“Will your grandfather be at the wedding?” she’d asked Grant. She knew that both his parents had died, but that his grandfather was still very much a part of his life and active in Texas affairs.
“No. His mind is still sharp as a tack, but he can’t get around very well any longer and it would be too hard on him to cart him over for the wedding. We’ll pay him a visit instead.”
He took her to meet the older man the next day. Grant Carver IV lived about half an hour out of town on the Lazy Drifter Ranch that had been in Carver hands for about a hundred and fifty years. A dignified, elegantly aging man, he terrified her at first, looking her over narrowly and peppering her with questions. But after a few minutes, he warmed to her and by the time they excused themselves so that Grant could give Callie a tour of the ranch, he’d given her a hug and given both of them his blessing.
“I like him,” she said as they walked through the huge foyer of the ranch house. “Do you suppose you’ll look just like that when you’re in your eighties?” She gave him a teasing smile. “After all, you’re the sixth edition of the Grant Carver icon.” Her smile faded as she remembered what that meant. “And I’m supposed to produce the seventh, aren’t I?”
“That’s the plan,” he admitted. “Having second thoughts?”
She looked around at the beautiful house, the spacious vistas out across the huge ranch, the modern equipment juxtaposed with working cowboys on horses, and finally, at the man himself.
Second thoughts? Sure. Plans to back out? No. After all, she’d bought into a life most women could only dream of. Whether it would turn out to be her dream-or her nightmare-only time would tell. But the old saying came to mind, nothing ventured, nothing gained. She was taking chances, but she was ready for them.
She smiled at Grant. “Ready or not,” she said in answer to his question, “I’m here for the party.”
“Good.”
She liked the way he looked here in his family home. She’d worn white slacks and a soft blue shirt with a white scarf at her neck and she’d thought that would look country.
But Grant was the real deal. His boots looked like they’d been worn at the Alamo, his jeans were scuffed almost threadbare in places and held up by a wide leather belt sporting a huge brass belt buckle with a big rattlesnake worked into the metal. His cotton shirt was open at the neck, displaying some gorgeous flesh. The sleeves were pushed back, revealing muscular forearms. All in all, he was the picture of what a fantasy cowboy would look like. It made her gasp a little every time she looked at him.
She met Misty, the family dog, a golden retriever with a permanent grin and a mischievous glint in her eyes. Then Grant introduced her to Rosa Cortez, the woman who had been housekeeper at the ranch, “since time began,” as he put it. A plump, chatty woman, she promised to fix them a nice lunch for later in the day. Taking Misty along with them, they made their way outside and he led her to the barn and then to the stables, where Callie touched a horse for the first time in her life.
“They are so big!” she cried, awed and a little nervous at the same time. “They don’t seem that big in the movies.”
“I can’t believe you’ve never been riding,” Grant said, shaking his head. “We’ll have to remedy that real soon. We’ll get you up on ol’ Bessie there. She’s gentle as a kitten. You’ll love it.”
Callie stroked Bessie’s nose and looked into her deep, soft eyes. She liked Bessie just fine, but she didn’t think she was going to relish riding her. “I’ve always liked having both feet on the ground,” she said. “I don’t really see any reason to give that up.”
He laughed. “You just wait. Once you get used to horses and we let you go, you’ll feel like you’re flying.”
She didn’t bother to quibble aloud, but she had no intention of ever getting up on a horse. Still, she had to admit they were beautiful and she loved their eyelashes. Following Grant through to the opposite doorway, she stopped and spoke to each horse she found. Some snickered back, some ignored her. But she didn’t want anyone to feel left out.
Out behind the stables was a corral where a number of cowboys had gathered. As she and Grant approached, Callie could see that they were working with large calves and from the smell of burned hair, she realized they were probably branding them. She wrinkled her nose, not sure she was going to enjoy this much. She glanced at Grant, thinking to suggest going on back to the house, but then she noticed the look on his face and she turned quickly to see who he was looking at.
A tall, handsome cowboy wearing leather chaps detached from the others and came toward them. The two men stopped in a squared-off fashion and grinned at each other.
“Hey,” said Grant, touching the brim of his hat.
“Hey,” said the cowboy, touching his as well.
That was it, but she could tell these two men were old, close friends. In California, they would have hugged. In France, they would have been kissing cheeks. But this was Texas-old Texas. And she liked it.
“Callie, meet Will Jamison.”
She smiled and he touched his hat again and said, “Nice to meet you, Callie.”
“Will’s the ranch foreman. Just like his daddy was before him.” Grant nodded. “He and I go way back.”
“Back so far,” Will agreed, “I sometimes wonder if we weren’t switched at birth. Maybe I should be the one riding around in that fancy car and you should be the one working here, eatin’ dirt all day.”
“Pay him no mind, Callie,” Grant advised her. “He’s just aiming to play on your sympathies.” He grinned. “Just try to get this man into a suit and tie for even one day. He’d come running back to the ranch so fast.”
“We were raised together,” Will told her in a friendly manner, bending down to scratch Misty behind the ears. “Two peas in a pod. Until he had to ruin everything by going off to become a city slicker.”
“Hey, man’s gotta work for a livin’.”
Will snorted. “You call that sissy stuff you do in the city working? I’ll show you working.” He reached for a coil of rope he had slung over his shoulder. “Here, let’s see if you’ve still got the touch.”
Grant took the rope, looking at it almost lovingly.
“Let’s see you bring in one of those young ones,” Will said, gesturing toward where the work was going on. “And lay our brand right on his backside.”
Grant tried his hand with the rope, twisting it and twirling it a bit. “Man, I haven’t done this for years and years,” he said, pulling up one end and starting a slipknot.
“Well, never mind then,” Will teased. “I wouldn’t want to mess up those soft, lily-white hands of yours with some real man’s work.”
“Stand back, cowboy,” Grant drawled, his lasso in his hand. “I got me some ropin’ to do.”
He set off toward where the calves were being released with a Western swagger that was only partly facetious.
Will grinned and winked at Callie. “Come on over here, Callie,” he said, leading the way to a good vantage point against the railings. “You don’t want to miss this.”
Grant did pretty well, actually. Will kept up a running commentary, mostly for Callie’s sake, but also to poke fun at Grant occasionally. Watching Grant hog-tie a big, rough-looking calf made Callie wince and bite her lip, and when he reached for the red-hot branding iron, she had to close her eyes and groan a little.
Will looked at her curiously. “You from Texas?” he asked skeptically.
“Yes, I’m from Texas.” She tossed her hair back and raised her chin proudly. “Born and raised.”
“In Dallas, I’m thinkin’,” he said, shaking his head as though it were a darn shame.
“That’s true. I’m city raised.” And then she added something she’d never told anyone before. “But I’m told my daddy was a rodeo champion. A bronc buster.”
Will’s face changed. “No kidding. What was his name?”
She shrugged. “He didn’t stick around long enough to give me his name. My mother told me once and I wrote it down somewhere. I suppose I could find it if a real need arose.”
“I see.” Will’s gaze darkened a bit. “One of those drive-by parenting situations, huh?”
“You got it.”
They were quiet for a moment, watching Grant. He was working hard and doing quite a bit of shouting, it seemed to Callie. Misty was bouncing around, trying to help, and barking whenever Grant shouted, as though to back him up. But he looked to be in his element. Who would have thought she’d be marrying a cowboy? That made her smile.
As the newly branded calf ran off to get away from these crazy ranchers, Will turned to her again.
“So I hear you and Grant are fixin’ to get hitched,” he said, giving her a searching look.
