“We can’t have that,” Grace said drily, deliberately selecting the pink mug Ryder had given her for Mother’s Day. It had little red hearts all over it and when she brewed Slater a cup—she loved her fancy coffeemaker—and went to hand it to him, she got her morning laugh from the look on his face. She said sweetly, “Black, just the way you like it.”
He eyed the cup dubiously. “I’m not sure a real man can drink out of this. I may have to go ride a bull later today or lasso a mountain lion or something like that to renew my masculinity card.”
He didn’t have to worry about that. The delicate cup emphasized the sinewy strength of his hand, and although she’d been trying to tease him, the joke had backfired. At the moment she wanted nothing more than to yank that cup out of his hand, lead him into her bedroom and have a repeat performance of the other night at the vineyard. She murmured, “If you need someone to vouch for you about the male thing, I certainly can. That aside, since I assume all was quiet, you aren’t planning to sleep on an uncomfortable couch every night until Hank gets here, are you? He’s in Washington and he didn’t give me a time frame, which isn’t unusual for him. He could walk through that door two minutes from now, or he could arrive in a few weeks. Or not at all, which is always a possibility. If there’s a new crisis of some kind and he’s needed, he goes, whether he’s on leave or not.”
“For Ryder’s sake, I hope that doesn’t happen. Do you mind, since I’m already here, if I take a look at the basement at the resort today? I’m getting positive feedback on the project. Once a proposal flies, things happen fast, so I might as well start and see what we have to work with from that angle.”
He’d just dodged her question.
She had to privately acknowledge that she liked him there, in her comfortable living room, sipping coffee from that very feminine pink mug. “Go ahead. I didn’t investigate too far but—”
“Due to the scary spider,” he interjected, his mouth twitching. He seemed to be holding back a smile.
She ignored the interruption. “There are a lot of boxes down there, and they aren’t properly labeled, unless you consider miscellaneous to be a helpful category. I opened a few of them here and there—”
“Until the scary spider scurried by.” He couldn’t seem to resist. He grinned openly this time, looking rumpled and delicious in a white T-shirt and his faded jeans, bare feet on the floor.
“Hey, I know some self-defense moves that can drop a grown man in about two seconds, Carson. Just a word of warning.” Grace glanced at the clock and set down her cup. “Stop by my office and you can get the keys. Right now I have to go to work. I’d normally leave Ryder a note, but please remind him not to miss the bus, since I don’t have a car to drive him to school if he does.”
“You aren’t walking alone, Grace. Let me take you to work, and then I’ll drive Ryder to school.” He shuddered in mock fear. “Don’t make me face the wrath of Blythe Carson for not taking care of you.”
She wanted to protest that she didn’t need anyone to take care of her. Hank certainly hadn’t—when they’d gotten married she’d taken care of his life, not the other way around. Considering her words, she responded carefully. “I’m having a hard time figuring out how to react to your approach. You’re high-handed, no doubt about that, cowboy. Let’s put it this way—if I need your help, I promise to ask for it. Do we have a deal? In the meantime, I’m walking to work. I’m not scared of David Reinhart. But I’d appreciate it if you’d drive Ryder to school and make sure Bonaparte’s inside before you head over to the resort.”
He nodded. “A compromise. Okay, done. Can we have lunch? Since I’ll be there and all.”
“I’m only going to have a salad after that huge dinner last night,” she replied, reaching for her purse with a smile. “But there’s a balcony off my office, so if I’m free, we can sit out there. At least it’s private. Say hi to the spiders for me.”
She walked to the resort in a good mood, but that was tossed out the window as soon as she saw Meg with an anxious look on her face, waiting in her office.
“What?” she asked, feeling her shoulders sag, instantly regretting that she hadn’t given her assistant a friendlier greeting. “I meant hello, hi, how are you? But I’m guessing you have something to tell me that I don’t want to hear, so forgive me for not being more cordial. What’s going on?”
“Someone hacked into our system and compromised your email. I changed the password a few minutes ago.”
Grace wanted to scream, but that would be counterproductive, so she smiled grimly instead. “What did he do?” She was one hundred percent convinced that the damage had been done by one person with a vendetta. One person named David Reinhart.
Meg handed her a sheaf of printouts, her expression very somber although she was usually so upbeat. “Sent out a load of emails canceling reservations, saying the resort was in financial trouble and being closed.”
Grace swore, and just managed not to slam the door as anger surged through her. “I’m getting ticked off,” she muttered. “Fat lot of good Slater did sleeping on my couch last night, even though his heart was in the right place.”
“Slater Carson slept on your couch last night?” Meg looked girlishly intrigued despite her unhappiness. “Are you kidding?”
Oops, shouldn’t have said that. Oh, well.
Grace went around to her desk, knowing that she needed to involve the owner. This was getting more serious. “He was worried about me. It was nice of him. He and Ryder have hit it off in a father/son sort of way. Oh, he’ll be here later to look at some of the old hotel memorabilia in the basement. If anyone asks, he has my permission. Now, let me see if I can unravel this mess.”
Most of her morning later, she’d waded through the worst of it, spent time on the phone with their technical support team and talked briefly with George Landers about the problem. He blithely thanked her for letting him know and said he was sure she could take care of the situation. Unfortunately, the IT people couldn’t work out who’d hacked into the resort computer system. This guy was good, they told her—which, of course, she already knew—but they planned to keep on trying.
Meanwhile, Slater had arrived and waved at her from the office door. Meg, looking dreamy-eyed, had handed over the basement keys.
Grace was in the middle of contacting the guests whose reservations had been canceled when someone said, “I hope shrimp salad is okay. The chef said it’s what you usually order.”
At the sound of that smooth drawl, Grace looked up, still preoccupied, still inwardly fuming, to see Slater stroll into her office, holding two of the fancy bags from the spa restaurant. A glance at the computer screen told her it was well past noon.
She definitely needed a break. She clicked off the screen. “That’s great. Thanks.”
“You’re still not going to talk to Spence Hogan about this?”
Meg evidently had a big mouth, or maybe it was just that she was obviously starstruck by the handsome Mr. Carson, aka Showbiz.
Grace didn’t blame her. Even with a smudge on his cheek from all those dusty boxes, he was male cover-model material. “I might,” she admitted. “But he’s going to tell me what I’ve told you already. That without proof there’s nothing he can do except talk to David, warn him that he’s a suspect in a series of minor incidents. Although this morning didn’t feel all that minor to me. I had other things to do besides putting out his malicious fires.”
He walked away from her, out toward the little balcony. His stride was deceptively leisurely, but his shoulders were tense. “I wish you’d let me handle it, Grace. I know you won’t, so why don’t we just have a civil lunch.”
*
HE WAS BURNING UP, he was so furious, but she didn’t want him to intervene. So the overwhelming need to rescue Grace had to be tucked away into a file labeled Never Going to Happen.
It was possible that her fresh-faced, sweet young assistant could be persuaded to give up the man’s address, but that might get M
eg in trouble with her fiery boss. He’d looked David Reinhart up online; all he’d been able to dig up was a postal box. That wasn’t surprising for a thief and a coward, and as far as Slater was concerned, provided further proof that Reinhart might just quit playing his games and do something truly harmful. In any case, the man wanted to make it difficult to track him down.
The weather had grown cooler and Grace slipped on a dark blue cardigan, the light breeze teasing her hair. The balcony was only big enough to hold a café table and two chairs, a single potted plant in the corner. Small though it was, the mountain view couldn’t be any more beautiful. He could tell that she appreciated this private corner, a place to escape, to refresh and recharge, since she worked such long hours. He did, too, whenever a project got rolling, so a life together would be challenging from a logistical standpoint.
Whoa, there! Slow down.
“This looks delicious,” she said as she opened the fancy box and unwrapped her silverware. “I think half the time I forget to eat lunch at all. So, tell me about the basement. Any skeletons in those crates? Bags of gold nuggets? How about a Hemingway manuscript in his own handwriting? He stayed at the hotel once, you know.”
Slater had opted for a Creole concoction with spicy chicken sausage and some sort of exotic rice, which tasted spectacular. He swallowed another bite and shook his head. “Didn’t know that, but it’ll be a good detail for the film. Makes sense given his Idaho connection. No, nothing like that in those boxes, but there’s a wealth of history down there. I’m going to need my team to start sorting through, decide what we’re going to use and catalog it. I tend to work out how the film’s going to flow before I involve the director and the writers.”
She’d given him access to a windfall of historical facts and artifacts. That was going to make all the difference, bring even more authenticity to his film.
She nodded, taking a sip of iced tea, her eyes reflective. “I suspect that when you’re finished, the Bliss County Historical Society is going to faint dead away when we hand over those pictures and they realize you’re making this film. My advice is to keep the project to yourself as long as possible. I haven’t met her, but I’m told there’s quite a formidable force on their board, a woman whose name is Lettie Arbuckle Calder.”
Slater held his napkin to his mouth, choking back a laugh. “Oh, I’ve met her. I’ve known her since I was a kid. She and my mother are good friends. She’s a force of nature, all right. The way a tsunami is.”
Across the table, Grace speared a shrimp. “I always forget how far your family goes back in this area.”
“We’ve been around for a while.”
She pointed her fork at him, remembered there was a shrimp dangling from the tines, and set it back down. “Your family history is so tied to this county and to Mustang Creek. The hotel has a fascinating history, I agree, but the Carson legacy is equally compelling… Showbiz.”
It was impossible not to laugh. “I knew better than to introduce you to my brothers. First they flirt with you, and then share stupid family nicknames. Documentaries are hardly the blockbusters of the film world. I do them because they showcase an era I value, an era I don’t want to be lost.”
“You’re a dreamer.”
That set him aback. “No, I’m a realist. I don’t romanticize guns and dust and horses pounding off into the sunset. I am guilty of supporting people who choose to defend themselves and stand on their own two feet, epic heroes and ordinary people alike. So what the heck are you going to do about Reinhart?”
“Are you calling me ordinary?”
He rested his arms on the little table. “Anything but, so don’t make that mistake again. Extraordinary would be my assessment. Just answer my question, okay?”
She studied her plate. “I need to decide how to handle David. If you don’t mind, I’ll take your friend’s number and talk to him personally. In confidence. If Spence Hogan can help me make a decision, that would be good. If it was just me, that would be one thing, but this could affect a lot of other people, too. Ryder, Bonaparte, the hotel staff, not to mention the owner… The list goes on.”
“Bonaparte is a person?” He was immensely relieved that she was willing to be reasonable. He had every faith Spence could fix the problem.
“Essentially. He has a distinct personality and, like I said, he’s important to Ryder.”
“I need to snap you up before Drake figures out how you feel about animals. Will you marry me?”
Her eyes went wide. Maybe he had the same shocked expression. As if he’d departed reality and flown off into an alternate dimension, flapping wings and all.
He’d just proposed?
Maybe he’d done exactly that. He was stunned, but then again he wasn’t. This had been coming since the moment she’d dragged Ryder into his office.
“You don’t mean it.” Grace lost interest in her salad. She didn’t look at him, but turned and stared over the balcony railing. “Slater, please tell me you aren’t serious.”
He studied the fall of her red-gold hair. Her profile. The enticing silhouette of her body. “I could be serious,” he admitted hoarsely. “I’m not going to say I planned this, but you’ve been in love before and I haven’t. Not really. How does it work? Have I done everything wrong? I need a crash course right now.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. “You aren’t in love with me.”
“To be honest, I wish that was true, because my life would be simpler that way, but I’m starting to worry you’re wrong.”
She made a moaning sound and rested her forehead on her clenched hands. “No.”
“That’s bad?” He was unwillingly amused.
“Very bad.”
“Should I apologize for falling in love with you?”
She raised her head. “Slater, shut up, please. I had a terrible morning. Now you’re telling me you think you’re proposing? We can’t get married.”
He could hear the panic in her voice. “Why not?” he asked calmly.
The idea was growing on him. It was like hitting a ball off the first tee. As he’d told her, he really hadn’t planned it, and he had no idea how high and far the ball would fly, but he’d made the swing. This wasn’t the first time it had occurred to him, although he probably should’ve had a spray of roses in his hand and a ring in his pocket. However, he’d done it now—even if he hadn’t done it well. “Because…because you have a daughter.”
“So? She’s wonderful. You have a son. We’d make an unusual blended family, since I was never married to Daisy’s mother and you aren’t Ryder’s biological parent, but those are two really nice kids. I wouldn’t mind having a few more.”
That left her staring at him. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you? Marriage and babies in the same conversation?”
“I think we both agree that making babies wouldn’t exactly be a chore. We’re already lovers.”
“One night does not make us lovers. And for the record, lovers is an archaic term only used in historical romance novels, along with smelling salts and perfectly tied cravats.”
“Tell me you didn’t wish I was in your bed last night, making passionate love to you, instead of on the couch.”
That scored a hit. A flush rose to her face. “Of all the arrogant, conceited—”
“Tell me.”
If there was one thing he’d discovered quickly, it was that Grace didn’t lie. She just avoided the question.
“I have a good relationship with your son. I bet he’d be pretty supportive,” he said persuasively.
“I don’t have a—” She stopped, then said quietly, “All right, I do. I have a son. He’s certainly more mine than Hank’s. And speaking of Hank, you do remember my little speech the other morning, right?”
Slater took another bite of chicken, because it was delicious and he was hungry, and he needed to think before he spoke again. Finally, he nodded. “I understand you don’t want to make another mistake,” he said. “Do you really feel it would
be?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THERE WERE SOME moments that were going to be embedded in her memory forever, and this was one of them.
Shrimp salad, her little balcony and Slater Carson proposing out of the blue with dust on his shirt, while munching on his Chicken Creole. They might have a chemistry she couldn’t deny, but they didn’t know each other very well.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. They knew each other’s bodies intimately, she’d met his family, she’d stayed at his home, he’d stayed at hers and Ryder had accepted him in their lives with atypical teenage enthusiasm. He was an intelligent man whose actions revealed decency toward others and staunch loyalty.
Only a fool would refuse him.
On the other hand, he was used to running the show—literally—and so was she. She felt almost certain that his self-assurance and hers were going to clash, and this particular moment was an example of that. Yes, it was memorable—but not for the usual reasons. He’d proposed to her, or so it seemed. Impulsively. On a whim.
No bended knee.
No glittering diamond.
No flowery words.
She didn’t care about any of that, since she’d had it once and hadn’t exactly ended up with starry-eyed happiness, but still… Slater had just assumed she’d say yes. She doubted he’d given it a minute’s thought until now. He was simply so used to getting what he wanted. “You didn’t mean to ask. Did you?”
He settled his elbows on the glass table. “Grace, you keep telling me what I meant to do and not do. I’d prefer if you just considered the question.”
This time, he didn’t interrupt her. He sat there calmly, watching whatever emotions were flitting across her face—elation and dismay, confidence and uncertainty, reckless joy counteracted by the knowledge that she needed to stay steady, to bear in mind that rash decisions were the enemy of happiness.
When she still hadn’t spoken, he finally said, “We don’t have to rush the engagement.” His voice was mild. “My mother will want time to plan the wedding, anyway.”
Once a Rancher Page 15
