Once a Rancher Read online

  The Carsons of Mustang Creek: three men who embody the West and define what it means to be a rancher, a cowboy and a hero in this brand-new series from the queen of Western romance

  SLATER CARSON might be a filmmaker by trade, but he’s still a cowboy at heart—and he knows the value of a hard day’s work under the hot Wyoming sun. So when he sees troubled teen Ryder heading down a dangerous path, he offers the boy a job on the ranch he shares with his two younger brothers. And since Ryder’s guardian is the gorgeous new Mustang Creek resort manager, Grace Emery, Slater figures it can’t hurt to keep a closer eye on her, as well…

  GRACE EMERY doesn’t have time for romance. Between settling into her new job and caring for her ex-husband’s rebellious son, her attraction to larger-than-life Slater is a distraction she can’t afford. But when an unexpected threat emerges, she’ll discover just how far Slater will go to protect what matters most—and that love is always worth fighting for.

  Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author

  Linda Lael Miller

  “Miller delights readers… The coming together of the two families was very well written and the characters are fraught with humor and sexual tension, which leads to a lovely HEA [happily ever after].”

  —RT Book Reviews on The Marriage Season

  “The Marriage Season is a wonderfully candid example of a contemporary western with the requisite ranch, horses, kids and dogs—wouldn’t be a Linda Lael Miller story without pets… The Brides of Bliss County novels do not have to be read in order but it would be a shame to miss some of the most endearing love stories that feature rugged, handsome cowboys.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Fans of Linda Lael Miller will fall in love with The Marriage Pact and without a doubt be waiting for the next installments… Her ranch-based westerns have always entertained and stayed with me long after reading them.”

  —Idaho Statesman

  “Miller has found a perfect niche with charming western romances and cowboys who will set readers’ hearts aflutter. Funny and heartwarming, The Marriage Pact will intrigue readers by the first few pages. Unforgettable characters with endless spunk and desire make this a must-read.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “All three titles should appeal to readers who like their contemporary romances Western, slightly dangerous and graced with enlightened (more or less) bad-boy heroes.”

  —Library Journal on the Montana Creeds series

  “An engrossing, contemporary western romance… Miller’s masterful ability to create living, breathing characters never flags, even in the case of Echo’s dog, Avalon; combined with a taut story line and vivid prose, Miller’s romance won’t disappoint.”

  —Publishers Weekly on McKettrick’s Pride (starred review)

  Also available from

  LINDA LAEL MILLER

  and HQN Books

  The Brides of Bliss County

  Christmas in Mustang Creek

  The Marriage Season

  The Marriage Charm

  The Marriage Pact

  The Parable Series

  Big Sky Secrets

  Big Sky Wedding

  Big Sky Summer

  Big Sky River

  Big Sky Mountain

  Big Sky Country

  McKettricks of Texas

  An Outlaw’s Christmas

  A Lawman’s Christmas

  McKettricks of Texas: Austin

  McKettricks of Texas: Garrett

  McKettricks of Texas: Tate

  The Creed Cowboys

  The Creed Legacy

  Creed’s Honor

  A Creed in Stone Creek

  Stone Creek

  The Bridegroom

  The Rustler

  A Wanted Man

  The Man from Stone Creek

  The McKettricks

  A McKettrick Christmas

  McKettrick’s Heart

  McKettrick’s Pride

  McKettrick’s Luck

  McKettrick’s Choice

  The Mojo Sheepshanks Series

  Deadly Deceptions

  Deadly Gamble

  The Montana Creeds

  A Creed Country Christmas

  Montana Creeds: Tyler

  Montana Creeds: Dylan

  Montana Creeds: Logan

  And don’t miss

  Always a Cowboy

  LINDA LAEL

  MILLER

  Once a Rancher

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome—or welcome back—to Bliss County in the great state of Wyoming, and to the town of Mustang Creek. This time you’ll be meeting the Carson brothers, their various family members—and the women who enter their lives.

  The Carsons are a long-established ranching family in the county. Slater, whom you’ll get to know in this story, grew up ranching; now he’s a documentary filmmaker, specializing in the history of the Old West. Drake keeps the ranch running (his story will appear in Always a Cowboy) and Mace, the youngest brother, is in charge of the vineyard and winery, their mother’s pride and joy. (Mace’s story is the third in this series, Forever a Hero.)

  Each of these men is about to encounter a woman who challenges him in one way or another. A woman who’s going to fall in love with him…and, of course, vice versa!

  I think you’ll like and admire Grace Emery as much as I do—and as much as Slater does. Grace is a former Seattle cop, now manager of the year-round resort near Mustang Creek. She’s also her teenage stepson’s guardian, not the easiest situation to be dealing with. Grace is a woman who understands responsibility and isn’t afraid of it.

  One thing she and I both have in common with Slater is an interest in American history, especially the history of the West. Another thing (and I’m sure this is a belief you share, too, dear reader!) is a strong sense of the importance of family. And—no surprise—I share the Carsons’ love of animals. I’ve also grown very fond of the cat Grace and her stepson adopt. And…I have a new cat of my own. Button is twenty years old, believe it or not, but looks (and acts) younger.

  I hope you’ll enjoy this first installment of the Carsons’ saga. I’d love it if you joined me on my website, www.lindalaelmiller.com, to tell me what you think of the Carsons, to share your own experiences, to learn about contests, upcoming releases and more.

  Much love,

  For Paula Eykelhof

  with admiration, gratitude and love

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  EXCERPT FROM TEXAS REBELS: JUDE BY LINDA WARREN

  CHAPTER ONE

  SLATER CARSON WAS bone-tired, as he was after every film wrapped, but it was the best kind of fatigue—part pride and satisfaction in a job well done, part relief, part “bring it,” that anticipatory quiver in the pit of his stomach that would lead him to the next project, and the one after that.

  This latest film had been set in a particularly remote area, emphasizing how the Homestead Act had impacted the development not only of the American West, but also the
country as a whole. It had been his most ambitious effort to date. The sheer scope was truly epic, and as he watched the uncut footage on his computer monitor, he knew.

  160 Acres was going to touch a nerve.

  Yep. This one would definitely hit home with the viewers, new and old.

  His previous effort, a miniseries on the Lincoln County War in New Mexico, had won prizes and garnered great reviews, and he’d sold the rights to one of the media giants for a shitload of money. Like Lincoln County, 160 Acres was good, solid work. The researchers, camera operators and other professionals he worked with were the top people in the business, as committed to the films as he was.

  And that was saying something.

  No doubt about it, the team had done a stellar job the last time around, but this—well, this was the best yet. A virtual work of art, if he did say so himself.

  “Boss?”

  Slater leaned back in his desk chair and clicked the pause button. “Hey, Nate.” He greeted his friend and personal assistant. “What do you need?”

  Like Slater, Nate Wheaton had just gotten back from the film site, where he’d taken care of a thousand details, and it was a safe bet that the man was every bit as tired as he looked. Short, blond, energetic and not more than twenty years old, Nate was a dynamo; the production had come together almost seamlessly, in large part because of his talent, persistence and steel-trap brain.

  “Um,” Nate murmured, visibly unplugging, shifting gears. He was moving into off-duty mode, and God knew he’d earned it. “There’s someone to see you.” He inclined his head in the direction of the outer office, rubbed the back of his neck and let out an exasperated sigh. “The lady insists she needs to talk to you and only you. I tried to get her to make an appointment, but she says it has to be now.”

  Slater suppressed a sigh of his own. “It’s ten o’clock at night.”

  “I’ve actually pointed that out,” Nate said, briefly consulting his phone. “It’s five after, to be exact.” Like Slater himself, Nate believed in exactness, which was at once a blessing and a curse. “She claims it can’t possibly wait until morning, whatever it is. But if I hadn’t been walking into the kitchen I wouldn’t have heard the knock.”

  “How’d she even find me?” The crew had flown in late, driven out to the vineyard/ranch, and Slater had figured that no one, other than his family, knew he was in town. Or out of town. Whatever qualified as far as the ranch was concerned.

  Nate looked glumly resigned. “I have no idea. She refused to say. I’m going to bed. If you need anything else, come and wake me, but bring a sledgehammer, because I’d probably sleep through anything less.” A pause, another sigh, deeper and wearier than the last. “That was quite the shoot.”

  The understatement of the day.

  Slater drew on the last dregs of his energy, shoved a hand through his hair and said, “Well, point her in this direction, if you don’t mind, and then get yourself some shut-eye.”

  He supposed he sounded normal, but on the inside, he was drained. He’d given everything he had to 160, and then some, and there was no hope of charging his batteries. He’d blown through the last of his physical resources hours ago.

  Resentment at the intrusion sent a tremor through his famous equanimity; he was used to dealing with problems on the job—ranging from pesky all the way to apocalyptic—but at home, damn it, he expected to be left alone. He needed rest, downtime, a chance to regroup, and the home place was where he did those things.

  One of his younger brothers ran the Carson ranch, and the other managed the vineyard and winery. The arrangement worked out pretty well. Everyone had his own role to play, and the sprawling mansion was big enough, even for three competitive males to live in relative peace. Especially since he, Slater, was gone half the time, anyway.

  “Will do.” Nate left the study, and a few minutes later the door opened.

  Before Slater could make the mental leap from one moment to the next, a woman—quite possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—stormed across the threshold, dragging a teenage boy by the arm.

  She was a redhead, with the kind of body that would resurrect a dead man, never mind a tired one.

  And Slater had a fondness for redheads; he’d dated a lot of them over the years. This one was all sizzle, and her riot of coppery curls, bouncing around her straight, indignant shoulders, seemed to blaze in the dim light.

  It took him a moment, but he finally recovered and clambered to his feet. “I’m Slater Carson. Can I help you?”

  This visitor, whoever she was, had his full attention.

  Fascinating.

  The redhead poked the kid, who was taller than she was by at least six inches, and she did it none too gently. The boy flinched; he was lanky, clad in a Seahawks T-shirt, baggy jeans and half-laced shoes. He looked bewildered, ready to bolt.

  “Start talking, buster,” the redhead ordered, glowering up at the kid. “And no excuses.” She shook her head. “I’m being nice here,” she said when the teenager didn’t speak. “Your father would kick you into the next county.”

  Just his luck, Slater thought, with a strange, nostalgic detachment. She was married.

  While he waited for the next development, he let his eyes trail over the goddess, over a sundress with thin straps on shapely shoulders, a midthigh skirt and silky pale skin. She was one of the rare Titian types who didn’t have freckles, although Slater wouldn’t be opposed to finding out if there might be a few tucked away out of sight. White sandals with a small heel finished off the ensemble, and all that glorious hair was loose and flowing down her back.

  The kid, probably around fourteen, cleared his throat. He stepped forward and laid one of the magnetic panels from the company’s production truck on the desk.

  Slater, caught up in the unfolding drama, hadn’t noticed the sign until then.

  Interesting.

  “I’m sorry.” The boy gulped, clearly miserable and, at the same time, a little defiant. “I took this.” He looked sidelong at the woman beside him, visibly considered giving her some lip and just as visibly reconsidered. Smart kid. “I thought it was pretty cool,” he explained, all knees and elbows and youthful angst. Color climbed his neck and burned in his face. “I know it was wrong, okay? Stealing is stealing, and my stepmother’s ready to cuff me and haul me off to jail, so if that’s what you want, too, Mister, go for it.”

  Stepmother?

  Slater was still rather dazed, as though he’d stepped off a wild carnival ride before it was finished with its whole slew of loop-de-loops.

  “His father and I are divorced.” She said it curtly, evidently reading Slater’s expression.

  Well, Slater reflected, that was cause for encouragement. She did look young to be the kid’s mother. And now that he thought about it, the boy didn’t resemble her in the slightest, with his dark hair and eyes.

  Finally catching up, he raised his brows, feeling a flicker of something he couldn’t quite identify, along with a flash of sympathy for the boy. He guessed the redhead was in her early thirties. While she seemed to be in charge of the situation, Slater suspected she might be in over her head. Clearly, the kid was a handful.

  It was time, Slater decided, still distanced from himself, to speak up.

  “I appreciate your bringing it back,” he managed, holding the boy’s gaze but well aware of the woman on the periphery of his vision. “These aren’t cheap.”

  Some of the f-you drained out of the kid’s expression. “Like I said, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “You made a mistake,” Slater agreed quietly. “We’ve all done things we shouldn’t have, at some point in our lives. But you did what you could to make it right.” He paused. “Life’s all about the choices we make, son. Next time, try to do better.” He felt a grin lurking at one corner of his mouth. “I would’ve been really ticked off if I had to replace this.”

  The boy looked confused. “Why? You’re rich.”

  Slater had enc
ountered that reasoning before—over the entire course of his life, actually. His family was wealthy, and had been for well over a century. They ran cattle, owned vast stretches of Wyoming grassland and now, thanks to his mother’s roots in the Napa Valley, there was the winery, with acres of vineyards to support the enterprise.

  “Beside the point,” Slater said. He worked for a living, and he worked hard, but he felt no particular need to explain that to this kid or anybody else. “What’s your name?”

  “Ryder,” the boy answered, after a moment’s hesitation.

  “Where do you go to school, Ryder?”

  “The same lame place everyone around here goes in the eighth grade. Mustang Creek Middle School.”

  Slater lifted one hand. “I can do without the attitude,” he said.

  Ryder recovered quickly. “Sorry,” he muttered.

  Slater had never been married, but he understood children; he had a daughter, and he’d grown up with two kid brothers, born a year apart and still a riot looking for a place to happen, even in their thirties. He’d broken up more fights than a bouncer at Bad Billie’s Biker Bar and Burger Palace on a Saturday night.

  “I went to the same school,” he said, mostly to keep the conversation going. He was in no hurry for the redhead to call it a night, especially since he didn’t know her name yet. “Not a bad deal. Does Mr. Perkins still teach shop?”

  Ryder laughed. “Oh, yeah. We call him The Relic.”

  Slater let the remark pass; it was flippant, but not mean-spirited. “You couldn’t meet a nicer guy, though. Right?”

  The kid’s expression was suitably sheepish. “True,” he admitted.

  The stepmother regarded Slater with some measure of approval, although she still seemed riled.

  Slater looked back for the pure pleasure of it. She’d be a whole new experience, this one, and he’d never been afraid of a challenge.