The Virgin and Zach Coulter by Lois Faye Dyer Page A

her mother’s boyfriend hadn’t been drinking too much and that she hadn’t been alone that night.
    Maybe Zach would have been her first lover. Of course, he would have left town, and her, but still…
    She sighed. Too late for wishes. She couldn’t undo the past. She couldn’t imagine having to confess she was still completely inexperienced. She cringed just thinking about it. So she could only hope Zach was wrong and that their attraction would fizzle out after they’d worked together for a while. Because working at the Lodge meant she could stay in Indian Springs, live in Nicholas’s lovely home and settle down. And although she suspected having an affair with Zach would be better than her wildest dreams, he would surely quickly grow bored with her inexperience.
    She’d worked with men and women who were ex-lovers and knew the situation could be an emotionally explosive minefield.
    No, she thought, if she wanted to work at the Lodge, she had to stay out of Zach’s bed.
    The men in her past who’d been interested in her had eventually given up after she’d repeatedly ignored their advances. Granted, Zach seemed much more determinedbut still, sooner or later, she was sure he’d give up and move on to more interesting game.
    Which was a shame, she thought wistfully, because she would really love to have more of those toe curling kisses.
    She finished eating, then tidied the kitchen before settling into the living room to boot up her laptop and research the history of the Coulter Lodge on the internet.
    Later that evening, after she showered, donned pajamas and settled in with a bowl of popcorn to watch an old Alfred Hitchcock movie on TV, Cynthia considered the lack of information she’d found online about the Coulters.
    It was as if the Coulter family had dropped off the face of the earth after Melanie Coulter’s death. Prior to the date of the tragic accident that took her life, the newspaper archives were filled with articles about the rising star of the art world. Melanie’s silver, copper and bronze work was nationally acclaimed. She’d won a coveted award and photos of her at the ceremony in New York City which she’d attended with her husband and four sons showed a happy, loving family. The Coulter Lodge was mentioned in articles featuring celebrities in the entertainment industry as well as the financial world, politics and American blueblood society.
    There were numerous articles about Zach’s mother’s death and follow-up pieces reporting the media lockout by her grieving husband. But those slowed to a trickle and within a few months, stopped altogether.
    The only references Cynthia could find to the family after that first year following Melanie Coulter’s deathwere related to art auctions. Even after she was gone, Melanie’s work continued to gain in value, the price of the few pieces on the market skyrocketing each time one came up for sale as collectors snapped up the sculptures.
    But the family was silent—and if Melanie had left unfinished pieces in her studio at the Triple C, no one would confirm, although art historians continued to speculate.
    I wish I’d asked Zach if the Lodge had any of his mother’s artwork, Cynthia thought. The photos she’d viewed courtesy of the internet had been stunning. The sculptures of mustangs were especially vivid and so lifelike Cynthia almost felt they could step out of her laptop and thunder away.
    The phone rang, startling her. She hastily wiped the popcorn salt from her fingers, muted the television and grabbed the phone from the table next to the sofa.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œWhat took you so long to answer?”
    Cynthia nearly groaned out loud. How like her mother to not bother saying hello before criticizing. “I’m eating popcorn and didn’t want to get salt and butter on the phone.” Her mother rarely called but when she did, it was nearly always