Mountain Heiress. Cassie Miles

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