couldn’t help himself. He had to be involved in everything, know everything. “He wants me to run a football camp this summer. Apparently he’s convinced Wolfchild Whitmire that they need to do this out at the Whitmires’ old campground.”
Jim snorted with laughter. “How many footballs do you think will go flying into their lake?”
“Probably more than the city budget can afford.”
“You gonna do it?”
“If I can fit it into my schedule.”
“Good. That’ll keep you around for a while longer. Give you some useful work to do.”
Ben only shrugged.
Jim clapped him on the shoulder. “Speaking of work, I’ve got things to do at home, son. I’ll talk to you later.” With a wave, Jim headed for his truck, then paused and glanced back. “Wild mustangs. I sure hope you know what you’re doing.” He climbed into the truck’s cab and drove away.
Ben gazed after his dad and knew that, physically, at least, he was looking at himself in forty years. But he was determined to have a different focus in his life. His dad had raised cattle, bought and sold land, operated a construction company and a gravel-mining operation, and run a few other businesses. He’d achieved his goal of financial comfort long ago but still worked nonstop.
Ben knew his mom wanted to travel, see something of the world before old age came calling. She was only sixty but saw life passing her by because Jim wouldn’t slow down long enough to have any fun. Ben had taken his mother to Europe and to Thailand. Even though she’d enjoyed the trips, she’d really wanted her husband there to share it, but Jim had insisted he had to work.
His dad was the reason Ben had long ago made the decision that work wouldn’t rule his life.
Ben’s goal was to enjoy life, to travel, meet new people and make friends all over the world, start businesses, fund projects. He’d done a good job of investing the money he’d made playing professional football. Now he considered his job to be to spend it wisely but in fun ways. He knew his reputation around his hometown was that he was something of a squanderer, but he didn’t care. It was his life and his money. Anyone who cared to look carefully could see that he spent his money to benefit others, but he wasn’t going to advertise the fact.
As he walked back to the house, he took out his phone and checked his calendar. His attention was caught by the sound of tires crunching on gravel. A dark red, sporty sedan was heading toward him. He frowned for a second as he tried to see who was driving, then grinned.
So his visit to Lisa’s office had paid off. But he was surprised she’d come out to his ranch.
He watched as Lisa pulled her car to a stop and looked up to meet his eyes. Her solemn expression, the twin of the one she’d given him earlier in her office, made him pause before he walked over to open her door and hold out his hand to help her out.
She stood, somewhat unsteadily, smoothed the short, black wool jacket she wore with matching slacks, and braced herself in the door opening. Finally she looked at him. Her lips flickered in the faintest smile. “Hello, Ben.”
“Hey, Lisa. Thanks for coming over. I would have called, headed back to your office. You didn’t need to come all the way out here.”
“It’s okay. I wanted to,” she said, stepping aside so that he could close the door behind her.
Something about her complete shift in attitude made his words stumble. “Um, yeah. I wanted to see if you were okay after your aunt’s death...and...well, you know...everything that happened.” Ben felt embarrassed heat climb his throat. “But you didn’t respond.”
“I know.” She glanced away, apparently distraught. Her face was as pale as it had been earlier and her eyes seemed sunken. “I was hoping we could start this conversation again.”
“Yes, sure, but are you okay?” he asked, reaching to take her arm.
At last she met his gaze. “Can we go inside, Ben? I have something...important to tell you.”
“PREGNANT?” BEN STARED at her, swallowed, then stared some more. “And...it’s mine?”
“Of course it is!” Lisa fought down a burst of hysteria. “You don’t think I go around sleeping with—”
“Of course not. Of course not,” he answered hastily, holding up his hands, palms outward. “But...we used protection.”
Hearing him say exactly what she’d said to Gemma and Carly a few days ago didn’t make her feel any better. “I know.”
He sat forward, as if all the strength had been drained from him, and rested his forearms on his thighs. Looking down, and then up, he seemed to struggle to form a sentence.
Lisa knew this wasn’t at all the conversation he’d expected to be having when he’d come to her office. She wondered if that was the last lunch invitation she’d ever receive from him.
Unable to meet his shocked gaze anymore, Lisa looked away, taking in the shabby living room she’d last entered late in September when she’d handled the sale of the ranch to him. The house looked as bad as ever, but she’d been so agitated when she’d driven up today, she hadn’t even noticed if he’d done anything to improve the outbuildings or acreage, although she’d noticed a small herd of horses in the pasture.
She looked around, feeling her mind drifting from the subject at hand. This time, she didn’t try to stop it as the Realtor in her assessed the positive aspects of the house.
This room had beautifully carved crown moldings that could easily be returned to their original beauty if touched up and painted, maple floors with a buildup of grime around the edges that could be cleaned with refinishing, and dingy mint-green paint on the walls. She didn’t think any upgrades would happen. Ben had brought in two new-looking chairs, a sofa and a couple of floor lamps, but she had no idea if he intended to make it any more homey.
Ben looked as though he’d been working hard since he’d returned from town, if his worn, dirt-streaked jeans and blue flannel shirt were any indication. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but his dark auburn hair needed a cut, or maybe it only looked disastrous because he’d been repeatedly running his hands through it, exactly as she’d done when she’d first learned of this news.
Ben cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to him. His dark gray eyes, the color of a winter storm, looked at her. “Is that why you’ve refused to talk to me?”
“Not at first. I was...embarrassed.”
“Because you never do what you did? What we did? I get that. But you don’t have anything to be ashamed of.” When she didn’t respond, he asked, “How long have you known?”
“Only a few days, but I’ve known something was...different for a while.”
“Have you...thought about...what you’re going to do?” His expression was that of a man going down for the third time, grasping at any twig of hope for a different outcome. There wasn’t going to be one.
