The Man From High Mountain. Kay DavidЧитать онлайн книгу.
I want to. After that, I’ll never ask you to do anything for me. I’ll leave here, and you’ll never see me again. I promise.”
If he turned his back on her and she went alone, she probably wouldn’t return alive. If he got involved and they went together, God only knew what would happen. He’d been fighting off his memories for so long, the reality of actually being with her might be too much.
One way or the other, Cole was doomed.
He glanced outside to the mountains and wondered just what kind of mistake he was making. He was afraid he knew but there was nothing that could be done about it. He didn’t have a choice, either. Gesturing toward the pile of camping equipment at her feet, he met her gaze once more. “Be at my place at five in the morning. We’ll drive as far as we can, then pack in. Count on two days, one night.” He paused. “And get rid of this junk. I’ve got everything we’ll need.”
Her emerald eyes turned warm all of a sudden. “Thank y—”
He stopped her, his callused palm held out between them. “Don’t thank me for this, Taylor. Believe me, I’m not doing you any favors.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SURPRISED BY COLE’S sudden capitulation but too happy to question it, Taylor watched him climb awkwardly into his beat-up truck a few seconds later. Through the window, she stared as he pulled away, red dust rising in a cloud thick enough to obscure his departure. When she turned around, the owner of the store was looking at her. He was a strange little man with a rounded face and eyes that didn’t quite match. As she watched, the left one twitched violently.
“I’m afraid I won’t be needing these things after all,” she said apologetically. “My plans have changed.”
The man tilted his head toward the street. “You going to Diablo with him?”
His question surprised her, but then she reminded herself that High Mountain wasn’t Houston. Everyone knew everyone else. “Yes,” she answered. “Cole will be guiding me in. He has his own equipment. You know who I am?”
He nodded. “Everybody knows who you are. We got long memories ’round here.”
“Then I guess you know I’m selling the ranch.”
His eyes narrowed, but the left one continued to twitch. “Sell Diablo?” He shook his head with a jerky rhythm that matched the movement in his eye. “That’ll never happen.”
“Why on earth would you say that? I’m sure someone will want it.”
“Never. Leastways not anybody ’round here.” He punched his lips out and shook his head. “Everybody in High Mountain knows that place is haunted.”
Stunned into silence, all she could do was stare at the man.
“Sorry to be putting it that way to you, so blunt and everything, but it’s the truth. Strange lights, weird sounds—you name it and it goes on out there. Was happening a long time before your husband even bought the place. He shoulda knowed better.”
“A-are you trying to tell me you think there are ghosts at Diablo?”
He shrugged, but wouldn’t meet her eyes, turning instead to fuss with the equipment scattered at their feet. “I don’t know nothing about no ghosts. All’s I can say is there’s something out there. That’s for damned sure.”
TAYLOR MADE HER WAY up Main, the strange words of the store’s owner rattling her more than she would have liked. Jack had never said anything about odd goings-on at the ranch, and she was sure that if he’d known, he would have told her. It seemed curious that Cole hadn’t mentioned the gossip, either.
Which was exactly what it was, of course. Taylor didn’t believe in ghosts or anything like that. She was a practical woman. There were explanations for everything, you just had to look harder for them sometimes. Her slashed tires were a perfect example. The sheriff had told her it was probably kids. A group of local teenagers had been running wild lately, and after she calmed down, she had to agree with him. It made sense.
Just like Cole changing his mind did. He’d obviously used his hip as an excuse, so there was a logical, reasonable explanation for why he’d decided to go with her. She’d been surprised, of course, not expecting her plea to really persuade him, but something she’d said had obviously hit home. And she was glad, for more than just the obvious reasons. Once they were at Diablo, maybe it would be easier to hear the details of how he’d gotten them back and what had really happened. Listening to the particulars was as much of what she needed as anything—now that she was strong enough to actually do it. She would thank him, too, for everything he’d done.
Reaching the bottom of Main Street, she turned right and walked the final few blocks to the log cabin that housed the Realtor’s office. It sat on the end of the street, all alone. Jim had said the papers might be ready today. If she was going out to the ranch with Cole, Taylor would just as soon have everything taken care of before she left.
The office was empty when she pushed open the door, but a voice answered the bell that had softly announced her arrival. “Be right there. Hang on...”
Putting her purse down on a nearby desk, Taylor looked over the office. At one time, it must have been beautiful. An elaborate Oriental rug covered the wooden floors and once expensive leather sofas were clustered around an antique butler’s tray table. The place held an air of disuse now, though, as if it’d seen better times. She walked to the opposite wall to stare at the photos arranged over the coffeepot. They were old and showed High Mountain as it had been in the 1800s. The town actually looked a little more lively back then, she thought. As she moved down the row, the black-and-white grainy pictures were gradually replaced by more up-to-date photos until finally she came to one that had clearly been taken very recently. It showed Jim Henderson, the Realtor, and a man she thought at first was Cole. She moved closer and stared hard, finally deciding it wasn’t Cole. He was tall and powerfully built like Cole, and in his face there were eerie echoes of Cole’s features, the Native American costume he was wearing emphasizing his dark good looks. There was something distinct about his eyes, though, a kind of indifference that was missing in Cole’s. Standing beside the man was a stunningly beautiful woman. Long, black hair, classic features, eyes that were tilted exotically.
A noise behind Taylor made her turn. Jim Henderson was drying his hands on a tea towel and smiling. He was a trim, nice-looking older man with a wave of gray hair and a beard to match. “Hey, Taylor. You’ve found my celebrity wall, eh?”
Taylor nodded and returned his smile. “Who is this?” she asked, pointing to the photo of the man who looked like Cole.
“That’s Teo Goodman and his wife, Beryl. He’s the local Indian Council representative.”
“Goodman? He sure looks like—”
“Cole Reynolds?” Jim nodded. “They’re brothers. Or half brothers, guess I should say. Shared the same mama. Cole’s daddy was a local rancher, but Teo’s came from the reservation. Their mom was full-blooded—like Beryl.”
“Full-blooded what?”
“Jumano Indian.”
As soon as she heard that word—Jumano—Taylor remembered. Jack had told her about Cole’s background the night before the accident. Fascinated by American Indian art, Jack had wanted to talk to Cole about his heritage, but the conversation had never taken place, she thought sadly.
“It’s quite a story, really. The Jumanos were a tribe that lived here in the 15 to 1600s, but by the 1700s they’d been pretty much absorbed by the Apaches and the Spaniards. Interestin’ group—into tattoos big time. They lost their whole culture, though. It was a real shame.” Henderson nodded toward the photo. “But Teo’s doing a damned good job of bringing it back. He’s a real hard worker. Setting up schools for the kids, activity centers for the seniors. Raising money for it all, selling cakes and whatnot.” He dropped the towel