Always a Cowboy

by Linda Lael Miller

  As the lady got closer, he made out her face, still framed by the hood of her coat, and a pair of amber eyes that flashed as she demanded, “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get that close to those horses? Days!” She paused to suck in a furious breath. “And what happens when I finally catch up to them? You come along and scare them off!”

  Drake resettled his hat, tugging hard at the brim, and waited.

  The woman all but stamped her feet. “Days!” she repeated wildly.

  Drake felt his mouth stretch in the direction of a grin, but he suppressed it. “Excuse me, ma’am, but the fact is, I’m a bit confused. You’re here because...?”

  “Because of the horses!” The tone and pitch of her voice said he was an idiot for even asking such a question. Apparently, she thought he ought to be able to read her mind—ahead of time, and from a convenient distance. Just like a woman.

  Silently, he congratulated himself on his restraint—and for managing a reasonable tone. “I see,” he said, although of course he didn’t see at all. This was his land, and she was on it, and he still didn’t have any idea why.

  “The least you could do is apologize,” she informed him, glaring. Her hands were resting on her slim hips, like before, causing her breasts to rise in a very attractive way.

  Still mounted, Drake adjusted his hat again. The dogs sat on either side of him, looking on with calm and bedraggled interest. Starburst, on the other hand, nickered and sidestepped and tossed his head, as startled as if the woman had sprung up from the ground like a magic bean stalk.

  When Drake replied, he sounded downright amiable, his tone designed to piss her off even more, if that was possible. If there was one thing an angry woman hated, he figured, it was exaggerated politeness. “Now, why would I apologize? Given that I live here, I mean. This is private property, Ms.—”

  She wasn’t at all fazed by this information. Nor did she offer her name.

  “It took me hours to track those horses down,” she ranted on, flinging her arms out wide for emphasis. “In this weather, no less! I finally get close enough to observe them in their natural habitat, and you...you...” She paused, but only to take in a breath so she could go right on strafing him with words. “You try hiding behind a tree for hours without moving a muscle, with water dripping down your neck!”

  Drake might have pointed out that he was no stranger to inclement weather, since he rode fence lines and worked under any and all conditions, white-hot heat and blinding snowstorms and everything in between, but he felt no need to explain that to this woman or anyone else on the planet.

  Zeke Carson, his late father, had lived by a creed, and he’d drilled it into his sons early on: never complain, never explain. Let your actions tell the story.

  “What were you doing there, anyhow, lurking behind my tree?” he asked moderately.

  She bristled. “Your tree? No one owns a tree. And I wasn’t lurking!”

  “You were,” he contradicted cheerfully. “And maybe you’re right about the tree. But people can sure as hell own the ground it grows out of, and that’s the case here, I’m afraid.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Great, he thought, half amused and half annoyed, a tree hugger, of the holier-than-thou variety, it seemed.

  The woman probably drove one of those little hybrid cars, not that there was anything wrong with them, but he’d bet she was self-righteous about it, cruising along at the speed of a lawn mower in the fast lane.

  Impatient with the trail his thoughts were taking, Drake made an effort to draw in his horns a bit. He was assuming a lot here.

  Still, he made every effort to protect and honor the environment, trees included, and if she was implying otherwise, he meant to set her straight. Nobody loved the natural world more than he did and, furthermore, he had a right to ask questions. The Carsons had held the deed to this ranch since homestead days, and in case she hadn’t noticed, he wasn’t running a public campground. Nor was this a state or national park.

  He leaned forward in the saddle. “Do the words no trespassing mean anything to you?” he asked mildly.

  Although he didn’t want it to show, he was still enjoying this encounter, and way more than he should have at that.

  She merely glowered up at him, arms folded now, chin set at an obstinate angle.

  Suddenly, Drake was tired to the bone. “All right. Let’s see if we can clarify matters. That tree—” he gestured to the one she’d taken refuge behind earlier and spoke very slowly so she could follow “—is on my ranch.” He paused. “I’m Drake Carson. And you are?”

  The look of surprise on her face was gratifying. “You’re Drake Carson?”

  “I was when I woke up this morning,” he drawled. “I don’t imagine that’s changed since then.” He let a moment pass. “Now, how about answering my original question? What are you doing here?”

  She seemed to wilt, and Drake supposed that was a victory, however small, but he wasn’t inclined to celebrate. Her attitude got on his last nerve, but there was something delicate about her. A kind of fragility that made him want to protect her. “I’m studying the horses.”

  The brim of Drake’s hat spilled water down his front as he nodded. “Well, yeah, I kind of figured that. It’s really not the point, though, is it? Like I said before, and more than once, this is private property. And if you’d asked permission to be here, I’d know it.”

  She blushed, but no explanation was forthcoming. Her mouth opened, then closed again, and her eyes went wide. “You’re him.”

  “And you would be...?”

  The next moment, she was blustering again. Ignoring his question, too. “Tall man on a tall horse,” she remarked, her tone scathing. “Very intimidating.”

  A few seconds earlier, he’d been in charge here. Now he felt defensive, which was ridiculous on all counts.

  He drew a deep breath, released it slowly and spoke with quiet authority. He hoped. “Believe me, I’m not trying to intimidate you,” he said. “My point—once again—is that you don’t have the right to be here, much less yell at me.”

  “Yes, I do.” Her tone was testy. “Well, the being here part, anyway. And I don’t think I was yelling.”

  Of all the freaking gall. Drake glowered at the young woman, who was standing next to his horse by then, unafraid, giving as good as she got.

  “Say what?” he asked.

  “I do have the right to be on this ranch,” she insisted. “I asked your mother’s permission to come out and study the wild horses, and she said yes, fine, no problem at all. She was very supportive, as it happens.”

  Well, shit.

  Why hadn’t she said that in the first place?

  Moreover, why hadn’t his mother bothered to mention any of this to him?

  For some reason, even in light of this development, he couldn’t back off, or not completely, anyway. Maybe it was his stubborn pride. “Okay,” he said evenly. “Why do you want to study wild horses? Considering that they’re...wild and everything.”

  She was undaunted. No real surprise there, although it was frustrating as hell. “I’m getting my PhD, and my dissertation is about the way wildlife, particularly horses, co-exist with the animals on working ranches.” She added, “And how ranchers deal with them. Ranchers like you.”

  Ranchers like him. Right.

  “Let’s get something straight, here and now,” he said, feeling cornered for some reason, and wondering why he liked it. “My mother might have given you the go-ahead to bedevil all the horses you can rustle up on this spread, but that’s as far as it goes. You aren’t going to study me.”

  “Are you saying you don’t obey your mother?” she asked sweetly.

  “That’s it,” he answered, without a trace of goodwill. By then, Drake’s mood was back on a downhill slide. What was h
e doing out here in the damn rain, bantering with some self-proclaimed intellectual? He wasn’t just cold, tired and wet, he was hungry, since all he’d had before leaving the house this morning was a slice of toast and a cup of coffee. He’d been in a hurry to get started, and now his blood sugar had dropped to the soles of his boots, and the effect on his disposition was not pretty.

  The saddle leather creaked as he bent toward her. “Listen, Ms. Whoever-you-are, I don’t give a rat’s ass about your thesis, or your theories about ranchers and wild horses, either. Do whatever it is you do, stay out of my way and try not to get yourself killed while you’re at it.”

  She didn’t bat an eye. “Hale,” she announced brightly, as though he hadn’t spoken. “My name is Lucinda Hale, but everybody calls me Luce.”

  He inhaled a long, deep breath. If he’d ever had that much trouble learning a woman’s name before, he didn’t recall the occasion. “Ms. Hale, then,” he began, tugging at the brim of his hat in a gesture that was more automatic than cordial. “I’ll leave you to it. While I’m sure your work is absolutely fascinating, not to mention vital to the future of the planet, I have plenty of my own to do. In short, while I’ve enjoyed shadowboxing with you, I’m fresh out of leisure time.”

  He might’ve been talking to the barn wall. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said cheerfully. “I wouldn’t dream of interfering. I’ll be an observer, that’s all. Watching, figuring out how things work, making a few notes. You won’t even know I’m around.”

  Drake bit back a terse reply and reined his horse away, although he didn’t use his heels. The dogs, still fascinated by the whole scenario, sat tight. “You’re right, Ms. Hale. I won’t know you’re around, because you won’t be. Not around me, that is.”

  “You really are a very difficult man,” she observed almost sadly. “Surely you can see the value of my project. Interactions between wild animals, domesticated ones and human beings?”

  * * *

  LUCE WAS COLD, wet, a little amused and very intrigued.

  Drake Carson was gawking at her as though she’d just popped in from a neighboring dimension, wearing a tutu and waving a wand. His two beautiful dogs, waiting obediently for some word or gesture from their master, seemed equally curious.

  The consternation on the man’s face was absolutely priceless.

  And a very handsome face it was, at least what she could see of it, shadowed by the brim of his hat the way it was. If he resembled his younger brother, Mace, whom she’d met earlier that day, he was one very impressive man.

  She decided to push him a bit, just to see what happened. “You run this ranch, don’t you?”

  “I do my best.”

  She liked his voice, which was a deep, slow drawl now, not mocking like before. “Then you’re the one I want.”

  Open mouth, she thought, insert foot.

  “For my project, I mean,” she added hastily.

  His strong jawline tightened visibly. “I don’t have time to babysit you,” he said. “This is a working ranch, not a resort.”

  “As I’ve said repeatedly, Mr. Carson, you won’t have to do any such thing. I can take care of myself, and I promise you, I won’t be underfoot.”

  He seemed unconvinced. And still irritated in the extreme.

  But he didn’t ride away.

  Luce had already been warned that Drake wouldn’t take to her project, but somehow she hadn’t expected this much resistance. She was normally a persuasive person, and reasonable, too.

  Of course, it helped if the other person was somewhat agreeable.

  Mentally, she cataloged the things she’d learned about Drake Carson.

  He was in charge of the ranch, which spanned thousands of acres and was home to lots of cattle and horses, as well as wildlife. The Carsons had very deep roots in Bliss County, Wyoming, going back several generations. He loved the outdoors, and he was good with animals, particularly horses.

  He was, in fact, a true cowboy.

  He was also on the quiet side, solitary by nature, slow to anger—but when he did get mad, he could be formidable. At thirty-two, Drake had never been married; he was college-educated, and once he’d gotten his degree—land management and animal husbandry—he’d come straight back to the ranch, having no desire to live anywhere else. He worked from sunrise to sunset and often longer.

  Harry, the Carsons’ housekeeper, whose real name was Harriet Armstrong, had dished up some sort of heavenly pie when Luce had arrived at the main ranch house fairly early in the day. As soon as Harry understood who Luce was and why she was there, she’d proceeded to spill information about Drake at a steady clip.

  Luce had encountered Mace Carson, Drake’s younger brother, very briefly, when he’d come in from the family vineyard expressly for a piece of pie. Harry had introduced them and explained Luce’s mission—i.e., to gather material for her dissertation and interview Drake in depth, thus getting the rancher’s perspective.

  Mace had smiled slightly and shaken his head in response to Harry’s briefing. “I’m glad you’re here, Ms. Hale, but I’m afraid my brother isn’t going to be a whole lot of use as a research subject. He’s into his work and not much else, and he doesn’t like to be distracted from whatever he’s got scheduled for the day. Makes him testy.”

  A quick glance in Harry’s direction had confirmed the sinking sensation Mace’s words produced. The older woman had given a small, reluctant nod of agreement.

  Well, Luce thought now, standing face-to-horse with Drake, they’d certainly known what they were talking about, Mace and Harry both.

  Drake was definitely testy.

  He stared grimly into the rainy distance for a long moment, then muttered, “As if that damn stallion wasn’t enough to get under my hide like a nasty itch.”

  “Cheer up,” Luce said. She loved a challenge. “I’m here to help.”

  Drake gave her a long, level look. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” he asked very slowly, and without a hint of humor. He flung out his free hand, making his point, the reins resting easily in the other one. “My problems are over.”

  “Didn’t you say you were leaving?” Luce asked.

  He opened his mouth, closed it again, evidently reconsidering whatever he’d been about to say. Finally, with a hoarse note in his voice, he went on. “I planned to,” he said. “But if I did, you’d be out here alone.” He looked around. “Where’s your horse? You won’t be getting close to those critters again today. The stallion will see to that.”

  Luce’s interest was genuine. “You sound as if you know him pretty well.”

  “We understand each other, all right,” Drake said. “We should. We’ve been playing this game for a while now.”

  That was going in her notes.

  She shook her head in belated answer to his question about her means of transportation. “I don’t have a horse,” she explained. “I parked my car at your place and hiked out here.”

  The day had been breathtakingly beautiful, before the clouds lowered and thickened and began dumping rain. She’d hiked in all the western states and in Europe, and this was some gorgeous country. The Grand Tetons were just that. Grand.

  “The house is a long way from here. You came all this way on foot?” Drake frowned at her. “Did my mother know you were crazy when she agreed to let you do your study here?”

  “I actually enjoy hiking. A little rain doesn’t bother me. I’ll take a hot shower when I get back to the house, change clothes and—”

  “When you get back to the house?” he repeated warily. “You’re staying there?”

  This was where she could tell him that Blythe Carson was an old friend of her mother’s, and she’d already been installed in one of the guest rooms, but she decided not to mention that just yet, in case he thought she was taking advantage. She was determin
ed not to inconvenience the family, and if she felt she was imposing, she would move to a hotel. She’d planned to do just that, actually, but Blythe, hospitable woman that she was, wouldn’t hear of it. Lord knew there was plenty of room, she’d said, and it wouldn’t make any sense to drive back and forth from town when Luce’s work was right here on the ranch.

  “You live in a beautiful house, by the way,” she said, trying to smooth things over a little. “Not what I expected to find out here in the wide-open spaces. All those chandeliers and oil paintings and gorgeous antiques.” Was she jabbering? Yes. She definitely was, and she couldn’t seem to stop. “I mean, it’s hardly the Ponderosa.” She beamed a smile at Drake. “I was planning to check into a hotel, or pitch a tent at one of the campgrounds, but your mother wanted no part of that idea, so...well, here I am.” Why couldn’t she just shut up? “My room has a fabulous view. It’ll be incredible, waking up to those mountains every morning.”

  Drake, understandably, was still a few beats behind, and little wonder, the way she’d been prattling. “You’re staying with us?”

  Hadn’t she just said that?

  She smiled her most ingenuous smile. “How else can I observe you in your native habitat?” The truth was, she intended to camp at least part of the time, provided the weather improved, simply because she wanted to enjoy the outdoors.

  Drake himself was one of the reasons she’d chosen the area for her research work, but he didn’t know that. He was well respected, a rancher’s rancher, with a reputation for hard work, integrity and intelligence.

  She’d known, even before Harry filled her in on the more personal aspects of Drake’s life, that he was an animal advocate, as well as a prominent rancher, that he’d minored in ecology. She’d first seen his name in print when she was still an undergrad, just a quote in an article, expressing his belief that running a large cattle operation could and should be done without endangering wildlife or the environment. Knowing that her mother and Blythe Carson were close had been a deciding factor, too, of course—a way of gaining access.