The Man From High Mountain. Kay David
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“Can I at least come in and try to convince you?” Letter to Reader Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Copyright
“Can I at least come in and try to convince you?”
At her words, Cole turned. She was a shadow behind the screen door, a disembodied voice. “There’s nothing you can say that will 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 kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he heard the door creak, followed by the sound of her boots on the floor. Grabbing two beers, he walked back to the den and handed her one of them.
“I want to go back,” Taylor said softly. “I have to.”
Despite himself, he asked, “Why?”
“I’ve never said goodbye. It’s time for me to move on with my life, and I can’t do that without going back to the...to the place it happened.”
“Time to move on...” Her choice of words intrigued him. She was the one who’d left. 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 pain in his hip.
She’d continued to speak, completely unaware of his thoughts. “Surely we could get to the canyon in a morning’s ride? We could spend the night there, then—”
He stood. “I’m sorry, Taylor, but the answer’s still no. I lost nothing out there that I need.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re on your own if you want to go back to Diablo.”
Dear Reader,
No matter how far away I live, work or travel, Texas will always be my home, in my heart if nowhere else. As a child I grew up on the beaches of the Gulf of Mexico and as an adult I’ve lived all over the state. Whenever I’m gone, I look forward to returning, because Texas is incredibly unique and beautiful with a diversity of culture and land that can be found nowhere else.
This book reflects my love for one part of Texas—the wild empty reaches of the western half of the state. Lonely and vast, this area is very different from the tropical greenness of the Gulf Coast region or the flat terrain of the north. West Texas stretches past where the eye can see and goes on from there. The isolation and emptiness is almost impossible to describe. The sky’s too blue, the air too sharp. My parents once owned a large ranch similar to the one in this book, and whenever I visited, I was torn between being afraid of its remoteness and enjoying the sensation of being the last person on earth.
Naturally, the people who inhabit this area are as unique as the land. They’re independent, solitary creatures who like their space and want plenty of it. In this story, the love my characters share for the land is rivaled only by the passions they feel for each other. I hope you enjoy it.
Sincerely,
Kay David
The Man from High Mountain
Kay David
CHAPTER ONE
TWICE A DAY THE DOCTOR came by her room. He was an old man, a country doctor, with a monk’s fringe of hair around his head. His hands were gentle as they probed her bandages, especially the large, tight one holding her arm securely against her chest. On the third day, Taylor Matthews realized there was more in his eyes than concern. Through a still-lifting fog of painkillers and relaxants she finally recognized what it was late that afternoon.
His bright blue gaze held pity.
She turned her face away so he wouldn’t see her tears, but he’d seen everything already and knew exactly what she was doing. When he finished changing all her dressings, he rested his hand against her shoulder, his touch cool against her skin.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Matthews.” His voice was surprisingly deep. It echoed against the bare walls of the tiny West Texas hospital. “If it’s any consolation, your husband died very quickly. The round went right through his heart. I doubt he felt a thing.”
She moved her head against the pillow, squeezing her eyes tighter, her hair whispering against the crisp linens. From behind her eyelids, a burst of bright light accompanied the movement along with a stab of sudden sharpness. She welcomed the pain—it took her mind off everything else. She felt the pinprick a moment later, and welcomed it, too. Blessed oblivion.
Just before she went back to sleep, someone came into the room and sat down. His step was odd, out of sync somehow, as if he too was wounded and here for care. Her eyelids were too heavy now to lift, but she didn’t have to see the person to sense his presence. It spread over her room and filled the corners with a quiet and calming awareness. The sensation was comforting, almost as if she knew it was all right to go to sleep now because she wasn’t alone anymore. He would stand watch over her. She was safe.
She drifted off, but the memories went with her.
THE DAY HAD BEEN WARM for fall, the West Texas sun so close to their heads Taylor had thought she could reach up and touch it. Climbing out of the ancient pickup, she’d gazed over the dusty barren landscape with dismay, half wondering, with affection of course, if Jack had finally lost his mind.
She’d never seen a place so lonely and desolate.
“What do you think, hon?” Her husband of ten years, Jack Matthews, stood beside her like a child on Christmas Eve, waiting for her to open his present. Impatiently, he gave her his own opinion before she could answer him. “Isn’t it great?” He held