The Rancher's Wedding - Diana Palmer Page 0,6

ever seen for myself.” And it hadn’t been, until Marge caught him in a weak moment. As a rule, women came and went in his life. For years, they’d been permissible hors d’oeuvres. Now, after Marge, he’d lost interest. He never wanted another painful experience like the one he’d had with her.

“Don’t you like children?” she asked innocently.

His face closed up. There was something dark and disturbing in his expression for a few seconds. He got up. “If you’re ready, I’ll run you into town.”

“Oh, but, I can call my father,” she began, flushing. “I’ve been too much trouble already.”

“Not so much.” He picked up her empty cup and put it, with his, into the sink. He picked up his keys. “Let’s go.”

She followed him out to the SUV. Only then did she notice that the ranch house needed a coat of paint and repairs on the front walk. The fences looked as if they’d once been white, but the paint was peeling off them now. The rain seemed to emphasize the neglect around her. She wondered why he hadn’t made repairs, and decided that he probably didn’t have the money. The SUV he drove was nice, but it wasn’t the newest model and he was probably making payments on it. Certainly, his clothes—a shirt with a frayed collar and jeans that were torn where they draped over scuffed, worn cowboy boots—didn’t reflect any great wealth.

“Your ranch is nice,” she said as they drove away. She wondered once again how a poor rancher could afford to run purebred livestock. Perhaps he had a partner somewhere who contributed money.

“It keeps me running,” he said with an absent smile.

They rode in a companionable silence. Cassie was surprised at the comfort she felt, sitting beside him. It was an odd thing to feel. He was handsome, in his way, and she liked his deep, velvety voice. But he wasn’t the sort of man she was used to at all. Her male friends back east, and there had never been a serious one, were obsessed with the gym and proper diet and they preferred an evening at the theater or the symphony orchestra. None of them would have considered life on a cattle ranch.

“Where?” he asked when they reached Benton.

She caught her breath. “Sorry, I was lost in thought. It’s on Third Street, just off Main, about a block from the Quick Stop.”

He chuckled. “The old Barrett place,” he replied. “Yes, I know it. Jed Barrett lived there all his life. When he died, there was no family, so the house went on the market to pay his funeral expenses. A local businessman owns it. He didn’t want to sell it because of the property it sits on, so he rented it out while he decided what to put on the acreage.”

“You mean, like a ranch?”

“I mean, like a subdivision,” he mused. “Or apartment houses.”

“Oh, dear,” she said with a long sigh. “I loved it because it was so remote,” she confessed. “Lots of room to walk and think, and there’s a little creek out back. . . .”

He grimaced. He liked lonely places to walk, too. “It will take him some time to work that out,” he added comfortingly. “He’s overseas right now, taking care of some business in Australia. He owns a huge cattle station there.”

“He’s Australian?” she asked, surprised.

He chuckled. “His father was. Rance was born here in Colorado, but his father had properties all over Australia and South America. Rance has managers for all of them, but he likes the hands-on approach. He says it keeps his employees on their toes if he walks in unexpectedly from time to time.”

“I see,” she replied.

“He’s a nice enough guy,” he said easily. “A little abrasive, but it’s understandable. He’s had some issues over the years.” He glanced at her. “You didn’t meet him, when you rented the house?”

“Dad did,” she said. “I was at work. We’d been living in the local motel.” She said that because there was only one motel in Benton. It was nice enough, but paying for two rooms indefinitely had threatened to wipe out their combined savings. Her father had heard about the place at work and called Rance Barkley at just the right time to obtain it as a rental.

“Expensive, living in motels,” he remarked.

She nodded. “Very.”

“Why Benton?” he asked curiously as he pulled onto her street.

“Because Dad’s cousin lived here,” she sighed. “It seemed as good a place as any to start over.”

“I guess the city