Immortal Cowboy

Worse yet, why had she secretly compared every man she’d met to a nameless man with black hair and blue eyes?

She’d spent years searching for even a mention of Blessing with no luck until now. With a mixture of trepidation and excitement, she opened the book to the last page she’d read and started over at the top.

When she reached the lines where Jubal mentioned his next stop was to be Blessing, she took a deep breath and turned the page. His words drew her back into the past. He described the valley where the town sat with near-perfect detail, enough to convince her he was talking about the one on Uncle Ray’s mountain.

Jubal said most of the townspeople had moved on to greener pastures after some tragedy had occurred. He also alluded to a gunslinger who had met his fate in the street outside the saloon, his tone implying the man had gotten no less than he’d deserved.

Rayanne stopped right there to give herself time to process what she’d just read: there really had been a gunfight in Blessing. Did Jubal have more to say on the subject? With her pulse pounding in her head, she drew a deep breath and turned another page.

“Whoa, this can’t be!”

But it was. Not only had Jubal written more about the shootout, but he’d also included a picture. As the reality sank in, her hands shook so badly she dropped the book. She picked it up again.

Nothing had changed. Even in the faded tintype, it was easy enough to recognize the man who’d haunted her dreams for fifteen years. He wasn’t wearing a hat, but the hair was the same. So were the intense, pale eyes that stared up at her from the page. She bet they were blue. In fact, she knew they were.

The gunslinger had a name—Wyatt McCain.

He was real.

He’d lived and died right there in the dusty streets of Blessing.

For years, her family and the shrink they’d dragged her to had insisted that she’d made it all up. Her mother had blamed her father for filling Rayanne’s head with stories about the Old West. In return, her father had blamed her mother for leaving their impressionable young daughter alone with her nutcase brother. The shrink had blamed it all on her parents’ constant bickering and its effect on their daughter. Idiots.

None of them had even considered the possibility that it had all been real—the people, the gunfire, the blood and, most of all, Wyatt McCain.

Had Uncle Ray known? Was that why he’d come to her in the dream to say goodbye? He’d mentioned a gift they’d shared. What had that been about?

Now that she had a few facts to go on, she wouldn’t rest until she’d learned everything she could. Once she had her arsenal of evidence, the facts would free her of the nightmares from her past. Even if no one else ever knew the truth, she would.

A real man had died that day in the streets of Blessing, one who haunted her dreams a hundred years after his passing. She would tell his story—her story, too. Her purpose clear, she set the book aside and started a list of what she needed to take care of before she left for the mountain.

Chapter 2

The road leading up to Ray’s cabin was in far better condition than she’d remembered, but otherwise it all looked the same. Funny, it felt as if the cabin had been patiently waiting all these years for her return, but this time as owner rather than guest.

Rayanne eased her car around a slow bend to the right, her pulse picking up speed even if the car didn’t. After fifteen years, she was about to catch her first glimpse of the chimney that marked the location of her new home. The trees had grown taller, but she could just make out a glimpse of gray stone.

Tension had been riding her hard ever since she’d learned of Ray’s death. All the arguments about her decision to take a last-minute leave of absence from her job and move to the mountain hadn’t helped. But as she neared the cabin and the freedom it had always represented, the muscles in her shoulders and neck eased, and her mood lightened.

“Well, Uncle Ray, we’re almost there.”

Wouldn’t her mother freak out to hear Rayanne carrying on a one-sided conversation with her uncle? Well, not him, exactly, but the pewter urn that contained his last remains. One of the sidebars in his will was a request that Rayanne scatter his ashes on the mountain. He’d left it up to Rayanne to pick the time and place.

But until she carried out his wishes, she found comfort in the notion that her uncle was riding shotgun and could actually hear her. Maybe she was losing her mind just like her mother had said when she learned Rayanne had willingly accepted the terms of the will without a court fight.

Not that her mom’s opinion mattered. The mountain and the town that had haunted Rayanne for years was now hers, lock, stock and belfry. That is, provided she moved there and stayed through the entire summer. Come September, she was free to stay on or move back to the city. But if she didn’t follow the dictates of her uncle’s will to the letter, the entire estate would pass to a distant cousin. She couldn’t bear the thought of that happening.

It hadn’t been a surprise that Shawn had agreed with her parents. However, if there was any hope of a future for the two of them, she needed to find the answers she’d been looking for.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Uncle Ray, but I don’t plan to live up here for the rest of my life.”

A stab of guilt had her giving the urn a remorseful glance. “But I will stay long enough to find answers to questions that my folks would never let me ask. And with luck, I can find enough information about the short history of Blessing itself to write a paper.”

Her mouth curved in a wide smile as she considered the possibilities. If she didn’t have enough information for a scholarly paper, there was another option. She loved historical romances, and she already knew the time period inside and out. Surely she could come up with a story line that fit the few facts about Blessing that she’d been able to uncover.

The ideas twirled and danced through her head. A beautiful schoolteacher for the heroine would be just the ticket. And the hero would be the sheriff, strong and valiant and handsome. She could picture Shawn in the role, his arm around her waist as together they defied the bad guys.

But then a vision of a gunslinger dressed in black shoved that picture aside, replacing it instead with a man who moved with predatory grace and had a killer’s ice-colored stare. Wyatt McCain. Rayanne flushed hot and then cold. A woman would have to be a fool to think a man like that could be anyone’s hero.

The excitement died just that quickly.

Finally, the last of the trees faded into an open meadow. Her breath caught in her throat as the cabin came into sight. She hit the brakes, bringing her car to an abrupt halt, needing time to adjust to the onslaught of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. It was almost impossible to sort them all out—relief, trepidation, remembered joy and a great deal of pain that Uncle Ray would never be waiting there to greet her again.

She put the car back into gear and slowly pulled up in front of the cabin. The sun was already sliding down the far side of the sky. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be unpacking in the dark. The idea worried her more than she’d expected it to.

She pulled out the ring of keys that the attorney had given her at their last visit. Each one was carefully labeled in Uncle Ray’s familiar scrawl. She picked up the urn and stepped up on the porch.

As the door swung open, Rayanne stepped back through time. Her uncle hadn’t changed a thing since she’d left all those years ago. Maybe there were a few more books stuffed in the shelves and the sofa was a bit more worn, but that was all. She set the urn down on a small table in the corner and got busy settling in.

* * *

Bedtime always came early on the mountain. As Rayanne brushed her teeth, she studied her image in the mirror. Uncle Ray’s hair had been a little curlier than hers, but the color had been the same, a shade somewhere between blond and red. They’d also shared a tendency to freckle during the summer and the same bright green eyes. In a lot of ways, she’d resembled her favorite relative more than she had either one of her parents. Once again, the thought of him had her eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

It was definitely time to crawl into bed. Would coming here intensify her nightmares? She sure hoped not. The past several nights she’d slept without incident, a huge relief. She stepped across the threshold into her bedroom, happy that her childhood sanctuary had remained unchanged.

She turned down the quilt that had covered the bed for longer than either she or Ray had been alive. Trailing her fingers over the familiar patches of fabric, she wondered again about the people who had worn the various bits and pieces of cloth in shirts and dresses.

Had they been happy in their lives? She closed her eyes as she caressed the cloth, worn smooth and soft by the years. Maybe another girl had slept under this very same quilt, tucked in by loving hands with a kiss and a wish for sweet dreams or maybe the quilt had been a wedding gift for a bride about to start her new life as a wife.

She doubted she would ever know the real answers, but it didn’t matter. The warmth of the quilt gave her a connection to the past, one that appealed to her deep interest in history. Stretching out on the narrow bed felt like heaven. A huge yawn surprised a giggle out of her as she turned onto her back to watch the sweep of the stars and moon through the skylight overhead. Just as she had as a small girl, she fell asleep counting the stars twinkling in the night sky.

* * *

A new energy had arrived on the mountain, altering the patterns and drawing his attention toward the cabin. Ray’s niece was back. He recognized her even though she’d grown into a woman with long legs and ridiculously short hair.

Drifting closer to the porch, he stared up at the open window high up near the peak of the roof. The man’s room had been on the other side. He’d always kept his window closed and the doors locked against the perils of the darkness, real and imagined.

But the girl had her window open to the night. Would she continue to keep it that way if she found out about him and the others? A grim smile crossed his face briefly. Hell, even the others knew to steer clear of him. They certainly recognized bad news when they saw it; maybe the girl would, too.

The light in the window winked out. He lost interest in his vigil and moved away, back toward town. Folks still called it Blessing. What a joke that was, one he doubted the others appreciated. But then he didn’t give a damn what they thought, any more than they cared about him.

He passed through the trees, startling a doe and her fawn. As quietly as he moved, he was surprised they even noticed him. But after one look in his direction, the wary beasts bounded away, covering a lot of distance with each graceful leap. He paused to watch them disappear into the shadows, enjoying the sight. God knew there was little enough that he took pleasure in these days.

His thoughts drifted back toward the cabin and its sole occupant. The redhead had been there before. It had been a long while since she’d last visited the man, although time had become too fluid over the years for him to be sure how long it had been. An uneasy feeling churned in his stomach as vague memories stirred about this girl, now a woman. Used to be, she’d come and run wild through the woods and the town, only to leave right before it all unfolded.

All except that last time.

Damn it to hell and back, how many months had slipped past him unnoticed? If she was on the mountain, it could be almost time. Again. No wonder the deer had fled his presence. He didn’t blame them one bit for running. Canny creatures that they were, they knew when death roamed free on the mountain. He turned his back on the cabin and faded into the shadows, alone and wishing he could stay that way.

* * *

A cool breeze drifted through the open window, carrying a fresh, woodsy scent with it. Rayanne drew a deep breath and smiled without opening her eyes, still caught up in the fading memory of a dream, a good one this time. Instead of fearing Blessing, she’d been walking through the town hand in hand with a handsome man.

That he bore a striking resemblance to Wyatt McCain came as no surprise. After all, he’d dominated her thoughts ever since she’d discovered his picture. Only in her dream world, he seemed less grim, younger and more carefree. She woke up smiling with the sound of his laughter echoing in her mind.

What an interesting start to her day!

The telephone started ringing. Cell phones couldn’t get reception this high up, so Ray had run a telephone line to the cabin. No doubt it was her mother calling to check on her.

Rayanne sat up, hoping if she moved slowly enough the woman would give up. No such luck. As soon as the phone quit ringing, it started right up again in the time it took for her mother to hit redial.

Rayanne reached for the receiver. Figuring on a long call, she stretched out and made herself comfortable.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Well, I guess you made it safely since you’re able to talk on the phone.”

Nothing like a snide remark from a parent to start the day off on a low note. Why couldn’t the woman just admit that she’d been worried?

“By the time I got settled in last night, it was too late to call.”

A small exaggeration perhaps, but it would’ve been rude to admit to the truth, that she’d never even considered calling.

“I can’t believe that you’re really up there.” Rayanne could picture her mother leaning against the kitchen counter, with a nonfat double latte in her hand.

“Of course, I never understood the appeal of the great outdoors. Seriously, Rayanne, I know you loved my brother, but you don’t have to exile yourself up there just to prove it. I should’ve put my foot down about this.”

As if that would’ve done any good. Maybe someday the woman would accept the fact that Rayanne had grown up and could make her own decisions, even ones her mother didn’t approve of.

Especially ones she didn’t approve of.

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m safe. I’m happy.”

Please let it go at that. She really didn’t want to start the day off rehashing old arguments.

“That’s good for you. But what about Shawn? Is he happy?” Her voice clearly indicated she was playing her trump card.

She was wrong. “My relationship with Shawn is not open for discussion.”

Mainly because she wasn’t all that sure they still had one. He hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to her after she’d announced her decision to leave school early and move to the mountain.

“Your father isn’t pleased to hear that you’re back up there.”

Okay, that got Rayanne’s attention. “Since when are you and Dad on speaking terms?”

Her mother’s voice turned frosty. “He deserved to know what you were up to, especially when your last visit ended up such a disaster.”

“Mom, that was years ago. I’m here to do research, nothing more. You shouldn’t have gotten Dad all worried for nothing.”

She’d give her mother another thirty seconds and then pretend that her reception was failing.

“If I don’t hear from you every day, I will be calling the authorities to report you missing or something. Whatever it takes to get someone up there to check on you.”

Oh, brother. Rayanne counteroffered. “I’ll call you once a week and no more than that.”

Rayanne’s hand ached from gripping the phone so hard.

“That’s not enough.” Her mom was going into full martyr mode now. Tears wouldn’t be far behind.

“It’s my best offer, Mom.” And just to make sure her mother got it straight, she repeated it. “Once a week or not at all.”

After a long, painful silence, her mother conceded defeat. “Fine, Rayanne. Be selfish. Once a week will have to do.”

“I love you, Mom.” She did, really, even if the woman drove her crazy most of the time. “I’ll call you on Saturday. Bye.”

She disconnected the call before her mother could think of something else to argue about. With that behind her, Rayanne headed for the shower, anxious for the day to begin. It was going to be a good one; she could just tell.

Chapter 3

He wasn’t sure why he’d returned to the clearing. Curiosity wasn’t something he normally indulged in anymore, but it had drawn him back to the cabin. There was no smoke coming out of the chimney. Either the woman must not mind the morning chill or else she wasn’t up yet.

When he reached the door of the cabin, he sneered at the lock. As if that flimsy bit of steel could keep him out. Once inside, he looked around. Had he been in the cabin recently? He couldn’t remember. Most of the time he’d watched the man from the cover of the woods or where the shadows deepened to near black by the porch at night.

Ray had usually sensed his presence, even though he’d rarely said anything. Maybe it was because what Ray had seen in the war had been so much worse. Either way, there had been real strength in the man right up to the end. The former soldier had always been silent but content in his own skin.

Unless his demons were riding him hard. Then Ray would stalk the woods, muttering under his breath. Sometimes he stood at the edge of a cliff and screamed out the names of men who’d never set foot on the mountain except in his mind.

But Ray was gone now. They’d come with flashing lights and carried his body back down the mountain. Now someone else, the woman, had come to the mountain to live. He hated having his routine disturbed, but he’d have no choice but to adjust to her presence.

She’d seen him once. Did she remember?

A noise from overhead caught his attention. She was talking to someone, even though he knew full well that she was alone. No one passed through his territory unnoticed. A few minutes later, the shower came on, warning him that his time was limited. He needed to leave before she walked down those steps, although it was tempting to linger long enough to get a closer look at her.

But for the moment, he had time to poke around a bit. He moved toward the kitchen where she’d dumped a few things on the table the night before. He studied the clutter, trying to make sense of the stuff. It wasn’t worth the energy it would take to dump the bag out. Besides, he wasn’t there to drive her away, just to learn more about the woman who would be sharing his mountain and town.

A paper caught his attention. Careful not to disturb anything, he gently reached out to touch it. Would she remember if she’d left it faceup or facedown? He didn’t care. Hell, what was life without a few risks?

Laughing at his own joke, he turned the paper over. Shock rolled through him as soon as he got a good look at the picture staring up at him, leaving him unable to do anything but stand and stare down at the image.

Where the hell had she gotten that?

So caught up in the memories that came flooding back, he failed to notice the silence from upstairs. The shower was no longer running. Before he could react, one of the steps behind him creaked. Hellfire and damnation, the woman was coming down the stairs.

* * *

The hot steam had washed away the last bit of tension from talking to her mother. Eventually, maybe she’d long for the company at the other end of the phone line but definitely not today.

About halfway down the stairs, a weird shiver started at the base of her spine and danced its way right up to her head. Even the hair on her arms stood up, as if lightning were about to strike. Had the late spring weather taken a sudden turn for the worse?

No, sunshine was streaming in through the skylights overhead.

Rayanne couldn’t shrug off the feeling that something wasn’t right. As a city girl born and bred, maybe she wasn’t ready to face life alone on the mountain. However, she wasn’t about to admit that her mother had been right all along. No, it was only a matter of adjusting to the quiet murmurs of nature outside the window rather than the jarring cacophony of city noise.

That was when she heard a sound that had nothing to do with any four-legged beast that lived on the mountain: human footsteps. She swallowed, trying to get her heart out of her throat so she could breathe. The silence felt frozen now, as if in anticipation of the next sweep of cloth against cloth. It wasn’t long in coming.

“Who’s there?” Her voice echoed hollowly.

No answer. To her surprise, that made her mad. She came down two more stairs, hoping to find evidence that it was only her imagination running wild. This time the steps were more definite and headed right for the door. Should she remain cowering on the stairs forever or take control of the situation?

This was her home; she would not be a prisoner of her own fear. Besides, if the intruder had meant her harm, he’d had ample opportunity.

Bracing herself for the worst, she charged down the last few steps, determined to give someone a piece of her mind. The bottom few stairs curved down into the kitchen near the door. One glance told her that the door was still bolted but that didn’t mean much. If someone had broken in, it could have been through a window, instead. But if so, why hadn’t she heard anything?

Nothing in the kitchen looked disturbed, but then she sensed a movement off to her right. Time slowed as her mind scrambled to make sense of what she was seeing. She made a grab for the wall as her knees gave way. Surely this was some kind of joke.

“Who are you?”

Her question was little more than a whisper, but the man heard it all right. There was no mistaking the temper in those ice-blue eyes, not that she really needed him to answer her. His outfit matched the one he’d worn in the picture he held clutched in his fist: scuffed boots, a faded shirt, dark trousers and a worn duster. It couldn’t really be him, but every cell in her body screamed that it was.

“Wyatt McCain?”

His name was the last thing she said as the floor rushed up to meet her.

Cool. Smooth. Hard.

Slowly, the fog in Rayanne’s mind faded and awareness of her surroundings returned. Right now, her cheek was pressed against something flat and cool to the touch. Her eyes refused to open; instead, she concentrated on moving her right hand and then her left.

Her fingertips felt just the slightest grittiness to the surface, like a hardwood floor that hadn’t been swept recently. She slowly processed all the data, because the side of her face was pounding. Finally, she arrived at the obvious conclusion that she was sprawled on the floor, most likely in the kitchen.

Why?

Flashes of memory played out in her head. Shower. Brushing her teeth. Sweats rather than jeans. All of that made sense. What next? She’d started downstairs to fix her breakfast. Halfway down she’d heard something.

No. Someone. Wyatt McCain. Well, not him, but someone who looked just like him, down to the faded blue shirt and scuffed boots. Thanks to her dream, his image had been the first one she thought of.

Her eyes popped open, and she found the strength to push herself up to a sitting position. Ignoring the fresh wave of dizziness, she scooted back until she bumped up against the nearest wall. It offered support but no comfort as she surveyed her surroundings.

From where she sat, she could see the entire ground floor of the A-frame cabin. She was alone. Gradually, her pulse slowed to somewhere near normal, and the pain on the right side of her face eased up enough to allow her to think straight.

The deadbolt on the front door was still firmly in place. No broken windows. No back door, so no other exit. Adding up all the facts, she had to think that she’d imagined the whole thing. Whatever she’d heard had to have been just the wind or a tree limb brushing against the cabin in the wind.

The side of her face was tender to the touch. Obviously, she’d tripped and fallen, landing hard enough to bruise. Nothing that a bag of ice and some aspirin wouldn’t cure. She slowly pushed herself to her feet, taking care not to move too quickly.