The Rancher's City Girl. Patricia JohnsЧитать онлайн книгу.
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?”
“I didn’t know much. My mother told me I wasn’t to bother about him.”
“Did you ever want to contact him?” she inquired.
Cory used to lie in bed at night as a boy, painting mental pictures of some sort of superman who would swoop into his life with a terrific excuse for his lengthy absence. He smiled sadly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Fathers always matter,” she replied.
The old man sat limply in his wheelchair, sunken eyes regarding him with trepidation. Cory smiled his thanks to the pretty nurse and met the old man’s wary gaze.
“Did you ever think about me?” he asked.
His father was silent.
“Did you know when I was born?”
“Your mother sent me a card. At the office. You were born February twelfth.”
“So you knew you had a son.”
He nodded. “I knew.” He licked his dry lips with a pasty tongue. “Of course I thought about you. You can’t just forget something like that.”
“But you never contacted me.”
His father shook his head. “It was for the best.”
For the best. Cory dropped his gaze. How it could possibly be in his best interest, he couldn’t tell. Unless the old man was referring to his own interests.
“You didn’t pay any child support, either,” he pointed out. “My mother could have used the extra money.”
“And you want that money now?” the old man asked.
“I’m not asking for anything from you.” Cory squeezed his hat between his hands, anger rising like a salve to cover that old aching wound inside of him. “I’m the sole owner of a large chunk of property, and I can assure you that I’m not sniffing around for cash.”
His father’s shoulders slumped and he leaned back in his chair with a wheeze. His lids drooped. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired.”
The old man didn’t seem to be addressing anyone in particular, but Eloise rose from her seat and bent down next to him.
“Would you like to go back to bed?” she asked quietly.
“No, I want to just sit there in the sun.”
She released the locks on his wheels and eased his chair toward a pool of sunlight by a window. She bent and spoke to him in low tones. Cory stood and moved toward the door, watching the young woman as she conversed with his father. Her expression remained respectful, and after a few moments, she pulled a blanket over his knees and came back to the door where Cory waited for her.
“He doesn’t have a lot of strength left,” she explained softly.
“I doubt he’d have responded much differently if he were well,” Cory replied.
She shrugged. “Maybe not. I’m sorry about all this.”
Cory opened the front door. “Care to walk me out, ma’am?”
She chuckled at his formality.