Mountain Heiress

“I’m from Brooklyn,” she said as though that statement should clarify everything. “I’m not into animals.”

“Except for leopards,” he murmured.

“I guess I owe you an explanation for why I was half-naked when you found me. It’s simple, okay? My clothes got caught on your nasty fence and I didn’t want to rip them to shreds.”

Her body jostled against him. In spite of the cold rain, a pleasant feeling of warmth radiated from his chest to the rest of his body. When he leaned forward in the saddle, he could smell the strawberry scent of her shampoo.

“I bet you’ve got other questions for me,” she said.

“No, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” She wriggled around in front of him. “Did you just ma’am me?”

“Seems appropriate for a lady such as yourself who’s never rode a horse.”

“And that makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What’s a city girl like me doing here?”

Zach already knew the short answer. Gabby was here to claim her inheritance—Rousseau’s Roost. That information was enough for him. He wasn’t the kind of person who needed to rake through other people’s business. “I’m sure you’ve got your reasons.”

“Colorado isn’t where I’d choose to live,” she said. “I’m into fashion and I specialize in original designs, not haute couture gowns but upscale ready-to-wear. You know what I mean?”

“Yep.” Zach didn’t have a clue and couldn’t care less.

“Anyway,” she continued, “my work means I need to be in New York or L.A. or some other major fashion mecca. When the lawyer called and told me about Rousseau’s Roost, he said it was near Aspen. Is that true?”

“Yep.”

“Aspen means glitz and glamor. I thought that movie stars and European royalty would be my next-door neighbors. Do you know a lot of famous people?”

“Nope.”

They were coming closer to his long, low, ranch house. On the porch, he saw his housekeeper with a striped Indian blanket in her hands. As soon as they got there, he’d turn Gabby over to the care of Rhoda Phillips, who would give her something warm to drink and something dry to wear. That was the neighborly thing to do. Though he enjoyed the way this woman from Brooklyn felt in his arms, they had nothing in common. He wasn’t looking to start up any kind of friendship.

“Did you know my great-aunt?” she asked.

“Yep.”

She waited for five seconds, and then twisted her neck around. “What can you tell me about her?”

“I liked her.”

Michelle Rousseau was a good neighbor, sociable when she needed to be and not a pest. She’d traveled a lot and was well-read. Zach had spent many pleasant evenings drinking coffee on her front porch and listening to her stories about faraway places and unusual ideas. He’d been glad when Charlotte moved into the Roost a few years ago to help out with the chores when the work got to be too much for Michelle to handle on her own.

“What else?” Gabby asked. “Did she ever talk about family? Did she mention me?”

“Yep.”

He was saved from further conversation when they reached the covered porch where Rhoda stood with her blanket. He swung his leg over the rump of his horse and dismounted. Then he held his arms up to help her.

After the clumsy way she’d gotten on the horse, he expected a struggle, but she surprised him by getting both legs on the same side of the saddle. As she slipped down into his arms, her long, lean body slid against his, descending slowly, until her feet touched the ground. The warm sensations he’d been feeling translated into a sensual heat that didn’t bode well for keeping things neighborly and distant.

“Do you want your jacket?” she asked.

The last thing he needed right now was another view of her leopard brassiere. “Keep it.”

He turned Gabby by the shoulders and pointed her toward the porch. “This is Rhoda Phillips. She’ll look after you.”

Zach took the reins of his horse and walked toward the barn. With each step, he told himself not to get attached to Gabby Rousseau. This woman was nothing but trouble.

* * *

ON THE PORCH, Gabby gratefully accepted the warm, dry blanket that was being held toward her by a round-faced little woman with her gray hair sticking out from her head like a cap of feathers. On short legs, she bustled like a pigeon, and her long plaid bathrobe was belted beneath her full breasts.

“Come inside,” Rhoda said. “We’ll have some nice, hot, chamomile tea.”

“That sounds great.” She glanced toward Zach as he and his horse disappeared around the end of the house. “I think I might have made him angry.”

“Don’t worry about Zach. He’s not a big talker.”

“I noticed,” Gabby said.

“But he’s a good man.” Rhoda ushered her through the door into the log house. “When I first came to work for him, I had two teenage boys and no skills. Zach gave me a chance. He was patient and kind. I like to think that he trained me just like he trains his horses.”

Gabby wasn’t sure if horse whisperer methods were suitable for humans. “Trained you to do what?”

“I basically run the place.” She proudly stuck out her breasts. “I do the bookkeeping, the ordering and the billing. Zach isn’t much good with computers, so I handle all the online parts of the business so he can concentrate on his work.”

“This is a ranch, right? Do you have cows?”

“What? We’re not a cattle ranch. Zach breeds, raises and trains horses. My goodness, Gabby, you don’t know a thing about us, do you?”

“I guess not.”

“Ten years ago, Zach was a star on the rodeo circuit. He got injured, and then started up this horse ranch. He’s one of the most sought-after trainers in the West.”

Though Gabby wasn’t sure what a horse trainer did or what happened on the rodeo circuit, she was suitably impressed. “So, he was a star, huh?”

“But don’t mention it. He doesn’t like to talk about the old days.”

In the pine-paneled living room, Rhoda led her toward the fireplace and indicated that she should sit in a padded rocking chair in front of the brick hearth. The heat from the flickering orange flames in the fireplace was heavenly.

“Take off those silly shoes,” Rhoda said, “and warm up your toes. I’ll fetch the tea.”

Gabby hadn’t realized how chilled she was until she began to thaw. Bit by bit, her body relaxed. She unclenched her fists. The tension eased from the muscles in her shoulders. Her long road trip was over. She’d reached her destination, and the overall picture wasn’t too bad. Though her first moments at Roost hadn’t gone well, Crazy Girl seemed to have a reason for her gun-toting behavior. At least, Zach accepted Charlotte as a rational human being.

Could she believe his opinion? Her first impression of his gorgeousness remained intact. If all she’d wanted was to sit and stare at him, she would have been perfectly content, but she wasn’t sure that she could trust the former rodeo star. Rhoda was a lot more forthcoming.

The housekeeper bustled into the room carrying a tray, which she placed on a coffee table beside Gabby’s rocker.

“Herbal tea,” she said. “And oatmeal cookies. I did some baking this afternoon when it started clouding over. I just love the way it makes the house smell.”

The last time Gabby ate was hours ago—a greasy taco and a milk shake. She pounced on the cookies, which tasted healthy in comparison to her diet for the past several days on the road. The lightly sweetened chamomile tea soothed her throat.

“Oh, Rhoda.” She licked her lips. “This is fantastic. Can I live with you?”

“Don’t be silly, dear. You’ve got a wonderful adventure waiting.” Rhoda sat in the overstuffed chair beside her and tucked her short legs underneath her. “I’m guessing the Roost is going to be a different life than you’re used to.”

“I don’t fit in,” Gabby said. “Is it that obvious?”

“The leopard bra and fancy sandals are kind of a clue.” Rhoda grinned. “Your great-aunt told me that you’d spent your whole life in the city. She said she didn’t know you very well, but she thought you had inherited some of her artistic talent.”

“Me?” Gabby took another bite of oatmeal cookie. “I wonder why she said that.”

“You’re a designer, aren’t you? That’s art.”

Claiming to be an artist seemed pretentious when her most lucrative source of income was alterations like taking up hems and letting out waists. Still, she was flattered. “I guess my work could be called creative.”

“Wait until you see the inside of the Roost. There’s a studio that you could change into a workroom for sewing and an office and a tremendous view.”

“And Charlotte Potter,” Gabby said. “What’s her story?”

“Her parents—a couple of mean, nasty people—threw her out, and Michelle offered her a place to live in exchange for doing some light chores. Charlotte was devoted to your great-aunt.”

Which didn’t necessarily mean that she wasn’t loony tunes. “She seemed to think that somebody was threatening her, and that they sent me to do their dirty work.”

“Treasure hunters.”

Gabby almost choked on her cookie. “Say what?”

“It’s your family history. Haven’t you ever heard of the Frenchman’s Treasure?”

Holding the mug of tea to her lips, she leaned forward. “Tell me about it.”

“A long time ago,” Rhoda said, “way back in the 1870s, your ancestor moved to Colorado to prospect for gold. His name was Louis Rousseau. He always wore a gold hoop earring like a pirate, and he was supposed to be a dashing, handsome man.”

Gabby had a vague recollection of a formal photograph in a family album. “He had a wife and two children. And they came from Wisconsin. Was he a trapper?”

“A trapper or a trader. Nobody knows for sure, but he had enough money to buy a huge parcel of land, build the first structure that was called Rousseau’s Roost and start a cattle ranch.”

If Gabby had known that her ancestor had a treasure, she would have taken more interest in her heritage. It seemed unimportant after her parents were killed in a car accident when she was thirteen. Family, what family? She and her brother were left to be raised by the elderly great-aunt who was Michelle’s sister. Aunt Rene had done her best, even though she was in her eighties when she got stuck with a couple of angry teenagers. She was the one who taught Gabby to sew. She’d passed away when Gabby was twenty-one.

“Louis’s wife,” said Rhoda, “might have been a Sioux Indian, but nobody knew for sure.”

“I might be part Native American?”

“A very small part.”

“Still,” Gabby said, “that’s cool. At Thanksgiving in elementary school, the kids who had a Native American background always got to play special parts.”

“Back in the 1800s, it wasn’t considered cool.”

“Tell me about the treasure.”

“As it turned out, Louis’s wife was very good at raising cattle and children. She had five more while her handsome husband was off on prospecting trips, combing the hills for gold or silver. Though he never filed a claim, he always had cash, which led people to believe that he had a secret stash. The legend grew. People followed him on his trips, but no one learned the secret of the Frenchman’s Treasure.”

Gabby was captivated by the story of her long-ago past. One of the Rousseau children must have moved back East and established themselves in Brooklyn. But which one? Did she have other relations? Aunt Rene had never mentioned anyone other than Michelle. “How does all this relate to Charlotte?”

“Supposedly, the key to finding the treasure is hidden in the house. And Charlotte thinks it’s her duty to protect it.”

While Gabby mulled over the idea of a treasure map tucked away behind a brick in the old house, she heard Zach come into the room. In the light from the fireplace, he was even more handsome. His deep-set eyes were a piercing blue. His shaggy brown hair curled over the collar of his plaid shirt. When she looked at him, she couldn’t help grinning.

He didn’t smile back.

“Now you’ve heard the legend,” he said. “I suggest you forget all about it.”

Chapter Three

The last thing Zach needed was Rhoda filling Gabby’s head with wild stories about the Frenchman’s Treasure. This strange woman from Brooklyn might start tearing down the Roost in the hope of getting rich quick. He took a sip from his steaming mug of herbal tea and gazed into the fire on the hearth, trying his best not to notice how Gabby was clutching the striped blanket over her half-naked body. Didn’t this woman ever wear clothes?

“Why should I forget the treasure?” she asked.

Rhoda answered for him. “Zach thinks that if the treasure or a treasure map ever existed, they would have been found by now. And I guess that makes sense. People have been searching for over a hundred and fifty years.”

“When it comes to secrets,” Gabby said, “time doesn’t matter.”

What the hell was she talking about? He knew that asking for an explanation would open a can of worms, but he couldn’t let her statement stand unchallenged. “Tell me more.”

“Think about the archaeologists in Egypt. They’re still finding artifacts in the sand, and those things have been hidden for thousands of years.”

He hadn’t expected her to talk about archaeology.

“I went to a King Tut exhibit in Manhattan,” she said. When she gestured, her blanket slipped, giving him another glimpse of the leopard bra. “You wouldn’t believe all the gold. And those thousands of years didn’t matter. Finding things is just a matter of knowing where to look.”

“This is different,” he said.

“Think about the last time you lost something and couldn’t find it,” she said. “You search and you search and you just can’t locate it. A couple of days later, you remember that you were in the kitchen when you lost it. You go to the drawer by the door and...ta da! There it is.”

Her logic made a certain amount of sense, but Zach wasn’t going to concede. He was right about the treasure map. “Michelle used to travel a lot. She’d leave the house vacant for days at a time. We tried to keep an eye on things, but anybody who wanted to search could have gotten in.”

“Zach’s right,” Rhoda said. “Treasure hunters have had plenty of chances to poke around at the Roost.”

“Why is Charlotte so worried about it?” Gabby asked.

Rhoda made a tsk-tsk sound. “On the day of Michelle’s memorial service, her house was broken into and some of her things were tossed around. They took the typical stuff like computers, a television and electronics. Sheriff Burton thought it was just a burglary.”

“But he investigated,” Gabby said. “At least, I hope he investigated. That’s his job.”

“The sheriff did all he could.” He didn’t appreciate her implication that law enforcement in this area was less stringent than it would be in a city.

“Did he find fingerprints?”

“The thieves wore gloves,” he said. “Even out here in the middle of nowhere, criminals know how to avoid being caught.”

He’d been with the sheriff when his deputies studied the crime scene. They’d all come to the same conclusion. Michelle was a wealthy woman, and the thieves had hoped to find something of value while everyone was out of the house at the memorial service. The only person who thought of the Frenchman’s Treasure was Charlotte.

“Maybe Michelle’s death triggered some kind of clue,” Gabby said. “Was there anything in her will?”

“That’s a thought,” Rhoda said. “We should check with the lawyer.”

Zach shot her a glare. He couldn’t believe Rhoda was considering Gabby’s nonsense. “Michelle’s will isn’t public information. The thieves wouldn’t know about it.”

Gabby wasn’t deterred. “Bad guys could have broken into the lawyer’s office and—”

“Forget about the treasure.” He paused to sip his tea. “If I believed there was a real danger from treasure hunters, I wouldn’t leave Charlotte alone in the house.”

“Is that so?” Gabby arched an eyebrow. In spite of being a drenched mess with her hair hanging in limp strands and makeup smearing her cheeks, she managed to look sophisticated. “And I suppose you’re never wrong.”

“Seldom,” he said.

For a long moment, she held his gaze. He recognized the defiance in her dark brown eyes. She wasn’t the sort of woman who was going to take orders and back down. Everything he said, he would have to prove. For the first time, he saw the family resemblance. Gabby was a lot like her great-aunt.

Rhoda stood. “Why don’t you come with me, Gabby? I’ll get you some dry clothes. Then Zach can take you back to the Roost.”

Without looking away from him, she said, “Not on horseback.”

“He’ll take the truck,” Rhoda promised.

Zach watched as the two women went down the hall toward the bedrooms. Gabby was going to be a handful, no doubt about it. He’d been prepared not to like her. During those last difficult months when Michelle’s health was failing, Gabby couldn’t be bothered to visit. And yet, when she heard of her inheritance, she hightailed it across the country to stake her claim.

Before he met her, he was ready to dismiss her as an ungrateful, greedy relation who only wanted to take advantage of her great-aunt’s inheritance. But now, he wasn’t so sure. She had an innocence that seemed real. She wasn’t a great beauty but she carried herself with confidence, even while wearing those sandals.

Dealing with her was going to be complicated. He looked down into his mug of herbal tea and wished it was whiskey. One day at a time, he had to take Gabby one day at a time.

* * *

GABBY FELT ALMOST human after washing her face, dragging a comb through her chin-length hair and changing into dry clothes. On the bottom, she wore a pair of Rhoda’s faded red sweatpants that were Capri-length on her long legs. The zip-up sweatshirt fit just fine on top. Shoes were a problem. Gabby’s feet were at least two sizes larger than Rhoda’s and much too small to fit into a pair of sneakers belonging to Zach. For now, her sandals would have to do.

When she climbed into the passenger seat of Zach’s big, old truck, she was hit by the smell of dirt and wet dog. “Do you have a dog?”

“Three.”

“I’m guessing they aren’t pocket poodles that fit nicely in a Gucci bag.”

“Two hounds for hunting and a border collie named Daphne.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’m surprised Daphne didn’t run up to meet you when you crossed onto my property.”

“Is she a guard dog?”

“She’s a border collie,” he said in a tone that you’d use with a slow learner. “The breed is known for their intelligence.”

“So Daphne probably took one look at me and decided I wasn’t a threat.”

“Yep.”

When he cranked the engine, the radio came on. Of course, it was tuned to a country and western station. She had dozens of more questions, but talking to Zach had thus far proved futile. The man seemed determined to either ignore her or snap her head off every time she opened her mouth. Still, it didn’t hurt to keep asking. “How old is Charlotte?”

“Don’t know,” he said.

“Could we call a truce? I’ve had enough of the strong, silent treatment.”

He shrugged.

“I know you’re lying about not knowing anything about Charlotte,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Because you care about what happens to the kid. When you said that you’d protect her from treasure hunters, your voice was forceful.” She’d liked his protective, masculine tone. “And your jaw was as hard as steel. You’re not going to let anything bad happen to her.”

“Damn right, I won’t.”

“So, how old is she?”

“Eighteen or nineteen. She stopped going to high school last year. I’m not sure if she graduated.”

The road between the two houses was filled with ruts. The rain had stopped but the tires splashed through puddles as they drove. “Has Charlotte talked to you about her future plans?”

“Nope.”

“Rhoda said her parents were out of the picture. I’m guessing the girl doesn’t have a place to live. Do you think she’d be willing to stay with me for a while?”

“Do you want her to stay?”

“Of course, I do.” Gabby hadn’t expected to find anyone at the Roost, but she was glad to have bumped into a possible cohort, even Crazy Girl. “For one thing, I need all the help I can get.”

“That’s for damn sure,” he muttered.

“For another, I don’t want to kick Charlotte out before she’s ready to go. I appreciate what she did for Michelle.” If Gabby had been closer to her great-aunt, she might have known when her health was failing. “I nursed my other great-aunt Rene in the last years of her life, and I know that caring for the elderly isn’t easy, even when they’re cool like Michelle. I wish I’d been here.”

The first time she heard of Michelle’s death was a phone call from her lawyer, Jason Fox. He’d faxed a copy of the will and Michelle’s last wishes to be cremated and have her ashes spread. Gabby really hadn’t known her great-aunt well enough to grieve, but she’d felt empty, like a part of her was gone. It hadn’t seemed like there was anything left for her to do.

Zach cleared his throat. “Rhoda asked Charlotte if she wanted to stay with us, but she refused.”

“Because of the treasure hunters.”

“She and Michelle were real close,” he said. “It’s going to be hard for her to let go.”

Empathy and understanding from Zach? That was a surprise. “Does Charlotte have other friends? Somebody her own age?”

“She likes working with the horses.”

“Like you.”

She knew almost nothing about him but suspected there were interesting stories about how the former rodeo star became the owner of a successful horse ranch. Now wasn’t the time to push for details, but she was curious.

When they pulled up in front of the house, she saw that Charlotte had been busy in her absence. She’d moved the suitcases and boxes from the back of Gabby’s car to the front porch of the house, and she’d gotten dressed. In her jeans and puffy vest with her long hair tied back and a navy blue Denver Broncos baseball cap on her head, she looked like a teenager—a teenage boy. When it came to clothing, Charlotte was definitely the “before” version—sorely in need of a makeover.

She tromped through the mud to Gabby’s side of the truck and yanked the door open. “I’m sorry.”

Gabby noticed the red splotch on the side of her face where she’d hit her with the pepper spray. “I’m sorry, too.”

When she climbed down from the cab of the truck, Gabby couldn’t help but notice Charlotte’s discomfort. The thin girl shifted her weight back and forth. Her eyes were downcast. Her arms folded around her middle, and her shoulders hunched as though she was expecting to be beaten. This behavior wasn’t the way to make friends. Gabby’s second lesson—after she showed Charlotte the wonders of moisturizing—would be on how to meet people without curling into a ball of nervousness.

“Come here.” Gabby pulled her close and gave her a hug. “I truly, deeply appreciate everything you did for my great-aunt.”

“You got it backward,” Charlotte said. “Michelle took me in and gave me a place to live.”

“And you cared for her. All I know from the lawyer was that she died from heart failure. Was she in the hospital?”

“Only once.”

Charlotte tried to pull away, but Gabby held her. “Can you tell me about it? What did the doctors say?”

“They put in a stent.” Her voice was a little shaky. “They found other medical problems. With her lungs and her liver. The doctors said she didn’t have long to live. They wanted her to stay at the hospital and rest, but...” Her voice trailed off into silence.

“I didn’t know my aunt well,” Gabby said, “but I know she made her own choices and lived her life the way she wanted. I expect she chose the way she wanted to die.”

“At home.” A sob trembled through Charlotte’s narrow shoulders. “As soon as she could walk, she got out of that hospital bed and hired a nurse to come back to the Roost with us and take care of her medication.”

“You did everything you could to help.”

“It wasn’t enough.”