For Love of Charley

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

For Love of Charley

ISBN 9781419903410

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

For Love of Charley Copyright© 2006 Katherine
Allred

Edited by Pamela Campbell

Cover art by Syneca.

Electronic book Publication: January 2006

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registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing;

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This book is a work of fiction and any
resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely
coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and
used fictitiously.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked
status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work
of fiction:

Jaguar: Jaguar Cars Limited Corporation

Chevy Blazer: General Motors Corporation

Ford Taurus: Ford Motor Company Corporation

Stetson: John B. Stetson, Company

Volkswagen: Volkswagen Aktiengesellschaft

Rolodex: Berol Corporation

Porta Potti: Thetford Corporation

Colt: Colt Manufacturing Company

The sleek black Jaguar stood out amongst
the pickup trucks on Main Street like a panther among a litter of kittens. Cole
noticed heads turning to follow his progress. Hail the return of the conquering
hero, he thought, a sardonic grin lifting the corners of his mouth. A short burst
of laughter escaped him at the humor of the situation. Ten years earlier, he’d
been forced to leave Canyon Bend, Nevada in disgrace, destitute and alone. Now
he was back. Back to claim the one and only thing he wanted from this town. And
this time, no one was going to stop him.

He slowed the Jag, scanning the signs on
the fronts of the buildings. Some were just as he remembered them, others were
new, including the real estate company he was looking for. Finally locating the
orange and blue sign, he pulled into a parking space and stopped. The building
was small, squashed between Foster’s Drug Store on the right and Dixon’s Shoes
on the left. As he climbed out of the car, a face appeared in the window and
then vanished in a flurry of movement. Apparently, his fame had preceded him.
Well, not his, but his company’s. Up until now, the only thing anyone in Canyon
Bend knew was that a representative from CJE, Inc. was coming to town. That was
about to change. It would probably take all of twenty-four hours before
everyone knew that Cole Jordan was that representative.

Pocketing his keys, Cole stood on the
sidewalk and looked down the strange yet familiar street. So many memories,
some of the best and worst of his life. They threatened to overpower him.
Charley
,
he thought.
Do you hate me? Will you give me another chance?

Two doors down, a flash of chestnut hair
captured his attention and he froze until the woman came more fully into view.
No, it wasn’t her. This woman was taller, older than Charley. With a restrained
sigh he pushed the office door open just in time to see a secretary slide into
her chair, her face flushed at being caught staring. He nodded briefly in her
direction. “I believe Mr. Bradley is expecting me.”

“May I tell him your name, sir?”

“Cole Jordan from CJE, Inc.”

“Yes sir. One moment, please.”

She picked up the phone and announced him,
even though Cole would have bet money that Mr. Bradley knew quite well he was
here.

“He’ll be right with you, Mr. Jordan.”

He flashed a smile at her and she turned
even redder. She looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t put a name with the
face. “If he’s busy, I can stop by later.”

An office door opened and Mr. Bradley
rushed out, his short legs giving him the appearance of mincing. “That won’t be
necessary, Mr. Jordan. Sorry to keep you waiting.” A pudgy hand was shoved in
Cole’s direction. “I think we’ve got you all fixed up. As soon as we get the
paperwork out of the way, I’ll run you out to the house. You’ve certainly made
a wise choice. This is the most fabulous house in our area.”

“I know where it is.”

Bradley picked up a stack of papers from
the corner of the secretary’s desk and pulled out a pen. “If you’ll just step
into my office, we’ll get all this taken care of. Not often we get someone who
pays cash for a house around here. Especially a house like this one.”

Cole followed him into the other room and
sat at a long table while Bradley needlessly explained each transaction.
Signing the deed gave him more satisfaction than he’d had in years. Would
Charley remember how they had dreamed of owning this house together? He
couldn’t even begin to imagine her reaction when she found out he was back. Or
maybe he just didn’t want to. He handed the papers over to Bradley, along with
a check made out for the total.

“I’ll see to it that everything is
registered at the courthouse, Mr. Jordan, then mail you the copies.” Bradley
turned to a pegboard on the wall behind him, pulled off a set of keys, and
handed them to Cole. “There are two here and each one opens all the locks in
the house, including dead bolts. The phones and utilities were turned on two
days ago, so all you have to do is move in.”

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Bradley. Now,
I’m expecting a truck full of furniture to arrive shortly, so if you’ll excuse
me, I’ll be on my way.”

“It’s been a pleasure Mr. Jordan. If
there’s anything else we can do for you, let us know.”

Cole let the door swing shut behind him.
Two teenagers were walking slowly around his car, awe written all over their
faces. They looked up as Cole approached, and he saw them taking in his height
and expensive clothes.

“Is this your car, mister?”

Cole smiled at them. “Yes, it is.”

The red-haired boy with the freckles jabbed
the other one in the ribs with his elbow. Apparently used to being designated
spokesman, the blond plowed on. “Are you a movie star or something?”

“No, I’m not a movie star. I guess you
could say I’m a something.”

“That’s a Jaguar, ain’t it? An XK8,
convertible. I told Tommy it was. Those cost a lot of money, don’t they? I bet
they cost at least fifty thou.”

Cole smiled. “Pretty close to it.” The
truth was, the car had cost three times that. It was custom-made and he’d
deliberately chosen to drive it instead of a more sedate vehicle. When you had
a point to make, you might as well do it right.

“You just passing through, Mister?”

“No, I’m going to be here awhile.”

“Say, if you ever need that car washed,
I’ll give you a good deal on it. Just call me. I’m Robert Stockton. My dad is
Robert, Senior. We’re in the phone book.”

Cole opened the car door, slid behind the
wheel and paused, his gaze running over the teenager. The boy’s clothes were
worn to the point of being ragged, and his shoes looked too big. A cord of
sympathy twanged inside him. “Do you mow lawns too, Robert?”

“Yes sir! Mow lawns and do odd jobs.”

Taking a card out of his pocket, Cole
jotted a phone number on the back and handed it to the boy. “Call me tomorrow
and we’ll set up a day for you to start. You know the Carstairs place? That’s
where I’m staying.”

“Thanks, Mister! You won’t be sorry, I
promise.”

“Call me Cole. Cole Jordan.” He shook hands
with Robert. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

* * * * *

Cole stopped the Jag halfway down the long
sweeping driveway, and stared at the house. Ultramodern in design, it would
have been out of place in town, but here, among the foothills, it blended in
perfectly. Its square lines followed the shape of the hills, giving it a
stepped-up appearance. Wide expanses of glass were offset by patios covered in
rustic wooden beams. The view from inside would be spectacular.

He’d had an appraiser go over it thoroughly
before he’d made an offer on it and knew it was in mint condition. But the
truth was, he’d have bought it even if it were falling down in disrepair. This
wasn’t just a house to him. It was a symbol. A symbol of everything he’d lacked
as a boy, and now had in abundance. And it was one more thing to lure Charley
back to him. She’d loved the house as much as he had, and he was going to need
every weapon in his arsenal for this quest.

The sound of a motor brought him out of his
reverie and he glanced in the rearview mirror. A blue sedan had just turned
into the drive behind him. Kristy. Right on schedule, as usual. He put the Jag
in gear and pulled it into the attached garage, waiting until she stopped next
to him.

With her usual energy, his petite blonde
assistant bounded out of the car already talking a mile a minute. “The vans are
right behind me. Boy, you were right. This is some place. The pictures didn’t
do it justice. I can’t wait to see the inside. Did you get the keys?”

Cole dangled them from his hand. “Right
here. But there are only two. I’ll get some spares made tomorrow.” He slipped
one off and tossed it to her. “Remind me to have Roger come out and do a
preliminary for a new security system. Oh, and I hired a kid to take care of
the grounds. He’s supposed to call tomorrow to set up a schedule. His name is
Robert Stockton.”

Kristy yanked her ever-present notebook
from the pocket of her oxford style shirt and took notes as she followed him to
the door. “What about a cook and housekeeper? You want me to find someone
locally, or is Mrs. Paulson coming out?”

“Do you actually think she’d turn me over
to the clutches of some provincial Lucretia Borgia? Just the thought made her
go pale. She’s visiting her sister in Reno until the house is in ‘civilized
order.’ I expect her Monday.” He unlocked the door and stepped inside,
excitement washing over him.

Built by the exclusive Carstairs
Architectural Firm as a summer house and showplace for clients, no one in
Canyon Bend had been considered good enough to earn the right of entry.
Especially not the Jordan family. Now, not only was he standing in the
forbidden Carstairs house, he owned it.

Kristy brushed by him and trotted to the
center of the huge room, her footsteps echoing through the empty house. Cole
watched her turn in a complete circle, her gaze sweeping the exposed beams of
the high ceiling, the giant kiva in one corner that served as a fireplace, and
the glass that framed two sides of the room. “Wow! It’s fantastic. And the
furniture will go perfectly. You were right. The Southwestern motif was made
for this place. I’m going to go explore before the vans get here.”

“Kristy?”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“Are you sure your boyfriend didn’t mind
you moving out here?”

“Mind?” She shot him a wicked grin. “I
think he was glad to get rid of me. And the feeling was mutual. Besides, for
the chance to help you refurbish a real ghost town, I’d have dumped Mel
Gibson.” She vanished into the next room, and Cole heard her mumble, “Gonna get
me a real cowboy next time.”

He grinned and headed up the stairs to the
next level. Kristy was so obsessed with the Old West that it sometimes took on
ridiculous overtones. If a male didn’t wear boots and a Stetson, she wouldn’t
date him. But her obsession was going to make her invaluable on this job. When
Cole Jordan Entertainment, Inc. had bought Duncan Mills, Kristy had immediately
started researching its history. She’d already made one trip out with an architect
and worked with him on the plans to restore the place as authentically as
possible. Construction was due to start in one week and Cole knew it was going
to be a major tourist attraction when completed.

Pushing the project out of his mind, he
wandered from room to room. Duncan Mills was Kristy’s baby. He fully intended
to be busy in other areas. There were four bedrooms on the second level, each
with their own bath. This floor also had its own patio, as did the bottom one,
and after a cursory look, he moved up to the third. This was the master suite.
At the top of the stairs was a sitting room larger than most houses. A railing
across the front offered an open look onto the second level and down into the
living room. Two arched doors opened into what he knew were the bedroom, and an
office complete with built-in bookshelves. There was so much glass it was
almost like being outside.

French doors led to a large patio with a
pool. From the pictures he’d seen, there was another exit just like it in the
bedroom. Sliding the door to one side, Cole stepped out, inhaling the clean
mountain air. After ten years in the smog-enshrouded city of Los Angeles, it
was like tasting nectar. How had he forgotten the fresh smell of the mountains?

Walking to the edge of the patio, he faced
east, his eyes searching for and finding the glimmer of blue water. Ten years
ago, the trees had been smaller. Now the lake played peek-a-boo with deep green
branches.
Do you ever go back to our spot, Charley?
he wondered.
Do
you even think about me anymore?

As much as he stared, the distance was too
great for him to locate the tiny glade where he’d last seen her. The place
where he’d taken her virginity one hot summer night, and then vanished from her
life the next morning. One magical night. That had been all he’d had to hang
onto all these years.

Cole reached into his pocket, pulled out
the newspaper clipping that was already starting to yellow, and unfolded it.
The picture had been taken at a wedding reception for the mayor’s daughter. In
Canyon Bend, it must have been the social event of the season. The mayor
himself was in the foreground of the shot, but that wasn’t why Cole had the
clipping. In the background and to one side, the camera had caught Charley, her
hand on the arm of the man with her while she laughed up at him.

The jealous rage he’d experienced when he’d
first seen the picture still hit him every time he looked at it. It had, in
fact, been the motivating force in stepping up his plans by a year. He wasn’t
willing to risk losing Charley to another man. Especially not this one.

“You’re going to wear that thing out.”

He turned and smiled at Kristy. “Maybe I
won’t need to for much longer. I’ll have the real thing to look at.”

“Yeah, well, look may be all you get to do.
Sure you don’t want me to go to the Red Dog with you tonight? I’m certified in
CPR, you know. And if you’d done to me what she thinks you did to her, you’d
need it.”

“Thanks, but I’ll go alone. You know the
plan. As far as Charley will know, I’m only here for business reasons.”

Kristy peered over his arm at the picture,
an expression of doubt on her face. “You really think ignoring her is going to
work?”

“I’m betting the ranch on it. I know
Charley. If I walk in there and tell her I love her, I really would need CPR.
She’d probably marry Ben just to spite me.”

“Ben? Is that the guy in the picture with
her?”

Cole glanced back down at it and tried not
to grit his teeth. “Yes. Ben Zimmerman. He’s the county sheriff now. He always
hated that Charley and I were together. And of course, her uncle thought he was
much more suitable for her than I was. After all, the Zimmermans run the bank.
My family was just poor white trash from the wrong side of the tracks.”