Czytaj książkę: «The Other Side Of Paradise»

Chapter One

Mary McHale checked the directions on the sheet of paper, then studied the road again. There was no indication of a one-lane bridge on the quickly sketched map at the bottom of the brochure, nor of a creek.

Before retracing her tracks to the main county road, she perused the evergreen forest rising up the steep slope of the mountain, listened to the sound of the quietly burbling creek under the wooden bridge, then wondered if the water was pure enough to drink.

Not that she would risk taking a sip, but the woodland scene looked so peaceful and inviting it was difficult to imagine danger lurking there, whether germs or other kinds.

A place to lose yourself. Or maybe, she mused, a place to lose the world and find yourself.

The deep quiet called to her, but she had obligations and, as some poet had once said, miles to go before she slept.

With a sigh, she wheeled the old SUV and horse trailer in a tight arc and started back the way she’d come. At the main county road, she headed north once more and continued her search for the Towbridge ranch.

Three miles farther on, another gravel lane forked to the left. She spotted the sign informing her that the place she sought was seven miles west and made the correct turn.

Relief wafted through her. The shadows were long, she was tired and Attila needed food, water and exercise.

Nearly twenty minutes and seven miles later, she pulled up before the main building, a timber structure built rather like a large hunting lodge. A sign over the front porch declared the place to be the Towbridge Ranch, Est. 1899.

The gravel driveway continued on and circled a wooded area dotted with three or four picnic tables. Around the western perimeter of the driveway, she spotted camp sites through the firs and pine trees. RVs filled most of the parking spaces.

Well, it was the first Monday of September. Labor Day. Families were enjoying their last weekend in the mountains before winter set in, she supposed.

After parking before an old-fashioned horse rail, obviously new, she picked up a postcard from the passenger seat. It showed the seven peaks that formed a semicircle along the eastern border of Hells Canyon and gave the area its name. Seven Devils Mountains.

The peaks were west of the camp-ranch-resort where she was to be employed as a wrangler-hiking guide-whatever. The sun was setting behind the mountains in a near replica of the scene on the postcard she’d impulsively bought in LostValley, Idaho, the small town where she’d gassed up and which was an hour’s drive down the winding, dusty mountain roads she’d just traveled.

Observing the pink, gold and magenta streaks of the sunset and the mysterious shadows of the forest, she experienced the oddest sensation—that of a weight settling on her spirit. A forlorn sadness accompanied the heaviness, as if something vast and terrible impinged on her soul…a tragedy…

The emotion puzzled and irritated her. Seven Devils. The name was almost a premonition, a black cloud lurking on the horizon. Maybe she’d been here in a past life.

Yeah, right, and maybe she’d been Cleopatra in another.

A soft neigh from Attila, reminding her of his needs, pulled her out of the introspective mood. She had things to do and people to see.

After backing the horse out of the trailer, she snapped a lead rope on his halter and tied it at the end of the railing so he could munch the fall grass while she went inside to report to her new bosses, Keith Towbridge and Jonah Lanigan.

The lodge was empty. She surveyed the quaint main room, which had a high ceiling, a huge fireplace and rustic furniture made from alder and white cedar.

To her left was an office with a counter separating it from the great room. An archway to the right disclosed a small store stocked with canned goods and camping gear. A staircase gave access to rooms on the second floor while a hallway led to the nether regions on the main level of the sturdy building.

According to the brochure she’d picked up in town, the place was advertised as an adventure destination in the real West, which apparently meant hunting, fishing and paramilitary games for those “wanting to break out of the ordinary routine of life.” That idea would appeal to the deskbound executive, she supposed.

“Anybody here?” she called.

The place was so silent she could hear grass grow if she listened hard enough. The hair on her nape stood up.

“Hello!” she yelled more forcibly.

“Hello, yourself,” a masculine voice finally replied. “I’m in the kitchen.”

She walked down the hall and into a galley-type kitchen. Directly across from it was a room with three tables, each with four chairs. Windows displayed the view in three directions—all magnificent.

A man, as long-legged and lean as a coyote, glanced at her while he continued a chore at the sink. His features were hawkish, the angles of his face stern but attractive in a hard-jawed, clean-shaven way.

Like her, he was dressed in boots, jeans and a white T-shirt. He also wore a blue work shirt, open down the front, over the tee. Unlike her, he wore no hat. She liked to keep her hair tucked out of sight under a worn gray Stetson.

“You the new wrangler?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Who sent you here?”

She wondered if this was a trick question. “Trek Lanigan from the Trading Post north of Lost Valley. Are you his cousin?”

The Trading Post was a store that sold Native American crafts some of it old and valuable. That was where she’d seen the Help Wanted sign and asked about the job. The owner of the store bore a distinct resemblance to this man, except he wore his hair long. This one kept his cut short.

Glancing at the dining room, she realized she’d expected more of a working ranch and less of a resort type place. She didn’t like being around people all the time.

Most of the time, she amended.

The man nodded, affirming he was the cousin who’d hired her by phone interview. He finished washing a potato and dropped it in a pot of what looked like simmering soup stock. The pot was huge, the aroma coming from it mouthwatering.

“Can you cook?” he wanted to know.

“Yes. But Mr. Lanigan didn’t mention it as a requirement.”

“He’s Trek. I’m Jonah. Keith Towbridge is my partner. His wife is Janis. They have a son, K.J., short for Keith, Junior. Their house is on the back of the ranch, but they’re over here fairly often. You’ll met them later this week.”

Mary took in the information and stored it for future reference. It sounded as if she had definitely been hired. For now. At least he hadn’t taken one look and told her to get lost. The owners could probably use all the help they could get out here in the wilds.

“I, uh, have to take care of my horse. He needs water and bedding down.”

Jonah Lanigan shot her another assessing glance. His hair was almost black, his eyes a smoky blue-gray that effectively hid his thoughts. He was four or five inches taller that her own five feet ten inches.

In her work boots, she was as tall or taller than most men. Her height usually gave her an advantage, but not with this man. She stirred uneasily.

“The stable is in back.” He frowned and she noted the irritation he suppressed. “There’s a bunkhouse attached. I suppose we can make room in the lodge, though.”

“The bunkhouse is fine,” she quickly told him. “Uh, if I have a private bedroom?”

He shook his head. “There’s an empty room at the top of the stairs. Put your stuff up there for now. I’ll need your help at breakfast. Six o’clock sharp.”

“Right.” She retreated.

So far, so good. She’d made it past the first hurdle. The rancher down in the valley had taken one look at her and said the wrangler job she’d come there to fill wasn’t open. His son had looked her over with obvious interest.

She probably had an Equal Opportunity case against the older man, but she hadn’t liked his manner—nor his son’s—or the poor condition of the ranch and stock, so she’d left without arguing.

Attila whickered as soon as she appeared. She soothed him with a few quiet words, untied the rope, then led the horse around the lodge to the backyard where she spotted the stable. There was a fenced area next to it.

After freeing the nine-year-old stallion in the paddock, she filled a trough with fresh water, then checked the stable.

The eight stalls were empty. She prepared one for her horse, placing hay in the manger and spreading fresh straw over the dirt floor. Finished, she went outside and observed the dun-colored Thoroughbred as he walked around the fence and checked out his new quarters.

His silver coat with the brownish tinge—really a dark ash-blond—seemed a lighter shade against the weathered gray of the stable. His limp wasn’t pronounced, but she was aware of his fatigue in the way he moved.

A racehorse that hadn’t done well at the track, he’d been placed in a stock auction three years ago, but few had wanted the spirited stallion. He was useless as a work horse and parents hadn’t thought him safe for their children.

However, his bloodlines were excellent, and Mary had seen promise in the powerful haunches that had lifted him over a seven-foot fence when he’d attempted an escape. Using her life savings of fourteen thousand dollars, she’d outbid the other person who’d been interested in buying him.

Attila was the one thing she loved in all the world. They had bonded the first time she’d petted him at the track where she’d worked as a handler, getting the excited horses in the slots so the races could begin.

Noticing a cabin connected to the stable via an enclosed breezeway, she knocked on the door, then entered when no one answered. The place had a main room with a woodstove and two smaller rooms behind that. Bedrooms, she discovered upon further exploration. The building hadn’t been used in a while, she decided, swiping a finger through the dust on a sturdy pine table in the first room.

The ranch apparently didn’t hire many workers. That was fine by her. Here, she would have privacy.

Pleased, she hurried back to the lodge to move the SUV and trailer down, then decided first she’d better ask her boss about staying in the cabin.

From the kitchen, she heard a string of curses as she mounted the steps to the back entrance. Smoke billowed from the screen door. Her boss came outside just as she approached wearing oven mittens and carrying a baking sheet of black lumps. With a couple of added curses, he tossed lumps, pan and all over the railing and onto the dried lawn.

“That could start a grass fire,” she mentioned in carefully casual tones.

He grabbed a hose from a reel mounted on the house and drenched the biscuits or whatever the lumps had been in their former incarnation, then turned off the water with a furious twist. “There, satisfied?” He stomped inside.

She followed, wary of his temper but curious about him and the operations of the resort. “Do you need some help?”

Giving her a look that should have sizzled her to charcoal, he nodded. “Can you make biscuits?”

After the briefest hesitation, she said she could. Spotting a bag of cornmeal, she added, “How about some cornbread? People like that with soup.”

“Whatever.”

He clearly wasn’t in the mood to discuss it. She washed her hands and set to work. In a few minutes, she slid a skillet of cornbread into the oven. When he left to answer the phone in the office, she quickly tasted the soup.

It was pretty good, but a bit salty. She added some pasta curls to absorb the salt and a dash of pepper to give it a little more balance. She also added garlic powder and a few dried onion flakes, plus a scant tablespoon of sugar.

After retrieving the baking pan from the lawn, she scrubbed it at the stainless steel sink, dried it, then put it with some pie pans she found in a cabinet beside the stove. Spotting a timer, she set it so she’d remember to check the cornbread, then explored the kitchen more fully. If she was also going to be the cook and chief bottle washer—and it looked as if that was her fate—she’d better know her way around.

“Do you serve dinner every night?” she asked when Jonah returned.

“Only when we have guests in the lodge. Right now we have six men here on a business retreat. They’ve been doing war games all week, but this is their last day. They’ll be leaving in the morning. Then we’re free until the hunters start coming in next month.”

“You don’t employ a cook?”

“She quit.”

Mary heard the undercurrent of anger in his voice, saw it in the tightening of his jaw. He looked like a man who could bite off iron and spit out horseshoes, as the starter at the race track used to say.

Her new boss continued. “It was too isolated, too lonely out here to spend a winter, she said.”

“Did she mean something to you?”

He looked rather startled at the question. “Not personally, if that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t get involved with the hired help.”

“Good idea,” she said and meant it. She relaxed a bit. She made it a rule not to get involved with anyone, so they were on the same wavelength. “I looked at the bunkhouse. No one seems to be using it.”

“That’s right. Keith and I have managed to run things without much help in the past, but business has picked up this summer. Companies like to use our place for retreats because it’s cheap.”

She wasn’t interested in the business prospects at the moment. “I can stay out there. That’ll keep the room here in the lodge free for paying guests.”

He shook his head. “It hasn’t been modernized. There’s no running water, and the only heat is from the stove.”

“I don’t mind—”

“I do. It’ll be easier all around if you stay in the lodge. Winter can come early here in the mountains. There’s no sense in wasting firewood out there.”

“You seemed to think it was okay for a male.”

“I thought he could cut his own firewood.”

“I can do that.”

He stuck his hands on his hips and gave her an impatient glare. “You won’t have time. I need help with the paying customers. We make them happy campers, they come back next year or tell their friends about the place. That means money.”

She understood the imperatives of finance all too well. “Fine. Uh, where do you and the Towbridges stay?”

“I have a room on the other side of the office. Keith and Janis have the original ranch house over at the other camp, about a mile down the road from here.”

Again she stored the info. The lodge and ranch were bigger than she’d first thought. The main structure was new or had been extensively remodeled. The bunkhouse and stable weren’t, but both had been repaired recently. The place had an air of…not exactly prosperity, but of hard work and plans for the future.

Up until three months ago, she’d had big plans, too—the Olympics with her and Attila in the cross-country steeplechase. As she’d thought, he was a powerful jumper and had a competitive spirit. He’d just needed careful training and someone he could trust to bring out his talents.

But early in June, leading in an important trial, he’d pulled up lame. A sprained tendon, the vet had said. Rest and several months of mending had been the recommended cure.

She’d needed a job and he’d needed a place to heal. So here they were. Actually this looked like the ideal situation. She would take care of the horses, which were out on the trail, she assumed, and help cook when necessary.

The timer dinged.

After removing the golden-brown cornbread from the oven, she flipped it out onto a platter, turned the oven off, wiped out the skillet and set it on the back of the stove, then glanced around to see what else was to be done.

Jonah was leaning against the doorway, observing her every move. Her insides tightened at the scrutiny, but she didn’t let her tension show. Instead she gazed back at him, her expression devoid of any emotion while she wondered what it was about him that made her nervous.

It wasn’t simply that he was attractive. He was that and more, but she’d met other handsome, self-confident men in her work. Perhaps it was the alert intelligence in his eyes. His earlier irritation over the cooking disaster was gone, replaced by curiosity. She liked anger better. It was focused emotion that didn’t lead to questions. Curiosity, coupled with a keen mind, often did. She had a gut feeling that he thought a female wrangler might be more trouble than she was worth.

“What’s next?” she asked with false cheer.

“You’ll have six horses and two pack mules to see to when the men get here. Keith called. They’re on their way.”

“I’ll put fresh straw in the stalls. I noticed the round bales in the lean-to beside the stable. Is that what I should use?”

He nodded.

She left by the back door, glad to escape his perusal. He’d nearly made her stutter with that penetrating stare. From now on, she’d be on guard. She hated showing any signs of weakness to an enemy.

Enemy? Jonah Lanigan was simply a man harried by a shortage of help. He was her boss, nothing more or less. He couldn’t hurt her. No one could, unless she left herself open and vulnerable.

Glancing over her shoulder, she stopped abruptly. The far peaks were sharp and black against the twilight sky. They jutted up beyond the surrounding hills like jagged teeth, their silhouettes wicked and threatening. She felt danger all around—

The door banged behind her.

Jonah came out on the porch. “The men are here. Go take care of the animals and their gear. You also need to stop by the office and fill out some forms.”

She nodded and went to meet the bearded and unkempt adventurers at the stable. “Hi. I’m Mary, the wrangler,” she told them, friendly but casual. “I’ll handle the stock. Go on inside. The soup is ready.”

“Thank God,” one of the weary travelers murmured. “I haven’t been so tired since I was nine and our scout troop got lost and marched ten extra miles before finding the place we were to camp.”

“Good thing you had some experience in the woods,” one of the other men said. “We would still be wandering around in the hills otherwise.”

The first man looked pleased. “We did pretty good at getting back by ourselves, didn’t we?”

Mary witnessed new energy enter the little group of warriors as they recalled their accomplishments over the long weekend. They’d planned strategy and held mock battles with paint balls. They had worked on their team skills as well as their navigational ones.

“And found our inner man, uh, men, or something like that,” a third added, causing the others to chuckle.

“The boss will be proud when we report back.” The first man gave Mary a wink and handed over the reins to his mount, a gentle cowpony now gray in the muzzle.

After releasing the horses and pack mules into the paddock, she led each one in turn into the stable. She cleaned their hooves and groomed their coats, then fed and watered them.

She left one mule in the paddock while she reluctantly moved Attila under the lean-to and made him a bed in there, with a pole propped between two bales of straw to keep him enclosed. Tomorrow she could look around and maybe figure out another arrangement.

After caring for the last mule, she drove her vehicles to the rear, retrieved her bags from the SUV, then trudged up the barely discernible path to the lodge. From the dining room came sounds of merriment and lots of teasing about their exploits among the six men. She quietly walked along the corridor to the stairs.

From the office, she could hear the deep voice of her boss. “Yeah, she arrived,” he said.

She stopped upon realizing he was discussing her. “She seems to know her way around. Did you know she has a horse? She does,” he said when the other person obviously replied in the negative. “One thing, she can cook. She did something to fix the soup and also made cornbread when I burnt the biscuits. So maybe she won’t be a total loss.”

Mary’s chest lifted in indignation at the implied criticism. She quelled the emotion and the urge to storm in and inform her boss that she was a damn good worker. People new to an area were often viewed with suspicion, and she couldn’t afford the luxury of hurt feelings.

“Well,” he continued as if explaining his remark, “she’s as skinny as a birch twig. The first winter wind might blow her away. I don’t know if she has the strength to do the job.” He chuckled sardonically. “Yeah, I know, beggars can’t be choosers. Thanks a lot, cuz.”

Before Mary could move, he hung up and walked into the hallway, now alight with the soft glow of two wall sconces.

Their eyes met.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you were out here,” he said.

She shrugged. “Lots of men don’t think women can do the job. We have to prove ourselves each time. It comes with the territory.” She spoke carefully, determined not to let him rattle her.

“You’ll have to help me with the hunting parties this fall. We’ll be setting up blinds, maybe wading through snow up to our boot tops.” There was a warning in his tone.

“I’m not afraid of hard work.”

Only of people, but she didn’t say that. She wasn’t really afraid of anyone, but she’d learned to be wary.

“Good, ’cause we have plenty of it around here.” He started toward the kitchen area.

She went up two steps.

“Your cornbread was a hit with the men,” he added.

Glancing over her shoulder, she nodded.

“And the soup. What did you do to it?”

“Added some spices.”

His smile was sudden and unexpected. “You’ll have to show me what and how much. My attempts at cooking are unreliable, as you observed earlier.”

Mary experienced a flutter in the pit of her stomach at the rueful humor evident in his eyes. “Sure,” she said and moved up another step.

His next words stopped her cold. “You have a very precise way of speaking,” he murmured, looking at her in a quizzical manner as if trying to figure out what made her tick.

She hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to disclose but feeling compelled to tell him some of the truth. “I had speech therapy when I was a kid.”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Yeah? Why was that?”

Every muscle in her body went rigid at the question. She realized she’d set herself up for an inquisition, but it still took a second for her to regain her poise. She gave him a level stare. “When I started kindergarten, I had a stutter. In first grade, I was placed in Special Ed for therapy.”

She had to pause in saying the last word to prevent the stutter from returning. She’d learned to slow down, to breathe calmly while she heard the word in her mind, then to say it.

A ripple of emotion went through his eyes. For a second she thought he could see right down into the chasm where her soul dwelt, but he didn’t mouth any platitudes and meaningless compassionate phrases. He simply nodded as if her words explained everything and went on his way.

Mary exhaled sharply, then continued up the stairs and into the room he’d said she was to have. She closed and locked the door behind her, then stood there panting as if she’d barely escaped from a trap.

“I’m not afraid of him,” she said aloud, her face in the dresser mirror set and angry. “I’m not a child. I don’t ever have to be afraid again.”

But the memories flooded into her mind—of times when she’d been terrified, of loneliness so intense she’d felt a part of her innermost self had been ripped away, of helplessness because she was a child and her world was filled with strangers who decided her life without consulting her.

The man who was assumed to be her father had abandoned her at a bar in Wyoming. She’d remembered her nickname and that she was three years old, but she didn’t know what had happened to her mother or where their home was. She’d thought she had lots of family at one time, but maybe that was the fantasy of a lonely child.

Two things she remembered very well—the shock of having her head shaved when she was put into the orphanage and the year it had taken for her hair to grow long enough so that her image in a mirror no longer frightened her. For the first four months of that year, she’d quit speaking entirely. She’d felt as if her real self had been stolen. She hadn’t known who she was, where she belonged.

Sometimes, she mused, she felt as if she still didn’t. Perhaps that was why she didn’t like to stay in one place too long. She was looking for the little girl who’d been lost all those years ago…

With a confused sigh, she settled on one of the twin beds in the neat room. Since arriving in Lost Valley that afternoon, she’d felt unsettled and anxious.

She didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if she’d ever been there or had known anyone who’d ever lived in the area.

However, something about the name—Seven Devils—haunted her. While waiting for Jonah’s cousin at the Trading Post to sketch the map on the brochure advertising the ranch, she’d read the legend of the seven monsters who’d crossed the river and eaten the children until Coyote had turned them into the seven peaks grouped around the eastern side of the Snake River. For some reason the story had both intrigued and bothered her.

A shiver ran along her spine as apprehension seized her. She felt danger all around, but she didn’t know if it came from within herself or the seven devils of the legend.

Or from the tall, handsome man whose keen gaze saw more than she wanted to reveal.