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MS. SMITHERS WAS A TALL, large-boned woman who looked more like a woman who could tame lions than a peacock breeder. Chelsea could see why Jonas was a bit intimidated by her, not that he would ever say he was. For one thing, Ms. Smithers was almost Jonas’s height—and Gage’s. Both were tall men. Not only was Ms. Ellen Smithers tall, she was heavyset. She looked like a stern, no-nonsense person, and Chelsea found herself shrinking back slightly when the woman glared at her.
“You’re here about my peafowl?” Ellen asked.
“Yes. We are,” Chelsea said, noting that Gage seemed happy for her to lead. “We’re interested in purchasing a pair.”
She received a frown in return. “I mostly sell to zoos and other breeders. Not interested in selling to individuals usually.”
Chelsea offered her a smile. “We’re hoping you might make an exception.”
“The problem is,” Ms. Smithers said, “I don’t know if the birds get taken care of by people who don’t understand them. They’re beautiful animals. They have special needs. What do you know about peacocks?”
Chelsea gulped. Gage shrugged. “That they’re good watchdogs.”
“True.” Ellen nodded. “What else?”
“That we pay cash for them.” Gage pulled out his wallet. “And that peafowl can be noisy during breeding season. I’ll be building an appropriate pen with sprinklers and lots of shade.”
“Hot where you are, is it?” Ms. Smithers stared at him warily, one eye on his wallet. “Peafowl need lots of space, too. You got lots of space?”
“I’m from Hell’s Colony,” Gage said easily. Chelsea noticed he sidestepped saying that the birds would possibly be living on the despised ranch Jonas had purchased.
“And you?” the curious Ms. Smithers asked Chelsea. “You don’t sound like you’re from Texas.”
“I’m from Dublin.” Chelsea could tell by the look on her face that she wanted more information. “I’m in the States with my mum. She has some breathing issues, and the warmer, drier climate here is helpful.” Chelsea hoped that was enough to satisfy Ms. Smithers.
“Well, now.” Ellen nodded. “Come inside and have a bite while I ponder whether I have a pair of peafowl I want to sell.”
“We don’t—” Gage began, and Chelsea shot him a look.
“We’d appreciate that,” she said quickly, and he gave her a slight squeeze on the arm that she took to be appreciation as he followed the ladies inside. “Play along,” she whispered as Ellen led them into a small, bright kitchen that looked hardly big enough to contain her bulk. “Be nice.”
“I’m always Mr. Nice.”
Chelsea ignored that and sat at the table. Gage took the seat across from her.
“Looks like a storm is blowing in,” Ellen said. “These early summer storms are strong this year. We’ve had a couple of tornadoes.”
Chelsea took the glass of water she was offered. Gage did, too, watching her for cues. “I’ve never seen a tornado,” she said.
“Just hope you never do.” The breeder peered out one of the windows, worrying. “Yep, here comes the rain.”
Slashes of droplets suddenly hit the glass panes, loud in the small kitchen.
“Guess I should have had you move your truck into the barn,” Ellen told Gage. “That’s hail.”
Chelsea looked at him sympathetically. “It was too shiny-new, anyway.”
He didn’t look amused. “So, about the peacocks—”
“I don’t have any right now,” Ellen said. “I’ve got some old ones you wouldn’t want, and I’ve got some that are nesting, but—”
Chelsea thought Gage’s head was going to pop off his shoulders.
“You didn’t say you didn’t have any available when I called you,” he said.
“We’re so eager to see some,” Chelsea interjected, shooting a warning glance at him.
“You can see them. Of course, not now with this storm. The nesters are cozy in their pens right now. I don’t let my peafowl roam during nesting, you know.”
Chelsea had wondered why there were no peacocks roaming about when they’d driven into the red-fenced farm, heralded by a sign that read Smithers’ Peacock Farm and Honeymoon Cabin.
The lights went out suddenly, plunging the kitchen into darkness.
“Well, that’s that,” Ellen said cheerfully.
“What’s what?” Gage demanded.
“That’s the end of the juice.” She sounded so happy about the electricity going out. “Could be hours before it comes back on.”
“All right.” Gage rose, his patience at an end. He handed her a business card. “Why don’t you call me when you have a pair of peacocks you’d like us to look at buying.”
“I will.” She nodded. “You folks be careful pulling onto the main road. This rain’ll be making mud of the end of the drive. Can be tricky.” She smiled at Chelsea and lit some candles. “Of course, if you want to wait out the storm, you’re welcome to stay in my guesthouse. It’s two hundred dollars a night, and I don’t mind saying it’s kind of a honeymooner’s getaway. I’ve got about fifteen peacocks, and maybe in the night I’ll remember which of them is just right for sale. I do hate to part with any, but of course they’re prettiest now. They’ll lose their trains at the end of breeding season. I might find a pair if I have time to go over my records.”
Chelsea froze. She didn’t want to be in a honeymooner’s getaway with Gage. “We’re not in need of—”
“We’ll take it.” He tossed cash on the table to cover the cost of the room, and then an extra hundred to encourage her memory. “Maybe that’ll help you come up with a just-right pair for us, and cover your trouble for keeping us, Ms. Smithers.”
Her eyes glowed in the candlelight as she gazed at the money. “You’ll find food in the fridge. Best in the area. Everything in the Peacock Cabin is available for guests. Lots of towels, which you’ll need, because I don’t have a spare umbrella to offer you. You’ll need this flashlight to see your way over to the cabin. Once there, you’ll find candles and a torch on the entry table. As remote as we are, power outages are not unusual. Of course, you may not need the candles.” She smiled broadly, winking. “Please make yourself at home, and don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything.”
Gage leaned close to Chelsea as they got up to follow Ms. Smithers down a long hall. “Just a pair of birds with eyes on their tails.”
“Shh,” Chelsea said, trying not to giggle. She was nervous at the thought of staying in a “peacock cabin” with Gage. But it wasn’t bad nerves. More like shivers of destiny and creativity finally awakening—the thrill of the unknown and adventure. And when he put his hand on her back to help her outside to the cabin Ms. Smithers pointed at, Chelsea accepted his assistance along the mud-washed, cobbled sidewalk. He clasped her hand as they ran to the cabin surrounded by trees, rain hitting them as they went.
They stepped inside, and Chelsea gasped. “Wow. This is the Peacock Cabin.”
Gage whistled, closing the door behind them. “Little less rustic than I’m used to.”
“Me, too.” Chelsea took off her shoes, leaving them on the Saltillo tile floor near the door as she lit the candles on the entry table Ellen had mentioned. When candlelight threw flickering light around the room, she could see their digs for the night. The centerpiece, she noticed with some dismay, was a round honeymooners’ bed covered with an emerald-green satin spread, and positioned beneath a heavy crystal chandelier. She stepped closer with a candle, seeing peacock-feathered pillows piled abundantly at the top of the bed, the colors glistening almost erotically in the candlelight. A mirrored wall backed the bed, emphasizing the florid color scheme. Chelsea lit candles on the bedside tables, noting that every wall had a painting, which seemed to be delicate nudes in a Garden of Eden–type setting, each of which included—what else?—peacocks.
“Holy smokes,” Gage said. “I think the bed is motorized.”
“Why?” She stepped closer to see what he was looking at.
“I guess so it can turn.” He stared underneath the bed with a flashlight, checking out the contraption. “I wondered why it was set so high. When the juice, as Ellen called it, comes back on, we’ll check it out.”
“She certainly wants this cottage to contain everything a honeymooner needs,” Chelsea said, checking out a glass-topped table with a gold-rimmed tray. “I was going to help myself to some fruit juice, but I see these are juices of a different kind.”
Gage grinned as he glanced at the tray of varying fruit-flavored body oils. “Who would have thought Ms. Ellen had such a sensual side?”
“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.”
