Always A Cowboy

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 he 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.