A Dark Lure

by Loreth Anne White

  She’d applied some makeup, and her hair fell in glossy waves to her shoulders. A soft cashmere-looking polo-neck sweater hid her scar. She wore a fresh set of slim-fitting jeans and cowboy boots.

  A quick smile lit her eyes, and his stomach zinged, a whirlwind of feelings surging through him—respect, admiration, compassion . . . a desire to protect. And just plain old desire. He wanted her. Pure and simple. It struck him bold in the face.

  But this was not the kind of woman a man could rush. Not with her past.

  She carried the wine to the tables. As she set the bottles down, Gage Burton approached her from behind and touched her elbow. She spun around, gave him a big smile.

  Cole’s chest tightened with a sense of proprietorship. Tori had also stiffened on the sofa, her gaze riveted on her father and Olivia. Her eyes darkened.

  Wind howled again, and a deepening, unearthly moan funneled down the flue as if the weather was seeking its way inside.

  “My mom died,” Tori said suddenly, her attention still locked on her father and Olivia.

  His gaze flared to Tori.

  She turned to look up at him, and the combination of anger and despair in her eyes, her face, crushed through his chest.

  “She suffocated in a tree well in April. It was my fault. I was skiing with her when she went in, and I couldn’t pull her out.”

  Oh, Jesus.

  He lowered himself slowly onto the sofa beside her. “I’m so sorry, Tori.” He hesitated. “But you cannot blame yourself for an accident like that.”

  Her eyes filled with emotion. Her hands clenched.

  Cole could sense his father watching him, and he suddenly had a surreal sense of time spiraling inward. Was his father thinking of Jimmie? Of Ty, whom he’d never met?

  “I also had an accident once,” he said quietly. “I was only sixteen at the time. I drove my truck into a river with my mother and little brother inside. We crashed through the ice. I managed to get out the driver’s window, but I couldn’t get them out. I tried. God, did I try. But . . .” His voice faded as the cold memories swallowed him. “I have blamed myself my entire life for that day, Tori.” He stole another glance at his father. “And I’m only just coming to realize that hanging too hard on to that guilt, it just stops you from living. And it won’t bring your mother back.” He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. He held her deep green eyes. “You need to forgive yourself. You need to find a way.”

  A tear glistened down her cheek. He dug in his jeans pocket for a handkerchief but came up empty handed.

  “Here.”

  Startled, he glanced up. His dad was holding out a fresh kerchief. Cole got up, took it from his dad. Their eyes met for a moment. And history, words unspoken, surged between them.

  “I’m sorry, son,” Myron said, very quietly, his eyes rheumy with drink. “For never letting go.”

  Cole felt a twist of pain, compassion. Warmth mushroomed through his chest. Love. Dammit. He cared for his dad. He really did. He needed his father’s forgiveness like he needed air to breathe. He swallowed, Olivia’s words filling his mind.

  I thought that you might be big enough to take the initiative, to say sorry, make peace before he passes . . .

  His father had beaten him to it.

  “I’m sorry, too.” More than you can ever know.

  Myron looked away and reached for his drink, his hand fisting around the tumbler as he took a deep swig.

  Cole gave Tori the hanky. She wiped her eyes, and blew her nose.

  “Better?”

  She glanced down at the kerchief balled in her hands, then her gaze flickered back to her father and Olivia. Cole’s gaze followed Tori’s.

  Burton was leaning close to Olivia as he spoke in her ear. Her head was bent toward him as she listened. Slowly she smiled, then put her head back and laughed.

  Cole was suddenly mesmerized. It was the first time he’d seen Olivia laugh. Even from across the room her eyes caught light and sparkled. Her cheeks were a healthy flush. In this brief moment she was relaxed, glowing, exuding a vital energy. Happy. And she looked magical. Maybe she’d somehow managed to compartmentalize her earlier flashbacks, the survivor in her triumphing tonight.

  A combative surge of testosterone pulsed into his blood, and Burton was suddenly a rival. Cole also understood what was troubling Burton’s kid. She missed her mother, and seeing her dad like this with another woman was killing the child. Distaste filled his mouth.

  He turned to Tori. “Will you be okay if I leave you for a sec? I need to talk to Olivia.”

  Her eyes held his for a long, beseeching moment, and she nodded.

  Cole got up, and as he walked toward them he had to consciously tamp down the militant energy that had ignited him.

  Olivia looked up as she saw him approaching.

  “Cole,” she said, reaching her arm out for him to join them. “Come, let me introduce you to everyone and give you a rundown of who’s who.”

  She really was sparkling tonight. Was it this Burton character? His company was that remarkable? What had happened in that boat this afternoon to get them from there to here?

  He felt a tightening in his chest.

  “This is Kim,” Olivia said, as the young blonde who’d been setting glasses on the table came by with a tray of condiments. Kim smiled, nodded.

  “And that’s Kim’s fiancé, Zack, behind the bar. Both recently graduated from the University of the North and have been working at Broken Bar over the past summer. Thanksgiving will be their last day on the ranch, and then they’re off to Europe. Jason Chan, as you know, is the mastery behind the kitchen. Nella over there, helping Kim set the table, is Jason’s daughter.”

  “We met earlier,” he said. She’d been the kid sitting on the sofa with Tori when they’d seen the terrible news on TV.

  “Nella’s mom and dad are separated. This Thanksgiving is Jason’s turn to have her. And that’s Brannigan at the bar, chatting with Zack. He’s our groom, the last of the Broken Bar wranglers, so to speak. The others are all guests from the campsite and two of the cabins. You met the couple who own the poodle—they’re from Kelowna. The older pair with them are from Russia. And the tall man with them is a forester from Hundred Mile House.”

  Cole regarded the taciturn forester, who seemed to be watching them in return.

  “And this of course is Gage Burton. You were speaking to his daughter, Tori, on the sofa.” Olivia turned to Burton. “And this is Cole McDonough, Myron’s son.”

  “We spoke briefly earlier.” Cole reached forward to formally shake Burton’s hand.

  Burton’s gaze met his. The man had an iron grip of a handshake, direct clear blue eyes. He possessed a presence that put Cole instantly in mind of a military man—possibly an allied paramilitary professional, or law enforcement officer. He had a radar for this kind of man. Burton was the kind of alpha male he often wrote about. He had on a wedding band.

  Animosity mushroomed hot in Cole as he released the man’s hand. With it came a whispering unease.

  Burton seemed to be assessing him in return, as if weighing up a foe.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Burton said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was taking control in what was essentially Cole’s territory. And he clearly had something going for Olivia. Tension swelled thick and static between them.

  But instead of resisting, Cole said, “Thank you. Scotch on the rocks. Make it a double.”

  Burton went to the bar. Cole’s gaze tracked him.

  “Gage was the one I told you about who left the newspaper and fishing lure in the office,” Olivia offered.

  Cole turned to face her. Her eyes were deep green and clear. He dropped his gaze to her lips. Softly glossed. She stood close enough that he could scent her shampoo again, and a hint of some other fragrance. Her pale-pink polo-neck
sweater looked candy-floss soft and came almost to her chin, fully concealing her scar.

  And as she met his eyes, her own pupils darkened, and Cole felt a clutch of desire and almost delirious pleasure. She was physically interested in him. This knowledge, the fact he could read approval in her gaze, inflamed the carnal thoughts and lust already ribboning through him.

  Yet warning bells clanged. Go slow. Think this through. Was it right to even pursue this? While he might read interest now, he’d seen her react under stress. He’d witnessed firsthand her aversion to being touched, the terror it had sparked in her eyes. And he knew why. Her sexual abuse had been horrendous.

  Shit. This was heavy. He hadn’t expected to come home and find this.

  “Odd,” he said quietly, “that lure of Burton’s. More like a steelhead or salmon fly.”

  Hesitancy flickered almost imperceptibly through her eyes. Her hand tightened around her wineglass. Cole was reluctant to push further, because that lure had really set her off earlier. But why? His curiosity outweighed his caution.

  “It was a retirement gift, apparently,” she said. “Along with a spey rod and some other flies. It had been given to him just before he came up. I guess that’s why he had it on him.”

  He held her eyes. “Came up from where?”

  “Vancouver.”

  “Have you met him before?”

  A frown creased her brow. “No. Why?”

  He shrugged and turned to watch Burton at the bar ordering drinks. “He works fast.”

  “You have a problem with him,” she said.

  “I have a problem with how he’s fawning over you.”

  Her mouth opened in shock. Then a slow smile of understanding curved her lips. “If I didn’t know better, Cole McDonough, I’d say you were acting proprietary.”

  “Perhaps I am.”

  A wariness entered her eyes.

  “Perhaps I don’t like what his interest in you is doing to his kid back there.”

  The smile died on her lips. She held his gaze for a beat, then turned slowly to look at Tori. She swallowed.

  “His wife died in April,” Cole said. “I suppose that’s plenty of time to heal and chat up another woman in front of a child still deeply grieving her mother.”

  Indignation flared in her eyes. “It’s not what you think. You’re right, Tori is suffering, but Gage asked me to help her out today—”

  “You’re not helping her now. Not by encouraging Burton.”

  “Christ, you really are like your father, you know that.” She turned to go.

  “Maybe I know what it means to lose a kid,” he called quietly after her.

  She stalled, turned slowly back to face him. He continued.

  “Maybe I just want to tell them to hold on to what they’ve still got because it doesn’t last forever.”

  She hesitated, uncertain. Her gaze flickered toward Burton at the bar.

  “Did he tell you what he did for a living before he retired?” Cole pressed.

  “No. And I didn’t ask. I don’t give all my guests the third degree. All I know is that he needed help with his daughter this afternoon. Some female company, he said. Tori had demonstrated a violent streak at school—her way of reacting to her mother’s death. He just asked if I could spend some time with them.”

  He crooked a brow.

  Irritation flared through her features.

  “Look, I was able to help a man and his daughter today. Both lonely and hurt. I made them seem just a little bit happier, even for a moment. And that made me feel good, okay? That’s all. I don’t know what you have against him. I don’t have to listen to this.”

  She was about to turn away again, then added, “Grief isn’t linear, Cole. I’m sure you know that. And I’m not even going to grace your comment about me encouraging him with an answer. If you’ll excuse me, I—”

  Impulsively, his hand shot out and he caught her arm. She stilled, tension tightening her face. A cool flint entered her eyes.

  “Be careful, Liv, I don’t trust him.” He paused. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “What does that mean?”

  But before he could answer, Adele approached them, sans apron, purse in hand.

  “Unless there’s anything else,” she said to Olivia, “I’ll be on my way. I heard on the kitchen radio that it might start snowing as early as tomorrow morning. I might have to take one of the rooms in the lodge tomorrow night if it gets bad.”

  “I tell you what,” Olivia said. “Why don’t you call in early tomorrow before you leave Clinton. If it looks as though the snow will be heavy by tomorrow evening, we might not be having anyone for our Thanksgiving dinner anyway. Might end up canceling. And if the storm sticks around, you could get stranded here for a while.”

  “You might have trouble calling in tomorrow,” Cole said. “The landlines have gone down. As well as sat reception.”

  Both Adele’s and Olivia’s eyes shot to the TV. It was blank.

  Another sharp gust of wind rattled at the shutters and howled up high in the chimney. Adele went over to the phone on the wall near the bar, lifted the receiver.

  “You’re right,” she said, coming back. “No dial tone.”

  “Okay, maybe it’s best if you don’t drive up at all tomorrow,” Olivia told Adele. “Just stay home. Stay safe and warm. I’ll handle things here.”

  The housekeeper hesitated.

  “Honest.” Olivia smiled. “We’ll be fine.”

  “All right then. I’ll call the phone company from Clinton tomorrow,” Adele said. “Just to check that it’s a regional problem and not a ranch-specific issue.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Well, good night then.” She nodded at Cole.

  “Regards to Mr. Carrick and Tucker,” he said. Then on impulse, “Will you see Tuck soon?”

  She looked fidgety. “He often comes around to our house. So, yes, probably.”

  “You mentioned he’s in finance. Who does he work with? Clinton is such a small town.”

  “A development company.”

  “Forbes, perhaps?”

  Her face reddened. Her gaze cut to Olivia. “Well, yes, he’s doing some work with Clayton Forbes’s real estate business. He’s helping on his mayoral campaign as well.”

  “Forbes is running for mayor?”

  She nodded and gave a quick, forced smile. “Like you say, small town, not many opportunities outside of ranching. Got to take what one can get.” She turned to Olivia. “Jason said he’d be ready to serve in five minutes. Well, good night, Olivia, Cole.” She gave a quick nod without meeting his gaze again.

  Cole watched Adele head into the hallway. The housekeeper removed her coat from the hook, cast a quick backward glance. Their gazes met for a brief instant. She opened the door, a draft of wind flapping her skirt, and she slipped out into the night. Cold washed in along the floor, and the flames in the hearth shivered. The door slammed in the wind.

  Olivia turned abruptly to him “What was that about?”

  “Did you know that Tuck Carrick works for Forbes?”

  “No.”

  “But you know Forbes wants to buy the ranch.”

  “Everyone in Clinton knows that.” She frowned. “Do you always observe a room like this? Like you’re doing some sort of analysis? Are you always so damn suspicious of everyone’s motives?” Irritation laced her voice.

  “Old habits die hard, Olivia,” he said quietly, holding her eyes.

  “It’s as if you’re searching for reasons to dislike everyone.”

  Gage returned with Cole’s drink.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Olivia said coolly, “I’m going to check with Jason to see if he’s ready to serve.”

  Olivia strode toward the kitchen, back stiff. Cole noticed again her slight limp.
r />   . . . wrapped only in a rancid bearskin and burlap sack. She wore hiking boots and no socks. She carried a rifle, was severely hypothermic, badly cut, bruised, frostbitten, and babbling nonsense. She had a frayed rope secured tightly around her neck. Sarah Baker. Miraculously, she’d survived . . .

  Cole absently sipped his drink as he watched the kitchen door swing closed behind her.

  Great, buddy. You sure blew that one. Right out of the water. Way to build trust.

  Burton was watching the door where Olivia disappeared, too. He met the man’s eyes, and something dark and malignant swelled between them.

  CHAPTER 16

  Myron hunkered at the head of the table like a sick old raven, his eyes sunken and bleary from drugs, drink, illness, or all three, as he poked at his dinner. He seemed in an odd mood, his gaze darting restlessly between Olivia, Cole, the kid, Burton. And he was being more reckless with his drink tonight. Something had altered in him, and as the wind outside howled, bringing the storm closer, Olivia felt the tick tock of a metaphysical clock.

  Cole was seated to his father’s right. Gage had taken the chair beside Olivia. Tori sat across from her. Rancor seemed to percolate around the child as she fiddled with the corner of her white linen napkin.

  Guilt clutched through Olivia. She glanced at Cole. He was watching her from below his dark lashes as he ate and sipped his glass of Burgundy. And while the food was excellent as usual, while sounds of merriment rose from guests at the other tables, the mood at their table was off.

  “Compliments to the chef.” Cole wiped his mouth with his napkin, setting it beside his plate.

  “The trout starter was from the lake,” Olivia offered, trying to lighten the atmosphere. “The venison is from the neighboring ranch, and the roasted autumn vegetables came from the kitchen garden.”

  “A vegetable garden your mother started,” Myron muttered to Cole, reaching for his third glass of red wine. “Back when we took delivery of the first chickens. She tilled that soil by her own hand. Grew peas up the back fence, right to the top. Watered from the rain tank.”