him, his gaze assessing the semicircle of buildings facing the house around the large yard. The bunkhouse was freshly painted and although the barn, machine shop and other buildings were weatherworn, the structures appeared to be solid.
He turned back to the house, running a quick glance over the roofline and corners. Fresh white paint and green trim around the windows and doors had the old house looking better than Zach remembered it.
He strode up the walk, crossed the porch and stepped inside without knocking. The aroma of simmering pot roast filled the air and he caught the murmur of a radio from the direction of the kitchen.
“Hello? Anyone home?” He dropped his duffel bag just inside the door. “Cade?”
“We’re in the kitchen—come on back,” a feminine voice called.
Zach wondered if Cade had hired a housekeeper. He walked down the hall and entered the kitchen just as the woman standing at the stove turned to look over her shoulder. Her eyes widened in surprise before her lips curved in a smile, lighting up her face.
“Hey,” he drawled, stopping just inside the door to glance around the room. “I’m looking for Cade—”
The door to the back porch opened and his brother stepped inside, halting abruptly.
“Zach.” Cade crossed the room and grabbed him in a brief, hard hug before stepping back. Eyes as green as Zach’s narrowed as he stared. “It’s good to see you—but damn, you look like hell.”
Zach laughed. “And hello to you, too.”
Cade laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back. Even if you do look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“I probably haven’t,” Zach drawled. “I plan to say hello and find the nearest empty bed to sleep for a day or two. Have you heard from Eli or Brodie?”
“Not yet. I’m hoping you’ll ask your ace assistant to join the search.”
Zach shrugged. “Angela’s never failed to find whatever she’s looked for. Want me to call her?”
“Yeah,” Cade said. “Any help she can give us would be great. It can wait until you get some rest, though.”
“All right.” A movement behind Cade caught Zach’s attention and he looked over his brother’s shoulder. The pretty blonde was smoothing her fingertips over her lashes, her brown eyes damp.
Cade turned, his gaze following Zach’s.
“Mariah, honey.” His deep voice gentled and it held a note Zach had never heard from his big brother.
Intrigued, he studied their faces as Cade walked to the woman and slung an arm around her shoulders to pull her close against his side.
“This is Mariah Jones, Zach,” Cade said, his quiet voice filled with pride and love. “As soon as I can convince her to settle on a date, we’re getting married.”
Zach felt his eyes widen, and his gaze sharpened on the woman’s beautiful face. She smiled at him before tipping her head back to look up at Cade, the love in her expression matching his brother’s.
“I’ll be damned,” Zach murmured. “Congratulations, Cade. And welcome to the family, Mariah.” He shook his head, stunned and trying to absorb the fact that his oldest brother was in love. “Never thought I’d see the day when one of us got married.”
Mariah laughed, her smile impish. “You’re second born, Zach, which means you’re next.”
“No.” He held up his hands, palms out, before crossing his index fingers in the classic gesture to ward off evil. “No way. Not gonna happen.”
Cade’s deep chuckle blended with Mariah’s laughter.
A sudden yawn caught Zach by surprise and he scrubbed his hand down his face, feeling the scratch of beard stubble. “Sorry,” he apologized. Exhaustion hit him like a wave. “I haven’t slept much over the last few days. Not to mention the time zone change. I’m jet-lagged and sleep-deprived.”
“We weren’t sure how long it would take you to get here, but as soon as you called from Nepal we put clean sheets and blankets on the bed in your old room,” Cade said. “Why don’t you head upstairs? We can talk later.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Zach agreed. “Nice to meet you, Mariah. Will I see you later?”
“I’ll be around when you wake up,” she told him.
“Good.” He nodded and turned away. “Good night, you two.” He lifted a hand in farewell, their echoes of “good night” following him down the hall. He paused at the front door to collect his duffel bag and then climbed the stairs to the second floor. The door to his old bedroom stood open and he turned on the bedside lamp, dropping his duffel on the bed before closing the door.
He was too tired to do more than give the room a cursory inspection but did register that while the furniture was the same, someone had hung new curtains. The room was clean, the top of the pine wood dresser where he dropped his wallet and assorted clutter from his pockets dust-free.
He shucked off his boots and jeans, pulled his shirt off over his head and clad in only his boxers, slid between the sheets.
Just before he fell asleep, he thought about how Cynthia Deacon had fit into his arms as if custom made just for him. And he wondered how long it would be before he could see her again.
Chapter Three
Cynthia couldn’t stop thinking about Zach Coulter. She’d felt his gaze burning into her as she’d walked to her car, and hadn’t been able to resist checking him out in her rearview mirror as she drove away. He’d stood on the sidewalk without moving, staring after her.
He wasn’t shy about letting a woman know he found her attractive, she thought, her lips tilting upward at the corners as she remembered the interest in his green eyes while they’d talked. She’d met a lot of good-looking men at the hotels where she’d worked over the past few years and more than a few had made passes at her. But Zach raised “handsome and charming” to a whole new level.
At dinnertime she pulled open the refrigerator door in her kitchen and took out red leaf lettuce, a slim English cucumber, tomato, avocado and a red bell pepper. Standing at the counter, she rinsed and, with practiced, efficient movements, quickly chopped, sliced and diced.
She wondered how long he would be in town.
She paused, knife in hand, and looked out the window above the sink at the backyard, lit by late afternoon sun. The big elm tree in the far corner was in full leaf, the spreading branches shading the white picket fence and at least six feet of elderly Mrs. Riley’s yard next door. The snowball bush along the back fence was covered in fist-sized clusters of green buds that would pop into circles of white flowers.
Neatly edged in brick, the flower beds along the one-car garage in the corner opposite the elm tree were raked, fertilized and seeded.
The old house and the gardens her great-uncle Nicholas had loved were ready for summer. She vividly remembered working beside him,
