Kay David: The Man From High Mountain

“How did you manage?” Her voice was a whisper.

He stopped what he was doing and looked up at her. The horse standing between them neighed softly, feeling the tension. “I did it like I do everything,” he said. “I took it one step at a time.”

“But you were wounded.”

He turned back to the horse, waited a moment, then pulled the cinch. When he stood up and looked at her again, his expression was closed. “Don’t make it into more than it was, okay, Taylor? I did what I had to do to get us both out of there—what anyone would have done. There weren’t any other options.”

He was obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, and Taylor didn’t know if it was because he was being modest or if he hadn’t come to terms with what had happened, either. She nodded slowly. “I don’t know if I agree with you—that it was what anyone would have done—but I do know one thing.” She paused, waiting until his eyes met hers. “I appreciate it. You saved my life. I—I don’t think I ever really thanked you as I should have, and it’s long overdue.”

For a heartbeat, all they did was stare at each other, the wind at their backs, the quiet stillness of the land surrounding them with an intimate and silent vista of isolation. It felt as though they were the last two people on earth.

“You’re welcome,” he said finally, his deep, rumbling voice echoing through the emptiness.

A FEW MINUTES LATER, Cole watched as Taylor grasped the horn of the saddle and swung herself up to Honey’s back. She seemed a lot calmer, a lot more at ease, and he began to wonder if part of her nervousness had simply been an uneasiness at being around him. They were like two strangers who’d been trapped in an elevator during a storm and then suddenly freed. People didn’t always know how to handle the bonding that came with sharing a trauma, especially when the trauma was over. He’d seen the same thing happen between men in his unit during his time in the military.

Eventually, though, she’d have more questions and he didn’t want to give her the answers. Remembering the details did nothing for him. He didn’t want to have to explain how he’d ripped off his shirt and bandaged both their wounds. How he’d waited out the endless hours for the cover of darkness. How he’d then taken painful step after painful step and gotten them back to the truck, struggling to stay conscious himself, sick with concern that she’d die before he could get them out or that whoever had been shooting at them would come back and finish the job.

It didn’t take much effort to recall the agony of driving them to the hospital, veering from one side of the road to the other, praying—for the first time since he was a kid—for help.

He didn’t want to remember any of it.

Cole put his boot in the stirrup and swung himself to Diego’s back. His memories of their time together two years ago were mostly hellish, but the parts that weren’t... well, he didn’t want to remember them, either, but they haunted him even more.

When he closed his eyes at night, he could still see the creamy white shoulders, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, the painful look of tragedy those beautiful green eyes had held. He’d felt like the worst kind of creep when the memories had first come to him. At the time, when he’d bandaged her with the remnants of his shirt, he’d been too concerned about keeping her alive to notice anything, but later, much later, the details had come back to him. The lace of her bra, the blue veins beneath her skin, the perfection of her body. What kind of man wouldn’t have noticed? Only a dead one, he’d decided later.

Now, watching Taylor rein Honey into a turn, her jeans stretching tight against the curve of her buttocks, her arms lifting gracefully, he realized once again what a beautiful woman she really was.

And just how different their two worlds were.

He touched Diego’s flank with his heel and set the horse into an unexpected trot, Lester beside him. Within minutes, Taylor had Honey cantering beside them. They spoke little over the next hour or so. Cole concentrated hard on making sure he was taking them the right way and not having thoughts he shouldn’t. Taylor was clearly concentrating on keeping Honey in line, the horse a gentle one but a handful for someone who was out of practice riding. From time to time, Cole glanced over at Taylor. She’d disappeared into another world, just as she had done earlier in the truck.

By midafternoon, a steady, cold rain had begun to fall. Cole dug out slickers and tossed one to Taylor. She draped it over herself, the bright yellow coat covering her completely. An hour later, his hip screaming, Cole reined Diego to a halt and spoke over his shoulder. “There’s a cave about three-quarters of a mile up ahead. I think we need a break.”

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