Once a Rancher

by Linda Lael Miller

  She was laughing now, shaking her head. “As romantic as it sounds, I think I’ll skip the scenic tractor tour. The vineyard will be lovely.”

  Maybe he owed Mace one, for letting him do the honors by conducting the tour. Slater guided her toward the doorway. “I’m an excellent tour guide. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ONCE THEY REACHED the vineyard, Slater held Grace’s hand again.

  His fingers entwined with hers, his grasp light but firm, and the effect was decidedly romantic. When he’d reached over, she had to admit to being surprised because it was such a simple gesture from a man she suspected was more passionate than sentimental. However, having seen him with his gregarious family, she was getting a better sense of him as a person. Slater might be able to scorch a woman right down to the tips of her toes with a kiss, but his talents didn’t end there.

  She wasn’t sure if he was good or bad for her at this time in her life, but she liked him.

  The night sky was speckled with stars, and the moon had risen above the mountains, spreading a soft glow over the landscape. A low wail came from a distance, far enough away that it merely gave her goose bumps.

  “Wolf,” Slater confirmed, sounding pragmatic. “Drake is having some problems with our stock, and we’re wondering if they’re the issue.”

  They’d driven to the vineyard in his truck, since it was a few miles from the house, and he’d parked by the building she’d seen online. It was even more striking, even more attractive, than the photographs had suggested. Grace murmured admiringly, impressed by its rustic elegance. She wasn’t immune, either, when Slater continued to hold her hand as he led her toward a shaded path between the vines.

  “Mace actually should probably be here to explain what’s what, but excuse me if I wasn’t in the mood for a third wheel who can be a smart-ass now and then. I exaggerated my tour guide skills. I can’t tell a merlot vine from a weed. It’s a vineyard. Now you know as much as I do.” He paused. “Considering your job, you probably know more.”

  Grace appreciated his sense of humor. “You and your brothers all seem very close.” It was beyond obvious that he loved his family.

  His fingers tightened on hers. “Despite their various quirks, I guess we are. And I’m just as guilty as they are on that count, having my share of quirks, I mean. If you’re looking for a nine-to-five guy who wants meat loaf every Monday night, his last name isn’t Carson. At least not around here, it isn’t.”

  She wasn’t looking for any sort of man, period. On the other hand, there he was, walking next to her, tall in the moonlight, his features shadowed, gazing down at her as if waiting for a response.

  “You do all seem very different, but similar in certain ways, too.” A neutral remark seemed the safest. Grace felt some conflicting emotions at the moment. She wanted to run as far and fast as possible, but at the same time, she was drawn to him. He was an artist and yet a cowboy, a history scholar who could handle a spirited horse effortlessly, and he might just have the world’s sexiest smile…

  “I agree. Let’s set aside the Carson bunch for a bit, shall we? I like how we are now, just you and me. Between their nosiness and Ryder being your responsibility, moments like this will be hard to come by.”

  Moments like this? He spoke as if there were plans for future involvement.

  And he also had a point. Privacy was virtually impossible unless, as he’d suggested, they went somewhere together. “Is that a presumption on your part—that I want time alone with you?”

  The breeze ruffled his dark hair and he stopped walking and pulled her into his arms. “Yes, ma’am. Don’t you?”

  It wasn’t as if she didn’t know a romantic walk was going to lead to a passionate kiss. His hunger came through clearly, and yet the embrace was gentle, appropriate to the setting, and Grace might have acted more urgent, threading her fingers through his hair and responding in a way he couldn’t fail to interpret.

  This was one dangerous man.

  “I don’t really want this.” She didn’t mean to just say it like that.

  “Me, neither.” His smile was rueful.

  “If neither of us wants it, why are we doing this?”

  His arms tightened. “Can’t help it?” he suggested.

  “Don’t say that.” She pushed away from him and he let her go. She walked over to the edge of the vines and took a huge breath. “I don’t want to fall in love with you.”

  She could not believe she’d just used the word love.

  Slater had obviously followed her, because when he spoke again, his breath was warm against the nape of her neck as he lifted her hair and kissed that sensitive spot, making her shiver. “Mace and I recently had a discussion on this topic. Our consensus was that some things are beyond our control.”

  That could be true, she thought as she turned in his arms and rested her forehead against his chest, letting out an exasperated sigh. “It’s too complicated.”

  “You’ve got that right.”

  “Stop laughing about it.” She smacked his shoulder with her fist, but she was laughing, too.

  “You’re cute when you’re mad, which is a good thing.”

  “Are you saying I’m ill-tempered?” She wished she had a reason to get mad. Now if he insulted her…

  Predictably, he didn’t cooperate.

  “I’m saying the fire isn’t all in your hair, Ms. Emery.” His eyes were amused as they met hers. “But you know what? I find that irresistible, although I haven’t quite figured out why.”

  “I haven’t figured it out, either.”

  “In other words, you find me irresistible, too.”

  The man was way too full of himself. The worst part was that he was right. She contemplated smacking his shoulder again, but he homed in on that impulse and caught her wrist. His drawl was low and exaggerated. “No, you don’t, sweetheart. Not unless you want me to retaliate like this.”

  The kiss was devastating. A thrill spiraled in the pit of her stomach, and Grace came to the conclusion that he could retaliate like this all he wanted.

  “The office,” he whispered against her mouth, holding her so close she could feel the tension in his body.

  “What?” she asked, her heart racing. She had no idea what he was talking about.

  “I think it’s appropriate, since you and I have some very unfinished business.”

  No permission asked, he simply picked her up and started walking toward the old bunkhouse, ignoring her mutter of protest at his assumption that he could just carry her off.

  Did it matter that she probably would’ve said, Yes, please do, and hurry.

  She wasn’t sure, but the dramatic gesture worked for two reasons, one of them being the hurry part. Slater Carson seemed like a man on a mission. Soft leaves brushed her arms as they went past the neat rows of vines, and she should’ve demanded he set her down, since there was nothing wrong with her own two feet.

  Maybe she’d always been more of a sucker for romance novels than she’d realized because she was so susceptible to the grand gesture. If it even was. She suspected he was just being efficient in that cowboy way, ready to go for what he wanted as quickly as possible.

  Whether or not she agreed with that approach, she wasn’t being given a chance to argue.

  Not that she would have, anyway.

  Instead, she slid her arm around his neck and kissed the patch of skin exposed by the open collar of his shirt, feeling rewarded when he groaned. He muttered, “If you think I need encouragement like that, you’d be dead wrong, sweetheart. Hang on, I might break into a run at any moment.”

  *

  ON A SCALE of one to ten, his level of desire for the woman in his arms was about a thousand.

  Slater had to set her down so he could fumble with the handle to open the old bunkhouse door. He felt like a teenager, refusing to let her go completely. Since the very first time he’d laid eyes on Grace, he’d h
ad this moment in the back of his mind.

  On the negative side, he was fairly sure he was going to skip foreplay. On the positive end, it seemed she might be just fine with that scenario. He doubted she needed to be coaxed and tenderly urged to respond, but could match him easily when it came to passion. She was confident in an unassuming way, and he found that characteristic almost as tantalizing as her physical beauty.

  The old bunkhouse had once been a playground for him and his brothers, a place to pretend they were old-style cowhands, riding the range, herding cattle…until they got old enough to actually herd cattle and discovered that it was damned hard work.

  Still, he remembered with nostalgic fondness how the place used to look. His mother had done a great job of preserving its Old West charm and yet making it an inviting venue for people to sit and sample Mountain Vineyard wines. Small wooden tables and high stools were arranged around the room. Racks of different bottles stood behind the counter, decorative barrels were placed here and there and soft lighting complemented the whole effect. The wooden floor had been polished to a high sheen, and the walls were rough, but that was intentional. A painting she’d done herself, a view of the Tetons, hung on one wall. Blythe Carson had an artistic soul, no doubt about it.

  Grace looked around approvingly when he flipped on the lights. “Our guests will love this.”

  He appreciated her enthusiasm, but the only thing on his mind was that they were alone, and Mace’s office had a very convenient daybed his brother used now and then when he worked a long day and decided to spend the night. He hovered over his precious vines as if they were his children, and any turn in the weather sent him into a tailspin.

  Thank goodness, no frost in the forecast. He loved his brother despite his sometimes annoying sense of humor, but Mace was unwelcome at the moment. This was a party of two.

  “Back here.” He urged Grace toward the office. It wasn’t much more than a few filing cabinets, a desk with a computer, a big beautiful window and that simple daybed. Mace and Drake had a lot more in common than they’d care to admit. Nature, no frills, a single-minded focus on their jobs… Okay, maybe all three of them had more in common than they realized. He was like that, too.

  Right now his goal was to have Grace’s clothes on the floor by the plain Craftsman-style bed, his piled next to hers. He wanted her warm and naked against him, wanted to touch all that long, luscious vibrant hair and every other inch of her. And if she preferred to call the shots, Slater doubted she’d disappoint him.

  “I see now,” she murmured as she caught sight of the bed. “Good idea. We really need to do this, you and I. Get it off the table—if you’ll forgive the corporate cliché. Then we can figure out the rest of it.”

  Maybe he could’ve thought of some clever reply but she started to unfasten her blouse.

  One slow button at a time. She knew he was riveted, and he knew she wanted him, too, and he could swear there was no place on earth he’d rather be than this little vineyard office.

  “I don’t even need to see your body,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’ve dreamt about it enough times, it’s like a reel of film running in my head.”

  That was filed under Way Too Honest. Grace unsnapped the front closure on her bra. “Then let’s test the limits of your imagination.”

  Her bra tumbled to the floor.

  His imagination was good, he decided, but obviously not that good. It didn’t nearly do her justice. Her breasts were full and firm, and his mouth went dry as her fingers moved to the top button on her jeans. The odd thing was that she was shy; he could sense it, and it didn’t surprise him. She was unafraid, of course; she had no cause to be afraid of him—he’d never given her one and never would. And yet, despite her self-confidence, there was an uncertainty in her eyes that spoke volumes. If he had to guess, he’d say the problem had to do with her physical appearance, but not for the usual reasons. Any woman who looked like Grace would wonder if she was being pursued only because of her appearance.

  Slater stepped toward her, meeting her eyes. “I’m not going to deny that I’ve got some serious lust going on. I think you saw that the night we met. But I want you to know that I think you’re beautiful, and not just in this way—” he ran a finger lightly over the curve of one bared breast and then rested his palm between them, over her heart “—but here, too. You like to help people, not because it’s your duty, but because you genuinely want to. That’s rare and special. So are you.”

  Her eyes were luminous but her voice was tart with admonishment. “I thought I made myself clear earlier, so don’t do that to me, Carson. I was counting on you just wanting to get me naked.”

  That was true; she’d stated with emphasis that she didn’t want to fall in love with him. Well, too bad. If they were both on a sinking ship, it was every man—or woman—for himself. Or herself.

  He said softly, “Take out the just and you’ve got it right.”

  “Hmm, you’re one smooth-talking cowboy who also happens to be wearing way too many clothes.” She tugged his shirt free of his jeans and tackled the buttons with vigor.

  Their discussion was clearly over. He doubted he could put two words together, anyway, when she ran an exploratory hand over his bare chest. All the blood in his brain migrated south.

  Slater touched her hair, marveling at its softness and silky texture. “I believe you mentioned naked?”

  A heart-stopping moment later, he discovered that she wore some sort of wispy lace that was supposed to pass for underwear, and—not that he’d had any doubts—she was a true redhead. He shucked off his jeans and boots so fast he could probably win a prize and tumbled her to the bed. They fell together, and then he was exploring her body with purpose, learning every plane and curve, taking in each sigh and gasp, urgent but not in a hurry. This was something he wanted to remember with vivid clarity. Their first time together. He wasn’t eighteen anymore, not by a long shot, but he felt the same sense of wonder he’d experienced back then. He’d have to sort that out later, much later, when Grace wasn’t murmuring his name and touching him, testing the length of him with curious fingers in a way that took his self-control and dumped it right out the window.

  He found the condoms he’d shoved in his pocket almost as an afterthought. More children would be fine with him—eventually—because his daughter enriched his life. But that was a discussion he and Grace needed to have well ahead of time.

  Maybe before he asked her to marry him.

  That wayward concept almost gave him pause, but her hands were pressed to the small of his back, and those gorgeous breasts were taut against his chest… He couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to, and he sure as hell didn’t want to.

  Somehow he managed to roll on the condom, and then he sank into her, their breath mingling in a mutual exhalation of pleasure. She lifted her hips in unspoken acceptance, her lashes drifting down as she closed her eyes.

  Not him. He watched her as he began to move, fascinated by how her expression changed as he made love to her, going from dreamy to intense as her climax began to build, her inner muscles tightening around him, her foot rubbing his calf, the slight rasp of her nails arousing.

  Beautiful. It was a word that always seemed to apply to Grace, but never so much as now. She arched and clung to him, her entire body trembling, and her cry of release was like a lit match to dry tinder, and he went up in the same inferno.

  The aftermath was silent except for their rapid breathing until Slater finally raised his head. “I think it’s off the table now.”

  Grace laughed and that was interesting, considering their intimate position. “I’d say that and then some.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “Hmm, can we put it back on the table again sometime soon?”

  She stretched luxuriantly beneath him, deliberately teasing. “Depends on you, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, there’s a challenge if I ever heard one.” Slater grinned, but then he sobered and traced the contours of her shoulder. “We
really started something here, didn’t we?”

  She didn’t evade the question. “I’m afraid that’s true.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WHEN GRACE OPENED her eyes she was disoriented for only a few seconds. All her law enforcement training might be responsible, but she realized quickly that while the surroundings weren’t familiar, she knew where she was. Knew that was Slater with his arm draped over her, and that the moonlight slanting through the window when she dozed off had given way to a faint hint of dawn.

  The bed was too small to share with Slater, whose rangy body took up almost the entire space. He lay sprawled in a relaxed pose next to her, breathing evenly. Grace rose up on one elbow and watched him, resigned to the fact that their early-morning return to the ranch house would be duly noted and the correct conclusions reached. A walk of shame would ensue when she went back wearing the same clothes as she had the night before. Facing his family—and Ryder—with some semblance of dignity would be a challenge, to put it mildly.

  Why did she have the feeling Slater would just shrug it off, tell her to not worry about it?

  She started to move away, but to her surprise the arm around her waist instantly tightened. He mumbled into the pillow, “No you don’t. We haven’t even said good morning.”

  It was impossible not to object. “You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I wasn’t asleep.”

  “I believe I heard a snore.”

  “I don’t snore.” He turned over and sent her a mock glare that she somehow found irresistible—despite having slept on the edge of a bed all night…

  “People never admit they snore,” she pointed out, and if they’d been under the sheets, she would have pulled the top one up in maidenly modesty. He’d kept her warm through the night, and it appeared he wasn’t letting her go quite yet.

  That lazy smile surfaced. “Say it after me. Good morning. It’s a great way to start your day.”