Once a Rancher

by Linda Lael Miller

  No one should wake up looking so sexy with that shadow of a beard and disheveled hair. But he did, damn him. “Good morning.” To her relief she sounded composed when she was anything but.

  The night before had definitely rattled her.

  He kissed her shoulder. “See? Not so difficult, is it? I take it you’re having some morning-after regrets.”

  “No.” That was honest. No regrets, but she was testing her level of comfort with the idea—the possibility—of emotional involvement. Her divorce had been a less than pleasant decision. Hank hadn’t left her brokenhearted, but the experience did shake her faith in her own judgment, especially about men.

  Yet, here she was.

  “It’s still early,” she said, pulling free and searching for her clothes. “I’d prefer that Ryder didn’t find out we never went back to the ranch house. This is the wrong time in his life to give him the impression that casual sex is acceptable.”

  “Casual?” Slater repeated. He sat up to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. The smile had disappeared. “Thanks. But I would’ve described it differently.”

  She slipped on her underwear and stepped into her jeans. “I said impression. I’m sure he’s noticed we’re attracted to each other—well, I know he has—but I don’t want him to think that’s all it takes.”

  Oh man, she’d bungled that one, judging by Slater’s expression. Hastily, she tried to rectify her mistake, but it was hard to be quick-thinking when her fingers were shaking and she was having trouble with the clasp on her bra. “I meant neither of us really knows where this is going.”

  His scowl told her that the attempt hadn’t helped. He said softly, “Because you don’t want to fall in love with me.”

  It wasn’t as if she didn’t have failings, but a lack of honesty wasn’t one of them. She bent down to pick up her blouse. “That’s one hundred percent correct. The only time in my life I was seriously involved with someone, I didn’t see the warning signs posted along the road I was traveling. Actually, it isn’t you I don’t trust, it’s me.”

  “Oh, great. Now I’m getting the old ‘it isn’t you, it’s me’ speech?”

  At least there was a hint of humor in his voice, so maybe he was getting the picture. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to tame it a little, which was no doubt a futile endeavor. She gave a theatrical sigh, trying to lighten the moment. “Don’t worry, we’re still going steady. For now. As long as you behave.”

  “Going steady? What? Are we in high school?”

  She decided to ignore that as he pulled on his jeans and then his boots, his actions efficient and unhurried. “You heard me. It’s all about good behavior.”

  “Hmm. Why am I getting the impression that you’re the one making all the rules? Last I checked, you and I were both consenting, responsible adults. Ryder is bright enough to realize that. As for me behaving, depends on your definition. I think mine might not be the same as yours. So I wouldn’t count on that if you’re talking about last night because I’m expecting more of the same behavior, whether you call it good or bad—from both of us.”

  That promise, made with a searing look in those oh-so-blue eyes that went right through her, was effective. Grace couldn’t even find a reply.

  They drove back to the house without speaking. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, more like the quiet after a storm had blown through. Grace glanced at him once or twice, but Slater was preoccupied and distant. That wasn’t what she wanted, but she wasn’t sure just what she wanted in the first place.

  To spend another night locked in his arms, skin to skin?

  Yes.

  To have to decide what she should do next?

  No.

  One of the problems with life, she thought morosely, was that it was full of decisions. You made some smart choices and some that weren’t but it seemed to be the bad ones that stood out.

  Maybe she shouldn’t even worry about this relationship getting serious. Slater, after all, was in his midthirties and he’d never married, so he might not be interested in anything serious, anyway.

  Problem solved.

  Slater parked in what seemed to be his designated spot by the garage as the first rays of the rising sun swept over the mountains, bathing the peaks with gold. Any illusions she might have entertained about slipping into the house unnoticed were banished when they met Drake coming through the front door onto the veranda, a cup of coffee in his hand. His grin was quick, but all he said was a polite “Nice morning, isn’t it?”

  “Supposed to be a sunny day,” Slater replied just as pleasantly, although there was a warning in his tone that shouted, Don’t say one word about us being gone all night.

  Drake was wise enough to heed it. Grace knew she was blushing, her hair more than a little mussed, but he pretended to not notice. He said blandly, “Harry’s in there cooking up a storm as usual. We’re moving cattle today, so I’m headed back out. I just needed some real coffee, not that black poison Red makes that could make grown men cry. If you feel like helping out later, Showbiz, we could use an extra hand. Oh, by the way, thanks. Mace owes me another twenty bucks. See you later, Grace.”

  He went down the steps, the two German shepherds that seemed to follow him everywhere directly behind. Grace sent Slater a perplexed frown, but all he did was hold the door for her and mutter, “Individually they border on irritating at times. Together my brothers can be downright insufferable. Just ignore them. It’s always worked for me.”

  Pursuing whatever had prompted that observation didn’t seem like a good idea. Grace could make an educated guess, anyway. “Men in general can be insufferable,” she said loftily as she walked past him.

  “You didn’t think so last night.”

  That she couldn’t deny.

  She threw a look over her shoulder. “Don’t get smug, Carson.”

  He said serenely, “I wouldn’t dream of it. Damn, it smells good in here, but then it generally does. Harry makes some sort of fruit bread that’s so delicious it should be against the law. I swear I don’t even know what kind of fruit she puts in it, and I don’t care. I’ve never asked because it’s impolite to talk with your mouth full.”

  It did smell good, she had to admit. She was hungry, but she needed a shower and change of clothes first, so she could at least pretend her life wasn’t topsy-turvy. “Can you please point me toward my room?” He’d shown it to her, deposited her overnight bag there, but last night had apparently affected her memory.

  “Of course. I believe when we met I told you this place is like a maze.” He escorted her down a hall, turned right and—just her luck—they met his mother. Her hair was neatly pulled back, and she wore crisp white Capri pants and a light blue smocked top, a gold bracelet on her wrist. Tactfully, Blythe Carson said, “Hello, you two. Harry’s making your favorite bread, Slater. I’m off to grab a slice before you get your hands on it. See you later.”

  She breezed down the hall, not looking back.

  Slater was laughing when he indicated a door. “Here’s some advice. Never play poker for money. I think you might have the most expressive face I’ve ever seen. Grace, once again, and you’ve pointed this out, you and I aren’t high school kids. My mother isn’t going to faint from shock if she draws the conclusion that we spent the night together.”

  “We aren’t married.”

  Horror swept over her. The man had a habit of making her blurt out ridiculous things. Things she’d never, ever say if she’d thought about them first. Earlier she’d mentioned love and he hadn’t forgotten it, either, and now she’d mentioned marriage.

  What was wrong with her? Getting married again was the last-place item on her to-do list. Right down there vying with root canals or getting frostbite.

  Slater rubbed his lean jaw and although she was, according to him, an open book, she couldn’t tell anything from his expression. He just said, “No, we aren’t. I didn’t realize you were an old-fashioned girl.”

  “Hardly a girl.”r />
  “I’d swear to that in a court of law. Definitely a woman.”

  Maybe it could be termed beating a hasty retreat—or more likely the coward’s way out—but she yanked open the door of the room. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  *

  WHEN YOU WERE dealing with a skittish horse, you calmed it down with a soft tone and a gentle touch.

  Same technique for a skittish woman. At least that had always been old Red’s advice. And he’d certainly had a happy marriage…

  Except, good advice or not, Slater had the feeling now was not the time to do anything except give Grace some breathing room. He refused to acknowledge one speck of regret about their night together, because she was right; they’d both needed to get past the physical part to find out if there was more.

  There was. Ironically, that made it even more complicated. In his experience, women were always ready to get serious faster than a man, although Grace was an exception to that rule.

  As he drove back to the condo, he chatted with Ryder instead of talking to her, which might be a good plan or might not. He wasn’t sure how else to handle it. He asked Ryder how the job was going.

  “Red’s really cool,” the boy informed him from the backseat. “At first I thought he was kind of mean, but that ain’t the way the cow ate the cabbage.”

  Despite his personal dilemma, Slater started laughing so hard he almost went off the road. “What?”

  “It means that ain’t the truth.”

  Slater saw Grace was laughing now, too, her hand held against her mouth. He said, “I know what it means because he’s been using that expression my entire life. I’m just surprised to hear you say it, that’s all. Plus, maybe you shouldn’t be picking up words like ain’t. Red does old cowboy speak with the best of ’em. I got into trouble at school once when I repeated something he said—I won’t tell you what—without knowing what it meant. My mother lectured me, and then she lit into him. Almost thirty years later, he hasn’t said it in front of me again.”

  In the rearview mirror, Ryder looked sheepish. “I didn’t think of that. He does say some funny things.”

  “I’m sure most of what he says is perfectly okay,” Grace inserted into the conversation, “but maybe you should listen to Slater. I’d just as soon skip more calls from the school. How’s the homework going?”

  As someone who was once a fourteen-year-old boy, Slater winced. She could still do cop well enough. Question or interrogation?

  Ryder’s pose went from relaxed to tense, and his reply was surly. “Fine.”

  “I want you to keep me in the loop.”

  “There is no loop, Grace. I get homework and I’m doing it.”

  Luckily, she was smart enough to understand she’d pushed the limit. After a moment she said lightly, “If that’s the way the cow ate the cabbage, I’m very proud of you.”

  Good save. “My mother, she’s a tough boss, eh?” Slater said. “Makes Red look like a fairy godmother in comparison. He’ll just call you a no-account, wet-behind-the-ears kid with straw for brains. She’ll give you that look. If you haven’t seen it yet, I can’t describe it, but I still get it now and then.”

  Actually, he’d gotten a similar one that morning, when he and Grace weren’t talking at breakfast and she’d leveled it in his direction. What have you done to upset her?

  Words weren’t necessary after the look.

  The answer to her unspoken question was… No idea. No clue. He’d shrugged and at least known he was telling the truth with his body language.

  “Grace can do it, too,” Ryder informed him, resting an elbow on his knee and his chin on a fist. “So I’m familiar with it.”

  “Like nagging without words.”

  Grace bristled. “As if guys don’t nag—you just do it in a different way.”

  She had a point. He said to Ryder, “I figure the Seahawks and maybe Green Bay. Wisconsin is looking good so far.”

  The kid was quick. “I don’t know. Denver could do it.”

  Grace surprised them both. “Oh, please! What about the Colts?” Then, defensively, when they were both quiet, she added, “Come on. I worked with men for years.”

  It broke the tension.

  But that tension returned tenfold when they pulled into the driveway. On the front doorstep sat a vase of dead flowers. Slater didn’t get it until Grace said calmly, “Those came from the desk in my office. I wondered when they went missing a few days ago. Thought it could be housekeeping. I’m glad he didn’t break the vase. It belonged to my aunt. Ryder, let’s go check on Bonaparte.”

  The kid about knocked the door off the truck trying to get out, but Slater had already spotted a pair of unwinking green eyes in the bushes. “Whoa, he’s okay. He’s right there beneath the window under the hedge.”

  Grace looked immeasurably relieved and briefly rested her head against the back of the seat, watching as Ryder dashed up and knelt by the concealing bush, the cat coming out cautiously to greet him. Her voice quavered. “I value the vase, but if it came to cat or vase, the vase would lose. Ryder adores him.”

  “This guy is trying to spook you,” Slater said between clenched teeth. “My buddy Spence and I can go have a little chat with him. What’s his address?”

  “I can’t give it to you, Slater. I was his boss. That’s disclosing personal information without a court order. There’s no solid evidence he’s committed a crime.”

  She was right, but of course she’d know what she was talking about. When it came to the legal aspects of the situation, he had to bow to her expertise. But when it came to wanting to protect her, he didn’t bow to anything except his own instincts. He wasn’t unworldly, and quite frankly, studying the Old West provided him with a good source of information about how the world worked. Back when there was no law west of the Pecos, this wasn’t a safe place to be. Women were vulnerable, and there were men who protected them, and men who tried to take advantage.

  Fact of life. One that hadn’t changed as much as it should have…

  Second fact. Grace didn’t need him rushing in on a white charger—Heck didn’t qualify, anyway—but he was really bothered by the pettiness of this guy’s actions. She wasn’t quite as unconcerned as she seemed. “But you do feel threatened.”

  “Uneasy.”

  “Let me cut to the chase here, to use an old film expression. I’m not letting you stay here alone. There’s safety in numbers.”

  When she’d come to breakfast she’d resembled a college co-ed in her tan skirt and a yellow sweater that emphasized what he knew firsthand to be the world’s shapeliest breasts. Mace had sure as hell noticed, and Slater had to suppress the urge to punch his brother in the nose over that appreciative stare. He didn’t know when he’d developed this possessive streak a mile wide, but at the moment it was jostling for position with a protective streak about the same size. Grace was looking at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Did you just hear yourself? I don’t think you have the power or the right to let me or not let me do anything.”

  Maybe this was a good time to get out of the truck. He opened his door. “That came off as undiplomatic. What I meant was now I’ll be worried 24/7, and I think you should be sensitive to my tender feelings. Stress is proven to be detrimental to a person’s health.”

  “Very funny, Carson.” He started to walk around to open her door, but she beat him to it, probably to prove a point. Her expression softened as she slid out of the truck and straightened her skirt. “But the sentiment is appreciated. Look how worried I was about Ryder. That’s not going to go away until this is over. The vase is theft, but I suppose he could claim he returned it if I could ever prove he took it in the first place.”

  “Don’t you have security cameras?”

  “Yes, and he knows where every single one is. There’s a reason he’s not in jail. He’s a thief, but a pretty smart one.”

  “Can you get a restraining order?” He watched Ryder and the cat with somber eyes. He didn’t care what Grace
had to say about it, if someone hurt that cat to hurt her and consequently Ryder, he wouldn’t sit still for one second. Obviously, it had occurred to her that the possibility was there. Besides, cruelty to animals in any guise, for any screwed-up reason, was intolerable.

  “The problem with restraining orders is that until they’re violated, they mean nothing more than telling the person to stay away from you. I’d still have to catch him, anyway. Yes, the scratch on my car and the flat tires are destruction of personal property, but as I’ve said more than once, I can’t prove anything, and he hasn’t overtly threatened me in any way.” She was right—about that and about the fact that he couldn’t tell her what to do. He picked up the vase. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll be glad when your ex-husband gets here. Let’s go toss these flowers in the trash and I’ll look around, just in case.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HE INSISTED ON sleeping on her couch.

  Men.

  Slater had gone back to the ranch and then appeared out of the blue just before dinner, carrying burgers from Bad Billy’s, along with thigh-fattening onion rings, coleslaw and some brownies that practically made her faint with pleasure. He refused to take no for an answer about spending the night—knew without a word being said that her bedroom was out of the question because Ryder’s room was directly across the hall. After a lingering kiss good-night, he settled on the sofa.

  When Grace got up in the morning to tiptoe to the coffeemaker, Slater was in what seemed like a cramped position, his body too long for the sofa, one arm behind his head. And he was wrong, he did snore. It wasn’t loud or obnoxious, just a gentle but audible respiration.

  She found it cute. Go figure.

  Oddly, she found it comforting as she brewed a cup of coffee with a hint of caramel flavoring and stirred in some milk. That was when her uninvited guest flopped over, made an inarticulate sound, then opened his eyes. “Is that coffee I smell?”

  “Plain?” She suspected he was a just-black-coffee sort of man.

  “Yes. Put something in it and I’ll get downright cranky.” He ran his fingers through his hair and sat up.