An Intimate Bargain

Eight

Zach almost didn’t see the guy as he wheeled his Jaguar around the corner on the dark Colorado highway, setting the car up for the turnoff to Craig Mountain. But there he was, hood to his pickup truck propped open, leaning inside in the drizzling rain, feet planted carelessly on the side of the road where somebody could easily clip his legs.

Zach hit the brakes, bringing his car to a halt behind the pickup. He put it in neutral, set the park brake, and left his lights on so nobody else would miss seeing the vehicles. Then he exited his Jag, hiking his suit collar up against the rainy weather.

“Need some help?” he called, extracting his cell phone from his jacket pocket. Hopefully, the cowboy was registered with the auto club.

“I think I’ve- Ouch! Crap.” It was a female voice. “Got it.”

He came around the end of the hood. “Abigail?”

She twisted her head to stare incredulously up at him in the gloom.

“What happened?” he asked, keeping his voice even, trying not to react to the shock of seeing her again. She had a grease smudge on her cheek. Her clothes were worn and muddy. And the battered hat on her head was dripping with rainwater.

She’d never looked more gorgeous.

He had to force himself to gaze down into the engine.

“I replaced the fan belt,” she informed him, voice unsteady.

But then his eyes focused on a spreading dark patch on her bare forearm. “You’re bleeding!” He reflexively reached for her, but then abruptly stopped himself, not wanting to hurt her any further.

She lifted her injured arm and dispassionately inspected the wound. “It’ll stop.”

“What do you mean, it’ll stop?” A stream of blood was trickling off her elbow onto the engine.

“Do you mind cranking the key?”

“Abigail.”

“You don’t want to help?”

“You’ve been injured.”

“Fine.” She extracted herself from under the hood, setting a wrench on the fender and turning for the driver’s door. “I’ll do it myself.”

“Get into my car,” he commanded, checking his cell phone, finding no signal.

She kept walking. “The truck will start now.”

He followed. “You need medical attention.”

“Don’t be melodramatic.” She opened the door and twisted her arm to get a better look in the glow of the dome light. “A few butterfly bandages will do the trick.”

The wound was even worse than he thought. “I am not letting you drive like this.”

She swung into the driver’s seat. “It’s not your decision.”

He quickly snagged the key from the ignition.

“Hey,” she protested.

Ozzy popped to his feet in the passenger seat and barked once, then wagged his tail at Zach and clambered onto Abigail’s lap to get closer.

“Give me back the keys, Zach.”

Zach scratched the dog’s head. “What’s he doing here?”

“He likes road trips. Now give me the keys.”

“Not a chance.” There was no way in the world he was sending her out injured on a dark, rainy highway.

She gripped the wheel with her good hand, glaring at him in anger. But her mouth was also tense with pain, white at the edges, and sweat had beaded on her forehead. “You can’t do this to me.”

“What the hell are you trying to prove?” he demanded.

“Nothing.”

“That you’re tough? Fine. I believe you’re tough.”

“I’m not trying to prove a thing to you. I couldn’t care less what you think of me. I’m trying to get these supplies to the ranch.”

He scooped Ozzy from her lap and tucked the pup against his chest. “Not tonight you’re not.”

She leaned back. “Zach, stop it.”

He put his free hand on her shoulder, and tried to keep his voice gentle. “This truck is a stick shift.”

“So what?”

“So you need both hands to drive it.”

“I have both hands.”

“We’re thirty minutes from the hospital in Lyndon, or thirty minutes from the paramedic at the Craig Mountain construction site. Which is it going to be?”

“I’m going back to the ranch.”

“We’re two hours from the ranch.”

“There is no we.”

“There is right now.” Giving up completely on logic and reason, he pocketed her keys, paced back around the front of the truck and slammed the hood with finality. He swore the woman had lost her mind.

He returned to find her eyes closed, teeth gritted, arm limp by her side. Her cheeks had gone a shade paler.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he announced, trying to figure out how to force her into his car without hurting her.

“Craig Mountain,” she retorted, opening her eyes, glaring in defiance.

Fine with him. The job-site paramedic was highly qualified. “I’m sure they’ll have some morphine for the pain and a local anesthetic for the stitches.”

She coughed a cold laugh. “I’m a cowboy. All I need is an aspirin and some alcohol.”

“For rubbing or ingesting?”

“A little of both.”

Impressed by her attempt at humor, he braced his hand firmly beneath her arm. “Come on, partner.”

“I’ll bleed all over your Jaguar.”

“That’s why they invented detailing shops.”

She eased her way out of the cab. “I don’t need stitches.”

“How about we let the medical professionals decide that.”

“You are so stubborn.” But the fight was gone from her voice.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “I’m the stubborn one.”

They made their way to his running vehicle, and he settled her into the passenger seat, placing Ozzy on the small backseat behind her. Glancing at her arm made him grimace. She had to be in a whole lot of pain.

“This is completely unnecessary,” she complained.

“Humor me.” He stripped off his suit jacket, tossed it back next to Ozzy. Then he began unbuttoning his cotton shirt.

“What are you- Oh, seriously, Zach. It can wait till we get to the castle.”

“I don’t think so.” He doffed the shirt, bent on one knee and loosely wrapped it over her arm.

“Ever think of becoming a nurse?” she asked.

“Not until now.”

“You’re very gentle.”

“You’re very brave.”

“It’s just a scratch.” But she was beginning to shiver.

“Cold?” he asked, worried that it might be a sign of shock.

“Little bit.”

He set her arm in her lap then retrieved his jacket, draping it around her shoulders. He turned the heater dial to full, softly latching the door before rounding the hood to get into the driver’s side.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asked as he eased out the clutch and pulled onto the dark highway. “I mean, up until now.”

“Fine,” she answered, sounding a lot more frustrated than faint. Maybe she wasn’t going into shock. “And you?”

“Busy. I guess you must have heard?”

“That you wised up and took my advice? Yes, I had heard that.”

“When you’re right, you’re right,” he allowed.

He took the first few turns of the mountain road.

“So you’re moving to Lyndon?”

He couldn’t identify the emotion in her voice. And, under the circumstances, maybe he was foolish to try. But he would love to know if his moving made her happy? Sad? Ticked off? If she was ticked off, she had no one to blame but herself. It was her idea.

“I am,” he told her.

“When did you get to town?”

“Today. Alex has been here for a while. He’s taking care of setting up the new head office in Lyndon. I’ve got some work to do at Craig Mountain.”

The pavement abruptly ended, and he hit a pothole on the gravel stretch.

Abigail hissed in a pained breath.

“Sorry.”

“No big deal. I also heard it was official. You got the water-license exemption.”

Zach was sure the jolt had caused her considerable pain, but there seemed little point in arguing. Maybe discussing his business would take her mind off the injury. “Your plan worked like a charm,” he told her. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem.”

He couldn’t help chuckling at that. “That’s not what you said a few weeks ago.”

“I’m over it.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

She shrugged. “In the end, you made it easy. It was nothing I said or did. An exemption is an exemption. Anybody could have gotten one by bringing in two hundred jobs.”

“I wouldn’t have known about the exemption, if not for you.”

She cast a sidelong glance his way. “But we’re still keeping that our secret, right?”

“Right.”

“Along with everything else? There’s no expiration date on a blackmail payoff,” she confirmed.

“I said yes.”

“Just so we’re clear.”

“We’re clear.” He paused. “But I didn’t think there were official rules for blackmail.”

“Honor among thieves.”

“We’re not thieves.”

“We’d’ve been good at it, though.”

He chuckled.

“Trickery, subterfuge, deception and clandestine meetings.”

“We’d also have to steal something,” he pointed out.

She leaned her head back. “I don’t need anything.”

“Except medical attention.”

“Do we need to steal it?”

“We do not.” He nodded out through the windshield. “See those lights up ahead?”

She squinted. “Way up in the trees?”

“They’re farther up the mountain. That’s the new building for Craig Mountain. The walls are up. The roof is on. And it’ll be clad to weather by the end of the week.”

“Congratulations.”

“There’s a long way to go. But so far we’re on schedule.”

“Did you decide whether or not to do a restaurant?”

He pretty much had, but he hadn’t made if official yet. “I’m not sure,” he hedged, to keep the conversation going. “What do you think I should do?”

She got a faraway look in her eyes, and her tone softened. “I think people would love to have dinner at the castle.”

“Yeah?” he prompted. “Why?”

“It’s beautiful, for one thing. And the place has enormous potential. If I was you, I’d take a bunch of that stuff out of the towers, polish it up and use it to decorate the restaurant.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Whatever you want. The paintings, for one thing. The furniture. There were some awesome silver pieces up there, and the dishes. Did you see the dishes?”

Her growing enthusiasm surprised him. He hadn’t paid much attention to the stuff in the towers. “Will you show me what you mean?”

“Sure. Seriously, Zach. It could be as much a museum as a restaurant. Imagine the experience you could conjure up for guests. Costumed staff, vintage dishes.” She gave an impish grin. “Flagons of mead and ale served by lusty wenches.”

He grinned. “I like the way you’re thinking.”

“You just like the lusty wenches.”

“No. I have a thing for your brain.”

“Once word got around, the restaurant would practically market itself.”

“I’m sold,” he told her.

She waved him off. “You don’t have to humor me. I’m only suggesting you think about it.”

“I have thought about it.” He gave in to impulse. “Help me plan it. Help me design it.”

She scoffed out a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have time.”

“What? You need to herd more cows? Shovel more manure? Repair more engines?”

His anger bubbled up as he was reminded of her injured arm. What kind of family sent her out on the highway all alone at night? What was she doing repairing a pickup truck by the side of the road? What the hell else was she up to on the ranch? Bronc riding? Bullfighting?

“Don’t go there,” she warned.

He gripped the steering wheel, but held his tongue, concentrating on choosing the smoothest path through a series of potholes.

The silence stretched.

“When you’re right, you’re right,” he finally allowed.

Now, if only she’d be smart enough to figure out what was right for her. She was obviously still working as a ranch hand. And she was obviously exhausted by it. There were fatigue lines around her eyes, and she looked thinner than he remembered.

She hadn’t deserved to get hurt today. And she shouldn’t have been hauling freight on a dark highway in a pickup truck. She had so much more potential than that. And if she wasn’t in so much pain, he’d tell her so.

“I apologize. Please show me what you liked in the towers. I won’t pressure you. I’ll simply take any and all advice you care to give.”

She eyed him with suspicion. “Are you being nice because I’m hurt?”

“No.”

She pursed her lips in obvious disbelief.

“I’m being nice because I’m nice.”

“You are not.”

“Am too,” he retorted in a childish voice.

“You’re a meanie,” she mocked.

“You’re a tomboy.”

She sobered, glancing dubiously down at her dirty jeans. “Okay, well, you’re right about that.”

He was hit with a sudden jolt of guilt. Why was he picking on her? “You’re also very beautiful,” he corrected himself.

“Oh, don’t kid-glove me, Zach. I’m not hurt all that bad.”

“Well, you really are all that beautiful.”

“I’m covered in grease.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not something you can hide with grease.”

She shifted in her seat, grimacing and cradling her arm. “Can we stop arguing?”

“Absolutely.”

“I mean it.”

“I’m agreeing with you.”

“Okay.” But her tone was cautious.

“Take a look up there.” He nodded through the windshield again, to where the lights were growing stronger through the trees. “Wait till you see how much work they’ve done on the brewery.”

Abigail had tried to convince Zach to take her on a quick tour of the impressive new building. But he was adamant that they go directly to the medical trailer and let somebody look at her arm.

Despite herself, by the time the paramedic finished cleaning her up, she was feeling woozy. She’d said yes to the stitches, but no to the painkillers. After the medic finished, her forearm was covered in a thick layer of gauze and also a thin plastic bag to keep it dry. Zach escorted her to his suite in the castle and insisted she take a hot shower. When she looked in the mirror, she realized why.

Her hair was full of dirt and specks of rust from the inside of the truck’s hood. Her hands and face were smeared with grease, while her clothes were damp and dusty.

“Wow,” she whispered to her reflection. “Way to impress the guy, Abby.”

Then she shook her head at the hopelessness of the situation. What did she care what she looked like in front of him? He knew she was a cowboy, and all they ever did was fight. And it wasn’t as though he’d even bothered to tell her he was coming to town. No. They were living different lives again. She was focused on her family, and he was focused on his. Difference was, she understood his commitment. He absolutely refused to see the worth of hers.

Good to know where she stood.

Then again, for now, it would also be good to get clean. Wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

She twisted on the ancient taps and stripped off her clothes. She was careful of the water, washing her hair and scrubbing her face with one hand, while holding the other up, out of the stream. The hot water helped ease some of the tension from her body. And she was thinking about what to tell Travis as she dried awkwardly off and wrapped herself in Zach’s voluminous, cream-colored robe.

She combed through her wet hair and stepped out of the bathroom, directly into the small living area.

“She wouldn’t let me take her to the hospital,” Zach was saying into his phone. He sat in an armchair, Ozzy on his lap.

Abigail moved to the small Queen Anne sofa next to him, frowning as she sat down. Who was he talking to about her?

“Not tonight, for sure,” he said.

“Who is that?” she mouthed.

“Travis,” Zach mouthed silently in return.

Her eyes went wide. “What?” she hissed. Why had he called Travis? How had he called Travis?

“You want to talk to her?” Zach asked into the phone. Then he paused. “Sure.” He rose and held out the phone, her phone, she realized. That explained how he got the number.

“What did you do?” she muttered as she reached for it.

“Let him know you weren’t dead,” Zach whispered back.

She glared at Zach while she moved the phone to her ear.

“Travis,” she chirped in a cheerful voice.

“You okay?” asked her brother from the other end of the line.

“Perfect.”

“How’s the arm?”

“Couple of stitches. No big deal.”

Zach frowned, and she waggled her finger at him to warn him off.

“Good to hear,” said Travis. “I guess you’re not coming home tonight.”

Abigail glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was nearly ten. “Tomorrow,” she told her brother.

“I can send someone for the truck.”

“Not necessary. I can drive it home in the morning.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” With the topical anesthetic wearing off, her arm was beginning to throb, but it would take more than that for her to go into damsel-in-distress mode. “Sorry if Zach exaggerated,” she told Travis.

“It was good to get the information.”

“I would have called you myself,” she said, more for Zach’s benefit than hers.

“He was just being neighborly.”

“Right.” If Travis had any idea just how neighborly Zach had been with her in the past, this would be an entirely different conversation.

“You sure you’re okay?” Travis asked.

“Perfect. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Bye, Abby.”

She pressed the end button with her thumb. “Why did you do that?” she asked Zach.

“I thought it would be one less thing for you to worry about.” His gaze was steady, sincere.

“You weren’t worried he was still ticked off at you?”

Zach shook his head. “You said it yourself. It was an exemption. That rule applies to everyone. And your brother doesn’t know you helped me.” Zach paused, his expression inscrutable. “Travis thinks he won our last fight, and I went away.”

She thought about taking Zach to task again for making her lie to her family, but she honestly didn’t have the energy. The throbbing in her arm was growing worse. She wished she’d said yes to the painkillers the medic offered. “Travis thought you were being neighborly.”

“I am. How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine.” She set the phone down on an end table, resisting the urge to cradle her injury. She hoped it didn’t keep her awake tonight.

“I won’t think any less of you because you feel pain, you know.”

“I know that.”

“Good. Then let’s try that again. Abby, how’s your arm?”

“It’s sore,” she admitted, tossing back her damp hair and raising her chin. “Can we move on now?”

He gave what looked like a reluctant smile. “Yeah. We can move on. Shot of whiskey, cowboy?”

“Sure. Why not.”

He rose smoothly to his feet. “I’ve got a thirty-year-old Glenlivet.” He opened a cupboard in the small kitchen alcove. “That ought to be in keeping with the theme of our surroundings.”

It sounded good to Abigail. She hoped he made it a double.

“On the rocks?” he asked, setting two short, crystal glasses on the countertop.

“Please.”

The ice cubes clinked, and the cork made a hollow popping sound as he pulled it out of the bottle. She watched as he poured the amber liquid over the small ice cubes. It looked like at least a double. Good. That would help her sleep.

He lifted both glasses and turned. “Do you think it would compromise beer sales if we were to offer scotch whiskey at the restaurant?”

“I think most customers would like to have the choice,” she answered.

“Me, too.” He handed her one of the glasses then sat back down in the armchair. “I liked your idea about flagons of ale. I think we could do a lot with a historic theme.” He swirled his glass and inhaled appreciatively. Then he took a first sip.

Abigail followed suit. The liquid burned her throat, but in a good way, and she appreciated the warmth that radiated out into her bloodstream. She took a second sip. This was going to feel very good on her arm.

“Alex has always been a bit of a scotch aficionado,” Zach continued. “He got me into it, too. There’s no reason why we couldn’t make that a specialty, maybe do a bit of recon through Scotland, check out some of the lesser-known distilleries, the rarer brands.”

Abigail found herself nodding. What a fantastic job that would be. And what a fun addition to the restaurant. She took another sip. It had taken her a while to develop a taste for scotch, but now that she had, she found it a very satisfying and civilized beverage.

“If you feel up to it tomorrow, will you help me hunt through the upper floors?”

“I have to get back to the ranch.” Though, at the moment, driving the stick shift didn’t sound very appealing.

“A hundred different people can drive the truck to the ranch,” said Zach. “You’re the only one who has a vision for my restaurant.”

Though she knew he was only being kind, her heart warmed at the compliment. She did have a vision for his restaurant. At least, she had a vision that she liked. There was no way to know if anyone else would like it. Staying definitely sounded more appealing than going.

Then again, staying anywhere lately sounded more appealing to her than going home to the ranch. She didn’t know whether she’d become spoiled or lazy. But she needed to get past that.

“I really have to go home,” she told him, knowing there was a trace of apology in her tone.

“Let’s play it by ear.” He swirled his drink.

Good enough.

She knew she wasn’t going to change her mind, but she could always tell him that in the morning.

She lifted her glass to her lips and realized she’d emptied it.

“Went down good?” he asked.

“Too good,” she acknowledged.

“Refill?”

She shook her head. She was already pleasantly woozy, and more than a little tired.

“You want to lie down?”

“I should try to sleep,” she admitted, coming to her feet. “Down the hall?” she asked, remembering there were a couple of smaller bedrooms between the suite and the back staircase.

He rose with her. “Take my bed.”

“Oh, no, no, no.” She shook her head.

“Give me a break. I mean you should sleep in it alone. You’ve got the bathroom here, and it’s comfortable-”

“I’ll be fine anywhere. I’ve slept beside campfires and in line shacks half my life.”

He moved toward her. “Good for you. But not when you’re hurt. And not on my watch.”

“I’m not made of spun glass, Zach.”

“Really? Could have fooled me, cowboy.” His arm encircled her shoulder. “What with all your pouting, impatience and temper tantrums.”

“Stop mocking me.”

He urged her away from the couch, while Ozzy settled himself in the warm spot she’d left behind. “Humor me. Please. I’ll feel like a cad if I send you to a cold bedroom down the hall while I snuggle in here.”

She couldn’t help chuckling. “Snuggle?”

Once he had her walking, he steered her to the bed. “Yes. I want you to snuggle.” He pulled back the covers.

“Fine,” she reluctantly agreed. She was here. She was tired. She was sore. If he was going to insist, she’d bloody well sleep in his bed.

She sat down on the crisp sheet, and the robe slipped off her knee. After a moment, she was aware of Zach’s still silence. She glanced up at him.

“What happened?” he demanded.

She followed the direction of his gaze, coming to a purple, half-healed bruise on the middle of her thigh.

“Oh, that.” She covered it up with the robe. “I was painting the other day. I tripped halfway down the ladder and smacked into one of the rails.”

“You were painting a house?”

“A shed.”

“And you fell down a ladder?”

“It wasn’t a big deal.” Embarrassed that he was going to think she was a hopeless klutz, she pulled her legs up onto the bed, curling them under the covers.

“And this?” he asked.

Too late, she realized the robe had fallen off her shoulder.

Zach’s thumb traced a barely visible bruise on the tip.

“Pulling a horseshoe.”

“Oh, Doll-Face.” He sighed.

Before she knew what was happening, he’d leaned in and kissed the fading bruise.

“Zach,” she warned.

“Scoot over.”

They couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this. No matter how much she might think she wanted to do this.

“I can’t,” she managed to say.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re hurt. You’re tired. You’re a little drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“I gave you a lot of scotch.”

“It helped.”

“That was the point.”

“But I’m not drunk.”

“I just want to hold you.” He eased her to the middle of the bed. “Just for a few minutes.”

“Why?” she asked with suspicion, holding herself stiff.

He stretched out beside her. “I don’t know.” He circled an arm around her, but stopped before he touched her. “Any other sore spots I should know about?”

“My ribs,” she answered before she thought it through. She probably should have kept that to herself.

His expression darkened. “What happened to your ribs?”

“I came off a horse. It happens a lot.”

He closed his eyes for a long second, but then his arm curled ever so gently around her stomach. “It never happens to me.”

She couldn’t help smiling at that. The warmth of his arm felt very good against her stomach. As her body relaxed, he put his own head down on the pillow.

“You need to find a safer job,” he muttered.

“I need to find someone who won’t fight with me all the time.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Well, there’s a first.”

Abigail awoke in Zach’s arms. There was no way to tell how long he’d stayed with her last night. The whiskey had put her into a sound sleep, and this morning he was showered and changed, lying on top of the quilt, while she was tucked underneath it.

“Morning,” he intoned in a deep, lazy voice, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

“What time is it?” She stifled a yawn.

“Nearly nine.”

“Nine?” She started to sit up, but a jolt of pain shot through her arm. She gritted her teeth, just barely controlling an outburst. “I have to call Travis.”

“I already did.”

“Excuse me?” She must have misunderstood.

“I called Travis. He’s sending someone out to the highway to pick up the truck.”

Abigail struggled to a sitting position, using her good arm to hold the covers across her chest where the robe had come open while she slept. “You had no right to do that.”

“You’re definitely in no shape to drive home.”

She groaned out a frustrated exclamation.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Yes?”

“Since when did you become Travis’s best friend?”

“I told him about the stitches.”

“He already knew I had stitches.”

“You downplayed it. And we agreed it would be better for you to wait a day or two before going back to work.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“He offered to come and pick you up, but I told him I’d make sure you got home.”

“Seriously, Zach. You can’t just up and plan another person’s life.”

“I consulted your family,” he defended with a straight face.

“That’s not the point.”

“You’ve always made it clear their opinion was important.”

“Oh no you don’t.” She shook her head vigorously. She wasn’t about to let him use her family against her. She might love and respect them, but that didn’t mean Zach got to do an end run around her own wishes.

He moved to a sitting position, swinging his legs so that his feet rested on the floor. Then he twisted back to look at her. “Do you really want to go home right away?”

Part of her did, and part of her didn’t. There was always plenty of bookwork for her to do at the ranch. So she could rest up for a couple of days and still be useful. Then again, Zach had her enthusiastic about the restaurant, and it would be fun to prowl through the castle for a few hours.

“This afternoon would be fine, I guess.”

He smiled at that. “I washed your clothes.”

Okay, that embarrassed her. “Really?”

“They’re on the counter in the bathroom.” He stood. “I’ll go get us some breakfast. You need anything else? A couple of painkillers?”

“Some aspirin would be nice.”

“I can get you something stronger.”

“What are you, my dealer?”

He chuckled at that. “I’m just trying to make you comfortable.”

She realized that he was. She was the one being surly and antagonistic. All the poor man had done was rescue her from the side of the road, get her medical attention, inform her family and take care of her truckload of ranch supplies, while she was doing nothing but give him grief.

“Aspirin will be fine,” she told him, determining to do her best to help him gather some ideas for the restaurant. It was the least she could do to pay him back.

“See you in a couple of minutes.”

He left the room with Ozzy at his heels, and by the time she’d freshened up and gotten dressed, the pair of them were back, Zach carrying a tray of coffee and two stacks of delicious-smelling pancakes.

“Where did you get all this?” she asked, taking a seat at the small table. There were two aspirin tablets sitting next to a glass of orange juice, and she popped them into her mouth and washed them down.

“There’s a kitchen in the staff area. Staff members do some cooking for lunches and things, since we’re so far from any services up here. But, in this case, I got the food from the catering truck set up for the construction site.” He sat down across from her, pouring syrup onto his plate of pancakes. “You need any help?”

She bit back the sarcastic retort that formed on her tongue. What was the matter with her? “I’m fine,” she answered pleasantly.

He waited a moment before responding. “Good.”

“Would you still like some help picking out furniture and things to decorate the restaurant?”

“Absolutely. But only if we don’t wear you out.”

“You won’t wear me out.” She cut into her pancakes with the side of her fork, spearing a bite. She’d skipped dinner last night, planning to eat once she got back to the ranch. But after the breakdown, there hadn’t been an opportunity. So, this morning, she was famished.

They ate companionably, talking about housing, schools and services available in Lyndon. Abigail had a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that DFB headquarters was moving to Lyndon. And hearing Zach talk, she realized just how complex an undertaking it would be. They had lawyers, accountants and real estate agents working overtime. It was a major disruption to the lives of all his employees.

Listening, she found herself feeling guilty for having pushed the move on him. Then again, there really wasn’t another solution to expand Craig Mountain Brewery. And if the expansion was as important as Zach made it out to be, then she’d provided the only solution possible.

They finished breakfast and headed for the north tower. She’d already been up in the center tower. It was easily accessed by a half flight of stairs from the fourth floor. The north tower was a little tougher to access. They made their way to the rear service area, where they came to a narrow, curving, stone staircase that spiraled up in a dim passage. Ozzy gazed up the stairs as if considering his options, then, evidently having decided to skip the climb, settled on a worn, padded bench seat in the stream of sunshine from a recessed window. He wasn’t the most athletic dog in the world.

“You’re not planning to imprison me up here, are you?” Abigail couldn’t help joking as she and Zach made their way up.

“It’d be perfect for that, wouldn’t it?” he said over his shoulder.

“If you ever had a fantasy about being an evil count, this would definitely be the place to act it out.”

“Scream as loud as you like, sweet darling,” he intoned in a dramatic, dire voice. “No one will ever hear you.”

“I wonder why they built it this way.” She couldn’t see any particular use for a room this inaccessible.

“According to Lucas, Lord Ashton modeled the entire castle after one his family owned back in Britain.”

“Either that, or he had a crazy wife he needed to imprison.”

“That would be my second guess.” Zach stopped at the top of the steep staircase, bracing his shoulder against a thick, rough-hewn, oak door.

“I hope she’s not still in there,” Abigail joked as the hinges squeaked.

“I don’t think anyone’s been up here in fifty years,” said Zach.

“Seriously?” Now she was really curious.

“I’m joking. Apparently they clean up here periodically.”

She socked him in the back. “Not funny.”

“I wasn’t really spooking you, was I?”

“No.” Well, not exactly. Coming across the skeletal remains of someone’s long-dead, imprisoned, insane wife-now, that would have truly spooked her.

The door opened to reveal a surprisingly brightly lit room. It was wide and round, with an abnormally high ceiling and at least a dozen lead-paned windows recessed into the stone walls. The air was still, warm and musty, and most of the contents of the room were boxed in cardboard or aging wooden trunks. It didn’t seem to have antique furniture like the center tower and some of the other upstairs rooms. She supposed nobody would want to carry a dresser or cabinet up that staircase.

“I can’t even imagine what’s inside all these.” She glanced around, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning.

Zach pushed his shoulder gently against hers. “Have at ’er. All this is the property of DFB Incorporated.” Then he took the easiest pathway through the boxes to one of the windows, pushing it open and letting in a welcome breeze.

She zeroed in on the trunk that looked the oldest. There, she crouched down on her knees, popped open the center latch, flipped the two end catches and eased up the lid.

Zach squatted beside her. “What did you find?”

“Candleholders.” She pushed wads of yellowed newspaper to one side, lifting the first of a matched set of ornate, thickly tarnished silver candleholders. It was heavy in her hand, and Zach took it from her, lifting it and the other, and setting the pair on the floor between them.

“And serving trays,” she announced, leaning over the edge of the trunk and digging deeper. To her delight, she also found a tea service and a velvet-lined, mahogany chest of silverware.

“This is great stuff,” she enthused, reaching into the depths of the chest.

“Be careful feeling around in there,” Zach advised. He reached to the very back of the trunk and pulled out a long, silver object. Rising, he revealed a sheathed sword. He took a step back and withdrew the blade.

Abigail turned, taking the burden off her knees by sitting down. She leaned against the side of the trunk as she gazed up at the sharp, jeweled-hilt sword. It was pretty impressive. Then again, it might be the man brandishing it who was impressive. “That would go great on the restaurant wall.”

He stepped back, swishing the blade through the air. “Lord Ashton…” He whistled. “What did you get up to?”

Abigail chuckled. “I hope we find a diary, or some letters or something. I’d love to know more about these people. Hey.” She had a sudden idea. “What if we used an old-English-script motif for the menus? We could go with parchment and leather bindings.”

“Sure,” he agreed, carefully replacing the sword in its sheath. “We’ll do them however you want.”

She couldn’t help feeling pleased by his approval.

He set the sword aside and again peered into the crate. “Here we go.”

“What is it?”

“The other sword. It’s a matched set. I guess when you challenge someone to a duel, you’re obligated to offer evenly matched weapons.”

“Or it could be a spare,” she reasoned. “Do you think Lord Ashton had a shield to go with them?”

“Not in this trunk.” It was obvious they’d come to the paper-lined bottom. “But let’s open another.”