The Man From High Mountain. Kay David

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 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?”

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