Once a Rancher by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online

dealing with wolves or a big cat. In which case I’ll have to dust off one of my rifles.”
    Briefly, Slater rested his left hand on Drake’s shoulder. He knew his brother was feeling bleak. He loved animals, all animals, and he had a rancher’s respect for the natural order of things. To a hungry wolf pack or any other predator, a calf was food, plain and simple. He understood that. Still, it was his job to protect the herd.
    â€œNeed any help?” Slater asked quietly. He had about a dozen urgent phone calls to make, and there was paperwork, too, but he’d put it all aside if Drake said the word. He was a filmmaker by trade, but first, last and always, he was a Carson.
    A rancher.
    But Drake shook his head again. “We’ll take care of it,” he said. Then his mouth formed a tired grin. “You’ve got enough to do back at your office.” He paused, gestured, the motion of his hand taking in the mountains, the range, the broad and poignantly blue Wyoming sky. “This is my office,” he said, with a note of grim pride. “Not perfect when it’s dead cold in the winter and the wind is gusting at sixty miles an hour and hurling snow in your face like shrapnel, or when it’s so hot you feel the heat shimmer up from the ground and your shirt is stuck to your body. But hey, it suits me just like being Mr. Showbiz suits you.”
    Slater nodded an agreeable goodbye and walked back toward the house, thinking Drake had a good handle on his place in the world. His brother tackled life head-on and waded right in, got things done.
    As for their youngest brother, Mace, he tended to operate by intuition.
    Slater smiled when he went up the steps and found his mother watering the plants on the wide front porch. She glanced up and smiled. Blythe Carson was still slim and youthful at seventy, wearing jeans and a loose cotton blouse, and she’d caught back her thick hair in a clip as usual. She had a natural beauty that didn’t require embellishment, but she was like steel under that soft, feminine exterior. Maybe she’d been born resilient, maybe she’d developed the quality after giving birth to three unruly sons, losing the husband she’d loved early on and, finally, inheriting a ranching business she knew little or nothing about.
    But if a challenge came her way, she pushed up her sleeves, both literally and figuratively, and dealt with it.
    In fact, his mother’s unbendable spirit was a big part of the reason he’d become interested in making historical documentaries. Those stalwart pioneers had so many stories to tell, and she represented, to Slater, anyway, how women had handled the challenges and discomforts of settling the West. It was all about the journey in his films, where you started and where you ended up, and that same strength of character—what country people called “gumption.”
    â€œWhat’s on your agenda today?” Blythe asked.
    â€œWork,” he said. “I offered to lend Drake a hand out on the range, but he’s got it covered.”
    â€œHe’s always got it covered,” she said mildly. “Finds it hard to accept help—like a few other people I could name.”
    She was, of course, referring to all three of her sons.
    â€œHmm. Wonder where we get that particular trait,” he said.
    Blythe made a face at him.
    He paused before opening the side door to enter the house. “Want to walk over to the winery with me later? You and Mace could give me the tour. I haven’t been over there since you added the new cellar.”
    â€œI’d love that. Call my cell when you’re ready. Better yet, text me.” Not usually demonstrative, Blythe reached out and touched his cheek in a brief, tender gesture of affection. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
    Call my cell. Better yet, text me. Slater smiled to himself, remembering how hard it had been to persuade his mother