Notes from the desk of Amanda Blake

It’s been more than a month since Eli Coulter has allowed me access to his mother’s journals. Melanie Coulter was an amazing, talented woman, and I’m learning more about her every day. Eli, however, remains a mystery. Why won’t he trust me? And why is it so important to me that he does? He has made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t want me around. But I know I can’t be the only one who feels the sparks between us …

Dear Reader,

My parents nurtured and encouraged my love of writing and reading, so it’s no surprise to me that I grew up to become an author. But what would have happened if they had not? I’ve always wondered how I would have coped, and in Eli’s story, I had a chance to explore some possible alternatives.

A gifted artist like his mother, Eli Coulter had to deal with his widowed father’s attempts to ban art from Eli’s life. Despite the overwhelming obstacles, Eli succeeded by limiting his deeper emotional connections and focusing fiercely on his work. But when his father dies and Eli is called home to the Montana ranch where he grew up, he meets a beautiful reporter named Amanda Blake. It isn’t long before he realizes happiness requires more than fulfilling work—he needs Amanda.

I hope you enjoy Eli and Amanda’s story and that you’ll return with me soon to the Triple C Ranch for Brodie Coulter’s story.

Best,

Lois

About the Author

LOIS FAYE DYER lives in a small town on the shore of beautiful Puget Sound in the Pacific Northwest with her two eccentric and lovable cats, Chloe and Evie. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her c/o Paperbacks Plus, 1618 Bay Street, Port Orchard, WA 98366. Visit her on the web at www.LoisDyer.com.

A Coulter’s
Christmas
Proposal

Lois Faye Dyer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Prologue

Mid-July

San Luis, Spain

The hot Spanish sunshine poured over the little town square of San Luis. Eli Coulter left the relative comfort of a shaded seat, weaving his way around diners breakfasting at other umbrella-topped tables clustered outside the café doorway. His mind reeled as he processed the information an American investigator had relayed only moments earlier.

Zach and Cade are back on the Triple C. Does that mean something happened to Dad? Even if Joseph was dead, Eli couldn’t help but wonder why his brothers were at the ranch. There was no possibility their father had left them anything in his will.

Joseph Coulter hated all four of his sons with equal animosity.

Eli strode swiftly up the cobblestone street to the sprawling stucco home of his host, reclusive sculptor Lucan Montoya. For the past year, the elderly Spaniard had been Eli’s mentor. The apprenticeship had proven invaluable; only two weeks remained of their time together and Eli was reluctant to see it end.

He’d considered staying on in San Luis once his apprenticeship had ended. But if his brothers needed him, that changed everything.

Given the remoteness of the small Spanish village and its lack of cell phone service, it took nearly an hour to reach his brother Zach.

“What?”

Eli grinned at Zach’s impatient demand. “The least you could do is say ‘hello, how are you?’” he commented mildly.

“Eli?” Zach’s deep voice held surprise and relief. “Damn, it’s about time you called. Where are you?”

“I’m in Spain,” Eli told him. “I’ve been here for months. I’ve been meaning to check in but my cell phone doesn’t get service here. A detective showed up today and told me I needed to call you.”

“We’ve been looking for you, Eli.” Zach’s voice turned grim. “The old man died.”

Eli hadn’t seen his father in thirteen years but hearing Zach confirm what he’d suspected had the power to stun him. Shock held him silent.

“Dad left the Triple C and nearly everything else he owned to the four of us,” Zach went on.

“That’s impossible,” Eli said flatly, finding his voice. “He hated our guts. Why would he leave us the ranch?”

“Apparently he sobered up and had a change of heart after we left,” Zach told him.

“I’ll be damned.” Eli didn’t know what to make of the news. “I never thought he’d stop drinking—or stop hating us.”

“Me either,” Zach admitted.

“So.” Eli tried to focus on the here and now, and not on the memories pushing to get out of the box he’d locked them in years ago. “When did he die?”

“Last December. It took the attorney several months to find Cade, and then he found me through my office. Cade’s running the ranch and I’ve almost got the Lodge ready to open again. Dad left the Triple C to all four of us but he left specific pieces to each of us. He left you Mom’s studio, Eli.”

Again, Eli was stunned into silence. Melanie Coulter had been a sculptor on the brink of becoming world-famous when a tragic accident while swimming with her four sons in the creek near her studio had taken her life. The day of her funeral, Joseph Coulter had sealed her studio and forbidden his sons to enter.

“The inheritance taxes on the ranch are huge and there aren’t any cash assets. We need you to come home,” Zach continued. “The only way we’re going to save the place is if we all stick together and find a way to make this work.”

“I’ll come,” Eli said slowly, shaking off the shock that held him and considering the logistics. “I have two more weeks here to finalize a commission but maybe I can complete it faster.” He frowned, thinking with lightning speed. “Where’s Brodie?” he asked. “Is he there with you?”

Zach’s slight pause filled Eli with foreboding.

“He’s in California,” Zach said finally.

“Why isn’t he with you and Cade at the ranch?”

“He was hurt, got thrown by a bull and shattered his leg.” Zach’s voice was serious. “He’s done riding rodeo.”

“Damn,” Eli muttered. He’d talked to Brodie just before he’d left for Spain and his brother had been fine. Brodie was a year older than him, and rodeo had been his life since he was old enough to climb on a horse. He had been named all-around champion three times and, after years of hard work, was at the top of his career. Eli couldn’t imagine a life for Brodie that didn’t include rodeo.

“Cade and I went to see him.… He’s in a hospital recovery center in Ukiah, north of San Francisco.”

“Is he coming to the ranch when they release him?”

“He said he wouldn’t, but Cade and I hope he will.”

Eli drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “All right. Have you got a pen? Here’s my landline phone number if you need to reach me.” Eli quickly recited Lucan’s number. “If you don’t hear from me again, don’t worry. I’m going to be working flat out to finish here. Then I’ll head back to Montana.”

“Great. I’ll tell Cade. And, Eli …”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re coming home.” Zach’s voice rasped, roughened with feeling.

“See you soon.” Eli had mixed feelings. He’d be glad to see his brothers. But returning to the Triple C and all the bad memories the ranch would surely hold?

He wasn’t at all sure he was looking forward to that part of the trip.

Chapter One

August

Montana

Two weeks later the jet airplane carrying Eli began its descent in preparation for landing in Billings.

He yawned, scrubbed his hand over his face and rubbed his eyes. He’d left Spain nearly three days ago, and the long drive from San Luis to Madrid, followed by an endless round of waiting in airports and hours spent sitting on planes, had left his eyes feeling gritty, burning from lack of sleep.

He blinked to clear his vision and gazed out the window. Far below, the distinctive rise of tall buttes stood out amid rolling miles of sage prairie that stretched from horizon to horizon.

I should be at the Triple C in another four hours, give or take, he thought. He’d rent a vehicle to drive the last three hours north from Billings to reach Indian Springs. There were no planes, trains or buses that could take him on the last stage of his journey home to rural Montana.

And that was one of the things he’d always loved about the Triple C. Homesteaded by his Coulter ancestors in the late eighteen hundreds, the huge ranch sprawled over thousands of acres. Eli remembered his mother telling him the Triple C was one of the biggest spreads in Montana, second only to the slightly larger McCloud Ranch to the north.

He still had trouble believing the Triple C now belonged to him and his brothers. Thirteen years ago, driving away from the land he loved had been gut-wrenching. Nevertheless, he’d been determined to leave the chaos of life with his alcoholic father and his increasingly frequent explosions of rage and violence.

He’d wanted peace and the ability to control his own destiny. Most of all, he’d wanted the freedom to focus on becoming a better artist. He’d traveled the world since then, never putting down roots, and, over time, he’d convinced himself he no longer missed Montana and the sprawling Triple C.

But with the landscape of prairie spread out below him, beneath Montana’s cloudless blue sky, he had to wonder if he’d been kidding himself.

The pilot’s voice sounded in the cabin, pulling Eli’s brooding gaze and attention away from the view outside his window.

An hour later he had landed, rented a pickup truck, and was driving north on the highway toward Indian Springs. Neither Cade nor Zach had answered their phones when he’d called to tell them he’d landed, so he’d left messages saying he was on his way home. He wasn’t surprised when they didn’t return his calls. During summer, ranchers worked long hours and were often out of range of cell reception. He figured he’d reach the ranch before they even got his messages.

The late-afternoon sun slanted into the cab, heating the interior. Eli left the window rolled down, his arm resting on the sill, the breeze filling the cab with the scent of sage and clean, clear air unclogged by smog and exhaust.

The digital clock on the dashboard told him it was just after 9:00 p.m. when he slowed, turning off the highway to drive beneath a high arch of wrought iron that spelled out Coulter Cattle Company. The formal name had long ago been shortened to the Triple C by family and locals.

The gravel ranch road was smooth beneath the truck’s wheels. Eli’s lips curved in a faint smile.

I can tell Cade’s home, he thought. His oldest brother’s attention to detail was thorough and Cade had never put up with potholes for long. Each of the boys had become adept at using the blade on the big John Deere tractor to grade the gravel road and keep it in good condition. But Cade had been the best at moving snow in winter and smoothing out ridges in spring and summer.

Eli crested a rise and he caught his first look at his childhood home. Across the valley below him, beyond the creek and its bridge, was the cluster of buildings that made up the headquarters of the Triple C.

Something soothed, settled inside Eli. Surprised, he absentmindedly rubbed his hand over the left side of his chest.

What the hell? He hadn’t expected to feel anything good. He hadn’t wanted to come back to Montana, and if Zach hadn’t told him he was needed, he would have gone back to New Mexico when he left Spain.

Lights winked on in the cluster of buildings across the valley and Eli realized that full dark wasn’t far away. Northeast Montana wasn’t quite far enough north to share Alaska’s midnight sun, but during the summer months, sunset was much later than he’d grown accustomed to in southern Spain. He remembered being a boy and spending summer evenings playing baseball outside until long after 9:00 p.m., before darkness finally prevented him and his brothers from seeing the ball.

He took his foot off the brake, the truck picking up speed as he drove across the valley and rattled over the bridge before reaching the house and outbuildings. The muted sound of music floated in the open cab windows as he switched off the engine and pushed open the door.

Eli paused as the music struck a chord with him. What was it Zach had said when Eli called to tell him he was on his way home?

Oh, yeah, he thought. Zach said he’s having a party to reopen the Lodge.

He frowned, trying to calculate days and failing. He didn’t remember what day it was exactly but figured there was a good chance the Lodge opening was tonight.

He glanced at the house, dark except for the glowing light over the door on the front porch.

His stomach chose that moment to rumble in loud protest.

If Zach’s throwing a party, there has to be food, he thought.

Eli pulled the pickup door closed again and switched on the engine once more, leaving the ranch yard to drive down the gravel lane that led from the house and barns and along the creek to the Lodge.

He rounded a bend, and before him the Lodge and its grounds were ablaze with light. Couples strolled across the drive and onto the lawn that slanted down to the creek.

Eli eased the truck around the circular drive, stopping to let guests pass in front of his bumper, and double-parked in front of the main entryway.

Without giving a thought to his faded jeans, boots and travel-wrinkled shirt, he stepped out onto the drive and climbed the shallow steps to the long porch that nearly circled the Lodge.

He stepped inside the lobby and halted, his gaze searching the crowd for Cade and Zach.

Amanda Blake sipped champagne, the crystal flute cool in her hand, and tried to pay attention to the conversation. She stood with her friends, a married couple who were the delighted winners of opening-week reservations at the Lodge, and two other couples. Despite the interesting company, however, her focus wandered as she looked about the beautiful lobby of the Coulter Lodge. The expansive area was thronged with guests. Men in suits and women in cocktail dresses mingled with ranchers wearing pearl-snapped Western shirts, bolo ties and cowboy boots. Scattered through the crowd were several girls in pretty summer dresses casting glances at teenage boys in crisp shirts, slacks and boots.

Clearly, she thought with approval, the Coulters had invited not only their guests and out-of-town media people, but also their neighbors and local friends, creating a vibrant mix. The high-ceilinged room was filled with chatter and laughter that occasionally drowned out the four musicians stationed at the far end of the room.

She half turned from her small group, letting her gaze skim the room, taking in the huge stone fireplace at one end, the massive silver-and-copper sculpture of mustangs in full gallop mounted on the wall behind the reception desk. Amusement curved her mouth as she noted a small cluster of teenagers giggling in the corner before she shifted her attention to the main entry.

Amanda made a mental note to thank her friends for inviting her tonight. This inside view of the newly renovated Coulter Lodge provided invaluable information for the biography she was writing on Melanie Coulter, the artist who had created the fabulous wall sculpture of horses.

And if she was lucky, she thought, perhaps she would have another chance to speak to the artist’s sons Cade and Zach Coulter about granting her an interview. They hadn’t been cooperative when she’d approached them nearly a week ago, but she hadn’t given up hope of finding a way to convince them.

She narrowed her eyes, wondering idly how tall the custom entry door was since the carved piece over the top seemed much higher than normal.

Her musings were abruptly interrupted by the man who stepped over the threshold and into the room, halting a few feet inside.

Amanda caught her breath, feeling her eyes go wide as she stared.

He was dressed in a rumpled white shirt, open at the neck, the sleeves rolled back over powerful forearms. Faded jeans covered his long legs and he wore dusty black cowboy boots.

His attire was far more casual than any of the other guests’ but it wasn’t his clothing that riveted Amanda. He had coal-black hair that fell from a widow’s peak to brush against the collar of his shirt at his nape. The planes of his face were sharp and clear, with high, sculpted cheekbones and a strong jaw, his mouth sensual below a straight nose. But it was the eyes that held her the most. Below slashes of eyebrows as black as the glossy fall of his shaggy hair, his thick-lashed eyes were astonishingly, unbelievably green—so pale a green they seemed overlaid with ice.

Amanda shivered. He exuded an aura of quiet, restrained power that seemed to vibrate the very air around him. He appeared supremely unconcerned that guests were turning to look at him as his gaze moved over the room.

As she watched, unable to look away, the stranger’s mouth curved, a smile lighting his face, turning it from handsome to movie-star gorgeous.

Cade and Zach Coulter strode through the crowd and reached him, taking turns to clasp his hand and pull him into hard hugs.

With the three black-haired, green-eyed, tall and powerful men standing side by side, recognition hit Amanda like a freight train.

Oh, my God. That’s Eli Coulter.

“Damn, Eli,” Cade said, his eyes warm, his deep voice raspy with emotion. “What’s with the hair? You couldn’t find a barber in Spain?”

“Not one I wanted to let near me with sharp scissors,” Eli told him with a grin.

“We let you out of our sight for a year and you come home looking like a girl,” Zach told him with an affectionate smile.

“Yeah, right,” Eli said dryly. Like both Cade and Zach, Eli knew his voice was unsteady, the tones rougher than usual. With silent acceptance, he recognized and acknowledged the deep undercurrent of emotion that lay beneath their teasing. He always enjoyed catching up with his brothers whenever they managed to get together. But this time, their reunion held deeper, more powerful implications. Joseph Coulter’s death had shifted the playing field, and despite his long estrangement from his father, Eli knew Joseph’s passing had changed what he’d come to accept as normal. They’d all have to come to terms with a future that had a vastly different landscape. He jerked his chin at the brightly lit, crowded lobby. “Quite a party you’re throwing.”

“Yup.” Zach turned, his gaze moving over the huge room. “We invited all the Lodge guests, plus all the neighbors and everyone in town who wanted to come. You know Indian Springs. Folks can’t turn down an invitation to a party.”

Eli grinned. “I remember.” His smile faded as he scanned the room. “You’ve done a great job with the place, Zach. Looks just like I remembered it.”

“I wanted it restored to the original plan,” Zach said as Cade turned, too, and both of their gazes followed Eli’s to take in the crowded lobby. “The furniture is different, of course, but the rest of the building is pretty much like it was.”

“Except for the kitchen,” a feminine voice put in. “It’s been updated and is way more efficient.”

Eli looked over his shoulder to find two women, both blondes. Zach draped his arm around the shoulders of the woman who’d spoken, pulled her close and dropped a kiss on her temple as she leaned into him. She was gorgeous, her lush female curves highlighted in a short, red silk dress. And she clearly belonged to Zach, Eli thought, noting the possessive way his brother held her tucked against his side.

“Eli, I’d like you to meet Cynthia,” Zach said, “my fiancée.”

Eli felt his eyes widen. He looked from Zach’s face to the beautiful woman, noting the ease with which she accepted his brother’s touch. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said softly. “I never thought I’d see the day a woman was brave enough to take you on.” He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Cynthia.”

She slipped her small, soft hand into his and gave him a warm smile.

Before she could respond, Cade broke in.

“And this is Mariah,” he said, “my fiancée.”

Stunned, Eli swung his attention to his oldest brother and found that the other striking blonde now had her arm tucked through the bend of Cade’s elbow. She wore a deep blue dress that made her long sheaf of pale hair look like ripe wheat. Her brown eyes sparkled with amusement as her gaze met his.

“You too?” He shook his head slowly. “Damn, is there something in the water here I need to look out for?”

Both Mariah and Cynthia laughed.

“I don’t think it’s the water, Eli, but you might want to be careful around pretty blondes,” Cade said wryly.

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” He took Mariah’s hand, just as small, just as soft as Cynthia’s had been, in his much larger one. “Nice to meet you, too, Mariah.”

“It’s lovely to see you here at last, Eli,” Mariah said, her voice warm. “I’m looking forward to getting to know all of Cade’s brothers.”

“I wish we didn’t have to play host at this party,” Cade told him. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah,” Eli agreed. “But it can keep. Truth is, I’m starving.” He nodded at the long buffet table against the far wall. “While you’re circulating and charming the guests, I’ll get some food and find a quiet place to sit down.”

“Don’t miss the miniature chocolate cakes with fudge icing,” Cynthia told him. “They’re fabulous.”

“Or the little pumpkin tarts,” Mariah added.

“Fill a plate at the table with whatever looks good. Then head down the hall to the kitchen,” Zach told him. “The chef’s name is Jane, and if you want something more substantial than the buffet food, just ask her.”

“As soon as this breaks up, we’ll join you in the kitchen,” Cade said.

“Sounds good.” Eli nodded and turned to make his way to the buffet table while the other four mingled with the crowd.

He couldn’t believe his brothers were getting married. Marriage wasn’t even on his radar screen—not even a remote possibility. He couldn’t imagine himself falling in love, risking his heart, perhaps his sanity, maybe even his life, if the marriage didn’t work out. His own parents’ marriage had seemed idyllic to his youthful eyes. But after his mother’s death, when Eli was nine years old, his father had been unable to function without his wife and had proceeded to drown himself in alcohol and rage. Life had become a nightmare and Eli couldn’t imagine himself signing on for any part of the commitment and potential heartbreak of marriage.

As an adult, after watching his friends marry and divorce over the years, he’d decided marriages had a lousy success rate.

Still, given the way Cade and Zach had looked at their women, and Mariah and Cynthia had looked back at them, Eli had a feeling his brothers had a better than average chance to beat the odds.

He took a plate and worked his way down the length of the white-cloth-covered buffet table. If the food tasted even half as good as it looked and smelled, he thought, Zach had found a chef worth keeping. He reached the end of the table and turned away, realizing too late he’d stepped back into someone.

“Sorry, I …” He glanced over his shoulder and paused, then pivoted fully to look down at the woman. “My apologies,” he said, flicking a quick, intent look over the female curves encased in a slim black cocktail dress.

Petite and curvy, she had world-class legs, with trim ankles and small feet tucked into black strappy shoes with impossibly high heels. The hem of the dress ended just above her knees, and the black material looked soft as silk, clinging to the curves of thighs, hips, narrow waist and full breasts. Her thick brown hair was streaked with paler gold and fell to her shoulders in a sleek curve. Behind the thin black frame of narrow eyeglasses that perched on the bridge of her small, straight nose, her eyes were hazel. Those thick-lashed eyes widened as she looked up at him, and the soft pink bow of her mouth parted in surprise.

Eli instantly wondered just how soft her lips were and realized with a start of surprise that it had been a long time since any woman had interested him this much, this fast.

Amanda jolted when someone bumped into her, and she quickly held her flute away from her dress as the champagne sloshed toward the rim. She turned, words of annoyance freezing in her throat as she looked up into pale green eyes. Eyes that heated as Eli’s gaze swept her from head to toe, returning to her face while he granted her an incredibly attractive, very male smile.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Amanda realized she’d been silent, staring up at him in fascination, and felt her cheeks heat as she flushed. “I’m fine,” she said quickly.

“I didn’t make you spill that, did I?” He gestured at the flute in her hand.

“No, not at all.” She looked back at him. “You don’t have a glass. Don’t you like champagne?”

“I prefer whiskey but champagne works, too,” he said with a drawl, his eyes inviting her to smile with him.

And smile she did, helpless to deny the charm of that smile and the focused, heated intensity in his eyes.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asked.

“No, I …”

“Good. Then you can join me. I hate eating alone,” he said smoothly. He lifted a plate from the stack nearest them and handed it to her, then settled his hand at her waist and turned her toward the table. “I have it on good authority that the little pumpkin pie things are good,” he told her.

“Tarts,” she said automatically.

“What?” He looked bemused.

“The pumpkin pie things—they’re tarts.”

“Oh, yeah. Tarts.” He smiled at her.

She smiled back, knowing she was asking for trouble. She should tell him her name and why she was visiting Indian Springs. He clearly didn’t know who she was, and the minute he found out, he’d stop smiling and tell her to leave. His brothers had been polite when she’d approached them to ask for their cooperation with the biography about their mother. But they’d firmly refused, then hustled her out of their offices and off the Triple C.

She didn’t doubt Eli would do the same.

But she didn’t want him to stop looking at her with that interested male awareness that made her shiver. Not yet. So she allowed him to pile food on her plate as they moved along the laden table.

When her plate was full, Eli cupped her elbow and guided her to an alcove that held a small table and two chairs. The intimate seating was out of the flow of traffic and semiprivate.

“I just realized,” he said as he held her chair before dropping into the other seat to join her, “you haven’t told me your name.”

Her heart sank.

“It’s Amanda … Amanda Blake.”

“And what are you doing here tonight, Amanda Blake?” he asked. “Are you a guest at the Lodge?”

His eyebrows lifted in query, his even white teeth biting into one of the tarts he’d insisted she try, as well.

“No, I’m not,” she told him. “I’m staying at the hotel in Indian Springs.”

“So you’re not a local girl. Let me guess.…” His eyes narrowed, studying her. “New York?”

She felt her eyes widen, again. Apparently, Eli Coulter had an endless ability to surprise her.

“You’re right. I live in New York. How did you know?”

“You couldn’t have found that dress and those shoes in Indian Springs, and it’s not casual enough for L.A. Plus, you’ve got a slight East Coast accent.” He smiled, his eyes curious. “New York’s a long way from Indian Springs. What are you doing here in Montana?”

Oh, how she wished he hadn’t asked that. Amanda lowered her fork, took a fortifying sip of champagne and smoothed her fingers over the snowy-white napkin spread over her lap.

“I’m doing research for a book I’m writing.”

“Really? What kind of book? Fiction or nonfiction?”

“It’s a biography, actually.”

His green eyes sharpened, alert as he studied her. “And the subject of the biography is …?”

“Melanie Coulter.”

His eyes flared with swift surprise, followed just as quickly by a darker flash of anger, before shutters slammed down, his face suddenly remote. “My mother,” he said flatly. “You’re writing a book about my mother.”

“Yes,” she said, mourning the loss of his warmth. He was still focused on her, but now the male interest was absent. He studied her with as much detachment as if she were a fly on the end of a pin, ready for a biology class experiment. “I’ve spoken with your brothers. I’d like to interview all of you.”

“No.” There was no emotion in the word. Just a flat rejection.

Disappointed, Amanda stiffened her spine and continued. “If you want the world to know the truth about your mother and the history of her art, you can be assured that will happen if you agree to help me tell her story.”

“No.” He shoved back his chair and stood. “I’m sure I speak for all my brothers when I tell you that’s never going to happen. Go back to New York. There isn’t a story here.”

“But there is,” she said earnestly, rising to face him. “Your mother has become an icon in the art world. The story of her life is going to be told, either by me or someone else. If you allow me to interview you for my project, I promise I’ll not print anything you tell me in confidence. At least you’ll have some measure of control over how your mother’s story is presented to the world.”

“The world will just have to go on believing whatever the hell they want to believe.” His deep voice was grim, underlaid with a rumble of anger. “It’s what they’ve always done.”

He turned and stalked off.

What did he mean by that? The cryptic comment set off her investigative instincts. Frustrated, Amanda could only watch his broad-shouldered, powerful figure cleave through the crowd until he disappeared down a hallway. Clearly, there were deeper issues he hadn’t been willing to explain.

Still, she wasn’t sure if she was more disappointed that he’d refused to help with her research or if she mourned the loss of that focused, heated male attention as he’d stared at her and smiled.

Amanda lifted her flute and sipped, but she could hardly swallow past the lump of disappointment in her throat.

She was very much afraid it was the loss of his interest in her that grieved her most.

Chapter Two

Eli entered the kitchen and paused, realizing his anger had carried him out of the lobby, down the hall and through the doorway without conscious thought.

Damn, he thought with frustration. He’d known returning to the Triple C wouldn’t be easy but he hadn’t expected trouble to come from a pretty stranger. He’d been back on the ranch for less than an hour.

She’d caught him off guard. He hadn’t felt such an instant, powerful attraction to a woman in months. He frowned, considering.… Maybe it was longer than months. Maybe it was years.

Just his luck, she was writing a book about his mother.

No way in hell did he want somebody poking into life on the Triple C after his mother died. That bad chunk of time was better left forgotten.

But if she dug around, asked questions, she was certain to find out more than he wanted her to know about Joseph Coulter and his sons. And what she didn’t piece together from what folks told her, she could probably guess.

And wouldn’t that make sensational fodder for selling a book? Eli rubbed his eyes and bit off a curse, weary from more than the long journey from Spain to Montana. He lowered his hand and frowned blackly at the gleaming tiled island centered in the big room.

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Coulter?”

The clear, polite female question brought his head up.

A woman stood at the stove, her slender body wrapped in a white chef’s jacket and black slacks. Dark blue embroidered letters on the jacket’s pocket spelled out J. Howard. Her fair skin, reddish-blond hair and slim curves added up to a very attractive package, but he realized with annoyance that he was still too focused on Amanda Blake to care.

“You’re the chef,” Eli said. It wasn’t a question. He inhaled deeply and nearly groaned aloud when the rich aromas of grilled beef and subtle spices filled his senses.

“Yes, I am.” Her level gaze assessed him. “And you must be Zach’s brother Eli. We heard you were expected. If you didn’t see anything on the buffet table that appealed to you, I’m happy to prepare something else.”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Eli said. The words had barely left his mouth before his stomach growled—loudly.

The chef smiled. “It’s no trouble at all. And I can recommend the steaks. They’re from Triple C’s own beef.”

“I think I’d kill for a steak,” Eli said fervently.

Jane shot him a sympathetic glance. “Baked potato? Salad?”

“Yes to both.”

Eli crossed to the deep sink to wash up. By the time he’d dried his hands and taken a seat at the island, the steak was sizzling and filling the air with a tantalizing aroma. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.

While he waited for his meal, he brooded over his conversation with Amanda. He didn’t want a reporter digging into his mother’s life. He was convinced Amanda would inevitably ask questions about what happened to Melanie’s family after her sudden death. Neither he nor his brothers wanted the story of their father’s alcoholic rages and the unraveling of their childhood exposed in a book. His gut told him it would be like ripping open a barely healed wound when the inevitable publicity meant they’d all have to revisit bad memories. Life after their mother died had been a nightmare. He’d prefer to never again have to think about those years.

And if Amanda Blake was hell bent on conducting research for the story of his mother’s life, she’d stir up all the old stories in Indian Springs.

Too bad she can’t just focus her work on the good days prior to Mom’s accident, he thought morosely as he watched the chef remove a thick steak from the grill.

“I appreciate this,” he told Jane when she slid a plate onto the counter in front of him a moment later.

“Not a problem,” she assured him. The door to the hallway pushed inward and crowd noise from the lobby was suddenly much louder. “Just stay out of the way of the servers,” she warned him with a smile as three women and two men hurried in, carrying empty trays.

Eli ignored their curious glances and focused on the food. Two of the servers left with loaded trays, and by the time another two exited, the first two had returned with more empty trays.

When Eli finished eating, he carried his plate and utensils to the sink, rinsed and stacked them, and waited to catch Jane’s eye to nod his thanks before leaving the room. He paused in the hallway, considering for a moment whether to return to the lobby. Did he want to avoid Amanda—or was he hoping to run into her again? He frowned, wondering why it mattered, before he pushed the question aside. He was too tired to figure out the answer. Instead of returning to the lobby, where the decrease in the level of noise told him the party must be winding down, he turned right down the hallway and entered the office.

Just as he’d hoped, a leather sofa stood along one wall, and he stretched out on the cushions, crossing his booted feet at the ankle. But each time he closed his eyes, the image of Amanda Blake’s hazel eyes and lush pink lips, parted in surprise as she’d turned to look up at him, flashed in vivid color on the inside of his eyelids.

Exhausted, he managed to doze fitfully as the sounds of the party became gradually muted outside the closed door.

With Eli’s departure, Amanda no longer found the Lodge so intriguing and she located her friends, said good-night and left the crowded lobby.

As she drove back to Indian Springs and parked outside her old-fashioned, two-story hotel, the memory of those moments spent talking with Eli Coulter dominated her thoughts. The instant he’d learned she was researching his mother’s life story, his green eyes had cooled, his expression suddenly remote.

His reaction matched that of his brothers Cade and Zach when she’d approached them with a request for an interview.

And look how well that ended, she thought wryly as she climbed the stairway and entered her quiet hotel room.

Apparently, none of the Coulters were willing to discuss their mother.

Sighing, Amanda stripped off her clothes, hanging her little black dress in the closet and tucking underwear and hose neatly into a laundry bag before turning on the shower.

Twenty minutes later, her face scrubbed free of makeup, the ends of her hair damp, she folded back the sheets, propped fat pillows against the headboard and settled into bed with her laptop and a mug of hot green tea.

She opened the file with notes on Melanie Coulter and spent several moments jotting down her impressions of the Lodge.

Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to stay focused on details of the Lodge. As she paused to sip her tea, her thoughts once again drifted to Eli. The brothers looked very much alike with their black hair, green eyes, powerful bodies and frames over six feet tall. All of them were unquestionably handsome and aggressively male.

But only Eli had made her pulse pound and her heart race.

The intense physical reaction she’d felt had surprised her. She’d never felt anything quite like it before. Even now, with time and distance separating her from him, her pulse beat slightly faster at the thought of him.

She’d met good-looking, charming men before, but there was something unique about the alert intelligence in Eli’s green eyes and the way he seemed to listen intently when she spoke, as if she were the only person in the room. He’d had an easy, unforced patience while he waited for her to choose as they’d filled their plates at the buffet table. In fact, everything about him had intrigued her and made her want to learn more about the man behind the handsome face and sexy body.

Clearly, however, nothing would come of her interest, since he’d obviously put her on the don’t-speak-to list.

She sighed, considering her options. She had four months left of a six-month leave of absence from her job as an editor and occasional reporter for the Artist, a glossy monthly periodical with offices in New York City. She’d spent the first two months researching Melanie Coulter’s art. It wasn’t necessary to leave her Village apartment in New York for the early research since many of the people she’d wanted to interview—Melanie’s one-time agent, the art gallery that had sponsored her first showing and prominent collectors of her work—lived either in the city or within driving distance.

Her trip to Montana was the first away-from-home research she’d done for the book. She’d keenly anticipated doing on-site interviews with the people who’d been a part of Melanie Coulter’s everyday life.

But while the residents of Indian Springs had been friendly and polite, they’d been surprisingly vague about details when it came to the Coulter family. And the brothers themselves had been downright uncooperative.

Amanda unconsciously tapped her fingertips against her thigh and frowned. She was tempted to think there was a local conspiracy to withhold any information about Melanie Coulter. Melanie was a well-known figure and, by the very nature of her work, had achieved a certain level of fame. While her name wasn’t a household word everywhere in America, she certainly was well-known in art circles.

Puzzled by the mystery, Amanda searched the internet, clicking on several sites, only to stop at a website she’d been to before. The Fordham Gallery in San Francisco had artist photos of their regular contributors and she clicked on the page that featured Eli Coulter. He wore a Stetson, the brim of the cowboy hat pulled low over his brow in a pose that did more to conceal than reveal. The head shot was clearly professionally done and Amanda guessed the photographer had purposely found a way to create a sexy yet mysterious photo.

She scanned the brief note below that told fans there were no exhibits currently scheduled for Eli but the Gallery hoped to hold one sometime during the following year.

Quickly clicking through the information pages, she noticed there hadn’t been an exhibit in more than a year.

She wondered where he’d been and what he’d been doing that resulted in his falling off the gallery’s list for such a long time. Could there have been a woman involved? This random thought filled her with inexplicable jealousy.

Despite spending the next hour searching the internet and browsing websites for information, Amanda didn’t find anything that would explain why any of the Coulters were so reluctant to talk with her about their mother.

She turned off her laptop, shifting it to rest on the nightstand before she snapped off the lamp and pushed all but one of the pillows to the far side of the bed. Lying flat, she tucked the sheet and blanket under her arms and stared up at the ceiling.

I have to find a way to get people to talk to me and share their memories of Melanie Coulter, she thought. The concept for her book relied on personal touches. She wanted to tell readers not only about Melanie’s artistic successes but also about the woman behind the unique artwork.

Eli’s eyes are like hers, she mused. Despite her need to find a way to break through the reserve of Indian Springs’ residents and get them to confide in her, she couldn’t keep her thoughts from returning to Eli.

She was surprised at how much his rejection bothered her. She’d worked as a reporter at home in New York for several years and having a potential subject of an article resent her questions wasn’t that unusual.

So why did Eli’s coolness bother her so much?

She had no answers. Frustrated, she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, determined to not think about him anymore.

But when she finally fell asleep, she dreamed of a tall, black-haired man with green eyes.

Eli woke to the sound of knuckles rapping on the hall door of the Lodge office, accompanied by Cade’s voice.

“Hey, Eli. You in there?”

“Yeah, come on in.” He sat up as Cade entered. “Is the party over?” He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to wake.

“Everyone’s gone, except for Zach, Mariah, Cynthia and me,” Cade confirmed. “It’s nearly midnight. Come join us in the kitchen.”

“Sure.” Eli stood, hearing bones crack as he stretched, yawning. Fully awake, he followed Cade down the hall and into the kitchen.

The big room was brightly lit, stainless-steel appliances and the polished floor’s black-and-white tiles gleaming. The quick efficiency he’d noticed in the chef and her helpers earlier was obvious in the kitchen’s appearance. Gone was the earlier clutter of platters, stemware and food—now everything was spotlessly clean, the counters neat and tidy.

Mariah and Cynthia perched on the tall stools at the island counter, their gowns bright splashes of crimson and blue in the black-and-white kitchen. Both women were barefoot; their stiletto-heeled sandals lay tumbled on the floor beneath their seats.

“Hey, Eli. Want dessert?” Zach lifted the tray he carried in one hand. It was loaded with miniature iced cakes.

Cynthia swiveled on her seat. “We were all so busy circulating that we barely touched the buffet, so we’re making up for it now.”

“Sounds good. Count me in.” He took a seat across the island counter from Cade as his brother settled onto the empty stool next to Mariah. “How was the party?” he asked.

“The media people were impressed, so I’m counting it a success,” Zach said, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.

“Everyone I talked with said they loved the way you restored the Lodge,” Mariah commented. “In fact, an older couple from California told me it looked exactly as they remembered it.”

“That must have been Nico Tomaselli and his wife,” Zach told her. “He’s a movie producer who was a friend of Mom and Dad’s and stayed at the Lodge in the old days.”

“So many people asked about reservation information that I lost track of how many cards I gave out,” Cynthia said with a laugh. “I think we’re a hit.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Mariah lifted her glass.

“You’re toasting our success with milk?” Zach asked her in disbelief.

“I had enough champagne earlier,” she told him with a twinkle.

“Which was really good, by the way,” Cade told Cynthia. “I think you should keep that supplier.”

“I’ll make a note,” she told him as she slipped down from her stool and walked to the fridge. “He has great imported ale, too.”

“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Zach told her. “Champagne and wine are okay but real men drink beer, right, Cade?”

Eli sat quietly, a half smile on his face as he listened to his brothers tease the two women. He hadn’t wanted to return to Montana but he couldn’t deny he’d missed the good-natured harassment that always happened when his brothers got together.

“What are you drinking, Eli?” Cade asked.

“I’ll have a beer.”

Cade snagged another bottle out of the fridge and returned to the counter, sliding the bottle across the tiled top to Eli. “Here you go. Did you eat earlier?”

Eli nodded as he twisted off the bottle cap. “The chef grilled a steak and added a baked potato and salad. Great food.”

“That’s Jane,” Cynthia said with pride. “She’s a fabulous cook.”

“Damned straight.” Cade looked at Mariah. “Between Jane and Mariah’s boss at the café, who makes the best desserts in three counties, Indian Springs is turning into gourmet land.”

Zach laughed, Mariah and Cynthia joining him.

“Gourmet land?” Eli said with a bemused grin. “Did I make a wrong turn somewhere? This is the Triple C, right?”

“Yeah, it’s the Triple C, but a lot of things have changed since we were all here last,” Zach said.

Smiles disappeared and faces grew solemn. The kitchen suddenly seemed full of the ghosts of memories, not all of which were good, or happy.

“I suppose now’s as good a time as any to talk about Dad’s will, Eli,” Cade said. “You’ll need to see Ned Anderson, the estate attorney, tomorrow to get the official version, but basically, Dad left the Triple C to all of us, share and share alike. But he left specific parts of it to each of us that are ours alone. As Zach told you when you called from Spain, he left you Mom’s studio and the contents.”

“I’m still having trouble believing it,” Eli told him. “It would be easier to accept that the world had just shifted on its axis and was spinning upside down.” He shook his head, frowning first at Cade, then Zach, looking for explanations. “He blamed us for Mom’s death. And he hated my artwork. When I was ten, he threatened to lock me in the cabin’s cellar if he caught me drawing. Why would he give me her studio?”

“I know it doesn’t sound logical.” Cade’s deep voice held a wealth of understanding. “Zach and I had the same reaction when we found out about Dad’s will.” He nodded at Zach. “He left the Lodge to Zach and the cattle to me. Brodie gets the horses.”

Eli’s gaze sharpened. “What horses?”

“We’re not sure, but we think the Kigers might still be up on Tunk Mountain,” Zach answered. “We haven’t ridden out there to check yet.”

“And we won’t until Brodie comes home,” Cade said. “I figure he should decide when and how he wants to deal with what Dad left him.”

“From the brief info you gave me on the phone, it doesn’t sound likely Brodie will be able to check whether the Kigers are in the far pasture,” Eli said. “Even four-wheel drive can’t make it through that rough country, at least not all the way to Tunk Mountain, and Brodie might not be able to sit a horse.”

Cade shook his head, worry creasing lines beside his mouth. “Hard to say whether he will or not. The doctors say he won’t, but Brodie says he will.”

“Then he will,” Eli said with easy conviction. “You know Brodie. He’s never let anyone tell him what he can or can’t do.”

“I sure as hell hope you’re right,” Zach said with feeling.

“So am I.” Eli couldn’t conceive of a world in which his brother wasn’t sitting a horse, chasing cattle or riding rodeo. It was impossible to comprehend. “I guess we’ll know when he gets here. Which is … when?” He looked at each of the four in turn and registered the worried glances they exchanged. “Don’t tell me he isn’t coming home.”

“We’re not sure,” Cade said with a sigh. “Zach and I went to see him in the convalescent center in California. Brodie agreed to come home only after Zach promised to find a way to break the will if Brodie didn’t want to stay on the Triple C after he’d checked in with us.”

“Not that I can actually do that,” Zach put in, thrusting his hands through his hair to rake the heavy black strands away from his face. “The will is airtight. None of us can sell the land without all four agreeing.”

“Even if one of us wanted to sell,” Eli mused aloud. “Or even if one of us had enough money to buy out one of the others.”

“Hell,” Cade said with disgust. “If any one of us had enough money to buy out the others, we could use it to pay off the inheritance taxes.”

“How much are they?” Eli asked.

“A little over two million dollars,” Zach said succinctly.

“Holy …” Eli whistled, long and low, an audible expression of shock.

“So … I’m guessing by your reaction that you don’t have that much sitting in your bank account,” Cade said dryly.

“I wish.” Eli shook his head. “My savings took a hit when I spent a year interning with Lucan, but even before that, I couldn’t have swung two mil. How are we going to come up with that much money?”

“We’re hoping each of us will find a way to maximize what Dad left us and raise part of the money. Cade sold cattle and earned enough to meet the first payment. I’m projecting income off the Lodge over the next six months will bring in enough to make the second payment,” Zach told him. “If you can find a way to generate income from whatever you find when you open Mom’s studio, then we’re three-quarters of the way to resolving the tax situation. And if Brodie comes home …”

“Wait.” Eli held up his hand. “Haven’t you and Cade already been in Mom’s studio?”

“No,” Cade said, his deep voice quiet. “The studio is yours, just like the Lodge is Zach’s. I thought it only fair that you be the first to go in.”

“And I agree,” Zach said, his voice just as quietly convinced.

Eli lifted the bottle to his lips and drank, giving himself time to wash away the emotion that blocked his throat. “I didn’t realize you literally meant you were leaving first contact to each of us.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to be the first person entering the studio where his mother had been working moments before she died. Nonetheless, he thought grimly, he’d do what needed to be done. “I’ll do that tomorrow after I’ve seen the attorney. I’m assuming it’s still locked. Do one of you have the keys?”

Cade nodded. “I picked them up from the attorney right after I talked to you. They’re up at the house.”

Eli looked over the faces of the four seated at the counter. “Is that where we’re all staying? At the house?”

“I’m officially using my old room,” Zach told him with a grin. “But I spend a lot of time at Cynthia’s place in town.”

Eli glanced at the pretty blonde, surprised when color bloomed in her cheeks. She met his gaze without flinching, however, and he guessed she didn’t care that he knew she and Zach were semi-living together, even though she blushed at Zach’s statement.

“And I’m down at the cabin with Mariah,” Cade put in. “We’re all in and out of the house on most days, though, since I’m still using Dad’s office to run the Triple C, Zach’s using his old room on occasion, and Mariah’s been doing the housework.”

Eli nodded. “Sounds good. You two want to open the studio with me?”

“Yeah,” Zach responded, his expression somber. “I’m there.”

Cade nodded when Eli looked at him, his eyes equally grave.

“Good.” His brief acceptance closed the subject. “On another subject, I met a woman at the party tonight. She told me she’s writing a book about Mom.”

“Geez,” Zach groaned.

“Was her name Amanda Blake?” Mariah asked.

“Yes.” Eli raised an eyebrow. “Do you know her?”

“She’s been in the café where I work and I’ve waited on her. She seems nice enough.”

“No matter how nice she seems,” Cade growled, “I don’t want her poking around in our lives.”

“Me, either.” Zach’s voice was clipped. “She drove out here and talked to us. As soon as we heard what she wanted, we told her we didn’t have any comment. After she left, I looked her up online. Her credentials checked out—she’s a reporter and editor for an art magazine in New York City. I read a couple of her articles online and the woman can write, but that doesn’t change a thing. I don’t want her writing a book about life on the Triple C.”

Zach didn’t add that he didn’t want a writer telling the world about Joseph Coulter’s alcoholism and the hell that life became on the ranch after their mother died. Eli agreed. He and his brothers had walked away from the chaos their father had created. None of them wanted their personal pain documented and exposed in a book for outsiders to read.

“I thought her name was familiar,” Eli said, his memory jogged by Zach’s comments. “She contacted my agent last year about an interview but I was in Spain and told him to put her off. She apparently has solid credentials and, given her background, knows where to look for all the details about Mom’s art career. I seem to remember she has a sister who married the owner of a major gallery in New York, so she’s got connections. My agent gave me that bit of information when he was trying to talk me into doing a phone interview with her. Regardless of her background, it’s nobody’s business but ours what happened after Mom died,” Eli agreed grimly. “I don’t want anyone nosing around, stirring up trouble.” No matter how much he’d been drawn to her, he added silently. Circumstances meant Amanda Blake was off-limits.

“Your mother’s art has skyrocketed in popularity over the last ten years or so,” Cynthia put in. “It’s not surprising there’s interest in her life story. I’m wondering if there may be a way to use Ms. Blake to control what the public learns about your lives after your mother died.”

“Are you saying you think we should cooperate with Amanda Blake?” Zach asked, a frown creasing his brow.

“I’m only suggesting you might want to consider telling her just enough to deflect her curiosity and keep her from digging more deeply into your family history.” Cynthia laid her hand on Zach’s arm.

Eli mentally shook his head as Zach seemed to calm under Cynthia’s touch. The subtle influence the pretty blonde had on his brother was flat-out amazing, especially given Zach’s fiercely independent nature.

“Maybe we should think about whether we could find a middle ground,” he commented aloud. “If she’s going to be asking questions in Indian Springs, then finding a way to distract her with some information—not all the truth, but enough to satisfy her—might not be a bad idea.”

“Maybe,” Cade responded, clearly not convinced. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Good enough,” Eli said.

Beside Zach, Cynthia yawned. “Sorry,” she apologized. “We’ve been up since dawn, making sure all the details for the Lodge opening were taken care of, and I think the lack of sleep just caught up with me.”

Eli glanced at his watch, mentally calculating how long it had been since he’d slept in a real bed. Too long, he thought. “I’ve been catnapping in airports and on planes for a few days myself. I think I’ll head up to the house.” He popped the miniature piece of chocolate cake into his mouth, pushed back the stool and stood. “What time do you want to meet me with the keys at Mom’s studio, Cade?”

“Why don’t you give me a call on my cell when you get back from talking with Anderson?”

“Sounds good.” Eli looked at Zach. “Does that work for you?”

“Sure. I’ll be here at the Lodge. Cade can call me after he talks to you.”

“Great.” He looked at Cynthia and Mariah. “Nice to meet you, ladies. I’m guessing I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

“There’s a very good chance,” Mariah told him.

“Come have lunch, or dinner, here at the Lodge,” Cynthia said. “Jane keeps an open kitchen for the family.”

“Sounds great. Good night, all.” Eli glanced back to raise a hand in response to the chorus of good-nights and was struck by the picture of the two couples. There was a sense of rightness about his brothers, seated next to the women they’d chosen. His brothers loomed, dark-haired and broad-shouldered, next to their future brides with their blond hair and smaller female bodies. He’d never thought any of his brothers would marry, let alone look so perfectly content paired with a woman. But there was no mistaking the way the couples seemed to fit.

He was happy for his brothers but he knew he’d never join them. The concept of caring so much for a woman that he’d never want to leave her, would commit to spending the rest of his life with her, was as alien as the probability that invaders from outer space might land a UFO in the ranch pasture. And about as likely to happen, he thought. Just thinking about the remote possibility that he’d ever need a woman that badly made him want to run for the nearest exit.

Shaking his head in amazement, he walked down the hallway, crossed the dimly lit lobby and left the Lodge.

Lanterns were spaced down the length of the porch and their muted light spilled down the walkway to the parking area. Once Eli stepped into his truck and drove away from the Lodge, however, he was instantly surrounded by dark night. The truck’s headlamps cut a swath of light across the gravel road ahead of him, illuminating the grassy shoulder on either side. But beyond the pickup’s beams, only moon- and starlight eased the darkness. The cluster of ranch buildings loomed ahead, bulky black shapes relieved only by the single porch lights above the doors of the bunkhouse and ranch house.

Eli swung the pickup in a wide arc and parked in front of the house. Switching off the engine and grabbing his bag from the passenger seat, he stepped out of the truck.

The solid thunk of the pickup door closing was loud in the still, quiet night. Eli paused, turning in a half circle to sweep the skyline, taking in the bulk of black buttes rising against the starlit backdrop. A quarter moon gave scant light, but it was enough to sketch the ranch and its surroundings in black shadow and silver highlights.

Home. The word came unbidden, settling into his consciousness and deep into his bones, calming a restlessness he hadn’t known lived within him.

He’d traveled a lot of miles since he’d left the Triple C, Eli thought. But in none of the places he’d landed had he ever felt this deep connection. It was as if a fraying line between his heart and the land was suddenly solid again, pulling taut and strong, anchoring him to this place.

He stood silent for a long moment, breathing in the scents of sage and fresh air, before he shook himself and stirred to walk to the house.

“Too damn tired,” he muttered as he crossed the porch and pushed the unlocked door inward. “I’m imagining things.”

He flipped the light switch to the right of the door and lamps came on in the living room.

The room was quiet, homey with the soft glow of lamplight over the deep-cushioned leather sofa and chairs, the polished wooden floors and the fireplace with its heavy oak mantel.

The last time he’d seen the room had been the morning he’d driven away from the Triple C. Joseph Coulter had stood in the center, fury on his face, and told his four sons that if they left, they couldn’t come back until they knew he was dead.

Eli couldn’t help but wonder if his father had known he was predicting their future.

And he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had made the old man leave everything he owned to the sons he’d spent years hating.

It was a question with no answer.

Eli hit the switch, shrouding the big room in darkness once again, and climbed the stairs, memory making him sure-footed as he moved down the upstairs hallway to a room near the end.

When he flicked on the light here, he felt as if he’d stepped back in time. Nothing about his old room had changed. A poster of Van Gogh’s Starry Night was tacked on the wall above the desk. Next to it was a poster from the Daniels County Fair, listing Brodie as a rodeo competitor.

He dropped his bag on the heavy nineteenth-century oak chair next to the bed. Unbuttoning his shirt, he shrugged out of it, hung it over the back of the chair and sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots and socks. Standing once again, he unsnapped his jeans and shoved them down his legs and off before laying them over the chair seat.

The scent of clean sheets and fabric softener reached him as he pulled back the sheets. He suspected either Mariah or Cynthia had put fresh sheets on his bed and he made a mental note to thank them tomorrow. Then he snapped off the light, slid between the sheets and closed his eyes.

The Technicolor image of thick-lashed hazel eyes, dark hair and smooth skin instantly flooded him. He wondered hazily if Amanda Blake’s soft eyes and lush mouth were going to haunt him from now on, but then sleep caught him, pulling him down into soft, welcome blackness.

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