Immortal Cowboy

As she considered the possibilities, a glimpse of the town alive and thriving suddenly superimposed itself over the deserted street. She stared in horror at a scene straight out of her nightmares. That the vision had no more substance than did her dreams made it no less frightening. She had the awful suspicion if she were to look behind her, she’d see those gunmen riding into town with death in their eyes.

She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Everything was back to normal. The experience was disconcerting, but perhaps her ability to see what had been would stand her in good stead when it came time to write her book.

She’d already been gone longer than she’d planned, but she had one more stop before she left. If she was going to face her personal demons, it had to start with where it had all happened. She’d climb the steps to the church belfry, take a quick peek around and then head back to the cabin.

She entered the church through the front door just as she had before. The first thing she noticed was that Uncle Ray had replaced the missing step. Since she was the only other person who ever visited the church, he’d done it for her. She brushed her fingers over the unfinished board and smiled. He’d always done his best to take care of her.

She put her full weight on the step, enjoying its solid feel beneath her feet. Then one by one, she climbed the rest of the way up the stairs, noticing he’d also reinforced a few more of the cracked and worn boards while he was at it. The door to the roof swung open on well-oiled hinges. No more loud creaking to warn her if someone followed her out onto the roof like the gunman in her dream. She shivered, but shoved that thought out of her mind.

A few short steps carried her across to the railing. She kept her eyes firmly focused on her feet, telling herself she was keeping an eye out for rotted boards that could give way beneath her weight. The truth was she wasn’t quite ready to risk looking down at the street below.

Would she see weeds growing up between the wooden sidewalks or the townspeople going about their daily routine? There was only one way to find out. She latched on to the faded railing with both hands, locked her knees to make sure they’d support her, took a deep breath and cast her gaze outward.

Her relief at seeing nothing but a ghost town was palpable. Another major hurdle cleared. As she started to turn back toward the door, a movement below caught her eye. How odd. The batwing doors on the old saloon were swaying as if someone had just passed through them.

She glanced around, realizing for the first time that the breeze had picked up and white puffs of clouds she’d noticed earlier now covered most of the sky overhead in an angry gray blanket. One of the first things Uncle Ray had taught her was that storms could roll in with little notice. Getting soaked in an early-summer rain wouldn’t kill her.

A lightning strike might.

A deep rumble of thunder echoed down the valley, sending a shiver through her. Time to get the heck off the roof of the tallest building in town. Ignoring the grumble of a few of the boards, she hustled back to the door and breathed a little easier when she was back inside. She wasn’t out of the woods yet.

She smiled at the image. Actually, she had to reach the woods first. They’d shelter her from the storm well enough. Once the worst of it was past, she could make the final run for the cabin. At least the day was still warm enough that she didn’t have to worry about hypothermia setting in if she did get soaked along the way.

She cursed herself a fool for setting off so ill prepared. She knew better or at least she used to. Ray had laid out the rules for her the very first time she’d come to visit. He’d written them out in big block letters so she could read them on her own. Then he’d ordered her to study the rules until she knew them backward and forward.

When she’d recited them to him, he’d handed her a pen. Once she’d scrawled her name on the paper, Uncle Ray had presented her with her very own backpack filled with emergency supplies: granola bars, bottled water, a first-aid kit and even a rain poncho. It had been one of the proudest days of her life.

“Sorry, Uncle Ray. Guess I need a refresher course.”

She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. On her next trip to Blessing, she’d bring emergency supplies and stash them inside one of the buildings. For now, though, she had a long way to go to reach the slope leading up to the timberline. The dust kicked up by the wind stung her eyes, and another crash of thunder warned her that the storm was moving faster than she was.

Okay, so maybe she’d be better off waiting out the storm back in town. She reversed course and took off running for the nearest building. The church might be sturdier, but right now she couldn’t afford to be picky. The saloon would have to do.

The darkening sky flashed bright with another bolt of lightning. The resulting thunder followed right on its heels, warning her the storm was now centered right over the valley. Big, fat drops of rain splashed down on the dusty road as Rayanne ran. She kept a wary eye on the ground in front of her to avoid stepping in one of the wagon-wheel ruts still visible after all these years. The last thing she needed was to twist an ankle.

After another crack of thunder, the rain poured down even harder, instantly turning the dust into mud so that her shoes made a sucking noise as she ran. It was too late to worry about staying dry. Finding shelter was paramount. The wooden sidewalk outside the saloon creaked in protest when she put her full weight on it, but it held. After shoving through the swinging doors to the dim interior, she bent over, hands on her knees as she waited for her lungs to catch up on oxygen.

When she could breathe, she slipped off her flannel shirt and wrung it out as best she could. She reached for the hem of her T-shirt, planning to do the same with it, when the memory of watching the saloon door swaying in the breeze popped into her head. She froze and looked around to make sure she was alone.

What was she thinking? No one ever came up here uninvited. Of course the room was empty. She peeled off her T-shirt and twisted it until the rainwater dripped down onto the dusty floor. When it was as dry as she could make it, she slipped it back on, figuring her body heat would dry it out eventually. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, so at least she didn’t have to deal with the discomfort of wet lace and elastic while she was stuck here.

One of the old chairs looked sound enough to sit on, so she dragged it over toward the front window and made herself comfortable. The weather would change for the better soon, and then she’d head back to the cabin where a mug of hot chocolate with her name on it would be waiting.

* * *

Hellfire and damnation, did that woman have to follow him around?

Earlier, Wyatt had drifted into the saloon out of habit, not because he remembered the place where he’d had his last drink with any particular fondness. All those years ago, knowing full well he might die, he’d tossed back one last shot of good whiskey, kissed Tennessee Sue full on the mouth and walked out the door.

Nope, he didn’t have any good memories of this place, even back when it was in its heyday. But thanks to what he was witnessing at the moment, old Bert’s saloon had just become Wyatt’s favorite place in the whole damn world.

With the thunder crackling overhead, the woman had bolted through the doors, already stripping off her flannel shirt. Thanks to the rain, the white shirt underneath stuck to her like a second skin, outlining her curves in considerable detail. One thing for sure, Rayanne was a damn sight more appealing than Tennessee Sue had been.

It would’ve taken a lot nobler man than Wyatt to look away, especially when he realized Rayanne wasn’t wearing anything underneath the shirt. Her plentiful breasts swayed gently with each move she made, their dark tips faintly visible through the clingy cloth.

What he wouldn’t give to test their weight with the palms of his hands. And damned if she wasn’t reaching for the hem of that shirt, too. Surely she wasn’t going to— No, she stopped and looked around suspiciously.

Had she sensed his presence? He wasn’t visible; he knew that much. But even her late uncle had an uncanny knack for realizing when Wyatt came near. He’d nod in Wyatt’s direction and then go about his business. Maybe his niece had inherited the same talent.

But then she went ahead and stripped her shirt right off in front of him. The storm outside had nothing on the one raging inside him right now. He moaned. Her skin was all peaches and cream. He loved the sprinkle of freckles across her shoulders and the dusky peach of her nipples. He sure enough wanted to kiss those freckles and suckle her pert nipples and watch them pebble up. Hell, he just plain wanted.

Incredible. He hadn’t felt anything this powerful since the day he died. No hunger, no pain. Dread, yeah. Fear, even knowing how things would play out again. But no joy, no peace, no thirst, no hunger.

But by gosh, he hungered now. Unable to help himself, he drifted closer to where Rayanne stood, trying to squeeze some of the rainwater out of her clothes. If she didn’t cover herself soon, he wasn’t sure what would happen. In this state, his ability to interact with his surroundings was extremely limited. If he brushed against her bare skin, she might feel a chill or a buzz. He might not feel a damn thing.

If she was aware of him, he might have tried it. But a man didn’t sneak up on an unsuspecting female. He was no hero, but he had enough black marks on his soul. With that in mind, he needed to put more distance between himself and temptation before he weakened and reached out to her.

He directed his focus toward the back wall to give her a chance to cover herself decently. The white shirt still left too little to the imagination, but it was better than all that peach-toned skin screaming out to be tasted and touched. Once the storm passed, he was sure she’d make her way back to the cabin. Good. He wished she was already gone, back to where she belonged, preferably off his mountain.

Taking her peaches-and-cream complexion and all that temptation with her.

Frustration with the whole situation left him wanting to break something. But if he let his temper slip its leash, he’d do something stupid. Like materializing right here in Bert’s place to start breaking up the few pieces of furniture still left intact.

How would she react? She’d already fainted once at finding him in her kitchen. He bet she’d already twisted and turned the facts of yesterday morning to convince herself that she’d only imagined the whole incident. If for one second she’d believed he’d really been there, she wouldn’t still be up here on the mountain by herself. He tried to imagine her pelting down that switchback road back to wherever she came from. The picture wouldn’t come into focus.

Most folks would cower in a corner while nature raged outside. Instead, she’d dragged a chair right over to the window to watch. Even now, she sat forward, trying to see better through the filthy glass. She sure had gumption; he gave her that much.

If he’d been solid, he realized he would’ve been smiling. Even in his present state, he felt lighter, more buoyant. That realization scared him. He didn’t want to feel lighter, didn’t want to feel anything.

He needed to get out of there. There was plenty of energy to be had right outside the door. If he was careful, he could absorb enough to let him resume standing guard in the woods. The time was coming when others started prowling the mountain, gathering close. He’d need to make sure they kept their distance from the woman.

He wasn’t sure how much harm they could do, but they all grew stronger as the time grew near. He drifted closer again, this time feeling protective rather than lustful. He might not want her there, but neither did he want her hurt or scared.

Damn, why did she have to be there at all?

For now, she was safe enough. She could find her own way back to the cabin once the storm passed. Far better that their paths crossed as rarely as possible.

Better for him, anyway.

With that, he slipped through the doors and out into the street. The storm had weakened considerably already, the dark clouds having dumped most of their rain before moving on wherever the wind would carry them. The air felt clean as he drew on the natural energy it carried.

Slowly, he moved on out of town, growing more solid as he neared the timberline. By the time Rayanne followed him into the woods, he stood hidden in the shadows, solid from his hat to the soles of his boots.

The rain had brought out more curl in her hair, framing her pretty face and drawing attention to how young she was. But Rayanne moved with the kind of strength and purpose as another woman in his life had. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it sooner.

It wasn’t as if he could forget about Amanda, the one woman he’d tried to be a better man for. The one he died trying to protect and succeeded only in destroying them both. He’d always wondered if they would have gone beyond simple friendship if things had played out differently for the two of them. No way to know now.

He followed after Rayanne, preferring her unknowing company to the darkness of his memories. For a second, she hesitated, stopping to look around. She frowned and rubbed her hands up and down her arms, clearly feeling a chill. Whether it was from his presence or from the dampness of her clothes didn’t matter.

It was tempting to step out into a small circle of sun to see if she could see him at all and how she would react. But no, that wouldn’t be smart. Besides, it was too late now. She was already back in motion, quickening her pace now that the cabin was almost in sight. He didn’t blame her. Dark and dangerous things prowled these woods.

He should know. He was one of them.

Chapter 5

Rayanne was finished in the kitchen. Everything was stowed away, and she’d put a fresh shine on the counters, appliances and even the floor. She wasn’t ready to face the living room yet.

It had soaked up so much of Uncle Ray’s essence, for the lack of a better word. The wear on cushions of his favorite chair showed the outline of his body and carried the scent of his aftershave. The shelves lining the walls were filled with his favorite books, most dog-eared from multiple readings. Bits and pieces of the man, but not the whole.

She missed him so much. Had been missing him since long before he’d actually died.

No, she wasn’t ready to sort through all those memories. Not yet. Cowardly, maybe, but she couldn’t help but feel that she was intruding on Ray’s privacy. Instead, she’d get started on her work in Blessing. The day was sunny and clear, perfect for taking pictures.

She’d made a list of the things she’d need for her survey as well as the emergency supplies she wanted to stash inside the church. That would require a trip down to the small combination grocery store, gas station and post office located at the base of the mountain.

She wanted to get back in time to start on measuring out the streets of Blessing, so she grabbed her purse and stepped out on the porch. Locking the door seemed a bit silly considering she was the only one around, but city habits died hard.

Besides, she never quite lost the feeling that she wasn’t alone here on the mountain. Crazy, she knew, and the last thing she’d admit to anyone, but it felt as if someone was out there watching over her. She liked to think that some part of Uncle Ray had remained tethered to the mountain after all the years he’d spent taking care of it.

Her parents would never understand why she’d find that thought comforting, but she did. She stared in the direction of the trail to Blessing, fighting the whimsical urge to roll down the window to yell that she’d be right back.

Then she cranked up the stereo and sang along with the music all the way down the mountain.

* * *

“Where’s she off to now?”

Not that it mattered. Rayanne would be back because she hadn’t taken anything with her other than her purse. Probably going after supplies. Too bad. It would be better for both of them if she’d packed her suitcase and left the mountain.

He’d been spending way too much time lurking near the cabin, hoping to catch even a glimpse of her. All he could think about was the color of her skin, the fullness of her breasts and the way she would have smelled of rain and woman. He’d felt guiltier about that, but it wasn’t his fault that she’d revealed all the creamy skin right in front of him.

What would she do if he were to return the favor, even fully clothed? She’d seen him twice before, once as a young girl and on her first morning back. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Would she faint again or finally realize that he was more than a figment of her imagination? Thanks to that god-awful picture she had of him, she had to know he’d been real at one time.

No one in the hundred-plus years he’d been stuck here, straddled between life and death, had ever done more than caught a glimpse of him, except when he lay dying in the dusty street of Blessing. He suspected it was like catching a movement out of the corner of your eye, just a hint of something being there but just out of sight.

A sound deeper in the woods drew his attention away from the clearing and back toward town. Something was stirring or maybe someone. By his reckoning, it was far too early in the summer for most of the townspeople to put in an appearance. That left two people most likely causing the disturbance, the ones responsible for his being in Blessing at all.

Sometimes Amanda, the schoolteacher, and her son, Billy, showed up early with no warning. They never stuck around for long, leastwise not until later in August, right before the whole nightmare started up again. Even when they were there, they only rarely acknowledged his presence. For some unknown reason, he was the only one who truly haunted the mountain year after year. Maybe because it was all his fault.

But even if Amanda and Billy didn’t speak to him, he’d seek them out, anyway. Even just a glimpse of Amanda gave him a sense of belonging, a belief that he wasn’t truly alone. Her boy, Billy, served as a reminder of the price paid for innocence lost.

Wyatt watched as Rayanne drove out of sight before making his way back toward Blessing.

On the way, he stared up at the sky and muttered, “Someone up there has a hell of a sense of humor. I’ve got one woman who shouldn’t be able to see me but can, and another who should be able to, but can’t. Where’s the sense in that?”

He paused for a second, tilting his head to the side, hoping against hope this time would be different and someone would answer. Instead, he got the same response he’d always gotten whenever he begged, pleaded or just plain asked for some kind of explanation for this ongoing hell he lived in: absolute silence.

* * *

The old general store hadn’t changed much since the last time Rayanne had been there. A few different brands on the shelves, but the same old, faded sign out front advertising gas, groceries and postage stamps.

She grabbed a basket on the way in and made her way up and down the three aisles, picking up the items on her list and a few impulse purchases, as well. For the moment, she was alone in the store. If Phil, the proprietor and postmaster, didn’t make an appearance by the time she was done, she’d ring the buzzer by the register to summon him from the small apartment attached to the back of the building.

More than once she and Uncle Ray had been invited back there for a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and root beer floats. Ray enjoyed the occasional game of chess with his old friend and hadn’t minded her hovering over his shoulder while they played.

She smiled, grateful for another happy memory of her time on the mountain.

The shuffle of feet announced Phil’s arrival. She snagged an extra pack of gum off the shelf and tossed it into the basket before making her way to the register. The passage of fifteen years had added a few wrinkles to Phil’s face, and his hairline had receded a bit more, but she would’ve known him anywhere.

She coasted to a stop just short of the counter, waiting to see if he recognized her. It didn’t take long. His welcoming smile brightened considerably as his faded blue eyes crinkled at the corners, leaving little doubt about her welcome. He charged back around the counter to sweep her up in a huge hug.

“Rayanne, girl, it has been too damn long. We’ve missed your pretty face up here on the mountain.”

Tears stung her eyes as she hugged her uncle’s old friend back. “I should have been here for him, Phil.”

Phil held her out at arm’s length. “Now, listen here, missy. Your uncle understood that your life was down in the city. He knew you loved him just like he loved you. If you don’t believe anything else, believe that.”

His words, spoken with such quiet authority, eased the knot in her chest enough so that she could breathe again.

“I’d like to think so, Phil. Thanks for saying so.”

“It’s no less than the truth.” His own eyes looked a bit shiny as he held out his hand for her basket. “Let’s get this stuff rung up for you. Have you had lunch?”

“Not yet.” And realized she hadn’t eaten already because she’d been subconsciously hoping Phil would make that offer.

“Great! We’ll have cheese sandwiches and root beer floats, just like old times.”

A shaft of sharp grief shot through her chest. Just like old times except that Uncle Ray wouldn’t be there. But his memory would be, and that would suffice.

Phil was still talking. “Don’t let me forget that I’ve got a package I’ve been holding for you. If you hadn’t come in today, I would’ve brought it to you on Sunday when the store’s closed.”

Really? Her local post office had said it could take a week or more for her mail to catch up with her. She wasn’t expecting any more book deliveries, either. She knew better than to rush Phil. He did things in his own way and at his own speed.

At least he made quick work of her groceries. He added the last can of soup to the bag and then hit the total button on his old-fashioned cash register. “That’ll be fifty-five dollars and forty-seven cents.”

She handed him the cash and then took the bag with her perishables and stuck them in the cooler at the back of the store. Another habit she’d learned from Ray. With that done, she followed Phil into his apartment.

* * *

Two hours flew by as he caught her up on all the changes in the area since her last visit. A few old-timers had passed on; some new folks had moved in. All the usual gossip, only the names changed. She didn’t mind hearing about people she didn’t know, not if it made Phil happy to talk about them.

Finally, she finished the last of her float, enjoying the combined flavors of vanilla ice cream and root beer. She’d have to live on lettuce for a few days to make up for the calories, but the guilty pleasure of the sweet treat was worth the penance.

“Thank you for lunch, Phil. That really hit the spot. Nobody makes a root beer float like you do.”

His smile was tinged with sadness. “It wasn’t anything special, Rayanne. Nothing fancy like what you probably have all the time down there in the city.”

She reached across the table to put her hand on his, noticing for the first time how knobby his knuckles had gotten. Her friend wasn’t getting any younger. Who would run the store when he was gone? She didn’t want to think about it.

“Fancy doesn’t make it special, Phil. Having lunch with you and Uncle Ray right here at this same table are some of the best memories I have.”

He blushed a bit but looked decidedly happier. “I’ll get that package for you. Ray brought it down to me about the time the doctors told him his heart was plumb worn out. He asked me to keep it until you moved into the cabin.”