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“That’s right. He’s getting the grand tour of the palace.”
Again she sensed an air of dissatisfaction and decided that Boone Rutledge wasn’t a wise subject to pursue. “The view from the palazzo’s rooftop garden is quite spectacular.”
“So I hear. But these old palaces don’t come equipped with elevators.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Laura admitted with a touch of her mother’s candor.
“No reason why you should,” he replied and once more subjected her to the penetrating study of his gaze. “I like you. You’d make a good wife for my son.”
She arched her eyebrows a little higher at his bold statement. “Thank you, but I think your son may have something to say about that.”
A darkness gave his eyes a steely quality. “Not as much as you might think,” he muttered and looked up when a tall, broad-shouldered figure filled the doorway and threw a shadow across them. “It’s about time you showed up, Boone.” Again his voice had that edge to it as if there was little about his son that pleased him. “I thought I would have to hold on to this lady’s handbag all evening.” He stretched out an arm, extending the beaded purse to Laura.
When she stepped forward to reclaim her bag, Boone Rutledge moved out of the doorway to approach them. Laura slid her glance over him, quick to notice the hint of curl in his dark hair, the hard and manly angles of his face, and the muscled trimness of his physique. When Boone added a sexy smile of greeting to the mix, the result was a package of raw virility that required only a black Stetson to complete the image of Texan manhood. It made her wonder if Max Rutledge had cut a similar figure when he was whole and in his prime.
“I’d like you to meet my son, Boone,” Max said, beginning the introductions. “Boone, this is Laura Calder, Chase Calder’s granddaughter.”
“Chase Calder of the Triple C Ranch in Montana?” Boone glanced at his father for confirmation even as he reached out a hand to Laura in formal greeting.
“The same.” Max nodded.
“I always meant to attend one of the Triple C’s private livestock auctions. And now, meeting you, I really am sorry I haven’t.” He held her hand an instant longer than necessary, conveying his interest.
Laura didn’t feign any false modesty. She was blond, built, and beautiful—and knew it. Dealing with a man’s advances, whether wanted or otherwise, was one of the first things she had learned.
“In that case I’ll make sure that you both receive a personal invitation to our next one.” She made her smile warm enough to encourage his interest.
“If you do, you can count on me being there.” His gaze locked on hers, the darkening light in his eyes adding an intimate message of his own. She recognized the signs of a man used to making easy conquests. Her own reaction was an instinctive desire to rise to the challenge of being the one who held the lead rope.
“Better bring your checkbook,” she replied. “Once you see what the Triple C has to offer, you’ll be glad to pay the high price.”
Max Rutledge barked out a laugh. “By God, Boone, if you’ve got a brain in your head, you’ll marry this gal.”
“Don’t mind him,” Boone said to Laura, a tiny flicker of irritation showing in his expression. “My father is a little brash, but he has good taste.”
“But taste is always a matter of personal choice, isn’t it?” Laura smiled to let Boone know she didn’t take his father’s comment at all seriously.
“You young people these days,” Max grumbled, “you’re a lotta talk and little action.”
“Don’t rush things, Max,” Boone replied without pulling his gaze from Laura. “You don’t want to scare her off.”
“I have a feeling it would take a lot to scare this one,” Max stated, sizing her up again with another sweeping look before firing a glare at his tall son. “And it sure as hell would take more than you.”
A smile continued to curve Boone’s mouth, but Laura observed the tightening of suppressed anger in it as he sliced a look at his father. “You could scare her, though. There aren’t many women willing to tolerate meddling in-laws.”
The friction between father and son was obvious, and Laura suspected it was long standing. Considering that her own relationship with her mother was far from perfect, Laura could sympathize with Boone.
Seeking to smooth away the awkwardness of the exchange and its undertones of bitterness, Laura issued a practiced laugh, a soft and tinkly sound, and sent a twinkling glance at Boone. “Ahh, isn’t the generation gap a pain?”
Gone was that sexy flirting of a man who had
made a habit of directing it at any attractive woman within range of his vision. In its place was a searing warmth that made Laura wonder if she was the first to ever be the recipient. She experienced a little surge of triumph as she felt him slipping around her finger.
“A royal pain,” Boone agreed, regarding her with a new and more intimate interest.
Laura didn’t need to glance at the man in the wheelchair to be aware that he was observing the two of them with a good deal of satisfaction.
“There you are, Laura,”
