A Coulter’s Christmas Proposal Page 2

  Amanda shivered. He exuded an aura of quiet, restrained power that seemed to vibrate the very air around him. He appeared supremely unconcerned that guests were turning to look at him as his gaze moved over the room.

  As she watched, unable to look away, the stranger’s mouth curved, a smile lighting his face, turning it from handsome to movie-star gorgeous.

  Cade and Zach Coulter strode through the crowd and reached him, taking turns to clasp his hand and pull him into hard hugs.

  With the three black-haired, green-eyed, tall and powerful men standing side by side, recognition hit Amanda like a freight train.

  Oh, my God. That’s Eli Coulter.

  “Damn, Eli,” Cade said, his eyes warm, his deep voice raspy with emotion. “What’s with the hair? You couldn’t find a barber in Spain?”

  “Not one I wanted to let near me with sharp scissors,” Eli told him with a grin.

  “We let you out of our sight for a year and you come home looking like a girl,” Zach told him with an affectionate smile.

  “Yeah, right,” Eli said dryly. Like both Cade and Zach, Eli knew his voice was unsteady, the tones rougher than usual. With silent acceptance, he recognized and acknowledged the deep undercurrent of emotion that lay beneath their teasing. He always enjoyed catching up with his brothers whenever they managed to get together. But this time, their reunion held deeper, more powerful implications. Joseph Coulter’s death had shifted the playing field, and despite his long estrangement from his father, Eli knew Joseph’s passing had changed what he’d come to accept as normal. They’d all have to come to terms with a future that had a vastly different landscape. He jerked his chin at the brightly lit, crowded lobby. “Quite a party you’re throwing.”

  “Yup.” Zach turned, his gaze moving over the huge room. “We invited all the Lodge guests, plus all the neighbors and everyone in town who wanted to come. You know Indian Springs. Folks can’t turn down an invitation to a party.”

  Eli grinned. “I remember.” His smile faded as he scanned the room. “You’ve done a great job with the place, Zach. Looks just like I remembered it.”

  “I wanted it restored to the original plan,” Zach said as Cade turned, too, and both of their gazes followed Eli’s to take in the crowded lobby. “The furniture is different, of course, but the rest of the building is pretty much like it was.”

  “Except for the kitchen,” a feminine voice put in. “It’s been updated and is way more efficient.”

  Eli looked over his shoulder to find two women, both blondes. Zach draped his arm around the shoulders of the woman who’d spoken, pulled her close and dropped a kiss on her temple as she leaned into him. She was gorgeous, her lush female curves highlighted in a short, red silk dress. And she clearly belonged to Zach, Eli thought, noting the possessive way his brother held her tucked against his side.

  “Eli, I’d like you to meet Cynthia,” Zach said, “my fiancée.”

  Eli felt his eyes widen. He looked from Zach’s face to the beautiful woman, noting the ease with which she accepted his brother’s touch. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said softly. “I never thought I’d see the day a woman was brave enough to take you on.” He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Cynthia.”

  She slipped her small, soft hand into his and gave him a warm smile.

  Before she could respond, Cade broke in.

  “And this is Mariah,” he said, “my fiancée.”

  Stunned, Eli swung his attention to his oldest brother and found that the other striking blonde now had her arm tucked through the bend of Cade’s elbow. She wore a deep blue dress that made her long sheaf of pale hair look like ripe wheat. Her brown eyes sparkled with amusement as her gaze met his.

  “You too?” He shook his head slowly. “Damn, is there something in the water here I need to look out for?”

  Both Mariah and Cynthia laughed.

  “I don’t think it’s the water, Eli, but you might want to be careful around pretty blondes,” Cade said wryly.

  “Yeah, I’ll do that.” He took Mariah’s hand, just as small, just as soft as Cynthia’s had been, in his much larger one. “Nice to meet you, too, Mariah.”

  “It’s lovely to see you here at last, Eli,” Mariah said, her voice warm. “I’m looking forward to getting to know all of Cade’s brothers.”

  “I wish we didn’t have to play host at this party,” Cade told him. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  “Yeah,” Eli agreed. “But it can keep. Truth is, I’m starving.” He nodded at the long buffet table against the far wall. “While you’re circulating and charming the guests, I’ll get some food and find a quiet place to sit down.”

  “Don’t miss the miniature chocolate cakes with fudge icing,” Cynthia told him. “They’re fabulous.”

  “Or the little pumpkin tarts,” Mariah added.

  “Fill a plate at the table with whatever looks good. Then head down the hall to the kitchen,” Zach told him. “The chef’s name is Jane, and if you want something more substantial than the buffet food, just ask her.”

  “As soon as this breaks up, we’ll join you in the kitchen,” Cade said.

  “Sounds good.” Eli nodded and turned to make his way to the buffet table while the other four mingled with the crowd.

  He couldn’t believe his brothers were getting married. Marriage wasn’t even on his radar screen—not even a remote possibility. He couldn’t imagine himself falling in love, risking his heart, perhaps his sanity, maybe even his life, if the marriage didn’t work out. His own parents’ marriage had seemed idyllic to his youthful eyes. But after his mother’s death, when Eli was nine years old, his father had been unable to function without his wife and had proceeded to drown himself in alcohol and rage. Life had become a nightmare and Eli couldn’t imagine himself signing on for any part of the commitment and potential heartbreak of marriage.

  As an adult, after watching his friends marry and divorce over the years, he’d decided marriages had a lousy success rate.

  Still, given the way Cade and Zach had looked at their women, and Mariah and Cynthia had looked back at them, Eli had a feeling his brothers had a better than average chance to beat the odds.

  He took a plate and worked his way down the length of the white-cloth-covered buffet table. If the food tasted even half as good as it looked and smelled, he thought, Zach had found a chef worth keeping. He reached the end of the table and turned away, realizing too late he’d stepped back into someone.

  “Sorry, I…” He glanced over his shoulder and paused, then pivoted fully to look down at the woman. “My apologies,” he said, flicking a quick, intent look over the female curves encased in a slim black cocktail dress.

  Petite and curvy, she had world-class legs, with trim ankles and small feet tucked into black strappy shoes with impossibly high heels. The hem of the dress ended just above her knees, and the black material looked soft as silk, clinging to the curves of thighs, hips, narrow waist and full breasts. Her thick brown hair was streaked with paler gold and fell to her shoulders in a sleek curve. Behind the thin black frame of narrow eye-glasses that perched on the bridge of her small, straight nose, her eyes were hazel. Those thick-lashed eyes widened as she looked up at him, and the soft pink bow of her mouth parted in surprise.

  Eli instantly wondered just how soft her lips were and realized with a start of surprise that it had been a long time since any woman had interested him this much, this fast.

  Amanda jolted when someone bumped into her, and she quickly held her flute away from her dress as the champagne sloshed toward the rim. She turned, words of annoyance freezing in her throat as she looked up into pale green eyes. Eyes that heated as Eli’s gaze swept her from head to toe, returning to her face while he granted her an incredibly attractive, very male smile.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Amanda realized she’d been silent, staring up at him in fascination, and felt her cheeks heat as she flushed. “I’m fine,” she said quickly.


  “I didn’t make you spill that, did I?” He gestured at the flute in her hand.

  “No, not at all.” She looked back at him. “You don’t have a glass. Don’t you like champagne?”

  “I prefer whiskey but champagne works, too,” he said with a drawl, his eyes inviting her to smile with him.

  And smile she did, helpless to deny the charm of that smile and the focused, heated intensity in his eyes.

  “Have you eaten yet?” he asked.

  “No, I…”

  “Good. Then you can join me. I hate eating alone,” he said smoothly. He lifted a plate from the stack nearest them and handed it to her, then settled his hand at her waist and turned her toward the table. “I have it on good authority that the little pumpkin pie things are good,” he told her.

  “Tarts,” she said automatically.

  “What?” He looked bemused.

  “The pumpkin pie things—they’re tarts.”

  “Oh, yeah. Tarts.” He smiled at her.

  She smiled back, knowing she was asking for trouble. She should tell him her name and why she was visiting Indian Springs. He clearly didn’t know who she was, and the minute he found out, he’d stop smiling and tell her to leave. His brothers had been polite when she’d approached them to ask for their cooperation with the biography about their mother. But they’d firmly refused, then hustled her out of their offices and off the Triple C.

  She didn’t doubt Eli would do the same.

  But she didn’t want him to stop looking at her with that interested male awareness that made her shiver. Not yet. So she allowed him to pile food on her plate as they moved along the laden table.

  When her plate was full, Eli cupped her elbow and guided her to an alcove that held a small table and two chairs. The intimate seating was out of the flow of traffic and semiprivate.

  “I just realized,” he said as he held her chair before dropping into the other seat to join her, “you haven’t told me your name.”

  Her heart sank.

  “It’s Amanda…Amanda Blake.”

  “And what are you doing here tonight, Amanda Blake?” he asked. “Are you a guest at the Lodge?”

  His eyebrows lifted in query, his even white teeth biting into one of the tarts he’d insisted she try, as well.

  “No, I’m not,” she told him. “I’m staying at the hotel in Indian Springs.”

  “So you’re not a local girl. Let me guess….” His eyes narrowed, studying her. “New York?”

  She felt her eyes widen, again. Apparently, Eli Coulter had an endless ability to surprise her.

  “You’re right. I live in New York. How did you know?”

  “You couldn’t have found that dress and those shoes in Indian Springs, and it’s not casual enough for L.A. Plus, you’ve got a slight East Coast accent.” He smiled, his eyes curious. “New York’s a long way from Indian Springs. What are you doing here in Montana?”

  Oh, how she wished he hadn’t asked that. Amanda lowered her fork, took a fortifying sip of champagne and smoothed her fingers over the snowy-white napkin spread over her lap.

  “I’m doing research for a book I’m writing.”

  “Really? What kind of book? Fiction or nonfiction?”

  “It’s a biography, actually.”

  His green eyes sharpened, alert as he studied her. “And the subject of the biography is…?”

  “Melanie Coulter.”

  His eyes flared with swift surprise, followed just as quickly by a darker flash of anger, before shutters slammed down, his face suddenly remote. “My mother,” he said flatly. “You’re writing a book about my mother.”

  “Yes,” she said, mourning the loss of his warmth. He was still focused on her, but now the male interest was absent. He studied her with as much detachment as if she were a fly on the end of a pin, ready for a biology class experiment. “I’ve spoken with your brothers. I’d like to interview all of you.”

  “No.” There was no emotion in the word. Just a flat rejection.

  Disappointed, Amanda stiffened her spine and continued. “If you want the world to know the truth about your mother and the history of her art, you can be assured that will happen if you agree to help me tell her story.”

  “No.” He shoved back his chair and stood. “I’m sure I speak for all my brothers when I tell you that’s never going to happen. Go back to New York. There isn’t a story here.”

  “But there is,” she said earnestly, rising to face him. “Your mother has become an icon in the art world. The story of her life is going to be told, either by me or someone else. If you allow me to interview you for my project, I promise I’ll not print anything you tell me in confidence. At least you’ll have some measure of control over how your mother’s story is presented to the world.”

  “The world will just have to go on believing whatever the hell they want to believe.” His deep voice was grim, underlaid with a rumble of anger. “It’s what they’ve always done.”

  He turned and stalked off.

  What did he mean by that? The cryptic comment set off her investigative instincts. Frustrated, Amanda could only watch his broad-shouldered, powerful figure cleave through the crowd until he disappeared down a hallway. Clearly, there were deeper issues he hadn’t been willing to explain.

  Still, she wasn’t sure if she was more disappointed that he’d refused to help with her research or if she mourned the loss of that focused, heated male attention as he’d stared at her and smiled.

  Amanda lifted her flute and sipped, but she could hardly swallow past the lump of disappointment in her throat.

  She was very much afraid it was the loss of his interest in her that grieved her most.

  Chapter Two

  Eli entered the kitchen and paused, realizing his anger had carried him out of the lobby, down the hall and through the doorway without conscious thought.

  Damn, he thought with frustration. He’d known returning to the Triple C wouldn’t be easy but he hadn’t expected trouble to come from a pretty stranger. He’d been back on the ranch for less than an hour.

  She’d caught him off guard. He hadn’t felt such an instant, powerful attraction to a woman in months. He frowned, considering…. Maybe it was longer than months. Maybe it was years.

  Just his luck, she was writing a book about his mother.

  No way in hell did he want somebody poking into life on the Triple C after his mother died. That bad chunk of time was better left forgotten.

  But if she dug around, asked questions, she was certain to find out more than he wanted her to know about Joseph Coulter and his sons. And what she didn’t piece together from what folks told her, she could probably guess.

  And wouldn’t that make sensational fodder for selling a book? Eli rubbed his eyes and bit off a curse, weary from more than the long journey from Spain to Montana. He lowered his hand and frowned blackly at the gleaming tiled island centered in the big room.

  “Can I help you with something, Mr. Coulter?”

  The clear, polite female question brought his head up.

  A woman stood at the stove, her slender body wrapped in a white chef’s jacket and black slacks. Dark blue embroidered letters on the jacket’s pocket spelled out J. Howard. Her fair skin, reddish-blond hair and slim curves added up to a very attractive package, but he realized with annoyance that he was still too focused on Amanda Blake to care.

  “You’re the chef,” Eli said. It wasn’t a question. He inhaled deeply and nearly groaned aloud when the rich aromas of grilled beef and subtle spices filled his senses.

  “Yes, I am.” Her level gaze assessed him. “And you must be Zach’s brother Eli. We heard you were expected. If you didn’t see anything on the buffet table that appealed to you, I’m happy to prepare something else.”

  “I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Eli said. The words had barely left his mouth before his stomach growled—loudly.

  The chef smiled. “It’s no trouble at all. And I can recom
mend the steaks. They’re from Triple C’s own beef.”

  “I think I’d kill for a steak,” Eli said fervently.

  Jane shot him a sympathetic glance. “Baked potato? Salad?”

  “Yes to both.”

  Eli crossed to the deep sink to wash up. By the time he’d dried his hands and taken a seat at the island, the steak was sizzling and filling the air with a tantalizing aroma. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.

  While he waited for his meal, he brooded over his conversation with Amanda. He didn’t want a reporter digging into his mother’s life. He was convinced Amanda would inevitably ask questions about what happened to Melanie’s family after her sudden death. Neither he nor his brothers wanted the story of their father’s alcoholic rages and the unraveling of their childhood exposed in a book. His gut told him it would be like ripping open a barely healed wound when the inevitable publicity meant they’d all have to revisit bad memories. Life after their mother died had been a nightmare. He’d prefer to never again have to think about those years.

  And if Amanda Blake was hell bent on conducting research for the story of his mother’s life, she’d stir up all the old stories in Indian Springs.

  Too bad she can’t just focus her work on the good days prior to Mom’s accident, he thought morosely as he watched the chef remove a thick steak from the grill.

  “I appreciate this,” he told Jane when she slid a plate onto the counter in front of him a moment later.

  “Not a problem,” she assured him. The door to the hallway pushed inward and crowd noise from the lobby was suddenly much louder. “Just stay out of the way of the servers,” she warned him with a smile as three women and two men hurried in, carrying empty trays.

  Eli ignored their curious glances and focused on the food. Two of the servers left with loaded trays, and by the time another two exited, the first two had returned with more empty trays.

  When Eli finished eating, he carried his plate and utensils to the sink, rinsed and stacked them, and waited to catch Jane’s eye to nod his thanks before leaving the room. He paused in the hallway, considering for a moment whether to return to the lobby. Did he want to avoid Amanda—or was he hoping to run into her again? He frowned, wondering why it mattered, before he pushed the question aside. He was too tired to figure out the answer. Instead of returning to the lobby, where the decrease in the level of noise told him the party must be winding down, he turned right down the hallway and entered the office.