The Virgin and Zach Coulter

by Lois Faye Dyer

  He knew his father blamed him for his mother’s death.

  Hell, he thought, he blamed himself for her death. All four boys had been playing in the creek, using a thick rope tied to an overhanging tree limb to swing out over the water. Zach remembered well how he’d teased his mother, daring her to join them.

  He’d never forgotten the terror he’d felt when the rope snapped, nor the awful, sickening sound of her head as it hit the nearly submerged rock at the water’s edge.

  Even now, the sound was clear in his head, and his chest felt caught in a vise.

  Zach shook off the memory of that day, forcing himself to concentrate on the present. He’d been eleven years old when his mother died. As he turned in a slow circle, inspecting the interior of the Lodge, he realized it had been at least twenty-two years since anyone had set foot inside the lobby.

  “It looks like hell.” He shook his head and glanced at Cade. “But given how long it’s been closed, we’re probably lucky it’s only this bad.”

  Cade nodded slowly, his gaze sweeping the ceiling. “Yeah, I admit I’m surprised it doesn’t seem worse.” He pointed at a stain on the ceiling in the back corner. “Maybe we spoke too soon. Looks like there might be some water damage.”

  Zach frowned. “That’s not good.” He started toward the stairs. “Let’s check out the second floor.”

  The upper story with its eight guest rooms and three suites had multiple problems, chief of which was damage from several leaks in the roof over the years. Ceilings had fallen in several of the rooms, and mattresses had molded. Many of the furnishings were ruined, and evidence of mice having taken over the building was everywhere.

  Two hours later, they locked the double doors of the main entrance and left the Lodge to drive back to the ranchhouse.

  “It’s a hell of a mess,” Cade commented as they parked in front of the house and headed inside.

  “Yeah, it is that,” Zach agreed as he followed his brother down the hall to the empty kitchen.

  They found the carafe filled with fresh coffee and a note from Mariah telling Cade she’d gone to town.

  “The building’s structurally sound,” Zach continued when they sat at the table. “But if we want to restore and reopen the Lodge to guests, it’s going to take a lot of work.”

  “And a lot of money,” Cade added drily.

  Zach shrugged. “That goes without saying. But then, in my experience, those two usually go hand in hand.”

  “So you’re thinking of renovating the Lodge and reopening it?” Cade asked, lifting his mug to drink.

  “I have to crunch the numbers first, but…yeah, I think so,” Zach answered slowly. “Over the years I’ve run into old friends of Mom and Dad’s who used to stay at the Lodge. They all told me how much they loved coming to the Triple C and how sorry they were to hear about Mom’s accident.” He sipped his coffee, thinking about those conversations before continuing. “And every time, each one told me to let them know if the Lodge ever reopened because they’d be the first to reserve a room.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “I wonder if the old guest register is still in the office.”

  “If we could find it, you’d have a list of people to contact and maybe the rooms would all be booked before the Lodge opened again.”

  “Maybe,” Zach agreed. “I don’t know how long it would take to gut the building and renovate it.” He took his cell phone from his pocket. “I need to make a few calls. First to Angela to see if she’s had any luck looking for Eli and Brodie. Then I’ll call my boss and let him know what’s going on.”

  “Think he’ll give you a leave of absence, or will you have to quit?” Cade asked.

  Zach shrugged. “I freelance, and my contract doesn’t have a set number of hours. He’s used to me going off the standby list every now and then so I doubt he’ll give me any trouble. Besides—” he flashed a smile “—we’ve known each other a long time. I don’t expect any trouble.”

  “Good. What about financing?”

  “I’ll get a business loan, probably.”

  “You could sell Mom’s mustang sculpture.” Cade’s deep voice was quiet. “All of her work has skyrocketed in value over the last twenty years. The sale price of the piece might be enough to cover the renovations.”

  “I thought about that.” Zach met his brother’s gaze. “I’ll consider it if there’s no other way. But until we know there’s no other choice, I want it left on the wall at the Lodge. It feels right for it to be there—where Mom wanted it hung and where it’s stayed all these years.”

  “Your call.” Cade’s voice was noncommittal, but his eyes held understanding and agreement.

  Four hours later, Zach had finished crunching numbers and called his boss. When he hung up, he not only had an open-ended approval of leave on his contract duties, he also had a guarantee of financing from his boss’s company.

  Between helping Cade repair pasture fences, replace the brakes on a tractor and lining up contractors to work on the Lodge renovations, it was four days before Zach was back in Indian Springs. He’d worked long hours, accomplished a lot and missed too much sleep.

  He hadn’t been able to forget Cynthia Deacon, though, and when someone needed to make a trip to the feed store to pick up an engine part, Zach had instantly volunteered, hoping to run into the beautiful blonde.

  Just as he finished loading the sacks of grain into the back of his truck, fate decided to take pity on him. He glanced across the street just as Cynthia stepped out of a café, pausing to put on a pair of dark-framed sunglasses. She wore a bright blue top that left her arms bare and a white skirt that hugged her hips and ended above her knees. Her long blond hair was loose, falling down her back past her shoulders. She looked better in person than she had in the dreams that haunted Zach’s sleep.

  Zach started across the street, halting to let a dusty pickup drive by before he jogged the rest of the way and stepped up on the curb.

  “Hello.” He was only a few feet from her when he spoke.

  Cynthia immediately recognized the deep male voice drawling the greeting and she couldn’t restrain the smile that curved her lips before looking over her shoulder. The corners of his mouth lifted in an answering smile that appeared to say he was as delighted to see her as she was to see him.

  She turned and, with slow deliberation, let her gaze move from the top of the white Stetson that sat atop his black hair with the brim tugged low on his brow, down the length of his muscled body in white T-shirt and faded tight jeans to the toes of his black cowboy boots. “My, my, Mr. Coulter. You look like a cowboy.”

  His eyes sparkled with laughter but his voice was grave. “I am a cowboy, Ms. Deacon.”

  “Hmm.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I thought you were a corporate shark.”

  He nodded. “I am—just taking a break for now.” He nodded at the café behind her. “Can I buy you coffee? Soda? Chocolate cake?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “What makes you think I like chocolate cake?”

  Shock spread over his features. “You don’t like chocolate cake?”

  “I didn’t say I don’t, I’m just wondering why you assume that I do.”

  He cocked his head, fixing her with an interested stare. “I’ve never known a woman who doesn’t like chocolate cake. On a scale of one to ten, seduction-wise, chocolate cake is right up there with roses.”

  She rolled her eyes, hiding a smile. “You’re impossible.” She turned on her heel and strolled away, window-shopping as she walked and well aware he prowled just behind her. “How are things out at the Triple C?” she asked, glancing sideways at him.

  He shrugged, powerful muscles shifting under the white T-shirt. “Busy. I’m in town to pick up some parts for equipment we’re rebuilding and sacks of grain at Miller’s Feed.”

  “It’s nice that you can take time away from work to stay and help your brother,” Cynthia commented, lowering her sunglasses to look at him. “I’m sure your brothers will be glad you can stay. How lo
ng will you be here?”

  “I’m not sure. We’re still looking for my two younger brothers, so I’ll be here at least until they make it home.”

  “You must have a very accommodating boss if he’ll let you take an indefinite leave of absence,” she commented, curious.

  “My boss and I have an understanding,” he said with a slow smile.

  And what did that mean? she wondered. “What kind of work do you do—when you’re not climbing mountains?” she asked aloud.

  “I work for a capital venture firm in San Francisco. The CEO calls me in to analyze companies the firm has either bought or plans to buy. I spend a few weeks on-site and after assessing the potential problems tell him whether he should keep the company.”

  “You’re a corporate hatchet man.” She eyed him consideringly.

  He winced. “That’s not the term I like to use.”

  “What job description do you use?”

  “Financial analyst,” he said promptly.

  She shook her head. “No, sorry, that’s way too innocuous. I bet the people working at those companies think of you as a hatchet man.”

  He laughed. “You could be right. It’s the nature of the job—nobody likes to be out of work.”

  “As I can certainly confirm,” she said without thinking.

  His gaze sharpened. “Are you unemployed?”

  “Temporarily,” she said with an offhand breeziness she wished was real. “But as it turns out, the timing was fortunate, since I had to come back to Indian Springs to take care of my great-uncle’s estate.”

  “That was Nicholas Deacon?”

  She tensed. “Yes, that’s right. Did you know him?”

  “No, can’t say that I had the pleasure. Mariah mentioned the other day that you’d returned to settle Nicholas Deacon’s estate.” He looked at her, his green eyes warm. “I take it the two of you were close?”

  “I adored him,” Cynthia said. “I grew up in his house. He taught me to garden and play checkers, and showed me how to make a perfect pot roast.” She smiled, aware her vision had gone misty. “He was a wonderful man. The best uncle ever.” She lifted her sunglasses to brush her fingertips over her lashes, then drew a deep breath. “But he wouldn’t want me to cry over him. Nicholas was a practical and pragmatic man. He’d tell me to get on with my life and not worry about him because he’s with Min now. She was his wife,” she added in explanation. “They loved to dance and they’re probably waltzing all over heaven together, having a fabulous time.”

  “He sounds like a great guy,” Zach commented, his deep voice gentle.

  “He was. I wouldn’t have survived childhood without him.” She slipped her sunglasses off to better view his reaction. “My mother is Natasha Deacon.” She watched Zach’s face but couldn’t detect any change in expression. Either he already knew about her mother, whose dark-haired beauty and promiscuous lifestyle had gained her a notorious reputation in the county, or he hadn’t heard the gossip about Natasha.

  Zach merely nodded, his expression grave and nonjudgmental. “I knew Natasha was Nicholas’s niece, so I assumed there was a connection between you and her.”

  “Yes, well…” Cynthia sighed. “As I said, Nicholas was wonderful and I missed seeing him after I left for college.”

  “Where did you go to college?” he asked.

  “Harvard—too far away to come home very often during school. I had scholarships, but I had to work during the summer so I didn’t get to visit Nicholas then, either.”

  “I went to Berkeley,” he told her. “What did you major in?”

  Warmed by what seemed to be genuine interest, Cynthia smiled at him. “Business.”

  “And what have you been doing since college—working on Wall Street?” he asked, eyes gently teasing.

  She shook her head. “No, I’ve been managing hotels—small boutique hotels. It’s a great job and I’ve traveled a lot.” She frowned. “But I’m currently unemployed and finding it’s not as easy to find work in today’s market.”

  Cynthia realized she’d said more than she’d planned to about her home life as a child. What was it about Zach that made her open up about subjects and her personal life that she never talked about with anyone else? “Listen to me, going on about myself and losing my great-uncle when you’ve lost your father recently, too. You must know exactly how I feel.”

  “Not really.” His voice was cooler, bordering on caustic.

  Startled, she looked at him, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

  He shrugged. “I hadn’t seen my father in more than a decade.”

  A horn honked on the street behind them, and they both turned. Grady Turner leaned out the passenger window of a passing truck, its bed fully-loaded with bales of hay.

  “Hey, Cynthia—Zach.”

  They returned his greeting, and Cynthia waved.

  When she looked back at Zach, his eyes were narrowed over her. “Are you and Grady Turner seeing each other?”

  Startled, she felt her eyes widen. “You mean—like, dating?”

  He nodded and she laughed, a peal of pure amusement.

  “Goodness, no. I’ve known Grady since we were in kindergarten. He’s just a friend.”

  “My brothers and I spent as much time as we could at the Turner ranch when we were growing up,” Zach said. “All of us are good friends, but of the six Turner brothers, I guess I’m closer to Grady than the rest.”

  “He’s a good guy,” Cynthia said with affection. “Getting to see him more frequently is one of the perks of being back in Indian Springs.”

  “You know,” Zach said, “I feel the same way.”

  They smiled at each other. The sense of being in perfect accord with another person was something Cynthia had rarely felt before. The connection surprised and startled her.

  Zach Coulter was handsome, sexy and blatantly male, but she hadn’t expected to feel a connection with him.

  Suddenly realizing they’d been standing on the sidewalk talking for more than a few minutes, she glanced at her watch and gasped.

  “I’m late for an appointment. I’m sorry to run off again, Zach, but I have to go.”

  Flustered, she caught a glimpse of his amused smile and his drawled farewell as she turned and hurried off down the street. When she pulled open the door to Jeanne Renee’s Hair Salon a half block away, she looked back.

  Just as before, he was still standing there, watching her.

  She lifted a hand to wave and he nodded, touching the brim of his hat.

  She stepped inside the salon, wishing she had stayed with him longer. And knowing she was much better off keeping her distance from a man like him.

  Chapter Five

  Not quite a week after talking to Zach Coulter outside the café on Main Street, Cynthia was on her front porch, sitting on a wicker love seat with her feet propped on the edge of the matching glass-topped coffee table in front of her. She bent over, stretching to reach her toes. With deft, practiced strokes, she used the tiny brush to apply a second coat of scarlet to her toenails. The red polish matched her favorite summer top, a loose cotton camisole with tiny spaghetti straps that she wore over white shorts in the balmy, mid-seventy-degree afternoon.

  She leaned back, critically eyeing the bright color tipping her toes.

  This is what my life has come to, she thought with a groan. Spending the afternoon trying to paint my toenails without a single smudge.

  Sighing again, she gazed around at the yard. Where Cynthia sat, the porch was shaded by a thick lilac bush, and flower beds skirted the front and sides of the house. A brick walkway ran from the foot of the wide porch steps directly to a gate in the picket fence that let out onto the sidewalk and street. Cynthia’s convertible was parked in the drive just beyond the end of the porch. She’d left it there earlier when she came home from the pharmacy after purchasing the new scarlet nail polish she was currently applying so meticulously to her toenails.

  A girl needed a pedicure now and then. Especially whe
n she was doing her best not to think about a man like Zach Coulter. She frowned.

  Earlier this morning, she’d stood in line behind two older women at the grocery store and she couldn’t help but overhear as they spent long moments speculating about Zach and his brothers.

  As Cynthia well remembered, this kind of endless discussion about the Coulter boys was a popular pastime for the folks in Indian Springs. She’d been a freshman in high school when the youngest, Eli, was a senior. He and his three older brothers had been wild, and wildly popular. In contrast, she’d been quiet, studious and not the slightest bit socially active, although she’d had a few close friends. She hadn’t attended her high school prom nor any of the parties after graduation.

  In fact, she mused, she wasn’t surprised that Zach didn’t remember her. After her mother accused her of inviting his attentions when Natasha’s boyfriend attacked her, she’d taken to wearing clothing that concealed her budding shape. As a teenager, she’d done everything possible to fade into the background and remain inconspicuous. She certainly remembered Zach and his brothers, though—their bigger-than-life personalities, their reputations, their coal-black hair, green eyes, broad-shouldered bodies and sheer male power. It was a wonder the female population of Indian Springs had survived the excitement and heart palpitations the Coulter boys had caused just by their existence.

  She plucked the cotton balls from between her toes, tossed them into the empty pharmacy bag and walked down the porch steps to the water spigot at the corner of the house. Twisting the handle, she filled a metal watering can and carried it back onto the porch to water the pots and hanging baskets filled with red and white geraniums and trailing green ivy. Toes curling against the cool boards of the floor, she bent to reach a terracotta pot filled with herbs, the plants still small green shoots only inches above the black dirt.

  “Good morning.”

  The deep male drawl had her spinning around. Water from the can splashed her toes. Zach walked toward her up the walkway and behind him, a newer model black pickup truck was parked at her curb.