Read Online Riding Hard by Vicki Lewis Thompson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vicki Lewis Thompson
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alarm.” She picked up a knife and cut the corn bread into squares. “I brought you out here for nothing.”
“Not at all.” And even if Dottie had issued a false alarm, he’d never think this trip was for nothing. He loved being here with Tracy. It was the most fun he’d had since arriving in Jackson Hole. “Something’s going on, or she wouldn’t have produced that colostrum this afternoon. I still plan to watch her closely tonight.”
As she transferred pieces of corn bread into a napkin-draped basket, she paused to look at him. “You’ll come and get me if she goes into labor, right?”
“You bet.” He was counting on the excitement of the moment to distract him from the temptation she’d present when she was half-awake and wearing something skimpy. “You wouldn’t want to miss the main event.”
“Absolutely not.” She held out the basket of corn bread. “You can take this into the dining room and I’ll bring the soup. Oh, I nearly forgot. There’s wine. Do you want any? Or a beer?”
He shook his head. He didn’t need a fuzzy brain, both because of the mare and because of the hot woman he was determined not to touch until she touched him. “We can save that for a celebration after the foal is born.” He wondered if that would be when Tracy let down her hair and her barriers. Maybe. He hoped Dottie would give birth real soon.
“Good idea. I won’t have any, either. We should stay sharp. I’ll bring us some water.”
Drake had to smile as he walked into the dining room. She’d lit the tapers sitting in silver holders in the center of the table. Regan had given Lily those candlesticks, and since then the happy couple had eaten by candlelight almost every evening. Drake was touched that Tracy thought he was worthy of candles.
Place mats had been put down, too, he noticed, and cloth napkins. A plate to hold the soup bowl stood waiting at each place. A butter dish was already on the table. “This looks nice.” He positioned the basket of corn bread where they both could reach it.
“I don’t entertain often.” She walked in with a bowl of steaming soup in each hand and placed them on the table. “Lily and Regan are set up for it, and I decided to make things festive as a way to thank you for donating your time to this effort.”
“It’s my pleasure.” It was the polite thing to say, but the words had never been truer.
“Choose your seat.”
He glanced at the table. She’d arranged the place settings so that one of them would be at the head of the table and the other to that person’s right. He stood behind the chair at the second spot. “I’ll sit here.”
She laughed. “I figured you for the head of the table.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You sound like Rhett Butler, and he would take the head of the table.”
“I’m happy to destroy another stereotype.”
“Then have a seat.”
“Not yet. I might not automatically sit at the head of the table, but I’m Southern to the bone, which means I will help you into your chair.”
“Oh!” She smiled brightly. “That would be lovely.” She paused until he came around. “Sarah Chance would approve of your manners.”
“Is that right?” He pulled out Tracy’s chair, waited until she was seated, and slid the chair smoothly up to the table, just as he’d been taught as a boy. This close, he was tempted to lean down and kiss the soft skin behind her ear, but she’d probably jump ten feet if he did. Releasing his hold on her chair, he moved to his own and sat down.
Tracy put her napkin in her lap. “Sarah’s big on manners, including the old-fashioned things like holding a lady’s chair and opening doors. All three of her sons are known for it. The cowhands who work for her are expected to behave that way, too.”
“Is she Southern?” He’d pretty much given up on the idea of making friends with Sarah, the matriarch at the Last Chance Ranch. He hadn’t met her, but she was reputed to be extremely
“Not at all.” And even if Dottie had issued a false alarm, he’d never think this trip was for nothing. He loved being here with Tracy. It was the most fun he’d had since arriving in Jackson Hole. “Something’s going on, or she wouldn’t have produced that colostrum this afternoon. I still plan to watch her closely tonight.”
As she transferred pieces of corn bread into a napkin-draped basket, she paused to look at him. “You’ll come and get me if she goes into labor, right?”
“You bet.” He was counting on the excitement of the moment to distract him from the temptation she’d present when she was half-awake and wearing something skimpy. “You wouldn’t want to miss the main event.”
“Absolutely not.” She held out the basket of corn bread. “You can take this into the dining room and I’ll bring the soup. Oh, I nearly forgot. There’s wine. Do you want any? Or a beer?”
He shook his head. He didn’t need a fuzzy brain, both because of the mare and because of the hot woman he was determined not to touch until she touched him. “We can save that for a celebration after the foal is born.” He wondered if that would be when Tracy let down her hair and her barriers. Maybe. He hoped Dottie would give birth real soon.
“Good idea. I won’t have any, either. We should stay sharp. I’ll bring us some water.”
Drake had to smile as he walked into the dining room. She’d lit the tapers sitting in silver holders in the center of the table. Regan had given Lily those candlesticks, and since then the happy couple had eaten by candlelight almost every evening. Drake was touched that Tracy thought he was worthy of candles.
Place mats had been put down, too, he noticed, and cloth napkins. A plate to hold the soup bowl stood waiting at each place. A butter dish was already on the table. “This looks nice.” He positioned the basket of corn bread where they both could reach it.
“I don’t entertain often.” She walked in with a bowl of steaming soup in each hand and placed them on the table. “Lily and Regan are set up for it, and I decided to make things festive as a way to thank you for donating your time to this effort.”
“It’s my pleasure.” It was the polite thing to say, but the words had never been truer.
“Choose your seat.”
He glanced at the table. She’d arranged the place settings so that one of them would be at the head of the table and the other to that person’s right. He stood behind the chair at the second spot. “I’ll sit here.”
She laughed. “I figured you for the head of the table.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You sound like Rhett Butler, and he would take the head of the table.”
“I’m happy to destroy another stereotype.”
“Then have a seat.”
“Not yet. I might not automatically sit at the head of the table, but I’m Southern to the bone, which means I will help you into your chair.”
“Oh!” She smiled brightly. “That would be lovely.” She paused until he came around. “Sarah Chance would approve of your manners.”
“Is that right?” He pulled out Tracy’s chair, waited until she was seated, and slid the chair smoothly up to the table, just as he’d been taught as a boy. This close, he was tempted to lean down and kiss the soft skin behind her ear, but she’d probably jump ten feet if he did. Releasing his hold on her chair, he moved to his own and sat down.
Tracy put her napkin in her lap. “Sarah’s big on manners, including the old-fashioned things like holding a lady’s chair and opening doors. All three of her sons are known for it. The cowhands who work for her are expected to behave that way, too.”
“Is she Southern?” He’d pretty much given up on the idea of making friends with Sarah, the matriarch at the Last Chance Ranch. He hadn’t met her, but she was reputed to be extremely
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