The Man From High Mountain

The Man From High Mountain
Kay David

Cole Reynolds is an outsider.He's lived in High Mountain all his life but never felt he belonged. That's okay, though. He's a man who likes his space–and in West Texas there's plenty of it.But everything changed the day he met Taylor Matthews. He was guiding Taylor and her husband through a remote part of the desert when someone shot at them. Cole and Taylor were wounded and her husband was killed.Now Taylor's back–determined to find out what really happened. And like it or not, Cole knows he has to keep her safe….

“Can I at least come in and try to convince you?” (#u54b8c768-7d94-5816-9110-1fd60b35e1e1)Letter to Reader (#ufbd2c1e2-f3e8-5dcf-9ae2-72b738a46088)Title Page (#u2de5cbe7-bad7-56b0-bc44-404993392c18)CHAPTER ONE (#u4e6134bd-3e20-5b51-a7e7-29426b3046b2)CHAPTER TWO (#udbbee6b4-d2dc-5dcd-868f-6be83d2fa024)CHAPTER THREE (#u30c47bc7-9993-5447-8fbb-23529ec3e7fd)CHAPTER FOUR (#u8a9ea54e-8505-5958-9df2-9e7412fa0565)CHAPTER FIVE (#u34e18b74-9d5e-5da6-919c-daa09e0f7126)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“Can I at least come in and try to convince you?”

At her words, Cole turned. She was a shadow behind the screen door, a disembodied voice. “There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind, but you can come inside and waste your breath if you want to.”

Without waiting to see what she did, he made his way to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he heard the door creak, followed by the sound of her boots on the floor. Grabbing two beers, he walked back to the den and handed her one of them.

“I want to go back,” Taylor said softly. “I have to.”

Despite himself, he asked, “Why?”

“I’ve never said goodbye. It’s time for me to move on with my life, and I can’t do that without going back to the...to the place it happened.”

“Time to move on...” Her choice of words intrigued him. She was the one who’d left. He’d stayed. Every day he drove by the entrance to her ranch. Every day he led strangers into the land surrounding it. Every day he dealt with the pain in his hip.

She’d continued to speak, completely unaware of his thoughts. “Surely we could get to the canyon in a morning’s ride? We could spend the night there, then—”

He stood. “I’m sorry, Taylor, but the answer’s still no. I lost nothing out there that I need.” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re on your own if you want to go back to Diablo.”

Dear Reader,

No matter how far away I live, work or travel, Texas will always be my home, in my heart if nowhere else. As a child I grew up on the beaches of the Gulf of Mexico and as an adult I’ve lived all over the state. Whenever I’m gone, I look forward to returning, because Texas is incredibly unique and beautiful with a diversity of culture and land that can be found nowhere else.

This book reflects my love for one part of Texas—the wild empty reaches of the western half of the state. Lonely and vast, this area is very different from the tropical greenness of the Gulf Coast region or the flat terrain of the north. West Texas stretches past where the eye can see and goes on from there. The isolation and emptiness is almost impossible to describe. The sky’s too blue, the air too sharp. My parents once owned a large ranch similar to the one in this book, and whenever I visited, I was torn between being afraid of its remoteness and enjoying the sensation of being the last person on earth.

Naturally, the people who inhabit this area are as unique as the land. They’re independent, solitary creatures who like their space and want plenty of it. In this story, the love my characters share for the land is rivaled only by the passions they feel for each other. I hope you enjoy it.

Sincerely,

Kay David

The Man from High Mountain

Kay David

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE

TWICE A DAY THE DOCTOR came by her room. He was an old man, a country doctor, with a monk’s fringe of hair around his head. His hands were gentle as they probed her bandages, especially the large, tight one holding her arm securely against her chest. On the third day, Taylor Matthews realized there was more in his eyes than concern. Through a still-lifting fog of painkillers and relaxants she finally recognized what it was late that afternoon.

His bright blue gaze held pity.

She turned her face away so he wouldn’t see her tears, but he’d seen everything already and knew exactly what she was doing. When he finished changing all her dressings, he rested his hand against her shoulder, his touch cool against her skin.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Matthews.” His voice was surprisingly deep. It echoed against the bare walls of the tiny West Texas hospital. “If it’s any consolation, your husband died very quickly. The round went right through his heart. I doubt he felt a thing.”

She moved her head against the pillow, squeezing her eyes tighter, her hair whispering against the crisp linens. From behind her eyelids, a burst of bright light accompanied the movement along with a stab of sudden sharpness. She welcomed the pain—it took her mind off everything else. She felt the pinprick a moment later, and welcomed it, too. Blessed oblivion.

Just before she went back to sleep, someone came into the room and sat down. His step was odd, out of sync somehow, as if he too was wounded and here for care. Her eyelids were too heavy now to lift, but she didn’t have to see the person to sense his presence. It spread over her room and filled the corners with a quiet and calming awareness. The sensation was comforting, almost as if she knew it was all right to go to sleep now because she wasn’t alone anymore. He would stand watch over her. She was safe.

She drifted off, but the memories went with her.

THE DAY HAD BEEN WARM for fall, the West Texas sun so close to their heads Taylor had thought she could reach up and touch it. Climbing out of the ancient pickup, she’d gazed over the dusty barren landscape with dismay, half wondering, with affection of course, if Jack had finally lost his mind.

She’d never seen a place so lonely and desolate.

“What do you think, hon?” Her husband of ten years, Jack Matthews, stood beside her like a child on Christmas Eve, waiting for her to open his present. Impatiently, he gave her his own opinion before she could answer him. “Isn’t it great?” He held out his hands. “And look at that view! You can see for miles—and everything you see, we own!”

She turned then to look at him. His dark blue eyes, eyes she’d loved for so long, were staring into the distance, but she knew he wasn’t seeing the enormous ranch he’d just bought. He was seeing the succession of mobile homes and dirty apartments and temporary shelters he and his brothers had lived in as children. He was seeing the hard life and the missed opportunities and the mother buried at the county’s expense. He was seeing how far he’d come—from being a kid who owned one shirt to being a successful businessman who had now fulfilled his final dream. Owning a three-section ranch flat in the middle of West Texas. One thousand, nine hundred and twenty acres to be exact.

She swallowed the words she’d been about to say and put her arm around his shoulder. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart. Truly gorgeous. I love it!”

He turned to her, his eyes sparkling. “Do you really?

“I do,” she insisted loyally, nodding her head up and down. “It’s absolutely perfect. Ranch heaven. I couldn’t have picked a better place myself!”

Reassured by her words, as she knew he would be, he stepped away from the truck, the gravel beneath his boots crunching in the total and absolute isolation. The silence around them was overwhelming. Twenty miles off the main highway, they’d come at least fifty miles beyond that from the nearest town, High Mountain—which was, in fact, little more than a general store, a sad motel, and one lone Mexican food diner.

She glanced uneasily toward the guide at the rear of the truck. She hoped he was as good as he was supposed to be. What if they got lost? What if someone got hurt? They could be out here for days and see no one, absolutely no one. She studied the tall, slim man, understanding now that their lives literally depended on him.

He hadn’t said two words to her after their introduction, but Jack had been totally at ease with Cole Reynolds. Usually cautious around strangers, Jack had been impressed with the taciturn man, telling Taylor last night that Cole knew the area better than anyone around. He was part Jumano Indian, Jack had explained, and had lived in the area all his life. Chattering about the details as they’d gotten ready for bed, Jack had seemed to enjoy the fact that their ranch was so huge they needed a tracker to lead them in.

“Once we get the roads paved, we’ll be fine,” he’d said, slipping between the covers, “but until then it’s best if we let Cole help us. He’s terrific—we definitely won’t get lost with him in charge.”

She walked to the back of the truck where the guide was unloading supplies. She paused by the bumper. “Need some help?”

At her voice, Cole Reynolds glanced up and met Taylor’s gaze. She told herself she was being silly, but looking into his endlessly dark stare was like peering into a bottomless pit, and something tripped over her nerves. His eyes were so black she saw nothing except her own reflection. Suddenly rattled, she shifted her gaze. The skin that was stretched over his high cheekbones and bladelike nose was burnished into a deep rich tan. The dark hair that curled around the planes of his face only served to emphasize the copper tones.

“I’d like to do something,” she said, repeating her offer just to break the tension she felt under his silent gaze. “May I help?”

“No thanks,” he said curtly. Reaching back into the truck, he pulled out another pack, the muscles of his back straining beneath the white T-shirt he wore, the faded denim of his jeans stretching across his buttocks. He straightened. “You’re gonna have enough to do once we start walking. You’d better wait in the shade by the truck for now. Conserve your energy.”

His answer made perfect sense, and there was no hint of condescension in his voice. He was quietly competent and interested only in doing his job. Still, Taylor felt herself react. She had a sixth sense about people and something told her there was more to this man than the calm, cool exterior she saw. She wondered nervously what it was.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Reynolds?” She spoke lightly, making her voice hold amusement. “Think I can’t make it?”

The guide continued to pull gear out of the truck. After a moment he stopped and straightened completely. She hadn’t realized how tall he was until then. Six feet plus, she figured.

“I think you’re from Houston, I think you’re not accustomed to this kind of heat, and I think you’re in for a shock about just how rugged this part of Texas is.” He stared at her a second longer, then reached into the back of the truck for a beat-up black cowboy hat. Tugging at it, one hand in the front, one in the rear, he settled it onto his head. “That’s what I think.”

She didn’t quite know what to make of his answer. “Well, if that’s the case, why did you agree to bring us out here?”

“It’s what I do.” The soft words, spoken in his West Texas drawl, hovered in the air between them. “I take people places they can’t get to on their own. Then I bring them back.”