The femininely soft drawl was instantly familiar. Laura turned, watching as Tara Calder moved toward them with her typical gliding grace. She was struck again by the woman’s incredible beauty, a beauty that was stunning and absolutely ageless. Tara’s only concession to her advancing years was a dramatic streak of white in her otherwise midnight dark hair. Whether the streak was nature’s doing or mere artifice, not even Laura knew.
“I looked everywhere for you. What on earth are you doing out—” Tara broke off the question the instant she noticed the wheelchair-bound man. “Max Rutledge. I don’t believe it.” Altering her course, she crossed to his side, first bending to air-kiss his cheeks, then crouching down next to him, the fullness of her gown’s skirt poofing about her. “I certainly never expected to run across you here in Rome. I won’t bother to ask how you are. You’re looking as robust as ever.”
“I look like hell, but you are still the most charming liar I have ever known,” Max declared in a voice that was dry and mocking.
Tara laughed, low and musical, and briefly pressed a hand on his arm. “My daddy told me a long time ago that when you come across something sour, just pile on a lot of sugar.” With a fluid move, she stood erect and turned to Boone. “My, but you have grown into a handsome rogue, Boone. How do you manage to put up with this grumpy old bear?”
“He doesn’t have a choice,” Max inserted, but Tara gave no sign that she had heard his somewhat caustic remark.
Boone dismissed her question with a noncommittal, “You can’t pick your parents.” He warmly clasped her hand, enveloping it in both of his. “You are as beautiful as ever, Tara.”
“Thank you,” she replied with a demure dip of her head, then withdrew her hand and divided her glance between father and son. “Tell me, how did the two of you manage to lure my ward into the courtyard?”
“Sheer luck, I think,” Boone replied as he directed an intimate, warm look at Laura.
“I suspect the luck is all Laura’s.” Tara drifted closer to her self-proclaimed ward, then addressed Laura in pseudo-confiding manner. “You do realize that you are in the company of two of the world’s most sought after bachelors, not to mention that you are practically neighbors—at least in a manner of speaking.”
“Really?” Laura said with some surprise. “Do you own land in Montana?”
“Good Lord, no. It’s too damned cold up there,” Max stated with force.
“Actually,” Tara began, “I was referring to the Rutledge family ranch. The Slash R can’t be far from the old Calder homeplace in Texas that Chase bought from Hattie before they were married, and especially after he bought so much of the adjoining land.” She looked to Max for confirmation.
“We have a boundary in common,” he acknowledged.
“If I had known we had such attractive neighbors,” Boone inserted, smiling at Laura, “I would have paid a visit long ago.”
“Actually I’ve only been to the C Bar a couple of times, and that was when I was much younger,” Laura said.
“Chase bought it for purely sentimental reasons,” Tara recalled, “after learning that the C Bar was his grandfather’s birthplace. For a good many years, he and Hattie used it as a winter retreat to escape the Montana cold, but I don’t think he’s been back since Hattie passed away five years ago. Truthfully, I don’t think he’s physically capable of making the trip any more. It’s hardly surprising, considering Chase is in his eighties.”
“If he ever decides he wants to sell the place, tell him to give me a call. It would be easy enough to incorporate the ranch into my spread,” Max declared.
“I’ll let him know,” Laura promised, although she doubted her grandfather would be interested in selling.
Losing interest in the subject, Tara changed it. “So what brings you two to Rome? Is it a business or pleasure trip?”
“Business, of course,” Max retorted. “And don’t bother asking what kind. It’s my business and none of Dy-Corp’s.”
“Now, Max,” Tara said in a chiding tone. “You know I have nothing to do with running my daddy’s corporation.”
“Not officially,” he agreed dryly, “but you know the right strings to yank when you want something done. There’s a lot of truth in that old saying, the fruit never falls far from the tree. You’re E.J. Dyson’s daughter, all right. Unfortunately, Boone is his mother’s son—all looks and no brains. He’d rather play than work.”
Boone smiled away the criticism. “It’s always bothered him the way I manage to make time for a little pleasure on any business trip. And having two such beautiful women as dinner companions definitely makes this trip a pleasure.” Even though he included Tara in his remark, his attention was centered on Laura.
“You’re being too kind,” she told him in mock protest.
“Kindness has nothing to do with it,” Boone assured her.
“Speaking of dinner, when the hell are they going to serve it?” Max demanded in a sudden surge of impatience. “I suppose we’ll have to wait until the middle of the damned night to eat.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when the musical tinkle of a set of chimes drifted out from the ballroom. “You’re in luck, Max,” Tara said. “I believe that’s the signal that dinner is served.”
“High time, too,” he muttered, as Boone moved to the back of his chair to assist him.
After reentering the ballroom, the foursome joined the flow of the other guests idly making their way to the hall. With the wheelchair rolling along under its own power, Boone left his father’s side to join Laura.
“How long will you be staying in Rome?” he asked. “I don’t believe you said.”