Always A Cowboy. Linda Miller Lael
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.
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