A Coulter's Christmas Proposal. Lois Dyer Faye

      “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.

      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