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Contents:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16
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Chapter 1
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Gray Murdoch reined his horse to a stop at the edge of the ridge. Below him spread a valley—lonely, wild, forbidding—as curtains of cold spring rain dropped from menacing, gunmetal-dark clouds. The day suited his edgy mood perfectly.
The storm separated him from the ranch. Even so, he lingered a moment, inhaling deeply. He settled deeper into his shearling jacket, a frigid gust reminding him this was a March storm, every bit as likely to spit out sleet or snow as rain. Beneath him, the horse stamped restlessly.
"Easy, boy." Gray patted the gelding's neck in reassurance, then touched the animal's flanks lightly with his boots. As they descended the steep slope, he could almost sense the horse's anxiety to be back in the barn. At the bottom, the horse broke into a ground-eating lope. Gray leaned forward, absorbing the horse's movements beneath him.
The rain billowed within the wind, alternately hiding and revealing the foothills of the San Juan Mountains to the west. Out of one of the curtains of rain, a band of horsemen appeared, riding toward him. In the next instant, they were hidden by the rain. Gray didn't recognize them and wondered who they were.
Wind whistled around him, bitterly cold.
A woman's anguished scream ripped through the sound of the storm and his horse's rhythmic gait. He pulled on the reins, instinctively reaching for his service revolver.
It, of course, wasn't there. Hadn't been for the past seven months.
His heart pounding, he leaned over the saddle horn and scanned the empty valley. Rabbitbrush, a few yucca and broad expanses of sand met his gaze. Beyond, the wall of rain would reach him in a matter of minutes.
He didn't see a woman anywhere.
No band of horsemen, either.
He urged the horse into a walk. The animal sidestepped, his ears laid flat against his head.
Another shout echoed around him, deeper this time, and more guttural.
She screamed again.
Gray recognized terror.
Though he could not see her, he turned toward the sound, the need to help pouring through him. The veil of rain wavered, and the first sprinkles splashed on the dry ground around him. Nothing accounted for a man's shout or a woman's scream. Nothing.
The storm blew closer, the air rippling with the sound of the falling torrent. A bolt of lightning flashed. A half-dozen fingers of brilliant white light blistered the ground. A clap of thunder reverberated, deep, primal, as much felt as heard.
From within the mist, a woman appeared and dashed toward him. Her hair streamed behind her in a dark cloud. She clutched a cradle board against her breast. Dressed in a buckskin tunic and moccasins, she ran as though chased by the devil himself.
Her face blanched. She ran faster, her movements jerky. Her face pinched with fear, she looked right through him.
Gray urged the horse into a run and called out. He couldn't make himself heard over the roar of the rain and another rumble of thunder.
She turned her head and looked over her shoulder. Four riders burst out of the storm. They wore hats pulled low, and dark capes flapped around them. They raced after her.
She cried out. Gray didn't understand the words, but he felt her desperation. As she came toward him, he leaned far down, intending to lift her onto the saddle behind him.
Braced for the instant he'd lift her weight, he reached for her.
And touched nothing.
She ran past him.
Carried by his own momentum, he fell from the saddle and hit the ground. Instinctively he rolled, taking the brunt of the fall on his shoulder in a bone-jarring impact.
He stood and faced the oncoming riders, wishing he had his weapon. Waving his arms, he shouted at them.
They bore down on him without altering their course and without slowing.
A spotted pony and its rider leaped over him. The other riders thundered past as though he weren't even there.
He turned around.
The valley was empty.
No woman.
No mustangs ridden by dark men wearing dark, flapping coats.
Another jagged bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, casting eerie light over the empty plain. Deafening thunder rumbled toward him as a drenching, cold rain poured from the sky.
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Audrey Sussman arrived at the guest ranch in the middle of a storm about an hour after day slid into murky night. It was a fitting end to a miserable drive.
The compound of buildings illuminated by the headlights from her car looked ancient as a legend. Puma's Lair. The name conjured images of a wild, secluded hideaway. Apt, she decided. The guest ranch was miles from nowhere.
Not even a yard light was on. She peered through the windshield at the water-soaked adobe walls that looked as though they had bled.
The moment she turned off the headlights and killed the engine, the patter of rain against the car became more intense. For all the activity she saw, it might have been midnight instead of a few minutes past seven.
She was late arriving because she had spent an unplanned couple of hours in Fort Garland getting her car repaired, every one of the problems small and irritating. She would have thought the repairman was out to gouge a poor, unsuspecting tourist if the whole bill hadn't been under fifty dollars. Unfortunately, the repairs hadn't been good enough—her car had coughed and sputtered the last forty miles, making her wonder if she would ever arrive. She hadn't stopped, hadn't wanted to be stranded on a lonely stretch of highway.
She should have figured the guest ranch would look this … inhospitable and forbidding.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped into the shockingly cold deluge. She dashed through the opening in the wall, up a flagstone walk to an old-fashioned arched door. The scent of wood smoke hung in the air. Cozying up to a fireplace after being out in this weather would be great, she thought, feeling an icy trickle of water soak through her hair to her scalp.
She knocked on the door. A crack of lightning split open the sky, and white light bathed the compound.
There, in the middle of the yard, a woman stood. Her arms were wrapped protectively around a … cradle board.
"Hi," Audrey called.
In the darkness that followed the lightning, the woman vanished.
Audrey peered into the black gloom, doubting what she had just seen. She was alone. Shaking her head at the vivid conjuring of her imagination, she knocked on the door again. Thunder rumbled toward her, bone deep and oppressive.
"C'mon, Richard," she urged the ranch manager, a man she was acquainted with only by phone. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and listened for the sounds of someone—anyone—approaching.
One last time, she pounded on the door.
It swung open on the creak of ancient hinges.
Sudden light spilled from the room, until it was blocked by a large man who filled the doorway.
She lifted her head, unable to see the man's expression. Another flash of lightning momentarily cast white, eerie light on his features. His mostly gray hair fell in long braids down each shoulder. Weather and long years had carved deep lines in his face.
"Richard, I'm Audrey Sussman." She met his scowl and forced a smile she didn't feel. "I know I'm late, but the storm—"
"He isn't here."
That at least explained why this man didn't look as she had imagined Richard Emmanuel looking. He didn't move out of the doorway, a reinforcement of his you're-not-welcome-here stance.
"The place is closed," he said, confirming what she already knew. "It won't be open for another two weeks."
&
nbsp; "I know that," she said with more patience than she felt. He nodded and started to shut the door. Audrey extended her arm and put a foot in the threshold. "I'm expected. When will Mr. Emmanuel be back?"
"I don't know."
"Invite the lady out of the rain, Hawk," another deep voice commanded, this one with a hint of a drawl.
Hawk hesitated an instant, then stepped out of the doorway. Audrey followed him into the building. Puma's Lair. The name echoed through her mind, accompanied by her own assessment of the ranch's isolation. She gave herself a mental shake. She was expected, she reminded herself.
Even so, she wasn't ready to confess that she doubted her car would make it back to the nearest town.
As her eyes adjusted to the lighting, she discovered the room wasn't as bright as she had thought while standing outside. A kerosene lamp cast a golden glow in one corner, and a fire burned in a small pueblo-style fireplace in another.
A man, larger even than Hawk, lounged against a doorjamb on the opposite side of the room. Behind him, a dark hallway stretched, dimly illuminated by a faint, flickering light.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," he returned.
Hawk closed the door. "What do you want?"
Without the draft from outside, the room instantly felt more comfortable. Audrey moved toward the inviting warmth of the fireplace. Automatically, she adjusted the pair of broad silver bracelets she always wore on her right arm.
"I'm here to do the audit," she said, the fire's heat feeling good to her. Putting Hawk's name to the payroll records she had spent the past week reviewing, she presumed this must be the caretaker and handyman. "You're Jacob Hawk, is that right?"
He nodded curtly.
"Jacob … Jake—"
"I am called Hawk."
"Hawk, then," she agreed. "Will Richard be here tomorrow?"
He shrugged. "Who knows?"
Or cares, Audrey mentally added. "Do you have a phone?"
"On the desk," the second man said. "Unfortunately, it hasn't been working all night."
He moved toward her, his expression filled with intense concentration, the color of his eyes indistinguishable in the dimness. He was many years younger than Hawk, and she might have thought he was Richard except that his voice was far deeper. She had the oddest feeling she should know him, but from where she couldn't have said.
"Like the electricity?" she asked, noting the electric fixtures on the ceiling and dark lamps throughout the room.
The corner of his mouth lifted, and he nodded. "Like the electricity."
Glad the tension in his gaze had lessened somewhat, she extended her hand. "I'm Audrey Sussman."
The beat of a second passed before he took her hand and answered. "Gray."
"Is that a first name or a last name?" His hand was large—much larger than hers—warm and callused. Inviting.
He didn't smile, but something in his expression eased a bit more. "Grayson Murdoch." He released her hand, but his gaze didn't leave her face.
She wondered what he was looking for. Her appearance was ordinary by any standards—brown hair, brown eyes, average height and the requisite curves. Nothing about her warranted so earnest a stare. Not even being soaked to the skin. Which was too bad, because he was the sort of man to whom she would give a second glance—a long, long second glance.
Gray's height was eight or nine inches above hers, and she angled her head to maintain contact with his gaze. Tall as he was, his shoulders were almost too broad for his height. He wore a warm-looking corduroy shirt the same faded shade as his jeans layered over a gray knit prairie shirt Shaggy dark hair framed his face, which was all angles and planes. Except for his mouth.
Wide with a full lower lip, it was made for smiling. She looked back at his eyes and had the feeling this man didn't smile nearly enough.
Grayson Murdoch's name hadn't been on the payroll records. In spite of that, she had the feeling he belonged here as much as Hawk.
His attention remained focused wholly on her.
"Have we met?" she asked, sure she would have remembered if they had.
He studied her as though trying to fathom some private mystery. "No. Is your car locked?"
"No." She answered automatically, his question seeming to come out of left field, surprising her.
"I thought I'd get your bags and bring them in." He glanced toward Hawk. "What room do you want her in?"
Unlike Hawk, Gray seemed to assume she would be staying. He waited for Hawk's answer with the assurance he would get the response he expected.
"The one on the far north end, I guess."
"I'll meet you there." Gray pulled a nubby wool sweater over his head and snagged a clear slicker off a row of pegs next to the entryway, slipped it on, opened the door and stepped outside. Audrey envied his layers of warm-looking clothes. She shivered once more and turned her back to the fire's heat, grateful for the warmth that reached through her soaked garments.
She glanced around the room, her experienced eye finding about what she had expected of a guest-ranch lobby. The original Southwestern decor was minus the trendy colors touted in the best decorating magazines. The dark-stained pine floors gleamed, and the faint scent of old-fashioned floor wax tickled her nose. It conjured images of home and hearth, at once filling her with the ache of loss and a vague notion of anticipation. Lately, she'd begun to dream of her own home, unsure whether the urge was the beginning of a ticking biological clock or her deep loneliness since her mother's death.
Hawk, muttering under his breath, retrieved a key out of the desk.
"This is some storm," Audrey said, inserting a cheerful, conversational note into her voice that usually made people open up.
"Yep."
"The rain surprised me." She gave a rueful chuckle. "I didn't exactly come prepared."
He didn't answer.
So much for the weather, she thought, searching for something new to talk about.
He headed toward the dark hallway, then paused. She understood he was waiting for her. Reluctantly, she left the fire's heat and followed him down the corridor.
"How many guests can Puma's Lair accommodate?" she asked, merely to make conversation. Based on the records, she knew thirty-five guests were the most that had ever been here. Small, compared to the other resorts owned by Lambert Enterprises.
"Don't know. Never thought about it."
"I'll bet you'll be glad to see spring come."
"The season makes no difference to me," he answered.
"Does it often rain like this?"
"No."
Audrey sighed and gave up trying to lure Hawk into conversation. A couple of sconces held flickering candles that cast undulating light. First kerosene lanterns and now candles, she thought, feeling as though she had stepped into a hundred-year-old time warp. A chilly draft skittered through the hall, and a forlorn whisper of wind whistled through a crack somewhere.
If Richard had planned to be gone, why hadn't he said so when they had set the date for her to come from Denver? And who was Grayson Murdoch of the intent eyes?
"Does Gray live close by?" She hadn't noticed any other cars parked in front.
"Uh."
Did that "uh" mean yes or no? Audrey wondered with a trace of irritation.
They took a couple of turns that left Audrey disoriented about where they were in relationship to the lobby. On one side of the hallway was an expanse of glass, and cold crept through the windows. For a moment, lightning illuminated the hall. At last Hawk stopped in front of one of the doors and inserted a key. The door swung inward on a creak of hinges badly in need of oil.
"I forgot to bring a lantern," Hawk said. He handed Audrey the key and brushed past her. "I'll be back in a minute."
She watched him disappear down the dark passage, then peered into the black room. Not even the outline of a window was visible. She swallowed and wished Hawk, however taciturn he was, would hurry back. Of all the stupid fears to have left over from childhood, being a
fraid of the dark had to top the list.
Years—a whole lifetime—had passed since she had been trapped in the dark, smelling the smoke from a fire.
"Years," she murmured, wishing the vague alarm stealing through her would go away. She forced herself to step inside. There's nothing to be afraid of, she silently scolded. Even so, coiled in the pit of her stomach was a primal fear as intense as when she had been five. She waited just over the threshold for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Finally, making out the dim outline of the bed and dresser and a window on the opposite side of the room, she crossed the room and pulled open the drape. The night beyond was as black as the inside of the room.
She whirled around, needing to see the light in the hallway, needing the reassurance she wasn't trapped. Another lightning strike flashed beyond the hallway windows, silhouetting the large form of a man at the doorway.
Audrey sucked in her breath on an audible gasp.
"It's just me," Gray Murdoch said.
"My word, but you scared me," she said, pressing a hand against her breast.
"Didn't mean to. If you want to see what's out there, I'll have to go open the shutters on the outside of the building. And, frankly, I'd rather not. Sometimes those old hinges stick."
"That's okay," she murmured. The man must be around a lot to know such a thing.
He moved silently into the room. She couldn't see him so much as feel the disturbance of the air as it shifted around her.
"It's still raining like a son of a gun out there. Where's Hawk?"
"He went back to get a lantern. Thanks for going out to get my things. Has the electricity been off long?"
Gray brushed past her, carrying the scent of rain and damp wool. "All night. I didn't bring in everything in the trunk. Just the suitcase and a smaller one that matched."
"That's fine," she said. "I thought the ranch had a generator."
"That hasn't worked in years. You left your keys in the ignition," he said, handing them to her.
"Thanks," she replied. Gray had an easy familiarity with the ranch, one that provoked questions in Audrey's mind that she gave voice to. "Do you spend a lot of time here?"
HIS TENDER TOUCH Page 1