Kay David - The Man From High Mountain

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 to the desk beside him. “But you didn’t come here for local color, did you? You want your papers, right?”

“Are they ready?”

He shook his head. “’Fraid not. Pauline—she’s the secretary over at the title company—had to stay home with her grandbaby today, chicken pox, I think, and she didn’t get to ’em before she left on Friday. Can you try me again tomorrow?”

Taylor’s impatience flared, but for the second time that morning, she reminded herself of where she was. “All right, but I’m going out to the ranch early tomorrow. I’ll be gone for a day or so.”

“Even better, then. We’ll have it all fixed up by the time you get back.” His smile faded slowly. “But why on earth are you going out there, honey? Won’t bring you anything good, that’s for sure.”

“I—I just need to, Mr. Henderson. It’s one of the reasons I returned. To...to say goodbye, I guess.”

“Well, I suppose that makes sense.” He nodded his head slowly, thoughtfully. “I’ll have those papers ready just fine, I promise. Don’t you worry. We’ll take care of everything.”

He’d used the exact same words when she’d been in before, but she wasn’t going to get upset. It didn’t really matter. She’d waited this long, a few more days wouldn’t kill her. She nodded, then turned to leave. But with her hand on the doorknob, she stopped and looked at the man behind her. “Jim...” She started, then faltered.

He looked up, a curious expression on his face. “Yeah?”

“I know this may sound dumb but...”

“What?”

“I was down at Pearson’s a few minutes ago, and Earl Pearson told me he thought the ranch was haunted. Have you...have you heard anything like that?”

From across the room, the real estate agent stared at her. He took so long to answer, she started getting nervous, then he spoke. “Haunted? Why would he say something like that?”

“Actually, I was hoping you might explain it. He said everyone around here knew about it. Something about strange lights, noises...”

“Well, Earl’s a weird character. Who knows where he got that idea? I wouldn’t let it bother me if I were you.”

“He said no one around here would ever buy Diablo.”

“Well, he is right about that, even if he’s got the reasons wrong. No one around here could afford it. We’ll find our buyer in Dallas or Houston. Maybe even out of state. Those people from South Carolina like huntin’ Texas deer, and they got plenty of money right now.” He smiled amicably. “Don’t worry about it, honey. Someone will want Diablo, haunted or not.”

SITTING ON THE FRONT porch and watching the sun go down, Cole let his hand drop over the side of the rocker where it landed on the head of Lester, his black-and-tan hunting dog. Easing his fingers over the animal’s slick, silky fur, Cole smoothed back his ears. The dog moaned with pleasure, then flopped closer to his master’s chair and exposed his belly, hoping for a better scratch. Cole looked down at him and spoke. “Forget it, partner. I’m too tired to bend over. This is all you’re getting tonight.”

The dog yawned, as if to show his indifference, then he rolled over and started to snore.

“And tomorrow night’s gonna be even worse.” Cole spoke out loud, but he was only repeating the words he’d been thinking all day long. He didn’t know what had gotten into him at Pearson’s. Without any warning, his mouth had voiced promises he wasn’t sure his body could keep. He reached for the beer he’d brought outside with him and took a long, thirsty gulp.

He was crazy, pure and simple crazy. If Taylor Matthews wanted to get herself all upset—or worse—what business did he have trying to stop her?

None. But if she went on her own and got hurt or worse, he’d have to go get her anyway. Accompanying her just made things easier. Lester groaned in his sleep, and Cole stared down at the dog, his shoulders suddenly slumping. Who was he trying to fool? The real reason he was taking her to Diablo was a much simpler one. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her, and that possibility definitely existed. He’d done the only thing he could. But he’d pay for it...oh boy, would he pay for it.

Almost on cue, his hip began aching. This time of year it always hurt more. The colder evenings seemed to irritate it, and when it rained, the pain got even worse. They were probably going to have both over the next few days. Rain and cold. A front was coming down from the north. They’d catch the brunt of it, he was sure. He knew by now even the weather wouldn’t make a difference to her, though.

He turned his head toward the west. Toward Diablo. Taylor was a determined woman...he only hoped he could keep her a safe one.

WHEN TAYLOR MADE her way to the Blazer early the next morning, it was still dark. And in High Mountain, dark really meant dark. Not a single light shone anywhere on Main, and beyond that, into the desert and the hovering mountains, the lack of illumination was even more intense. She glanced uneasily around the parking lot, remembering the slashed tires and silent phone calls. Nothing else unusual had happened so she assumed the sheriff had taken care of the teenagers. She put her nervousness behind her and got into the Blazer.