BEYOND ALL REASON

by Judith Duncan

  It had been a nerve-racking journey. She didn't dare use airlines or rented cars. That was how he'd traced her the first time, when he found out she'd moved back to Alberta. With a safe, secure job waiting for her here, it had been imperative that she cover her tracks as well as she could. She had to be sure that there was absolutely nothing to lead him here. If she'd covered her trail well, and she was sure she had, there would be no way he would ever look for her in the ranching country of southwestern Alberta.

  Nor would he ever find her here even if he looked, providing she was very careful, providing she never left any kind of paper trail. So, in the past five days, she had traveled across two provinces, leaving the northern part of Alberta by one route, entering the southern part of the province by another, and God, she was so tired. And now Scotty was coming down with something. The very last time Roger had tracked them down, he had managed to trace them through their Medicare number and Mark's school records. She leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes. This time she had to be more careful. Much more careful.

  The driver's door swung open, and Tanner climbed in, the cold draft making her skin shrink even more. Too drained to even turn her head or open her eyes, she huddled in her jacket. She didn't think she would ever get warm.

  Something fleecy and heavy was draped over her lap. "Here. Cover up with this. It'll warm you up."

  Struggling against exhaustion, she opened her eyes. The fleecy weight was his sheepskin coat. For some reason, it struck her as a monumental gift. The gift of warmth. A large lump formed in her throat, and she had to swallow twice before she could ease it. "Thank you," she said, her voice wavering. "But you'll get cold."

  "No," he answered, his voice gruff. "I won't get cold."

  Adjusting the heater controls on the console, Tanner turned on the windshield wipers, then put the truck in gear, making an automatic check in his side mirror before pulling away from the café. It was the habit, she recognized, of a man who was used to pulling a horse trailer.

  The falling snow created a swirling white kaleidoscope effect under the bright mercury vapor lamps, and Kate squinted, her bloodshot eyes oversensitive to the brightness. The hypnotic effect became even more mesmerizing as they pulled onto the highway, the sweep of the headlights turning the swirling flakes into a tunnel of brightness surrounded by pitch-black.

  Cocooned in the semidarkness of the cab and warmed by Tanner's coat, Kate snuggled down, her weariness fading into a kind of drifting lethargy. About five miles down the main highway, Tanner made a right-hand turn onto a secondary road. A green, snow-spattered road sign listed the different designations, and she recognized the town of Bolton. It was to a box number in Bolton that she'd sent all her correspondence, and although the mileage was obliterated by snow, she knew from checking it out on a map that the small town was about sixty miles north. From his letters, she knew that the Circle S Ranch was about twenty miles this side of Bolton. On a night like tonight, it was going to be a long drive.

  Resting her head against the back of the seat, she turned to look at him, again drawn to the long masculine elegance of his hands on the wheel. He still wore his hat low over his eyes, but he had exchanged his coat for a dark green quilted vest that she'd seen in the back of the truck when she'd covered up the boys. He seemed to fill up the whole cab with his presence, his size. As she watched him, he picked up the cellular phone from the console and hit the redial button with his thumb, then put the unit to his ear.

  Driving one-handed, he checked the rearview mirror, then guided the vehicle into the middle of the road, where the blacktop was clear. Repositioning his hand on the wheel, he lifted the receiver to his mouth. "Cyrus. Is everything okay there?" There was a brief pause, then he glanced out the side window and spoke again. "We should be home by twelve-thirty. There was a breakdown on the bus so it was late getting to the crossroads." There was another short pause; then he spoke again. "That's fine. Just leave the outside light on by the back door."

  He shut off the phone, then slid it back into the case on the console and glanced at her. "You may as well catch some shuteye – we have a ways to go."

  Drawing his sheepskin coat up over her shoulders, she folded her arms beneath it. "Would you mind telling me a bit more about Mr. Shaw? You mentioned in the first letter that he'd had a stroke two months ago, and that he was pretty much paralyzed on his right side. But you didn't say much else."

  Tanner made an adjustment to the speed of the windshield wipers, then leaned back in his seat, his profile taut. He didn't say anything for a moment; then he glanced at her, the set of his jaw indicating his reluctance to answer. He held her gaze briefly, then turned and stared out the windshield, his tone clipped when he finally answered. "He had the stroke when we were at a horse sale just west of Calgary. We got him to the Foothills Hospital right away, which was fortunate, or he'd be in worse shape than he is." Shifting his position, Tanner kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead. There was something remote and unapproachable in his whole demeanor, and Kate got the feeling that Tanner McCall rarely, if ever, answered questions that infringed on his privacy, or the privacy of those around him. People would not be comfortable around this man, she realized; he would be able to make them squirm with one look – one of those cold, dark leveling stares that could make any man think twice. No one with a shred of intelligence would ever mess with this man; his size alone was intimidating enough, but it was what she'd glimpsed in his expression and the way he'd stood at the cash register that made her aware of where the real danger lay. Still waters. Still, deep, dangerous waters – surrounded by high granite walls. She wondered what color his eyes were.

  Jarred wide-awake by that stray thought, she pulled his coat more snugly around her, considering her next question, speculating on why she had no instinctive reservations about this man. Fingering the spare button that was sewn inside the coat, she studied him. All things considered, she should be scared to death. She wasn't exactly sure why she wasn't. Finally she spoke, her tone quiet. "If he was left with such an extensive disability, I'm surprised they let him out so soon. Usually they like to do fairly extensive therapy with stroke victims."

  He shot her a sharp look, then turned his attention back to his driving. Kate got the distinct impression that he did not like her pressing the issue, and the only reason he was talking about it at all was because she had to know.

  His clipped tone confirmed her suspicion. "One of Burt's biggest fears was of dying in the hospital – he didn't much like the idea of strangers handling him after he was dead. It upset him so much that he got hard to manage, and the only time he'd sleep was if someone from the Circle S was there." Tanner paused, and Kate watched his hands tighten on the wheel. When he finally continued, his voice was gruff. "After four weeks of that, even the doctor could see that keeping him there was doing more harm than good, so I brought him home."

  Kate experienced a sudden tightness in her chest, and she looked away, afraid that in the dim light from the dashboard he might see too much. It made her hurt to think of the old man's panic and fear; old age should never be like that. It should be kinder, gentler. She would be willing to guess that Tanner McCall's decision had met with considerable resistance from the medical staff at the hospital, but she could understand why he had done what he had. She would have done the same for her grandfather if she'd been in the position to make that decision.

  "You never said why you quit nursing."

  Jarred from her sobering thoughts, Kate looked at him. "I didn't really quit. I got married shortly after I graduated and went to work in a doctor's office." She wasn't prepared to go into the details about Roger's opposition to her doing shift work – or to her working with young doctors. She should have realized then what he was like, but she had honestly thought it was out of concern than out of unreasonable jealousy. It had taken her years to figure out that it all had to do with power and control.

  Tanner McCall's quiet voice broke the silence, the flatness of his t
one catching her off guard. "You said you were in the process of getting a divorce. Is that going to be a problem?"

  Kate's stomach clenched into a hard, tight ball. As long as Roger didn't track her down, it wouldn't be a problem. Trying to keep the sudden tension out of her voice, she answered "No," she said quietly. "It won't be a problem."

  He shot her another penetrating look. It seemed like a lifetime before he looked back at the road. She wasn't prepared for any response, and certainly not for the one he made.

  "I'm sorry about your grandfather," he said gruffly. "It must have been tough to see him go through that."

  Kate's eyes suddenly burned. "Yes," she whispered, "it was."

  She had written him about her grandfather – not written exactly; detailed, would be more like it. Because she'd spent so much time at the hospital with him during those last two years because she'd done routine nursing care, like changed his catheter bag, given him back rubs and changed his position to prevent pneumonia and bedsores. She had fed him and bathed him, had changed his bed when he'd soiled himself, and she had inwardly raged at her grandmother because she wouldn't halt the medical intervention that had kept him alive and in terrible pain for the last nine months of his life.

  She had included the care regime in the list of qualifications when she'd first answered the ad. She felt that the care giving was appropriate information. It caught her off guard that Tanner McCall had seen through that straightforward in formation to her sorrow. She had been devastated when her grandfather had died; she had been overcome by a terrible rending grief. Grandpa had understood – he'd seen beneath the veneer of her life and had known what it was really like. And he had given her the means to get out. Just before he died, he'd signed over a small, forty-year-old insurance policy that Grandma knew nothing about, and when the agent came to inform her about it, he brought with him a letter from her grandfather telling her not to tell the rest of the family and to use it do whatever she had to. It had been a little over a year ago that she'd received the ten thousand dollars. The four thousand in her money belt was what was left.

  Needing something to distract her, she undid her seat belt and turned around, stretching across the space between the two bucket seats to check the boys in the back. She couldn't reach Mark, but she could reach Scotty, and she experienced a wash of relief when she found that his face wasn't nearly as hot as before. Brushing back his hair from his forehead, she pulled the sleeping bag up over his shoulders, hoping, hoping, that he wasn't heading for another bout of tonsillitis. That would mean a doctor and prescriptions. And problems.

  Determined not to think about it, and equally determined not to cross any bridges until she got to them, she settled back down in her seat and pulled the sheepskin coat back up over her arms.

  Tanner glanced at her. "If you're still cold, I can turn up the heat."

  She shook her head. She wasn't cold. She just liked the feeling of being wrapped up in his coat. "No, I'm fine." She studied his profile, oddly reassured by the sincerity he had expressed. "I'd like to hear about your ranch."

  He cast another look at her, only this time she caught a trace of amusement around his mouth. "What do you want to know?"

  She shrugged. "How big it is, where it is, what kind of cattle you run." She smiled. "You know, ranch stuff."

  The corner of his mouth quirked again. "Ranch stuff," he responded, his tone dry. "Well, let's see. It's about twenty-five-thousand acres, and we run about fifteen hundred black Angus crosses. Most of the deeded land is typical range land – rolling grassland, deep ravines – a little too bleak and barren for most people. The leased land west of here is more scenic. The home place is located right along the mountains – nice country, but fairly isolated. You're twenty miles from Bolton, with no neighbors to speak of. You and your boys might find it pretty lonely."

  Kate allowed herself a tight smile. She was more than ready or a little isolation. She would be happy if she didn't see another soul for the next three of four months. She had to get her head back together so she would stop jumping at shadows. Forcing a strained smile, she tried to make light of his comment. "If you have a dog, mud and wide-open spaces, the boys will love it."

  A touch of dry humor was in his voice. "I think we can accommodate them on all counts."

  By the time they reached Circle S land, there was almost a blizzard, except that the snow was melting almost as soon as it hit the ground. Because of the weather conditions, Kate could make out very little when they turned off the graveled county road onto the lane leading to the ranch buildings; she only knew that they seemed to be driving through pasture-land that was fairly heavily treed. But she saw enough to know it was going to be beautiful. That feeling was reinforced when they came over a small rise and she saw a wooden bridge spanning a creek, the headlights sweeping across the black tumbling water, its course defined by the light covering of snow along the banks.

  They rounded a huge clump of spruce trees, then climbed another small rise, and the ranch buildings came into view. Two yard lights illuminated the spread, large halos forming around them, their spheres of brightness filled with heavily falling snow. For some reason, those halos encompassing falling snow made her acutely homesick for her childhood.

  Experiencing a sudden rush of apprehension and an equally chilling rush of self-doubt, she clasped her hands between her thighs, aware of the frantic pulse in her neck. Lord, she hoped she hadn't made a terrible mistake. If things weren't what they seemed, she could have brought the boys into serious danger. It made her stomach churn just thinking about it.

  There was such a flurry of panic breaking loose in her chest, that she hadn't realized Tanner had parked the truck until he turned to stare at her. He didn't say anything for a long time; then he reached down and took the keys out of the ignition and extended them to her. "This vehicle is yours for as long as you're here. I'll give you the other set of keys when we get into the house, and your rooms all have locks on the doors." He gave her a humorless smile. "In spite of what you might already have heard, you don't have anything to worry about here."

  Her face burning, she stared at him, stunned by his perception, stunned by the hint of bitterness in his voice. And something rose up in her, a perception of her own that was so strong it left her a little dazed. She had nothing to fear here. She didn't know why she knew that, but she did. Feeling suddenly very foolish and very small, she eased a breath past the funny sensation behind her breastbone, then shook her head. Her words were not quite steady when she responded. "You don't have to give me a set. I imagine you normally just leave them in the truck."

  Turning to face her, Tanner McCall draped his arm across the wheel with his hand hanging inches from her, the light from outside slanting through the windshield and exposing his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. There was something oddly disconcerting about the way he scrutinized her, as if he was peeling away layer upon layer, looking for the person within. Kate didn't move a muscle, her heart suddenly laboring, her breath stuck in her chest. Awareness churned through her, making her heart labor even harder, and she was struck by a nearly paralyzing fascination with his hand, making her wonder what it would be like to be touched by him. A disabling weakness pumped through her, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes from drifting shut as need – need so strong, so overwhelming, that she felt suffocated by it – coursed through her. More than her next breath, she wanted to reach out and smooth her hand across the back of his, to feel the texture of his skin, to experience his strength and his warmth. More than anything, she wanted to experience his warmth.

  His expression suddenly grew shuttered, and he jerked his gaze away from hers, shoving open his door, his jaw bunched. "Don't wake the boys. I'll carry them in."

  Casing her eyes, Kate clenched her hands into tight fists, her nails scoring her palms. Oh, God, what was happening to her? And what had she gotten herself into?

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  «^»

  Fee
ling groggy and disoriented, Kate awoke the next morning, buried so far under the quilt that her head was totally covered. It was the smells that brought her fully awake; the scent of sheets dried in sunlight, the aroma of bacon frying.

  The strangeness sent a start of alarm through her, and she rolled over onto her back and abruptly shoved the quilt down, her gaze connecting with an unfamiliar ceiling fixture. Her stomach gave a funny lurch, and she closed her eyes in a wash of recollection.

  The Circle S Ranch. Tanner McCall. She winced, a rush of embarrassment climbing up her face. Tanner McCall. Lord, she didn't know what had happened to her in the truck last night – she didn't normally react to men that way. But what made it worse was that she'd had the unnerving feeling that he'd known exactly what had been going through her mind. Raking her hair back with both hands, she stared at the old-fashioned light fixture, a funny ache settling deep in her chest. Well, it had happened, and she had to deal with it; somehow she had to face him. She experienced another flush of embarrassment. Maybe she had reacted that way because she'd been so exhausted. Maybe it was because she'd felt safe for the first time in weeks. And maybe, some wayward little voice interjected, she was lying to herself.

  Startled by that thought, she threw back the quilt and sat up. She had to get a grip. She needed this job, and she couldn't afford to screw it up. The welfare of her kids depended on it. Sobered by that thought, she got out of bed, keeping her movements as silent as possible as she glanced across at them. Tanner had indicated this was to be Mark and Scott's room – a big, white room with dark, varnished woodwork and a gabled ceiling, no curtains on the windows and chipped gray linoleum on the floor. It was sparsely furnished: two double beds that looked brand-new; an old, scarred walnut dresser with brass-and-glass handles; an equally old oak wardrobe; an old gray chrome kitchen table with two chairs, and a TV. There were empty built-in shelves along one of the low gabled walls, and the alcove for the windows had a wide seat built in. It was a wonderful room. And for some reason it made Kate feel empty inside.