The Man From High Mountain. Kay David
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turned and met his gaze. His eyes were as black as ever, but there was something else in his stare...something that looked suspiciously like concern. She swallowed hard. “I—I’m a little shaky, I guess.”
He’d put on leather gloves to saddle the horses, worn gloves with the fingertips cut out. Lifting one hand, he placed it on her arm, the rawhide soft as cashmere, the exposed ends of his finger unexpectedly warm against her skin. “What did you expect?” His voice was not unkind. “This place holds a hell of a lot of memories. You’re stirring up some powerful stuff.”
She nodded and bit her lip. “It’s what I wanted, but I wasn’t prepared, I guess.”
He stared at her a moment longer as if he were trying to decide what to do. Finally he reached inside and opened the door. “Come on out, then,” he said with a sigh. “We might as well get started before that front gets any closer.”
She slipped out of the truck, her boots sinking into the soft, red dirt. A movement near the rear of the pickup caught her eye, and she saw that he’d already unloaded the horses. A black quarter horse stared curiously back at her, twin plumes of steam coming out his nostrils. He snorted softly then nosed the smaller, gray Appaloosa beside him as if to point out Taylor’s appearance.
“Kinda late to ask, but you do ride, don’t you?”
Nodding, Taylor looked up at the man beside her. “It’s been a while, but yes, I can ride. I grew up on a ranch in Montana.”
He raised his dark eyebrows in surprise. “I thought you said you were a city person.”
“I am. I left Montana when I was eighteen and never looked back. I imagine I can still ride a horse, though.”
He looked down at her as though he wanted to know more, but he wouldn’t ask. Cole Reynolds was the kind of man who respected privacy. Taylor liked that in a person. Especially if it was her privacy at issue. An image of Richard flashed into her mind. He’d wanted to know everything about her. How she and Jack had met, where she’d lived before they’d married, where she’d gone to school. Everything.
Without dwelling on the thought, she brushed past Cole and went to the small, gray mare. Taylor allowed the animal to smell her palm, the velvety nose of the horse dry and warm against her skin. The touch brought back memories of her childhood, of rocky crags, and deep snow, and endless sky. Other memories came, too, some of them not as nice.
Cole appeared behind her, patting the smaller horse. “This is Honey, and this fellow over here—” he walked to the black horse and scratched him behind his ears “—is Diego.” At Cole’s touch, the horse neighed his pleasure then lowered his massive head and nudged Cole’s shoulder. “We’ve been a team for quite a while.”
“Why didn’t we ride to the canyon that day? Why did we walk?”
Cole pulled a saddle out of one of the compartments built into the side of the trailer, then reached in for the harness and tack. “Your husband didn’t want to ride. He told me he wanted to walk the land, said he’d get a better feel for it.” Slipping the reins over Honey’s head, he stared at Taylor. “Maybe I should have insisted on horses.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Things might have gone differently. It would have been a damned sight easier to get you out of there, that’s for sure.”
Taylor’s chest tightened, seemed to close around her heart a bit. She told herself this was exactly why she’d come back—to hear things like this—but that didn’t make it any easier. She took a deep breath. “How did we get from the canyon back to the truck? I...I don’t remember.”
Draping a second bridle over his arm, Cole reached in and pulled another saddle and blanket from the trailer. He walked over to the black horse and dropped the gear by the animal’s hooves. Finally he looked up and met Taylor’s eyes, speaking reluctantly. “I carried you out.”
For a moment, all Taylor could do was stare at Cole. Then she found her voice. “You carried me out? How in the world did you manage that? You’d been shot—we were miles out. How—”
“I slung you over my shoulder and walked.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “When that didn’t work any longer, I made a travois.”
She gripped the edge of the trailer, the cold metal biting into the palm of her hand. When that didn’t work any longer... He didn’t have to elaborate—she knew exactly what he meant. When he’d lost too much blood himself to carry her. When he’d turned weak and filled with pain, too. The image left her feeling ill.
“How did you manage?” Her voice was a whisper.
He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. The horse standing between them neighed softly, feeling the tension. “I did it like I do everything,” he said. “I took it one step at a time.”
“But you were wounded.”
He turned back to the horse, waited a moment, then pulled the cinch. When he stood up and looked at her again, his expression was closed. “Don’t make it into more than it was, okay, Taylor? I did what I had to do to get us both out of there—what anyone would have done. There weren’t any other options.”
He was obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, and Taylor didn’t know if it was because he was being modest or if he hadn’t come to terms with what had happened, either. She nodded slowly. “I don’t know if I agree with you—that it was what anyone would have done—but I do know one thing.” She paused, waiting until his eyes met hers. “I appreciate it. You saved my life. I—I don’t think I ever really thanked you as I should have, and it’s long overdue.”
For a heartbeat, all they did was stare at each other, the wind at their backs, the quiet stillness of the land surrounding them with an intimate and silent vista of isolation. It felt as though they were the last two people on earth.
“You’re welcome,” he said finally, his deep, rumbling voice echoing through the emptiness.
A FEW MINUTES LATER, Cole watched as Taylor grasped the horn of the saddle and swung herself up to Honey’s back. She seemed a lot calmer, a lot more at ease, and he began to wonder if part of her nervousness had simply been an uneasiness at being around him. They were like two strangers who’d been trapped in an elevator during a storm and then suddenly freed. People didn’t always know how to handle the bonding that came with sharing a trauma, especially when the trauma was over. He’d seen the same thing happen between men in his unit during his time in the military.
Eventually, though, she’d have more questions and he didn’t want to give her the answers. Remembering the details did nothing for him. He didn’t want to have to explain how he’d ripped off his shirt and bandaged both their wounds. How he’d waited out the endless hours for the cover of darkness. How he’d then taken painful step after painful step and gotten them back to the truck, struggling to stay conscious himself, sick with concern that she’d die before he could get them out or that whoever had been shooting at them would come back and finish the job.
It didn’t take much effort to recall the agony of driving them to the hospital, veering from one side of the road to the other, praying—for the first time since he was a kid—for help.
He didn’t want to remember any of it.
Cole put his boot in the stirrup and swung himself to Diego’s back. His memories of their time together two years ago were mostly hellish, but the parts that weren’t... well, he didn’t want to remember them, either, but they haunted him even more.
When he closed his eyes at night, he could still see the creamy white shoulders, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, the painful look of tragedy those beautiful green eyes had held. He’d felt like the worst kind of creep when the memories had first come to him. At the time, when he’d bandaged her with the remnants of his shirt, he’d been too concerned about keeping her alive to notice anything, but later, much later, the