He’s the middle of the three Carson brothers and is as stubborn as they come—and he won’t thank a beautiful stranger for getting in his way!

Drake Carson is the quintessential cowboy. In charge of the family ranch, he knows the realities of this life, its pleasures and heartbreaks. Lately, managing the wild stallions on his property is wearing him down. When an interfering so-called expert arrives and starts offering her opinion, Drake is wary, but he can’t deny the longing—and the challenge—she stirs in him.

Luce Hale is researching how wild horses interact with ranch animals—and with ranchers. The Carson matriarch invites her to stay with the family, which guarantees frequent encounters with Drake, her ruggedly handsome and decidedly unwelcoming son. Luce and Drake are at odds from the very beginning, especially when it comes to the rogue stallion who’s stealing the ranch mares. But when Drake believes Luce is in danger, that changes everything—for both of them.

Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author Linda Lael Miller

“Miller delights readers... The coming together of the two families was very well written and the characters are fraught with humor and sexual tension, which leads to a lovely HEA [happily ever after].”

—RT Book Reviews on The Marriage Season

“The Marriage Season is a wonderfully candid example of a contemporary western with the requisite ranch, horses, kids and dogs—wouldn’t be a Linda Lael Miller story without pets... The Brides of Bliss County novels do not have to be read in order but it would be a shame to miss some of the most endearing love stories that feature rugged, handsome cowboys.”

—Fresh Fiction

“Fans of Linda Lael Miller will fall in love with The Marriage Pact and without a doubt be waiting for the next installments... Her ranch-based westerns have always entertained and stayed with me long after reading them.”

—Idaho Statesman

“Miller has found a perfect niche with charming western romances and cowboys who will set readers’ hearts aflutter. Funny and heartwarming, The Marriage Pact will intrigue readers by the first few pages. Unforgettable characters with endless spunk and desire make this a must-read.”

—RT Book Reviews

“All three titles should appeal to readers who like their contemporary romances Western, slightly dangerous and graced with enlightened (more or less) bad-boy heroes.”

—Library Journal on the Montana Creeds series

“An engrossing, contemporary western romance... Miller’s masterful ability to create living, breathing characters never flags, even in the case of Echo’s dog, Avalon; combined with a taut story line and vivid prose, Miller’s romance won’t disappoint.”

—Publishers Weekly on McKettrick’s Pride (starred review)

Always a Cowboy

Linda Lael Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Mustang Creek, Wyoming, home of hot cowboys and the smart, beautiful women who love them.

Always a Cowboy is the story of Drake Carson, the second of the three Carson brothers, and Lucinda “Luce” Hale. Drake is a true cowboy with a ranch to run, plus stallion trouble and a mountain lion trying to wipe out his whole herd of cattle. He certainly has no time, or so he thinks, for the likes of Luce, a stranger and a trespasser to boot.

Luce is doing a postgraduate study, and her subject is wild mustangs and their interactions with livestock. She is one determined city woman, willing to climb over fences and hike for miles, rain or shine. Luce wants to know all about ranching, and ranchers—one in particular.

If you read the first book in this new trilogy, Once a Rancher, you’ll recognize a lot of the characters, and I hope you’ll feel right at home in their midst.

The third book in the series, Forever a Hero, features the youngest Carson brother, Mace, a combination cowboy/winemaker, and the woman whose life he once saved.

Ranch life runs deep with me; I live on my own modest little spread, called the Triple L, and we’ve got critters aplenty: five horses, two dogs and two cats. And those are just the official ones—we share the land with wild turkeys, deer and the occasional moose, and I wouldn’t live any other way.

My love of animals shows in my stories, and I never miss a chance to speak for the silent, furry ones who have no voices and no choices. So please support your local animal shelters, have your pets spayed and neutered and, if you’re feeling a mite lonely, why not rescue a four-legged somebody waiting to love you with the purest of devotion.

Thank you for bending an ear my way, and enjoy the story.

With all best,

For Doug and Teresa, with love

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE WEATHER JUST plain sucked, but that was okay with Drake Carson. In his opinion, rain was better than snow any day of the week, and as for sleet...well, that was wicked, especially in the wide-open spaces, coming at a person in stinging blasts like a barrage of buckshot. Yep, give him a slow, gentle rainfall every time, the kind that generally meant spring was in the works. Anyhow, he could stand to get a little wet.

Here in Wyoming, this close to the mountains, the month of May might bring sunshine and pastures blanketed with wildflowers—or a freak blizzard, wild enough to bury cattle and people alike.

Raising his coat collar around his ears, he nudged his horse into motion with his heels. Starburst obeyed, although he seemed hesitant about it, unusually jumpy, in fact, and when that happened, Drake paid attention. Horses were prey animals and, as such, their instincts and senses were fine-tuned to their surroundings in ways a human being couldn’t equal.

Something was going on, that was for sure.

For nearly a year now, they’d been coming up short, Drake and his crew, when they tallied the livestock. Some losses were inevitable, of course, but too many calves, along with the occasional steer or heifer, had gone missing over the past twelve months.

Sometimes, they found a carcass. Other times, not.

Like all ranchers, Drake took every decrease in the herd seriously, and he wanted reasons.

The Carson spread was big, and while Drake couldn’t keep an eye on the whole place at once, he sure as hell tried.

“Stay with me,” he told his dogs, Harold and Violet, a pair of German shepherds from the same litter and two of the best friends he’d ever had.

Then, tightening the reins slightly, in case Starburst took a notion to bolt instead of skittering and sidestepping like he was doing now, Drake looked around, squinting against the downpour. Whatever he’d expected to see—a grizzly or a wildcat or even a band of modern-day rustlers—he hadn’t expected to lay eyes on a lone female. She was just up ahead, crouched behind a small tree and clearly drenched, despite the dark rain slicker covering her slender form.

She was peering through a pair of binoculars, having taken no apparent notice of Drake, his dogs or his horse. Even with the rain pounding down, they should have been hard to miss, being only fifty yards away.

Whoever the lady turned out to be, he wasn’t giving her points for alertness.

He studied her as he approached, but there was nothing familiar about her. Drake would have recognized a local woman. Mustang Creek was a small community, and strangers stood out.

Anyway, the whole ranch was posted against trespassers, mainly to keep tourists on the far side of the fences. A lot of visiting sightseers had seen a few too many G-rated animal movies and thought they could cozy up to a bear, a bison or a wolf and snap a selfie to post on social media.

Some greenhorns were simply naive or heedless, but others were entitled know-it-alls, disregarding the warnings of park rangers, professional wilderness guides and concerned locals. It galled Drake, the risks people took, camping and hiking in areas that were off-limits, walking right up to the wildlife, as if the place were a petting zoo. The lucky ones got away alive, but they were often missing the family pet or a few body parts when it was over.

Drake had been on more than one search-and-rescue mission, organized by the Bliss County Sheriff’s Department, and he’d seen things that kept him awake nights, if he thought about them too much.

He shook off the gruesome images and concentrated on the problem at hand—the woman in the rain slicker. Wondered which category—naive, thoughtless or arrogant—she fell into.

She didn’t appear to be in any danger at the moment but, then again, she seemed oblivious to everything around her, with the exception of whatever it was she was looking at through those binoculars of hers.

Presently, it dawned on Drake that whatever else she might be, she wasn’t the reason his big Appaloosa gelding was so worked up.

The woman seemed fixated on the wide meadow, actually a shallow valley, just beyond the copse of cottonwood. Starburst pranced and tossed his head, and Drake tightened the reins slightly, gave a gruff command.

The horse calmed down a little.

Once Drake cleared the stand of cottonwoods, he stood in the stirrups, adjusted his hat and followed the woman’s gaze. Briefly, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, after days, weeks and months of searching, with only a rare and always distant sighting.

But there they were, big as life; the stallion, his band of wild mustangs—and half a dozen mares lured from his own pastures.

Forgetting the rain-slicked trespasser for a few moments, his breath trapped in his throat, Drake stared, taking a quick count in his head, temporarily immobilized by the sheer grandeur of the sight.

The stallion was magnificence on the hoof, lean but with every muscle as clearly defined as if he’d been sculpted by a master. His coat was a ghostly gray, darkened by the rain, and his mane and tail were blacker than black.

The animal, well aware that he had an audience and plainly unconcerned, lifted his head slowly from the creek where he’d been drinking and made no move to run. With no more than a hundred yards between them, he regarded Drake for what seemed like a long while, as though sizing him up.

The rest of the band, mares included, went still, heads high, ears pricked forward, hindquarters tensed as they awaited some signal from the stallion.

Drake couldn’t help admiring that four-footed devil, even as he silently cursed the critter, consigning him to seven kinds of hell. The instant he pressed his boot heels to Starburst’s quivering sides, a motion so subtle that Drake himself was barely aware of it, the stallion went into action.

Nostrils flared, eyes rolling, the cocky son of a bitch snorted, then threw back his head and whinnied, the sound piercing the moisture-thickened air.

The band whirled toward the hillside and scattered.

The stallion stood watching as Drake, rope in hand and ready to throw, drove Starburst from a dead stop to a full run.

Before Starburst reached the creek, though, the big gray spun on his hind legs and damn near took wing as he raced across the clearing and up the slope.

Drake and his gelding splashed through the narrow stream, and up the opposite bank, the dogs loping alongside.

But hard as he rode, the whole experience felt like a slow-motion sequence from one of his brother Slater’s documentaries. He and Starburst might as well have been standing still for all the progress they made closing the gap.

The stallion paused at the top of the ridge, he and his band sketched against the stormy sky. Time seemed to stop, just for an instant, before the spell was broken and the whole bunch of them vanished as swiftly as if they’d melted into the clouds.

Drake knew he’d lost this round.

He reined Starburst to a halt, grabbed his hat by the brim and slapped it hard against his left thigh before jamming it back on his head. Then, still breathing hard, his jaw clamped down so hard that his ears ached from the strain, he recoiled his rope and fastened it to his saddle.

Harold and Violet were at the foot of the ridge by then, panting visibly and looking back at Drake in confusion.

He summoned them back with a shrill whistle, and they trotted toward him, tongues lolling, sides heaving.

Only when he’d ridden across the creek again did Drake remember the woman. Coupled with the fact that he’d just been outwitted by that damn stallion—again—her presence stuck in his hide like a burr.

She stood watching him as he rode toward her, her face a pale oval within the hood of her slicker.

With bitter amusement, he noticed that her feet were set a little apart, as in a fighter’s stance, and her elbows jutted out at her sides. Her hands, no doubt bunched into fists, were pressing hard into her hips.

As he drew nearer, he noted the spark of fury in her eyes and the tight line of her mouth.

Under other circumstances, he might have thrown back his head and laughed out loud at her sheer audacity, but at the moment his pride was giving him too much grief for that.

He hadn’t managed to get this close to the stallion—or his prize mares—for longer than he cared to remember. While he hated letting them get away so easily, he knew the dogs would be run ragged if he gave chase, and might even end up getting their heads kicked in. They’d been bred for herding cattle, not wild horses.

They were disappointed just the same and whimpered in baleful protest at being called off, which only made Drake feel like more of a loser than he already did.

Harold and Violet, named for two of his favorite elementary school teachers, ambled over to him, tails wagging. They were drenched to the skin and getting wetter by the minute, but they were quick to forgive, unlike their human counterparts, himself included.

Just then, Drake’s chestnut quarter horse, a two-year-old mare with impeccable bloodlines, caught his eye, appearing on the crest of the ridge. Hope stirred briefly, and he drew in his breath to whistle for her, but before he could make a sound, the stallion came back, crowding the mare, nipping at her flanks and butting her with his head.

And then she was gone again.

Damn it all to hell.

“Thanks for nothing, mister!”

It was the intruder, the trespasser. The woman stormed toward Drake through the rain-bent grass, waving the binoculars like a maestro raising a baton at the symphony. He’d forgotten about her until that moment, and the reminder did nothing for his mood.

He was overreacting, he knew that, but he couldn’t seem to change course.

She was a sight, he’d say that, plowing through the grass the way she was, all fuss and fury and wet through and through.

Drake waited a few moments before he spoke, just watching her advance on him like a one-woman army.

Miraculously, he felt his equanimity returning. In fact, he was mildly curious about her, now that the rush of adrenaline from his lame-ass confrontation with the stallion was starting to subside.

Drake waited with what was, for him, uncommon patience. He hoped the approaching tornado, pint-size but definitely category five, wouldn’t step in a gopher hole and break a leg, or get bitten by a snake before she completed the charge.

Born and raised on this land, where there were perils aplenty, Drake understood the importance of practical caution. Out here, experience wasn’t just the best teacher, it was often a harsh one, too.

As the lady got closer, he made out her face, still framed by the hood of her coat, and a pair of amber eyes that flashed as she demanded, “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get that close to those horses? Days!” She paused to suck in a furious breath. “And what happens when I finally catch up to them? You come along and scare them off!”

Drake resettled his hat, tugging hard at the brim, and waited.

The woman all but stamped her feet. “Days!” she repeated wildly.

Drake felt his mouth stretch in the direction of a grin, but he suppressed it. “Excuse me, ma’am, but the fact is, I’m a bit confused. You’re here because...?”

“Because of the horses!” The tone and pitch of her voice said he was an idiot for even asking such a question. Apparently, she thought he ought to be able to read her mind—ahead of time, and from a convenient distance. Just like a woman.

Silently, he congratulated himself on his restraint—and for managing a reasonable tone. “I see,” he said, although of course he didn’t see at all. This was his land, and she was on it, and he still didn’t have any idea why.

“The least you could do is apologize,” she informed him, glaring. Her hands were resting on her slim hips, like before, causing her breasts to rise in a very attractive way.

Still mounted, Drake adjusted his hat again. The dogs sat on either side of him, looking on with calm and bedraggled interest. Starburst, on the other hand, nickered and sidestepped and tossed his head, as startled as if the woman had sprung up from the ground like a magic bean stalk.

When Drake replied, he sounded downright amiable, his tone designed to piss her off even more, if that was possible. If there was one thing an angry woman hated, he figured, it was exaggerated politeness. “Now, why would I apologize? Given that I live here, I mean. This is private property, Ms.—”

She wasn’t at all fazed by this information. Nor did she offer her name.

“It took me hours to track those horses down,” she ranted on, flinging her arms out wide for emphasis. “In this weather, no less! I finally get close enough to observe them in their natural habitat, and you...you...” She paused, but only to take in a breath so she could go right on strafing him with words. “You try hiding behind a tree for hours without moving a muscle, with water dripping down your neck!”

Drake might have pointed out that he was no stranger to inclement weather, since he rode fence lines and worked under any and all conditions, white-hot heat and blinding snowstorms and everything in between, but he felt no need to explain that to this woman or anyone else on the planet.

Zeke Carson, his late father, had lived by a creed, and he’d drilled it into his sons early on: never complain, never explain. Let your actions tell the story.

“What were you doing there, anyhow, lurking behind my tree?” he asked moderately.

She bristled. “Your tree? No one owns a tree. And I wasn’t lurking!”

“You were,” he contradicted cheerfully. “And maybe you’re right about the tree. But people can sure as hell own the ground it grows out of, and that’s the case here, I’m afraid.”

She rolled her eyes.

Great, he thought, half amused and half annoyed, a tree hugger, of the holier-than-thou variety, it seemed.

The woman probably drove one of those little hybrid cars, not that there was anything wrong with them, but he’d bet she was self-righteous about it, cruising along at the speed of a lawn mower in the fast lane.

Impatient with the trail his thoughts were taking, Drake made an effort to draw in his horns a bit. He was assuming a lot here.

Still, he made every effort to protect and honor the environment, trees included, and if she was implying otherwise, he meant to set her straight. Nobody loved the natural world more than he did and, furthermore, he had a right to ask questions. The Carsons had held the deed to this ranch since homestead days, and in case she hadn’t noticed, he wasn’t running a public campground. Nor was this a state or national park.

He leaned forward in the saddle. “Do the words no trespassing mean anything to you?” he asked mildly.

Although he didn’t want it to show, he was still enjoying this encounter, and way more than he should have at that.

She merely glowered up at him, arms folded now, chin set at an obstinate angle.

Suddenly, Drake was tired to the bone. “All right. Let’s see if we can clarify matters. That tree—” he gestured to the one she’d taken refuge behind earlier and spoke very slowly so she could follow “—is on my ranch.” He paused. “I’m Drake Carson. And you are?”

The look of surprise on her face was gratifying. “You’re Drake Carson?”

“I was when I woke up this morning,” he drawled. “I don’t imagine that’s changed since then.” He let a moment pass. “Now, how about answering my original question? What are you doing here?”

She seemed to wilt, and Drake supposed that was a victory, however small, but he wasn’t inclined to celebrate. Her attitude got on his last nerve, but there was something delicate about her. A kind of fragility that made him want to protect her. “I’m studying the horses.”

The brim of Drake’s hat spilled water down his front as he nodded. “Well, yeah, I kind of figured that. It’s really not the point, though, is it? Like I said before, and more than once, this is private property. And if you’d asked permission to be here, I’d know it.”

She blushed, but no explanation was forthcoming. Her mouth opened, then closed again, and her eyes went wide. “You’re him.”

“And you would be...?”

The next moment, she was blustering again. Ignoring his question, too. “Tall man on a tall horse,” she remarked, her tone scathing. “Very intimidating.”

A few seconds earlier, he’d been in charge here. Now he felt defensive, which was ridiculous on all counts.

He drew a deep breath, released it slowly and spoke with quiet authority. He hoped. “Believe me, I’m not trying to intimidate you,” he said. “My point—once again—is that you don’t have the right to be here, much less yell at me.”

“Yes, I do.” Her tone was testy. “Well, the being here part, anyway. And I don’t think I was yelling.”

Of all the freaking gall. Drake glowered at the young woman, who was standing next to his horse by then, unafraid, giving as good as she got.

“Say what?” he asked.

“I do have the right to be on this ranch,” she insisted. “I asked your mother’s permission to come out and study the wild horses, and she said yes, fine, no problem at all. She was very supportive, as it happens.”

Well, shit.

Why hadn’t she said that in the first place?

Moreover, why hadn’t his mother bothered to mention any of this to him?

For some reason, even in light of this development, he couldn’t back off, or not completely, anyway. Maybe it was his stubborn pride. “Okay,” he said evenly. “Why do you want to study wild horses? Considering that they’re...wild and everything.”

She was undaunted. No real surprise there, although it was frustrating as hell. “I’m getting my PhD, and my dissertation is about the way wildlife, particularly horses, co-exist with the animals on working ranches.” She added, “And how ranchers deal with them. Ranchers like you.”

Ranchers like him. Right.

“Let’s get something straight, here and now,” he said, feeling cornered for some reason, and wondering why he liked it. “My mother might have given you the go-ahead to bedevil all the horses you can rustle up on this spread, but that’s as far as it goes. You aren’t going to study me.”

“Are you saying you don’t obey your mother?” she asked sweetly.

“That’s it,” he answered, without a trace of goodwill. By then, Drake’s mood was back on a downhill slide. What was he doing out here in the damn rain, bantering with some self-proclaimed intellectual? He wasn’t just cold, tired and wet, he was hungry, since all he’d had before leaving the house this morning was a slice of toast and a cup of coffee. He’d been in a hurry to get started, and now his blood sugar had dropped to the soles of his boots, and the effect on his disposition was not pretty.

The saddle leather creaked as he bent toward her. “Listen, Ms. Whoever-you-are, I don’t give a rat’s ass about your thesis, or your theories about ranchers and wild horses, either. Do whatever it is you do, stay out of my way and try not to get yourself killed while you’re at it.”

She didn’t bat an eye. “Hale,” she announced brightly, as though he hadn’t spoken. “My name is Lucinda Hale, but everybody calls me Luce.”

He inhaled a long, deep breath. If he’d ever had that much trouble learning a woman’s name before, he didn’t recall the occasion. “Ms. Hale, then,” he began, tugging at the brim of his hat in a gesture that was more automatic than cordial. “I’ll leave you to it. While I’m sure your work is absolutely fascinating, not to mention vital to the future of the planet, I have plenty of my own to do. In short, while I’ve enjoyed shadowboxing with you, I’m fresh out of leisure time.”

He might’ve been talking to the barn wall. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said cheerfully. “I wouldn’t dream of interfering. I’ll be an observer, that’s all. Watching, figuring out how things work, making a few notes. You won’t even know I’m around.”

Drake bit back a terse reply and reined his horse away, although he didn’t use his heels. The dogs, still fascinated by the whole scenario, sat tight. “You’re right, Ms. Hale. I won’t know you’re around, because you won’t be. Not around me, that is.”

“You really are a very difficult man,” she observed almost sadly. “Surely you can see the value of my project. Interactions between wild animals, domesticated ones and human beings?”

* * *

LUCE WAS COLD, wet, a little amused and very intrigued.

Drake Carson was gawking at her as though she’d just popped in from a neighboring dimension, wearing a tutu and waving a wand. His two beautiful dogs, waiting obediently for some word or gesture from their master, seemed equally curious.

The consternation on the man’s face was absolutely priceless.

And a very handsome face it was, at least what she could see of it, shadowed by the brim of his hat the way it was. If he resembled his younger brother, Mace, whom she’d met earlier that day, he was one very impressive man.

She decided to push him a bit, just to see what happened. “You run this ranch, don’t you?”

“I do my best.”

She liked his voice, which was a deep, slow drawl now, not mocking like before. “Then you’re the one I want.”

Open mouth, she thought, insert foot.

“For my project, I mean,” she added hastily.

His strong jawline tightened visibly. “I don’t have time to babysit you,” he said. “This is a working ranch, not a resort.”

“As I’ve said repeatedly, Mr. Carson, you won’t have to do any such thing. I can take care of myself, and I promise you, I won’t be underfoot.”

He seemed unconvinced. And still irritated in the extreme.

But he didn’t ride away.

Luce had already been warned that Drake wouldn’t take to her project, but somehow she hadn’t expected this much resistance. She was normally a persuasive person, and reasonable, too.

Of course, it helped if the other person was somewhat agreeable.

Mentally, she cataloged the things she’d learned about Drake Carson.

He was in charge of the ranch, which spanned thousands of acres and was home to lots of cattle and horses, as well as wildlife. The Carsons had very deep roots in Bliss County, Wyoming, going back several generations. He loved the outdoors, and he was good with animals, particularly horses.

He was, in fact, a true cowboy.

He was also on the quiet side, solitary by nature, slow to anger—but when he did get mad, he could be formidable. At thirty-two, Drake had never been married; he was college-educated, and once he’d gotten his degree—land management and animal husbandry—he’d come straight back to the ranch, having no desire to live anywhere else. He worked from sunrise to sunset and often longer.

Harry, the Carsons’ housekeeper, whose real name was Harriet Armstrong, had dished up some sort of heavenly pie when Luce had arrived at the main ranch house fairly early in the day. As soon as Harry understood who Luce was and why she was there, she’d proceeded to spill information about Drake at a steady clip.

Luce had encountered Mace Carson, Drake’s younger brother, very briefly, when he’d come in from the family vineyard expressly for a piece of pie. Harry had introduced them and explained Luce’s mission—i.e., to gather material for her dissertation and interview Drake in depth, thus getting the rancher’s perspective.

Mace had smiled slightly and shaken his head in response to Harry’s briefing. “I’m glad you’re here, Ms. Hale, but I’m afraid my brother isn’t going to be a whole lot of use as a research subject. He’s into his work and not much else, and he doesn’t like to be distracted from whatever he’s got scheduled for the day. Makes him testy.”

A quick glance in Harry’s direction had confirmed the sinking sensation Mace’s words produced. The older woman had given a small, reluctant nod of agreement.

Well, Luce thought now, standing face-to-horse with Drake, they’d certainly known what they were talking about, Mace and Harry both.

Drake was definitely testy.

He stared grimly into the rainy distance for a long moment, then muttered, “As if that damn stallion wasn’t enough to get under my hide like a nasty itch.”

“Cheer up,” Luce said. She loved a challenge. “I’m here to help.”

Drake gave her a long, level look. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” he asked very slowly, and without a hint of humor. He flung out his free hand, making his point, the reins resting easily in the other one. “My problems are over.”

“Didn’t you say you were leaving?” Luce asked.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, evidently reconsidering whatever he’d been about to say. Finally, with a hoarse note in his voice, he went on. “I planned to,” he said. “But if I did, you’d be out here alone.” He looked around. “Where’s your horse? You won’t be getting close to those critters again today. The stallion will see to that.”

Luce’s interest was genuine. “You sound as if you know him pretty well.”

“We understand each other, all right,” Drake said. “We should. We’ve been playing this game for a while now.”

That was going in her notes.

She shook her head in belated answer to his question about her means of transportation. “I don’t have a horse,” she explained. “I parked my car at your place and hiked out here.”

The day had been breathtakingly beautiful, before the clouds lowered and thickened and began dumping rain. She’d hiked in all the western states and in Europe, and this was some gorgeous country. The Grand Tetons were just that. Grand.

“The house is a long way from here. You came all this way on foot?” Drake frowned at her. “Did my mother know you were crazy when she agreed to let you do your study here?”

“I actually enjoy hiking. A little rain doesn’t bother me. I’ll take a hot shower when I get back to the house, change clothes and—”

“When you get back to the house?” he repeated warily. “You’re staying there?”

This was where she could tell him that Blythe Carson was an old friend of her mother’s, and she’d already been installed in one of the guest rooms, but she decided not to mention that just yet, in case he thought she was taking advantage. She was determined not to inconvenience the family, and if she felt she was imposing, she would move to a hotel. She’d planned to do just that, actually, but Blythe, hospitable woman that she was, wouldn’t hear of it. Lord knew there was plenty of room, she’d said, and it wouldn’t make any sense to drive back and forth from town when Luce’s work was right here on the ranch.

“You live in a beautiful house, by the way,” she said, trying to smooth things over a little. “Not what I expected to find out here in the wide-open spaces. All those chandeliers and oil paintings and gorgeous antiques.” Was she jabbering? Yes. She definitely was, and she couldn’t seem to stop. “I mean, it’s hardly the Ponderosa.” She beamed a smile at Drake. “I was planning to check into a hotel, or pitch a tent at one of the campgrounds, but your mother wanted no part of that idea, so...well, here I am.” Why couldn’t she just shut up? “My room has a fabulous view. It’ll be incredible, waking up to those mountains every morning.”

Drake, understandably, was still a few beats behind, and little wonder, the way she’d been prattling. “You’re staying with us?”

Hadn’t she just said that?

She smiled her most ingenuous smile. “How else can I observe you in your native habitat?” The truth was, she intended to camp at least part of the time, provided the weather improved, simply because she wanted to enjoy the outdoors.

Drake himself was one of the reasons she’d chosen the area for her research work, but he didn’t know that. He was well respected, a rancher’s rancher, with a reputation for hard work, integrity and intelligence.

She’d known, even before Harry filled her in on the more personal aspects of Drake’s life, that he was an animal advocate, as well as a prominent rancher, that he’d minored in ecology. She’d first seen his name in print when she was still an undergrad, just a quote in an article, expressing his belief that running a large cattle operation could and should be done without endangering wildlife or the environment. Knowing that her mother and Blythe Carson were close had been a deciding factor, too, of course—a way of gaining access.

She allowed herself a few minutes to study the man. He sat his horse confidently, relaxed and comfortable in the saddle, the reins loosely held. The well-trained animal stood there calmly, clipping grass but not moving otherwise during their discussion.

Drake broke into her reverie by saying, “Guess I’d better take you back before something happens to you.” He leaned toward her, reaching down. “Climb on.”

She looked at the proffered hand and bit her lip, hesitant to explain that, despite her consuming interest in horses, she wasn’t an experienced rider—the last time she’d been in the saddle, at summer camp when she was twelve, something had spooked her mount. She’d been thrown, breaking her collarbone and her right arm, and nearly trampled in the process.

Passion for horses or not, she was anything but confident.

She couldn’t tell him that, not after the exchange they’d just had. He would no doubt laugh or make some cutting remark, or both, and her pride smarted at the very idea.

Besides, she wouldn’t be holding the reins, handling the huge gelding; Drake would. And there was no denying the difficulties the weather presented, in terms of trailing the stallion and his mares from place to place.

She’d gotten some great footage during the afternoon, though, and made some useful notes, which meant the day wasn’t a total loss.

“My backpack’s heavy,” she pointed out, her drummed-up courage already faltering a little. The top of that horse was pretty far off the ground. She could climb mountains, for Pete’s sake, but that was small consolation; she’d been standing on her own two feet the whole time.

At last, Drake smiled, and the impact of that smile was palpable. He was still leaning toward her, still holding out his hand. “Starburst’s knees won’t buckle under the weight of a backpack,” he told her. “Or yours, either.”

The logic was sound, if not particularly comforting.

Drake slipped his booted foot out from the stirrup to make room for hers. “Come on. I’ll haul you up behind me.”

She handed up the backpack, sighed heavily. “Okay,” she said. Then, gamely, she took Drake’s hand. His grip was strong, and he swung her up behind him with no apparent effort.

It was easy to imagine this man working with horses, delivering breach calves and digging postholes for fences.

Settled on the animal’s broad back, Luce had no choice but to put her arms around Drake’s cowboy-lean waist and grip him like the jaws of life.

The rain was coming down harder, and conversation was impossible.

Gradually, Luce relaxed enough to loosen her hold on Drake’s middle.

A little, anyway.

Now that she was fairly sure she wasn’t facing certain death, Luce allowed herself to enjoy the ride. Intrepid hiker though she was, the thought of trudging back in the driving rain made her wince.

She hadn’t missed the irony of the situation, either. She wanted to study wild horses, but she was a rank greenhorn with a slew of sweaty-palmed phobias. Drake had surely noticed, skilled as he was, and he would have been well within his rights to comment.

He didn’t, though.

When they finally reached the ranch house, he was considerate enough not to grin when she slid clumsily off the horse and almost landed on her rear in a giant puddle. No, he simply tugged at the brim of his hat, suppressing a smile, and rode away without looking back.

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN DRAKE CAME in for supper that night, he was half-starved, chilled to the bone and feeling as though he’d worked like an old cow pony and still achieved next to nothing.

He’d seen the mare he’d bought for a small fortune and personally trained, out there on the range that day, but he sure hadn’t won her back. Which only added insult to injury. That whistle had always brought her right to the pasture fence at a full run for an apple or a carrot and a nose rub. It had almost worked today, but not quite, not with that young stallion keeping watch.

Drake hadn’t found the latest missing calf, either. He’d repaired one of the gates on the north pasture—and discovered he had exactly the same problem with the one just east of it. Then he had to call the vet to come out because he had a cow dropping a calf and she was in obvious trouble...

Every single minute of the day had brought new problems.

Add to that the young graduate student who, for some reason he couldn’t understand, was now living in the same house. His house. He’d deposited her near the porch when they got back, and he’d ridden away. Surely that was polite enough. Especially since he wasn’t interested in being part of her “study.”

He remembered to take off his boots in the nick of time, leaving them on the porch. Harry would lynch him if he mucked up her floors, after delivering a loud lecture of the how-many-times-do-I-have-to-tell-you variety. In his sock feet, he hung up his coat and headed for his room. A long shower and a hot meal would solve some of his problems.

But not all of them.

He met Luce Hale as soon as he’d rounded the corner and stepped into the hallway. Actually, he practically body-slammed the woman and would have sent her sprawling if he hadn’t been so quick to grab her by the shoulders.

Getting another look at her, he realized she was a hell of a lot prettier than he’d thought at first, now that she’d shed her rain gear. In fact, she was very pretty, with her long chestnut hair and incredible tawny eyes, and that tall, toned and athletic body of hers. Seeing her in the formfitting jeans and pink shirt she’d changed into, he could believe she’d done plenty of hiking.

He, on the other hand, probably looked as if he’d been hog-tied and dragged through a mudhole. He might’ve had to do some hiking himself earlier, come to think of it, when a bolt of lightning spooked his horse while he was checking out a broken gate. On foot, he’d managed to catch hold of the reins just before Starburst lit out for the barn and left him behind—no matter how loudly he whistled.

“S-sorry,” she stammered as she hastily stepped back. “This place is the size of a hotel—I keep getting turned around.”

This part of the house did involve quite a few hallways and bedrooms. The plantation-style setup was hardly a cozy bungalow. The size of the place meant it was easy for Drake and both his brothers—and now Slater’s wife, Grace, plus her stepson—to continue living there without colliding at every turn. Each brother had his separate space.

Slater was out of town half the time, anyway, filming on location. Mace sometimes slept at the winery in his comfortable office, and Drake was out all day. So while they lived in the same house, they often didn’t see one another except at dinner. The situation was a little different now, since Slater and Grace had a baby on the way, but Grace and his mother got along well and spent a lot of time together.

“Dining room is that way.” He pointed.

Luce, evidently, was in no hurry to get to the table, and her project was very much on her mind. “Do you normally get home this time of day? Will you be going back out?”

Oh, great. So it begins. The “study” of his movements and the inquisition that would undoubtedly follow.

“Yes.”

She nodded, obviously making a note of his answer.

Drake had an urge to sigh, but didn’t. This was not what he needed right now.

Or ever.

He was going to have a word with his mother about this situation and her failure to discuss it with him.

Still, he made an effort to be civil, if not cordial, grumpy mood notwithstanding. “I sometimes eat with the ranch hands—they have their own kitchen, off the bunkhouse—and I have to go out and see to the livestock after supper, close the gate to the main drive, check the stables.” That was enough information for one evening, as far as he was concerned. Under normal circumstances, he didn’t say that many words in a whole day. “Please excuse me, I really need a shower. Sorry. I didn’t do your formerly clean shirt any favors when I, ah, ran into you.”

It didn’t help when Ms. Hale grinned as she surveyed his disheveled appearance. “Can’t disagree with that.”

“It’s been a long day and it’s far from over,” he said as he walked away. Drake wasn’t usually self-conscious, but he was aware that he wasn’t at his charming best, either. If he ever was charming.

Slater could be charming. Mace was smooth, when he wanted to be. But Drake was no talker, smooth or otherwise. He tended to be distracted and was always either busy or tired, or both.

Meeting a beautiful woman in the hall while covered in dirt didn’t exactly boost his confidence.

And judging by Luce’s teasing smile, she thought the situation was funny.

Well, that was just great. On top of everything else, he was stuck with a city girl who planned on following him around day and night, asking dumb questions and making notes.

The uncivilized cowboy in his natural habitat.

He flat out wasn’t interested. Not in the role of lab rat. The woman, unfortunately, was another story.

And that just made things worse.

Once he’d reached his room, he shut the door hard, kicked off his boots, peeled off his shirt, which stuck to his skin.

At least he didn’t have a farmer’s tan going, he observed, after a glance in the mirror; what he had was a rancher’s tan. He was brown from elbow to wrist, since he had a habit of rolling up his sleeves when the weather was decent, and the brim of his hat saved him from the famous red neck.

Tanned or not, he felt about as sexy as a tractor—and why the hell he was thinking along such lines in the first place was beyond him. Luce made for some mighty fine scenery all on her own, but that wasn’t reason enough to put up with her, or have her stuck to his heels 24/7.

Besides, she was a know-it-all.

He moved to a window, looked out, drank in what he saw. Even in the rain, the scenery was beautiful.

Drake’s bedroom was on the eastern side of the house, which was convenient for someone who got up at sunrise, his favorite time of day. He never got tired of watching the first dawn light brightening the peaks of the mountains, of anticipating the smell of damp grass and the fresh breeze. He liked to absorb the vast quietness, draw it into his very cells, where it sustained him in ways that were almost spiritual.

He loved the sights and sounds of twilight, too. The lowering indigo of the sky, the stars popping out, clear and bright—unsullied by the false glow of crowded communities—the lonely howl of a wolf, the yipping cries of coyotes.

Drake had little use for cities.

Sure, he traveled now and then, for meetings and a few social functions his mother dragged him to, but Mustang Creek suited him just fine. It was small, an unpretentious place, full of decent, hardworking people who voted and went to church and were always ready with a howdy or a helping hand.

Crowds were rare in those parts, except during tourist seasons—summer, when vacationers came to marvel at Yellowstone or the Grand Tetons, and winter, when the skiers and snowboarders converged. But a person got used to things like that.

Drake left the window, went into his bathroom, finished undressing and took a steaming shower, letting the hard spray pound the soreness out of his muscles and thaw the chill in his bones.

Afterward, he chose a white shirt and a pair of jeans, got dressed, combed his hair. He considered shaving, but he was blond, so his light stubble didn’t show too much, and anyway, there was a limit to how much fuss he was willing to undergo. He was starting to feel like a high school kid getting ready for a hot date, not a tired man fixing to have supper in his own house.

Shaking his head at his own musings, he looked at the clock—Harry served supper right on schedule, devil take the hindmost—and then he made for the dining room, which was downstairs and on the other side of the house.

As far as Harry was concerned, showing up late for a meal was the eighth deadly sin. If he was delayed by an unexpected problem, she understood and saved him a plate—as long as he let her know ahead of time.

If he didn’t, he was out of luck.

And he was so ravenous, he felt hollow.

He had one minute to spare when he slid into his seat. The dogs, Harold and Violet, immediately headed for the kitchen, since it was suppertime for them, too. They had it cushy for ranch dogs, sleeping in the house and all, but they weren’t allowed to beg at the table and they knew it. Plus, they both adored Harry, who probably slipped them a scrap or two, on the sly, just to add a little zip to their kibble.

Tonight, the beef stew smelled better than good. Harry knew how to hit that particular culinary note. Stew was one of her specialties—great on a rainy day—and he was starved, so when she brought in the crockery tureen and set it in the middle of the table, he favored her with a winning smile.

Harry didn’t respond, except to wave off his grin with a motion of one hand.

So far, Drake thought, he had the whole table to himself—not a bad thing, when you considered the extent of his brothers’ appetites.

Harry left the room, returned momentarily with a platter of fresh-baked biscuits and the familiar butter dish.

Things were looking up, until Mace ambled in and took his place across from Drake. Slater soon appeared, along with Grace, smiling and sitting down in their customary chairs, side by side. Drake and Mace, having risen to their feet when their sister-in-law entered, sat again.

If their mother, Blythe, was around, she was occupied elsewhere.

Once settled, everybody eyed the soup tureen, but nobody reached for the spoon. In the Carson house, you waited until all expected diners were present and accounted for, or you suffered the consequences.

“Where’s Ryder?” Mace asked. They all liked Grace’s teenage stepson and considered him part of the family.

“Basketball practice,” Grace replied, arranging her cloth napkin on her lap. Drake and his brothers would have been all right with the throwaway kind, or even a sheet of paper towel, but Blythe and Harry took a dim view of both, except at barbecues and picnics.

Luce trailed in then, looking a little shy.

Slater, Mace and Drake stood up again, and she blushed slightly and glanced down at her jeans and shirt—blue this time—as though she thought there might be a dress code.

Drake drew back the chair next to his, since there was a place setting there and his mother always sat at the head of the table.

Luce hesitated, then seated herself.

Harry bustled in, carrying a salad bowl brimming with greens.

“Go ahead and eat,” she ordered good-naturedly. “Your mother’s having supper in her office again. She’ll see all of you later, she said.”

Having delivered the salad, the housekeeper deftly cleared away the dishes and silverware at Blythe’s place and vanished into the kitchen.

For a while, nobody said anything, which was fine with Drake. He was hungry, fresh out of conversation and so aware of the woman sitting beside him that his ears felt hot.

He helped himself to stew and salad and three biscuits when his turn came and hoped Luce wouldn’t whip out a notebook and a pen and make a record of what he ate and the way he ate it.

There was some chitchat, Grace and Slater and Mace all trying to put Luce at ease and make her feel welcome.

Relieved, Drake ate his supper and kept his thoughts to himself.

Then, from across the table, his younger brother dragged him into the discussion.

“So,” Mace began, “have you warned Luce here that she ought to be careful because you like to swim naked in the creek some mornings?” He paused, ignoring Drake’s scowl. “I’m just saying, if she’s going to follow you around and all, certain precautions ought to be taken.”

Drake narrowed his eyes and glared at his brother, before stealing a sidelong look at Luce to gauge her reaction.

There wasn’t one, nothing visible, anyway. Luce seemed intent on enjoying Harry’s beef stew, but something in the way she held herself told Drake she was listening, all right. She’d have had to be deaf not to hear, of course.

Drake summoned up a smile, strictly for Luce’s benefit, and said, “Don’t pay any attention to my brother. He’s challenged when it comes to table manners, and he’s been known to dip into his own wine vats a little too often. Must have pickled his brain.”

“Now, boys,” Grace said with a pleasant sigh. “Let’s give Luce a little time to get used to your warped senses of humor, shall we?”

Slater met Drake’s gaze, saying nothing, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

Mace pretended to be aggrieved, not by Grace’s attempt to change the course of the conversation, but by Drake’s earlier remark. “My wine,” he said, “is the finest available. It won’t pickle anything.”

“That so?” Drake asked. In the Carson household, bickering was a tradition, like touch football was with the Kennedys. He was beginning to enjoy himself, and not be so worried about the impression all this might make on Luce. “I seem to remember a science project—the one that almost got Ryder kicked out of school last term? Something about dissolving a tenpenny nail in a jar of your best Cabernet.”

“Stop,” Grace said, closing her eyes for a moment.

Luce giggled, although the sound was nearly inaudible.

“Why?” Mace asked reasonably. Like Drake, he loved Grace.

“Because it wasn’t a tenpenny nail,” Grace replied, looking to Slater for help, which wasn’t forthcoming. Her husband was buttering his second biscuit and grinning to himself.

“Your problem,” Mace told Drake, “is that you are totally unsophisticated. To you, warm generic beer from a can is the height of elegance.”

Let the games begin.

“I’m unsophisticated?” Drake raised his brows. “This from a man who wore different colored socks just the other day? That was sophisticated, all right.”

Mace looked and sounded pained. “Hey, it was dark when I got dressed, and I was in a hurry.”

“I bet you were,” Drake shot back. “Come to think of it, little brother, those might not have been your socks in the first place. Guess it all depends on whose bedroom floor you found them on.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Grace said, tossing a sympathetic glance Luce’s way.

“Are they always like this?” Luce asked.

“Unfortunately,” Grace answered, “yes.”

Just then, Blythe Carson breezed in, carrying a place setting and closely followed by Ryder.

“We’ve decided to join you,” Blythe announced cheerfully.

“Thank God,” Grace murmured.

Ryder, holding a bowl and silverware of his own, sat down next to his mother. “Basketball practice got out early,” he said. He nodded a greeting to Luce and reached for the stew.

Blythe Carson, more commonly known as “Mom,” sat down with a flourish and beamed a smile at Luce. “How nice to see you again,” she said. “I hope my sons have been behaving themselves.”

“Not so much,” Grace said.

“Hey,” Slater objected, elbowing his wife lightly. “I have been a complete gentleman.”

“You’ve been a spectator,” Grace countered, hiding a smile.

“All I did,” Mace said, “was warn Luce about Drake’s tendency to skinny-dip at every opportunity. Seemed like the least I could do, considering that she’s a stranger here, and a guest.”

“Hush,” said Blythe.

Harry reappeared with a coffeepot in one hand and a freshly baked pie in the other.

Once she’d set them down, she started whisking stew bowls out from under spoons. When she decided a course was over, and that folks had had enough, she took it away and served the next one.

Blythe sparkled.

The coffee was poured and the pie was served.

Ryder excused himself, saying he had homework to do, and left, taking his slice of apple pie with him.

The others lingered.

Grace, yawning, said she thought she’d make it an early night and promptly left the table, carrying her cup and saucer and her barely touched pie to the kitchen before heading upstairs.

Blythe remained, watching her sons thoughtfully, each in turn, before focusing on Mace. “Seriously?” she said. “You brought up skinny-dipping?”

Luce, who had been soaking up the conversation all evening, and probably taking mental notes, finally spoke up.

She smiled brightly at Slater, then Mace, and then Drake. “I enjoy skinny-dipping myself, once in a while.” She paused, obviously for effect. “Who knows, maybe I’ll join you sometime.”

Blythe laughed, delighted.

Mace and Slater picked up their dishes, murmured politely and fled.

“I’d better help Harry with the dishes,” Blythe said, and in another moment, she was gone, too.

* * *

LUCE TURNED TO DRAKE, all business. “Now, then,” she said, “the wild herd has almost doubled in size since you first reported their presence to the Bureau of Land Management several years ago. What accounts for the increase, in your opinion?”

The change of subject, from skinny-dipping to the BLM, had thrown Drake a little, and Luce took a certain satisfaction in the victory, however small and unimportant.

The room was empty, except for them, and Luce was of two minds about that. On the one hand, she liked having Drake Carson all to herself. On the other, she was nervous to the point of discomfort.

Drake, she noticed, had recovered quickly, and with no discernible brain split. He’d probably never been “of two minds” about anything in his life, Luce thought, with some ruefulness. Unless she missed her guess, he was a one-track kind of guy.

Now he leaned back in his chair, his expression giving nothing away. And, after due deliberation, he finally replied to her question.

“What accounts for the increase? Well, Ms. Hale, that’s simple. Good grazing land and plenty of water—the two main reasons my family settled here in the first place, over a hundred years ago.”

She wondered if he might be holding back a sarcastic comment, something in the category of any-idiot-ought-to-be-able-to-figure-that-out.

She had, in fact, taken note of the obvious; she’d put in long hours mapping out the details of her dissertation. She wanted his take on the subject, since that was the whole point of this or any other conversational exchange between them.

Okay, so she wasn’t an expert, but she was eager to learn. Wasn’t that what education was all about, from kindergarten right on up through postgraduate work?

She decided to shut down the little voice in her head, the one that presumed to speak for both her and Drake, before it got her into trouble.

“What makes it so good?” she asked with genuine interest. “The type of grass?”

His gaze was level. “There’s a wide variety, actually, but quantity matters almost as much as quality in this case.” A pause. “By the way, there are a lot more wild horses in Utah than here in Wyoming.”

Zap.

“Yes, I know that,” Luce replied coolly, determined to stay the course. She hadn’t gotten this far by running for shelter every time she encountered a challenge. “And I realize you would prefer I went there to do my research,” she countered, keeping her tone even and, she hoped, professional. “Bottom line, Mr. Carson, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why here? Why me?” For the first time, he sounded plaintive, rather than irritated.

“Fair questions,” Luce conceded. “I chose the Carson ranch because it meets all the qualifications and, I admit, because my mother knows your mother. I guess that sort of answers your second inquiry, too—you’re here, and you run the place. One thing, as they say, led to another.” She let her answer sink in for a moment, before the windup. “And, I will admit, your commitment to animal rights intrigues me.”

That was all Drake needed to know, for the time being. If she had a weakness for tall, blond cowboys with world-class bodies and eyes so blue it almost hurt to look into them, well, that was her business.

He surprised her with a slanted grin. “I know when I’m licked,” he drawled.

The remark was anything but innocent, Luce knew that, but she also knew that if she called him on it, she’d be the one who looked foolish, not Drake.

Bad enough that she blushed, hot and pink, betrayed by her own biology.

He watched the whole process, clearly pleased by her involuntary reaction.

She had to look away, just briefly, to recover her composure. Such as it was.

“This can be easy,” she said when she thought she could trust her voice, “or it can be har—difficult.”

Wicked mischief danced in his eyes. “The harder—more difficult—things are,” he said, “the better I like it.”

Luce wanted to yell at him to stop with the double entendres, just stop, but she wasn’t quite that rattled. Yet.

Instead, she breathed a sigh. “Okay,” she said. “Fine. We understand each other, it would seem.”

“So it would seem,” he agreed placidly, and with a smile in his eyes.

Luce would’ve liked to call it a day and return to her well-appointed guest room, which was really more of a suite, with its spacious private bathroom, sitting area and gorgeous antique furnishings, but she didn’t. Not only would Drake have the last word if she bailed now, she’d feel like a coward—and leave herself open to more teasing.

“We have one thing in common,” she said.

“And what would that be, Ms. Hale?”

Damn him. Would it kill the man to cut her a break?

“Animals,” she answered. Surely he wouldn’t—couldn’t—disagree with that.

He looked wary, although Luce took no satisfaction in that. “If I didn’t like them,” he said, his tone guarded now, and a little gruff, “I wouldn’t do what I do.”

Like all ranchers, he’d probably taken his share of flack over the apparent dichotomy between loving animals and raising them for food, but Luce had no intention of taking that approach. Would have considered it dishonorable.

She enjoyed a good steak now and then herself, after all, and she understood the reality—everything on the planet survives by eating something else.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she said.

Drake relaxed noticeably, and it seemed to Luce that something had changed between them, something basic and powerful. They weren’t going to be BFFs or anything like that—the gibes would surely continue—but they’d set some important boundaries.

They were not enemies.

In time, they might even become friends.

While Luce was still weighing this insight in her head, Drake stood, rested his strong, rancher’s hands on the back of her chair.

“It’s been a long day, Ms. Hale,” he said. “I reckon you’re ready to turn in.”

At her nod, Drake waited to draw back her chair. As she rose, she watched his face.

“Thank you,” she said. Then she smiled. “And please, call me Luce.”

Drake inclined his head. “All right, then,” he replied, very quietly. “Shall I walk you to your room, or can you find your way back there on your own?”

Luce laughed. “I memorized the route,” she answered. Then, pulling her smartphone from the pocket of her jeans, she held it up. “And if that fails, there’s always GPS.”

Drake smiled. “You’ll get used to the layout,” he told her.

“Here’s hoping,” Luce said, wondering why she was hesitating, making small talk, of all things, when most of her exchanges with this man had felt more like swordplay than conversation.

“Good night—Luce.” Drake looked thoughtful now, and his gaze seemed to rest on her mouth.

Was he deciding whether or not to kiss her?

And if he was, how did she feel about it?

She didn’t want to know.

“Good night,” she said.

She left the dining room, left Drake Carson and was almost at the door of her suite before the realization struck her.

She’d gotten the last word after all.

CHAPTER THREE

DRAKE ROLLED OUT of bed at his usual time, ignored the clock—since his inner one was the real guide—and pulled on his jeans.

Harold and Violet both got up, tails wagging.

Boots next, hat planted on his head and, seconds later, he was out the door. He’d grab coffee at the bunkhouse. Red, the foreman, was always up and ready, and that seasoned old cowboy could herd cattle with the best of them. Drake drove his truck over just as dawn hit the edge of sunrise and, sure enough, he could smell coffee.

Red, who did a mean scrambled egg dish and some terrific hash browns, was already done eating, elbows on the farmhouse-style table, something he never did when he ate up at the house. He nodded good morning and went back to his book, which happened to be Shogun by James Clavell. Drake wasn’t surprised at his choice. Red looked like a classic, weathered Wyoming ranch hand, which he was, but he also fancied himself a gourmet cook—he could give Harry a run for her money now and then—and he listened more often than not to classical music. The package wasn’t all that sophisticated, but there was a keen intellect inside.

Drake fed the dogs, helped himself to a plate of eggs and potatoes, ate with his usual lightning speed and got up to wash the dishes. That was the arrangement and it was fine with him. He’d had to cook for himself in college and discovered he didn’t have the patience for it. He’d survived on hamburgers fried in a pan, sandwiches and spaghetti prepared with jarred sauce. Coming back to Harry’s or Red’s cooking made all those winter morning rides to feed the stock, with the wind tossing snow in his face and biting through his gloves, worth it. If Red cooked breakfast, he would wash up, no problem.

“How’s the horse lady?” Red put a bookmark between the pages and shut the novel, setting it aside.

Drake braced himself for a sip of coffee—Red was a great cook, but his coffee could strip the hide off a steer—before he answered. “Enthusiastic college girl. Bright, but has no idea what she’s getting into. I have the impression that she likes to be outdoors, since she hiked all the way to the north ridge, can you believe that? But I don’t think she really knows anything about horses, wild or domesticated.”

“The north ridge?” It wasn’t easy to surprise Red, but he just had.

“Yup. I gave her a lift home on Starburst, but she was planning to walk it. Go figure.”

“Can’t.”

“Me, neither.” Drake spent nearly all his time outdoors, and if he had the right weather, he sometimes canoed and did some fishing in the Bliss River, but he wasn’t a hiker.

“The outdoorsy type. That’s good. You need a dainty debutante like you need a big hole in your John B. Stetson.”

Such a Red thing to say. Drake didn’t need another female in his life right now, period. He had his mother, Harry, his niece, Daisy—Slater’s daughter by an earlier relationship—and, now that Slater had finally settled down, his sister-in-law, Grace. The men were getting outnumbered even before the arrival of Ms. Hale.

Drake shrugged. “She’s pretty, I’ll give her that.”

“That so?” Red grinned. “Easy on the eyes, huh? And you’ve noticed.”

“I’m not blind, but that doesn’t mean I want her here.” That was the truth. “I just plain don’t want the complication.”

“Women complicate just about everything, son.”

That he agreed with, at least based on his own observations—and experience. So he changed the subject. “Move the bull to the high pasture for a few days? I think he needs new grazing. After that, we’ll get feed out and tackle the faulty gate.”

“You’re the boss.”

Technically, he thought, but Red was the one who really ran the show. Drake was born and raised on this land, but Red had more ranching experience. Drake always asked for his advice and ended up regretting the few times he hadn’t followed it. “He’s getting old.”

“Sherman? That he is.”

“So...what do you suggest?”

“We need a new bull.” Red got up and refilled his cup. “Been meaning to say it, but I know you don’t want to part with that critter. Don’t move him. He’s getting touchy in his old age. Just retire him. Sherman has more gray on his snout than I do in my hair. Out to pasture will work fine. We have the land to keep him in comfort.”

“My father raised that bull.” Drake’s throat tightened.

“I know. I was there. I’m hurting, too. Think of it this way—he’s done his job. If I thought a recliner and a remote would make him happy, I’d give him both. Sherman is a tired old man.”

He’d asked, after all. Drake ran his fingers through his hair. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought about it. He exhaled. “I don’t disagree. Not from a practical point of view, anyway. Auctions, then? Or do you have another bull in mind?”

Red scratched his chin. “I might go into town and ask Jim Galloway. Been meaning to stop by and see him and Pauline, anyway. He knows most of the livestock breeders in the state.”

Jim was the father of one of Slater’s best friends, Tripp Galloway, a pilot who’d returned to his roots and, like Drake, had taken over the family ranch near Mustang Creek after Jim remarried and retired. “Good call.” Drake managed to down the last of his coffee—not easy, since it was particularly make-your-hair-stand-on-end this morning—and set down his cup. “I’m going to help you with the horses and then ride out.”

“Sorry I’m late.”

The breathless interruption made him swivel toward the plain wooden doorway. He saw with dismay that Luce Hale stood there, hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, wearing a baggy sweatshirt with well-worn jeans, backpack in hand. She added, “That is one very comfortable bed, so I slept longer than I intended. Your mother should run a hotel. Where are we headed?”

We? First of all, he hadn’t invited her to the party. Second, the woman couldn’t even ride a horse.

And damned if Red wasn’t snickering. Not openly, he’d never be that rude, but there was laughter in his eyes and he’d had to clear his throat—several times.

He should be at least as polite. Grudgingly, he said, “Red, meet Ms. Lucinda Hale. Ms. Hale, Red here runs the operation but likes to pretend I do.”

Red naturally shuffled over to take her hand, playing it up. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. So you’re here to study that worthless cowpoke?” He leveled a finger in Drake’s direction. “Hmm, prepare to be disappointed. Kinda boring would be my take on him. I’ve tried to take the boy in hand, but it hasn’t worked. Nary a shoot-out, no saloons and he has yet to rescue a damsel in distress, unless you count the time Harry had a flat tire and he had to run into town to change it, but I swear that’s just ’cause he’s more afraid of her than he is of an angry hornet. Would you like a cup of coffee, darlin’?”

Red was ever hopeful that someone might like his coffee—he called it Wyoming coffee, which was quite a stretch, since he seemed to be the only one in the entire state who liked it.

Okay, she was an annoyance in his already busy life, but Drake was about to rescue a damsel who’d be in true distress if she agreed to that coffee.

He said coolly, “I’m off to the glamorous world of feeding the horses and then fixing a gate. I also need to look for a missing calf and am fairly sure it’s a goner. Please don’t let the excitement of my day overwhelm you, but come along if you want. You’ll have to skip the coffee.”

She tilted her head to one side, considering him, obviously undeterred. “I need to see if the wild horses affect how you run your business. Therefore, I need to know how you run it in the first place. I want to find what you do day-to-day.”

Why hadn’t she picked a topic she actually knew something about before deciding on this venture? Like buying shoes, for instance.

Not fair, he corrected himself. She had trekked all the way to that ridge—in hiking boots, no less, nothing fashionable about those—and she’d found the horses. Maybe he was underestimating Ms. Hale. She was certainly determined, no doubt about that. “Follow along. Be my guest. If you enjoy the smell of manure and hay, I’m more than happy to escort you to the stables.”

For that condescending statement he received a derisive look. “I can find the stables on my own. I promise I won’t get in your way. This project is important to me, and as far as I can tell, it’s important to you.”

He failed to see the logic there. “How so?”

“What if I can help you figure out what to do?”

Drake was honest, but he was also diplomatic—or so he hoped. He fought back a response that included How the heck could you help me? and substituted, “I look forward to your suggestions.”

* * *

LUCE COULDN’T DECIDE if he was just being sarcastic, but at least he was courteous.

She’d meant it.

“You don’t think I can help?”

He walked next to her, toward a weathered structure bordered by a fenced enclosure. Several sleek horses were grazing and lifted their heads to watch as they approached, curious but unafraid. Some of them nickered, wanting his attention. “You don’t know horses.”

“Wrong.”

She was above average height for a woman and still reached only his shoulder. He was one tall man. She’d mostly seen him on horseback or sitting at the dinner table with his brothers, who were also tall, so she hadn’t realized.

He looked skeptical. “How am I wrong?”

“I don’t know them the same way you do. I’ve worked on a lot of studies, read the literature, done my homework, so to speak, but that doesn’t mean I completely understand their behavior. I do, however, understand the situation.”

She’d describe his expression as unconvinced.

“That’s fine,” he said. “You go about your business and I’ll go about mine.”

“Suit yourself.”

You are my business. She didn’t say it out loud, but it was true. She found it disconcerting to recognize that he might be more interesting than those beautiful horses. When her thesis topic had first come to her, she’d wondered abstractly how wild horses impacted the environment.

Here she was now, and she had a Zen-like feeling that maybe fate was toying with her. At first he’d caught her attention because, from what she’d read, they shared similar views on ecological issues, but there was more to it.

Drake opened the stable door. “After you.”

The place smelled earthy, lined with rows of neat stalls, and Drake was greeted with soft whinnies as the animals poked their heads over the stall doors. He was gently companionable with each one, unhurried in his attentions. Luce was moved by this, but not really surprised; the way the dogs followed him around, quiet and devoted, had told her a lot about the man. In her experience animals had more insight than people normally did, so that said something very positive about Drake Carson.

“Anything I can do?”

“I doubt it.” He carried a bucket of water into a stall and softened that by adding, “By the time I told you what to do, I could probably have done it myself.”

“Probably,” she conceded, “but keep in mind, I’m a fast learner.”

He turned, empty bucket in hand, and gave her a measured look. “Good to know.”

She caught on quickly that they were no longer talking about feeding a barn full of horses. Her response was tart. “Isn’t it a little early in the morning for sexual innuendos, Mr. Carson?”

“I figure all twenty-four hours of the day are good for those.” He led out his big horse and she scooted aside. “I’m going to saddle up and ride out now. You do whatever you want to, but I have a gate to fix and that has nothing to do with wild horses and everything to do with keeping the cattle in that pasture.”

“I can’t ride along?”

He went into a small room and emerged with a well-worn saddle. “Grace’s horse, Molly, is in that stall.” He pointed. “Saddle her and follow me if you like. For now, I need to move along. Have a nice morning.”

It took him about three minutes to saddle his horse, slip on the bridle and mount up. Then he was heading out, the beautiful dogs trotting alongside. She’d yet to even hear them bark.

Learn to saddle a horse—that was item number one on her to-do list. But first she hurried to the doorway to see which direction Drake had gone. Maybe she couldn’t ride or fling saddles around with any confidence, but she was wearing her hiking boots, had a bottle of water in her pack and a sack lunch Harry had handed her as she’d hurried out the door. If dinner the night before was any indication, there could be something magical in there.

Perfect day for a walk.

That obnoxious cowboy wasn’t getting rid of her as easily as he thought.

Besides, she was hoping to take more pictures of the horses. She’d gotten some good shots, but she hoped to do that each and every time she was close enough to manage it. She’d already caught an excellent image of the stallion; she knew more about horses than Drake gave her credit for. It was obvious to her that the magnificent animal was the one in charge of the herd—even before she’d listened to the conversation at dinner. He was beautiful, too, with clean lines and fluid grace.

If she could find Drake, she’d photograph him at work, whether he liked it or not. Better to ask forgiveness, as the saying went, than permission. Besides, it wasn’t as if she was going to publish them or anything. They were purely for research purposes. Having a physical record would help her organize her notes when she began the process of writing the actual paper. As she hefted her pack and left the barn, the sun-gilded Tetons felt like familiar friends, the glory of the setting an undeniable perk. There was still snow on the peaks, and the air was crisp and fresh.

Lovely, lovely day.

CHAPTER FOUR

IT HAD ALREADY been one hell of a day, and there was still a long trail ahead.

Drake tried to concentrate on fixing yet another gate hinge so rusted it was next to impossible to remove the screws without help. Red had sacrificed some of his considerable pride by turning the job over to a younger man. Luckily, the old bull in the pasture beyond hadn’t figured out how easy it would’ve been to bust the thing and make a run for it.

Slater was lending him a hand by holding the gate steady.

As he worked, Drake mulled over a more complex problem.

He felt guilty for ditching Lucinda Hale on a daily basis this past week. It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand her zeal for the animals. It was just that at the beginning, middle and end of the day, or any time he really didn’t need a shadow, she seemed to appear. And what made it worse was the fact that he couldn’t stop himself from worrying about her.

Drake totally understood her objectives, but this was his land, so every creature on it was his to take care of, with the exception of his brothers, who could handle themselves. He even worried about Red, since he was showing his age but refused to slow down. In his entire life Drake had never known the man to go to a doctor. Once, Red had fractured his arm breaking a colt and the vet had been handy, since he was taking care of one of the horses. So Red had asked him to set it and wrap it in an Ace bandage, then used a makeshift sling made from an old halter and lead. They’d all shaken their heads over that one, especially the vet.

With a motion of his hand, Drake indicated the bull grazing nearby. “Red’s going to ask Jim Galloway to recommend the best stock breeder he knows, not just in Bliss County, but in the state. We could use some new blood.” He dropped a crowbar into his tool kit and wiped his brow. “Damn hot out here. Shades of summer, I guess.”

“Not much of a breeze, either,” Slater observed, using a cordless drill to put the first screw into the new hinge. “That sure isn’t usual in Wyoming.”

Drake grimaced. “I swear it only happens if you’re repairing a fence. That’ll make the breeze die down every single time. I’ll do the dirty work and hold it in place.”

The gate was heavy, but his older brother knew his stuff and the hinge was done in a matter of minutes. Slater leaned against the fence and crossed his arms. “So, still no missing calf?”

“Nope.” Drake had searched as far as anyone could in country this size and hadn’t found anything; that was predictable. “Not a trace.”

“Too bad—but here comes trouble of a different kind.” Slater’s grin was wide. “I think your campaign of avoidance is about to go south, brother. I have to give you credit. Up until now, you’ve been fairly successful.”

Damned if his brother wasn’t right. Drake saw the unmistakable outline of the female figure walking toward them, the sun catching the chestnut glints in her hair. Any trace of guilt was wiped clean by his irritation. He muttered, “I know you find this just hilarious, but how would you like it if some eager film student wanted to follow your every movement?”

“Hmm.” Slater nodded with exaggerated introspection. “Grace might not approve of this answer, but between you and me, if the nonexistent film student looked like Ms. Hale and I wasn’t happily married, I would have no objections at all.”

“She knows nothing about running a ranch.”

Slater burst out laughing. “So maybe you should teach her? I think that’s why she’s here.”

Starburst had the gall to lift his head and whinny in greeting as she walked up. Her cheeks held a slight flush, but otherwise the hike apparently hadn’t been that much of a challenge. Slater was watching in obvious amusement, so Drake tried to respond with equanimity. “You found us, I see.”

“And I did it without a horse,” she shot back defiantly.

He let the gibe pass. “Red will teach you to saddle one if you give him a sweet smile. Grace’s mare is gentle enough.” For a greenhorn.

“Why do I feel I’m being patronized?” So much for his attempt at subtlety. “Plus, you’ve been avoiding me.”

That was true. Slater was clearly enjoying the exchange. From the corner of his eye, Drake could see his brother grinning like a damn fool. “I’d say you are being patronized,” Slater said.

Luce seemed to be as annoyed by that as Drake was, so at least they had one thing in common.

“The wild horses are back on that ridge,” she said curtly.

Drake’s attention sharpened. “The entire herd?”

Luce nodded. “I spotted them as I walked up here. The stallion was standing at the top, watching me. A hundred feet away is my estimate.”

Drake felt a prickle of alarm. That was way too close. “A hundred feet?”

“Yes. That’s what I said.” In the next moment, she turned breezy. “I go looking for them every day, and when I’m lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time, I sit there as quietly as I can and try not to spook them. The big guy’s starting to get curious about what I might be up to.” A pause. “Should we go over and take a look if you’re done here?”

They could. Why not? Slater was still smiling to himself as he gathered up the tools, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t taking in every word.

Drake considered Luce’s invitation. He had plenty of other things to do, but he wouldn’t mind an opportunity to recover at least some of those mares. There were other considerations, of course. Starburst was not a small horse, and he might spook the herd. Size-wise, he and the stallion could stand shoulder to shoulder; they were both males, but Star was gelded.

If the stallion got aggressive, Starburst would come out the loser.

More likely, though, the wild horse would turn his mares and head for the hills, as he’d done all the other times.

Another part of Drake’s brain was caught upstream in the conversation. A hundred feet? She had gotten awfully close to those horses, and she didn’t seem to have the first clue how dangerous they could be.

“I’ll walk up there with you,” he said reluctantly. He asked his brother, “Mind unsaddling Starburst for me and letting him graze with the cattle?”

“Nope.” There was still a wicked glint in Slate’s eyes. “Have fun hiking in those boots.”

“I live in these boots,” Drake retorted. “I’ll be fine, big brother.”

“Just sayin’.”

“Thanks for your concern,” Drake responded drily. “You can put salve on my blisters and rub my feet when we get back.”

“I think you’ll have to find someone else for that.” Slater raised his brows and turned to Luce.

“No way.” She smiled. “If anyone’s entitled to a foot massage, it’s me. I’ll have walked up there twice today.”

“I learn something new about you every day.” Drake took his rope from Starburst’s saddle, in case it came in handy. He doubted he’d get close enough to use it, but stranger things had happened.

“You don’t know as much about me as you think you do. We only met eight days ago.”

He couldn’t possibly ignore that one. “Maybe it just seems longer. Let’s go.”

He received a well-deserved lethal look for that comment. “If you’re ready, cowboy.”

She led the way, sticking to the open areas, which told him she really wasn’t a greenhorn when it came to this sort of country.

She provided him with a very nice back view. Following her was no hardship.

He knew the trail to the ridge as well as anyone and better than most. Certainly better than she did. But she walked with a sense of purpose and he climbed behind her. Slater had a point about his cowboy boots, but he could cope. Those mares had cost the ranch a small fortune.

Sure enough, Luce was right. The group of horses was at the top, quietly cropping the grass, half-hidden by a line of aspen. Ever vigilant, the stallion noticed their approach, lifted his head and allowed them to get decently close, with little more than a warning snort. They stopped obediently behind a small group of bushes, fairly well hidden, but the stallion made clear that he knew they were there.

Luce whispered, crouching next to him, “Smoke’s in a good mood today.”

She’d named the horse. That figures.

Those mares were valuable, he reminded himself again, and losing them permanently would have an effect on the bottom line. “Smoke? That’s original,” he said sarcastically.

“Hey, he’s gray and black. Pet names are not my forte.”

Drake sighed. “That’s no pet, that’s more than half a ton of testosterone and muscle. I couldn’t take him, even in a fair fight. Think teeth and hooves.”

He might have come across as peevish; he was used to riding, not walking, and he’d broken a light sweat on their impromptu stroll. His companion, on the other hand, looked as if they’d been cruising some city park, throwing bread at ducks in ponds or whatever people did in places like that.

She gave him an assessing stare. “Yet I feel you are about to beat him—but not on a physical level.”

That was absolutely correct. “Yup. I’m going to win this one. I want my horses back, and he needs to go somewhere else.”

Easier said than done, of course. That horse had no respect for fences at all. He’d kicked his way through more than one to get at the mares. Drake had thought about building an enclosure like the ones they used for bull riding at rodeos. But getting him into it was quite the challenge. Although he and Luce had barely met, he sensed that she wasn’t going to agree with what he had to say next. “A tranquilizer dart is probably my best bet at this point. I’m going to hire someone to do it because that horse knows me. He’s smart. He knows exactly who runs this ranch. I’m a good shot, but this is about as close as I’ve ever gotten to him and I doubt I could do it from here.”

As predicted, she turned to scowl at him and said firmly, as if she had some authority over the situation, “No. You aren’t shooting him with anything.”

* * *

SHE’D GOTTEN SOME pretty good snaps of Drake Carson, shirtless, as he fixed that gate. He had impressive muscles and a six-pack stomach. Cowboy poster-boy material. Maybe someone needed to do a calendar with ranchers, like they did with firemen and athletes. She’d be happy to put him in it and leave it turned to that month forever. She had his grudging permission to shoot a few pictures of him if she wanted, but he hadn’t been very enthusiastic.

That was nothing compared to what was about to happen, though. They were about to get in a really big argument. She could feel it coming. Whenever she had a strong opinion, she couldn’t help expressing it, as her entire family would point out.

She stood up. “Smoke isn’t going to understand. He’ll hate it. Suddenly going to sleep and waking up somewhere else? How would you like that? Come up with some other idea.”

All the horses lifted their heads at the raised voice.

Drake straightened, too. “You have a better one?”

“Not yet.” She shook her head. “I just don’t want that.”

“Hell, neither do I. You come up with something else and I’ll listen.”

“I’m thinking on it.” She wasn’t thinking about anything else. Well, except him.

Here, among the horses, the mountains, the blue sky, he looked like the real deal, a cowboy all the way. Of course, that was probably because he was the real deal—and his authenticity wasn’t compromised by the exasperated expression on his face. She liked how he habitually tipped back his hat and then drew it forward.

“As I told you, I’ll ponder it,” she couldn’t resist saying.

“Ponder? Really? Is that how you think we talk out here?”

“It’s a perfectly good word.” She stood her ground. “People from California say it all the time.”

“Yeah, maybe a hundred years ago.” He gestured at the horses. “Smoke—if that’s what we’re going to call him—would be fine after the trank. But the point is, he has to go. He’s wreaking havoc with the ranch’s working horses. Get it? Put that in your thesis.”

“What if I could coax him into coming close enough so you could just catch him?”

“What?” He looked incredulous. “You can’t. He’s a wild stallion.”

“I think I could.”

He let out a long, slow breath. “You can’t even saddle a horse.”

“That’s a skill I intend to learn. Can I give it a try? By the way, I’m well aware that we aren’t talking about a domesticated animal. If we were, I wouldn’t be here.”

Drake threw up his hands. “This is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever had. He isn’t going to do it.”

“Let me try before you shoot him.”

That riled him. “I’m not going to shoot that horse or any other horse, for heaven’s sake! I’ll sedate him and have him moved to federal land set aside for wild horses. Not the same thing.”

It wasn’t as if she didn’t know that, but still...it was fun to tease him. She couldn’t believe she was about to ask this, but she’d been pretty brazen already. “Can you wait two more weeks? I need that much time for my study, and you’ve had this herd around for a while, anyway. Then I promise I’ll get out of your hair. I was planning on staying a month.”

A bribe of sorts, and a shameless one.

His cooperation in exchange for getting rid of her. She figured he might go for it.

“A month!” He seemed properly horrified.

“You’d have one less week with me—if you’ll just hold off a bit.”

He took the deal. He smiled grimly and jerked off his glove, then thrust out his hand. “Let’s shake on it.”

Solid grip. He didn’t try to break her fingers or anything, which she appreciated, since she could tell he’d reached the end of his patience.

He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

Was there any chance he’d actually pose for a formal photograph? Maybe next to that giant horse of his... Uh-uh, she thought wisely. This would not be the right moment to ask more of Mr. Drake Carson.

Instead, she said simply, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered as he stalked away. “All I ask is that you be a man of your word.”

“I’m not a man,” she called out to his retreating back.

“I’ve noticed that,” he said.

He didn’t turn around.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE WEEKLY POKER GAME was set up at Bad Billy’s Biker Bar and Burger Palace. Drake could use a cold one, so he approved of the choice. He spotted two of his friends already at the table, then sauntered up to the bar and nodded at Billy in greeting. “Who’s waiting tonight? Thelma?”

“Sure is. Full of piss and vinegar, too. Got into a fender bender on her way to work. You know how she loves that old car. You boys be on your best behavior.”

“Thanks for the warning.” Thelma was a crusty older lady who, like Harry, tolerated no nonsense. Billy didn’t need a bouncer; if anybody dared misbehave, Thelma effectively booted him out, although how she managed it when she was only about five feet high—and that was on a tall day—was a mystery. She never had a problem getting her point across, either. “Tell her I’ll have my usual, and be polite about it, okay? Especially if she’s in a no-bullshit mood.” The place seemed busier than ever that night.

Billy laughed, a low rumble in his wide chest. “You are a wise man, my friend. Our Thelma has a soft spot for you, but she’s about reached her cowboy quotient for the day, so I’ll go ahead and draw your beer myself.”

Tripp Galloway and Tate Calder were halfway through their first mugs of beer, elbows resting comfortably on the nicked wooden table. Tripp hooked a foot around a chair and tugged it out so Drake could sit. “You’re late, but Spence texted and said he was tied up, so you don’t get the slow prize this time. He figures maybe twenty minutes.”

Drake took the chair. In the background a jukebox was playing Willie Nelson and the place was loud, but never so loud that you couldn’t talk to the people at your table. One of the many reasons he disliked big cities was the noise—restaurants where you couldn’t hear yourself think, much less converse with the person next to you. Traffic snarls, horns honking, sirens blaring. The skyscrapers and office buildings made him feel hemmed in, and the smell of exhaust fumes followed you everywhere. Give him the sweet scent of long grass in a clean breeze.

Tate said, “I need to warn you that Thelma’s on the warpath and she’s headed this way.”

“Billy mentioned that she was in some kind of snit,” Drake muttered under his breath, just before she plonked down his beer.

“Carson, you’re always running late. And where’s that worthless Spence Hogan, anyway? I spent some quality time with him earlier.”

Spence was the chief of police, and whatever else she might be, Thelma was no criminal. Drake wondered what she meant, although he wasn’t stupid enough to ask.

Thelma had ringlets of gray hair, pale blue eyes, and wore her glasses on the end of her nose. As far as Drake could tell, she didn’t actually need them; they seemed to be mainly for effect, probably so she could glare at people over the top.

Then he abruptly remembered and said, “Oh, the accident. Yeah, I heard. Sorry about Frankie.”

She’d named her 1966 bright yellow Impala Frankie, and since this was Mustang Creek, he knew that car well. “That out-of-town asshole had no insurance. It’s going to cost me seven hundred bucks to fix the car. I can take that idiot to small claims court, and Spence is going to make sure his license is suspended, but that won’t do Frankie any good, will it?” She blew out a loud breath. “I’m really pissed off.”

Now, there was breaking news.

“As soon as Spence gets here, your food will be out.”

Tripp made the mistake of saying, “We haven’t ordered yet.”

Thelma sent him a look that would’ve scared the average grizzly bear. “All of you will have the special.”

Every one of them wanted to ask what the special might be, but none had the guts to do so.

“Get it?” she demanded, just in case they didn’t know what was good for them, which was whatever Thelma thought was good for them.

They sure did. Not one of them said a thing as Thelma walked away, ignoring a table full of customers madly waving to get her attention.

“I was kind of hoping for the bacon cheeseburger, but I’ll take whatever she sets in front of me,” Tate said. “Whew. I wouldn’t want to be the guy who made that grave error in judgment and hit her car. That had to be one hell of a conversation.”

“If I was Spence, I’d throw him in jail for his own protection.” Tripp drained what was left of his beer.

Drake didn’t disagree. “Now, back to the menu... I’m praying for chicken-fried steak, but I’ll roll with whatever happens to come my way. Did Red have a chance to talk to your dad?”

“About the bull, Sherman? Yeah, Jim will handle it—does him good to get involved. He misses that sort of thing.”

Jim, Tripp’s stepfather, had run the ranch for a long time before Tripp took over. Drake nodded. “I feel regretful about it. Sherman was great in his prime, but he’s not doing real well right now. Slowing down, you might say.”

Tripp got that faint grin on his face. “So, tell us about the student. The one who’s cuter than a pup in a little red wagon. That’s Red talking as you might’ve guessed, via Jim.”

“I already figured that out.” Drake took a long cool drink. It tasted great. “She’s fine. She’s trying—in more ways than one.” Tripp rolled his eyes at the pun, but Drake ignored him. “She’s a pretty graduate student who has no idea what she’s doing.”

“How pretty?” That was Tate, also grinning.

“Very,” he admitted, remembering the gold highlights in her hair.

“That’s what we heard.” Tripp was clearly teasing, but before Drake could respond, he lifted a hand. “I actually think that what she’s doing is important. I’ll bet most of America isn’t even aware we have wild horses, much less that they can be a problem. My two cents’ worth.”

Spence’s arrival stopped the discussion. He slid into the fourth chair at their table. Tall, with a natural air of command that wasn’t overstated, he was both confident and good at his job. “Thelma’s still mad, I take it.”

“She’s steaming,” Drake informed him. “Don’t try to order off the menu, my friend. She’s decided we’re all having the special, whatever that might be.”

“Gotcha.” Spence grimaced. “You should’ve been there when Junie got the call. She’s a seasoned dispatcher and even she was shaking her head. When Thelma asked that I personally respond, Junie threw me under the bus and said I would. Both of my deputies were laughing their asses off.”

They were all laughing, too, but instantly sobered when Thelma showed up with Spence’s beer, glowered at him and asked, “That noninsured yahoo in prison yet?”

“Took him there myself. Straight to the dungeon section. He’s chained to the wall.” Spence said it with a straight face.

Thelma did have a sense of humor and it finally surfaced. “See that he gets no food or water.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Your food will be right up. I’ll bring another round when you start your game. But then I’m cutting you off. Y’all have to drive home.” She stalked back toward the kitchen.

Spence said mildly, “I could point out that I walked from the station and Melody’s having dinner with Hadleigh and Bex, so she’s picking me up. But I think I’m just going to keep my mouth shut.”

“Good idea.” Tripp nodded. Since Hadleigh was his wife and Bex was married to Tate, they were undoubtedly doing the same thing. Drake had planned on having only two beers, anyway, so the decree didn’t bother him at all.

Their weekly poker game usually took a couple of hours. He’d be completely sober when he drove back to the ranch.

The special ended up being chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes and garden-fresh green beans, which meant it was his lucky night. Until he saw who was walking through the front door...

Ms. Lucinda Hale.

Drake couldn’t believe it. She spotted him and waved. She looked different with all that long hair in loose curls and a denim skirt that reached only midthigh, with some sort of frothy pink top that left her slender arms bare. Didn’t matter how she looked, though. She was still his nemesis. Or, if that was too fancy, he could just call her a pain in the butt. Focus. Poker night.

He waved back. What could he do but be polite? Tate narrowed his eyes. “That’s her? The graduate student? Pretty’s an understatement, I’d say.”

“Whatever.” He finished his first beer in a gulp and grumbled, “What she’s doing here, I don’t have a clue.”

“Maybe she heard that Billy serves the best burgers in town and decided to try one.” Tripp looked amused at Drake’s discomfort, especially when Luce started to walk toward them. “Here she comes. No offense, but I’ve never thought you were all that irresistible myself.”

That was not worth responding to.

They all stood when she walked in their direction.

“Hello.” Luce smiled at them, leaving Drake no choice but to introduce everyone. Once that was done, she said, “Please sit down and eat. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Mace is parking the car. Nice to meet all of you.”

About two seconds later, his brother strolled through the door, the slightest hint of a smirk on his face, as if he knew their arrival would annoy the hell out of him. Mace waved a casual hello and Luce went off to join him at a table in the corner, near the antique jukebox.

As if they were on a date or something. It definitely got to him, which he’d have to think about later.

“I guess you’re not the irresistible one, after all.” Tripp was joking, but his gaze was speculative. “You might want to adjust your expression, Carson, because Mace knows you even better than we do and he’ll be able to read it loud and clear.”

“What expression?” He caught the hint of defensiveness in his voice. Damn.

Spence said to Tate, “Two brothers after the same girl. Not a good scenario, is it?”

Tate took a bite and chewed for a minute as though he was thinking it over. “Especially if they live in the same house. Nope, not good at all.”

“I’m not ‘after’ her,” Drake snapped. He knew they were ribbing him, but he was afraid his current level of annoyance wasn’t solely because Mace had deliberately brought her to Billy’s to irritate him. They were best friends, yet they had fought like two male bighorn sheep their entire lives, arguing so much that even Slater had given up trying to tone them down. Unless it got physical, which it had once or twice when they were teens.

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