Mountain Heiress: Mountain Midwife (6 page)

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 heart-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.

She hoped there wouldn’t be problems at this meeting. Mr. Fox had assured her that she and her brother were Michelle’s primary beneficiaries as long as they fulfilled a few simple terms. But he hadn’t seen fit to outline those terms, and that worried her. If there was a financial component or she had to hire a lawyer of her own, she couldn’t handle it. Her credit cards were maxed, and her life savings were mini. And what would happen if she decided to sell the Roost?

No point in worrying. Until she knew what was up, she’d just have to trust the Universe. As the truck climbed higher, she turned toward Zach. He was a puzzle she might be able to solve. His conversation had expanded beyond the one syllable responses, but he wasn’t an open book when it came to talking about himself. Hoping to pry out a few details, she asked, “How did you get to be a rodeo star?”

“I’m pretty good at roping. And I can stay on board a horse that’s trying to pitch me off his back.”

“A bucking bronco.” She’d seen the movies. Finally, this was something she knew about. “And you have to stay on for eight seconds. I’d like to see that.”

“You’re in luck. There’s going to be a small rodeo in Snowmass next week.”

“Are you going to ride?”

“I’ll be a judge.” He didn’t sound happy about that job. “I’ll be shaking hands, smiling and handing out prizes.”

“Why did you quit?”

“It was time.”

“Do you miss the competition?”

“Nope.”

Oh, swell,
they were back to the one-word responses. She guessed there was more to the story of his rodeo career. He must have had fans and fame and all the other perks that went with being a popular athlete. “You’ll probably see a lot of people you know.”

“I’m a judge. That’s all.”

“Well, judging should be good promotion for your ranch.”

“That’s what Rhoda says when she signs me up for these things.”

Maybe the way to get Zach talking was to focus on other people, like his housekeeper. “How did you meet Rhoda?”

“Through a friend of a friend.”

“She told me that you showed her what to do.”

“Not really.”

She felt him shutting down, retreating into himself. “She said that you trained her the way you train your horses. Since you probably don’t use a bridle and reins, how did you do it? And why? You could have hired someone who had experience.”

His jaw tightened as though he was physically holding back. “It’s complicated.”

“I want to know,” she said, “in case you’re planning to use the same training techniques on me.”

“Have you ever heard of a mustang?”

“The car?”

“The horse,” he said. “Mustangs are wild horses that used to range free across the open prairies. According to legend, they might be harnessed but would never truly be tamed. I think of you as a mustang.”

“A horse?”

“That can’t be tamed.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

She eyed him suspiciously. Had he kissed her as part of a program to control her? To show her who was boss? Zach played the role of the strong, silent type, but he wasn’t naive or innocent.
Complicated
was a good word to describe him.

When they drove into Aspen, she was disappointed; the village wasn’t as glamorous as she’d been led to expect. The streets were clean, the landscaping nicely tended and the modern hotels and condos blended very well with stone and brick buildings that were much older. But this place looked like dozens of other ski towns. “What makes Aspen such a big deal?”

Zach pushed his cowboy hat back on his forehead. “Did you happen to notice the view?”

The town nestled in the Roaring Fork Valley and was surrounded by forested hills and ski runs. In the distance were peaks that towered higher than ten Empire State Buildings. “Okay, this is spectacular scenery, but I was interested in something other than trees and rocks. I thought this was one of the most expensive places in the country and everybody who lived here was a billionaire.”

“If you’re in the market for a ten-million-dollar chalet, I could take you on a tour of Starwood.” There was a glimmer of irritation in his sexy blue eyes. “Why do you care?”

“Marketing.” Her research before she left Brooklyn told her that Aspen had its share of high-end designers like Gucci and Prada. Ralph Lauren even had a home here. But there were other shops that didn’t sound so exclusive. If she could get her designs into a couple of places on consignment, she might be able to make a living. “I need to find a place where I can sell my clothes.”

“And you want to figure out how much you can charge.”

“It’s called capitalism.” She wasn’t a natural businesswoman, and she really had to think about how to make a profit. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning to cheat anybody.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You gave me that look.”

“What look?”

“Disapproving,” she said. “As if you think I’m a big city person who wants to take advantage of the locals. Not true. Sure, I’ve sold original wedding gowns with tons of lace and embroidery for over a thousand dollars because the handwork was intensive and it took me weeks to get it right. But I’ve also peddled silk-screened T-shirts from a sidewalk stand for ten bucks apiece. So don’t accuse me of trying to scam my customers.”

“Fine.”

She paused to take a breath. She hadn’t intended to go off on a tirade, but she couldn’t stop herself. Where did he get off by judging her? “If anything, I don’t set my price point high enough. I’m worth more.”

“I get it.”

“Do you? From the first moment we met, you’ve been looking down on me and disapproving. Do you think I’m trying to run a con game?”

He pulled up to the curb outside a three-story building in weathered brick and turned off the engine. “Can I talk now?”

“Please do.”

“You’re right, Gabby. I didn’t have high expectations for you.” His voice was calm and measured. When he focused his attention entirely on her, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. “Family was important to Michelle, and you never bothered to visit, not even when she was ailing. Then you find out you’re an heiress, and you come running. But I think there’s more to you.”

“More what?” she demanded.

He reached over and rested his hand on top of hers. Like his voice, his touch soothed her. “When you gave that little speech, I could almost hear Michelle’s voice. You’ve got her fire and her grit. I don’t think you’re a bad person or a con woman.”

“Well, I certainly hope not because—”

“I’m not done talking yet. There’s one more thing I want to say.” He squeezed her hand. “In my opinion, you’re worth a whole lot more than you even realize.”

His thoughtful compliment floored her. The man didn’t say much but when he spoke, it was good. Once again, he had rendered her speechless.

“Hop out,” he said, bringing both hands back to the steering wheel. “This isn’t a legal parking space. I’ll drop you off and catch up with you in the lawyer’s office.”

She climbed out of the truck, grabbed her imitation Birkin bag in fake crocodile and walked up the sidewalk to the building’s entrance. Her apprehension about meeting with Fox had been replaced by a sense of well-being, and this positive feeling was entirely due to Zach. He thought she was like Michelle. Though gritty and fiery didn’t make for a description she would have chosen, she appreciated being compared to a strong, successful artist who was
worth more than she realized.

On the second floor, she entered an office with a brass plaque beside the door that said: Wesley, Warren and Fox, Attorneys at Law. The wainscoted reception area was furnished with expensive leather furniture and dark wood coffee tables, which were probably supposed to make clients feel that Wesley, Warren and Fox were solid, old-fashioned and prosperous. The young man behind the front desk didn’t look like he belonged here. His attire—a camel jacket and untucked shirt—were too casual. As soon as she entered, he bounded out from behind his desk and offered his hand. “I’m Kevin. You must be Gabriella Rousseau.”

She nodded. “I am.”

“Sorry for your loss. I liked Michelle.”

“Thank you.”

“So, I guess you’ll be living at the Roost.”

“I haven’t made that decision yet.”

Kevin pushed his long red hair off his forehead and flashed a whitened smile. “My uncle said to show you right in. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea, maybe something a little stronger?”

Why would she want a strong drink? Was there something he wasn’t telling her? “Coffee, black.”

He ushered her through an office area where a couple of people were working with computers. The door to Jason Fox’s office stood ajar. Kevin showed her inside a large room with an array of legal texts on one wall and a large west-facing window. The afternoon sunlight poured across a carved oak desk and onto the blue-and-beige patterned Aubusson carpet.

The elder Fox was also a redhead. Unlike his nephew, his thinning hair was combed back from his forehead. He was dressed in a classy three-piece suit, and the cuffs of his cream-colored shirt were monogrammed. His pale blue eyes assessed her as he shook her hand and offered the standard condolences.

He directed her to a brown leather sofa and took a seat in the matching armchair. The window light shining behind him made it difficult for her to read his expression, and she suspected that the positioning was purposeful. He could see her more clearly than she could see him.

After they exchanged pleasantries about her trip across the country and Kevin delivered her coffee with a wink and a smirk, Gabby’s apprehensions returned. She took a sip of the delicious French Roast. The time had come to cut to the chase. “When we talked about Michelle’s will, you mentioned a few simple terms that I would have to fulfill.”

“You and your brother, Daniel. Unfortunately, I still haven’t been able to locate him. In my position as executor of Michelle’s will, I had wanted to talk with both of you.”

“That’s not going to happen.” She angled her head in an attempt to see him better. “What are these terms?”

“Before we get into specifics,” he said as he rose from his chair and went to the desk, “I’d like for you to review the holdings of Michelle’s estate.”

He placed a thick folder and a bound portfolio on the coffee table in front of her. It would take hours to go through these pages. Gabby thought of her own meager belongings; she could write down everything she owned on the back of an envelope. “All this?”

“In the folder are legal papers, including deeds, insurance policies, agreements and tax documents as well as a checkbook showing the final payments I’ve made as her executor. The portfolio deals with her artwork, and I’m sorry to say that it’s not complete. I’m still waiting for her agent, Harrison Osborne, to report on other paintings that are out on consignment.”

Nervously, she opened the portfolio. The first several pages provided an accounting tally of paintings and sales. Farther back in the book were photographs of artwork and indications of what was happening to them. “I noticed other paintings in the house. Should those be included in this inventory?”

Fox leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Some of the art in the house has already been cataloged. There was one oil painting that she wanted you to own. It’s called
Girl with Book and Mirror.
”

She remembered the painting in her bedroom. “I think I know which one it is.”