The Man From High Mountain

“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.