Sunday was even warmer than predicted, pushing into the seventies, with barely a whisper of a breeze to stir the summer-soft air as the horses ambled down the trail to the river with Hank in the lead on Ruby and Grace following on Tick. The dogs bounded in and out of the tall grass, as if they knew that today was about pleasure, not business. When they spooked up a flock of quail, Hank let them go streaking off in hot but pointless pursuit.
Grace turned her face up to the sun as the dogs came trotting back with huge grins and lolling tongues. She knew exactly how they felt. If Hank hadn’t been watching, she might have thrown herself down to roll in the grass just like Spider.
The night before, she and the boys had had their own NFR viewing party, with Cokes and pizza, and ice cream pie from Dairy Queen for dessert. The bareback riders had faced the eliminator pen—the rankest, hardest-to-ride horses in the world. Over half of them had hit the ground. The young Canadian had struggled to make the eight-second whistle and scored only seventy points.
But Delon had not only covered his horse, he’d dominated. Eighty-seven points, another first place, another twenty-six-thousand-dollar check, and an early lead in the ten-round aggregate, which would pay an additional sixty-seven thousand when all was said and done. Grace hadn’t gotten to bed until after midnight, but she’d slept until eight this morning, leaving her happy and rested. Then Hank had greeted her with one of those smiles that made her feel like he’d been starving for the sight of her, and a kiss that promised he was going to prove it the next chance he got.
Instead of crossing the river, he turned to ride along the wide strip of packed silt exposed by low water. “Ready?” he asked.
“For what?”
She barely got the words out before he clucked his tongue, kicked his horse, and was off. With a leap of her heart, Grace followed suit, pulse pounding as they thundered down nature’s version of a racetrack. Her horse wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as Hank’s, so he’d already reined to a walk when she caught up a couple hundred yards later.
He tossed her an exuberant grin, so much like the boy that it made her breath catch. “I can never resist…but only after I’ve checked that there aren’t any washes or holes from the last rain, so don’t try it on your own.”
Something in his voice, the unstated assumption that she would spend enough time at the ranch to ride here alone, caused an uneasy prickle in her gut. Not that she wouldn’t love to gallop through this paradise every chance she got, but—
“This way.” He made a sharp left, up a steep bank, and ducked to avoid a branch as they rode between two huge cottonwoods and emerged into a tiny slice of heaven.
“Oh.” It came out on a sigh as Grace took in velvety, emerald-green grass circled by a ring of trees and clumps of tall grass, as perfectly landscaped as if it had been planted and lovingly tended by woodland nymphs. “Who put this here?”
“Mother Nature.” Hank swung off his horse and crouched to brush a hand over what looked like a groomed lawn. “In places where there’s shade and water, the buffalo grass stays green, and the cows keep it grazed off short.”
Grace climbed down to join him. “It’s beautiful. Like one of those secret glades from children’s books.”
“That’s what Melanie said. We used to bring sandwiches down here and have a picnic.” He shrugged off the backpack he’d had ready when Grace arrived at the ranch. “I was dead set on building myself a cabin here. Then I realized that would spoil it.”
He took her horse, and Grace wandered the perimeter, lifting her hand to ruffle the brilliant red leaves of a stand of head-high grass as she walked. On the far side, she found a blackened fire ring sunk into the ground from years of use. “Did you make this?”
“My dad did, when he was a kid.” Hank had looped their bridle reins around a sturdy, low-hanging branch, and now he pressed his hand to the trunk of the tree. “Cottonwoods have thick bark, and the fire blew through here so fast it barely touched these guys. This is one of the only things from my dad’s childhood that was still here when I came along. Otherwise—” He shrugged. “The school has some pictures from when he played basketball and football, and Miz Iris had scads of Melanie and Violet growing up, but I’ve never even seen my parents’ wedding pictures.”
Grace started to ask why they hadn’t replaced them, but she suspected the answer might be that neither of them had cared enough to bother.
She wandered over to observe as Hank opened his pack and pulled out a lightweight blanket, a pair of Butterfinger bars, and two insulated aluminum bottles…and his cell phone? He spread the blanket in the middle of the clearing, where the sun was the warmest, and gestured for her to get comfortable while he sat down and keyed in a number.
Then he caught her eye…and her hand. His palm was damp, his grip tight. “I have to make a call, and I need all the moral support I can get.”
* * *
Hank’s heart slapped harder against his ribs with every ring. One. Two. Three. When it went to voicemail, he swore and punched the end button. So much for his dramatic moment. Maybe if he waited a few minutes—
He gave an embarrassing yelp when his phone rang in his hand. The number on the screen was the same he’d just dialed. He drew a long, bracing breath and answered.
There was a roar of voices in the background, then, “You called me?”
He struggled for some vestige of cool. “Hey, Sis. It’s Hank.”
Beside him, Grace sucked in a breath. In his ear, there was another pause before Melanie stammered, “I…excuse me, it’s really loud here. Did you say…Hank?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. Um…wow. Give me a second.” It was more like twenty, each tick like a hammer strike on Hank’s sternum. He pulled the phone away from his ear and switched it to speaker mode so Grace could hear. Voices came and went, snatches of conversation in passing, then there was a thump and silence. When she spoke, Melanie was breathless, as if she’d either been running or was as flustered as Hank. “Sorry. Violet and I are in the middle of our annual Cowboy Christmas shopping expedition.”
That explained the noise. The trade show that accompanied the National Finals drew thousands of people to booths that filled the entire Las Vegas Convention Center, offering everything from original artwork to herbal health products to horse trailers. Hank was amazed that Melanie had managed to find a quiet corner.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, her voice sharpening. “Is Daddy okay?”
“Fine. I just…I saw you on TV. You looked great. Wyatt was a wreck.”
She gave a surprised laugh. “It was kinda a big deal. Then Joe told him if he got choked up, he had to work the last round of the Finals in full face paint and old-school baggies. And Joe got to pick his shirt.”
Grace suppressed a snort, and Hank shot her a grin at the image of Mister All-Class-All-the-Time in greasepaint, suspenders, and humongous Wranglers. Joe would’ve have turned Las Vegas upside down to find the loudest, ugliest shirt on the strip.
“Joe seems pretty chill about the whole thing,” Hank said.
“Why not? He’s just moving on to the second half of his rodeo career. For Wyatt, this is the end. He won’t really be a part of it ever again.”
Shit. Hank knew how that felt, but he still had a hard time putting himself and Wyatt in the same zip code, let alone the same boat. Speaking of which…
“Dad’s pretty bummed about not seeing you at Christmas.” Another deep breath, and he added, “Me too.”
There was another beat of stunned silence, and her voice actually squeaked when she said, “Really?”
“Would I kid about this?”
She gave a choked laugh. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Okay, he’d earned that with all his stupid pranks. “I’m serious, Mel. And yeah, you can bring Wyatt.”
“That would…” The words choked off, and she had to clear her throat. “We’d like that.”
Hank had to work to keep his voice light. “Bing took my apartment, so your old bedroom is open. Just remember, I’ll be right across the hall so you’re gonna have to keep it down.”
She made a gagging noise. “Now I’m gonna be too paranoid to sleep in case I roll over and the bed squeaks. We might have to stay with Cole and Shawnee.”
“Not Violet?”
“Last time they visited here, Rosie flushed a three-hundred-dollar pair of cuff links and drew crayon happy faces on a hand-pieced wooden coffee table—and we were only in charge of her for two hours.”
“Who the hell wears cuff links?” While she sputtered a laugh, Hank took yet another deep breath. At this rate he was gonna hyperventilate. “Stay wherever you’re comfortable, as long as you come home. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Yeah. We do.” Her voice trembled when she added, “I’ve missed you.”
“Me too.” Geezus. He was croaking like a toad.
She sniffed loudly. “I’ve got to go. I’m at a Dodge truck booth, and the salesmen look like they’re about to call security on the crazy lady who’s dripping all over the steering wheel of their display model.”
Hank barked a laugh at the image. Leave it to Melanie to commandeer a brand-new pickup as an impromptu phone booth. They should count themselves lucky she hadn’t needed to get across town in a hurry.
“Make a run for it while you still can. And stay in touch.”
“Isn’t that my line?” she asked.
“Not anymore.”
He’d barely hung up when Grace threw herself at him. He wrapped her up tight in his arms and buried his face in her hair.
Grace drew back and gave him a wobbly smile. “I’m proud of you.”
And I love you. A fierce joy bloomed in his chest, pushing the words dangerously close to the surface.
He couldn’t say it yet. But judging by the way she dragged him down onto the sun-warmed blanket and kissed him senseless, he was getting closer.
Grace burrowed her hands under his untucked flannel shirt, her hands cool on his hot skin. “We’re not in the trailer anymore.”
He groaned as she punctuated the statement with a rock of her hips. Yeah. This was why he had resisted the urge to shove a few condoms into his pack. With Grace warm and willing underneath him, his self-control would have crumbled in three seconds flat.
“But the Finals isn’t over yet. That was the deal.” When her mouth pushed into a pout, he nipped at her bottom lip. “Today we’re pretending that I finally snuck you away while your daddy wasn’t looking and brought you here to make out.” He moved to nibble along her jaw to her neck. “If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll get to first base.”
She gave him a shove when his teeth grazed her neck. “Give me one of those famous Hank hickies, and I’m gonna call a technical foul.”
He laughed. “You’re mixing your sports. And if I give you a hickey…” He slid his body down hers until his mouth found the vee of her shirt and licked a circle on the subtle curve of her breast. “It’ll be in a place no one else will see.”
Then he rolled off to stretch out on his back. The stripped-down branches of the cottonwoods sketched lines across the deep blue of the sky, and the grass was springy and soft. He laced his fingers through Grace’s, and despite the hungry ache in his groin, contentment settled over him like the blanket of warm sunshine. Here, inside his secret glade, he had everything his heart desired.
And for the first time, he let himself seriously consider a future on this ranch.