The Virgin and Zach Coulter

Chapter Two

Chimes rang, announcing his presence as Zach entered the attorney’s office.

“Is Ned Anderson in?” he asked the receptionist.

“No, I’m sorry, he’s not. Do you have an appointment?” The older woman eyed him over half-glasses.

“No. My brother told me to stop and talk to him before I head home, but if he’s not available I’ll come back tomorrow.” Zach turned toward the door, not the slightest disappointed that the lawyer wasn’t in. He’d rather be at the ranch, sleeping in a warm bed, instead of meeting with his father’s estate attorney. He’d been traveling nonstop for nearly a week to get this far. The journey from the base camp at Mount Everest, where he’d spoken with Cade, had required hiking with stubborn pack mules, a train to the nearest city, and finally several airline flights just to reach the U.S. This morning he’d boarded an 11:00 a.m. flight from Seattle to Billings, where he’d rented the truck and driven to Indian Springs.

“Wait!” The woman’s voice stopped him and he looked back at her. “Are you Zach Coulter?”

“Yeah.” He paused to look back at her.

“Mr. Anderson had an emergency in Great Falls today, but he asked me to give you something if you arrived while he was gone.” She quickly bustled across the waiting area and entered an office. A second later, she popped back out. “Here it is.” She held out a sealed manila envelope and a silver ring holding a collection of metal keys. “He said to tell you the letter and enclosures explain everything and that he’ll be back in the office next week. He hopes you’ll come in to see him then.”

Zach took the keys and envelope from her outstretched hand.

“I’ll do that.” He nodded and left the office. He returned to his truck, tossing the envelope on the passenger seat and shoving the key ring into his jeans pocket before backing out. As he drove off, he glanced at the wide plate-glass window of the attorney’s office. Anderson’s receptionist watched him, lifting a hand in a wave of farewell.

He returned the gesture, realizing that he’d forgotten how friendly the people in his hometown could be. He liked the energy and convenience of living in San Francisco. It was the perfect base for someone who traveled as much as he did. But he couldn’t remember the last time a business acquaintance in the city had waved goodbye to him.

Zach obeyed the twenty-five miles per hour speed limit, giving him time to assess the buildings and shops lining Main Street. Surprisingly, not much had changed in the thirteen years he’d been gone. The Black Bear Bar and Restaurant still took up the corner across from the pharmacy. The big door of Miller’s Feed Store was rolled up and stood open for business. The neon sign over the Indian Springs Café still flashed bright red, and Connors Auto Parts had dusty ranch trucks parked at the curb out front.

There were several small shops he didn’t remember but all in all, Zach was pleasantly surprised to find his hometown apparently alive and well.

Driving through the center of the town where he’d grown up brought a wash of memories. Picking up speed as he drove toward the Triple C, every mile that brought him closer to his boyhood home held even more.

At last he slowed, braked to turn off the highway and drove beneath a tall, welded metal arch that spelled out Coulter Cattle Company in graceful curves. The lane was edged with pastures dotted with sagebrush before it rounded the base of a butte and topped a rise.

Zach braked, letting the engine idle. At nearly five o’clock the late-afternoon sun highlighted the familiar buildings clustered at the foot of a flat-topped butte on the far side of the valley. From this distance, the ranch looked exactly the same as it had on the morning he’d driven away years ago—for what he’d sworn was the last time.

And damned if he wasn’t glad to be here, he thought with surprise. He hadn’t seen Cade in nearly a year and it was always good to catch up with his brother. As for returning to the ranch? There was an odd mix of reluctance to see the place and an uncomfortable weight on his chest that reminded him of the way he’d felt after his mother had died. That same heaviness had returned when he’d left the Triple C, and again when Cade had told him Joseph was dead.

He shook his head. He’d never spent a lot of time examining his feelings and he didn’t plan to start now. It was enough that he wasn’t turning the truck around and heading back to San Francisco.

What the hell, he thought with a shrug. Life was full of surprises. He’d never expected to be driving down this road again.

He shifted the truck into gear and left the crest of the hill, following the gravel road as it descended to the valley floor. The wood-and-iron bridge rattled beneath the wheels as he crossed the creek before the road climbed again to reach the buildings.

Zach automatically swung the truck in a wide circle before parking in front of the house with the nose of the truck pointing toward the exit.

An older pickup sat in front of the bunkhouse across the graveled ranch yard, and a newer model silver truck was parked just beyond Zach’s pickup.

Guessing the newer vehicle belonged to Cade, Zach grabbed his duffel bag from the jump seat and stepped out, stretching in an attempt to relieve the aches from the long days of nonstop travel.

The gate in the fence to the house yard opened without a creak when he lifted the latch.

Cade had obviously been doing a lot of work on the place, Zach thought as he closed the gate behind him, his gaze assessing the semicircle of buildings facing the house around the large yard. The bunkhouse was freshly painted and although the barn, machine shop and other buildings were weatherworn, the structures appeared to be solid.

He turned back to the house, running a quick glance over the roofline and corners. Fresh white paint and green trim around the windows and doors had the old house looking better than Zach remembered it.

He strode up the walk, crossed the porch and stepped inside without knocking. The aroma of simmering pot roast filled the air and he caught the murmur of a radio from the direction of the kitchen.

“Hello? Anyone home?” He dropped his duffel bag just inside the door. “Cade?”

“We’re in the kitchen—come on back,” a feminine voice called.

Zach wondered if Cade had hired a housekeeper. He walked down the hall and entered the kitchen just as the woman standing at the stove turned to look over her shoulder. Her eyes widened in surprise before her lips curved in a smile, lighting up her face.

“Hey,” he drawled, stopping just inside the door to glance around the room. “I’m looking for Cade—”

The door to the back porch opened and his brother stepped inside, halting abruptly.

“Zach.” Cade crossed the room and grabbed him in a brief, hard hug before stepping back. Eyes as green as Zach’s narrowed as he stared. “It’s good to see you—but damn, you look like hell.”

Zach laughed. “And hello to you, too.”

Cade laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back. Even if you do look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“I probably haven’t,” Zach drawled. “I plan to say hello and find the nearest empty bed to sleep for a day or two. Have you heard from Eli or Brodie?”

“Not yet. I’m hoping you’ll ask your ace assistant to join the search.”

Zach shrugged. “Angela’s never failed to find whatever she’s looked for. Want me to call her?”

“Yeah,” Cade said. “Any help she can give us would be great. It can wait until you get some rest, though.”

“All right.” A movement behind Cade caught Zach’s attention and he looked over his brother’s shoulder. The pretty blonde was smoothing her fingertips over her lashes, her brown eyes damp.

Cade turned, his gaze following Zach’s.

“Mariah, honey.” His deep voice gentled and it held a note Zach had never heard from his big brother.

Intrigued, he studied their faces as Cade walked to the woman and slung an arm around her shoulders to pull her close against his side.

“This is Mariah Jones, Zach,” Cade said, his quiet voice filled with pride and love. “As soon as I can convince her to settle on a date, we’re getting married.”

Zach felt his eyes widen, and his gaze sharpened on the woman’s beautiful face. She smiled at him before tipping her head back to look up at Cade, the love in her expression matching his brother’s.

“I’ll be damned,” Zach murmured. “Congratulations, Cade. And welcome to the family, Mariah.” He shook his head, stunned and trying to absorb the fact that his oldest brother was in love. “Never thought I’d see the day when one of us got married.”

Mariah laughed, her smile impish. “You’re second born, Zach, which means you’re next.”

“No.” He held up his hands, palms out, before crossing his index fingers in the classic gesture to ward off evil. “No way. Not gonna happen.”

Cade’s deep chuckle blended with Mariah’s laughter.

A sudden yawn caught Zach by surprise and he scrubbed his hand down his face, feeling the scratch of beard stubble. “Sorry,” he apologized. Exhaustion hit him like a wave. “I haven’t slept much over the last few days. Not to mention the time zone change. I’m jet-lagged and sleep-deprived.”

“We weren’t sure how long it would take you to get here, but as soon as you called from Nepal we put clean sheets and blankets on the bed in your old room,” Cade said. “Why don’t you head upstairs? We can talk later.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Zach agreed. “Nice to meet you, Mariah. Will I see you later?”

“I’ll be around when you wake up,” she told him.

“Good.” He nodded and turned away. “Good night, you two.” He lifted a hand in farewell, their echoes of “good night” following him down the hall. He paused at the front door to collect his duffel bag and then climbed the stairs to the second floor. The door to his old bedroom stood open and he turned on the bedside lamp, dropping his duffel on the bed before closing the door.

He was too tired to do more than give the room a cursory inspection but did register that while the furniture was the same, someone had hung new curtains. The room was clean, the top of the pine wood dresser where he dropped his wallet and assorted clutter from his pockets dust-free.

He shucked off his boots and jeans, pulled his shirt off over his head and clad in only his boxers, slid between the sheets.

Just before he fell asleep, he thought about how Cynthia Deacon had fit into his arms as if custom made just for him. And he wondered how long it would be before he could see her again.

Chapter Three

Cynthia couldn’t stop thinking about Zach Coulter. She’d felt his gaze burning into her as she’d walked to her car, and hadn’t been able to resist checking him out in her rearview mirror as she drove away. He’d stood on the sidewalk without moving, staring after her.

He wasn’t shy about letting a woman know he found her attractive, she thought, her lips tilting upward at the corners as she remembered the interest in his green eyes while they’d talked. She’d met a lot of good-looking men at the hotels where she’d worked over the past few years and more than a few had made passes at her. But Zach raised “handsome and charming” to a whole new level.

At dinnertime she pulled open the refrigerator door in her kitchen and took out red leaf lettuce, a slim English cucumber, tomato, avocado and a red bell pepper. Standing at the counter, she rinsed and, with practiced, efficient movements, quickly chopped, sliced and diced.

She wondered how long he would be in town.

She paused, knife in hand, and looked out the window above the sink at the backyard, lit by late afternoon sun. The big elm tree in the far corner was in full leaf, the spreading branches shading the white picket fence and at least six feet of elderly Mrs. Riley’s yard next door. The snowball bush along the back fence was covered in fist-sized clusters of green buds that would pop into circles of white flowers.

Neatly edged in brick, the flower beds along the one-car garage in the corner opposite the elm tree were raked, fertilized and seeded.

The old house and the gardens her great-uncle Nicholas had loved were ready for summer. She vividly remembered working beside him, her small hands next to his gnarled fingers as they tucked the roots of green living plants into warm black soil. The gentle elderly man, his garden and home had been a haven of peace and sanity in a childhood threatened by her mother’s chaotic lifestyle.

How long will I be in town, Cynthia wondered. She’d sent out résumés immediately after her arrival, but she’d been back in Indian Springs and the welcoming old house for almost two weeks. She’d readied the flower beds and seeded them, aired out the upstairs bedrooms and folded away winter bedding, trimmed and fertilized the roses along the front porch. She’d certainly been busy. But she hadn’t received any response to her résumés, nor to any applications online.

Cynthia opened a cupboard door and took out a rose-colored Depression-era glass salad bowl and a matching stemmed glass. Long before she and her mother had come to live at his house, Nicholas had lost his beloved wife, Min. He’d continued to care for her lovely glass, crystal, silver and the house’s antique furnishings as if doing so had somehow kept a part of her with him. He’d taught Cynthia a deep appreciation for fine old things and given her one of her great-aunt Min’s handmade quilts when she’d left Indian Springs to go to college. The quilt had traveled with her ever since and was currently spread out over the foot of her bed upstairs.

As she filled the bowl with tossed salad, layered chilled shrimp atop and drizzled balsamic vinegar and oil over all, she considered what to do with Nicholas’s cherished home and furnishings.

The question had plagued her over the weeks since Nicholas had passed away. He’d been ninety-two and although his body had become frail, he’d always been spry and fit with a sharp mind. On some level, she knew she’d simply refused to think about him ever being gone. But now, he was. And here I am, she thought as she carried her salad, glass of water and silverware into the adjoining dining room.

Her work required her to travel and she’d always loved that aspect. But it also prevented her from settling in any one spot, limiting her ability to create the kind of home with treasured furnishings that Nicholas had entrusted to her.

She glanced around the room with its long, graceful table and tall sideboard. The table had room to easily accommodate eight people and she knew there were additional leaves and chairs that allowed the table to expand and seat twelve.

Nicholas should have left his home to someone with a big family, she thought as she sipped her water and ate her salad. I’ll never fill these chairs with a husband and children.

Not that she didn’t want to marry and have children. She’d always dreamed that someday she’d find the right man and fall in love. But given her trust issues, she wasn’t sure that was possible.

Cynthia sighed, frowning. She’d never been particularly fond of any of her mother’s boyfriends, but it wasn’t until she was twelve years old that she’d learned to fear men. That was the year the man who’d been dating her mother had caught her alone in the house. By the time Nicholas arrived and pulled the man off of her, she’d been bruised and terrified, her lip cut and her blouse torn. Her mother had been furious—at her, not the boyfriend. And despite counseling during college, Cynthia had never been able to move past the suffocating panic when a male acted aggressively.

Which is why I’ll probably never marry, she thought, staring at the empty chairs ranged along the sides and the far ends of the table.

She had an unexpected, instant mental image of Zach Coulter, eyes alight with amusement as he smiled at her, sitting at the head of the table on her left.

“Not likely,” she said aloud in the silent room. She shook her head, popping a pink shrimp into her mouth. “He’s out of my league. If I ever consider looking for a husband, I should probably start with a basic small-sedan-level guy. Zach’s more like a high-performance-sports-car-level guy. Still,” she mused with a sigh, “a girl can dream.”

Her voice seemed loud in the hushed room.

“I’m talking to myself,” she muttered. “Definitely time to find a new job with real people to talk to.”

She rose and walked back into the kitchen to switch on the radio on the shelf just inside the door. When she returned to the table, the muted strains of Memphis blues followed her, filling the hushed, waiting silence.

Determinedly, she turned her attention to finishing her dinner and her thoughts to job hunting and considering whether to tweak her résumé.

But when she turned off the light and settled into her bed later that evening, her last drowsy thought was of Zach’s green eyes smiling down at her.

Zach didn’t wake until six o’clock the next morning.

By the time he’d showered, shaved and dressed to head downstairs, his stomach was growling. The aroma of coffee teased his nostrils and he followed it down the hallway.

“Morning.” He nodded at Cade and Mariah, seated at the heavy wooden table in the far corner of the kitchen. He automatically pulled open the cabinet door above the coffeemaker and took out a mug, only realizing as he filled the cup that he’d remembered where they were kept.

It had been thirteen years since he’d taken a mug from that cupboard, but somewhere buried deep, the memory had lain dormant till needed.

The human mind was a weird and wonderful thing, he thought, carrying his steaming mug with him to the table.

Just as he pulled out a chair and sat, his stomach growled again, this time more loudly.

“How long since you ate?” Cade asked, his long legs stretched out beneath the table.

“Yesterday,” Zach said, sipping his coffee.

“I mean something besides fast food at the airport,” Cade said drily.

“Ah.” Zach nodded, pursing his lips as he considered. “I think that might have been at a sushi bar in Tokyo.”

Mariah’s eyes rounded. “How long ago was that?”

“You know,” Zach confessed, “I’m not sure. What day is this?”

Cade laughed and Mariah pushed back her chair to stand.

“I’m making you breakfast,” she announced, crossing the room to pull open the refrigerator door. “How do you feel about steak, eggs, hash browns and toast?”

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he told her. “But you don’t have to cook for me. I can do it.”