The Man From High Mountain. Kay David
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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.