Mountain Heiress: Mountain Midwife

by Cassie Miles

  He should have been glad that she realized she didn’t belong in the mountains. It would save him a truckload of grief if he said goodbye and sent her on her way. But he didn’t want her to leave, not like this. “I didn’t think you were a quitter.”

  “I’m not.” She straightened her shoulders. “I drove four long miserable days to get here. You think that was easy?”

  “Nope.”

  “The smart thing would be to talk to the lawyer, get the estate settled and back to Brooklyn. In the meantime, I could stay at a motel.”

  “You could,” he said.

  “But I came here to find out more about myself, my family and Michelle. I want to know who she was and why she stayed here. My brother and I are the last of the Rousseaus. How can I turn my back on my heritage?”

  “So you’re not quitting.”

  She tossed her head and stuck out her chin. Her vulnerability transformed into rock-hard stubbornness. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then you’re staying.”

  “I didn’t say that, either.” With her index finger, she jabbed at his chest. “You should stop jumping to conclusions.”

  He caught hold of her wrist. “It’s not my fault, either.”

  When she tried to yank her hand back, he held on. On her heels, she stumbled toward him. Her face was inches away from his. And then she kissed him.

  The brush of her lips against his was so unexpected that he didn’t quite believe it had happened. At the same time, her kiss had a profound effect. It changed everything.

  Chapter Five

  It had only been a chaste little kiss. Not really a kiss at all; Gabby had only touched his mouth with hers. The last time she’d kissed a guy like that was when she was seven years old and Jimmy Franzini had dared her to do a flip off the monkey bars in the school playground. She did it. Then she kissed him.

  When she was seven, she’d felt triumphant. So there, Jimmy Franzini. Right now, as she leaned against the wall in the entryway of the Roost, her heart was dancing a tango, and she couldn’t swallow. Zach Sheffield was most definitely not a seven-year-old boy. He was one of the most virile men she’d ever met, and he wasn’t going to let her skip away into the playground without consequences. Should she apologize? No way, she wasn’t sorry. The best thing was to act like it never happened.

  But when she took a step toward the kitchen, he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her snug against his chest. There was no point in struggling; he was too strong, all muscle. More importantly, she didn’t want to break away. The heat from his body sparked a fire that raced through her blood. Her chin tilted up, and she gazed into his blue eyes. He kissed her hard enough to take her breath away. When his tongue penetrated her mouth, she actually felt a little bit woozy as though she was melting.

  He ended the kiss and stepped back. “Are you ready to listen to me now?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She looked up at him and blinked. Though she was never at a loss for words, all she could do was stare with a stupefied gaze. A kiss like that deserved a comment. She had to say something. “Zach?”

  “What?”

  “Next time, take off your hat.”

  As she followed him back to the kitchen where Charlotte was peering into the side of the stainless steel toaster, trying to see her reflection, Gabby struggled to make sense of what had just happened. His kiss was incredible. In her experience, which wasn’t all that extensive, she had to rank it in the top ten, maybe the top three or even number one. But did it mean anything? There was physical chemistry between them; she’d felt it from the start. But the differences between them were too vast to calculate.

  Even though she’d implied that she wasn’t a quitter and would stay at the Roost, that decision wasn’t firm. It was just as likely that she’d get her car serviced and head back to Brooklyn, where she belonged. How could she stay here with the threat of imminent danger and bad guys watching the house? For the moment, she knew only one thing for sure: Zach was in charge. She was willing to let him take the lead. For now.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “We need to go through the whole house to check on overall security. Then we’ll talk about procedures in case of a break-in.”

  “Okay,” Charlotte said. “Want some lemonade?”

  Something cold to douse the flames raging inside her? “Perfect.”

  Gabby chugged half the tall glass of lemonade while Zach went to a door at the rear of the large kitchen. He twisted the key in the lock. “We’ll start here.”

  “You’re going to be surprised,” Charlotte said to her. “The house is bigger than it looks in photographs and from the road. The first Roost was built by the Frenchman and his wife in the 1800s.”

  Gabby’s common sense had returned enough for her to comment. “But this kitchen looks completely modern.”

  “It’s new,” Charlotte said. “The front part of the house was built in the 1950s. Michelle had it renovated a couple of times, including a recent update of the kitchen. It’s basically a two-story with five bedrooms upstairs.”

  “Michelle didn’t move out here until the sixties,” Gabby said, recalling a bit of family history. “Who owned the Roost before that?”

  “I think the property has always belonged to the Rousseau family, but it was vacant for a long time and fell into disrepair.”

  “Why did they move back?”

  Zach explained, “After World War II, Aspen began to develop a world-wide reputation as a ski resort, and the property values skyrocketed. The Roost is especially attractive because you’ve got a good well and your family owns the water rights. One of your relatives sensed a good deal and hired a contractor to build the two-story. I think the first plan was to sell, but they moved back in.”

  He pushed the door from the kitchen open. “This center area isn’t the oldest part of the house. It was added on when the family got bigger. At one time, this area was a kitchen, living room and bedrooms. Michelle had it gutted, leaving only the essential support beams and outer walls. She turned it into a studio.”

  She followed him onto a small landing and down three stairs to Michelle’s art studio—an open space that was nearly as wide as the two-story house it was attached to. If it was possible to fall in love with a room, Gabby was smitten. The ceiling peaked in the center. There were so many skylights and windows that it was unnecessary to turn on the overhead lights. In one corner was a potter’s wheel. One entire wall was waist-high storage cabinets. A double-wide garage door had been installed, probably to allow large projects to be easily moved in and out.

  Nearest the house were the remnants of a former kitchen—a fridge, double sink and plenty of counter space. Though the art supplies had been cleaned up and put away, paint spatters outlined the work areas.

  Two freestanding gas fireplaces provided heat, but neither was turned on, leaving a chill in the air and a sense of vacancy. Gabby felt a pang of regret that she’d never really known her great-aunt. This had been the place where Michelle did her creative work. Now the easel in the center of the room stood empty.

  Daphne trotted across the tiled floor to the easel, sniffed around and settled down beside the stool. Charlotte squatted down beside the dog and scratched behind her ears. “I miss her, too.”

  “Daphne used to come over all the time,” Zach said. “She’d sit in that very spot and watch as Michelle worked.”

  “She remembers her friend.” Gabby was touched. “You told me that border collies were smart.”

  “With great instincts. I always have the feeling that she sees and hears things that I don’t.”

  She was surprised to hear Zach talking about feelings. Maybe their kiss had loosened him up. She opened one of the cabinets and found several blank canvases. “What happened to Michelle’s paintings?”

  “She’d been clearing things out for a while,” Charlotte said. “Her agent picked up the last few after she died.”

  Gabby had heard that the work of a dec
eased artist went up in value. “Her agent?”

  “Harrison Osborne. He owns an art gallery in Aspen and handled most of Michelle’s inventory and sales.”

  Gabby made a mental note to contact Mr. Osborne. Those last paintings might be worth a lot. She closed the storage cabinet, moved back toward the center of the studio and slowly rotated in a full circle. “This is an amazing space. The natural light is wonderful, and there’s so much room to spread out. I’m beginning to understand why my great-aunt loved it here.”

  “It’s kind of a shame,” Charlotte said, “that the studio won’t be used by another artist.”

  “It would work just as well for a fashion designer.”

  Gabby could easily visualize work areas for her two sewing machines and cutting table. If she added a couple of racks, there would be plenty of room to hang her designs. Her dressmaker dummies hadn’t been able to fit in the car, and she’d sold them to another designer in Brooklyn. No problem. She could buy new ones. In the meantime, she’d recruit Charlotte as a model. The studio was big enough that she could use part of the space as a runway to see how her designs moved.

  Ideas burst inside her head like popcorn in the microwave. She hadn’t been this excited in a long time. Ever since she and her friends had lost the lease to their boutique, her inspiration had been lagging. Sure, she had business—there was always work for a good seamstress who could do alterations, but she hadn’t felt like creating anything new. The world of fashion had kicked her butt. The scene was too competitive, and she was tired of being rejected.

  Working in this studio, she might tap into the energy that had made her great-aunt into a successful artist. Gabby didn’t aspire to the heights of haute couture, but she wanted to make a living doing something she loved.

  “Too many windows,” Zach said as he prowled the perimeter. “Plus four separate exits, including the garage door. The studio offers too many access points for an intruder. Until we’re certain there’s no threat, the door to this studio remains locked. Do both of you understand?”

  “I don’t get it,” Charlotte said. “Yesterday, you didn’t think there was danger.”

  “Changed my mind,” he said. “Let’s keep going.”

  Gabby pulled herself away from her dreams. “There’s more?”

  He crossed the room to another door beside the garage door. This one wasn’t locked. “If we had a bird’s-eye view of the floor plan, you’d see the two-story front house attached to the studio, which hooks up to the old house through this door. When the Roost was operating as a cattle ranch, they used this space as a bunkhouse for the ranch hands.”

  “Was this the original structure?”

  He nodded. “Some of it was built in the 1870s.”

  “I almost never went back there.” Charlotte joined him. She was walking with an almost normal gait, getting used to her new strappy shoes. “Sometimes, I’d find Michelle in the old house, just sitting there.”

  “Did she say why she’d go there?” Gabby asked.

  “Something about being closer to her family.” Her voice lowered. “I think she was talking to ghosts.”

  Gabby wondered if she’d hear the same ghostly whispers from her long-ago ancestors. This had been the home of Louis Rousseau, the Frenchman, with his gold hoop earring and his Sioux wife.

  “Nobody has lived here in years,” Zach said. “I told Michelle that the upkeep on this part of the house wasn’t worth the effort, but she was attached to it. She kept the place in decent shape, replacing broken windows and shoring up the walls that were battered by years of snowstorms and high winds.”

  Gabby stepped through the door and into another century. Her ancestors had built these walls. They had peered through these windows and slept beneath this ceiling.

  She shivered. The studio had been chilly. The old house was downright cold, even though the sun was shining and the temperature on this June morning was in the seventies. When Zach flipped a light switch, nothing happened.

  “The electricity must be disconnected,” he said.

  Ghosts preferred darkness. Long shadows stretched across the floor and onto the old, dusty furniture. On one wall was a huge rock fireplace. A stale odor hung in the air, and Gabby rubbed her nose to get rid of the nasty smell. She wasn’t sure that she liked this part of the house. While the studio had been bright and filled with positive energy, the original Roost was creepy. She could almost believe that mysterious secrets were hidden back here.

  When her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, she followed Zach into another room. Though the Roost had been maintained, it was obvious that nobody lived here. In one room, several cardboard boxes were scattered on the floor. They seemed to be full of rags and old clothes. The kitchen was disgusting. Major appliances had been removed, leaving filthy spots on the ancient linoleum. Drawers hung open. The shelves were mostly bare except for a thick coat of dust. Years of cooking smoke and grease had permeated wallpaper that had once been beige with orange lilies.

  Gabby pulled her arms close to her side. She didn’t want to touch anything. This was one of the worst messes she’d ever seen, and that included a former boyfriend’s one-room basement apartment inhabited by cockroaches as big as your fist. “I’m with you, Zach. I think this part of the Roost should be torn down.”

  “What about the treasure map?” Charlotte asked. “If it’s hidden anywhere, it should be in here.”

  “Did the burglars come through this part of the house when they broke in? Did they search in here?”

  “No,” Charlotte reluctantly admitted. “And they took electronic stuff that they could resell.”

  That crime sounded like a common theft, just a couple of criminals taking advantage of a vacant house. She was beginning to think they had nothing to worry about from treasure hunters.

  “In here,” Zach called out.

  In a small bedroom, he stood beside a torn curtain and broken window. The lower pane of glass had been shattered near the latch, which had been unfastened. The casement window was open. Though she couldn’t actually see footprints, it was obvious that the coating of dust on the floor had been disturbed

  An intruder had entered here. The shards of glass below the window frame were tangible evidence, which meant Zach was right. There was a threat.

  “Charlotte, can you tell if anything is missing?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t even know what’s back here. We need to get flashlights and come back to investigate.”

  “Or,” Gabby said, “we could call the police.”

  “Why bother?” Charlotte frowned. “The last time the sheriff was here, he didn’t find anything.”

  “No fingerprints? No trace evidence?”

  “Trace evidence,” Zach said, “like the fibers and microscopic specks they find in the television shows.”

  She realized it was unlikely. “Doesn’t hurt to look.”

  He took his cell phone from his pocket. “I’m putting in a call to the sheriff, but I doubt he’s going to find anything to put under a microscope.”

  Pitkin County wasn’t the world Gabby was accustomed to. Break-ins like this happened all the time in Brooklyn, but there were also investigations and cops and forensic teams. She was beginning to realize that out here in the back country, they were pretty much on their own.

  Chapter Six

  Three hours later, Gabby dropped off her car with a mechanic Zach said she could trust. Though she didn’t have the money to spend on servicing, the car needed help. It took a jump to get started and the clunking noise had turned into a metallic-sounding whine—a real fingernails-on-blackboard sound—whenever she turned left. Waving goodbye to her unhappy hatchback, she climbed into the passenger seat of Zach’s truck and fastened her seat belt.

  This was the first time they’d been alone since their kiss. She wouldn’t mind talking about that moment, but there wasn’t much to say. She couldn’t explain her first impulse to plant one on him, and she was still recovering from the he
art-stopping hotness when he’d kissed her back. Gabby opted for a less-difficult topic. “Do you think Charlotte is going to be okay at the house?”

  “She’s not by herself,” he reminded her. “Rhoda and Daphne are with her. And Sheriff Burton is on the way.”

  Over three hours had passed since they discovered the break-in. The sheriff wasn’t exactly rushing to the scene of the crime, but she didn’t complain. Things worked on a different schedule here.

  Last night when she’d been driving near this area, the rain had kept her from noticing the rugged hills, snowcapped peaks and clear blue sky. Every view was worthy of a picture postcard. The natural beauty almost made up for the inconvenience of living here. Almost. It had taken nearly forty-five minutes to drive to the mechanic on the outskirts of Basalt. “How far are we from Aspen?”

  “About half an hour,” he said. “From here, it’s mostly uphill. There’s a two-thousand-foot difference in elevation between Basalt and Aspen.”

  “How high are we?”

  “Aspen is about eight thousand feet. If we stay on this road, we’ll go higher, hitting Independence Pass and the Continental Divide.”

  “A divide?” She tried to visualize a map of the United States. “Shouldn’t a continental divide be in the middle of the continent?”

  “It’s an invisible line that divides the watershed. On the western side of the mountains, water flows to the Pacific. On the east, it goes toward the Gulf of Mexico.”

  As a person who’d spent most of her life at sea level in Brooklyn, she’d never given a single thought to watershed. “I’ve never been this high.”

  “The air is thinner. If you’re feeling tired, you might blame it on the altitude.”

  There hadn’t been time to feel tired. Since her arrival in Colorado, she’d been shot at, ridden a horse, been kissed by a gorgeous cowboy and discovered a break-in. Now she was on her way to conduct serious business in Aspen with Jason Fox, her great-aunt’s attorney. She’d changed into a sedate business suit in black linen, which seemed appropriate for discussing her great-aunt’s will.