Out of the Dark Read online

  “Maybe,” he muttered. Then, as Hobie’s brows lowered at his tone, he quickly changed the subject. “Any theories of your own?”

  Hobie leaned back in his chair and reached up to tug at his mustache in a gesture that, although it had been over five years since Cole had seen it, still seemed comfortably familiar.

  “Well, now, there’s my problem,” he drawled.

  “What?”

  “Too many theories.”

  Cole lifted a brow. “Such as?”

  “A psycho, maybe. Lord knows there’s enough of ‘em running around these days. Or it might be somebody wantin’ revenge, or—”

  “Revenge?” Cole glanced at the door once more, although Tory was no longer in sight. He couldn’t believe she’d ever made anybody that angry at her. “For what?”

  “Oh, not Tory,” Hobie said, reading him easily. “That girl could never hurt anybody that bad. Sometimes that’s what gets her hurt.”

  Cole’s head snapped back around. Had that been a warning? Or was he reading too much into Hobie’s words, because of his own suddenly wayward imagination? But Hobie was merely looking at him with that same thoughtful expression again.

  “Revenge on who, then?” Cole finally asked. “And for what?”

  “Me.”

  Cole blinked. “You?”

  “Yep.”

  “Hobie, you’ve saved more lives than most doctors, my own miserable one included. What would anyone have against you?”

  “I’ve lost a few over the years, too,” Hobie said. “Times when I wasn’t quick enough, or that old bull just wouldn’t change targets.”

  “Hell, nobody can blame you for that—”

  “George Wheeler does.”

  “George... You mean Marvin’s kid?”

  Hobie nodded. Cole’s brows lowered. He’d been there that day, at the Pendleton Roundup fifteen years ago. He’d made his ride, barely hanging on for the buzzer, and was still dusting himself off from a dismount that had left a bit to be desired for style and grace, when Marvin Wheeler had begun his ride. He hadn’t seen it, but he’d heard the shocked gasps and then the ominous silence as the cowboy had gone down under the deadly hooves and horns of a vicious Brahma, dying in front of the horrified eyes of the crowd—and his ten-year-old son.

  “Nobody could have turned that bull. He went crazy. That’s why they pulled him from the circuit after that. He didn’t want to buck, he wanted to kill.”

  Hobie shrugged. “George don’t see it that way.”

  “But he was just a kid—”

  “He’s twenty-five now. But he remembers like it was yesterday. Kids do, I guess.”

  “But to blame you...”

  “I saw him at a stock auction a couple of years ago.” Hobie rubbed at his jaw. “He slugged me. Damn near broke my jaw. And he wanted more. If a couple of guys hadn’t pulled him off me...”

  Cole shook his head in astonishment. “That’s crazy.”

  Hobie shrugged. “Then there’s Bart Brock.”

  Cole’s eyes widened. “Bart Brock? His hand got hung up in his rigging! How the hell is that your fault?”

  “When you’re looking at the rest of your life sittin’ in a wheelchair, I reckon logic don’t count for much. He calls now and again, just to remind me he holds me responsible for not distracting that bull ‘til he could get loose.”

  Cole shook his head again. “Are they nuts? You put your life on the line for us every time you went out there. All of us knew that. I can’t believe they’d really blame you.”

  Hobie lifted a bushy gray brow at him. “Hmm. You sound like somebody else who was just here.”

  Cole drew back, eyes widening. Then his brows lowered once more. And then, at last, his mouth curved ruefully.

  “Damn you, Hobie, you always did have a way of twisting things sideways until we saw it your way.”

  Hobie shrugged. “Just pointing out the obvious.”

  “You mean that we all have our blind spots?”

  “Something like that.”

  Cole let out a long breath. His glance flicked to the screen door, then back to Hobie. “I suppose I owe someone an apology.”

  “That’s up to you,” Hobie said. Then, with a grin as Cole got to his feet, “I’ll tell you, though, she’s mighty quick to forgive, unless you’ve hurt someone she loves. Makes it a lot less painful.”

  He didn’t answer, couldn’t think of anything to say in response to that. Grabbing his hat from the rack just inside the door—which also held two brightly colored baseball caps, Hobie’s sweat-stained old Stetson and a new straw one that looked like it hadn’t even been worn, yet—Cole stepped into the fading evening light, Hobie’s words echoing in his mind.

  Unless you’ve hurt someone she loves.

  If she only knew, he thought grimly, what a track record he had in that arena, she never would have asked for his help. Because when a woman came to him for help because a man she loved was in trouble, that man usually wound up dead.

  Chapter 5

  The minute he walked into the tack room, Cole found himself under an aerial attack. He swore, then glared at the raccoon-marked cat who had apparently launched himself from a shelf to Cole’s shoulder, and was now maintaining his precarious balance with an attention-getting set of claws.

  “Damn it, cat!”

  Reflexively his hand came up to swipe the offending animal off its perch, but halted midswing when he realized just how far it was to the floor. He’d heard cats always landed on their feet, but he didn’t want this to be the exception that proved the rule. With his luck, Rocky’s scars weren’t from fighting but from being a klutz, and he’d have a broken cat to explain.

  The claws dug in deeper—he’d be bleeding in a minute, he knew—and Rocky made a low, odd sound. Seconds later Cole heard footsteps approaching. They were light and quick, and somehow he knew it was Tory. When she appeared in the doorway a moment later, he felt no sense of satisfaction at the accuracy of his guess, just a growing tension low down in his belly.

  She looked startled to see him there, and even more startled when she spotted Rocky on his shoulder. A smile began to curve her lips, then, as her glance flicked to his face, it faded away. Good for you, Bannister, he thought glumly. The cat rates a smile, and you rate—

  He cut himself off with a sharp internal reprimand. What he rated didn’t matter. Tory Flynn had already demonstrated she wasn’t bowled over by his looks. In fact, he got the distinct impression his appearance was part of the reason she hadn’t trusted him from the beginning, and that only his connection with Hobie had made her accept him at all.

  Oddly, he wasn’t sure if he didn’t prefer that reaction to the blatantly ingratiatory approach of women who took one look at him and decided he’d make a great scalp for their belt. Or bedpost.

  He saw her take a quick breath, and then, unexpectedly, she said, “I’m sorry.”

  His brows furrowed. “What?”

  “I know you’re here to help. And I suppose from your point of view, our clients are the first place to start looking. I shouldn’t have...reacted like that.”

  He felt like a horse who’d just run off a cliff, as if suddenly he had no solid ground beneath him. “I...er, I’m sorry, too,” he finally managed to say, wincing as Rocky dug in once more. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I know it’s tough to think that somebody you know could be so...”

  “Sick?” she said, when he didn’t finish. “Vicious? Evil?”

  “All of those.”

  She turned away from him suddenly, to face the wall that held several bridles on wide, rounded racks. He saw the tension in her slender shoulders, and instinctively knew she was fighting not to cry.

  “No one has the right to do that to an innocent, living creature.” Her voice was so choked up he could barely understand her words.

  “No.”

  He didn’t know what else to say, so he left it at that. After a moment her shoulders came back and her head came up. Ye
s, Tory Flynn had gotten her share of her uncle’s grit, he repeated silently. She turned to face him again.

  “I won’t let it happen again.” Her voice was fierce now, determined.

  “We won’t,” he said, before he could stop himself. Idiot, he thought. Haven’t you learned not to make those kind of promises?

  Tory hesitated, then nodded. She lifted a bridle down from a rack and busied herself with adjusting it. Her trembling fingers made a mess of the job, and Cole could see the effort she was making at regaining control. He said nothing, sensing she needed a minute to manage it.

  He reached up and scooped Rocky off his shoulder. The cat yowled a protest, but quieted as Cole set him down with more gentleness than he had originally intended. He straightened up, righting the hat the animal had knocked askew. The cat gave him a baleful look, walked over and stropped himself once on Tory’s legs, then strolled regally away, tail high. Again a slight smile curved Tory’s mouth. The cat, it seemed, succeeded easily where he failed.

  But he was grateful the animal had distracted her from her anguish over the dead horses. She was calm now, even amused at Rocky’s demeanor.

  “He’s quite a character,” she said.

  Cole’s mouth quirked. “He’s a nuisance.”

  Her smile widened. “But he’s your nuisance.”

  Cole gave an exasperated sigh. “He’s not my—”

  He stopped when her smile became a grin. “I don’t think you get a choice. With a cat, they do the choosing.”

  “So I’ve been told,” he muttered.

  “Do you need a dish? To feed him?”

  “Let him eat mice.”

  A laugh broke from her—light, teasing and totally at odds with the crazy shiver that ran up his spine.

  “I begin to see why he picked you. You have a lot in common. Starting with that royal arrogance.”

  Cole blinked. Had she actually called him arrogant? He’d been called many things by women before, but arrogant wasn’t usually one of them. And the women weren’t usually laughing when they did it.

  “Be careful, though.” She was really grinning now. “The last royal who talked like that lost her head.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. He fought it, but her grin was too infectious. At last a rueful chuckle broke from him. “He’s tried that a time or two already.”

  “And lived? Brave cat.”

  “Stupid cat. With considerably fewer than nine lives left.”

  She started to smile, but the expression faded. “At least cats are supposed to have nine lives. Horses aren’t.”

  Lowering her eyes, she bit her lip, worrying at the soft flesh in a way that made Cole remind himself that she was Hobie’s niece, and that this was hardly the time to be thinking the kind of thoughts he was thinking—like doing a little nibbling of his own. And she was hardly the person to be thinking it about. He reined in his suddenly too-responsive senses with an effort.

  “So what’s your theory?”

  Her head came up sharply, as if searching for evidence of a taunt in his face. He hadn’t—this time—meant it that way, so he hastened to soften what he realized had sounded pretty chilly.

  “Hobie told me his ideas, I was just wondering what yours were.”

  “Oh.” She appeared mollified, and answered him. “I think somebody’s after the ranch.”

  He kept his expression even. She was touchy enough about this, especially, it seemed, where he was concerned. “The ranch? Then why kill the horses?”

  “Because it’s common knowledge we’d never sell out. This place is Hobie’s dream. The only way to get this land would be to put us out of business. And the easiest way to do that is to ruin our reputation.” She bit her lip once more before adding, “In the horse world, your reputation is your business. Lose that, and it’s all over. People will never trust you with their horses again. Not at this level.”

  “So they try to prove you’re...what? Careless? Incompetent to take care of expensive animals?”

  She nodded. “And it doesn’t take much to destroy even a reputation like Hobie’s. Smaller things might be overlooked, but dead horses? No way.”

  Again she bit her lip, but Cole guessed this time it wasn’t in worry but in an effort to keep from crying once more. He resisted the urge to reach up and gently smooth the harried flesh.

  “Why? Why would somebody want this ranch that badly?”

  She hesitated, and when she finally spoke, Cole was reasonably certain it wasn’t what she’d been going to say. He was rusty, but he hadn’t lost every instinct he’d once had.

  “We’re in a prime location here,” she explained. “Good water, and direct access to the main road to the coast. There are big operations on two sides of us. The Crains, and then Charlie Lee. They both had their eye on this place when Hobie bought it. They wanted the land we just leased, too, but Glen Porter wouldn’t sell. It made them mad when he leased it to us, because that put it off the market for five years.”

  “So you think one of them is behind this? Or both?”

  Her delicate brows lowered. “I don’t want to think that, even though they were really upset. Besides, the second horse that died was Harry Crain’s. What would he have to gain by killing his own horse?”

  “Besides the insurance? Who knows. But if not them, then who?” She looked at him warily. “Who?” he prompted again. “What were you going to say, before?”

  She wavered, then appeared to decide. “I was out on our west boundary one day, about a month ago. There’s a draw up there, with a little spring. The cattle congregate there because it’s cool and shady. I was up there on Mac, because we’re starting to get him used to the stock.”

  He merely nodded, afraid she’d stop if he said anything.

  “I saw somebody up in the foothills. On our land. Like he was camped out, with all sorts of gear.”

  “Gear?”

  “I couldn’t see what all it was. Looked like maybe a sleeping bag, and a lantern. And I’m pretty sure I saw a pick. Or maybe it was just an ax. But I couldn’t get up there to check right then, without scattering the stock. By the time I did, he was gone.”

  “And?”

  “There’s an old story that’s been going around here for at least a hundred years, about a gold mine up in the foothills. Supposedly the old man who worked it died on his way down to register the claim. He had a full poke of gold dust on him, and a couple of sizable nuggets.”

  “You think this guy was a...prospector? And that he wants the ranch because of that...story?”

  She grimaced. “I know it sounds farfetched—”

  “But a lot easier—and more pleasant—to believe than that one of your neighbors, or one of your friends is responsible.”

  He’d carefully kept any censure out of his voice, but she answered defensively, anyway.

  “I said I knew it sounded crazy. But the legend’s for real. There are records of it in old newspapers, and in a history of the area that somebody wrote around the turn of the century. And every once in a while, every couple of years, somebody’ll turn up, hunting. And if this guy found something—” She broke off, shaking her head as she looked at him. “Never mind. I knew you’d think—”

  “I’ll check it out.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I said I’ll check it out. I’ll have my office get a copy of the last geological survey maps, for starters. And the satellite surveys.”

  “You will?”

  “It’s worth checking out.”

  “It is?”

  He shook his head, a chuckle escaping him at her surprise. “Everything’s worth checking out at this early stage. We’ll narrow it down as we go.”

  “Oh.” A touch of color pinkened her cheeks. “I thought you’d think I was...being naive again.”

  “Naive doesn’t necessarily mean wrong.”

  She studied him for a moment, then said wryly, “Somehow I don’t think that was a compliment.”

  “Were you
looking for one?”

  Her color deepened suddenly, and an expression that almost seemed like chagrin flickered in her eyes. He didn’t want to dwell on the possible reasons for that. Just like he didn’t want to dwell on the weird sensations she seemed to rouse in him. It was time to get this relationship back where it belonged. Employer to employee. Hobie’s old friend to his niece. Any safe niche would do.

  He made sure the mocking note in his voice was obvious when he went on.

  “How about ‘You look pretty when you blush?’”

  His tone, as he’d intended, seemed to help her gather her composure, and she gave him a rather scoffing look.

  “That’s right up there with ‘You’re beautiful when you’re angry.’”

  “One of my favorites,” he drawled.

  “And I suppose it works for you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Stupid women,” she muttered.

  “Exactly,” he agreed mildly. “It’s how I weed them out.”

  “What?”

  “If they’re stupid enough to fall for that, then I know I’d be bored to death in five minutes.”

  She stared at him, as if unsure whether to laugh or not.

  “Of course,” he said easily, “if they’re really pretty enough....”

  “Then a little stupidity can be forgiven?”

  The sudden sourness in her words was unmistakable, and Cole congratulated himself on achieving his goal. The fact that he didn’t feel particularly good about it was something he would learn to live with.

  “A nice little equation, is that it?” she said, each word bitten off a little more sharply than the last. “The amount of stupidity that can be tolerated is in direct ratio to the quality of the looks?”

  He was a little taken aback at her growing vehemence. “It was a joke, okay? I—”

  “It’s always a joke to men like you, isn’t it? ‘She’s thick as a brick, but with that body, who cares?’ ‘Sure she’s an airhead, but she’s a great-looking one.’”

  Cole stared at her. There was something much bigger going on here than a little needling, far too much to have been brought on by what had been, obviously, he’d thought, simple teasing.