The Virgin and Zach Coulter (12 page)

“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 didn'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?

I
t 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.”

He leaned nearer to whisper in her ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive lobe and making her shiver. “Tell me, honey.”

She turned her head, ever so slightly, her own lips brushing against the faintly rough bristle of beard stubble on his cheek. “Promise you won't laugh at me?”

“I promise,” he whispered back.

“I've never slept with anyone.” She breathed the words, tensing with dread as she braced herself for his response.

He went perfectly still. Then he shifted mere inches
back so he could look into her eyes. “You've never slept with anyone,” he repeated as if he was sure he hadn't heard her properly.

She shook her head sideways, a small negative movement of her head, while her gaze remained fastened on his.

“Soooooo.” His deep voice drew out the word. “You're a virgin?”

She nodded, a brief confirmation.

“I'll be damned,” he whispered, amazement in his voice. “How did that happen?”

She lifted an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Sorry.” He shook his head in self-derision. “That was a dumb question. Of course I know how it happened—or more accurately, how it
didn't
happen. What I meant was you're smart and funny and beautiful so there must have been guys hanging around drooling over you. Ah.” He stopped speaking, understanding flashing across his features. “The jerk terrified you. That transferred to all the guys who wanted to date you, right?”

“That's about it,” she agreed.

“Even after the counseling?”

“I was better after college but by then…” She lifted her shoulders in a what-can-I-say shrug. “I'd waited too long. Every time I thought I'd met the guy who would be understanding, when and if I was ready to tell him, it didn't pan out. Frankly, it was embarrassing—not that I'm ignorant,” she clarified, wanting him to understand. “Movies are fairly explicit so, visually speaking, I'm educated. But let's face it, watching is not the same as participating. So—” she drew a deep breath “—here I
am, twenty-eight years old and barely been kissed,” she ended in an attempt at humor.

“Hey, don't make fun of your situation,” he told her, giving her a little shake. “I can see how it happened. But on the other hand, you must have kept on meeting a lot of lame men. I can't believe someone didn't sweep you off your feet and seduce you.”

“I think I must be a hard sell at seduction,” she told him solemnly. “In fact, I've been told I'm frigid.”

He chuckled, his warm gaze moving over her face. “Honey, that's just not possible. You really have known a lot of idiots, haven't you?”

“Do you think so?”

“I know so,” he said with such certainty that a little part of Cynthia sighed with relief.

“Where have you been all my life?” she teased. “If I'd known you, I wouldn't have had to kiss so many frogs.”

“If I'd known you, I wouldn't have let any other men near you,” he vowed. “And as for kissing…” He broke off, his gaze intent. “I can guarantee you wouldn't have needed to kiss any frogs.”

He rose and caught her waist, lifting her easily to a seat on the edge of the marble-tiled counter. With her hands resting on his forearms, she was at eye level with him.

“I'm not sure what the protocol is here. I don't want you to think I'm like any of those jerks you've known in the past and I damn sure don't want to scare you. But I think I'm addicted to kissing you.” His voice roughened as he spoke, his eyes darker green between half-lowered black lashes. “Cards on the table, Cynthia—I want you
more than I've ever wanted a woman. But knowing you're a virgin puts a whole new slant on this. I don't want to screw up, so we'll take it slow, okay?”

“Okay,” she murmured. There was something freeing about seeing Zach less than completely self-assured. It leveled the playing field—sort of. “Over the years, I've purposely started discussions with coworkers to get their opinions about anyone past the age of sixteen remaining a virgin. To be honest, their reactions made me cringe. Mostly, they laughed. I wasn't sure what I expected from you but…” She paused, tracing the line of his jaw with the tip of her index finger. “You were great. Thank you.”

“Don't thank me,” he growled. “I'm trying not to sling you over my shoulder and carry you off to bed. I can't even think about all the possibilities without breaking out in a sweat and my eyes crossing.”