Meet Me at the Chapel (19 page)

Hadn't she just said that?

She smiled her most ingenuous smile. “How else can I observe you in your native habitat?” The truth was, she intended to camp at least part of the time, provided the weather improved, simply because she wanted to enjoy the outdoors.

Drake himself was one of the reasons she'd chosen the area for her research work, but he didn't know that. He was well respected, a rancher's rancher, with a reputation for hard work, integrity and intelligence.

She'd known, even before Harry filled her in on the more personal aspects of Drake's life, that he was an animal advocate, as well as a prominent rancher, that he'd minored in ecology. She'd first seen his name in print when she was still an undergrad, just a quote in an article, expressing his belief that running a large cattle operation could and should be done without endangering wildlife or the environment. Knowing that her mother and Blythe Carson were close had been a deciding factor, too, of course—a way of gaining access.

She allowed herself a few minutes to study the man. He sat his horse confidently, relaxed and comfortable in the saddle, the reins loosely held. The well-trained animal stood there calmly, clipping grass but not moving otherwise during their discussion.

Drake broke into her reverie by saying, “Guess I'd better take you back before something happens to you.” He leaned toward her, reaching down. “Climb on.”

She looked at the proffered hand and bit her lip, hesitant to explain that, despite her consuming interest in horses, she wasn't an experienced rider—the last time she'd been in the saddle, at summer camp when she was twelve, something had spooked her mount. She'd been thrown, breaking her collarbone and her right arm, and nearly trampled in the process.

Passion for horses or not, she was anything but confident.

She couldn't tell him that, not after the exchange they'd just had. He would no doubt laugh or make some cutting remark, or both, and her pride smarted at the very idea.

Besides, she wouldn't be holding the reins, handling the huge gelding; Drake would. And there was no denying the difficulties the weather presented, in terms of trailing the stallion and his mares from place to place.

She'd gotten some great footage during the afternoon, though, and made some useful notes, which meant the day wasn't a total loss.

“My backpack's heavy,” she pointed out, her drummed-up courage already faltering a little. The top of that horse was pretty far off the ground. She could climb mountains, for Pete's sake, but that was small consolation; she'd been standing on her own two feet the whole time.

At last, Drake smiled, and the impact of that smile was palpable. He was still leaning toward her, still holding out his hand. “Starburst's knees won't buckle under the weight of a backpack,” he told her. “Or yours, either.”

The logic was sound, if not particularly comforting.

Drake slipped his booted foot out from the stirrup to make room for hers. “Come on. I'll haul you up behind me.”

She handed up the backpack, sighed heavily. “Okay,” she said. Then, gamely, she took Drake's hand. His grip was strong, and he swung her up behind him with no apparent effort.

It was easy to imagine this man working with horses, delivering breach calves and digging postholes for fences.

Settled on the animal's broad back, Luce had no choice but to put her arms around Drake's cowboy-lean waist and grip him like the jaws of life.

The rain was coming down harder, and conversation was impossible.

Gradually, Luce relaxed enough to loosen her hold on Drake's middle.

A little, anyway.

Now that she was fairly sure she wasn't facing certain death, Luce allowed herself to enjoy the ride. Intrepid hiker though she was, the thought of trudging back in the driving rain made her wince.

She hadn't missed the irony of the situation, either. She wanted to study wild horses, but she was a rank greenhorn with a slew of sweaty-palmed phobias. Drake had surely noticed, skilled as he was, and he would have been well within his rights to comment.

He didn't, though.

When they finally reached the ranch house, he was considerate enough not to grin when she slid clumsily off the horse and almost landed on her rear in a giant puddle. No, he simply tugged at the brim of his hat, suppressing a smile, and rode away without looking back.

Copyright © 2016 by Hometown Girl Makes Good, Inc.

ISBN-13: 9781488002687

Meet Me at the Chapel

Copyright © 2016 by Joanna Sims

All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical,
now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

www.Harlequin.com