The Virgin and Zach Coulter Read online

  And that, she realized with sudden insight, is exactly why I’ll be safe working with him.

  Because no man with his experience would want an inexperienced woman in his bed—and Cynthia’s experience was zero.

  She’d lied to him when she said she had no worries about her ability to refuse him. The truth was, when he’d picked her up, settled her on his lap, wrapped her in his arms with his mouth on hers, she’d been in real danger of following wherever he chose to lead.

  She hadn’t stopped him—Zach was the one who had pulled back. And although she might deny it to anyone else, the truth was she hadn’t wanted him to release her.

  If, by chance, things did grow heated between them again, she’d have to remember to tell him no before he kissed her, since she apparently lost all ability to think when he got too close.

  And if she felt the attraction was growing dangerously near to irresistible, she’d have to confess her secret.

  She’d never slept with anyone. In a world where virginity seemed to be increasingly rare, Cynthia had held on to hers with the same strength of will that marked her drive to earn top grades in school from elementary through graduation from Harvard.

  Looking back, she’d felt she had valid, compelling reasons for doing so. Her mother bounced from one love affair to the next while Cynthia was growing up—her many affairs made her the focus of local gossip and earned her a notorious reputation.

  Natasha Deacon had been unwed when she gave birth to Cynthia at seventeen and although Cynthia had repeatedly asked, she’d never learned who her father was. Her mother refused to say and she’d finally stopped asking. She had Nicholas as a father figure and the gentle older man was wonderful.

  The fallout for being the daughter of the most scandalous woman in the county, however, was impossible to avoid. Although she’d been a shy, bookish child, by the time Cynthia was in junior high, boys assumed she would be as promiscuous as her mother. Mortified by the attention gained by her developing curves, she’d taken to wearing her clothes a size too big to conceal her body. But it was the unwanted attention from one of her mother’s boyfriends when Cynthia was twelve that made her retreat from any interaction with boys.

  With the exception of Grady Turner, who continued to treat her just as he had since he’d sat in the desk behind her in third grade, she ignored the male half of the high school population. By the time she arrived at Harvard, the habits she’d developed earlier were so ingrained she barely knew she froze men out of her life.

  The end result was that Cynthia remained a virgin at the age of twenty-eight. And though she hadn’t consciously planned to wait so long, the trauma at age twelve had effectively insulated her until the rush of raging teenage hormones had leveled out. Then it became an issue of meeting a man she really wanted to be intimate with. Not to mention the fact that she had to reveal she was a total novice in the bedroom.

  In a world saturated with magazine articles about new and inventive ways to please your man, and media that seemed to declare everyone over the age of thirteen was having sex, Cynthia couldn’t help but think her lack of experience was a huge hurdle.

  Although she’d hoped several men she’d dated would be the one to solve her problem, the relationships had fizzled and she’d moved on, still a virgin. Over the past year, she’d seriously been considering how, when, where and with whom to change her status. Unfortunately, the solution still hinged on finding the right man and so far, she’d had no luck.

  And then Zach Coulter had walked into her life.

  Now she couldn’t help but wonder, and wish, that she’d met him when she was a teenager, and that her mother’s boyfriend hadn’t been drinking too much and that she hadn’t been alone that night.

  Maybe Zach would have been her first lover. Of course, he would have left town, and her, but still…

  She sighed. Too late for wishes. She couldn’t undo the past. She couldn’t imagine having to confess she was still completely inexperienced. She cringed just thinking about it. So she could only hope Zach was wrong and that their attraction would fizzle out after they’d worked together for a while. Because working at the Lodge meant she could stay in Indian Springs, live in Nicholas’s lovely home and settle down. And although she suspected having an affair with Zach would be better than her wildest dreams, he would surely quickly grow bored with her inexperience.

  She’d worked with men and women who were ex-lovers and knew the situation could be an emotionally explosive minefield.

  No, she thought, if she wanted to work at the Lodge, she had to stay out of Zach’s bed.

  The men in her past who’d been interested in her had eventually given up after she’d repeatedly ignored their advances. Granted, Zach seemed much more determined but still, sooner or later, she was sure he’d give up and move on to more interesting game.

  Which was a shame, she thought wistfully, because she would really love to have more of those toe curling kisses.

  She finished eating, then tidied the kitchen before settling into the living room to boot up her laptop and research the history of the Coulter Lodge on the internet.

  Later that evening, after she showered, donned pajamas and settled in with a bowl of popcorn to watch an old Alfred Hitchcock movie on TV, Cynthia considered the lack of information she’d found online about the Coulters.

  It was as if the Coulter family had dropped off the face of the earth after Melanie Coulter’s death. Prior to the date of the tragic accident that took her life, the newspaper archives were filled with articles about the rising star of the art world. Melanie’s silver, copper and bronze work was nationally acclaimed. She’d won a coveted award and photos of her at the ceremony in New York City which she’d attended with her husband and four sons showed a happy, loving family. The Coulter Lodge was mentioned in articles featuring celebrities in the entertainment industry as well as the financial world, politics and American blueblood society.

  There were numerous articles about Zach’s mother’s death and follow-up pieces reporting the media lockout by her grieving husband. But those slowed to a trickle and within a few months, stopped altogether.

  The only references Cynthia could find to the family after that first year following Melanie Coulter’s death were related to art auctions. Even after she was gone, Melanie’s work continued to gain in value, the price of the few pieces on the market skyrocketing each time one came up for sale as collectors snapped up the sculptures.

  But the family was silent—and if Melanie had left unfinished pieces in her studio at the Triple C, no one would confirm, although art historians continued to speculate.

  I wish I’d asked Zach if the Lodge had any of his mother’s artwork, Cynthia thought. The photos she’d viewed courtesy of the internet had been stunning. The sculptures of mustangs were especially vivid and so lifelike Cynthia almost felt they could step out of her laptop and thunder away.

  The phone rang, startling her. She hastily wiped the popcorn salt from her fingers, muted the television and grabbed the phone from the table next to the sofa.

  “Hello?”

  “What took you so long to answer?”

  Cynthia nearly groaned out loud. How like her mother to not bother saying hello before criticizing. “I’m eating popcorn and didn’t want to get salt and butter on the phone.” Her mother rarely called but when she did, it was nearly always because she wanted something. Usually that something was money.

  “I don’t know why you’d care,” Natasha Deacon said dismissively. “Now that Nicholas isn’t there to nitpick over every little fingerprint, I’d think you’d relax a little.”

  “I like Nicholas’s neatness. And I love his house. The trees are leafed out and the flowers are blooming. It’s lovely here.”

  “I’m sure,” Natasha said impatiently. “I don’t know why you like that old house so much. Listen, I don’t have long to talk before Roger comes back…”

  “Who’s Roger?” Cynthia asked, trying to put a face with the na
me.

  “You haven’t met him,” her mother told her. “We’ve only been together for five months.”

  “What happened to the one before that… George, I think his name was?”

  “For goodness’ sake, Cynthia, try to keep up.” Natasha was clearly exasperated. “I broke up with George over a year ago.”

  “Ah.” Cynthia didn’t know what to say. Her mother cycled through men too frequently for her to keep track.

  I need a score card, she thought wryly.

  “The point is,” Natasha went on as if Cynthia hadn’t spoken. “Roger is being difficult and I need to move out, get my own apartment and start a new life.”

  This time, Cynthia couldn’t catch the groan before it escaped her lips. “Natasha, not again.”

  “Don’t judge me, Cynthia.” Natasha’s voice was sharp. “I only need to borrow enough for first and last months’ rent. I’ll pay you back.”

  “I’m sure you would, Natasha, but unfortunately, I can’t swing a loan right now.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You save money from your paycheck every week. You always have. How long are you staying in Indian Springs?”

  “I don’t know,” Cynthia replied cautiously.

  “Why don’t you know? How long did you tell your boss you’d be gone?”

  “I no longer have a boss. I quit my job in Palm Springs.”

  The dead silence on the phone was testimony to the unprecedented news.

  “That’s not possible. Unless you took a better position somewhere else.”

  “No, actually, I just walked out.”

  “Why on earth would you leave a job at a posh hotel in Palm Springs?” Natasha demanded, disbelief carrying clearly over the line. “I wanted to visit you there this winter. It was the perfect place to get away from Montana’s cold and snow in February.”

  “I left because the head of the company expected me to sleep with him. As I remember, he told me it was one of the ‘perks of the job.’ I disagreed. And I left.”

  “That’s it? That’s the reason you left—because the boss wanted to sleep with you?”

  “That’s pretty much it, yes.” Cynthia braced herself for the tirade she knew was sure to follow her confirmation.

  “When are you going to grow up and start living in the real world, Cynthia? How many times have I told you this world is ruled by men and a woman has to do whatever’s necessary to get ahead?”

  “More times than I can count,” Cynthia said, stifling a sigh.

  “I can’t believe you left a job that paid so well and was in such a perfect vacation spot.” Natasha sounded seriously miffed. “It’s a good thing you always have a healthy savings account—which brings us back to the important issue here. I need you to send me a check.”

  “Mother…”

  “How many times have I told you not to call me that?” Natasha’s voice rang with exasperation. “I’m much too young to have a daughter your age and I’m tired of explaining to people that I was barely a child myself when you were born.”

  Cynthia rolled her eyes. “If you want to be called Natasha, I can certainly do that. For a moment there, I forgot the rules of our relationship.”

  “Don’t be sarcastic,” Natasha said sharply.

  “Of course not. However,” Cynthia said briskly, before her mother had a chance to argue, “I truly don’t have any cash. My savings are tied up in IRA accounts, which will take some time to move from my last employer. So at the moment, I’m basically broke.” She wasn’t lying—not exactly, she thought. She did have cash in a savings account, but until she went back to work, the funds would have to cover her living expenses.

  “This is extremely inconvenient for me, Cynthia.” Natasha didn’t bother to hide her frustration and annoyance. “I was counting on your help. You’re the only family I have now that Nicholas is gone and we need to be able to rely on each other.”

  “I’m sorry, Natasha.” Cynthia couldn’t help reflecting that the sentiment had always been a one-way street for her mother—Natasha expected any request for assistance from her to be acknowledged and complied with instantly. But somehow, Natasha was never able to reciprocate since she was always too busy, or too far away, or much too needed elsewhere.

  “I suppose I could stay with you at Nicholas’s house if I absolutely had to,” Natasha went on.

  Cynthia’s stomach clenched. “Of course you could,” she said carefully.

  “I’ll have to review my options here,” her mother said. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”

  “Perhaps things will work out with Raymond,” Cynthia said, fervently hoping they would.

  “Roger. His name is Roger. Honestly, Cynthia, do you ever listen to anything I say?” Natasha demanded waspishly.

  “I’m sorry. Roger.”

  “I have to go. I think I hear Roger’s car in the drive. I’ll keep in touch.”

  And she hung up without saying goodbye.

  Cynthia set the receiver back in its cradle before she rubbed her temples where a dull headache was beginning to grow.

  Natasha never changed. She was totally self-centered and incapable of seeing anything beyond herself. And she never took it well when Cynthia declined to cooperate in one of her plans.

  She’d lost track of the number of times Natasha had needed to borrow first and last months’ rent to leave a man. Cynthia couldn’t imagine how her mother managed to fall in love several times a year. Each time, she swore that this time she’d found the perfect mate, time after time, year after year.

  When she was younger, Cynthia had expected her mother to eventually realize that perhaps the one perfect man she kept looking for might not exist. But Natasha never seemed to reach that rational conclusion, despite so many failed live-in relationships and male friends that Cynthia had lost track of the names long, long ago.

  She rose and went into the kitchen, returning with a glass of wine. Determinedly, she turned up the volume on the movie and tried to forget Natasha and her current problems.

  By the time she switched off the television and headed for bed, Alfred Hitchcock’s brilliant murder mystery had thoroughly distracted her from her earlier worries.

  She laid out clothes for the following morning, and as she got into bed, the upsetting conversation with her mother was forgotten. Zach Coulter’s green eyes drifted into her mind, the sensation of his lips against hers making her smile as she fell asleep.

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning, Cynthia left the house dressed in jeans, boots and a turquoise scooped-neck T-shirt under a gray zip-up hoodie. She’d caught her hair up in a high ponytail to keep it out of her way. Sunglasses protected her eyes from the early sun that was already warming the sage-dotted pastures. She turned off the highway, drove beneath the welded arch that spelled out Coulter Cattle Company and followed the recently graded and graveled ranch road until it ended in a wide ranch yard at the Triple C headquarters.

  Recognizing the black pickup truck parked in front of the house as the one Zach had driven yesterday, she nosed her convertible next to the truck and got out, glancing around at the buildings.

  Several people stood at the corral next to the barn.

  “Cynthia,” Zach called, beckoning to her.

  She waved in response and started across the graveled space between the house and the corral. As she neared, she recognized Mariah Jones from the Indian Springs Café, belatedly remembering she was engaged to Zach’s older brother. The tall, black-haired man at her side looked so much like Zach that Cynthia knew he must be Cade Coulter.

  Inside the corral, a teenaged boy sat easily atop a beautiful black horse.

  “Good morning,” she said as she drew near.

  “Mornin’,” Zach answered.

  He swept her with a slow once-over that had her cheeks heating.

  “Hi, Mariah,” she said calmly, smiling at the blonde woman.

  “You two know each other?” Zach asked.

  “I met her at the caf
é,” Cynthia told him.

  “Of course,” he answered. “I should have guessed. Mariah knows everyone in the county because sooner or later, they all show up at the café. Her boss makes the best pies in Montana.”

  “That’s true.” Mariah laughed. “Good morning, Cynthia. Have you met Cade?”

  “No, I don’t believe I have.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cynthia,” Cade said politely, his voice as deep as Zach’s.

  But unlike Zach’s, Cade’s voice didn’t make her shiver with awareness.

  “I hear you and Zach are looking over the Lodge today,” Cade added.

  She nodded. “I understand there’s quite a lot of work to be done.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” Mariah put in with a grimace. “But if anyone can restore it to its former grandeur, it’s Zach.”

  “And if I’m lucky, I’ll talk Cynthia into joining the cause,” Zach said. “Ready to go?”

  “Yes, whenever you are,” she told him.

  He took her elbow and turned her toward his truck. “We’ll see you all later,” he said over his shoulder as they walked away.

  “Who’s the young man on the horse?” she asked him as she latched her seat belt moments later.

  “You mean J.T.? Sorry, I should have introduced you. He and Pete work here.” Zach shifted the truck into gear and they left the ranch yard, following the gravel road past the big barn and the cabin that now belonged to Mariah. Then the road curved to follow the creek bank for a half mile to reach the Lodge.

  “As I told you yesterday,” Zach said when the Lodge came into view, “Dad built the Lodge based on Mom’s designs. She wanted a mountain lodge constructed of big heavy logs with steep peaked roofs.”

  Cynthia drew in a quick breath, her gaze studying the building. The two-story structure was solid but somehow graceful. What must have once been a bright red metal roof had faded to rose and the big logs that made up the outer walls were aged to a mellow gold from exposure to weather. The deep porches that edged the front and three sides were welcoming despite the piles of boards stacked at intervals along the length and the covering of dust and cobwebs darkening the big windows.