Extract
The end of the road—that’s what it felt like for Ben Fisher.
Not literally, of course. Alpine, Texas, was some seventy or eighty miles from the Mexican border. Touristy chic in a Western, high-desert kind of way. Big Bend country, seasoned with the flavor of Mexico.
An interesting town, and a place Ben truly enjoyed visiting. He and his older brother, Aidan, had spent many summer vacations pretending to be cowboys and exploring their aunt and uncle’s ranch outside town.
The only problem this time? A prolonged stay in Alpine, Texas, was not on Ben’s current agenda.
Or it hadn’t been until two weeks ago, when a memo from the Home Tech Revolution CEO changed the course of Ben’s life.
He paused in the shade of a bright blue awning and gazed unseeing into a shop window along Holland Avenue. He’d already browsed through several gift shops, art galleries and specialty boutiques, none of which piqued his interest. Mucking stalls and hefting hay bales might be more therapeutic, but between Aunt Jane’s concerned glances and Uncle Steve’s penchant for handing out unwanted advice, Ben had needed to get away from the ranch for a while.
Except he’d slightly overdressed for a leisurely walk around downtown Alpine. When sweat threatened to soak through his maroon polo shirt, he decided to step in out of the September heat. As he pushed open the shop door, a blast of chilly air raised goose bumps on his arms. He dodged a string of jangling brass bells, but one managed to slap him in the forehead anyway.
“Ouch.” He rubbed the spot as he nudged the door closed with his elbow.
“Sorry.” A young woman appeared from the back of the shop. She wore a dark blue apron over jeans and a T-shirt, her straight auburn hair pulled into a ponytail. “The bells are a new addition. Guess I didn’t consider my taller customers.”
At barely six feet, Ben didn’t consider himself particularly tall for a guy. He arched a brow. “You usually cater to munchkins?”
“This time of year, yes.” The woman was almost Ben’s height, even in her sneakers. She nodded toward a nearby counter, where a placard announced an upcoming after-school photography class for children. “I take it you aren’t here to enroll your child?”
“Uh, no. I mean, I don’t have any kids. I’m not even—” Ben clamped his teeth together and forced an apologetic grin. “Truth is, I just stepped inside to cool off.”
“Oh.” She sounded so disappointed that Ben almost wished he did have a kid to sign up for her class.
Almost. Marriage and family remained way down his list of priorities—and would until he got his career back on track.
Barely disguising a sigh, the attractive proprietor stepped across the room and reached up to straighten a poster-size framed photograph of a little girl climbing onto a school bus. A long, black braid swung down the child’s back. The photo had captured the girl as she peered over her shoulder with a wistful, world-weary smile.
Only then did Ben take a serious look at his surroundings—another art gallery. More accurately, a photography studio. A few cityscapes and landscapes were displayed, along with portraits of children and teens, family groups and wedding parties. Typical professional photography fare.
But as he browsed the wall where the picture of the little girl hung, Ben felt as if he’d stepped into another world. These photos captured real people doing everyday things. Kids swatting at a piñata. An elderly woman knitting. Two boys playing catch. And most of the subjects appeared to be Hispanic.
He stepped closer. As a promotion manager—okay, former promotion manager—he knew more than a little about photography and composition. Whoever snapped these pictures had talent. He slid his gaze to the young woman. “You take these?”
She offered her hand. “Marley Sanders, at your service.”
“Ben Fisher. Pleased to meet you.” He noted her confident grip. If he still had his job back in Houston, he’d have wasted no time asking for her portfolio so he could present it to the ad team. “Even if I don’t have a kid to sign up, is it okay to look around?”
“Be my guest.” Marley looked at her watch. “For fifteen minutes, anyway. I’m closing at four so I can get to a meeting.”
“Ah, a woman with an agenda. Okay, I’ll hurry.” Hands in his pockets, Ben moved along the wall, each photograph more impressive than the one before. “Are these for sale?”
“Sure!” An eager response if Ben had ever heard one. She cleared her throat. “I mean, yes, anything you see here is available for purchase. I also have a number of photos on display at various businesses around town, so if you don’t see anything you like—”
“I see plenty I like.” Ben studied a photo featuring a bright red portable building shaped like a barn. The double doors stood open, and inside a young Hispanic mother with a baby on her hip perused shelves lined with canned goods and other grocery items. He doubted this woman ever shopped at Home Tech Revolution. He glanced at Marley over his shoulder. “Interesting subject. Is this somewhere around here?”
“It’s a little town called Candelaria, about ninety miles west.” A faraway look darkened her dusky brown eyes even more. Anticipation? Concern? Ben couldn’t tell. “Most of the photos in this group were taken there. It’s a special place.”
“Must be, if you’ve spent so much time photographing it.”
“It’s not just the town. The people are amazing—” The chirping of a cell phone interrupted her. She slid an iPhone from her back pocket. “Hi, Pastor. On my way right now.”
Ben started toward the door. “Guess you need me to clear out.”
“Sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. Watch out for the—”
Too late. As Ben pulled open the door, the brass bells bounced off and beaned him again.
“Oops.” Behind him, Marley tittered. “I really need to shorten those things.”
“Or up your liability insurance.” Shooting her a wry smile, Ben stepped onto the sidewalk. “Nice meeting you, Marley Sanders. You do good work.”
She wiggled her fingers in a tentative wave before locking the glass door behind him. Pointing at the dangling string of bells, she mouthed, Gone tomorrow. Promise.
He gave her a thumbs-up and decided a brief stay in Alpine might be exactly what his bruised ego needed.
* * *
Wow, nice guy. Except why couldn’t he have been a nice dad enrolling his kid in Marley’s photography class. She needed at least four more registrants just to break even. The absolute last thing she wanted to do was go to her father again for another infusion of capital. His subsidies were always secret, naturally, since Missouri State Representative Harold Sanderson
