Czytaj książkę: «Reunited With The Cowboy»

CHAPTER ONE

MAYA BURTON HAD always loved being alone in the wilderness. But after three hours of climbing through steep, dense, shadowy forest, it occurred to her that this nighttime hike through mountain lion territory might dim that love, just a bit.

It had felt like a good idea, back in Shelter Creek. The odds of meeting a mountain lion on the trail were low, and facing a lion seemed a lot less scary than facing the memories waiting in her hometown.

But Maya had forgotten that forests in this part of California were full of oak and bay trees that sent their branches arching right over the trail. And mountain lions loved to hang out on branches. Shining her flashlight to make sure she was safe still didn’t ease the prickly feeling on the back of her neck as she passed underneath.

When she finally reached the edge of the forest, stepping out onto the wide-open ridgetop was sheer relief. She loved studying mountain lions, but she was glad to be in a place where they couldn’t drop on her from above. Maya took in the full moon beaming in the sky, tinting the grassy meadows and scrubby slopes with silver. So much moonlight, she could put her flashlight away.

They were out here too though. Mountain lions, pumas, cougars, catamounts, ghost cats, panthers...maybe the big cats had so many names because they were so mysterious. Able to exist alongside people without anyone realizing they were even there.

Except lately the mountain lions in this area had been attacking livestock on local ranches. And people definitely noticed that.

That was why Maya was here, in the coastal hills surrounding her hometown of Shelter Creek, on a two-month assignment for the Department of Wildlife. She was going to try to find pumas. Photograph them. Count and classify them. Assess the population’s overall health and figure out why they were eating so many sheep.

But she’d rather not meet any big cats out here in the dark. “Okay, pumas,” she said to the shadowed spaces just past the moonlight. “If you’re out there, beat it. I’m coming into your territory and you are not allowed to bother me.”

She was being silly. Most big predators would prefer not to run into any humans. Usually people were a meal they didn’t have much appetite for, though once in a while...

Ugh. Don’t think about that.

What was wrong with her tonight? Maya spent weeks at a time living in remote wilderness, studying predators. She rarely worried about being attacked. But tonight she was nervous. Maybe because she was used to the Rocky Mountains, and the way mountain lions behaved when they lived in truly wild places.

Here in Northern California, the mountain lions’ habitat was broken up by ranches, towns, cities, roads, wineries and farms. Pumas with limited territory were less predictable and less afraid of people, and this knowledge made every rustle of grass blown by the breeze off the Pacific travel straight up Maya’s spine.

Or maybe she was jittery because this afternoon she’d come home for the first time in thirteen years. And promptly had a huge panic attack. That was enough to make a gal nervous. To make her decide that it would be better to jump straight into work than to sit in her grandmother’s house, bombarded by memories of the accident that had changed her life forever.

The night she’d lost control of her car and her boyfriend’s sister had been killed.

It had all come flooding back today, as Maya drove past the vintage clapboard buildings and flower-filled yards of Shelter Creek’s Main Street. Each memory was etched with vivid clarity, a high-definition slide in a tragic slideshow. The click of Julie’s seat belt as she freed herself in the back seat. Her drunken refusal when Maya told her to put it back on. Her final words, “No one wants to hear Nirvana,” as she flopped into the front seat to change the music. Her shriek of startled laughter as she lost her balance and fell onto Maya. Her weight, her flailing limbs knocking Maya’s hands off the steering wheel, blocking her view of the road ahead.

Memories of panic. Of slamming on the brakes, hitting them too hard, sending them into a skid. And one final image, the single strobe-like flash of trees looming in the headlights.

Pulled over by the side of the road today, bracing her weight on the old sign that read Welcome to Shelter Creek, Maya had gasped for breath and tried to remember what a long-ago therapist had taught her about panic attacks.

Notice what’s real. Notice what’s around you.

Maya had tried to focus on the bumpy gravel beneath her sneakers. The warm, dry air of the summer afternoon. The oily, metallic smell of her truck engine, hot after three days of driving west from her home in Boulder, Colorado. The scolding shriek of a Steller’s jay in a nearby tree.

She’d calmed herself down, but she was desperate to be alone. To have quiet. She was falling apart, and wilderness, solitude and work were the glue that could put her back together.

Luckily Grandma understood. When she’d opened her front door and found her granddaughter sitting on her front porch, stuffing scientific equipment into her backpack, she’d just given Maya a giant hug and gone to pack her some food. Grandma had accepted Maya’s quirks a long time ago.

Maya scanned the moonlit landscape one more time. No critters that she could see, though surely there were all kinds of nocturnal animals roaming these fields. “Ready or not, here I come!” she called, just to make some more noise, and started out across the ridgetop, trying to relax and finally enjoy the night.

At least being home gave her a chance to walk this trail again. She’d hiked these hills every chance she’d had when she was young. Peaceful, wild places had always called to her. Maybe because her early childhood had been filled with so much chaos before she’d come to live with Grandma in Shelter Creek. Maybe because, in wild places, things were simple. One foot in front of the other. Look, listen, think. Alone in the wilderness, other peoples’ decisions, their random acts of craziness, couldn’t affect you. Couldn’t turn your entire life upside down in an instant.

Maya shook her head, trying to shake off the memories, the feelings. Think about science, think about pumas, think about this trail and what you remember about it. At the other end of this meadow, there was a steep hill, thick with shrubs. It was the perfect place for pumas to hide while they waited for their favorite food, mule deer, to leave the safety of their thickets and venture out to graze.

That interface between shrubby hill and open grassland was where she’d set up the first motion-sensitive camera.

Hopefully she’d get a few cameras up and running tonight. They’d feed into her computer and give her a sense of the wildlife in the area. No one had surveyed these rugged hills for mountain lions in years. This would be one step toward figuring out how many of the big cats were living around here.

A swishing sound sent Maya’s pulse racing. She glanced over her shoulder. Not a lion. Just the shadowy shape of an owl, launching from the trees behind her. It soared out over the ridge and circled, eerily silent. Maya pulled in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the soothing scents of coyote brush and sage. The smell was pure memory, each inhalation bittersweet.

For so long she assumed she’d never breathe this air again. When she’d bought a one-way bus ticket to college, and what she’d prayed would be a fresh start, Maya swore she’d never look back.

But last month, when her boss at the Department of Wildlife in Boulder had mentioned this job, a short-term attempt to reduce mountain lion attacks on livestock in the area, it had felt almost serendipitous.

Maya was in a lull between research projects, and she’d been worried about her grandmother, who still lived in Shelter Creek. This past year Grandma Lillian had stopped coming out to Colorado to visit Maya, saying she was tired of traveling. She’d even stayed home for Christmas and skipped their annual spring break adventure.

Clearly Grandma was slowing down. This job could be Maya’s chance to check on her, to make sure she was still able to live on her own and care for herself.

And maybe it was time to do what her grandmother had been telling her she needed to do for years. To finally face the memories that waited for her in Shelter Creek.

That part hadn’t gone so well, so far. Maya would have to be stronger, or she’d never survive the next two months.

The terrain around the trail was changing. The brush was thicker here, providing good cover for various animals. She’d catch coyotes on her cameras for sure. She’d heard a few of them yipping and yowling in the woods about a mile back. She’d probably see plenty of skunks, raccoons and foxes on the feed too. And with good camera placement and a lot of luck, she might get footage of mountain lions.

A sharp sound cut through her thoughts. Maya froze, heart hammering, listening so hard that the silence felt loud. The sound was gone now. But there had been something. The crack of a stick underfoot. Something.

Another noise—closer this time. A rustling in the bushes. Whatever it was, it was big. Normally a mountain lion wouldn’t be this noisy, but what else could it be? Stray cattle, maybe?

The crisp snap of a branch shattered her fragile composure. Maya whirled to face the threat. A shadow loomed up from the brush. With a shriek, Maya leaped back and stumbled on the raised grass that edged the trail. Arms flailing, feet staggering, she fought for balance as her backpack pulled her down.

Oomph. Air shot from her lungs as she hit the dirt hard. She lay on her back like a stranded turtle, arms and legs useless as her pack held her down.

Clawing her way out of the confining straps, Maya jumped to her feet, groped for her safety whistle and blew hard. The shrill sound sliced open the night.

Pepper spray. It was in her belt. Wrenching it from the holster, Maya held out the can and slowly backed away from the dark shadow emerging from the bushes.

“Hang on! It’s okay!”

The unexpected voice stopped her in an instant. It wasn’t a mountain lion. It was a man.

“Who are you?” Her voice quavered, weak and thin. But she couldn’t be weak here, alone on a trail. She drew herself up to her full five-foot-one frame and gripped her pepper spray a little tighter, her pulse pounding in her ears.

The man stepped slowly onto the trail from some low bushes, where he must have been hiding. In the dim moonlight he was a dark shadow. Maya could see the outline of his cowboy hat, but not much else about him. Except in one hand, he held...a rifle.

Maya froze—the gun changing everything.

“It’s okay.” The man’s voice was low and steady, like he was trying to be reassuring. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Maya’s heart wouldn’t slow. Her breath wouldn’t fill her lungs. She needed to calm down, to get back in control.

But it was a strange man. With a gun. On a hiking trail. At night.

This wasn’t good. Worse than a lion. Her thoughts sped, frantic. This trail wasn’t that far from the highway. Was he some kind of homeless wanderer? A serial killer?

She had to get a grip. She’d spent her entire adult life in the wilderness. Had never met a problem she couldn’t handle. But that wilderness had been remote and isolated. Not like this area, so close to cities and towns. And people.

She tried to put authority in her shaking tone. “I’m with the Department of Wildlife. Lower your weapon.”

He lowered it to his side and pointed it toward the ground.

“Is it loaded?”

“Yes.”

Maya’s blood chilled when she heard the safety click. He’d been ready to shoot. Could so easily have ended her life with just a twitch of a finger. The knowledge rippled down her spine, and one of her knees started shaking like it had a mind of its own.

The man spoke quietly. “Did you get hurt when you fell? Do you want some light?”

Her flashlight. She should have reached for it right away. Maya grabbed it now and directed its beam straight at his face.

“Hey!” He tilted his head down and brought a forearm across his eyes. “Can you shine that somewhere else?”

“Not until you put the gun on the ground.” She shoved every ounce of confidence she’d ever felt into her voice.

“Not easy to do when you’re blinding me.”

“Just put it down.” Her heart was going to pound right through her ribs if he didn’t get rid of that gun.

“Okay! Hang on.” He walked a few steps backward and slowly bent to set the gun on the ground. As he straightened, he tilted his hat back and looked right at her, squinting to protect his eyes. “Can you move the light now?”

She couldn’t move the light. Didn’t know if she’d ever move anything again, because now she could see his face, and it was Caleb. Caleb Dunne.

A metallic taste coated her tongue, and she swallowed hard. Both of her knees were shaking now, and the flashlight beam quivered with her trembling hand as if her entire body was rebelling at the sight of him. Rebelling against this homecoming, which was already turning into the disaster she’d always assumed it would be.

She had to lower the light. It was wrong to keep blinding him. But if she lowered it, he’d realize who she was. And Maya already knew what his reaction would be. Rage. Disgust. Horror. Because she was the last person Caleb would want to meet on this trail, or anywhere else.

Still, they couldn’t stay like this forever. Maya forced her hand down, every millimeter of motion triggering an exponential increase in dread. She had no hat brim to hide under, and the moon was rising higher, the pearly light bathing them. As the beam reached the ground, she heard Caleb’s sharp gasp of recognition. He took a stiff step forward. Then another.

“Maya?” His voice was hollow, as if just the sight of her gutted him.

There was nothing she could do but stand there while he stared, his dark eyes burning into her, branding her a murderer. The name he’d called her the last time she’d seen him, so many years ago.

There was nowhere to run this time, no bus to catch, no remote Colorado wilderness to hide in, as she’d done for almost a decade now. A strange, slow feeling seeped through her, resignation so strong, it was almost relief, easing the turmoil in her mind, allowing her to move a step or two toward him. This meeting she’d feared and dreaded for so long was right here upon her, and there was nothing she could do but accept whatever came next.

“Yes,” she said softly. “It’s me. Maya. I’m home.”

* * *

FOR A SPLIT SECOND Caleb wondered if Maya was actually real. Still as prey, with moonlight painting shadows around her eyes, she was almost ghostlike. Fitting, since she’d haunted him for all these years.

His hands had become fists, and he carefully unclenched them, trying to fathom her presence on this trail. “Why are you here?” It came out in a hoarse whisper.

“Work.” She twisted the light nervously in her hands, casting wild shapes across the ground between them. “And to see my grandmother. Why are you here?”

He heard the question, knew he should answer, but it was Maya, standing right here in front of him, and his words were boulders lodged in his throat. Caleb swallowed hard and tried to take her in. He’d never thought he’d see her again.

A thought skittered around his mind like a panicked rabbit. He’d almost shot her. If it had been a darker night, if she hadn’t fallen and let out that yelp, if he’d been a different rancher, less patient and more trigger-happy... There were so many scenarios in which he could have shot her. If he had, he’d be standing over her bleeding, broken body right now.

The image sent the night reeling, the moon spinning, his heart pounding through his veins. He’d wanted that mountain lion, had been looking so hard for it that a part of his brain had assumed that was exactly what she was. Fear blazed into anger. “You’re crazy, walking out here on your own.”

Her shrug dismissed his worry like it meant nothing. “I’ve spent most of my adult life outside, on my own.”

She reminded him of how little he knew her now. And how well he once had.

“I could have shot you,” he blurted out, not in control, not able to decide which of the words, dislodged now and tumbling through his head in a landslide, he should actually say out loud.

He could hear the shaky breath she drew. “Do you wish you had?”

“What?” Aghast, he took a step closer. “No. Never. I’m not a murderer.”

As soon as he’d spoken the word, he froze. Murderer. He’d called Maya that the last time he’d seen her. He’d been called that himself, a few times since. And the irony wasn’t lost on him. She hadn’t been a murderer, hadn’t even been guilty. But he probably was.

Of course the military shrink had told him different. But Caleb had made mistakes in Afghanistan that he couldn’t forgive. He’d hoped to leave them behind now that he was home for good, but he hadn’t known then that regret had no borders. How things you put aside in the daytime ran rampant in your mind at night. Another reason he was out on the trail tonight. It was easier out here, hunting, protecting his livestock, than tossing and turning, desperate for sleep, even while dreading the dreams that sleep might bring.

“I don’t wish you harm, Maya.”

She huffed out a shaky laugh. “Well, seeing as we’re alone out here, and you have a gun, I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’m after a mountain lion. It’s been killing my sheep.”

She stilled then—nothing he could see, but something he could sense.

“Really?” She gave a strange little hollow laugh. “Well, isn’t that just perfect?”

Her sarcasm baffled him. Then he remembered what she’d said moments before. That she was with the Department of Wildlife.

“I have a permit. A depredation permit. To kill the lion.”

“I’ll need to see it.”

It was like looking into a twisted carnival mirror, where nothing was as it seemed. Maya, on a trail near his ranch, in the middle of the night. Maya, suddenly sounding official and asking for his paperwork. Which, of course, he didn’t have with him.

Not for the first time, Caleb wished he’d reenlisted. Just stayed in the Marine Corps forever and never come back to Shelter Creek. Home, ranching...it was supposed to be simple. But every day brought a new complication. “I left the permit back at the ranch.”

She sighed as if she couldn’t believe his incompetence. “Okay. Well, please don’t shoot anything until I’ve seen that permit.”

It was sinking in now, this bizarre situation they were in. “Let me get this straight. You’re in charge of permits? I have to answer to you if I need to shoot a mountain lion?”

“I’m the temporary field biologist for this area, in charge of wildlife management, among other things. So, yes, you’ll need to clear the use of that permit with me.”

Her words filtered through his denial. “You can’t be serious.”

She sounded resigned. “I’m afraid I am.”

“I never thought I’d see you again.” The words tumbled out, rough and raw. He’d loved her. So damn much.

A pained smile twisted the corner of her mouth. “Don’t worry. Once I know for sure that my grandmother is doing well, I’ll leave. This job is just a temporary position for the summer.”

It was probably rude to feel so much relief. She had every right to be here, and if her grandmother needed her, then she should be here. But it didn’t mean he wanted Maya anywhere near him. All they could do for each other was bring up old hurt and brutal memories. And feelings. So many damn feelings that his throat burned with them, like they wanted to be shared, needed to be shared. But how could he? It was all so long ago. The damage he’d done had solidified into concrete. Had become the foundation on which they’d both built new lives.

He wanted to go, to retreat, to put at least a few miles between them. He took the first steps away. “Well, good luck with your grandmother. And the job.”

“I’ll need it.” Her mouth hinted at a wry smile. “Especially because Grandma is as stubborn as ever. And because I have to try to help ranchers like you with predator management.”

He couldn’t work with her. “I don’t need any help. A mountain lion killed my sheep. I have the right to shoot it. End of story.”

Maya made no sign that his tone bothered her; instead her voice remained steady and calm, like nothing about this meeting or this conflict shook her. “There are new regulations in place. You have to try to manage predators without harming them. Shooting is a last resort now.”

Worry settled cold in Caleb’s stomach. He couldn’t afford to lose one more animal. “What do I have to do?”

“Well, it depends on what you’re already doing. We can talk more about it when I visit your ranch.”

“Visit my ranch?” Caleb ran a hand over the film of sweat that was coating the back of his neck despite the chill night. Maya on his ranch. Maya seeing how run-down and ruined it was, how low he’d ended up. “Why do you need to visit my ranch?”

“To see where attacks have occurred. And to figure out how we can prevent any more of them.”

We? There could be no we here. “What do you know about ranching?” He was being rude, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want a visit. Didn’t want help. Didn’t want anything to do with her. Already he felt the pull, like she emitted some kind of memory-inducing pheromone that allowed him to see their past so clearly. Maya laughing by the swimming hole, water droplets clinging to her tanned skin. Maya riding these hills, next to him, reaching her hand out for his. Each image crystal clear, each memory so good.

Until it had all gone so bad.

She was silent for a moment, as if gathering up her next arguments. She’d always been stubborn, and it seemed like that hadn’t changed.

“Look, Caleb. We both know I’m not a rancher. But I know a lot about wildlife management and predator-prey relationships. So I’ll probably have some useful advice.”