Mountain Heiress: Mountain Midwife (12 page)

She jumped off the bed and ran to her bedroom with Daphne at her heels. When they returned, Charlotte was holding a faded, red, long-sleeved, Western-style shirt with a pair of boots embroidered on the yoke. “I guess I have to wear jeans with it.”

“Or a denim skirt.”

“Do you have one?”

“If we get my sewing machine set up in the studio, I can make you one in a couple of hours.” Gabby took the shirt and held it up. Though it wasn’t bad, the snaps were loose and the fabric had seen better days. “Do you love this shirt?”

“I did when I first got it. But that was three years ago. It’s a little tight across the bust.”

“I can make a new one with some fancy embroidery, maybe something like roses or hummingbirds.”

“You can do that?” Charlotte gaped.

“Embroidery was one of my great-aunt Rene’s favorite things. It’s not hard. The machine does all the work. I just point it in the right direction. What color do you like?”

“Blue, please. With black embroidery and maybe some sparkles.”

“When is the rodeo?”

“Saturday. Three days from now.”

“Plenty of time,” Gabby said. “You’ll be the prettiest cowgirl there. Toby will be impressed.”

Charlotte knelt down beside the dog. “Did you hear that, Daphne? I’m going to be pretty.”

The dog gave her a big sloppy lick on the cheek and pulled back with glitter on her tongue.

Charlotte pointed to the painting that rested against the dresser. “What happened? Did it fall off the wall?”

“Zach and I took it down.” Gabby flipped the picture to show the back side. “Look what we found.”

Charlotte read the message about family being the greatest treasure. “Treasure,” Charlotte said. “Why would she use that word?”

Gabby shrugged. “In her will, Michelle left this specific painting to me. Did she ever talk to you about this picture?”

“It was one of her favorites. I remember the day, about six months ago, when we moved it to this bedroom. And she said something about books being the key to your imagination. She was always giving me things to read.”

“Where was the painting hanging before?”

“In the old house,” Charlotte said. “One of the reasons we moved it was because the roof was leaking and the insulation is bad. She wanted all the artwork moved before it snowed last winter. This painting always hung in a place of honor on the wall to the left of the old fireplace.”

Gabby remembered the pointing finger of the girl in the painting that led her to search the closet. What if that finger was pointing to something in the old house?

Chapter Thirteen

After dinner, Gabby went to the studio where she’d spent the afternoon arranging her sewing equipment. This was her first time in this room after dark, and when she turned on the lights, using four different switches by the door, she was pleased. Bright illumination flooded the entire space in the large room. Though not as pure as sunlight, the overhead system provided the kind of clarity an artist like her great-aunt would need to work at night.

Carrying an armload of fabric, she descended the stairs and crossed the room. Michelle’s easel still stood in place. Moving it didn’t seem right.

She added the fabric that Rhoda had given her to a pile of clutter on one of the large worktables. Later, she’d figure out a storage system for material, thread, zippers and accessories. For right now, her attention needed to be on the new shirt for Charlotte.

The whole gang had eaten dinner at Zach’s house, taking advantage of Rhoda’s wonderful cooking, and the formerly timid Charlotte couldn’t stop talking about the clothes that were being made especially for her. She was like a cowgirl Cinderella getting ready for the ball, smiling and shyly flirting with Toby.

Gabby was content to play the role of fairy godmother. Her new life in the mountains seemed to be shaping up beautifully. She was reunited with her brother, surrounded by people who liked her and ready to embark on a relationship with Zach. Throughout the incredible meal of fried chicken, potato salad and asparagus spears, they had been exchanging glances that got warmer and warmer as the dinner wore on. By the time they got to the chocolate cake dessert, she was afraid to look at him. One more glimpse and she just might burst into flames.

She couldn’t help wondering about what would happen later tonight. Since Zach had the first shift patrolling the house after the others had gone to bed, it wouldn’t be difficult for her to get him alone. Luring him into her bedroom shouldn’t be a problem. But what happened next? To seduce him or not to seduce him, that was the question.

Her first instinct was to accept the magnetism that she’d felt from the first moment she saw him and make love. But she had doubts. As her brother had so annoyingly pointed out, Saint Gabriella was a good girl who obeyed the rules and didn’t throw caution to the winds. She didn’t want to mess up a possible future with Zach by moving too fast. But why should she wait? How could she tell him that she liked him too much to make love to him?

As if summoned by her thoughts, Zach entered and stood in the doorway, looking down at the studio. “You’ve changed things around.”

“Welcome to my sewing room.” She gestured grandly. “This big mess is supplies that I still need to sort. Over here is an area where I can do sketches for my designs. There’s a long table for cutting fabric. There are two sewing stations.”

“Looks good to me,” he said as he came down the stairs. “I’m glad you’re using the studio. Michelle would approve.”

Daphne trotted along behind him. After she got her pat on the noggin from Gabby, the border collie sniffed her way around the perimeter, checking her surroundings.

“Well, Daphne?” Gabby spread out a few yards of a turquoise twill fabric on the cutting table. “Do you approve?”

The dog sat beside her and cocked an eyebrow as though she was withholding judgment until she saw what Gabby could do with her brand-new studio. If Daphne was expecting million-dollar art, she’d have a long wait.

Zach perched on the stool beside her table. “What are you working on?”

“I promised Charlotte that I’d make her a fancy new Western-style shirt for the rodeo. She wants to look pretty for Toby, and I can use the practice. Charlotte’s idea is a rose pattern for the embroidery and lots of sparkles. How much bedazzling is too much?”

“Some of these shirts are real ornate, but that’s usually for evening or for performers.”

“Speaking of performing,” she said, “I heard that you do some trick riding at the start of the rodeo.”

“Not me.” He grinned. “I’m way too dignified and out of practice to flip in and out of the saddle. Some of the guys who work for me put on a show.”

“I’ve thought of you in many different ways,” she said as she moved closer. “
Dignified
isn’t one of them.”

He rested his hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “How would you describe me?”

She wanted to say sexy, but that probably wasn’t the best place to start. “Patient.”

“That sounds pretty damn boring.”

“You already know that you’re good-looking—some might say gorgeous—and smart. Patience is a special quality. You’re not quick to judge. You’re kind and thoughtful. You’re a grown-up without making rules or demands.”

He stroked her hair and tucked it back behind her ear. “My word for you is
spontaneous.
You’re full of surprises. There’s never a dull moment with you.”

Before their compliments led to kisses, she backed off. Most definitely, she didn’t want to make love in her studio with the rest of her little patchwork family wandering around in the house. “I need to get started on my sketches for Charlotte’s shirt.”

“Are you testing my patience?”

“Maybe.”

“It’s okay. You’re worth the wait.” He drew the gun from his hip. “Before I get distracted, I want to give you the Glock. Our lesson doesn’t mean much if you aren’t armed.”

She looked down at the dark metal of the weapon. “What should I do with it?”

“Put it away somewhere safe. But keep it handy in case you need to use it.”

She went to the nearest cabinet, a place where Michelle stored her paints, and placed the gun on an eye-level shelf. “I’d almost forgotten the danger.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

She watched him as he left the studio. It went without saying that his long legs and tight butt looked great in jeans, and it took some serious willpower to keep her from running after him, tackling him and dragging him up to her bedroom.

With her sketch pad open on the table in front of her, she started drawing pictures of ideas for the embroidery design. Sewing the shirt itself would be easy, especially since she had Charlotte’s old shirt to use for a rough pattern.

Zach had left the door to the kitchen open, and she heard the others talking and laughing. She smiled to herself as she started a sketch. Everything was going so well.

* * *

T
HE
LISTENING
DEVICE
he’d planted in the kitchen of the Roost picked up two conversations going on at the same time. Toby and another cowboy talked about trick riding. The others were telling jokes. Listening hard, he heard the voices of Zach, Daniel, Charlotte and Toby. Everybody was in the kitchen except Gabby.

From a distance, he saw light shining through the windows in the studio. That told him where she was. Are you alone, city girl?

She was a problem. Standing in the center of the situation she blocked him from making a move. He had to get past her, to show her that she didn’t belong here. If he eliminated her, he accomplished his goal. And he’d be free, wouldn’t have to take orders. He could do anything and go anywhere.

He had to take charge before he lost control. Zach and his men had gotten smart about security and installed new dead bolts that couldn’t be opened with a lock pick. The only way in was to break a window.

He climbed out of his vehicle and closed the door softly. There was no telling how long Gabby would be alone. He’d have to move fast so she wouldn’t have a chance to scream.

* * *

G
ABBY
WAS
HALFWAY
through the second sketch, which was mostly butterflies, when she remembered
Girl with Book and Mirror.
Charlotte had told her that the painting had formerly hung in the old house, on the wall left of the fireplace. From that position, the reading girl might be pointing to a clue.

Checking out her hunch would only take a minute. She looked toward the corner door leading to the old house. Should she get someone to accompany her? Zach would say yes. He was adamant about security.

When she turned toward the open door to the kitchen, she heard laughter and the rumble of her brother’s voice. He was enjoying himself, as was everyone else. Gabby didn’t want to interrupt.

She glanced over at Daphne. “You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

The dog thumped her tail against the floor.

“Problem solved,” Gabby said. “Just in case, I’ll take the Glock. That should be enough security.”

She unlocked the door to the old house, and then picked up a flashlight and her gun. The light spilling in from the studio was swallowed by the darkness on the other side of the door. The atmosphere felt chilly and intimidating. There might be ghosts living here, and they might not take kindly to her intrusion.

She looked down at Daphne. Animals were supposed to be able to sense unearthly presences. If the dog took off running, Gabby vowed to follow. “Do you see anything, Daphne?”

The dog moved a little closer to her leg. Either Daphne was trying to protect her or hiding behind her. Gabby suspected the latter.

Together, they entered the old house. The floorboards creaked with every step. If Gabby recalled the layout correctly, the fireplace was in a room to the left. Her flashlight beam slid across an old, busted sofa and a coffee table that hadn’t been dusted in months, maybe not in years. Michelle had taken the trouble to keep the walls standing but hadn’t been concerned about cleanliness. Why was this place so important to her? What memories was it hiding?

The flashlight beam played across the bookshelves and hit the rock fireplace that looked like it had been built by hand, maybe by the first people who lived here, Louis Rousseau and his Sioux wife. They were like characters from a history book.

A breeze stirred the air, and a thin, lace curtain rippled. Not ghosts but the broken window. Tomorrow, Gabby needed to get that fixed.

A door slammed.

The light gust of wind wasn’t anywhere near strong enough to move a heavy door. She heard a footstep. Someone else was in here.

Gabby turned off her flashlight and scooted back against the wall. Ducking into an alcove, she squatted and pulled Daphne close against her. Was her timing so bad that she’d just happened to stumble in here in the middle of a break-in? Or had he been waiting for her?

Daphne gave a low whine, and Gabby held her tighter.
Don’t bark, please don’t bark.
If she charged the intruder, Daphne might be hurt. In Gabby’s mind, that was worse than if she herself was injured. The need to keep the dog safe gave her the courage to raise the gun and slip her finger into the trigger hold. The safety was off. If she squeezed, the Glock would fire.

Holding her breath, she crouched in the dark. Moonlight through the filthy windows made it possible to see outlines of the furniture, but she couldn’t tell if anybody was in the room with them.

She glimpsed movement near the front door and tried to brace the gun two-handed the way Zach had showed her. She couldn’t manage it, not while holding the dog. She’d have to shoot one-handed.
I don’t want to shoot.
If she killed anyone, even an intruder, she couldn’t live with the guilt.

Footsteps creaked across the floor. He was coming closer. She had no choice. Aiming in the general direction of the door, she squeezed the trigger. The blast of the gun shocked her. It sounded louder in the enclosed space. The smell of gunpowder was intense.

Daphne wriggled to get free, but Gabby held her tightly. “No, Daphne. Stay.”

She fired again and again. Three shots, she still had ten left. Again, she fired.

She heard one word.
“Bitch.”

Four more shots rang out. Gabby knew they’d come from her weapon, but she wasn’t aware of squeezing the trigger. Operating on panic and adrenaline, she reacted without knowing what she was doing.

Daphne broke free and leaped toward the door. Gabby raced after her, pausing once to take a stance and shoot blindly into the darkness that surrounded and smothered her.

The next voice she heard was Zach’s. “Are you all right?”

“Where’s Daphne?” Gabby shouted.

“It’s okay. She’s right here.”

Gabby ran toward the light from the studio, dashed through the door and slammed it behind her. Charlotte and Daniel and Toby and the other cowboy were gathered around, staring at her. She wanted to tell them she was okay, but she couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe.

“Finger off the trigger,” Zach said.

Her hand was frozen. “I can’t move.”

Gently, he peeled the gun from her hand. “Did you see someone?”

“I heard him.”

Zach nodded to the men who worked for him. “Check it out.”

Both men drew their weapons. Toby took the flashlight from her, and they plunged into the darkness. Daphne—the furry little traitor—stood at the door and barked. If the dog had sounded the alarm before, Gabby might not have gone into the old house.

She could see the anger in Zach’s eyes, but he didn’t yell at her. Scolding her was unnecessary. She knew that she’d taken a risk. The thought of what might have happened hit her all at once, and she felt dizzy. “I need to sit down.”

Bracing her shoulders, he guided her to a stool. “You’ve got to breathe. Take long, slow breaths.”

With her throat constricted, she could barely manage a shallow gasp. Struggling, she forced herself to inhale and exhale until her panic subsided. Closing her eyes, she leaned against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Charlotte held her hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“What were you doing?” Daniel asked.

When she opened her eyes, they were all staring wide-eyed, and she felt terrible for worrying them. “I wanted to follow up on a clue. The painting of the girl with the book used to hang in the old house, and I thought her hand might be pointing to something important.”

“Hold on.” Daniel held up his hand like a traffic cop. “You lost me, sis.”

While Charlotte filled him in with enough details so he’d understand, Zach leaned close and whispered, “Never scare me like that again.”