Lucky Devil, Page 2

  “Not really. I miss people, not places. What’s left of my family lives in Pennsylvania,” she said, thinking of her mother and still-single younger brother. “And my best friends are right here.” She saluted the newlyweds, who were locked in another clinch.

  “You got good taste,” Sally said expansively. “As does my son. They keep this up, and I’m gonna have grandkids sooner than I think.”

  JoJo laughed with him. They clinked glasses, finished their champagne and talked about the latest Elvis sighting, undoubtedly spread by a tourist who’d spotted one of the impersonators working Vegas.

  A short while later, Sally moved on to talk to his son and the bride for a few minutes, while JoJo went in search of some appetizers. She’d calmed her empty stomach by the time the newlyweds caught up to her. JoJo noticed Nick’s arm wound around Sasha’s waist as if he were afraid she might disappear if he let go. As if Sasha would let him out of her sight!

  “Nicky has a surprise for you, JoJo,” Sasha told her. “Actually, this was all Sally’s idea—but it’s an offer you won’t be able to resist.”

  Wondering what Nick’s father had come up with, JoJo said, “Really? So spill.”

  “Some time off at the family ranch,” Nick told her. “You can stay as long as you want.”

  Astonished, JoJo asked, “You own a ranch?”

  “With facilities for a handful of guests. It’s a small working ranch in Arizona, not too far from Sedona. The economy being what it is, the place was floundering, so we tried keeping it afloat by taking paid guests. So far, it’s been a hit-and-miss proposition. You might even have the whole house to yourself. The wranglers, foreman and the housekeeper live in other quarters.”

  Thinking about a change of scene in a “New Age” area known for meditation and spiritual rejuvenation lifted a growing weight from JoJo’s shoulders. Maybe this was just what she needed.

  “I didn’t know Sally was into cattle,” she said.

  “Actually, Caroline and Lucky and I inherited the Macbride Ranch from our mother’s family. We used to spend a lot of time there as kids.”

  She had heard about Nick’s mysterious younger brother, Lucky. He’d disappeared from the Las Vegas scene long before JoJo had entered it. No one seemed to know his whereabouts or what he’d been up to for the past half-dozen years—except maybe for Sally, who’d put investigators on his son’s tracks. And Sally wasn’t talking. While Nick hadn’t complained, JoJo knew he was disappointed that Lucky hadn’t been around to be his best man.

  “So what do you say?” Sasha demanded.

  JoJo hugged her best friend and with a big grin crowed, “Yee-hah!” Then she kissed Nick noisily on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “You better make Sasha happy or you’ll answer to me!”

  Nick grimaced. “Well, then, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

  Only when JoJo let him go did she realize Nick’s sister, Caroline, was nearby, her expression disapproving as usual.

  SHE’D MEANT to get an early start, but exhaustion more mental than physical demanded JoJo sleep in. Not knowing whether she’d be gone for a few days or a few weeks, as Nick and Sasha had urged, she filled her biggest suitcase and a carryall to boot. Map and keys to the ranch house in hand, she set off midway through the afternoon.

  On the way to the used Cherokee that was her pride—she’d never owned any manner of vehicle while living in Manhattan—JoJo checked her mailbox. Stuffed full. Helping with the wedding had kept her too busy the past few days to see to the practical details of her life. And they could wait a while longer, JoJo decided.

  She loaded the mail into a zippered compartment on the outside of her larger suitcase, vaguely noting an envelope with a New York postmark.

  Then she was off on her two-hundred-mile-plus trek southeast into Arizona, stopping a couple of times to get coffee and to stretch her legs. It was at one of those rest stops that JoJo had the sensation of being watched again. Ridiculous, of course. No one but Sasha and Nick knew where she was going. No one could have followed her from Las Vegas.

  Right?

  She rubbed at the back of her neck. A look around the parking lot at the half-dozen empty vehicles reassured her. Still, she drove off like a madwoman, checking her mirrors to see if anyone followed. When no car swung behind her, she relaxed.

  Why couldn’t she have left her imagination back in Nevada?

  By the time she hit Flagstaff, JoJo was driving with country music blasting and her window down, delighted by the cooler mountain air. Rather than taking the faster highway south, she chose the scenic route through ponderosa pine ending in a stunning sixteen-mile drive through Oak Creek Canyon. Lush pine forest melded into red-rock country, the trip down to the lower elevation executed on hairpin curves and a series of switchbacks. The sun was just setting, turning the surrounding rock to molten copper.

  At the bottom of the canyon, JoJo pulled off the road to gawk while sections of the rock walls flared to life in shifts as the sun plunged below the horizon. The breeze played through the poplars and sycamores, their rustle hypnotic. Propped against the hood of her truck, inhaling earth-scented fresh air and enjoying nature’s show while other vehicles sped by, JoJo felt some of the residual tension flow from her limbs.

  It made her believe the area really did have the healing properties it was known for.

  Her stomach rumbled. JoJo realized she needed something else, as well. Food. No reason she couldn’t stop in Sedona for a real dinner, even if it would be getting dark soon. Nick had given her a detailed hand-drawn map, showing her how to get to the Macbride spread.

  As she drove toward town, she thought about her phone call to the ranch the night before. The housekeeper, Flora Ramos, had confirmed that the extended family booked at the ranch would leave Sunday afternoon, and no one was scheduled in until the following Friday, so JoJo would have the house all to herself for nearly a week. Since she had warned Flora to expect her, surely the housekeeper would keep a light burning.

  DRIVING DOWN the gravel path from the side road, JoJo tried not to get spooked again. The surrounding darkness was thick, its inky blackness relieved only by a sliver of moon and a dusting of stars overhead. No man-made lights had guided her since she’d left Sedona except those on her truck.

  She switched on her high beams just in time to see the fork in the road. The map indicated she should veer left. Another quarter of a mile, and she spotted the sprawling, darkened, modern log ranch house.

  Deciding she’d better figure out where things were before she unloaded, JoJo climbed out of the truck with no more than the house keys in hand. The main door was in the center of the long building, bedroom wings stretching out on each side. She unlocked the front door and opened it to more darkness. A switch to her left turned on a table lamp that softly lit the area, the large main room of the house.

  JoJo looked around the pine-paneled room. On one wall, a big stone fireplace was flanked by two overstuffed plaid sofas and a set of matching chairs and ottomans. Heavy wooden coffee and end tables completed the living area, beyond which was a breakfront and a long wooden table and chairs for dining, plus an open kitchen area with iron skillets hanging over the old-fashioned stove.

  She chose to explore the left wing for a bedroom. It had a short hallway with three doors, the one on her right open. She started to check it out. An indistinguishable noise made JoJo hesitate a moment in the doorway and listen hard. The sound was not repeated. Before she could get herself all worked up again—she was supposed to be relaxed here, for Pete’s sake!—JoJo told herself the noise had to have come from outside, perhaps some nocturnal animal activity.

  Continuing her exploration, she flipped the wall switch to reveal a large bedroom with a small sitting area and a private bathroom, all decorated in desert pastels. Pleased, she decided to claim the room and leave the rest of the house for the morning. But upon trading the room for the hall, she hesitated yet again, the strangest feeling chasing her, as if she weren’t alone.

>   But she was alone, she reminded herself. No guests had been scheduled for the week. No car had been parked outside. No signs inside warned her of any other presence. Yet this inexplicable and thoroughly phantom feeling tracked her, not so different from what she’d been experiencing over the past few weeks. Ghosts that had followed her from Vegas in her mind.

  Shaking away the spooky feeling, she proceeded to her truck to get her things.

  A few minutes later, bags tucked in a corner of her room, JoJo thought to find something cool to drink to relieve her parched throat. But the moment she stuck a booted toe in the hall, her upper arm was caught in a firm vise that spun her around so fast it made her dizzy.

  “Who the hell are you?” demanded a sleep-gruff voice.

  Heart pounding in her throat, JoJo couldn’t speak. Her back was pressed against a wall, and a half-naked man loomed over her. He was lean but muscular, the hair dusting his chest disappearing into the V of his unsnapped jeans. When she forced her gaze higher, to his face, it wasn’t to a pretty picture. Broken nose, scarred chin and forehead, broad mouth pulled into a straight line, pale eyes flat.

  Beneath sleep-mussed, burnished brown hair, he looked dangerous.

  She lost her voice for a moment.

  “I want to know who you are,” he reminded her.

  Gathering her courage, JoJo returned, “Who the hell are you?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “No one was supposed to be here.”

  “Who said?” He was starting to sound exasperated.

  “The housekeeper.”

  “You a friend of hers?”

  “Are you?”

  “If you won’t tell me who you are, I’ll just find out for myself.”

  Before her amazed eyes, he stormed into her bedroom and immediately spotted her purse at the foot of the bed. He went straight for it.

  When he unzipped the bag, JoJo’s temper flared. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Looking for your driver’s license.” He plunged his large hand into the bag and scooped out her wallet.

  “Give me that.”

  He raised his arm, and though the wallet was out of her reach, JoJo went for it…and found herself brushing up against him. He was solid as a rock, and as warm as if he’d been baking under a noonday sun. JoJo’s breath caught in her throat. The man’s pale gray eyes lit with interest, and she flew back into the dresser.

  “My name’s JoJo Weston,” she said, holding out her hand for her property. Her knees were shaky and her pulse was hammering in her throat. “Now, give me that.”

  But he’d already opened the wallet and had found her driver’s license. “JoJo Weston. Five feet, seven inches. Hundred and twenty-four pounds,” he read, then checked her out as if to make certain those were the facts.

  JoJo squirmed. “Satisfied?”

  He continued. “Brown eyes. Red hair. That natural red?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but read her address. “Las Vegas, huh?” When they met hers again, his eyes burned with an odd light. “Who sent you?”

  “Sent me?”

  “Do you always answer questions with more questions?”

  “Are you always so buffoonish?”

  His deepened scowl made her think she’d pushed a bit too far. “Buffoonish? That’s a word?”

  “Now look who’s talking in questions,” she muttered.

  He stepped closer and demanded, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The last was a shout that made JoJo shake inside. Why was he so angry? And what was she doing, standing for this interrogation? Why wasn’t she running?

  JoJo realized she was alone in a house with a man who could very well be violent. She hadn’t the faintest idea of how far she’d have to run to reach the staff housing. The keys to the Cherokee were in her purse, and he was between it and her. And she hadn’t even noted the location of the telephone, so she couldn’t call for help.

  Praying the man wasn’t dangerous, she resorted to reason. “The owner of this place gave me free rein, okay? Who let you in?” He could be an unexpected guest, after all.

  A charged silence was followed by his, “My keys let me in. I’m the owner.”

  For a moment, JoJo feared she’d gotten herself turned around in the dark and had driven onto the wrong property. Good Lord, that would make her a burglar. Visions of her sitting in a jail cell danced in her head. But no, the keys Nick gave her fit the front door. So the man was lying. Undoubtedly he’d broken in, maybe through a window.

  Looking around for some makeshift weapon, just in case, she asked, “This is the Macbride Ranch, agreed?” The only thing that came to mind was the lamp on the dresser, and it was plugged into the wall.

  “What if it is?”

  “I got the keys from Nick Donatelli himself.”

  “Nick. Ah-h-h.”

  Hearing the wealth of understanding in that sound, she stared at him and saw the knowing look in his expression. It didn’t take a genius to know what he was thinking. The misconception irritated her, made her focus on righteous indignation rather than fear.

  “Don’t get any wrong ideas, here! I’m Nick’s friend. And his new wife’s best friend.”

  He gaped. “When did my brother get married?”

  “Yesterday.” Then it hit her and she went wide-eyed. “Brother? You’re not—”

  “Lucian Donatelli.”

  He didn’t look a bit like Nick or Caroline or Sally. All three had green eyes and dark hair and smooth good looks that escaped this man. “You wouldn’t want to show me your driver’s license?”

  His grin was wolfish, intimidating. “You’re free to look for one.”

  He raised his arms, inviting her to search his person. JoJo was tempted just to teach him a lesson. And if she didn’t think he’d like her pawing him, she might have done it, too. The thought of touching him sent a rush of confusion through her, and heat seeped up her neck.

  When she stayed put, he said, “Maybe you’d like to check out my bedroom?”

  “Does a line like that work often?”

  “Often enough. They call me Lucky—”

  “Yeah, bad luck.”

  “Maybe you need to find out for yourself.” He stepped closer.

  Her hand shot out to stop him, the heel catching him in the solar plexus. Surprised when he flinched, she said, “Keep your distance.”

  He neither agreed nor tried to overpower her. But the look he gave her…When she refused to remove her hand, tension stretched between them.

  JoJo didn’t know what kind of a game Lucky was playing—if, indeed, he was Nick’s brother as he claimed. He didn’t look like Nick, certainly, but there was something about him. A male strength that was undeniable and powerful and very, very disturbing. Her palm on his flesh warmed, and her fingers tingled. Suddenly overheated, her body beading with perspiration, JoJo couldn’t stand it any longer.

  “Can we call it a draw?” she asked finally.

  Tension visibly flowed from Lucky, and he backed off. “I assume you’ll be leaving in the morning.”

  JoJo wanted nothing more than to be back in Las Vegas where she’d be safe.

  Only she wasn’t safe there, she reminded herself.

  She only hoped she would be here.

  “Your brother…Nick…invited me to stay here as long as I want,” she said stubbornly.

  “Suit yourself.”

  The way he said it made her think she might be sorry if she did. “I will,” she said anyway.

  With a black grin, he nodded, his tone ominous when he said, “See you in the morning, then.”

  JoJo refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing the doubt that flickered through her. She waited until he’d left her room and was on the way to his before rushing to close and lock the door.

  His low laughter trailing down the hall got to her anyway.

  An unladylike curse escaped JoJo, and she vowed to remain awake all night. Then, in the morning, she would find out whether
or not her unexpected company really was Lucky Donatelli, as he claimed.

  Chapter Two

  “He introduced himself as Lucian Donatelli when he arrived late yesterday afternoon,” Flora Ramos told JoJo the next morning when she entered the kitchen area where the housekeeper was making a huge breakfast of sausage, eggs and pancakes. “I had no reason to think he was lying.”

  JoJo poured herself a mug of coffee and wondered if the man in question was still sleeping. Glad that she had the opportunity to talk to Flora alone, she asked, “Then you never met him before?”

  “I’ve only worked here for two years. I’ve met Mr. Nicholas and Miss Caroline, but never Mr. Lucian. Dios, if I’ve made a mistake and allowed a thief to move in…”

  The housekeeper nervously smoothed her hair, blue black with a touch of silver at the temples. The sunny smile that had greeted JoJo first thing had evaporated. In her mid-forties, Flora Ramos seemed to be very sweet and very conscientious. Realizing the poor woman was working herself into a case, JoJo tried to reassure her.

  “Don’t upset yourself. He might very well be who he says he is. I just wanted to make sure since Nick told me I’d have the place to myself until Friday.”

  And there was no way to confirm Lucky’s identity since Nick and Sasha were on their honeymoon, JoJo thought. No way would she ask anything of Sister Caroline of the Rotten Attitude. And while she liked Sally, JoJo didn’t feel comfortable calling him, either. Too much had passed between the former crime boss and his younger son, or Lucky never would have disappeared in the first place.

  “Surely someone here must have met Lucian Donatelli before.”

  Flora fetched a large oval plate and started loading it with the cooked food. JoJo had noticed the table was set for three people. Did the housekeeper plan on eating with her and Lucky—assuming the man presented himself any time soon?

  “Only Vincent Zamora is around to take care of the extra horses,” Flora told her. “The foreman, Henry Tidwell, has worked here for many years, but he took the wranglers out to the far range to bring in strays— the cattle graze on national forestland, you know. The men may be gone for the rest of the week.” She thought for a moment. “Hmm, this stranger did stop by my place yesterday to let me know he’d arrived, and he did have his own keys. And the other man called him Lucky.”