The Man From High Mountain. Kay David
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She knew their bottom line down to the penny.
“I want to do better than fine, Taylor,” he answered with a hint of irritation. “The space next door is going to be available in a month or so and I really wanted it—so we can expand.”
Richard’s only fault was his ambition—sometimes it took him too far. Jack had told her about. some of the acquisitions he’d made sight unseen. The expenditures had frightened Jack, a more conservative businessman, but in the end they’d turned out to be extremely profitable, thank God.
She spoke uneasily. “You didn’t sign anything, did you? Like a lease or something?” Beneath the desk, she tangled her fingers nervously.
“Of course not,” he answered patiently. “You know I’d discuss something like that with you first.”
“Well, I don’t think we need to expand right now. We’re doing very well as it is.”
Martha Klein, their assistant, appeared at the door. “Your tickets just arrived, Richard. And the driver’s here to take you to the airport. Are you ready?”
Taylor stared at the woman with dismay. “He’s early—”
“Tell him I’ll be right there, Martha.” Looking back at Taylor, Richard held out his hands, a sudden expression of contrition on his handsome features. “Look—I’m sorry, sweetheart, we are doing wonderfully, but you know me. I just get carried away sometimes. I want the best for you—for us. That’s all. You understand, don’t you?”
Taylor nodded. “I do, but—”
The office door opened again. Martha peeked inside. “Are these all of your bags out here? Nothing else?”
“That’s it.”
Taylor’s shoulders dropped. There was no more time—she couldn’t bring up the ranch issue now. How could they resolve it like this, here, in the next two minutes?
Richard misinterpreted her movement. “C’mon, darling. I won’t be gone that long. Chin up.” He held out his arms and she stepped into them. For a moment, they hugged, then Richard released her, kissing her on the cheek. “Take care of yourself,” he instructed, “and think about how much I love you. That’s the only important thing.”
Taylor stared at the door as it closed softly behind him. A few minutes later, she heard the limo pull out of the driveway. Turning in her office chair, she stared out the window at the fall mums lining the walkway into the gallery. They were orange and gold and red, and their colors made her think of a different place and time. In her mind, she saw a dusty, barren landscape, a tall, dark stranger, and a crimson stain that spread much too fast. Unconsciously, she raised her right hand toward her left shoulder, but before her fingers found their mark, she dropped her hand to the top of the desk. She thought for a very long time, then reached for the phone.
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