Gage leaned close to Chelsea as they got up to follow Ms. Smithers down a long hall. “Just a pair of birds with eyes on their tails.”
“Shh,” Chelsea said, trying not to giggle. She was nervous at the thought of staying in a “peacock cabin” with Gage. But it wasn’t bad nerves. More like shivers of destiny and creativity finally awakening—the thrill of the unknown and adventure. And when he put his hand on her back to help her outside to the cabin Ms. Smithers pointed at, Chelsea accepted his assistance along the mud-washed, cobbled sidewalk. He clasped her hand as they ran to the cabin surrounded by trees, rain hitting them as they went.
They stepped inside, and Chelsea gasped. “Wow. This is the Peacock Cabin.”
Gage whistled, closing the door behind them. “Little less rustic than I’m used to.”
“Me, too.” Chelsea took off her shoes, leaving them on the Saltillo tile floor near the door as she lit the candles on the entry table Ellen had mentioned. When candlelight threw flickering light around the room, she could see their digs for the night. The centerpiece, she noticed with some dismay, was a round honeymooners’ bed covered with an emerald-green satin spread, and positioned beneath a heavy crystal chandelier. She stepped closer with a candle, seeing peacock-feathered pillows piled abundantly at the top of the bed, the colors glistening almost erotically in the candlelight. A mirrored wall backed the bed, emphasizing the florid color scheme. Chelsea lit candles on the bedside tables, noting that every wall had a painting, which seemed to be delicate nudes in a Garden of Eden–type setting, each of which included—what else?—peacocks.
“Holy smokes,” Gage said. “I think the bed is motorized.”
“Why?” She stepped closer to see what he was looking at.
“I guess so it can turn.” He stared underneath the bed with a flashlight, checking out the contraption. “I wondered why it was set so high. When the juice, as Ellen called it, comes back on, we’ll check it out.”
“She certainly wants this cottage to contain everything a honeymooner needs,” Chelsea said, checking out a glass-topped table with a gold-rimmed tray. “I was going to help myself to some fruit juice, but I see these are juices of a different kind.”
Gage grinned as he glanced at the tray of varying fruit-flavored body oils. “Who would have thought Ms. Ellen had such a sensual side?”
“Not me.” Chelsea shuddered. “Let’s not think about that. Let’s plan on how you’re going to get those peacocks away from her. I’m pretty certain she hijacked you for the honeymooner’s cabin and has no intention of letting you have any peafowl. How’d you know they were called peafowl, anyway?”
“First,” Gage said, handing Chelsea a towel so she could dry off, “she didn’t hijack me. She held up Jonas for the money, and he said I had his full permission to do whatever I had to do, including bribery, to encourage her to let loose some birds.” He leaned down and pulled off his boots, setting them by the door next to her leather flats. “Second, once I realized Jonas was determined to get his hands on some peacocks, I did a quick study of how the creatures live.”
Gaze shrugged, looking dangerous in the near darkness, his teeth gleaming whitely as he sank onto the bed. Chelsea’s nervousness picked up, warning her that this situation was fraught with danger, mainly from her own attraction to the cowboy. And I am attracted to him, I always knew I was. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.
“You forget I’m in charge of building Jonas’s grand plan for Dark Diablo. Peacocks will need pens on the ranch.”
“And that means another project on your list.”
“Exactly. I wanted a time estimate. Since I’d hoped this job would be a four-to-six-month project, having to stop and direct construction of pens will add on time. It’s not like a doghouse or something else uncomplicated. Pens’ll have to be spacious to accommodate the five-foot tails when splayed. Peacock trains can be six feet in length when not open.” He sighed. “Jonas has always been a grand dreamer.”
“Or schemer.”
“Yeah. Anyway, that’s when I picked up some peafowl lingo. I was hoping to impress Ms. Smithers, knowing she’d given Jonas a bit of a rough road.”
Chelsea sank into a chair across from the bed, not wanting to get too close to temptation. “I had the strangest feeling she was giving us the runaround.”
“Not as much as we’re giving her.” Gage bounced once on the mattress. “I wonder if Jonas got the grand tour of this joint. I’ll bet he did, the old dog. This smacks of a Callahan setup.”
Chelsea froze. “What do you mean?”
Rain slashed the windows, and a burst of lightning lit the room. She could see Gage’s face clearly as he ruefully shook his head with a smile. “You find Ellen’s fridge and those goodies she promised us. I’m going to check on Cat and your mom, if I’ve got cell service.”
“Sure.” Anything not to sit and look at him lounging on the bed. “She did say she stocked this cabin with the best there is to offer.”
“Hope she lives up to her boasting. I’m starved.”
He handed over the flashlight, and Chelsea went to find the fridge in the kitchenette, hearing Gage in the other room talking to his daughter.
“That’s good,” he said. “You take care of Miss Moira.”
Chelsea smiled and got out some champagne that was chilling, and some chocolate-dipped strawberries, both dark and white chocolate. Further inspection showed a large salad and a loaf of bread, set side by side in beautiful bowls. Gage the vegetarian would eat both of those, Chelsea thought, considering the block of cheese attractively laid out on a marble cheeseboard. Almost as if it was waiting for someone. Chelsea narrowed her eyes, thinking. Ms. Smithers had had no notice that they’d be staying here tonight. Yet this food was all fresh, waiting. She pointed the flashlight at the chilled fruit, noticing that there were even bowls of fresh guacamole and dip, which looked tasty to her growling stomach. The ride up to Colorado had been longer than Jonas had claimed—his “short” ride to get the peacocks not as short as a drive into Rancho Diablo. Guacamole didn’t keep overnight, usually, unless one treated it with lemon and air-proof plastic wrap, and the delicate strawberries…
Chelsea walked out with the tray of fruit and the bottle of champagne just as Gage hung up the phone.
“All’s well at the homestead,” he said. “Moira and Chelsea are going to the library, now that they’ve finished their baking to take to Rancho Diablo for the Fourth of July gathering. They said they hoped we’re having fun. Jonas hung around for a while, and they all went for a dip in the creek. He’s been quite the host, apparently.”
“I’m sure,” Chelsea said, extending the tray. Gage took a dark-chocolate strawberry and smiled.
“Champagne? That’s fancy,” he said. “I don’t drink much champagne.”
“We might as well drink it,” Chelsea said, “because we’ve been had, cowboy.”
Chapter Seven
Gage put the strawberry back on the tray and looked at Chelsea. “Had?”
“Tricked. Bamboozled.”
“I know what the word means. I want to know what you mean.”
Setting the tray near the body oils on the long, slender table by the bed, Chelsea sighed. “You were right. This is a Callahan setup.”
He took the champagne from her, popping it open. The cork made barely a protest as it left the bottle. “If it is, I’m going to add on to my employer’s tab. What makes you think so?”
“There’s no meat in the fridge. Plenty of salads and fruit and tasty treats,