Out of the Dark

by Justine Davis

  The sound of a masculine voice, laced with a rather mocking undertone and punctuated by the slamming of a car door, came at them from behind the glare of light. Cole felt a little too much like a pinned deer, and backed out of the probing high beams.

  “Too bad the clients don’t get the same treatment as the new hired help,” the voice said, still mocking.

  Already, without even seeing the man, Cole didn’t like him. Nor did he like the way Tory had gone so very still.

  “You want to kill those lights, whoever the hell you are?” he snapped.

  “Cole,” Tory said warningly, in a voice low enough to be heard only by him. “It’s John.”

  “Lennox?” Cole asked as the shadowy man laughed and reopened the car door obligingly. “He of the prize winning ego?”

  She stiffened. “Yes, Mr. Ex-rodeo cowboy. Any other kettles you’d like to call black?”

  She didn’t miss a trick, Cole thought wryly. Or mince any words. “Touché,” he said softly. “Sorry.”

  The lights went out. The man—a tall, lean man dressed in an expensive, Western-cut suit, Cole could see now—straightened up.

  “There. Is that better, Mr....?” The voice was smooth, urbane and polished. It didn’t make Cole like him any better. So, childishly perhaps, he didn’t answer.

  “Well, if you’re not feeling sociable, perhaps Tory will introduce us.”

  “I... Of course, John. This is—”

  Before she could get the words out, a low, gray shape appeared out of nowhere at a dead run. With a yowl that was eerily like the roar of his bigger cousins, Rocky latched onto the new arrival’s pant leg and gave a furious, claws-extended swipe at his polished boots.

  “What the hell?” Lennox jumped and swore, but Rocky clung tenaciously.

  Cole could have sworn he heard Tory stifle a giggle before she went on with her interrupted introduction.

  “John, this is Rocky.”

  Lennox swore again. Crudely. Cole smothered a laugh of his own. And decided that perhaps bringing that damn cat along hadn’t been such a dumb idea after all.

  Chapter 8

  Tory stole a sideways glance at Cole. He was looking out into the distance, his battered hat pulled low to shade his eyes. He was riding easily, despite some obvious and wryly acknowledged stiffness that had lingered after the first couple of days of regular riding.

  But more significantly—and somehow comforting and dangerous at the same time—he seemed to have become an accustomed part of life here, seemed, in such a short time, to have fit effortlessly into the pattern of her days.

  He was so unlike John, she thought, who, with his designer suits and fancy car had never quite fit in. She had to keep back a chuckle as she remembered the night before last, when he’d driven in and been promptly attacked by Rocky.

  John hadn’t reacted well to that at all. Tory had never heard him use such language before. It had taken her nearly an hour to soothe his ruffled feathers, and they had never gone out for the dinner he’d come to offer. She didn’t mind, since the distraction had kept him from probing too deeply about Cole, and what she had been doing wrapped in the arms of the “hired help” she’d known all of a few days.

  If she’d thought John’s casual invitations to dinner or a show had been serious, she might have been more concerned; he was their best client. But it was hard to be anything but amused when she remembered what Cole had done that night. He might deny to the death that Rocky was his, but when John had taken a swipe at the cat with his other foot, Cole had reacted instantly.

  “Now,” he’d said, the Texas drawl suddenly so thick Tory knew he was putting it on, “a fancy dude like you isn’t gonna let a little ol’ cat get to him, is he?”

  “Get that damned thing off me before I—”

  “I wouldn’t be makin’ any careless threats,” Cole said as he leaned over and scooped Rocky up, not being particularly careful of John’s suit pants, which had also fallen victim to the cat’s claws. Rocky yowled in protest, but Tory noticed he didn’t claw at Cole. “Cat here’s just got a terrible dislike for boots like that, you know?”

  That startled John into momentary silence. “What?”

  “Those boots of yours. Snakeskin, right?”

  “Thousand dollar imported anaconda,” John retorted, some of the anger returning to his voice.

  “Hmm.” Cole tugged at the leg of his own jeans, revealing his own boot, and Tory suddenly realized the origin of those odd-looking scars. “Now, these are only domestic rattlesnake, but he don’t like them any better.”

  “Oh.”

  Tory had had to cover her laughter with a cough. Domestic rattlesnake? Didn’t John even realize that Cole was taking a swipe of his own at John’s pretentious declaration of the price of his boots? But she shouldn’t have laughed. God knew they couldn’t afford to lose another horse, and John wasn’t the type to take being made to look foolish lightly.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Cole’s question yanked her back to the present. She focused on his face, at least, what she could see of it. The sun was almost directly overhead and the brim of his hat cast his eyes and nose into shadow. Only the sensual line of his mouth was lit by the sun, and she’d found herself staring at it far too often today. She’d been pleased when he’d suggested riding out to see if there was any more sign of her trespasser. Now she was wondering if she would have been better off saying no.

  “I was thinking about domestic rattlesnake boots,” she said hastily.

  Cole grinned. Tory felt that crazy flutter in her chest, followed by the tightness that seemed to seize her whenever she looked at him. He’d forgone shaving this morning, and the tough texture of beard that stubbled his face only made his lips seem smoother, softer, and the sunlight made her think of how warm they would be.

  “Sorry,” he said, not sounding at all apologetic.

  “Don’t be. Sometimes John gets a little...”

  “Pompous? Haughty? Pretentious?”

  This time the giggle broke free. “Yes. But Rocky brought him down to earth in a hurry.”

  Cole nodded sagely. “Attack first, ask questions later. Good strategy.”

  “The best defense is a good offense?”

  “Yep.” Cole’s grin widened. And Tory thought that if she didn’t stop watching his mouth like this, she was going to be in real trouble. She wondered what he’d say if she asked him to push his hat back. Not that being able to see his eyes would help much, she admitted ruefully.

  “John’s not really that bad.” Tory felt compelled to explain. “And he’s been very nice. Concerned. About all three horses who died, not just his own.” She shrugged. “I don’t think he believes they were killed, but he’s always calling to see how I’m doing.”

  Cole made a sound that could have been grudging acknowledgment, or just as easily disgusted dislike.

  “He’s just very rich,” she said. “He runs in my father’s kind of crowd. They even met here at the ranch once. They talk the same kind of talk. And John’s used to being deferred to, just like my father.”

  “He’s like your father, and he’s a good-looking guy. So why doesn’t he get tarred with your father’s brush?”

  The unexpected question caught her completely off guard. “He’s not that good-looking. Besides, I don’t—”

  She cut herself off with a gasp as she realized she’d been about to say she didn’t go all weak in the knees when John was around.

  “You don’t what, Tory?” His voice was soft, oddly husky.

  “I don’t think of him that way,” she amended lamely. She waited for him to take advantage of the admission, only slightly less damaging than what she’d been about to say in the first place.

  “I’m glad,” was all he said.

  “Why?” she asked, feeling suddenly reckless without understanding why. “Because Rocky didn’t like him?”

  “I’m beginning to appreciate his taste.”

  “Since he chose you?”


  “In spite of that.”

  He was still smiling, but Tory got the feeling there was more seriousness in the words than he would admit to.

  Too many people died.

  His words that day on the hill echoed in her mind. She supposed death wasn’t a rarity in his kind of work. And Hobie had said he’d been in the army, special forces of some kind. Yet when he’d said those words, Tory had felt a chill unlike anything she’d ever felt before. And she still didn’t know if it was from the stark, grim simplicity of the words, or the sound of throttled pain in his voice when he’d said them.

  “Hobie seems better,” Cole said, so casually it was hard to believe this was the same man she’d just been thinking of.

  “Yes, he does.” She hesitated, then added, “Thank you.”

  He looked surprised. “Me? For what?”

  “For coming here. Even if we never find out who...did this, it was worth it for the change in him.”

  “Worth what?”

  She gave him another sideways look. “Bearding the lion in his den. So to speak.”

  His smile was wry. “Was it that bad?”

  “It felt that way at the time.” She hesitated, then decided she had little to lose and plunged ahead. “At first I thought Kyra was your girlfriend.”

  If her words disturbed him, it didn’t show. “And you thought I was making time in the office?”

  “Something like that. Then, when she said she was pregnant, I thought maybe she was your wife.”

  This time a flicker of something darkened his eyes for a moment. “I’m not her style. For different reasons, she has the same feeling about guys like me as you do.”

  She barely stopped herself from saying she wasn’t at all sure she felt that way any longer. “But you...care for her.”

  He reined Buck in sharply. The buckskin tossed his head in protest. He patted the horse as if in apology, then turned to look at Tory, his eyes fastened on her steadily.

  “Yes, I do. A great deal. She’s a very special lady, and a damn good friend. There was a time when I wished it could have been more, but she was too afraid of me to trust me until it was too late.”

  She wasn’t sure if the edge that came into his voice then was aimed at her or not, but there was no doubt about the direction of his fierce gaze.

  “Besides,” he persisted, “she’d found Cash by then, and that was that. They’re crazy about each other, and I wish them both well. Now, is there a point to this?”

  “I was just...curious. She seemed very nice. I’m glad she’s happy.”

  He seemed to relax a little then, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief that she hadn’t blurted out something irretrievably foolish.

  By the time the sun hit its peak, they had found no more signs of Tory’s trespasser. It was turning into a scorcher of a day, and she suggested they stop for a while in the cool shade near the spring before heading back. Cole agreed, saying he’d like to check there, anyway. They hadn’t really stopped there the day they’d moved stock, and it was a likely place for the trespasser to go to if he’d been in the area long enough to stumble across the water source.

  “I hope not.” Tory’s brow creased. “That’s one of my favorite places. I don’t like to think of him being there.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s pretty hidden. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d probably never go back up in that draw that far.”

  She supposed he was right, she thought as they began to ride. The gap between the hills narrowed down twice to where a horse and rider, especially somebody Cole’s size, could barely squeeze by. To a stranger it would no doubt seem hardly worth the effort of exploring. So they would never find the treasure she had found following a recalcitrant young steer one day—a tiny sheltered glade where trees and grass grew green right up to the edge of the little pool, and the air seemed cool even on the hottest of California days. She supposed there were more places like this. The little town wasn’t called Summer Springs for nothing.

  They rode up to the edge of the unexpected oasis, stepped down and loosened the cinches for the horses. They also slipped the bits, so the animals could indulge slightly in the lush greenery. Tory knew too much wasn’t good for them, but the cattle kept the growth down to where there wasn’t enough left for them to get sick in the short time they’d be here. And it would be a treat after their usual diet of hay and pellets.

  After letting the horses drink, they knelt beside the precious water. Cole used his hat to pour the cooling liquid over his head while Tory wet her bandanna and wiped her face, neck and arms before rewetting it and tying it back around her throat. Then they sat in the shade of a scrub oak that had miraculously taken root in the split of a large boulder. Or perhaps it had caused the split with its inexorable growth. Tory closed her eyes and leaned back against the warm stone, listening to the munching of the horses, and the occasional buzz of a June bug as it went about its beetle business.

  And, although she couldn’t see or hear him, she could feel Cole’s presence as surely as if he were touching her.

  Maybe she was wrong about him. He was Hobie’s friend, even all these years after their lives had taken different paths. But then again, she’d be a fool to believe that a man’s dealings with other men were any indication of how they dealt with women. One of her father’s friends, a man he swore he would trust with his life, had made a heavy pass at Tory when she’d been home from college one spring. At the time, it had been yet another nail for the coffin she was building for her childhood image of her father.

  “Are you ever going to talk to your father?”

  She nearly jumped at the uncanny connection between his out-of-the-blue question and her thoughts. She sat up and stared at him.

  “What?”

  “I just thought you might be curious about why he all of a sudden wants you home.”

  “I don’t care,” she said shortly. “I’ve only talked to him twice in five years, when I had the misfortune to be expecting another call and it was him.” She leaned against the rock again. “Not exactly your typical, loving family.”

  “Who said a loving family is typical these days?”

  “You’re right. You have to work at that. My father never worked at anything. He didn’t have to. He used his charm.”

  “So where did you learn to work?”

  She smiled. “Hobie. He taught me about the real satisfaction of doing a good job. In fact, he taught me just about everything worthwhile that I know. In school, I was smart enough to slide through with the minimum of effort. Or bluff my way through. But you can’t bluff horses.” Her smile became a grin. “Or cats.”

  “Don’t start with me about that damn cat.”

  “I think it’s sweet.”

  “Fine. Let him sleep with you.”

  To her amazement, the minute the words came out, she saw a faint tinge of color stain his cheekbones. He turned his head quickly to stare at the clear little pool. She couldn’t believe he was embarrassed. They had, after all, been talking about Rocky. Hadn’t they?

  After a long, silent moment, he asked, “Just how badly does your father want you home?”

  Her forehead creased. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been gone five years. Why now?”

  “I don’t know.” She laughed a sour little sound. “I’m probably the only woman who ever really walked away from him. Even my mother stayed with him until it killed her.”

  “Why? Why didn’t she just leave?”

  “She didn’t want to leave me.”

  “So why didn’t she take you and leave?”

  For once, it was she who felt old and wearily experienced. “My father owns a firm of high-powered attorneys. He has lunch with judges. And family-law arbitrators. He told her if she ever tried, he’d make sure she never saw me again.” She grimaced at the painful memory, but felt she somehow owed it to her mother to finish it. “Then, to drive it home, he played his ace in the hole.”

  “Wh
ich was?”

  “Me. He brought me in, made up some story about a little girl who had to choose between her parents, and if I had to, which would I chose. In all innocence, of course. But my mother knew what he was doing.”

  “And you chose your father.”

  She couldn’t look at him. “Of course I did. I’ve already told you about the kind of kid I was. So she stayed. She started drinking. Then pills. But when she died, it wasn’t from that. She just...gave up. I didn’t realize until years after she was gone that what she’d given up on was me. She’d hung on for so long, hoping I would someday see the truth, and that she could be there for me when I did.”

  “Why didn’t she just tell you about your father, about the affairs?”

  Tory let out a long sigh as she stared at the glistening surface of the water. “I’ve often wondered that. I think, in a crazy sort of way, she couldn’t bear to be the one to destroy my image of him. Maybe she thought I’d blame her.”

  She shivered, her skin rippling as if that chill wind were still encircling her. She wrapped her arms around herself.

  “And you know what scares me the most?” Her voice had dropped to barely a whisper. “The fact that she was probably right. Then. I would have blamed her. I would have hated her for saying such awful things about Daddy.” Her throat tightened up at the painful knowledge. “God, I was such a blind, foolish—”

  “Child,” Cole said from beside her. She’d been so wrapped up in her misery she hadn’t realized he’d moved. “You were a child, Tory. I’m sure she understood.”

  Tory shook her head, tears welling in spite of her efforts to stop them. “She died all alone. My father and I were in St. Moritz for my birthday. Skiing. He didn’t even tell me until it was time to go home. A week after she d-died.”

  In the moment that her voice broke, Cole’s arms came around her. And in that moment, she needed that closeness, needed to feel the strength of him, more than she’d ever needed anything in her life. So she let herself go slack against him, as if he held the answers to the problems of her life instead of the likelihood of more. But he was the only thing powerful enough to drive away the old pain. And she welcomed the quelling of the ugly memories, even as what was left of her functioning mind warned her that she was only inviting more torment.