Time slowed as Rayanne’s mind scrambled to make sense of what she was seeing.

She made a grab for the wall as her knees gave way. Surely this was some kind of joke.

“Who are you?”

Her question was little more than a whisper, but the man heard it all right. There was no mistaking the temper in those ice-blue eyes. His outfit matched the one he’d worn in the picture he held clutched in his fist: scuffed boots, a faded shirt, dark trousers and a worn duster. It couldn’t really be him, but every cell in her body screamed that it was.

“Wyatt McCain?”

His name was the last thing she said as the floor rushed up to meet her.

ALEXIS MORGAN grew up in St Louis, Missouri, graduating from the University of Missouri, St Louis, with a BA in English, cum laude. She met her future husband sitting outside one of her classes in her freshman year. Eventually her husband’s job took them to the Pacific Northwest, where they’ve now lived for close to thirty years.

Author of more than nineteen full-length books, short stories and novellas, Alexis began her career writing contemporary romances and then moved on to Western historicals. However, beginning in 2006, she crossed over to the dark side. She really loves writing paranormal romances, finding world-building and developing her own mythology for characters especially satisfying.

She loves to hear from fans and can be reached at www.alexismorgan.com.

Immortal

Cowboy

Alexis Morgan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

I want to dedicate this story to the memory of one of my favorite uncles, who shared his love of Zane Grey with me. I blame him for my lifelong love of stories about gamblers, cowboys, lawmen, and gunslingers with hearts of gold.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Extract

Prologue

No one was ever alone on the mountain. Sometimes voices whispered in the mists, uttering words too faint to be understood. Eyes watched from the shadows, the weight of their gaze sitting heavily on those few brave enough to venture far up the slopes. The most sensitive of the visitors might feel the fleeting touch of hands without substance, leaving a chill on their soul. Smart folks didn’t linger for long.

Chapter 1

Rayanne charged into the dappled shadows under the trees, following the narrow path that led toward town, the dense growth making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead.

Where was he?

Her breath came in fits and jerks as she broke into a run down the game trail. A few feet in, her shoe caught on a root, sending her sprawling forward to land on her hands and knees. Ignoring the warm trickle of blood down her shin, Rayanne lurched back to her feet, wishing she’d taken the time to exchange her flip-flops for running shoes. But there hadn’t been time for practical matters, not when Uncle Ray needed her.

The trees thinned out ahead, affording her a better view of the town. There wasn’t much left of Blessing, but that was no surprise. The last residents had abandoned the place over a hundred years ago, leaving behind only the few buildings too stubborn to fall down.

No sign of her uncle in any direction. What would she do if he didn’t come back soon? At thirteen, she could take care of herself for a while, but the mountain was a scary place to be all alone. She yelled Ray’s name several times with no answer except the soft rustle of leaves.

Should she go back to the cabin and call the authorities for help in finding him? No, he’d never forgive her. Uncle Ray wanted nothing at all to do with the government that had taught him how to kill and then did nothing to repair the damage it had done to his soul.

So that left it up to her. As his namesake, she took her uncle’s well-being very seriously.

Ignoring the pain in her side, she sprinted toward the old church, the one place that would give her the best vantage point. It sat right smack in the middle of Blessing, directly across from the saloon. Inside the sanctuary, she waited a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior before making her way to the staircase that led up to the belfry. Out of habit, she avoided the missing second step, using the banister to pull herself up directly to the third. The rest of the stairs were sound enough, allowing her to reach the roof quickly.

The hinges on the door creaked in protest when she pushed it open and stepped out onto the narrow confines of the belfry. She carefully skirted the hole where a bell used to hang. It had probably been sold off for scrap metal by one of the former residents, but that was old history. Right now, all Rayanne cared about was finding her uncle.

She hated heights, and each step across the rough wood floor took all the courage she could muster. Dread made her feet heavy as she crossed the short distance to the front edge of the roof. She latched on to the worn wooden railing in relief. But the second she touched it, the air around her rippled and blurred. Her stomach heaved as she clutched the railing and waited for the world to quit rocking.

When the floor beneath her feet finally steadied, she risked a quick peek at the street below. She blinked twice and looked again.

“What the heck?” she asked, not expecting an answer.

The town below was no longer a skeleton of what it used to be. Instead, the street was lined with buildings that hadn’t been there only minutes before, all constructed out of fresh-hewn lumber.

And there were people—men, women and children—going about their business as if they strolled through Blessing every day, all wearing clothes straight out of a history museum. Were they reenactors? She couldn’t imagine Uncle Ray tolerating such an intrusion on his privacy.

Besides, how could she have missed seeing them on her way through town? As she scanned the faces to see if Uncle Ray was among the throng of people, a shout went up, drawing everyone’s attention to the far end of town. A group of men on horseback appeared in the distance, riding hard for the center of town, sending everyone on the street scurrying for cover. Something was dreadfully wrong. Rayanne ducked down even though the railing wouldn’t provide much cover.

Just as the last child was dragged inside the old store and the door slammed shut, a solitary man appeared in the doorway of the saloon, carrying a rifle in his right hand. He paused long enough to inhale deeply on his cigarette before tossing it on the wooden sidewalk and grinding it out with the heel of his boot.

He stepped out into the street and the bright sunshine, moving with a lethal grace. Just like the others, he wore an authentic-looking costume: a cowboy hat, boots and a duster that had seen a lot of hard miles. His hat sat tipped back slightly, giving her a glimpse of coal-black hair. From the faded blue of his shirt to the scuffs on his boots, whoever had designed his costume had an amazing eye for detail.

Her pulse tripped and stumbled as the stranger turned to face the oncoming riders. He pushed his duster open, revealing a lethal-looking pair of revolvers. The holsters rode low on his hips, looking all too comfortable there as if he’d been born wearing them. There was a deadly stillness about him that she could feel even from her perch two stories above the street.

A few daring people in town peeked out of windows and through cracks of open doors. Playacting was one thing, but the scene unfolding in front of her felt too real, dangerous. If Rayanne could’ve run away, she would have. But her feet ignored her orders and remained right where they were.

The riders slowed their horses to a walk and fanned out across the narrow confines of the street. If the man was nervous about being badly outnumbered, he gave no sign of it. Instead, he planted his feet in a wide stance, as if hurricane winds couldn’t have budged him.

Was she witnessing an actual gunfight straight out of the Old West? The tension radiating from everyone in sight certainly seemed real enough. She should go back to hunting for Uncle Ray, but at that moment nothing could’ve dragged her away from the drama unfolding before her. When the riders started forward again, time stopped and the seconds stretched to the breaking point.

The hinges creaked behind her, warning her that she was no longer alone. Thinking it had to be her uncle, Rayanne smiled in relief and turned to scold him for worrying her so. Instead, a man she’d never seen before stepped through the narrow doorway, ducking to avoid the church bell.

Before she could wonder much about its sudden reappearance, she saw that he, too, was heavily armed. She shrank back into the corner, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her even though she huddled in plain sight.

He ignored Rayanne completely as he crouched down to peer over the railing. When he brought his rifle up to his shoulder, there was no doubt in her mind that he had his sights centered on the lone man below and meant to do him serious harm. When he pulled back on the hammer, preparing to shoot, her voice finally broke loose. Her terrified warning echoed down the street.

The man on the street spun to face the church. For a long heartbeat, his pale blue eyes met Rayanne’s just before he fired his own rifle. The man beside her jerked and stumbled. He had a puzzled look on his face as he slowly sank to the wooden floor, his fingers trying to hold back the red stain spreading over the front of his shirt.

For a few seconds, silence reigned. Then blood, hot and bright, rained down on Rayanne’s face and hands. At first she only whimpered as she frantically tried to scrub her hands clean on her clothes. But when Rayanne saw the man’s eyes staring up at her, dull and lifeless, she screamed and kept on screaming until her throat was raw and her face burned with the hot acid of tears and fresh blood.

Her uncle finally appeared and pulled her into the solid warmth of his arms. He stroked her back, murmuring words of comfort in that awkward way of his. After a few moments, he stepped back.

How odd. Ray no longer towered over her. Either he’d grown shorter or she was taller. He’d also aged, the gray streaks in his red-gold hair more pronounced. All of that was strange enough, but it was the sadness in his smile that caused her heart to stutter.

“I’ve always loved you, Rayanne. I always will. I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become.”

Woman? She was barely a teenager.

Ray brushed her hair back from her face. His eyes, so like her own, looked at her with such serious intent. “You have the gift, same as me. The mountain and Blessing need your special touch. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Promise me that much.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she nodded, anyway. “I promise.”

“That’s real good, sweetheart.” Then he looked around. “It’s time for me to go.”

He smiled one last time as he slowly faded into shadow with no substance, leaving her alone on the rooftop bereft and still splattered with blood.

* * *

Rayanne bolted from her bed and went stumbling across to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet in time. Kneeling on the floor, she heaved and retched until there was nothing left to come up. After a bit, she pushed herself back to her feet, waiting for another wave of nausea to pass before stepping closer to the sink.

It had been years since the nightmare had been so vivid, and she needed her mirror’s reassurance that she was twenty-eight, not thirteen. Even with her face pale and her hair a tangled mess, it helped to calm her nerves a little.

She grabbed the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, an old flannel one Uncle Ray had loaned her one summer. Having that little piece of him close by always comforted her. Her next stop was the kitchen to brew a cup of chamomile tea. Along the way, she turned on every light she passed.

Anything to keep the shadows at bay.

After putting the kettle on the stove, she sank down on the nearest chair and waited for her heart to stop pounding. Dawn was still an hour away, but she wouldn’t risk going back to bed for fear the dream would play itself out again. She’d had as much terror as she could handle in a night, thank you very much.

Things might be different if she had someone there to help ward off the fear, but she didn’t. Bright lights, hot tea and a warm robe would have to suffice.

Just as the kettle started to whistle, the phone rang. Rayanne stared at it for several seconds before reaching for the receiver, her hand trembling hard enough she almost dropped it.

“Hello?”

“Rayanne? I’m sorry if I woke you up, but I thought you’d want to know. Uncle Ray passed away during the night. It was his heart.”

Her mother’s stark words stole the oxygen in the room, leaving Rayanne struggling to breathe around the lump of grief in her chest. Had Ray really come into her dream to say goodbye? She wouldn’t put it past him.

“Rayanne? Did you hear what I said? Ray’s gone.”

She forced herself to answer. “Yes, I did, and I’m really sorry, Mom. I’ll call you later about the arrangements.”

Then she hung up and let the tears come.

One week later

Rayanne taped up the box and set it down on the floor by her office door. She had more packing to do, but right now a break was definitely in order. Dropping into her chair, she popped the top on a bottle of water and then picked up the book that had come in the morning mail. Flipping through it distracted her from the quagmire of her own thoughts.

The past seven days had been hell, plain and simple. They’d honored her uncle’s request that they not make a fuss over his passing. In truth, he’d had few friends, and they weren’t the kind to stand on ceremony.

Two days later, a lawyer had contacted her about Ray’s estate. Her mother had been with her when the call came in and insisted on accompanying Rayanne to the appointment. What a disaster that had been. She’d spent the ensuing days either berating her late brother for forcing Rayanne to move up to his mountain cabin to claim her inheritance or demanding that Rayanne contest the will. The attorney had repeatedly emphasized the terms of the will were rock solid, but her mother had a habit of hearing only what she wanted.

Rayanne had finally quit answering her mother’s calls. Eventually, she’d have to deal with her, but right now she had other priorities.

Lost in her thoughts, a knock on her office door startled her. Who could it be? Surely her mother wouldn’t have tracked her down here. Setting her book aside, she unlocked the door. When she saw who it was, relief had her smiling.

“Hi, Shawn, I’m glad it’s you. I was afraid my mom had decided to drop in for a visit.” She looked around at the surrounding chaos in her office. “Sorry about the mess. I was just taking a short breather before I finish packing.”

She pointed toward the stack of boxes she’d yet to fill in hopes he’d take the hint. He didn’t. Instead, he shoved a pile of papers aside to make room for himself on the corner of her desk. He picked up the book she’d been reading.

“Still studying up on dead towns, I see.”

“The correct term is ghost towns, not dead ones.”

She let a little of her irritation show. Even though he was teasing, she wasn’t in the mood. She took her research seriously. Normally, Shawn respected that, but he’d been in a strange mood lately.

She took the book from him and set it aside. “What’s up?”

“When were you going to tell me that you’d asked for a leave of absence from the university?” His voice was a shade too cool for the question to be completely casual.

Oh, that. Whoops. “I only got the approval late yesterday afternoon, and I asked the dean to make an announcement this morning at the staff meeting.”

Shawn’s eyebrows snapped down tight over his eyes. “That’s not the same as you telling me yourself.”

She’d been dreading this moment. “I left you a voice mail this morning.”

His expression lightened up a little. Good. She really hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings, but she’d already faced off against her mother over her acceptance of the terms of Uncle Ray’s will. She didn’t want to have to defend her decision to anyone else.

“It’s just that all of this is so sudden, and I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

He looked marginally happier. “Are you sure putting your life on hold is a good idea?”

Was that what she was doing? Maybe, but then what choice did she have?

“I’m simply following the dictates of my uncle’s will. He didn’t leave me any wiggle room on this.”

Shawn drew a deep breath. “Somehow I doubt you would’ve fought the terms regardless.”

He was right. “I’m sorry, Shawn. I haven’t been myself since all of this happened. Ray’s death hit me hard. The semester is almost over, so the dean was pretty understanding about me leaving early. One of the grad students will cover the last few classes for me and give the final.”

“That’s good. I’d hate to see you jeopardize your career here at the university on a whim.”

That wasn’t what this was, but Shawn clearly had something on his mind. “Just spit it out, Shawn.”

Her comment startled him, his smile a bit rueful. “Okay, here’s the thing. I was hoping the two of us could go somewhere together this summer for a few days, maybe a week.”

He shifted to look at her more directly. “I’m not picky about where. Heck, we can even go explore some of those dusty, old ghost towns you love so much. I just thought some time away from all of this—” he waved his hand to indicate more than just the clutter in her office “—would be good for us.”

The emphasis on the last word wasn’t lost on her, and perhaps he was right. Some time spent away from their normal surroundings would definitely answer some questions for both of them. They’d had dinner a few times, but she’d been reluctant to take the relationship to the next level.

Obviously, he wasn’t.

Part of the problem was the recent resurgence of her nightmares. She’d never shared the story with Shawn and didn’t intend to anytime soon. It was the main reason that she’d never invited him to spend the night at her place. Until she could be sure that she wouldn’t wake up screaming, that couldn’t change.

On the other hand, she had to wonder that if she’d been convinced that there was something special possible between the two of them, would she have trusted him with her secrets? Their friendship was familiar and comfortable. If it was ever going to be more, she needed to resolve the questions that had plagued her for years once and for all.

For now, she had to offer Shawn an answer that he could understand, a version of the truth that he could accept without revealing her real reasons for going back to Blessing alone. Once she’d made peace with her past, maybe she’d know if there was a place for Shawn in her future.

“I plan to spend the time I’m at the cabin on my research. Things are too up in the air right now for me to make any other commitments.”

“Will you at least think about it?”

He wasn’t going to give up unless she conceded at least that much. “Yes, I’ll think about it, but no promises.”

Her effort at a reassuring smile must have succeeded because he gave her an approving nod. “Great. Now I’d better get back to my office. We’ve both got work to do.”

As a fellow college instructor, he knew the constant pressure to publish. She let him think that was what was driving her research, a far more acceptable explanation for her almost obsessive need to study the past.

In truth, the dream that had haunted her for years was the real reason she scoured bookstores and the internet for new primary sources of information on the lost towns of the West, and specifically about Blessing, Colorado.

It didn’t help that all she felt when Shawn left was relief. Her mother would be the first one to tell her that she was being foolish. Shawn was educated, handsome and financially secure; in short, everything Rayanne should want in a man. She liked him; she really did. What did it say about her that she’d rather focus her energy on research than on building a relationship?

This wasn’t getting her anywhere. A few more minutes of reading and then back to work. As she opened the book, a dank, musty smell wafted up from the pages, but she didn’t mind. Books as old as this one were rarely in pristine condition. Besides, it was the words on the pages that were important.

The passage she’d been reading made her smile. It was like having a private conversation with someone who had lived and breathed more than a century ago. The author, Jubal Lane, had clearly shared her interest in the boom and bust of the towns that dotted the landscape in the late 1800s. The only difference was that he’d seen them firsthand.

Jealousy was pointless, but at least she could see those same towns through his eyes. She read slowly to savor Jubal’s thoughts and descriptions, pausing periodically to make notes. When she was about to stop, a word at the bottom of the page caught her attention: Blessing.

With her pulse racing, she quickly scanned the remaining few lines. Jubal Lane had actually visited Blessing, the town that had formed the backdrop of the nightmares that had haunted her since she was thirteen years old.

Before that summer, she’d played in the deserted buildings as a child, loving every minute of her visits with Uncle Ray. But that last trip, everything had changed and she hadn’t been back since. The memories flooded through her mind.

How ironic that she’d run across a reference to Blessing now when it was too late to share it with Ray.

Rather than letting herself get dragged back into the past, she closed the book and put it in her bag. For now, she had to finish before the shipping company arrived. Most of her things were headed for storage; the remaining few would be shipped to the cabin up on the mountain where she’d need them for her research.

As she sealed the last box, she paused to look around her office. Odd that it felt as if she were leaving for good rather than for the summer. That was ridiculous. Of course she’d be back in the fall. The terms of Uncle Ray’s will had only dictated she had to live on the mountain through August, not the rest of her life.

By the end of summer, hopefully, she will have laid the past to rest once and for all. She’d return rested and ready to pick up the pieces of her life here at the university. That was her plan, and she was sticking to it.

* * *

Later that night, Rayanne curled up in her favorite chair, ready to learn what Jubal had to say about Blessing. Since no one in her family had ever answered her questions about the town, perhaps she’d finally find them for herself.

Did she really even want to?

As a rule, she did her best not to think about the solitary man who wore a black duster and carried a rifle. After all, he and the others only existed in her imagination. But if that were true, why had she continued to be plagued by such vivid, horrifying dreams about them?

Worse yet, why had she secretly compared every man she’d met to a nameless man with black hair and blue eyes?

She’d spent years searching for even a mention of Blessing with no luck until now. With a mixture of trepidation and excitement, she opened the book to the last page she’d read and started over at the top.

When she reached the lines where Jubal mentioned his next stop was to be Blessing, she took a deep breath and turned the page. His words drew her back into the past. He described the valley where the town sat with near-perfect detail, enough to convince her he was talking about the one on Uncle Ray’s mountain.

Jubal said most of the townspeople had moved on to greener pastures after some tragedy had occurred. He also alluded to a gunslinger who had met his fate in the street outside the saloon, his tone implying the man had gotten no less than he’d deserved.

Rayanne stopped right there to give herself time to process what she’d just read: there really had been a gunfight in Blessing. Did Jubal have more to say on the subject? With her pulse pounding in her head, she drew a deep breath and turned another page.

“Whoa, this can’t be!”

But it was. Not only had Jubal written more about the shootout, but he’d also included a picture. As the reality sank in, her hands shook so badly she dropped the book. She picked it up again.

Nothing had changed. Even in the faded tintype, it was easy enough to recognize the man who’d haunted her dreams for fifteen years. He wasn’t wearing a hat, but the hair was the same. So were the intense, pale eyes that stared up at her from the page. She bet they were blue. In fact, she knew they were.

The gunslinger had a name—Wyatt McCain.

He was real.

He’d lived and died right there in the dusty streets of Blessing.

For years, her family and the shrink they’d dragged her to had insisted that she’d made it all up. Her mother had blamed her father for filling Rayanne’s head with stories about the Old West. In return, her father had blamed her mother for leaving their impressionable young daughter alone with her nutcase brother. The shrink had blamed it all on her parents’ constant bickering and its effect on their daughter. Idiots.

None of them had even considered the possibility that it had all been real—the people, the gunfire, the blood and, most of all, Wyatt McCain.

Had Uncle Ray known? Was that why he’d come to her in the dream to say goodbye? He’d mentioned a gift they’d shared. What had that been about?

Now that she had a few facts to go on, she wouldn’t rest until she’d learned everything she could. Once she had her arsenal of evidence, the facts would free her of the nightmares from her past. Even if no one else ever knew the truth, she would.

A real man had died that day in the streets of Blessing, one who haunted her dreams a hundred years after his passing. She would tell his story—her story, too. Her purpose clear, she set the book aside and started a list of what she needed to take care of before she left for the mountain.

Chapter 2

The road leading up to Ray’s cabin was in far better condition than she’d remembered, but otherwise it all looked the same. Funny, it felt as if the cabin had been patiently waiting all these years for her return, but this time as owner rather than guest.

Rayanne eased her car around a slow bend to the right, her pulse picking up speed even if the car didn’t. After fifteen years, she was about to catch her first glimpse of the chimney that marked the location of her new home. The trees had grown taller, but she could just make out a glimpse of gray stone.

Tension had been riding her hard ever since she’d learned of Ray’s death. All the arguments about her decision to take a last-minute leave of absence from her job and move to the mountain hadn’t helped. But as she neared the cabin and the freedom it had always represented, the muscles in her shoulders and neck eased, and her mood lightened.

“Well, Uncle Ray, we’re almost there.”

Wouldn’t her mother freak out to hear Rayanne carrying on a one-sided conversation with her uncle? Well, not him, exactly, but the pewter urn that contained his last remains. One of the sidebars in his will was a request that Rayanne scatter his ashes on the mountain. He’d left it up to Rayanne to pick the time and place.

But until she carried out his wishes, she found comfort in the notion that her uncle was riding shotgun and could actually hear her. Maybe she was losing her mind just like her mother had said when she learned Rayanne had willingly accepted the terms of the will without a court fight.

Not that her mom’s opinion mattered. The mountain and the town that had haunted Rayanne for years was now hers, lock, stock and belfry. That is, provided she moved there and stayed through the entire summer. Come September, she was free to stay on or move back to the city. But if she didn’t follow the dictates of her uncle’s will to the letter, the entire estate would pass to a distant cousin. She couldn’t bear the thought of that happening.

It hadn’t been a surprise that Shawn had agreed with her parents. However, if there was any hope of a future for the two of them, she needed to find the answers she’d been looking for.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Uncle Ray, but I don’t plan to live up here for the rest of my life.”

A stab of guilt had her giving the urn a remorseful glance. “But I will stay long enough to find answers to questions that my folks would never let me ask. And with luck, I can find enough information about the short history of Blessing itself to write a paper.”

Her mouth curved in a wide smile as she considered the possibilities. If she didn’t have enough information for a scholarly paper, there was another option. She loved historical romances, and she already knew the time period inside and out. Surely she could come up with a story line that fit the few facts about Blessing that she’d been able to uncover.

The ideas twirled and danced through her head. A beautiful schoolteacher for the heroine would be just the ticket. And the hero would be the sheriff, strong and valiant and handsome. She could picture Shawn in the role, his arm around her waist as together they defied the bad guys.

But then a vision of a gunslinger dressed in black shoved that picture aside, replacing it instead with a man who moved with predatory grace and had a killer’s ice-colored stare. Wyatt McCain. Rayanne flushed hot and then cold. A woman would have to be a fool to think a man like that could be anyone’s hero.

The excitement died just that quickly.

Finally, the last of the trees faded into an open meadow. Her breath caught in her throat as the cabin came into sight. She hit the brakes, bringing her car to an abrupt halt, needing time to adjust to the onslaught of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. It was almost impossible to sort them all out—relief, trepidation, remembered joy and a great deal of pain that Uncle Ray would never be waiting there to greet her again.

She put the car back into gear and slowly pulled up in front of the cabin. The sun was already sliding down the far side of the sky. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be unpacking in the dark. The idea worried her more than she’d expected it to.

She pulled out the ring of keys that the attorney had given her at their last visit. Each one was carefully labeled in Uncle Ray’s familiar scrawl. She picked up the urn and stepped up on the porch.

As the door swung open, Rayanne stepped back through time. Her uncle hadn’t changed a thing since she’d left all those years ago. Maybe there were a few more books stuffed in the shelves and the sofa was a bit more worn, but that was all. She set the urn down on a small table in the corner and got busy settling in.

* * *

Bedtime always came early on the mountain. As Rayanne brushed her teeth, she studied her image in the mirror. Uncle Ray’s hair had been a little curlier than hers, but the color had been the same, a shade somewhere between blond and red. They’d also shared a tendency to freckle during the summer and the same bright green eyes. In a lot of ways, she’d resembled her favorite relative more than she had either one of her parents. Once again, the thought of him had her eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

It was definitely time to crawl into bed. Would coming here intensify her nightmares? She sure hoped not. The past several nights she’d slept without incident, a huge relief. She stepped across the threshold into her bedroom, happy that her childhood sanctuary had remained unchanged.

She turned down the quilt that had covered the bed for longer than either she or Ray had been alive. Trailing her fingers over the familiar patches of fabric, she wondered again about the people who had worn the various bits and pieces of cloth in shirts and dresses.

Had they been happy in their lives? She closed her eyes as she caressed the cloth, worn smooth and soft by the years. Maybe another girl had slept under this very same quilt, tucked in by loving hands with a kiss and a wish for sweet dreams or maybe the quilt had been a wedding gift for a bride about to start her new life as a wife.

She doubted she would ever know the real answers, but it didn’t matter. The warmth of the quilt gave her a connection to the past, one that appealed to her deep interest in history. Stretching out on the narrow bed felt like heaven. A huge yawn surprised a giggle out of her as she turned onto her back to watch the sweep of the stars and moon through the skylight overhead. Just as she had as a small girl, she fell asleep counting the stars twinkling in the night sky.

* * *

A new energy had arrived on the mountain, altering the patterns and drawing his attention toward the cabin. Ray’s niece was back. He recognized her even though she’d grown into a woman with long legs and ridiculously short hair.

Drifting closer to the porch, he stared up at the open window high up near the peak of the roof. The man’s room had been on the other side. He’d always kept his window closed and the doors locked against the perils of the darkness, real and imagined.

But the girl had her window open to the night. Would she continue to keep it that way if she found out about him and the others? A grim smile crossed his face briefly. Hell, even the others knew to steer clear of him. They certainly recognized bad news when they saw it; maybe the girl would, too.

The light in the window winked out. He lost interest in his vigil and moved away, back toward town. Folks still called it Blessing. What a joke that was, one he doubted the others appreciated. But then he didn’t give a damn what they thought, any more than they cared about him.

He passed through the trees, startling a doe and her fawn. As quietly as he moved, he was surprised they even noticed him. But after one look in his direction, the wary beasts bounded away, covering a lot of distance with each graceful leap. He paused to watch them disappear into the shadows, enjoying the sight. God knew there was little enough that he took pleasure in these days.

His thoughts drifted back toward the cabin and its sole occupant. The redhead had been there before. It had been a long while since she’d last visited the man, although time had become too fluid over the years for him to be sure how long it had been. An uneasy feeling churned in his stomach as vague memories stirred about this girl, now a woman. Used to be, she’d come and run wild through the woods and the town, only to leave right before it all unfolded.

All except that last time.

Damn it to hell and back, how many months had slipped past him unnoticed? If she was on the mountain, it could be almost time. Again. No wonder the deer had fled his presence. He didn’t blame them one bit for running. Canny creatures that they were, they knew when death roamed free on the mountain. He turned his back on the cabin and faded into the shadows, alone and wishing he could stay that way.

* * *

A cool breeze drifted through the open window, carrying a fresh, woodsy scent with it. Rayanne drew a deep breath and smiled without opening her eyes, still caught up in the fading memory of a dream, a good one this time. Instead of fearing Blessing, she’d been walking through the town hand in hand with a handsome man.

That he bore a striking resemblance to Wyatt McCain came as no surprise. After all, he’d dominated her thoughts ever since she’d discovered his picture. Only in her dream world, he seemed less grim, younger and more carefree. She woke up smiling with the sound of his laughter echoing in her mind.

What an interesting start to her day!

The telephone started ringing. Cell phones couldn’t get reception this high up, so Ray had run a telephone line to the cabin. No doubt it was her mother calling to check on her.

Rayanne sat up, hoping if she moved slowly enough the woman would give up. No such luck. As soon as the phone quit ringing, it started right up again in the time it took for her mother to hit redial.

Rayanne reached for the receiver. Figuring on a long call, she stretched out and made herself comfortable.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Well, I guess you made it safely since you’re able to talk on the phone.”

Nothing like a snide remark from a parent to start the day off on a low note. Why couldn’t the woman just admit that she’d been worried?

“By the time I got settled in last night, it was too late to call.”

A small exaggeration perhaps, but it would’ve been rude to admit to the truth, that she’d never even considered calling.

“I can’t believe that you’re really up there.” Rayanne could picture her mother leaning against the kitchen counter, with a nonfat double latte in her hand.

“Of course, I never understood the appeal of the great outdoors. Seriously, Rayanne, I know you loved my brother, but you don’t have to exile yourself up there just to prove it. I should’ve put my foot down about this.”

As if that would’ve done any good. Maybe someday the woman would accept the fact that Rayanne had grown up and could make her own decisions, even ones her mother didn’t approve of.

Especially ones she didn’t approve of.

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m safe. I’m happy.”

Please let it go at that. She really didn’t want to start the day off rehashing old arguments.

“That’s good for you. But what about Shawn? Is he happy?” Her voice clearly indicated she was playing her trump card.

She was wrong. “My relationship with Shawn is not open for discussion.”

Mainly because she wasn’t all that sure they still had one. He hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to her after she’d announced her decision to leave school early and move to the mountain.

“Your father isn’t pleased to hear that you’re back up there.”

Okay, that got Rayanne’s attention. “Since when are you and Dad on speaking terms?”

Her mother’s voice turned frosty. “He deserved to know what you were up to, especially when your last visit ended up such a disaster.”

“Mom, that was years ago. I’m here to do research, nothing more. You shouldn’t have gotten Dad all worried for nothing.”

She’d give her mother another thirty seconds and then pretend that her reception was failing.

“If I don’t hear from you every day, I will be calling the authorities to report you missing or something. Whatever it takes to get someone up there to check on you.”

Oh, brother. Rayanne counteroffered. “I’ll call you once a week and no more than that.”

Rayanne’s hand ached from gripping the phone so hard.

“That’s not enough.” Her mom was going into full martyr mode now. Tears wouldn’t be far behind.

“It’s my best offer, Mom.” And just to make sure her mother got it straight, she repeated it. “Once a week or not at all.”

After a long, painful silence, her mother conceded defeat. “Fine, Rayanne. Be selfish. Once a week will have to do.”

“I love you, Mom.” She did, really, even if the woman drove her crazy most of the time. “I’ll call you on Saturday. Bye.”

She disconnected the call before her mother could think of something else to argue about. With that behind her, Rayanne headed for the shower, anxious for the day to begin. It was going to be a good one; she could just tell.

Chapter 3

He wasn’t sure why he’d returned to the clearing. Curiosity wasn’t something he normally indulged in anymore, but it had drawn him back to the cabin. There was no smoke coming out of the chimney. Either the woman must not mind the morning chill or else she wasn’t up yet.

When he reached the door of the cabin, he sneered at the lock. As if that flimsy bit of steel could keep him out. Once inside, he looked around. Had he been in the cabin recently? He couldn’t remember. Most of the time he’d watched the man from the cover of the woods or where the shadows deepened to near black by the porch at night.

Ray had usually sensed his presence, even though he’d rarely said anything. Maybe it was because what Ray had seen in the war had been so much worse. Either way, there had been real strength in the man right up to the end. The former soldier had always been silent but content in his own skin.

Unless his demons were riding him hard. Then Ray would stalk the woods, muttering under his breath. Sometimes he stood at the edge of a cliff and screamed out the names of men who’d never set foot on the mountain except in his mind.

But Ray was gone now. They’d come with flashing lights and carried his body back down the mountain. Now someone else, the woman, had come to the mountain to live. He hated having his routine disturbed, but he’d have no choice but to adjust to her presence.

She’d seen him once. Did she remember?

A noise from overhead caught his attention. She was talking to someone, even though he knew full well that she was alone. No one passed through his territory unnoticed. A few minutes later, the shower came on, warning him that his time was limited. He needed to leave before she walked down those steps, although it was tempting to linger long enough to get a closer look at her.

But for the moment, he had time to poke around a bit. He moved toward the kitchen where she’d dumped a few things on the table the night before. He studied the clutter, trying to make sense of the stuff. It wasn’t worth the energy it would take to dump the bag out. Besides, he wasn’t there to drive her away, just to learn more about the woman who would be sharing his mountain and town.

A paper caught his attention. Careful not to disturb anything, he gently reached out to touch it. Would she remember if she’d left it faceup or facedown? He didn’t care. Hell, what was life without a few risks?

Laughing at his own joke, he turned the paper over. Shock rolled through him as soon as he got a good look at the picture staring up at him, leaving him unable to do anything but stand and stare down at the image.

Where the hell had she gotten that?

So caught up in the memories that came flooding back, he failed to notice the silence from upstairs. The shower was no longer running. Before he could react, one of the steps behind him creaked. Hellfire and damnation, the woman was coming down the stairs.

* * *

The hot steam had washed away the last bit of tension from talking to her mother. Eventually, maybe she’d long for the company at the other end of the phone line but definitely not today.

About halfway down the stairs, a weird shiver started at the base of her spine and danced its way right up to her head. Even the hair on her arms stood up, as if lightning were about to strike. Had the late spring weather taken a sudden turn for the worse?

No, sunshine was streaming in through the skylights overhead.

Rayanne couldn’t shrug off the feeling that something wasn’t right. As a city girl born and bred, maybe she wasn’t ready to face life alone on the mountain. However, she wasn’t about to admit that her mother had been right all along. No, it was only a matter of adjusting to the quiet murmurs of nature outside the window rather than the jarring cacophony of city noise.

That was when she heard a sound that had nothing to do with any four-legged beast that lived on the mountain: human footsteps. She swallowed, trying to get her heart out of her throat so she could breathe. The silence felt frozen now, as if in anticipation of the next sweep of cloth against cloth. It wasn’t long in coming.

“Who’s there?” Her voice echoed hollowly.

No answer. To her surprise, that made her mad. She came down two more stairs, hoping to find evidence that it was only her imagination running wild. This time the steps were more definite and headed right for the door. Should she remain cowering on the stairs forever or take control of the situation?

This was her home; she would not be a prisoner of her own fear. Besides, if the intruder had meant her harm, he’d had ample opportunity.

Bracing herself for the worst, she charged down the last few steps, determined to give someone a piece of her mind. The bottom few stairs curved down into the kitchen near the door. One glance told her that the door was still bolted but that didn’t mean much. If someone had broken in, it could have been through a window, instead. But if so, why hadn’t she heard anything?

Nothing in the kitchen looked disturbed, but then she sensed a movement off to her right. Time slowed as her mind scrambled to make sense of what she was seeing. She made a grab for the wall as her knees gave way. Surely this was some kind of joke.

“Who are you?”

Her question was little more than a whisper, but the man heard it all right. There was no mistaking the temper in those ice-blue eyes, not that she really needed him to answer her. His outfit matched the one he’d worn in the picture he held clutched in his fist: scuffed boots, a faded shirt, dark trousers and a worn duster. It couldn’t really be him, but every cell in her body screamed that it was.

“Wyatt McCain?”

His name was the last thing she said as the floor rushed up to meet her.

Cool. Smooth. Hard.

Slowly, the fog in Rayanne’s mind faded and awareness of her surroundings returned. Right now, her cheek was pressed against something flat and cool to the touch. Her eyes refused to open; instead, she concentrated on moving her right hand and then her left.

Her fingertips felt just the slightest grittiness to the surface, like a hardwood floor that hadn’t been swept recently. She slowly processed all the data, because the side of her face was pounding. Finally, she arrived at the obvious conclusion that she was sprawled on the floor, most likely in the kitchen.

Why?

Flashes of memory played out in her head. Shower. Brushing her teeth. Sweats rather than jeans. All of that made sense. What next? She’d started downstairs to fix her breakfast. Halfway down she’d heard something.

No. Someone. Wyatt McCain. Well, not him, but someone who looked just like him, down to the faded blue shirt and scuffed boots. Thanks to her dream, his image had been the first one she thought of.

Her eyes popped open, and she found the strength to push herself up to a sitting position. Ignoring the fresh wave of dizziness, she scooted back until she bumped up against the nearest wall. It offered support but no comfort as she surveyed her surroundings.

From where she sat, she could see the entire ground floor of the A-frame cabin. She was alone. Gradually, her pulse slowed to somewhere near normal, and the pain on the right side of her face eased up enough to allow her to think straight.

The deadbolt on the front door was still firmly in place. No broken windows. No back door, so no other exit. Adding up all the facts, she had to think that she’d imagined the whole thing. Whatever she’d heard had to have been just the wind or a tree limb brushing against the cabin in the wind.

The side of her face was tender to the touch. Obviously, she’d tripped and fallen, landing hard enough to bruise. Nothing that a bag of ice and some aspirin wouldn’t cure. She slowly pushed herself to her feet, taking care not to move too quickly.

She rooted around in the cabinets until she found a small plastic bag and filled it with ice. After zipping it shut, she wrapped it in a thin dish towel and pressed it to her cheek. The cold burn stung but gradually numbed the pain. Next up, the painkillers.

She always carried some in her purse, which she thought she’d left here in the kitchen. Where was it? Hadn’t she set it down on the counter when she’d first come in last night?

It wasn’t there now. She was sure she hadn’t taken it upstairs with her, so that left the living room. Before she’d gone two steps, she spotted the strap of her purse sticking out from underneath the microwave cart. She bent down to pick it up, wincing as the motion exacerbated the throbbing in her face.

How had her purse gotten down there? It wasn’t anywhere close to where she’d landed on the floor, so she hadn’t knocked it off the counter. Another mystery with no answer. Rather than dwell on it, she dug out the small bottle at the bottom of the purse and took out two pills. She swallowed them with a drink of water.

Next up, caffeine and lots of it. The few minutes that it took to set the coffee to brewing kept her too busy to think about the things that didn’t quite add up.

Such as the noise she’d heard, and how her purse came to be under the cart. While she waited for the coffee to perk, she leaned against the counter and studied the room to see if anything else was out of place.

Her computer pack sat right where she’d left it on the kitchen counter. She frowned. Something was different, though. Last night, one of the last things she’d done was look at the picture of Wyatt McCain that she’d printed out. She smiled. Uncle Ray would’ve gotten such a kick out of what she’d learned about Blessing when the town had been alive.

But now the picture wasn’t where she’d left it.

She searched her pack in case she’d put it back. No dice. Nor was it in the living room or anywhere in plain sight. She’d found her purse under the cart. Had the picture fallen there, too?

Only one way to find out. She tugged on the cart, wheeling it out of its usual position. The only thing she uncovered was a wadded-up piece of paper, obviously not the picture of Wyatt. Uncle Ray must have missed the trash can with it.

She bent down to pick it up. Before throwing the paper away, she’d make sure it wasn’t something important. As she smoothed it out on the counter, her pulse kicked right back into overdrive. Okay, so she’d been wrong. Uncle Ray hadn’t thrown this paper away. He couldn’t have for one important reason: he’d never seen it. Wyatt McCain’s piercing pale eyes glared up at her, the wrinkled paper doing nothing to dilute the intensity of his gaze.

This was the picture she’d brought with her, but she hadn’t been the one to crumple it up. Chills washed through her as she looked around the room. She had proof positive right there in her hands that she hadn’t imagined the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen earlier.

She dropped the paper on the counter and hurried to double-check the lock on the door and the windows. It didn’t take long to verify that everything was locked up tight. Even if someone had the key to the deadbolt, they couldn’t have fastened the chain from the outside. There was no obvious sign that the cabin walls had been breached.

Surely she would’ve heard someone climbing to the second floor? Had she left her window open when she came downstairs? She grabbed the nearest weapon she could find, her uncle’s rolling pin, and charged upstairs. Sure enough, her window was still open. She knelt on the bed to close it and throw the latch.

She paused long enough to survey the clearing surrounding the cabin. Her past visits had taught her that anyone walking across the meadow while the dew was still on the grass left a visible trail. From what she could see, there was no sign that anyone had passed that way.

She checked the tree line, too. No movement there except for a few birds flittering among the leaves. So it was just her, the bright morning sunshine and the mountain.

From there, she went into the bathroom, but the window in there was too narrow for anyone but a small child to squeeze through.

That left Uncle Ray’s room. She hesitated before opening the door. Eventually, she’d have to cross that threshold, but she hadn’t planned on doing it so soon. It was Uncle Ray’s most private space, his sanctuary from the world outside. Even when she’d visited him, she’d never been allowed inside.

She turned the doorknob but still hesitated before pushing the door open. This was silly. What did she expect to find? She gave the door a soft shove and took a single step forward into the space that her uncle had kept private.

Tears stung her eyes as she realized how much the room looked like her uncle—solid, comfortable, plain. The queen-size bed filled up most of the space. Made from pine, the design was simple, which matched the patchwork quilt and utilitarian blue curtains. The haphazard pile of books on the bedside table came as no surprise. Nor did the closet full of flannel shirts and T-shirts featuring the names of old rock bands.

“Uncle Ray, you sure loved your books and music.”

Something else they’d both shared besides their love for his mountain home. She pulled one of the flannel shirts off its hanger and slipped it on. Maybe it was whimsical of her, but wearing the soft cotton felt like one of Uncle Ray’s hugs. For the first time since waking up on the kitchen floor, she felt safe.

Eventually, she’d figure out what had happened downstairs. Maybe she’d walked in her sleep; not exactly a comforting thought. And even if it were true, why would she have crumpled Wyatt McCain’s picture? Too many questions she had no answers for.

But now that she’d reassured herself that she was alone in the cabin, it was time to do something useful. At some point, she’d have to go through Ray’s things and dispose of them. Surely there was a homeless shelter in one of the nearby towns that could make good use of his clothing. Maybe some of his books, too. His extensive music collection, though, she’d keep.

As she walked back out of the room, she rolled the sleeves of the flannel shirt up several turns. Despite being a couple sizes too big for her, the black-and-white-plaid fit her just fine.

At the bottom of the steps, she hesitated briefly. Nothing but silence this time. Good. Where to start? The attorney had gone over the terms of Uncle Ray’s will with her in great detail, some of which were odd to say the least. To start with, he’d made the attorney include a message from him saying that he’d loved Rayanne and had known that she’d loved him right back.

Bless the man, those few words had melted away her guilt over not visiting him up here on the mountain. He’d known how she felt about him and that’s all that mattered.

Next on the list was the requirement that she had to move to the cabin immediately. If she stayed until Labor Day, the property and everything on it was hers to take care of for her lifetime. She couldn’t sell it, rent it, or give it away. Failure to comply would result in the place being left to a distant cousin, and Rayanne and her parents would be banned from ever setting foot on the property again.

He’d also set aside enough money to see her through the summer. Once September rolled around, the rest of Ray’s surprisingly substantial estate would also be hers. With care, she wouldn’t have to work again.

Meanwhile, the attorney had suggested that she begin by doing a room-by-room inventory of the cabin. The only question was where to start?

The kitchen would be the simplest. Before starting, she picked out some CDs from Ray’s collection and put them on to play. His taste was eclectic, but this morning some red-dirt rock and country fit her mood.

With the sound of fiddle and guitar filling the empty silence, she got out her spiral notebook and favorite pen and started to work.

* * *

Wyatt drifted closer to the edge of the woods to listen. With the doors and windows closed up tight, he couldn’t make out the lyrics. The singer had a smoky voice, the kind that had a man thinking of a pair of lovers breathing hard as they tangled up together in between soft sheets.

After all this time, he had only vague memories of what it had been like to coax a woman into sharing his bed for the night. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember the scent of his last lover’s perfume. Something flowery, maybe. He had better luck remembering how silky smooth her skin had been, but nothing at all about what she looked like. Could have been a blonde or a brunette, not that it mattered. She was long dead and buried.

Lucky her.

Rather than continue down that dusty road, he dragged his thoughts back to the moment at hand. The man had always played music, too. Wyatt hadn’t realized how silent the mountain had been since Ray’s passing. It seemed odd to know he was gone but that his music would play on beyond his death. It was truly a gift of the modern world, one of the few things Wyatt enjoyed.

Where he’d grown up, music had been a rarity. Sometimes a passing stranger with an old fiddle or guitar would offer an exchange of music for a meal or two. Ma had always thought that was a fair deal.

What was the woman doing now? He hadn’t meant to scare her earlier, but then he hadn’t expected her to be able to see him at all. When she’d crumpled to the floor, he’d stuck around long enough to make sure she’d wake up on her own. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if she hadn’t. He’d used up all his energy when he’d wadded up that picture of himself in a fit of anger.

Where had she found that? Why had she brought it with her? Did she remember that long-ago summer? Too many unanswered questions. He’d spent many an hour thinking about her and why she’d been able to see him at all. No one else ever had, not that he knew of.

She’d screamed back then, too, but to warn him about the shooter on the roof. That was the only time he’d shot the bastard instead of taking one in the shoulder himself. It hadn’t changed the outcome, just the bullet count. He caught himself rubbing the scar, easing an ache that had nothing to do with the actual shooting.

But music or not, he wanted the woman gone. She’d already disturbed his peace enough. These were his woods and Blessing was his town, even if only by squatter’s rights. The law didn’t count for much out here. Rules and regulations only held sway when there was authority around to enforce them.

And this morning’s encounter was proof enough which one of them belonged here. She had no business intruding on his solitude, especially when he had no way of knowing if she’d be able see him all of the time or if this morning was a fluke. How could he find out without risking scaring her into a fit again?

He hated change almost as much as he hated that nothing ever really changed up here on the mountain.

Time to move on. Maybe see if anyone else was stirring back in town. It was doubtful. Too early in the summer yet. Soon, though. And when the good folks of Blessing put in their appearance, would the woman see them again?

Only time would tell.

For now, he’d check on the town and then rest. Normally, he could hold on to his form most of the time once the days started growing longer. But the encounter with the woman had burned up a great deal of his energy. Even now he couldn’t see his feet or feel his hat on his head. If he waited much longer, he’d fade completely. Hating the feeling that he was nothing more than a shadow with no real substance, he preferred to disappear at a time and place of his own choosing.

So for now, he’d just let go. Tomorrow would be soon enough to check in on the woman and see if he could learn when she planned to leave. She wouldn’t stay. There wasn’t anything up here to hold a woman like her—all modern and independent.

The song faded away, so he did the same.

Chapter 4

Morning dawned sunshine bright and warm. Wyatt preferred the shadows under the aspen trees, but he’d been drawn back to the edge of the meadow. It had been a day since he’d faded out. He rarely paid much attention to the passage of time, but things were different right now. She was still there, for one.

As he’d drifted on the breeze, he’d sensed her movements. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she’d spent most of the day before banging around in the kitchen. If she’d been hunting for something, he hoped she’d found it. He was tired of the noise, not to mention it disturbed the other residents in the woods.

The deer had moved farther off, the birds were quiet and even the squirrels and chipmunks were nowhere to be seen. Eventually, they’d adjust to the woman’s presence, but for now they were being cautious.

Probably good advice if he was in the mood to listen to it, but curiosity won out over caution. Since he’d yet to regain form, it should be safe enough to peek into the kitchen window. One glance and he’d be gone.

He caught a breeze that carried him toward the front porch, the only sign of his presence a faint shadow on the ground below. Nothing a rational person wouldn’t put off to a random cloud passing overhead. At the edge of the porch he drifted up next to the wall, keeping well below the level of the window. Once he was settled in place, he rose up slowly.

The kitchen looked as if it had been ransacked by a bunch of wranglers just coming in off a long trail drive with nothing but dust and cows for company. Every inch of counter space was covered with pots, pans and dishes. In all the years Ray had lived there, he’d never once left a mess like that. In fact, the man was obsessively neat, always doing things in the same way on the same days.

Wyatt suspected the habit had given the man some sense of control. When that failed to calm his demons, Ray had walked the game trails for long hours at a time, especially at night. Often Wyatt had followed along, glad for the company, even if Ray had only rarely acknowledged his presence. He’d been too busy trying to outdistance the ghosts of his own past, not the ones who actually shared his mountain home.

Sometimes Ray had also wandered through what was left of Blessing. Each year more of the old town fell victim to the passing years. Dry rot had left most of the remaining buildings unsafe for humans to explore. Sometimes Ray did small repairs, like when he’d replaced that missing step in the church.

Had he hoped the girl would come back to visit again? Well, she hadn’t. Not until it was too late to do her uncle any good.

A movement inside caught his attention. She was headed for the door, holding one of those little things Ray used to talk into. A telephone, Wyatt knew. He had no idea how it worked, but then he didn’t understand a lot of things these days.

He flattened himself against the cabin wall as she stomped out onto the porch. Her voice rang out over the meadow, loud and full of frustration. Her free hand waved around in the air to emphasize whatever point she was trying to make, not that the person she was talking to could see it. Or maybe he could. In this ever-changing world, anything was possible.

Eavesdropping was rude, but it was one of the few pleasures Wyatt had anymore. He settled in to listen.

“No, Dad, I won’t be leaving here until the first week of September. I told Mom that before I came up here, and nothing’s changed.”

She listened a few seconds, rolling those expressive green eyes and biting her lower lip, probably trying to hold back her temper. He didn’t know what her father said next, but she immediately cut in.

“Dad, don’t Now, Rayanne me. I’m an adult, even if you and Mom have a hard time remembering that. I’m using the time up here to do research. I can work here just as well as I could from my apartment. Which, I might add, I’ve already sublet to a grad student for the summer semester.”

She listened some more, her fair skin flushing with frustration.

“Look, I understand why you’re worried, but I’m doing fine. Don’t show up here without calling first because I don’t like being interrupted when I’m working.”

Wyatt grinned. In the bright sunshine, her hair looked more red than blond, and she sure enough had a redhead’s temper. He almost felt sorry for her father, but maybe the man deserved the sharp edge of her tongue.

Her voice softened. “I do love you, Dad. Talk to you soon.”

She disappeared inside with the phone but immediately returned to lift her face up to the sun as if needing its warmth. He could still see the gawky girl she’d been the last time she’d come to the mountain, but she’d matured into a beautiful woman. Were those waves of red-gold framing her face as soft as they looked?

He drifted closer, careful to make sure the breeze wouldn’t push him into her. She might not notice anything other than a brief chill, but she’d already surprised him with her ability to sense his presence. Even in his current scattered state, it was hard to resist the sweet warmth of her life force. She positively glowed with it.

Hellfire, he wanted a taste of that. What he wouldn’t give to kiss his way across that scattering of freckles on her cheeks. He bet she hated them, but he’d always had a weakness for freckles. Did she have them anywhere else? No way to tell with what she had on.

That old flannel shirt of Ray’s did little to hide the female curves underneath. He preferred a woman to dress like a woman with lace and petticoats. He’d always loved the challenge of peeling off one layer at a time before he reached all that silken skin underneath. On the other hand, her dungarees certainly showed off the sweet curve of her backside in enticing detail. She certainly didn’t need a bustle to draw a man’s eye.

Suddenly, she shook her head and smiled. He didn’t know what she was thinking about, but he had to wonder if that lush mouth would taste as tart as her words had sounded. And why did he care? It wasn’t as if he’d ever know. He wanted her gone. That’s all that mattered.

After a few seconds, her smile faded, and she drew a deep breath that she let out in a soft sigh.

“Uncle Ray, I don’t know if you can hear me, but thank you for this gift. I need this time up here on the mountain, even if Mom and Dad don’t get that.”

Her smile was back and she laughed. “Well, Rayanne, you’ve only just gotten here, and already you’re talking to yourself. Time to get busy.”

Rather than heading back inside, she stalked off toward the woods. So now he knew her name—Rayanne. Seemed only fair since she knew his, even if she didn’t realize he was around. After all, no matter how he felt about it, it appeared they were destined to be neighbors for a while.

He waited until she reached the edge of the trees before following her. Where was she headed? And why did he care? He couldn’t remember the last time he felt curious about much of anything, but he wanted to see for himself where she ended up. He was betting on the old church belfry.

Besides, he had nothing better to do.

* * *

No matter how determined she was to not let anyone ruin her time on the mountain for her, it was hard. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone? Yeah, like that was going to happen. Her parents meant well, but it freaked her out to have them joining forces against her. It was the first time they’d put up a united front since their divorce.

She understood their concern. As her father had rudely pointed out, they’d spent a lot of time and a ton of money dealing with the aftermath of her last trip to Blessing. Not that it had helped. After months of counseling and arguments, she’d simply given up and spouted whatever the shrink wanted to hear. He’d marked her down as another success on his scorecard, and her parents’ guilt had eased. Whoopee, everyone won except her. All she’d done was learn to keep the nightmares to herself.

Even Shawn hadn’t bothered to disguise his own displeasure in her decision to accept Uncle Ray’s legacy. Did they really think she didn’t know her own mind?

Well, she wasn’t going to let them ruin her good mood. She was proud of what she’d accomplished so far, even if she’d made a total wreck of the kitchen. She’d washed out all the drawers and cabinets. After she walked off her frustration, she’d replace the shelf paper and put everything back. Tomorrow she’d start on another room. Or not.

Her decision. No one else’s.

She stepped into the shadows of the trees. The old game trail looked unchanged from her last visit. At least this time she was wearing the right kind of shoes for hiking over the uneven ground. The faded scar on her shin was just one other reminder of that fateful day.

Here under the trees and out of the direct light of the sun, the day wasn’t as warm as she’d thought. Even with Ray’s flannel shirt, there was a bit of a chill in the air. As long as she kept moving, she’d be fine. If memory served her right, the far side of these woods was less than half a mile away, at best a ten-minute walk. From there, it was only a short distance to where Blessing sat nestled in a small valley.

She’d keep today’s visit short, just a quick trip to reacquaint herself with the general layout of the town. Her plan was to do a complete survey of Blessing, measuring each of the remaining buildings and marking them on a map. When that was complete, she’d follow up with a photo survey.

Once she finished that much, she’d make a trip to the county courthouse and see if there were any records of the town still on file. Maybe one of the local newspapers would have archives that went back far enough to tell her something. Who knew? Wyatt McCain’s death might have warranted a column or two.

Slowly, step by step, she hoped to complete the picture. By then, she should have a feel for whether her work would justify a book on the subject or if she’d submit a paper to one of the professional journals. Either of those choices would be the sensible thing to do.

Or she could just say the heck with being sensible and try her hand at writing a historical romance based on what had happened there in Blessing. She grinned up at a squirrel, which was chattering at her for disturbing his afternoon.

“Sorry, guy. Didn’t mean to encroach on your territory. I promise I’m just passing through.”

She laughed and kept walking. The trees came to an abrupt end just past the next bend in the trail, giving way to the valley below. The bright green of the grass sprinkled with early-blooming wildflowers stole her breath away. How could she have forgotten how pretty it was?

Somehow the beauty had been overwhelmed by the darkness in her nightmares. No wonder Uncle Ray had found some peace of mind living up here. She’d often wished there had been some magical way she could have known the man he’d been before the war had changed him. It was clear that Ray had come back from Vietnam a different man, one far different from the older brother her mother had grown up with.

Rather than dwell on the past, Rayanne started down the slope toward the edge of town. She’d like to think her pulse was picking up speed because of the workout she was getting from the walk, but there was no use fooling herself. This first trip back to Blessing was bound to stir up a few bad memories.

Keeping to a slow pace, she walked through the middle of town. In its heyday, Blessing had boasted a population of nearly two hundred people, but there was little evidence left of most of the houses. At least the old church looked much the same, as did the saloon. It was ironic that those two polar opposites survived.

It didn’t take long to reach the far end of town. Turning back, she had the oddest sensation that she was being watched. She did a slow turn, looking in all directions, but the only movement came from the breeze brushing across the grass and wildflowers. Obviously, her imagination was running hot.

There wasn’t much left of Blessing except faded boards and failed dreams. But maybe, just maybe, with hard work and the right words she could bring the town back to life. Through her, others could get a real glimpse of what life had been like here. She liked that idea. Maybe she could figure out a way to lay out the bare-bone facts of the town’s history and then make them come alive through the eyes of a fictional resident. The wife of one of the miners might be fun.

As she considered the possibilities, a glimpse of the town alive and thriving suddenly superimposed itself over the deserted street. She stared in horror at a scene straight out of her nightmares. That the vision had no more substance than did her dreams made it no less frightening. She had the awful suspicion if she were to look behind her, she’d see those gunmen riding into town with death in their eyes.

She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Everything was back to normal. The experience was disconcerting, but perhaps her ability to see what had been would stand her in good stead when it came time to write her book.

She’d already been gone longer than she’d planned, but she had one more stop before she left. If she was going to face her personal demons, it had to start with where it had all happened. She’d climb the steps to the church belfry, take a quick peek around and then head back to the cabin.

She entered the church through the front door just as she had before. The first thing she noticed was that Uncle Ray had replaced the missing step. Since she was the only other person who ever visited the church, he’d done it for her. She brushed her fingers over the unfinished board and smiled. He’d always done his best to take care of her.

She put her full weight on the step, enjoying its solid feel beneath her feet. Then one by one, she climbed the rest of the way up the stairs, noticing he’d also reinforced a few more of the cracked and worn boards while he was at it. The door to the roof swung open on well-oiled hinges. No more loud creaking to warn her if someone followed her out onto the roof like the gunman in her dream. She shivered, but shoved that thought out of her mind.

A few short steps carried her across to the railing. She kept her eyes firmly focused on her feet, telling herself she was keeping an eye out for rotted boards that could give way beneath her weight. The truth was she wasn’t quite ready to risk looking down at the street below.

Would she see weeds growing up between the wooden sidewalks or the townspeople going about their daily routine? There was only one way to find out. She latched on to the faded railing with both hands, locked her knees to make sure they’d support her, took a deep breath and cast her gaze outward.

Her relief at seeing nothing but a ghost town was palpable. Another major hurdle cleared. As she started to turn back toward the door, a movement below caught her eye. How odd. The batwing doors on the old saloon were swaying as if someone had just passed through them.

She glanced around, realizing for the first time that the breeze had picked up and white puffs of clouds she’d noticed earlier now covered most of the sky overhead in an angry gray blanket. One of the first things Uncle Ray had taught her was that storms could roll in with little notice. Getting soaked in an early-summer rain wouldn’t kill her.

A lightning strike might.

A deep rumble of thunder echoed down the valley, sending a shiver through her. Time to get the heck off the roof of the tallest building in town. Ignoring the grumble of a few of the boards, she hustled back to the door and breathed a little easier when she was back inside. She wasn’t out of the woods yet.

She smiled at the image. Actually, she had to reach the woods first. They’d shelter her from the storm well enough. Once the worst of it was past, she could make the final run for the cabin. At least the day was still warm enough that she didn’t have to worry about hypothermia setting in if she did get soaked along the way.

She cursed herself a fool for setting off so ill prepared. She knew better or at least she used to. Ray had laid out the rules for her the very first time she’d come to visit. He’d written them out in big block letters so she could read them on her own. Then he’d ordered her to study the rules until she knew them backward and forward.

When she’d recited them to him, he’d handed her a pen. Once she’d scrawled her name on the paper, Uncle Ray had presented her with her very own backpack filled with emergency supplies: granola bars, bottled water, a first-aid kit and even a rain poncho. It had been one of the proudest days of her life.

“Sorry, Uncle Ray. Guess I need a refresher course.”

She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. On her next trip to Blessing, she’d bring emergency supplies and stash them inside one of the buildings. For now, though, she had a long way to go to reach the slope leading up to the timberline. The dust kicked up by the wind stung her eyes, and another crash of thunder warned her that the storm was moving faster than she was.

Okay, so maybe she’d be better off waiting out the storm back in town. She reversed course and took off running for the nearest building. The church might be sturdier, but right now she couldn’t afford to be picky. The saloon would have to do.

The darkening sky flashed bright with another bolt of lightning. The resulting thunder followed right on its heels, warning her the storm was now centered right over the valley. Big, fat drops of rain splashed down on the dusty road as Rayanne ran. She kept a wary eye on the ground in front of her to avoid stepping in one of the wagon-wheel ruts still visible after all these years. The last thing she needed was to twist an ankle.

After another crack of thunder, the rain poured down even harder, instantly turning the dust into mud so that her shoes made a sucking noise as she ran. It was too late to worry about staying dry. Finding shelter was paramount. The wooden sidewalk outside the saloon creaked in protest when she put her full weight on it, but it held. After shoving through the swinging doors to the dim interior, she bent over, hands on her knees as she waited for her lungs to catch up on oxygen.

When she could breathe, she slipped off her flannel shirt and wrung it out as best she could. She reached for the hem of her T-shirt, planning to do the same with it, when the memory of watching the saloon door swaying in the breeze popped into her head. She froze and looked around to make sure she was alone.

What was she thinking? No one ever came up here uninvited. Of course the room was empty. She peeled off her T-shirt and twisted it until the rainwater dripped down onto the dusty floor. When it was as dry as she could make it, she slipped it back on, figuring her body heat would dry it out eventually. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, so at least she didn’t have to deal with the discomfort of wet lace and elastic while she was stuck here.

One of the old chairs looked sound enough to sit on, so she dragged it over toward the front window and made herself comfortable. The weather would change for the better soon, and then she’d head back to the cabin where a mug of hot chocolate with her name on it would be waiting.

* * *

Hellfire and damnation, did that woman have to follow him around?

Earlier, Wyatt had drifted into the saloon out of habit, not because he remembered the place where he’d had his last drink with any particular fondness. All those years ago, knowing full well he might die, he’d tossed back one last shot of good whiskey, kissed Tennessee Sue full on the mouth and walked out the door.

Nope, he didn’t have any good memories of this place, even back when it was in its heyday. But thanks to what he was witnessing at the moment, old Bert’s saloon had just become Wyatt’s favorite place in the whole damn world.

With the thunder crackling overhead, the woman had bolted through the doors, already stripping off her flannel shirt. Thanks to the rain, the white shirt underneath stuck to her like a second skin, outlining her curves in considerable detail. One thing for sure, Rayanne was a damn sight more appealing than Tennessee Sue had been.

It would’ve taken a lot nobler man than Wyatt to look away, especially when he realized Rayanne wasn’t wearing anything underneath the shirt. Her plentiful breasts swayed gently with each move she made, their dark tips faintly visible through the clingy cloth.

What he wouldn’t give to test their weight with the palms of his hands. And damned if she wasn’t reaching for the hem of that shirt, too. Surely she wasn’t going to— No, she stopped and looked around suspiciously.

Had she sensed his presence? He wasn’t visible; he knew that much. But even her late uncle had an uncanny knack for realizing when Wyatt came near. He’d nod in Wyatt’s direction and then go about his business. Maybe his niece had inherited the same talent.

But then she went ahead and stripped her shirt right off in front of him. The storm outside had nothing on the one raging inside him right now. He moaned. Her skin was all peaches and cream. He loved the sprinkle of freckles across her shoulders and the dusky peach of her nipples. He sure enough wanted to kiss those freckles and suckle her pert nipples and watch them pebble up. Hell, he just plain wanted.

Incredible. He hadn’t felt anything this powerful since the day he died. No hunger, no pain. Dread, yeah. Fear, even knowing how things would play out again. But no joy, no peace, no thirst, no hunger.

But by gosh, he hungered now. Unable to help himself, he drifted closer to where Rayanne stood, trying to squeeze some of the rainwater out of her clothes. If she didn’t cover herself soon, he wasn’t sure what would happen. In this state, his ability to interact with his surroundings was extremely limited. If he brushed against her bare skin, she might feel a chill or a buzz. He might not feel a damn thing.

If she was aware of him, he might have tried it. But a man didn’t sneak up on an unsuspecting female. He was no hero, but he had enough black marks on his soul. With that in mind, he needed to put more distance between himself and temptation before he weakened and reached out to her.

He directed his focus toward the back wall to give her a chance to cover herself decently. The white shirt still left too little to the imagination, but it was better than all that peach-toned skin screaming out to be tasted and touched. Once the storm passed, he was sure she’d make her way back to the cabin. Good. He wished she was already gone, back to where she belonged, preferably off his mountain.

Taking her peaches-and-cream complexion and all that temptation with her.

Frustration with the whole situation left him wanting to break something. But if he let his temper slip its leash, he’d do something stupid. Like materializing right here in Bert’s place to start breaking up the few pieces of furniture still left intact.

How would she react? She’d already fainted once at finding him in her kitchen. He bet she’d already twisted and turned the facts of yesterday morning to convince herself that she’d only imagined the whole incident. If for one second she’d believed he’d really been there, she wouldn’t still be up here on the mountain by herself. He tried to imagine her pelting down that switchback road back to wherever she came from. The picture wouldn’t come into focus.

Most folks would cower in a corner while nature raged outside. Instead, she’d dragged a chair right over to the window to watch. Even now, she sat forward, trying to see better through the filthy glass. She sure had gumption; he gave her that much.

If he’d been solid, he realized he would’ve been smiling. Even in his present state, he felt lighter, more buoyant. That realization scared him. He didn’t want to feel lighter, didn’t want to feel anything.

He needed to get out of there. There was plenty of energy to be had right outside the door. If he was careful, he could absorb enough to let him resume standing guard in the woods. The time was coming when others started prowling the mountain, gathering close. He’d need to make sure they kept their distance from the woman.

He wasn’t sure how much harm they could do, but they all grew stronger as the time grew near. He drifted closer again, this time feeling protective rather than lustful. He might not want her there, but neither did he want her hurt or scared.

Damn, why did she have to be there at all?

For now, she was safe enough. She could find her own way back to the cabin once the storm passed. Far better that their paths crossed as rarely as possible.

Better for him, anyway.

With that, he slipped through the doors and out into the street. The storm had weakened considerably already, the dark clouds having dumped most of their rain before moving on wherever the wind would carry them. The air felt clean as he drew on the natural energy it carried.

Slowly, he moved on out of town, growing more solid as he neared the timberline. By the time Rayanne followed him into the woods, he stood hidden in the shadows, solid from his hat to the soles of his boots.

The rain had brought out more curl in her hair, framing her pretty face and drawing attention to how young she was. But Rayanne moved with the kind of strength and purpose as another woman in his life had. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed it sooner.

It wasn’t as if he could forget about Amanda, the one woman he’d tried to be a better man for. The one he died trying to protect and succeeded only in destroying them both. He’d always wondered if they would have gone beyond simple friendship if things had played out differently for the two of them. No way to know now.

He followed after Rayanne, preferring her unknowing company to the darkness of his memories. For a second, she hesitated, stopping to look around. She frowned and rubbed her hands up and down her arms, clearly feeling a chill. Whether it was from his presence or from the dampness of her clothes didn’t matter.

It was tempting to step out into a small circle of sun to see if she could see him at all and how she would react. But no, that wouldn’t be smart. Besides, it was too late now. She was already back in motion, quickening her pace now that the cabin was almost in sight. He didn’t blame her. Dark and dangerous things prowled these woods.

He should know. He was one of them.

Chapter 5

Rayanne was finished in the kitchen. Everything was stowed away, and she’d put a fresh shine on the counters, appliances and even the floor. She wasn’t ready to face the living room yet.

It had soaked up so much of Uncle Ray’s essence, for the lack of a better word. The wear on cushions of his favorite chair showed the outline of his body and carried the scent of his aftershave. The shelves lining the walls were filled with his favorite books, most dog-eared from multiple readings. Bits and pieces of the man, but not the whole.

She missed him so much. Had been missing him since long before he’d actually died.

No, she wasn’t ready to sort through all those memories. Not yet. Cowardly, maybe, but she couldn’t help but feel that she was intruding on Ray’s privacy. Instead, she’d get started on her work in Blessing. The day was sunny and clear, perfect for taking pictures.

She’d made a list of the things she’d need for her survey as well as the emergency supplies she wanted to stash inside the church. That would require a trip down to the small combination grocery store, gas station and post office located at the base of the mountain.

She wanted to get back in time to start on measuring out the streets of Blessing, so she grabbed her purse and stepped out on the porch. Locking the door seemed a bit silly considering she was the only one around, but city habits died hard.

Besides, she never quite lost the feeling that she wasn’t alone here on the mountain. Crazy, she knew, and the last thing she’d admit to anyone, but it felt as if someone was out there watching over her. She liked to think that some part of Uncle Ray had remained tethered to the mountain after all the years he’d spent taking care of it.

Her parents would never understand why she’d find that thought comforting, but she did. She stared in the direction of the trail to Blessing, fighting the whimsical urge to roll down the window to yell that she’d be right back.

Then she cranked up the stereo and sang along with the music all the way down the mountain.

* * *

“Where’s she off to now?”

Not that it mattered. Rayanne would be back because she hadn’t taken anything with her other than her purse. Probably going after supplies. Too bad. It would be better for both of them if she’d packed her suitcase and left the mountain.

He’d been spending way too much time lurking near the cabin, hoping to catch even a glimpse of her. All he could think about was the color of her skin, the fullness of her breasts and the way she would have smelled of rain and woman. He’d felt guiltier about that, but it wasn’t his fault that she’d revealed all the creamy skin right in front of him.

What would she do if he were to return the favor, even fully clothed? She’d seen him twice before, once as a young girl and on her first morning back. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Would she faint again or finally realize that he was more than a figment of her imagination? Thanks to that god-awful picture she had of him, she had to know he’d been real at one time.

No one in the hundred-plus years he’d been stuck here, straddled between life and death, had ever done more than caught a glimpse of him, except when he lay dying in the dusty street of Blessing. He suspected it was like catching a movement out of the corner of your eye, just a hint of something being there but just out of sight.

A sound deeper in the woods drew his attention away from the clearing and back toward town. Something was stirring or maybe someone. By his reckoning, it was far too early in the summer for most of the townspeople to put in an appearance. That left two people most likely causing the disturbance, the ones responsible for his being in Blessing at all.

Sometimes Amanda, the schoolteacher, and her son, Billy, showed up early with no warning. They never stuck around for long, leastwise not until later in August, right before the whole nightmare started up again. Even when they were there, they only rarely acknowledged his presence. For some unknown reason, he was the only one who truly haunted the mountain year after year. Maybe because it was all his fault.

But even if Amanda and Billy didn’t speak to him, he’d seek them out, anyway. Even just a glimpse of Amanda gave him a sense of belonging, a belief that he wasn’t truly alone. Her boy, Billy, served as a reminder of the price paid for innocence lost.

Wyatt watched as Rayanne drove out of sight before making his way back toward Blessing.

On the way, he stared up at the sky and muttered, “Someone up there has a hell of a sense of humor. I’ve got one woman who shouldn’t be able to see me but can, and another who should be able to, but can’t. Where’s the sense in that?”

He paused for a second, tilting his head to the side, hoping against hope this time would be different and someone would answer. Instead, he got the same response he’d always gotten whenever he begged, pleaded or just plain asked for some kind of explanation for this ongoing hell he lived in: absolute silence.

* * *

The old general store hadn’t changed much since the last time Rayanne had been there. A few different brands on the shelves, but the same old, faded sign out front advertising gas, groceries and postage stamps.

She grabbed a basket on the way in and made her way up and down the three aisles, picking up the items on her list and a few impulse purchases, as well. For the moment, she was alone in the store. If Phil, the proprietor and postmaster, didn’t make an appearance by the time she was done, she’d ring the buzzer by the register to summon him from the small apartment attached to the back of the building.

More than once she and Uncle Ray had been invited back there for a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and root beer floats. Ray enjoyed the occasional game of chess with his old friend and hadn’t minded her hovering over his shoulder while they played.

She smiled, grateful for another happy memory of her time on the mountain.

The shuffle of feet announced Phil’s arrival. She snagged an extra pack of gum off the shelf and tossed it into the basket before making her way to the register. The passage of fifteen years had added a few wrinkles to Phil’s face, and his hairline had receded a bit more, but she would’ve known him anywhere.

She coasted to a stop just short of the counter, waiting to see if he recognized her. It didn’t take long. His welcoming smile brightened considerably as his faded blue eyes crinkled at the corners, leaving little doubt about her welcome. He charged back around the counter to sweep her up in a huge hug.

“Rayanne, girl, it has been too damn long. We’ve missed your pretty face up here on the mountain.”

Tears stung her eyes as she hugged her uncle’s old friend back. “I should have been here for him, Phil.”

Phil held her out at arm’s length. “Now, listen here, missy. Your uncle understood that your life was down in the city. He knew you loved him just like he loved you. If you don’t believe anything else, believe that.”

His words, spoken with such quiet authority, eased the knot in her chest enough so that she could breathe again.

“I’d like to think so, Phil. Thanks for saying so.”

“It’s no less than the truth.” His own eyes looked a bit shiny as he held out his hand for her basket. “Let’s get this stuff rung up for you. Have you had lunch?”

“Not yet.” And realized she hadn’t eaten already because she’d been subconsciously hoping Phil would make that offer.

“Great! We’ll have cheese sandwiches and root beer floats, just like old times.”

A shaft of sharp grief shot through her chest. Just like old times except that Uncle Ray wouldn’t be there. But his memory would be, and that would suffice.

Phil was still talking. “Don’t let me forget that I’ve got a package I’ve been holding for you. If you hadn’t come in today, I would’ve brought it to you on Sunday when the store’s closed.”

Really? Her local post office had said it could take a week or more for her mail to catch up with her. She wasn’t expecting any more book deliveries, either. She knew better than to rush Phil. He did things in his own way and at his own speed.

At least he made quick work of her groceries. He added the last can of soup to the bag and then hit the total button on his old-fashioned cash register. “That’ll be fifty-five dollars and forty-seven cents.”

She handed him the cash and then took the bag with her perishables and stuck them in the cooler at the back of the store. Another habit she’d learned from Ray. With that done, she followed Phil into his apartment.

* * *

Two hours flew by as he caught her up on all the changes in the area since her last visit. A few old-timers had passed on; some new folks had moved in. All the usual gossip, only the names changed. She didn’t mind hearing about people she didn’t know, not if it made Phil happy to talk about them.

Finally, she finished the last of her float, enjoying the combined flavors of vanilla ice cream and root beer. She’d have to live on lettuce for a few days to make up for the calories, but the guilty pleasure of the sweet treat was worth the penance.

“Thank you for lunch, Phil. That really hit the spot. Nobody makes a root beer float like you do.”

His smile was tinged with sadness. “It wasn’t anything special, Rayanne. Nothing fancy like what you probably have all the time down there in the city.”

She reached across the table to put her hand on his, noticing for the first time how knobby his knuckles had gotten. Her friend wasn’t getting any younger. Who would run the store when he was gone? She didn’t want to think about it.

“Fancy doesn’t make it special, Phil. Having lunch with you and Uncle Ray right here at this same table are some of the best memories I have.”

He blushed a bit but looked decidedly happier. “I’ll get that package for you. Ray brought it down to me about the time the doctors told him his heart was plumb worn out. He asked me to keep it until you moved into the cabin.”

Interesting.

“So he was sure I’d come?”

Phil stared up at the ceiling for a second before answering. “I was sure. He hoped.”

Okay. Before she could ask Phil to explain, he was up and heading for his bedroom. She could hear him rummaging around and muttering under his breath. Finally, he returned with a shoebox sealed shut with duct tape. Whatever was inside, Uncle Ray had wanted to make sure it was safe from prying eyes.

Phil handed it to her. “No idea what’s in there, but I figure it had to be important because he made a special trip down to bring it to me.”

Wow, a special trip. Ray had been a man of habit. He only came down to Phil’s on the first and fifteenth of every month to pick up his mail and supplies. Only the worst of weather kept him from his appointed rounds.

“I wonder why he didn’t just leave it in the cabin for me to find.”

“He didn’t say.” Phil shook his head. “Who knows, maybe he just wanted to make sure it didn’t fall into the wrong hands. You know how he was about protecting his privacy.”

The box felt heavier somehow, as if knowing Ray had driven all the way down to entrust it to Phil’s care gave it more weight. She was tempted to rip the tape off now instead of waiting until she got back to the cabin, but that didn’t feel right.

No, she’d wait until after dinner and curl up in Ray’s favorite chair to open it. For now, she needed to get moving. She had work to do up on the mountain.

She set the box down long enough to give Phil another hug. “Thanks for lunch, Phil, and for keeping Ray’s package safe for me. I’ll let you know what’s in it next time I come in.”

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