Arizona Homecoming (17 page)

“Olivia’s getting married,” Nolan said.

“Oh.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not in the least,” Donovan answered honestly. He glanced over at Emily. She had her cell phone out and was scrolling through photos of little Naomi. The kid must have been the subject of a million texts by now. So far Donovan had seen Naomi sleeping. Naomi sleeping under a blanket. Naomi sleeping in her mother’s arms. Naomi sleeping in her father’s arms. Naomi and Jacob sleeping in a chair.

“It bothers me. I was hoping you’d get back together. You were good for her. Made her behave. Something I never seemed able to do.”

Olivia had thrown her final tantrum, that Donovan witnessed, in a restaurant, complaining that the fish was cold. They brought her a new one. This time it was rubbery. Her father ate it, and the waitress brought Olivia something else. Donovan couldn’t remember what it was, but the poor waitress, flustered, had spilled a few drops on the sleeve of Olivia’s dress. The meal had been comped, the waitress in tears and the bad taste in Donovan’s mouth wasn’t from the food.

He’d broken the engagement the next day.

He’d met with Nolan and a lawyer two days after that. When he’d been handed the debt he owed to Nolan Tate, Donovan hadn’t protested.

In truth, Nolan had been fair. When Nolan hired Donovan, he’d fronted him thousands of dollars to start over—all contingent on Donovan working for him, as both an architect and on-site builder. For the first year, it had been a profitable working arrangement for both.

Donovan had been slowly pulling himself out of debt and even paying back a few small businesses that had suffered after Brewster and Russell had gone bankrupt.

Then Olivia came home from Europe.

“I’m not the same man I was when I dated her, sir. I’m glad she’s getting married. I hope she’s happy.”

“Me, too.” Nolan harrumphed before ending the call.

Emily turned off her phone. “So, are you working for Tate Luxury Homes still?”

“Not sure.”

* * *

So much had happened that Emily was ill prepared for the trustees meeting on Thursday. Between visitors, getting texts with photos from Eva documenting every moment of Naomi’s journey home and putting together a five-year plan that was way past due, Emily was exhausted.

And she’d miss dinner tonight, meaning she might not see Donovan.

Tonight’s meeting would have more to it than just a report on how she was marketing the Lost Dutchman Museum. A few years ago, she’d pushed for the trustees to purchase at least four acres from the Pearls. She’d expected and accepted the no. But now she had more to offer to motivate such a venture. Donovan didn’t know it, but maybe building a Hopi living area would be the museum’s biggest boon. It could be hands-on, right down to letting the children who came to the museum grind corn and paint pottery. She could take her storytelling to a new level with that type of backdrop.

Maybe another full-time employee would make it into the budget.

In five years.

That’s how long Donovan would be here. And since he was living here, certainly he could finish Tinytown ahead of schedule. It didn’t escape Emily’s notice that she wasn’t thinking beyond that magic number. So much had changed lately, especially her.

She hadn’t been this excited over an idea since she’d graduated. Nervously, she straightened the front, restocking maps and pens. She even spent time in her office on the computer looking over the previous curator’s plans.

It appeared just opening in the morning and closing at night was good enough for him.

A few times she went and stood by the door, staring at the grounds and admiring the Superstitions. She hated to imagine the replica Donovan would make of the Hopi multifamily structure as having air-conditioning, but this last day of June was already well past a hundred degrees and getting hotter by the minute.

One of her instructors in South Dakota had talked about the television show where modern families spent months living like the pioneers did. Emily didn’t like the idea, but did wonder if maybe something on a lesser scale could be done. Students could live like the Hopi for a few days.

It would help when teaching about the past.

Emily shook her head.

Her dad always said her dreams were a world in themselves. And today she certainly felt inspired to dream.

A text came through from Donovan:
Nolan Tate satisfied with offer from Tucker. I’ll be here five years! Celebrate tonight?

After meeting, might be late, YES
, she responded.

When the last visitor left, Emily cleaned off the table in her office, found the errant chairs for five and set a pitcher of water in the middle. She didn’t like using red plastic cups, but it was all she had and she didn’t want to run to the store.

Gregory Hamm was the first to arrive. He was Mike Hamm’s single uncle, who’d retired and returned to Apache Creek a good decade ago, after being a lawyer in Tucson for years. Next was Thelma Tittle, a retired librarian who’d designed and run the library until two years ago. Then there was a husband and wife team, Trudy and Darryl Feeney. They’d owned quite a few businesses in Apache Creek, including the Miner’s Lamp, where Jane worked. He’d been a banker, she a teacher.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” Emily said.

“We were about to call you,” Darryl said. Everyone nodded, and suddenly Emily got the feeling that it wasn’t she who was in charge of the meeting.

“I’ve made an agenda,” she said.

Obediently, the trustees took it, read it over and said, “Let’s hear your ideas.”

She talked about the black-and-white Salado bowl and how it led to a request from a museum in New Mexico. She opened her laptop and showed them the traveling dinosaurs. She spoke about the library’s festival last week and Donovan’s idea to have a booth with real gold panning. “We could work with AJ’s Outfitters so that two local businesses benefit,” she said.

Then, she outlined Donovan’s design for Tinytown and the offer he’d made to build a Hopi village, one that could be lived in.

They were impressed.

“Where will this village be?” Thelma asked.

“A few years ago, I brought up buying a few acres from the Pearls. I’m sure they’d give us a good price. After all—”

Darryl stopped her. “This is the one thing we wanted to talk to you about.”

The other trustees nodded.

“We found out yesterday morning that the Pearls were made an offer Monday morning. It was accepted Wednesday.”

“That was fast,” Emily said weakly.

“Money talks.”

Just like that, Emily knew who’d made the offer. Randall Tucker. And Donovan would be the builder.

He’d told her the truth, hadn’t he?

It wouldn’t be the Baer house or Karl’s.

Chapter Seventeen

“W
here’s Emily?”

Cook was the only one around who might know the answer, and Donovan was starting to worry.

“Not sure. Could she be at Eva’s? That’s where everyone else is.”

“I don’t think so.” Donovan walked out to the back porch. The restaurant was open, but without the Hubrecht clan, it felt empty. Even the guests were quieter than usual.

Donovan took out his phone and checked his texts. Nothing. He’d tried her a few times, both calling and texting. No reply. Well, it made good business sense not to be distracted by a phone during a meeting. Still, it was after six. Her meeting with the trustees started at four thirty. Maybe it was still going and he should just head over there.

To an empty parking lot.

He tried her phone again. No answer. He left the museum, driving down Main Street, looking at the Miner’s Lamp, the convenience store and even the park.

Heading back to the Lost Dutchman Ranch, he pulled into Karl’s place and looked around. Garrett had good hearing, because he came to the door and waved.

“I’m looking for Emily,” Donovan said after rolling down the window.

“She’s not here. I’d try Eva’s.”

Everyone except Emily was at Eva’s, including Karl. Garrett even drove up as Donovan was leaving. No one seemed concerned.

“Maybe she went somewhere with the trustees,” Jacob suggested. “Did you try the Miner’s Lamp? Darryl and his wife own it.”

“Drove by. Her truck’s not there.”

“Call me in an hour if you’ve not found her,” Jacob said.

It took only a few minutes to get from Eva’s to the ranch. Donovan spotted Emily’s truck by the barn. Not where she usually parked. Donovan parked his truck next to hers, exited and went over to peer inside. The Lost Dutchman Ranch had five such vehicles, all similar. This was hers, all right. Inside were a small drill, a socket wrench, a dark blanket, a fire extinguisher, two flashlights and a clipboard.

A dozen pens and pencils were propped in a cup holder.

And crumpled on the passenger seat was a blueprint. His, the one he’d taken to her just the other day. It couldn’t have been more mangled if she had thrown it on the ground and stomped on it.

Opening the door, he reached inside and pulled it toward him.

A jagged tear split one of Timmy’s hand-drawn houses apart.

He ran his palm over the paper, smoothing it. Turning it over, he tried to fold it back into some semblance of straight. That’s when he noticed the words and address penciled in the corner.

Pearl Ranch Parcel.

Pearl Road.

Once upon a time, he’d been a stickler for details. He’d not seen a need at the meeting with Tucker. Had Emily seen this and thought he’d sold her out?

He had to remind himself to breathe. It mattered that much.

Hurrying inside the barn, he skidded to a stop by Harold Mull, who was spraying something in Harry Potter’s ear.

“Emily here?” Donovan asked.

“She took her horse and went out for a ride a good ten minutes ago. She looked mad enough to spit nails. What did you do to her?”

“Something incredibly stupid,” Donovan protested. “I just need to talk to her. Where does she usually ride?”

To his surprise, Harold willingly supplied the answer. “Straight up to the downed tree that acts like a bench. You’ll notice another tree that leans thanks to a lightning strike. Go to the left of it and follow the trail all the way up.”

“All the way up to what?”

“Her favorite spot. She calls the ride Ancient Trails Road.”

Donovan now knew another reason she’d hated the Baer house. She’d probably named the road.

Harold didn’t volunteer to saddle Cinderella, but he did fetch Donovan bottled water to take.

“My advice,” Harold said as Donovan nudged Cinderella, “is grovel.”

Lately, groveling seemed to be a way of life. Donovan had sort of groveled when trying to appease Nolan Tate after the breakup. Then, there’d been a bit of groveling when he’d tried to convince George Baer not to halt construction.

Problem was, Donovan wasn’t sure exactly what he was groveling about today.

Because really, now that he had a soothing ten minutes behind him with a June wind going through his hair and a steady horse under him, he wasn’t sure why Emily could be mad.

Because he hadn’t told her?

Well, he’d not specifically asked where Tucker was thinking to build. Donovan had been happy it wasn’t near the Baer place or Karl’s.

And, really, if a neighborhood sprang up around the museum, couldn’t that mean not only more visitors to the museum, but also more volunteers?

He had every argument ready for when he found her. But the words died on his lips an hour later because, quite frankly, Emily Hubrecht, sitting cross-legged on a jagged rock that looked down across the Apache Creek landscape, was enough to stop his heart.

When had he fallen so in love with her?

Was it when she’d been gathering petitions?

Or when she’d crouched on her knees in front of a skeleton, just sure it was Native American?

Maybe it was the day she’d picked up old candy wrappers and beer cans because she was looking for clues to help her father.

Maybe it was at the hospital, in Karl’s room, when she’d said a prayer, entwined her soft, warm fingers with his and got him to “Amen.”

He’d felt the connection all the way to his heart.

* * *

Emily heard the horse and rose to her feet. Used to be, she visited this place two or three times a month. It had probably been six months since she’d found—made—time.

Donovan dismounted and led Cinderella over to where her horse was tethered. Then, he came to stand by her. “You mad at me?”

“More like disappointed.”

“I found the blueprint in your truck.”

“He’s building a planned community at the base of the mountain.”

“Used to be a ranch.”

“Now it’s wide-open land, with animals and vegetation and—”

“And owned by a family named Pearl who just sold it. It was bound to happen. What did you think? That somebody would buy it and just leave it as it was?”

“Maybe.”

“I seem to remember your sister Elise teasing you that you needed to buy all the property by the Baer house.”

Emily half smiled. “I’d like that.”

“So,” Donovan said, “what is it that made you so mad that you stood me up and rode all the way up here?” He grimaced. “I might not be able to walk for a week.”

“It’s me,” she admitted. “I got all excited, thinking about the Hopi village you brought up. I started dreaming about what it could be and making plans. A few years ago, I wrote a proposal to the trustees and to the town of Apache Creek asking that they purchase a few acres next to the museum for expansion. We didn’t have the funds. Still don’t.”

“You were thinking I’d need acres to build your village?”

“I was thinking big.”

“I like the way you think.”

He hesitantly joined her on the ledge of the rock, sitting down and carefully pulling her beside him.

Compromise had never been easy for her. So often, she just knew if things were left alone, it would be to the benefit of future generations.

But sometimes you had to let progress chart its path.

“I think,” Donovan said, “that we can secure a couple of acres next to the museum. If Tucker won’t donate them, I’ll buy them.”

“You’d do that for me?” It occurred to her that this was the second time in as many days that he’d handed her the possibility of a dream come true.

“I was planning on purchasing land. I’d already mentioned it to Tucker.”

“You planning on retiring soon?”

“No.” He laughed, and she thought he sounded younger, happier, in a way. “I’m going to try to convince my parents to come out here and retire.”

“So then you’d need to be around for more than five years?”

He reached out a hand and cupped her check. She leaned into the roughness, felt a type of comfort, longing, she’d never experienced before.

“I’ve fallen in love with you,” he admitted.

She closed her eyes, wishing she could trap this moment into an hour, into days or months, and just savor the exact time a dream came true.

This dream wasn’t something he was offering her. It wasn’t something she could respond to with
You’d do that for me?
It was something that could only work if they offered it to each other. It was,
I’ll do that for us
.

“I’ve fallen in love with you, too,” she admitted, cupping his cheek and drawing him closer to her so that when he spoke, she could feel his warm breath against her lips.

“Then, I guess I’ll be living here forever.”

“Happily forever after,” she agreed.

Behind them, Cinderella neighed her approval.

* * * * *

Don’t miss these other
THE RANCHER’S DAUGHTERS
stories from Pamela Tracy:

Sisters find hope, love and redemption in the
Arizona desert.

FINALLY A HERO

SECOND CHANCE CHRISTMAS

Find more great reads at
www.LoveInspired.com

Keep reading for an excerpt from
A MATCH MADE IN ALASKA
by Belle Calhoune.

Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003