Once A Rancher

“Good luck with that. Mick’s more of a read-between-the-lines sort of person.” The resort was only maybe half a mile from the condo complex, and Slater pulled into a parking spot. “But he’ll like you, I know that. Confident women are definitely his thing. Confident, beautiful women, it goes without saying, are even more his thing.”

Mick had better not like her too much, Slater thought—then felt like a fool.

“That’s a well-done compliment,” Grace remarked.

“Just telling the truth.”

“Yet you invited me to meet him, anyway,” Grace said serenely as she unbuckled her seat belt. “Have I mentioned that confident men are my thing?”

“Not yet.” He got out and went around to open her door. “Must be convenient to have the office so close by.”

“Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t.” She accepted the change in subject as she stepped out. “I’m not like you, traveling all over. In fact, I never really leave the office.”

“Advantages to both.” For the first time he touched her, placing one hand lightly on the small of her back as they walked to the resort’s main entrance. “This is your territory. I’ve been here before but never to the Diamond Trail Bar. You lead and I’ll follow.”

“That’s the way I like it.”

Her arch glance gave him pause. Flirtation? He couldn’t come up with a swift response to the possible sexual innuendo, although he rarely found himself at a loss for words. Especially in that kind of situation. Slater accompanied her into the foyer, inwardly shaking his head, and wondered if he was making a wise move or just being an idiot.

He expected a vote would grant him the idiot award. Grace Emery was on the prickly side; obviously her life was complicated if she was raising her stepson, and his was complicated, too, between Daisy and his job.

But...nothing good in this world, his mother had often pointed out, came easy.

The Diamond Trail was on the side of the building facing the mountains, with big windows and raised walnut tables, a huge river-stone fireplace and an elegant bar, which stood near a small infinity fountain that matched the obsidian stone of the counter. When Grace walked in, the bartender waved, so she went over, murmured a greeting then rejoined Slater. “I don’t drink when I’m at work. Will you be offended if I have water?”

“Nope, but as someone with a vested interest in a winery, please tell me you enjoy a glass now and then.”

“I love wine,” she said. “And I love the wines from Mountain Vineyards. Especially the pinot noir and the chardonnay. Your brother is very talented.”

“I’d like to think it runs in the family,” Slater said smoothly. “Talent, I mean. I’m not talkin’ wine in my case. There’s our table. Mick beat us here. As I said, I think you’ll like him.”

She looked up at Slater, laughing again.

Mick stood when he spotted them, his dark eyes holding that glimmer of understated amusement. He was from New Mexico, and there was a Latin grace about him. Most likely a legacy of the old Dons, the aristocratic families who’d come over from Spain and settled in the Southwest four centuries ago. He somehow looked aristocratic and maybe it was a mistake to introduce him to Ms. Emery, but Slater had the feeling she liked him well enough that he was safe.