Mountain Heiress: Mountain Midwife by Cassie Miles

over everybody else. More than once, he’d turned down a client who had plenty of money but a nasty attitude. People like them didn’t deserve to own horses.
    He followed her along the flagstone pathway that wound through several other odd statues to a wide deck outside a good-sized house with a shake-shingle roof. In this area, a property like this would be worth millions. Selling other people’s art must be profitable. Rather than walking right in, he pressed the doorbell.
    The double doors swung open, framing a tall, thin man with a gray ponytail and a fringed vest that hung down to his knees. He wore shapeless pants that draped over the tops of his sandals. The front of his loose-fitting shirt was open to the waist, showing off a necklace that reminded Zach of a dream catcher.
    When Gabby introduced herself, he wrapped his arms around her. “My dear, I’ve been expecting you.”
    “Did Mr. Fox tell you I might visit?”
    “In my morning meditation, my spirit guide said I would connect with Michelle. I’m Harrison Osborne. Welcome.”
    “Nice to meet you,” she said as she detached herself from his embrace. “And this is Zach Sheffield.”
    He stuck out his hand to avoid getting hugged. Osborne’s eyes were too bright, his palms were sweaty and he kept licking his lips—all symptoms of drug use. Zach had to wonder if the art dealer might have an addiction problem.
    Osborne led the way into his gallery, which was bright, well lit and divided with partitions allowing more wall space for hanging paintings. The artwork ranged from detailed landscapes to bold splashes of color. Osborne regarded each with a genuine fondness as though seeing it for the first time. He grabbed Zach’s arm and dragged him over to a large canvas filled with zigzag lines. “Do you feel it? The ocean?”
    Zach shut him down before he could launch into a sales pitch. “I’m not in the market, and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t afford any of these paintings.”
    Osborne dropped his arm and turned to Gabby. “I don’t have any of your great-aunt’s work on display because I’m prohibited from selling it until the inventory is complete.”
    “That’s why we’re here.” Gabby went to a seating area beside a window and placed the portfolio on the coffee table. “What can you tell me about paintings that haven’t been listed?”
    “No time to talk,” Osborne said with an extravagant wave of his hands. “I’m dreadfully busy.”
    As far as Zach could tell, there was no one else in the gallery and no sign of pressing business. Osborne’s claim to be busy was a ruse. He wasn’t going to let this guy hustle them out the door without answers. “You probably know that Gabby is Michelle Rousseau’s heir. If you want to continue handling her artwork, you might want to make time for us.”
    “Where are my manners? Would you care for tea?”
    Gabby nodded. “That would be lovely.”
    When Osborne darted through the partitions and disappeared into another part of the house, she whispered, “Did Michelle ever mention him to you?”
    “Never.”
    She flipped open the neatly inventoried portfolio. “It’s hard to believe anybody so scattered could put together these tidy lists. He must have an accountant or something.”
    And they weren’t going to learn anything by sitting politely and waiting for Osborne to make another flamboyant appearance. Zach knew better than to let an addict take control of the situation. “Let’s see what he’s doing.”
    They picked their way through the artwork to a door in the rear wall that opened into a room with a dining table and chairs. Unlike the bright, clean display area, this was a place where someone lived. On the opposite side of the room, there appeared to be a kitchen. Hearing voices, Zach paused to eavesdrop.
    Osborne was talking to another man. His words were rushed. “Why did they come here? I don’t need this kind of pressure. It’s too much for me.”
    “Deal with it,” the