The Virgin and Zach Coulter

by Lois Faye Dyer

  “Hell.” Brodie looked disgusted. “Leave it to the old man to make life difficult, even from the grave.”

  “Why don’t you think about it, Brodie?” Zach told him. “By the time you’re out of rehab, maybe you’ll change your mind.”

  “Not likely. I don’t want to go back to the Triple C—there’s nothing there but bad memories and I don’t want to revisit them.”

  “Tell you what, Brodie.” Zach bent his knees and sat forward, leaning his forearms on his thighs. “If you feel the same way when you check out of rehab, all you have to do is come back to the Triple C for Cade’s wedding. By then, if you still want to, I’ll find a way around the will so you can walk away from the ranch and never have to see it again.”

  Brodie stared at him, dark brows lowering, his green gaze brooding. “All right,” he said at last. “Deal.”

  “Great.” Zach slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. “Now I’m going to go find a steak house and bring back three New York steaks, medium rare, with all the trimmings. What else do you guys want?”

  “Bring me two steaks,” Brodie said, looking at his tray of hospital food with distaste. “I feel like I could eat a whole damn cow.”

  Cynthia walked out of the Lodge office in bare feet, heading for the kitchen. Only the light over the island was lit and the soft light gleamed over the kitchen’s new countertops and stainless steel fittings.

  Making a mental note to move the search for sous chefs and waiters to the top of her to-do list, she padded silently across the black-and-white tiled floor and found a container of yogurt from her lunch in the restaurant-sized refrigerator. Locating a spoon in the utensil drawer, she tossed the foil lid in the trash can and ate the strawberry yogurt while leaning against the sink. The big window gave her a view of the pastures that stretched to reach the rise of flat-topped buttes in the distance, the moon highlighting their tops and casting shadows down their sides and out across the prairie.

  It’s beautiful here, she thought. No wonder the Lodge was once packed with guests.

  Vowing that it would be again, Cynthia washed her spoon and returned it to the drawer, tossed her empty yogurt container in the recycling bin and left the kitchen.

  Just as she was crossing the lobby to return to the office, the front door opened.

  Before she could do more than gasp in surprise, Zach stepped inside.

  “Zach!” She pressed her one hand over her racing heartbeat. “You startled me— I didn’t know you were coming home tonight.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He dropped his duffel bag at the foot of the stairs and walked toward her. “What are you doing here so late? It’s after ten. You’re not still working, are you?”

  “I had a few things I wanted to finish before I left tonight. The moving crew is delivering the rest of the lobby furniture and some of the bedroom furnishings tomorrow and I wanted to make sure everything was ready for them.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t work so late, but nonetheless…” He stopped with the toes of his boots nearly touching her bare feet and slipped his arms around her waist. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured as he bent his head, his lips brushing the corners of her mouth before settling fully against hers.

  It felt so natural and right to be wrapped in his arms, his mouth on hers, to welcome him home. On some level, Cynthia registered that it was dangerous to be growing so accustomed to being in his arms and his life. When he left, he was going to break her heart. But she ignored the faint warning, giving in to the sheer pleasure.

  When he lifted his head, he didn’t release her. Instead he tucked her closer and pressed his cheek on the top of her head where it rested against his shoulder.

  “Did you see Brodie?” she asked, her palm against his chest, fingers toying with a smooth mother-of-pearl button on his shirt.

  “Yeah, we saw him.”

  Caught by the somber note in his voice, Cynthia tilted her head back and looked up at him. “What’s wrong?”

  He sighed, his eyes dark. “He’s finished riding rodeo bulls.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Zach. He was at the top of his field, wasn’t he.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah—and it took him years to get there.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine Brodie without rodeo. It’s all he’s ever wanted since he was five years old.”

  “Is there something else he can do that will let him stay involved in rodeo?”

  “There might be, although I don’t know what it could be. Even if there were something, I can’t see Brodie settling for watching from the sidelines. And who knows if he’d even be able to do that.”

  Zach’s voice held grim worry.

  “Are you saying he might not recover from this?” Cynthia was shocked.

  “It’s possible. Cade and I talked to his doctor before we left the hospital. There’s still a possibility Brodie might lose the leg. And even if all goes well, they don’t know if he’ll recover fully. It’s likely he may have to walk with a cane for the rest of his life.”

  “How does Brodie feel about that—did he tell you?”

  “He says he’s going to walk.” A small smile flitted over Zach’s face. “Knowing how stubborn he is, I’m putting my money on Brodie.”

  “Good.” Relieved by that small lightening of Zach’s worried face, Cynthia hugged him tighter. “I’m glad. So, when are you expecting him back at the Triple C?”

  “I’m not sure he’ll ever come back.”

  “What?” Cynthia leaned back to stare up at him. “Why not?”

  “He told us that he swore he’d never come back when we all left thirteen years ago. Even though Dad’s gone now, Brodie says there are too many bad memories here and he doesn’t want to revisit any of them. We tried everything we knew to convince him, but when Cade and I got on the plane to leave California and come home, neither of us were convinced he’ll be back.”

  “But what about the Triple C? I thought you all had to join forces if you’re going to have any chance to save it?”

  “That’s our only ace in the hole,” he told her. “I don’t think Brodie will let the rest of us down when we need him. And if we can get him back on the Triple C, I think he’ll stay. He and Cade always loved this place, maybe more than Eli and me. With Cade, it’s the land and the cattle. With Brodie, it’s the land and the horses.”

  “And your father left him the horses and a piece of the land,” Cynthia said softly. “I think maybe your father knew you better than any of you realized.”

  “Maybe he did,” Zach said with skepticism. “But if so, he had a hell of a way of showing it. He blamed us for mom’s death. I don’t remember a kind word from him after Mom died.”

  “Why did he leave you the Lodge and a quarter of the Triple C?” she asked, curious.

  “If we’re going to go with your assumption that Dad knew all of us better than we ever realized, then the land’s a no-brainer. Like my brothers, I grew up here and my sweat and a few pints of my blood is in the ground of the Triple C. And the Lodge…” He paused, his eyes losing focus as if he were thinking of something Cynthia couldn’t see. “Maybe because restoring it is a challenge and a risk—and everyone knows I was born with a competitive streak a mile wide.” His gaze sharpened, his mouth curving in a smile that held cynicism. “But to buy your theory, we’d have to believe that Joseph Coulter gave a damn about his sons and I’m here to tell you, honey, he didn’t.”

  Cynthia searched his face, looking for any hint that Zach cared if his father had regretted his treatment of his sons, but found no indication. Still, she sensed a deeper emotion beneath the cynicism. She decided to let it go, for now.

  “You must be tired after your trip. Did you have dinner?”

  “Cade grabbed a burger on the way out of Billings but I wasn’t hungry— I am now, though. Anything good in the refrigerator?”

  She nodded. “I cut up a salad earlier and Mariah dropped off groceries for you in case you came home tomorrow. We d
idn’t expect you tonight, but she said she was putting a package of steaks in the meat drawer.”

  “Come on.” He released her, his hand sliding down her arm to catch her hand, his fingers threading through hers. “Keep me company while I eat.”

  Cynthia went without protest. It was astounding how comfortable she felt with him, she thought as they worked together in the kitchen.

  Was it possible there could be more between them than the undeniable sexual attraction that she knew simmered constantly below the surface?

  And more important, if there was a chance for a deeper connection for her with Zach, was she brave enough to step outside her safe, solitary world and trust him?

  Chapter Twelve

  It wasn’t until later, as they sat on tall stools at the island counter, and all that remained of Zach’s dinner were a few crumbs and a small steak bone, that Cynthia paused, lowering her glass of wine to the tile countertop.

  “I just realized—I totally forgot to ask if Brodie knew how to reach Eli.”

  “He doesn’t, but he’s pretty sure Eli’s in Spain.”

  Cynthia blinked. “Spain?”

  “Brodie visited him in Santa Fe several months ago. Eli told him he was thinking about taking an internship with a master silversmith in Spain. But if Eli mentioned the name of the silversmith or what town in Spain, Brodie doesn’t remember.”

  “But at least you have a bit more information and a place to start looking. If Eli left the States, that would certainly explain why the detectives have been frustrated with dead ends after following every lead.”

  “We reached the same conclusion,” Zach agreed. “But we have no idea where to start.”

  “I wonder if you could search for Spanish silversmiths on the internet?” Cynthia asked.

  He nodded. “I thought of that. I emailed Angela and asked her to begin looking. If he’s surfaced in any news reports, she’ll find it.”

  “Does he belong to any artisans’ organizations here in the States? If so, maybe he’s renewed his registration with a current address.”

  “We’ve already tried that,” Zach told her. “He renewed more than one, but each time he used the address of the P.O. Box in Santa Fe—the same mail stop he’s had for the past ten years.”

  Cynthia thought a moment, lips pursing as she considered and discarded several potential ways to unravel the trail that would eventually lead to Eli. At last, she shook her head. “I give up. This is worse than trying to solve a Rubik’s cube.”

  He laughed and leaned closer to top up her wine from the nearly empty bottle they shared. “So you’re not big on puzzle solving?”

  “I like crossword puzzles,” she told him. “And I also like guessing who committed the murder on CSI every week. I’m pretty good at those two, actually, but sadly, not so good with the Rubik’s Cube.”

  He propped his elbow on the countertop, his chin on his hand, their knees bumping as they faced each other on the tall stools. “You constantly surprise me, Cyn.”

  “Why is that?” She sipped her wine, savoring the fruity taste.

  “Because you don’t care whether it matters to anyone if you can solve a puzzle. You are who you are. People can take it or leave it.”

  “Some people would say that’s not a good thing,” she commented.

  “Some people are fools,” he said simply. “While you’re clearly a very smart woman.”

  She searched his face and found only sincerity. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “For what?”

  “For seeing who I am. For telling me it’s okay. For not assuming the sum total of who I am begins and ends with the size of my breasts and the color of my hair.”

  “You’re welcome.” He leaned forward and brushed a soft kiss against the sensitive skin at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said, his deep voice a murmur in the quiet room. “I love the size of your breasts and the color of your hair.” He smoothed a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, then tucked it behind her ear, his hand stroking over her shoulder and down her arm until his fingers threaded through hers. He laid her hand on his thigh, palm down and just above his knee before he covered it with the warmth of his much larger hand. “But you’re much more than that.”

  Cynthia didn’t know what to say. “I…” Her throat closed and she paused. “I wish I’d known you when I was younger, before…things happened.”

  “I wish I’d known you when you were younger, too,” he said softly. “What things happened? Can you tell me?”

  She searched his eyes and found only warmth. “It’s a common enough story. And I’m not the only girl in America whose mother had boyfriends that were too friendly with her daughter.” Beneath her palm, she felt the muscles of his thigh flex and tighten but his expression didn’t change. Reassured, she continued, “I was luckier than lots of other girls, because I wasn’t raped.”

  “But someone scared you,” he guessed, green eyes darkening.

  She nodded. “When I was twelve, my mother was dating an older man. He seemed to have plenty of money to buy her gifts and take her to nice places. But he drank a lot and Nicholas didn’t like him—neither did I. One day the man came to the house looking for my mother. I told him Natasha wasn’t home but he pushed his way inside and said he’d wait. Nicholas came home from the grocery store just in time to pull him off me.”

  Zach growled, a low, rumbling sound. Startled, Cynthia stopped speaking.

  “Sorry, honey.” He lifted her hand from his thigh, his lips warm where he pressed a kiss into her palm before lowering it once more. “I wish I’d been there. I hope Nicholas did some damage when he threw him out.”

  “I remember a lot of yelling. Natasha was furious with Nicholas later because she said he’d blackened the man’s eye, but Nicholas always swore he never hit him. My mother has always been a drama queen, so I suspect Nicholas was telling the truth,” she said solemnly.

  “Too bad. It sounds like the guy deserved more than a black eye.” Zach lowered his gaze, toying with her fingers before he looked back up at her. “Thank God your great-uncle came home in time. But the jerk still hurt you, didn’t he.” It wasn’t really a question and Zach’s green eyes were fierce.

  “He grabbed me, held me down and tore my shirt. And he groped me so hard. I had bruises the next day.”

  Anger hardened the planes of Zach’s face and a muscle flexed along his jawline. Without thinking, Cynthia reached out and stroked her fingertips over the vee between his brows, smoothing away the fierce frown.

  “It was fairly traumatic for a twelve-year-old, but when I was at college I saw a counselor. She helped me come to terms with what happened.”

  He leaned in closer, resting his forehead against hers. “I’m so damn sorry, honey. No young girl should have to go through that and no woman should have to deal with the bad memories you must have had.” He eased back, just far enough to look down and see her eyes. “Why did you wait until you were in college—why didn’t you get counseling when it happened?”

  “Natasha didn’t have insurance and to be honest, I don’t think she wanted her friends to know it happened.”

  Zach swore under his breath.

  “It takes courage to face a problem and sign up for counseling,” he told her. “I’m proud of you.”

  His words went straight to her heart. Her throat closed and her eyes misted. “That’s very sweet of you.”

  “Sweet?” He scowled at her. “I’m not sweet.”

  “I think you are,” she insisted.

  “Huh.” He smoothed his hand over her hair, his fingers curving behind her ear once more. He seemed fascinated by the texture. “I wish Brodie would get counseling,” he said absently. “We’d probably have to tie him up to get him there though, and even then, he wouldn’t talk.”

  “You’re really worried about him, aren’t you?” Cynthia said with sympathy.

  “Yeah, I am.” His fingers left her hair, his mouth curving downward. �
��After Mom died and Dad started drinking, life was pretty bad. All of us are screwed up, one way or another, and it’s probably worse because Dad blamed us for Mom’s accident so we all feel guilty, on some level.”

  “But he couldn’t,” Cynthia protested, shocked. “You were just little boys.”

  “It didn’t matter—he blamed us.” Zach shrugged. “Me, mostly. We were all playing in the creek but I was the one who dared her to grab the rope swing and jump.” His gaze grew distant. “I’ll never forget the sound of the rope snapping, or her head hitting the rock. It makes me sick to my stomach even now.” He shook his head. “We all have bad memories of that day and every day that followed until we left Indian Springs—and that’s why Brodie doesn’t want to come back here. We survived childhood, but none of us got out undamaged—we’re all carrying too much baggage. But Brodie…” Zach paused, his eyes shadowed. “Brodie’s always been darker. He keeps more inside. His outlet has always been rodeo. He kept moving, always shooting for the next championship, riding the bull no one else had ever ridden.” He shook his head. “Take that away and what’s he got?”

  “He still has you—and Cade and Eli,” Cynthia said softly. “Didn’t you tell me Brodie and Cade both loved the Triple C?”

  Zach nodded, the curve of his mouth brooding.

  “Then bring him home. If he can’t have rodeo and that dream is gone, won’t he need something to take its place? There’s so much to be done here on the ranch. He’d be needed here. His life would have purpose.”

  He stared at her, as if turning over her words, studying them as he studied her features.

  “How did you get to be so smart?” he asked softly.

  “I didn’t,” she whispered. “I’m faking it.”

  He laughed. “And so blessedly stable. In a world full of crazy people, you may be the only normal person I know.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said without thinking. “You have no idea how abnormal I really am.”

  His gaze sharpened. “Are you keeping secrets from me, Cynthia?”

  She hadn’t meant to tell him. Even as she opened her mouth, she didn’t mean to tell him now. But somehow, she couldn’t lie after he’d bared his heart about his childhood and his worry over his brother. “I am.”