The Man From High Mountain

She stood up. Moving to the window at the back of the cabin, she spoke softly. “It’s Taylor.” She paused. “My first name is Taylor.”

He said nothing. Outside, the heat shimmered in the distance. Finally she turned around.

“I—I had no idea...” Her hand fluttered toward his leg. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Your finger wasn’t on the trigger.”

“But you wouldn’t have been shot if we hadn’t hired you...if you hadn’t tried to help me.” A longer pause. “If I hadn’t tried to go back for Jack.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

Their eyes met, something shining in the cool green depths of hers that he didn’t want to see. He shrugged.

She bore the silence a moment longer, then she came to where he sat. “What if we took it easy? Drove in with horses, then camped for the night?” Her perfume reached out and curled around him. She was as beautiful as she had been two years ago. Just as beautiful and just as appealing. She had a delicate air about her, seemed even more fragile than she had been that first time they’d met. He imagined she wouldn’t last long in the harsh West Texas environment.

She continued to speak, completely unaware of his thoughts. “Surely we could get to the canyon in a morning’s ride, couldn’t we? We could spend another night out, then—”

He pushed himself up from the chair. “I’m sony, Miz Matthews—Taylor—but the answer’s still no. I lost nothing out there I need.” His hands curled into fists at his side, and he pulled his lips into one straight line. “You’re on your own if you want to go back to Diablo.”

TAYLOR FOUND HERSELF walking down Main Street that afternoon with little else to do. Jim Henderson, the real estate agent, couldn’t see her until later, and she’d planned on using this time to get ready for her trip out to the ranch.

Seeing the diner ahead, she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast so she headed inside and ordered a small salad and a cup of coffee. She was the only patron in the tiny restaurant, and her meal came within seconds. Lifting her fork, she looked at the sad bowl of wilted lettuce and tomatoes, then sighed deeply and put the fork down.

Turning her head, she stared out the window beside her. In the distant background, the ragged tops of the Davis Mountains pulled her gaze, their uneven edges as sharp and treacherous as the look that had been in Cole Reynolds’s dark eyes.

Deep down, a heavy tug of guilt pulled at her. Because of what had happened to them, Cole had been forced to change his way of life. Because of her and Jack. Because of some idiot with a gun. Taking a sip of coffee, she wondered suddenly how Cole had actually managed to get them both to the hospital. She’d never really asked anyone for the details. She’d been in too much pain to even care at first, and once she’d started to heal, she’d 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?”