The sight gave Grace another twinge of pain, because it reminded her so much of Ryder. Wary, uncertain of his place in the world, grateful, even eager, for acceptance, but hesitant, too. Never quite knowing where he belonged, or with whom.
“I’ll leave you alone until you’re ready,” she told the cat in a gentle voice. “Ryder will be home soon.”
Then I have to yell at him, Grace thought miserably. Which I don’t want to do, but I have to file it in the folder labeled For Your Own Good.
Bonaparte investigated the baseboard and then sat down. His unwinking green eyes watched her every move.
The cat and Ryder really were kindred spirits.
No question the cat was malnourished and scrawnier than he should’ve been, but he was making progress. “If you were me,” Grace asked Bonaparte, in need of a sounding board, even if it had four feet and fur, “what would you do? Would you ground Ryder? Or will that only make everything worse?” She fingered a strand of her hair. “See this? Well, it’s true what they say about redheads. I’m notoriously outspoken. I get mad, and I get over it, but I do get mad.”
Her cell phone pinged, indicating a message. She glared at it, let out a measured breath and tried to decide if she wanted to look. A group of executives for a high-end Fortune 500 company was scheduled to stay the weekend, and some of the requests had been on the ridiculous side, but she knew it was part of the job. She’d apologized for not being able to supply a brand of scotch not available within a hundred miles of Bliss County. She’d hired a full-time bartender for the evening and was paying the kitchen staff overtime. She’d checked all the rooms herself and arranged the resort’s signature Welcome Baskets for each one. She couldn’t imagine what might go wrong, but considering how her day was going, anything was possible.
Ryder was late coming home from school. She hoped he didn’t have detention or something like that. It occurred to her that the text could be from him, so she snatched up her cell and saw with relief that it was.
I was talking to some guys and I missed the bus. Be there soon.
The number was unfamiliar. The school had cracked down on students bringing cell phones. If a kid was caught with one, it was confiscated and a parent could come and pick it up from the office. If a kid was caught twice, it wasn’t returned. Grace understood the policy; it would be difficult to teach anyone anything if all your students were playing on their phones during class. But at times like this, it would be nice not to be frantic with worry.
Be there soon? Some parent must be giving him a ride, because the resort and condo complex was a fair way outside Mustang Creek. As it was, the bus dropped him off at the end of the drive and Ryder had to walk a good three quarters of a mile to get home. Most of the condos were rentals for hikers in the summer and skiers in the winter, so he was the only kid his age who lived there full-time.
Grace yanked open the door when she heard the car pull up, so she could profusely thank the parent, whoever it was, before she got Ryder inside and ripped into him for fighting at school.
Not a car but a truck. Moreover, it had a familiar sign on the side. As Ryder opened the passenger door and hopped out, the driver emerged, too, the sun shining on his dark hair. Vivid blue eyes, those striking features—straight nose and sensual mouth… Slater Carson. He was dressed differently than when she’d seen him last, more businesslike in a tailored shirt and dress slacks, but he still wore cowboy boots, and his slow smile matched his stride as he came around the truck. “I found something I thought you might want back. Picked it up along the side of the road.”
She gave Ryder the look. “Thank you, Mr. Carson. I’ll admit,” she added for Ryder’s benefit, “to being worried half out of my mind. Ryder, go feed your cat, and if you have homework, don’t even think about video games or watching TV. And clean your room, too.”
Ryder obviously had some sense of self-preservation there, because he didn’t argue, just bolted through the door.
Slater Carson chuckled. “Guilt. Good strategy. My mother always used that one on me. Actually, she still does. Hey, the kid missed the bus. It happens.”
“The kid,” Grace informed him in a tight voice, “got into a fight at school and was suspended from his gym class but didn’t mention it to me, and now he’s so busy goofing off with some of the guys that he misses the bus. To tell you the truth, I’m a little annoyed with him right now.”
“I can see that.” Slater’s eyes were amused but sympathetic. “So did he, judging by the way he hightailed it inside. He’s probably already hauling out the vacuum cleaner. Oh, and my name is Slater. Mr. Carson is reserved for my bank manager.”
“And you can call me Grace,” she said with a little more composure. “I really do appreciate you bringing Ryder home, Mr. Car—I mean Slater.”
“No problem.”
She should do something. Why was she tongue-tied? That never happened to her. “Can I offer you a glass of iced tea?”
Okay, kind of lame as Ryder would put it, but better than nothing.
“I’m actually headed to the resort for drinks with a friend who’s there for a small conference this weekend. That’s why I spotted Ryder hoofing it along the road.”
His friend must be one of the executives—or an important investor. She guessed she’d find out soon enough.
She gave him a straightforward look. “I take it that we owe you for a good chunk of our corporate business. I noticed a number of the guests are from California. I assume that has to do with your connections in film and finance.”
He didn’t confirm or deny. “This area is off the beaten path. It’s hard to relax in the middle of traffic and everything else that comes with a big city. Care to join my friend and me?”
Grace was more than a little unprepared for the invitation. True, she had to go back to the resort now that she’d located her errant stepson, although there was a conversation they still needed to have, but she hadn’t expected to have a drink with Slater Carson—at least not tonight.
On the one hand, it was good public relations.
On the other hand…it might be dangerous for private relations.
*
HE WAS TAKING a gamble.
When Slater had recognized Ryder Emery trudging along the side of the road, head down, he’d pulled over and offered him a ride. The young man—almost man—had seemed very relieved. Slater understood that Ryder’s situation was a difficult one; Ryder lived with his stepmother, he was going to a new school, leading a new life. But he also needed to grasp a few realities, most of which involved the fact that he was both unlucky and very lucky. Slater didn’t know anything about the kid’s parents except that his dad was military and they weren’t here, but Grace was, and that, as far as he could tell, was extremely lucky.
Slater, Drake and Mace had lost their father way too early. Not lucky. But they’d been left with their mother and Harry, Red, and a few other people who’d eased their pain, so that was very lucky. He was waiting for Daisy to ask him why he and Raine had never gotten married. He was going to tell her the truth. That they liked each other but weren’t a good match, and not making the mistake in the first place was better than a divorce. Remaining friends seemed a great solution and they both loved her.
Oversimplified, perhaps, but true.
Slater had seen the relief in Grace’s eyes when she realized the boy was safe, so affection wasn’t the problem. She’d been worried, that was all. Like any parent would.
“Listen, Grace, whether he could have prevented it or not, I don’t think Ryder meant to miss the bus deliberately.”
She hadn’t responded to his invitation yet. He watched her and couldn’t deny that she looked just as beautiful as when he’d first seen her, and just as hopping mad. This afternoon she wore some kind of lacy sleeveless top and a navy skirt, and both complemented her vivid coloring. “Are you always going to take his side?” she snapped.
Always? The word had obviously startled her as much as it had him. She sto
pped and visibly steadied herself. “Sorry. I meant, this is the second time he’s really messed up in the last few days. You’re being very understanding, when I’m mad as hell because he can be so thoughtless. Part of me wants to ground the kid until he’s eighteen, and another part wants to ask him how he feels, but I know he won’t answer that. Anyway, yes to the drink. Thank you. If I stay here, I’ll probably end up chewing Ryder out—again.” She paused. “Let me get my purse. Okay if I drive with you? I can walk back later.”
She turned in a swirl of long red-gold hair and outrage and stalked into the house. Nice long legs and firm backside. He liked the view. Slater also agreed that the irate redhead and the truculent teenager should probably be apart for a little while before they had their next conversation. Ryder had seemed tense in the car, and Slater had left him alone. First of all, it certainly wasn’t his business, and second, he remembered how he’d dealt with life at that age. A knee-jerk reaction to criticism had been his default setting back then. In the end, after thinking it over, he’d usually decided that maybe his parents weren’t complete idiots after all.
Now, as a parent himself, he was well aware that his opinions might be scorned first and reluctantly respected later.
Grace reappeared with a black leather bag over her shoulder and a more relaxed demeanor. “He apologized,” she said as Slater opened the passenger door. “That’s something. All I told him was that I was going back to work. He apologized on his own.”
“You just won the lottery of boyhood maturity markers.” He closed the door and went around the truck, sliding into the driver’s seat. “There’s an unwritten rule in the land of teenage boys that you don’t ever apologize for anything until you’re willing to admit you were wrong. I think I was about thirty when I crossed that line.”
What was it with him and how a woman laughed? The sound of her laugh was…well, it might be a cliché, but musical was the word that came to mind. Her response made him grin, and his groin tightened. Or maybe it was the way she crossed those sexy legs. Or the way her breasts were nicely outlined by her blouse when she leaned forward.
It had been a long time since he’d felt as interested in a woman as he was in this one.
Maybe long enough to qualify as never.
That thought set him back.
It was only lust, he reminded himself as he backed out of the driveway. He barely knew her so the attraction was mainly physical. But fate did seem to be tossing him in her path. Or perhaps it was the reverse. She was no less aware of him…
He wondered about her life as a police officer and could only imagine some of the remarks she’d heard, since law enforcement didn’t usually deal with the finest society had to offer. He asked conversationally, “So, how long were you a cop?”
“Eight years.” To his disappointment Grace tugged her skirt down a little. She raised her shoulders in a shrug as she said, “It was an interesting journey. I thought at one time, with the usual starry-eyed optimism, that a degree in criminal justice and a belief in right and wrong enabled a person to make a difference.”
“I’m guessing the optimist turned into a cynic?”
She considered that for a moment. “Actually, no. She’s still around—the optimist, that is—but older and wiser. She learned about the world we live in, and about people in general, and not all of that was good. But the stars are still there, winking in the night sky.”
Slater laughed. “I see them, too, once in a while. I think you’ll like Mick Branson, by the way. The friend we’re meeting, that is. He’s a major investor, as well as a good buddy of mine. Be warned that he could be the most self-possessed, understated person I’ve ever met. The sense of humor lurking there is so dry, it’s easy to miss, and I’ve been tempted to ask him if he’s ever lost his temper. I’m going to assume he has, but nobody could tell that by looking at him. Or talking to him…”
Grace’s lips curved, and he couldn’t tell if it was a grimace or a smile. “He sounds interesting. I think my assistant’s talked to Mr. Branson on the phone. She seemed unclear about whether he was pleased by the arrangements or not. I’ll be glad to meet him in person and get a clearer sense of the situation.”
“Good luck with that. Mick’s more of a read-between-the-lines sort of person.” The resort was only maybe half a mile from the condo complex, and Slater pulled into a parking spot. “But he’ll like you, I know that. Confident women are definitely his thing. Confident, beautiful women, it goes without saying, are even more his thing.”
Mick had better not like her too much, Slater thought—then felt like a fool.
“That’s a well-done compliment,” Grace remarked.
“Just telling the truth.”
“Yet you invited me to meet him, anyway,” Grace said serenely as she unbuckled her seat belt. “Have I mentioned that confident men are my thing?”
“Not yet.” He got out and went around to open her door. “Must be convenient to have the office so close by.”
“Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t.” She accepted the change in subject as she stepped out. “I’m not like you, traveling all over. In fact, I never really leave the office.”
“Advantages to both.” For the first time he touched her, placing one hand lightly on the small of her back as they walked to the resort’s main entrance. “This is your territory. I’ve been here before but never to the Diamond Trail Bar. You lead and I’ll follow.”
“That’s the way I like it.”
Her arch glance gave him pause. Flirtation? He couldn’t come up with a swift response to the possible sexual innuendo, although he rarely found himself at a loss for words. Especially in that kind of situation. Slater accompanied her into the foyer, inwardly shaking his head, and wondered if he was making a wise move or just being an idiot.
He expected a vote would grant him the idiot award. Grace Emery was on the prickly side; obviously her life was complicated if she was raising her stepson, and his was complicated, too, between Daisy and his job.
But…nothing good in this world, his mother had often pointed out, came easy.
The Diamond Trail was on the side of the building facing the mountains, with big windows and raised walnut tables, a huge river-stone fireplace and an elegant bar, which stood near a small infinity fountain that matched the obsidian stone of the counter. When Grace walked in, the bartender waved, so she went over, murmured a greeting then rejoined Slater. “I don’t drink when I’m at work. Will you be offended if I have water?”
“Nope, but as someone with a vested interest in a winery, please tell me you enjoy a glass now and then.”
“I love wine,” she said. “And I love the wines from Mountain Vineyards. Especially the pinot noir and the chardonnay. Your brother is very talented.”
“I’d like to think it runs in the family,” Slater said smoothly. “Talent, I mean. I’m not talkin’ wine in my case. There’s our table. Mick beat us here. As I said, I think you’ll like him.”
She looked up at Slater, laughing again.
Mick stood when he spotted them, his dark eyes holding that glimmer of understated amusement. He was from New Mexico, and there was a Latin grace about him. Most likely a legacy of the old Dons, the aristocratic families who’d come over from Spain and settled in the Southwest four centuries ago. He somehow looked aristocratic and maybe it was a mistake to introduce him to Ms. Emery, but Slater had the feeling she liked him well enough that he was safe.
If he had to call it, he’d venture a guess that she liked down-home cowboys more than high-powered executives.
Or was that wishful thinking?
There’d been no mention of the dinner invitation he’d received in his email that morning. Slater decided not to let that worry him. Yet.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Branson.” Grace shook Mick’s hand and sat down. “I’m the resort manager. I know you’ve spoken to my assistant, Meg, on the phone. I hope everything’s going smoothly.”
“So far, absolutely. Pret
ty place.” Branson sat down, as well.
“I’m glad you think so.”
Slater took a seat next to Grace. He wasn’t implying any kind of personal relationship…well, maybe he was. There was no doubt that most men looked at Grace just as Slater did, with pure male appreciation. “Mustang Creek is off the beaten path, which makes it a great place to relax and do business without distractions.”
Mick looked out the window at the spectacular view of the Tetons, and then deliberately back at Grace. “I don’t know. The gorgeous scenery is a little distracting.”
“Nice line,” Slater said drily. “I’m going out on a limb here and saying the lady’s heard it before.”
Branson smiled his enigmatic smile. “You’re probably right,” he conceded.
Grace laughed and shook her head at the two of them, but a small smile played on her mouth.
Mick turned to Slater. “So tell me, now that the project’s wrapped, what direction do you want to take next?”
Slater was seriously contemplating that Wyoming angle, the one his brother had suggested. After a young man came to take their order, a beer for him and a bourbon on the rocks for Branson, then left again, he answered. “What would you think of a saga about the pioneers who settled this area? The locale is gorgeous, as you just pointed out, and there are quite a few people I know personally with family stories to tell. So far, most of the films have focused on historical events and they’ve had what I’d like to think is a sweeping view of American history. What about a focus on how a small Wyoming town was settled and how it survived, changed, modernized, and what it’s like today?”
“You mean Mustang Creek.” Mick appeared thoughtful, rubbing his jaw. “That’s an interesting idea. And certainly your family has a lot of history here. I like the personal angle. If you’ll come up with a proposal and include a few visuals, I’ll look at it and present it to my associates for consideration.” Mick, as it turned out, ran a sizeable investment firm, specializing in film and music.
Once a Rancher Page 6