Immune to their praise, the mare finished chewing the apple and looked for more, dropping her head to nuzzle Eli’s hand.
“Greedy.” He laughed, dropping another chunk of apple into Amanda’s palm. His arms lowered, but he didn’t step away from Amanda, their bodies still brushing.
Careful to keep her hand flat, she held out the apple slice to Shakira.
“I can’t believe how gentle she is,” Amanda said. “It’s almost as if she knows she could hurt me.”
“She’s always had beautiful manners whenever I’ve been around her,” Eli told her. “And I saw her nearly every day for a year.”
“I can see why Mariah—and everyone else—was so excited about her arriving,” Amanda commented. “She really is special, isn’t she?”
“I think so. But then, I’m prejudiced.” The quiet, affectionate expression on his face told her volumes about how much he cared for the horse.
“I’ve never had a pet bigger than a cat,” she mused, eyeing the mare’s powerful neck, back and haunches. “A pet this big must be quite a responsibility.”
“No more than any other animal,” he told her, shifting so he could reach the mare. “They all have to be fed, watered and cared for. A cat can just as easily get sick, run up vet bills or get hit by a car if it leaves a safe zone and runs into traffic.”
Amanda chuckled. “Somehow I can’t see Shakira running out of my apartment and into New York traffic.”
“Well, no.” He smiled easily. “But a cat could—and Shakira could get out through a downed pasture fence and wander onto the highway. Granted, her being hurt isn’t as likely as if she ran out of an apartment in New York, but still…” He shrugged. “It’s all relative.”
“I suppose so.” Amanda let Shakira lift the last slice of apple from her palm and stroked a hand down her forelock while the mare easily crunched the treat. The black hair was wiry. “Her mane isn’t as soft as her muzzle,” she commented, testing the springy, rough hair with her fingertips.
“Nor as sleek as her coat,” Eli told her, running his hand under Shakira’s mane and down the strong muscles of her neck.
They spent another ten minutes or so petting the pretty mare before leaving the barn. Amanda was reluctant to go, savoring Eli’s closeness as much as her time with the horse. More so, if she was honest.
As they left the shady interior of the barn for the hot sunshine, a black pickup drove into the ranch yard and parked next to the corral. Amanda noticed the Double Bar T logo emblazoned on the side before the driver’s door opened and a man stepped out. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and wore the usual rancher’s garb of faded jeans, white T-shirt and dusty cowboy boots. The brim of a straw cowboy hat shaded his face, and mirrored sunglasses hid his eyes.
Beside her, Amanda saw Eli go still with surprise for a second before a smile lit his face.
“It’s about time you showed up, Mason,” Eli said as he strode forward, closing the few yards that separated the two men. “Where the hell have you been?”
“I’m not the one who’s been gone for years.” The stranger grinned and the two shook hands, sharing a tight, one-armed guy-hug before they stepped back. “I was in Nebraska, checking out some Hereford bulls Jed’s thinking about buying. Where the hell have you been for the last thirteen years?”
“Pretty much all over the States, and just before I came back, I was in Spain,” Eli said.
“That’s a lot of traveling.” Mason’s head turned toward Amanda, his smile friendly. “Did you bring the lady back from Spain with you?” he asked Eli, nodding at her.
Eli’s expression was unreadable as he looked over his shoulder and beckoned her closer. “This is Amanda Blake,” he said. “She’s a writer from New York, working on a book about Mom. Amanda, this is Mason Turner. We went to school together.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mason.” She glanced sideways at Eli. She’d just watched him greet Mason as if they were longtime good friends, yet he’d subtly tensed when she’d joined them.
“Nice to meet you, Amanda.” Mason smiled easily down at her. “So you’re a writer. Must be an interesting job.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I think so.”
“I remember Eli’s mother well,” he told her. “I’d be glad to tell you about her.”
“Yeah, right,” Eli said dryly. “You probably remember Mom feeding you cookies and slapping bandages on you when you fell off one of her horses.”
“Sure I do,” Mason said. “Amanda needs to know stuff like that if she’s going to write a book about your mother. She was much more than an artist who was famous for her sculptures. She was a hell of a woman, too.”
“Now, that part you’ve got right,” Eli agreed, a small shadow crossing his face briefly.
“Is Eli helping you with your book?” Mason asked, clearly curious.
“Yes,” she said calmly. “He is.”
“When he’s done, call me and I’ll tell you all the stuff he didn’t include,” he told her, aiming a grin at Eli. “Like how we became legendary for winning brawls at rodeos when we were teenagers.”
Amanda could swear the space between her and Eli vibrated with tension. She didn’t look at him, certain he’d be frowning blackly at her. He certainly didn’t want his friend telling her stories about his life as a teenager, years after his mother died, she thought. That slice of his life was strictly out-of-bounds.
“I doubt I’ll have time before I have to go back to New York, but if my schedule frees up, I’ll call you, Mason,” she said with diplomatic politeness, easing her rejection with a warm smile.
“Anytime.” Mason looked at Eli. “Do you have a couple of hours free? I brought a stud colt home from Nebraska and I’d like you to take a look at him.”
“I’d like to, Mason, but I promised Amanda we’d spend a couple of hours in Mom’s studio.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “And I’ve already used up more than half that time.”
“You two haven’t seen each other for more than a dozen years,” Amanda put in, easily reading the conflicted emotions on Eli’s face. “And I have lots of notes to keep me busy today. Why don’t we postpone the studio until Saturday morning.”
“Are you sure?” Eli studied her, intent.
“I’m positive.” She slipped car keys from her pocket and jingled them. “I really do need to work on my laptop today if I’m ever going to catch up.”
“All right.”
“It was nice to meet you, Mason,” Amanda said with a bright smile. “Bye, Eli.”
The interior of the rental car was overly warm, despite her having left the windows rolled down. Amanda slid onto the sun-heated seat and started the engine. When she drove away, Eli and Mason were still standing outside the barn, watching her leave.
Mason’s gaze left the plume of dust, kicked up by the car as it moved swiftly down the gravel road toward the highway, and fastened on Eli. “Pretty woman,” he commented. “I picked up a vibe between you two. Are you dating?”
“No, we’re not dating,” Eli said shortly, still watching Amanda drive away. “And there’s no ‘vibe.’”
“Then you wouldn’t mind if I asked her out?” Mason asked.
“Yeah, I’d mind.” Eli shot him a hard look, which eased as Mason laughed out loud.
“That’s what I thought.” Mason raised his hands palms out, in a universal “hands-off” gesture. “No problem, Eli. You know I never poach. Not my style.”
“Good to know,” Eli told him, lifting his hat and settling it lower over his brow. “Are we going to take a look at your colt, or what?”
“Sure.” Mason turned with alacrity and the two men walked to his truck. “I’m assuming I’m invited to the barbecue Jed told me the Lodge is having Saturday night?”
Eli sighed deeply. “Yeah, I guess,” he growled reluctantly. “It’s at the Lodge, starts around six o’clock. And stay away from Amanda.” His own adamance surprised him.
Mason burst out laughing. He was still chuckling
when they climbed into the truck and drove away.
Chapter Eight
As she drove back to Indian Springs, Amanda couldn’t stop thinking about Eli and his friend Mason. The warmth in their greeting spoke volumes about their friendship, which apparently had begun when they were young boys. Yet their conversation seemed to indicate Eli hadn’t kept in touch after he left the Triple C.
She frowned, pondering the possible reasons a man would leave his home and never return, nor contact his friends afterward. Personally, she couldn’t conceive of any circumstance that would keep her from staying in touch with her family and friends, no matter where her career might take her.
She realized that many men were not great communicators. But to never pick up a phone and call? Not even send an occasional postcard?
And Mason’s and Eli’s comments made it sound as if that was what had happened, she thought. They’d had no contact at all.
Curiouser and curiouser. Especially when her observations of Eli had convinced her that he loved the Triple C and everything his presence there entailed—the interaction with his brothers, his obvious love for horses and the land, his affectionate acceptance of Mariah, Cynthia and even Harley and Jane as part of his family.
The whole thing was a puzzle—and Amanda had always been intrigued by puzzles. In fact, she’d never been able to resist the challenge of solving the twists and turns of a good mystery.
And Eli Coulter was a very intriguing mystery.
Eli spent four hours at the studio on Saturday, painstakingly cleaning, polishing and rewelding a small loose piece on a wall sculpture of a mustang mare and her long-legged colt. But Amanda wasn’t in the studio with him. She’d called around 9:00 a.m. and told him she wouldn’t be able to join him because sixty-year-old Ruby Johnson, a retired English teacher and a close friend of Eli’s mother, had agreed to an interview.
Apparently, Ruby had been hard to pin down and Amanda didn’t want to give her the opportunity to change her mind.
Since Eli remembered Ruby Johnson very well from high school English classes, he was a little surprised she’d consented to be interviewed at all. The woman was fiercely independent and outspoken, with little patience for interruptions she deemed frivolous.
Ruby must have decided Amanda’s request wasn’t frivolous, he thought with a grin.
Before ending the call, Amanda had said she’d see him at the barbecue that evening.
Despite the reminder that he’d see her later, Eli found himself missing her presence. The studio felt too quiet—even though Amanda wasn’t usually chatty or noisy while she worked. He realized he’d become accustomed to her presence, the subtle scent of her perfume, her murmured thanks when he handed her coffee or the brush of her fingers against his if she was the one offering him a mug.
He wasn’t sure he was comfortable missing her.
He wasn’t sure how he’d become so accustomed to having her near in the short time they’d been working at the studio.
He frowned at the lighter shade of copper highlighting the mane of the colt, not really seeing the sculpture.
Not touching her was getting harder by the day. He could have shown her how to keep Shakira from nipping her fingers without holding her. But the urge to put his arms around her had been too strong and he’d given in to the need. The press of her body on his when her back rested lightly against his chest, the crown of her head just below his chin—all had combined to test his will to the limit. He’d had to step away from her to keep from turning her in his arms and claiming her mouth.
As it was, he could still feel her soft curves imprinted against him from his chin to his thighs. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from lowering his head until he felt her hair, soft as perfumed silk, against his lips, chin and nose. Now he couldn’t get the feel and scent of her hair out of his mind, off his skin.
He’d wanted women before, but never like this.
Maybe I should seduce her and get over it, he thought grimly.
Unless that would only make you want her more, a small, dissenting voice murmured in his head.
Not possible, he thought, rejecting the concept that she could become permanently important in his life.
He had to admit she hadn’t given him any cause to distrust her, which meant he owed her an apology. Especially after the way she’d politely, but firmly, declined Mason’s teasing offer to share secrets of their high school escapades.
Not that Mason would tell her anything he shouldn’t. Eli knew him too well for that, and even though they’d gone years without seeing each other, the short hours they’d spent together yesterday had convinced Eli his friend hadn’t changed. He was still the same straight-arrow, stand-up guy he’d always been.
But Amanda hadn’t known Mason was teasing. If she’d wanted to dig up dirt about the Coulter family, Mason’s comments would have dangled bait she couldn’t have refused.
No way around it. He had to apologize for doubting her. He’d do it tonight, he thought, maybe after he’d plied her with wine at the barbecue.
In an effort to get his mind off Amanda, he turned on the radio, filling the quiet room with classic rock, and determinedly forced thoughts of hazel eyes and silky brown hair out of his brain.
While Eli was alone in the studio, Amanda was drinking Earl Grey tea and sharing an early lunch with Ruby Johnson.
The energetic retired teacher had salt-and-pepper hair, sharp brown eyes behind wire-framed glasses, and a toned, petite body.
They ate lunch on the wide porch of Ruby’s Victorian home in Indian Springs. The old house had white-painted gingerbread trim decorating its pale yellow exterior. A white picket fence enclosed a jewel-green lawn and flower beds that exploded with brilliant color.
Ruby had been working in her garden when Amanda arrived, and even now, her wide-brimmed hat, gloves and clippers lay on a chair at the far end of the porch, awaiting Ruby’s return.
“What made you pick Melanie to write about?” Ruby asked, eyeing Amanda over the rim of a delicate white china teacup.
“I’ve always loved her work,” Amanda replied, stirring sugar into her tea. “And when I wanted to write an article about her for my magazine, I found very little information. I’ve always planned to write book-length fiction, but I was so intrigued by Melanie’s work, I decided to write a biography. I asked my boss for a leave of absence and started researching.” She lifted her cup at the surrounding neighborhood. “And here I am.”
“Yes, so you are,” Ruby said. “And how do you like our little town? It must be very different from New York.”
“Very different,” Amanda agreed. “But that’s part of its charm. I’ve grown rather attached to Indian Springs in the short weeks I’ve been here, probably precisely because it is so very different from the city.”
“That’s how Melanie felt,” Ruby said pensively. “She loved her life on the Triple C, but every now and then, she equally loved flying off to New York for a gallery opening.” Her eyes twinkled and she winked at Amanda. “I always told her I suspected that was because it gave her an excuse to go shopping and get dressed up in an evening gown.”
“Did her family go with her?” Amanda asked, wondering if Eli had liked visiting the city as a little boy.
“Most of the time.” Ruby nodded. “They’d leave one of their neighbors in charge of the ranch, usually their friend Wayne Smalley, and take off for New York. I’ll never forget the year they all flew back to attend a ceremony when Melanie was given a big award. The boys all had tuxedos, just like their dad.” She smiled fondly. “I have a picture somewhere that Melanie gave me of all of them at a party afterward, her holding a gold statue, the boys and Joseph all beaming ear to ear.” Her smile faded. “Of course, that all changed after she died and Joseph started drinking.”
Amanda went still, fingers freezing with the teacup almost at her lips. “I didn’t realize he had a drinking problem,” she said carefully.
“Huh.” Ruby snorted, fixing her with a sharp
gaze. “I suppose the folks you talked to in town didn’t tell you about what happened after Melanie died.”
Amanda thought a moment. “I heard details about the accident that caused her death, but now that you mention it, no one really had much to say about the years after she died,” she said. She knew there had to be more to the story but she was well aware of the deal she’d made with Eli and his family.
“Hard to tell if they would have been truthful if you’d asked,” Ruby commented. “Folks in Indian Springs are protective about the boys. They didn’t have much good to say about Joseph until the last few years of his life. And not much then, truth be told.”
“I assume Melanie’s husband was grief stricken when she died,” Amanda prompted. She had an uneasy feeling she knew where this was going, and was unsure whether she should ask, but curiosity and a need to know more about Eli’s past were undeniable. She tamped down a guilty feeling.
“I’m sure he was,” Ruby agreed with a sharp nod. “But that’s no excuse for how he treated his sons. He blamed them for her death. Oh, not that they caused it,” she said with a dismissive wave when Amanda audibly caught her breath. “They were playing in the creek. She swung out on a rope tied to a tree branch to join them and the rope broke. She fell and hit her head and died instantly. Joseph turned into a mean drunk after she died—and he was cruel to his sons. If Melanie knew what he did…” She paused, shaking her head. “Well, let’s just say she wouldn’t be happy.”
“What did he do?” Amanda was almost afraid to ask.
“That’s for the boys to tell,” Ruby said, setting her cup down on its saucer with a snap. “But I can tell you this. Not a one of us who knew them blamed them for leaving when they did. I thought it was honorable of the older ones to stay and band together until Eli was through high school and could leave with them. Says a lot about the brothers that they wouldn’t leave him behind to deal with Joseph on his own.” She picked up a china plate and held it out. “We’ve been talking and not eating. Try one of these sandwiches. The filling is vegetarian and fresh from my garden.”
A Coulter’s Christmas Proposal Page 11