old nickname gave his words a deeper sense of betrayal.

“Yes, sir, I did,” she admitted. “You’ve been lonely, and when you mentioned your son—” She swallowed the hot, rising anxiety. She’d crossed a line in calling her patient’s son without his permission. She was here to help keep the old man comfortable. Her job did not include manipulating her patient into confrontations he wanted to avoid, no matter her intentions. While she’d truly believed that Mr. Bessler wanted to reconnect with his only son, it appeared now that she had been wrong and for one fleeting moment she wished she could go back in time and undo that phone call to Cory Stone.

“I see.” The old man turned around. He nodded several times, eyeing the big man before him. “You’re fired, Red,” he said, his gaze pinned to his son instead of the woman he was addressing. “I won’t require your services any longer.”

* * *

Fired? Cory’s gaze snapped between the hunched old man and his pretty nurse. Eloise blinked twice before she looked down, her long lashes veiling those deep green eyes from his scrutiny.

“Fired?” Eloise’s tone registered little surprise. “Mr. Bessler, you fire me once a week. You don’t really mean that, do you?”

“Why would I want a nurse who lies to me?” he barked.

“I didn’t lie.”

“You went behind my back,” he retorted.

“Yes, sir, I did. And I’m sorry about that. It was an error in judgment. I really did think you would appreciate this last chance to know your son.”

“Did you?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“If I’m fired, then I’ll call the agency to find you another nurse.” She rose to her feet and started to walk from the room, but his father heaved a sigh.

“You aren’t fired,” he muttered. “Come back.”

She stopped, smiled and brushed a spiral curl away from her cheek. Cory didn’t know her at all, but he had a good instinct when it came to character, and Eloise seemed like a good person. His father, however, hadn’t exactly endeared himself yet.

Cory had expected someone more impressive. His mother had always described his father as a strong, powerful man, but this quivery gentleman looked nothing like the father he’d imagined. Frail. Old. Ornery.

I should be at the ranch, trying to find a medic to replace the guy who quit, he thought dismally. What am I doing here? I have a hundred better things I should be doing...

Eloise moved over to the couch and sat down. She idly adjusted a doily across the arm of the couch. The same errant curl she’d just brushed from her face fell back against her creamy skin, and Cory found his attention fixed on her. Her composure surprised him.

“So she’s still your nurse?” Cory clarified.

“What is that to you?” his father asked. “I can fire her if I want to.”

Eloise’s gaze flicked up at Cory, and she glanced quickly between both men but didn’t speak.

“Do you feel like a big man when you cast women aside?” Cory couldn’t veil the chill in his tone.

“Is that your way of asking about your mother?” the old man demanded. He coughed and slouched lower in his chair.

“No,” Cory said. “My mother told me enough.”

“What a horrible man I was?” his father asked with a bitter smile.

“No, she thought more of you than that.”

“Where is she now?”

“She passed away a few years ago.” Images of his mother’s last days filled his mind. She’d died in a hospital, a gaunt figure, pain medication pumping into an IV that left a purple bruise over her bony hand. Her hair had begun to grow back in soft gray curls over her head—chemotherapy had been abandoned at that late stage of the illness. His mother had slipped away one afternoon, dying while he was out getting a breath of fresh air. He’d never fully forgiven himself for that.

His father frowned and dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” Cory said, but words could never encompass the feelings that welled up inside him when he remembered his mother’s passing.

“What took her?”

“Breast cancer.” Cory sat down on a chair and turned it to face his father. He hadn’t decided how much he wanted to tell this virtual stranger about his time with his mother, but he had some questions of his own that he’d been waiting a lifetime to ask. He cleared his throat. “I know you don’t want any kind of relationship with me, and that’s fine, but I had a few things I wanted to ask you.”

“Fair enough,” his father replied.

“When did you meet my mother?” Cory asked.

“I don’t want to talk about her.”

Irritation plucked at his practiced calm. “Why not?”

He was met with a chilly silence. Eloise shifted in her seat, and Cory glanced toward her to find her green eyes full of compassion. Her pink lips parted, and he was struck anew by her unaffected beauty. Cory pulled his gaze away from her and tapped his hat against his thigh.

A smile flickered at the corners of the old man’s lips. “Are you married, boy?”

Cory shook his head.

“Then I can’t expect you to understand.”

“Were you married when you met my mother?”

Another silence, but it seemed to answer his question.

“And you chose your wife over my mother?”

His father gave a weak shrug. “Someone had to be hurt, young man. Either your mother or my wife. I chose to protect my wife.”

It explained a lot. Cory’s mother had never told him much about the relationship she shared with his father, only that it was a short fling and that it hadn’t lasted after she told him she was pregnant. He let his gaze move over the walls of the little sitting room, and he spotted a few faded pictures of a woman with a 1960s’ hairstyle at various ages. She had a bright smile and a slim figure.

“Is that your wife?” he asked, nodding at the picture.

“Never mind Ruth,” the old man snapped. “She isn’t your business.”

That was true, Cory knew. He wasn’t even sure what to ask the old man now. He’d had a million questions over the years, but now as he faced his father, he couldn’t seem to pull them out of the tangle of his emotions. One thought shot through the murky mess in his mind: I’m the child of an affair.

The thought had occurred to him in the past but had never been verified. Cory had preferred to believe that his mother had met a man and the relationship had simply gone sour, not that she’d been the other woman in someone else’s marriage.

“I guess that’s it.” Cory shrugged, shoving away his disappointment. He’d driven for two hours, at the worst possible time to leave the ranch, just to meet his father. He hadn’t expected tears and hugs exactly, but he’d hoped for something—some sort of connection that would identify them as father and son. So far, he’d met with only cold disdain. “There’s a lot I want to know, but you don’t seem willing to talk. I’m not going to beg. Is there anything you want to know about me?”

The old man shook his head. “No.”

“All right, then.” Cory rose and tapped his hat against his palm. This wasn’t going the way he’d expected, and while he didn’t want to simply walk away from his father, he had the undeniable urge to be by himself. If he were back at the ranch, he’d get on his horse and ride, but here his options were limited. He searched the old man’s lined face once more for some sign of softness but found nothing. “Thank you for your time.”

Eloise sprang to her feet, but when he looked in her direction, annoyance flashed in her green eyes. She planted her hands on her slim hips and darted a look between the two men.

“That’s it?” she demanded.

Both men looked at her mutely. Cory wasn’t sure what she expected him to do.

“This is how you want to leave it?” She pulled the curls out of her eyes and shook her head. “Sit down.”

Cory stared down at the petite woman in surprise. She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly, and he briefly considered turning his back on her, but he discarded the thought almost immediately. He sank back into his seat.

“After all these years, you can’t just leave things like this.”

“Sure we can,” his father countered. “We’ve met. We’ve talked. We’re done.”

Eloise pointedly ignored the old man’s retort and turned her bright gaze onto Cory. “Now, Cory, what do you do for a living?”

“I own a ranch.”

“See, Mr. Bessler? That’s an interesting career, isn’t it?” She pulled up a chair and sat on the edge. “And what drew you to that line of work?”

“I grew up on that ranch. I inherited it.”

“Does Mr. Bessler have any grandchildren?” she pressed.

“No, never married. I don’t have any kids.”

His father shifted uncomfortably. “What do you think you’re doing?” the old man asked angrily, putting a hand on Eloise’s arm.

She patted his hand. “You want to know about your son, Mr. Bessler. You’re just too stubborn to admit it. You’ll regret it if you just let him walk out that door.”

The old man settled back into his chair glumly.

“Did you always know you wanted to work a ranch?” Eloise asked, her voice low and encouraging. She gave him an eager look, and Cory couldn’t find it in himself to disappoint her. He heaved a sigh.

“Pretty much. We used to visit my grandfather on his ranch every summer. I loved the horses. I was riding before I could walk.”

A smile flickered at the corners of her lips. “What about your childhood? What was it like?”

“I survived.” Cory’s mind went back to the years with his single mother. “We weren’t rich, but my mother always found a way to stretch a penny. She was a strong woman.”

“Did you miss your father?”

Cory had missed his father every day of his life. His mother had done an admirable job of raising him, but not a day went by that Cory hadn’t wondered about his dad. He didn’t dare mention his unquenchable curiosity with his mother, though. The few times he’d asked questions about his father, she avoided answering him, and her eyes filled with pain. No boy wanted to hurt his mother. So he wondered silently if his father ever thought about him. He didn’t want to share that right now, though. Not with an old man who cared so little about his existence.

The old man heaved a guttural cough. Eloise looked in his direction for a moment, then turned her attention back to Cory. “Did you know about your father when you were young?”