Chloe Cooper: A Contemporary

Western Romance (Triple C Ranch

Book 2) Lynn Eldridge
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CHLOE COOPER
ALSO BY LYNN ELDRIDGE
Desire In Deadwood
Hearts and Mountains
Kindred Spirits
Remember the Passion
Skyrocket to Surrender
Tame the Wild

Triple C Ranch
Chase Cooper
 CHLOE COOPER
TRIPLE C RANCH
BOOK TWO

LYNN ELDRIDGE
Chloe Cooper
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2024 Lynn Eldridge

Wolfpack Publishing
701 S. Howard Ave. 106-324
Tampa, Florida 33609

wolfpackpublishing.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products
of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.

eBook ISBN 978-1-63977-856-0

Paperback ISBN 978-1-63977-857-7
 CONTENTS
Get your FREE Starter Library
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
A Look at: Cash Cooper
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About the Author
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CHLOE COOPER
 C HAPTER ONE

C olorado Springs, CO Triple C Ranch-West lay masked in moonlight.

Chloe Cooper’s costume depicted her favorite fluffy animal. In her master suite, which had originally included her
bedroom along with an office and sitting room, she glanced at the clock. In a few minutes, family and friends would start
arriving for the party. This country-style, two-story, bed-and-breakfast was a whopping 6,500 square feet. The first-floor
location of her private quarters gave her plenty of space and seclusion from the four bedrooms with private baths, which she
rented out upstairs. All in all, she cherished the property inherited from her uncle, Chester Cooper.
The Triple C Ranches-West, Central, and East were located a few miles outside of Colorado Springs, Colorado, and
always remained in the Cooper bloodline. Aunt Rachel, Chester’s widow, had been well-compensated upon his passing.
Loved by all, Rachel enjoyed working alongside Chloe a couple of days a week and stayed the occasional night in the other
downstairs bedroom. But most of Rachel’s free time was spent in the company of Marty-fixit-man Martinez, her longtime beau.
A ranch hand, affectionately called Martyman for short, he was admired by all, had worked for the Coopers for years, and
lived in a house on Chase’s ranch.
At thirty-one, Chase Cooper was Chloe’s older brother by three years. He and Jade, his blonde bombshell as he fittingly
and lovingly called his wife, lived on Triple C Ranch-Central, a working cattle ranch with hundreds of Black Angus. Two
years younger than she and still single like herself, Chloe’s brother Cash Cooper ran a dude ranch operation on Triple C
Ranch-East.
This evening, Halloween decorations greeted passersby along the main road where, on the overhead sign at the entrance to
Triple C Ranch-West, orange lights glowed. Adorning the ponderosa pines lining the drive, orange lanterns dangled from tree
branches. The driveway circled a grassy yard boasting goblins and scarecrows, with a couple of skeletons perched atop bales
of hay.
On the wraparound porch, between hanging ferns, orange lights trimmed the white wooden pillars and railing. Cheery,
carved jack-o’-lanterns glowed on tables between white rocking chairs. More pumpkins bookended the welcome mat in front
of the door, framed on both sides by windowpanes.
Inside the unique home were beautiful rooms full of antiques and comfortable, overstuffed furniture. Two well-oiled
dumbwaiters were hidden inside walls, one in the foyer and the other in the kitchen—a dream come true for a bed-and-
breakfast.
When the doorbell rang, Chloe figured it might be Mean Pete or Katy dropping off Finn. Leaving her suite of rooms behind,
she headed down the wide parquet hallway to the foyer.
“Hi, Finn,” Chloe said, swinging the front door open wide for the freckle-faced boy.
“Happy Halloween,” replied the always polite Finn, whom she’d hired to help out for the evening. Rarely did she see Finn
that he wasn’t wearing his cherished cowboy hat from Cash’s Triple C Ranch-East Western Store & Stables. Tonight was no
exception. Finn had more than earned the hat with his courage and cunning on Triple C Ranch-Central. “Wow! I like the spooky
decorations.” He turned and waved at Mean Pete, who had dropped him off right on time.
“Katy is still getting ready,” Mean Pete called out the window of his truck and chuckled. “I’ll be back with her soon.”
“Wonderful,” Chloe replied, waved, and ushered Finn into the foyer.
A second marriage for both, Mean Pete, one of the nicest people Chloe knew, had married Katy, who worked as a
receptionist for Jade in her equine therapy practice with children. Mean Pete and Katy had met on Chase’s ranch the afternoon
Finn had earned his cowboy hat. Though that had been a harrowing start to a romance, Katy and Mean Pete had fallen head
over heels for each other. Mean Pete’s wife had passed a few years prior. Katy’s husband had been a parachute instructor in the
Army and died when his chute failed to open. Finn, at twelve years old, was bravely marching forward with a loving mom and
stepdad.
“Happy Halloween, Tangerine and Topaz,” Finn said to the five-inch goldfish as he crossed the arched bridge over the
heart-shaped pond in the foyer. “I’ll bet the fish are afraid of you tonight, aren’t they?” he asked Chloe.
“I bet so.” Chloe laughed, leading him to the kitchen. “How’s ranch life treating you?”
“Great! I have my own horse now,” Finn said excitedly, following her. “He’s two years old, mostly white with some gray
specks on his face that look like freckles, and he has big brown eyes. He’s 15.1 hands high, which is the measurement for how
tall a horse is,” he said importantly, coming to a stop beside the breakfast nook table and booths. “He’s got his very own stall
in the stables near our house, and I’ve got my very own saddle and everything.”
“I heard you earned the money for your saddle by helping out in the stables,” Chloe said, smiling at him. “Hungry?” she
asked, and he nodded. “Good.” Picking up a plate and a spatula, she told him, “Please help yourself to any of the party food
you see. Plus, I made a pizza for you.”
“Pepperoni?”
“Of course.” She placed two oversized slices on the plate. “There’s plenty more if you want it.”
“Thanks,” Finn said, taking the plate of his favorite pizza.
“You’re welcome. What did you name your horse?”
“I haven’t come up with a name yet,” Finn said. “It’s gotta be a name as awesome as he is.” Heading toward Chloe’s
private suite of rooms, he said, “I’m off to the races, as my checkers buddy, Coop, likes to say.”
With guns blazing, Chloe thought, as Coop, her grandfather, also liked to say. Smiling after Finn, she said, “Let me know if
you need anything.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Out of the Sub-Zero refrigerator Chase had recommended to both her and Cash, Chloe took a tray of shrimp cocktail and
carried it down the parquet hallway. Nearing the foyer fishpond, she thought of her Uncle Chester, who had built this house. A
whimsical man with a big heart and mustache to match, he’d enjoyed a running competition of sorts with his brother, Clarence.
Clarence, builder of Cash’s dude ranch and confirmed rough-and-tumble bachelor, had challenged him to see who could design
the most one-of-a-kind place. Her uncles, along with her father, Carson, had all been born and raised on Triple C Ranch-
Central.
Covid had taken her parents, Carson and Elle Cooper. Years prior to Covid, the family had lost Chester to a drunk driver
and Clarence to a heart attack. Her grandfather, Crawford Cooper—who went by Coop—and her grandmother, Zoe, had built
Chase’s house. Zoe was gone now too. Her grandparents had named the Triple C Ranch after their three sons: Carson,
Clarence, and Chester. Carson and Elle had kept the tradition going with her, Chase, and Cash. Chloe had decided to do the
same.
During the past six months, she’d cut her guests down from four couples to two. Once in a while, she had singles in the
rooms upstairs but always made sure they were female. Like Jade, Chase’s wife, whom the family had first met when she
stayed as a bed-and-breakfast guest. Tonight, Chloe’s current guests were celebrating this midweek evening with the
Halloween party.
Triple C Ranches were big on picnics, barbecues, and celebrations. Chase and Jade had met on his ranch the previous year
during Memorial Day weekend and tied the knot there three months later on Labor Day. It had been her sister-in-law, Jade, who
suggested making tonight’s celebration a costume party. Chase had cocked his brow and smothered a grin. Jade had blushed.
Chloe had laughed and not asked any questions. Chloe loved beautiful, sweet Jade like her own flesh and blood and couldn’t
have been happier for her handsome brother. Chase had met his match. How they had met, fallen in love, faced a murdering
madman, and lived to tell about it would forever be a miracle.
Chloe set the silver tray of shrimp cocktail on the dining room table, which could seat twelve. Among the hors d’oeuvres
were cranberry pecan cheese balls, buffalo chicken dip, bacon-wrapped dates, cocktail meatballs, and party mix she and
Rachel had made. Her aunt had worked alongside her most of the day. She had left to run some errands with Martyman, which
fell into the wide category of gallivanting, and had returned just before Finn arrived. Coming out of the dining room, she met up
with Rachel in the foyer.
“There are trays of pepperoni rolls and fried mac and cheese balls in the living room,” Rachel said, giving Chloe an
update. She was pretty, with kind eyes and a warm smile. Her dark auburn hair mostly tucked under a beige beret, she was
dressed in a sweater and long skirt as Bonnie Parker. “I put big bowls of popcorn here and there and took a bowl to Finn.”
“Thank you. Finn should be all set,” Chloe said as they passed the living room and walked down the hall. “What about
Martyman?”
“You mean Clyde Barrow?” Rachel asked as they came to the family room. Wearing a brown fedora and brown suit,
Martyman bore a striking likeness to the infamous bank robber.
“Yes.” Chloe laughed and waved to a couple of the bed-and-breakfast guests who had already wandered down from
upstairs. “How’s it going, Clyde?”
“Couldn’t be better.” From behind the wet bar, Martyman added, “Serving up beer, wine, whiskey, sodas, and sparkling
water before the next bank job with Bonnie.”
“Let’s hope bank jobs aren’t added to your gallivanting,” Chloe teased them as the doorbell rang. “I think the pumpkin pies
are ready to come out of the oven, Rachel.”
“I’ll get the pies, you get the front door,” Rachel suggested
Rather than trick-or-treaters, it would be guests arriving since out here in the country, the three combined Triple C Ranches
totaled 120,000 acres. That was 187.5 square miles. Therefore, so-called trick-or-treaters were usually family and friends.
Chloe opened the door. “Chase and Jade. Come on in,” she said, ushering them into the foyer.
“I love your cat costume, Chloe,” Jade said.
“Thank you.” Chloe grinned. Tonight, she wore her long, coal-black hair in a ponytail. A black mask covered the top half of
her face. Above her blue eyes, there were gold dots on black felt for eyebrows. Covering her forehead, black lace took over,
extending upward into the shape of pointed ears. Her costume consisted of a black leather top with a deep, square neckline and
snug, black leather leggings. On her feet, she wore black leather kitten-heel boots trimmed with black fur around the ankles.
“If only Derek Brevard could see what he’s missing,” Rachel, never shy about giving her opinion, said, returning from the
kitchen to greet her nephew and his wife. “He’d be sorry.”
“He’s dead to me,” Chloe replied stoically, her smile fading.
Not a day went by she didn’t miss the gorgeous El Paso County deputy sheriff. He’d been her perfect type—tall and
muscular with dark blond hair and a killer smile she couldn’t resist. Derek Brevard was what she called handsome-hot. Some
men might be attractive but without sex appeal, at least for her. Others might have sex appeal but were not her flavor of good-
looking. She’d waited all her life to find handsome and hot in one man. Laying eyes on Derek for the first time at a downtown
steakhouse called Southside Suzy’s, she’d been so intimidated she’d hidden behind Cash so Chase couldn’t introduce her. But
Chase had tugged her into view. She’d felt her cheeks burn, and when Derek had smiled that smile, she’d melted.
Damn you, Derek Brevard!
“I, for one, hope Derek’s alive and well,” Chase said as Jade nodded with compassion.
Despite Chase sticking up for Derek, if Chloe got her hands on the man, she’d⁠—
“Maybe you should have invited your high school boyfriend, Brody,” Rachel said.
“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” Chloe replied.
“He wanted to be,” Rachel reminded her, gently nudging her elbow into Chloe’s ribs. “You could have come as the prom
king and queen like you were in real life.”
“We were just friends as far as I was concerned,” Chloe said. As the quarterback for the Falcon High football team, Brody
might have been a heartthrob to other girls but not to her. While she had gone on to earn a bachelor’s degree in business from
Colorado College, Brody got stuck in his high school glory days. When he wasn’t sniffing after teenage girls, he worked on and
off for his dad, who still supported him financially. No matter how bluntly she had rebuffed Brody, he never took the hint.
“Ohhh Bonnie?” came Martyman’s voice from the family room.
“Gotta go. Clyde’s calling me.” Rachel hugged Chase and Jade, leaving them with Chloe.
“I take it Brody is not your handsome-hot type?” Jade teased, knowing her well.
“Not even close.” Chloe rolled her eyes and laughed, then said to them, “Let me guess, the Lone Ranger and Marilyn
Monroe?”
“How did you know?” her big brother joked, as the only thing he wore that could be considered a costume was a simple
black mask and black gloves. The cowboy hat, shirt, jeans, and boots were his everyday attire.
“Maybe because you and your revolver remind me of the Lone Ranger and because I suggested the always fabulous Jade
come as a 1950s blonde bombshell,” Chloe said. “You’re both naturals.”
“I had to twist his arm to get him to put on the mask,” Jade said, smiling up at him. Much like the Lone Ranger, Chase had
been a man on a mission when Jade had gone missing. A doctor named Franco Spatafore, with help from his brother, Mateo,
had abducted Jade. That was over a year ago, and they were no longer threats, thank goodness. Tonight, all Jade had needed to
become the sensational sexpot was the beauty mark she’d dotted on her cheek and a white, pleated halter dress like the one
Marilyn had worn for the movie The Seven Year Itch.
“Come on,” Chloe said as she led Chase and Jade around instead of over the arched bridge and down the main hall to the
kitchen, where family always hung out. On the way there, Chase said they had a reason for showing up a little early. Turning to
them as she stopped near the breakfast nook, she said, “Do tell.”
“Jade?” Chase wrapped an arm around his bride of just over a year. “You tell Chloe, and I’ll tell Cash.”
“I’m pregnant.” Jade’s green eyes shimmered with happiness.
“Oh, you guys,” Chloe said as she wrapped her arms around her brother and sister-in-law at the same time. “I’m so thrilled
for you.”
“What’s going on?” Cash asked, swashbuckling in through the back door and mudroom into the kitchen with their
grandfather, Coop. Cash was six foot four and blue-eyed like Chase. His hair was somewhere between the jet black of Chloe’s
and chocolate brown like Chase’s. At the moment, he could be mistaken for Captain Jack Sparrow. “What did we miss?”
“Yeah, I want in on the hugging,” Coop said. In his day, Crawford ‘Coop’ Cooper had won seven world titles for team
roping, steer roping, and tie-down roping, per the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association in Colorado Springs. He’d made
a fortune from endorsements alone and was legendary, especially in Colorado. At six foot and just shy of his eightieth birthday,
gray-haired Coop was the spry, handsome, and beloved patriarch. Tonight, wearing a coonskin cap and a Bowie knife stuck in
a sash, he was a cross between Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett.
“Jade and I are going to have a baby,” Chase said.
“That’s great news,” Cash said, holding out his hand to his brother. Cash pulled Chase into a hug and, with a slap to the
back, let go of him and gently hugged Jade. “When?”
Absolutely glowing, Jade said, “The due date is May fifteenth.”
“Wonderful.” Coop had walked Jade down the aisle to his grandson the previous Labor Day. Pulling her into his arms, he
gave her a tender hug and kiss on the cheek. Turning to Chase, he hugged him, too, and said, “I’m so happy for you.”
“This party just took on a whole new level of celebration,” Chloe said.
“Rachel, Martyman,” Cash called as they came strolling arm in arm down the wide hallway toward the kitchen. “Come
hear the latest.”
“That’s Bonnie and Clyde to you, Captain Sparrow,” Martyman said with a laugh.
“What’s the latest?” Rachel asked.
Chase did the honors of telling them. No, they didn’t know the baby’s sex yet. Maybe in another month. Their aunt and her
beau beamed at the news amid hugs and handshakes. Besides family and guests, Chloe had invited Bob and Teresa, who
worked on Chase’s ranch. The dude ranchers on Cash’s ranch would arrive via a hay wagon, pulled by horses from his ranch
and driven by his employees Sam, Kellie, and their son, Jeff.
Right now, it sounded like the whole passel of people was arriving at once.
“Bonnie will escort you to the food, and Clyde will keep your glasses full,” Chloe called as she left her family celebrating
the good news in the kitchen. “I hear some trick-or-treaters.”

CHLOE OPENED THE FRONT DOOR TO A BOATLOAD — OR MORE APTLY, A WAGON - FULL— OF FOLKS . F ROM THAT POINT ON ,
everyone she’d invited began arriving in such forms as Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane,
Jesse James, Billy the Kid, and a variety of ghouls, ghosts, and witches. Had Derek Brevard been here, Chloe might have
suggested he could be Sheriff Matt Dillon, and she could have been Miss Kitty, instead of a cat.
Forget Derek, she silently scolded herself.
Music played in every room, people brought food to add to the goodies, and drinks flowed. Jade stayed with water, and
Chloe made sure Finn had a soda. The time flew, and it seemed only minutes later when the grandfather clock struck eight and
then nine. Guests began thinning out, and soon, the hayride wagon was loaded up as dude ranchers, as well as bed-and-
breakfast guests, tended to rise and shine early.
Family pitched in by putting food away or preferably taking some home. Cash left with the hay wagon and Coop with Bob
and Teresa. By the time Chloe hugged Jade and Chase goodnight, it hardly looked like a party had taken place. She waved
goodbye to Katy and Mean Pete after paying Finn for his help. Rachel and Martyman would disconnect the lights and lanterns
along the drive as they left, so after thanking them for their superb services, she closed the front door and locked it.
Her upstairs guests had retired for the night, and all was quiet as Chloe started toward her master bedroom suite. That was
until someone knocked on the front door. Chloe turned and made her way back down the hallway, wondering who had forgotten
what. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she mentally crossed her fingers that it wasn’t Brody. She hadn’t mentioned it
earlier, but he had dropped by recently and asked her out. Again. As usual, she’d politely declined. He’d pleaded his case.
She’d refused. He’d disappeared. Still wearing her cat costume, she flipped on the porch light, opened the door, and went
numb.
“Derek,” Chloe whispered.
He looked her up and down. “What’s new pussycat?”
 C H A P T E R T WO

“T rick or treat?” Derek said, testing the water.

Chloe Cooper took Derek’s breath away tonight as she had the first night he’d laid eyes on her at Southside
Suzy’s, a bar and grill in downtown Colorado Springs. He prayed the raven-haired beauty didn’t slam the door in his
face because he had missed this woman every single day of his life for more than a year. As much as ever, Derek’s attraction to
Chloe was as powerful as if she’d nailed him with a double-barrel shotgun. She’d probably wanted to shoot him more than
once. In Mexico, this holiday was known as Day of the Dead. At the moment, Chloe looked like she wanted him dead or, at the
very least, like she’d seen a ghost. Maybe appropriate for Halloween night.
“What do you want, Derek?”
“You.”
“That ship sailed.”
“Chloe, I know it’s late, but I just hit town. May I come in?”
“No.” She started to close the door, but he placed his hand on it, holding it ajar.
“Please?” Derek asked. He’d known this meeting was going to be rough. Chase Cooper had once referred to his little sister
as feisty. Derek had sensed Chloe was fiercely independent as well. He’d decided no amount of preparation could make his
return any easier. That afternoon, he’d boarded a plane in Austin, Texas, flown to Denver, and then into the Springs. He’d
rented a car at the airport and, not wasting time detouring to his condo to get his truck, driven straight to Triple C Ranch-West.
“To a great extent, I can explain.”
“No explanation to any extent is needed or wanted,” Chloe said. She was about five foot six and probably topped the
scales at 120 pounds, dripping wet. Nevertheless, she put her weight of her unforgettable body into giving the door a decisive
shove. “Goodbye.”
“At least hear me out before you tell me goodbye.”
“Go back to whomever or whatever kept you occupied for nearly fourteen months.”
“I can’t, nor would I want to.”
“Not my problem.”
Chloe’s blue eyes flashed with anger in the cat-eye holes of her mask. What he could see of her face showed flushed
cheeks. Her ruby red lips pursed tightly over her straight white teeth as her delicate jaw clenched. There was glitter in those
eyes, but he knew they weren’t tears of happiness at seeing him. However, that had been a fond fantasy to escape some dark
days.
“If you don’t want to talk to me tonight, I understand. It’s kind of late. But tell me when I can come back,” Derek suggested.
“Never. You threw me away like yesterday’s trash. You can never come back.”
Standing in the doorway, Derek wanted nothing more than to take Chloe in his arms. Although her house appeared as
welcoming as ever, the woman who owned it was currently anything but. He noticed a sound he hadn’t expected to hear drift
from the back of the house. Could be from a TV somewhere. He’d only been inside her spicy-scented, comfortable, and cozy
home that one Labor Day weekend a year ago. No, nearly fourteen months, as she’d pointed out. She’d kept track. That might
mean something. Maybe nothing good. He heard the noise again, and this time, Chloe pushed harder against the door. This time,
he put his foot in the doorway.
“What was that noise?” Derek asked, “Is someone else here?”
“I run a bed-and-breakfast, Derek, of course someone else is here,” Chloe said flippantly with a glance over her shoulder.
“If you don’t leave right now, I’m going to scream for help. One of my guests is a former Marine, and he won’t hesitate to
throw you out.”
“I spent four years in the Marines before I joined the sheriff’s department. Once a Marine, always a Marine, so I’ll greet
him with ‘oorah,’” he told her, but Chloe opened her mouth anyway. He clamped a hand across her lips to keep a scene from
erupting that didn’t need to explode. Her eyes grew wide, and when she grabbed his hand with both of hers, he backed her into
the foyer. “If you promise not to scream, I’ll let you go and leave for now.” He swallowed hard and said, “Chloe, I did not
throw you away. I fell in love with you. Don’t scream, okay?”
When Chloe nodded, Derek hesitated long enough for her to nod once more, and then he carefully let her go.
Chloe hissed, “Get out.”
“Come hell or high water, I’ll see you soon,” Derek said.
“Don’t call, and don’t come back.”
Keeping his promise, Derek raised his hands in surrender and backed out of the foyer onto the porch. Chloe smacked the
door shut, and he heard her lock it. His hopes for the best couldn’t have turned out much worse. She immediately flipped off the
porch light, leaving him in the dark. That seemed about right. He hesitated, wanting to knock and try to reason with her again.
But he’d given his word, so he stalked to the rental car. He climbed in but didn’t start the engine. Sitting quietly, he watched the
house somewhat like a stakeout. He’d had his fill of that. Every light in the house went out. No curtains moved at the windows.
No sounds could be heard other than the Chinook winds gusting against the car as if trying to blow him away.
Out here in the country, there was only moonlight, stars, and deafening silence. No guns. No shouts. No tanks. No enemy.
No fellow agents. No border patrol. No one wanting him dead.
Well, maybe one.

DEREK WAS STARVED . MOSTLY FOR CHLOE COOPER. HE HADN ’ T EATEN SINCE TEXAS , AND HE KNEW JUST THE PLACE ON GARDEN
of the Gods Road. It was near his townhouse, and if he remembered correctly, on Wednesdays, they had free pie. The free part
was a bonus. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to enter an establishment and eat a meal, much less pie,
without looking over his shoulder.
Thirty minutes later, he turned into the parking lot of the café with a sign boasting free pie on Wednesdays. He glanced at
his watch. He’d let his mother know he was back in the States in the morning. Though it was late, as he’d admitted to Chloe,
the restaurant would be open for another hour. Inside, a hostess seated him next to a window and handed him a menu.
“Roast beef, mashed potatoes, and green beans,” Derek said when the waitress came to take his order and handed her the
menu. As much as he had enjoyed the Mexican cuisine while gone, this good ol’ American favorite with some apple pie was
what he needed.
Though Chloe had said for him not to call her, he wished he’d thought to ask if she still had his cell number. It had gone
dark along with his identity. He had a lot to do in the week to come, starting with getting his cell phone, not to mention his life,
reactivated. Not that Chloe would call him. She didn’t want to see him either. But she was bound to tell her family of his visit,
and they, mainly Chase Cooper, might reach out.
Derek glanced around, wondering how long until his food came, and noticed his waitress talking to another one. Both
women appeared to be in their mid to late twenties with brown hair. Without looking at him, his waitress pointed in his
direction and then fanned herself as if indicating he was hot. He seriously doubted that, considering the current state of his
appearance. Besides, he was only interested in one particular woman even though she despised him. The other waitress
nodded, and when they both turned to look at him, Derek frowned.
Turning his head to the window, he saw his reflection. His dark blond hair had been short, a typical law enforcement
haircut, when Chloe had run her fingers through it as he’d kissed her goodbye that Labor Day weekend. Once that fateful call
yanked him out of her arms and bed, his hair hadn’t been near a pair of scissors. It was tucked behind his ears and curling over
the collar of his shirt now. Clean-shaven before vanishing into the temporary duty assignment the sheriff’s department had
granted him, he’d since worn a couple days’ growth of beard. Picking up and hauling heavy loads of marijuana, hashish, and
cocaine had been as good a workout as any gym could offer. What conclusions had Chloe drawn upon seeing him like this?
None. She didn’t give a damn, and he didn’t blame her.
But he’d foolishly hoped Chloe would be the biggest part of his life upon his return.
“The chef gave you a double portion because I told him you looked hungry,” the waitress said and smiled as she delivered
his meal.
“My thanks to you and the chef.” Hell, she probably thought he was homeless. Derek ate every bite. The waitress filled his
iced tea glass twice and made small talk both times. She told him her name was Nina as she served him up a piece of peach
pie.
“Sorry, we are all out of apple pie,” she said. When she delivered his check, it was with a to-go box. “Here’s a piece of
banana pie, which is my favorite,” her grin was suggestive, “to make up for not having apple.”
“Thanks, but not necessary,” Derek said.
“I just started working here about six months ago,” Nina told him as he slid out of the booth. “I haven’t seen you in here
before. Do you live close by?”
 “I’ve been gone a while,” was Derek’s vague reply as he pulled cash out of the pocket of his jeans. Leaving a generous tip
and the banana pie on the table, he headed toward the exit.
“Wait, don’t you need some change?” Nina asked, apparently seeing her tip.
“No.”
“Well, please come back,” she called after him as he pushed open the door to leave.
“We’re open seven days a week,” the other waitress called.
As Derek drove out of the parking lot, both waitresses were staring through the window where he’d sat. They waved. He
ignored them and turned west toward Pikes Peak and home.
 C HAPTER THREE

G hosted. Derek Brevard had invented a whole new level of ghosting. Though she’d declared him dead to her, he’d risen
from the grave. On Halloween night, no less. How dare he show his face on Triple C Ranch-West after so callously
blowing her off.
I did not throw you away. I fell in love with you.
Cruel lies. What was his game this time? Last year, it had been to get her into bed. He had succeeded. But no hollow
words, no cocky grin, and no muscular embrace could ever restore the faith she had naively and wrongly placed in him. No
matter. When she had locked her front door, she had locked him out of her heart and life. That’s what she told herself. With
each light she’d switched off, she switched off her attraction to him. Yeah, you bet your bottom dollar. Then, as he sat in a car,
she’d stood back from the window, in the dark, and whispered for him to go.
Go before she burst out of the door, fell on her knees, and begged him to stay.
Never once had it crossed Chloe’s mind to run from her ranch, the land and legacy she called home, until Derek had blown
in with the Chinook winds. Barely sleeping that first night, she had tossed and turned. And cried. She was not a wimp and did
not cry easily. She’d grown up with two brothers on a cattle ranch, and she was tough. But when it came to Derek, all bets
were off. Keening sobs into her pillow had blended with the snow-eater winds, as the Chinooks were called, wailing through
the ponderosa pines lining her driveway.
Thursday morning, Chloe remained in such a state of shock she told no one about Derek’s visit. In the kitchen, she had
puttered between the fridge and stove, making breakfast in a daze of disbelief. Through the big bay window, sunshine spilled
across the custom-made, built-in table and booths of the breakfast nook. How often had she sat there telling herself Derek had
both cursed and blessed her life? Countless times. The nook offered an endless view of her property, and with that came a
sense of stability.
The previous fall, when Derek had vanished, she’d sat in the breakfast nook sipping coffee laced with pumpkin spice,
wondering what she’d done wrong. That winter, she’d sipped hot chocolate in the cozy nook as tears fell along with the snow.
Last spring, Rachel’s special brew of iced tea turned into decaf as Chloe turned against Derek. By summer, she’d discovered
the joy of Vitaminwater but was so busy she rarely had a moment to sit in the breakfast nook to enjoy it.
Chloe had begun wishing her house was just for family. No more handing out keys to her personal home to guests. No more
wondering how many lost keys to her house were floating around out there. No more having to be appropriately dressed first
thing in the morning until late in the evening inside her own home. No more bumping into a stranger in the kitchen in the middle
of the night. No more not being able to have a big black cat because guests were allergic, afraid, or didn’t like them. Since
summer, that downside seemed glaring. But on the upside, Chloe loved the bed-and-breakfast business. In the back of her mind,
she envisioned building a new bed-and-breakfast next door for her guests. Though there was endless acreage for such a
project, what an undertaking that would be.
Somewhere along the way, the tears finally stopped.
After she and her aunt had served breakfast, as usual, the guests took off sightseeing. In an effort to keep her mind off Derek
and a million questions, Chloe had concentrated on putting away Halloween decor and bringing out the decorations for
Thanksgiving. Who was she kidding? She’d thought of nothing but Derek. She worked hard all day, but even so, when she went
to bed, it was only to toss and turn in another restless night.
Friday morning meant it was the last breakfast for her guests. She had fixed Denver omelets and sent the satisfied customers
on their merry way promptly at 11:00 am.
Chloe enjoyed the schedule, which was of her own making. Guests arrived on Mondays around 4:00 pm. She or Rachel
cooked breakfast Tuesday through Friday and had a tried-and-true online grocery order, which was delivered once a week. The
beef came from Chase’s cattle ranch, and sometimes, her guests were entertained by happenings on Cash’s dude ranch. After
the guests left on Friday, she cleaned and did laundry. This routine ended with the making of beds for the new batch of Monday
guests. Like Rachel’s, Chloe’s weekends were free. She wasn’t running anywhere, and she knew it. She loved it here on the
Triple C.
Then, Detective Derek Brevard disrupted her life. For the second time.
After Rachel had made the beds in the guest rooms, she’d left for Martyman’s house. With the cleaning and vacuuming
done, Chloe descended the wide staircase. She hadn’t heard one word from Derek since Halloween night. She had almost
convinced herself that he’d been a spirit who had shown up to haunt her. She’d told him not to come back. But what would she
do if he did? Reaching the foyer, she moseyed down the hall and detoured into her bedroom suite. All was quiet. Though the
knock on the unlocked front door was soft, Chloe jumped. She hurried into the hallway and saw Jade through the windowpanes.
“It’s unlocked,” Chloe said, motioning her to come in. “Thank God, it’s you.”
“Chase would say, and I agree, keep your door locked.”
“I’m almost out of keys again. But I have been good about locking it ever since the Spatafores,” Chloe said. She hugged
Jade, and then, linking arms with her on the way to the kitchen, she said, “I have new Vitaminwater for us to try.”
“Great.” Jade slid onto a booth in the breakfast nook. “I finished documenting on my clients a couple of hours ago. Chase
and I were talking, and he suggested you and Cash should come over for a quiet family dinner tomorrow evening. I totally
agree. Before we know it, the holiday rush will be keeping us all extra busy. So I’m here to invite you.”
“I accept,” Chloe said as she took two bottles of Vitaminwater out of the fridge.
“Chase and Cash will barbecue, and I’ll make a couple of side dishes,” Jade said.
“I’ll bring dessert,” Chloe said, sitting across from Jade at the table. They picked up their Vitaminwaters and touched the
bottles in cheers. After Jade voiced her enthusiastic approval of the dessert, Chloe said, “I’m glad you’re here. I need to talk to
you. Partly as my sister-in-law and partly as a therapist.”
“Of course.” Jade, always as gracious as she was beautiful, folded her hands in her lap and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Derek is back.”
Chloe had to give Jade credit. She hid her shock well. No doubt her poker face came from her experience as a therapist
who worked with elementary school children traumatized by neglect and abandonment, along with mental, emotional, and
physical abuse of all kinds. Jade listened without interrupting, and Chloe began pouring out the whole story of the unexpected
encounter with Derek. Chloe had started out seated, but twice, she jumped up and paced the kitchen, all the while wringing her
hands. When Chloe sat down again, Jade reached across the table. Chloe took her hand, and Jade gave her a squeeze.
“As your sister-in-law who loves you very much, what does your heart say?” Jade asked.
“My heart has no say,” Chloe replied. “It got me into big trouble last time.”
“As a therapist and knowing how independent you are, I urge you to at least listen to your heart, before your head makes a
decision you can’t undo,” Jade said, and with a squeeze, let go of her hand. “My heart and head fought over decisions where
Chase and I were concerned.”
“But never because Chase betrayed you and ghosted you for over a year.”
“That’s true about your brother,” Jade agreed. “Chase would never betray you either, Chloe. When Derek spoke to Chase
about you on our wedding day, Derek told him it was in confidence for your sake.”
“Do you believe that?” Chloe asked.
“Yes, I do,” Jade replied. Basically, all Chase could tell them was that Derek’s leaving was not only work-related but
personal. Chase had also been able to share that Derek said he could be gone for as long as a year. “Now that Derek is back,
let’s allow him to explain his disappearance before we label him as betraying you. Don’t you think?”
“Yes.” Chloe nodded. “I don’t know.” She sighed. “No.” She shook her head. “No, it just about killed me when he left me
without a trace.”
Jade said quietly, “That speaks of the love you have for him, Chloe.”
“Had,” Chloe said, with a dismissive shake of her head. “I will never love Derek again.” As her head said the words, her
heart warned her that it wasn’t true. The soft smile on her sister-in-law’s lovely face said Jade knew it wasn’t true too. “I can’t
risk that pain again, Jade.”
“Chase said Derek didn’t want to put you at risk by knowing any details. That’s why Derek left town without telling you.”
The cheery afternoon sun poured in through the breakfast nook window, but Chloe sat shrouded in her gloomy conviction of
Derek’s desertion.
“What Derek told Chase were lies so he’d have Chase on his side if and when he decided to have another go at me,” Chloe
argued.
“Chase is a walking lie detector,” Jade replied, slowly shaking her head. “He knew when I was too afraid to be completely
honest with him. He made me promise to tell him the truth. When I did, he kept me from being hurt and helped me heal. For
what it’s worth, I don’t peg Derek as a liar.”
“Your opinion and Chase’s are worth a lot and weigh in heavily, but—in this case…”
When Chloe shrugged, Jade tried a different approach. “Is Derek still as handsome-hot as you thought he was?”
“Oh. My. God.” Chloe’s hands covered her heart. “Yes.” She closed her eyes and saw Derek as he’d been in her foyer. At
least six foot three or four like her brothers, he’d filled the door with muscle. Opening her eyes, she said, “As a clean cut, El
Paso County deputy sheriff, he was so handsome-hot I was too shy to be introduced to him at Southside Suzy’s. Remember?”
“Yes, I do,” Jade said with a laugh. “When Chase pulled you into view from behind Cash, it was the first time Chase and I
had seen Derek smile. You blushed, and shy is so unlike you.”
“Everything is so unlike me when it comes to Derek.” That was an understatement, and they both knew it. “But when he
looks at me with those mahogany brown eyes, it’s like he sees my heart. I melted that night. He was my undoing…” Her voice
trailed off. She paused for a moment, took a deep breath, and told Jade, “He’s rolled into town with a bad-boy persona that is
so hot—Derek-damn-Brevard is on fire!” Chloe’s cell rang as it set on the table beside her Vitaminwater. She and Jade both
stared at the identity of the caller. Derek. Chloe grabbed the phone and hung up. “His number didn’t work when I needed him.
Not that I ever needed him. So why would I answer it now?”
“To ask him why his phone went to voice mail for over a year,” Jade said.
“I no longer care. I’m going to block him.” Chloe did so, lifted her chin, and placed the phone on the table. Looking at Jade,
she asked, “So, how are you feeling now that you’re…how many weeks pregnant?”
“Ten.” Jade clasped her hands under her chin, and her smile was contagious. “Fabulous, thrilled, and happy beyond words,
Chloe.”
 C H A P T E R FO U R

C hloe wanted no words with him of any kind. Derek frowned. He had called and then texted, hoping she’d changed her
mind about seeing him. Had Chloe called and texted him when his phone went dark? Once? Twice? Never?
“No luck?” his mother asked as she walked into the elegant living room of her townhouse with cups of coffee for the
two of them.
“No, she hasn’t responded. She probably has me blocked.” Derek took the coffee mug from her and replied, “Evidently,
mothers are more forgiving than⁠—”
“Girlfriends?”
“I wasn’t with Chloe long enough to call her my girlfriend.”
Pamela Brevard, a lovely, trim blonde, took a seat beside him on the sofa and patted his knee. They occupied the two
largest townhouses within this Shadow of Kissing Camels gated community. The actual Kissing Camels was an iconic red-rock
natural formation in the Garden of the Gods Park. As a kid, Derek recalled riding north on Juniper Way Loop and thinking the
rock structure, high in the sky on a mountaintop, appeared to be two camels kissing. The famous tourist attraction was aptly
named. He glanced out of his mother’s plate glass window, the view from his own place being as spectacular, and stared at the
camels, wondering if he’d ever kiss Chloe Cooper again.
“You’re over the moon about her, Derek. Call her brother,” his mother suggested. “You and Chase Cooper worked well
together when he needed your help involving his wife. I’m guessing he will return the favor.”
“Mom,” Derek sighed, sitting forward on the couch. He placed the coffee mug on a glass table and clasped his hands
between his knees. “That was official business. This is personal. Chase Cooper owes me nothing.”
“They invited you to their wedding. You thought enough of Chloe’s brother to tell him you were leaving town on a
temporary duty assignment. That’s all you told me as well. What would it cost you to give Mr. Cooper a call?”
“Nothing.” Derek stared out the window, but the beauty before him faded, and he hung his head. Damn, he was tired. It had
been forever since he’d slept through the night in peace.
“Then what do you have to lose?”
Chloe, he thought. “Everything.”
“Didn’t you tell me earlier that Mr. Cooper said he’d be in your corner when you made it home?” she asked with quiet
compassion. “Isn’t that why you confided in him in the first place?”
“Yes,” Derek said, which answered both questions.
“Then you know a good man who has your six o’clock, as your father would say.”
“Maybe.” Derek shrugged and sat back on the sofa again. Any number of circumstances could have caused Chase to no
longer have his back—his six o’clock. “I don’t know.”
“I know your father certainly fought for me.” His mother’s eyes were a similar shade of brown as his. Even as a boy, he’d
always thought of her as classy and dignified. “Since when do you give up without a fight?”
Derek’s father, Hodge Brevard, had been a Texas Ranger from a long line of law enforcement officers. His dad was an only
child who had worked his way through high school and college. His mom came from a lineage of successful real estate
developers. She’d grown up as a Texas belle in a prominent, wealthy Austin family. She’d graduated from a private university
in Abilene with a major in music.
From the start, his father’s parents had loved Pam. But Derek’s maternal grandparents had strenuously objected to her
marrying a man with a dangerous career. Derek knew his father had indeed fought for his mother, and she had eloped with him.
They had spent their honeymoon in Colorado Springs, their favorite spot being Garden of the Gods Park.
A feud had simmered between the families for the first five years until Derek’s birth brought the two sides together. He
remembered both sets of grandparents treating him with love, generosity, and kindness. Sadly, they were all gone now.
However, much like Chloe, his mother had two rich brothers. To this day, he is close with his uncles and cousins. In private,
Derek often called his mother Mom, but in public, he usually called her Pam to keep their connection unknown. For her sake.
Hodge Brevard would be sixty-five and retired if his border patrol assignment had not cost him his life. At the time of his
dad’s death, Derek’s mother had already inherited her share of her family’s vast fortune. For safety reasons, she had moved
herself and Derek to Colorado Springs, where she and his father had planned to spend their retirement years.
“Your situation was different from mine with Chloe. You and Dad were in love.”
“Love could be at the end of your fingertips, Derek. Reach for it.”
 C HAPTER FIVE

“D inner was delicious,” Chloe said.

On Saturday evening, they were seated in the dining room of Triple C Ranch-Central. Chase’s chair was at the
head of a table that could accommodate twenty. Jade sat on his right, and Coop was to his left. Chloe was on Jade’s
side of the table, and Cash’s spot was next to their grandfather. Two doorways opened into the room, one from the enormous
great room and the other from a kitchen half the size of a basketball court.
“Dinner was delicious because I’m the best griller of steaks in El Paso County,” Cash said, pointing his fork at his brother.
“And Chase knows it.”
“I know you’re full of sh—” Chase chuckled as the doorbell rang, cutting him off from his typical reply to their running
joke as to who was more proficient at the barbecue grill. Scooting back his chair, Chase stood. “I’ll get the door.”
“Just to be clear, I taught both boys and their dad how to grill,” Coop said with a big grin as he patted his belly.
“Everything was mighty tasty.”
Cash chuckled. “You taught us well, Coop.”
“I can’t eat another bite.” Jade smiled at Coop and Cash. Then, to Chloe, she said, “Thank you for bringing your famous
dessert, Chloe.”
“My pleasure,” Chloe said. “Apple pie always hits the spot. I’ll help you with the dishes.”
“I’ve got a date with a brunette, so—” Cash began.
“Brunette?” Chloe, Jade, and Coop all said at once.
“There are only so many redheads.” Cash chuckled and shrugged.
“We’ll all be happy to help you, Jade,” Coop said, standing up from the table. “Won’t we, Cash?”
With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, making everyone laugh, Cash said, “Absolutely.”
As Cash and Jade stood, Chloe, still smiling, stood as well and gathered up her empty plates and glass. Turning, she almost
dropped them. At the entrance to the dining room, Derek came to a stop next to Chase. Derek’s thick hair partially covered his
ears. A fleeting image of running her fingers through it from the sides of his head all the way to the back and down over the
collar of his long-sleeved, button-down shirt crossed her mind. No. Never again.
But all the feelings for Derek she’d tried so hard to bury since he’d disappeared last year had resurfaced without mercy on
Halloween night. Those emotions hijacked her once again and, like a roller coaster, were flinging her all over the place. She
took a deep breath, fighting back against every memory involving Derek. Yet, flashing before her eyes, was his charming smile
before he kissed her and his muscular body when he stepped out of the shower. Stop. No. Please.
At the moment, Derek looked as shocked as she as his dark brown eyes went to the baby in the highchair between her chair
and Jade’s. Leaving Derek standing in the archway, Chase strode across the dining room and took the dishes Chloe completely
forgot she was holding. Without a word, Jade lifted the baby out of the highchair and headed into the kitchen.
Cash recovered first and said, “Hello, Derek.” Walking forward, her younger brother extended his hand.
“Good to see you, Cash,” Derek said as he shook Cash’s hand. With a nod and smile, he turned to her grandfather and said,
“Mr. Cooper, sir. Good to see you.”
“Detective Brevard,” Coop replied, with a tone that suggested he wasn’t sure he wanted to be friends. But always the
gentleman, Coop shook hands when Derek offered his.
“Chloe, why don’t you take Derek to the den and pour him a drink?” Chase suggested, as to the wet bar there. “Looks like
he could use one.” Then, shifting his gaze from Chloe to Derek, Chase said, “If she won’t pour you a drink, help yourself,
Derek.”
Chase followed Jade’s path into the kitchen. Cash and Coop said no more as they picked up plates off the table. Chloe
stalked out of the dining room and, long black ponytail swishing wildly, stomped through the great room. Derek turned and
followed her. Instead of heading to Chase’s den, she beelined for the front door. Before she could open it, Derek caught her
arm.
“I don’t know if Chase was in on this ambush or not,” Chloe said. “He plays his cards close to the vest, but I’ll deal with
him later.” With that, she jerked her arm from Derek. It was the first time he’d touched her since he’d disappeared, and she
warned herself to stay out of his dangerous…disarming reach. “Do not touch me again.”
“Whose baby is that?” Derek asked in the foyer where the grandfather clock struck seven.
“I want you to leave, Derek,” she spat, but instead, Derek stalked away from her to the den. She followed him this time and
saw him stop beside the wet bar. “How did you know where Chase’s den is?”
“This is where he and I talked about my intentions toward you last year the day he and Jade got married,” Derek said. The
shadow of beard on his face, a shade darker than his hair, added to his air of mystery and the threat he represented not just to
criminals but to her heart. “Your turn to answer a question, Chloe. Who had a baby?”
“If you hadn’t ghosted us, you’d know the answer to that,” Chloe snapped.
Oh, but it was hard to keep her hands off this man. To strangle him or to hug him, she wasn’t sure. Both. No. No hugging.
Strangling only. She watched as he stepped behind the wet bar, as Chase had invited him to do, and picked up a bottle of
whiskey. Bringing out two glasses from under the bar, he poured two shots. He moved one glass toward her and picked up his
glass. When she didn’t take her glass, he downed his shot.
“What’s the baby’s name?” Derek asked.
Chloe decided to totally stump him by answering that one. “Cooper.”
“First or last?”
Darn him. He was a detective, after all, trained in asking questions and interpreting answers. He could read liars and their
tells. She didn’t plan on lying, but she could use that drink to steady her nerves. Before she could stop herself, she asked,
“Where have you been?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Derek said, pouring himself a second shot.
“On Halloween, you said you’d just hit town. Where were you, Derek?”
“Most recently, Texas.” He lifted his glass, and when she still didn’t lift hers, he asked, “Nursing a baby?”
Chloe felt her blood pressure rising, turning her whole body red-hot with anger. “No.”
“Did that baby make the noise I heard at your house on Halloween night?” Derek asked. When she didn’t answer, he said,
“This isn’t the conversation I expected to have with you.” He flattened both of his large, masculine hands to the bar. Chloe
pulled her eyes off his hands to keep from remembering what they could do to her. Had done to her. Exciting things. First-time
things. Sensual things. “Let’s go to your house and sort this all out.”
“Nothing to sort out,” Chloe said flippantly.
“There’s so much to sort out.”A lock of hair fell across Derek’s forehead, and Chloe had to summon every ounce of strength
to keep her hands to herself. Instead of Derek’s neck, she clasped both hands around the glass with her shot of whiskey in it as
he said, “I don’t know where to start.”
“Go figure things out on your own like I had to do, Derek.”
“That baby looks between four to six months.” Derek came around to the front of the bar and stood at the other end, but she
didn’t turn to face him. “If it’s mine, I deserve to know.”
“You’re the detective, so…” she shrugged, staring straight ahead.
Stepping closer to her, he said, “So, I can find out.” Placing a hand on her arm, he turned her toward him. When she stared
down at his hand, he let go of her. “But I’d rather hear it from you. If you won’t go with me to your house now, I’ll see you
tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday. I may stay here tonight and not be there.”
Towering over her, Derek said, “Then I’ll see you Monday when you have bed-and-breakfast guests.” He could control his
temper, she’d give him that. “What’s it gonna be?”
“Jade is expecting me to help her in the kitchen tonight.”
“I seriously doubt that.” Derek’s dark eyes narrowed. “But I’ve imposed enough on Chase and Jade’s hospitality.” He
strode away from her and headed out of the den and through the foyer to the double front doors. Before following him, Chloe
swallowed the shot of whiskey he’d poured for her. When she caught up with him, he was opening a door. “By the time I see
you tomorrow, I’ll know who the baby belongs to.” He stepped outside under a towering portico and paused. “Last chance,
Chloe. What’s the rest of Cooper’s name?”
Chloe glared at him. As intimidating as ever, he stood his ground. Placing her hand on the doorknob, she gripped it. A
wrestling match between her heart and head raged inside her as she did her best to referee the fight. At her silence, Derek
bowed his head and sighed. But it felt like her defeat and not his. When he turned away, her head said slam the door!
Her heart whispered, “Brevard.” And then she slammed the door.
 C HAPTER SIX

D erek smiled all the way back into Colorado Springs. He was a father. He had a child. The name Cooper could be for a
boy or girl. His hunch was on it being a boy. But it didn’t matter. He was going to be the best dad ever to Cooper
Brevard.
His smile faded as it occurred to him there could be another man already playing that role. Chloe was sensational—from
her raven hair, blue eyes, and kissable lips to her full breasts, sassy fanny, and long legs, to the inner beauty of her trusting
heart, generous nature, and loving personality. Why wouldn’t there be a man taking his place with Chloe as well as Cooper?
He should have asked her about that, not that she would have told him. But he didn’t peg her as a liar, and he’d detected no
indication of a lie or of a tell, as they were sometimes called, that she was being untruthful.
The plain truth—she was furious with him, and she’d let him know it.
He had returned the rental car to the airport the day after his arrival in the Springs and was glad to be back in his Northsky
Blue double-cab truck. He slowed his truck in preparation for turning right. Pulling up to the gate outside Shadow of Kissing
Camels, the guard exited the guardhouse.
“Hey, Detective Brevard. I heard you were back,” the gentleman said. “Great to see you.”
“Thanks, Leo. Good to be home.” At least somebody was glad to see him.
Derek left the entrance gate behind and drove through the well-manicured and landscaped community. Built around an
eighteen-hole golf course, three tennis courts, two swimming pools, and clubhouses with gyms, spas, and cafés, all of the
townhouses were two stories with three or four bedrooms. Passing his mother’s townhouse, he drove on up the hill to his, and
the two-car garage door opened upon his approach.
Inside the garage, the door closed behind him, and he entered his home. Striding down the back hallway, he passed the
laundry room and one of four bathrooms. Turning into the kitchen, he opened the fridge, planning to grab a bottle of water, and
was surprised to find it stocked. His mother or Loretta, the lady who worked for her, had gone to the grocery store for him. He
made a note to thank his mother and pay her back.
And tell her she has a grandchild, he thought. Later, when he had all the details.
With a bottle of water in hand, Derek entered the dimly lit family room and switched on the light. He instantly slid his
Glock out of its holster. Two men in suits stood facing him in front of his flat-screen TV.
“Agent Thomas McGarrett?” one of them asked.
“Who the hell are you?” Derek asked, his gun aimed at them. Both men held up one hand as protocol would dictate, reached
into jacket pockets with the other hand, and displayed their badges. He walked close enough to ascertain their badges were
authentic. He knew how to tell because he had one with his picture and the name Thomas McGarrett on it. “Why are two CIA
agents I don’t know inside my house, and haven’t you heard of knocking?”
“Sorry, sir,” said the one who had done the talking so far. Six foot, brown hair, with a no-nonsense expression, his ID said
he was Agent Clark Adkins. Undercover name of course. Derek took him to be the senior agent in charge. “It’s the way we
operate.”
“Yeah, I know.” Derek had operated the same way. “I’m not even going to bother asking how you got past the guard at the
gate,” he said, holstering the Glock. CIA agents could be as jovial and pleasant as they were shrewd and lethal. “I was fully
debriefed before I left Austin by the Texas Rangers, U.S. Customs, and the CIA. What do you want?”
“There’s been a development,” said the other agent, who was slightly taller, a little younger, and by no means was his real
name John Lewis, as stated on his badge.
“I’m not going back to Texas or Mexico or⁠—”
“May we sit down?”Agent Adkins asked.
“Might as well.” Derek swung a hand toward the leather sofa and took a seat in his favorite chair. Leaning forward, he
splayed his hands. “Everybody in the Vasquez Cartel we found in Denver, tracked down through Texas, and followed across
the border into Mexico is dead. Or in custody never again to see the light of day outside a prison.”
Agent Lewis said, “Your father had an excellent reputation as a Texas Ranger who helped stop countless shipments of drugs
from coming across the border in his day.”
“He did,” Derek agreed. “What’s the development?” His gut twinged as the two agents glanced at each other. Then it
dawned on him. “Who escaped custody?”
Agent Adkins replied, “The son, Poco Cerebro.”
“Dammit!” Derek barked, shot to his feet, and paced to the window. Clouds nearly hid the moon hovering above the
towering red rocks in Garden of the Gods. Poco Cerebro, meaning little brain in Spanish, had been the slimy, traitorous key to
finding Eduardo Vasquez, Sr. Of all people to escape, why Poco Cerebro? Turning back the agents, he asked, “When?”
“Yesterday,” Adkins said. “As soon as the agency was made aware, we were dispatched to inform you in person.”
Derek had been so focused on Chloe that he hadn’t watched the news since he’d been back in the States. “When I left
Mexico, he was securely detained and scheduled to be transferred to Altiplano, a maximum security federal penitentiary in
Almoloya de Juárez.”
“Same prison Joaquín Guzmán, the king of tunnels and drains, escaped,” Adkins said.
“Right,” Derek agreed, and then referring to Guzmán continued, “but it took El Chapo seventeen months to bribe authorities
and pay millions for his custom-built, mile-long escape route underneath the prison. How did penniless Poco manage to get
away?”
“During a riot in a Mexico City jail, twenty-four hours prior to his transfer to Altiplano,” Adkins told him.
Using Poco’s given name, Derek asked, “Any idea where Eduardo Vasquez, Jr. is?”
“Probably hightailing it back home to Sinaloa,” Lewis replied.
“Of course he is,” Derek said, gritting his teeth. Located along the coast of the Pacific Ocean, the Mexican state of Sinaloa
was home to some of the most infamous and dangerous drug cartels in the world. He knew it all too well.
“Poco’s aware we’re on his trail,” Adkins said.
“He’s a weasel hated by his own people for leaking information to us on El Cerebro’s whereabouts,” Derek said. El
Cerebro, meaning the brain in Spanish, referred to Eduardo Vasquez, Sr., the mastermind of the Vasquez Cartel and Poco’s
father.
“He’s got enemies because of his brother, Miguel, too,” Lewis said.
“Yeah,” Derek agreed. Poco’s older brother, Miguel Vasquez, was supposedly in the wrong place at the wrong time and
had died in a shootout with a rival drug lord’s gang. But it was widely rumored that Poco had been the backstabber in his
brother’s demise as well. Derek knew from Poco himself that he’d hoped to take over the lucrative Vasquez Cartel by
eliminating his father. Most likely, Miguel, being the older brother, was standing in Poco’s way too. “Whoever is hiding Poco
will turn on him for a peso. What’s the bounty?”
Adkins replied, “A million. Dead or alive.”
“You’re here to tell me Poco Cerebro might come after me,” Derek said, and both agents nodded. “But why would he?
Hell, I cleared the path for him.”
“Like you said, he’s hated now. He’s desperate to trick people into thinking he was wrongly accused of setting up El
Cerebro,” Adkins replied. “Our intelligence says killing you would be an easy way for him to accomplish that.”
“Son of a bitch!” was the first in the string of curses Derek let fly.
“Come back with the agency and get him before he gets you,” Lewis urged.
“Oh, hell no,” Derek said, shaking his head. “The CIA and I have parted ways. My assignment was temporary. I
accomplished my goal and then some. I need to stay here and get my life back on track.”
Trying to convince him, Adkins said, “With snitches scrambling to collect the bounty, it shouldn’t take long to recapture
Poco if he’s not already dead.”
“I caught him the first time, and I’m not the one who lost him.” Derek knew that didn’t matter. Poco Cerebro was on the
loose. And the threat he posed was real. Dammit.
“The CIA doesn’t have to be a temporary assignment,” Adkins suggested. “We could use you full-time.”
“I appreciate that. But I like Colorado Springs and the people here.”
“People who could be in danger until Poco Cerebro is caught or killed,” Lewis said.
“We’ve got your plane ticket.” Adkins pulled it out of his jacket pocket.
 C HAPTER SEVEN

“W here are you, Derek?” Chloe whispered to no one on Sunday afternoon. She pulled aside a white sheer over the
living room window to better see down the long drive to the main road.
Cooper was enjoying his afternoon nap, but Chloe was on pins and needles waiting for the doorbell to ring. Even
though she had slammed Chase’s door in Derek’s face and hadn’t heard from him since the previous evening, she figured Derek
would have shown up by now. To be fair, he couldn’t call or text her to discuss a time because she still had him blocked on her
phone.
Chase, of course, had been the one who engineered her meeting with Derek at Triple C Ranch-Central. After Derek had left
the ranch, she’d been convinced by her family to hear what Derek had to say. Listen with an open mind, Chase had added
firmly. Jade said as a therapist, she always advised her clients that they couldn’t make an informed decision without having all
of the information. Cash had agreed, saying whatever Chloe decided, they would back her up. Coop had added his two cents,
ending with guns blazing if need be, and hugged her.
“No sign of him yet?” Rachel asked, coming into the living room. Still at the window, Chloe shook her head. “Marty and I
are going gallivanting unless you or Cooper need me.”
“Thanks, Rachel,” Chloe said, turning to her. “But no, we’re fine.” Gallivanting today meant dinner and a movie. Wingback
chairs framed the big window overlooking the porch and lawn to the tree-lined drive, but Chloe was too keyed up to sit. “You
and Martyman go gallivanting and have fun.”
“I love you, sweetie,” Rachel said. Her smile always reached her eyes, and she gave Chloe a hug. “Since I typically speak
my mind, as far as I’m concerned, you need to take this week off. Let me oversee the care of the house and guests while you
concentrate on Derek.”
“I appreciate that, and I’ll considerate it if he shows up,” Chloe replied. “You know you’re my favorite aunt in the whole
world.”
“I know I’m your only aunt,” Rachel said with a laugh.
Rachel left, and Chloe paced. She checked on Cooper, returned to the window, and gulped, seeing Derek’s dark blue truck
coming toward the house. She dropped the curtains and moved back from the window. Taking several deep breaths, she blew
them out slowly to calm herself, as Jade had suggested.
Through the sheers, Chloe watched him park near the hitching post close to the porch. The truck door opened, and he
swaggered toward the house like the stud he was. All handsome-hot—sunglasses, a couple days’ growth of beard, a black
leather bomber-style jacket, dark blue jeans, and black work boots. Damn him for being so alarmingly attractive. Chloe prayed
for strength and wisdom as she waited for his knock. How many times had she wished for this day to happen? Countless. The
knock sounded. Steeling herself, she skirted the arched bridge over the fishpond, crossed the foyer, and opened the door.
“What took you so long?” Chloe asked. Derek’s slight shrug hinted her rejections might have kept him away. When he
smiled, Chloe caught and stopped her impulse to smile back. “My family says, for Cooper’s sake, I need to hear you out, so
come in.” She moved aside and allowed him into the foyer. She shut the door and, glancing at an antique clock sitting on a
table, she said, “You have twenty minutes to state your case.”
She’d decided to meet with him in the living room because it was quite formal, not cozy like the family room with the wet
bar and a fireplace. With her bed-and-breakfast guests in mind, the living room was arranged with two sofas separated by an
oblong, marble coffee table. At either end of the table were two Queen Anne chairs facing each other. Entering the living room
ahead of Derek, Chloe heard the clock strike one as she swung a hand toward the sofas.
“Any chance I could see the baby before the clock starts ticking?” Derek asked as he took off his sunglasses.
“Cooper just went down for a nap.”
Sliding the sunglasses into his jacket pocket, he said, “I won’t make a sound.”
Chloe hesitated. But she wouldn’t have her precious baby if not for Derek. She nodded, turned, and walked out of the room.
Derek followed her down the hall as she led the way into her bedroom. The same room where they had spent the better part of
two days and nights in her bed.
On one side of the bedroom was an adjoining door to the office where she kept her laptop and other information necessary
for running the bed-and-breakfast. Through a door on the opposite side of the bedroom was the sitting room, which had since
been turned into a nursery.
Chloe padded across a thick carpet over the hardwood floor and stood at the far end of the crib. Derek approached and
stopped a few feet away from the center of the crib. The baby slept peacefully, unaware of both parents watching. Slowly,
Derek took a couple steps closer and placed his hands on the railing of the crib. The room was dimly lit, but Chloe could have
sworn tears swam in Derek’s mahogany eyes as he gazed at the sweet bundle covered up to the neck in a blanket.
Chloe walked back out of the nursery and through her bedroom to the hallway. She waited on Derek, and when he joined
her, she returned to the living room. With a swing of her hand, she indicated he should sit on one of the sofas. When he had
taken off his jacket and made himself comfortable, she sat primly in the chair at a right angle to the sofa. With his dark blue
jeans, he wore a black tee shirt. Both hugged his muscular body as she longed to do. Nope. Not going to happen.
“Twenty minutes starting now,” Chloe snapped with a glower at Derek.
“Boy or girl?” Derek asked, looking across a marble-top table at her.
Chloe was taken aback. Because she and the rest of her family and friends knew, it hadn’t occurred to her the father
wouldn’t be able to tell the sex of a five-month-old he had only briefly seen awake and then asleep, covered with a blanket. It
was a fair question.
“Boy.”
Derek bowed his head for a moment, and then his eyes met hers. “Thank you, Chloe.”
“For what?”
“My son. Our son.”
“Let’s suppose for the sake of argument Cooper was not part of this equation,” Chloe said, flipping a lock of long black
hair over her shoulder. “When you showed up here on Halloween night, you didn’t know about Cooper. Say to me now what
you were planning to say to me when you thought it was just the two of us.”
“Okay, I will,” Derek agreed. “But there has been a new…” he hesitated, clenched his square jaw, and then said,
“development since then.”
“Go on.”
“Let me start by saying that when I was gone, I thought about you every day.”
“Right,” Chloe said as she rolled her eyes. “Which is why your calls and messages were simply nonstop.”
“Chloe, please just listen to me.”
“I’ll try.” She raised her hands to indicate her effort to be quiet.
“I told Chase the day he married Jade, I had been granted a temporary duty assignment which was personal. I knew it might
take me away from Colorado Springs for a year. He suggested I tell you. But I was afraid if you knew I was headed only as far
away as Denver, you might try to find me there and put yourself in danger.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Chloe said, adding a scornful laugh. But he was exactly right. She would have gone to the ends of
the earth to find Derek and tell him she loved him, to ask him what she’d done wrong to make him leave her, and by the way,
they were going to have a baby.
Her cutting remark had resulted in a fleeting pained expression on Derek’s face that hurt her heart. But she couldn’t stop
herself from saying, “I’d have my butler throw you out, but he’s off today.” Chloe stood ready to leave the room. “So please
show yourself out, Derek.”
Standing, he said, “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”
“Watch me.”
His hands went to his hips, and she noticed his holstered gun. “Sit down and listen.”
“I don’t care what you have to say.”
“I mean it, Chloe,” he said, towering over her. “Sit.”
“No.”
Apparently, he’d had enough. Derek’s frown was stern, and his voice deep as he said, “Sit, or I’ll put you in that chair and
cuff you to it.”
“If you’re trying to scare me, Derek,” Chloe’s voice shook, so she spat, “Stop it!”
“You want tame?” he growled. “Because I don’t do tame.”
It was a glaring stare-off. Derek was anything but tame in the bedroom too. That thought weakened Chloe’s body to her very
core, and she sat before her knees buckled.
“Lower your voice, or you’ll wake the baby, Derek.”
Derek sat too, and then said, “What I told Chase was in confidence, and I hope that didn’t cause trouble between you.”
“It didn’t,” Chloe replied stiffly. “He told us you had an out-of-town assignment, and it was personal.” Chase had the same
cell number she did for Derek. Which went to voice mails, never to be answered. She’d even called the El Paso County
sheriff’s office, but they had refused to tell her anything. From that point on, she’d become angry. She thought a moment and
added, “Chase didn’t say you were as close as Denver.”
“Your brother is protective of those he loves,” Derek replied. “He’s a good man.”
“Yes, both of my brothers are.”
“Turns out I wasn’t in Denver very long anyway,” Derek said. Then addressed her request. “Chloe, what I was going to say
to you on Halloween night was what I said to Chase. And that was if I made it back here, I’d like to see you.”
“So you told Chase that before our—one night, no, two-night stand?” Her anger was on the rise again. “You know, when I
gave you my virginity. Before you blew me off.”
“Chloe, I was honored to have been your first. If not your only, I’d be honored to be your last,” Derek said. Sitting on the
middle cushion of the sofa, when she didn’t reply, he scooted down to the end closer to her. “I never once thought of you as a
two-night stand.” His smile seemed sincere, and her heart skipped a beat. “It never occurred to me that I could have left you
pregnant. I used a condom every time.” He paused and then said, “But it was intense⁠—”
“Yes…yes.” Chloe raised her hand to cut him off, not admitting he was in fact her only, and said, “I recall.” She had
eagerly taken any risks right along with Derek. “Here’s what I’d like to know; between Denver and Texas, where have you
been? What was your assignment?”
“Okay, look,” Derek began with a nod that appeared to indicate his understanding of her need for answers. He leaned
forward and clasped his hands between his knees. Chloe realized how little she knew Derek Brevard. His thought processes,
his mannerisms, his family history. She knew his body, but not the man. “I can’t tell you everything, like who I was working for
during the assignment, but I can tell you my part as far as what is public knowledge now.”
“Anything would be more than nothing. You never even told me where you live here in the Springs.” Overwhelmingly
ashamed of herself for going to bed with a near-stranger, Chloe stood again and said, “You know what? Never mind. Please
just go.”
 C H A P T E R E I G HT

“N o,” Derek said. “I’ve left twice without resolving anything. Not happening a third time.”
Still standing, Chloe said, but with less insistence, “There’s nothing to resolve.”
Derek got to his feet, but instead of leaving, he walked around the marble table and wrapped his arms around her.
She pushed against him, but his embrace tightened. Chloe had dreamed of him holding her like this—night after sobbing,
endless night. She’d held his baby to her heart and poured her love into him. Derek’s big, strong hand cupped the back of her
neck, coaxing her to rest her head against his shoulder.
“Don’t be embarrassed about what we did, Chloe. Blame me. From the moment we danced that slow dance you saved for
me at your brother’s wedding reception, I couldn’t keep my hands off you.” He stroked the back of her head with one large
hand as his other hand flattened over the long hair at the middle of her back. “I apologize if I scared you earlier. You never
have to be afraid of me. And for the record, in case it crossed your mind, I’m not going to try to take Cooper. I’m here to try to
win over his mother.”
It had not occurred to her that he might try to take Cooper. Did that say something about what she subconsciously thought of
Derek as a human being? Was her deep-down instinct about this man, his integrity, and his character different from her
accusatory rantings?
With her head against his shoulder, Chloe heard herself admit in a whisper, “I could have told you no.”
“And I would have stopped.” Derek leaned her back and smiled down at her. Releasing her, he took her hand and brought
her to sit down on the sofa with him. “But then we wouldn’t have Cooper. Right?”
“Right,” Chloe admitted as she sat beside her baby’s father. But scooting sideways to put some space between them, she
turned to Derek and said, “Back to where you’ve been.”
“I’ve been undercover since I left. I had to shut down my phone, leave my home, and pick up a whole new identity. New
name, new role, no address.”
“What new name and role?”
“Tom McGarrett. Federal agent,” he said and watched her head tilt as though trying to see him in this different light. “Let
me tell you why it was personal.”
“Please do.”
“My father, Hodge Brevard, was a Texas Ranger. I was born and raised through middle school on our horse ranch just
outside of Austin, Texas. Austin is the headquarters for the Texas Rangers,” he said, assuming correctly she hadn’t known that.
“My dad liked to joke that his side hustle was breeding and raising Percheron horses. I loved those horses and working
alongside my dad,” Derek said with a sigh and a smile that spoke of fond memories. “But there was actually a lot of truth to the
side hustle part because he sold more than a few well-trained Percherons to Texas Rangers.”
“Here on the Triple C Ranches, we love horses too.”
“I know you do.” Derek nodded. “As everyone is aware, drug cartels and Texas Rangers are longtime enemies. One drug
lord known as El Cerebro, which is Spanish meaning the brain, was the mastermind of the Vasquez Cartel. It was the most
ruthless of all the cartels Dad faced.” She had the distinct impression Derek was being as transparent as possible.
“El Cerebro, whose real name was Eduardo Vasquez, Sr., operated out of the Mexican state of Sinaloa. The Vasquez Cartel
smuggled drugs over the Texas border into my father’s jurisdiction. Dad didn’t scare easily, and his persistence in shutting them
down began strangling El Cerebro’s business.”
“I see.” Chloe vaguely realized she’d lost her desire, at least temporarily, to strangle Derek. “Your dad sounds like another
good man.”
“He was a good man,” Derek agreed quietly but with conviction.
“Was he always a Texas Ranger?”
“No. Before becoming a Texas Ranger, Hodge was one tough Marine. Like him, I went to college and earned my bachelor’s
degree in criminal justice. He was commissioned into the Marines as an officer. I had a different role in mind. After four years
in the Marines, Dad was recruited as a cop in Abilene, Texas, where he met my mother while she was in college. She was also
from Austin, and later, after moving back there, they bought the horse ranch. My mother dabbled in real estate and taught piano.
My dad became a Texas Ranger.”
Chloe was hanging on his every word. “When did you move from Texas to Colorado?”
“When I was fourteen. After I witnessed El Cerebro kill my father.”
Chloe had not seen that coming. She gasped, placed both hands over her mouth, and whispered, “Oh no, Derek.”
“Yeah,” Derek said and then paused for a moment. “Rather than take a different drug route, El Cerebro decided to take
Hodge out of his regular route. As far as we knew, he never realized he left me as a witness to the execution-style murder.”
“I would have screamed and been killed,” Chloe guessed.
“Doing the work he did, Dad had prepared me for such a confrontation. He said if such a scenario happened, I needed to be
as silently invisible as possible because my only job was to stay alive. He also taught me that if I ever found myself in the grips
of someone in a hostage situation, to lean to my right. Not only could it throw off the perpetrator’s aim, but law enforcement
could shoot the bad guy in the heart.” Derek had delivered the information stoically, with little expression. “Although a head-
shot is always preferable.”
Chloe shivered. “Your dad saved your life.”
“Yes.” Derek nodded. “To make sure I stayed alive and to get away from the place where it all happened, my mother
immediately moved the two of us out of Austin to Colorado Springs. The Springs is where she and my dad had hoped to retire
someday.”
“Derek, I hate what happened to your father,” Chloe said, her own heart bleeding. “For you to have witnessed his death is a
traumatic hell no boy should have to suffer. I’m truly sorry for your loss and your mother’s.”
“Thanks.” Derek ran a hand through his hair. “For countless murders and other crimes, El Cerebro eventually went to
prison in Mexico. He ran the cartel from his cell. Then, about three years ago, he was released, supposedly due to a legal
loophole. Guarantee you a lot of money exchanged hands.” Derek scowled at that and rubbed his forehead. “As soon as El
Cerebro was back in Sinaloa, he wasted no time escalating his business, ramping up the brutal killings of rivals, police, and
citizens with bombs, grenades, guns, and drugs.” Derek leaned back on the sofa and sighed. “It was tough to go about my daily
life knowing my father’s cold-blooded murderer was on the loose. But he was Mexico’s problem until the Vasquez Cartel
started trafficking drugs into the States again.”
“So you decided to do something about it.”
“I pulled some strings in Austin.” Derek sat forward again and rolled his chin from one shoulder to the other as if relieving
tension in his head and neck. Empathy told Chloe that talking about it all had to be painful for him. He flattened his hands to his
thighs, and a muscle worked in his strong, square jaw as he stared out the window.
“My boss, El Paso County Sheriff Owen Custis, is a good ol’ cowboy at heart. He was born and raised on a ranch here in
Colorado Springs. We have a lot in common and always got along well. He knew I’d quit the sheriff’s department to go after
Vasquez if I had to. Instead, agencies worked together, and I was granted the TDY, meaning temporary duty assignment.”
When he paused, Chloe asked, “What happened during your TDY, Derek?”
“I went to Mexico, blended into the cartel, and stopped El Cerebro for good.”
“How?”
Derek slowly turned his head and looked her in the eye. “I put a bullet in his brain.”
“My God,” Chloe gulped. A flash of the way she’d treated this man made her inwardly cringe. “I don’t know what to say.”
She took a breath and said, “Yes, I do. I’m glad you avenged your father’s murder, and I’m grateful you lived to tell me about
it.”
“Me too.” Derek glanced in the direction of the nursery. “My dad would have been so happy to be a grandfather.”
“What about your mother? Does she still live in Colorado Springs?”
“Yes, but I decided not to mention Cooper to her until I had more details.”
“Coop has been a wonderful great-grandpa. But your mother is Cooper’s only living grandparent,” Chloe realized aloud.
“Please tell me about her.”
“Her name is Pamela Brevard. She’s humble, she’s sweet, and goes by Pam. She was twenty-seven when I was born, and
I’m thirty-one now, so that makes her fifty-eight.”
“I turned twenty-seven shortly before Cooper was born.”
A smile eased the frown on Derek’s face as he talked some about his mother, including her encouraging him to follow up
with Chloe. When Chloe heard Cooper waking from his nap, she glanced at the watch on her wrist. Derek’s twenty minutes had
raced by somehow turning into two hours. She stood and, having heard the baby, Derek stood too.
“I will get Cooper and introduce you. He’ll be hungry. Would you like something to eat or drink?” Chloe asked, finally
remembering her manners.
“Sure,” Derek said.
 “Meet us in the kitchen,” Chloe suggested as she walked through the living room. She veered into the bedroom, leaving
Derek on his own. She changed Cooper’s diaper, picked him up, and whispered, “Time to meet your daddy, Cooper.”
 C HAPTER NINE

D erek found his way to the kitchen and stopped beside a highchair at the breakfast nook table. He received a text,
frowned over who had sent it, and shoved the phone into his pocket without replying. When he looked up, he saw
them. The most alluring and unforgettable female in the world, Chloe was the only woman never to leave his soul. And
Cooper, a child he’d never even touched, filled his heart with boundless love. His entire being ached to hold them both.
Chloe’s sweater, the same royal blue as her eyes, clung to her full breasts and flat tummy. She wore it with a lighter shade
of blue jeans that hugged her rounded fanny and shapely legs. Her raven black hair waved long past her slender shoulders and
touched the blond hair sprouting on the infant’s head. Wearing a long-sleeved, green-and-brown striped tee shirt and brown
corduroy overalls, the baby was all boy.
Glancing down at the five-month-old on her hip, for the first time since Derek had made it back to her ranch, Chloe’s
supple pink lips turned up in a soft smile. Didn’t matter she was looking at the baby and not at him. She was at least smiling in
Derek’s presence. He placed his hand on his chest to make sure the picture of this beauty holding his son hadn’t stopped his
heart.
“Cooper, this is…not that he can talk, but what do you want him to call you?”
Derek looked from the baby to the mother and back to his son. “Dad.”
“Wash your hands, and you can hold him.”
“Does that go for his mother too?” Derek asked. Chloe arched her brow and didn’t reply, but he noticed the heightened pink
in her cheeks. He washed his hands at the kitchen sink and dried them on a paper towel. Turning to mother and son, he said,
“Come here, Cooper.”
When Chloe gave him the baby, it was one of the most profoundly moving moments of Derek’s entire life. He tucked
Cooper against his chest and grinned at him. Taking the baby’s right hand in his, four little fingers and a thumb curled around
Derek’s index finger. His trigger finger. He pushed the thoughts linked with that to the back of his mind and fully enjoyed the
moment.
He sat down at the breakfast nook table and held his son as Chloe moved around the kitchen. He stroked the baby’s blond
head and studied his eyes. Between the dark blue on the outer rim and the black iris in the center were brown flecks. Cooper’s
lips had a Cupid’s bow like he and Chloe both had. His little cheeks were pink, and his arms and legs were chubby. Chloe
came back to the table with Derek’s mid-afternoon snack of coffee and apple pie.
When he stared at the pie, she said, “Apple pie is my specialty. I made two on Saturday and took one to Chase’s ranch. But
if you’d like something else⁠—”
“I’ve been craving your apple pie,” he told her. “Didn’t we live on it for a couple of days last year?”
“I think we had pizza too.” Chloe didn’t make eye contact as she removed the tray from the highchair.
Derek took his cue to put the baby in the chair. “Cooper’s eyes are going to be brown like mine,” he said.
Chloe huffed and rolled her big blue eyes. “I know.”
“How much does he weigh?”
“Double his birth weight. Sixteen pounds, seven ounces. Right where he should be for five months.”
“Chloe, I’m so damn sorry I wasn’t there,” Derek said as she sat down across from him with a baby-sized plastic spoon
and a small bowl of something orange, which she said was a homemade sweet potato mixture. “You found out you were
pregnant, I was MIA, and you had a decision to make.”
“If you mean whether or not to have Cooper, there was never any question,” she said, smiling at the baby. “I wanted him
from the moment I found out I was pregnant.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I smiled all the way home the night I realized I was a father,” he told her with a grin and then
sobered. “But still, going through the pregnancy alone had to be your own version of hell. I figure you wanted to kill me more
than once.”
 “That thought did cross my mind when I had bouts of morning sickness.”
“No doubt and rightly so,” Derek said with compassion. “I did a little calculating and figure Cooper was born around May
twenty-seventh.”
Chloe lifted a brow and gave him a nod. “He was eager to get here and was born at 7:10 am on May twenty-fifth,” she said.
“I had lots of help. Jade and Rachel took turns with me in the delivery room. Everybody always wants to babysit.”
Derek smiled but hated having missed the birth of his son. “You said you don’t nurse.”
“My milk didn’t come in the way it should have.” Chloe spooned sweet potatoes into the little cherub mouth. “Baby
formula was the answer.”
“Of course.” Derek wondered if giving birth as a single, working mom with the pressures and responsibilities that it
presented could have contributed to her not being able to nurse. Once again, he was to blame. Before thinking, he said, “Might
be different with the next one.”
“The next one?” Chloe asked as Cooper smacked his little hands on the tray.
“You know, if the father were around to do his part.”
“Eat your coffee and drink your apple pie, Derek.”
“What?” Derek laughed. Apparently, he’d rattled her. Something unnerving resurfaced, and he asked, “Is there another man
in your life?”
“Since the day you left, there’s only been Cooper,” Chloe said, smiling at the baby. So happy to hear those words, Derek
grinned. But when turning her gaze from Cooper to him, Chloe’s smile faded. “Not that I haven’t been asked out or that it’s any
of your concern.”
“It sure as hell would be my concern if there was some other guy,” he shot back. Chloe raised both brows and tilted her
head. Derek cocked a brow and clenched his jaw. Then, taking a bite of his pie, a swallow of coffee, and calming himself, he
looked across the table at her to explain, “He’d be trying to take my place with you and Cooper.”
“Trust me, the guy who asked me out, named Brody from high school days, is not my type,” she said with a shrug. Still,
Derek made note of the name. “What about you, Derek? How many women have you gone through?”
Having watched her, Derek reached for the baby spoon. With a challenging smirk, she handed the spoon to him. He dipped
it into the pureed sweet potatoes and brought it to Cooper’s mouth. The baby’s eyes grew wide as he studied Derek. Then he
opened his mouth, and for the first time, Derek fed his son. He smiled, and Cooper smiled. When Derek glanced at Chloe, she
was smiling too. As he gave Cooper another bite, he remembered she’d asked a question.
“Women?” Derek shook his head. “I was a little busy infiltrating a drug cartel and trying not to blow my cover so they
didn’t blow my head off.”
“Derek,” Chloe gasped softly.
“None.” He shrugged. “From the night I met you at Southside Suzy’s, I haven’t been tempted by any other woman.”
She squinted those big blue eyes at him, obviously trying to discern if he was telling the truth. “No Texas fillies? No
Mexican senoritas?”
Staring her in the eye, he said firmly, “No.” He grinned at Cooper and fed him another bite. “But Texas and Mexico remind
me of the new development I mentioned.”
“What is it?”
“I was told last night that El Cerebro’s son, Poco Cerebro, meaning little brain in Spanish, escaped custody.”
“Told by whom?”
“I can’t say.” Derek spooned another bite into Cooper’s mouth.
“Somebody in authority? Like the FBI? Or the Texas Rangers?”
“Somebody like that.”
“I’m guessing Poco little brain Cerebro was part of his father’s cartel.”
“Yes. Leads in Denver took us to Poco without much trouble. In Mexico, we hoped he’d lead us to El Cerebro. I was part
of the task force working stakeouts, monitoring Poco and watching for El Cerebro. After a few weeks, I caught a break when I
witnessed a drug runner within the Vasquez Cartel pull a gun on Poco. I took him out, saving Poco’s life. Poco wanted to know
who I was. My cover was claiming to be hiding in Mexico from crimes I’d committed in the States. I was ushered into the
cartel for my speed and accuracy with a gun.” When Chloe winced, he said, “You asked.”
“I did. Please go on.”
“I hauled drugs and was muscle for the Vasquez Cartel, but mostly, I was Poco’s personal bodyguard.” Derek paused and
glanced out the bay window. It was comforting to see the ponderosa pines instead of the Sinaloa slums. Derek gritted through
his teeth, “Poco Cerebro is a pathetic excuse for a human being.”
“Like the Spatafores were.”
“Exactly.” He met her gaze, then continued feeding Cooper, and said, “I was driving Poco home from a bar when he
drunkenly blurted out that he wished the feds would capture his father. He was desperate, not only to take over the cartel, but to
collect the bounty on his father’s head. I played along, took it slowly, and eventually agreed to help him.”
 “So he told you where his father was holed up?”
Derek nodded. “El Cerebro constantly stayed on the move and used decoys. So it took a while even for Poco to find out
where he really was. Then, I had to figure out where he would be long enough for the task force to capture him. But when I did,
the task force was ready. In a double-cross move, we got El Cerebro, Poco, and every major player in the Vasquez Cartel.”
“How terrifying that must have been.” Chloe’s eyes widened. “What happened when Poco realized you were a federal
agent?”
“He thought I was going to let him go.” Derek shook his head and spooned another bite into Cooper’s mouth. “I slapped the
cuffs on him, and he vowed if it was the last thing he ever did, it would be to…” At the horror on Chloe’s beautiful face, he
stopped.
She swallowed. “Kill you.”
“Yeah.” Despite that, Derek grinned at Cooper.
Cooper grasped the spoon and tugged. Derek let go, and Cooper smacked the tray with the spoon before tossing it on the
floor. Both parents laughed, and Cooper chortled.
“All done?” Chloe asked the baby. After wiping his little face and hands, she got up from the table and placed the nearly
empty bowl in the sink.
Derek stood and took it upon himself to lift the baby out of the highchair. When Chloe turned back to them, he was holding
his son against his heart. If anything were to happen to Chloe or Cooper, well—he had to make sure it didn’t.
“Where do they think Poco is?” Chloe asked, concern in her voice as she looked at him and Cooper.
“Mexico. But he could come gunning for me or someone I care about.”
Chloe took the baby from him but motioned for him to follow. She led him out of the kitchen and down the hallway to her
master suite. She passed through it and stopped in the sitting room turned nursery. Atop the thick carpet, she placed Cooper on
his back in the middle of a colorful baby mat with attached overhead toys. When Chloe gave a furry little horse a tap, Cooper
reached for it and kicked his legs. Standing and facing Derek, her hands went to her hips.
“Did you tell me all of this because you’re going to disappear again, Derek?”
“Do you care, Chloe?”
“Your mother would.”
“If I’d heard about Poco Cerebro before I came out here to your ranch instead of after, I’d already be gone.”
“And now?”
Derek watched Cooper reaching for the little horse dangling above his head. “I’m torn between hunting down and capturing
Poco myself versus not letting you and Cooper out of my sight until someone else catches or kills him.”
“Except you’d be going into Mexico without a cover this time. Right?”
“Right,” Derek said. “As soon as we busted the Vasquez Cartel and El Cerebro was dead, it was big news all over Mexico
and other parts of the world.” He got another text and read it. This time, he texted back, yes. Then, looking at Chloe, he said,
“Chase knew about the bust when I called him.”
“Yeah, well, Chase stays up with the world news better than I do,” Chloe admitted. “Was that text from another government
agent—like you were?”
“Yes.”
“An update about Poco Cerebro?”
“Yes,” Derek said. The agents had a new passport and the plane ticket for him, and even if he still chose not to go with
them today, they’d been directed to give him both. Thus, they needed him at the airport before flying south. “I have to go.”
“For another year?”
“Do you care?” he asked again.
“Cooper might.”
“But do you, Chloe?”
 C HAPTER TEN

“M aybe,” Chloe told the elusive man who had captured her heart. “For Cooper’s sake.”
“Maybe is better than no.” With a grin, he said, “I’ll take it.”
Derek pulled her into his arms, and this time, Chloe didn’t fight him. As her head touched his broad shoulder, her
eyes stung, and her throat ached. Emotions swirled like a tornado. No sooner did she have him back in her life than he might
leave again. At that thought, she warned herself to take this one day at a time. When she looked up at him, she thought—no,
feared—he might kiss her. She didn’t trust herself not to respond. Remembering the effect his kisses had on her, she ordered
herself not to cling to him or beg him to stay. Cooper cooed, and she eased out of Derek’s embrace to pick up the baby.
“Cooper, we have to say goodbye to your—dad.”
“Walk me to the door,” Derek said. Carrying Cooper, she followed him out of the nursery and through the bedroom. In the
hall, Derek detoured into the living room and put on his black leather jacket. Chloe promised herself she wouldn’t cry. She’d
cried enough tears over this man. He joined her in the foyer, and she opened the front door. Turning to her, he said, “I’ll be back
tonight with more information. We’ll talk about options.”
“I’ll believe it when I see you.”
“Aww…pussycat.” He grinned. “You’ll see me.” Derek took the baby from her and kissed his cheek for the first time. With
his son in his arms, Derek placed his fingers on Chloe’s chin and tilted it up. He touched his lips to hers ever so briefly and
said, “I promise.”
Chloe’s lips trembled. Her heart raced. Her knees weakened. It was all she could do not to touch her shaking fingertips to
her lips. Derek gave the baby back to her, put on his sunglasses, and strode out of the house to his truck. Chloe stood in the
doorway, and when Derek was behind the wheel, he raised a hand in goodbye. Stepping onto the porch, Chloe lifted Cooper’s
little arm and waved his hand.
“Your daddy is a puzzle with a lot of pieces, Cooper Brevard.”

THAT HAD BEEN HOURS AGO .

She and Cooper had eaten dinner, and he had entertained himself in his baby walker while she had tidied up the kitchen.
They’d played in his room, she’d given him a bath, read to him, and he’d had his bottle. Burped, kissed, and fast asleep in his
crib, he was hopefully down for the night. She’d taken a shower and changed into a turtleneck sweater and jeans.
At eight, Derek Brevard was nowhere to be seen. Chloe was exhausted from wondering where he was and when or if he’d
ever be back. Yet here she was doing it again. Not only that, now came the paralyzing realization that if he didn’t come back…
he could be dead.
At nine, Rachel made a brief appearance after the movies with Martyman and left again to go to his house for the night.
Chloe changed into a sweatshirt and leggings. Not that she cared what Derek thought of her appearance. Oh, right, she silently
scoffed, she always changed outfits for no reason.
At ten, Chloe changed into a long-sleeved, knee-length nightgown with sassy splits up both sides. Her ponytail swished as
she paced through the house to the front door. Nothing and no one. The circular drive from the highway to the porch seemed
forlorn, like the ponderosa pines were longing for Derek too.
“Unblock his number,” she suddenly scolded herself. She picked up her cell phone and did so. But again, nothing. He had
no way of knowing she’d unblocked his number. But he could find out by calling. Or she could call him. Pulling up his number,
her hands shook. Too many calls and texts had gone unanswered. Clutching her phone, she whispered, “No, I won’t.”
At eleven, she decided Derek was halfway to Mexico and never coming back. She traded her nightgown for pajamas.
Picking up a book, she flopped into a big, overstuffed chair in her bedroom and rested her feet on the ottoman. She saw the
words on the pages, but her mind played images of Derek before her eyes.
Instead of memories of him—of them, her fondest dreams crept into the picture. The holidays were right around the corner,
and she envisioned the two of them with Cooper at Triple C-Central for Thanksgiving and around a Christmas tree at home on
Triple C-West. Maybe they might introduce Cooper to his first snowfall. When the weather warmed up some, she imagined
them on horseback, maybe a couple of Percherons. When summer came, she could see Derek in the backyard pool with her and
Cooper.
And…another baby? Cooper’s first day of preschool…kindergarten? She was torturing herself with fantasies of a life that
could have been.
At midnight, Chloe yawned but decided to take one last look out of the windows along both sides of the front door. Padding
down the hall to the foyer, phone in hand, again, no sign of him. The Chinooks blew through the trees as if making sure he
wasn’t hiding there.
“Topaz and Tangerine, Derek is a liar,” she said to the goldfish under the bridge.
Darn him for playing with her heart. At least Cooper was too young to remember him. She clenched her jaw and clutched
her phone so hard she was surprised it didn’t break. Fuming all the way to the door of her bedroom, a text sounded, making her
jump.
I’m at the back door.
Derek? What if his cell number belonged to someone else now? That would mean no one was at the back door. But what if
the text was from Derek? Chloe hurried down the hall and through the kitchen to the mudroom.
Without opening the back door, she asked, “Derek?”
“Yeah.”
“How…” She opened the door, and in swaggered the bad-boy detective who was too handsome-hot for his own good. And
hers. Seeing his truck parked behind the house, she asked, “How’d you get around back?”
“When I was looking out of the bay window in the kitchen, I remembered the driveway split with one road going to your
four-car garage and the other one leading to the back road behind the Triple C Ranches.” Derek shut the door and locked it.
“For now, I don’t want to advertise being here.”
“Because my brothers might come kick you out?”
“Maybe,” he said with a chuckle. “But I think Chase has my six o’clock.” When she looked confused, he said, “Cop term
for my back. Sorry it took me so long to get here.”
“I’d all but given up on you,” she admitted and then shrugged as casually as possible.
“Don’t ever give up on me,” he said. Carrying a duffel bag, he walked with her from the mudroom into the kitchen. “After
my meeting at the airport, since I was in the south part of the Springs, I stopped by the sheriff’s office to advise them about the
Eddie Vasquez, Jr. situation. They’re well aware of the Vasquez Cartel takedown and El Cerebro’s recent death. Now they are
up to speed about Poco Cerebro’s escape, and are on the alert.”
“Good.” Chloe was so happy to hear that and to see him she almost smiled.
“Then I drove north to my place and stopped by my mother’s townhouse.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “Even though it was late, I wanted her to be aware of the potential danger, and I didn’t want her to hear
it from me over the phone.”
“Of course,” Chloe agreed. She couldn’t imagine hearing such news over the phone, either. “What’s in the duffel bag,
Derek?”
“Clothes. I’m staying with you and Cooper,” he said, placing the bag on the kitchen counter.
Chloe folded her arms under her breasts. “Since when?”
“You can come home with me, but I figured that wouldn’t work with your bed-and-breakfast guests. So, I’m here
indefinitely.”
“Who says?”
“Me.”
“I have locks on all my doors,” Chloe said. Her heart was beating so fast, she was halfway afraid Derek could hear it. She
tightened her arms under her breasts and tilted her head.
Derek’s eyes went to the scooped neck of her hot pink pajama top. Snug and soft, she wore it with matching leggings. In
contrast, he still wore his black leather jacket over the black tee shirt. Those blue jeans fit his trim hips and muscular legs just
right, and the black work boots added to his rugged masculinity. When she brought her gaze back up his body, he raked his
fingers through the hair curling over the collar of his jacket. As though he was well aware of the effect he had on women…on
her, he grinned and reached for her. When she took a step back, putting her fists on her hips, he lowered his hand.
“Please don’t argue about me protecting you and Cooper,” Derek said. “Poco saw me shoot his father like I saw El
Cerebro shoot mine. Besides the difference of Poco laughing when his father fell dead,” Derek shook his head at that and
continued, “his father shot mine execution-style in the back of the head.” Chloe winced. “I shot El Cerebro in self-defense. I
told him I’d take him into custody, but he raised his gun. I was quicker. Locks won’t do a damn thing. Only a faster bullet will
stop him.”
“Derek,” Chloe whispered as a shudder ran up her spine. “Despite his threat, wouldn’t Poco Cerebro want to stay as far
away from you as possible?”
“His father’s cartel is gone, the Mexican government seized assets, and our intelligence says penniless Poco is desperate to
prove he can resurrect that cartel from the ashes.”
“By making good on his threat and killing the man who killed his father?” she asked.
“Yup. What better way to dispel the rumor he was behind it? Even cartels frown on setting up your own father to be
captured or killed. Since it’s rumored he set up his older brother, too, no one will trust Poco enough to do business with him,”
Derek explained. She nodded at his reasoning. “I didn’t fly out tonight with the agents who briefed me because I can’t risk
searching the sewers of Mexico for Poco when I suspect he’s already working on crossing the border into the United States.”
“I understand.” Chloe paced to the doorway of her bedroom, listened for the baby, and returned to the kitchen. By the time
she got there, Derek had taken the apple pie out of the fridge and sat down in the breakfast nook with a fork. “But how could
Poco figure out where you live?”
“After the takedown, the Mexican newspapers ran a photo of me escorting Poco to jail,” Derek said, scooping up a bite of
pie.
“I would have gotten you a plate,” Chloe said, coming to a stop beside the table. He shrugged, chewed, and swallowed.
“But you didn’t use your real name when you were undercover.”
“I’m one corrupt cop away from being run through a facial recognition program that will reveal my identity. With real
names come real addresses via the Internet.” With that, he took another bite of pie. “Unless you want to move into a government
safe-house, I’m here until Poco is captured or killed.”
“Leaving Triple C Ranch-West is not an option.” With a glance in the direction of the nursery, Chloe hugged herself and sat
down across the table from Derek. “I have two couples arriving tomorrow. On Mondays, they check in at four and stay through
Friday until eleven.”
“I thought you had four couples per week.”
“I cut that in half a month before Cooper was born. I’ll work back up to four couples.”
“You don’t have to, Chloe. I’ll do my part.”
“We’re doing just fine, thank you very much, and it appears you’re between jobs.”
Derek chuckled. “Sheriff’s department figures on taking me back.” He ate another bite of pie and said, “But I’ve been
thinking about following in my dad’s footsteps.”
“Being a Texas Ranger?” Chloe asked, feeling a knot in her stomach.
“No,” Derek said, shaking his head. “Investing in Percherons.”
“That’s right. You grew up on a horse ranch.” She nodded. “You know how to ride.”
“I taught you, didn’t I?”
A hot zing zipped through Chloe’s body, and as nonchalantly as possible, she said, “I’ll let you sleep in one of the upstairs
bedrooms not being used for guests.”
“Nope. Too far from you and Cooper.”
“Okay. My aunt, Rachel, is at Martyman’s tonight and won’t be home until tomorrow. You could sleep in her downstairs
bedroom.”
“Nope. Too far from you and Cooper.”
“That leaves my bedroom or Cooper’s nursery.”
“Only way into Cooper’s nursery is through your bedroom, right?”
“Right.”
“Your bedroom works.” Derek returned what was left of the pie to the fridge, picked up his duffel bag, and headed out of
the kitchen.
“Derek,” Chloe huffed, her emotions whirling at the thought of having this man in her bedroom. As he neared the door to
her private suite, she said, “Get back here!”
“Lower your voice, or you’ll wake the baby,” Derek cautioned over his shoulder now, as she’d said to him earlier.
“Derek,” she hissed more quietly as he disappeared around the corner. She hurried after him and spied his duffel bag on the
ottoman. The nightlight in Cooper’s nursery showed Derek standing over the crib, gazing down at their sleeping son. She
grasped a pillow off her bed and tossed it onto the overstuffed chair. “Goodnight, Detective Brevard.”
“Goodnight, pussycat.”
 C H A P T E R E LE V E N

D erek woke with a crick in his neck. He sat up in the overstuffed chair and assessed his circumstances. Chloe was gone,
and her bed made. A fleece throw, which had been at the end of her bed, covered him to his waist. Knowing Chloe
was behind that made him smile. He’d slept in his jeans and tee shirt. His boots were beside the ottoman, and his
leather jacket hung over a doorknob. He shoved the ottoman out from under his legs and groaned at the ache spreading from his
neck to his shoulders.
Chloe’s bedroom hadn’t changed. The same room-darkening shades and fancy drapes, pooling on the hardwood floor,
covered four tall windows. Two walk-in closets bookended a marble-topped antique dresser over which hung an ornate gold
mirror. A thick carpet lay partially underneath the queen-sized bed, which he’d teased her was not big enough for him.
Nevertheless, he’d happily spent almost forty-eight hours in that brass bed with her.
He’d been shocked to find out the twenty-six-year-old, gorgeous girl was a virgin and had indeed been honored. Chloe
hadn’t given him any hint it was her first time. He’d discovered it on his own. When in disbelief he’d asked her about it
afterward, she’d blushed and bashfully bitten her lip. But the spot of her blood on the sheet had been proof she couldn’t deny.
Her royal blue eyes wide, with a toss of her long black hair over her shoulder, she’d boldly raised her chin and informed him
he owed her a new sheet. He had agreed, and they shook on it.
That was the moment he’d fallen in love with the feisty and independent Chloe Cooper.
He glanced at his watch, 8:03 am. This was a late start to the day for him. But overstuffed chair and ottoman aside, he
couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so peacefully. Last year, Chloe had earth-quaked his world to the point he’d
considered turning down his temporary duty assignment. Had he known they’d conceived a baby, he would have stayed put in
Colorado Springs. But having taken precautions, he’d truly never suspected.
However, leaving his father’s murderer on the loose to kill thousands more people was not Derek’s style. Then, coming
home and finding out about Cooper had sent him over the moon, to use his mother’s phrase. The past few days had been a
difficult roller coaster ride for both Chloe and for him. But things might be slowly improving. He hoped. He pulled the blanket
off his lap, placed it on the ottoman, stood, and stretched.
The other door in this suite of rooms had remained shut during the Labor Day weekend he’d spent with Chloe. Since his
return, it had been closed when he’d followed her into the nursery, and it had been shut last night as well. This morning, the
door was ajar. He glanced into the room and was so captivated he pushed the door open wide. He stepped into what was
obviously Chloe’s office. An elegant, feminine desk boasted a laptop, a guest registry, a calendar, and a coffee cup on a
coaster. He stared beyond the desk.
Centered on the wall was a large oil painting of Chloe, framed in gold. A teenager, she stood barefoot in a green pasture.
Her long, black hair tumbled in carefree waves around graceful, bare shoulders. A wispy, ivory dress that reached her ankles
spoke of summertime. Both her hair and the dress had caught the softest of Chinook breezes slipping through the ponderosa
pines at her back. Her eyes shimmered with a fierce spirit as blue as the sapphire sky. Red lips, with the promise of a smile,
matched the collar around the furry neck of the big black cat cradled in her slender arms.
Chloe. Beautiful, regal, aloof. Chloe. Classy, loving, unforgettable. Chloe.
Hearing a noise in the nursery brought Derek out of his trance. He left Chloe’s office and entered Cooper’s room. He saw
his son and smiled.
“Good morning, Cooper,” he said softly. The baby, lying on his back and wearing one-piece pajamas, studied him for a
moment before grinning and kicking his feet against the mattress. Derek picked him up and kissed the top of his head near the
soft spot. Talk about a soft spot, this baby was his. And Chloe? Yeah, she was his soft spot too.
Glancing around the cozy room, he noticed the care with which Chloe had decorated. He remembered the nursery being a
sitting room last year. Now, there was a dresser and chest of drawers that matched the crib. Besides the activity playground on
the plush carpet, against one wall, there was a bookcase with a variety of children’s books. On the opposite wall was a
wooden toy chest with Cooper’s name painted on the lid.
“Are you hungry?” he asked the baby as the smell of bacon floated to him. This place was a heaven-sent world away from
the hellish damnation he’d lived in for more than a year. “Let’s go see what your mom is cooking.”
When he neared the kitchen, Derek overheard what sounded like the tail-end of a conversation.
“I’ll always be grateful to Derek for how hard he worked with Chase and Jade when they were up against the Spatafores.”
He recognized the voice belonging to Chloe’s aunt.
“I was there for the immediate aftermath. Detective Brevard took command over that large team of police, EMTs,
ambulances, and even a fire truck or two like it was no big deal.” That voice was likely the gentleman with salt-and-pepper
hair and a goatee, whom he’d been introduced to named Marty Martinez. “Derek is mighty impressive.”
“Did I hear my name?” Derek asked, walking into the kitchen carrying Cooper.
“Hi, Derek,” Rachel said. “Welcome back to Triple C-West.”
“Thanks, Rachel. Nice to see you again. I missed your famous sweet tea,” Derek said.
Rachel laughed. “Well, I would think so.”
“Good to see you again,” Marty said as he stuck out his hand.
“Same here, sir,” Derek said as they shook.
Derek smiled at Chloe. Wearing a long, leopard print robe, she rewarded him with a tiny smile in return. “Good morning,
gentlemen,” she said to him and Cooper. “I’ll bet somebody needs his diaper changed.”
“Hope you’re talking about Cooper,” Derek said with a chuckle. They all laughed, and then he said, “I wondered about
changing him.”
“I’ll show you how,” Chloe said.
“Since our guests won’t be here until this afternoon, we’re going gallivanting. But I will be back well before 4:00 pm and
take over so the three of you can visit,” Rachel said.
Figuring Rachel was cluing Derek in that Chloe would be unencumbered and available, Chloe arched a brow. When Rachel
waved with a grin, Chloe smiled back and said, “Thank you, Rachel,”
“See you later,” Marty said to them.
“See you later.” Chloe motioned to Derek, and carrying Cooper, he followed her. When they passed her office, she noticed
the door was open and glanced at him.
“The painting of you caught my eye.” He stopped for another look. When she stopped, too, he said, “Chloe, it captures the
innocence, the determination, the loving essence that is you.”
“My parents commissioned oil paintings of each of us kids. This painting was done from a photo of me in a pasture on
Triple C Ranch-Central when I was sixteen.”
“It’s mesmerizing.” Bringing his gaze from the painting back to her, he said, “You have always been a spectacular beauty.”
Chloe’s cheeks blushed. “Thank you, Derek.” Then, heading into the nursery, she said, “Put Cooper on the changing table,
but don’t leave his side because he could roll off.”
“Which is the changing table?”
Chloe stopped beside a three-tiered table and touched her hand to a thick, colorful pad. Placing Cooper on the changing
pad, Derek laid his hand on Cooper’s tummy. Explaining as she went along, Chloe pointed out the diapers, wipes, and an aloe
gel in baskets on a middle shelf. On the bottom shelf were changes of clothes in case there was a blowout. He wasn’t sure what
a blowout meant, but tried to keep up as she pointed to a diaper pail with a lid beside the table, which was for soiled diapers.
“Want to observe this first diaper change?”
“Sure.” He gave Cooper his finger to hold as he watched and listened while Chloe talked to the cooing, babbling baby.
Removing a wet diaper, she rolled it up, taped the sides down, and stepped on the foot pedal to open the pail. After tossing the
dirty diaper, Chloe placed a clean one under their son and swiped his skin with a wipe. Adding a swab of aloe, she taped the
diaper shut. Looking from Cooper to Chloe, Derek said proudly, “Cooper is well equipped.”
“Like father, like son.” With that compliment, Chloe stepped back. “He’s all yours.” As Derek picked up Cooper, she
turned to head out of the nursery.
“Hold it,” Derek said as he caught her arm. “Are you all mine, too, Chloe?”
“No.”
“I want you to be.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I love you and Cooper, Chloe.” Derek tugged her closer and lowered his mouth to hers. She placed one hand on his
arm, which held Cooper, and slipped her other hand into the back pocket of his jeans. When he’d said goodbye last year, she’d
slid both hands into his back jean pockets and told him she hoped he and his cute butt came back soon. Though she didn’t say
she loved him in return, he took this kiss as a good sign and let her go. For now. “I’m hungry. Whatcha cookin’, good-lookin’?”
“Are we back in the 1940s?” Chloe laughed and then suddenly gasped, “Oh no!”
She raced ahead of him, skidded down the parquet hallway in her socks, and vanished into the kitchen. She took the griddle
of pancakes off the fire, but it was too late. They were smoking and burned. Derek laughed as she scraped them off the griddle
into the sink. She washed her hands as Derek placed Cooper in his highchair. Derek took a seat, and then father and son both
watched as Chloe poured a new batch of pancakes.
“What’s Cooper going to eat?” Derek asked.
“For breakfast, he eats baby oatmeal and mashed fruit like pears, bananas, or peaches. Today, it’s blueberries since I’m
making blueberry pancakes.” She had a bowl ready for him and, after warming it, handed Cooper’s breakfast and a baby spoon
to Derek. She put a bib on Cooper and headed back to the pancakes. “In a minute, you can try to catch your breakfast, so you’ll
need to act fast, Copper.”
“Copper? Talk about the 1940s.” Derek chuckled. “I think James Cagney made that term popular in his movies.” He
spooned the cereal and blueberry blend into his son’s little mouth and asked him, “Did you know police badges and buttons
were once made of copper, and that’s how we became known as coppers or cops?”
“Really?” Chloe asked.
“Yeah,” Derek replied, opening his own mouth as he fed Cooper.
“Hold your plate and try to catch your pancake.”
“What?” Derek asked, and looked at her. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.” Chloe nodded at his plate, and Derek picked it up with his left hand. She flipped him a pancake, and Derek caught
his flying breakfast with his right hand. When he dropped it on his plate, Chloe laughed. “Here comes another one.” She let a
second pancake fly, and he caught it with his plate. “Good job. Jade missed hers and Chase had to help her.”
“There is never a dull moment with your mother, son,” Derek said as Chloe placed a platter of bacon on the table. She went
back to the stove and returned with her own plate of two blueberry pancakes. Before she could turn away again, Derek grasped
the sash holding her robe shut, and pulled her back to him. Her robe opened, and his eyes lingered on the silky ivory bra before
moving down to the matching bikini panties. Placing his hands on her small waist, his thumb stroked her sexy, indented belly
button. “Is this what you slept in last night?”
“No, I’d just gotten out of the shower this morning and was getting dressed when I heard Rachel and Martyman arrive,”
Chloe said. Derek was surprised she hadn’t snatched her robe shut. Instead, she tugged the front of her panties daringly low and
pointed to a tiny line. “See this?”
“Kind of. What is it?”
“My one stretch mark, that’s what. Thanks to you.”
Derek ran his thumb over it, looked up at her, and said, “I like it.”
“Ooh!” Chloe smacked his hand away and closed her robe, but he sensed it was done so playfully. “You would.”
When Derek laughed, Cooper laughed too. It was his first time hearing Cooper laugh. Derek didn’t know babies so young
could laugh, and he laughed even harder, smiling at Cooper. He continued to feed him as Chloe poured coffee and juice. Then
he and Chloe ate their pancakes and bacon as Cooper focused on picking up and mouthing what Chloe identified as a teething
ring. They talked about the baby, Chloe’s schedule with guests in the house, and what Derek’s plans were for the day. He
mentioned his mother was flying out to Texas.
“She lives close to me in town, but now that I’ll be out here in the country with you, she’s flying home. Where she’s going
is as safe as a safe house.”
“Austin?”
“Yes,” Derek said. “Her twin brothers have large homes in gated communities there. Their surname, of course, is her
maiden name, which is Fleming as opposed to Brevard.” Rubbing his brow, he said, “Unlike El Cerebro, Poco Cerebro is
aptly named because he’s too brainless to figure all of that out and find her in Texas. She still has good friends in Abilene,
where she went to college. So she’ll stay with family and friends through the holidays or until it’s safe to come back.”
“When will that be?”
“When the threat of Poco is eliminated.”
“Your mother is always welcome here as well, Derek.”
“Thank you. She hasn’t been back to Texas in years, and this is a good reason for her to go visit. But she’d love to meet you
and Cooper before she flies out tomorrow.”
“I’d—we’d like to meet her too.”
“She mentioned dinner, if you’d be open to it.”
“Of course,” Chloe said, slowly nodding. “She should certainly get to meet her grandson before she leaves.” She glanced at
the clock. “Cooper eats his lunch around eleven thirty or twelve and goes down for his afternoon nap. Why don’t we go after he
wakes up? After all, Rachel made sure you were aware that we have time to visit.” Chloe rolled her eyes.
Derek chuckled. “I like Rachel.”
“Apparently, the feeling is mutual,” Chloe huffed and then sobered. “She has always been a wonderful aunt, and she’s
equally wonderful at welcoming our bed-and-breakfast guests.”
“Thank you for being so flexible, Chloe,” Derek said. “I know my mother leaving so soon gives you short notice, but I don’t
want her to be alone in Shadow of Kissing Camels.”
“So, Shadow of Kissing Camels is where the two of you live?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve not been there in person, but up until a couple of years ago, I saw billboards, television ads, and photos of it
everywhere,” Chloe said. “It looks beautiful.”
“The community is full now, so advertising isn’t needed. Places rarely go on the market.”
He paused and said, “I’ll let her know she’s going to meet her grandson and his mother today.”
 C H A P T E R T W E LV E

C hloe was nervous about meeting Derek’s mother as they piled into Hellayella, which was not only the official color of
the vehicle, but what she called her Jeep. They had taken it instead of Derek’s truck since Cooper’s car seat was already
in it. Because she didn’t know exactly where they were going, Derek had offered to drive. Entering the city limits, Chloe
had to admit it was nice to ride somewhere without the responsibility of driving. But it wasn’t just that, it was who was driving
them from the country to the city that made it a pleasure.
“Almost there,” Derek said, nearing Garden of the Gods Road.
“Can’t wait.” Chloe gave Derek a sideways glance, and as usual, a thrill shot through her.
With his dark blond hair sweeping across his forehead and over his right ear, she admired his profile. Every time those
eyebrows cocked, her heart raced. When angered, the nostrils of his straight nose flared slightly. And that mouth. Those lips
had kissed her insatiably. Everywhere. He wasn’t touching her at the moment, and yet she tingled.
Last night, with him sleeping so close yet so far away, was bittersweet. Thinking he might be cold, she’d tiptoed to him
and, resisting pulling him into her bed, she placed the throw over him. Agonizing memories of curling up in his arms with her
head on his shoulder and one leg between his had caused her to cry into her pillow when he was gone. She yearned to wake up
again with his hard, muscular body spooned tightly behind her. How long could she keep this irresistible man at arm’s length?
Did she even want to?
“Penny for your thoughts,” Derek said as he looked at her over the rim of his sunglasses.
She admitted, “Thinking you’re still kinda handsome-hot, Copper.”
“Says the pussycat who’s hotter than a pawnshop pistol.”
“But don’t let it go to your head. You’re still sleeping in the chair.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yes.” Chloe arched a brow at him, and he cocked one right back at her punctuating it with a challenging grin. “We shall.”
Derek slowed the Jeep and took a right turn toward a fancy, double-arched entrance with a guardhouse setting between the
arches. Atop the semicircles perched a replica of the Kissing Camels from Garden of the Gods Park. Derek drove under the
archway on the right. Coming to a stop, he explained since there wasn’t a Shadow of Kissing Camels identification sticker
displayed on the Jeep’s windshield, he’d need to stop and speak to the guard on duty.
“Derek Brevard,” the uniformed man called, stepping out of the guardhouse. So happy to see Derek, the guard greeted him
with near-celebrity-status excitement. “Leo said you were back. Welcome, sir.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be back, George,” Derek said. He reached through the window and shook hands. “I need a windshield
sticker for this Jeep. Got any handy?”
“Sure do.” George found one in the gatehouse and handed it to Derek. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, buddy,” Derek said and slapped it on the inside of the windshield.
“They certainly hand out identification stickers easily,” Chloe said as Derek chuckled.
They drove past what Chloe knew were million-dollar-plus townhouses. Swimming pools had been drained for winter, but
people were playing tennis. A few folks nodded or waved as they cycled or walked trails, while others drifted in and out of
clubhouses. Derek turned left and drove up a hill of magnificent homes surrounded by immaculate yards and spotless
sidewalks.
“Here’s my mother’s place,” Derek said, pulling into the driveway of a double garage and two-story townhouse. A blue
spruce decorated the manicured green lawn, mountain laurels lined the brick walk, and colorful mums bordered the driveway
of brick pavers.
“It’s lovely,” Chloe said, gazing here and there as she took hold of the door handle.
Derek came around to Chloe’s side of the Jeep just in time to help her out. “You know I’d open the door for you if you’d
wait.”
 “Thanks.” Chloe shrugged. “I’ve heard Chase say the same thing to Jade. It’s the independent streak in us.”
“Defiant streak,” Derek said, then added, “at least in your case.”
Chloe narrowed her eyes at him and knew he spoke the truth. Though mild rebellion had always been part of the feisty
streak in her personality, currently, it stemmed from staying out of his embrace or—bed. Derek closed her door and opened
Cooper’s. Since the baby had a good nap before they left the ranch, he was wide awake. Chloe unbuckled his car seat and took
him into her arms. When Derek shut the Jeep door, she saw the longing in his eyes.
“You want Cooper, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do,” Derek said. She handed Cooper over, and they started along a brick-paved walk to the front door. Carrying
Cooper in his left arm, with his right hand, he grabbed Chloe’s hand and said, “I want you too.”
Before she could make a smart retort, the door to the townhouse opened, and a woman with a dark blond bob smiled and
clasped her hands under her chin.
“Chloe and Cooper, oh my goodness. Please come in, everybody.” She welcomed them with her arms open wide. “Derek,
thank you for bringing them.”
“Thank you for inviting us, Mrs. Brevard,” Chloe said.
“Chloe, please call me Pam.”
Pam Brevard was as gracious as she was lovely. Trim and fit, her eyes were the same mahogany brown as Derek’s. She
wore a brown sweater with ivory pants. Ivory pearls and brown flats set off her outfit perfectly. Ushering them into a two-story
foyer and hallway, she escorted them straight ahead to a formal living room graced with a Victorian sofa, Louis XV chairs, old
master paintings in gold frames, antiques galore, and a baby grand piano.
“With all these antiques, I feel right at home,” Chloe said.
“I thought you would,” Derek said.
“Luckily, Cooper can’t get to them yet,” Chloe added with a soft laugh.
“I understand.” Pam overtly nodded at Derek. “He broke a few over the years.” Then she pointed to a cushioned rocking
chair. “It’s made of mahogany.” Chloe couldn’t help but smile at that. Pam went on to say, “I brought it out here from my extra
bedroom. It’s the one I used with Derek when he was a baby.” She’d set it in front of a plate glass window that framed the red
rock formation Chloe knew was called Kissing Camels. “On the cushion is the baby book I used to read to Derek about how I
would love him forever.”
“I can’t believe you still have that book,” Derek said with a chuckle.
“I do. But I’d like you to have it now and read it to Cooper,” Pam said, smiling at her grandson. “May I get you folks a
refreshment?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Chloe said as Derek echoed the same.
“I’m thrilled you can stay for dinner,” Pam said. “It’s being catered at about six.” Smiling, Pam eagerly asked both of them,
“May I hold Cooper?”
Derek politely looked at Chloe, who said, “Of course you may. Cooper has a great-grandpa, but you are his one and only
grandparent.”
Derek handed the baby to Pam. She took a seat on the sofa, holding Cooper on her lap. Chloe sat down beside her as
Cooper studied his grandmother and smiled. Turning his head, Cooper flapped his arms at seeing Derek pick up the baby book
and take a seat in the nearby rocking chair. Though she’d never had a doubt, every bone in Chloe’s body confirmed it was right
for her and Cooper to be here. She pulled off Cooper’s knitted cap and unzipped his jacket. Pam helped remove his jacket, and
Chloe laid them aside as she answered Pam’s questions about Cooper, which were similar to Derek’s.
“I think Cooper may have dark brown eyes and blond hair like Derek,” Pam said.
“I think so too,” Chloe agreed with a glance at the sexy, masculine male who had sired the baby. “The pediatrician says
Cooper is right on track for height, weight, and achievements,” Chloe said, looking back at Pam. “He’s a happy baby. Always
smiling.”
There were tears glistening in Pam’s eyes, just like Chloe had seen in Derek’s. Chloe’s heart sang at the connection they felt
to their son and grandson. As much as her family adored Cooper, this additional love for him was a priceless bonus. Time
passed quickly as she enjoyed Pam’s stories about Derek’s childhood. He groaned as the women laughed. Pam also spoke of
Derek’s father with love and loyalty.
“Dad was a good guy who would have loved Cooper,” Derek said softly.
Chloe smiled at Derek and, hearing the chiming of a grandfather clock, realized it was time to feed Cooper his dinner.
Carrying Cooper, Pam led the way to a lovely kitchen with a vaulted ceiling and granite countertops. She held Cooper as Chloe
warmed his food and fed him. No sooner had Cooper taken his last bite than the doorbell rang. Derek opened the front door,
and delicious smells wafted into the townhouse as the food was delivered.
“It’s a bit late to ask, but I hope this catered dinner is okay with both of you,” Pam said. “Not only do I want to spend every
minute I can with you and not at the stove,” she laughed, “but Loretta, the lady who works for me, and I cleaned out the fridge
because of my trip.”
 “A catered dinner is the perfect solution,” Chloe said honestly.
In a wallpapered dining room furnished with a walnut table for eight, upholstered chairs, and a lighted china cabinet, all
three adults took turns holding Cooper and snapping photos of each other as they dined on salmon, au gratin potatoes,
asparagus, and buttery rolls. Filling bodies, hearts, and souls with smiles, laughs, and delicious food, it was a wonderful meal
in every way.
“Cherry cobbler for dessert,” Pam said, serving the pie and decaf.
“Cherry cobbler is Jade’s signature dessert,” Chloe said, again feeling right at home. With a smile at Pam, she explained,
“Jade is married to my brother, Chase, and the reason Derek and I met.”
“Yes, and I know Derek thinks highly of Chase and Jade,” Pam said, and let the situation involving Derek’s police presence
early in the relationship go at that.
They finished their dessert, and Cooper yawned while in Chloe’s arms. Derek got up and took the baby from her. He said
he’d change him, and Chloe helped Pam clear the table. When they finished, they found Derek rocking the baby in the living
room. With the majestic Garden of the Gods in the background and the gorgeous man reading his baby book to their son, tears
stung Chloe’s eyes. She and Pam both grabbed their phones and took pictures. Then Pam asked her to be in one with Derek and
Cooper. Derek snared Chloe’s hand and pulled her onto his knee. Pam sighed happily and snapped away.
“How about three generations?” Chloe asked.
“Yes, please.” Pam handed Chloe her phone. Then she walked behind the rocking chair and stood with father and son in the
foreground. After Chloe had taken several photos, Pam asked, “Do you have a rocking chair?”
“Not yet, but it’s on my list,” Chloe said.
“I want you to take this one. It really belongs to Derek, not me.”
“It’s beautiful, but—” Chloe began.
“Please, I want you to have it,” Pam urged her. “It goes with the baby book.”
“Thank you, Pam,” Chloe said softly. “We’ll cherish it.”
“We drove Chloe’s Jeep, but I’ll come back with my truck and get it when I take you to the airport tomorrow,” Derek said.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re welcome. Tell me about your family, Chloe,” Pam said. “Derek told me your bed-and-breakfast is on a ranch
called Triple C Ranch-West. I’ve heard of it.”
Chloe took her seat on the sofa again, and Pam sat beside her. Such joy, so long in coming, beat in Chloe’s heart, and she
prayed this wasn’t a dream she would wake up from. That had happened before, and she had been devastated every time.
Pushing that heartbreak aside, Chloe told Pam about her family, the three ranches, and, with Derek’s input, a bit about the first
night the infamous Spatafore case had brought the two of them together.
On the topic involving death and danger, they also touched on the subject of why Pam was leaving the Springs. Pam was
well aware of the threat involved when law enforcement and drug cartels clashed. Derek promised to be careful. As it was
growing late, Chloe suggested they should be getting Cooper to bed. Chloe helped put the baby’s cap and jacket on, and then
Derek stood with Cooper in his arms. Pam kissed Cooper goodbye, hugged Chloe, and then Derek.
“I feel like I’ve known you forever, Pam,” Chloe said. “Please take care in Texas.”
“The feeling is mutual, Chloe,” Pam said with a smile. She walked them to the front door. “Be good to each other and hug
my grandson every day for me.” Chloe and Derek both nodded. Including all of them, she said, “I love you.” With a last gaze at
Derek and Cooper, she smiled at Chloe and whispered, “Thank you.”
 C HAPTER THIRTEEN

“A re you sure you don’t mind, since we’re right here?” Derek asked Chloe as he backed out of his mother’s driveway.
He’d been so proud to introduce Chloe, clad in a zebra print sweater and black jeans, and Cooper, wearing a brown
plaid shirt and tan overalls, to his mom. “I’m expecting a delivery, and I’d like to pick up a couple of things from my
townhouse.”
“I agreed to be good to you, and I love your mother, so I’m going to keep my word to her,” Chloe said. “Let’s go to your
house.”
“You love her?” Derek asked in surprise.
“Instantly,” Chloe said, turning her gorgeous head, her big blue eyes captured him. “I meant it when I told Pam I feel like
I’ve known her forever.”
“Then maybe there’s hope for her son.”
“Maybe.” Glancing away, she added softly, “I think Chase and Cash would agree she’s a lot like the mom we lost to
Covid.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet your parents.”
Chloe nodded, wishing Cooper’s maternal grandparents were still with them. Then, with a saucy smile, she lightened the
mood. “I’m curious to see your bachelor pad.”
Derek chuckled, heading up a slight grade. Pulling into his driveway, he said, “Too dark to appreciate it now, but this is the
only home with a panoramic view of the entire Shadow of Kissing Camels community.” Looking at Chloe, he added, “Even so,
tonight, the view is the best it’s ever been.”
Before she could respond, he jumped out of the Jeep. He walked around to her door, and she let him open it. The car seat
was on the passenger’s side, and she explained that was so the driver could see the baby over his or her shoulder. Derek
unfastened Cooper, toting him and his diaper bag while Chloe carried her purse. The porch light had come on automatically at
sunset, showing a large box had been delivered at the front door. The box looked safe enough. But in his line of work, he never
took a so-called innocent delivery for granted.
“Is that a car seat?” Chloe asked, evidently recognizing the brand name was the same as the car seat in her Jeep.
“Hope so,” he said with a grin. “I need it for my truck.”
“Because you think you and Cooper will be truckin’ around together?”
“I know so.”
Derek unlocked the front door and swung it open, letting Chloe enter first. His entryway was two stories tall, with a
spacious foyer and staircase to three empty bedrooms on the second floor. He followed her to the living room, where he set the
diaper bag in the middle of his favorite leather chair. She placed her purse beside it, and then he gave her Cooper. Momentarily
leaving them, he doubled back to the porch and squatted down to take a closer look at the package. It appeared legit, so he
opened the box. Yup. A car seat. Picking it up, he stood, locked the door, and joined Chloe and Cooper.
Downstairs, his floor plan boasted ten-foot ceilings and, in the living room, built-in bookshelves on either side of the
hearth. A chocolate brown leather sofa faced the fireplace, flanked by matching leather chairs and ottomans. To the left was a
cozy dining room with a round table, four chairs, and a wet bar. Beyond that, you could see part of the kitchen with a large
granite top and wooden cabinet island surrounded by barstools.
The opposite end of the kitchen transitioned into the great room with white plantation shutters covering large windows
overlooking part of a golf course and a water feature. That’s where he’d found the two agents waiting for him in front of the
flat-screen. To the right of the living room were his master bedroom and bath, as well as French doors which opened to his
home office.
“Wow, Derek,” Chloe breathed, doing a slow, full turn in the middle of the room and then staring at him. “Just wow.”
“Come on.” Placing the car seat box on an ottoman, Derek led the way into his office. He walked around his polished,
black walnut desk and tufted black leather chair to a closet door. Unlocking the door revealed the large safe inside it.
“Do you accept bribes on the job?” Chloe asked from the opposite side of his desk. He turned to her as she swept her gaze
from one side of his office to the other. Meeting his eyes, she said, “Either that or the sheriff’s department pays a whole lot
more than I assumed.”
Before working the combination on the safe, Derek chuckled. He was so accustomed to his way of life that he didn’t give it
any thought. As beautiful Chloe stood holding his precious son, it hit him that he needed to make out a will. The sooner, the
better.
“I built Shadow of Kissing Camels.”
Chloe’s mouth dropped open, and then her blue eyes slowly narrowed. “You what?”
“Remember I told you that my mother’s family is into real estate development?” When she nodded, Derek continued, “With
their input, I brokered a deal, bought the land, hired contractors, and built this community.”
“But where⁠—”
“Where did I get the money?”
Chloe raised one shoulder in a shrug. “Well…yes.”
“After my father was murdered, the Percheron horse ranch was sold, and the money from that, along with investments he’d
set aside for me, were placed in a trust until I turned twenty-five.” He paused and rubbed his forehead at that memory. “When I
turned twenty-five, I also received millions from my maternal grandparents’ estate. Shadow of Kissing Camels proved to be a
great investment. I was in the black three years ago, even before the last townhouse sold.”
Chloe stared at him. “And yet you risk your life as a cop to keep other people safe.”
“Law enforcement is in my blood.”
“Obviously, so is real estate development.”
“As I mentioned, I’d like my next investment to be some Percherons. I want to build a horse ranch where I can raise and
train horses for the sheriff’s department, other police agencies, national park rangers, or whatever agency needs them.”
“Texas Rangers?”
“Absolutely.” He turned back to the safe and opened it. On the top shelf were stacks of money in $10,000 packets totaling
more than half a million in quick cash. On the next shelf were badges, passports, and driver licenses. On the shelves under the
money and IDs were guns and ammunition. Currently, he had five SIG Sauer P226s, three Glock 22s, four Glock 19s, four Colt
M1911s, two PPK 380s, two Smith &Wesson 5946s, and a couple of Kimbers similar to what he knew Chase and Cash Cooper
carried. These weapons were in addition to the Glock 22 in his holster and the PPK 380 strapped to his ankle.
“Lucky for you, I’m accustomed to guns,” Chloe said from behind him.
“I’ve seen Chase’s arsenal of weapons. It’s similar to mine.” Derek took two Glocks and ammunition out of the safe and set
them on his desk. “What gun do you have, Chloe?”
“I have a SIG Sauer P365.”
“Excellent.” Making eye contact, he asked, “You know how to use it?”
“Yes, Daddy taught us when we were kids.”
“Good dad,” Derek said. Grabbing five packets of cash, he set them next to the guns. He closed the safe and twirled the
tumbler. “I’m taking these guns back to the ranch and placing them in strategic locations in your house. Just in case.”
“All right,” Chloe said as a drowsy Cooper stirred in her arms. “Cooper needs a nighttime bottle and diaper change. Then
he’ll be ready for bed.”
“Come on.” Derek took the baby again and led the way into his bedroom. Though the day had been a quiet one compared to
what he’d been accustomed to for over a year, it had been an emotional one. Along with what might be called good stress, no
small amount of bad stress was linked to the looming threat of Poco Cerebro. Holding Cooper in his left arm, Derek tossed
back the spread, blanket, and top sheet on his king-sized, four-poster bed.
“Mahogany?” Chloe asked as to the wood of his bedroom furniture.
“Yes.”
“The color of your eyes. Like your rocking chair.”
“Hmm.” Derek had never thought of his eyes as mahogany, but he liked that she had described them that way. Placing the
baby in the middle of the most comfortable memory foam mattress money could buy, he said, “Please make yourselves at
home.” He grabbed clean underwear out of a chest of drawers and told her, “I’m gonna take a quick shower.”
“Okay.” Kicking off her shoes, Chloe sat on the bed next to Cooper and began removing his cap and jacket. Derek stared at
her, and she asked, “What?”
“I like having the two of you in my bed.”
Leaving her to their baby, he turned and strode into his bathroom. He turned on the shower, stripped, and scrubbed from
head to toe. Toweling off, he tugged on his tee shirt and boxers. Returning to his bedroom, Chloe placed her finger to her lips.
Cooper, wearing a little blue sweatshirt and sweatpants, was in the middle of the bed, sound asleep.
“It’s been an eventful day,” Chloe whispered.
Another random document with
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entzündet worden, der ganze Kerl wäre in Flammen aufgegangen,
so durchtränkt war der Ärmste mit dem Leuchtmaterial des Herrn
Rockefeller.
Entweder muß man es als Beweis höchster Disziplin oder
höchsten Stumpfsinns betrachten, Tatsache ist, daß dieser Träger
sich nicht etwa gleich am ersten Tage, wo er und seine Freunde die
Undichtigkeit eines der beiden Blechgefäße entdeckt hatten, bei mir
meldete, sondern daß er in aller Seelenruhe seine fröhlich
weiterrinnende Petroleumquelle am nächsten Frühmorgen von
neuem aufgenommen und ohne Murren bis zum Halteplatz weiter
getragen hat. Auch jetzt hat er wieder förmlich in Petroleum
geschwommen; dies hätte Kasi Uleia in seiner Gemütsruhe auch
jetzt nicht gestört, hätten sich nicht bereits die ersten Anzeichen
eines Ekzems bemerkbar gemacht, das ihn doch etwas beunruhigte.
So kam er denn endlich an und sagte, was eben jeder Neger sagt,
wenn ihm etwas fehlt und er vom alles vermögenden Weißen Hilfe
erheischt: „Daua, bwana, Medizin, Herr“, und wies mit
bezeichnender, aber keineswegs entrüsteter Gebärde auf seinen
körperlichen Zustand hin. Zu allererst hielt ich hier eine tüchtige
Seifenkur für angebracht, einmal des Petroleums wegen, sodann
auch, um den Schmutzüberzug, der sich während des siebentägigen
Marsches auf dem Körper des sonst außerordentlich reinlichen
Trägers abgelagert hatte, zu entfernen. Später habe ich den Mann
mit Lanolin behandelt, von dem ich zum Glück eine ungeheuer
große Büchse mitgenommen habe. Jetzt ist der Patient allmählich
wieder von seinem Leiden befreit.
Auch die Gelegenheit, von den verheerenden Wirkungen des
Sandflohes einen schwachen Begriff zu bekommen, habe ich bereits
hier in Massassi gehabt. Einer der Askariboys, ein baumlanger
Maaraba aus dem Hinterlande von Ssudi, tritt allmorgendlich an, um
für seine stark angefressene große Zehe die übliche Daua zu
empfangen. Ich bin in der höchst merkwürdigen Lage, einstweilen
nicht einmal Sublimat und Jodoform in meiner Apotheke zu besitzen,
sondern lediglich über Borsäure in Tabletten zu verfügen. Es muß
auch mit dieser gehen, und geht auch, nur müssen sich meine
Patienten wohl oder übel an eine etwas hohe Temperatur meines
schwachen Desinfektionsmittels gewöhnen. Bei solchen
gleichgültigen Patronen wie diesem Maaraba, der den Verlust seines
Zehennagels — dieser ist gänzlich verschwunden; an seiner Stelle
breitet sich eine große, völlig vereiterte Wunde aus — lediglich
seiner negroiden Gleichgültigkeit zuzuschreiben hat, ist übrigens das
heiße Wasser gleichzeitig ein sehr verdientes Strafmittel. Der
Bursche brüllt jedesmal, als wenn er am Spieße stäke, und schwört,
er wolle von nun an aber ganz genau auf den funsa, den Sandfloh,
Obacht geben. Zur Verfestigung seiner löblichen Vorsätze bekommt
er dann von seinem Herrn und Gebieter, den das kindische Gebaren
des Riesen weidlich ärgert, ein paar derbe, aber gutgemeinte Püffe.
Über den Gesundheitszustand der hiesigen Eingeborenen will ich
mich einstweilen lieber noch nicht auslassen; das wenige, was ich in
der kurzen Zeit hier in meiner Morgensprechstunde an hygienischer
Vernachlässigung und hygienischem Unvermögen gesehen habe,
läßt in mir den Entschluß reifen, erst noch andere Bezirke in dieser
Richtung zu studieren, bevor ich mir ein Urteil bilde und es auch
ausspreche. Nur soviel sei bereits hier gesagt: so glänzend wie wir
es uns daheim in unserem überfeinerten Kulturleben gemeiniglich
vorstellen, ist die Widerstandsfähigkeit des Negers gegen die
Angriffe seines heimtückischen Erdteils durchaus nicht, und vor
allem scheint eine Kindersterblichkeit zu herrschen, von deren Höhe
wir uns gar keine Vorstellung machen können. Ach, ihr Ärmsten!
muß man angesichts dieses Elends ausrufen.
Nach der Sprechstunde hebt das eigentliche Tagewerk an; dann
ziehe ich als Diogenes durchs Land. Die ersten Tage bin ich nur mit
einer Schachtel „Schweden“ bewaffnet in die Hütten der
Eingeborenen gekrochen. Das war recht romantisch, doch nicht
zweckentsprechend. Ich habe mir nie einen Begriff von der
ägyptischen Finsternis des Alten Testaments machen können; jetzt
weiß ich, daß die Benennung eines besonders hohen Ausmaßes
von Lichtmangel nach dem Lande der Pharaonen nur ein pars pro
toto ist; sie ist dem ganzen Erdteil eigen und ist hier in der Tiefebene
im Westen des Makondeplateaus in allererster Qualität zu haben.
Die Negerhütten sind nämlich ganz fensterlos. Das mag uns
rückständig erscheinen, ist jedoch der Ausfluß einer langen, langen
Erfahrung. Der Schwarze will sein Haus kühl haben; das kann er nur
erzielen durch den Abschluß jeder Außentemperatur. Deswegen
öffnet er auch so ungern Vorder- und Hintertür seines Heims, und
aus dem gleichen Grunde reicht das schwere Strohdach weit über
die Hauswand hinaus nach außen und unten.
Meine Stallaterne, vom Knaben Moritz morgens oder
nachmittags brennend durchs Land getragen, macht den
Eingeborenen viel Spaß; es ist ja auch etwas Absonderliches, gegen
den Glast der strahlenden Tropensonne mit einem solch
kümmerlichen Beleuchtungsapparat ankämpfen zu wollen. Um so
mehr am Platz ist sie nachher im Dunkel des Hauses. Höflich habe
ich oder Herr Knudsen den Besitzer gefragt, ob er gestattet, sein
Haus zu besichtigen; ebenso höflich ist die Genehmigung erfolgt.
Das ist dann ein lustiges Suchen in den Zimmern und Verschlägen,
aus denen sich zu meiner Überraschung das Heim der hiesigen
Schwarzen zusammensetzt. Die Räume sind nicht elegant, diesen
Begriff kennt der Neger einstweilen noch nicht, aber sie geben ein
unverfälschtes Zeugnis von der Lebensführung ihrer Insassen. In der
Mitte des Hauses, zwischen den beiden Haustüren, die Küche mit
dem Herde und den zum Haushalt zunächst nötigen Gerätschaften
und Vorräten. Der Herd der Inbegriff der Einfachheit: drei kopfgroße
Steine oder wohl gar nur Kugeln von Termitenerde, im Winkel von je
120 Grad zueinander gelagert. Darauf über schwelendem Feuer der
große irdene Topf mit dem unvermeidlichen Ugali; andere Töpfe
ringsum; dazwischen Schöpflöffel, Rührlöffel, Quirle. Über dem
Herde, aber noch im Vollbereich seines Rauches, ein Gerüst von
vier oder sechs gegabelten Stangen. Auf seinen Latten liegen
Hirseähren in dichter, gleichmäßiger Lagerung; unter ihnen hängen,
wie auf der Räucherkammer unserer deutschen Bauern die
Schlack-, Blut- und Leberwürste, zahlreiche Maiskolben von
außergewöhnlicher Größe und Schönheit, die jetzt bereits von einer
glänzend schwarzen Rauchkruste überzogen sind. Wenn diese nicht
vor Insektenfraß schützt, etwas anderes tut’s sicher nicht. Das ist
denn auch der Endzweck dieses ganzen Verfahrens. Bei uns
zulande, im gemäßigten Europa, mag es eine Wissenschaft sein,
das Saatkorn keimfähig bis zur nächsten Saatperiode zu erhalten;
hier im tropischen Afrika mit seiner alles durchdringenden
Luftfeuchtigkeit, seinem alles zerstörenden Reichtum an
Schädlingen, endlich seinem Mangel an geeignetem, dauerhaftem
Baumaterial, ist dieses Hinüberretten der Aussaat eine Kunst. Es
wird nicht meine undankbarste Aufgabe sein, diese Kunst in ihren
Einzelheiten gründlich zu studieren.
Auch über die Wirtschaft meiner Neger, ihren Kampf mit der
widerstrebenden Natur Afrikas und ihre Fürsorge für den morgenden
Tag will ich mich erst später, nachdem ich mehr von Land und
Leuten gesehen habe als bis jetzt, auslassen. In der
völkerkundlichen und auch der nationalökonomischen Literatur gibt
es eine lange Reihe von Werken, die sich mit der Klassifikation der
Menschheit nach ihren Wirtschaftsformen und Wirtschaftsstufen
befassen. Selbstverständlich nehmen wir die alleroberste Stufe ein;
wir haben ja die Vollkultur auf allen Gebieten gepachtet; darin sind
alle Autoren einig. In der Unterbringung der übrigen
Menschenrassen und Völker gehen sie dafür um so weiter
auseinander; es wimmelt von Halbkulturvölkern, seßhaften und
nomadischen, von Jäger-, Hirten- und Fischervölkern, von unsteten
und Sammlervölkern; die eine Gruppe übt ihre Wirtschaftskünste auf
Grund traditioneller Überlieferung aus, eine andere kraft des
angeborenen Instinkts; schließlich erscheint sogar eine tierische
Wirtschaftsstufe auf der Bühne. Wirft man alle diese Einteilungen in
einen gemeinsamen Topf, so entsteht ein Gericht mit vielen Zutaten,
aber von geringem Wohlgeschmack. Sein Grundbestandteil läuft im
großen und ganzen darauf hinaus, gerade die Naturvölker weit zu
unterschätzen. Wenn man jene Bücher liest, so hat man das Gefühl,
daß zum Beispiel der Neger direkt von der Hand in den Mund lebe
und daß er in seinem göttlichen Leichtsinn nicht einmal für den
heutigen Tag sorge, geschweige denn für den anderen Morgen.
In Wirklichkeit ist es ganz anders, anderswo wie auch hier. Und
gerade hier. Für unsere intensive norddeutsche Landwirtschaft
charakteristisch sind die regellos über die Feldmarken verteilten
Feldscheunen und die neuerdings stets gehäuft erscheinenden
Diemen oder Mieten; beide haben seit dem Aufkommen der
freibeweglichen Dreschmaschine die alte Hofscheune stark
entlastet, ja beinahe überflüssig gemacht. Das Wirtschaftsbild
meiner hiesigen Neger unterscheidet sich von jenem deutschen nur
dem Grade nach, nicht im Prinzip; auch hier Scheunen en miniature
regellos über die Schamben, die Felder, verteilt, und andere
Vorratsbehälter in meist erstaunlicher Anzahl und Größe neben und
im Gehöft. Und leuchtet man das Innere des Hauses selbst ab: auch
dort in allen Räumen große, mittels Lehm dicht und hermetisch
geschlossene Tongefäße für Erdnüsse, Erbsen, Bohnen und
dergleichen, und sauber gearbeitete, meterhohe Zylinder aus
Baumrinde, ebenfalls lehmüberzogen und gut gedichtet, für
Maiskolben, Hirseähren und andere Getreidesorten. Alle diese
Vorratsbehälter, die draußen im Freien stehenden wie die im Hause
selbst untergebrachten, stehen zum Schutz gegen Insektenfraß,
Nagetiere und Nässe auf Pfahlrosten, Plattformen von 40 bis 60
Zentimeter Höhe, die aus Holz und Bambus gefertigt und mit Lehm
bestrichen sind. Das Ganze ruht auf gegabelten, kräftigen Pfählen.
Die freistehenden Vorratsbehälter sind oft von sehr erheblichen
Dimensionen. Sie gleichen mit ihrem weitausladenden Strohdach
riesigen Pilzen, sind entweder aus Bambus oder aus Stroh
hergestellt und innen und außen stets mit Erde ausgestrichen.
Einige besitzen in der Peripherie eine Tür, ganz in der Art unserer
Kanonenöfen; bei anderen fehlt dieser Zugang. Will der Herr von
ihrem Inhalt entnehmen, so muß er zu dem Zweck das Dach lupfen.
Dazu dient ihm eine Leiter primitivster Konstruktion. Ich habe manch
eine von ihnen skizziert, doch hat mir jede ein stilles Lächeln
entlockt: ein paar ästige, krumm und schief gewachsene Stangen als
Längsbäume; in meterweitem Abstand darangebunden ein paar
Bambusriegel — das ist das Beförderungsmittel des Negers zu
seinem Wirtschaftsfundament. Trotz seiner Ursprünglichkeit ist es
indessen doch der Beweis einer gewissen technischen
Erfindungsgabe.
Ein uns Europäer sehr anheimelnder Zug in der Wirtschaft der
hiesigen Neger ist die Taubenzucht; kaum ein Gehöft betritt der
Besucher, ohne auf einen oder mehrere Taubenschläge zu stoßen.
Sie sind anders als in Uleia, doch auch sie sind durchaus praktisch.
Im einfachsten Falle nisten die Tiere in einer einzelnen Röhre aus
Baumrinde. Diese ist der Rindenmantel eines mittelstarken Baumes,
den man ablöst, an den Enden mit Stäben oder platten Steinen
verkeilt und anderthalb bis zwei Meter über dem Boden anbringt,
nachdem man in der Mitte der Peripherie erst noch das Flugloch
ausgespart hat. Meist ruht die Röhre auf Pfählen, seltener hängt sie,
einem schwebenden Reck gleich, an einem besonderen Gestell.
Diese Anlage ist dann besonders günstig, denn das Raubzeug findet
keinen Zugang. Und mehrt sich dann der Bestand der Tierchen, so
schichtet der Hausherr Röhre auf Röhre, daß eine förmliche Wand
entsteht. Neigt sich die Sonne, so tritt er oder seine Hausgenossin
heran an die luftige Behausung; ein freundliches Gurren begrüßt den
Nahenden aus dem Innern der Zylinder; behutsam hebt der Züchter
einen bearbeiteten Klotz vom Boden auf; sacht verschließt er mit ihm
das Flugloch des untersten Rohres; der zweite folgt, dann der dritte
und so fort. Beruhigt verläßt der Mensch den Ort; so sind die
Tierchen vor allem Raubzeug gesichert.
Seit einigen Tagen weiß ich auch, warum bei meinen Rundtouren
so wenig Männer sichtbar sind. Die Negersiedelungen hierzulande
verdienen kaum den Namen Dörfer; dazu sind sie zu weitläufig
gebaut; von einem Hause aus sieht man nur ganz vereinzelt das
nächste herüberwinken, so weit liegt es abseits. Gehindert wird der
Ausblick zudem durch die zwar sehr sperrigen, aber doch saftig
grünen und darum sehr undurchsichtigen Mhogofelder, die jetzt,
nach der Einerntung von Hirse und Mais, neben den mit Basi
bestellten Schamben allein noch die Fluren bedecken. So kann es
vorkommen, daß man, um kein Haus zu übergehen, sich lediglich
der Führung der ausgetretenen Feldpfade anvertrauen muß, oder
aber, daß man den Geräuschen und Lauten nachgeht, die von jeder
menschlichen Siedelung unzertrennlich sind. Und wie bedeutend
sind diese Geräusche und Laute, denen ich hier in Massassi so
ziemlich alle Tage habe nachgehen können! Wie eine lustige
Frühschoppengesellschaft hört es sich an, wenn ich mit Nils
Knudsen durch das Gelände streiche. Lauter und lauter werdende
Stimmen, die ohne Beobachtung parlamentarischer Umgangsformen
regellos durcheinanderlärmen. Mit einemmal wendet sich der Pfad,
unversehens stehen wir in einem stattlichen Gehöft, und da haben
wir auch die Bescherung! Es ist wirklich und wahrhaftig ein
Frühschoppen, und ein recht kräftiger dazu, der Stimmung aller
Teilnehmer nach zu urteilen und nach Anzahl und Ausmaß der
bereits ganz oder halb geleerten Pombetöpfe. Wie bei einem
Steinwurf in einen Poggenpfuhl, so verstummt bei unserem
Erscheinen das Getöse. Erst auf unser: „Pombe msuri?, ist der Stoff
gut?“ schallt ein begeistertes „Msuri kabissa, bwana! Ausgezeichnet,
Herr!“ aus rauhen Kehlen zurück.

Taubenschlag und Speicher (s. S. 118).

O diese Pombe! Wie gut wir es im alten Bierlande Deutschland
haben, begreifen wir erst, wenn wir ihm einmal schnöde den Rücken
kehren. Schon in Mtua, unserem zweiten Lagerplatz nach Lindi, war
uns drei Weißen ein gewaltiger Tonkrug mit dem Nationalbräu des
östlichen Afrika als Ehrengabe kredenzt worden. Bei mir hatte die
schmutzig graugelbe Flüssigkeit damals keine Gegenliebe gefunden;
um so größere bei unseren Leuten, die mit den 25 oder 30 Litern im
Nu fertig gewesen waren. Auch hier in Massassi hat die Gattin des
Wanyassagroßen Massekera-Matola, eine nasenpflockbehaftete,
außerordentlich nette Frau von mittleren Jahren, es sich nicht
nehmen lassen, Knudsen und mir gleich an einem der ersten
Abende ebenfalls den Ehrentrunk in Gestalt eines solchen
Riesentopfes zu übersenden. Die Ehrengabe ausschlagen oder sie
vergeuden ging doch nicht, wie wir uns sagen mußten; also deshalb
mit Todesverachtung heran an das Gebräu. Ich bin der glückliche
Besitzer zweier Wassergläser; eins von ihnen senke ich energisch in
die trübe Flut. Es zeigt sich gefüllt mit einem Naß, das der Farbe
nach unserem Lichtenhainer gleicht, der Konsistenz nach aber eine
Million mal dicker ist. Eine kompakte Masse von Hirseschrot und
Hirsemalz füllt das Gefäß bis fast obenhin; nur einen Finger breit
hoch lagert darüber ein wirkliches Lichtenhainer. „Ä, das geht doch
nicht“, knurre ich. „Kibwana, ein Taschentuch,“ rufe ich meinem
„Stubenmädchen“ zu, „aber ein reines.“ Das gute, dumme Tier aus
Pangani kommt nach endlosem Suchen mit dem Wahrzeichen
unseres katarrhalischen Zeitalters heran; ich forme einen Filter aus
dem feinen, weißen Stoff und lasse die Pombe hineinschütten. Ja,
was ist denn das? Kein Tropfen rinnt in das untergestellte Gesäß.
Ich rüttele und schüttele; es nützt alles nichts. „Nun,“ sage ich, „der
Stoff wird zu dicht sein; Lete sanda, Kibwana, bring etwas von dem
Leichentuch.“ Wie? Leichentuch? Verroht denn dieser dunkle Erdteil
selbst deutsche Professoren so fürchterlich, daß sie sogar
Leichentücher zu ihrem Wirtschaftsbetriebe heranziehen? Gemach,
meine Gnädigste! Freilich, ein Leichentuch ist dieses Sanda oder
Bafta, daran läßt sich nicht drehen noch deuteln; aber erstens hat
dieser Stoff den Vorzug, noch nicht gebraucht zu sein, und zweitens
möge es das Schicksal verhüten, daß er jemals seiner eigentlichen
Bestimmung zugeführt werden wird. Wer ins Innere von Afrika geht,
der rechnet wohlweislich mit den Tücken dieses Landes und auch
mit den Sitten seiner Bewohner, indem er sich mit einem Ballen
eines stark appretierten weißen, leichten Stoffes versieht, wie ihn die
Neger bei ihren Begräbnissen gebrauchen. Sie lieben es nicht, auch
im Tode mit der bloßen Mutter Erde in Berührung zu kommen,
sondern lassen ihre Leiber in ein Stück solcher Sanda einnähen.
Und je reiner und weißer der Stoff ist, um so sicherer ist dem
Verblichenen das Paradies.
Warum sollte ich also Sanda nicht als Filter benutzen,
wohlgemerkt erst, nachdem durch Herauswaschen der Appretur nur
ein weitmaschiges Netz feiner Fäden zurückgeblieben war! Doch
auch das nützte nichts; ein paar spärliche Tropfen rannen an dem
Beutel herab, das war alles. Ich habe dann mein Teesieb versucht
und mein Kaffeesieb; auch sie waren einem solchen
Aggregatzustande nicht gewachsen. „Prosit, Herr Knudsen!“ rief ich
deshalb, das letzte Sieb dem in der Türe stehenden Koch in hohem
Bogen in die geschickt auffangende Hand werfend. Es ist auch so
gegangen; und nicht einmal schlecht schmeckt das Zeug, ein wenig
nach Mehl zwar, aber sonst doch mit einem merkbaren Anklang an
unseren Studententrank aus dem Bierdorfe von Jena. Ich glaube
sogar, ich könnte mich an ihn gewöhnen.
Diese Angewöhnung scheint bei den Männern von Massassi
leider zu sehr erfolgt zu sein. Gewiß, ich gönne den würdigen
Hausvätern nach der schweren Arbeit der Ernte ihren Bürgertrunk
von Herzen, nur will es mir nicht so recht behagen, daß meine
Studien unter dieser ewigen Fröhlichkeit leiden sollen. Eine größere
Anzahl von Erwachsenen ist überhaupt nicht zusammenzutrommeln,
um sich von mir auf ihr Volkstum, ihre Sitten und Gebräuche
auspressen zu lassen; die wenigen aber, die es mit ihrer Zeit und
ihren Neigungen vereinbaren können, sich für kurze Zeit von ihrem
ambulanten Kneipleben zu trennen, sind sehr wenig geneigt, es mit
der Wahrheit genau zu nehmen. Selbst als ich neulich eine Schar
dieser wackeren Zecher herbestellt hatte, um mir ihre Flechttechnik
anzusehen, hatte das seine Schwierigkeiten; die Männer flochten mir
zwar was vor, aber zu langen Auseinandersetzungen über die
einheimischen Namen der Materialien und des Geräts waren sie
unmöglich zu gebrauchen; ihr Morgentrunk war zu ausgiebig
gewesen.
Die Sitte afrikanischer Völker, nach reichlicher Ernte einen Teil
der Körnerfrüchte in Bier umzuwandeln und in dieser Form rasch
und in großen Massen zu vertilgen, ist bekannt; sie vor allen Dingen
hat wohl zur Stärkung jener Ansicht beigetragen, nach der der
Schwarze im Besitz des Überflusses alles vertut und verpraßt, um
nachher zu darben und zu hungern. Ein Fünkchen oder vielleicht gar
ein ziemlich großer Funken göttlichen Leichtsinns läßt sich unserem
schwarzen Freunde allerdings nicht absprechen, aber man darf ihn
doch noch nicht auf ein einziges Indizium hin verurteilen. Ich habe
vorhin schon betont, wie ungemein schwierig es für den schwarzen
Ackerbauer ist, sein Saatgut zu überwintern. Noch viel schwieriger
würde es für ihn sein, die ungleich größere Menge der zum
Lebensunterhalt der Familie bestimmten Erntevorräte über einen
großen Teil des Jahres hin genießbar aufzubewahren. Daß er es
versucht, bezeugen die zahlreichen Vorratsbehälter bei jedem
größeren Gehöft; daß es ihm nicht immer gelingt und daß er daher
vorzieht, diesen dem Verderben ausgesetzten Teil seiner Ernte in
einer Weise anzulegen, die das Nützliche mit dem Angenehmen
verbindet, indem er ihn in der Form seines ganz annehmbaren
Bieres vertilgt, beweisen dagegen die bei aller Fröhlichkeit doch
harmlosen Früh- und Abendsitzungen. Sie weichen übrigens von
unserem europäischen Schankbetrieb insofern ab, als sie reihum
gehen; es kommt jeder als Wirt an die Reihe, und jeder ist auch
Gast; im ganzen eine herrliche Einrichtung.

Marschbereit vor Massassi.

Der gelinde chronische Alkoholdusel der Männerwelt ist es nicht
allein, was mir Schwierigkeiten bereitet. Zunächst die Not mit dem
Photographieren. Im fernen Europa ist man froh, wenn die liebe
Sonne dem Amateur das Handwerk erleichtert; und meint sie es ein
wenig zu gut, nun, so hat man hohe, dichtbelaubte Bäume,
grünendes Buschwerk, hochragende schattige Häuser. Nichts von
alledem in Afrika. Zwar hat man Bäume, aber sie sind weder hoch,
noch schattig; Büsche, aber sie sind nicht grün; Häuser, aber sie
sind im besten Fall höchstens von doppelter Mannshöhe, und dann
auch nur in der Firstlinie. Dazu der unheimlich hohe Sonnenstand
schon von 9 Uhr morgens an und bis über 3 Uhr nachmittags hinaus,
und eine Lichtstärke, von der man sich am besten dann einen Begriff
machen kann, wenn man einmal versucht, die Hautfarben der Neger
an der Hand der Luschanschen Farbentafel festzustellen. Nichts als
Licht und Glast hier, nichts als schwarzer, tiefer Schatten dort. Und
dabei soll man weiche, stimmungsvolle Bilder machen! Herr, lehre
mich diese Kunst, und ich will dir danken ewiglich.

Rattenfalle.
Auch das Thema Dunkelkammer ist wenig erbaulich. Die
deutsche Regierung ist fürsorglich; sie baut, um Hungersnöten unter
den Eingeborenen vorzubeugen, wohl mehr aber noch, um in einem
etwaigen neuen Aufstande von der Landesbevölkerung unabhängig
zu sein, in der Boma von Massassi augenblicklich ein stolzes Haus.
Es ist der einzige Steinbau im ganzen Lande und bis zur Küste hin,
nur einstöckig zwar, aber mit starken, nur von engen,
schießschartenartigen Löchern durchbrochenen Mauern und festem,
flachem Lehmdach. In diesem Architekturwunder lagern schon jetzt
ungezählte Säcke mit Hirse neuer Ernte und Berge roher
Baumwolle. Ich habe mir beides zunutze gemacht: mit der
Baumwolle habe ich die Luftlöcher verstopft, auf den Säcken aber
sitze ich; auf ihnen ruht gleichzeitig mein Dunkelkammer-
Arbeitstisch. Dieser war bis jetzt der wesentliche Bestandteil einer
Baumwollpresse, die draußen auf dem Hofe einsam über ein
verfehltes Dasein dahintrauert. Den Türverschluß endlich habe ich
durch eine Kombination dicker, von meinen Trägern gefertigter
Strohwände und einiger meiner Schlafdecken hergestellt. Dergestalt
kann ich zur Not sogar am Tage entwickeln, nur herrscht schon jetzt,
nach so kurzer Tätigkeit, eine erstickende Atmosphäre in dem auch
sonst wenig anheimelnden Raum. Gerne entrinne ich ihm daher, um
mich neuen Taten zuzuwenden.
Diese sind denn auch wirklich von viel ansprechenderer Natur.
Bei einem meiner ersten Bummel bin ich inmitten einer Schambe auf
ein zierliches Etwas gestoßen, das mir als Tego ya ngunda, als
Taubenfalle bezeichnet wird; ein System von Stäbchen, Bügeln und
feinen Schnüren, von denen einer mit einem kräftigen,
starkgekrümmten Bügel verbunden ist. Mich interessiert von Jugend
auf alles Technische, um wieviel mehr hier, wo wir in frühere
Entwicklungsphasen des menschlichen Intellekts tiefe Einblicke zu
tun die beste Gelegenheit haben. Also daheim Appell aller meiner
Leute und möglichst zahlreicher Eingeborener, und Ansprache an
alles versammelte Volk des Inhalts, daß der Msungu ein großes
Gewicht darauf legt, alle Arten von Fallen für alle Arten von Tieren zu
sehen und zu besitzen. Versprechen recht annehmbarer Preise bei
Lieferung authentischer, guter Stücke und zum Schluß die höfliche,
aber bestimmte Aufforderung: „Nendeni na tengeneseni sasa, nun
geht los und baut eure Dinger zusammen.“
Wie sind sie geeilt an jenem Tage, und wie eifrig sind alle meine
Mannen seitdem Tag für Tag an der Arbeit! Ich habe meine Träger
bisher für lauter Wanyamwesi gehalten; jetzt ersehe ich an der Hand
der Kommentare, die mir jeder einzelne zu seinem Kunstwerk geben
muß, daß sich unter meinen 30 Mann eine ganze Reihe von
Völkerschaften verbirgt. Zwar das Gros sind Wanyamwesi, doch
daneben gibt es Wassukuma und Manyema und sogar einen echten
Mgoni von Runssewe, also einen Vertreter jenes tapfern
Kaffernvolkes, das vor einigen Jahrzehnten vom fernen Südafrika bis
ins heutige Deutsch-Ostafrika vorgedrungen ist und dabei eine
seiner Gruppen, eben diese Runssewe-Wangoni, bis weit oben an
die Südwestecke des Viktoria-Nyansa vorgeschickt hat. Und nun
meine Askari erst! Es sind zwar nur 13 Mann, aber sie gehören nicht
weniger als einem Dutzend verschiedener Völkerschaften an, vom
fernen Darfor im ägyptischen Sudan bis zu den Yao in Portugiesisch-
Ostafrika. Und alle diese Getreuen zermartern ihr Gehirn und üben
in Busch und Feld von neuem die Künste ihres Knaben- und
Jünglingsalters, und dann kommen sie heran und errichten auf dem
weiten, sonnigen Platz neben meinem Palais die Früchte ihrer
schweren Geistesarbeit.

Antilopenfalle.

Der typische Ackerbauer steht in der Literatur als Jäger und

Fallensteller nicht hoch im Kurse; sein bißchen Geist soll durch die
Sorge um sein Feld völlig absorbiert werden; nur Völker vom
Schlage des Buschmanns, des Pygmäen und des Australiers hält
unsere Schulweisheit für fähig, das flüchtige Wild in Wald und
Steppe mit Geschick zu erlegen und mit List und Geistesschärfe in
schlau ersonnener Falle zur Strecke zu bringen. Und doch, wie weit
schießt auch diese Lehrmeinung am Ziel vorbei! Freilich, unter den
Völkern meines Gebietes gelten die Makua sogar als gute Jäger;
dabei sind sie in der Hauptsache genau wie die anderen Völker
typische Hackbauern, d. h. Leute, die ihre mühselig urbar
gemachten Felder Jahr für Jahr unverdrossen mit der Hacke
beackern. Sind ihre Tierfallen nicht trotz alledem Beweise eines
geradezu bewunderungswürdigen Scharfsinns? Ich gebe einige
meiner Skizzen als Belege bei; die Konstruktion der Fallen und die
Art ihrer Wirksamkeit ergibt sich aus der Zeichnung von selbst. Wer
aber der Kunst technischen Sehens gänzlich ermangeln sollte, für
den füge ich bei, daß alle diese Mordinstrumente auf folgendes
Prinzip hinauslaufen: entweder die Falle ist für einen Vierfüßer
bestimmt; dann ist sie so eingerichtet, daß das Tier beim
Vorwärtsschreiten oder -laufen mit der Nase gegen ein feines Netz
oder mit dem Fuß gegen eine feine Schnur stößt. Netz und Schnur
werden dadurch vorwärts gedrückt; jenes gleitet mit seinem oberen
Rande nach unten, das Ende der Schnur hingegen bewegt sich
etwas seitwärts. In beiden Fällen wird durch diese Gleitbewegung
das Ende eines kleinen Hebels frei, eines Holzstäbchens, das in
einer in der Zeichnung klar ersichtlichen Weise die Falle bisher
gespannt erhalten hat. Es schlägt jetzt blitzschnell um sein
Widerlager herum, bewegt von der Spannkraft eines Baumes oder
eines sonstwie angebrachten Bügels. Dieser schnellt nach oben und
zieht dabei eine geschickt angebrachte Schlinge zu; das Tier ist
gefangen und stirbt eines qualvollen Erstickungstodes. Ratten und
ähnlich lieblichem Getier geht der schwarze Fallensteller zwar nach
ähnlichen Prinzipien, doch noch grausamer zu Leibe, und leider stellt
er auch den Vögeln mit gleicher Gerissenheit nach. Vielleicht finde
ich später noch einmal Gelegenheit, auf diese Seite des hiesigen
Völkerlebens zurückzukommen; verdient hat sie es, denn auf kaum
einem anderen Gebiet zeigt sich die Erfindungsgabe auch des
primitiven Geistes so schön und deutlich ausgeprägt wie in dieser
Art des Kampfes ums Dasein.
 Psychologisch interessant ist das Verhalten der Eingeborenen
gegenüber meiner eigenen Tätigkeit bei der Lösung dieses Teils
meiner Forschungsaufgabe. Wenn wir beiden Europäer unser
karges Mittagsmahl verzehrt haben, Nils Knudsen sich zum
wohlverdienten Schlummer niedergelegt hat und das Geschnarch
meiner Krieger zwar rhythmisch, aber nicht harmonisch aus der
Barasa herübertönt, dann sitze ich im sengenden Sonnenbrand,
dem schattenlosen Schlemihl gleich, und nur kümmerlich geschützt
durch den größeren meiner beiden Tropenhelme draußen auf dem
Aufstellungsplatz meiner Tierfallen und zeichne. Bis in mein 30.
Lebensjahr habe ich zum Spott für alle meine in dieser Hinsicht recht
begabten Verwandten als talentlos gegolten; da „entdeckte“ ich mich
als königlich preußischer Hilfsarbeiter im Berliner Museum für
Völkerkunde eines schönen Tags selbst, und wenn einer meiner
Freunde mich dereinst einer Biographie für würdig erachten sollte,
so mag er nur ruhig betonen, daß mir in meiner wissenschaftlichen
Entwicklungszeit meine bescheidenen zeichnerischen Leistungen
eigentlich mehr Freude und Genugtuung bereitet haben als die
schriftstellerischen. Für den ethnographischen Forschungsreisenden
ist die Fähigkeit, von welchem Forschungsobjekt es auch immer sei,
eine genaue Skizze rasch und mit wenigen Strichen entwerfen zu
können, eine Zugabe, die nicht hoch genug eingeschätzt werden
kann. Die Photographie ist gewiß eine wunderbare Erfindung, im
Kleinkram der täglichen Forschungsarbeit versagt sie indessen
häufiger als man glaubt, und nicht nur im Dunkel der Negerhütte,
sondern auch bei tausend anderen Sachen in heller Luft.
 Perlhuhnfalle.

Falle für Großwild.

 Also ich sitze und zeichne. Kein Lüftchen regt sich; die ganze
Natur scheint zu schlafen. Auch mir wird die Feder müde, da höre
ich unmittelbar hinter meinem Rücken Geräusch. Ein flüchtiger Blick
lehrt mich, daß das Moment allgemein menschlicher Neugier selbst
die Urkraft negroider Faulheit überwunden hat. Meine Träger sind’s,
ein ganzer Haufen; auch Eingeborene dabei. Sie müssen leise
herangetreten sein, was auf dem weichen Sandboden und bei dem
Mangel an Schuhen nicht befremdlich ist. Gespannt schaut die
enggedrängte Schar über meine Schulter hinweg ins Skizzenbuch.
Ich lasse mich nicht stören; Strich folgt auf Strich; das Werk nähert
sich seinem Ende; schließlich ist es fertig. „Sawasawa?“ (wörtlich:
„gleich?“, hier etwa in dem Sinn: „Na, ist das Ding denn getroffen?“)
frage ich gespannt zurück. „Ndio, jawohl“, ertönt es mir unverzüglich
und mit einer Begeisterung in die Ohren, daß die Trommelfelle
platzen möchten. „Kisuri? Ist es schön?“ „Kisuri sana kabissa,
ausgezeichnet!“ gellt es noch stärker und begeisterter in meine
Hörorgane. „Wewe Fundi, du bist ein Meister.“ Es sind meine
Kunstverständigen, die ausübenden Künstler selbst, die hier in für
mich so schmeichelhafter Art das Richteramt üben; die paar
Schensi, die unbeleckten, von der Muse ungeküßten, die nicht zum
Kreis meiner Künstler gehören, haben nur als Herdenvieh
mitgebrüllt.
Und nun kommt der Versuch einer Nutzanwendung. Ich erhebe
mich von meinem Stühlchen, stelle mich in Positur und lege meinen
Kunstjüngern nahe, da sie nun sähen, wie ich, der Fundi, eine
solche Falle zeichne, so wäre es angezeigt, daß nun doch auch sie
sich einmal an einem solchen schwierigeren Gegenstand
versuchten; immer bloß ihre Freunde abzumalen, oder aber Bäume
und Häuser und die Tiere, das sei langweilig; außerdem seien sie
doch so kluge Kerle, daß ihnen eine solche Vogelfalle kaum
Schwierigkeiten bieten würde. Ich habe auf den Ausdruck
verschämter Verlegenheit, wie er mir beim Beginn meiner Studien in
Lindi entgegentrat, schon einmal hingewiesen; hier kam er noch
verstärkter und auch allgemeiner zum Ausdruck. Ich habe dabei das
bestimmte Gefühl gehabt, daß den Leuten jetzt zum erstenmal der
Begriff dessen klar wurde, was wir Perspektive nennen. In ihren
Gegenreden und Gebärden suchten sie sichtlich etwas Derartiges
auszudrücken, sie verfolgten mit den Fingern die merkwürdig
verkürzten Kurven, die doch in Wirklichkeit Kreisbögen waren, kurz
sie standen etwas Neuem, vorher nie Gekanntem und Geahntem
gegenüber, und das brachte ihnen einesteils das Gefühl ihrer
geistigen und künstlerischen Unterlegenheit zum Bewußtsein,
während es sie andererseits wie ein Magnet an mein Skizzenbuch
bannte. Bis jetzt hat noch keiner von ihnen sich an die Wiedergabe
einer solchen Tierfalle herangewagt.
Alle Afrikareisenden früherer Tage oder in weniger gut
erschlossenen Ländern, als Deutsch-Ostafrika es ist, haben durch
nichts mehr zu leiden gehabt als durch die Schwierigkeiten des
Tauschverkehrs. Mit wieviel Hunderten von Lasten der
verschiedenartigsten Zeugstoffe, mit wieviel Perlensorten ist noch
ein Stanley zu seinen Entdeckertaten ausgezogen; wie unsicher war
es bei alledem, ob man gerade den Geschmack der Eingeborenen
seines Forschungsgebietes getroffen hatte; und wie ungeheuer
vergrößerte diese primitive Art des Geldes den Troß jeder
Expedition. Bei uns in Deutsch-Ostafrika mit seiner sooft zu Unrecht
angefeindeten Kolonialregierung reist der Weiße heute fast ebenso
bequem wie daheim im Mutterlande. Zwar sein Kreditbrief reicht nur
bis zur Küste; trägt sein Unternehmen jedoch wie das meinige
amtlichen Charakter, so ist jede Station und jeder Posten, der über
eine Regierungskasse verfügt, angewiesen, dem Reisenden unter
Beachtung sehr einfacher Formalitäten Kredit zu gewähren und ihn
mit Barmitteln auszustatten. Des Rätsels Lösung ist sehr einfach:
unsere Rupienwährung gilt nicht nur an der Küste, sondern zwingt
auch alle Völker des Innern, sich ihr wohl oder übel anzubequemen.
Meine Operationsbasis ist auch in finanzieller Hinsicht das
Städtchen Lindi mit seinem kaiserlichen Bezirksamt; von dort habe
ich mir ein paar große Säcke mit ganzen, halben und Viertelrupien
und für den ersten Bedarf auch einige Kisten mit Hellern
mitgenommen. O dieser unglückliche Heller! Was wird er, sein echt
„afrikanischer“ Name und seine Einführung überhaupt von den
bösen, weißen Küstenmännern bespöttelt, und wie schlecht sind die
Witze, die über ihn gemacht werden! Der billigste ist noch der, daß
der gegenwärtige Zolldirektor in der Landeshauptstadt, der in der Tat
den Namen dieses bei uns längst veralteten Zahlmittels führt, bei der
ostafrikanischen Scheidemünze Gevatter gestanden habe. So viel
merke ich schon jetzt: den Eingeborenen geht es wie bei uns den
alten Leuten vor 30 Jahren; ebenso wie diese sich nicht an die Mark
gewöhnen konnten und ruhig mit dem guten, alten Taler
weiterrechneten, so zählt hier alles höchst despektierlich und illoyal
nach Pesas weiter, der alten Kupfermünze der
vierundsechzigteiligen Rupie. Dies ist auch viel einfacher und
bequemer; ein Ei kostet einen Pesa, und damit basta. Seinen Wert
in Heller umzurechnen fällt niemandem ein.
Doch der Neger müßte nicht Neger sein, wenn er sich nicht trotz
alledem der Tätigkeit des Hellereinnehmens mit Begeisterung
hingäbe. Und sein Geschäft blüht jetzt! Es paßt zu dem Bilde des
Diogenes wie die Faust aufs Auge, wenn hinter dem
laternenschwingenden Moritz der Mgonimann Mambo sasa durch
die sonnige Landschaft zieht, hoch oben auf dem krauswolligen
Haupte ein stattliches Gefäß mit gleißender Münze. Es sind frisch in
Berlin geprägte Kupferheller, mit denen ich die Negerherzen zu
betören ausziehe.
Nach langem, doch durchaus nicht langweiligem Ableuchten aller
Salons der Negerpaläste kehre ich, geblendet von der überhellen
Tropensonne, an das Tageslicht zurück; mit verständnisvollem
Schmunzeln schleppt meine Leibgarde — das sind diejenigen
meiner Leute, die immer um mich sind und die mit der dem
Natursohn eigenen Auffassungsgabe rasch begriffen haben, worum
es sich handelt — einen Haufen Krimskrams hinterher; mit
gemischten Gefühlen, erwartungsvoll und zweifelnd zugleich, folgen
schließlich Hausherr und Hausfrau. Jetzt beginnt das Feilschen.
Einen kleinen Vorgeschmack hat der Ausreisende schon in Neapel
und Port Said, in Aden und Mombassa bekommen; hier spielt sich
das Verfahren nicht wesentlich anders ab. „Kiassi gani? Was kostet
der ganze Plunder?“ fragt man so leichthin, mit einer summarischen
Handbewegung den ganzen Haufen umschließend. Diesem
Verfahren steht der glückliche Besitzer jener Kostbarkeiten gänzlich
ohne Verständnis gegenüber; er sperrt Mund und Nase weit auf und
schweigt. So geht’s also nicht; diese abgekürzte Methode wäre auch
vom wissenschaftlichen Standpunkt aus zu verwerfen. „Nini hii? Was
ist das?“ Und ich halte ihm irgendeins der Stücke unter die Augen.
Dies erst ist der richtige Weg. Jetzt öffnet sich der vordem so
schweigsame Mund, und nun heißt es sich schnell auf die
Kollegbank der seligen Fuchsenzeit zurückversetzt denken und
eifrigst nachschreiben, was zur Abwechselung einmal nicht aus dem
Munde hochwohlweiser Professoren auf das Auditorium
herniederplätschert, sondern dem prachtvollen Zahngehege eines
ganz unbeleckten Schensi entströmt. Und wenn ich dann alles weiß,
den Zweck, den Namen, die Herstellungsart und die Wirkungsweise,
dann endlich ist auch der Schwarze geneigt und imstande, den
Einzelpreis zu fixieren. Bis jetzt habe ich dabei zwei Extreme
feststellen können: die eine Kategorie der Verkäufer fordert ohne
Rücksicht auf die Art des Verkaufsobjektes ganze Rupien, Rupia tatu
oder Rupia nne, 3 oder 4 Rupien; die andere verlangt ebenso
konsequent den Einheitspreis eines Sumni. Dieser Sumni ist im
hiesigen Sprachgebrauch der vierte Teil einer Rupie, gilt also 33⅓
Pfennig. In der Währung Ostafrikas ist er ein bildhübsches, zierliches
Silberstück von etwas kleinerer Größe als unsere halbe Mark.
Vielleicht ist es diese Handlichkeit, verbunden mit dem
ungebrochenen Glanz gerade meiner funkelnagelneuen Stücke, was
dieser Münze seine Bevorzugung sichert.
Eins muß man der hiesigen Bevölkerung im Gegensatz zu der
Schwefelbande von Neapel, Port Said und Aden nachrühmen: keiner
von ihnen zetert und jammert, wenn wir ihm statt des geforderten
Talers den zwanzigsten oder zehnten Teil bieten. In voller
Gemütsruhe geht der Neger in seiner Forderung nach und nach bis
zu einer billigen Einigung herunter, oder aber er sagt gleich beim
ersten Gegenangebot: „Lete, gib’s her.“ In diesem Augenblick
beginnt dann die Glanzrolle des Knaben Moritz und meines
Hellertopfes. Mit raschem Griff hat der Boy das Gefäß vom Haupte
seines Freundes Mambo sasa heruntergeholt; mit Kennerblick
mustert er den Kassenbestand, und dann zahlt er aus mit der
Würde, wenn auch nicht mit der Geschwindigkeit des Kassierers
einer großen Bank.
So oder ähnlich spielt sich das Handelsgeschäft auch um die
übrigen Stücke ab. Es ist viel zeitraubender als mir lieb ist, jedoch