The Man From High Mountain

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.