by Joanne Rock
It was always tough to be in Mesa Falls because of the memories it evoked of Zach, even though his dead friend had never visited Montana. Just being in a place that Zach’s friends purchased to honor him messed with Desmond’s head. And now, chances were good that Matthew Cruz could be Zach’s son, which meant Desmond needed to find a way to get comfortable with talking about Zach, as Nicole would obviously have a lot of questions. Starting with—how could they prove Zach was the father?
Desmond huffed out a frustrated breath as he reached the top of the staircase. Since he needed to pick up Nicole again in an hour, there was no point making the longer trip to his house on the ranch property when the executive suite had been built close to the main lodge.
He shoved open the exterior door, giving a nod to the administrator in the seat out front as he passed him, grateful the assistant appeared busy with a phone call, so Desmond didn’t have to make small talk. He unlocked the private office in back and allowed the door to close behind him before sinking into the high-backed leather chair behind the glass-topped stainless-steel desk. He swiveled to look out the windows at the mountains and expelled a long breath.
Nicole had completely disregarded his request to bring her nephew to the ranch. What’s more, she made no apology for doing what she thought was best for Matthew.
I just worry I’m not doing things the right way.
Her words about parenting echoed in his mind, reminding him that she was her ward’s advocate first and foremost, no matter what Desmond wanted. It inconvenienced him. But at the same time, the part of him that had been emotionally abandoned by his own parents cheered for her fierce dedication to the boy. What child wouldn’t want her on his side?
The thought wreaked havoc with his plan to interrogate her about her sister’s past, and it sure as hell didn’t sit well with his fear that Zach would turn out to be Matthew’s father. The idea of his best friend’s son growing up without a father thrust another knife of guilt into a conscience already weighed down with ways he’d failed Zach.
Underneath those concerns lurked a whole lot of undeniable physical attraction. Too often he’d found his thoughts drifting to the video call that had given him a glimpse of the too-sheer pink camisole. Meeting her in person had done nothing to dim that memory or the damnable interest that went with it.
The chime of the intercom halted the feature film of tantalizing images replaying through his head.
He cursed the interruption even as he knew he should welcome it, then pressed the button to answer. “Yes?”
“Miles Rivera to see you,” the assistant intoned through the speaker.
Miles had returned from the West Coast already? His friend and fellow partner in the ranch must have something important on his mind if he’d left Los Angeles where he was supposed to be reuniting with his social media star sweetheart, Chiara Campagna.
“Send him in,” Desmond returned, getting to his feet as the office door opened to admit Miles Rivera.
The older of the two Rivera brothers who’d attended school with him, Miles was a levelheaded rancher in contrast to his wilder, risk-taking sibling, Weston.
Desmond came around to the front of the desk to shake hands with his friend.
“Good to see you, Miles.” He gestured to one of the leather armchairs near a window overlooking the paddock. “Do you have time to take a seat?”
“Definitely,” he answered in his distinctive, slightly raspy voice. Miles unbuttoned his dark blue jacket before he sat, his clothing game always top-notch. “Chiara and I flew back this morning after deciding to spend a couple of weeks in Mesa Falls to reconnect. She enjoyed the privacy of life in Montana.”
His smile was unmistakable. And the obvious happiness on his face was something Desmond hadn’t seen in the serious rancher for a long time.
“I’m glad things worked out for you two,” Desmond observed, knowing how desperate Miles had been to see her and put things right between them.
“I’m grateful as hell for the second chance. But I was curious to hear your initial thoughts on our guest while Chiara is having a meeting this morning. Do you think Nicole is here to make trouble?”
Defensiveness spiked as Desmond took the seat by his prep school buddy, but that made no sense when they all had every reason to be on guard around Matthew Cruz’s guardian.
“Hard to say. We didn’t speak for long on the drive from the airport, but I’m seeing her again shortly. She’s eager for answers.”
“Aren’t we all?” Miles asked dryly, reaching toward the windowsill to flip a decorative hourglass full of dark sand. At one time, they’d used the device as a silent timer for group meetings when they were setting up the ranch business. “Did you see our alma mater is cashing in on Alonzo Salazar’s name now that our former teacher has been unmasked as the author of Hollywood Newlyweds?”
“What’s this?” He’d been too busy with the logistics of getting Nicole and Matthew to Montana to notice much else.
“The Dowdon School is hosting their fiftieth anniversary party this year as a fundraiser—”
“I remember. We’re all attending.” Desmond had RSVP’d a week ago.
“—and they’ve started running social media teasers about famous alumni, including a pitch about Salazar’s book. Something like, ‘At Dowdon, you’ll be in the know.’” Miles quoted the ad copy with a heavy dose of mockery.
Desmond scrubbed a hand over his head. “How could they think that’s a good idea? That book ruined lives.”
“Some media relations expert probably convinced them there’s no such thing as bad press.” Miles sat forward in his seat. “But I spoke with a rep at the school today to let them know my thoughts on that, and when I did, I also talked them into renting out our old dorm rooms for us that weekend.”
Desmond’s gut dropped as memories slammed him. “You can’t seriously want to stay there?” They were small, for one thing, especially since most of them would be attending with significant others. But for another, the whole trip was going to remind him of Zach.
The small room he’d once shared with him most of all.
“I get it.” Miles leaned forward in his chair to clap a consoling hand on Desmond’s shoulder. “I do. But this gala might be a chance to really close the doors on that time. For good. Besides, we don’t have to sleep there. I just figured we could have a pre-party toast on-site before we head to the gala.”
“Right. Okay.” He nodded, recognizing it was probably a good plan even if it stirred old ghosts for him personally.
“Good. Glad you’re on board.” Miles rose to his feet again, a rare smile pulling one corner of his mouth. “Well, I told Chiara I’d meet her, so I’d better be on my way. Chiara is organizing a dinner for Nicole and Matthew, by the way, so we can meet the boy.”
Desmond walked with him to the door. “About that—”
“I don’t envy you entertaining a thirteen-year-old.” Miles mused as he withdrew his cell phone from his jacket pocket. “Weston and I were hellions at that age.”
Irritation stabbed through him again. “Nicole didn’t bring the boy with her.”
Miles stopped short, his phone forgotten. “But that was part of the deal. Seeing him in person might let us see a familiar gesture or some other small detail that we might miss in a photo.”
The defensiveness he’d felt about Nicole earlier in the conversation redoubled. And what was that about? He’d had the same problem with her decision that Miles did now. But he couldn’t deny her reasoning had gotten to him.
“She’s protecting him.” He recalled her expression when she’d told him I’m not some kind of diva guest... “She’s not what I expected.”
Frowning, Miles narrowed his gaze. “Let’s just hope she keeps away from the media. I don’t think we want any more attention on Alonzo Salazar or that damned book of his.”
De
smond agreed. News that the profits from their mentor’s book supported a fatherless child would be sensation enough. But if the father proved to be Zach—a man whose death had been kept quiet for years—the outcry would be significant. Who would support the green initiatives of the ranch if the owners had been part of the reason that a child with special needs had grown up without knowing about his father?
“That won’t happen on my watch.” No matter how much Nicole infiltrated his thoughts, Desmond would protect Mesa Falls and the legacy they’d built for Zach. “I’ll ask Nicole about a dinner tomorrow if you still want to meet with her.”
After agreeing to message him in the morning, Miles left, and at the same time Desmond’s phone buzzed with a notification.
Couldn’t sit still in the lobby. Meet at the dartboard in great room instead.
Desmond didn’t need to check the identity of the texter. Nicole hadn’t been kidding that she hadn’t required much time to settle into her room—only forty-five minutes had passed since they’d parted ways.
Pocketing his phone, he locked up behind him and headed to meet her.
* * *
Closing one eye, Nicole focused on the bull’s-eye while an old country classic played on the sound system in the lodge’s great room. The tile floor under her feet was softened with colorful Aztec rugs in the conversation areas of the room, the reds and burnt oranges repeated in the throw pillows and framed prints on the natural log walls. A small bar held top-shelf liquors under the watchful eye of a stuffed American bison standing near the pool table. Bar stools were padded in black-and-white cowhide.
A couple of older women sat at a nearby table, their conversation punctuated with occasional laughter. Other than the two of them and a twentysomething male bartender engrossed in his phone, Nicole had the room to herself. The whole gaming area was empty except for her. The pool table was untouched, the balls racked in the center of the green felt. A classic Skee-Ball arcade game waited for her to try next.
For now, in front of the dartboard, Nicole lined up her shot in an attempt to burn off nervous energy. She spun the tungsten barrel a few times in her fingers, getting used to the dimpled grip. She preferred razor cuts or crosshatching, but the darts were high quality, unlike the sets she’d come across in most pubs that were brass with warping or split tips. Flexing her wrist, she fired.
One. Two. Three.
A low whistle sounded behind her, alerting her to a newcomer.
Turning, she spotted Desmond’s gray gaze focused on the board where her darts had notched in a tight group.
“Three triple twenties.” He arched a brow before his attention veered toward her. “Impressive.”
She doubted she had many skills that would impress this cosmopolitan man, but her father had taught her his favorite game well. “Do you play?”
“No.” He edged around the pool table until he leaned a shoulder against the Skee-Ball game, where he could observe her more closely. “As the owner of a casino, I’ve learned to avoid games people bet on.”
“Wise of you, I’m sure.” She could only imagine how many people lost hefty sums under this man’s watch. “But darts isn’t a game of chance. The outcome rewards skill.”
“Poker does, too. Sometimes those games are almost more dangerous, because players can have false ideas about their skill level.” His gaze lifted to the board again. “Although there’s no denying you’ve got a good throw.”
“We can play just for fun then.” She reached for the green darts in a game box on a low table nearby, then passed three to him, settling them in his hand.
The look in his eyes gave her pause, his pupils dilated so only a ring of pale silver remained on the outside. Her finger remained on the heel of his palm before she yanked it back.
“What?” she asked, suddenly too aware of him. Of herself.
Her heart skipped a beat and then sped too quickly. Her skin heated.
“I’m tempted to play with you, Nicole.” He lowered his head to speak more softly. “But I think we should talk first.”
She swallowed, her mouth dry. Her thoughts scrambled. Was it possible he experienced the attraction to the same degree she did? Could he be struggling hard against it, too?
“Right. That’s why I’m here.” She’d taken up the game because she felt antsy and anxious to begin her quest for answers. But now? She felt even more antsy and anxious, for a whole other host of reasons. Warmth crawled over her skin.
“We can speak in my office,” he offered, returning the darts to the metal game box with the others. “Or find a quiet table in the back.”
The idea of being alone with him sizzled through her already overheated senses. She couldn’t afford to let this heady awareness sidetrack her.
“Let’s go watch the ice-skaters.” She blurted the first outdoor alternative that occurred to her. Having worked at the ranch, she knew the terrain well, and right now, cold air and more space would be welcome. “That is, it should be a nice night by the pond. I saw a bonfire burning out the window earlier.”
“Did you bring a jacket?” Glancing around, he spotted the coat she’d worn earlier and retrieved it from where she’d thrown it over the back of a chair. “The temperature has dropped since I picked you up at the airport. Are you sure you want to go out?”
Seeing his broad hands splayed on her coat spurred more thoughts about his touch, which was all the incentive she needed. “I’d love some fresh air.”
She reached to take the garment, but he shifted behind her to lay it gently on her shoulders. A shiver stole through her, and she hoped he didn’t notice.
“What about you?” Stepping away from him quickly, she took in his black dress shirt, dark jeans and boots.
“I left it with Simon up front.” He referenced one of her former colleagues in guest services. “I’ll grab it on our way out.”
Minutes later, they circled around the building on a stone path, through a courtyard behind the lodge and toward the skating pond. Drifts of snow still circled the pond, but the ice had been cleared along with the pathways, the property impeccably groomed by the grounds staff.
“Are you warm enough?” Desmond asked as they reached a wooden bench close enough to see the ice but isolated enough for a private conversation.
He gestured for her to sit.
“I’m good,” she answered honestly, grateful for the chilly night air cooling her cheeks. Even the added layers of winter coats between their bodies was welcome. She took a seat on the bench and enjoyed the sounds of the skate blades on the ice mingling with laughter and the low hum of conversation from around the bonfire on the opposite side of the small pond.
“How does it feel to be back?” He seated himself beside her, not too close, but then again, having him within five feet of her stirred her insides. “I hope there’s no awkwardness for you.”
His thoughtful concern caught her off guard. Her gaze skittered away from him to focus on the skaters. “Not really. I wasn’t employed here long enough to make friends, so I don’t think anyone spent time wondering what happened to me when I was terminated.”
She followed the progress of a young father holding a little girl’s hand as she wobbled on her skates. She was probably four or five years old, mittens hanging from strings from her coat sleeves while she clutched her dad’s hand in both of hers, giggling as he towed her along on her skates.
When Desmond was silent for a long moment, she turned to him again and found him studying her. He’d stretched his arm along the back of the bench behind her while she’d been absorbed in the skating, and she swore she could feel the warmth of his hand on her back even though he didn’t touch her.
“You were here for almost a month,” he said slowly. “I’m sure people noticed your absence.”
“I’m a bit of a loner,” she found herself saying, realizing too late she was disclosing something p
ersonal. Something he didn’t need to know about her. She straightened more, putting distance between his hand and her back. “You mentioned earlier that you had learned more about who’d fired me?”
“Our private investigator looked into it. Your supervisor turned in his notice the next day, and he wasn’t easy to track down, but apparently he’d been given orders from Vivian Fraser.”
“I don’t recognize that name.”
“She was Alec Jacobsen’s assistant until last week, when she was arrested.” She knew Alex Jacobsen was one of his partners, a game designer. “At the time, your supervisor assumed the order to fire you came from Alec.”
His words about an arrest shocked her. A chill went through her at the thought of someone criminal so close to her. Or worse—close to Mattie.
“Why was she arrested?” Unthinking, she reached toward Desmond, her hand landing on his knee. “Could Matthew be in danger?”
“No.” Desmond’s hand covered hers. Steady. Calming. “She’s still behind bars. And her arrest was for harassing Chiara Campagna—”
“The social media star.” Puzzling over the details now that her panic about her nephew had eased, she would have freed her fingers, but Desmond’s palm still covered them. “I did notice she posted a couple of photos from Mesa Falls recently.”
“Yes.” He nodded, but the word was clipped, and she had the feeling there was more to that story. “Vivian apparently has feelings for Alec, and she thought she was protecting his privacy by threatening Chiara if she continued to post about Mesa Falls.”
She tipped her head back to peer up at the stars, struggling to pull the pieces together. What was she missing? Sliding her fingers free of Desmond’s, she folded them in her lap, still feeling his touch where it had been moments before. Every whorl of his fingertips left an impression that hummed along her skin.