“You don’t need to worry,” Jenny said, reading the concern in his face. “I’ll be fine.”
“Any of the Cobras show up, you call me.”
“I’ve been running this place for years. I’ll be fine.”
“Promise me.”
Jenny released a slow breath. “All right, fine. If any of the bikers show up, I’ll call. See you Tuesday.”
“Tuesday,” he repeated, and headed back to his car.
CHAPTER NINE
CAIN RETURNED TO THE HOTEL, CHANGED INTO CLEAN JEANS AND Afresh blue-denim shirt, then gave Nell and Emma a tour, winding up in Nell’s nearly completed suite and Emma’s adjoining quarters, not as large, but extremely nice.
Afterward, he loaded Nell’s wheelchair into the back of the Acura RDX he had bought for her, one of the easiest vehicles for the handicapped to get in and out of. Taller than Nell and thirty pounds heavier, Emma helped Nell into the passenger seat. His grandmother could walk with the use of a cane, just not well and not for long.
They stopped for lunch at the Clinkscale, once a brothel owned by a madam named Belgian Jennie Bauters—at one time, the richest woman in Arizona. In a strange twist, Jennie was murdered by her opium-addicted boyfriend, who was hanged a few months later for the crime.
More ghosts?Cain thought with amusement, then remembered an old saying,Whoever dies in Jerome, stays in Jerome.Though Belgian Jennie had been murdered in another town, the brothel in Jerome had belonged to her, so if you believed in spirits . . .
He smiled as Emma held the door and Cain wheeled Nell inside. Today, the building was a lovely boutique hotel with a restaurant downstairs that served the best food in town.
They ate a leisurely lunch, and then Cain helped Nell back into the car and loaded the wheelchair, and Emma settled herself in the driver’s seat.
“I’ll let you know when your rooms are ready,” Cain said.
“It better be soon,” Nell warned. “’Cause we’re about to be movin’ in.”
Cain grinned. “One way or another, they’ll be ready for you by the end of the week.”
Nell grinned back. “That’s my boy.”
Cain watched Emma drive the SUV down the hill toward Cottonwood, heading for Interstate l7, the road back to Scottsdale, then turned and made the steep walk up the hill from the Clinkscale to the Grandview, enjoying the brisk fall weather and the exercise.
Back in his suite, he thought of what had happened last night, thought of Jenny and tried not to imagine her sleeping in his bed.
By herself, unfortunately.
He would be glad to be back at the ranch, where he could concentrate on other problems and push images of Jenny to the back of his mind.
Before leaving the hotel, Cain double-checked with Jake, then spoke to Millicent about Nell’s suite. Satisfied he’d done what he could, he headed out to his Jag for the drive back down the mountain. On Monday, he had a meeting with the private detective he had hired to help him find his champion cutting horse and the men responsible for stealing him. On Tuesday, he would be back in Jerome to get Jenny situated in her new job.
Jenny.Arousal slipped though him, tightening his groin. Damn.
When he’d returned to Jerome, he’d had no idea he would run into Jenny Spencer—hell, he barely remembered her—or that if he did, he would feel an attraction he hadn’t felt for a woman in years.
He wondered what Jenny thought of him and hoped the attraction was mutual. He had a feeling his money and success wouldn’t make a bit of difference to her. Sort of good news/bad news, depending on how you looked at it.
Money usually bought him just about anything. Not this time. Cain wanted Jenny. He just had to figure out how to make her want him.
The weekend slipped past with only the usual problems of running a ranch. Monday morning, he drove his pickup the thirty miles to Prescott, arriving on time for his ten o’clock appointment with Nick Faraday.
Nick was former military. He’d gone into law enforcement for a couple of years after leaving the service, found out he had a knack for digging up information, and eventually gone private.
Cain crossed the lot to the office of Faraday Investigations on Gurley Street, a small, unassuming beige structure with parking spaces out front. He rapped a few times and opened the door. Nick was kicked back in the chair behind his desk, his cowboy boots crossed at the ankle on top, his cell phone pressed against his ear. He was about six feet, lean-muscled, black-haired, and good-looking.
He waved Cain forward as he swung his feet to the floor and sat up in his chair.
