The Renegade Cowboy Returns

“Not me.” Chelsea shuddered. “Let’s not think about that. Let’s plan on how you’re going to get those peacocks away from her. I’m pretty certain she hijacked you for the honeymooner’s cabin and has no intention of letting you have any peafowl. How’d you know they were called peafowl, anyway?”

“First,” Gage said, handing Chelsea a towel so she could dry off, “she didn’t hijack me. She held up Jonas for the money, and he said I had his full permission to do whatever I had to do, including bribery, to encourage her to let loose some birds.” He leaned down and pulled off his boots, setting them by the door next to her leather flats. “Second, once I realized Jonas was determined to get his hands on some peacocks, I did a quick study of how the creatures live.”

Gaze shrugged, looking dangerous in the near darkness, his teeth gleaming whitely as he sank onto the bed. Chelsea’s nervousness picked up, warning her that this situation was fraught with danger, mainly from her own attraction to the cowboy. And I am attracted to him, I always knew I was. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.

“You forget I’m in charge of building Jonas’s grand plan for Dark Diablo. Peacocks will need pens on the ranch.”

“And that means another project on your list.”

“Exactly. I wanted a time estimate. Since I’d hoped this job would be a four-to-six-month project, having to stop and direct construction of pens will add on time. It’s not like a doghouse or something else uncomplicated. Pens’ll have to be spacious to accommodate the five-foot tails when splayed. Peacock trains can be six feet in length when not open.” He sighed. “Jonas has always been a grand dreamer.”

“Or schemer.”

“Yeah. Anyway, that’s when I picked up some peafowl lingo. I was hoping to impress Ms. Smithers, knowing she’d given Jonas a bit of a rough road.”

Chelsea sank into a chair across from the bed, not wanting to get too close to temptation. “I had the strangest feeling she was giving us the runaround.”

“Not as much as we’re giving her.” Gage bounced once on the mattress. “I wonder if Jonas got the grand tour of this joint. I’ll bet he did, the old dog. This smacks of a Callahan setup.”

Chelsea froze. “What do you mean?”

Rain slashed the windows, and a burst of lightning lit the room. She could see Gage’s face clearly as he ruefully shook his head with a smile. “You find Ellen’s fridge and those goodies she promised us. I’m going to check on Cat and your mom, if I’ve got cell service.”

“Sure.” Anything not to sit and look at him lounging on the bed. “She did say she stocked this cabin with the best there is to offer.”

“Hope she lives up to her boasting. I’m starved.”

He handed over the flashlight, and Chelsea went to find the fridge in the kitchenette, hearing Gage in the other room talking to his daughter.

“That’s good,” he said. “You take care of Miss Moira.”

Chelsea smiled and got out some champagne that was chilling, and some chocolate-dipped strawberries, both dark and white chocolate. Further inspection showed a large salad and a loaf of bread, set side by side in beautiful bowls. Gage the vegetarian would eat both of those, Chelsea thought, considering the block of cheese attractively laid out on a marble cheeseboard. Almost as if it was waiting for someone. Chelsea narrowed her eyes, thinking. Ms. Smithers had had no notice that they’d be staying here tonight. Yet this food was all fresh, waiting. She pointed the flashlight at the chilled fruit, noticing that there were even bowls of fresh guacamole and dip, which looked tasty to her growling stomach. The ride up to Colorado had been longer than Jonas had claimed—his “short” ride to get the peacocks not as short as a drive into Rancho Diablo. Guacamole didn’t keep overnight, usually, unless one treated it with lemon and air-proof plastic wrap, and the delicate strawberries…

Chelsea walked out with the tray of fruit and the bottle of champagne just as Gage hung up the phone.

“All’s well at the homestead,” he said. “Moira and Chelsea are going to the library, now that they’ve finished their baking to take to Rancho Diablo for the Fourth of July gathering. They said they hoped we’re having fun. Jonas hung around for a while, and they all went for a dip in the creek. He’s been quite the host, apparently.”

“I’m sure,” Chelsea said, extending the tray. Gage took a dark-chocolate strawberry and smiled.

“Champagne? That’s fancy,” he said. “I don’t drink much champagne.”

“We might as well drink it,” Chelsea said, “because we’ve been had, cowboy.”

Chapter Seven

Gage put the strawberry back on the tray and looked at Chelsea. “Had?”

“Tricked. Bamboozled.”

“I know what the word means. I want to know what you mean.”

Setting the tray near the body oils on the long, slender table by the bed, Chelsea sighed. “You were right. This is a Callahan setup.”

He took the champagne from her, popping it open. The cork made barely a protest as it left the bottle. “If it is, I’m going to add on to my employer’s tab. What makes you think so?”

“There’s no meat in the fridge. Plenty of salads and fruit and tasty treats, but no meat. I’d say the guacamole was the ultimate giveaway.”

“Guacamole is really only good fresh,” Gage said. “I get why you’re a mystery writer.”

“It doesn’t take a detective to figure this one out. Smithers knew she’d be feeding a guest who didn’t eat meat. She prepared a great menu of what you could eat.”

Gage filled two flutes with champagne. “Why?”

“Because all the Callahans are born matchmakers. It runs in their blood. And like you said, they want everyone to share their misery.”

Gage looked at her. “It could be a coincidence. She could have had a customer who canceled. Besides which, Jonas is barking up the wrong tree, doll. The last thing I can handle right now is any kind of relationship. I’m not a relationship kind of guy, anyway. But the fact is, even if I were, my drama quotient’s too high to add a love angle right now. Probably ever.”

“Tell me about it.” Chelsea nodded. “I’m going to kill him.”

Gage tipped his glass against hers, the crystal clinking in the candlelit darkness. “I’ll help you. Here’s to killing Jonas.”

They sipped, studying each other over their glasses. Gage set his down on the table. “I’m more of a beer guy.”

“I’ll join you in a beer. Ellen does stock the libations well, I noticed.”

Gage followed her into the kitchenette, holding the flashlight so she could peruse the fridge. “You know, it could be a coincidence. Ellen might be the mischief maker here, looking to pad her monthly income. She strikes me as being a touch mercenary.”

“Don’t forget the fresh guac,” Chelsea said, “and the lack of even one chilled shrimp. What honeymooner do you know who doesn’t want a healthy helping of protein?”

“Not necessary.” He reached around her for the cheese. “Not all men need meat for boundless energy.”

“Why don’t you eat meat, anyway?” she asked, joining him at the small table with her own small ransacking of the fridge arranged on a plate.

“None of my family does.” Shrugging, he dug into the spreads and guacamole. “Never did. Dad had some disease, and my mom, considering herself a holistic type, believed that everyone could heal themselves with proper diet. As one tenet of Eastern medicine says, the four white deaths are white salt, white sugar, white flour and white fat. Mom added meat to the list. She had her own garden, even made her own pasta. It’s not as limiting as you think.”

“Did it help your dad?” Chelsea asked curiously, munching on the wheat cracker and cheese he offered.

“Dad’s disease wasn’t actually diet, it was financial. He loved money better than anything on the planet. And nothing can save a man from the lust for gold. Mom just didn’t want to accept that he loved money better than all of us put together.”

Chelsea looked at him. “So you’re going to be a really good father to Cat.”

“Yes, I am. As much as Leslie will let me. I suspect she’s got her own agenda. If I have to sue for custodial rights, I will. I’d prefer to work it out with her. This summer will be a trial run on how well Leslie and I can do joint parenting.”

Chelsea touched his hand. “Cat loves you.”

“She might one day. Right now she’s trying to figure out who I am.” Gage shrugged, his typical blow-off of life’s events that meant too much. “That’s my only mission right now, besides my job.”

“Are you going to take Cat to see your family? She mentioned she’d like to meet them.”