Maybe her mother would give up if he got close enough to the phone to cause it to crackle again. He’d have to be careful, though. If he destroyed the phone altogether, her mother might come charging up the mountain to confront Rayanne in person. Before he could decide, she took care of the problem herself.
“That’s enough, Mother. I’ll tell you everything when I see you at the end of the summer. I promise I’ll call you in a few days.”
Then she pushed a button and calmly walked back inside. Well, maybe not so calmly. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was the sound of something being knocked over, accompanied by a few words that ladies in his day weren’t supposed to say. He liked her all the better for it.
She came back out and stood staring off at the trees for a few seconds before resuming her seat with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry you had to hear all that.”
She glanced in his direction and asked, “You can hear me, can’t you?”
He nodded, wishing she could hear him in return, but he wasn’t solid enough. Not like he was yesterday. He’d spent much of the night puzzling over that whole event. For those few minutes, he’d been there, all of him. Not just the shadow of the man he used to be except for one day a year.
She clutched her coffee with both hands, maybe drawing some comfort from its heat. “You probably figured out that was my mother. She’s not happy about me being up here. Nobody is.”
Who else was included in that disapproving group besides her parents? He watched Rayanne out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t be the only man who liked the combination of red-gold hair and freckles. Did she have a beau waiting for her down below? If so, he couldn’t be much of a man to let his woman go wandering off by herself.
Hell, she’d come damn close to being badly hurt or even killed yesterday. The mountain was unforgiving. There were more ways to die up here than being torn apart by bullets. He should know.
“You’re looking pretty angry there, Mr. McCain.”
He glared at her. “It’s Wyatt.”
She stared at his mouth and then repeated herself. “Fine. You’re looking pretty angry there, Wyatt.”
He spoke slowly, hoping she could make out what he was trying to tell her. “Your mother is right. Dangerous.”
Rayanne’s efforts to lighten up the moment faded away. “Yes, it is, and I don’t need you to tell me that any more than I need my mother’s rantings on the subject.”
She picked up her pen and paper. “Tell me, Wyatt, do you remember me visiting my uncle when I was a little girl?”
Where was she going with this? He nodded and held out his hand to indicate how little she’d been when he’d first seen her. She couldn’t have been more than five or six, all pigtails and no front teeth.
“I came for the same two weeks every summer.”
Not exactly, and they both knew it. He waited to see what she had to say next.
“Except for the summer when my parents split up. Dad thought Mom would come back for me, and she thought he would. Dad called to say he’d been delayed, and I’d have to stay a few days longer.”
Her voice sounded more distant, as if they were both being dragged back to that hot summer day. He didn’t want to go there, not with her, not now. But she kept right on talking, totally oblivious to his growing agitation.
“I was fine with it.” She lifted her face up to the sun, its warm light bathing her creamy skin. “I knew Uncle Ray was unhappy, but not why. I thought he was tired of my company or something. He got so agitated. I was scared, too. Not of him, but for him.”
Her silence was telling; her pain obviously still raw after all these years. After all, why would a mere uncle want her if her own parents couldn’t be bothered to come back for her on time? Wyatt wanted to take a bullwhip to the lot of them. Instead of taking care of the one person who had needed them the most, they’d left her up here on the mountain to get caught up in his nightmare.
“Do you remember seeing me that summer?”
It was time to go. Even if she could hear him, he had no interest in rehashing the past, not when he had to relive it again in a few weeks. He stood up, planning on walking away. But Rayanne leaped to her feet to plant herself right in front of him. She stood close enough that he could have counted the freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks.
“Move,” he mouthed, making sure she could understand his order.
She didn’t budge. “I asked you a question, Wyatt.”
That didn’t mean he had to answer. He arched a brow and said, “So?”
She not only saw him, she saw too much. “You do, don’t you? Remember me and what happened? On that day when I was up in the belfry?”
She kept her eyes pinned right on his mouth to read his response. It was clear she wasn’t going to give ground until he answered. Instead of giving her what she wanted, he stared down into her upturned face, at her lips, liking the way the lower one was a bit too full. Damn, he bet she’d taste sweet. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d leaned down far enough that all that separated them was his ability to resist temptation.
What would happen if he actually kissed her? Would she be able to feel the press of his lips against hers? He had no business even thinking such thoughts. She’d quit demanding answers and stared up at him in silence. He got lost in her eyes and the possibilities, imagining the slight sizzle and burn if her lips were to actually touch his.
Then they did. Had he closed that gap or had she? He didn’t know. Didn’t care.
The tingle he’d expected surged hot and hard, as her mouth softened beneath his. He canted his head to the side, to find the perfect fit between them, as he slowly lifted his hands to tangle his fingers in the soft silk of her hair.
It was the first good thing that had happened to him in a lifetime of loneliness spent on this godforsaken mountain. But then it all went to hell when Rayanne’s eyes flew open and instantly filled with fear or maybe it was horror. She staggered backward, putting the full width of the porch between them, rubbing her lips with her fingertips. Was she trying to erase his taste, his kiss? Her whole body shook far worse than it had the day before when the floor had caved in beneath her feet.
What had he done wrong? She’d been right there with him, kissing him back. He might have been a century out of practice, but he knew when a woman was enjoying a kiss. Her head whipped back and forth. What was she looking for?
“What’s wrong?”
She turned to stare out at the woods. “Wyatt, where did you go?”
“Damn it, I’m right here.”
Fury and frustration had him reaching out to her, but when his hand passed right through Rayanne’s body, he jerked it back to his side. Hellfire and damnation, he’d poured everything into that kiss and now there was not enough left of him to be seen or even felt. Maybe he was wrong about that last part because she was rubbing her arms again, which were covered in goose bumps.
She stared right at his chest, although he knew she couldn’t see him. “Wyatt? What happened? Are you all right?”
“Hell, no, I’m not all right. I’m dead,” he bellowed right in her face, even though she clearly couldn’t hear him.
Unable to answer her with words, he resisted the urge to touch her again, not when all he had to offer was the cold chill of the grave. He’d always thought being caught up in this never-ending cycle of death and more death had been bad. But knowing what he was missing, how Rayanne felt in his arms, how she tasted and not being able to act on it, was hell itself.
He had to get away, back to the darkest shadows where he belonged. Wyatt floated past her, careful to keep his distance, and on across the meadow without stopping, even though she called his name twice more.
When he reached the sanctuary of the trees, he looked back one last time. The porch was empty, and Rayanne was gone.
&n
bsp; * * *
Rayanne paced the length of the kitchen and back. Okay, what was she going to do about what had just happened? What could she do?
She’d kissed a ghost. What could be crazier than that? Well, enjoying it that much also ranked pretty high on the crazy charts. Was he still out there watching? As she peeked outside, she brushed her fingertip across her lips, remembering that last millisecond before Wyatt’s mouth had claimed hers. It wasn’t just her mouth that had been left aching, needing far more than a simple kiss.
Who was she fooling? There had been nothing simple about the whole incident. From the second he’d touched her, she had melted, craving the press of his hard body against hers. If he’d been human, their embrace wouldn’t have ended out there on the porch, but upstairs in her bed. Her wayward mind tried to imagine what it would be like to have his ice-blue eyes staring down into hers as he surged over her, in her.
Enough of that. There were other things to think about. God knew the metaphysical and scientific implications alone were mind-boggling. She lived in the here and now while Wyatt existed trapped somewhere between this world and the next. Even so, there was no denying the very real connection between the two of them.
Over the short time she’d been dating Shawn, how many times had she kissed him? A half a dozen times? And never, not once, had she experienced anything like the burn of desire that she’d felt kissing Wyatt McCain.
What did it say about her? She didn’t want to think about it, but she could imagine what her parents and that idiot shrink they used to drag her to would have to say on the matter. She’d be lucky if they didn’t have her court ordered into a hospital for a psych evaluation.
Maybe the only good thing that had come out of the experience was that she now knew she had to tell Shawn that things were over for them. It was only fair to let him go. He deserved better than a woman who preferred a ghost from the past to a real-live man.
This one-sided discussion was getting her nowhere, and she had work to do. She wanted to snap a few more pictures from the front door of the mining office and then move on to the old mercantile. Building by building, she’d learn everything Blessing had to teach her. She packed up her gear and headed to town.
The woods were quiet and cool as she passed through them. She paused more than once to simply listen to the breeze and the rustle of leaves overhead. So far, she didn’t sense anyone watching her. She was too new at all of this to know whether that meant Wyatt wasn’t around or if she simply wasn’t picking up on his presence.
Maybe he’d returned to Blessing. When she reached the road through town, she headed straight for the saloon where she’d set up her makeshift office. Inside, she looked around. Again no sense that she was anything but alone. Ignoring her disappointment, she pocketed her tape measure, camera, pencil and notebook.
“I’m going back to the mining office, but I won’t go inside.”
She pitched her voice loud enough to carry some distance, refusing to be embarrassed that she might be only talking to the mountain. Photographing the mining office went without incident. Moving on from there, she headed toward the building that had served the town as general store and post office. Inside, she took a few cautious steps, testing the feel of the floor beneath her feet.
The whole building was in much better condition than the mining office, maybe because it had been built better to begin with. It was pretty much intact with only the faded gray color of the wooden walls and the floor showing the building’s true age.
There were still a few glass jars on the counter. Had they held candy? Crackers? No way to know for certain, but it didn’t matter. She picked one up to study it. Maybe she’d take them back to the cabin and wash them clean of the cobwebs and dust. They’d make a nice souvenir from her time here in Blessing. Or not. There was so little of the town left now. She didn’t want to contribute to its disappearance.
She started with her usual rough sketch of the room’s layout. Once she was done, she measured the floor and then the windows, jotting the numbers down on the sketch. Next, the remaining counter and shelves.
Behind the counter she found several rows of cubbyholes, obviously designed for sorting the mail. Had Phil ever been up here to see this? She’d have to ask him because she thought he might like seeing the similarities between this old place and the store he ran today.
She snapped a few close-ups from different angles for her study but also to show him on her next trip down the mountain. Meanwhile, she was done with the interior of the store. If the light was good, she’d take a few outside shots before heading back to the saloon for lunch.
The day had grown warm enough to take off her chambray shirt. Did she want to eat inside or out on the porch? She studied the saloon, sensing it was empty except for her. That made the decision for her.
She carried her chair outside and made herself comfortable in the shade of the overhang. Propping her feet up on the railing, she slowly ate her sandwich and apple. Anything to linger here awhile longer.
Where was Wyatt? Was he all right? She hoped so. She let her eyes drift closed, trying not to think about their heated encounter, concentrating instead on the details of the man himself. On impulse, she made a trip back into the saloon and grabbed her sketch pad and pencil.
She pictured how he’d looked as he’d strolled across the meadow toward the porch. He was a shade under six feet tall and built along lean lines, all muscle and sinew without an ounce of extra fat on him anywhere. The calluses on his hands came from a time when men worked with their hands, his skin weathered and tan.
What had he done besides use those guns he wore with such casual ease? So many questions and no way to get answers. Instead, her pencil flew across the paper as she struggled to get the shape of his cheekbones and mouth just right. Next, she filled in the details of his clothing. His shirt had a double row of buttons down the front, his trousers were black and a bit faded. And thanks to that duster, he’d cause a heck of a stir in the female population at the university if he were to go strolling through the center of campus. The thought made her smile.
When that picture was done to her satisfaction, she started another one, this time just of his face and how angry he’d looked the day before when he’d rescued her. Next, she drew him in Uncle Ray’s kitchen. And finally, how he’d looked right before he’d kissed her. She’d come full circle.
Sighing, she looked up and realized her lighting wasn’t quite as bright and the temperature had dropped a few degrees. Where had the day gone? It was definitely time to be heading back home.
No, not home. She couldn’t let herself think of it that way. All of this was temporary, a chance to do some firsthand field research. Come fall, she’d return to her life down below, picking up where she’d left off. Well, sans Shawn and most definitely sans Wyatt McCain.
Only one of those last two things hurt.
There was no use in hauling everything back to the cabin every time, so she left it all spread out on the table in the saloon. She’d be back early in the morning to pick up where she left off.
As she started out of town, she stopped and looked back one last time. “Wyatt, I hope you’re all right. Stop by anytime.”
The breeze kicked up a small dirt devil, the only movement anywhere. Feeling a bit foolish, she turned her back on the town and walked away.
Chapter 9
Wyatt rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms out to the side. A tentative step forward and then another went without mishap. Everything was back in working order, such as it was. He patrolled the town, checking every building as he made his way down one side of the street and then the other. No changes. No new gaping holes in floors. No broken and bleeding bodies anywhere.
If he still breathed, he would’ve sighed in relief. Rayanne had managed to avoid any new disasters while he’d been wherever the hell he’d be
en. The same thing happened to him every year when the bullets tore into him. He felt the pain, tasted his own blood in his throat and then nothing. Gradually, he would become more aware of his surroundings, and then he’d find himself standing back in front of the saloon right where he’d died.
As he headed for the saloon, the last spot on his tour, he skirted the patch of dust where he always spent his last few seconds before it all went down. How many quarts of his blood had soaked into the ground there over the years? Too damn many. How many days had passed by since that morning on Rayanne’s front porch?
Several, if he had to guess, but no more than that. Most times he lost the rest of the summer after the gunfight, reappearing when the trees were dressed in their fall colors. He didn’t know how all of this stuff worked, but with the gunfight looming on the horizon, it was doubtful he’d been gone long.
Had Rayanne missed him? He smiled at the thought.
He wandered into the saloon and looked around. Rayanne had cobbled together another couple of tables out of the bits and pieces of furniture left in town. Judging by the piles of papers scattered on their surfaces, she’d been busy.
Curious, he studied the ones on the top of the pile. He recognized the layouts of the mercantile and the mining office. So that’s what she was doing. Another was only a rough sketch, clearly a work in progress. Cocking his head to the side, he decided it was the shipping office.
The next table was covered in photographs, all done in exquisite color. Obviously, cameras were another device that had come a long way since his time. He’d only had his picture taken once. He couldn’t even remember the occasion or who the photographer had been, but the picture was the same one he’d found in Rayanne’s kitchen that first morning.
The third table was covered in pencil drawings. All things considered, he liked them better than the actual photographs. Rayanne had a real talent. Somehow she’d looked at the town and seen past the scars and damage to the way Blessing had been in its prime. She’d even included a few of the old places that had been torn down and scavenged for their wood. The only thing missing in her sketches were the people.
Immortal Cowboy Page 9