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 determined 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.
She allowed herself a few minutes to study the man. He sat his horse confidently, relaxed and comfortable in the saddle, the reins loosely held. The well-trained animal stood there calmly, clipping grass but not moving otherwise during their discussion.
Drake broke into her reverie by saying, “Guess I’d better take you back before something happens to you.” He leaned toward her, reaching down. “Climb on.”
She looked at the proffered hand and bit her lip, hesitant to explain that, despite her consuming interest in horses, she wasn’t an experienced rider—the last time she’d been in the saddle, at summer camp when she was twelve, something had spooked her mount. She’d been thrown, breaking her collarbone and her right arm, and nearly trampled in the process.
Passion for horses or not, she was anything but confident.
She couldn’t tell him that, not after the exchange they’d just had. He would no doubt laugh or make some cutting remark, or both, and her pride smarted at the very idea.
Besides, she wouldn’t be holding the reins, handling the huge gelding; Drake would. And there was no denying the difficulties the weather presented, in terms of trailing the stallion and his mares from place to place.
She’d gotten some great footage during the afternoon, though, and made some useful notes, which meant the day wasn’t a total loss.
“My backpack’s heavy,” she pointed out, her drummed-up courage already faltering a little. The top of that horse was pretty far off the ground. She could climb mountains, for Pete’s sake, but that was small consolation; she’d been standing on her own two feet the whole time.
At last, Drake smiled, and the impact of that smile was palpable. He was still leaning toward her, still holding out his hand. “Starburst’s knees won’t buckle under the weight of a backpack,” he told her. “Or yours, either.”
The logic was sound, if not particularly comforting.
Drake slipped his booted foot out from the stirrup to make room for hers. “Come on. I’ll haul you up behind me.”
She handed up the backpack, sighed heavily. “Okay,” she said. Then, gamely, she took Drake’s hand. His grip was strong, and he swung her up behind him with no apparent effort.
It was easy to imagine this man working with horses, delivering breach calves and digging postholes for fences.
Settled on the animal’s broad back, Luce had no choice but to put her arms around Drake’s cowboy-lean waist and grip him like the jaws of life.
The rain was coming down harder, and conversation was impossible.
Gradually, Luce relaxed enough to loosen her hold on Drake’s middle.
A little, anyway.
Now that she was fairly sure she wasn’t facing certain death, Luce allowed herself to enjoy the ride. Intrepid hiker though she was, the thought of trudging back in the driving rain made her wince.
She hadn’t missed the irony of the situation, either. She wanted to study wild horses, but she was a rank greenhorn with a slew of sweaty-palmed phobias. Drake had surely noticed, skilled as he was, and he would have been well within his rights to comment.
He didn’t, though.
When they finally reached the ranch house, he was considerate enough not to grin when she slid clumsily off the horse and almost landed on her rear in a giant puddle. No, he simply tugged at the brim of his hat, suppressing a smile, and rode away without looking back.
WHEN DRAKE CAME in for supper that night, he was half-starved, chilled to the bone and feeling as though he’d worked like an old cow pony and still achieved next to nothing.
He’d seen the mare he’d bought for a small fortune and personally trained, out there on the range that day, but he sure hadn’t won her back. Which only added insult to injury. That whistle had always brought her right to the pasture fence at a full run for an apple or a carrot and a nose rub. It had almost worked today, but not quite, not with that young stallion keeping watch.
Drake hadn’t found the latest missing calf, either. He’d repaired one of the gates on the north pasture—and discovered he had exactly the same problem with the one just east of it. Then he had to call the vet to come out because he had a cow dropping a calf and she was in obvious trouble...
Every single minute of the day had brought new problems.
Add to that the young graduate student who, for some reason he couldn’t
