9781618850676UnchainedMelodyHunter (3 page)

Francine
had shown no interest in the yard and gardens. The only task she had taken to
heart was picking out the paint and wallpaper. She hadn’t stayed long enough to
see them installed, she had moved on to greener pastures and, he supposed, a
lover who could satisfy her. Ethan hadn’t asked her to leave, but he could not
deny he had been relieved to see her go. The only regret he had was that he was
childless. He longed for a little boy or a little girl, but he had to admit—a
child with Francine wouldn’t have been a good idea. Besides, every time he
pictured his child, it bore an uncanny resemblance to Lise.

His
mind so embroiled in his own private hell, Ethan was totally oblivious to the
stares he was receiving from two middle age matrons who were drinking coffee
and rocking in the massive chairs that sat on the front porch of
The Bandera Cabin
.
He threw a handful of weeds in the wheelbarrow, wiped the sweat off his brow
and pushed the ever present comma of jet black hair off of his forehead. Ever
careful, he didn’t casually toss the clump of weeds in the grass, they were
destined for the compost pile he tended behind the main house. He caught the
eye of one of the
Bandera
ladies and casually waved at the pair. Delightful
giggles reached his ears. That was as far as they got, however. Ethan Stewart
was in no mood for flirtation.

He
stood up, dusted off his jeans and looked at the planting bed. Reaching for the
water hose, he flipped on the spray nozzle and cool water flowed out. He
watered the basil, rosemary and thyme he grew for his own kitchen use. After
moving home and buying the B&B, Ethan discovered he enjoyed cooking. Before
that, he had only been successful at grilling or frying. At first, he manned
the kitchen out of necessity; later on, he had been lucky enough to find
Rachel, a sweet widow lady who lived less than five miles away and cooked like
a dream. She worked five days a week and made all of the morning pastries and
muffins. Ethan and Alex cooked on weekends and since this was Saturday, the
kitchen was beckoning. Francine had been hopeless in the kitchen; in fact, she had
been helpless about almost everything except shopping and pointing out his
shortcomings. In his mind, he could still her voice, “I’m sorry, Ethan, but
your lovemaking just leaves me cold. I can barely tolerate the feel of your
hands on my body.” When she said those things to him, something in him died.

After
Francine left, he had loaded up all of those damned romance novels she
constantly referred to and put them in a trash bag. He had been on his way to
the dumpster when Alex stopped him. His brother, the environmentalist, had
taken the books and distributed them among the cabins for the guests to read.
Lost Maples
attracted
a lot of women of all ages and Alex said they enjoyed reading that kind of
thing. In fact, several of them had stopped to thank him for the ‘thoughtful
reading material’. Bullshit! Those books probably destroyed more marriages than
alcohol and infidelity combined.

He
hung up the hose and wheeled the load of clippings and weeds across the yard. Ethan
had forgotten—no, more correctly—was totally oblivious to the fact he was
absolutely gorgeous. At four inches over six feet, he was a striking, powerful
figure. His body was broad and muscular, but still lean and taut. The work at
the inn and his love of rock climbing and riding dirt bikes kept him in great
shape. His eyes were cobalt blue and the lashes framing them were thick and
dark. As he passed the other cabins that comprised The
Lost Maples
complex, he
was unaware of twelve pairs of female eyes following his every move, devouring
him.

When
he reached the back of the main house, Ethan saw his brother Alex drive up in
his burnt orange Hummer. Alex never passed up an opportunity to flaunt the
colors or the reputation of their alma mater, The University of Texas. It was a
good thing the price of gas had gone down, because Alex had refused to part
with the monster gas-guzzler. This was the only non-green item Alex allowed
himself—he did love his Hummer. He exited the vehicle with his arms full of
groceries.

Once
a week, Ethan or one of his brothers headed into Austin to buy produce and
fresh meat from the organic food market or from one the of the city’s famous
farmer’s markets. After Francine left him, Ethan offered his two brothers a
working partnership in
Lost Maples
. A trio of men running a B&B might be odd, but
somehow, it was working. Alex had gone through his own divorce and lived in the
main house with Ethan. Their younger brother, Bobby, was a senior at their
beloved UT. He had an apartment in Austin, but stayed at
Lost Maples
at
least three nights a week, except during football season. Bobby played
tight-end for the Longhorns and Ethan and Alex never missed a game.

“You
will never guess who I ran into in town,” Alex spoke with an exaggerated drawl.
He always did that when he was talking about a female. There were differences
between Ethan and Alex. Ethan was taller. Alex was darker. Ethan had blue eyes
and Alex’s were brown. Both were good looking—and Alex knew it—but Ethan had
allowed himself to be so manipulated by Francine’s viper tongue that now, he had
very little self-confidence left.

“Who?”
Ethan asked with no curiosity in his voice. He dumped the load in the compost
pile, propped the wheelbarrow up against a nearby tree and walked to the Hummer
to get the remaining bags. He followed his brother up the back stairs into the
large kitchen and as Alex unpacked the bags, Ethan began chopping vegetables.

“Shelley
Thompson.” Alex said the name with relish. His words conjured up an image in
Ethan’s head of the sleek, blonde Theta driving her red Audi convertible down
Guadalupe, with him sitting beside her, hoping she stopped before she scooped
up the gaggle of freshmen crossing the street in front of the University Co-op.

Ethan
did not reply for a few moments. He knew what his brother was up to. “Where did
you see Shelley?” There was no tell in his voice that the news was anything
other than a polite question because that is all it was. The name of Shelley
Thompson held no interest for him whatsoever. There was a long list of women
Alex could run into in Austin, all of them sharing the category of eligible,
beautiful past girlfriend. Ethan was just not ready to reconnect with them. Maybe,
if Lise was there…but she wasn’t.

* * * *

The
fact Ethan was not ready to start dating again worried Alex to death. He didn’t
want Ethan to remarry, but he did want him to have a normal, healthy sex life. So,
every day or two, Alex launched another attempt at setting him up with some
woman or another. Alex was really concerned about his brother. That airhead
Francine had really done a number on him. He could still remember the day
Francine had casually announced to everyone at a family dinner, that she and
Ethan’s marriage was on the rocks because Ethan was having trouble in bed. Alex
could have cheerfully killed the woman, he had watched his brother withdraw
into himself and turn from an outgoing fun-loving guy to a depressed introvert.
Alex kept trying to tell Ethan the only thing wrong with his sexual performance
was having a cold, frigid bitch for a wife.

Back
to Shelley, “I ran into her at The Sour Pickle.” Alex named a quaint little
restaurant a block off the drag, across from UT. Ethan had always liked the
restaurant because they let him bring Mojo onto the patio. Mojo was Ethan’s
dog, a miniature dachshund and the only female Ethan allowed into his bedroom
these days.

“Is
she still working at Taylor and Lawson?” Ethan named one of the prominent law
firms in town. Shelley was a top-notch lawyer and quickly making a name for
herself. Alex saw Ethan’s attempt at conversation as a sign of interest. He folded
the last paper bag and poured himself a drink from a pitcher of margaritas
stored in the refrigerator. His brown eyes twinkled with levity. “She asked
about you.” Ethan turned the blender to high speed. He was making a batch of
marinara sauce from tomatoes and herbs he had grown himself. The whirr of the
small appliance made the curse words Ethan murmured unintelligible. Blending
marinara only took so long, unfortunately.

“She
said she and some of her friends may drop by one night for drinks,” Alex informed
his brother, slowly backing away as he did so, just in case Ethan decided to
throw something at him. Ethan turned around and looked at his brother.

“That’s
nice,” Ethan said evenly. Not at all the response Alex had been expecting. He
sat down on the stool and looked at his brother thoughtfully.

“When
are you going to let go of what that bitch did to you?” Alex attempted to
console his brother.

Ethan
smiled crookedly. “Look, I don’t mind Shelley and some friends coming over. We
can talk Longhorn football and how glad we are that Tom Craddick is no longer
in charge of the House down at the capitol building.” Ethan loved to talk
politics. “Just don’t expect anything else from me just yet and don’t encourage
Shelley to expect anything either. You, on the other hand, can have all the fun
you want to. Maybe Bobby will be here with his crowd and we can make it a real
party. Just tell me when and where and I’ll make it happen.”

“Crap,
Ethan! You’ve got a way of making a party sound like a damn wake! I can remember—”

Ethan
cut him off. “I can, too, brother, but I am not the same man I used to be, or
rather, I am not the same man I thought I was.”

Alex
slapped the granite counter top so hard he hurt his own hand. He was about to
come back with a few choice words when the phone rang. “Stir my sauce.” Ethan
instructed Alex, but Alex beat him to the phone. He was afraid it was Shelley
Thompson calling to confirm and Ethan would stop the party before it ever got
off the ground.

* * * *

Annalise
thought she had followed the directions precisely, but apparently she was lost.
She waited for the B&B to answer so she could make sure she was on the
right track.

“
Lost Maples
,
may I help you?” What a nice voice. She was immediately intrigued and was
imagining what the face that went with the drawl looked like. She was no longer
in the market for male companionship, but she still enjoyed looking.

“Hello,
this is Annalise Ramsey. I’m on my way in and I have just turned on Lonely
Street and the street is not on my iPhone map. Am I lost?” She internally
chuckled at the name, Lonely Street—they had to be kidding. What was this, the
Heartbreak Hotel?

“No,
in fact you’ve almost made it, just keep coming down Lonely Street and you’ll
be here before you know it. Oh, and by the way, it’s not Lonely Street—it’s
pronounced Lo-nelly, a family that used to own the property. I wouldn’t want
you to get the wrong impression of our happy establishment.”

“Good
to know and thanks. See you in a minute.”

Annalise
hung up and kept going. She was glad Lonely Street wasn’t indicative of the
atmosphere, she was looking for inspiration—not depression. She was weeks
behind her own self-set deadline and desperately needed to churn out a few
chapters. Thinking of deadlines, she decided to give Cecile a call, her
secretary answered, “Passion Publishing, Cecile Rogers’ office. May I help
you?”

“Lily,
this is Annalise. May I speak to Cecile?” She wasn’t on hold but a few seconds,
before Cecile picked up.

“Where
are you?”

“I’m
on Lonely Street, headed for The Heartbreak Hotel.”

“What
are you talking about?”

“Just
kidding. I’m within shouting distance of the B&B, I think. I just wanted to
thank you for your concern and assure you that I will have the first three
chapters on your desk in three weeks.”

“Perfect.
I just know
The Lost Maples
will have the right atmosphere to put you back in the writing mode. Listen,
while I have you on the phone I wanted to let you know your publicist called
and she has put an article about you in all of the Houston area papers. I gave
her a blurb on the book you’re doing now and apparently it has generated some
excitement.”

“Okay.
I don’t really want a lot of excitement, but I know you want to sell books, so
I better get to writing. I’ll call you in a couple of days.” Excitement—great,
that’s all she needed.

Lonely
Street was prettier than it sounded and when she rounded the last curve and
caught a glimpse of
Lost Maples
,
she gasped. This had to be one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen. The
grounds were extensive and huge oaks and pecans spread their great branches
wide making deep, dark, inviting shade where hundreds of hostas were planted
and groups of benches and chairs invited the guests to take a load off, drink a
cup of coffee and shoot the breeze. She also saw a couple of dogs which was one
of the reasons she had agreed to come to this place, because they would take
Tiny.

The
main house was huge, a Victorian farmhouse painted the lightest of pale
yellows. Flowers were everywhere, in the beds in front of the house as well as
in containers on the wide front steps and on the veranda that wrapped around
the entire first floor.

Individual
cabins sat in a half-moon shape around the three-story structure and each one
was painted the same soft yellow. Also, each had a small front porch with large
inviting rockers. Window boxes hung heavy with geraniums and maiden hair fern. Annalise
found the entire place totally enchanting.