Читать книгу A Coulter's Christmas Proposal - Lois Faye Dyer - Страница 10

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.