Always a Cowboy Read Online Free PDF Page A

as sexy as a tractor—and why the hell he was thinking along such lines in the first place was beyond him. Luce made for some mighty fine scenery all on her own, but that wasn’t reason enough to put up with her, or have her stuck to his heels 24/7.
    Besides, she was a know-it-all.
    He moved to a window, looked out, drank in what he saw. Even in the rain, the scenery was beautiful.
    Drake’s bedroom was on the eastern side of the house, which was convenient for someone who got up at sunrise, his favorite time of day. He never got tired of watching the first dawn light brightening the peaks of the mountains, of anticipating the smell of damp grass and the fresh breeze. He liked to absorb the vast quietness, draw it into his very cells, where it sustained him in ways that were almost spiritual.
    He loved the sights and sounds of twilight, too. The lowering indigo of the sky, the stars popping out, clear and bright—unsullied by the false glow of crowded communities—the lonely howl of a wolf, the yipping cries of coyotes.
    Drake had little use for cities.
    Sure, he traveled now and then, for meetings and a few social functions his mother dragged him to, but Mustang Creek suited him just fine. It was small, an unpretentious place, full of decent, hardworking people who voted and went to church and were always ready with a howdy or a helping hand.
    Crowds were rare in those parts, except during tourist seasons—summer, when vacationers came to marvel at Yellowstone or the Grand Tetons, and winter, when the skiers and snowboarders converged. But a person got used to things like that.
    Drake left the window, went into his bathroom, finished undressing and took a steaming shower, letting the hard spray pound the soreness out of his muscles and thaw the chill in his bones.
    Afterward, he chose a white shirt and a pair of jeans, got dressed, combed his hair. He considered shaving, but he was blond, so his light stubble didn’t show too much, and anyway, there was a limit to how much fuss he was willing to undergo. He was starting to feel like a high school kid getting ready for a hot date, not a tired man fixing to have supper in his own house.
    Shaking his head at his own musings, he looked at the clock—Harry served supper right on schedule, devil take the hindmost—and then he made for the dining room, which was downstairs and on the other side of the house.
    As far as Harry was concerned, showing up late for a meal was the eighth deadly sin. If he was delayed by an unexpected problem, she understood and saved him a plate—as long as he let her know ahead of time.
    If he didn’t, he was out of luck.
    And he was so ravenous, he felt hollow.
    He had one minute to spare when he slid into his seat. The dogs, Harold and Violet, immediately headed for the kitchen, since it was suppertime for them, too. They had it cushy for ranch dogs, sleeping in the house and all, but they weren’t allowed to beg at the table and they knew it. Plus, they both adored Harry, who probably slipped them a scrap or two, on the sly, just to add a little zip to their kibble.
    Tonight, the beef stew smelled better than good. Harry knew how to hit that particular culinary note. Stew was one of her specialties—great on a rainy day—and he was starved, so when she brought in the crockery tureen and set it in the middle of the table, he favored her with a winning smile.
    Harry didn’t respond, except to wave off his grin with a motion of one hand.
    So far, Drake thought, he had the whole table to himself—not a bad thing, when you considered the extent of his brothers’ appetites.
    Harry left the room, returned momentarily with a platter of fresh-baked biscuits and the familiar butter dish.
    Things were looking up, until Mace ambled in and took his place across from Drake. Slater soon appeared, along with Grace, smiling and sitting down in their customary chairs, side by side. Drake and Mace,