Lois Dyer – A Coulter's Christmas Proposal (страница 7)

“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.

Chapter Three

Despite the weariness that had sucked him into sleep the night before, Eli woke just after eight o’clock the following morning. He’d forgotten to close the blinds and he squinted against the bright sunlight that poured through the windows before tossing the bedcovers back and rising.

He showered and shaved, then headed downstairs to make coffee in the quiet kitchen. The refrigerator yielded a plastic container of fried chicken and he ate three pieces while standing at the sink, staring out the window. From his vantage point, he could see the backyard, with the tall old maple tree in the far corner, the fence that marked the house area’s boundaries, and the pasture that stretched toward the buttes rising not far away.

Once again, he felt the tug of familiarity and a sense of homecoming.

Maybe what he’d felt last night hadn’t been only the result of a lack of sleep and the late hour, he thought.

The coffeemaker beeped, and he washed his hands, returned the chicken container to the fridge, then opened the cabinet over the coffeemaker. As he’d hoped, the cupboard held a variety of cups and mugs. He filled a thermal mug with strong black coffee and left the house.

It was just after 9:30 a.m. when he reached Indian Springs, and his meeting with the attorney lasted less than an hour. He left Ned Anderson’s office with an envelope filled with copies of legal documents and paused on the sidewalk outside.

He glanced at his watch and realized that it was too early for lunch, but despite the chicken he’d eaten earlier, his stomach felt empty. He was considering crossing the street to the Indian Springs Café when a small car pulled into an empty parking slot just in front of the eatery. Amanda Blake stepped out, a file tucked under her arm and a purse slung over her shoulder. She disappeared inside the café.

I wonder where she’s been and who she interrogated this morning.

With sudden decisiveness, he crossed the street and pulled open the door to the café.

The bells hanging on the inside of the glass panel chimed as the door swung closed behind him. He paused, scanning the room with its center tables ringed by booths lining the outer walls. Amanda was seated in a booth toward the back, her head bent as she studied the menu.

He wound his way around the tables and slid onto the seat opposite her.

Amanda looked up from the menu when someone sat down across from her, the list of pies immediately forgotten as she realized the man was Eli Coulter. “Good morning, Eli.” She hesitated only a second before continuing. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, clearly amused. “Here in Indian Springs—or here in your booth?”

“Both, actually.” Her fingers curled tighter on the edges of the vinyl-covered menu, reacting to his charm.

“I had to check in with the estate attorney this morning. His office is just across the street and when I left there, I saw you park and come in here.” He glanced around the half-full café, then back at her. “Since I was hungry, I thought I’d come over and join you.”

“You did?” Her voice rose in disbelief. She stared at him but his expression was innocently friendly. “Why would you …” She paused as the waitress arrived. Amanda placed her order for rhubarb-strawberry pie and coffee, waiting impatiently while Eli did the same and the woman left before she continued. “I had the distinct impression last night that you didn’t want to talk to me again. In fact, I assumed after our conversation that you’d be avoiding me like the plague. So why are you sitting at my booth?”

“Maybe I realized this morning that I might have been a little cranky last night and might need to apologize for being rude.”

An apology was the last thing she’d expected. She studied his face before slowly shaking her head. “While it’s nice to hear, I don’t believe for a minute that you didn’t mean what you said. Because your brothers clearly don’t want me writing about your mother either. Only they were a little more polite when they refused to help me,” she added. “So tell me the real reason you’re here.”