The Virgin and Zach Coulter (8 page)

“All right,” she said mildly.

“You're not going to argue with me?” he asked with amusement as she led the way back into the Lodge and down the hallway to the office area.

“Not when you're offering to move heavy boxes for me,” she said over her shoulder as she entered the office. “But give it time, I'm sure we'll have lots of disagreements in the future.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he said drily. “Which ones do you want in the truck?”

She pointed out the stack of file boxes she'd separated
from the rest of the shambles that was the office, and Zach shouldered one, striding across the room and disappearing through the doorway.

While he was transferring boxes, Cynthia thumbed through the contents of a filing cabinet with the only drawers remaining that she hadn't had time to check.

“You're sure you don't mind working at the house?” he asked her when he returned after carrying off the last box.

“No, not at all.” She glanced around at the room. “The dining room table at the ranch house will be much more convenient and I can get started right away. If I stayed here—” she waved at the room “—we'd have to spend a few days cleaning and even then, I wouldn't be able to keep the dirt and sawdust from filtering back in and covering everything. Plus, I'll need to use my laptop and you have internet access at your house.”

“All good reasons,” he agreed. Hands on hips, he swept the room with an assessing glance. “Anything else you want carried out to the truck?”

“I think that's it.” She walked ahead of him out of the office and down the hall to the lobby. “Oh, wait. I wanted to check something.” She detoured around the end of the registration counter. The Kiger mustang sculpture no longer hung on the wall behind the counter, but the outline where it had been was clearly visible—the cleaner wood beneath, lighter than the dust-covered wall that surrounded it.

Cynthia quickly opened and closed the drawers below the counter, riffling through the papers inside.

“They're not here,” she said, disappointed.

“What's not there?” Zach asked.

“The registration records. I was hoping to find sign-in cards, or lists, or…something.” Cynthia rejoined him and they crossed the lobby to step out on the porch.

Zach cupped her elbow to draw her out of the path of a workman pushing a wheelbarrow filled with the metal sconces that had been removed from the lobby's interior.

They zigzagged around a bright yellow dump truck parked beneath second-story windows that stood open. They didn't talk. The noise from workmen tossing discarded furniture, mattresses, fallen ceiling tiles, chunks of plaster and ruined drywall was deafening as the items landed in the bed of the big truck.

Zach walked with her to her car and held the door while she got in. He bent, raising his voice to be heard. “I'll follow you to the house with the boxes.”

She nodded, not bothering to reply since she doubted he'd hear her. He closed the door to stride off and Cynthia couldn't resist watching him walk away in her rearview mirror.

She waited until he stepped into his truck before driving away from the Lodge and the hive of activity around it. Trucks were parked along the grassy verge of the lane and she drove slowly, avoiding a battered pickup that had been left jutting out onto the road.

By the time she reached the house and carried her purse and laptop inside, Zach joined her with two file boxes stacked in his arms.

“Where do you want these?” he asked.

“Against the wall is fine,” she replied, slipping the strap of her purse over the back of a chair and setting her laptop on the polished cherrywood table. “I feel guilty
using this beautiful table for work. What if I spill coffee on it?”

Zach glanced at her and shrugged. “I'm sure it's seen worse over the years.” He paused, hands on hips and fingers splayed over his jeans pockets, and studied the table. “Come to think of it, we never used the dining room after Mom was gone. I remember it being piled high with stock magazines and newspapers, but that's about it.”

“Maybe that's why it survived so well,” Cynthia commented, smoothing her palm over the satiny surface. “It's beautiful.”

“That must be due to Mariah. She took care of the house the last few years for Dad.”

Cynthia looked around the room with it's long cherrywood table and chairs, the highboy against one wall and the living room visible through the door opposite the entry to the kitchen.

“It's a lovely house. Whoever designed it did a wonderful job.”

“My grandfather built it for my grandmother.” Zach's gaze followed hers. “When they were newlyweds, he built the cabin down by the creek where Mariah lives. When they were older and he had more money, he had this house built. When Dad and Mom got married, my grandparents moved back into the cabin and insisted my parents move in here.”

“So you were born in this house and grew up here?” Cynthia said.

He nodded. “It's kind of funny that Cade's pretty much moved into the cabin with Mariah. I told him that I'd be glad to stay there and they could have the house
since there's only one of me. But Mariah's attached to the cabin and wanted to stay there, at least until they get married.”

“Will they live in this house after their wedding?” Cynthia asked.

“I expect so—Cade loves raising cattle and running a ranch. The place belongs to all of us and I'm sure he'd like my brothers to stay. But if they do, there's plenty of room to build a house or two.”

“What about you? Are you going to stay on the Triple C after you restore the Lodge?” Cynthia said, not sure why his answer was so important to her.

“I never thought I would,” he told her. He frowned and his eyes held a shadow. “I have a great job, but since I've been back on the ranch…” He paused before continuing. “I've been reminded just how much I always liked the life of a cattleman. When I leave, I'll miss this place and the day-to-day rhythm of working with Cade here on the Triple C. I've been spending hours in the saddle, moving cattle or riding fence lines and checking for breaks. There's something about being out there, just me and the horse, with all that space around me…” He paused, his gaze flicking to her before his eyes narrowed, his thick lashes concealing his thoughts.

“It sounds like coming home has been good for you,” she said gently. Something inside her sang with delight that he wasn't anxious to leave Montana and return to his life in San Francisco.

He nodded, shoulders lifting in a shrug of acceptance.

“So,” she said with a smile, “maybe you'll decide to stay and be a cowboy instead of a corporate shark?”

“I don't know.” His eyes twinkled, his drawl teasing.

Cynthia knew the moment of stark honesty was gone and he was back to keeping his emotions locked tight. She mourned the loss of the rare glimpse into Zach's deeper feelings.

“I enjoy being a shark, sometimes,” he continued. “And my work sends me all over the country, sometimes around the world. I can't imagine giving up a job that's so perfect for me. And there's the added plus that I can choose my own working hours, which means I decide when I want time off and allows me to indulge in my hobbies.”

“You mean like climbing really high, very cold, very snowy mountains?” Cynthia teased, smiling at him.

“Yeah, like climbing mountains.” His eyes lit, warming as he looked at her. “Or running marathons or surfing the North Shore in Hawaii or…”

“Please don't tell me you ran with the bulls in Italy,” she interrupted with a shudder.

“No.” He shook his head. “I think those people are crazy. I had enough of being chased by cattle, including a bull or two, when I was a kid on the Triple C. I don't want to run through narrow city streets with a bunch of crazy longhorned bulls breathing down my neck.”

“How very wise of you.” She was impressed that apparently he was reasonable about not taking some risks. “I'm delighted that what appears to be a suicide wish actually has some sort of limit for you.”

“I don't have a death wish,” he protested, leaning the point of one shoulder against the doorjamb, his smile slow and teasing. “But I think I was born with a leaning
toward pushing the envelope. A thrill-seeker gene, my mom called it.”

“So taking risky chances is something you were born to do?” she asked, intrigued by the concept.

He nodded. “Apparently.”

Cynthia sighed. “I think I must have been born with a leaning toward caution. What would you call that—a safety-seeker gene?”

His green eyes twinkled, the hard line of his mouth curving upward. “I don't know—I've never heard of a safety-seeker gene.”

“Probably because no one wants to admit they have one. ‘Thrill seeker' makes a person think of exotic settings and fast cars. What does the term ‘safety seeker' bring to mind?” She spread her hands. “I have no idea. See how boring it is? I can't think of a single thing.”

Zach laughed out loud.

“See?” she told him. “It not only doesn't sound exciting, it's ridiculous.” She pointed at the clock on the wall. “And you need to go away so I can get to work.” She made shooing gestures at him and he left, his laughter floating back to reach her ears.

Smiling, she emptied the contents of a box of files onto the table and settled into a chair, quickly becoming engrossed, jotting on her notepad with increasing frequency.

Despite her best efforts, however, thoughts of Zach, his face lit with laughter, kept intruding to distract her.

O
ver the next two weeks, the work on the Lodge moved at a fast pace. Despite a few glitches with late delivery on marble tiles for shower and bathroom walls in the guest rooms, there were fewer problems than Zach had expected. Definitely a surprise and much better than the alternative, he thought.

He wasn't surprised, however, by how much he liked having Cynthia so close. Although her office was technically at the ranch house, she stopped by the Lodge several times a day to check on progress, clarify delivery of items before she paid bills, consult with Zach on final decisions for furnishings and any of a dozen other questions that she needed his input on.

He quickly learned he could rely on her judgment and good taste and would have authorized her to make final decisions on the majority of items. But that would have meant she wouldn't look him up as many times and he
liked seeing her. She always made him laugh, and just looking at her gave him pleasure.

And when he walked down the hallway toward the kitchen and dining room after work each night, the faint scent of her perfume teased and lured him.

So far he'd managed to keep their association at work purely business, but he found it increasingly difficult to keep his hands to himself. She was pure temptation, wrapped in a package that was so essentially female that it made his body ache.

He knew, sooner or later, he was going to have to do something about the sexual tension that was a constant hum in the air between them. But they'd settled into such a seamless working partnership that he hated to disturb the rhythm.

Early Friday morning of their second week, Zach rose early. When Cynthia's little red sports car pulled into the ranch yard just before 8:00 a.m., he was waiting on the porch.

He strolled down the sidewalk to meet her.

“Good morning.” He held her door while she gathered her purse, lunch and laptop case.

“Hi,” she said as she stepped out and he closed the door behind her. “What are you doing here? You're usually down at the Lodge when I arrive.”

He took the laptop case from her hand and walked beside her up the sidewalk to the porch. “I have to ride out to check salt blocks and water tanks in the home pastures before I start work this morning.”

He pulled open the door and she stepped inside. “Do you ride?”

“Yes, but not very well.” She glanced up at him. “Why?”

“I thought you might want to come with me. We both could use a break—the last two weeks have been long days, every day, with no time off.”

“I don't know if I should, Zach,” she said, walking into the dining room to set her purse on the table. “I have so much to do today. The plumbing distributor needs a decision on the replacement fixtures for the kitchen and I haven't run a cost analysis yet. And—”

Zach halted her speech by laying his index finger over her lips. “I know. There are a million things that have to get done—and they'll all still be here when we get back.”

She hesitated, clearly torn.

“You're dressed for riding,” he told her, flicking a glance down her jeans-clad legs to the cowboy boots on her small feet. “Except for a hat. We'll borrow one of Mariah's from the tack room in the barn. We'll only be gone a couple of hours,” he said. “And if you really need more reasons than that we've worked hard, it's a beautiful morning and we deserve a break, then remember what doctors tell everyone—get away from your desk several times a day and get some exercise. It's good for your physical and mental health.”

She laughed and gave in. “All right, you've talked me into it. But I'm really not an experienced rider,” she told him as they headed back outside. “So I hope you have a nice, calm horse for me.”

“I've already saddled Zelda for you. She's Mariah's mare and she's gentle and smart—even if you tried to
fall off, she probably would stop moving and find a way to keep you in the saddle.”

“Nice.”

Fifteen minutes later, with Cynthia astride Mariah's quiet mare and Zach on Cade's black Andalusian stallion named Jiggs, they left the corrals and rode down the lane that led past the barn and the cabin occupied by Mariah.

The creek ran beside the lane, gurgling and tumbling noisily over the rocky bed on its way to the sandy bottoms and quieter shore near the studio farther away, nearer the Lodge.

“This is a beautiful area,” Cynthia commented when they halted so Zach could lean sideways from his saddle and unlatch the gate blocking the lane into the pasture.

“I've always thought so,” Zach replied, shoving the gate wide so they could pass through. Once on the other side, he leaned out of his saddle to close and lock the gate securely. He rejoined her and they rode side by side, the lane becoming two parallel dirt tracks as it went farther into the pasture.

“After I've been away, I'm always struck by how quiet it is without the sounds of traffic, sirens and crowds.” She waved her free hand, the other holding the reins. “All of the usual urban noise. Which I don't even think about when I'm in the city,” she added.

Zach nodded. “You know what always strikes me about being miles away from the city? The night sky. From my condo in San Francisco, I see the city lights for miles, and it's never totally dark. But at 2:00 a.m. here on the ranch, the sky is totally black and hung with
stars. Unless the moon is out and even then, I can still see the stars.” He tipped his head back and looked up.

The sky was an inverted bowl of deep blue, marked only by a few cottony white, fluffy clouds to the west. The sun was warm on their faces, the air faintly scented with sage.

“I suppose it's fair to say that despite some bad memories, and although I love traveling the world, I've missed Montana and the Triple C,” he mused, almost to himself.

“I feel the same,” Cynthia commented. “Although for me, it's Nicholas's house in Indian Springs. But even there, I can see the stars at night, which I couldn't do when I was working in the city.”

He glanced sideways at her. The brim of the borrowed black Stetson shaded her eyes, but he could see that her mouth curved in a small smile. She sat on the mare with only a touch of awkwardness that Zach suspected would go away with experience. She looked like she belonged here on the ranch, riding beside him on this clear, early summer morning.

The strange sense of rightness in the moment settled deep inside Zach, calming a restlessness he hadn't known existed.

“Why did you choose hotel management?” he asked, curious to know more about her.

“I wanted to travel and I had a friend whose family owned hotels.” She glanced at him, mischief lighting her face. “They were Greek, but unfortunately the hotels weren't on the Mediterranean. Most of them were here in the States. During summer breaks, her father wanted her to work in all the different departments of
the hotels so she'd be ready to join the family business after graduation. Since I always needed a job, she convinced her father to send me wherever she went. We had a lot of fun—and I discovered I loved working in the hotel industry, and I was also good at it.”

“So you're the product of nepotism.”

“No,” she shot back, bristling. Then she noticed his grin and calmed, smiling briefly. “Are you always going to pull my chain like this?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he told her mildly. “Especially since you always rise to the bait.”

“And that sounds like a fly-fishing term,” she told him. “Did you learn that from your dad's fishing buddies?”

“I don't remember. But I know I learned to play poker. Plus, they taught me enough swearwords to get my mouth washed out with soap by my mom.”

Her peal of laughter had Jiggs tossing his head, the metal on his headstall chiming.

“I'm sorry,” she said when she stopped laughing. “I just had this instant image of you as a six-year-old little boy with a mouthful of soap bubbles.”

“It wasn't funny,” he told her drily. “And you can't get the taste out of your mouth. I swear, I tasted soap for a week after that.”

“Ah, but did you stop swearing?” Her eyes twinkled.

“I stopped swearing where my mother could hear.”

Cynthia laughed.

“I bet you never got in trouble when you were a little girl,” he said.

“Of course I did,” she answered promptly.

“For doing what?” he asked, not convinced.

“Let me think.” She pursed her lips, considering. “There was the time I accidentally put my mother's wool sweater in the dryer and it came out so small it fit my doll. And the time we were out of dishwashing detergent so I used the laundry kind and nearly flooded the kitchen with soap suds. Oh, and the worst thing—” she glanced sideways, her blue eyes lit with mirth “—I had a baby chick that died and I wanted to give it a burial, complete with mourners and music. So I put it in a cigar box in the hall closet until I'd planned the funeral. But I forgot it.”

“For how long?”

“Too long,” she said with emphasis. “My mother kept complaining that the house smelled terrible. The worst part is, she's the one who finally found it.” Cynthia's slender shoulders shuddered. “Ugh. It was awful. She sentenced me to early bedtime without supper or TV for a week.”

“That sounds a little harsh. How old were you?”

“I think I was six or seven.”

“No supper for a week? Even my dad wasn't that tough.”

“I was fine—Nicholas waited until her date picked her up in the evening and then he took me downstairs and fed me. I didn't mind giving up TV, so that was no big loss. And Natasha didn't know I read every night before bed, so going to sleep early wasn't a hardship, either.” She smiled sunnily.

“All in all, not such a bad punishment for a kid who left a dead chick in the closet?”

“Not bad at all.”

“It sounds like your mother dated a lot when you were growing up.” Zach wondered if she'd open up and talk about her childhood. From what she'd said, he couldn't imagine her mother being a good parent, but her great-uncle sounded as if he'd been a great substitute.

Cynthia met his gaze, hers direct and clear. “You must have heard at least some of the gossip about my mother before you left Indian Springs. If you're wondering if it's true, then I can tell you that Natasha had an extremely active social life. Still does, for that matter. But I had Nicholas and he was always there.” She shrugged. “I consider myself fortunate. He was a great parent, even though he was already in his sixties when I was born.”

“Do you have other family? Cousins or aunts, uncles?”

“No. I wish I did. I always wanted to have cousins to play with but my mother was the only child of Nicholas's brother. There may have been other people on my father's side of the family.” She looked away, her gaze focused on the old windmill and the water tank below, on the crest of a small hill ahead of them. “Natasha wouldn't tell me who my father is, so I don't have any way to know if I have any relatives there.”

She spoke the words with such dignity. Zach felt an urge to protect her, laced with anger at the careless mother who'd left her daughter with so little to hold on to.

“Where's your mother now?” he managed to ask in a level tone. “Does she live in Indian Springs?”

“No.” Cynthia shook her head, blond hair shifting against her shoulders. “She hasn't for quite a while. I had
a call from her not too long ago…” She paused, frowning. “Actually, she didn't mention where she's living at the moment.”

“How do you get in touch with her if you need her?”

Her eyes lit and she smiled, an amused curve of her mouth that mesmerized him. “That doesn't happen. If she needs me, she calls, either my cell phone or the house phone. I don't call her.”

“Ah, I see. Somehow, that old saying about letting sleeping dogs lie comes to mind,” he said drily.

“Exactly. You're an insightful man, Zach Coulter.”

“Thanks, I think.” He lifted a hand, pointing at the nearing water tank. “Here's the first windmill.”

They rode up to the tank, letting the horses drop their muzzles to the water and drink.

Cynthia tipped her head back, shading her eyes. “I love this old windmill. How long has it been here?”

Zach's gaze followed hers. “As long as I can remember. I'm guessing Granddad might have built it back in the 1930s, maybe.”

“There's so much history here on the Triple C,” she commented, looking around. “It must be nice to know your family has lived in one place for so long.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” Zach looked at her. “I don't think about it often, but you're right. Maybe that's why I want to pay off the taxes, so Cade and Mariah can raise their kids here.”

“They're planning to have children when they get married?” Cynthia's features softened.

Zach shrugged. “That's what they say. I warned
Mariah she might have a kid like Cade, but she said that's okay.”

“I think that's lovely, really nice,” Cynthia murmured.

“Strangely enough, so do I.” Zach knew he sounded surprised. Hell, he thought, he
was
surprised.

“Don't you want to have children some day, a son to teach to ride—or surf the big waves on the North Shore?” she asked.

“No. I can't see myself with kids.”

“Why not?” She tipped her head to the side, assessing him. “I bet you'd make a great dad.”

“Not a chance. The bad parenting in my family stops with me. Cade's different. He was the oldest and pretty much did what he could for the rest of us after Mom died. He was pretty good at it, and he'll make a great father for some little kid. But the rest of us?” Zach shook his head. “The world's better off if we don't even try.”

He tightened the reins, lifting Jiggs's head and walking him around the end of the big tank. The ground immediately surrounding the tank was wet and deeply indented with hoofmarks. Zach reined Jiggs several yards away and uphill from the water to a heavy, thick wooden box. The block of salt inside the box was worn away in scooped indentations from being licked by cattle, but it was still two-thirds its original size. “Looks like everything's okay here. Let's head south to the next tank.”