Once A Rancher. Linda Miller Lael

anything was possible.

      Ryder was late coming home from school. She hoped he didn’t have detention or something like that. It occurred to her that the text could be from him, so she snatched up her cell and saw with relief that it was.

      I was talking to some guys and I missed the bus. Be there soon.

      The number was unfamiliar. The school had cracked down on students bringing cell phones. If a kid was caught with one, it was confiscated and a parent could come and pick it up from the office. If a kid was caught twice, it wasn’t returned. Grace understood the policy; it would be difficult to teach anyone anything if all your students were playing on their phones during class. But at times like this, it would be nice not to be frantic with worry.

      Be there soon? Some parent must be giving him a ride, because the resort and condo complex was a fair way outside Mustang Creek. As it was, the bus dropped him off at the end of the drive and Ryder had to walk a good three quarters of a mile to get home. Most of the condos were rentals for hikers in the summer and skiers in the winter, so he was the only kid his age who lived there full-time.

      Grace yanked open the door when she heard the car pull up, so she could profusely thank the parent, whoever it was, before she got Ryder inside and ripped into him for fighting at school.

      Not a car but a truck. Moreover, it had a familiar sign on the side. As Ryder opened the passenger door and hopped out, the driver emerged, too, the sun shining on his dark hair. Vivid blue eyes, those striking features—straight nose and sensual mouth... Slater Carson. He was dressed differently than when she’d seen him last, more businesslike in a tailored shirt and dress slacks, but he still wore cowboy boots, and his slow smile matched his stride as he came around the truck. “I found something I thought you might want back. Picked it up along the side of the road.”

      She gave Ryder the look. “Thank you, Mr. Carson. I’ll admit,” she added for Ryder’s benefit, “to being worried half out of my mind. Ryder, go feed your cat, and if you have homework, don’t even think about video games or watching TV. And clean your room, too.”

      Ryder obviously had some sense of self-preservation there, because he didn’t argue, just bolted through the door.

      Slater Carson chuckled. “Guilt. Good strategy. My mother always used that one on me. Actually, she still does. Hey, the kid missed the bus. It happens.”

      “The kid,” Grace informed him in a tight voice, “got into a fight at school and was suspended from his gym class but didn’t mention it to me, and now he’s so busy goofing off with some of the guys that he misses the bus. To tell you the truth, I’m a little annoyed with him right now.”

      “I can see that.” Slater’s eyes were amused but sympathetic. “So did he, judging by the way he hightailed it inside. He’s probably already hauling out the vacuum cleaner. Oh, and my name is Slater. Mr. Carson is reserved for my bank manager.”

      “And you can call me Grace,” she said with a little more composure. “I really do appreciate you bringing Ryder home, Mr. Car—I mean Slater.”

      “No problem.”

      She should do something. Why was she tongue-tied? That never happened to her. “Can I offer you a glass of iced tea?”

      Okay, kind of lame as Ryder would put it, but better than nothing.

      “I’m actually headed to the resort for drinks with a friend who’s there for a small conference this weekend. That’s why I spotted Ryder hoofing it along the road.”

      His friend must be one of the executives—or an important investor. She guessed she’d find out soon enough.

      She gave him a straightforward look. “I take it that we owe you for a good chunk of our corporate business. I noticed a number of the guests are from California. I assume that has to do with your connections in film and finance.”

      He didn’t confirm or deny. “This area is off the beaten path. It’s hard to relax in the middle of traffic and everything else that comes with a big city. Care to join my friend and me?”

      Grace was more than a little unprepared for the invitation. True, she had to go back to the resort now that she’d located her errant stepson, although there was a conversation they still needed to have, but she hadn’t expected to have a drink with Slater Carson—at least not tonight.

      On the one hand, it was good public relations.

      On the other hand...it might be dangerous for private relations.

      * * *

      HE WAS TAKING a gamble.

      When Slater had recognized Ryder Emery trudging along the side of the road, head down, he’d pulled over and offered him a ride. The young man—almost man—had seemed very relieved. Slater understood that Ryder’s situation was a difficult one; Ryder lived with his stepmother, he was going to a new school, leading a new life. But he also needed to grasp a few realities, most of which involved the fact that he was both unlucky and very lucky. Slater didn’t know anything about the kid’s parents except that his dad was military and they weren’t here, but Grace was, and that, as far as he could tell, was extremely lucky.

      Slater, Drake and Mace had lost their father way too early. Not lucky. But they’d been left with their mother and Harry, Red, and a few other people who’d eased their pain, so that was very lucky. He was waiting for Daisy to ask him why he and Raine had never gotten married. He was going to tell her the truth. That they liked each other but weren’t a good match, and not making the mistake in the first place was better than a divorce. Remaining friends seemed a great solution and they both loved her.

      Oversimplified, perhaps, but true.

      Slater had seen the relief in Grace’s eyes when she realized the boy was safe, so affection wasn’t the problem. She’d been worried, that was all. Like any parent would.

      “Listen, Grace, whether he could have prevented it or not, I don’t think Ryder meant to miss the bus deliberately.”

      She hadn’t responded to his invitation yet. He watched her and couldn’t deny that she looked just as beautiful as when he’d first seen her, and just as hopping mad. This afternoon she wore some kind of lacy sleeveless top and a navy skirt, and both complemented her vivid coloring. “Are you always going to take his side?” she snapped.

      Always? The word had obviously startled her as much as it had him. She stopped and visibly steadied herself. “Sorry. I meant, this is the second time he’s really messed up in the last few days. You’re being very understanding, when I’m mad as hell because he can be so thoughtless. Part of me wants to ground the kid until he’s eighteen, and another part wants to ask him how he feels, but I know he won’t answer that. Anyway, yes to the drink. Thank you. If I stay here, I’ll probably end up chewing Ryder out—again.” She paused. “Let me get my purse. Okay if I drive with you? I can walk back later.”

      She turned in a swirl of long red-gold hair and outrage and stalked into the house. Nice long legs and firm backside. He liked the view. Slater also agreed that the irate redhead and the truculent teenager should probably be apart for a little while before they had their next conversation. Ryder had seemed tense in the car, and Slater had left him alone. First of all, it certainly wasn’t his business, and second, he remembered how he’d dealt with life at that age. A knee-jerk reaction to criticism had been his default setting back then. In the end, after thinking it over, he’d usually decided that maybe his parents weren’t complete idiots after all.

      Now, as a parent himself, he was well aware that his opinions might be scorned first and reluctantly respected later.

      Grace reappeared with a black leather bag over her shoulder and a more relaxed demeanor. “He apologized,” she said as Slater opened the passenger door. “That’s something. All I told him was that I was going back to work. He apologized on his own.”

      “You just won the lottery of boyhood maturity markers.” He closed the door and went around the truck, sliding into the driver’s