Welcome to Paradise (12 page)

She didn't know how much power lines cost, but it couldn't be cheap to bring them in all this way, especially without a road. Ditto telephone lines. She opened her bankbook and stared at the numbers. How naive she'd been to think her divorce settlement, as generous as it was, would begin to cover the cost of converting this old resort into a spa. It was going to take money. Lots of money. But the end result was going to be nothing less than spectacular. Rustic, but luxurious. Natural, yet comfortable. Thinking about the spa helped her forget Zeb Bowie and shake the lingering feeling that tonight had been a terrible mistake.

She forced herself to think about a dining room with a view of the mountains, featuring delicious, low-calorie food. She made herself imagine the women riding horses or hiking or just swinging in hammocks, sipping mineral water after a massage and a facial. After her divorce, her mother had treated her to a spa visit and she remembered how the tension had oozed out of her body, and left her feeling refreshed and revived. If she could do that for other women, she'd feel she'd accomplished something. Of course she accomplished something every day as a nurse, but when she was promoted, she'd found herself doing more and more administrative work, while the hard but satisfying patient care was left to aides.

She tore a new sheet of paper from the pad and began sketching buildings, inside and out, making a rough map of her property based on her tour on horseback. By the time she'd finished she had a whole sheaf of papers. Papers that would, should impress the local banker enough to get a loan.

Zeb shaded his eyes against the dazzling morning sunshine as he walked in the direction of the back pasture. Another sleepless night. He used to sleep like a rock. But that was B.C. Before Chloe. Before she came along and threw his life into chaos. Took away his hot tub, threatened his dream of buying her property, and worst of all, made him want what he couldn't have. Her.

Last night as he lay in his bed, the sheets twisted around his legs, hot, restless and frustrated, he'd replayed the scene in the hot tub over and over. Wondering why he hadn't spent the night, woken up in her hammock with her in the morning, the scent of her hair filling his senses, her soft, warm curves filling his arms. Wondering what he'd done wrong. What he'd said wrong.

He found his brother leaning against the fence watching the cows graze. The peaceful scene usually calmed Zeb's nerves. Today the sight of all those fertile cows and no bull made him edgy and depressed. Silently he joined his brother to gaze moodily at the green pasture.

“Didn't hear you come in last night,” Sam said, chewing on a stalk of grass. “Was it late?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Because she...because I...” He ran his hand through his hair. “Hell, I don't know.”

“Did you make any progress?”

Zeb gave his brother a long, hard look.

“Toward getting the land,” Sam explained.

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that. Isn't that why you followed her home, to talk her out of the land?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, sure.” Sam was right. He was losing sight of his objective. “No, the answer is no. Not only did I not make any progress, I think I lost some ground. The harder I try to convince her she doesn't belong here, the more determined she is to stay.”

“She has a stubborn streak,” Sam said. “I could see it in her chin. Maybe we ought to try some reverse psychology. Tell her to stay. Help her out a little.”

“Help her out a little? I've done nothing but help her out since the day she arrived. Took her on a tour of the property by horseback, gave her a ride to town, carried her supplies in for her. What more does she want?” Zeb demanded.

“She wants to build a spa on her property,” Sam said.

“Well I'm not going to help her build her spa. That's the worst idea I ever heard. Old Horatio must be twirling in his grave. Let's forget Chloe for a moment, can we?”

“I can,” Sam said, “but can you? You're the one who's been talking about her nonstop since she got here.”

“All right. Fine. Not another word about her. I'm sick of waiting for her to come around. We need money now. Money for the bull. I'm going in to see Archie at the bank for another loan.”

“I thought he said he wouldn't lend us any more.”

“I've got to try. How much do we need?”

Sam filled him in on the various bulls he had seen for sale and their prices and before he could lose his nerve, Zeb left to see the bank president, loan officer and owner, an old man who'd been there as long as the bank itself. Archibald Crane was as shrewd and tightfisted as they came. Zeb would rather have wrestled a bull to the ground than ask him for any more money, but he had no choice. Not that he was giving up on getting Paradise Springs. It was just going to take a little longer than he'd first thought. A little longer until she came to the inevitable conclusion that she didn't belong there.

Since their bull had died in the anthrax epidemic last year, he and Sam hadn't been able to do any breeding. And without breeding, they might as well close up shop and give up the land that had been in their family for all these years. He stared straight ahead as he drove into town, unable to look at the neatly fenced green fields on either side of the road, without feeling jealousy of his neighbors' financial security. Not that he'd trade the Bar Z for any other ranch. He just wanted to be out of debt They were so close to that goal...so close, as close as their property line...and yet so far away. And it was all her fault

“Archie in?” Zeb asked Mavis behind the teller's window.

“Think so. Go knock on his door,” she suggested.

Crane was behind his desk, in his starched high-collar shirt, the same style he'd been wearing for the past fifty years, his head resting against the back of his leather chair, regarding Zeb with narrowed eyes.

“What now?” he asked.

Not a good beginning, but not unexpected either. “Good to see you, Archie. You're looking well.” Zeb said.

“More than I can say for you. You look like you slept in your clothes. All wrinkled. Honest to God, I don't know what it is with you young people. If you can't dress proper when you come to town, you ought to stay home.”

“It's going through, from what I've heard. Lucky for you it won't touch your property. But Paradise Springs will be no more. Wouldn't Horatio have been surprised to hear that his property would be worth something, after all? At least his great-granddaughter will get something out of it. Guess that's why she came out. Wants to see the place before it goes under.”

“Oh, you heard about her?” Zeb asked, a sick, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. What if Archie ran into Chloe...no, not likely. At his age, Archie never went anywhere, except to the bank and home again. And considering the long walk down the trail, it would probably be a while before Chloe set foot in town again.

“Heard she's right pretty, that true?”

“I didn't notice.”

“What's wrong with you, boy? How old are you, thirty-two, thirty-three? And still not married? How you going to carry on the Bowie line if you don't notice pretty women?”

Zeb ground his teeth in frustration. A week ago no one had heard of Horatio's great-granddaughter. Now he couldn't go anywhere, including his own pasture, without having to discuss her—her looks, her assets and her plans.

“That's a great idea. I just might do that. When I find someone. But for the moment...” He took a breath. “We need a loan to buy one of our own.” There, it was out.

But Archie had started shaking his head before Zeb even got the words out of his mouth. He should have known. He did know. But he had to ask anyway. “Why not, Archie?” Zeb asked, standing before the man who could turn his fortunes around. “You won't miss the money and it will turn things around for us.”

“You're up to your ears in debt now, boy,” he said. “It would be irresponsible of me to lend you any more money. How would I explain it to the board of trustees?”

Zeb could hardly keep from pounding the desk in frustration. Everyone knew old Archie controlled the board of trustees with an iron fist. Anything he wanted from them, he got.

“And now,” Archie said, taking out his gold pocket watch to check the time. “If you'll excuse me, it's lunchtime.” As he spoke he reached under his desk for a wicker picnic hamper, took out a large checkered napkin, laid it on his desk, followed by a thermos of coffee, a half of a cold roast chicken and a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese. Zeb salivated, remembering that he'd skipped breakfast that morning.

Zeb was about to protest, but after a glance at Archie with his mouth full of chicken, he turned and went to the door. When he opened it, Chloe was standing there, her hand in the air, poised to knock. As he gripped the doorknob, his heart ricocheted in his chest

“Chloe,” he said. “Uh...somebody else to see you, Archie,” Zeb said, holding the door open so Chloe could hear the answer, loud and clear.

“Close the door,” the old man bellowed. “It's lunchtime.”

Startled, Chloe stepped back. “Was that the bank president?”

“That was him. And I wouldn't advise disturbing him during his lunch hour. Can I help?” he asked, closing the door firmly behind him, and guiding her past the lone teller out into the sunshine.

“I don't think so,” she said. “I'm here to ask about a loan.”

Zeb shook his head. “You've come to the wrong place. Archibald Crane doesn't loan money,” he said with a trace of bitterness. ''At least not to people like us who need it. It's his policy to lend money to people who already have money. I know, because he just turned me down.”

'Tell you what I'm going to do,” Zeb said, his mind racing a mile a minute. “While you're waiting, while he's having his lunch, I'm going to buy you lunch and coach you on what to say to Crane.”

“Why would you do that?” she asked, studying him with her dark eyes. “You've done nothing but discourage me from the moment I arrived.”

“I didn't realize how determined you were. How serious. I thought you were just playing around. Now I realize...” What, what did he realize? That he couldn't get her out of his mind. That her red-gold hair held glints of copper in the sun. That her eyes that could be meltingly soft one moment and as deep as dark, bittersweet chocolate the next. That she was blessed, or cursed, with gritty determination and a stubborn chin.

If he hadn't made love to her then things would be different. He could walk away right now and never see her again. But if he hadn't made love to her he wouldn't have known how earthshaking lovemaking could be. But was it a fluke? Was it a once-in-a-lifetime experience that couldn't be, wouldn't be repeated? He was operating on that assumption. If he didn't, he might become obsessed by finding a way to repeat the experience.

He also realized that Chloe was not going quietly. That he couldn't keep her from going to town, and that every time she did, she was in danger of hearing about the dam. Archie would be the first one to tell her. If he didn't stop him.

“We're having a picnic,” he announced. Which would be a real challenge, since there was no park in town and no deli where he could buy picnic food.

“I love picnics,” Chloe said an hour later, leaning back against a red sandstone rock in the hills outside of town. She was hungry, ravenous, and salivating as she watched Zeb unwrap huge sandwiches of roast beef, cheese, peppers and lettuce and tomato and hand her one. She didn't know where he'd got them, and she didn't care. She'd gone shopping at the dry-goods store until he picked her up and brought her to this rock garden with its grove of ponderosa pine.

“I knew that,” Zeb said, reaching into his bag to pull out potato chips and sodas and set them on the blanket between them.

“Did you also know I'd be at the bank this morning?” she asked between bites. “Isn't it strange how we're always running into each other?”

“Not that strange. It's a small town.” He took a large bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “I'm glad I ran into you. I never got a chance to thank you for last night.”

“Thank me?” Chloe almost choked. He was going to thank her for making love with him. She could feel the heat rise to her head. Her cheeks flamed.

“For helping out with the steak dinners. We never could have done it...” He paused in mid-sentence. “Oh, you thought...” He shot her an almost bashful grin that turned his ears red. “No, that's not what I meant”