The paper was something to do with yoga lessons, but that barely registered as she took in the long leanness of his thighs, the tautness of the faded jeans stretched across low-slung hips. “Thanks,” she said. “Can you point me toward the guest quarters? I’m staying in—” and she consulted her registration packet “—Desert Rose.”
“That way.” He jerked his thumb at a cluster of buildings beyond the date-palm grove, clearly a man of few words.
“Thanks again.”
He grunted, cocked an eyebrow and continued into the Registration building as she stared after him. He walked purposefully, and she sensed rather than saw a stiffness to his carriage. His physique was arresting, but his curt demeanor and the scowl on his face detracted from his rock-jawed good looks. Not that he was the type to care.
“Are you Brooke Hollister?”
Distracted from her thoughts, she whirled around to face a strikingly attractive woman with one long silver-blond braid hanging down her back.
“Yes,” she said. “And you?”
“Justine Abbott,” said the woman as she held out a slim hand.
After Felice’s assessment Brooke was unprepared to like the owner of Rancho Encantado, but Justine’s smile impressed her as friendly and genuine.
Justine gestured toward the envelope in her hand. “That’s an invitation to a wedding tonight at my house, the Big House. Perhaps you’ll want to come. My brother is getting married, and everyone’s invited.”
“Why, I—” Brooke’s first inclination was to decline, soured as she was on happily-ever-afters these days.
“The wedding will give you a chance to get acquainted with people who can help you with your article. I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“Then I’ll be there,” Brooke replied, all hope for a leisurely evening fading.
“Good,” said Justine, favoring her with a cheerful grin before striking off in the direction of the rec hall.
Brooke watched her as she went, and then she headed toward Desert Rose. The building consisted of four suites grouped around a courtyard, each with its own private entrance. The rock garden in the center of the courtyard was planted with cacti, carefully landscaped and groomed. For a moment she caught a glimmer of light emanating from the center of the cactus patch, but after a closer look, she decided that she’d been mistaken. Her vision must be affected by the bright desert sun, she thought, or perhaps the thin air.
When she inserted her key in the door to her suite, it swung open to reveal a surprised older woman sitting across the room, thumbing through a magazine. As Brooke stared in dismay, the woman leaped from the couch as if she had seen, well, a ghost.
“Who are you?” the woman demanded, drawing her blue Rancho Encantado robe around her.
“I’m sorry if I startled you, but I’m Brooke Hollister. They told me that this was to be my room.”
“Your room? When I’ve been here since yesterday?” Keeping a wary eye on Brooke, the woman strode across the carpet and swept the phone out of its cradle.
Brooke flourished her key as proof. “I just came from the check-in desk.”
The woman seemed to soften. “Well, I’ll have to ask you to wait outside while I call the desk.”
By this time, Brooke was feeling decidedly queasy, perhaps because she’d grabbed a hot dog for lunch along the way. “All right,” she said. She supposed you couldn’t be too careful who you let in your room.
The woman treated her to a penetrating look. “Are you okay?” she asked suddenly. The expression in her eyes was kind and concerned.
Brooke wasn’t sure, but she said, “I think so. I’m surprised, that’s all.”
“As I am. We’ll get this straight, don’t worry.” The woman smiled reassuringly.
Brooke, fumbling in her pocket for a Tums, wheeled her suitcase outside again and cooled her heels beside the Joshua tree that provided minimal shade for a very pregnant gray cat who glared at her disdainfully. “What’s the matter?” Brooke asked the cat. “Are you annoyed with me, too?”
The cat stared at her for a moment, then proceeded to wash her face with her paw. The cat’s bulging sides reminded Brooke of her own pregnancy. As if she could forget it, especially now that she had told Leo.
“You what?” he’d said when she’d confronted him in the foyer of his apartment building. He’d looked as shocked as she’d expected, was as furious as she’d known he’d be.
“I’m pregnant,” she’d repeated flatly, and with that he’d hustled her into the elevator and up to his apartment without a further word. She should have felt some emotion at seeing that familiar space again, at the sight of the furniture she had helped Leo choose for the life she’d expected them to spend together. But instead, all she felt was a sense of failure and a deep sorrow that things hadn’t worked out the way she’d hoped.
“Sit,” he’d barked, and she’d sat, whereupon he’d stalked to the bar and poured himself a stiff drink. He hadn’t offered her one, either by intention or oversight, but she couldn’t have swallowed anything anyway. Leo’s hands were shaking as he seated himself across from her.
“You’re not going to have the baby, of course.” He spit out the uncaring words.
Her head shot up. “Of course I am. It’s my baby—our baby,” she corrected herself.
“How do I know that?” He narrowed his eyes and didn’t conceal his quick assessment of her figure, which had not yet begun to show her pregnancy.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted. “You know I’ve been entirely faithful to you the past two years.”
“We’ve been apart since January.”
“This is March. I’m almost three months along.”
“You took precautions.”
She shrugged helplessly. “They didn’t work.”
He tossed back the rest of his drink, and as he got up to refill his glass, Brooke, feeling curiously aloof, spotted a bit of red lace peeking out from underneath one of the couch cushions. She reached over and tugged at it, then held the item up so she could see what it was. With a jolt of recognition, she realized that she was staring at a thong in a size smaller than she wore. In her shock, she tried to stuff it back under the cushion, but Leo saw. He turned pale, which only underscored the incongruity of the situation.
She stood. “I don’t think we have anything else to discuss, Leo,” she said. “I’ll be going now.”
Leo blinked, but not before she detected the negative emotions flitting across his features. Anger, arrogance, denial, even fear.
Brooke wasn’t surprised. After their bitter breakup, she hadn’t expected more than this, and she’d long suspected that he fooled around with other women. “I don’t want any help from you, now or ever,” she said, drawing the tatters of her dignity around her like a protective cloak.
“Brooke—”
“No, Leo. Let’s end this with as few recriminations as possible. Don’t worry, I won’t be sending you a birth announcement.” With that she had walked away, head held high, and let herself out of Leo’s apartment for the last time.
Her confrontation with Leo had happened only yesterday, yet it was a lifetime ago. Perhaps it was, in a way. Her new life was just beginning, a life in which she would be responsible for a baby. The obligations this would entail were staggering. Struggling to meet those obligations without the support of the man she’d loved seemed even worse.
“Ms. Hollister?”
She whirled to see the woman whose suite she had entered beckoning from the door.
“You’re to go back to the check-in desk and they’ll find other accommodations for you. I’m Joanna Traywick, by the way, from Albuquerque. I hope there will be another suite to your liking.”
Brooke forced an agreeable nod, but she hated inefficiency, especially when it affected her.
Joanna smiled at her. “I’m really very sorry if I was rude, but you startled me. All this talk about ghosts, you know.”
If the situation hadn’t been so awkward, Brook
e might have inquired into the matter, but as it was, she only assured Joanna that she didn’t hold her responsible for this inconvenience, inadvertently backed into a cactus as she tried to swivel her luggage around on the path and soon was on her way to the Registration building.
All she wanted was a space to call her own for the duration of her stay. She was ready to put her feet up and relax while she continued to reconcile herself to the new realities of her life.
THE PERSON IN CHARGE of registration was a small scurrying woman named Bridget, who appeared stressed to the max by the large number of arrivals.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Hollister,” she said as she worriedly leafed through a card file. “This wedding has put a strain on our facility. I could put you in the building we call Salt Grass—but no, I’m afraid that’s impossible. The bride’s relatives are staying there. Perhaps—oh, dear. I’m afraid someone has made a terrible mistake. Everyone is assigned to a room, and we’re full up.”
Brooke felt a stab of dismay. She wouldn’t have driven all the way out to the desert on this day if she hadn’t been promised a room.
“Perhaps there’s a place in town.” She knew that the closest town was Sonoco, miles away and across the Nevada border.
Bridget looked scandalized. “Oh, that’s impossible.”
“There must be a hotel.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“A motel?”
“No.”
“No place to stay at all?”
One of the women who had been talking with the informative Dolores earlier in the check-in line was standing next to Brooke at the counter. “Only Miss Kitti-Kat’s, and I don’t think you’d want to stay there.” She gave a little laugh.
“Oh, why not? Maybe they have a room.”
“Honey,” said the woman, dropping her voice, “it’s not a regular hotel. It’s a—a house of ill repute, if you know what I mean. They’re legal in Nevada.”
“A brothel,” Brooke said.
The woman nodded knowingly, and Bridget looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“What’s going on here?” Justine strode out of an adjacent office and frowned at Bridget, who began to explain. She omitted mention of Miss Kitti-Kat’s, which was probably just as well.
After hearing her out, Justine shooed Bridget away. “Brooke—may I call you Brooke? Don’t worry, we’ll make room for you at Rancho Encantado. How about my brother’s apartment? It’s small and adjacent to the stable, but it’s quite comfortable.”
“I can hardly put him out of his own place,” Brooke said, though at this point she wasn’t sure she cared.
“Hank has moved to the old hacienda that he will share with his bride once they come back from their honeymoon. His former apartment has been refurbished with an eye to housing one of my staff eventually, so all is in order. Bridget, please show Brooke where she’ll be staying.”
Justine must have sensed her disappointment, because she touched her arm and said, “I know it’s not what you expected, but you’ll have access to the spa, the oasis hot pool and our makeover services. In a way, you may like the suite better. You’ll have your own kitchen, too.” Justine smiled reassuringly.
“What about a place to plug in my computer and get online?”
“Yes, the apartment is equipped for that.”
There seemed to be nothing to do but grin and bear it, so Brooke gritted her teeth and followed Bridget, who kept up a nonstop stream of nervous and innocuous chatter all the way to the stable.
Brooke was pleased to discover that the apartment was newly painted and furnished in a southwestern cottage style. The chairs in the living room looked as if they had recently been slipcovered in natural-colored linen, and a soft afghan lay folded on the couch. A Navajo rug, old and faded to warm shades of coral, blue and gold, covered most of the plank floor, and the television set was hidden away in a large antique pie safe. She was glad that the small kitchen afforded a view of the mountains in the distance. Brooke couldn’t complain, she thought as she hung her skimpy wardrobe in the closet. This place was a freebie, after all, and the switching around had ensured that her pregnancy hadn’t crossed her mind for oh, at least an hour.
That was progress, she thought grimly.
She looked for the place to plug in her computer near the desk in the bedroom but found only one phone plug, and that belonged to the phone on the bedside table. Well, maybe she would be better off not to check her e-mail yet. She didn’t want to read any angry messages from Leo.
She stripped down to her bra and panties; and, because her breasts were tender with pregnancy and uncomfortable, unhooked her bra and slung it over a doorknob. Then she crawled in between the sheets to catch a nap. The pregnancy made her sleepy nearly all the time, and this little apartment was far enough away from the other guests to afford her plenty of nap time.
She fell asleep immediately, and she didn’t awake until she heard footsteps on the wooden floor followed by a curse.
“Damn!” said a man’s voice. “Who are you?”
She struggled up in bed, holding the thin sheet over her breasts. The man was the cowboy she had met on the porch of the Registration building, and his light hazel eyes were spitting fire.
“I believe we’ve met,” she said levelly and coolly. “But since I don’t care who you are, please get out.”
He held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m Cord McCall, the ranch manager, and I’ve got no desire to rile any naked ladies. I’ll get what I came for and be gone.”
“I’m not naked,” she said, regretting her words immediately.
“Couldn’t tell it,” Cord said, a wry twist to his mouth as his gaze drifted to her bare shoulders and below. She was positive he could see her nipples puckering beneath the thin sheet.
He backed out of the room and she heard him walk into the kitchen, where the refrigerator door opened and closed. She scrambled out of bed and yanked a robe out of her open suitcase, then dropped it over her head, inserted her arms in the armholes and zipped up the front. By the time she had rushed into the kitchen, Cord McCall was popping the next-to-the-last can out of the plastic six-pack of beer on the table and twisting the tab upward.
“Want one?” he asked.
“No. All I want is to know how you got in. My assumption was that these were my private quarters.”
“Door,” he said, glancing sideways. Sure enough, there was a door. It appeared to lead into an adjoining apartment much like this one.
He tipped his head back and let a long swallow of beer slide down his throat. Looking directly at his Adam’s apple, she couldn’t muster the anger that she thought she should feel.
“You can slide the lock after me when I go back to my place if you want,” he said.
“I certainly will,” she said tightly. His eyes were a complex mix of gold and brown, and his gaze didn’t leave her face for even a moment. They wore her out, those eyes. They seemed to know too much.
He didn’t smile, didn’t even try to look friendly. “Sorry for the intrusion. I’ve been using the fridge in here since mine went on the blink. Didn’t think anyone would be in here.”
He gave her a casual salute as he picked up the last beer and headed through the door.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” he reminded her as she moved to shut the door after him.
“Brooke Hollister,” she said, then slammed the door as hard as she could and shot the bolt.
“Nice name—Brooke,” he called after her. “Like a cool drink of water.” From the tone of his voice, she thought he might be smiling now.
That she could hear him so well through the closed door was disconcerting. This meant that the walls must be thin and he could eavesdrop on her if he had a mind to. Not that she had anything worth hiding, except her pregnancy. But that wasn’t something she intended to talk about for some time. To anyone. At least not at Rancho Encantado, Where Dreams Come True.
How nice it would be if dreams really did come true here.
But, she reminded herself, that was all hype. A handsome cowboy appearing in one’s bedroom could be a dream come true for some people; however, it certainly wasn’t for her. Even if he did have impossibly wide shoulders, slim hips and sexy hazel eyes that seemed to feast upon her body.
Chapter Two
Cord McCall, sitting in the back row at the Big House, where the wedding between Justine’s brother, Hank Milling, and his bride, Erica Strong, was in progress, thought Brooke Hollister was sexy as hell. He couldn’t figure out for the life of him what someone with her big-city polish was doing here at Rancho Encantado. The last thing she needed was a makeover, in his opinion.
He couldn’t help feeling slightly melancholy over all the cheery sweetness and light surrounding this marriage. True, the makeover had done wonders for Erica, but Hank had confided that the reason they were marrying was that they were well matched intellectually, something that Cord couldn’t fathom. You either had a lech for a woman or you didn’t. Forget the touchy-feely stuff; forget the soul-mate thing. The only place for all that was in cheap novels.
Up front, Hank and Erica were kissing. A big long kiss, and it was embarrassing to watch. Cord didn’t like public displays of affection, even at weddings. He glanced away, and his gaze fell on Brooke Hollister, who was fidgeting two rows in front of him. Maybe weddings made her feel uncomfortable the way they did him.
As the bride and groom faced their guests to be introduced as husband and wife for the first time in their lives, Cord was struck by the joy of this new beginning. That was what weddings were about—beginnings. Perhaps Hank had the right idea in marrying; Cord had never had the luxury of becoming intimate enough with any woman to take that major step. The truth was that he had suffered too many endings in his life, too many wrenching goodbyes. The realization plunged him into a gripping sadness, one that he was pretty sure would linger until long after bride and groom had left under a shower of rose petals.
And then the happy couple were walking arm in arm down the aisle, on their way to the tent outside, where the reception would be held.
Hands stuffed deep in his pockets, Cord wandered over there, uninterested in talking to any of the ranch hands or registered guests, who were also on their way to the tent. After he had mumbled his way through the reception line, he spotted Brooke standing alone off to one side. He’d have thought she would have found someone to talk with by now. Yet she didn’t seem interested in any of the other guests. She looked so forlorn that he found himself drawn in her direction and wondering if she felt as out of place with this crowd as he did.
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