Beside me, Jackson said, “Breathe, Bianca.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath. I released it in one big rush, smoothing my hands over my hair.
We pulled past the stone gate and started down a long, winding lane, shaded on both sides by enormous oak trees. Around a bend I spotted the house in the distance. It was beautiful, but nowhere near as large as I’d expected—maybe half the size of Jackson’s home.
Jackson must have been watching my face. He said, “It’s the guest house.”
“Oh.” Okay, that made sense. They were rich, of course they had a guest house.
He added, “There are seventeen on the property.”
My mouth dropped open. I stared at him in disbelief. “Seventeen guest houses. Like that?”
“No. That’s the small one.”
When I made an inarticulate noise of shock, he smiled, only it was a dark smile, totally devoid of humor.
He said, “The estate comprises two hundred sixty acres, five lakes, seventeen guest cottages, botanical gardens, a deer park, a stable yard and coach house, and its own church. The main residence has thirty-seven bedrooms—by some counts it’s thirty-nine, no one’s really sure—thirty-two bathrooms, an entire wing dedicated to servants’ quarters, a bowling alley, basketball and tennis courts, a fifty-seat theatre, a replica of an English pub, a thirty-thousand-bottle wine cellar, and a full arcade. And a bunch of other shit I’m forgetting.”
We sped past more guest “cottages,” set far back from the road on either side, partly hidden behind stands of trees and lush gardens. Then we crested a low hill, and the main estate came into view.
I gasped.
Jackson muttered, “Welcome to Moonstar Ranch.”
Then he leaned over, put his head in his hands, and cursed.
TWENTY-SIX
BIANCA
Picture a castle—the biggest and most elaborate castle you’ve seen in a movie. But not a forbidding, fortress-type castle with dungeons and moats and weird smells. Something elegant and romantic. Something with crenellated towers and cascading fountains and flocks of doves soaring through misty vales. Or any castle from any fairy tale where a princess waits for Prince Charming to ride up on his trusty white steed.
Then triple the size, add in a herd of white-tailed deer prancing across a lush wilderness backdrop, a glittering lake filled with colored fountains and peacefully drifting swans, and an enormous orange moon cresting over the horizon in the distance, bathing everything in a warm amber glow, and you’ll have a small glimpse of the magic, majesty, and soul-piercing beauty of the place called Moonstar Ranch.
I exhaled an awed breath that contained a lot of vowels. Then, panicked, I gripped Jackson’s arm.
“Okay,” I said, sounding slightly hysterical. “I’ve respected your privacy. I haven’t pried into what happened that made you leave this place and never come back, but now you have to give me something. You can’t let me walk in there blind. Just give it to me straight—murder? Kidnapping? Sexual abuse? I swear I won’t judge or repeat a word to another living soul. Just tell me why you would ever want to leave somewhere so beautiful. And also why it’s called a ranch because that is like its own European country.”
Jackson lifted his head and looked at me. He said cryptically, “Even the most beautiful things can be toxic.”
I blinked. “That isn’t helpful. At all.”
He blew out a hard breath and leaned back into the seat. “You’ll be happy to know that it’s nothing as dramatic as what your imagination is conjuring. You ever think about giving up the chef gig and writing fiction?”
That made me feel a little better, though I still had nothing solid. I needed more. “So no sexual abuse? No bodies buried in the garden?”
He groaned. “For Christ’s sake, Bianca!”
“What am I supposed to think?”
“Really? In a void of details, you go straight to murder and getting diddled by Daddy?”
“Well it had to be something major!”
He glowered at me. “It was. And no, it didn’t involve murder, kidnapping, or inappropriate fondling on the part of my parents.”
When I narrowed my eyes, he thundered, “Or anyone else, either!”
We glared at each other. Finally I thought of something. “Does it have to do with the man-eating shark?”
When he blanched, I thought, Bingo.
The limousine passed through a brick carriage house, then pulled to a smooth stop at the crest of a circular drive. Through gritted teeth, Jackson said, “Enough questions. Let’s just get through this weekend, all right?”
He didn’t wait for the limo driver to open his door. He burst from the car, rounded the rear, and yanked open my door. He stuck out his hand and impatiently wiggled his fingers.