Pushing in the clutch, she turned the key and Cole felt the powerful engine purr to life. Charley’s hands tightened and released spasmodically on the steering wheel and he smiled. He could still remember the first time he’d driven the Jag. His reaction had been almost sexual in nature, intense and exciting. He could see something of the same in Charley’s face.
She let out on the clutch and the car eased across the parking lot and onto the highway. Delight lit her face as she increased the speed, her movements quick and sure as she shifted gears. Soon they were flying down the highway, the wind of their passage flattening grass on the roadside.
“How fast have you driven it?” she yelled.
Cole laughed. “One-hundred-eighty, but that was on a straight stretch of road. I don’t recommend doing it in these mountains.”
She nodded and downshifted as they entered a curve, increasing the speed again halfway through. In spite of himself, Cole was impressed. She handled the car like she’d been doing it all her life. Only her smile and the tinge of red in her cheeks gave away her excitement.
They reached the building site all too soon for him, and Charley pulled the Jag smoothly over to the side and shut it off.
“That was fantastic! I had no idea driving a car could be such a rush.” She looked like an adorable little girl who’d just discovered everything on her Christmas list was under the tree. He had to fight the urge to give her the Jag on the spot.
“When it’s a car like this one, it is.” Before he could stop himself, he brushed back a lock of hair the wind had tugged loose from her braid, and gestured toward the activity going on next to them. “What do you think?”
Her flush deepened at his action, but she turned to survey the building site. Cole had to admit, it didn’t look like much at the moment. Men and concrete trucks were everywhere as they poured the foundation. Rusty rebar stuck up from the hole, with a backdrop of bright blue Porta Potties against the green mountains. Off to one side, well out of the way, sat a small, white trailer that served as an office.
“Noisy, isn’t it?” Charley half yelled to make herself heard over the beeping of the trucks as they backed up, and the roar of motors. “From the slides of the model, I didn’t expect it to be this big.”
Cole leaned closer to her. “The architect tried to keep it as close to the look and feel of an Old West hotel as possible and still give us a maximum amount of space. When it’s done, it will have two-hundred rooms, and a convention center. All three floors will have a balcony running around them.” He turned and pointed behind them. “The view alone should bring tourists by the droves.”
The hotel was nestled between mountains covered in pine and spruce, giving it a hidden, cozy feel. But in the front the mountains dropped away to a breathtaking valley split by a blue river. “I think eventually we’ll put in a few ski slopes and maybe have a trolley that runs from Duncan Mills all the way back to Canyon Bend, with stops here and at the Red Dog.”
Charley was nodding. “That’s a great idea. You’d not only get the summer tourist, you’d get the winter ones, too. It’s really going to be beautiful here.”
He took her arm. “Let’s go find Hank Farrell.”
The foreman was in the trailer office, poring over a set of plans when they entered. He looked up and smiled, his eyes almost disappearing in his round face as he stood and shook Charley’s hand. “Miss Hart. Glad you came by. I was going to drop in on you today, anyway. We’re going to start on your place as soon as the new parking lot is done, and I wanted to see if there were any changes in the blueprints you’d like to make.”
Charley glanced at Cole, and when he nodded she looked back to Hank. “Well, I was wondering how hard it would be to turn one of the walls in the main dining room into a big brick fireplace. We could have an oven to one side of it and bake our own bread, and keep a big iron kettle going just like the pioneer women did.”
Hank rolled up the plans that were on his desk and slid another set into place. Soon he and Charley were poring over them, both totally absorbed in the conversation. Cole leaned against a wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched. Construction was the farthest thing from his mind. He couldn’t take his eyes off Charley, couldn’t stop remembering the way she’d looked last night in the moonlight, or the way she’d touched him.
The new role she’d assigned him was going to be much harder than the cool indifference he’d been maintaining so far. At least he’d been able to keep his hands off her. Now, with the fighting at an end, he wasn’t sure he could manage it. He was already looking for excuses to touch her, trying desperately to think up ways to be alone with her. How do you stop a body, heart and soul that have only been half alive from reaching out to the one thing that can make them whole? There wasn’t a minute of the day when he didn’t ache to hold her and tell her he loved her. But he couldn’t. He knew instinctively that she wasn’t ready to hear it yet, any more than she was ready to understand why he’d left.
Charley looked up, her gaze brushing his, then locking. Cole forced himself to relax and smile. Her return smile was tentative, almost as though she’d read something in his look that made her uneasy. “Finished?”
She nodded. “I think so.”
Hank straightened. “If you think of anything else, just call me. We can make changes right up until the actual work starts.”
Cole held the door as good-byes were exchanged and they left. When they reached the car, Charley climbed in on the passenger side. “You know,” she mused, “of all the slides you showed last night, I didn’t see a model of what the Red Dog will look like when it’s finished.”
Cole glanced at her as he pulled out onto the highway. “That’s because the Red Dog has always been here. People are used to seeing it. I wanted to keep them focused on the newer aspects of the project.”
“But you do have one?”
“Yes. It’s to scale and you can open it out and see what every room will look like. Would you like to see it?”
“I’d love to.”
He nodded. “It’s at home, in my office. Why don’t you come by for dinner tonight? I’ll give you the five-dollar tour and you can see the model at the same time.” Cole could feel her looking at him, and kept his eyes on the road, trying not to hold his breath as she hesitated.
“Will Kristy be there?”
He almost smiled at her not-so-subtle attempt to find out if they would be alone. “I don’t know. Kristy tends to do a pretty good imitation of a ping-pong ball when she’s working. Constantly back and forth.” He flashed her a grin. “But don’t worry, Mrs. Paulson is cooking so there’s no chance of food poisoning.”
She relaxed slightly. “Okay. What time?”
“About seven. And don’t dress up. We’ll probably eat on the patio.” Cole couldn’t stop the surge of elation that washed over him. Finally, he and Charley would be together in their house, even if it would only be for a few hours.
Chapter Eight
Charley stood next to the Blazer in the fading dusk and stared up at the well-lit house, a knot of tension tightening her stomach. What had possessed her to agree to come here? A tremor shook its way down her spine, and she thought about climbing back in the SUV. This was almost as stupid as telling Cole she wanted to be friends.
She didn’t want to be friends with him. She wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her like he had in her office. She wanted to stay in this house with him, in his bed. She wanted to stay here with him forever. Or, at least until he decided to leave her again. Her hands fisted so hard the nails dug into her palms, but she was oblivious to the pain.
From where she was standing, she could clearly see the interior of the house through the glass, and it suddenly occurred to her that anyone inside could probably see her just as well. Without doubt they had heard her drive up. She lifted her gaze to the only darkened window in the house. It was on the top floor, to the right of the main body of the house. A bedroom? His bedroom?
A movemen
t from inside caught her attention and she turned her head just in time to see Cole jog down the stairs. He was barefoot, wearing a pair of washed-out jeans that molded his long legs, showing the hard line of each muscle. His plain white T-shirt stretched across his chest and shoulders, and hugged his waist before dipping into the top of his jeans. His dark hair was tousled as though he’d been running his hand through it. He looked younger, more at ease, more like the Cole she remembered. A wave of yearning swept over her, so intense that it almost brought her to her knees, and she braced her hands against the Blazer. This was her man, her house, and yet neither of them belonged to her. Nor would they ever. She had to keep reminding herself of that fact.
Just as she took a deep, shaky breath, Cole opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. She saw him stop, his gaze searching her face.
“Would you like to come in?” His voice was quiet, low and soothing. She’d heard ranchers use the same tone on a horse that was trying to bolt. A hysterical giggle welled inside her, and it took every ounce of her strength to keep it from bursting loose. After all, she had been ready to bolt, and the fact that he still knew her so well after all this time, could see what she was feeling, terrified her.
But she had laid the ground rules herself, and she suddenly remembered why. For her own protection. If she could make them both believe they were nothing but friends, he couldn’t hurt her again.
Unable to speak, she answered his question with a nod and he stepped back, holding the door open for her. Praying her wobbly legs would carry her, she moved around the Blazer, keeping her eyes down as she walked by him and into the house. The door closing softly behind her sounded preternaturally loud in the stillness emanating from the rest of the house. A stillness that was abruptly broken by the crash of something metal and an earsplitting curse.
All at once the world settled back into its normal place and Charley glanced around at Cole in question.
“Mrs. Paulson.” He explained the noise with a grin. “She’s still not thrilled with the new kitchen yet, but don’t let her scare you. She’s a lot more harmless than she sounds.” He held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Charley’s hesitation was barely noticeable as she lifted her hand and felt his fingers close firmly around it. The formal dining room he led her through contained a huge, square table with a bowl of white flowers centered in the middle. The chairs, while made alike, had seats that were covered in a Navaho print, each a different color. Giant clay pots, hand-painted with desert scenes, stood in two corners of the room, tall stalks of dried yucca flowers rising from each pot. The only wall that wasn’t solid glass was covered by a gigantic tapestry that mimicked the pattern on the chairs.
Just as they reached the door leading to the kitchen, there was another crash, followed by more cursing, the voice raspy and masculine sounding. Charley took one look and came to a screeching halt, her free hand clapped over her mouth in surprise.
The tiniest woman she had ever seen was wielding a broom handle like a sword, and her target was a stack of pots and pans residing in a cabinet over her head. Several of the shiny cooking utensils were already strewn around her on the floor.
At their entry, she spun to face them, the broom swinging wildly as she glared at Cole.
“Are you the bonehead who put my pans up there?” she growled.
“No, ma’am,” Cole said meekly. “Must have been the movers.”
Charley stared at him in amazement, unable to believe he would actually be cowed by the diminutive woman. Not until he squeezed her hand did she see the amused twinkle in his eyes.
“Is there something you want me to get for you?”
“A ladder,” the woman practically spit the words.
“I’ll have one delivered in the morning,” he promised, dropping Charley’s hand and moving toward the offending pots. He took them all down and placed them within her reach on the countertop. “Mrs. Paulson, this is Charley Hart. Charley, this is Mrs. Paulson, the best cook in the United States.”
Suddenly she was pinned by the steely gray eyes. “Do you carry a gun?”
Charley gaped at her. “Uh, no ma’am.”
“Then how do you protect yourself from the wolves at night?”
Enlightenment dawned and Charley had to work hard to stifle her grin. Especially after she glanced at Cole. He was almost doubled over with silent laughter.
Charley looked back at Mrs. Paulson. “Truthfully, there haven’t been any wolves around here in years. The only real problem we have are the bears.”
The housekeeper’s snow-white hair stood visibly on end. “Bears!” The word scaled up at the end until it was beyond the range of human hearing.
“Just black bears,” Charley hastily assured her. “The small ones.” There was a choking sound from behind Mrs. Paulson and this time it was Charley who glared at Cole’s red face. “Honest, they’re really little. And they’re afraid of people. All you have to do is stomp your foot and yell, and they run. Mostly, they’re after the garbage cans people leave out.”
Mrs. Paulson spun to face Cole, and he immediately straightened, his face expressionless. “Bears,” she repeated ominously. “You didn’t tell me about the bears. Where are the garbage cans?”
“In the garage, just like they were yesterday.”
“See to it they stay there,” she snapped.
“Yes, ma’am,” Cole responded, edging around her. “I’m going to show Charley the rest of the house, now.”
“Make sure all the doors are locked when you do.”
“Oh, bears can’t—” Charley’s words were cut off abruptly as Cole grabbed her hand and dragged her from the room. By the time they made it back through the dining room, his hand was clutched to his ribs and he was gasping for air.
“Oh, God,” he laughed. “Between you and Kristy, that poor woman won’t survive her first month here. ‘They’re really small ones,’” he mimicked her. “Charley, she’s never been out of the inner city in her life. Can you imagine what she’s going to think if she sees a raccoon? She’s already trying to talk me into buying her a gun. There’d be raccoon guts scattered for a mile in every direction.”
Charley was laughing in spite of her horror. “You aren’t going to buy her one, are you?”
His head tilted to one side. “Do I look like I want to wake up full of bullet holes? Believe me, there is no way I’m buying that woman a gun.”
“Where on Earth did you find her?”
Cole smiled. “I didn’t. She found me.” They had stopped in the living room. “It was right after Jordan Enterprises sold its first really big contract. We were installing a security system for a multimillion dollar conglomerate. The clients were into jogging, so I’d met them at the park that morning and we talked on the track. By the time we finished, I was sweating and dirty. I sat down on a park bench to cool off, and the next thing I knew, this tiny woman was shoving half of a pimento cheese sandwich in my face and telling me I had to eat it because I was too skinny to walk, much less run.”
“You always hated pimento cheese,” Charley laughed.
“I still do,” he grinned at her. “But I ate it that time. I was afraid if I didn’t she’d force it down my throat. Anyway, the next thing I knew, she was on my doorstep with all her belongings, determined to save me from certain starvation.” His smile faded a little. “Turns out her husband had died six months before that, and her only child, a son, was killed in a car accident when he was twenty-five. She had no income, and was so late in her rent that she was being evicted.”
“So you did her a favor and took her in,” Charley said quietly.
“No,” Cole shook his head. “She did me one. I was spending so much time working that I really wasn’t taking care of myself. Not only was I missing most of my meals, I had a beaut of an ulcer and my house looked like a pigsty. She made me slow down and realize that working myself to death wasn’t going to solve anything.”
“What needed solv
ing?” As soon as the words left her lips, Charley wished they hadn’t. It felt too much like prying, too personal.
He looked down at her, the expression in his eyes unfathomable. “This is the living room,” he stated needlessly.
Dutifully, Charley turned to look. He obviously wasn’t going to answer her question.
Even though she’d seen the room from outside, her gaze swept over it again, taking in details she’d missed before. It was perfect. Too perfect, she decided. It looked as though someone had taken a picture from a magazine and transferred it directly to this house. There was nothing personal, nothing that indicated a real person lived here.
If it were hers, she would add dozens of pillows and multi-colored throws to give it warmth. Maybe lots of small pictures over the kiva. Family pictures. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
The tour of the second level was short, since Cole didn’t want to intrude on Kristy and Mrs. Paulson’s space. He just pointed out the four bedrooms and the patio. On the third level, Charley stopped and looked over the balcony. She had to admit, the house was even more spectacular than she’d ever dreamed possible.
Cole waited until she was done, and then directed her through another door. “This is the master bedroom.”
Charley stumbled at his words, her attention focused on the king-sized bed in the center of the room. She wasn’t having any trouble at all picturing Cole in it, and the image shook her all over again. With an effort she tore her gaze away and looked at the rest of the room.
Unlike the southwestern motif that dominated the rest of the house, this room was entirely Cole’s. Blues dominated, all the way from a silvery blue to a deep royal. The furniture was modern, a sleek black headboard with three dark blue leather panels centered on its sensuous surface graced the massive bed. Scooted up against the footboard was a matching bench, its square lines complementing the dresser and chest. And evidence of his occupancy was everywhere, ranging from a set of cuff links on the dresser to the scent of his aftershave, which lingered in the air. A picture of his mother with an obviously happy man rested on a table to one side. Charley picked it up and examined it. “Your mother looks wonderful. City life must agree with her.”
For Love of Charley Page 8
