Once a Rancher (13 page)

He found the condoms he'd shoved in his pocket almost as an afterthought. More children would be fine with him—eventually—because his daughter enriched his life. But that was a discussion he and Grace needed to have well ahead of time.

Maybe before he asked her to marry him.

That wayward concept almost gave him pause, but her hands were pressed to the small of his back, and those gorgeous breasts were taut against his chest... He couldn't have stopped if he'd wanted to, and he sure as hell
didn't
want to.

Somehow he managed to roll on the condom, and then he sank into her, their breath mingling in a mutual exhalation of pleasure. She lifted her hips in unspoken acceptance, her lashes drifting down as she closed her eyes.

Not him. He watched her as he began to move, fascinated by how her expression changed as he made love to her, going from dreamy to intense as her climax began to build, her inner muscles tightening around him, her foot rubbing his calf, the slight rasp of her nails arousing.

Beautiful.
It was a word that always seemed to apply to Grace, but never so much as now. She arched and clung to him, her entire body trembling, and her cry of release was like a lit match to dry tinder, and he went up in the same inferno.

The aftermath was silent except for their rapid breathing until Slater finally raised his head. “I think it's off the table now.”

Grace laughed and that was interesting, considering their intimate position. “I'd say that and then some.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Hmm, can we put it back on the table again sometime soon?”

She stretched luxuriantly beneath him, deliberately teasing. “Depends on you, doesn't it?”

“Oh, there's a challenge if I ever heard one.” Slater grinned, but then he sobered and traced the contours of her shoulder. “We really started something here, didn't we?”

She didn't evade the question. “I'm afraid that's true.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

W
HEN
G
RACE
OPENED
her eyes she was disoriented for only a few seconds. All her law enforcement training might be responsible, but she realized quickly that while the surroundings weren't familiar, she knew where she was. Knew that was Slater with his arm draped over her, and that the moonlight slanting through the window when she dozed off had given way to a faint hint of dawn.

The bed was too small to share with Slater, whose rangy body took up almost the entire space. He lay sprawled in a relaxed pose next to her, breathing evenly. Grace rose up on one elbow and watched him, resigned to the fact that their early-morning return to the ranch house would be duly noted and the correct conclusions reached. A walk of shame would ensue when she went back wearing the same clothes as she had the night before. Facing his family—and Ryder—with some semblance of dignity would be a challenge, to put it mildly.

Why did she have the feeling Slater would just shrug it off, tell her to not worry about it?

She started to move away, but to her surprise the arm around her waist instantly tightened. He mumbled into the pillow, “No you don't. We haven't even said good morning.”

It was impossible not to object. “You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you.”

“I wasn't asleep.”

“I believe I heard a snore.”

“I don't snore.” He turned over and sent her a mock glare that she somehow found irresistible—despite having slept on the edge of a bed all night...

“People never admit they snore,” she pointed out, and if they'd been under the sheets, she would have pulled the top one up in maidenly modesty. He'd kept her warm through the night, and it appeared he wasn't letting her go quite yet.

That lazy smile surfaced. “Say it after me.
Good morning
. It's a great way to start your day.”

No one should wake up looking so sexy with that shadow of a beard and disheveled hair. But he did, damn him. “Good morning.” To her relief she sounded composed when she was anything but.

The night before had definitely rattled her.

He kissed her shoulder. “See? Not so difficult, is it? I take it you're having some morning-after regrets.”

“No.” That was honest. No regrets, but she was testing her level of comfort with the idea—the possibility—of emotional involvement. Her divorce had been a less than pleasant decision. Hank hadn't left her brokenhearted, but the experience did shake her faith in her own judgment, especially about men.

Yet, here she was.

“It's still early,” she said, pulling free and searching for her clothes. “I'd prefer that Ryder didn't find out we never went back to the ranch house. This is the wrong time in his life to give him the impression that casual sex is acceptable.”

“Casual?” Slater repeated. He sat up to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. The smile had disappeared. “Thanks. But I would've described it differently.”

She slipped on her underwear and stepped into her jeans. “I said
impression
. I'm sure he's noticed we're attracted to each other—well, I know he has—but I don't want him to think that's all it takes.”

Oh man, she'd bungled that one, judging by Slater's expression. Hastily, she tried to rectify her mistake, but it was hard to be quick-thinking when her fingers were shaking and she was having trouble with the clasp on her bra. “I meant neither of us really knows where this is going.”

His scowl told her that the attempt hadn't helped. He said softly, “Because you don't want to fall in love with me.”

It wasn't as if she didn't have failings, but a lack of honesty wasn't one of them. She bent down to pick up her blouse. “That's one hundred percent correct. The only time in my life I was seriously involved with someone, I didn't see the warning signs posted along the road I was traveling. Actually, it isn't you I don't trust, it's me.”

“Oh, great. Now I'm getting the old ‘it isn't you, it's me' speech?”

At least there was a hint of humor in his voice, so maybe he
was
getting the picture. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to tame it a little, which was no doubt a futile endeavor. She gave a theatrical sigh, trying to lighten the moment. “Don't worry, we're still going steady. For now. As long as you behave.”

“
Going steady?
What? Are we in high school?”

She decided to ignore that as he pulled on his jeans and then his boots, his actions efficient and unhurried. “You heard me. It's all about good behavior.”

“Hmm. Why am I getting the impression that you're the one making all the rules? Last I checked, you and I were both consenting, responsible adults. Ryder is bright enough to realize that. As for me behaving, depends on your definition. I think mine might not be the same as yours. So I wouldn't count on that if you're talking about last night because I'm expecting more of the same behavior, whether you call it good or bad—from both of us.”

That promise, made with a searing look in those oh-so-blue eyes that went right through her, was effective. Grace couldn't even find a reply.

They drove back to the house without speaking. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, more like the quiet after a storm had blown through. Grace glanced at him once or twice, but Slater was preoccupied and distant. That wasn't what she wanted, but she wasn't sure just
what
she wanted in the first place.

To spend another night locked in his arms, skin to skin?

Yes.

To have to decide what she should do next?

No.

One of the problems with life, she thought morosely, was that it was full of decisions. You made some smart choices and some that weren't but it seemed to be the bad ones that stood out.

Maybe she shouldn't even worry about this relationship getting serious. Slater, after all, was in his midthirties and he'd never married, so he might not be interested in anything serious, anyway.

Problem solved.

Slater parked in what seemed to be his designated spot by the garage as the first rays of the rising sun swept over the mountains, bathing the peaks with gold. Any illusions she might have entertained about slipping into the house unnoticed were banished when they met Drake coming through the front door onto the veranda, a cup of coffee in his hand. His grin was quick, but all he said was a polite “Nice morning, isn't it?”

“Supposed to be a sunny day,” Slater replied just as pleasantly, although there was a warning in his tone that shouted,
Don't say one word about us being gone all night
.

Drake was wise enough to heed it. Grace knew she was blushing, her hair more than a little mussed, but he pretended to not notice. He said blandly, “Harry's in there cooking up a storm as usual. We're moving cattle today, so I'm headed back out. I just needed some real coffee, not that black poison Red makes that could make grown men cry. If you feel like helping out later, Showbiz, we could use an extra hand. Oh, by the way, thanks. Mace owes me another twenty bucks. See you later, Grace.”

He went down the steps, the two German shepherds that seemed to follow him everywhere directly behind. Grace sent Slater a perplexed frown, but all he did was hold the door for her and mutter, “Individually they border on irritating at times. Together my brothers can be downright insufferable. Just ignore them. It's always worked for me.”

Pursuing whatever had prompted that observation didn't seem like a good idea. Grace could make an educated guess, anyway. “Men in general can be insufferable,” she said loftily as she walked past him.

“You didn't think so last night.”

That she couldn't deny.

She threw a look over her shoulder. “Don't get smug, Carson.”

He said serenely, “I wouldn't dream of it. Damn, it smells good in here, but then it generally does. Harry makes some sort of fruit bread that's so delicious it should be against the law. I swear I don't even know what kind of fruit she puts in it, and I don't care. I've never asked because it's impolite to talk with your mouth full.”

It did smell good, she had to admit. She was hungry, but she needed a shower and change of clothes first, so she could at least pretend her life wasn't topsy-turvy. “Can you please point me toward my room?” He'd shown it to her, deposited her overnight bag there, but last night had apparently affected her memory.

“Of course. I believe when we met I told you this place is like a maze.” He escorted her down a hall, turned right and—just her luck—they met his mother. Her hair was neatly pulled back, and she wore crisp white Capri pants and a light blue smocked top, a gold bracelet on her wrist. Tactfully, Blythe Carson said, “Hello, you two. Harry's making your favorite bread, Slater. I'm off to grab a slice before you get your hands on it. See you later.”

She breezed down the hall, not looking back.

Slater was laughing when he indicated a door. “Here's some advice. Never play poker for money. I think you might have the most expressive face I've ever seen. Grace, once again, and you've pointed this out, you and I
aren't
high school kids. My mother isn't going to faint from shock if she draws the conclusion that we spent the night together.”

“We aren't married.”

Horror swept over her. The man had a habit of making her blurt out ridiculous things. Things she'd never, ever say if she'd thought about them first. Earlier she'd mentioned love and he hadn't forgotten it, either, and now she'd mentioned marriage.

What was wrong with her? Getting married again was the last-place item on her to-do list. Right down there vying with root canals or getting frostbite.

Slater rubbed his lean jaw and although she was, according to him, an open book, she couldn't tell anything from his expression. He just said, “No, we aren't. I didn't realize you were an old-fashioned girl.”

“Hardly a girl.”

“I'd swear to that in a court of law. Definitely a woman.”

Maybe it could be termed beating a hasty retreat—or more likely the coward's way out—but she yanked open the door of the room. “I'll see you at breakfast.”

* * *

W
HEN
YOU
WERE
dealing with
a skittish horse, you calmed it down with a soft tone and a gentle touch.

Same technique for a skittish woman. At least that had always been old Red's advice. And he'd certainly had a happy marriage...

Except, good advice or not, Slater had the feeling now was not the time to do anything except give Grace some breathing room. He refused to acknowledge one speck of regret about their night together, because she was right; they'd both needed to get past the physical part to find out if there was more.

There was. Ironically, that made it even more complicated. In his experience, women were always ready to get serious faster than a man, although Grace was an exception to that rule.

As he drove back to the condo, he chatted with Ryder instead of talking to her, which might be a good plan or might not. He wasn't sure how else to handle it. He asked Ryder how the job was going.

“Red's really cool,” the boy informed him from the backseat. “At first I thought he was kind of mean, but that ain't the way the cow ate the cabbage.”

Despite his personal dilemma, Slater started laughing so hard he almost went off the road. “What?”

“It means that ain't the truth.”

Slater saw Grace was laughing now, too, her hand held against her mouth. He said, “I know what it means because he's been using that expression my entire life. I'm just surprised to hear
you
say it, that's all. Plus, maybe you shouldn't be picking up words like
ain't
. Red does old cowboy speak with the best of 'em. I got into trouble at school once when I repeated something he said—I won't tell you what—without knowing what it meant. My mother lectured me, and then she lit into him. Almost thirty years later, he hasn't said it in front of me again.”

In the rearview mirror, Ryder looked sheepish. “I didn't think of that. He does say some funny things.”

“I'm sure most of what he says is perfectly okay,” Grace inserted into the conversation, “but maybe you should listen to Slater. I'd just as soon skip more calls from the school. How's the homework going?”

As someone who was once a fourteen-year-old boy, Slater winced. She could still do cop well enough. Question or interrogation?

Ryder's pose went from relaxed to tense, and his reply was surly. “Fine.”

“I want you to keep me in the loop.”

“There is no loop, Grace. I get homework and I'm doing it.”

Luckily, she was smart enough to understand she'd pushed the limit. After a moment she said lightly, “If that's the way the cow ate the cabbage, I'm very proud of you.”

Good save. “My mother, she's a tough boss, eh?” Slater said. “Makes Red look like a fairy godmother in comparison. He'll just call you a no-account, wet-behind-the-ears kid with straw for brains. She'll give you that
look
. If you haven't seen it yet, I can't describe it, but I still get it now and then.”

Actually, he'd gotten a similar one that morning, when he and Grace weren't talking at breakfast and she'd leveled it in his direction.
What have you done to upset her?

Words weren't necessary after the
look
.

The answer to her unspoken question was... No idea. No clue. He'd shrugged and at least known he was telling the truth with his body language.

“Grace can do it, too,” Ryder informed him, resting an elbow on his knee and his chin on a fist. “So I'm familiar with it.”