Before Grace could explain, Hadleigh broke in. “Mel,” she’d said, narrowing her eyes. “That’s not it. Look at her!”
Grace couldn’t decide if she should burst into laughter at the sudden female assessment or dash to the nearest mirror and fix her hair. Melody had studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I see your point. She’s exactly his type, right? Slater likes them pretty and smart.”
That had been flattering, but it didn’t solve her dilemma. “He wasn’t drinking unless you count iced tea. We were having lunch.” Grace had sighed. “I couldn’t even tell if he was serious at first. He asked and then went on eating. Just munching away.”
Hadleigh snorted. “Men.”
Melody said, “Par for the course. If they can mess anything up, it’s a romantic moment. Will you marry me and please pass the ketchup.”
Grace did start laughing then, and was grateful for the shared amusement.
They’d all agreed no man was perfect, but their consensus was that she’d be a fool to pass up his offer. Why she’d confided in strangers was a mystery to her, but she supposed she’d just needed some advice.
If it was any consolation, they’d both agreed he was one very good-looking man, with both brains and charm. An ideal groom in some ways, or as ideal as you were going to get. But they weren’t going to lay down any promises. His father had been a notorious womanizer until he’d met Blythe.
Clean as a whistle once he’d spoken his vows, though. Devoted to his wife and his family.
She hoped Slater followed in the family footsteps.
Grace hurried to the barn, determined to get Ryder and go home, which would involve another dinner with Hank. Those dinners were proving to be difficult. Slater was actually there, stripped to the waist and hefting Heck’s saddle, turning as she came in.
She stopped dead in her tracks and to her horror, her eyes filled with tears. It wasn’t like her, damn it! She didn’t normally cry. He set down the saddle, and his voice was low as he walked over and placed his arms around her. “Grace? Hey. Take it easy. Everything all right?”
No, this really wasn’t like her. She didn’t need a man to reassure her that everything was going to be fine. Grace hiccupped against his neck and said, “You haven’t even called.”
He touched her cheek, his fingers gentle. “I thought you didn’t want me to call.”
“Think again, Carson.”
His bare shoulder was salty, and she gave it a shove, but not before she’d kissed it.
He ran his hand through his hair after he let her go, his eyes intense, inquiring. “I was trying to give you some space.”
There was no reason to be mad at him. She knew it, and he knew it, but somehow that didn’t make it better. She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m not like this.”
“Understood. Is this about Hank?”
“No. It’s about you.”
He rocked back on his heels, his chest gleaming with a faint sheen of perspiration, and she wondered if he’d been working so hard for the same reason she was acting out of character. “I don’t even want to ask how. Just because I didn’t call for three days? I didn’t notice you calling me, either.”
“You asked me to marry you.”
“I remember,” he said, smiling. “And don’t make it sound like a crime. If I recall, the idea wasn’t met with handsprings and loud cheers, was it? I was hoping you’ve been thinking about changing your mind.” Luckily, Ryder came out of a stall just then with a bucket in his hand, straw stuck to him from head to toe. Straw that would end up all over her car. At least his timing was good. She didn’t want to answer Slater’s question, but she had one of her own.
She took the plunge. “What weekend did you have in mind? For…for our trip.”
Slater’s expression lightened immediately. “To scope out sites for the shoot? You name it. I’m there.”
“How about this coming one? Seems to me we should talk about…a few things.”
He leaned over and picked up the saddle he’d put down. “We’re on. What time should I pick you up on Friday?”
“I’m driving.” She needed to take control of something. Everything seemed to be slipping away. She had no control over having Hank back in her life. No control over David Reinhart’s little stunts—because Spence Hogan had regretfully agreed with her that the lack of any concrete evidence tied his hands. And no control over her volatile love life.
“Hi, Grace.” Ryder had obviously sensed the edginess, suddenly swiping at his clothes. “I didn’t have any homework today, so if Slate says it okay, we’re done.”
“Slate says it’s fine. He’s also looking forward to Friday night.”
So was she. Of course, she still had to get through this night, and that wasn’t going to be easy. She turned to Ryder. “Let’s go. I’m picking up some hamburger and buns. Your dad claims he’ll grill them. I don’t know that I’ve ever had anything he’s cooked, so we’ll cross our fingers.”
Wasn’t that the unhappy truth? She’d give him credit for eating whatever was set in front of him, but Hank didn’t even pour milk on his own cereal. His desire to insinuate himself back into cozy cohabitation was so transparent that she was worried Ryder might’ve been right when he’d said her ex was more interested in her than in his son. No wonder her nerves were shot.
It didn’t help that Slater caught her hand and pulled her in for a brief, hard kiss before he promised, “I’ll call you.”
Fortunately, Ryder had left the building.
*
HE’D BEEN SHOWING some hard-won restraint, in his opinion, but this afternoon had lifted his spirits.
Slater tipped back a beer, took a swallow and admired the sunset.
Grace had cried because he hadn’t called her.
He had the feeling that was simplifying it, since women seemed so damned complicated. He didn’t think he’d ever get an angle on it, but she’d come into his arms willingly…and she’d asked for a weekend with him.
He’d smelled the sweet scent of her hair, and for once, hadn’t said the wrong thing.
He felt like he was in heaven, or at least close. Especially when Drake stepped outside with the watering can, cautiously looking around, that hilarious hat perched on his head.
“Oh, shit,” his brother grumbled, seeing him in the tilted-back chair, booted feet on the railing. “I knew I wasn’t going to catch a break. Good, you can be my witness. I wore the damned hat. I’m a man of my word. All of this is your fault, you know.”
Slater was laughing so hard he was sure he’d be crying soon. “How so?” he managed to gasp out.
“That impromptu proposal ruined my timeline.” Drake glowered at him and dumped half a can of water on a poor inoffensive plant. “Any reasonable adult male would talk to his next of kin, meaning his closest brother, before proposing marriage. Hint, hint, me. I thought I had this in the bag. Instead, here I am.” He gestured at the rows of potted plants around him.
Slater held up a hand, still shaking with mirth. “I’ll attest you wore the hat, so you can take it off now. If you don’t, I might bust a gut. I beg you, have mercy on a fairly innocent man…”
Drake whipped it off and tossed it on the table, but by then he was laughing, too. “Innocent? Even fairly? Yeah, right. Dream on. So tell me, when’s the wedding? After this, you’d better ask me to be best man.”
Slater shrugged but couldn’t resist saying, “Only if you wear the hat.”
Drake looked as if he might pour the contents of the watering can over his head, so Slater added sardonically, “Problem is, Grace hasn’t answered me. And I can’t help it if our mother has miraculous deductive powers.”
“Hasn’t answered? Where’s the reputed Slater Carson charm?”
“I think that’s the problem—it might be reputed but it’s unproven. Apparently, a skill I don’t really have.”
“Yeah, right.” Drake came over and perched on the railing. Like favorite ghosts, Harold and Violet tra
iled along and dropped down on the porch with a thump. “You haven’t had a problem that I’ve ever seen. Raine fell for you pretty hard.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d sensed that maybe his younger brother was in love with Raine. But Drake didn’t disclose that sort of thing; he was a true cowboy, sentimental but intensely private. Keeping his tone neutral, Slater said, “I always wondered why you didn’t do anything about your feelings for her when she and I split.”
There was a pause, and Slater thought Drake was going to tell him to go jump off a cliff, that it was none of his business, but to his surprise he hoisted himself up on the railing of the veranda and looked him in the eye. “I did ask her out. By then, she already knew she was pregnant. She’s Raine…so she was honest about it. I even took her to one of her doctor’s appointments when her car was in the shop and she needed a ride.”
Slater wasn’t going to deny that this information was a shock. “You knew about Daisy before I knew?”
“Listen, Showbiz, you were off on location, remember?” Drake wasn’t defensive; that wasn’t his style. “She was having a Carson baby, so she turned, logically enough, to one of us when she needed a favor. Mace or Mom would’ve insisted she tell you. I’m sure not a saint or anything but I can keep my mouth shut. She hadn’t decided when she was going to tell you.”
He couldn’t decide whether to be outraged or just shake his head at Drake’s revelation. He settled for saying, “Guess if I ever have a life-changing secret I want to keep from someone, I can tell you.”
“Yep.” Drake’s grin was crooked. “I figured she’d tell you when she was ready, and she did. Besides, you weren’t here, anyway, so she had a point that it would just make you crazy not to be involved. We both agreed on that.”
That could have been true, but it was all over and done with, anyway. Raine had eventually told him, and he had Daisy in his life.
Now if he could persuade Grace to become a permanent part of his life, as well…
“Maybe this weekend will settle things between Grace and me,” he said, idly setting aside his now-empty beer bottle. “One of the perks of having her ex-husband visiting—well, the only perk I can think of—is that he can keep an eye on Ryder while we take a short trip. Next week we’re having the production meeting at the resort, so I’d like to suggest locations, take some pictures. Grace is going along.”
Drake scratched his chin, approval in his eyes. “That ought to do it. Though I was pretty sure the night you spent in Mace’s office would’ve sealed the deal for you.”
Slater stared at him suspiciously. “There wasn’t any betting on that night, was there? I swear—”
Drake did his best to look innocent, but failed. “Of course not! What do you take us for? This isn’t Las Vegas, it’s a working ranch.”
“Says the cowboy in the floppy old-lady hat watering flowers.”
That observation was ignored. “Hey, I need to ride out and do my usual gate check. Want to come with?”
He did. It was a fine night, and he still was in high spirits after seeing Grace. A relaxed evening ride sounded like the perfect ending to a day that had started with him rolling out of bed, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d been afraid she’d never agree to marry him, and he was an idiot for asking so early in their relationship.
The real problem, he mused as they walked over to the stable, was that he’d felt so sure. He thought maybe Grace was sure, too, but she was also scared. For some reason, he wasn’t. Certain things made him nervous—like letting go of Daisy’s bike that first time without training wheels. Or when his mother had called after a biopsy that turned out benign, but had him more upset than he’d even realized until the flood of relief left him weak-kneed. And yet, in the wake of his impromptu proposal, his attitude was that it had been the right decision.
Love was like fire, he decided. You could try to control it, but it wasn’t always possible. Sometimes the flames burned you and sometimes they just warmed you from the inside out. Like now.
Good analogy, he thought with some satisfaction. But when he was tightening the cinch on his saddle his phone beeped and he frowned, taking it out of his pocket.
The text said:
Sorry, probably canceling this weekend. Something has happened.
He went from warm to ice-cold in a second.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HANK SAID IRRITABLY, “You might’ve pointed out that there’s a problem. At the very least, Carson should’ve told me.”
Grace could take being blamed for the incident, but she didn’t think Hank had any right to point a finger at Slater. What was he supposed to do? “You met him for less than two minutes. Besides, I’m not going to say he wouldn’t consider it his concern, because he’s been good to both Ryder and me, but I can say it would be presumptuous of him to mention one word to you. I’m sorry about what happened, but…”
He held the cloth to his head, looking a little gray. “Someone knocked me out cold, Grace. I can tell you aren’t exactly surprised, and Ryder said there’ve been other incidents.”
The answer was yes to both. Did she have a suspicion that David Reinhart was starting to feel that his options were narrowing? Maybe even that his past was catching up to him? She did. He was smart enough to know it, too. For one thing, references were probably hard to come by.
She really hadn’t expected physical violence, though, and she felt terrible about that. Bonaparte was nowhere to be found, either, which worried her, although by now she had a fair amount of confidence in his street smarts. That cat knew something was up.
“I think you were an unexpected complication,” Grace said, keeping her voice low so Ryder wouldn’t hear their conversation. “No, I’m not surprised. You surprised him.”
“You know who it is?”
“I have a good idea but no proof.”
“Elaborate.”
She could do without the reprimand in that military tone. However, she wasn’t the one who’d been clonked on the head. “Someone I fired didn’t take it well, and he seems to be conducting a vendetta against me. Up until now, it’s been relatively petty stuff. Assault is different from deflating tires and scratching some paint and even hacking into our email. So, like I said, my guess is that he didn’t expect you to be here. He was going to pull another one of his stunts and you walked out and he panicked. So far, I can’t prove anything. Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital?”
“Positive. I’ve been shot at in five countries,” he said matter-of-factly, “but I come to a sleepy little town like Mustang Creek, Wyoming, and some idiot takes me down. The boys in my command would find it funny as hell.”
She didn’t find it funny at all. Okay, no doctor. But what about a drink? He did approve of that plan. Somehow, somewhere, in sleepy Wyoming, Hank had managed to buy a bottle of his favorite whiskey, and since he truly did seem to be okay and obviously wasn’t going to cooperate with her suggestion that he get checked out, the least she could do was pour him a drink. She went into her tidy kitchen and got out one of the crystal tumblers she owned but had never used. She put in a couple of ice cubes and was in the act of dashing the amber liquid into the glass when the police knocked.
Hank was obviously annoyed that she’d called them, but too bad. The deputy who showed up—one Ryan Grant—was professional and businesslike. However, she could tell that he wasn’t used to what would be a serious crime in any city, big or small. Still, he asked the right questions, looked around and was taking notes when Slater arrived.
Enter the cavalry. The man practically fishtailed his truck into the driveway.
The last thing she needed was him walking through the front door, and she deduced immediately that his close friendship with the chief of police was probably part of the equation.
The deputy didn’t help by addressing him with the ease of old acquaintance. “Hey, Slater. Thought you might show up.”
No secrets in Mustang Creek. Hadleigh and Melody had t
old her that flat out. Just consider the mountains and the scenery as compensation for the lack of privacy was their advice. People were nice, but it was a small town. Her romance with Slater Carson was already a topic of discussion, Melody had said. Once people got wind of the engagement…
Hold on, she’d told them both. There is no engagement. Not yet, anyway.
Now she threw Slater a quelling look. “I didn’t call you.”
“Yeah, let’s talk about that sometime. Why didn’t you call me? Ryder did. What happened?”
“Ryder did?” Hank tossed aside the cold compress. “That a fact?”
She shoved the drink in his hand, since she could sense he was going to say something testy, which wouldn’t help a thing. She had no time for male drama. “Please excuse us for a second, Hank and Deputy Grant.”
She grabbed Slater by the arm and tugged him outside onto the patio, leaving the deputy and Hank to hash out the details.
“You don’t have to rush to my rescue,” she informed him, but truthfully, she was happy to see him. He looked tall and capable, and seeing Hank down and out had been a revelation about how vulnerable she and Ryder could be—despite her police training. The attack on her ex-husband had also revealed how easy it was to take someone unawares. If he’d known about the danger, Hank could have held his own and then some, so she felt a little guilty for not warning him that there was a problem.
No, a lot guilty.
“I’m not rushing to your rescue. Hell, Grace, I just saw you a short time ago, and then I got your message. Something has happened? What was I supposed to think? I know what’s been going on. I wondered if you needed me, if I could help. Something has happened is hardly an adequate message. Then you cancel on me. It was all rather vague. At least Ryder thought I should know.”
He had a point. She said contritely, “Sorry. Finding my ex-husband unconscious on the patio blew my communication skills right out the window.”
“Understandable.” He nodded. “I forgive you, if you’ll forgive me for rushing over. Let me make an educated guess. Hank isn’t interested in the hospital, and if he’d seen anything, you’d be on the phone with Spence instead of having a deputy poking around. So we really haven’t made much progress.”
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