Once A Rancher. Linda Miller Lael

she crossed those sexy legs. Or the way her breasts were nicely outlined by her blouse when she leaned forward.

      It had been a long time since he’d felt as interested in a woman as he was in this one.

      Maybe long enough to qualify as never.

      That thought set him back.

      It was only lust, he reminded himself as he backed out of the driveway. He barely knew her so the attraction was mainly physical. But fate did seem to be tossing him in her path. Or perhaps it was the reverse. She was no less aware of him...

      He wondered about her life as a police officer and could only imagine some of the remarks she’d heard, since law enforcement didn’t usually deal with the finest society had to offer. He asked conversationally, “So, how long were you a cop?”

      “Eight years.” To his disappointment Grace tugged her skirt down a little. She raised her shoulders in a shrug as she said, “It was an interesting journey. I thought at one time, with the usual starry-eyed optimism, that a degree in criminal justice and a belief in right and wrong enabled a person to make a difference.”

      “I’m guessing the optimist turned into a cynic?”

      She considered that for a moment. “Actually, no. She’s still around—the optimist, that is—but older and wiser. She learned about the world we live in, and about people in general, and not all of that was good. But the stars are still there, winking in the night sky.”

      Slater laughed. “I see them, too, once in a while. I think you’ll like Mick Branson, by the way. The friend we’re meeting, that is. He’s a major investor, as well as a good buddy of mine. Be warned that he could be the most self-possessed, understated person I’ve ever met. The sense of humor lurking there is so dry, it’s easy to miss, and I’ve been tempted to ask him if he’s ever lost his temper. I’m going to assume he has, but nobody could tell that by looking at him. Or talking to him...”

      Grace’s lips curved, and he couldn’t tell if it was a grimace or a smile. “He sounds interesting. I think my assistant’s talked to Mr. Branson on the phone. She seemed unclear about whether he was pleased by the arrangements or not. I’ll be glad to meet him in person and get a clearer sense of the situation.”

      “Good luck with that. Mick’s more of a read-between-the-lines sort of person.” The resort was only maybe half a mile from the condo complex, and Slater pulled into a parking spot. “But he’ll like you, I know that. Confident women are definitely his thing. Confident, beautiful women, it goes without saying, are even more his thing.”

      Mick had better not like her too much, Slater thought—then felt like a fool.

      “That’s a well-done compliment,” Grace remarked.

      “Just telling the truth.”

      “Yet you invited me to meet him, anyway,” Grace said serenely as she unbuckled her seat belt. “Have I mentioned that confident men are my thing?”

      “Not yet.” He got out and went around to open her door. “Must be convenient to have the office so close by.”

      “Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t.” She accepted the change in subject as she stepped out. “I’m not like you, traveling all over. In fact, I never really leave the office.”

      “Advantages to both.” For the first time he touched her, placing one hand lightly on the small of her back as they walked to the resort’s main entrance. “This is your territory. I’ve been here before but never to the Diamond Trail Bar. You lead and I’ll follow.”

      “That’s the way I like it.”

      Her arch glance gave him pause. Flirtation? He couldn’t come up with a swift response to the possible sexual innuendo, although he rarely found himself at a loss for words. Especially in that kind of situation. Slater accompanied her into the foyer, inwardly shaking his head, and wondered if he was making a wise move or just being an idiot.

      He expected a vote would grant him the idiot award. Grace Emery was on the prickly side; obviously her life was complicated if she was raising her stepson, and his was complicated, too, between Daisy and his job.

      But...nothing good in this world, his mother had often pointed out, came easy.

      The Diamond Trail was on the side of the building facing the mountains, with big windows and raised walnut tables, a huge river-stone fireplace and an elegant bar, which stood near a small infinity fountain that matched the obsidian stone of the counter. When Grace walked in, the bartender waved, so she went over, murmured a greeting then rejoined Slater. “I don’t drink when I’m at work. Will you be offended if I have water?”

      “Nope, but as someone with a vested interest in a winery, please tell me you enjoy a glass now and then.”

      “I love wine,” she said. “And I love the wines from Mountain Vineyards. Especially the pinot noir and the chardonnay. Your brother is very talented.”

      “I’d like to think it runs in the family,” Slater said smoothly. “Talent, I mean. I’m not talkin’ wine in my case. There’s our table. Mick beat us here. As I said, I think you’ll like him.”

      She looked up at Slater, laughing again.

      Mick stood when he spotted them, his dark eyes holding that glimmer of understated amusement. He was from New Mexico, and there was a Latin grace about him. Most likely a legacy of the old Dons, the aristocratic families who’d come over from Spain and settled in the Southwest four centuries ago. He somehow looked aristocratic and maybe it was a mistake to introduce him to Ms. Emery, but Slater had the feeling she liked him well enough that he was safe.