Authors: Stacey Coverstone
“I didn’t, and I won’t.”
“Okay.” Her gaze moved between Rachel and Cole. They looked very comfortable together. “Would you two like to stay for lunch?”
“Thanks for the invite,” Rachel said, “but Cole has invited me to lunch in town.” She gave Jordan a wink when Cole turned his head. “In fact,” she said, looking at her watch, “I guess we should get going before time slips away.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” Jordan said. “Enjoy the rest of the day.”
“You’re coming to the rodeo Friday night, aren’t you?” Rachel asked as Jordan walked them to their vehicles.
“You bet. I’m hobbling around fine on this foot. I can’t wait to see you barrel race. Tell your dad I look forward to seeing him tomorrow, too. I’ll be around all day. He can come whenever he wants.”
“I’ll be coming with him,” Rachel said, allowing Cole to open her car door.
“Cole, are you going to the rodeo?” Jordan asked. His big smile directed at Rachel answered her question.
~ * ~
Wyatt called early that afternoon. Hearing his deep voice caused Jordan’s stomach to flip-flop.
“I’ve spent the morning irrigating, cleaning stalls, working on a lawn tractor, doing laundry…and thinking about you,” he said in his slow, smooth way. “I’m wondering if you’d join me for dinner tonight.”
“Does that include dessert?” Her flirty tone made it clear she wasn’t talking about food.
He chuckled. “I do like the way you think, woman.”
She’d never been so bold with a man before, but with Wyatt, she felt she could say anything to him and not be embarrassed. She was able to be herself, and it felt so good to be with a man who connected with her on all levels.
“If you can drive yourself over here, I’ll show you the rest of my place. You didn’t see much the last time you were here. Do you think you can manage with your foot, or should I come pick you up?”
“My Jeep’s an automatic. I drove into town and back today and did fine.”
“Great. Put on a pretty dress. I’m taking you out tonight.”
She could practically see him grinning through the phone. “All right. Are we celebrating something special?”
“Every time I’m with you it’s special. See you around five.”
When she arrived at the Circle B at five on the dot, she noticed the Mustang was in the drive looking freshly washed and waxed. Both Wyatt and Tag greeted her when she rapped on the door.
“Hello, Tag!” she cried, rubbing the top of the dog’s head.
“What about me?” Wyatt stuck out his lip in a fake pout.
“Hello, handsome.” She sifted her fingers through his sandy hair. When he tipped her chin up, her knees went weak as he pulled her into his chest and greedily kissed her. When he set her back, she eyeballed him. He was wearing jeans and a turquoise shirt that brought out the dazzle in his hypnotic eyes.
“You look beautiful, as always,” he complimented, taking her hand. She’d worn a clingy dress that accentuated all her curves. “Come in. Let me show you around properly. Our visit was cut short last time.”
“I remember.”
He led her through each of the rooms, apologizing for their lack of pizzazz. “I’ve been a bachelor a long time.” When they stepped into the living room, they both glanced at the leather sofa where they’d been fooling around when interrupted by the delivery of the horse semen. Their simultaneous laughs filled up the room. Next on the tour came the master bedroom. Jordan fixed her gaze upon the king-sized brass bed.
“Mmmm. Looks comfy.” She climbed onto the mattress and bounced up and down.
“Want to find out just how comfy?” he teased, gently pushing her onto her back. They kissed and he gazed into her eyes.
“I want to sleep here tonight,” she announced.
“You’re going to, baby. But first things first.” He pulled her up by the fingertips and helped her off the bed. “We’re going on a proper date.” With his arm snaked around her waist, they entered the kitchen and Wyatt shook a cup of dog food into Tag’s bowl and petted him on the head. “If you’re a good boy while we’re gone, I’ll bring you a juicy bone.” Tag seemed to smile at his master before digging into the kibble.
Outside, Wyatt opened the passenger door of the Mustang for her, like a true gentleman.
“Where are we going?” she wanted to know.
“To dinner.”
“Yes, but where?”
“Have patience, my dear. You’ll see.” He flipped on the radio and headed out of town. Her hair blew wild in the balmy air. She assumed they were going to Alamogordo and shot him a puzzled look when he turned onto Highway 82. The sign pointed to the village of Cloudcroft, which she had heard about but hadn’t had time to visit.
The drive took them meandering through the mountains, climbing a sixteen-mile road that wound toward the blue sky. She continually gasped at the spectacular scenery that met them around every curve. Right before entering a tunnel, Wyatt pulled the Mustang over so they could get out and enjoy a view overlooking miles of desert landscape. The nearly three hundred sixty degree panorama of unspoiled vistas was so breathtaking, Jordan found it difficult to speak. Farther along the route, Wyatt pointed out an old wooden trestle nestled in a canyon. It stood amongst a forest of tall, cool pines. He gave her a short history lesson.
“That trestle is a remnant of the old logging and excursion railroad, completed one hundred years ago between Alamogordo and El Paso.”
“I can picture a train chugging through this forest,” she said, awestruck. “It must have been quite a journey back then.”
The rest of the drive took them through high mountain meadows where the air became cooler—a welcome relief from the hot desert below. As they reached the sleepy village in the sky, Wyatt told her Cloudcroft got its name because it stood nine thousand feet above sea level, literally in the clouds.
“It’s so lovely up here. Almost like another world,” Jordan said, as he drove down a tree-lined dirt road. At the end of the road a magnificent old inn came into view.
“Where are we?” she asked, craning her neck. He parked the Mustang and shut off the motor.
“This is called The Lodge. It was built in the early 1900’s. I thought you’d like it.” He left the top down and escorted her up the walk as she studied the Victorian work of architecture.
“It’s fabulous. We’re having dinner here?”
“Yep.” They held hands and strolled past a garden of brilliant summer flowers. Inside, the inn was decorated in dark wood and deep colors. A hostess greeted them at the entrance to the restaurant.
“Welcome to Rebecca’s. Do you have reservations?”
“Yes,” Wyatt answered. “Brannigan is the name.”
Jordan noticed a portrait of a bewitching young girl with striking green eyes and bright red hair hanging in an ornate frame on the wall behind the hostess. The hostess checked her reservation list and ushered them into what appeared to be an upscale establishment.
“Who’s the girl in the portrait?” Jordan asked once they were seated.
“Rebecca. The restaurant is named for her. She’s our resident ghost.”
That wasn’t what Jordan expected to hear, but apparently the woman was too busy to explain more. She handed them menus and scurried off. They were seated at a table along the west-facing wall that consisted entirely of windows, which provided them with a stunning landscape view for which to watch the sunset.
Throughout their stay, a player piano entertained the diners with romantic tunes. Jordan and Wyatt never stopped talking, except to laugh, or to touch hands and gaze into each other’s eyes, which they did often. At one point he said, “I feel like I’ve known you all my life.” Covering his hand, she told him she felt the same. As they finished off the thick slice of triple chocolate cake they shared, their waitress stopped by to ask if they would need anything else.
“Yes,” Jordan said. “Could you tell me the story about Rebecca?”
“Sure.” The girl had probably told the story a hundred times. She rattled it off like she’d memorized a script. “Rebecca was a young woman working here as a maid in the 1930’s. She was very flirtatious and had several beaus at a time, including a lumberjack who had a quick temper and a jealous streak a mile long. Unfortunately, Rebecca was not very discreet when it came to her dalliances, and the lumberjack caught her in a compromising situation with another man one day. He flew into a terrible rage and murdered her.”
“Oh, my.” Jordan had no idea the story would turn so gruesome. “That’s awful.”
“Rebecca has haunted the lodge ever since. Dozens of employees and guests have seen her wearing a long dress and wandering the halls. She’s a mischievous spirit who uses the telephone in Room 101. She also likes to make flames appear in the fireplaces. One of her favorite games to play is moving ashtrays around in our Red Dog Saloon.”
“Have you seen her personally?” Jordan asked the waitress.
“No. I don’t believe in ghosts.” When she left the bill on the table, Jordan thanked her for telling her the tale. After Wyatt paid the tab and they were walking out, she said, “Do you believe in ghosts, Brannigan?”
He shook his head. “No. Why? You don’t plan on disappearing on me, do you?”
“There’s not a ghost of a chance of that happening,” she replied before kissing his clean-shaven cheek.
When they returned to his house, Tag welcomed them with sleepy eyes. “Were you a good boy?” Wyatt asked. Tag thumped his tail against the wall. True to his promise, Wyatt offered the dog a bone wrapped in a napkin. The Border Collie snatched it up and ran into the master bedroom. The two of them followed and found him curled on the end of the bed chewing his bone.
“He usually sleeps in here at night,” Wyatt explained.
Jordan cocked an eyebrow.
“Sorry, Tag,” he said, gently shoving the dog off the bed and herding him to the living room. “Tonight you’re sleeping on the sofa, because three’s a crowd.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Early the next morning, Wyatt tried his best to keep her in his bed longer, but Jordan turned the tables on him.
“I have horses to turn out,” she said. “I’m a rancher now. Chores won’t get done on their own.” He laughed, unable to argue with her. She drove home and parked at the barn. Houdini was standoffish again when she let him out of his stall.
“I’m not scoring any points with you, am I?” she apologized. She let all the horses into the field and then turned on the radio and sang along to country songs as she mucked the stalls. When that was done, she topped off the water tubs in the pasture. As she worked, she replayed every moment she’d spent with Wyatt, and every word he’d said to her over the past couple of days. Her mood soared, evidenced by the fact that she was humming as she jumped into the Jeep and parked it in the driveway in front of the house.
As she strolled up the sidewalk, she reached into her purse for the house keys. The name of Addison Stillwell had nearly vanished from her mind when something brought it all rushing back. There, nailed to her freshly painted front door, was an envelope with a rope of coarse blonde hair twisted around the nail. With her heart pounding in her ears, Jordan ripped open the envelope and read the brief note out loud:
“Ms. Mackenzie, I’ve discovered you’re even more stubborn than your aunt was. At first I found you to be a challenge, and a worthy opponent. I admired your spunk. As the days go by, however, I am becoming less and less amused. I can wait no longer. My destiny calls. I want the Lucky Seven and I intend to have it. Since nothing, up to now, has convinced you to sell me the ranch, I’m making one last offer. Meet me Friday night at nine o’clock at the fairgrounds outside the ticket booth. Be alone. This is your final warning. Come prepared with your deed signed over to me, or the mare dies.”
Although the note wasn’t signed, there was no doubt as to who had written it. No one, other than Addison Stillwell believed owning the Lucky Seven Ranch was his destiny. She laughed aloud realizing how stupid he was to write her a threatening note, especially one that practically confessed to having harassed her in order to get her to sell the ranch. She stuck her key in the door and slammed it shut behind her. If he hurt Buttercup… Her ire began to rise like a kettle set to boil. Heading straight for the phone, she dialed Wyatt’s number, and he answered on the second ring.
“We have to do something,” she exclaimed after reading him the note.
“Take a deep breath and calm down,” he counseled. “Buttercup is not in danger at this point. Even Addison is not heartless enough to kill that mare. If anything, he knows good horseflesh when he sees it. He wants to frighten you again.”
“Does he actually believe I’ll meet him alone at the fairgrounds, after all he’s done to me?” she grumbled.
“I think the man has gone ‘round the bend. At least you now have evidence of extortion and threats. We’ll take the note to the Alamo police.”
“Wait,” she said. “I hear a car coming up the drive. Let me see who it is.” She suddenly wondered if Stillwell would be so brazen as to send his goons to her house in broad daylight to scare her. Her hands trembled when she inched back the curtain. When she returned to the phone, she let out a sigh of relief. “It’s Rachel Massey and her dad. They’ve come to look at the horses.”
“Okay. Try to relax. Leave it to me to figure out what to do about Addison. All right?”
“All right. Thank you, Brannigan.” She hung up and took a couple of cleansing breaths before stepping outside to meet Mr. Massey. It was a good sign that the pair had hauled a horse trailer behind them. Putting on a cheerful face, she greeted them in the driveway.
“Hi, Jordan,” Rachel said. “This is my dad, Don Massey. Dad, meet Jordan Mackenzie.”
“Hello, Mr. Massey. Nice to meet you.” She gripped his hand firmly.
“Glad to meet you, young lady. Shall we go take a look-see at those horses of yours?” He was already walking toward the field. His bandy legs jingled with the music of spurs. Jordan suspected he’d been straddling horses since he was a young tyke. He puffed on a cigarette and wore a ten- gallon hat. He was so comical looking she had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from chuckling. Rachel must take after her mama, she thought.