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www.millsandboon.co.uk
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Epilogue
One
Betty Abbott paused in her efforts to polish the counter of the Dry Gulch Café. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes, attempting to pierce the grime-coated window of the eating establishment. Something was moving out there, which was unusual in the desolate terrain that surrounded the small settlement. After concentrating for several moments, she made out a tiny swirl of dust at the foot of the Guadalupe Mountains.
Dropping the rag, she moved from behind the counter to get a better look.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?”
She glanced toward the serving window of the kitchen at Mel, her husband of forty-two years, before peering back outside. “I’m not sure.” She paused just inside the sagging screen door. “Thought I saw something movin’ out there.”
“You’re dreamin’, sweetheart. There’s nothin’ movin’ around this part of West Texas ‘cept maybe rattlesnakes and roadrunners.”
Betty couldn’t argue with him there. They were lucky to have a half-dozen customers a day during the winter months, mostly truckers passing through. An occasional motorist would stop for gas and might decide to eat, too.
The isolation never bothered her, because she was used to it. Both she and Mel had been born in the shadow of those mountains and most likely would die there, as well, which suited her just fine.
The moving cloud continued to grow larger until she recognized the spiraling tail of dust to be a vehicle driven at a high rate of speed over one of the area’s dirt roads.
Identifying the sight only whetted her curiosity. The only road in that direction led directly into the mountains. It was too early in the year for the ranger station to be opened. No one else was around those parts, except for—
She chuckled.
“Now what?”
She turned away from the screen door and with quickened steps that belied both age and weight, moved behind the counter once more.
“Looks like Jake’s decided to pay us a visit,” she said, tossing out the half pot of coffee that had been sitting for several hours on the burner. She began to make a new pot.
“Can’t be Jake, honey. He was just here a few weeks ago.”
“I don’t care if he was here yestiddy. There’s nobody around here that drives like a bat outta hell the way Jake does. You just wait ‘n’ see if that ain’t him.”
Mel pushed open the swinging door between the kitchen and the eating area and walked through. “You really think it’s him, huh?” He squinted through the window made opaque by the never-ending West Texas dust storms.
Betty didn’t look up from her task of pouring water into the coffeemaker. “Ya wanna bet?”
Mel shook his head. “Hell, no, woman. If I paid off all the bets you’ve won from me over the years, you’d be a rich woman.”
She paused long enough to flash him a saucy smile, holding the premeasured packet of coffee in one hand, a thin white filter in the other. “Keep your money, honey. I’m already rich with everything that really counts in life.”
Mel slipped his arm around her ample waist and hugged her. “That makes two of us.”
She finished the coffee preparations before turning in his arms and giving him a quick squeeze in return. “D’ya got any cinnamon rolls left? You know how Jake loves them things.”
“If it is Jake, then I’m gonna have to compliment him on his sensitive nose. I made a fresh batch this morning that should be coming out of the oven anytime now.”
Mel headed back to the kitchen, and Betty took up her vigil once more at the door of the café.
The dust cloud steadily increased in size until she could see the vehicle causing it. A battered pickup truck of some undetermined color moved across the horizon, growing larger in her view.
Yep, that’s Jake, she decided with an absent nod. I wonder what he’s doing back so soon? Who could ever figure out Jake Taggart? He was a law unto himself.
Betty remembered the night he was born. How could she forget? His mother, Mary Whitefeather Taggart, would always live in Betty’s memories as a sweet, gentle woman who’d never deserved the hard licks life had given her. She’d been abandoned by that no-account Johnny Taggart six months after he’d sweet-talked her into marrying him, pretending he wanted to settle down.
She’d believed him, fool that she was. He’d left her stranded in West Texas, pregnant and alone.
Betty and Mel had insisted she stay there with them, while she had insisted on working for her room and board. A person couldn’t help loving the quiet woman with the desolate black eyes, who hadn’t wanted to be any trouble to anybody.
She hadn’t told them she was in labor until too late to get her some medical attention. Betty’d had to help with the birthing. She and Mel had lost their only baby two years before, even though she’d gone to the hospital in El Paso. This time, Betty had vowed that she would help this new life into the world if God would show her what to do.
She would never forget those long hours, or Mel’s supportive presence in the background—his calm assurance that his wife could do anything she set her mind to, including deliver a baby out in the middle of nowhere.
Betty knew that God had kept His promise; otherwise, where would she have found the strength to have done all the necessary things to coax the angry young Jake into presenting himself? He’d entered the world with an attitude, bless his heart, with clenched fists and a strong will to beat the odds against him.
She couldn’t love him more than if he’d come from her own womb.
Betty watched the distant truck careen onto the highway without slowing down. The dust cloud began to dissipate now that there was nothing to fuel it. The truck moved rapidly toward them.
“Yep,” Mel muttered. “You were right.”
Why is Jake coming down from his place in the mountains so soon after his last visit? she wondered.
She glanced at the coffee to make sure it would be ready when he arrived, then turned back and watched Jake’s progress along the highway.
Jake drove like he did everything else he ever put his mind to—with a skill and careless elegance that drew the eye. Easily in command of the machine he drove, Jake pulled into the graveled parking area and slowed to a stop in the empty lot.
Betty stood in the doorway and watched as he opened the truck door and unfolded his long length. He pulled his battered Stetson low over his forehead so that it touched the rim of his aviator sunglasses. He wore a sheepskin-lined denim jacket that fit snugly across his broad shoulders, then tapered to his lean waist. When he reached back into the truck for his keys, his tight jeans revealed the long, muscular legs and taut buttocks of a runner. Well-worn hiking boots covered his feet as he sauntered across the parking lot toward the café.
Not for the first time Betty thought about the number of women who’d wanted to lasso and tie down the man walking toward her. Despite her age, she could understand very well their reaction to him. He seemed to bristle with energy even when his movements appeared slow and measured. There was an aliveness about him that caught the eye. He was a fine specimen of the human male animal in the prime of life.
She admired him as much as she loved him. He’d accepted the cards life had dealt him and had played them with a fierceness and determination that had never folded regardless of the stakes. And yet, there was something about him that remained a mystery. Jake Taggart was a very private man. She’d learned years ago not to question him about his decisions and choices, even when she didn’t understand them. Jake never let anyone get too close to him.
Betty waited until she saw his rare smile flash like a brilliant light in his sun-darkened face before she spoke.
“What happened? Did you forget somethin’ when you were down here last time?”
Jake stepped up onto the slanted porch that ran the length of the building. She pushed the door open for him and he took it with one hand while he pulled off his sunshades with the other. His black eyes danced with mischief.
“I couldn’t handle another day without seeing you, sweetheart. You’re downright irresistible and you know it.”
“I heard that,” Mel yelled from the kitchen. “You’d better watch how you flirt with my wife, fella. If you ain’t careful, I’ll have ta take ya behind the buildin’ and whup some sense inta ya.”
Jake’s smile flashed once more. “You and what army, pal?”
Their familiar ritual of greeting complete, the three people burst into laughter while Jake gave Betty a hug that lifted her off her feet and made her squeal. Once he released her she went over to pour him a cup of fresh coffee.
Jake pulled off his Stetson and sank down on one of the stools alongside the counter. Betty filled a thick ceramic mug with steaming liquid and set it in front of him. Mel came out of the kitchen and put a cinnamon roll, glistening with fresh glaze, in front of Jake.
Jake glanced around the small café that had been a part of his childhood, as though seeing it for the first time. He became conscious of the scarred tables and chairs, the linoleum whose design had been scrubbed and wiped off years ago and the worn countertop.
A couple of oil paintings hung on the back wall, mute evidence that Betty and Mel would never turn away anyone who was hungry, even if the person was broke. Those two scenes of El Capitan—the majestic peak of the Guadalupe range—and the surrounding desert area were their payment for feeding a fellow who had camped out for a few weeks in the vicinity many years ago.
“So what are you doin’ here?” Betty asked once again.
Jake pretended dismay. “You mean I’ve already worn out my welcome for the winter?” He took a huge bite of the roll and almost groaned out loud from the savory sensation.
She punched his arm. “You know better ‘n that. But you came down here for supplies just a while ago. We didn’t expect to see you again anytime soon.”
He took a sip of coffee, giving himself time to think about his answer. “I guess the truth is that I’m getting a little bored with my own company these days.”
Mel called from the kitchen. “Betty, don’t forget to give him the card that fella left here a couple of weeks ago.”
“Oh, yeah. Good thing you reminded me. I’d done forgot all about that.” Betty walked over to the old-fashioned cash register and slid her fingers beneath it, coming out with a card. “Here you go. This guy showed up and was asking all kinds of questions about you...like where you lived and if you had a telephone or a fax or something. I told him that nobody knew where exactly you lived up in them mountains, not even the park rangers.”
She smiled when she said that, to remind Jake that she knew of his unauthorized use of land that had been claimed by the government as a national park area several years after he’d made his home there.
When he continued to eat the sweet roll without changing expression, she added, “He asked us to give you his card the next time we saw you.”
Jake took the card and immediately recognized the logo in the corner. The address was familiar as well. CPI Enterprises in Seattle, Washington. The name meant nothing to him; he’d never heard of a Woodrow Forrester. He must have been hired after Jake left the company. He placed the card on the counter and sipped his coffee without comment.
She waited for a few minutes, then said, “He insisted it was real important for him to get in touch with you as soon as possible. Like it was some kind of an emergency or something.”
Jake took another bite of the roll.
“Isn’t that the company where you used to work?”
He finished chewing and took a sip of coffee before replying. “That was a long time ago.”
She looked at him, puzzled. “Not so long, surely. You’ve been back about a year, haven’t you?”
“Thirteen months.”
She nodded her head in agreement. “That ain’t so long a time, when you think about it. You worked for that company how long?”
“Almost five years...but that’s all ancient history now.”
She lifted one eyebrow and tapped the card with a pudgy forefinger. “Well, young man, I’d say your history’s tryin’ to catch up with you.”
He stuck the card in his shirt pocket. “Only if I let it.” He took another bite of the savory roll. He’d never found a pastry anywhere to compare with Mel’s cinnamon rolls. They were worth the long trek out of the mountains.
He glanced up and realized that Betty was still standing on the other side of the counter, watching him. As soon as she made eye contact with him, she spoke.
“Whadduya s’pose this guy wants?”
“Who knows?” He wished she’d drop the subject, but he knew Betty too well to think she would.
“So. You goin’ to call ‘im?”
That took no conscious thought at all. “Nope.”
She crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the counter. “Just out of orneryness, I s’pose?”
Jake straightened, fighting to control his impatience. Betty knew nothing about his reasons for leaving the company. Only Brock Adams, the head of the company, knew. Once Jake left, he’d never discussed the matter with anyone.
Whoever this Forrester character represented in the company, Jake knew it wouldn’t be Brock Adams.
Betty was still eyeing him expectantly. “Look, Betty. It would be a waste of time for me to call this guy. I have nothing to say to him or anybody else in that company. I’m no longer a part of that world.” He glanced out the window and nodded toward the mountains. “That’s my life now. I’ve returned to my roots.”
“You know, Jake,” Betty said. “I suppose most people would probably believe ya, but I happen to remember how hard you worked all them years to get your education. I was there, remember? You took all kinds of part-time jobs, refusing to let me and Mel help ya, no matter how hard you had to struggle. You even got yourself some sports scholarships by playing your heart out, all so you could get the kind of education you needed to make it in the business world. I’m afraid you ain’t going to convince me that all that effort you went to meant nothing to you. I don’t care what you say.”
He supposed she had a point. Maybe he needed to look at things from a different perspective now that he’d had some time to himself. CPI Enterprises wasn’t the only company in the world, even if he’d spent his years there being groomed to succeed Brock Adams, thinking the company would be his life.
At the time he’d left, all he’d wanted was to leave the business world behind. He’d returned to the Guadalupes in search of some kind of inner peace, a way to live with the choices he’d made.
He’d ignored the park rangers and their petty governmental rules that said he could no longer have a home in the national park area. He’d actually made a game of circumventing them while he turned the shack he’d built up there as a kid into a habitable home.
Eventually he’d formed an uneasy but peaceful coexistence with them. He ignored them and they left him alone.
The months of hard physical labor had done him good. He’d come to terms with his life. He’d accepted the kinds of behavior he could live with and had set boundaries for those he couldn’t. The mountains had done their healing work on him. Maybe it was time for him to look at his options and consider what he wanted to do next.
One option he knew he’d never consider would be to return to Seattle and the life he’d once attempted to establish there.
Mel came out of the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He studied Jake for a moment before he asked, “How ‘bout a game of dominoes?”
Jake nodded. “Sounds good.” He picked up his cup, stepped behind the counter for a refill, then followed Mel over to one of the tables in the back. He set the cup down and pulled off his coat, hanging it on a nearby hook before he sat down across from the older man.
Mel and Betty were the closest thing he had to family. He loved them with a deep-seated sense of loyalty and appreciation. But he still couldn’t talk to them about his life and the choices he’d made. He knew that they loved and accepted him, but they had trouble understanding him.
He wasn’t any good at trying to talk about his feelings. He never had been. He’d learned early on that if he was going to survive, he had to depend on himself. Nobody else. He’d never been one to talk about himself, about his goals in life. About his dreams.
After his mother had died, he’d been like a half-wild animal, snarling at everybody, resisting any authority. He hadn’t trusted many people in his life, that’s for sure. Mel and Betty, of course. Hell. They’d more than half raised him.
And Brock Adams. For whatever reason, he’d learned to trust and admire Brock Adams during the years they’d worked so closely together. He’d made an error in judgment, though, believing in Brock, believing he knew the kind of man Brock was. And he’d paid for the error. He’d left a well-paid job and a promising career without looking back or regretting the cost.
Payment enough in any man’s book.
So why in hell were they looking for him now, after all this time?
“You gonna play or just sit starin’ at the spots?” Mel asked, breaking into Jake’s thoughts.
Jake blinked, suddenly focusing on the dominoes in front of him for the first time in several minutes. “Sorry, guess my mind was wandering.”
“No need to be sorry. This ain’t brain surgery. You’re allowed to take all the time you want, but I’m going to have to get to work here directly,” Mel responded, glancing at the clock over the front door.
Jake studied the layout before him, then placed a domino along one line.
“Maybe I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Looks like you’re gonna beat me if I don’t do somethin’ mighty fast here.”
Jake scratched his chin. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, another sign of his abstraction. He’d been taking long hikes lately, now that he’d finished all the construction plans for his place. Sometimes he would end up camping out overnight if he was too far from the cabin when the winter dusk caught up with him.
“Gettin’ restless up there in them mountains, aren’t you?”
“A little,” Jake admitted.
“I could never figure out why you wanted to live up there all alone, anyway.”
Jake grinned. “I’m far from alone, Mel. There’s plenty of company. Most of the time I much prefer Mother Nature and her wildlife to people. At least the predators are easier to recognize.”
“Don’t you ever miss that job you had out in Seattle?”
Jake frowned. “Sometimes.”
“I can’t rightly remember what it was they made at that factory.”
“They manufactured various parts used in the building of airplanes, helicopters—whatever the aeronautical industry needed.”
“Do you suppose that guy that was here is wanting to offer you a job?”
“Wouldn’t matter if he was.”
Neither one of them spoke for a while. One game ended and they started another without a word. Occasionally Betty came over and refilled their coffee cups.
“You guys gettin’ hungry?” Betty finally asked.
Mel grunted. Jake glanced up. “I could probably eat a sandwich.”
The sound of tires on the gravel driveway outside announced that the tiny restaurant would soon have more business. Jake leaned back in his chair and watched a couple with two small children get out of a late-model minivan.
“Looks like your noon rush just arrived,” he drawled, grinning. Mel hurried to the kitchen while Betty reached for the stack of menus, a smile on her face for the children.
* * *
Rebecca Adams had been following the arrow-straight highway east out of El Paso for what seemed like hours, looking for the Dry Gulch Café. The desolate West Texas terrain had so mesmerized her with its sameness that she almost drove past the small settlement without noticing it. She was almost upon it before she noticed the sign advertising the café.
She peered at the cluster of weathered, gray buildings while hurriedly braking to make the turn. There were only two vehicles in the gravel parking lot—a minivan and a pickup truck.
Rebecca quickly glanced into the rearview mirror of her rental car, thankful there was no one to see that she hadn’t bothered to signal her intentions as she pulled off the highway. She parked neatly beside the angled truck and turned off the car engine.
She’d left Seattle early that morning and hadn’t paused in her travels since. Woody had told her that the only people he’d found who seemed to know anything about Jake Taggart were here at this café.
She took a deep breath and slowly released it. She was here now, ready to begin her search for the elusive Mr. Taggart. She’d made up her mind that nothing was going to stop her from finding Jake and talking to him, no matter what she had to do.
She quickly ran a comb through her dark, shoulder-length hair, powdered her nose and checked to make sure she still had on her lipstick. Her wide-set gray eyes stared back at her apprehensively from her compact mirror. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever been so nervous before, but then she’d never had to deal with such high stakes before. She couldn’t afford to lose this particular gamble.
She could think of any number of people she would have preferred to look for besides Jake Taggart. She’d never understood her father’s enthusiasm about the man. He may have been a genius at what he did for the company, but he’d been an impossible person to get to know.
She’d always taken pride in the fact that she could figure most people out. She’d made human behavior her main study, but Jake had always managed to elude her analysis.
As soon as she stepped out of the car, Rebecca paused to straighten her slim dark skirt and adjust the tailored matching jacket that stopped a few inches above the mid-thigh length of her skirt. She reached for her briefcase, which held her purse, and straightened, inwardly seeking the professional calm that carried her through her daily working routine.
The gravel made walking in heels difficult. She picked her way carefully across the dusty expanse. The last thing she needed was an injury of some sort out here in this godforsaken wilderness.
She was relieved to reach the smoother surface of the picturesque porch, which held a cluster of chairs—straight-backed and rockers—and a couple of tables. She glanced around her, perplexed by the evidence of her own eyes. Had Jake Taggart actually grown up in this area? In no way did it fit the image of the man she remembered.
The sagging screen door protested with a squeal when she pushed it open and stepped inside.
Her appearance seemed to have frozen the few occupants in the room into suspended animation. Every eye seemed to be trained on her. A casually dressed man and woman occupied a nearby booth with two small children. The little girl sat in a high chair at the end of the table, while the boy was perched on a booster seat beside his father.
All four stared at her as though she’d just stepped off a space ship and was there to make inquiries of the local inhabitants.
The woman behind the counter stood with a forgotten coffeepot in her hand, her eyes round as she stared at the newcomer.
Only the cowboy in the back seemed uninterested in her. He sat with his chair leaning against the wall, balanced on two legs, as though he had nothing better to do than to hang around a café all day. His thick black hair was worn too long, brushing his collar and tumbling across his forehead. He’d glanced at her when she’d first walked in, then he’d looked away as though unimpressed, while casually twirling a pair of sunglasses by one of the earpieces.