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“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 (#ulink_c27c2ead-4705-5db8-98c6-a27aa8e4335e)
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.
