Kiss Me (Fool's Gold series)

by Susan Mallery

  Mountain peaks rose in the distance. She caught glimpses of white-capped currents in a river that flashed between the thick trees along the side of the road. No doubt the area was teeming with wildlife. Phoebe liked little forest creatures as much as the next person, just so long as she didn’t have to worry about them scurrying across the road or showing up on a serving platter.

  What would it be like on the ranch? She’d never been on one before, hadn’t even seen one except on TV or in the movies.

  “So are there lots of cows?” she asked before she could stop herself. “On the ranch, I mean.”

  Zane didn’t spare her a glance. “Some.”

  “Like twenty?”

  He glanced at her then, before turning his attention back to the road. “We run several thousand head of steers. Those are the ones that end up on your barbecue. I have another few hundred head of cows for breeding purposes.”

  “No bulls?” she asked, unable to keep from grinning.

  He sighed the sigh of the long suffering. “A dozen or so.”

  “A dozen bulls for a few hundred cows?”

  Mr. Hunk-in-a-hat, who had put his hat on the seat between them when he’d climbed into the cab, chuckled. “Yup.”

  “Yet another example of our patriarchal society ignoring the rights of cows.”

  “You worried about cows’ rights?” He sounded both incredulous and amused. “You a lawyer?”

  “No. And I’m not concerned about cows’ rights. Of course I want them treated humanely, as any civilized person would, but I’m not crazy.”

  “What are you, then?”

  “What?”

  He glanced at her. “If you’re not a lawyer, what are you?”

  “Oh.” For a second she thought he’d been referring to her mental state. “I work in real estate.”

  Fortunately Zane didn’t ask any questions about her career. She didn’t think that telling him she’d been suspended for litigation would improve his opinion of her. At least he was talking. She tried to think of more cattle-related questions.

  “How long have you been in the ranching business?”

  “All my life.”

  Silence. Zane Nicholson wasn’t exactly chatty. Was it her or was it his personality?

  “Do you ever sell the cattle for something other than food?”

  Zane shifted in his seat. Had he been anyone else, she would have assumed the question made him uncomfortable. But he was too in-charge—too self-assured. Besides, what about it was embarrassing?

  “Sometimes I’ll sell off a few cows if we have too many.”

  “That makes sense. What about the bulls? Ever have too many of those?”

  “Most of them become steers.”

  She didn’t want to think about that. “So steers are boy cows?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What makes you decide who gets to have a really good life and who gets to be a burger?”

  “Various factors. I’ve been working on genetically improving the herd.”

  “So a new bull with favorable characteristics would get to stay a bull.”

  He nodded.

  “Sounds interesting,” she said, because it really was. Who knew that ranchers worried about genetics?

  “You’re probably not going for things like eye color,” she said without thinking.

  Zane didn’t even roll his eyes. “Not really.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “I work with several universities. We have breeding experiments. I also sell to other ranchers.”

  “Your bulls?”

  There was that seat squirm again. “No.”

  Not bulls? “Cows?”

  “Sperm.”

  Phoebe blinked. “From the bulls?”

  He nodded.

  “You sell bull sperm?”

  He nodded again.

  Wow. There really were infinite ways to make a living. So how exactly did one get the sperm from the bull? She shook her head. Not something she wanted to know, she decided. Although she was intrigued by the question of what sort of marketing campaign would be most effective. Still, some subjects were better left unexplored, and this was definitely one of them.

  She tried to think of something else to say. Anything, really. But how did one top bull sperm as a conversational gambit?

  Maybe it was better if one didn’t try.

  * * *

  THEY TURNED OFF the main highway, and Phoebe sat up straighter in her seat, eager for a glimpse of Fool’s Gold. Zane had rolled down his window a few miles back, and fresh-scented mountain air filled the truck. A few years ago, a reality show had been filmed in the town. She and Maya had had a standing date to watch it together. Phoebe couldn’t believe the place was as quaint as it had seemed on TV, but Maya had insisted it was more so.

  Welcome to Fool’s Gold, proclaimed a sign surrounded by lush red-and-yellow flowers in the shape of a heart.

  Zane turned right onto Lakeview Drive.

  Phoebe caught her breath. “It’s so pretty!”

  To their left, Lake Ciara sparkled in the mid-morning sun. To their right, children played in a large park under the watchful gazes of their mothers and of the mountains beyond. A huge, old oak tree provided shade for a couple stretched out on a pink blanket with their baby.

  Just past the park, downtown Fool’s Gold rose up, though it didn’t rise up very high. She didn’t see a building that was more than three or four stories tall, and only a few of those. The shops were neat and tidy. An American flag flew at every corner, and baskets of flowers hung from the other lampposts along the block. A banner spanned the width of the street, advertising the Summer Festival in two weeks.

  Zane pulled into a parking spot in front of a two-story blue brick building with a yellow awning. “Mitchell Tours” was painted in bold, white letters on the shop’s window.

  “I’ve got some business in here for a few minutes, to arrange for pickup of the other guests later this week,” he said. “Do you want to wait in the truck or walk around?”

  “I’d love to see the town.”

  By the time she got her seat belt undone, he was holding open her door. She felt a small flush of warmth as he helped her from the tall truck. Being short had its advantages, she thought. Although he might not be happy she was here, gentlemanly manners were ingrained in him. She had to admit she liked it.

  “We’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes,” he said before turning toward the shop.

  “Aren’t you going to lock the truck?”

  “Not necessary.”

  The door swung shut behind him, and Phoebe was left standing on the sidewalk, wondering whether she’d heard him right. No need to lock the truck, even with her suitcases in the backseat and his window rolled down? She’d heard about places like that but had always assumed the people who lived there were fictional—or idiots. Zane didn’t strike her as stupid, and her body’s lingering reaction to his touch confirmed that he was very much a real man.

  She turned left on Frank Lane and was pleased to find a bookstore halfway up the block. It made sense to have a print book for when they were out on the cattle drive, rather than relying on technology that would need to be recharged.

  “Welcome to Morgan’s Books.” A trim man with neatly clipped gray hair greeted her with a smile. He wore a brown button-down shirt a few shades darker than his skin and tan slacks with a crisp crease down each leg. “I’m Morgan. Please let me know if you need any assistance. Otherwise, feel free to wander.”

  “Wandering in bookstores is one of my favorite things in the world,” she replied with a smile.

  “I like you already.”

  She quickly found the latest Liz Sutton mystery and was thrilled to see a “Signed by local author” sticker on the cover.

  One of her favorite authors lived in this small town? She carried her treasure under her arm as she browsed the fiction section. When she glanced at her watch, she was shocked to discover that twelve minutes had pa
ssed.

  Somehow, she had the feeling that cowboy Zane would not appreciate being kept waiting. She paid for her book, promised to visit again before she left town, and raced back to the truck.

  Zane wasn’t there yet. But two old ladies were. They were well into their seventies, both about the same height with white hair and papery pink skin. The thin, curly-haired one with no makeup was dressed in a plush green tracksuit with bright white sneakers, while the plumper one wore a full face of makeup, including false eyelashes, and a prim flowered dress with thick, nude pumps. Oddly, they were sitting on the front bumper of Zane’s truck, and the one in the tracksuit was pointing a handheld video camera toward the front window of Mitchell Tours.

  After a moment of hesitation, Phoebe opened the passenger door of the truck. The old ladies hurried toward her.

  “This is Zane Nicholson’s truck,” the one in the flowered dress said.

  “I know.”

  “Are you with Zane?”

  Phoebe glanced at the one in the tracksuit, whose video camera was now pointed at her. Since it was about eighteen inches away, she could imagine how huge her face must look on the screen.

  “Don’t mind me,” the old lady said. “Just keep talking like I’m not even here. And...rolling.”

  “Are you with Zane?” the other one repeated.

  “I’m...yes, I guess. Sort of.”

  “Scoop!” The one in the tracksuit pumped a fist in the air.

  “You’re his girlfriend?”

  Phoebe looked around, expecting to see the ladies’ caretakers coming toward them with white coats and apologies, but although the town was bustling, no one seemed to be paying them any attention. Should she call the police? The hospital? Or was this kind of nosiness normal in a small town? Maybe this was why Zane hadn’t locked the truck, because he knew these two busybodies would guard it for him?

  Not sure what to do, she said, “I’m here for the cattle drive.”

  The women exchanged a meaningful look and grinned. Somehow, it made Phoebe even more uneasy.

  Just then, the door to Mitchell Tours opened, and Zane stepped out. When he saw the old women, he seemed to falter for a moment, but it happened so fast that Phoebe wasn’t sure.

  The one in the green tracksuit hurried to the front of the truck, with her video camera pointed toward Zane. “What can you tell us about the cattle drive?”

  He shot a look at Phoebe. She shrugged helplessly.

  “Sorry, ladies, no time to talk. We have to get back to the ranch.”

  Relieved, Phoebe pulled herself up into the truck. Zane didn’t come to her side to help her this time, but even after this short association with the determined women, she understood that time was of the essence in making a clean getaway. As she settled in the passenger seat, she could swear the video camera was focused on Zane’s butt when he climbed behind the wheel.

  “Who are they?” she asked under her breath.

  “Eddie and Gladys,” he muttered, then shot her a dark look. “You told them about the cattle drive?”

  “They ambushed me, and, no. They seemed to know about it already.” At least that was what she thought the knowing look meant. She could be wrong.

  “Who are they?” she asked.

  “Just a couple of old ladies who live in town.”

  “And the camera?”

  He sighed heavily. “I have no idea. When it comes to those two, the less you get involved, the better.”

  “Are you scared of them?”

  “Let’s just say I know when to take on the bear and when to walk around. When it comes to those two, I walk around.”

  His mouth turned up at one corner. His face was transformed when he smiled, even when it was a half-smile given halfheartedly. Wow. A sexy cowboy with a sense of humor could be dangerous. And while she’d always avoided danger in the past, for some reason, she found herself wanting to move just a little closer.

  Play with fire, she reminded herself. Only getting burned seemed like a small price to pay.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “GET READY, TOMMY,” Lucy Sax told her brother. She kept her voice down, like Mrs. Fortier was always telling her, only this time it wasn’t to keep from getting on Mr. Fortier’s nerves. She spoke quietly so that no one could hear them.

  Her brother shook his head. “I don’t wanna.”

  Lucy planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You have to. I can’t do it—I’m not any good. You’re the best, Tommy. And you know we need the money.”

  Tommy, ten and older than Lucy by two years, shook his head again. “It’s wrong.”

  Lucy already knew that boys were more important, more special, than girls, but she didn’t get that at all. From her viewpoint, boys weren’t very bright. Wanting or not wanting didn’t have anything to do with it. Need mattered more.

  They stood close together by the vending machines in the brightly lit bowling alley. Sound exploded all around them, from the smash of a ball crashing into the pins to the buzzing and beeping of the video games to the frantic laughter of desperate children.

  Lucy glanced past her brother to all the nervous couples bowling with children they didn’t know and would never adopt. She hated coming to the social events. What was the point? No one was ever going to adopt her or Tommy.

  For a long time she’d hoped they would get new parents. She’d agreed to wear her best dress, to smile and be polite. Until one day she’d overheard some adults talking about her and Tommy.

  “Mongrels,” the man had said. “Not white, not black, not Hispanic.” He’d turned to his pretty pale-skinned wife and reminded her that they wanted to adopt a white or Hispanic child.

  Lucy had saved her tears until she was in bed and no one would see. Then she’d given in to the sorrow. At the next social event, she’d concentrated on charming the African-American couples, but they didn’t seem any more interested in mongrel children. It was then that she realized she and Tommy were never going to find a home. They had each other, and that was all that mattered.

  Now she glared at her brother. “I’m going to start doing cartwheels right now,” she told him. “While everyone is watching me, you’re going to take the money.”

  He nodded, looking miserable. For a second Lucy felt bad about making him do it, but then she thought about all the times Mrs. Fortier sent them to bed without supper. It was one of her favorite punishments. Lucy had heard her talking to a friend once; Mrs. Fortier had said that at the end of the day, she liked her peace and quiet.

  So Lucy and Tommy needed the money for food, and sometimes for clothes. She kept track of every penny, and they never spent it on candy or toys. She was saving, too, so that when they were bigger they could run away together.

  But that was for later. Right now she had a plan.

  After smoothing her hair, she marched to the front of the bowling lanes. She waited until Tommy was in position, then she smiled so wide her cheeks hurt and started doing cartwheels. Everyone turned to watch. On her third one, she deliberately fell. She’d misjudged the distance and really slammed her knee into the hardwood floor. It wasn’t hard to force out a few tears.

  Instantly all the adults crowded around her. Lucy did her best to look small and hurt. From the corner of her eye, she saw Tommy moving toward the purses.

  * * *

  “HEL-LO, GORGEOUS.”

  Phoebe looked around as she stepped out of Zane’s truck. Standing next to the passenger door was a tall teenager with bright, inquisitive eyes and a welcoming smile. He looked enough like Adam Levine to make it easy for her to guess his identity.

  “You must be Chase,” she said.

  “In the flesh. And you’re Phoebe.” He looked her over from head to toe, then sighed. “Maya said a lot of great things about you, but she never mentioned you were a goddess.”

  The outrageous compliment made Phoebe laugh. “Hardly,” she protested, knowing that with her brown hair, brown eyes and unspectacular features she was little more
than average.

  “My heart is pounding a mile a minute,” Chase said, moving closer. “Want to feel?”

  The driver’s-side door slammed shut. “Don’t you have chores?” Zane growled.

  Chase took a step back, and his smile cranked down about 50 percent.

  “All done. Even the extra ones you gave me. I got started early so I could be finished to welcome Phoebe.” Keeping a wary eye on his brother, he swept his arms open wide. “Here it is. Several thousand acres of Nicholson family ranch. Nicholsons have owned this land for five generations.”

  She looked around at the rolling hills that stretched out to the horizon. They were a mere fifteen minutes outside of Fool’s Gold, but the only signs of civilization were two wind-power generators on a hill miles away. A two-story ranch house sprawled out on her left. To the right were several barns and corrals. Trees crested the nearest hill. In the distance she could see cattle. Lots of cattle.

  “Amazing,” she said honestly.

  “If you’re so fired up about playing host,” Zane said, his expression both fierce and closed, “I’ll let you take care of her luggage and show her to her room.”

  He put his hat on his head, nodded once at Phoebe and stalked away.

  She stared after him for a second. He looked as good from the back as he had from the front. Her hormones yelled out catcalls of appreciation which—fortunately—only she could hear. But however impressed she might be with him, Zane obviously didn’t return her feelings. He practically burned rubber in his haste to get away.

  Chase brightened the second Zane was gone. “How was the drive?” he asked as he walked around to the other side of the truck and pulled her suitcases out from behind the driver’s seat where Zane had placed them.

  “Good.”

  “Did Zane talk?”

  Phoebe glanced at him, not sure of the question.

  Chase hoisted her luggage with the same ease Zane had shown and started for the house.

  “He’s not much of a talker,” he explained as he walked. “I can’t figure out if the act of forming words is physically painful, or if he just doesn’t have anything to say.”