Once a Rancher (9 page)

Slater knew she was referring to the artifacts in the hotel basement, but he couldn't hold back. The opening was too irresistible. “Anything?”

“In the basement,” Grace clarified pointedly, although there was amusement in her eyes.

“And you won't set foot down there, so I guess I'm out of luck.”

“I doubt you believe that. The out of luck part, I mean,” she murmured.

Again, promising. She wasn't the sort to play games, and he appreciated that. The chemistry between them was strong, and she seemed to be sending some very positive signals his way.

Grace lightly stroked the cat sitting on her lap. “We have a deal?”

There was no downside for Slater, so he promptly agreed. “Deal—as long as Mick lines up the backers as he usually does and the movie happens. I have no doubt he'll succeed, since he's excited about it, but I never make promises I can't keep.”

Her lashes lowered. “Good to know.”

“So can we call the business part of the evening concluded?”

The breeze lifted a lock of curly red-gold hair to tease her cheek, and she brushed it away. “You won't get an argument from me. I already give the resort a lot of my time as it is.”

“So the rest of the evening is all ours.” He held her gaze.

“And the cat's. Bonaparte's.” She petted the cat again and smiled ruefully as the sound of the refrigerator being opened came through the screen. “
And
a teenage boy in starvation mode.” She deposited the animal gently on the brick patio and said to Slater, “Excuse me for a minute while I head off the inevitable peanut butter sandwich and give Ryder a real dinner.”

“Take my word for it,” Slater said with amused emphasis, recalling the football game. “He can eat both.”

“True. I think the local grocery store's business has doubled since we moved here. Try the dip and come up with something I can tell the chef who made it. Like your brother's wine, it's a new recipe.”

When Grace disappeared inside, the cat—Bonaparte—eyed Slater's lap speculatively, but wasn't quite trusting enough to make the leap and instead curled up under Grace's wicker chair. When she came back out, he immediately started to purr so loudly, he could hear it a few feet away. “You have a not-so-secret admirer,” Slater observed. “And you can tell the chef the dip is outstanding.”

“Good. We have a different chef for the spa than we do in the main dining room, and they are both high maintenance. They're fairly competitive and don't particularly get along. Anything that makes either of them happy makes me happy.”

“You have a stressful job.” Slater could relate. Production schedules—not to mention the dueling egos of various artistic types—sometimes made for long, trying days. “What does Ms. Grace Emery do to relax?”

“Read.” She curled her legs comfortably under her. “Listen to classical music. Take walks. Yoga a couple of times a week at the spa.”

Somehow, her answer didn't surprise him. “I have another suggestion.”

“I'll bet.”

He couldn't help laughing at the sarcasm in her voice. “Well, yeah, that. But what I was really asking was, do you ride?”

“Horses?” She shook her head, her hair brushing her shoulders. “I'm afraid not. I have once or twice, but I think I was about thirteen at the time.”

“Want to give it a try? This is some beautiful country, and there's no better way to see it than from the saddle.” He used his most persuasive tone. “I'll pick out a well-mannered horse, I promise. Nothing lets me unwind like an evening ride.”

Any woman he was truly interested in—and despite the usual misgivings, he was
very
interested in this one—needed to be able to ride a horse.

She looked dubious. “I'd have no idea what to do.”

“I'm teaching Ryder. I could teach you, too. Think about it.”

The timer on her phone pinged and she tapped the screen and stood up. “Dinner's ready. Lucky for you—although I'd say I'm a decent cook when I have the time—I had lots of help tonight.”

He was on his feet just as fast, and before she could take a step, caught her hand. “Grace.”

She turned, inquiry in her blue eyes, and he tugged her closer, sliding his arm around her waist as he pulled her up against him. He said softly, “I'm not interested in the awkward good-night kiss at the door. And, as you may have noticed, I'm impatient by nature. I'm dying to do it right now. Hope you don't mind.”

And apparently, she didn't. He lowered his head and brought his lips to hers. Any thoughts of making it a soft romantic kiss evaporated when Grace responded, at first slowly, but then with an uninhibited enthusiasm that told Slater she'd be everything he'd imagined in bed and then some. Untamed. Not just beautiful but passionate. His body tightened in all the predictable places, and since he could feel the hardening tips of her breasts through the thin material of her blouse, she seemed to be having a similar reaction.

It was gratifying to know, with absolute certainty, that the attraction wasn't one-sided. An off-the-scale kiss was a very good start. He took his time about it, enjoying the feel of her in his arms.

“Grace, I... Oh, jeez. Sorry. I didn't... I mean...”

At the sound of Ryder's voice, they broke apart. Grace's cheeks were flushed, but her voice was steady as she turned toward the door. “No problem. What is it?”

Slater wasn't happy about the interruption, either. Still, he took pity on the kid. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Just...just talked to my dad,” Ryder said through the screen, still stammering. “He's got some leave coming up. He's going to come here, if that's okay.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

I
T
REALLY
,
REALLY
wasn't okay.

Grace was still off balance from that devastating kiss and now
this
?

Just what she needed—her ex-husband in Mustang Creek. Hank hadn't been happy about the divorce, and she was pretty sure he still thought she'd “come around” if he poured on the charm. Typical.

Hank had liked coming home to a convenient bedmate, someone who took care of the house, the bills, did all the cooking, bought gifts for his family on the appropriate dates—something
he
should have done—and even mowed the lawn. All while
she
was working, too.

Oh, yes, and if she wouldn't mind raising his son in her spare time, why, he'd be ever so grateful. It was the kind of mundane responsibility neither of Ryder's parents could be bothered to handle.

Who but Hank Emery would've had the gall to crash into her carefully reconstructed life with practically no warning at all?

Grace felt as if her back was against the wall. She couldn't tell Hank not to come; Ryder needed to see his father.

“I'll get him a room at the resort.” Her tone was sharper than she'd intended, so she modified it. “I'm sure he won't mind a short walk. I do it all the time.”

“I thought he could have my room,” Ryder was quick to say. “It's just for a month, and I can sleep on the couch.”

A month?
She had to struggle not to look as unhappy as she felt. She was not sharing her home with Hank for a month, period. And she absolutely wasn't going to share her bed. “Then I can stay at the resort,” she said with a small sigh. “Heaven knows I'm always there, anyway.”

Ryder's jaw stuck out at a stubborn angle. “This is
your
house, Grace. He's not kicking you out of it just because he's pretending he wants to hang out with me. We'll see how long he lasts.”

She could let that go, especially since she had the feeling he could be right about the duration of his father's stay—but he was also wrong.

“Ryder, he's not pretending.” Hank was all about Hank, no question, and yet she knew he loved his son. He was just never cut out to be a parent, in her opinion. The day they got married, he'd happily relinquished all parenting duties to her, and before that, Ryder had been more or less living with his grandparents. She chose her words carefully. “He's a busy man with a lot of responsibilities. He's made sacrifices to do what he does, but unfortunately you and I did, too. However, if he says he wants to spend a month of his leave with you, I believe he means it.” Slater hadn't said a word during her conversation with Ryder, which she appreciated. This was her problem, and interference would not be welcome. She'd spent eight years with male counterparts trying to “protect” her when she could take care of herself just fine. Other than the incident with firing David Reinhart, Slater seemed to be good at keeping his mouth shut and backing off when she asked.

Ryder looked as though he might want to argue some more, but she cut him off with his favorite distraction, namely food. “Hey, there's some beef and noodles in the oven for you. Have you fed Bonaparte?”

That cat was uncannily smart. At the sound of his name, or maybe it was the word
fed
, he emerged from under the chair and came to the screen door, looking hopeful. Ryder still stood there for a second, but then he opened the screen to let the cat in and opted out of saying anything else.

“Well done.” Slater raised his brows when she turned around. “I know for a fact he ate two pieces of chocolate pie during his tutoring session.”

“Sounds like a rough life.”

“It can be. You haven't met Harry. She likes things to run the way she likes things to run.”

Grace sighed. “I hope the look on my face didn't show how I feel about Hank descending on us. I don't want to hurt Ryder's feelings—this
is
his dad, after all. But I'm sure you figured out that I don't want my ex moving in with us for a month.”

Hank's parents were good people; they were attentive grandparents to Ryder and exchanged emails with Grace on a regular basis. Why couldn't Hank stay with
them
?

“That message came through, yes.” His reply was droll. “I'm hardly an expert, but it seemed to me that Ryder isn't sure how to feel about it. If I had to venture a guess, it would be that he's secretly hopeful it'll go well but he isn't counting on anything.”

She walked over and dropped back into her chair, reaching for her wineglass. “He and I had a similar reaction, then.”

Slater settled back into his chair, as well. “We can talk about it, but we don't have to. Up to you.”

Her smile was probably full of weary cynicism. “If you don't mind, I want to think about it first, discuss another time.”

“Fine with me.”

“You're being deliberately charming.”

There was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “An astute observation. You have to watch me every second because I'm an opportunist. When your ex-husband's here to stay with Ryder, would you consider going away with me for a weekend? I need to scout some locations for the new film.”

Not subtle, but she didn't think that was his goal. Charming, yes, subtle, no.

She liked that he was straightforward about his request, so it worked. “If I can manage it, that sounds like a possibility,” Grace responded neutrally. She might
need
to get away. Plus, that had been one very nice kiss.

A hot, skillful kiss that promised if she wanted the full Slater Carson experience, she wasn't going to be disappointed.

He added, “I was already planning to ask you before this latest development, so don't think I'm working an angle now.”

“I'd be kind of disappointed if you weren't.” Grace flashed her best teasing smile under the circumstances. It wasn't as if she hadn't expected Ryder's father to reappear now and then; it was more that she was getting used to their family being the two of them.

Oh, and Bonaparte. Three. A family of three. Which reminded her—they had to get him to the vet in the next little while. She'd make an appointment tomorrow. As it was, she'd broken her own rules by allowing him inside without having the requisite checkup, shots and neutering.

Still, they were a family of three.

Not quite like the tight-knit Carson bunch, but they were holding their own. Dinner, taking out the trash, even if Ryder grumbled about it, homework, small arguments, occasionally watching a movie together, sharing the growing but cautious affection of the cat...

She'd imagined that Hank would want Ryder to fly out to Seattle, not the other way around. She'd heard, through her ex-in-laws, that he'd put their house on the market, so maybe it had sold. While she'd loved that house, Hank hadn't shown much sentimental attachment to it, although, to be fair, he was hardly ever there. She could've taken it in the divorce, except that by then she'd already made the decision to move someplace more peaceful than a big city.

“I'd better get our dinner out of the oven,” she told him, determined to enjoy the rest of her evening.

Surprisingly, she did.

The evening's success was helped by the fact that the food was delicious, thanks to the communal effort involved. She wasn't sure how Slater managed to stay so fit when he ate like a longshoreman after a hard day.

They drank decaf coffee on the patio afterward, and to her disappointment—true to his word—he didn't attempt a good-night kiss. After he'd left, she went into her home office and sent a quick email to George Landers, the resort owner, informing him that the meeting had gone well. Then she scrolled through her messages and found one from Hank. Brief and to the point, but that was him.

Thanks for agreeing to put up with me. I'm currently in Washington, DC. See you soon.

As far as her personal life was concerned, this was bad timing on several levels. Of course, it wasn't as if one business dinner constituted a real date with Slater, but an invitation for a weekend trip was a different story.

“Grace?”

She turned to see Ryder hovering in the doorway, wearing pajama bottoms with moose patterned all over them and a black T-shirt with the logo of one of his favorite video games. Despite his gangly height, he looked very young. A lock of hair flopped over his brow. She'd chosen to let him wear it however he wanted—Save the Arguments for Important Things was her current motto—but she had a feeling Hank would cart his son off to the barber immediately.

“Is it okay if I still go to the ranch after school even while my dad's here?”

That was a fair question. “Yes, I think so. It would be the responsible thing to do. When you agree to take on a job, that's an obligation you need to fulfill. If anyone should understand that, it would be your father.”

He looked relieved, which told her about his uncertainties over this coming visit. She felt some trepidation herself.

Maybe she should address that kiss. Hesitantly she began, “Slater and I—”

“Like each other. That's not exactly a secret. Give me some credit, Grace. I pretty much figured that out the night you dragged me into his office at the ranch.”

It was a relief not to delve deeper into a subject that might make a teenage boy squirm in discomfort, but then he added, with devastating maturity and insight, “My dad's not going to be on board with that. I think he's coming here to see
you
more than he's coming to see me.”

* * *

T
HE
PAPERWORK
WAS
always his least favorite part of the job, so he tended to leave it to someone else, but Slater was reading through his email when a knock interrupted him and he glanced up.

His mother stood in the doorway. The thing about Blythe Carson was that she looked and sounded deceptively mild-mannered; while she called you
honey
and
sweetheart
, she rearranged your schedule and adjusted your life. It didn't help that she was right 99 percent of the time, but still...he was a grown man and he knew that expression of hers. She had something to say.

“Am I disturbing you?”

“Of course not.” He rose to his feet, instantly wary.

She was dressed for bed, her favorite blue robe over cotton pajamas patterned with tiny pink roses, her auburn hair, lightly streaked with gray, hanging loose. She sat on the small leather couch he sometimes used for reading. “You came home rather early,” she said. “How was your date?”

He swiveled the desk chair to face her and sat back down. “It wasn't a date,” he explained mildly. “Ms. Emery had a business proposal involving the resort and the production company. So, it was a business meeting that included dinner.”

And a satisfying kiss that would've been even better if they hadn't been joined by the kid, but he could hardly blame Ryder for that. Not only did he live there, Slater also had the impression he didn't get to talk to his father very often.

His mother smiled. “Ms. Emery? Ryder told me you have quite a crush on Grace.”

His brows went up. “I think at my age the term
crush
is hardly applicable.”

She gave an airy wave. “My term, not his. I think he said you have a ‘thing' for her. Mace and Drake were joking about it the other day, as well. True?”

“I thought you were helping him with his homework, not sitting around gossiping about my personal life.”

“I'm your mother, so naturally everything about you is important to me.” She didn't act the slightest bit repentant. “There's no such thing as a Carson secret. My spies are everywhere. I'm not nosy, just interested because I love you. Now then, when are you seeing her again?”

“Between her picking up Ryder here or me dropping him off at her place, I'll probably see her fairly often.”

“Raine said she's very attractive. Harry told me the same thing. And Daisy said she's really pretty.”

“Harry?” He didn't recall them meeting.

“Naturally, she looked out the window when Ms. Emery dropped Ryder off for the football game excursion.”

That he believed. It had been impossible to get away with anything when he was a kid because Harry seemed to have eyes in the back of her head. “I won't answer that on the grounds that it might incriminate me.”

A small dimple in her cheek deepened as she smiled. “I want you to invite her to dinner. I need to meet her.”

Alarm flickered through him. “And force her to run the Carson gauntlet? What surer way is there to send a woman hightailing it right out of Bliss County? Or maybe leave the state of Wyoming entirely?”

“Oh, we aren't that bad, honey.” She rose and came over to pat him on the cheek. “I'll tell your brothers to settle their current dispute, whatever it is, before we sit down to eat.”

“Good luck,” he muttered. “A new one'll just pop up. I'm not sure Grace is ready to take on the Carson Clan experience.”

Or if she even wanted to tackle it in the first place. She had a stressful job, a teenage boy to manage, a new life, and now her ex-husband was going to complicate the situation. This wasn't the time to pressure her. He was about to start a new project and soon would be in full-blown production mode, which meant working twelve-hour days. None of that was conducive to a successful romantic relationship, and to be honest, he didn't quite know what he wanted, either. He had a daughter, a close-knit family and a satisfying career. Female companionship wasn't hard to come by, either, so...

But she'd basically agreed to the weekend away and he was already looking forward to it.

When his mother went off to bed, he decided he'd had enough of paperwork, and maybe cool night air would be a good idea. There was something about a starlit sky and the silhouette of the mountains, especially with the tang of fall in the air. It held a special aura that might or might not be unique to this part of the world, but he'd never experienced it anywhere else. He walked out on the porch and leaned on the rail, listening to a nighthawk's cry.