Arizona Homecoming (8 page)

“It’s an adventure,” he assured her.

She’d lived in campers and motels, too, during her graduate studies as she worked on restoring ancient burial grounds in South Dakota and while building new housing on other reservations. She’d never been alone, though. There’d been other students, instructors, volunteers, construction workers and more. She’d enjoyed the camaraderie, the sense of a team on a mission.

“You hire a new crew for every house you build?” she queried.

“Usually it changes by state. Baer will arrange for a crew when I go to California next month. After that, I’ll be in Florida building a few homes all in the same area. I’ll keep the same crew there unless something doesn’t work out.”

He turned and snagged a hamburger bun before dipping a spoonful of barbecue sauce onto his plate. He followed that with a stack of homemade potato chips. He seemed to know what he was doing, already looking at-home.

She snagged a brand-new ketchup bottle to put on the plate, even though a bottle already sat in the middle of the table, then leaned against her father’s chair.

“Elise has a lawyer she wants you to meet,” Cooper said. “She’ll arrange a meeting next week.”

“Don’t need one.”

Emily felt a soft wave of panic. Sometimes she almost forgot that in the midst of all this, her father had been questioned by the police and a skeleton awaited identification.

“You need a lawyer, Dad,” she insisted.

He smiled at her, the way he’d smiled a million times to quiet fears and let her know who was in charge.

“I have the best lawyer there is. He’s told me not to worry.”

For a moment, she thought he’d reach out to tussle the top of her hair, something he’d done since she was little. As the shortest of the three sisters, she’d often had to assert herself so they didn’t take advantage, or worse—try to take care of her, do things for her.

Forcing her gaze away from her father’s, she looked out one of the big panoramic windows toward the Superstition Mountains. A faint thread of clouds hovered above one peak. The Pima Indians believed the mountain to be a guardian, watching over the land below. She managed a half smile. The mountain would be the ultimate silent witness. Not good enough.

“Justice usually prevails,” Donovan agreed.

“You really believe that?” Emily’s words were a bit sharper than she meant them to be. But then, it wasn’t his dad whose initials were on a knife that might have been used in a homicide. Thank goodness the original receipt said only one knife had been engraved for him.

“I do,” Donovan said, “and I’m surprised you don’t. Your father bowed his head in prayer before the meal we ate last Friday. He didn’t seem a bit worried when I left. And didn’t he pray that they’d identify the bones quickly so the family could be notified?”

“It would be awful not knowing,” Emily agreed. “He does believe the same as you. And yesterday at church, Sam Miller said we have at least ten men in Apache Creek with the initials J.H.”

“How many women?” Donovan asked.

“What?”

“How many women have those initials? Then, too, you’d have to look at both maiden and married names.”

He surprised her. “Historically, poison is the female weapon of choice,” she finally responded. “In the middle of nowhere, it’s hard to imagine a female overpowering a male with a knife the size we found.”

“Hard to imagine, but not impossible.”

Cooper stood. “I need to get home. Garrett’s got some papers I need to look at. I can’t believe he’s decided to head off to university and major in agricultural studies.”

“You going to your house or mine?” Karl asked.

“Mine.”

“Well, you might want to call. When I left to come over here, he was in my field. Something about cotton and nitrogen management.”

Donovan laughed and said, “My mind stops at one for the mouse, one for the crow, one to rot and one to grow.”

“I’ve heard that one,” Jacob said. “Where did you hear it?”

“Growing up, from my dad.”

Donovan was the only one still eating. The others stood, but Emily’s father got waylaid before he made it to the door. Jilly Greenhouse, their nearest neighbor, and one who did not like to cook, wooed him to her table.

“A little romance there?” Donovan asked.

“No, she just likes knowing what’s going on.” Watching her dad and Jilly now, Emily rethought her response. Since the discovery of the skeletal remains and knife, Jilly had been here every evening.

Could she be giving advice to Emily’s father, too?

“Neighborly,” Donovan said. “I might really enjoy working here. I’ve already started drawing a mock-up of what the buildings could look like.”

“Timmy has to name it something besides Tinytown,” Emily said. “It doesn’t go with the Lost Dutchman’s personality.”

“Your dad mentioned something about Timmy coming up with the name. It is the kind of name kids will go for.”

Donovan took hold of her elbow, tugging her down into the chair next to him. His grip was strong, firm, and she felt it all the way to her knees.

Not possible.

“I’ll tell Timmy to let you name the movie theater. Or, maybe I’ll build a tiny museum. Would that make you happy?”

“It might,” she sniffed, staying in the chair for only a moment. She knew she had customers looking around for her. It was time to focus on the present, not the past or the future.

“I like your future brother-in-law.”

“Cooper’s easy to like.”

“I enjoyed hearing about Cooper’s horse, too.”

Uh-oh. Emily had a feeling she knew where this was going. “You heard all about Percy Jackson, then?”

“I did. And Cooper said something about a different horse named Harry Potter.”

Emily couldn’t help but smile. “Did he tell you I named Pinocchio, Snow White and Cinderella?”

“Yes, and he told me that Cinderella has focus issues.”

“My dad wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Emily said suddenly, needing to get the words out. “He—he won’t even put a horse down until there’s no other choice. We’ve about five horses that are too old to ride. Dad lets them retire.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Donovan said. “I just wish the body had turned up someplace besides my job site.”

Emily bit her lip. He’d just reminded her of his priorities. She’d needed to hear that because she’d been starting to trust him. Better to keep him at arm’s length.

“Yes, there is that.” Leaving him to eat, she hurried and did one last sweep of the room, refilling teas, restocking sugar bowls and cleaning up a ketchup spill.

Timmy helped with cleaning tables, knowing it would earn him an extra hour of video-game playing as well as keep his parents happy.

Taking a bus tub into the kitchen, she set it on the conveyor belt by the dishwasher and asked, “Cook, what were you guys talking about? You looked so serious.”

“He’s a good guy,” Cook responded. “But he’s not one who will stay. And I can’t see you leaving here.”

“He’s just another guy. I’m not leaving here, and you didn’t answer the question.”

“We were discussing Karl’s land, how much it’s worth, how it’s zoned and why the sudden interest.”

“What did you decide?”

“Mostly that it’s Karl’s to do with what he wants. He thinks if he can change his zoning designation from agricultural to residential, he can get more than Tucker offered.”

The air swished out of Emily’s lungs.

Karl couldn’t sell.

“Whose idea was that?”

“Donovan brought it up, but your father and Jesse would have if Donovan hadn’t.”

“Why now?”

“Your father thinks that Randall Tucker made good money when he bought the Majestic for a song and put up the apartment building. He’s wanting to do it again.”

Emily grabbed a rag from the sink, turned on the hot water and headed for the door. She almost missed Cook’s next words.

“Then, too, your father thinks that when the Baer house went up, showing that there were buyers for luxury homes in this area, Tucker got a whole new idea.”

“Because of the Baer house?” she whispered, picturing how Donovan looked sitting in the rustic dining room of the Lost Dutchman Ranch, remembering his arm on her elbow pulling her down beside him.

“The Baer house does come with a view from every side.” Cook quoted an article from the newspaper. Emily remembered who’d made the statement.

Donovan.

In a roundabout way, Donovan was responsible for Tucker pursuing Karl.

She wished again that Baer had never heard of Apache Creek.

Then Emily wouldn’t be torn over her feelings for one Donovan Russell.

Chapter Eight

A
fter leaving the restaurant, Donovan walked to his cabin. There, he hesitated, rethinking the contract he’d just signed. Jacob didn’t need him. Not if the man had designed this cabin.

Donovan could live here.

Boomtown was the farthest away from the main house, giving it a seclusion that Rawhide and Tenderfoot didn’t have. In case a guest didn’t want a three-to-five-minute walk, all he had to do was call the phone desk and he’d be picked up by either a golf cart or quad—the guest got to choose.

Donovan didn’t mind walking.

The five cabins formed a half circle but each had about a quarter acre of land. Even as last minute as his arrival had been, a Welcome Donovan placard had been placed by the front door. Donovan didn’t open the door; instead, he sat in one of the rocking chairs on the porch and just enjoyed the view.

Jacob had not crowded his dude ranch. He’d spread the buildings out, making sure that guests would note the mountains first, then the horses and main structure, and finally the other guest lodgings.

Donovan could have been happy here. Sure, he could see that Jacob’s daughters had pitched in, earned their keep, but they’d had fun and free time, too.

He’d seen the photos of Eva at state fairs exhibiting her weavings, of Elise competing in rodeo events and of Emily onstage in school plays, all dressed up.

In the distance he heard a coyote, then another, until a full chorus was echoing. Something orangey was in the air, but he couldn’t identify it, and it had been a long time since he stopped and smelled the roses. He was pretty sure the scent wasn’t the same from his camper.

He pushed himself to his feet. Melancholy he did not need. Plus, if he sat out here any longer he might start imagining what it would feel like should one Emily Hubrecht be sitting next to him, talking about the sites, her day and asking him about his.

The only people who asked about his day were his employer and his employees.

Come to think of it, Olivia hadn’t really asked him about his day unless she was worried it would interfere with the plans she’d made. And her daddy would always let Donovan off early if it made his daughter happy.

Walking past the knotty pine and to the door, he unlocked it and stepped inside.

The cabin’s interior was even better. A giant window spread across the front. Two more were in the kitchen. Donovan had two bedrooms, one on each end, and the living/dining room was light wood, open and not heavy on unnecessary furniture, except for the old-fashioned bathtub in the middle of the room.

He figured there was some story about the bathtub.

He set his keys on the table and headed for the shower. It had been a long but interesting day.

He’d no more than dried off and settled in front of the television to channel surf when his phone sounded. He checked the number, not one he recognized, and swiped the phone on before saying hello.

Ten minutes later, Donovan ended the call. No longer in the mood for television, he headed into the master bedroom to sleep. Maybe if he read for a while, he could get past the concern he was feeling.

When Baer had simply walked away from the build, Donovan figured he could no longer be surprised by the twists and turns of the construction business.

He was wrong.

* * *

Sunday-morning breakfast was pretty much self-serve. Emily took two pancakes from the steamer, added bacon and eggs to her plate, and sat down. Timmy brought her milk and took a seat next to her. He bowed his head in prayer, saying, “God, thank You for this food, for this ranch and for everything else, especially Legos. Please be with Eva. Amen.”

“What’s wrong with Eva?” Emily asked.

“She’s not going to church with us today.”

“She’s not feeling good?”

“She walked all night. I tried to stay up with her, but she didn’t really go anywhere except from the living room to the bathroom to the kitchen. I fell asleep on the couch.”

Walking wasn’t the way Eva usually dealt with issues. If something bothered her, she usually worked her loom. But she’d spent hours weaving at the library event; maybe she was loomed out.

“I slept on that couch many a night,” Emily shared.

“Daddy might stay home with her.”

“Okay,” Emily allowed, “now we’re getting serious.”

“He said I could go to church with you and Grandpa.”

“Sounds good.”

“You think Donovan will start on Tinytown today?”

“No, I think today is Sunday and Grandpa will want Donovan to get started tomorrow.”

“We play on Sunday.”

“So we do,” she agreed. “But Sunday, for many, is a day of rest. Don’t worry. Donovan’s right here. He’ll get Tinytown going in no time.”

“I wonder if Grandpa would let Donovan build a penny arcade. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“Where did you hear about penny arcades?”

“Taylor Hamm came back from Colorado talking about one that he went to, near a place called Pikes Peak. It sounds like a fun place.”

Emily tousled the top of Timmy’s head. Sometimes she forgot that he’d spent the early years of his life not doing much, rarely going to parks or museums or swimming pools. His mother had been battling drug addiction, and his father—Jesse—hadn’t known about Timmy’s existence.

The ranch, to Timmy, was Oz. But, he’d never traveled much, not to the Grand Canyon or to the beach or anywhere.

“Someday your parents will take you there. I promise.”

“Might be even better to bring it here,” Timmy said, much too seriously.

“Bring what here?”

Emily recognized the deep voice and was suddenly glad she was already dressed for church. Looking at Donovan, she noted the perusal he gave her. He’d seen her in work clothes—dark shirts and khakis—and yesterday he’d seen her in Native attire.

Both her sisters dressed Western no matter what, with Eva preferring turquoise, belts and fringe. Elise was a no-fuss kind of woman. Emily, though, loved to dress up—frilly and whirls.

Definitely worth it. She’d impressed him, and all it took was a dark red knit maxi dress with a high halter, cutout neckline and nipped waist. The skirt flowed around her legs, so that if she twirled, it might flare as far as the table she sat at.

Gold sandals complemented the gold bracelets on her wrists, the dangling gold earrings, and the gold and crystal hair comb that stretched from her right ear to the top of her forehead. She’d let her black hair hang loose.

“You look nice,” Donovan said.

“I always try to look my best for God.”

He blinked.

“Me, too,” Timmy piped up. He was wearing a white shirt and black pants. Well-worn tennis shoes finished his outfit, and she remembered Eva lamenting that Timmy seemed to grow a shoe size a week.

“Your dad around?”

“He’s down with the horses.”

For a moment, she thought Donovan would leave to go join her father. Instead, he took a plate, filled it and sat down beside her.

She’d cleaned her plate while talking with Timmy, meaning she’d get to do most of the talking.

“There’s plenty of time. If you want, you can come to church with us. It’s just Dad, Timmy and me. Eva doesn’t feel good, so she and Jesse are staying home.”

“What about your other sister?”

“Elise and her fiancé are in Two Mules.”

“Two Mules?”

“It’s a town a few hours from here. Elise works with teenagers and horses. She has two kids going to a rodeo next month, and she wanted extra time with them.”

“There’s really a town named Two Mules?” Donovan shook his head.

“It’s pretty small.”

“Smaller than Apache Creek?”

“What? You don’t like small?”

He hesitated before sharing, “I grew up in a very small town in Nebraska. It was over an hour’s bus ride just to get to school.”

“Cool,” Timmy said.

“Not when you had to get up at four in the morning to help with the cows, and then get dressed, eat breakfast and get to the bus stop by six in the morning. By the time the school bell rang, I’d been up four hours.”

“You were raised on a dairy farm?” Emily asked. She’d researched him when he moved here to build the Baer home, and then again when her dad starting talking about hiring him. She’d known he was from Nebraska, but she hadn’t realized how rural or that he’d been raised on a dairy farm.

“I was.”

“That’s surprising.”

He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Because I’m so debonair now?”

“What’s
debonair
?” Timmy queried.

“It means he thinks he belongs on the cover of a men’s fashion magazine or starring as James Bond.”

“Who’s James Bond?”

Emily held up a hand. She knew how long this game could go on. To Donovan, she said, “I can’t think of many jobs harder than dairy farming. It’s 24-7 with no holidays.”

“You pretty much summed it up. Add to that we lived in the middle of nowhere. There were three families within easy driving distance. None of them had kids my age.”

“You didn’t like living on the farm.”

“I didn’t like it, and I went off to college and never turned back.”

“When I was in college,” Emily shared, “I traveled as far as South Dakota in order to complete my graduate studies. I enjoyed every minute, but I had to come home to visit at least every three or four months because I missed my family.”

“I don’t make it home much. I’ve been busy building a career. My family understands.”

She couldn’t argue with the busy part. She’d found a whole list of projects during her search, some started while he was a freshman in college. He’d been part of a group that helped rebuild a small village in Mexico after a tornado destroyed most of it.

Just a few months ago, she’d thought this the only thing they had in common.

After college, he’d worked for a firm that built homes in the Omaha and Council Bluffs, Iowa, area. They weren’t quite luxury homes, but they were close. They were upscale suburbia.

And they didn’t compare at all to the Lost Dutchman Ranch.

“How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

He hesitated, and Emily could almost imagine him counting his fingers. “Three years.”

Three years! She’d wilt if she were separated from Apache Creek for that long. She’d die if she were separated from her family.

“And that wasn’t really home. I met my parents in York, Nebraska, at a restaurant about an hour’s drive for them. I wanted them to meet my fiancée.”

“Elise is a fiancée,” Timmy put in. Emily had to admire how he’d been trying to keep up with the conversation. “It means you’ll be getting married.”

“You’ve been in Apache Creek for months. Why hasn’t your fiancée come to visit?” Emily tried to sound interested, very afraid her voice would sound creaky.

What was wrong with her? She had no hold on Donovan Russell. She’d only been on friendly terms with him for a week, ever since he’d gotten the “step down” order from Tate Luxury Homes. She’d been a bit more impressed when he’d helped her comb the Baer land looking for evidence. He’d even had John Westerfield help out.

Then, there’d been yesterday.

It had been a long time since she’d liked someone from the male species.

Too long.

“Olivia and I broke up quite a while ago. We—” he hesitated “—we weren’t good together. Very different.”

“You liked her well enough to introduce her to your parents.”

“It was the right thing to do. I’d proposed, she had a ring and we were planning a future. My parents needed to meet her.”

“But you didn’t take her home? Why not?”

One side of his mouth lifted in a half smirk. “Olivia Tate on a dairy farm. Not happening.”

“Tate,” Emily said slowly. “As in Tate Luxury Homes.”

“You got it.”

“I’d go visit a dairy farm in a heartbeat.” Emily noticed something in his eyes, a faraway look. She didn’t know if he was thinking of Olivia or his youth. She hoped it was his youth. “What was the best thing about it? There has to be something.”

“One summer my dad and I built a tree house. It lasted maybe a year before it fell apart, and Dad didn’t have time to build another one. I tried by myself, but I think my idea of what the completed project should look like far exceeded both my skill level and the tree’s perimeter.”

“I’d love a tree house,” Timmy said.

“How long,” Emily asked, almost in a whisper, “since you’ve been home and stared at the tree where you tried to build a tree house?”

Donovan didn’t answer. Instead, he finished the last bite of pancake and Emily’s dad walked into the restaurant, checking his watch for the time and giving Timmy a nod that they needed to hurry.

“We’ll wait for you if you want to come to church with us.” She really hoped he’d attend.

“No, I’ve got some things to do today.”

“You could build me a tree house,” Timmy said. “That would be a good thing to do today.”

“Probably not today.” The faraway look was back in his eyes, but Emily saw a hint of the boy he’d been.

“We need to get going,” her father hollered across the room.

“Coming, Grandpa,” Timmy said.

Emily stood, starting to gather up their dishes, but Donovan put a hand over hers. It was warm, strong, with long, calloused fingers. “I’ll take care of this. You look much too nice to risk spilling something.”

Like the half-full glass of milk Timmy had walked away from.

She thought she heard him say something as he headed toward the dish window. She thought she heard him say, “Twelve years.”

Twelve years!

Why?

* * *

The Miner’s Lamp, a more or less rustic café, was the second building on Main Street. At eleven, it was fairly empty: too late for breakfast, too early for the church crowd. Donovan took a big corner booth, checked the time on his cell phone and then went to messages.

He had none. Reading his old messages, he realized that 100 percent of his conversations were work related. Not a real friend in the bunch. That was part of being a traveling man.

“Here you are. I’ve been running a bit late all day.”

Randall Tucker, Donovan knew, was in his sixties, called New York home—although he rarely stayed there—and had been born and bred in the real estate world.