Mountain Heiress: Mountain Midwife (13 page)

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” His calm voice soothed her. “I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the night.”

Daniel interrupted, “I’m up to speed. Actually, it sounds like Gabby had a fairly good idea.”

Toby and the other cowboy returned to the room. Toby reported, “Whoever was in there is gone. Should we go outside and look for him?”

“Check the perimeter of the house,” Zach said. “Stick together.”

Toby gave a quick nod. Charlotte’s young beau was acting like a regular hero. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Then I want you to board over that broken window,” Zach said. “The rest of us are going to follow up on Gabby’s clue.”

After rummaging around to find enough flashlights, their makeshift search party went into the dark old house. Gabby imagined that she could still smell the gunpowder. When she looked at the alcove where she and Daphne tried to hide, she shuddered.

Tail wagging, the dog looked up at her with a goofy expression. Her mouth was open, and her pink tongue lolled out on one side.

Gabby looked to Zach. “I know you think Daphne is really smart, but I’m not so sure.”

“Says the woman who went into the haunted house all by herself.”

“Woof.”

Charlotte led the way to the fireplace and aimed her flashlight beam at an empty hook on the wall. “The painting was right there.”

“Which means,” Zach said, “the girl in the picture was pointing in the direction of the bookcase.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I doubt there’s much of a clue in those books. If I was a treasure hunter, that’s the first place I’d look for a map.”

“This isn’t about treasure,” Gabby reminded her. “It’s about family.”

The beams from their flashlights illuminated the spine of the old dusty books. Many were leather-bound classics, like
The Three Musketeers
and
Wuthering Heights,
but several were of a more modern vintage, including several thrillers. One title jumped out at her:
Confessions
by Jean-Jacques Rousseau.

When she took the thick book from the shelf, Daniel asked, “Is he a distant relative?”

“Not as far as I know.”

He reached for a copy of
Treasure Island.

The pages were yellowed but not crumbling. She doubted that this volume had been around since the 1800s, but it certainly wasn’t new. Carefully, she looked through the book. In the middle, she found a small piece of folded paper pressed between the pages. When she removed the stained scrap, she felt the brittle texture.

“What have you got?” Zach asked.

“Looks like a letter.” Written in French, it started with
“Mon Cheri”
and ended with
“Je t’adore, Louis.”
If there were ghosts in the house, this was their calling card. “It’s a love letter.”

Chapter Fourteen

In the kitchen, Zach sat at the table and watched as Gabby and Charlotte went through the old book with painstaking care. They removed four old scraps of paper and two others that had been written by Michelle. The task required a delicate touch, and they were using tweezers from Gabby’s makeup bag to keep from handling the paper.

He’d meant what he’d said about not letting her out of his sight. Her knack for being spontaneous was a good thing, and he liked the way she hopped from one topic to another, always keeping him guessing. But he didn’t want another surprise like the one she’d just given him. Her spontaneous search in the old house could have gotten her hurt.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that she’d run into the intruder. He must have been watching her through a window, biding his time, waiting until she was alone and vulnerable to attack.

Aware of the need for more security outside the house, Zach had called in his whole crew to keep watch. And he intended to take Gabby with him tonight when his shift ended. Tonight, she’d stay at his house where he knew she was safe.

With the tweezers, Gabby unfolded one of the older papers and placed it on a piece of plastic on the countertop. She pulled her hands back. “This paper is so fragile, over a hundred and fifty years old. I should take these love letters to an expert to make sure they don’t fall apart.”

“It would be a shame to lose them,” Charlotte said.

Daniel sauntered into the kitchen. “And we need to find a translator.”

“I can figure out most of the words.”

“You?” Her brother scoffed. “How do you know French?”

“If you’d ever paid attention, you would know that Great-Aunt Rene spoke the language, and she had a friend from Paris.” Gabby leaned over the counter to study the note and read a few sentences in musical French. “He says that he misses her hair, which is as black as midnight, and the stars in her eyes. It’s very romantic.”

“And cheesy,” Daniel said. “You’d think a French guy could come up with something more original.”

“Like you could do better,” she teased.

Daniel ignored her comment. “The reason we need a translator is that there might be a clue about the location of the treasure hidden in the letters. We’ve got to look at every word to see if there are secret meanings.”

“I hate to burst your bubble,” Zach said as he rose from the table, “but the Frenchman’s Treasure is a myth. Like El Dorado or the Lost Dutchman Mine.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“People around here have been looking for a long time. Somebody would have found it.”

“But we’re got new information,” Daniel said. “Michelle specifically gave this painting to Gabby. And the painting was arranged to point out a clue. Why would she go to all that trouble if there wasn’t something important to find?”

“You might have already found it,” Zach said. “She might have been directing you toward the love letters. It’s your family’s heritage.”

Gabby whirled around to face them. “Hair spray,” she said.

“What about it?” Daniel asked.

“Hair spray holds things together. I’ve used it as a fixative to preserve my sketches, and it might work on this old paper.” She frowned. “Or I might ruin everything.”

Charlotte dug into the makeup bag she’d brought downstairs so they could find tweezers. She pulled out a pink aerosol container. “You could try the spray with one of the notes from Michelle. I want to know what those say.”

Gabby unfolded the note from Michelle and placed it on the counter. With a long sweep of her arm, she sprayed the note. A powdery scent floated through the kitchen. She squinted as she studied her handiwork. “It didn’t smear the writing. That’s a good sign.”

“But this note is probably only a couple of years old,” Charlotte reminded her. “Can you make out the handwriting?”

Gabby read aloud:

“To my family, I have lived a full and eventful life. Though I left you long ago, you have never been faraway in my thoughts. I would not change my life decisions. Perhaps, I would add to my experience by spending more time with you, especially with you, Rene, my stubborn sister. I have come to believe that we can never escape our DNA and must embrace our legacy.”

Zach recognized the tone and the lack of sentiment. Michelle had never been one to cry over the past. She never offered excuses or apologies. “That sounds like her.”

“It does,” Charlotte agreed.

He and Charlotte and Michelle had a lot in common. They had all three been young when they left their parents’ house and made their way in the world. None of them had been orphaned, like Gabby and her brother, but they’d made the choice to leave. Charlotte had been the luckiest; she had Michelle to catch her when she fell.

“There’s a sketch,” Gabby said. “It’s a young version of Rene with a high-collar shirt and a long, thick braid hanging over her shoulder.”

Charlotte moved close to study the small sketch. “She looks more like Daniel than you.”

Zach took a look at the picture. He agreed with Charlotte. There wasn’t a physical similarity between Gabby and her great-aunt from Brooklyn. He saw hints of Michelle in the almond shape of her eyes, but they weren’t alike, either. Gabby was unique.

“Here’s the other note from Michelle,” Gabby said. “It’s mostly a pencil drawing of a landscape with mountains and a river. It says, ‘Open eyes, open heart, wide horizon.’ Sounds like poetry.”

Zach studied the picture. “This looks familiar.”

“The scene is probably from nearby.”

“Not the landscape itself but the picture. I think she did a painting of this view. I might have seen it in the portfolio of her art that Osborne put together.”

“The portfolio is upstairs in my bedroom,” Gabby said. “Let me get this all put away and we’ll take a look.”

While she carefully stacked the old papers between sheets of plastic, her brother and Charlotte both headed up to bed. For a few more minutes, Gabby puttered around in the kitchen, putting mugs into the dishwasher and wiping down the countertops. As she rattled off a list of errands they needed to run tomorrow, he had the distinct impression that she was avoiding a more serious discussion.

Finally, they went upstairs to her bedroom and closed the door. They sat on opposite sides of her bed with the art portfolio open between them. He flipped through page after page, occasionally pausing to admire Michelle’s artwork. It didn’t take him long to find the picture he’d remembered.

When he showed it to Gabby, she said, “You’re right. That’s the same picture. The one she hid in the pages of that book looks like a preliminary sketch for this one.”

He read the title of the painting.
“Welcome Home.”

“Do you know this location?” she asked.

“Not that I can recall.” He grinned. “You might have noticed that there’s a lot of land outside the front door.”

She smiled back. “Can I ask you an important question?”

He nodded.

“When I bumped into that intruder, was it nothing more than bad timing? A horrible coincidence?”

“I don’t think so.” He wished he could give her a better answer. “I think the creep was watching you through a window, waiting for a chance to get you alone.”

“That’s a relief.” She sprawled back against the pillows. “If it had been a coincidence, I’d have to conclude that the Universe had it in for me.”

“And that’s better?” He would never understand this woman. “You don’t mind that some psycho is stalking you?”

“Of course I do. But psychos can be dealt with. Bad luck follows you everywhere you go.”

“And you’re going with me tonight,” he said. “You’ll stay at my place. That’s safer for everybody else who’s living here, and I want to keep an eye on you.”

A sexy smile curved her lips. “You convinced me.”

* * *

A
FEW
HOURS
later, Gabby was settled in a pleasant bedroom at Zach’s house. There was only one thing wrong with it: this wasn’t
his
bedroom.

Before she and Zach had left the Roost, leaving a patrol of cowboys behind to keep watch, she’d told Charlotte that she’d be spending the night at Zach’s. As she explained the security reasons for her decision, the logic sounded purely transparent. Even someone as unsophisticated as Charlotte had noticed the attraction between Gabby and Zach. She’d given a wink and a nod, assuming they’d be going to bed together.

Her brother’s reaction had been much the same. He had even told her that he approved of Zach, as though she was asking for his blessing after all these years they’d spent apart.

Though she wasn’t one to worry too much about other people’s opinions, she was fairly sure that everybody else would think she and Zach were having sex. The only person who hadn’t gotten the message was...Zach. Did he expect her to make the first move? She knew his bedroom was next door to this one because he’d pointed it out when he’d dropped off her overnight bag and stowed her Glock in the top drawer of the nightstand beside her bed.

Unable to decide what to do, she paced in a tight circle between the dresser and the windows. Should she go to his room? If she approached him, she knew he’d welcome her and they’d make wild, passionate, amazing love. What would that do to their relationship? He’d begun to trust her. He’d shared a piece of his soul when he told her about his addiction.

Did they need more time? Should she wait until she knew everything about him? With the way he dribbled out information one word at a time, learning all about him might take decades, and she didn’t want to waste another minute.

The obvious solution was to talk to him. She cinched her black kimono more tightly around her waist and tiptoed into the hallway. The door to his bedroom was ajar and the lights were on. Summoning up her courage, she entered.

“Zach, I want to...” Her sentence faded away. He wasn’t in the room. That was when she heard the splashing from the shower in the adjoining bathroom.

This might not be the best time to approach him, but she was primed for this talk. She opened the bathroom door. “Zach?”

When he pulled aside the plaid shower curtain and poked his head out, steam from the hot water swirled around him. “What’s wrong? Did you hear something?”

“There’s no danger.” She stared at the rivulets of water dripping down his forehead. His wet hair was spiky and sleek at the same time. She could see enough of his chest to remind her that behind that curtain he was naked. She stammered, “I j-j-j-just wanted to talk. Is that okay?”

“Yep.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Nope.”

He ducked back into the shower in a bathtub, leaving her in the steam to talk to a curtain. Having come this far, she wasn’t going to back down or change her mind. “When I decided that I’d follow the terms of the will and stay at the ranch, it changed the way I thought about you. Can you hear me?”

“I hear just fine.”

She pulled down the fuzzy lid on the toilet and sat. “We have this crazy physical chemistry going on. Every time I look at you, I get buzzed. And I know you feel it, too.”

“What was that about a bus?”

“Buzzed,” she said more loudly. It was exactly the way she was feeling right now. “Buzzed as in getting all hot and tingly and turned on. At first, I thought we should just have a fling. After a few nights of wild passion, we could both go our separate ways, which are so very different, worlds apart. Do you know what I mean?”

“I’m a man, Gabby. I was born knowing the meaning of casual sex.”

“Then you might not like what I’m going to say next.” She unfastened the sash on her kimono. It was getting hot in here. “I want more than casual sex.”

He didn’t respond. Not a “yep” or a “nope” or anything else. She listened to the thrumming of the shower, hoping she hadn’t taken a wrong turn.

Swallowing her embarrassment, she continued, “I want to be friends and also to be lovers. Even though it might be hard and I might get hurt, I want a relationship with you.”

Her statement hung in the steamy air like a dark, ugly storm cloud. This conversation wasn’t going the way she’d hoped, and she was beginning to feel foolish. She should have just gone to bed in her separate room, pulled the cover over her head and pretended that she didn’t care.

He leaned halfway out of the shower and extended his hand. “Join me.”

“In the shower?”

“I’m not sure how we’ll handle a relationship. Hell, I’m not even sure what that means for you and me. But at least we’ll be clean.”

That was good enough for her. She stood and slipped out of the kimono. Her lingerie for tonight was a simple peach tricot with cap sleeves and a scoop neck. She could have played coy and fished for compliments about how pretty she looked, but an incredible naked man was reaching for her. In seconds, she peeled off the gown, shed her bikini panties and took his hand.

As she stepped over the porcelain wall of the bathtub and entered his shower, her gaze slid from the top of his head to his toes in a quick and remarkably thorough survey, considering that he didn’t give her time to look twice. He pulled her against him. His skin was slick and smooth, covering his hard-muscled chest. The water from his body moistened her, and she reveled in an explosion of sensation that took her breath away. She was being pulled into a rushing current and abandoned herself to the moment. Whether or not they were meant to have a relationship, this felt so right.

As he kissed her, his left hand splayed across her back, holding her close while the right hand cupped her buttocks and fitted her against his groin. A wildfire raced through her, and she imagined the water sizzling when the droplets hit her superheated flesh.

A groan rumbled in his throat, and the sound was exciting because it meant he wanted her as much as she did him. Her doubts vanished. This was meant to be.

He turned her around so the spray from the shower sluiced down her back. As she arched her neck to get her hair wet, his hands roamed her body. He cupped the fullness of her breast and flicked the nipple with his thumb, sending another surge of pleasure through her.

He gazed into her eyes. “Should I wash you?”

“Am I dirty?” Though gasping and in the throes of amazing passion, she still managed to be a smart aleck. “Am I a dirty, dirty girl?”