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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?”
