Читать книгу The Virgin and Zach Coulter - Lois Dyer Faye - Страница 11

When Zach came back downstairs, Cade was waiting at the front door and they left the house together.

Zach paused on the porch, sweeping an assessing glance over the property. His ability to analyze and predict the potential of businesses had brought him executive-level success in San Francisco. He reported directly to the CEO of a capital venture firm; it was his responsibility to descend on companies in trouble, analyze their strengths and weaknesses, then recommend either a plan to save them or to dismantle them.

He’d never imagined that expertise would be used on his childhood home.

Though all but the house and bunkhouse were weathered and needed paint, each appeared to be in relatively good condition. What he could see of the fences in the pasture, they were straight and strong, with white-faced Hereford cattle grazing within the barbed wire enclosures.

“I see you’ve started painting,” he commented as he and Cade left the porch and walked to his truck. “Any major repair work needed on the buildings?”

Cade detoured to his own truck, collected a toolbox from the back and returned to set it in the bed of Zach’s truck. Then he pulled open the passenger door. “Everything is pretty sound. I haven’t had to make any emergency repairs.”

Zach halted, hand on the driver’s door handle, as a green truck pulled into the yard and stopped on the far side of Cade’s vehicle. Zach instantly recognized the driver.

“Hey, Grady.” Warm pleasure filled Zach’s voice as he greeted his old friend. The six Turner brothers lived on a neighboring ranch, and although Zach was five years older than Grady, they’d been best friends before he left Indian Springs. He purposely hadn’t kept in touch with anyone in Montana, but he’d missed Grady and his brothers. “It’s good to see you.”

“When did you get back?” Grady Turner jumped out of the pickup and jogged across the graveled yard to join him, the two men shook hands and exchanged a brief, hard hug. Grady nodded at Cade before turning back to Zach.

“Just yesterday,” Zach replied.

“I heard you were climbing Mt. Everest. How was it?”

“Cold.” Zach laughed at the expression on Grady’s face.

“How was the trip home?”

“Long.”

“Damn.” Grady laughed. “I heard Cade reached you overseas.”

Zach nodded. “There was a message waiting for me when I descended to base camp.”

“Did you make it to the top of the mountain?” Grady asked with interest.

“Hell, yes.”

“Should have known.” Grady clapped him on the back. “Congratulations.”

“How are your brothers?”

“Fine—all five of them. We’ve all spent some time here on the Triple C over the last few months,” Grady said.

“Yeah, Cade told me how great you and your brothers have been.” Zach studied his old friend. “I appreciate it. I know Brodie and Eli would tell you the same if they were here.”

“Have you heard from your younger brothers?” Grady asked.

“No.” Zach shook his head. “I have an assistant who’s talented at tracking people and I’ve asked her to start looking. With luck, she’ll find them.”

“It’s good to see you Coulters here on the Triple C again—since Cade’s been back, the place is looking up. And now that you’re here, too, things can only get better, right?”

“I sure as hell hope so,” Zach said. “We’re headed to the old Lodge to take a look inside—want to come with us?”

Grady shook his head. “I’m supposed to meet Mason in town and I’m late already. I just wanted to stop by and say welcome home.” Grady held out his hand and Zach took it, the warm firm clasp an affirmation of friendship. “I’m damned glad you’re home, Zach.” Grady clapped him on the shoulder once again. “You should join me and Mason at the Black Bear on Saturday. The management booked a good local band and you’re sure to see people you know. My brothers will probably show up if they’re in town.”

“I’ll be there unless something comes up,” Zach promised.

The two men parted; Grady returned to his truck while Zach joined Cade in his pickup.

“Are you ready for this?” Cade asked, his deep voice quiet.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Zach replied, knowing he’d have to steel himself to step into the Lodge. Memories of his mother were sure to blindside him on occasion, especially now that he was back on the ranch she’d loved.

He wondered how she would have felt about the son who caused her death owning the Lodge she’d created.

“I haven’t gone inside, but the outside of the Lodge and Mom’s studio seem just as solid as the rest of the buildings,” Cade said. “Hopefully the interior is fine.”

Zach twisted the key in the ignition and shifted the pickup into gear. “We’ll soon find out.”

They left the ranch yard, following the gravel road past the big barn. Just beyond Mariah’s cabin the road curved to follow the creek to the Lodge, a half mile away.

Joseph Coulter had built the Lodge based on his wife’s love of the steep-peaked, log skiing lodges where they often vacationed in the mountains near Yellowstone Park. The Coulter Lodge’s two-story structure was built of heavy, massive logs, but the deep slant of the metal roof—its once dark red faded now to rose—combined with lots of window glass, always managed to give the solid, substantial building a graceful air. The porches that edged the front and three sides beneath the shelter of the roof’s overhang were still welcoming despite the boards nailed over the big windows and doors, sealing them shut.

Zach parked, and he and Cade left the truck, climbing the shallow, wide steps to the porch and the front door.

“These boards look new,” Zach commented as he and Cade used hammers and crowbars to pry them loose.

“J.T. and I replaced them not too long ago,” Cade told him as Zach ripped the last board free and laid it atop a stack behind them. “Somebody attempted to break in, probably kids.”

“Huh.” Zach pulled the key ring from his pocket. Much to his surprise, the key slid easily into the lock and after a moment of careful jiggling, turned with a grating squeal. He pushed the door inward and stepped inside, halting abruptly just over the threshold.

Cade joined him, his low whistle echoing in the big lobby.

Sunlight slanted through the open door behind them, throwing a bar of gold across the dust-covered floor. The rest of the lobby was swathed in gloom. Zach could just make out the wagon-wheel chandeliers suspended from the high ceiling at each end of the long room. They appeared to be draped in cobwebs, and what he remembered as iron sconces set at intervals along the walls were only gray shapes beneath more spiderwebs.

The room was eerily silent, the air heavy and still with a musty scent. Zach wondered if this was what archeologists felt when they opened a long-sealed tomb.

He flipped the light switch next to the door frame but as he expected, the power was off.

“Let’s get the boards off the windows,” he told Cade. “We need more light.”

The two headed back outside, leaving the door open, and worked their way around the porch, prying off the two-by-fours and plywood covering the big windows, stacking the lumber in piles as they went.

When at last they finished and returned to enter the lobby, sunlight flooded the big room.

The last time Zach had been here, the lobby had been alive with light, bustling with a throng of partygoers attending a celebration for his parents’ wedding anniversary. Now, the burgundy leather sofas and chairs, the gleam of polished wooden floors with deep red and cream wool carpets and the subtle sheen of wax on log walls—all were dulled beneath layers of dust.

As he and Cade walked farther into the lobby, he noticed the undeniable leavings of mice.

“Looks like something bigger than mice have been in here,” Cade commented, pointing at protruding stuffing visible at the corners of sofa cushions and littering the floor beneath.

“I hope it’s not rats,” Zach told him. “I hate rats.”

“Might have been raccoons. They can do a lot of damage.”

Zach nudged the shredded corner of the dirt-dulled oriental carpet. “Whatever it was, they were destructive.”

Cade nodded and walked toward the fireplace at the end of the room. Zach followed, assessing the damage along the way.

“Looks like the fireplace is still standing,” Cade commented.

“Yeah. Who knows if it’s still functional.” Zach bent to lean into the shoulder-high hearth and peer up the chimney. “I guess we won’t know until we get up on the roof and check it.” He turned, hands on hips, his gaze following the wall to the reception desk. “I’ll be damned,” he said, stunned. “Mom’s mustang sculpture is still here.”

Cade followed as Zach strode back down the long room to halt in front of the curved wooden oak counter that served guests at registration. On the wall behind, beneath a layer of dirt, tarnish and cobwebs, hung a four-foot-tall, six-foot-wide sculpture. Melanie Coulter had used her favorite Kiger mare as a model for the lead of four horses in full gallop. Even with the bright metals dark with dirt and tarnish, the mustangs seemed to dominate the wall, threatening to leap down and thunder across the lobby floor to freedom.

“I always thought this was one of the best things Mom ever did,” Cade said quietly.

Zach nodded silently. He remembered the days after his mother’s funeral, when his father had ridden out early one morning, leading his mother’s mare. Joseph Coulter had returned hours later without the mustang. Zach had always assumed his father had shot the horse, but his father refused to explain.