The Man From High Mountain. Kay David
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lazily, his cries piercing. Taylor had become a determined city girl after growing up in Montana, but there was something about Diablo. It was unexpectedly exhilarating, even though it was intimidating, too.
She turned to Jack to say so. To tell him she loved him and how happy she was he’d bought this present for himself, this ranch that represented so much.
And that’s when the first shot rang out.
For just a moment, she was puzzled. The noise was foreign to her, abrupt and scary, disturbing the silence unexpectedly and not making sense. Staring at Jack, she frowned and started to ask him what it was—then the second shot sounded and a sudden bloom of red appeared on her shoulder, the one next to Jack’s. She looked at her shirt with a baffled expression, then comprehension came. And with it, pain.
“My God,” she said, wonder filling her voice. “I—I think I’ve been shot.”
Another crack broke the silence, this one zinging past her ear. Taylor screamed then, and Jack threw himself in front of her, his frantic hands on her shoulders pulling her toward the ground, realizing a second too late the direction from which the shots were coming. “Get down,” he yelled. “Get down!”
Before they could move, the gun sounded again. His body in front of hers, Jack pitched forward, a searing pain exploding in Taylor’s shoulder at the very same moment—one bullet hitting him then her. She cried out and staggered as Jack’s fingers curled painfully into her arms, his sudden weight coming against her and dragging them both into the red dust. She tasted it, like blood, on her tongue.
“Jack!” Refusing to see the mingling blood and the emptiness coming into her husband’s eyes, she screamed his name again. “Jack! My God, Jack!”
Fading fast, he looked into her eyes. “I love you,” he whispered.
COLE WAS BESIDE TAYLOR within seconds. Kneeling, he said nothing, but moved fast. Rolling Jack off her, he took a handful of Taylor’s collar and yanked her back and up, away from the edge of the canyon.
“No!” Struggling against the blackness that threatened to overcome her, she cried out. “Stop...stop! We have to get Jack.”
“You’re hurt. I have to get you out.” Cole’s voice was ragged, panting.
She fought him, kicking at his legs and pounding his chest with her fists, a flash of pain ricocheting off her arm and slicing down the rest of her body. “No,” she screamed again. “I want Jack. Jack—”
Cole ignored her cries. Slipping his arms beneath her own, he scooped her up and began to run.
The fifth shot got him.
With a grunt of pain, he fell heavily, Taylor going down with him. He was moving again within seconds, scrambling backward through the dust and scrubby cactus. Taylor continued to fight him, sobbing as she shrieked, a fiery pain fueling her grief and confusion and anger.
They reached a half-dead mesquite tree, and dragging her into the scant protection it offered, Cole finally stopped. Groggy and growing weak, Taylor had only one thought: She had to get to Jack. On her hands and knees, crying and wounded, she reached out and grasped one of the rough branches of the mesquite. The rough bark bit into her skin, scraping it raw. Ignoring this new pain, she used the limb to pull herself upright and staggered out into the open, taking two steps back the way they’d come.
A final shot rang out.
SHE CAME TO BRIEFLY. Someone was standing beside the bed, someone tall. She forced her eyes open as he touched her hand. Dark eyes met hers, then her eyelids fluttered down again. Before she went completely under, details, like passing headlights, flashed into her mind. An endless, agonizing ride to the hospital with an empty seat beside her. The doctors and nurses murmuring quietly. Pain, pain that made black dots dance in front of her eyes and buzzing noises sound in her ears. And finally the terrible, terrible knowledge coming to her that her life, as it had been, was over.
Her husband was dead.
CHAPTER TWO
Two years later—Houston, Texas
“YOU’VE COME TO MEAN the world to me, Taylor. And I want everyone to know it.”
Taylor Matthews lifted her champagne glass to her lips and looked over the rim at Richard Williams. They were sitting in a booth at Tony’s, the most expensive restaurant in town, and Richard fit in very well with the crowd around them. Black suit, gold watch, silver hair. He was sixteen years older than Taylor, but in excellent physical shape, a strong handsome man. He exercised a lot—ran and played squash five times a week—and was proud of how he looked. Jack’s partner in the art gallery they’d owned together, Richard had also been Taylor’s rock since his death. He reached across the table and put his hand over her fingers, squeezing gently. Between them, resting on the table in a black velvet box, a four-carat marquise diamond ring winked and flashed in the candlelight.
“I know these last few years have been hard for you, darling, but I can make that better. Let’s take this final step and commit to each other. I think you’d be so happy, you’d forget all about the past.”
Taylor smiled gently. He was a sweetheart, but Richard didn’t really understand. When Jack had died that hot summer day two years ago, Taylor’s life had been changed forever. For a long time, things other people took for granted were beyond her reach. Things like sleeping through the night. Eating with appetite. Making love... Each and every day Taylor had struggled, one way or another. Richard had helped tremendously, but she would never forget what had happened.
She couldn’t. Deep down inside her a huge, gaping hole existed that would never be filled. Dr. Kornfeld, her therapist, had assured her it wouldn’t always be that way, but Taylor knew better. While some days were better than others, the truth was, her mental well-being had suffered greatly, and it had been getting even worse recently, her nerves a mess, her emotions upside down. The nightmares, always bad since that day, had gotten inexplicably more severe the past few months. Every night disturbing images of blood and dust, screams and fear, were tangling her in the sheets and bringing her to abrupt awareness. She kept hearing the local sheriffs voice in her mind, describing Jack’s killers.
“Druggers. Probably crossing the river with a load. Thought you might see ‘em and report it. Easier to shoot ya.” A shake of the head. “We’ll never find ’em. Gone into the mountains, already in Mexico. Too late...too late.”
Jack’s murder had gone unpunished and the fairness and principles he’d believed in had gone by the wayside. He’d never received the kind of justice he’d deserved. She mentally shook herself and pulled away from the images and haunting voice to concentrate on the present. After Jack’s death, Richard had guided her through all the legal problems and had virtually run the business single-handedly. Slowly, so slowly she hadn’t even noticed until the past year, their relationship had evolved into something else, in spite of her continued emotional problems. Richard had turned into more than a friend.
But an engagement? Was she ready for that step?
She looked across the table at the handsome, elegant man. What she felt for him wasn’t the wild, at-first-sight-and-forever kind of love she’d had with Jack, but a woman could only hope to be that lucky once in a lifetime, and she’d had her turn. Which, actually, was a perfectly acceptable situation to Taylor. She didn’t even want that kind of connection again—it hurt too much when it ended.
Richard lifted her hand to his lips and brushed his mouth over the tips of her fingers. “What do you say?” He nodded toward the diamond ring and smiled. “Do you think that might be your size?”
She answered his smile with one of her own, but deep down, more questions began to assail her. Was it fair to Richard to commit to a relationship if she wasn’t sure?
As if sensing her hesitation, he pressed. “I don’t want to wait any longer,