CHAPTER ONE
Triple C Ranch-South was up for grabs.
Pikes Peak, in Colorado Springs, lay miles behind her to the west as Charley slowed down the red Mini Cooper convertible officially called Chili Red. She had bought the vehicle new a couple of years ago. She loved this practical little car and gave the steering wheel a pat.
On the north side of the road, a wooden sign posted high above a wide entrance identified the land beyond the wooden arch as Triple C Ranch-West Percheron Entrance. Her research showed this property to consist of a horse business run by former Deputy Sheriff Derek Brevard, who trained the much-in-demand Percherons for mounted police. Pressing on the gas pedal, the next sign Charley noticed read Triple C Ranch-West. Set back from the road behind split rail fencing and a gate was a beautiful country-style house with a lovely wraparound porch. Derek’s wife, Chloe Cooper Brevard, ran a former bed-and-breakfast as an Airbnb now, which was built next door to their large home. They had a son and a pair of twins. Not the ranch in question.
Continuing on her quest, the next sign posted was also high above a large entryway stating Triple C Ranch-Central CattleEntrance. If memory served, this thriving ranch, consisting of hundreds of Black Angus cattle, was owned by Chase Cooper, eldest of the three Cooper offspring. Legitimate offspring, anyway. Leaving the stables, barn, and bunkhouse behind, on down the road apiece, the next sign read Triple C Ranch-Central. Beyond the wrought-iron gate, Chase shared this enormous wood and stone mountain-style home with his wife, Jade, and their two children. Jade was a children’s therapist, and equine therapy was the focus of her busy practice. No, this property was not the one she was looking for either.
Driving a few miles farther down the scenic highway, Charley slowed the car again. Above another gated archway, a sign read Triple C Ranch-East. Boasting a rambling farmhouse, the place appeared both welcoming and imposing. Down the highway, not too far from the huge home, the next entryway gave access to Triple C-West Dude Ranch Cabins and Coopers’ Lodge. The number of vehicles in the paved parking lot indicated the places were full. Running the show on the dude ranch, Cash Cooper was the youngest of the siblings. His wife, Tracy, wrote and illustrated children’s books and ran the Lodge. Still not the ranch in question.
Charley assumed Triple C Ranch-South lay on the right side of the highway. Gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, gut instinct said it lay dead ahead. How did Chase Cooper, Chloe Brevard Cooper, and Cash Cooper feel about a person interested in Triple C Ranch-South after seeing it? Happy? Relieved someone wanted to take the ten thousand acres off their hands? Or furious? How dare an outsider jump into the middle of this family-owned property? Ambivalent? We’re all busy and never intended to keep the property forever anyway. Perhaps each of the siblings represented a different attitude. Or were they close-knit and all on the same page? She’d met them and the Cooper patriarch so briefly, she truly had no idea.
Sure enough, on the south side of the highway, also posted high above the ground on an arched entryway, a sign read Triple C Ranch-South. A lovely log cabin faced the main road, as did the other three houses falling under the Triple C Ranch brand. Charley veered right onto a gravel road. Traveling slowly, in order to take in her surroundings, the hitching post in front of this charming home seemed like the appropriate place to stop. Shutting off the engine but staying in the car, Charley stared at the cabin.
There were two large bay windows across the front of the place. In the center of the ten-foot-tall, covered porch was an oversized cedar door. Ponderosa pines, expertly carved into the door, embraced stained glass in the upper half. Capturing Charley’s attention and heart, the stained glass displayed the Rocky Mountain Columbine. Lavender and white, the columbine was the official Colorado state flower. Gazing from the stained glass back to the porch, on either side of the front door were two hunter-green rocking chairs that matched the hunter-green shingled roof. Near the cabin was a small barn, but no garage, and there were no other vehicles in sight. The place looked deserted.
But it seemed safe enough to look around the property. The thought concerning safety would not have hit so hard until a few weeks ago. Taking a deep breath, Charley got out of the car and closed the door. Year-round, the pine trees in Colorado were green and fragrant. Ponderosa pines, reaching toward the cloudless blue sky, grew behind the cabin and framed both sides. Decorating the front of the cabin, pink seed heads of ruby muhly grass danced in the breeze. Rabbitbrush, with its yellow flowers and blue mist spirea, sprinkled the land also populated by aspen, fir, and spruce trees. A nature lover’s delight.
Walking up two steps to the porch and knocking on the front door didn’t bring anyone to open it. A peek through the windowto the left of the door showed a great room with a vaulted ceiling boasting a fireplace, a sofa, and a matching chair. A glimpse through the window on the right side of the door displayed a dining area with four chairs around a table and beyond that a kitchen with a stove and a refrigerator. She tried the doorknob on the front door, but it was locked. Hopping off one side of the porch and veering to the back of the cabin, Charley found a second door. Also locked. To one side of the door, a window displayed a bedroom with a four-poster bed, and on the other side of the door, through a smaller window, she spied a full bath.
Wow. This place was roomy yet cozy and in mint condition.
Meandering back around the southeast corner of the cabin near the main road, an ancient, gnarly oak tree caught Charley’s eye. Tall and twisted, the tree just needed a couple of leopards lying in wait on the branches to look like something out of Africa. Or if the drooping, misshapen limbs were covered in green moss and purple fog, one might suppose a mystical wizard occupied the log cabin.
“Excuse me.”
Charley whirled around to find a man on horseback magically emerging from a shadowy path amid the pine trees. Sitting in a black saddle atop a huge horse, he had made the most silent of arrivals. The man wore a faded black cowboy hat which he tipped in greeting. Along with the hat, black sunglasses hid part of his face. Visible were his straight nose, a square jaw, and no smile on his lips. His hair was hidden for the most part. But what she could see touching the collar of his shirt looked dark, probably black like the stubble of beard on his face. Broad shoulders and a muscular chest strained against a pale blue shirt with long sleeves rolled up thick forearms. Snug jeans and black boots rounded out the picture of one heck of a handsome cowboy. Handsome? From what she could see so far, most definitely. Even sitting in the saddle, he looked tall.
“Hello,” Charlie replied. “You aren’t Cash or Chase Cooper.”
“No, I’m Sullivan Custis. I own the ranch that bucks up against this one.” He dismounted and sauntered toward her with the catlike grace of a wildleopard. Her heart thumped, but she stood her ground. He was six foot three at least. Holding the reins to the horse in his left hand, with a polite slowness he extended his right hand. “My dad is also Sullivan Custis and goes by his middle name, Owen. So, I go by Sully. And you are?”
“Charlotte…Fleming.” Giving her first and middle names, she stopped there. Her last name was why she was here, but this stranger didn’t need to know that. She held out her hand in greeting. When his hand engulfed hers in a shake, her hand all but disappeared within his large grasp. Either he had a magic buzzer in his palm, or he was indeed the wizard of the cabin, because his touch sent an electric thrill through her. A magic buzzer? What a ridiculous thought. More likely a wizard due to his mesmerizing presence. Charley told herself to get a grip.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Fleming,” he said. “That name rings a bell.”
“Just call me Charley, Mr. Custis.” She pulled her hand away from him and said, “My mother was also Charlotte, so I go by Charley.”
“Okay,” he said with a tilt of his head. “Just call me Sully.”
“I’m meeting Cash Cooper here in a few minutes,” Charley said. “I’m early.”
“Are you a realtor? Are the Coopers letting this property go?”
“I’m not a realtor.” Charley shaded her eyes against the setting sun and looked up at him. She wondered what color his eyes were behind the sunglasses. “Why? Would you be in the market to buy Triple C Ranch-South?”
“I’ve always referred to this place as Pretty Petals because of the columbine on the door.”
Charley nodded. “As a native of Colorado, I’m partial to the Rocky Mountain Columbine. It was my mother’s favorite flower.”
“Yeah, I’m a native of Colorado too,” he said. “Anyway, after my dad retired from years of serving as the El Paso County Sheriff, he deeded most of his ranch land to me. In answer to your question, I’m always open to expanding my property.”
“I see.” She nodded and glanced away from the man to his horse, which was just as striking. “Your horse is beautiful. What kind is he?”
“Thanks. Storm is an American quarter horse. His brown coloring with the black shading on his mane, tail, and legs makes him a bay.”
Screeching tires on the highway caused Charley to whirl toward the sound. The silver Mercedes that spun out on the gravel, turning into the ranch, spit rocks as it fishtailed and skidded to a stop not far from Charley’s car.
