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quite that rattled. Yet.
    Instead, she breathed a sigh. “Okay,” she said. “Fine. We understand each other, it would seem.”
    â€œSo it would seem,” he agreed placidly, and with a smile in his eyes.
    Luce would’ve liked to call it a day and return to her well-appointed guest room, which was really more of a suite, with its spacious private bathroom, sitting area and gorgeous antique furnishings, but she didn’t. Not only would Drake have the last word if she bailed now, she’d feel like a coward—and leave herself open to more teasing.
    â€œWe have one thing in common,” she said.
    â€œAnd what would that be, Ms. Hale?”
    Damn him. Would it kill the man to cut her a break?
    â€œAnimals,” she answered. Surely he wouldn’t—couldn’t—disagree with that.
    He looked wary, although Luce took no satisfaction in that. “If I didn’t like them,” he said, his tone guarded now, and a little gruff, “I wouldn’t do what I do.”
    Like all ranchers, he’d probably taken his share of flack over the apparent dichotomy between loving animals and raising them for food, but Luce had no intention of taking that approach. Would have considered it dishonorable.
    She enjoyed a good steak now and then herself, after all, and she understood the reality—everything on the planet survives by eating something else.
    â€œI’m sure you wouldn’t,” she said.
    Drake relaxed noticeably, and it seemed to Luce that something had changed between them, something basic and powerful. They weren’t going to be BFFs or anything like that—the gibes would surely continue—but they’d set some important boundaries.
    They were not enemies.
    In time, they might even become friends.
    While Luce was still weighing this insight in her head, Drake stood, rested his strong, rancher’s hands on the back of her chair.
    â€œIt’s been a long day, Ms. Hale,” he said. “I reckon you’re ready to turn in.”
    At her nod, Drake waited to draw back her chair. As she rose, she watched his face.
    â€œThank you,” she said. Then she smiled. “And please, call me Luce.”
    Drake inclined his head. “All right, then,” he replied, very quietly. “Shall I walk you to your room, or can you find your way back there on your own?”
    Luce laughed. “I memorized the route,” she answered. Then, pulling her smartphone from the pocket of her jeans, she held it up. “And if that fails, there’s always GPS.”
    Drake smiled. “You’ll get used to the layout,” he told her.
    â€œHere’s hoping,” Luce said, wondering why she was hesitating, making small talk, of all things, when most of her exchanges with this man had felt more like swordplay than conversation.
    â€œGood night—Luce.” Drake looked thoughtful now, and his gaze seemed to rest on her mouth.
    Was he deciding whether or not to kiss her?
    And if he was, how did she feel about it?
    She didn’t want to know.
    â€œGood night,” she said.
    She left the dining room, left Drake Carson and was almost at the door of her suite before the realization struck her.
    She’d gotten the last word after all.

CHAPTER THREE
    D RAKE ROLLED OUT of bed at his usual time, ignored the clock—since his inner one was the real guide—and pulled on his jeans.
    Harold and Violet both got up, tails wagging.
    Boots next, hat planted on his head and, seconds later, he was out the door. He’d grab coffee at the bunkhouse. Red, the foreman, was always up and ready, and that seasoned old cowboy could herd cattle with the best of them. Drake drove his truck over just as dawn hit the edge of sunrise and, sure enough, he could smell coffee.
    Red, who did a mean scrambled egg dish and some terrific hash browns, was already done eating, elbows on the farmhouse-style table, something he never did when he ate