Читать книгу The Man From High Mountain - Kay David - Страница 8

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.

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.”