The Virgin and Zach Coulter. Lois Dyer Faye
Zach’s mother died.
That’s why I feel sad, Zach thought. Because there was a time when life on the Triple C was good.
But the good times ended for her family when Melanie Coulter died. Joseph became a different man—a man who hated his sons and blamed them for her death.
Zach shoved the painful emotions deep and forced himself to focus. He couldn’t do anything to change the past. He had to deal with the present. His mind raced as he considered the logistics necessary to leave the Asian continent and return to Montana.
And the home he’d left behind years ago.
“What’s the weather report for tomorrow, Ajax?” he asked, turning to the team leader. “I need to get off the mountain. Now.”
Chapter One
Indian Springs, Montana
A week later, Zach stepped out of the Billings, Montana airport terminal at just after 1:00 p.m. and was welcomed by warm spring weather.
Normally he enjoyed the adventure of travel, but for once he was damn glad to have solid ground under his feet. Swinging his loaded duffel bag over his shoulder, he raised a hand to hail a taxi.
He left the lot at Haagensen’s Auto Rentals driving a new pickup truck an hour later, the leasing documents tossed on the passenger seat beside him as he headed north toward Indian Springs and the Triple C Ranch, where he’d grown up. He hadn’t been in eastern Montana for thirteen years—not since he and his brothers, Cade, Brodie and Eli had left the Triple C the day after Eli, the youngest, graduated from high school. They’d all sworn they’d never come back, and Zach had mixed feelings about returning even now. But Cade had said he needed him and his brother rarely asked for anything.
In fact, Zach thought as he slipped sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, he couldn’t remember the last time Cade had asked him for a favor.
He made good time, even making a quick stop for a much-needed cup of coffee. When he was fifty miles south of Indian Springs, his cell phone rang. A quick glance at caller ID made him smile.
“Yo, Cade, what’s up?”
“Zach, glad I reached you. Where are you?”
“About fifty miles out. I should be there in less than an hour.”
“Can you stop at Ned Anderson’s law office in town first?” Cade asked. “He has documents for you and the keys to the Lodge.”
“Can I see him tomorrow? I’d rather come straight to the Triple C.”
“You could—but it would be better if you talked to Ned first.”
“All right. But you owe me, and as soon as I sleep for about forty-eight hours and can function again, I’m collecting.”
Cade’s deep chuckle sounded over the connection. “Just as long as it’s food or a bed, you’ve got it. Anything else and you might be out of luck.”
“Works for me. See you in a couple of hours.”
Zach disconnected before he remembered he hadn’t asked Cade why he wanted the lodge keys picked up. And why Cade hadn’t collected them himself.
Oh, well, he thought with a mental shrug. I’ll see the attorney, then head out to the ranch. Then I’ll find a bed and sleep until tomorrow. Or maybe the next day.
He rubbed his eyes; the inside of his lids felt as if they’d been sifted with sand. He’d lost track of time somewhere during the endless round of waiting for trains and planes, and he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d slept more than a couple of consecutive hours. Weariness dragged at him.
He rolled his shoulders, picked up his coffee and swallowed the barely drinkable brew. Caffeine had kept him going this far, he reflected. It would have to do for a few hours more.
He reached the outskirts of Indian Springs and within minutes was driving down Main Street in the center of the small town. He scanned the businesses, locating the attorney’s sign halfway down a block, and angled his truck into a parking spot.
He yawned, scrubbed a palm over his face and stepped out of the pickup and onto the curb before he stopped abruptly, riveted by the sight of the petite blonde standing a few yards away with her back to him. Tired though he was, testosterone fired off rockets, sending adrenaline racing through his bloodstream and erasing his weariness as if it had never existed.
He was so focused on the gleam of sunlight in silky blond hair and the slim, curved body in snug jeans and red sweater that he paid little attention to the man she was talking to.
But then the pretty blonde moved to walk on and the older man shifted to stop her.
Her shoulders moved in a faint shudder before she lifted her head, her body tense.
Oh, hell, no. A surge of protectiveness had Zach stepping forward as he heard the woman’s clear feminine voice ask the man to step aside.
Cynthia Deacon left the small but well-stocked department store on Main Street and stepped out into the warm afternoon sunshine. A shopping bag holding a new pair of crimson lace bikini panties dangled from the fingers of one hand.
Slipping sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose, she strolled down the sidewalk. The weather was warm for a May afternoon in northeast Montana. The old-timers in town were predicting an early summer with temperatures hotter than usual.
Indulging in window shopping was a rare luxury for Cynthia. Until three weeks ago, her daily routine meant long hours on the job managing high-end hotels around the world and most recently, that meant a posh hotel in Palm Springs, California. She’d resigned abruptly, however, when her boss made it clear he expected her duties to include sexual favors.
She had no regrets that she’d stood up for her principles. Being unemployed, however, was shockingly outside her comfort zone. She’d worked nearly nonstop since she was sixteen—part-time during high school and while studying at Harvard, and full-time thereafter. She’d spent the day after resigning sending out résumés and calling or emailing her business connections to let them know she was looking for a new position. Then she’d packed her bags, moved out of her rooms at the hotel and driven north from Palm Springs to her childhood home in Montana. She’d been putting off dealing with her great-uncle’s estate for several months and her unexpected free time seemed the perfect opportunity to do so.
Today, though, she refused to worry about being unemployed. Instead, she embraced the novelty of leisurely shopping and dawdling along Main Street in the small ranching community where she’d grown up.
She stopped and pulled off her sunglasses to look more closely at a window display just as the throaty growl of a powerful engine broke the sleepy afternoon quiet. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a black pickup truck nose into a parking spot behind her. The vehicle’s tinted windows prevented her from seeing the driver clearly and she turned back to the boots displayed in the store window.
She’d been considering buying the pair of turquoise-and-black Tony Lama cowboy boots for the past week. Being temporarily unemployed, she knew she should stay on a budget, but the boots were seriously gorgeous. She could almost hear them whisper her name, calling to her each time she walked past the window.
A quick burst of loud music startled her and she glanced sideways down the sidewalk to her left. A beefy, middle-aged man in jeans and a cowboy hat exited the open door of Slocums Bar and walked toward her. Behind him, the heavy door swung shut, cutting off the music and crowd noise.
Cynthia registered the swift interest and smile on the man’s face before she turned back to the window, hoping he’d take the not-so-subtle hint and walk on by.
“Well, hello there.”
Cynthia nearly groaned aloud at the suggestive note in the male voice. She didn’t turn around, although experience told her it was unlikely he’d leave