Always a Cowboy (20 page)

He loved her hair? She really was drifting off. “Uh-huh.”

“But a wise old bowlegged wizard warned him she might put a hitch in his normally peaceful existence and the darned fool didn't listen to what was plain common sense. He got involved with her, anyway.”

“Maybe the cowpoke was stubborn and hardheaded.”

“Hey, who's telling this story?” Drake ran his finger over the curve of her right brow.

“You are.”

“That's what I thought. So, anyway, he wants to ignore her, but he can't. He
wants
to, mind you, but he just...can't.”

“Noble of him.”

“I think so. He was trying not to take advantage of her.”

“What made him think he could?”

“She looked at him a certain way.”

“Oh, I see, a love at first sight story.”

“Ha-ha. Could be, I guess. Want me to keep going? You seem to be down for the count.”

“No, no, I'm still awake.”

Drake laughed softly. “Yeah, I can tell.”

It was the last thing she remembered.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

H
E
HAD
MYRIAD
problems to solve.

Luce slept next to him with her face turned away and, between her and Harold, he doubted he'd close his eyes. So he'd resigned himself to a sleepless night.

Fine with him. He needed to figure things out.

He might've made a mistake by not telling Mace to end the issue with the big cat, but a man had to live with himself. Luce's entire thesis centered on how people and wild animals interacted and, in principle, anyway, he thought they could usually respect each other and achieve a balance.

But...not always. Animals were as individual as human beings. They had their routines and habits, and the lion had to go. He'd decided that last night. It wasn't about vengeance; he knew the critter was operating on instinct, but he couldn't risk letting it roam free. He had to think about the livestock.

Hell, he had to think about
people
.

Harold stirred and Violet was immediately on alert, as was Drake. Part of the reason he was sleeping outside was to make sure the dog didn't hurt himself by getting up too soon. Harold truly was a ranch dog, used to working. The possibility that he'd struggle to his feet once the sedative wore off was very real.

Drake said quietly, “I'm here.”

The dog settled back down. Maybe it was sentimental, but he wanted to be there when Harold woke up in the morning.

He wasn't the only one, as it happened.

Slater wandered out with a blanket and feigned a yawn. There was a reason he was a producer and not an actor—he couldn't fake a damn thing. “Can't sleep, and I didn't want to keep Grace awake, tossing and turning. Thought I might camp out here for a while.”

Luce stirred but didn't wake. Drake stifled a laugh. “You were checking on Harold, weren't you? Make yourself comfortable, if that's possible. How long do you think before Mace shows up?”

“Two minutes, tops. I met him in the hall.” Slater slapped down his blanket and sank on top of it. “He was trying to pretend he wasn't coming this way. Hmph.”

“Slate,” Drake said, “if you're going for casual, it isn't working.”

“We're brothers. Therefore, I'm worried about you
and
the dog. Hell, Drake, all of us love Harold—even if his name is a mite on the stupid side.”

Drake ignored the name comment. He had his reasons for calling his dogs what he did. “He just came to. Tried to get up, then changed his mind.”

His older brother relaxed. “You know,” he said, “it's kind of nice out here. I haven't done this in a while.” He sighed companionably. “I remember sleeping out here a lot when we were kids. I'll never forget the night you and Mace got into it over a candy bar we'd snitched from Harry's stash in the pantry. While the two of you were brawling, I ate it myself—for the sake of peace and goodwill.”

“Mace was just as annoying back then as he is now,” Drake said. “We probably would've duked it out over something else, if not that chocolate bar.”

“Who's annoying?” Sure enough, it was Mace, dropping his bedroll to the floor of the veranda.

“You are.”

He shook his head in mock disgust. “Talking about me behind my back,” he muttered. “I thought better of you.” He executed a yawn only slightly more convincing than Slater's had been. “How's Harold? I came to keep him company.”

“He's holding on,” Drake said.

A moment later, their mother came out, too, toting a blanket and a pillow. She surveyed the now-crowded porch with a resigned look on her face. “Nobody mentioned a family campout,” she said. “I'd think
one
of you might have invited me.”

“This seems to be a drop-in kind of deal,” Mace told her. “Come as you are, and all that.”

Everyone was keeping it down, but Luce was so exhausted, even the extra voices didn't wake her. At least, Drake thought, they hadn't all wandered out here and found him and Luce sharing a sleeping bag.

Blythe wasn't naive, but she
was
his mother, and Drake would have been embarrassed as hell.

“Remember when we used to do this with Dad?” Mace asked. “I was considered one of the coolest kids at school when I told them we had a ‘sleeping porch.'” He leaned forward a little, peering at the dog. “I see Harold's awake. That's good. Means he'll be okay.”

“Quiet,” Drake cautioned, watching Luce sleep through all the arrivals, wondering if she was going to be chagrined in the morning at waking up to a crowd scene. He shifted closer to her. “She's really tired.”

“Of you?” Mace said. “Sure, who wouldn't be?”

“Don't be a wiseass.”

Slater intervened, as usual. “I agree with Drake. If the two of you start to bicker and somehow wake up my pregnant wife, I can't answer for what might happen next. I might just end the argument myself, or I might let her loose on you two. Watch it. She's a force to be reckoned with at all times. That red hair does not lie.”

Drake loved Grace. A former police officer, she knew how to put her foot down.

So did his mother. “They aren't going to argue. Go to sleep. You especially, Drake. There are more than enough of us to look out for Harold and Violet, not that Violet can't take care of herself.”

The Blythe Carson method. Clear and succinct. It had worked when they were kids, and that tone was still mighty effective. Drake closed his eyes. He'd doubted that he'd catch even a wink, but it did help to know that there were other eyes and ears tuned in.

Five seconds later, he'd zonked out.

* * *

L
UCE
WOKE
TO
the smell of coffee, the scent of fresh bread and voices. She didn't even know where she was until Violet trotted over and licked her hand. She sat up on the hard floor of the porch and pushed her hair away from her face.

Daylight. She'd rarely slept that long. Or that deeply.

It seemed that breakfast alfresco was taking place on the veranda.

The round table at one end held a makeshift buffet, with muffins, a carafe of coffee and a pitcher of juice. There were also plates of sausages, along with a big glass bowl full of mixed fruit. People were sitting in various chairs or on the steps, talking and eating.

As she blinked in confusion at the blankets everywhere around her, Harry breezed through the door carrying a platter. “Scrambled eggs. And if anyone asks for ketchup or hot sauce, I'll have their hide.”

Blythe, wearing some sort of lacy robe over silk pajamas, gave Luce a sunny smile. “Good morning, honey. If you're hungry, there's plenty.”

Drake was, of course, nowhere in sight. Just her luck. Luce had on pajama pants patterned with tiny cows—a pair her sister had given her and christened “the moo pants”—and a faded old T-shirt. Crawling out of her sleeping bag was embarrassing; on the other hand, she'd apparently been snoozing away in front of Drake's entire family for who knows how long.

“I, er, might run inside for a few minutes.” She made a beeline for the door, since a swift exit seemed prudent. When she got to the bathroom, she saw that her Rapunzel hair was out of control. She rarely wore makeup, so she'd done nothing to remove it, and there were definite dark smudges under her eyes. She scrubbed those away, tamed the hair and put on a pair of jeans, a better shirt and a pair of slip-on shoes. She was late for breakfast yet again.

The Carson household was generally unpredictable. It wasn't every day a girl woke up to discover that she'd slept on a porch, watched by half a dozen people. What
was
predictable was their softhearted attachment to the dogs.

She still found it hard to believe that she was going to become one of these people, a member of their family. She hadn't known Drake very long, but the doubts she'd experienced during her first engagement just weren't there.

How odd to realize it.

This was perfect for her. Okay, sort of perfect. She had the handsome cowboy, and the ranch life she was settling into so easily. But...her family was still in California and she'd have to give up her teaching dream...

Nothing worth having came without sacrifice, she reminded herself. Once she had her master's, maybe she could look for something with the park service. She wasn't cut out to bake cookies and pack school lunches—at least not as a full-time vocation. Centering your life on family appealed to her, but she wanted a professional life, too. In a word, she wanted it
all
.

She hoped to teach at the college or university level. The closest college in this area was quite a drive, even if she managed to land a position there. And completing her PhD, which was another lifetime goal, seemed unlikely if she lived on a remote ranch.

She also guessed babies would be involved at some point. After all, Blythe had already brought up the subject.

There were certainly some things she and Drake needed to discuss—sooner rather than later. Maybe when he was her captive on the plane to California, strapped into the next seat, she could bring up subjects like the actual wedding. She had the distinct feeling that the kind of elaborate wedding her mother was going to want would not be welcome news; Drake was bound to prefer something simple. Beth's wedding had involved a string quartet, hothouse orchids and waiters in tuxedos. Their mother was adamant when it came to entertaining. Beth had confided that she'd just thrown up her hands and bowed out of the decision-making process, except for choosing the dress.

“Have a seat.” Blythe offered her a plate. They were alone on the porch now. “Drake is off moving cattle, Mace left for the vineyard a few minutes ago and Slater has a meeting with some of his investors, so he's flying to Cheyenne. Grace went to the resort. She's cutting back her hours but isn't quite ready to stay home and wait it out. I'm going to relax here with the dogs, keep an eye on them. I spend most of my time out here, anyway. I have this new book I'm itching to read, and poor Harold gives me an excuse to indulge myself. What are your plans?”

That
was a transparent question. Luce was sure everyone in the household knew Drake had forbidden her to go out on her own, and they were waiting to see how she'd handle it. “I'm going to work on my paper. Don't worry. After last night, I won't go out by myself. But truthfully, that mountain lion's been out there the whole time. Maybe it followed me, and maybe it didn't. Life is full of risks.”

“I'm not going to disagree with that. Risk is everywhere. Falling in love is a risk.” Blythe sent her a matronly, knowing look. “Have some fruit salad. Bex Calder's recipe. I had to practically bribe it out of her. It's so good.”

Not sure what to say, Luce helped herself to a bowl of fruit salad and a muffin. She felt her future was spinning out of control. Unexpected things, positive things, were happening, but
she
wasn't controlling them any longer. She said faintly, “Thank you.”

“Your mother's looking forward to meeting Drake. Well, she
has
met him before, when he was much younger. And my father's thrilled we're all coming.”

Luce couldn't picture the austere man being thrilled about anything, so she took a bite of her muffin instead of commenting. It was delicious, made with bananas and white chocolate, among the more notable ingredients. Finally, she said, “I mentioned the dates to Drake. I got the impression that when we go doesn't really matter. I assume he'll want to spend some time with his grandfather.”

“He and his grandfather don't get along all that well.” Blythe looked resigned. “You've met my father.”

Luce nodded. She certainly didn't know him well but had a clear memory of the distinguished elderly man, owner of a renowned winery.

“Well...” Bythe sighed. “My father and my husband didn't see eye to eye, either. To Dad, ranching is something people should pay to have someone else do for them. It's fine to own the property and stock, but choosing to be a true rancher baffles him. He couldn't rope a calf or break a horse to save his life. He was raised in wine country and, to his mind, being a vintner is a cultured thing to do. Getting dust on your boots is not. I won't use the word
snob
, and he loves Drake, but they don't understand each other. My father can taste a glass of wine while wearing a thousand-dollar suit and tell you exactly what grapes were used. My son can move a thousand cattle to a different pasture. Both of them are capable and stubborn as all get-out, and just different enough to strike sparks off each other. Yet I love them both. Have you set a date for the wedding?”

The...what?

“He
told
you he proposed?” She was going to strangle the man. They'd agreed to break the news together.

“Drake?” Blythe smiled and poured her a cup of coffee. “Of course not. Sons don't tell their mothers anything that personal, but he didn't have to tell me. Remember when you and I went ring shopping? Cream in your coffee and no sugar, right?”

“I remember the ring shopping,” she said, slightly startled by the abrupt shift from jewelry to coffee. “And yes, right. Cream and no sugar, please.”

“And here I thought I was being subtle about the wedding.”

Yeah, as subtle as a sledgehammer. Luce had to ask, “Um, how often do you talk with my mother?”

“Now and then.”

The coffee was wonderful and she needed some caffeine. She took a long sip. “Why do I suspect that means almost daily?”

“Now that you're here, we chat a little more often than before.”

“Drake wanted to talk to my father before we announced our plans.”

“That doesn't surprise me. I won't say a word, but your mother's already emailed me several pictures of wedding gowns she thinks would suit you. I'm afraid I did mention the film footage Slater's crew caught of my son kissing her daughter. Forgive me, but having been friends all these years, how could I
not
tell her about that?”