A Coulter's Christmas Proposal. Lois Faye Dyer

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      Huge thanks to the Tuesday Morning Breakfast Club—you keep me sane …

      Prologue

       Mid-July

       San Luis, Spain

      The hot Spanish sunshine poured over the little town square of San Luis. Eli Coulter left the relative comfort of a shaded seat, weaving his way around diners breakfasting at other umbrella-topped tables clustered outside the café doorway. His mind reeled as he processed the information an American investigator had relayed only moments earlier.

      Zach and Cade are back on the Triple C. Does that mean something happened to Dad? Even if Joseph was dead, Eli couldn’t help but wonder why his brothers were at the ranch. There was no possibility their father had left them anything in his will.

      Joseph Coulter hated all four of his sons with equal animosity.

      Eli strode swiftly up the cobblestone street to the sprawling stucco home of his host, reclusive sculptor Lucan Montoya. For the past year, the elderly Spaniard had been Eli’s mentor. The apprenticeship had proven invaluable; only two weeks remained of their time together and Eli was reluctant to see it end.

      He’d considered staying on in San Luis once his apprenticeship had ended. But if his brothers needed him, that changed everything.

      Given the remoteness of the small Spanish village and its lack of cell phone service, it took nearly an hour to reach his brother Zach.

      “What?”

      Eli grinned at Zach’s impatient demand. “The least you could do is say ‘hello, how are you?’” he commented mildly.

      “Eli?” Zach’s deep voice held surprise and relief. “Damn, it’s about time you called. Where are you?”

      “I’m in Spain,” Eli told him. “I’ve been here for months. I’ve been meaning to check in but my cell phone doesn’t get service here. A detective showed up today and told me I needed to call you.”

      “We’ve been looking for you, Eli.” Zach’s voice turned grim. “The old man died.”

      Eli hadn’t seen his father in thirteen years but hearing Zach confirm what he’d suspected had the power to stun him. Shock held him silent.

      “Dad left the Triple C and nearly everything else he owned to the four of us,” Zach went on.

      “That’s impossible,” Eli said flatly, finding his voice. “He hated our guts. Why would he leave us the ranch?”

      “Apparently he sobered up and had a change of heart after we left,” Zach told him.

      “I’ll be damned.” Eli didn’t know what to make of the news. “I never thought he’d stop drinking—or stop hating us.”

      “Me either,” Zach admitted.

      “So.” Eli tried to focus on the here and now, and not on the memories pushing to get out of the box he’d locked them in years ago. “When did he die?”

      “Last December. It took the attorney several months to find Cade, and then he found me through my office. Cade’s running the ranch and I’ve almost got the Lodge ready to open again. Dad left the Triple C to all four of us but he left specific pieces to each of us. He left you Mom’s studio, Eli.”

      Again, Eli was stunned into silence. Melanie Coulter had been a sculptor on the brink of becoming world-famous when a tragic accident while swimming with her four sons in the creek near her studio had taken her life. The day of her funeral, Joseph Coulter had sealed her studio and forbidden his sons to enter.

      “The inheritance taxes on the ranch are huge and there aren’t any cash assets. We need you to come home,” Zach continued. “The only way we’re СКАЧАТЬ