Always A Cowboy. Linda Lael Miller
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