Once A Rancher. Linda Lael MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
back at Slater. “We’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr. Carson.”
Mr. Carson?
“I’ll walk you out,” he said, still flustered and still trying to shake it off. Ordinarily, he was the proverbial man of few words, but tonight, in the presence of this woman, he was a babbling idiot. “This place is like a maze. I took over my father’s office because of the view, but it’s clear at the back of the house and—”
Had the woman asked for any of this information?
No.
What the hell was the matter with him, anyway?
Grace didn’t comment. The boy was already on the move, and she simply followed, which shot holes in Slater’s theory about their ability to find their way to an exit without his guidance. He gave an internal shrug and trailed behind Grace, enjoying the gentle sway of her hips.
For some reason he wasn’t a damn bit tired anymore.
* * *
HAVING BEEN A police officer, Grace had plenty of experience dealing with men. In law enforcement, still a male-dominated field even though women were finally making inroads, overexposure to testosterone was inevitable. She’d come to terms with the effect her appearance had on the male gender, not out of vanity, but because she was practical to the bone.
She wouldn’t have described herself as beautiful; she got an instant update on her imperfections every time she consulted a mirror. She knew her mouth was a shade too wide. Her nose tilted up just a little, giving her an air of perkiness that was wholly unfounded, and she couldn’t have gotten a tan in the middle of a desert. Her eyes were an almost startling shade of blue—she’d been accused of wearing colored contacts—and she didn’t even want to discuss the hair. Just call her Carrot-Top.
It was ridiculously curly unless she wore it long, and the stuff could go clown-crazy if the humidity was high. Thankfully, Wyoming was drier than Seattle, so she didn’t have to fight it quite as much now. The color was impossible to change, although she’d tried highlights and different treatments, but nature won out every time, so now she let it go its own way.
Slater Carson hadn’t been turned off.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
Grace wasn’t sure how she felt about her own reaction. Yes, she was jaded about men, but something was different this time. She was—okay, she could admit it—sort of flattered.
Recalling the slow, gliding assessment of those sexy blue eyes as they moved over her, she got a definite buzz. And Slater Carson wasn’t hard to look at, either, with all that dark, wavy hair, a day’s beard growing in and a lean, wiry build that said cowboy. He moved like one, too, with long, slow strides, and when he smiled at her as he held the back door open to a starry Wyoming night, there was an easy curve to his mouth, the hint of a grin, not in the least boyish, but confident, amused, knowing.
The message had been clear: he wouldn’t mind if they met again.
Well, Grace thought, Mustang Creek was a small town, where everybody seemed to know everybody else, so they were bound to run into each other at some point.
If he expected more than a polite nod and a “howdy,” though, he’d be disappointed.
Grace distrusted men like Slater—too good-looking, too privileged, too used to getting whatever and whoever they wanted. Yep, the illustrious Mr. Carson reminded her a little too much of her ex-husband, exuding confidence the way he did, certain of his success, of his place in the world.
No, thanks. Grace had been down that road before, and after all the excitement and the heady passion and the dazzle, she’d run smack into a dead end. In some ways, she was still reeling from the impact.
Feeling resolute, she got into her vehicle, which she’d parked in the well-lit driveway alongside the Carson mansion, and slammed her door, waiting for Ryder to stop dawdling and plunk himself down in the passenger seat.
This wasn’t how she’d planned to spend her evening. Her vision had included downloading a movie, munching popcorn, generally vegging out on the couch with her bare feet propped up, wearing shorty pajamas and face cream.
Grace had had a long day at the resort; she’d dealt with a faulty air-conditioning unit and repairmen who couldn’t seem to agree on what was wrong, a chronically late employee who was wonderful when he actually got there, by which time the rest of the staff was thoroughly and justifiably annoyed, plus guest complaints about the lap pool that ranged from too hot to too cool. Among other things.
Coming home to find Ryder about to nail a newly acquired and obviously expensive metal sign to one wall of his bedroom had immediately thrown her evening plans for a loop. Immediately suspicious, Grace had questioned the boy.
Never a good liar, he’d confessed.
Grace had figuratively grabbed the kid by one ear and dragged him to the Carson house.
Now he hauled open the door on his side and got in.
“I’m sorry,” Ryder said. He didn’t really sound sorry, and he didn’t look at her, but sat staring out the windshield instead. His tone was stubborn, and the set of his mouth underscored his attitude.
Grace sighed inwardly.
Ryder was a good kid, and Slater Carson had been right earlier, when he’d said everybody made bad decisions now and then. “You know better.”
“It just—”
She raised a hand to indicate she wanted him to stop. Now. “There’s no excuse I care to hear. You stole something and we returned it.”
Grace started the car, flipped on the headlights and turned around to head back down the driveway.
Ryder was quiet for a few minutes. They reached the county highway, which was practically deserted at that time of night, and, since both the ranch and the resort were well outside town, they didn’t pass many cars.
Eventually, Ryder said, “He liked you.”
Fourteen and he’d picked up on that, Grace reflected with rueful amusement, but he still couldn’t pick up his underwear.
He liked you.
There was liking a woman, and there was wanting to go to bed with her. Grace was not inclined to explain the difference to a fourteen-year-old.
So she said briskly, “He doesn’t know me.”
“He thought you were pretty.”
There were times when she wished Ryder would talk to her more, and times, like now, when she wished he wouldn’t. “I think it’s just possible that he’s prettier than I am.”
That made Ryder crack up. “At least he tried to be subtle. He didn’t, like, stare at your—”
He stopped abruptly, and Grace figured he’d be blushing right about now over what he’d almost said, so she cut the kid a break and kept her gaze on the road. “Mr. Carson was very polite,” she conceded. “How’s the science project coming along?”
Ryder jumped on the sudden change of subject, even if school wasn’t one of his favorites. “Okay, actually. Turns out my partner isn’t as geeky as he looks.” He was quiet for a moment, then he went on. “I was wondering if he might come over to our place and hang out sometime. That okay?”
Grace felt a rush of relief. She’d been waiting for Ryder to stop rebelling against the move to Mustang Creek and make some friends, hoping and praying he would.
She was in over her head with this parenting thing.
And she didn’t seem to be getting any better at it.
A few months back Grace’s former father-in-law had called her one day, out of the blue. Haltingly, he’d explained that with his wife so ill, they couldn’t handle their grandson on their own. They hated to ask, but since Hank was overseas and all, they