Always a McBride (3 page)

Safely redirected, Myrtle laughed. “That's because he leaves the navigating to Betty and half the time, she reads the damn map upside down. It's a wonder they haven't ended up in a ditch some-where.”

Phoebe could picture the Walkers crisscrossing the country, making wrong turns everywhere they went, and
not caring. It sounded wonderful. “You're going to have a great time,” she said with a grin, “but you'd better be prepared for anything. When Tom heads for L.A. and you end up in the wilds of Montana, you're not going to be able to run to town for a toothbrush.”

“He's not that bad, dear.” Her grandmother lahughed, only to jump, startled, when a horn suddenly blasted outside. “Oh, my goodness, they're here!” Frantic, she glanced around. “I forgot to get my pillow—I'll sleep better with it. And the mosquito repellant. You'll need my keys to the storage shed just in case you need to get in there for anything. And the reservation list. Where did I put it?”

Flustered, she would have rushed into her office, but Phoebe quickly stepped into her path. “I'll take care of the reservation list—it's around here somewhere. The keys to the shed are on the hook by the back door, and I already put the mosquito repellant in your bag. Here's your pillow,” she said, stuffing it into her grandmother's arms with a grin. “Let's go.”

She didn't have to tell her twice. Her beautiful wrinkled face alight with anticipation, Myrtle hurried out to greet her friends, while Phoebe trailed behind with her bag. Before her grandmother could think of something else to worry about, hugs and kisses were exchanged, her things were stowed in the Walkers' new motor home, and Myrtle only had time to wave before Tom fired up the RV and pulled away from the curb. In the time it took to blink, the motor home had disappeared around the corner.

Another woman might have immediately felt lonely, but Phoebe didn't have time. She had guests coming for the weekend. Her thoughts already jumping ahead to the elaborate breakfast she would serve them, she hur
ried into the house to check to see what staples Myrtle had the pantry stocked with. She had taken only one step into the kitchen when she stopped in surprise, a slow smile spreading across her face. Given the chance, she would have given her grandmother a bear hug if she could have reached her. Because there, on the table, was the old flour tin Myrtle kept her favorite recipes in, including the one for buttermilk biscuits she'd won with at the state fair. Armed with nothing more than that, Phoebe knew she could make the bed and breakfast a success. Now all she needed was a guest!

 

The thunderstorm descended on the Colorado Rockies like the wrath of God. One moment, Tayler Bishop was cruising through the mountain pass west of Liberty Hill, his thoughts on his father and everything he would say to him when he got the chance, and the next, a driving rain was pounding the windshield of his black Mercedes. Swearing, he jerked his attention back to his driving just as a fierce crosswind buffeted the car, but it was too late. He started to skid. Fighting the wheel and the wind, he didn't realize he'd left the road until a pine tree appeared right in front of him. He didn't even have time to hit the brakes before he slammed into it.

Dazed, he couldn't have said how long he sat there in the dark as the storm raged around him. He held the steering wheel in a death grip, his knuckles white from the strain, and stared blankly at the air bag that had kept him from hitting the windshield. Overhead, lightning flashed like an exploding bomb, lighting up the night sky and outlining the pine tree that had stopped his car from careening down the mountain. In the dark, it looked as big as a barn.

He supposed he should have been thankful the damn thing hadn't killed him. Then he forced open his jammed door and stepped out in the rain to get a good look at what the tree had done to his car. That's when he started to swear. He was still swearing when a wrecker arrived fifteen minutes later in response to the call he'd made on his cell phone to his road service.

Dressed in a yellow rain slicker, the wrecker driver took one look at the situation and whistled softly. “You took quite a hit, buddy. Are you okay? Want me to call an ambulance?”

“No, I'm fine,” Taylor growled, disgusted, as he swept his dripping hair back from his face. “I had my mind on something else and didn't notice the storm until it was too late.”

“Don't beat yourself up over it,” the other man advised. “You're not the first person to take these mountains for granted. At least you were lucky enough to walk away. Where were you headed?”

“Liberty Hill,” he retorted. “The last highway sign said it was ten miles from here.”

The wrecker driver nodded. “If you'd made it through this last set of S-curves, you could have coasted the rest of the way without ever hitting the gas pedal.” Noting the California plates on Taylor's car, he arched a brow in surprise. “It must be family bringing you to these parts because it sure ain't business—there ain't much in this neck of the woods. So who you visiting? I've been working a wrecker in this area for the past twenty years. Maybe I know them.”

Studying him through narrowed eyes, Taylor didn't doubt that he probably knew Gus or had at least heard of him—which was why he had no intention of mentioning McBride's name. He'd planned his revenge
carefully and knew the importance of surprise. He'd keep his identity—and his reasons for coming to Liberty Hill—to himself, casually seek out McBride and earn his trust, then find a way to make him pay for abandoning his mother when she'd needed him most.

Even to himself, the plan sounded ruthless and diabolical, and he knew if his mother was looking down on him from heaven, she wouldn't be pleased. However, he hoped she'd understand. This was something he had to do, and nothing and no one was getting in his way.

His expression grim, he looked the other man right in the eye and lied. “My cousin only moved here a couple of months ago, so I doubt that you know him. His name's Christopher Deacon. He bought some land east of town and moved a trailer in.”

He didn't know if someone had moved a new trailer in or not, but the wrecker driver apparently didn't know either. Frowning, he said, “I don't remember doing business with anyone named Deacon, but my memory's not what it used to be. Since you got family here, and it's so late, I can tow you to their place tonight. Then you can have your car taken to Aspen tomorrow. No one else in these parts has a Mercedes dealership.”

“Thanks for the offer, but Chris isn't expecting me, so I'd rather not disturb him tonight. Just take me into town and drop the car off at a local garage. I'll take care of everything in the morning.”

He spoke in a cool tone that warned the other man not to argue, and with a shrug, he gave in graciously. “Suit yourself. Just give me a few seconds to get her all hooked up, and we can go. You can wait in the truck, if you like. I imagine you'd like to get in out of the rain.”

Taylor generally had little patience for those who
stated the obvious. When he was thoroughly soaked and his wet hair was dripping down his face, he had even less. Somehow, however, he managed to hang onto the manners his mother had taught him and curtly thanked the man before heading for the truck.

Unfortunately, his mood improved little as he watched the wrecker driver hook his car to the tow truck. Assessing the damage, he swore roundly. When he'd planned how he was going to track down his father and confront him, he'd thought he'd accounted for every possible contingency. He'd been wrong. It would be at least a week or longer before his car could be repaired—if the local garage could get the parts in that quickly!—which meant he'd have to get a rental. And he seriously doubted that there was anything available locally. He'd have to call Aspen or Denver and see about having one delivered, which would take time. He'd be lucky if could start looking for Gus by the middle of next week.

Thoroughly irritated, his mood only darkened as the tow-truck driver drove him into Liberty Hill and he got his first look at the town where his father lived. It was smaller than he'd thought, though he supposed some would call it quaint. Old-fashioned streetlights lined Main Street, illuminating homes that looked as if they belonged in an old Jimmy Stewart movie. Nearly every house had a porch, a flower garden, and a swing set in the yard. In the mood he was in, Taylor saw little to admire about it. He liked cities, not small towns that weren't going anywhere. The rain had eased for the moment, but Liberty Hill's wet streets were still deserted. And it was barely ten o'clock at night! If the powers that be could have, he was sure they'd have rolled up
the sidewalks by now. The only business that was still open was an old-fashioned diner by the name of Ed's.

“Here you go,” the tow-truck driver said as he unhitched his wrecked Mercedes in front of the town's only garage and gave Taylor a receipt for his credit-card payment. “Curtis Dean owns the place—he'll be in in the morning at six. He's a good mechanic. You won't find anyone who does better body work.” Suddenly frowning as he watched Taylor pull his suitcase from the trunk of his car, he said, “Are you sure you don't want me to take you to your cousin's? Where are you going to stay tonight?”

Taylor was asking himself the same thing. He'd seen a sign for the town library and hospital, and they'd passed a beauty salon and a lawyer's office on the way to the garage. The one thing he hadn't seen was anything that even resembled a Best Western. “That's a good question,” he retorted. “Aren't there any hotels around here?”

“Nope. Myrtle Henderson has a boarding house, though. I heard she was turning it into a bed and breakfast. You might try there. It's a big old Victorian house down the street on the right. You can't miss it. It's right next to the only antique store in town.”

Considering how off the beaten track Liberty Hill was, Taylor doubted the place was booked for the night. “Thanks,” he said. “I'll give it a try.”

 

Myrtle Henderson's place was right where the tow-truck driver had said it was…and as dark as the rest of the buildings in town. Irritated, Taylor stood at the front gate and swore softly. What was it with this town? Did everybody go to bed with the chickens?

Scowling, he would have gone somewhere else for
the night, but there was nowhere else. He was well and truly stuck, and if he couldn't wake Myrtle Henderson, he'd be sleeping on a bench in the park…if this damn town even had a park!

Fuming, he pushed open the gate and strode up the walk to the front porch. Next to the old-fashioned, oval-glassed door, the doorbell glowed softly in the night. He jabbed it stiffly, sending the faint, cheery tinkle of its bell echoing through the silent house. Twenty seconds passed, then a minute, and still, the house remained as dark and quiet as a tomb.

Scowling, he swore and had just lifted his hand to pound on the door when he saw a light suddenly flare on inside the front entry of the old house. A split second later, the porch light was flipped on, and through the lace curtain covering the glass oval of the door, he saw the vague figure of a woman approach. Finally! he thought with a sigh of relief as she shot the dead bolt free. Maybe he wouldn't have to sleep on that park bench, after all.

His only thought was to get a room. It wasn't until the woman started to pull the door open that he remembered he had to look like something that had just crawled out of a swamp. His clothes were wet and torn, his hair plastered to his head. Any woman with sense would send him packing the second she laid eyes on him, not invite him in and rent him a room.

Idiot! he raged silently. He should have gone over to the diner and cleaned up some before approaching her. It was, however, too late for that. He'd have to muddle through an explanation the best he could and hope she believed him.

“I'm sorry for disturbing you so late,” he began as the door was finally pulled open completely. “I had an
accident in my car when I was coming into town, and I need a place to stay….”

That was as far as he got. No longer concealed behind the lace curtain of the door was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life. Stunned, he felt his jaw drop and could do nothing but stand there like a fool with his mouth hanging open. When the tow-truck driver had said Myrtle Henderson was turning her boarding house into a bed and breakfast, he'd assumed for some reason that she was an older woman. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

In the stark light of the entry hall's old brass chandelier, this woman quite simply stole his breath. Maybe it was the angle of the light or simply the stress of walking away from an accident that could have killed him, but he took one look at her and felt as though he'd stepped into a faded photograph from another century. Everything about her was soft—the cascade of blond hair that fell in soft waves past her shoulders, the old-fashioned gown and robe that covered her completely, but still somehow appeared to be as gossamer as a dream. Obviously, she was fresh from her bath—he could clearly smell the scent of her soap, and her hair was damp around the edges—but he couldn't take his eyes off her face. No woman had a right to look so beautiful without makeup.

The thought had hardly registered—and had time to irritate him—when he suddenly realized he was staring. Stiffening, he reminded himself that he was there for a room, nothing else. “The tow-truck driver said you were turning your boarding house into a bed and breakfast,” he continued stiffly. “I—”

Behind him, lightning suddenly ripped through the
night sky, and right on its heels was a crack of thunder so loud it could have stopped the devil himself in his tracks. Before Taylor could say another word, the lights went out.

S
tartled, Phoebe gasped. Darkness engulfed her like a shroud, blinding her, and for a moment, she could see nothing but the sharp flash of the lightning outside and the silhouette of the stranger at the door.

In the darkness, he was huge! Phoebe felt her heart jump into her throat and reminded herself that she wasn't one of those women who was easily scared. After all, there was no reason to be nervous. She was in Liberty Hill, Colorado, for heaven's sake! There were no ax murderers here, no rapists, no serious criminals at all. She couldn't imagine a safer place in America.

So she wasn't afraid…exactly. It was just that her imagination had always worked overtime on stormy nights, and tonight was no exception. With her heart pounding crazily and the stranger filling the doorway with his dark silhouette, she could almost believe that he was some dark, avenging angel who'd been sent by her father to demand an explanation of why she was at
Myrtle's when she should have been home, taking care of his business. That was just the kind of thing Jack Chandler would have done. He'd never had much patience for following dreams, especially if it meant walking away from an established business. Money was the bottom line, and if her father somehow knew that she was at his mother-in-law's, trying her hand at running what he would have considered an artsy-fartsy bed and breakfast that had no chance of ever making a dime, he'd be spinning in his grave.

For a moment, guilt pulled at her, but then her common sense quickly asserted itself.
“Idiot!”
she silently chided herself. There was no reason to feel guilty. She was an adult and could spend her vacation—and her life—any way she chose.

As for the fierce stranger at the door, she'd taken one look at him before the lights had gone off and seen by the cynical curve of his mouth that he was no angel. He was just a man who was in trouble and needed help while she was standing there like a ninny, letting her imagination run away with her!

“Actually, my grandmother is the one who owns the place,” she said huskily. “But I'm taking care of things while she's on vacation. If you'll wait a moment, I'll get a candle. The old wiring in this house doesn't handles storms very well.”

Leaving him at the door, she turned away and quickly, blindly, made her way through the dark house, avoiding chairs and tables whose location she knew as well as the lines on the back of her hand. She hadn't lied about the wiring—it was nearly as old as her grandmother—and even though it could be an inconvenience at times, she'd loved it as a child when a storm blew the old circuit breakers. Unruffled, Myrtle would pull
out the oil lamps and candles, set water on to boil on the gas stove, and they'd have a tea party in the dark. Mrytle would tell her stories of all their dead ancestors and how they'd come to Colorado in covered wagons. Her stories had always been fun and magical and full of adventure, and to this day, Phoebe still loved storms.

Smiling at the memories that pulled at her as she reached the pantry, she quickly located the stash of emergency matches and candles Myrtle kept there and hurriedly lit a candle. Outside, the storm still raged, but she didn't have time to enjoy it, not when the stranger still waited for her at the front door. Placing a small glass chimney around the candle, she hurried back to the front door.

For a moment, she thought her unexpected guest had left. The door was standing wide open, and in the flickering light of the candle, there was no sign of him. Frowning, she moved to the open doorway and lifted her candle high…just as he stepped in front of her. Startled, she almost dropped the candle. He moved like a cat in the darkness! “Oh!” she gasped softly. “I thought you'd gone.”

“I was just checking the sky,” he retorted. “Do you ever get tornadoes when it storms like this?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes, but I was watching the weather channel earlier. The front passed through about an hour ago, so all we have to deal with now is rain…and wind, of course. It'll probably howl all night long.”

As far as she was concerned, there was no better sleeping weather, but her guest looked far from pleased with the forecast. His frown deepening, he scowled, then obviously decided there was no use whining about the weather. “As I was saying before the lights went
out, I need a room. Preferably something private, where I won't be disturbed.”

His tone was cool, almost snooty, and that alone told Phoebe that he was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. As a paying guest, he had a right to expect peace and quiet, and she would be as accommodating as she could, but she didn't like his tone at all. What was his problem, anyway? she wondered, narrowing her blue eyes at him in irritation. Hadn't his mama taught him he'd go a lot further in life if he used please and thank you?

Lifting the candle, she held it up so that it illuminated his face and made no secret of the fact that she was openly studying him. He was, she silently acknowledged, a good-looking man. Lean and rangy, with an angular face and a hard jaw, there was something about him that was vaguely familiar, though Phoebe was sure she'd never met him before. She would never have forgotten those eyes. Piercing, brown and sharp with intelligence, they met her gaze head-on and seemed to see into her very soul.

For no explicable reason, she felt her heart kick, and she didn't like the feeling at all. Frowning, she asked, “How long were you planning on staying? Just tonight or until your car's fixed?”

“Actually, longer than that,” he replied stiffly. “Probably a month, maybe longer. At this point, I can't really tell you more than that.”

Phoebe loved Liberty Hill, but she wasn't blind to the fact that there was little about it that would attract a tourist for longer than a day or two. Especially one who appeared to be as sophisticated as this man. His clothes might be damp and torn from his accident, but even so, it was obvious that they were well-cut and
expensive. What was his story? What was he doing here?

Curious, she arched a brow at him. “If you don't mind my asking, what are you going to do here for an entire month? You can walk from one end of town to the other in about ten minutes.”

For a moment, he hesitated as if he didn't want to tell her, before he finally said, almost defiantly. “I'm a writer. I'm working on a book.”

Phoebe couldn't have been more surprised if he'd told her he was the head chef for the
Titanic.
She liked to think she was a fairly good judge of people, but she'd never have guessed that the man had a creative bone in his body. He just didn't look like a writer. Not that a writer had any particular look, she admitted. But she'd always thought of writers and artists as exotic introverts who could do things with words or paint or clay that she and most people could never even dream of. In no way, shape or form did that describe her unexpected guest. If she'd had to guess what he did for a living, she would have taken him for some kind of power broker. He had class-A personality written all over him.

Still, he could have been friendly. He wasn't. In fact, he seemed almost angry. Granted, he had a right to be out of sorts after he'd wrecked his car in the storm, but she had a feeling his anger went deeper than that. And that disturbed her. She liked people…liked talking to them, cooking for them, getting to know them. Getting to know this man wouldn't be easy. Everything about him said back off.

For no other reason than that, she should have sent him back out into the rain in search of a room somewhere else. People who booked a vacation at a bed and breakfast weren't just looking for a place to spend the
night. They were looking for an escape, a place where they could go to get away from the stress of their everyday lives. She didn't know if the other guests Myrtle had lined up for the next few weeks would be able to do that with this man in the house.

But how could she send him away? It was a miserable night and he'd already had more than his share of trouble. And it wasn't as if he could find someplace else in town to stay. The nearest hotel was thirty miles away! How was he supposed to get there? Walk? He'd wrecked his car!

Her ex-boyfriend would have told her she was a soft touch and whatever the stranger's story was, it wasn't her problem. But that was one of the reasons Marshall was an ex. She couldn't be that unfeeling, especially when someone was in trouble. Giving into her inherent need to help, she opened the door wider and invited him inside. “Please, come in. I'm Phoebe Chandler,” she added with an easy smile as he stepped over the threshold. “I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name.”

“Taylor Bishop,” he growled.

Holding out her hand, she flashed her dimples at him. “It's nice to meet you, Taylor. I hope you'll enjoy your stay here.”

He closed his fingers around hers, but only gave her hand a perfunctory shake before releasing it. “I'm sure it'll be fine.”

He couldn't have insulted her more if he'd tried. After everything her grandmother had done to turn the place into a bed and breakfast—and all the work she, herself, intended to do to make the Mountain View Inn the best in the state—she wanted his stay to be a heck of a lot more than just
fine!

Annoyed, she smiled, but it wasn't easy. “I hope it's
better than that. So if there's anything you need—or don't like—just let me know. If I can't fix the problem, I'll find someone who can.”

“I'm not particular about things. All I want is to be left alone to work in peace.”

Well, that was blunt enough, Phoebe thought, irritated. If he thought she was going to bother him, he could think again. He could have all the peace and quiet he wanted. “Then you should be pleased with your room,” she said. “C'mon. I'll show you.”

Turning, she led him carefully up the stairs and found herself wishing the lights would hurry up and come back on. She'd never realized before just how intimate and inviting candlelight was. Or how quiet Myrtle's Victorian house was, even in the midst of a storm. As they carefully made their way up the grand staircase, she could almost hear the pounding of her heart as his shadow followed hers. Did he realize they were the only two people in the house? Was he as aware of her presence as she was of his? What the heck was going on?

Telling herself not to get fanciful, she led him to a room at the back of the house. “It's small, but I think it will suit you nicely. You won't be able to hear the street noise from here and it has a nice view of the garden. You won't be disturbed while you work.”

The room was, in fact, quite comfortable and was decorated with red plaids and heavy furniture designed to appeal to a man. Taylor Bishop took one look at it in the light of the candle she held and reached for his wallet. “This is fine. You do take credit cards, don't you?”

His tone was cool…and all business. Irritated, Phoebe reminded herself that he was only a guest—unfortunately, her first—and she didn't have to like him.
He wasn't going to stay forever. If he didn't care about his creature comforts, that was his problem. It was her job to see that his stay—and every other guest's—was as comfortable as possible, and that's what she intended to do.

Her tone as businesslike as his, she added, “The bathroom is across the hall—there are extra towels in the linen closet if you need them. Breakfast is served between seven and ten in the dining room. If there's anything in particular you would like added to the menu, just tell me and I can have it for you the following morning.”

Not giving him a chance to say anything, she rattled off a list of the inn's other amenities. “If there's anything else you need, just let me know and I'll try to get it for you. Enjoy your stay.”

Giving him a curt nod, she didn't wait to see if he had any questions, but simply turned and headed for her room further down the hall. She knew it was rude, but she couldn't help it. She didn't understand why someone like Taylor Bishop stayed at a bed and breakfast. He obviously wasn't the type to enjoy it. Logically, she knew he hadn't had any other choice—there were no other public lodgings in town—but he still irritated her. Taylor couldn't have cared less that the sheets and towels were line-dried so they would have that fresh scent that was impossible to get in a drier, or that she herself had experimented with dozens of new breakfast recipes, searching for just the right dishes that would make breakfast each morning memorable. He just wanted to be left alone to work.

Fine, she fumed as she stepped inside her own room and shut the door with a little more force than was nec
essary. Let him hole up in his room. The less she had to deal with him, the better!

 

Finally alone, Tyler found a phone book in the bottom drawer of the desk in the corner and wasn't surprised to discover that although the directory covered several counties, it wasn't even an inch thick. After waiting his entire life to track down his father, it took him less than fifteen seconds to find the McBrides in the phone book. There were two: Joe and Zeke.

Frowning, he refused to be discouraged. His father could have an unlisted number, or there was always the possibility that he had moved. After all, it had been forty-one years since his mother met Gus at the Cheyenne rodeo that fateful summer. Gus had claimed he was a cowboy, but there was no way to know for sure that he was telling the truth. He'd been a cowboy sweet-talking a pretty girl. That made anything and everything he'd said suspect.

Still, there were McBrides in Liberty Hill, Taylor thought in satisfaction. Whether they were related to Gus or not remained to be seen, but the odds were in Taylor's favor that they were. After all, Liberty Hill was hardly bigger than a postage stamp. Everyone was bound to be related to everyone else. Now all he had to do was get either Joe or Zeke to tell him where Gus was. Then he was going to hunt his old man down and tell him exactly what he thought of him.