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The Man From High Mountain
Kay David
Cole Reynolds is an outsider.He's lived in High Mountain all his life but never felt he belonged. That's okay, though. He's a man who likes his space–and in West Texas there's plenty of it.But everything changed the day he met Taylor Matthews. He was guiding Taylor and her husband through a remote part of the desert when someone shot at them. Cole and Taylor were wounded and her husband was killed.Now Taylor's back–determined to find out what really happened. And like it or not, Cole knows he has to keep her safe….


“Can I at least come in and try to convince you?” (#u54b8c768-7d94-5816-9110-1fd60b35e1e1)Letter to Reader (#ufbd2c1e2-f3e8-5dcf-9ae2-72b738a46088)Title Page (#u2de5cbe7-bad7-56b0-bc44-404993392c18)CHAPTER ONE (#u4e6134bd-3e20-5b51-a7e7-29426b3046b2)CHAPTER TWO (#udbbee6b4-d2dc-5dcd-868f-6be83d2fa024)CHAPTER THREE (#u30c47bc7-9993-5447-8fbb-23529ec3e7fd)CHAPTER FOUR (#u8a9ea54e-8505-5958-9df2-9e7412fa0565)CHAPTER FIVE (#u34e18b74-9d5e-5da6-919c-daa09e0f7126)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Can I at least come in and try to convince you?”
At her words, Cole turned. She was a shadow behind the screen door, a disembodied voice. “There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind, but you can come inside and waste your breath if you want to.”
Without waiting to see what she did, he made his way to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he heard the door creak, followed by the sound of her boots on the floor. Grabbing two beers, he walked back to the den and handed her one of them.
“I want to go back,” Taylor said softly. “I have to.”
Despite himself, he asked, “Why?”
“I’ve never said goodbye. It’s time for me to move on with my life, and I can’t do that without going back to the...to the place it happened.”
“Time to move on...” Her choice of words intrigued him. She was the one who’d left. He’d stayed. Every day he drove by the entrance to her ranch. Every day he led strangers into the land surrounding it. Every day he dealt with the pain in his hip.
She’d continued to speak, completely unaware of his thoughts. “Surely we could get to the canyon in a morning’s ride? We could spend the night there, then—”
He stood. “I’m sorry, Taylor, but the answer’s still no. I lost nothing out there that I need.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re on your own if you want to go back to Diablo.”
Dear Reader,
No matter how far away I live, work or travel, Texas will always be my home, in my heart if nowhere else. As a child I grew up on the beaches of the Gulf of Mexico and as an adult I’ve lived all over the state. Whenever I’m gone, I look forward to returning, because Texas is incredibly unique and beautiful with a diversity of culture and land that can be found nowhere else.
This book reflects my love for one part of Texas—the wild empty reaches of the western half of the state. Lonely and vast, this area is very different from the tropical greenness of the Gulf Coast region or the flat terrain of the north. West Texas stretches past where the eye can see and goes on from there. The isolation and emptiness is almost impossible to describe. The sky’s too blue, the air too sharp. My parents once owned a large ranch similar to the one in this book, and whenever I visited, I was torn between being afraid of its remoteness and enjoying the sensation of being the last person on earth.
Naturally, the people who inhabit this area are as unique as the land. They’re independent, solitary creatures who like their space and want plenty of it. In this story, the love my characters share for the land is rivaled only by the passions they feel for each other. I hope you enjoy it.
Sincerely,
Kay David

The Man from High Mountain
Kay David


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
TWICE A DAY THE DOCTOR came by her room. He was an old man, a country doctor, with a monk’s fringe of hair around his head. His hands were gentle as they probed her bandages, especially the large, tight one holding her arm securely against her chest. On the third day, Taylor Matthews realized there was more in his eyes than concern. Through a still-lifting fog of painkillers and relaxants she finally recognized what it was late that afternoon.
His bright blue gaze held pity.
She turned her face away so he wouldn’t see her tears, but he’d seen everything already and knew exactly what she was doing. When he finished changing all her dressings, he rested his hand against her shoulder, his touch cool against her skin.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Matthews.” His voice was surprisingly deep. It echoed against the bare walls of the tiny West Texas hospital. “If it’s any consolation, your husband died very quickly. The round went right through his heart. I doubt he felt a thing.”
She moved her head against the pillow, squeezing her eyes tighter, her hair whispering against the crisp linens. From behind her eyelids, a burst of bright light accompanied the movement along with a stab of sudden sharpness. She welcomed the pain—it took her mind off everything else. She felt the pinprick a moment later, and welcomed it, too. Blessed oblivion.
Just before she went back to sleep, someone came into the room and sat down. His step was odd, out of sync somehow, as if he too was wounded and here for care. Her eyelids were too heavy now to lift, but she didn’t have to see the person to sense his presence. It spread over her room and filled the corners with a quiet and calming awareness. The sensation was comforting, almost as if she knew it was all right to go to sleep now because she wasn’t alone anymore. He would stand watch over her. She was safe.
She drifted off, but the memories went with her.
THE DAY HAD BEEN WARM for fall, the West Texas sun so close to their heads Taylor had thought she could reach up and touch it. Climbing out of the ancient pickup, she’d gazed over the dusty barren landscape with dismay, half wondering, with affection of course, if Jack had finally lost his mind.
She’d never seen a place so lonely and desolate.
“What do you think, hon?” Her husband of ten years, Jack Matthews, stood beside her like a child on Christmas Eve, waiting for her to open his present. Impatiently, he gave her his own opinion before she could answer him. “Isn’t it great?” He held out his hands. “And look at that view! You can see for miles—and everything you see, we own!”
She turned then to look at him. His dark blue eyes, eyes she’d loved for so long, were staring into the distance, but she knew he wasn’t seeing the enormous ranch he’d just bought. He was seeing the succession of mobile homes and dirty apartments and temporary shelters he and his brothers had lived in as children. He was seeing the hard life and the missed opportunities and the mother buried at the county’s expense. He was seeing how far he’d come—from being a kid who owned one shirt to being a successful businessman who had now fulfilled his final dream. Owning a three-section ranch flat in the middle of West Texas. One thousand, nine hundred and twenty acres to be exact.
She swallowed the words she’d been about to say and put her arm around his shoulder. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart. Truly gorgeous. I love it!”
He turned to her, his eyes sparkling. “Do you really?
“I do,” she insisted loyally, nodding her head up and down. “It’s absolutely perfect. Ranch heaven. I couldn’t have picked a better place myself!”
Reassured by her words, as she knew he would be, he stepped away from the truck, the gravel beneath his boots crunching in the total and absolute isolation. The silence around them was overwhelming. Twenty miles off the main highway, they’d come at least fifty miles beyond that from the nearest town, High Mountain—which was, in fact, little more than a general store, a sad motel, and one lone Mexican food diner.
She glanced uneasily toward the guide at the rear of the truck. She hoped he was as good as he was supposed to be. What if they got lost? What if someone got hurt? They could be out here for days and see no one, absolutely no one. She studied the tall, slim man, understanding now that their lives literally depended on him.
He hadn’t said two words to her after their introduction, but Jack had been totally at ease with Cole Reynolds. Usually cautious around strangers, Jack had been impressed with the taciturn man, telling Taylor last night that Cole knew the area better than anyone around. He was part Jumano Indian, Jack had explained, and had lived in the area all his life. Chattering about the details as they’d gotten ready for bed, Jack had seemed to enjoy the fact that their ranch was so huge they needed a tracker to lead them in.
“Once we get the roads paved, we’ll be fine,” he’d said, slipping between the covers, “but until then it’s best if we let Cole help us. He’s terrific—we definitely won’t get lost with him in charge.”
She walked to the back of the truck where the guide was unloading supplies. She paused by the bumper. “Need some help?”
At her voice, Cole Reynolds glanced up and met Taylor’s gaze. She told herself she was being silly, but looking into his endlessly dark stare was like peering into a bottomless pit, and something tripped over her nerves. His eyes were so black she saw nothing except her own reflection. Suddenly rattled, she shifted her gaze. The skin that was stretched over his high cheekbones and bladelike nose was burnished into a deep rich tan. The dark hair that curled around the planes of his face only served to emphasize the copper tones.
“I’d like to do something,” she said, repeating her offer just to break the tension she felt under his silent gaze. “May I help?”
“No thanks,” he said curtly. Reaching back into the truck, he pulled out another pack, the muscles of his back straining beneath the white T-shirt he wore, the faded denim of his jeans stretching across his buttocks. He straightened. “You’re gonna have enough to do once we start walking. You’d better wait in the shade by the truck for now. Conserve your energy.”
His answer made perfect sense, and there was no hint of condescension in his voice. He was quietly competent and interested only in doing his job. Still, Taylor felt herself react. She had a sixth sense about people and something told her there was more to this man than the calm, cool exterior she saw. She wondered nervously what it was.
“What’s wrong, Mr. Reynolds?” She spoke lightly, making her voice hold amusement. “Think I can’t make it?”
The guide continued to pull gear out of the truck. After a moment he stopped and straightened completely. She hadn’t realized how tall he was until then. Six feet plus, she figured.
“I think you’re from Houston, I think you’re not accustomed to this kind of heat, and I think you’re in for a shock about just how rugged this part of Texas is.” He stared at her a second longer, then reached into the back of the truck for a beat-up black cowboy hat. Tugging at it, one hand in the front, one in the rear, he settled it onto his head. “That’s what I think.”
She didn’t quite know what to make of his answer. “Well, if that’s the case, why did you agree to bring us out here?”
“It’s what I do.” The soft words, spoken in his West Texas drawl, hovered in the air between them. “I take people places they can’t get to on their own. Then I bring them back.”
“Are you two ready?” Jack appeared suddenly at Taylor’s side, rubbed his hands and grinned engagingly. “I am. Can’t wait as a matter of fact.”
Grateful for the interruption, Taylor turned to her husband and smiled. “Think you’ll feel that way tomorrow?”
He leaned over and kissed her on the nose. “No. By then, I’ll want a hot bath and a pitcher of margaritas. But right now, I’m ready to see my ranch.”
They spent the next half hour strapping on their backpacks and getting ready, Cole explaining the terrain they’d be crossing and what to watch for, including rattlesnakes. They had a lot of ground to cover. There was a deep water spring in the southwest corner and Jack wanted to check on the old ranch house that was supposed to be somewhere near the western edge, too. They set out, Taylor quickly forgetting about the man leading them as her husband eagerly began to show her his “spread,” as he laughingly called the ranch.
By noon, though, Taylor’s feet were screaming and she was a nervous wreck from imagining snakes under every rock. Just as she was about to give in and request a stop, Cole raised a hand and pointed to an outcrop of rocks ahead of them in the distance.
“That’s the edge of the canyon. We’ll stop there and eat lunch. Rest for a bit.” He turned around and glanced at Taylor. His voice was noncommittal. “Okay with you, Miz Matthews?”
She answered breezily. “Whatever...”
He nodded once and continued to walk, the picture of competence. Something about him bothered her, but he definitely knew what he was doing, she had to admit that. Jack was right—they wouldn’t get lost with Cole Reynolds in charge.
They reached the rocks within minutes. As she peeled off her pack, Jack came to her side. “Walk over to the canyon with me,” he said. Glancing at Cole who was preparing their lunch, Jack smiled, the expression lifting his mouth and crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I want to show it to you by myself.”
She forgot about her feet as she saw the enthusiasm in his expression. A surge of love came over her, and she took her husband’s hand. “I’d like that.”
She’d expected something different, but the sight that greeted them when they reached the edge stole Taylor’s breath. As if a giant had taken a hatchet and chopped open the earth, a red slash, at least a hundred feet wide, gaped at their feet, going on for miles and miles. The gorge was deep, too, so deep even the noontime sun didn’t dispel the shadows in the bottom. In the eerie silence she could hear the faint sound of rushing water at the bottom and a jingling sound, almost like a horse’s halter. They edged closer until they were standing right on the rim, on one of the rocky ledges surrounding the very perimeter. Taylor felt dizzy.
Jack pointed downward. “That’s the Rio Diablo. The ranch got its name from the river. El Rancho del Diablo—The Devil’s Ranch.” Tilting his head to indicate the land on the other side, he spoke again. “And that’s Mexico.”
“It’s beautiful.” Looking around the stark and lonely landscape, Taylor realized for the first time she meant what she’d just said. The land was beautiful. Bleak and barren, it stretched on forever, the red rocks and few gnarled trees standing out starkly against a sky that particular shade of blue that burned into your eyes when you stared at it. The quiet was thick enough to taste, and the air so thin it carried sound like a ribbon of silk in the wind. Overhead a hawk circled lazily, his cries piercing. Taylor had become a determined city girl after growing up in Montana, but there was something about Diablo. It was unexpectedly exhilarating, even though it was intimidating, too.
She turned to Jack to say so. To tell him she loved him and how happy she was he’d bought this present for himself, this ranch that represented so much.
And that’s when the first shot rang out.
For just a moment, she was puzzled. The noise was foreign to her, abrupt and scary, disturbing the silence unexpectedly and not making sense. Staring at Jack, she frowned and started to ask him what it was—then the second shot sounded and a sudden bloom of red appeared on her shoulder, the one next to Jack’s. She looked at her shirt with a baffled expression, then comprehension came. And with it, pain.
“My God,” she said, wonder filling her voice. “I—I think I’ve been shot.”
Another crack broke the silence, this one zinging past her ear. Taylor screamed then, and Jack threw himself in front of her, his frantic hands on her shoulders pulling her toward the ground, realizing a second too late the direction from which the shots were coming. “Get down,” he yelled. “Get down!”
Before they could move, the gun sounded again. His body in front of hers, Jack pitched forward, a searing pain exploding in Taylor’s shoulder at the very same moment—one bullet hitting him then her. She cried out and staggered as Jack’s fingers curled painfully into her arms, his sudden weight coming against her and dragging them both into the red dust. She tasted it, like blood, on her tongue.
“Jack!” Refusing to see the mingling blood and the emptiness coming into her husband’s eyes, she screamed his name again. “Jack! My God, Jack!”
Fading fast, he looked into her eyes. “I love you,” he whispered.
COLE WAS BESIDE TAYLOR within seconds. Kneeling, he said nothing, but moved fast. Rolling Jack off her, he took a handful of Taylor’s collar and yanked her back and up, away from the edge of the canyon.
“No!” Struggling against the blackness that threatened to overcome her, she cried out. “Stop...stop! We have to get Jack.”
“You’re hurt. I have to get you out.” Cole’s voice was ragged, panting.
She fought him, kicking at his legs and pounding his chest with her fists, a flash of pain ricocheting off her arm and slicing down the rest of her body. “No,” she screamed again. “I want Jack. Jack—”
Cole ignored her cries. Slipping his arms beneath her own, he scooped her up and began to run.
The fifth shot got him.
With a grunt of pain, he fell heavily, Taylor going down with him. He was moving again within seconds, scrambling backward through the dust and scrubby cactus. Taylor continued to fight him, sobbing as she shrieked, a fiery pain fueling her grief and confusion and anger.
They reached a half-dead mesquite tree, and dragging her into the scant protection it offered, Cole finally stopped. Groggy and growing weak, Taylor had only one thought: She had to get to Jack. On her hands and knees, crying and wounded, she reached out and grasped one of the rough branches of the mesquite. The rough bark bit into her skin, scraping it raw. Ignoring this new pain, she used the limb to pull herself upright and staggered out into the open, taking two steps back the way they’d come.
A final shot rang out.
SHE CAME TO BRIEFLY. Someone was standing beside the bed, someone tall. She forced her eyes open as he touched her hand. Dark eyes met hers, then her eyelids fluttered down again. Before she went completely under, details, like passing headlights, flashed into her mind. An endless, agonizing ride to the hospital with an empty seat beside her. The doctors and nurses murmuring quietly. Pain, pain that made black dots dance in front of her eyes and buzzing noises sound in her ears. And finally the terrible, terrible knowledge coming to her that her life, as it had been, was over.
Her husband was dead.
CHAPTER TWO
Two years later—Houston, Texas
“YOU’VE COME TO MEAN the world to me, Taylor. And I want everyone to know it.”
Taylor Matthews lifted her champagne glass to her lips and looked over the rim at Richard Williams. They were sitting in a booth at Tony’s, the most expensive restaurant in town, and Richard fit in very well with the crowd around them. Black suit, gold watch, silver hair. He was sixteen years older than Taylor, but in excellent physical shape, a strong handsome man. He exercised a lot—ran and played squash five times a week—and was proud of how he looked. Jack’s partner in the art gallery they’d owned together, Richard had also been Taylor’s rock since his death. He reached across the table and put his hand over her fingers, squeezing gently. Between them, resting on the table in a black velvet box, a four-carat marquise diamond ring winked and flashed in the candlelight.
“I know these last few years have been hard for you, darling, but I can make that better. Let’s take this final step and commit to each other. I think you’d be so happy, you’d forget all about the past.”
Taylor smiled gently. He was a sweetheart, but Richard didn’t really understand. When Jack had died that hot summer day two years ago, Taylor’s life had been changed forever. For a long time, things other people took for granted were beyond her reach. Things like sleeping through the night. Eating with appetite. Making love... Each and every day Taylor had struggled, one way or another. Richard had helped tremendously, but she would never forget what had happened.
She couldn’t. Deep down inside her a huge, gaping hole existed that would never be filled. Dr. Kornfeld, her therapist, had assured her it wouldn’t always be that way, but Taylor knew better. While some days were better than others, the truth was, her mental well-being had suffered greatly, and it had been getting even worse recently, her nerves a mess, her emotions upside down. The nightmares, always bad since that day, had gotten inexplicably more severe the past few months. Every night disturbing images of blood and dust, screams and fear, were tangling her in the sheets and bringing her to abrupt awareness. She kept hearing the local sheriffs voice in her mind, describing Jack’s killers.
“Druggers. Probably crossing the river with a load. Thought you might see ‘em and report it. Easier to shoot ya.” A shake of the head. “We’ll never find ’em. Gone into the mountains, already in Mexico. Too late...too late.”
Jack’s murder had gone unpunished and the fairness and principles he’d believed in had gone by the wayside. He’d never received the kind of justice he’d deserved. She mentally shook herself and pulled away from the images and haunting voice to concentrate on the present. After Jack’s death, Richard had guided her through all the legal problems and had virtually run the business single-handedly. Slowly, so slowly she hadn’t even noticed until the past year, their relationship had evolved into something else, in spite of her continued emotional problems. Richard had turned into more than a friend.
But an engagement? Was she ready for that step?
She looked across the table at the handsome, elegant man. What she felt for him wasn’t the wild, at-first-sight-and-forever kind of love she’d had with Jack, but a woman could only hope to be that lucky once in a lifetime, and she’d had her turn. Which, actually, was a perfectly acceptable situation to Taylor. She didn’t even want that kind of connection again—it hurt too much when it ended.
Richard lifted her hand to his lips and brushed his mouth over the tips of her fingers. “What do you say?” He nodded toward the diamond ring and smiled. “Do you think that might be your size?”
She answered his smile with one of her own, but deep down, more questions began to assail her. Was it fair to Richard to commit to a relationship if she wasn’t sure?
As if sensing her hesitation, he pressed. “I don’t want to wait any longer, Taylor. I know my feelings for you are stronger than yours are for me, but with time, that will change, I’m sure of it. You’ll grow to love me just as much as I love you.”
His words made her feel instantly guilty and unappreciative of everything he’d done for her. She tried to explain. “Richard, you’ve been so kind, so patient, and I really do appreciate it, but I...I’m having nightmares again...and well...I’m not sure I’m ready yet. I want to sell the ranch—”
He picked up the box holding the diamond and took her hand in his, interrupting her words to slip the ring over her finger. “Maybe this could help make up your mind.”
She looked at the enormous diamond. It felt heavy and foreign on her finger and had obviously cost a fortune. “It’s really beautiful but—”
“No more buts. I picked it out just for you. Please...”
She hesitated again, then spoke softly. “Richard... I—I can’t do anything until I take care of the ranch first. You know that. We’ve discussed this before.”
He shook his head slowly, a look of patience on his aristocratic features. “Please don’t be offended, but I think you’re using that as an excuse, sweetheart. It’s time for our relationship to get serious. It’s time to move on.”
“And selling the ranch is the first step to doing that.” She leaned across the table. “Don’t you see, Richard? The only closure I’ll be able to find with Jack’s death will be gained by getting rid of Diablo. His killers got away, but I can get rid of the place if nothing else.” She leaned back in her chair. “Besides, there’s no reason on earth to keep the property—”
“Darling, there’s lots of reasons. That land is gorgeous, for one! When I saw it—that time I went out with Jack before he bought it—I loved the place. Anyone would. And if land prices keep going up, it’s going to be worth a fortune some day. If you hang on to the ranch, you could end up being a very rich woman.” He smiled again. “That’s what I’d call a good reason to keep it.”
“I’m rich already,” she said bluntly. “Jack left an insurance policy of almost a million dollars. Between that and the business, I’ll never need any money.” Without thinking, she began to knead her shoulder. Beneath the silk, she could feel the slight indentation of the scar. Of the bullet wound. “What I don’t need is that land. The memories are too bad, and I want to get rid of it. I could never go back there.”
“Then don’t go. But don’t sell it.”
“I have to.”
“You’re being foolish.”
“I don’t care.”
They stared at each other, a standoff in the making. He was being practical, realistic, the way men usually were. She was going beyond that, into an emotional abyss he didn’t understand and she couldn’t really explain.
A moment’s silence passed, then Richard reached for the champagne bottle and refilled her flute. “What do you say we talk about this later? I want this to be our special night.” The pale gold wine bubbled up and edged over the rim of the glass, dampening the tablecloth. Richard’s eyes met hers above the candles. “Let’s just celebrate, then if you really do want to sell the place, we’ll discuss it some more, I promise.”
They’d already discussed the issue more than once, and each time he’d tried to change her mind. In fact, now that she thought about it, she was sure that’s why her nightmares had returned. She’d felt compelled to press the issue more and more lately, maybe because she’d sensed Richard’s proposal was coming and knew she couldn’t decide with the ranch hanging over her. For a second, she considered persevering. Then after a moment more of thought, Taylor gave in. He was right. This wasn’t the time or the place.
“All right,” she said quietly. “We’ll talk about it later. But in the meantime, you keep the ring.”
She tugged at the band of gold with the giant stone, but he reached across the table and stopped her a second time from taking it off. “No, please, Taylor. Wear it, look at the diamond, and think of me...and think how happy I could make you if you’d let me.”
“But—”
“Please...”
She hesitated, then finally acquiesced. He’d done so much for her, had helped with everything. He’d be the perfect husband, she was sure. “All right. But I’m not saying yes.”
He grinned. “But you’re not saying no.”
She smiled back. “I promise you I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” He opened his menu with an approving smile that told her he knew what her answer would be, then began to discuss what they should order. She listened inattentively, and her fingers found her shoulder and rubbed it slowly.
THE FOLLOWING WEEK came and went, and they didn’t talk about selling the ranch. And the week after that, they didn’t discuss it either. Always on the edge, Taylor felt the pendulum of her emotions swinging out of control, her nerves like wires, stripped and bare. She talked the situation over with Dr. Kornfeld, but Taylor seemed unable to control her thoughts. As if they had a mind of their own, they began to coalesce and focus with an intensity bordering on obsession. All she could think about was one thing—selling Diablo. If she just did that, she knew everything else would fall into place. Getting rid of the ranch and all the emotional baggage it carried would set her free. A telephone call to a real estate agent wouldn’t do it, either. She didn’t tell Richard, or Dr. Kornfeld, but the more Taylor thought about it, the more certain she became.
She had to go back, back to Diablo. To step in the red dust and to taste the fear before she could put it behind her and get on with her life.
“I’ll be calling Martha next week about the first container, so be sure and have her talk to the shipper before then. Also we’ll need to arrange for special storage. The French armoire Mrs. Rogers wants will need to be in a humidity-controlled place until we see how much restoration it requires.” Richard looked over the edge of his glasses at Taylor. “You know where I’ll be staying, don’t you?”
They were at the gallery, tending to a few last-minute details before Richard left on a six-week buying trip to Europe. The trip had come up unexpectedly.
From the other side of the partner’s desk they shared, Taylor answered, struggling to focus on his words and not her thoughts. “You always stay at the same place, Richard. If I need you; I’ll be able to find you, don’t worry.”
He moved to her side with an apologetic smile. “I’m getting uptight, aren’t I?”
“It’s okay. Trips like this take a lot of coordination. I’d be uptight, too.”
“I’m glad you understand.” He reached out and smoothed her hair. “I want you to promise me something, though.”
She looked up. “What?”
“I want you to take some time off while I’m gone. The gallery will be just fine with both of us gone. Martha can handle any crisis better than even you or I, so I want you to relax a little. Go down to the beach house or even better, fly to Florida for a week or so. You need some time off—to think about our future together.”
He was always so generous, so kind. Why did she have to spoil it all by insisting they talk about the ranch? Taylor took a deep breath and started to speak, but Richard had already turned and disappeared into the hall. He came back into the office a few moments later, a sheaf of invoices in his hand. A deep furrow of concern was drawn across his forehead as he studied them, and when he laid them down on the desk, he sighed so heavily she had to put aside her thoughts of Diablo.
“What’s wrong?”
“I wanted to take a quick look at last month’s statements before I left and they’re as bad as I thought. We’ve got to start doing better. Our profits are slipping. We’ve had some good sales lately, but nothing spectacular.” He took a peppermint from his pocket, unwrapped it and slipped the candy into his mouth. Absentmindedly, he twisted the tiny plastic sheath that had covered the candy into a double knot. He did this constantly. She found the wrappers everywhere. “Maybe I can find something in London to tempt Mr. Metzner. That would help.”
“But we’re doing fine.” Taylor was puzzled. She did the bookkeeping. She knew their bottom line down to the penny.
“I want to do better than fine, Taylor,” he answered with a hint of irritation. “The space next door is going to be available in a month or so and I really wanted it—so we can expand.”
Richard’s only fault was his ambition—sometimes it took him too far. Jack had told her about. some of the acquisitions he’d made sight unseen. The expenditures had frightened Jack, a more conservative businessman, but in the end they’d turned out to be extremely profitable, thank God.
She spoke uneasily. “You didn’t sign anything, did you? Like a lease or something?” Beneath the desk, she tangled her fingers nervously.
“Of course not,” he answered patiently. “You know I’d discuss something like that with you first.”
“Well, I don’t think we need to expand right now. We’re doing very well as it is.”
Martha Klein, their assistant, appeared at the door. “Your tickets just arrived, Richard. And the driver’s here to take you to the airport. Are you ready?”
Taylor stared at the woman with dismay. “He’s early—”
“Tell him I’ll be right there, Martha.” Looking back at Taylor, Richard held out his hands, a sudden expression of contrition on his handsome features. “Look—I’m sorry, sweetheart, we are doing wonderfully, but you know me. I just get carried away sometimes. I want the best for you—for us. That’s all. You understand, don’t you?”
Taylor nodded. “I do, but—”
The office door opened again. Martha peeked inside. “Are these all of your bags out here? Nothing else?”
“That’s it.”
Taylor’s shoulders dropped. There was no more time—she couldn’t bring up the ranch issue now. How could they resolve it like this, here, in the next two minutes?
Richard misinterpreted her movement. “C’mon, darling. I won’t be gone that long. Chin up.” He held out his arms and she stepped into them. For a moment, they hugged, then Richard released her, kissing her on the cheek. “Take care of yourself,” he instructed, “and think about how much I love you. That’s the only important thing.”
Taylor stared at the door as it closed softly behind him. A few minutes later, she heard the limo pull out of the driveway. Turning in her office chair, she stared out the window at the fall mums lining the walkway into the gallery. They were orange and gold and red, and their colors made her think of a different place and time. In her mind, she saw a dusty, barren landscape, a tall, dark stranger, and a crimson stain that spread much too fast. Unconsciously, she raised her right hand toward her left shoulder, but before her fingers found their mark, she dropped her hand to the top of the desk. She thought for a very long time, then reached for the phone.
CHAPTER THREE
TAYLOR SNAPPED HER weekender shut and took one last look around her bedroom. She planned on being gone no more than a few days. The real estate agent had told her he could have the papers drawn up during that time, and it wouldn’t take more than an hour to sign them all afterward. A power of attorney was a simple thing to execute. When a buyer for the ranch was found, she wouldn’t have to return.
Selling the ranch without Richard’s approval was not the best way to demonstrate her level of commitment to him but she didn’t really have a choice. Without taking care of this detail first, there wouldn’t be a relationship, much less an engagement. She couldn’t explain all her feelings to Richard, but in time, he’d understand. He was a patient, caring man and he’d see her point.
FIVE HOURS LATER Taylor stood at the rental car counter in Meader, the nearest town of any size to High Mountain. The place was barely bigger than High Mountain but it did have a small regional airport. Most of its customers were oil field workers who serviced the wells that dotted the lonely countryside. Taylor took the first vehicle the clerk mentioned, a black Blazer, and was on the road quickly. Two hundred miles stretched between Meader and High Mountain with few places to stop in between. She wanted to get as many of those miles behind her before dark as she could.
But night came almost without warning. One minute there was light on the highway and the next, it was gone. Taylor felt swallowed by the darkness. She glanced down at her watch and saw with shock three hours had passed, and she hadn’t even been aware where she was or what was happening. The Blazer sped through the ghostly quiet, following the ribbon of highway, its beams cutting into the shadows. She realized, too, the terrain had changed, and she hadn’t noticed, switching from planted fields and oil wells to rockier ground, too rough to support much more than the sturdy-looking cattle the lights occasionally caught near a fence line. By the time she rolled into High Mountain, a half hour later, even that had changed. There was nothing but scrub and dust and cactus beyond the faded sign announcing the town limits.
Pulling in to the only motel, Taylor parked the truck and shut it off. With a weary sigh she momentarily rested her head on the steering wheel, her back throbbing with the strain of sitting first in the plane and then in the vehicle for so long. The shooting had left its mark on her in a lot of different ways, but one painful reminder was a nagging backache if she didn’t stretch and move around frequently. After a moment’s uneasy rest, she opened the door and slowly stepped out into the darkness.
The air was cool and biting, a pleasant surprise after Houston, especially when she breathed deeply and realized it carried a hint of cedar and wood smoke. Somewhere in the distance, a dog howled.
She made her way to the office of the motel. A sleepy clerk, his name tag crooked, his face confused, answered the buzzer and ten minutes later, Taylor had a room. Worn and less than fashionable, it was at least clean. Closing the curtains, she stripped, showered and fell into bed.
She was too tired to even dream.
COLE REYNOLDS HEARD the truck approaching long before he saw it. He was sitting on his porch cleaning his rifle and the mountain air brought the engine’s whine to his ears a full twenty seconds before his eyes found the telltale cloud of dust marking the vehicle’s progress. By the time the black Blazer pulled up into his yard, Cole had the .30-06 reassembled and tucked behind his rocking chair, no trace of it or the cleaning materials anywhere in sight.
He waited patiently to see who emerged from the unfamiliar vehicle. He didn’t recognize the Blazer, and its darkened windows gave him no hint. Whoever was behind the wheel was looking for him, though, of that he was sure. No one drove this far without knowing he was at the end of the road.
The door slowly opened. He caught a glimpse of blond hair and one stretched-out leg—long and slim—then the driver rounded the truck and came toward him. He hadn’t seen the woman in two years and the last time he had, she’d been covered in bandages and bruises. But he would have recognized Taylor Matthews anywhere.
His chest tightened, and he found himself gripping the arms of the rocker, a low, dull pain throbbing in his hip and resonating upwards. Ignoring the sensation, as he always did, he pushed himself up. By the time she reached the bottom step, he was staring down at her.
She looked as good as he remembered. Glittery and golden and polished, like the pebbles he sometimes found near the Rio Diablo. Fool’s Gold, he reminded himself.
He spoke pleasantly, hiding all his reactions. “Miz Matthews—what a surprise. What’s brought you back to this part of the world?”
She stood in a pool of sunshine, her green eyes taking in his house, his truck to one side, even his dog lying on the rug by the front door before she spoke. “I’ve decided to sell the ranch.”
Her answer was as direct as his question. No niceties, no preliminaries, no small talk. He started to reply, but she spoke again. “Before I sell, I want to go out one more time. To the...to the place it happened. Will you take me?”
If she’d walked up on the porch and punched him in the stomach, he wouldn’t have lost his breath any faster. For a single long moment, he stared at her, the midday warmth rising between them, a fly buzzing against the screen door, then he spoke. “No.”
He turned around and walked slowly to his door. Before he could open it, she spoke from behind him.
“That’s it? Just no?”
He didn’t bother to turn around. “That’s it,” he answered. “Just no.” Opening the screen door, he stepped inside the cabin. The sudden dimness was such a change from the outside, he blinked, his vision going dark for just a second. By the time it returned, her steps were sounding on the wooden porch and she was speaking to him through the screen.
“Can I at least come in and try to convince you?”
He turned then, slowly, almost awkwardly. She was a shadow behind the screen, a disembodied voice. “There’s nothing you could say that would change my mind, but you can come inside and waste your breath if you want to.”
Without waiting to see what she did, he made his way to the small kitchen tucked in one corner of the house. Opening the refrigerator, he heard the screen door creak, followed by the sound of her boots on the floor. He didn’t look back. “Beer?” he called out.
“That’d be nice,” she answered.
Taking two Coronas from the refrigerator, he opened them both, then walked back to the den and over to the desk where she was standing. He handed her one of the cold, clear bottles, then brought his own to his mouth. When he lowered it, the beer was all but gone.
In the dimness, her green eyes glowed.
“I want to go back,” she said softly. “I have to.”
Despite himself, he asked, “Why?”
She hesitated for only a moment. “I’ve never turned loose of it. Never said goodbye. It’s time for me to move on with my life, and I can’t seem to do that without taking care of this first.”
“Time to move on...” Her choice of words intrigued him. She was the one who’d fled. He’d stayed. Every day he drove by the entrance to her ranch. Every day he led strangers into the land surrounding it. Every day he dealt with the ragged pain in his hip.
“Richard Williams—my husband’s partner—has asked me to marry him,” she said. As if that explained everything. “I promised him I’d...think about it but I had to come out here first.”
He saw it now—the wink of an enormous diamond on her left hand. She’d worn a plain gold band before. Funny how he remembered that, but he could see the ring as if it’d been yesterday—those pale, long fingers lying on the white sheets of the hospital bed, the gold glinting dully. It’d felt cold against his own hand when he’d covered her fingers with his.
“Congratulations,” he said.
She looked startled by his answer, her eyes rounding for an instant before she shuttered her expression. “Thank you.”
He turned around and sat down heavily in the old recliner beside the couch. She continued to stand by the desk.
He spoke to break the silence, his voice was raspy in the quiet. “How you feeling? Everything heal okay?”
He watched as her fingers went to her upper arm. It was an unconscious movement, he was sure, because she merely touched her shoulder then dropped her hand back to her side. “I went through a lot of physical therapy,” she answered. “It was...hard.”
The word seemed unsatisfying to her. She pursed her lips and stared at him, then spoke again, this time telling him the truth because they were both survivors and he’d understand. “Actually, it hurt like hell. I didn’t think I’d make it.”
He nodded. Nothing else was necessary.
She sat down on the couch, the springs protesting her weight. “Why won’t you take me?”
He drained his beer and set the bottle on the floor beside the chair. The decision to lie to her was an easy one because it wouldn’t have been a lie a few months before. And for a lesser man, it would still be the truth. Doc Watts had hidden his surprise, but to Cole his recovery hadn’t been unexpected. He’d simply willed his hip to work again, had not accepted the unacceptable. He’d tortured himself into health, walking the mountains till he’d dropped, carving a place deep inside him for the pain and not letting it out.
He met her eyes without flinching. “I can’t. The terrain’s too rough for my hip.”
Her breath caught in her chest. He could see her sudden stillness.
“Your hip? What happened? You were okay when I left.”
He hesitated, then spoke. “An infection developed. Doc Watts had to go back in and operate again. Things didn’t turn out quite as great as he hoped.”
“You don’t track anymore? At all?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I guide, but day trips only and by horseback, not on foot.”
“We drove most of the way, remember?”
His eyes met hers. “I remember every detail, Miz Matthews, believe me.”
She stood up. Moving to the window at the back of the cabin, she spoke softly. “It’s Taylor.” She paused. “My first name is Taylor.”
He said nothing. Outside, the heat shimmered in the distance. Finally she turned around.
“I—I had no idea...” Her hand fluttered toward his leg. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. Your finger wasn’t on the trigger.”
“But you wouldn’t have been shot if we hadn’t hired you...if you hadn’t tried to help me.” A longer pause. “If I hadn’t tried to go back for Jack.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
Their eyes met, something shining in the cool green depths of hers that he didn’t want to see. He shrugged.
She bore the silence a moment longer, then she came to where he sat. “What if we took it easy? Drove in with horses, then camped for the night?” Her perfume reached out and curled around him. She was as beautiful as she had been two years ago. Just as beautiful and just as appealing. She had a delicate air about her, seemed even more fragile than she had been that first time they’d met. He imagined she wouldn’t last long in the harsh West Texas environment.
She continued to speak, completely unaware of his thoughts. “Surely we could get to the canyon in a morning’s ride, couldn’t we? We could spend another night out, then—”
He pushed himself up from the chair. “I’m sony, Miz Matthews—Taylor—but the answer’s still no. I lost nothing out there I need.” His hands curled into fists at his side, and he pulled his lips into one straight line. “You’re on your own if you want to go back to Diablo.”
TAYLOR FOUND HERSELF walking down Main Street that afternoon with little else to do. Jim Henderson, the real estate agent, couldn’t see her until later, and she’d planned on using this time to get ready for her trip out to the ranch.
Seeing the diner ahead, she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast so she headed inside and ordered a small salad and a cup of coffee. She was the only patron in the tiny restaurant, and her meal came within seconds. Lifting her fork, she looked at the sad bowl of wilted lettuce and tomatoes, then sighed deeply and put the fork down.
Turning her head, she stared out the window beside her. In the distant background, the ragged tops of the Davis Mountains pulled her gaze, their uneven edges as sharp and treacherous as the look that had been in Cole Reynolds’s dark eyes.
Deep down, a heavy tug of guilt pulled at her. Because of what had happened to them, Cole had been forced to change his way of life. Because of her and Jack. Because of some idiot with a gun. Taking a sip of coffee, she wondered suddenly how Cole had actually managed to get them both to the hospital. She’d never really asked anyone for the details. She’d been in too much pain to even care at first, and once she’d started to heal, she’d been overwhelmed by grief. As soon as Doc Watts had decided she could be moved, they’d flown her out, taken her directly to Houston and a rehab hospital. She’d never had a chance to say much more than “thanks,” and in truth, she hadn’t wanted to talk with Cole. Not then.
Staring into her coffee cup, she felt a flash of shameful embarrassment. The man had saved her life, and she hadn’t even thanked him properly. All she’d done was show up on his doorstep and demand that he take her back to the one place he probably didn’t want to see himself.
A practical thought brought her full circle, right and wrong aside. With Cole out of the question, she’d have to find another guide. She could probably drive as far as Cole’s truck had, but after that, the situation would be hopeless. She didn’t know which way the canyon was or even how to get there. Her eyes left the mountain top and settled back on Main Street. She hadn’t come this far to go back now. Surely there were other guides in High Mountain. Other ways to get to Rancho Diablo.
TAYLOR BEGAN HER QUEST for another tracker the following day, but it became apparent almost immediately that she was out of luck.
She sat on her bed by the phone, her fingers resting on the receiver. She’d called everyone in town that she remotely knew and quite a few she didn’t, and all their answers had been the same when she asked for a name. Cole Reynolds. He was the only guide in town. At least they had said that, she thought dejectedly. During the past twenty-four hours, the phone in her hotel room had rung six times and the caller had said nothing, absolutely nothing. She’d marched to the office after the third time to complain, but the clerk had insisted someone had been on the line asking for her room. Taylor had heard only silence.
By the end of the second day, just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, she walked out her door and then stopped abruptly, her mouth dropping open in amazement.
All four tires of the Blazer were flat.
Cursing her bad luck and the rental car agency, she quickly crossed the parking lot and bent down to stare dejectedly at the tires. She’d have to call a tow truck, then find the nearest tire store, if there even was one in High Mountain. Before she could finish the thought, a moment later, she realized the tires weren’t merely flat.
They’d been slashed.
Stunned, she knelt by the back fender, her fingers going to the ribbons of rubber that hung loosely from each tire, her mouth turning as dry as the red dust at her feet. Why would someone do this? Why?
A cold shiver washed over her back as she stared at the tire. Whoever had done this had been angry. They could have just let the air out and accomplished the same thing. Instead, they’d completely destroyed the tires, even nicking the paint in one of the fenders, she noticed a second later.
She stood up resolutely and began to walk down the street toward the sheriff’s office. She had come back to Diablo to get her life in order. Slashed tires and midnight calls weren’t going to stop her.
HE TOLD HIMSELF it was no big deal.
Coming into town for his supplies—a full two days earlier than he usually did—meant nothing. Cole was not looking for Taylor Matthews and he didn’t give a damn whether she made it out to Rancho Diablo or not. It was none of his business.
None of his business—just like the lights he sometimes saw down by the river and the muffled sound of horse hooves that often accompanied them. None of his business—just like the occasional gunfire he heard echoing down the canyon. None of it was his business.
But as he pulled his pickup truck into the last open spot on Main, Cole found himself looking around, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He knew she was still in town—half a dozen people had told him she was asking around for another guide. She was looking for trouble, he thought, just begging for it. His gaze went up the street then down. The black Blazer was nowhere in sight, and the tightness in his chest let up slightly.
Opening his door, he eased out of the vehicle and stepped down into the street with relief.
The feeling was short-lived.
He saw her almost immediately. She was inside Pearson’s, the general store located directly in front of Cole’s pickup, and a stack of camping gear was piled beside her. Through the shimmering plate glass window, Cole noted a sleeping bag, a camp stove, a backpack, and various other small packages and boxes. He swore under his breath. Unless she had developed some skills he didn’t know about in the past two years, Taylor Matthews was about to do something incredibly stupid.
He didn’t stop to think—he went directly inside the store and walked up to her. “What are you doing?”
Her eyes jerked to his. They were light green, the exact same color as the leaves of the cypress tree, the one that grew by the springs out at the ranch. “I’m taking a trip,” she said slowly. “A camping trip.”
“Where?”
“To Diablo.”
“I don’t think that’s a very smart thing to do.”
She tilted her head, the morning sunlight picking out reddish glints in her hair. “I’m a grown woman, Mr. Reynolds. I can take care of myself.”
“Like you did two years ago?” Her eyes widened at the bluntness of his words, but he didn’t back down. He couldn’t. She had no business going out there alone. She was totally incapable of dealing with the land and its dangers. “I would think you’d know better by now.”
Her cheeks flushed slightly. “I’m well aware of the risks, but I’ve found another way to accomplish my goals. A way that doesn’t include you.”
“And that would be?”
“With Charles Karnet.”
“Karnet’s a helicopter pilot, not a tracker.”
“I know that. He’s going to fly me into the ranch and drop me off by the canyon.”
“And leave you alone?”
She nodded.
A nearby movement suddenly caught Cole’s eye, and he turned his head to see Earl Pearson. Hovering near them, beside a stack of used paperbacks, the owner of the general store was listening to every word they said. The man was harmless, but Cole didn’t like anyone hearing his business. He took Taylor’s elbow and led her a few steps away. Beneath his fingers, her skin was smooth and cool. He dropped her arm as soon as he could.
“You’re making a mistake. You shouldn’t go out there.”
Her expression became guarded, a shadow coming into her eyes he didn’t quite understand. “What are you saying?”
He ignored her question. He wasn’t sure he knew how to answer it. “Why do you want to go there so badly?”
“I explained that already,” she said. “I need closure. I can’t go forward until I put what happened behind me—”
“Can’t you do that from here? Why would you want to go back to the place your husband died? The place that holds so much of your own blood?”
Her eyes turned a darker shade of green. Behind the color was pain. “You don’t understand. If Jack had gotten some kind of justice, I might have put it to rest, but he never did. I’ve tried to forget about it, but I can’t and it’s getting worse. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I have nightmares—” She stopped abruptly and took a very deep breath. “I have to go out there. I don’t have a choice.”
Cole stared at her, his gut churning. The hell of it was—he did understand what she was saying. He understood perfectly. For some crazy reason, he’d had to visit Rancho Diablo as soon as he could after the shooting. It’d been pointless, though. The “closure” she sought wouldn’t be discovered in the desolate stretches of the ranch any more than his had. The only difference between them was he knew it. She didn’t.
He tried once more. He had to. “You shouldn’t go out there by yourself.”
When she spoke, her voice was fierce. “Then come with me. Let me say my goodbyes the way I want to. After that, I’ll never ask you to do anything for me. I’ll leave here, and you’ll never see me again. I promise.”
If he turned his back on her and she went alone, she probably wouldn’t return alive. If he got involved and they went together, God only knew what would happen. He’d been fighting off his memories for so long, the reality of actually being with her might be too much.
One way or the other, Cole was doomed.
He glanced outside to the mountains and wondered just what kind of mistake he was making. He was afraid he knew but there was nothing that could be done about it. He didn’t have a choice, either. Gesturing toward the pile of camping equipment at her feet, he met her gaze once more. “Be at my place at five in the morning. We’ll drive as far as we can, then pack in. Count on two days, one night.” He paused. “And get rid of this junk. I’ve got everything we’ll need.”
Her emerald eyes turned warm all of a sudden. “Thank y—”
He stopped her, his callused palm held out between them. “Don’t thank me for this, Taylor. Believe me, I’m not doing you any favors.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SURPRISED BY COLE’S sudden capitulation but too happy to question it, Taylor watched him climb awkwardly into his beat-up truck a few seconds later. Through the window, she stared as he pulled away, red dust rising in a cloud thick enough to obscure his departure. When she turned around, the owner of the store was looking at her. He was a strange little man with a rounded face and eyes that didn’t quite match. As she watched, the left one twitched violently.
“I’m afraid I won’t be needing these things after all,” she said apologetically. “My plans have changed.”
The man tilted his head toward the street. “You going to Diablo with him?”
His question surprised her, but then she reminded herself that High Mountain wasn’t Houston. Everyone knew everyone else. “Yes,” she answered. “Cole will be guiding me in. He has his own equipment. You know who I am?”
He nodded. “Everybody knows who you are. We got long memories ’round here.”
“Then I guess you know I’m selling the ranch.”
His eyes narrowed, but the left one continued to twitch. “Sell Diablo?” He shook his head with a jerky rhythm that matched the movement in his eye. “That’ll never happen.”
“Why on earth would you say that? I’m sure someone will want it.”
“Never. Leastways not anybody ’round here.” He punched his lips out and shook his head. “Everybody in High Mountain knows that place is haunted.”
Stunned into silence, all she could do was stare at the man.
“Sorry to be putting it that way to you, so blunt and everything, but it’s the truth. Strange lights, weird sounds—you name it and it goes on out there. Was happening a long time before your husband even bought the place. He shoulda knowed better.”
“A-are you trying to tell me you think there are ghosts at Diablo?”
He shrugged, but wouldn’t meet her eyes, turning instead to fuss with the equipment scattered at their feet. “I don’t know nothing about no ghosts. All’s I can say is there’s something out there. That’s for damned sure.”
TAYLOR MADE HER WAY up Main, the strange words of the store’s owner rattling her more than she would have liked. Jack had never said anything about odd goings-on at the ranch, and she was sure that if he’d known, he would have told her. It seemed curious that Cole hadn’t mentioned the gossip, either.
Which was exactly what it was, of course. Taylor didn’t believe in ghosts or anything like that. She was a practical woman. There were explanations for everything, you just had to look harder for them sometimes. Her slashed tires were a perfect example. The sheriff had told her it was probably kids. A group of local teenagers had been running wild lately, and after she calmed down, she had to agree with him. It made sense.
Just like Cole changing his mind did. He’d obviously used his hip as an excuse, so there was a logical, reasonable explanation for why he’d decided to go with her. She’d been surprised, of course, not expecting her plea to really persuade him, but something she’d said had obviously hit home. And she was glad, for more than just the obvious reasons. Once they were at Diablo, maybe it would be easier to hear the details of how he’d gotten them back and what had really happened. Listening to the particulars was as much of what she needed as anything—now that she was strong enough to actually do it. She would thank him, too, for everything he’d done.
Reaching the bottom of Main Street, she turned right and walked the final few blocks to the log cabin that housed the Realtor’s office. It sat on the end of the street, all alone. Jim had said the papers might be ready today. If she was going out to the ranch with Cole, Taylor would just as soon have everything taken care of before she left.
The office was empty when she pushed open the door, but a voice answered the bell that had softly announced her arrival. “Be right there. Hang on...”
Putting her purse down on a nearby desk, Taylor looked over the office. At one time, it must have been beautiful. An elaborate Oriental rug covered the wooden floors and once expensive leather sofas were clustered around an antique butler’s tray table. The place held an air of disuse now, though, as if it’d seen better times. She walked to the opposite wall to stare at the photos arranged over the coffeepot. They were old and showed High Mountain as it had been in the 1800s. The town actually looked a little more lively back then, she thought. As she moved down the row, the black-and-white grainy pictures were gradually replaced by more up-to-date photos until finally she came to one that had clearly been taken very recently. It showed Jim Henderson, the Realtor, and a man she thought at first was Cole. She moved closer and stared hard, finally deciding it wasn’t Cole. He was tall and powerfully built like Cole, and in his face there were eerie echoes of Cole’s features, the Native American costume he was wearing emphasizing his dark good looks. There was something distinct about his eyes, though, a kind of indifference that was missing in Cole’s. Standing beside the man was a stunningly beautiful woman. Long, black hair, classic features, eyes that were tilted exotically.
A noise behind Taylor made her turn. Jim Henderson was drying his hands on a tea towel and smiling. He was a trim, nice-looking older man with a wave of gray hair and a beard to match. “Hey, Taylor. You’ve found my celebrity wall, eh?”
Taylor nodded and returned his smile. “Who is this?” she asked, pointing to the photo of the man who looked like Cole.
“That’s Teo Goodman and his wife, Beryl. He’s the local Indian Council representative.”
“Goodman? He sure looks like—”
“Cole Reynolds?” Jim nodded. “They’re brothers. Or half brothers, guess I should say. Shared the same mama. Cole’s daddy was a local rancher, but Teo’s came from the reservation. Their mom was full-blooded—like Beryl.”
“Full-blooded what?”
“Jumano Indian.”
As soon as she heard that word—Jumano—Taylor remembered. Jack had told her about Cole’s background the night before the accident. Fascinated by American Indian art, Jack had wanted to talk to Cole about his heritage, but the conversation had never taken place, she thought sadly.
“It’s quite a story, really. The Jumanos were a tribe that lived here in the 15 to 1600s, but by the 1700s they’d been pretty much absorbed by the Apaches and the Spaniards. Interestin’ group—into tattoos big time. They lost their whole culture, though. It was a real shame.” Henderson nodded toward the photo. “But Teo’s doing a damned good job of bringing it back. He’s a real hard worker. Setting up schools for the kids, activity centers for the seniors. Raising money for it all, selling cakes and whatnot.” He dropped the towel to the desk beside him. “But you didn’t come here for local color, did you? You want your papers, right?”
“Are they ready?”
He shook his head. “’Fraid not. Pauline—she’s the secretary over at the title company—had to stay home with her grandbaby today, chicken pox, I think, and she didn’t get to ’em before she left on Friday. Can you try me again tomorrow?”
Taylor’s impatience flared, but for the second time that morning, she reminded herself of where she was. “All right, but I’m going out to the ranch early tomorrow. I’ll be gone for a day or so.”
“Even better, then. We’ll have it all fixed up by the time you get back.” His smile faded slowly. “But why on earth are you going out there, honey? Won’t bring you anything good, that’s for sure.”
“I—I just need to, Mr. Henderson. It’s one of the reasons I returned. To...to say goodbye, I guess.”
“Well, I suppose that makes sense.” He nodded his head slowly, thoughtfully. “I’ll have those papers ready just fine, I promise. Don’t you worry. We’ll take care of everything.”
He’d used the exact same words when she’d been in before, but she wasn’t going to get upset. It didn’t really matter. She’d waited this long, a few more days wouldn’t kill her. She nodded, then turned to leave. But with her hand on the doorknob, she stopped and looked at the man behind her. “Jim...” She started, then faltered.
He looked up, a curious expression on his face. “Yeah?”
“I know this may sound dumb but...”
“What?”
“I was down at Pearson’s a few minutes ago, and Earl Pearson told me he thought the ranch was haunted. Have you...have you heard anything like that?”
From across the room, the real estate agent stared at her. He took so long to answer, she started getting nervous, then he spoke. “Haunted? Why would he say something like that?”
“Actually, I was hoping you might explain it. He said everyone around here knew about it. Something about strange lights, noises...”
“Well, Earl’s a weird character. Who knows where he got that idea? I wouldn’t let it bother me if I were you.”
“He said no one around here would ever buy Diablo.”
“Well, he is right about that, even if he’s got the reasons wrong. No one around here could afford it. We’ll find our buyer in Dallas or Houston. Maybe even out of state. Those people from South Carolina like huntin’ Texas deer, and they got plenty of money right now.” He smiled amicably. “Don’t worry about it, honey. Someone will want Diablo, haunted or not.”
SITTING ON THE FRONT porch and watching the sun go down, Cole let his hand drop over the side of the rocker where it landed on the head of Lester, his black-and-tan hunting dog. Easing his fingers over the animal’s slick, silky fur, Cole smoothed back his ears. The dog moaned with pleasure, then flopped closer to his master’s chair and exposed his belly, hoping for a better scratch. Cole looked down at him and spoke. “Forget it, partner. I’m too tired to bend over. This is all you’re getting tonight.”
The dog yawned, as if to show his indifference, then he rolled over and started to snore.
“And tomorrow night’s gonna be even worse.” Cole spoke out loud, but he was only repeating the words he’d been thinking all day long. He didn’t know what had gotten into him at Pearson’s. Without any warning, his mouth had voiced promises he wasn’t sure his body could keep. He reached for the beer he’d brought outside with him and took a long, thirsty gulp.
He was crazy, pure and simple crazy. If Taylor Matthews wanted to get herself all upset—or worse—what business did he have trying to stop her?
None. But if she went on her own and got hurt or worse, he’d have to go get her anyway. Accompanying her just made things easier. Lester groaned in his sleep, and Cole stared down at the dog, his shoulders suddenly slumping. Who was he trying to fool? The real reason he was taking her to Diablo was a much simpler one. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her, and that possibility definitely existed. He’d done the only thing he could. But he’d pay for it...oh boy, would he pay for it.
Almost on cue, his hip began aching. This time of year it always hurt more. The colder evenings seemed to irritate it, and when it rained, the pain got even worse. They were probably going to have both over the next few days. Rain and cold. A front was coming down from the north. They’d catch the brunt of it, he was sure. He knew by now even the weather wouldn’t make a difference to her, though.
He turned his head toward the west. Toward Diablo. Taylor was a determined woman...he only hoped he could keep her a safe one.
WHEN TAYLOR MADE her way to the Blazer early the next morning, it was still dark. And in High Mountain, dark really meant dark. Not a single light shone anywhere on Main, and beyond that, into the desert and the hovering mountains, the lack of illumination was even more intense. She glanced uneasily around the parking lot, remembering the slashed tires and silent phone calls. Nothing else unusual had happened so she assumed the sheriff had taken care of the teenagers. She put her nervousness behind her and got into the Blazer.
Forty-five minutes later, she spotted the cutoff to Cole’s place, the drive outlined with luminescent markers. She swung the truck off the highway and angled it between the pale green signs to rattle over the cattle guard. A few minutes later, she pulled up in his yard. A weak light came through his window. A dog rose and began to bark as she shut off the engine.
Cole appeared at the doorway, his silhouette tall and forbidding in the darkness. “Hush now. You hush, dog.” He wore jeans and a down vest, and in the diamond-hard silence, his voice was low as he spoke to the animal, little puffs of breath coming with it to catch the light. She stared at him for a moment. He wasn’t the kind of man she’d ever been interested in—he was too rough, too masculine—but something about him intrigued her. As she watched him bend down and touch the dog’s head, she wondered about her assessment. Maybe, in fact, what was intriguing to her were his contradictions. He was masculine, was rough, but underneath that exterior, she sensed a softer side.
He walked to the edge of the porch, and she got out of her truck, leaving her questions behind.
“I’m not quite ready,” he called out. “Come on in and have a cup of coffee.”
She nodded, then grabbed the bag she’d packed with a change of clothing from off the front seat. Crunching across the graveled drive, she smiled at the dog who came down the steps to greet her. “And what’s your name?” she asked, holding out her hand.
“That’s Lester. He’ll be going with us, if you don’t mind.”
“I love dogs. I’ll enjoy his company.” She reached the bottom step and looked up at Cole, the hound, sensing a friend, wriggling beside her with ecstasy. “I can’t have one of my own—Richard’s allergic.”
Cole nodded, then turned and went back inside without further comment. Taylor followed.
“Coffee’s in there,” he said, tilting his head to what she assumed was the kitchen. “I’ll just get the rest of my gear and we’ll be on our way.”
She nodded, then looked around, curious to see how Cole lived. The first time she’d been in his home she’d been too upset to notice her surroundings. Now she saw the cabin for what it was. Peaceful. Calm. Secluded. He’d filled the tiny place with what Taylor thought of as “man” furniture. A deep couch, a plaid recliner, tables with sturdy legs and lamps that were made to read by. She went into the kitchen and saw more of the same, Lester tagging at her heels.
A small pine table rested beside two broad windows, and on the stove, a blue enameled pitcher gave off aromatic steam. It was coffee—boiled on the range and probably stronger than nails. She took one of the ceramic mugs hanging on hooks under the nearest oak cabinet and poured herself a cup. Instantly memories flooded her. Her dad had made coffee this way—they’d been too poor to have a fancy coffeemaker and even if they had been able to afford it, Sid Smithers wouldn’t have wanted one. He’d believed in doing things the old-fashioned way. Closing her eyes, Taylor brought the cup to her nose and breathed deeply. As she took a sip, she heard her father’s voice and felt the cold bluster of the Montana winds—and the sense of regret it always brought with it.
When she opened her eyes, Cole was standing in the doorway, his dark gaze trained on her. The dog stood in between them, his ears perked, his head swinging back and forth to look at one then the other. The moment could have been an awkward one—she had no idea how long he’d been standing there, watching her—but it wasn’t. Just the opposite, in fact. Something in Cole’s quiet presence soothed the nerves she’d hadn’t really realized were so jangled until now. As soon as she understood the feeling, however, she felt it flee. She spoke to break the silence.
“I love your coffee.” She lifted the cup. “I haven’t had it brewed this way in a hundred years.”
“I’m on the trail so much, I get used to fixing it that way.” Walking into the kitchen, he ran his hands through his thick, black hair, pushing it back off his face. Pausing beside her, he reached for one of the mugs. “Can’t drink it any other way now.”
He was standing so close that above the aroma of coffee, she could smell his soap. She looked up, her eyes studying his face. He’d nicked himself shaving, a small red line marking the edge of his jaw. Unexpectedly, she had a mental image of him standing in front of a steamy mirror, his shirt off, his black eyes focusing on his own reflection, a steady hand scraping a razor across his face. Something twisted deep inside Taylor, and it took her a moment to recognize the feeling as attraction. Shocked, she cut it off instantly and chastised herself. She was practically engaged, for God’s sake. What did she think she was doing?
She turned, putting down her mug unexpectedly hard, hot coffee splashing onto the counter. Grabbing a nearby kitchen towel, she wiped at the spot furiously. “Are you just about ready?” she asked, her eyes never leaving the counter.
He took a minute to answer. “I’m ready,” he said finally. Taking the towel from her fingers, he draped it over the kitchen sink then turned and went out of the kitchen. Lester glanced at Taylor apologetically, then jogged behind Cole, his toenails clicking on the polished wood floor. She stood in the silence for a moment more, then she followed the man and the dog.
THE SUN WAS HOVERING just above the horizon as Cole pulled the truck up to the metal gate marking the ranch’s northwest boundary. A low line of blue clouds hung above them, their ominous darkness coloring the vista with threatening shadows. In the background, near the mountains, flashes of lightning darted across the sky. The cold front was definitely heading their way. Cole turned to the woman sitting beside him. With each passing mile, her tension had risen a notch. He’d sensed it in the closeness of the truck’s cab, just as he’d been aware of her perfume.
“This is it,” he said, nodding toward the dusty terrain beyond where they sat. “Look familiar?”
She leaned forward, her hands on the dashboard, the pink, buffed ovals of her nails glimmering in the dusty dawn light. “Not really. I don’t remember much about that morning.” She pointed to the metal sign above the cattle guard. “Was that there?”
“The sign? Yeah. It’s always been known as Rancho del Diablo. I guess the previous owners must have put that up.”
Black metal stretched in an arch fifteen feet above the cattle guard. The letters that spelled out Rancho del Diablo were weathered, polished into a shiny finish by the constantly blowing winds. Miniature pitchforks decorated each end of the sign.
She suddenly looked uncertain. On the way over, she’d repeated Pearson’s gossip. It was clear she didn’t actually believe it, but the story had her spooked. Cole could have used her nervousness to try and change her mind, but he knew it would have been a pointless exercise. He’d just done his best to settle her down. If the truth was known, he had plenty of questions himself about Rancho Diablo. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but something was wrong with the ranch. His own place bordered Diablo, and he’d never gotten accustomed to seeing lights moving across the landscape at night or to hearing the occasional bark of a rifle. All he’d finally done was ignore it.
“It’s not too late to forget about this,” he said softly. “We can drive right back to High Mountain. It’s your call. We can stop and—”
She stared straight ahead and shook her head. “No.” Her voice was faint. “I want to go on.”
He nodded without a word.
The truck bounced over the cattle guard, the horse trailer behind it echoing the sound a moment later. Taylor gripped the seat and leaned forward. Every muscle in her body was tense and knotted—he could tell by the way she held herself.
“How far does this road go?”
“All the way across the ranch but we’ll only take it to the top of that plateau.” He pointed to the ridge in front of them. It was the beginning elevation to the mountains behind. “We’ll ride in from there.”
“How far to the canyon after that?”
“An hour or two, depending on the weather.”
She seemed to notice the growing clouds for the first time. “Do you think it’s going to get bad?”
“Could happen.” He glanced northward. The billowing blackness was beginning to roil. “I brought slickers. We’ll be okay.”
“It was really hot that day, wasn’t it?” Her voice was detached, remote.
He shot her a look. Her profile was soft, almost blurred. Lavender shadows darkened the skin beneath her eyes, and under her cheekbones, there were hollows he hadn’t seen two years ago. He wondered suddenly what Jack Matthews would have to say about her returning.
She turned when he didn’t answer. “It was hot, wasn’t it?” This time her voice was sharper.
“Yes,” he answered quietly. “It was hot and that was bad. It made you lose more blood than you would have if it’d been this cold.”
She fixed her gaze back out the window, and for the next half hour only silence filled the truck. Which was just fine with Cole. The road hadn’t gotten any better over the years, and at times, it took all his concentration to follow it, the trailer bouncing along behind them, Lester adding an occasionally sharp bark to the rattle and jingle of their very slow progress. Cole stole a look at Taylor now and then, but she seemed to be in another world altogether.
Or in another time.
After what seemed like a long stretch, he finally turned the truck’s wheel sharply, then eased it up the last incline. Taylor’s fingers were now digging into the upholstery, her knuckles white with strain. Brackets had formed on either side of her mouth, and Cole found himself wanting to reach over and smooth them out with his thumb. They were just too painful to see. Instead, he directed the truck into a stand of mesquite and cut off the engine.
Instant and total silence enveloped them, quiet so thick Cole was sure he could hear Taylor’s heartbeat if he listened closely. Turning toward her, he spoke, breaking the empty stillness.
“This is the end of the road. We’ll have to saddle up and ride from here.”
CHAPTER FIVE
COLE GOT OUT of the truck and circled back to the horse trailer. Taylor sat perfectly still.
Ever since they’d crossed the cattle guard and come onto the property, she’d begun to second-guess her decision. What did she think she was going to find out here on this vast, unforgiving land? Peace and quiet? A calm acceptance? Tranquility?
Her heart began to pound and a wave of dizziness hit her. From behind the truck, the dog’s excited whines and the soft whinny of one of the horses broke the silence. The sounds seemed to be coming from a long way away, and unexpectedly the warm enclosure of the truck turned stuffy. Pushing up the sleeves of her sweater, she rolled down the window, propped her arm on the cold metal and sucked in the sharp, clean air. Without any warning, Cole appeared beside the door. He peered in the window at her.
“You okay?”
Her voice was terse. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
She turned and met his gaze. His eyes were as black as ever, but there was something else in his stare...something that looked suspiciously like concern. She swallowed hard. “I—I’m a little shaky, I guess.”
He’d put on leather gloves to saddle the horses, worn gloves with the fingertips cut out. Lifting one hand, he placed it on her arm, the rawhide soft as cashmere, the exposed ends of his finger unexpectedly warm against her skin. “What did you expect?” His voice was not unkind. “This place holds a hell of a lot of memories. You’re stirring up some powerful stuff.”
She nodded and bit her lip. “It’s what I wanted, but I wasn’t prepared, I guess.”
He stared at her a moment longer as if he were trying to decide what to do. Finally he reached inside and opened the door. “Come on out, then,” he said with a sigh. “We might as well get started before that front gets any closer.”
She slipped out of the truck, her boots sinking into the soft, red dirt. A movement near the rear of the pickup caught her eye, and she saw that he’d already unloaded the horses. A black quarter horse stared curiously back at her, twin plumes of steam coming out his nostrils. He snorted softly then nosed the smaller, gray Appaloosa beside him as if to point out Taylor’s appearance.
“Kinda late to ask, but you do ride, don’t you?”
Nodding, Taylor looked up at the man beside her. “It’s been a while, but yes, I can ride. I grew up on a ranch in Montana.”
He raised his dark eyebrows in surprise. “I thought you said you were a city person.”
“I am. I left Montana when I was eighteen and never looked back. I imagine I can still ride a horse, though.”
He looked down at her as though he wanted to know more, but he wouldn’t ask. Cole Reynolds was the kind of man who respected privacy. Taylor liked that in a person. Especially if it was her privacy at issue. An image of Richard flashed into her mind. He’d wanted to know everything about her. How she and Jack had met, where she’d lived before they’d married, where she’d gone to school. Everything.
Without dwelling on the thought, she brushed past Cole and went to the small, gray mare. Taylor allowed the animal to smell her palm, the velvety nose of the horse dry and warm against her skin. The touch brought back memories of her childhood, of rocky crags, and deep snow, and endless sky. Other memories came, too, some of them not as nice.
Cole appeared behind her, patting the smaller horse. “This is Honey, and this fellow over here—” he walked to the black horse and scratched him behind his ears “—is Diego.” At Cole’s touch, the horse neighed his pleasure then lowered his massive head and nudged Cole’s shoulder. “We’ve been a team for quite a while.”
“Why didn’t we ride to the canyon that day? Why did we walk?”
Cole pulled a saddle out of one of the compartments built into the side of the trailer, then reached in for the harness and tack. “Your husband didn’t want to ride. He told me he wanted to walk the land, said he’d get a better feel for it.” Slipping the reins over Honey’s head, he stared at Taylor. “Maybe I should have insisted on horses.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Things might have gone differently. It would have been a damned sight easier to get you out of there, that’s for sure.”
Taylor’s chest tightened, seemed to close around her heart a bit. She told herself this was exactly why she’d come back—to hear things like this—but that didn’t make it any easier. She took a deep breath. “How did we get from the canyon back to the truck? I...I don’t remember.”
Draping a second bridle over his arm, Cole reached in and pulled another saddle and blanket from the trailer. He walked over to the black horse and dropped the gear by the animal’s hooves. Finally he looked up and met Taylor’s eyes, speaking reluctantly. “I carried you out.”
For a moment, all Taylor could do was stare at Cole. Then she found her voice. “You carried me out? How in the world did you manage that? You’d been shot—we were miles out. How—”
“I slung you over my shoulder and walked.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “When that didn’t work any longer, I made a travois.”
She gripped the edge of the trailer, the cold metal biting into the palm of her hand. When that didn’t work any longer... He didn’t have to elaborate—she knew exactly what he meant. When he’d lost too much blood himself to carry her. When he’d turned weak and filled with pain, too. The image left her feeling ill.
“How did you manage?” Her voice was a whisper.
He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. The horse standing between them neighed softly, feeling the tension. “I did it like I do everything,” he said. “I took it one step at a time.”
“But you were wounded.”
He turned back to the horse, waited a moment, then pulled the cinch. When he stood up and looked at her again, his expression was closed. “Don’t make it into more than it was, okay, Taylor? I did what I had to do to get us both out of there—what anyone would have done. There weren’t any other options.”
He was obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, and Taylor didn’t know if it was because he was being modest or if he hadn’t come to terms with what had happened, either. She nodded slowly. “I don’t know if I agree with you—that it was what anyone would have done—but I do know one thing.” She paused, waiting until his eyes met hers. “I appreciate it. You saved my life. I—I don’t think I ever really thanked you as I should have, and it’s long overdue.”
For a heartbeat, all they did was stare at each other, the wind at their backs, the quiet stillness of the land surrounding them with an intimate and silent vista of isolation. It felt as though they were the last two people on earth.
“You’re welcome,” he said finally, his deep, rumbling voice echoing through the emptiness.
A FEW MINUTES LATER, Cole watched as Taylor grasped the horn of the saddle and swung herself up to Honey’s back. She seemed a lot calmer, a lot more at ease, and he began to wonder if part of her nervousness had simply been an uneasiness at being around him. They were like two strangers who’d been trapped in an elevator during a storm and then suddenly freed. People didn’t always know how to handle the bonding that came with sharing a trauma, especially when the trauma was over. He’d seen the same thing happen between men in his unit during his time in the military.
Eventually, though, she’d have more questions and he didn’t want to give her the answers. Remembering the details did nothing for him. He didn’t want to have to explain how he’d ripped off his shirt and bandaged both their wounds. How he’d waited out the endless hours for the cover of darkness. How he’d then taken painful step after painful step and gotten them back to the truck, struggling to stay conscious himself, sick with concern that she’d die before he could get them out or that whoever had been shooting at them would come back and finish the job.
It didn’t take much effort to recall the agony of driving them to the hospital, veering from one side of the road to the other, praying—for the first time since he was a kid—for help.
He didn’t want to remember any of it.
Cole put his boot in the stirrup and swung himself to Diego’s back. His memories of their time together two years ago were mostly hellish, but the parts that weren’t... well, he didn’t want to remember them, either, but they haunted him even more.
When he closed his eyes at night, he could still see the creamy white shoulders, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, the painful look of tragedy those beautiful green eyes had held. He’d felt like the worst kind of creep when the memories had first come to him. At the time, when he’d bandaged her with the remnants of his shirt, he’d been too concerned about keeping her alive to notice anything, but later, much later, the details had come back to him. The lace of her bra, the blue veins beneath her skin, the perfection of her body. What kind of man wouldn’t have noticed? Only a dead one, he’d decided later.
Now, watching Taylor rein Honey into a turn, her jeans stretching tight against the curve of her buttocks, her arms lifting gracefully, he realized once again what a beautiful woman she really was.
And just how different their two worlds were.
He touched Diego’s flank with his heel and set the horse into an unexpected trot, Lester beside him. Within minutes, Taylor had Honey cantering beside them. They spoke little over the next hour or so. Cole concentrated hard on making sure he was taking them the right way and not having thoughts he shouldn’t. Taylor was clearly concentrating on keeping Honey in line, the horse a gentle one but a handful for someone who was out of practice riding. From time to time, Cole glanced over at Taylor. She’d disappeared into another world, just as she had done earlier in the truck.
By midafternoon, a steady, cold rain had begun to fall. Cole dug out slickers and tossed one to Taylor. She draped it over herself, the bright yellow coat covering her completely. An hour later, his hip screaming, Cole reined Diego to a halt and spoke over his shoulder. “There’s a cave about three-quarters of a mile up ahead. I think we need a break.”

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