The Man From High Mountain. Kay David

her father’s voice and felt the cold bluster of the Montana winds—and the sense of regret it always brought with it.

      When she opened her eyes, Cole was standing in the doorway, his dark gaze trained on her. The dog stood in between them, his ears perked, his head swinging back and forth to look at one then the other. The moment could have been an awkward one—she had no idea how long he’d been standing there, watching her—but it wasn’t. Just the opposite, in fact. Something in Cole’s quiet presence soothed the nerves she’d hadn’t really realized were so jangled until now. As soon as she understood the feeling, however, she felt it flee. She spoke to break the silence.

      “I love your coffee.” She lifted the cup. “I haven’t had it brewed this way in a hundred years.”

      “I’m on the trail so much, I get used to fixing it that way.” Walking into the kitchen, he ran his hands through his thick, black hair, pushing it back off his face. Pausing beside her, he reached for one of the mugs. “Can’t drink it any other way now.”

      He was standing so close that above the aroma of coffee, she could smell his soap. She looked up, her eyes studying his face. He’d nicked himself shaving, a small red line marking the edge of his jaw. Unexpectedly, she had a mental image of him standing in front of a steamy mirror, his shirt off, his black eyes focusing on his own reflection, a steady hand scraping a razor across his face. Something twisted deep inside Taylor, and it took her a moment to recognize the feeling as attraction. Shocked, she cut it off instantly and chastised herself. She was practically engaged, for God’s sake. What did she think she was doing?

      She turned, putting down her mug unexpectedly hard, hot coffee splashing onto the counter. Grabbing a nearby kitchen towel, she wiped at the spot furiously. “Are you just about ready?” she asked, her eyes never leaving the counter.

      He took a minute to answer. “I’m ready,” he said finally. Taking the towel from her fingers, he draped it over the kitchen sink then turned and went out of the kitchen. Lester glanced at Taylor apologetically, then jogged behind Cole, his toenails clicking on the polished wood floor. She stood in the silence for a moment more, then she followed the man and the dog.

      

      THE SUN WAS HOVERING just above the horizon as Cole pulled the truck up to the metal gate marking the ranch’s northwest boundary. A low line of blue clouds hung above them, their ominous darkness coloring the vista with threatening shadows. In the background, near the mountains, flashes of lightning darted across the sky. The cold front was definitely heading their way. Cole turned to the woman sitting beside him. With each passing mile, her tension had risen a notch. He’d sensed it in the closeness of the truck’s cab, just as he’d been aware of her perfume.

      “This is it,” he said, nodding toward the dusty terrain beyond where they sat. “Look familiar?”

      She leaned forward, her hands on the dashboard, the pink, buffed ovals of her nails glimmering in the dusty dawn light. “Not really. I don’t remember much about that morning.” She pointed to the metal sign above the cattle guard. “Was that there?”

      “The sign? Yeah. It’s always been known as Rancho del Diablo. I guess the previous owners must have put that up.”

      Black metal stretched in an arch fifteen feet above the cattle guard. The letters that spelled out Rancho del Diablo were weathered, polished into a shiny finish by the constantly blowing winds. Miniature pitchforks decorated each end of the sign.

      She suddenly looked uncertain. On the way over, she’d repeated Pearson’s gossip. It was clear she didn’t actually believe it, but the story had her spooked. Cole could have used her nervousness to try and change her mind, but he knew it would have been a pointless exercise. He’d just done his best to settle her down. If the truth was known, he had plenty of questions himself about Rancho Diablo. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but something was wrong with the ranch. His own place bordered Diablo, and he’d never gotten accustomed to seeing lights moving across the landscape at night or to hearing the occasional bark of a rifle. All he’d finally done was ignore it.

      “It’s not too late to forget about this,” he said softly. “We can drive right back to High Mountain. It’s your call. We can stop and—”

      She stared straight ahead and shook her head. “No.” Her voice was faint. “I want to go on.”

      He nodded without a word.

      The truck bounced over the cattle guard, the horse trailer behind it echoing the sound a moment later. Taylor gripped the seat and leaned forward. Every muscle in her body was tense and knotted—he could tell by the way she held herself.

      “How far does this road go?”

      “All the way across the ranch but we’ll only take it to the top of that plateau.” He pointed to the ridge in front of them. It was the beginning elevation to the mountains behind. “We’ll ride in from there.”

      “How far to the canyon after that?”

      “An hour or two, depending on the weather.”

      She seemed to notice the growing clouds for the first time. “Do you think it’s going to get bad?”

      “Could happen.” He glanced northward. The billowing blackness was beginning to roil. “I brought slickers. We’ll be okay.”

      “It was really hot that day, wasn’t it?” Her voice was detached, remote.

      He shot her a look. Her profile was soft, almost blurred. Lavender shadows darkened the skin beneath her eyes, and under her cheekbones, there were hollows he hadn’t seen two years ago. He wondered suddenly what Jack Matthews would have to say about her returning.

      She turned when he didn’t answer. “It was hot, wasn’t it?” This time her voice was sharper.

      “Yes,” he answered quietly. “It was hot and that was bad. It made you lose more blood than you would have if it’d been this cold.”

      She fixed her gaze back out the window, and for the next half hour only silence filled the truck. Which was just fine with Cole. The road hadn’t gotten any better over the years, and at times, it took all his concentration to follow it, the trailer bouncing along behind them, Lester adding an occasionally sharp bark to the rattle and jingle of their very slow progress. Cole stole a look at Taylor now and then, but she seemed to be in another world altogether.

      Or in another time.

      After what seemed like a long stretch, he finally turned the truck’s wheel sharply, then eased it up the last incline. Taylor’s fingers were now digging into the upholstery, her knuckles white with strain. Brackets had formed on either side of her mouth, and Cole found himself wanting to reach over and smooth them out with his thumb. They were just too painful to see. Instead, he directed the truck into a stand of mesquite and cut off the engine.

      Instant and total silence enveloped them, quiet so thick Cole was sure he could hear Taylor’s heartbeat if he listened closely. Turning toward her, he spoke, breaking the empty stillness.

      “This is the end of the road. We’ll have to saddle up and ride from here.”

      CHAPTER FIVE

      COLE GOT OUT of the truck and circled back to the horse trailer. Taylor sat perfectly still.

      Ever since they’d crossed the cattle guard and come onto the property, she’d begun to second-guess her decision. What did she think she was going to find out here on this vast, unforgiving land? Peace and quiet? A calm acceptance? Tranquility?

      Her heart began to pound and a wave of dizziness hit her. From behind the truck, the dog’s excited whines and the soft whinny of one of the horses broke the silence. The sounds seemed to be coming from a long way away, and unexpectedly the warm enclosure of the truck turned stuffy. Pushing up the sleeves of her sweater, she rolled down the window, propped her arm on the cold metal and sucked in the sharp, clean air. Without any warning, Cole appeared beside the door. He peered in