BEYOND ALL REASON

by Judith Duncan

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  BEYOND ALL

  REASON

  Judith Duncan

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

  Epilogue

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  Chapter 1

  ^»

  Harsh fluorescent overheads added to the bleakness of the nearly deserted truck stop café, the blue-white light washing out the colors of the orange vinyl upholstery and turning the plastic plants an unnatural shade of green. The steady hum of the neon sign over the pie case filled the emptiness, and the flashing images on the muted TV reflected in the offside windows.

  Outside, thick flakes of snow drifted down, forming eerie halos around the mercury vapor lamps that arched over the service islands. A semi, headed for the border crossing into Montana rolled past the last set of pumps, its diesel engine rattling the windows as it turned toward the highway approach, its wheels sending up a wild flurry of white. Brake lights flashed, and the sound of shifting gears ground through the darkness as the rig pulled onto the highway and disappeared in the swirling snow, leaving an eerie stillness behind.

  Kate Quinn watched the snow settle into wavering lines at the side of the road, her expression lined with tension, the chill of fearful anxiety draining her of any warmth. Alone – God, she'd never felt so alone, or so trapped. She didn't know what to do, and her options were limited, at best. The next Greyhound headed for Calgary was due past just before midnight. If Mr. McCall hadn't shown up by then, she would have no choice but to move on. That hard cold reality settled in her stomach like a deadweight.

  Determined not to fall victim to the panic that hovered just below the surface, she dragged her attention away from the empty highway and looked down at her five-year-old son. He lay with his head in her lap, his thick lashes creating dark crescents against his pale face. Gently tucking her coat around him, she smoothed back his blond curly hair, worry gripping her as she felt the heat radiating from him. He was definitely running a temperature.

  She had been concerned when they'd made their last bus connection in the interior of British Columbia – glassy eyes, the bright spots of color in his cheeks. But she had assured herself it was nothing more than exhaustion. She couldn't afford for it to be anything more than that. Only her concern had nothing to do with money. She had four thousand dollars in a money belt around her middle, and another three hundred in her purse. What she couldn't afford was the risk; she couldn't take the chance of leaving a trail that could be followed. And now she was stuck here in a truckers' rest stop, miles from the nearest town, with no means of transportation, and Scotty burning up in her lap. With a big sign posted in the window noting that the café closed at midnight, she had to face the fact that her only remaining option was the Greyhound headed north.

  Trying to quell the swell of panic, she looked under the table at her nine-year-old son sleeping in the opposite seat. Mark was stretched out flat on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms, his face turned away from her. God, he had been so terrific through all of this. Such a little man. Tears welled up, and she looked back out the window and wallowed hard, desperation moving in hard against her breastbone. It had seemed like a gift from God, the ad in the paper. A job and a place to live that was isolated and untraceable. A place for her to collect herself, to think things through without fear of Roger finding her and throwing her life into another crisis.

  But fate had stepped in in the form of a mechanical breakdown and a two-hour wait on the highway for a second bus to be brought out from Calgary – which put her two hours late for the prearranged rendezvous with her new boss. In the space of those two hours, all her plans had gone up in smoke. And there was nothing she could do about it but hope to God that she could contact him and explain what had happened.

  Wearily tipping her head back to release the tension in her shoulders, Kate tried to control the expanding panic in her abdomen. She wouldn't be in the quandary she was in if the truck stop was a scheduled stop – but it wasn't. Following the instructions that Tanner McCall had sent her, she'd asked the driver to let her off here. Unless Mr. McCall checked with the depot in Lethbridge, which was the bus's next scheduled stop, he wouldn't know what had happened; he would just assume that she'd backed out. Experiencing another surge of desperation, she rubbed her burning eyes. She would give it another ten minutes, then try his number again. Ten more minutes. And if she couldn't reach him then, she was going to have to face the fact that she was at an absolute dead end, that she had no choice but to get the gas jockey to flag down the midnight bus.

  "You like a refill?"

  Kate dropped her hand and gazed up at the woman standing by her table. Her name tag identified her as Rita, and she was obviously either the manager or the proprietor. She'd shown up about half an hour earlier and had let the waitress and the short-order cook go, then had dragged out a ledger and a bag of receipts. She had spent the remaining time at the front table doing books. Somewhere in her middle to late forties, she was a squat, flat-faced woman with mousy brown hair and blunt square hands, her plainness softened by deep-set intelligent eyes. Almost masculine in build, she wore blue jeans and a plaid Western shirt with pearl snaps up the front. Kate could imagine her comfortably handling the big rig that had just rolled out.

  Easing the cramp in her back, she dredged up a polite smile. "No, thanks. I'm fine."

  The older woman rested the coffee carafe on the edge of the table, giving Kate a penetrating stare, a glimmer of something reassuring in her eyes. "You meeting someone? Or are you waiting for the midnight bus?"

  Kate wrapped her cold hands around her empty mug, despair cramping her throat. Easing the sudden contraction, she finally spoke, her tone uneven. "I – I was waiting for somebody, but the bus got in late, so I must have missed him." Looking down, she touched Scotty's hot face. Her voice broke a little when she continued. "I'll have to catch the midnight bus back to Calgary."

  Disregarding Kate's response, Rita filled her mug, the rising steam carrying the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Dropping some small containers of cream on the table, Rita reached across and picked up the empty containers Kate had stacked on a saucer. "Well, now," the waitress said, resting the pot back on the table, "I don't figure that's a good idea. The boy's looking a little peaked, and maybe you should try to let your party know you've made it this far."

  Her eyes smarting, Kate looked down and began shedding the paper napkin by her cup. "I've tried to call him, but there's no answer – I was hoping at least he would have an answering machine."

  "Who were you waiting for? I know most folks in these parts – maybe I can give you a hand."

  Struggling against the desolation wedged in her throat, Kate glanced up and tried to smile but faltered badly. "His name is Tanner McCall – he's a rancher from around here."

  There was a short pause, then Rita spoke, a funny undercurrent in her voice. "Tanner McCall."

  Kate looked up, meeting the waitress's eyes, trying not to acknowledge the sudden flutter of hope. "Yes. Do you know him?"

  Rita was watching her, an odd look in her eyes, then the corner of her mouth lifted. "Indeed I do. In fact, I met his big black Bronco about two hours ago – heading toward Lethbridge, he was, and at a pretty good lick."

  Kate tried to dampen the wash of relief that shot through her. Maybe. Oh, God, just maybe. Before she had time to think, Rita spoke again. "Tell you what. Just give me a minute and I'll see if I can raise him. He carries one of those cellular phones with him. I'm pretty sure I got the number here somewhere – he stops in pretty regular for my homemade pie."

  Rita disappeared, and Kate tipped her head back. The surge of hope was so strong
that she was almost sick, and she closed her eyes, sending up a fervent prayer. Please, God, please. She waited for the awful tightness in her chest to ease; then she looked down at her son. "It's going to be okay," she whispered unevenly. "Everything's going to be okay, sweetheart." The boy stirred, rolling onto his side, the movement dragging the cover off him. Kate drew her jacket back over him, letting her hand rest on his shoulder, the worry lines reappearing. She should get some aspirin into him, but Lord, she hated to wake him. It was the first decent sleep he'd had in two days.

  She closed her eyes, the awful stress and her own lack of sleep catching up with her. She was so tired – so damned tired. There was a movement beside her, and she opened her eyes to find the older woman bending over Mark, her awkward actions indicating an unfamiliarity with children as she tucked his jacket more firmly around him. She peered out the window at the freak springtime flurry, then dragged a chair over from an adjacent table.

  Unaccountably touched by the small act of kindness, but sensing it would embarrass the woman if she acknowledged it, Kate spoke, her voice unsteady. "I'm sorry to put you to so much bother."

  Rita waved off her concern. "Don't fret about it. Just one of those things." She met Kate's gaze with an uncanny directness, then stretched out her hand. "Rita Johnson. Been watching over this stretch of road for twenty-five years."

  Kate took her hand. "Kate Quinn."

  Rita tipped her head in acknowledgment. "Well, Kate Quinn. You can rest easy. I just talked to Tanner – he'll be here in about twenty minutes. He left a message with Karen – that's my waitress – that he was going on to Lethbridge. Which was a mistake, leaving a message with her. Anyhow, he figured the bus driver forgot to let you off, so he headed on into Lethbridge."

  Kate closed her eyes against the sudden sting of tears, the release from the panic nearly disabling her. It was going to be okay. Thank God, it was going to be okay.

  "Now, don't you worry there. Tanner's a man of his word. You won't have any worries with him, I can tell you that."

  Keeping her eyes closed, Kate swallowed hard, her insides rolling with a mixture of relief and an overload of tension. She hadn't realized how scared she was until just now. Swallowing again, she opened her eyes, managing a wobbly smile. "Thank heaven that's straightened out. I wasn't sure what to do."

  Rita tipped her head and pursed her lips in an expression of acceptance. "You look like you could use some shut-eye." She motioned to Scotty. "Why don't you lay the boy down and stretch out in the next booth? You look like you're running on empty yourself."

  Kate sighed and raked her hair back off her face with one hand, then caressed her son's face with the backs of her fingers. "I better just keep him here. He'll wake up if I try to move him, and it's the first decent sleep he's had all day."

  Rita stood. "Then I'll turn out the lights over here and just let you be. I've got to finish cashing out, anyhow."

  Kate's voice was husky when she spoke. "Thanks, Rita."

  Rita nodded in acceptance. "No problem. Now, you just put your head down and get some rest. Tanner'll be here in no time at all."

  It was the sound of the bell over the door that brought Kate out of the gray reaches of sleep, but a deep male voice that brought her fully awake. Automatically tightening her hold on Scott, she opened her eyes, feeling almost disoriented. Every other row of fluorescent lights had been turned off, leaving the restaurant in an eerie half-light, the incandescent spot located over the cash register creating one circle of brightness. Kate straightened, her stomach giving a funny little lurch when she saw him.

  She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but this man wasn't it. Big, wide shouldered, he stood framed in the light, his black broad-brimmed Stetson casting his face in shadows, his shearling coat pulled back as he stood with his thumb hooked in the front pocket of his jeans. His hands were long and well shaped, and there was something almost deceptively casual about his stance, about the way his fingers splayed out against his thigh. Something lethal and a little too careless, as though he had small regard for danger.

  Experiencing a strange flutter at that unexpected thought, Kate clenched and unclenched her hands, recognizing the flutter as an extreme case of nervousness. Tanner McCall was not what she had expected. When she had responded to the ad looking for someone to take care of an invalid on an isolated ranch, she had, for some reason, expected the patient to be a woman. But when Tanner McCall had responded, he had informed her that the invalid was an eighty-year old man by the name of Burt Shaw, who was his partner. There had been several letters, but she had only talked to him once on the phone – and for some reason she had assumed Tanner McCall was older. Much older.

  As if sensing her gaze on him, he turned and stared back at her, and Kate's heart nearly stalled out. There was something about the way he turned his head, the way he looked at her, that made her insides knot up. Something cool and hawklike.

  He made one final comment to Rita, then slapped his hand against the counter and started toward her. Kate closed her eyes, trying to quell the sudden frenzy in her chest. Lord, she hoped she hadn't made a mistake. Taking a fortifying breath, she watched him come toward her, trying to reassure herself. She had checked with Burt Shaw's personal doctor, she had checked with Mr. McCall's banker and she had talked to the therapist who had worked with the patient while he was in the hospital. All of them had given this man unqualified recommendations. She had not made a mistake. She had not.

  Feeling as if her heart were going to come right through her chest, she watched him approach, her heartbeat stopping completely when he took off his hat and she could see his face. Stern and unsmiling, he met her gaze with an unreadable expression, his bronze skin and black collar-length hair revealing his native ancestry, his features chiseled by both heritage and time. This was a man who, in another time, would have been a warrior, who would have hunted and survived in these hills. Kate had been around enough reservations as a kid to realize that he was not a full-blooded Indian – another, equally strong bloodline was stamped in his face. And it was a face that gave nothing away, the hard line of his mouth a warning to anyone who dared to challenge him. This was a solitary man, a man who was never a part of a herd, a man who knew how to fight his own fights, and God help any man who crossed him.

  "Mrs. Quinn." He stretched out his hand, more in a business manner than in welcome. "I'm sorry about the mix-up. I should have checked with the depot in Lethbridge before I drove in."

  There was something about the sound of his voice, something about that quiet, slightly husky tone, that instantly eased the burst of anxiety. Meeting his gaze, Kate took his extended hand, her pulse stumbling. A different kind of nervousness made her voice waver. "It's okay. It's just that it was so inconvenient for you."

  He released her hand, then motioned to Mark with his hat. "I'll get your luggage loaded, then we'll get the two of them settled. We have another forty-five miles to go, and with the roads like they are, it won't be a quick trip."

  Kate started to ease Scott off her lap. "If you just give me a second, I'll—"

  "No." He held up his hand, stopping her. "It'll only take me a minute. You just stay here with your boys."

  For some reason Kate wanted to put her head down on the table and weep. She was so damned tired, and for the first time since she started down this road she was on, she felt as if she could let her guard down. That sensation was almost too much for her to handle.

  Struggling against an overwhelming fatigue, she eased Scotty onto the padded seat. He whimpered, his hand twitching, and Kate stoked his head, soothing him. "Shh, love," she whispered. "It's okay. Just go back to sleep." Worried, she watched him for a minute, then slid out of the booth, her cramped muscles protesting as she straightened. Lord, every bone in her body ached. Tipping her head back to relieve the tension in her shoulders, she exhaled tiredly, then reached over and gently shook Mark's shoulder. "Mark, honey. Come on, it's time to wake up."

  The boy stirred, turnin
g his head to the other side. She shook him again. "I need you to wake up, Mark."

  He made a sound of protest, but he opened his eyes and looked at her. She combed back his hair, her touch gentle. "I have to go to the bathroom. Will you watch Scotty for me?"

  He stared across the space under the table at his sleeping brother, then nodded. "Okay," he responded, his voice hoarse with sleep.

  Kate took her mug to the bathroom, bringing back a cup of water when she returned. She managed to get half an aspirin down Scott, but he wasn't happy about it and went immediately back to sleep. Mark managed to make it to the bathroom and back, and was sitting at the table, his head on his folded arms, when Tanner McCall came back in. His hat was beaded with water from the melting snow, the scent of cold and leather clinging to him as he stuffed his gloves in his coat pocket. "Rita lives out back in a trailer, so I borrowed an extra sleeping bag from her. We've fixed a bed in the back for the boys."

  Nearly overcome with gratitude, Kate felt like crying all over again. She honestly didn't think she had enough energy left to hold Scotty for another long drive. She wasn't sure she had the energy to get herself to the vehicle. She avoided his gaze as she pulled up the collar on Mark's jacket. "That will be wonderful," she said, her voice on the verge of breaking. "Thank you."

  There was an odd little pause, and Kate knew he was staring at her. His own voice was gruff when he responded. "You're more than welcome."

  Even though Tanner had pulled the truck right up to the door, by the time they got the boys tucked into the back of the Bronco, Kate was shivering from a combination of cold and the kind of exhaustion that comes from going days without enough sleep. She had been on the move for the past five days, her only means of transportation either by bus or taxi. And in that five days she'd had maybe twenty hours of sleep and experienced so many terror attacks, she'd lost count.