Once a Rancher (17 page)

Now if he could persuade Grace to become a permanent part of his life, as well...

“Maybe this weekend will settle things between Grace and me,” he said, idly setting aside his now-empty beer bottle. “One of the perks of having her ex-husband visiting—well, the only perk I can think of—is that he can keep an eye on Ryder while we take a short trip. Next week we're having the production meeting at the resort, so I'd like to suggest locations, take some pictures. Grace is going along.”

Drake scratched his chin, approval in his eyes. “That ought to do it. Though I was pretty sure the night you spent in Mace's office would've sealed the deal for you.”

Slater stared at him suspiciously. “There wasn't any betting on that night, was there? I swear—”

Drake did his best to look innocent, but failed. “Of course not! What do you take us for? This isn't Las Vegas, it's a working ranch.”

“Says the cowboy in the floppy old-lady hat watering flowers.”

That observation was ignored. “Hey, I need to ride out and do my usual gate check. Want to come with?”

He did. It was a fine night, and he still was in high spirits after seeing Grace. A relaxed evening ride sounded like the perfect ending to a day that had started with him rolling out of bed, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd been afraid she'd never agree to marry him, and he was an idiot for asking so early in their relationship.

The real problem, he mused as they walked over to the stable, was that he'd felt so
sure
. He thought maybe Grace was sure, too, but she was also scared. For some reason, he wasn't. Certain things made him nervous—like letting go of Daisy's bike that first time without training wheels. Or when his mother had called after a biopsy that turned out benign, but had him more upset than he'd even realized until the flood of relief left him weak-kneed. And yet, in the wake of his impromptu proposal, his attitude was that it had been the right decision.

Love was like fire, he decided. You could try to control it, but it wasn't always possible. Sometimes the flames burned you and sometimes they just warmed you from the inside out. Like now.

Good analogy, he thought with some satisfaction. But when he was tightening the cinch on his saddle his phone beeped and he frowned, taking it out of his pocket.

The text said:

Sorry, probably canceling this weekend. Something has happened.

He went from warm to ice-cold in a second.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

H
ANK
SAID
IRRITABLY
, “You might've pointed out that there's a problem. At the very least, Carson should've told me.”

Grace could take being blamed for the incident, but she didn't think Hank had any right to point a finger at Slater. What was
he
supposed to do? “You met him for less than two minutes. Besides, I'm not going to say he wouldn't consider it his concern, because he's been good to both Ryder and me, but I
can
say it would be presumptuous of him to mention one word to you. I'm sorry about what happened, but...”

He held the cloth to his head, looking a little gray. “Someone knocked me out cold, Grace. I can tell you aren't exactly surprised, and Ryder said there've been other incidents.”

The answer was yes to both. Did she have a suspicion that David Reinhart was starting to feel that his options were narrowing? Maybe even that his past was catching up to him? She did. He was smart enough to know it, too. For one thing, references were probably hard to come by.

She really hadn't expected physical violence, though, and she felt terrible about that. Bonaparte was nowhere to be found, either, which worried her, although by now she had a fair amount of confidence in his street smarts. That cat knew something was up.

“I think you were an unexpected complication,” Grace said, keeping her voice low so Ryder wouldn't hear their conversation. “No, I'm not surprised.
You
surprised
him
.”

“You know who it is?”

“I have a good idea but no proof.”

“Elaborate.”

She could do without the reprimand in that military tone. However, she wasn't the one who'd been clonked on the head. “Someone I fired didn't take it well, and he seems to be conducting a vendetta against me. Up until now, it's been relatively petty stuff. Assault is different from deflating tires and scratching some paint and even hacking into our email. So, like I said, my guess is that he didn't expect you to be here. He was going to pull another one of his stunts and you walked out and he panicked. So far, I can't prove anything. Are you
sure
you don't want to go to the hospital?”

“Positive. I've been shot at in five countries,” he said matter-of-factly, “but I come to a sleepy little town like Mustang Creek, Wyoming, and some idiot takes me down. The boys in my command would find it funny as hell.”

She didn't find it funny at all. Okay, no doctor. But what about a drink? He did approve of that plan. Somehow, somewhere, in
sleepy
Wyoming, Hank had managed to buy a bottle of his favorite whiskey, and since he truly did seem to be okay and obviously wasn't going to cooperate with her suggestion that he get checked out, the least she could do was pour him a drink. She went into her tidy kitchen and got out one of the crystal tumblers she owned but had never used. She put in a couple of ice cubes and was in the act of dashing the amber liquid into the glass when the police knocked.

Hank was obviously annoyed that she'd called them, but too bad. The deputy who showed up—one Ryan Grant—was professional and businesslike. However, she could tell that he wasn't used to what would be a serious crime in any city, big or small. Still, he asked the right questions, looked around and was taking notes when Slater arrived.

Enter the cavalry. The man practically fishtailed his truck into the driveway.

The last thing she needed was him walking through the front door, and she deduced immediately that his close friendship with the chief of police was probably part of the equation.

The deputy didn't help by addressing him with the ease of old acquaintance. “Hey, Slater. Thought you might show up.”

No secrets in Mustang Creek. Hadleigh and Melody had told her that flat out.
Just consider the mountains and the scenery as compensation for the lack of privacy
was their advice. People were nice, but it was a small town. Her romance with Slater Carson was already a topic of discussion, Melody had said. Once people got wind of the engagement...

Hold on
, she'd told them both.
There
is
no engagement. Not yet, anyway.

Now she threw Slater a quelling look. “I didn't call you.”

“Yeah, let's talk about that sometime. Why
didn't
you call me? Ryder did. What happened?”

“Ryder did?” Hank tossed aside the cold compress. “That a fact?”

She shoved the drink in his hand, since she could sense he was going to say something testy, which wouldn't help a thing. She had no time for male drama. “Please excuse us for a second, Hank and Deputy Grant.”

She grabbed Slater by the arm and tugged him outside onto the patio, leaving the deputy and Hank to hash out the details.

“You don't have to rush to my rescue,” she informed him, but truthfully, she was happy to see him. He looked tall and capable, and seeing Hank down and out had been a revelation about how vulnerable she and Ryder could be—despite her police training. The attack on her ex-husband had also revealed how easy it was to take someone unawares. If he'd known about the danger, Hank could have held his own and then some, so she felt a little guilty for not warning him that there was a problem.

No, a lot guilty.

“I'm not rushing to your rescue. Hell, Grace, I just saw you a short time ago, and then I got your message.
Something has happened?
What was I supposed to think? I know what's been going on. I wondered if you needed me, if I could help.
Something has happened
is hardly an adequate message. Then you cancel on me. It was all rather vague. At least Ryder thought I should know.”

He had a point. She said contritely, “Sorry. Finding my ex-husband unconscious on the patio blew my communication skills right out the window.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I forgive you, if you'll forgive me for rushing over. Let me make an educated guess. Hank isn't interested in the hospital, and if he'd seen anything, you'd be on the phone with Spence instead of having a deputy poking around. So we really haven't made much progress.”

“No.” She wished she could disagree. “Hank was taken completely off guard. That's my fault.”

“We'll figure this out.” He sounded very sure of himself.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Producer, how is it that you think you can do it better than a former police officer?”

“My network is a little larger.”

The Carson connections. He could even be right. In Mustang Creek the Carson name had influence—and they knew everyone in the area. “This has taken a different, more dangerous turn,” he said, his face grim. “Your ex-husband isn't a small guy. So if Reinhart is willing to go after Hank, no more fooling around. Ryder is still a kid, and former police officer or not, you're a woman. Let's just assume the worst could happen. I have a plan.”

That declaration made her pause. “Like?”

“I can move in here or you and Ryder can move to the ranch.”

If he moved in here...that would mean Hank and him in the same space.
That
was hardly going to work. “No.”

Slater's gaze was unflinching. “That was not a yes or no question.”

If it wasn't for the fact that she wanted to fling herself into his arms again, she'd be more irritated. Actually, she was irritated that she
wanted
to throw herself into his arms. “I don't want to leave either one of them here alone.”

“Then I move in.”

“Oh, more males,” she said sarcastically. “That works out well for me. Let's see, you, Ryder, Bonaparte and Hank? Where would you even sleep? The floor? Hank's got Ryder's room and Ryder's on the couch. And don't you dare say my bed.”

He did grin, but it held an edge of exasperation. “I'm suggesting a solution to keep us both sane. If you think for one minute that I'm not worried sick about you, get real. I'd happily camp out on the floor to keep you safe.”

She hadn't been particularly worried before this incident, but felt a whole new level of concern over what might happen next. Slater was right about that. David had taken a step that could land him some major jail time if he was caught. “If I were David Reinhart,” she said, her voice calmer than she felt, “I'd be headed straight out of town. I suspect he's long gone.”

Slater glanced in through the glass doors. “I doubt he realizes he attacked a high-ranking military officer. Hank's wearing civilian clothes right now, so he looks like an ordinary guy.”

David probably assumed Hank was you
, Grace realized with a start,
and that you'd gotten your hair cut.
David and Slater had seen each other briefly and only in passing. Slater's height and coloring were similar to Hank's.

Wonderful. Now she was going to worry about Slater, too.

Luckily, one of her worries evaporated when she heard a faint meow and saw Bonaparte sitting on top of the fence. He licked his paw and then jumped down to saunter over. If only cats could talk, she thought as she bent to stroke his fur. She'd bet he'd been a witness.

Despite her faith in his sense of feline self-preservation, it was a relief to see him alive and well.

Slater went to the door. “Hey, Ryder. Someone here to see you.”

Boy meets cat was a happy reunion. One cloud banished from her horizon, anyway, but the sun wasn't exactly shining.

* * *

S
LATER
WASN
'
T
SURE
how to handle the Hank Emery situation. He hoped Grace might agree to stay at the ranch and bring Ryder along.

Well, maybe. Although it didn't seem quite fair to leave Emery here on his own, military training or not.

Besides, Grace would never go along with either scenario—staying at the ranch or him moving in here. She had an independent spirit, and he probably wouldn't be as interested in her if she didn't, so that part of the problem was his own damn fault. He couldn't dislike Emery, because he seemed decent enough, and for Ryder's sake alone, he wanted to believe Emery was a good guy. Maybe not husband material, maybe not a stellar father, but as a man, not so bad or Grace wouldn't have married him in the first place. Neither could he forget Emery's dedication to the armed services. That was something he had to respect.

So they now sat looking at each other, and ironically they probably had exactly the same thing in mind. Protecting Grace and Ryder—the number-one priority for both of them.

While Grace answered her phone—a call from the resort—he and the major took each other's measure. They watched Grace take her cell into the kitchen. Calls from work seemed to be a recurring theme. She worked long hours, but Slater did, too, so he could hardly fault her for that. The deputy had departed, and Ryder was still out on the patio with his cat, giving him his evening meal, apparently unwilling to let the animal out of his sight. That meant Slater was on his own with Grace's ex-husband.

He'd chosen a patterned chair and considered the man seated on the couch across from him. “You're a strategist. Tell me, what do we do now, Major Emery? I don't want Grace or Ryder alone. I assume that, considering the bruise I can see on your temple, you agree.”

Emery's eyes were such a pale blue they were almost gray, and he leveled a stern look at Slater. “They won't be alone,” he said. “I'm right here. I didn't know there was anything going on. Now that I do...well, that changes things.”

“But you won't be here indefinitely. If I could, I'd like to relocate them to the ranch, where there are always people coming and going, and most of them are hefty ranch hands. Convincing Grace is my main problem. I was kind of hoping you'd help me out.”

What a gamble. He didn't have any illusions. They wanted the same woman, and they both knew it. Hands-down rivals and members of the same I-Want-Her club.

Despite that, Emery responded reasonably. “When I get new orders, I'll suggest it. If we'd had this conversation yesterday, I doubt it would've gone this way. It doesn't hurt that your background check came out clean.”

Slater wasn't surprised. He probably would've done that, too. “How about my degenerate brothers?”

Emery actually laughed, but then winced and put the compress back against his face. “They're also upstanding citizens. The worst I could find was that the younger one, Mason, got a speeding ticket when he was eighteen, but I think we'll just let that one slide since he went on to graduate with honors from UCLA. Ryder spends a lot of time with the Carson family, according to Grace. I suspect she does, as well. Don't blame me for being careful.”

“I don't.” Slater meant it. He added with a hint of humor, “And I knew about the speeding ticket because I lent him the money to pay it, but don't mention that ticket in front of my mother. All these years later, she still doesn't know.”

“My lips are sealed.”

At least they weren't antagonistic. There was no way for two men—two people—to go after the same thing and be best friends. Respectful, yes, even cordial. To a point. But what Slater really wanted was someone watching out for Grace and Ryder. “I can't tell Grace what to do.”

Emery gave him a male look of brotherhood, a look that wasn't confrontational. “No, you can't. Take it from me. I tell people what to do all day, but she just won't go along with the program.”

“Up until now, all this guy was trying to do was get under her skin. The attack on you changes the whole game.”

“I can't disagree with that. At least with his job at the ranch, Ryder isn't coming home to an empty house anymore.”

That was true. This evening had proven that Reinhart was willing to do anything to avoid getting caught.