Читать книгу Immortal Cowboy - Alexis Morgan - Страница 8

Chapter 1

Rayanne charged into the dappled shadows under the trees, following the narrow path that led toward town, the dense growth making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

Where was he?

Her breath came in fits and jerks as she broke into a run down the game trail. A few feet in, her shoe caught on a root, sending her sprawling forward to land on her hands and knees. Ignoring the warm trickle of blood down her shin, Rayanne lurched back to her feet, wishing she’d taken the time to exchange her flip-flops for running shoes. But there hadn’t been time for practical matters, not when Uncle Ray needed her.

The trees thinned out ahead, affording her a better view of the town. There wasn’t much left of Blessing, but that was no surprise. The last residents had abandoned the place over a hundred years ago, leaving behind only the few buildings too stubborn to fall down.

No sign of her uncle in any direction. What would she do if he didn’t come back soon? At thirteen, she could take care of herself for a while, but the mountain was a scary place to be all alone. She yelled Ray’s name several times with no answer except the soft rustle of leaves.

Should she go back to the cabin and call the authorities for help in finding him? No, he’d never forgive her. Uncle Ray wanted nothing at all to do with the government that had taught him how to kill and then did nothing to repair the damage it had done to his soul.

So that left it up to her. As his namesake, she took her uncle’s well-being very seriously.

Ignoring the pain in her side, she sprinted toward the old church, the one place that would give her the best vantage point. It sat right smack in the middle of Blessing, directly across from the saloon. Inside the sanctuary, she waited a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior before making her way to the staircase that led up to the belfry. Out of habit, she avoided the missing second step, using the banister to pull herself up directly to the third. The rest of the stairs were sound enough, allowing her to reach the roof quickly.

The hinges on the door creaked in protest when she pushed it open and stepped out onto the narrow confines of the belfry. She carefully skirted the hole where a bell used to hang. It had probably been sold off for scrap metal by one of the former residents, but that was old history. Right now, all Rayanne cared about was finding her uncle.

She hated heights, and each step across the rough wood floor took all the courage she could muster. Dread made her feet heavy as she crossed the short distance to the front edge of the roof. She latched on to the worn wooden railing in relief. But the second she touched it, the air around her rippled and blurred. Her stomach heaved as she clutched the railing and waited for the world to quit rocking.

When the floor beneath her feet finally steadied, she risked a quick peek at the street below. She blinked twice and looked again.

“What the heck?” she asked, not expecting an answer.

The town below was no longer a skeleton of what it used to be. Instead, the street was lined with buildings that hadn’t been there only minutes before, all constructed out of fresh-hewn lumber.

And there were people—men, women and children—going about their business as if they strolled through Blessing every day, all wearing clothes straight out of a history museum. Were they reenactors? She couldn’t imagine Uncle Ray tolerating such an intrusion on his privacy.

Besides, how could she have missed seeing them on her way through town? As she scanned the faces to see if Uncle Ray was among the throng of people, a shout went up, drawing everyone’s attention to the far end of town. A group of men on horseback appeared in the distance, riding hard for the center of town, sending everyone on the street scurrying for cover. Something was dreadfully wrong. Rayanne ducked down even though the railing wouldn’t provide much cover.

Just as the last child was dragged inside the old store and the door slammed shut, a solitary man appeared in the doorway of the saloon, carrying a rifle in his right hand. He paused long enough to inhale deeply on his cigarette before tossing it on the wooden sidewalk and grinding it out with the heel of his boot.

He stepped out into the street and the bright sunshine, moving with a lethal grace. Just like the others, he wore an authentic-looking costume: a cowboy hat, boots and a duster that had seen a lot of hard miles. His hat sat tipped back slightly, giving her a glimpse of coal-black hair. From the faded blue of his shirt to the scuffs on his boots, whoever had designed his costume had an amazing eye for detail.

Her pulse tripped and stumbled as the stranger turned to face the oncoming riders. He pushed his duster open, revealing a lethal-looking pair of revolvers. The holsters rode low on his hips, looking all too comfortable there as if he’d been born wearing them. There was a deadly stillness about him that she could feel even from her perch two stories above the street.

A few daring people in town peeked out of windows and through cracks of open doors. Playacting was one thing, but the scene unfolding in front of her felt too real, dangerous. If Rayanne could’ve run away, she would have. But her feet ignored her orders and remained right where they were.

The riders slowed their horses to a walk and fanned out across the narrow confines of the street. If the man was nervous about being badly outnumbered, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he planted his feet in a wide stance, as if hurricane winds couldn’t have budged him.

Was she witnessing an actual gunfight straight out of the Old West? The tension radiating from everyone in sight certainly seemed real enough. She should go back to hunting for Uncle Ray, but at that moment nothing could’ve dragged her away from the drama unfolding before her. When the riders started forward again, time stopped and the seconds stretched to the breaking point.

The hinges creaked behind her, warning her that she was no longer alone. Thinking it had to be her uncle, Rayanne smiled in relief and turned to scold him for worrying her so. Instead, a man she’d never seen before stepped through the narrow doorway, ducking to avoid the church bell.

Before she could wonder much about its sudden reappearance, she saw that he, too, was heavily armed. She shrank back into the corner, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her even though she huddled in plain sight.

He ignored Rayanne completely as he crouched down to peer over the railing. When he brought his rifle up to his shoulder, there was no doubt in her mind that he had his sights centered on the lone man below and meant to do him serious harm. When he pulled back on the hammer, preparing to shoot, her voice finally broke loose. Her terrified warning echoed down the street.

The man on the street spun to face the church. For a long heartbeat, his pale blue eyes met Rayanne’s just before he fired his own rifle. The man beside her jerked and stumbled. He had a puzzled look on his face as he slowly sank to the wooden floor, his fingers trying to hold back the red stain spreading over the front of his shirt.

For a few seconds, silence reigned. Then blood, hot and bright, rained down on Rayanne’s face and hands. At first she only whimpered as she frantically tried to scrub her hands clean on her clothes. But when Rayanne saw the man’s eyes staring up at her, dull and lifeless, she screamed and kept on screaming until her throat was raw and her face burned with the hot acid of tears and fresh blood.

Her uncle finally appeared and pulled her into the solid warmth of his arms. He stroked her back, murmuring words of comfort in that awkward way of his. After a few moments, he stepped back.

How odd. Ray no longer towered over her. Either he’d grown shorter or she was taller. He’d also aged, the gray streaks in his red-gold hair more pronounced. All of that was strange enough, but it was the sadness in his smile that caused her heart to stutter.

“I’ve always loved you, Rayanne. I always will. I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become.”

Woman? She was barely a teenager.

Ray brushed her hair back from her face. His eyes, so like her own, looked at her with such serious intent. “You have the gift, same as me. The mountain and Blessing need your special touch. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Promise me that much.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she nodded, anyway. “I promise.”

“That’s real good, sweetheart.” Then he looked around. “It’s time for me to go.”

He smiled one last time as he slowly faded into shadow with no substance, leaving her alone on the rooftop bereft and still splattered with blood.

* * *

Rayanne bolted from her bed and went stumbling across to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time. Kneeling on the floor, she heaved and retched until there was nothing left to come up. After a bit, she pushed herself back to her feet, waiting for another wave of nausea to pass before stepping closer to the sink.

It had been years since the nightmare had been so vivid, and she needed her mirror’s reassurance that she was twenty-eight, not thirteen. Even with her face pale and her hair a tangled mess, it helped to calm her nerves a little.

She grabbed the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, an old flannel one Uncle Ray had loaned her one summer. Having that little piece of him close by always comforted her. Her next stop was the kitchen to brew a cup of chamomile tea. Along the way, she turned on every light she passed.

Anything to keep the shadows at bay.

After putting the kettle on the stove, she sank down on the nearest chair and waited for her heart to stop pounding. Dawn was still an hour away, but she wouldn’t risk going back to bed for fear the dream would play itself out again. She’d had as much terror as she could handle in a night, thank you very much.

Things might be different if she had someone there to help ward off the fear, but she didn’t. Bright lights, hot tea and a warm robe would have to suffice.

Just as the kettle started to whistle, the phone rang. Rayanne stared at it for several seconds before reaching for the receiver, her hand trembling hard enough she almost dropped it.

“Hello?”

“Rayanne? I’m sorry if I woke you up, but I thought you’d want to know. Uncle Ray passed away during the night. It was his heart.”

Her mother’s stark words stole the oxygen in the room, leaving Rayanne struggling to breathe around the lump of grief in her chest. Had Ray really come into her dream to say goodbye? She wouldn’t put it past him.

“Rayanne? Did you hear what I said? Ray’s gone.”

She forced herself to answer. “Yes, I did, and I’m really sorry, Mom. I’ll call you later about the arrangements.”

Then she hung up and let the tears come.

One week later

Rayanne taped up the box and set it down on the floor by her office door. She had more packing to do, but right now a break was definitely in order. Dropping into her chair, she popped the top on a bottle of water and then picked up the book that had come in the morning mail. Flipping through it distracted her from the quagmire of her own thoughts.

The past seven days had been hell, plain and simple. They’d honored her uncle’s request that they not make a fuss over his passing. In truth, he’d had few friends, and they weren’t the kind to stand on ceremony.

Two days later, a lawyer had contacted her about Ray’s estate. Her mother had been with her when the call came in and insisted on accompanying Rayanne to the appointment. What a disaster that had been. She’d spent the ensuing days either berating her late brother for forcing Rayanne to move up to his mountain cabin to claim her inheritance or demanding that Rayanne contest the will. The attorney had repeatedly emphasized the terms of the will were rock solid, but her mother had a habit of hearing only what she wanted.

Rayanne had finally quit answering her mother’s calls. Eventually, she’d have to deal with her, but right now she had other priorities.

Lost in her thoughts, a knock on her office door startled her. Who could it be? Surely her mother wouldn’t have tracked her down here. Setting her book aside, she unlocked the door. When she saw who it was, relief had her smiling.

“Hi, Shawn, I’m glad it’s you. I was afraid my mom had decided to drop in for a visit.” She looked around at the surrounding chaos in her office. “Sorry about the mess. I was just taking a short breather before I finish packing.”

She pointed toward the stack of boxes she’d yet to fill in hopes he’d take the hint. He didn’t. Instead, he shoved a pile of papers aside to make room for himself on the corner of her desk. He picked up the book she’d been reading.

“Still studying up on dead towns, I see.”

“The correct term is ghost towns, not dead ones.”

She let a little of her irritation show. Even though he was teasing, she wasn’t in the mood. She took her research seriously. Normally, Shawn respected that, but he’d been in a strange mood lately.

She took the book from him and set it aside. “What’s up?”

“When were you going to tell me that you’d asked for a leave of absence from the university?” His voice was a shade too cool for the question to be completely casual.

Oh, that. Whoops. “I only got the approval late yesterday afternoon, and I asked the dean to make an announcement this morning at the staff meeting.”

Shawn’s eyebrows snapped down tight over his eyes. “That’s not the same as you telling me yourself.”

She’d been dreading this moment. “I left you a voice mail this morning.”

His expression lightened up a little. Good. She really hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, but she’d already faced off against her mother over her acceptance of the terms of Uncle Ray’s will. She didn’t want to have to defend her decision to anyone else.

“It’s just that all of this is so sudden, and I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

He looked marginally happier. “Are you sure putting your life on hold is a good idea?”

Was that what she was doing? Maybe, but then what choice did she have?

“I’m simply following the dictates of my uncle’s will. He didn’t leave me any wiggle room on this.”

Shawn drew a deep breath. “Somehow I doubt you would’ve fought the terms regardless.”

He was right. “I’m sorry, Shawn. I haven’t been myself since all of this happened. Ray’s death hit me hard. The semester is almost over, so the dean was pretty understanding about me leaving early. One of the grad students will cover the last few classes for me and give the final.”

“That’s good. I’d hate to see you jeopardize your career here at the university on a whim.”

That wasn’t what this was, but Shawn clearly had something on his mind. “Just spit it out, Shawn.”

Her comment startled him, his smile a bit rueful. “Okay, here’s the thing. I was hoping the two of us could go somewhere together this summer for a few days, maybe a week.”

He shifted to look at her more directly. “I’m not picky about where. Heck, we can even go explore some of those dusty, old ghost towns you love so much. I just thought some time away from all of this—” he waved his hand to indicate more than just the clutter in her office “—would be good for us.”

The emphasis on the last word wasn’t lost on her, and perhaps he was right. Some time spent away from their normal surroundings would definitely answer some questions for both of them. They’d had dinner a few times, but she’d been reluctant to take the relationship to the next level.

Obviously, he wasn’t.

Part of the problem was the recent resurgence of her nightmares. She’d never shared the story with Shawn and didn’t intend to anytime soon. It was the main reason that she’d never invited him to spend the night at her place. Until she could be sure that she wouldn’t wake up screaming, that couldn’t change.

On the other hand, she had to wonder that if she’d been convinced that there was something special possible between the two of them, would she have trusted him with her secrets? Their friendship was familiar and comfortable. If it was ever going to be more, she needed to resolve the questions that had plagued her for years once and for all.

For now, she had to offer Shawn an answer that he could understand, a version of the truth that he could accept without revealing her real reasons for going back to Blessing alone. Once she’d made peace with her past, maybe she’d know if there was a place for Shawn in her future.

“I plan to spend the time I’m at the cabin on my research. Things are too up in the air right now for me to make any other commitments.”

“Will you at least think about it?”

He wasn’t going to give up unless she conceded at least that much. “Yes, I’ll think about it, but no promises.”

Her effort at a reassuring smile must have succeeded because he gave her an approving nod. “Great. Now I’d better get back to my office. We’ve both got work to do.”

As a fellow college instructor, he knew the constant pressure to publish. She let him think that was what was driving her research, a far more acceptable explanation for her almost obsessive need to study the past.

In truth, the dream that had haunted her for years was the real reason she scoured bookstores and the internet for new primary sources of information on the lost towns of the West, and specifically about Blessing, Colorado.

It didn’t help that all she felt when Shawn left was relief. Her mother would be the first one to tell her that she was being foolish. Shawn was educated, handsome and financially secure; in short, everything Rayanne should want in a man. She liked him; she really did. What did it say about her that she’d rather focus her energy on research than on building a relationship?

This wasn’t getting her anywhere. A few more minutes of reading and then back to work. As she opened the book, a dank, musty smell wafted up from the pages, but she didn’t mind. Books as old as this one were rarely in pristine condition. Besides, it was the words on the pages that were important.

The passage she’d been reading made her smile. It was like having a private conversation with someone who had lived and breathed more than a century ago. The author, Jubal Lane, had clearly shared her interest in the boom and bust of the towns that dotted the landscape in the late 1800s. The only difference was that he’d seen them firsthand.

Jealousy was pointless, but at least she could see those same towns through his eyes. She read slowly to savor Jubal’s thoughts and descriptions, pausing periodically to make notes. When she was about to stop, a word at the bottom of the page caught her attention: Blessing.

With her pulse racing, she quickly scanned the remaining few lines. Jubal Lane had actually visited Blessing, the town that had formed the backdrop of the nightmares that had haunted her since she was thirteen years old.

Before that summer, she’d played in the deserted buildings as a child, loving every minute of her visits with Uncle Ray. But that last trip, everything had changed and she hadn’t been back since. The memories flooded through her mind.

How ironic that she’d run across a reference to Blessing now when it was too late to share it with Ray.

Rather than letting herself get dragged back into the past, she closed the book and put it in her bag. For now, she had to finish before the shipping company arrived. Most of her things were headed for storage; the remaining few would be shipped to the cabin up on the mountain where she’d need them for her research.

As she sealed the last box, she paused to look around her office. Odd that it felt as if she were leaving for good rather than for the summer. That was ridiculous. Of course she’d be back in the fall. The terms of Uncle Ray’s will had only dictated she had to live on the mountain through August, not the rest of her life.

By the end of summer, hopefully, she will have laid the past to rest once and for all. She’d return rested and ready to pick up the pieces of her life here at the university. That was her plan, and she was sticking to it.

* * *

Later that night, Rayanne curled up in her favorite chair, ready to learn what Jubal had to say about Blessing. Since no one in her family had ever answered her questions about the town, perhaps she’d finally find them for herself.

Did she really even want to?

As a rule, she did her best not to think about the solitary man who wore a black duster and carried a rifle. After all, he and the others only existed in her imagination. But if that were true, why had she continued to be plagued by such vivid, horrifying dreams about them?

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.