The Virgin and Zach Coulter

by Lois Faye Dyer

  “Thanks.” Cynthia followed her as she moved with easy familiarity around the tables to reach the far corner of the long room.

  “Here you go.” Mariah handed her a menu as she slid onto the bench seat. “One of us will bring you water in a sec—do you want anything else to drink? Coffee, iced tea?”

  “Iced tea would be lovely,” Cynthia said gratefully.

  “You got it. It’s crazy busy in here, but I’ll be back to take your order in a few minutes.”

  She bustled off to collect loaded plates from the kitchen pass-through window behind the long counter.

  Cynthia set her purse beside her on the blue upholstered bench and opened the menu. It only took a moment to decide on the soup with salad special and she closed the vinyl-covered folder just as Mariah returned with a glass of iced tea and a long straw.

  “Know what you want?” Mariah asked, whipping out a pad and pen.

  Cynthia told her and with an apology for not staying to chat, Mariah hurried off to take an order from another customer.

  While Cynthia waited for her salad and soup to arrive, she took a notebook from her purse and jotted notes for meetings with plumbers and masonry contractors scheduled after lunch in the workday ahead. Although they’d accomplished far more at the Lodge than she would ever have thought possible in the beginning, there was still so much more to be done before they could book guests.

  “Good morning.”

  Cynthia glanced up. A man stood next to her booth. He was dressed in dark slacks and a cream-colored dress shirt open at the throat beneath a light brown sports jacket. His brown hair was cut short with a neat side part, his smile affable and confident.

  Something about him seemed very familiar, but for the life of her Cynthia couldn’t place him.

  “Good morning.” She returned his smile with polite reserve. He wouldn’t be the first strange man to approach her in a public place and unfortunately, she thought with a sigh, he no doubt wouldn’t be the last.

  “I don’t know if you remember me, Cynthia,” he continued, his smile never faltering. “We went to school together. I’m Jim Meyers.”

  “Of course.” She did remember him, she realized, but not fondly. She scanned the neat hair, brown eyes, smooth confidence oozing from every pore, and decided he hadn’t changed all that much except to grow older. He’d been the spoiled only child of a local land developer and she’d never liked him. “How are you, Jim?”

  “I’m well. May I?” Without waiting for her permission, he slid onto the bench opposite her and fixed her with a friendly smile. “And you?”

  “I’m well.” Cynthia smiled faintly, her pen poised above her notebook, waiting for him to explain why he’d approached her.

  “Excellent.” He beamed at her. “I understand you’ve taken on the management position out at the Coulter Lodge.”

  “That’s right.” She nodded, a small dip of her head.

  “I was surprised to hear Zach Coulter had returned to renovate the place.” He shook his head, his expression concerned.

  “Why is that?” She asked with a slight lift of one eyebrow.

  “Well, we all know Zach has gone on to bigger and brighter city lights than our nice small town,” he said. “It’s unlikely he’ll stay involved with the Lodge and once he loses interest, it will return to its former state. A shame really,” he said dolefully, his eyes sharp as he studied her face.

  “I didn’t realize you and Zach knew each other so well,” Cynthia commented mildly, wondering what motive he had for the conversation. He clearly had an agenda and was leading up to something with his comments, but she wasn’t sure what that might be.

  “I wouldn’t say we’re best friends,” he said with a smile. “I was a few years behind him in school and as you know, he left Indian Springs as soon as he could. No, my conclusions are based on generally held opinion in Indian Springs—and facts, of course.”

  “And what facts are those, exactly?” Cynthia asked, pretending to be objective, though inside she was seething. His comments might seem innocent enough on the surface, but his inflection subtly inferred Zach had no ability to commit to the Lodge project and no staying power, long-term. She didn’t believe the majority of Indian Springs residents thought Zach was unprincipled and undisciplined. She couldn’t help but wonder why Jim was trying so hard to convince her the town had so little respect for Zach.

  “Why, that the Coulter brothers shook the dust of Indian Springs from their boots more than a decade ago and only returned to collect their inheritance, of course.”

  “Really?” Cynthia sipped her tea.

  “I’ve heard Zach inherited the Lodge and the surrounding acres it sits on. I’m sure he’ll be selling it and heading back to San Francisco after the opening.”

  Ah, Cynthia thought. So that’s where this conversation is going. “Do you think so?” she said aloud, widening her eyes as if surprised by his revelation.

  “Of course.” He shrugged. “It’s probably for the best, since it’s unlikely Zach will stay in Indian Springs and businesses always do best when the owner stays involved. The best guarantee of a failed business is an absentee owner,” he added with conviction.

  “I suppose that’s true,” Cynthia said noncommittally.

  “Studies prove it’s true,” he told her. “I hope he sells to someone local, someone involved in our community with plans to stay in the area.” He paused, eyeing her expectantly.

  “That certainly sounds as if it would be best,” she agreed.

  He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “I’d be interested, should he decide to sell.”

  “Would you?” She managed to force a note of approval into her own voice though she was having difficulty being polite.

  “Yes, I would.” He nodded, a brief, visible confirmation of his good intentions. “In fact—” he paused, as if the thought had just occurred to him “—you could be a big help to the community, Cynthia.”

  “How is that?” she asked, feigning interest.

  “If you would agree to intercede and arrange a meeting with Zach for me, I’d like to make him an offer to buy the Lodge, the cabins behind it and the land they sit on, including the water frontage on the creek bank. For the good of the community, of course,” he added hastily.

  Cynthia guessed her expression must have reflected her distaste for his request. “How would it be good for the community if you owned the Lodge?” she asked, struggling to maintain a cool, politely interested façade.

  He spread his hands, the affable smile back on his face. “I’m a local boy. Always have been—always will be. I don’t have aspirations to travel to the big city and set the world on fire. My roots are sunk well and truly deep here in Indian Springs.”

  “But you’ve never been an innkeeper before,” she pointed out. “In fact, your family has spent several generations buying up land and developing it, often to the detriment of the neighbors. Why would I think you would keep the Lodge intact and not break the land into pieces and sell it off?”

  “I assure you, Cynthia,” he began.

  “Not to mention—” she broke in “—that the only access to the Lodge is across Coulter land. How on earth do you think you would have access to it for ingress and egress? Do you actually think the Coulters would let you open up their ranch to strangers driving across it?”

  “All of that would have to be negotiated, of course.” His smile was no longer as friendly. “But nonetheless, I’d like to talk to Zach about the proposition. He hasn’t returned my calls. I’d appreciate your facilitating contact with him. In fact, I’m willing to make it worth your while.”

  Before Cynthia could reply, Mariah interrupted them.

  “Here’s your lunch, Cynthia.” She slid a plate on the tabletop in front of Cynthia.

  “Thanks, Mariah.” Cynthia looked up and into Mariah’s brown eyes.

  “No problem—enjoy.” Mariah cast a troubled glance at the man sitting across from Cynthia before she turned and hurri
ed off.

  Cynthia leveled a chilly stare at him. “It’s not my job to arrange appointments for Zach. If he wants to speak with you, he can make that decision without my assistance. If you can’t reach him by phone, I suggest you send him a letter with any requests.”

  “Very well.” Jim Meyers rose, pausing to look down at her, his brown eyes hard. “Don’t make the mistake of choosing the wrong side in this, Cynthia.”

  “I don’t have a side. I work for Zach Coulter. Therefore, my loyalties are to him. And now that we’ve cleared that up, I believe our conversation is done.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, muttered an oath under his breath and turned to stride out of the café, his movements conveying the depth of his irritation.

  Cynthia drew a deep breath and counted to ten.

  Jim Meyers had been obnoxious as a kid and apparently he hadn’t grown better with time. If anything, she thought, he was worse.

  She picked up her spoon and tasted the soup, determined to forget the unpleasant incident as soon as she’d told Zach about it. But she had the uneasy feeling Jim Meyers wasn’t going to go away soon, and that his interest in the Lodge meant potential trouble for Zach.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Ukiah Memorial Hospital sat on the crest of a hill, the backside of the building looking out on the Northern California redwoods. The front of the building was modern brick and faced the large parking lot where the hot sun heated the asphalt pavement, bouncing off the black surface in visible waves to assault the eyes.

  Zach and Cade parked their rental car in the lot and entered the building. After a brief stop at the information desk, they rode the elevator to the second floor and strode down a hallway that smelled of antiseptic.

  They heard Brodie before they saw him.

  “Hell, no, I’m not eating this. I need real food—doesn’t the kitchen know how to grill a steak?”

  Zach felt a swell of relief. Brodie’s irritated roar sounded normal.

  He and Cade stepped into the room and paused. Their brother was in bed, his right leg propped up on pillows. Beard stubble darkened his jaw, his black hair was mussed and longer than it’d been the last time they’d seen him, and his green eyes glowed with irritation.

  The middle-aged nurse standing at his bedside merely smiled at him. “Sorry, Mr. Coulter, but the kitchen is on a budget. No steaks.”

  Brodie fumed. Zach could almost see the steam coming from his ears.

  “Damn, Brodie,” he said mildly. “Give the lady a break. You can’t expect steak and lobster lunches in a hospital.”

  Brodie’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing over Zach before flicking to Cade. His frown eased, replaced by a wide grin.

  “Zach, what are you doing here? Hey, Cade.”

  Zach reached the bed and caught his brother’s hand in a tight clasp. “You look like hell, bro,” he said bluntly.

  “Thanks, Zach.” Brodie grinned as Zach stepped back and Cade greeted him with the same handshake.

  “Ignore him, Brodie,” Cade said easily. “That’s what I told him when he showed up at the Triple C after climbing a mountain—he’s just passing it on.”

  Zach and Cade pulled up a pair of plastic metal-legged chairs and sat, their long legs stretched out in front of them.

  “So what brings you two to California?” Brodie asked. “I told the detective I’d call as soon as I knew when the doc was ready to let me out of here.”

  “We wanted to see for ourselves just how bad your leg was damaged,” Zach said bluntly. “You have a history of telling us you’re fine when the doctors are going ballistic.”

  “Yeah,” Cade added. “So, what’s the real story?”

  “I broke my leg in two places.” Brodie’s face was somber. “I’m done with bull riding. No more rodeos.”

  “Damn, I’m sorry.” Zach couldn’t imagine his brother not riding bulls and following the rodeo. He’d been doing it since he was barely a teenager—it was his life. That Brodie wouldn’t be riding bulls anymore was as inconceivable as it would be if he himself stopped climbing mountains or never again tried breaking another record. “Have any idea how long before you’re released from here?”

  “No.” Brodie scrubbed his hand down his face. He raked the thick strands of his hair back from his forehead. “But I go from here to a rehab center across town. How long I have to stay there depends on how fast I can learn to walk again.”

  Zach didn’t want to ask if Brodie would eventually walk unaided or if he’d need a cane. “What can we do?”

  “Nothing. I hate the waiting, but the doc says if I don’t stay off my leg and let the bone heal, I’ll be here longer. And I’m already damned sick of this place.” He waved a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. The nurses are nice and the doctors are great, but this is the last place I want to lie around.”

  “What happened?” Cade asked, his deep voice quiet.

  “I climbed aboard a rank bull in a friend’s corral and he threw me into the fence.” Brodie’s words were blunt. “I might have been okay but I’d damaged the leg a few months earlier in New Mexico. It wasn’t entirely healed.”

  “Maybe you’re getting too old to ride crazy bulls,” Zach drawled. He knew Brodie well—if either he or Cade got sentimental, Brodie would close up like a clam. He’d never wanted anyone worrying over the scrapes, bruises and broken bones he’d earned on his way up the ladder to rodeo champion.

  “Yeah, right.” Brodie snorted. “Like you’re too old to do whatever crazy thing you’ve been doing. What is the most recent thing, by the way?”

  “Mount Everest,” Cade put in. “He climbed Mount Everest.”

  “Damn, Zach,” Brodie said, clearly impressed. “That’s pretty cool.”

  “It was.” Zach nodded in agreement. “And cold. Very cold.”

  Masculine laughter filled the room. Out in the hallway, the nurses on duty glanced significantly at each other and breathed sighs of relief. The handsome patient in room 205 hadn’t laughed since he was admitted.

  “The detective told me Dad was gone,” Brodie said, all laughter gone as he eyed them with somber determination. “But he didn’t say why you two are back in Indian Springs.”

  “Dad left the Triple C to the four of us,” Zach told him. “Evenly split four ways.”

  “That’s not possible,” Brodie said flatly. “Why would he do that? He hated our guts.”

  Zach shrugged. “That’s what I thought, but Cade’s fiancée says otherwise.”

  Brodie’s head snapped around and he stared at Cade. “Fiancée? You’re getting married?”

  Cade smiled. “Yeah. Her name is Mariah Jones. She lived on the Triple C the last few years. She took care of Dad after he was diagnosed with lung cancer.”

  It was difficult for Zach to tell whether Brodie was more stunned by Cade being engaged, their father leaving them the Triple C, or the news that Joseph Coulter had let a stranger live on the ranch.

  “Speechless, aren’t you?” Zach drawled, grinning when Brodie lifted his hand and made a rude gesture. “Lots of things have changed in Indian Springs, Brodie. I’m renovating the Lodge and plan to open it within a few weeks. Cade’s getting married and she’s not only pretty, she’s nice—which is why I still haven’t figured out how he talked her into saying yes. Oh, yeah,” he added, “Dad not only left us four the ranch, he left individual assets to each of us. You get the horses.”

  Brodie went still. “What horses? Are the Kigers still there?”

  “We don’t know,” Cade told him. “When you come home, we’ll go looking. From what Mariah and the two ranch hands tell me, no one’s been out to Tunk Mountain for years.” He shrugged. “Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

  “I’ll be damned.” Brodie looked stunned. “I thought the old man sold them off.”

  “I can’t find any record of them being sold and I’ve gone through all the files in Dad’s office,” Cade told him. “If I knew for sure the horses were there, I’d ask you to let us round them up
and sell them. The inheritance tax on the Triple C is huge and Dad was broke when he died.”

  Brodie frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “He’d stopped working the ranch except for planting alfalfa in the flats and running Hereford cattle in the home pasture,” Zach told him. “From what the neighbors and the Turner brothers told us, Dad cut himself off from nearly everyone he knew and barely kept the ranch out of debt.”

  “Did he leave a lot of bills?” Brodie asked, his gaze landing on Zach.

  Zach shook his head. “No. The only debt is Uncle Sam and the inheritance tax—and that’s huge.”

  “How huge?”

  “Two million dollars, give or take a few thousand.”

  Brodie whistled, a long, slow sound.

  “That’s a lot of money,” he said.

  “If we sell off enough land to pay the taxes, the ranch will be too small to build a profitable business,” Cade told him.

  “Cade sold cattle, I’m going to run the Lodge. If we agree to keep the Triple C, we’ll all have to be creative in raising money to clear the tax debt.” Zach shifted in the too-small and uncomfortable chair, crossing his ankles and watching Brodie’s face from beneath the brim of his Stetson.

  “If I had that much cash, you could have it. But I don’t,” Brodie said. “And I’m not going to be much use to you for the next few months, not with this leg.” He brooded as he stared at his swollen, blackened toes visible at the end of the leg cast. “I don’t give a damn about the ranch. I swore when I left that I’d never go back and I still don’t want to. I’ll sign over my share to you two and you can do what you want with it.”

  Zach glanced sideways at Cade, who lifted an eyebrow slightly.

  “Well, if you were serious about handing me a quarter of a ranch that’s potentially worth millions of dollars, I’d take it,” Zach drawled. “But even if you were willing to give it up, we couldn’t legally accept it. The will specifically says it’s all or none. If we’re all willing to sell the place, we can. If we don’t all agree, it can’t be done.”