Shadows of the Mountain Read online

  She moved away, still grinning, encouraging everyone to stay up on the floor. The dance floor was packed but tonight the crowd of bodies didn’t fill Kate with alarm.

  In fact, when the music resumed, she moved with abandon, smiling at Allie, smiling at the other dancers, smiling at Jack. Everyone was singing and foot-stomping, and Kate had never had a better time. On many occasions she had to switch partners—cutting in was actively encouraged—but Jack always reclaimed her. She felt amazingly relaxed, even in the confined space, and it was because of him. He moved easily, comfortable in his skin, and his confidence was contagious.

  She was shocked when they announced the last song and it was apparent she’d stayed well past midnight. But she couldn’t worry about missing her self-imposed curfew because Jack was twirling her around, encouraging her to respond with moves she hadn’t thought she knew. Then he dipped her low, holding her for a long moment as the music died.

  “Thought you said you couldn’t dance,” she whispered, looking up at his handsome face and feeling impossibly light.

  “Said I don’t like to dance. Not that I can’t.” His gaze locked on her mouth. “But there’s still a lot of other things I’d rather be doing with you.”

  She stared into those golden eyes that were looking at her as if she were the most desirable woman in the world. It was obvious he wanted her, and her heart did a little flip. She was tempted to slide her fingers beneath that shirt and feel his rippled abs. To accompany him back to his room and explore that hard body that no shirt could completely hide.

  And have a pink slip handed to her in the morning.

  “I work here,” she said lightly. “Dancing is all I can do.”

  “No problem,” he said. “I enjoyed the night.” But his expression sobered. When his eyes weren’t smiling, he definitely appeared less friendly.

  “Regrettably,” she said, squeezing his hand. Maybe he’d ask for her phone number and they could meet away from the ranch. There was a small town only twenty miles away. “I have this Monday off,” she added.

  “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  “You’re only here one night?” she asked, hit by a sense of loss. She’d expected to see him around the ranch. Thought they’d have a chance to get to know each other, maybe even ride together. Most guests stayed a minimum of a week, more often two. She didn’t realize it was even possible to have a one-night stay during the prime summer months.

  “I’m here on a job,” he said, remaining close, so close she could feel the pulsing heat of his body. “But I’d like to see you again. Maybe I’ll drop by the dining hall next week, see if you’re around.”

  She tilted her head, confused. What did that mean? He was leaving, then he wasn’t? Besides, she didn’t even eat in the dining hall.

  “What’s your phone number?” he asked.

  She recited her number, reassured that at least he’d have a way to contact her. “Texting is better though,” she said, “in case I’m busy. And the reception is poor except by the pool.”

  She waited but he didn’t add her number to his phone. He just looked at her, his warm fingers still pressed against the small of her back, as if—like her—he was reluctant to move.

  “Hey, Kate,” someone called.

  She glanced toward the voice. Charlie, the fire pit guy and general handyman. He was very nice, often bringing her morning coffee. Normally she enjoyed his banter. But right now she didn’t want the interruption.

  “Surprised to see you up so late,” Charlie said, shooting Jack a quizzical look. “Some of us are going down to the lake for beer and hot dogs. You should join us. And where did you leave those new roasting sticks you carved?”

  “They’re by the gazebo,” she said. “On the side next to the horseshoe pit.”

  Jack’s hand dropped, leaving her feeling oddly bereft. She swung around, but he’d already eased away. “Nice meeting you, Kate,” he said softly. “See you next week.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Seconds later, a grinning Allie rushed to her side. “Hey, girl. Look what happens when you take my advice. I’ve never seen you move like that. Thought you were headed for a hookup.”

  Kate blinked, hiding her bewilderment. She’d thought Jack would linger. Try to prolong the night. But he hadn’t asked about the plans for the lake or offered to walk her back to the dorm. He hadn’t even pretended to take her phone number. In fact he’d already vanished.

  “Where’s he from?” Allie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kate said, realizing that for all their talk, he hadn’t shared much. He’d asked plenty about Monty and the staff and hunting, but every time she had a question, he’d tugged her closer to his hard body and frankly that had pushed conversation right out of her head. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “He’s just here for one night.”

  “What about his friends? Are they staying longer?”

  Kate shook her head. “He’s here alone.”

  “No, he’s not. There’s a group of them. I saw them in the conference room. The housekeeper said they’re booked in the Look-Off. A bunch of men and women.”

  Kate’s smile froze. The Look-Off was the huge and luxurious chalet high at the back of the meadow, complete with its own heli-pad. Very exclusive. Very private. Not the type of place a single cowboy would stay. “I thought he was alone,” she said. “I must have misunderstood him. Guess that explains why he took off so quick.”

  “Maybe he came with a girlfriend and they had a little spat. That happens a lot on vacation. And men like to prove they can snap their fingers and other women will come running.”

  True. And Kate had just proven that. Rather publicly too. She crossed her arms, suddenly cold, feeling as if she’d been stripped on the dance floor and then thrust aside. Still, she couldn’t resist checking the dance hall one last time. Just in case Jack had stepped into the washroom and was actually coming back.

  “It’s just as well,” Allie went on. “You know how Boss feels about staff that get too close to the guests. You were great out there. Now that I know you don’t need lessons, I’ll expect more enthusiastic participation in the future.”

  Kate gave a tight smile. However, she couldn’t imagine dancing like that, feeling like that, with any other man.

  “Because tonight,” Allie went on, “you had more moves than a stripper on a pole.”

  Kate recoiled in horror.

  “Sorry.” Allie gave an apologetic shrug. “I didn’t mean to be crass. Guess I was just peeved that when I asked him to dance all he did was scowl. But he liked you right off, even back at the pool. I was surprised you opened up to him so quickly though. Everyone was. You’re usually the ice princess.”

  Kate had felt freer, almost liberated, but surely it hadn’t been that noticeable. She glanced across the hall but didn’t see Jack, only Charlie, lingering by the doorway. He immediately gestured at a case of beer and gave an enthusiastic wave.

  “See what I mean?” Allie giggled. “The guys all saw you, and after months of you shutting them down, now they think there’s a little hope. There aren’t enough single girls to go around. So they’re thanking that guy for showing us your wild side.”

  Kate squeezed her eyes shut in dismay. She certainly didn’t thank Jack. It was already exhausting filling in wherever there was the biggest need, from carving classes to cooking, and babysitting to dancing. She didn’t have the time or interest for temporary relations or the mind games she’d watched Allie and the others play. She preferred her men up front and honest.

  At least tomorrow she’d be escaping to the back country. Where life was simple and straight forward, and far removed from baffling men and superficial flirtations she could never pretend to understand.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  KATE’S ALARM CHIMED way too early, yanking her from a restless sleep punctuated by images of a pine-scented dance hall and a man with smiling gold-flecked eyes. She kicked off the sheets and scrambled from the narrow bed, relucta
nt to acknowledge that Jack had crept into her dreams. At least it hadn’t been the usual nightmare of black holes, broken horses and the sound of a dying boy’s last breath.

  She grabbed a quick shower, knowing it would be several days before she enjoyed plentiful warm water again, then gathered her clothes and trail essentials. She moved quietly, on auto mode. Staff had single rooms but the dorm walls were paper thin, and she didn’t want to wake anyone. All her friends worked long hours and sleep was generally in short supply.

  She’d organized most of her pack the previous night, and it only took minutes to finish. Her hair was still damp when she zipped her waterproof bag shut, satisfied that it complied with the typed instructions Monty had provided. She’d removed her bear spray, phone, camera, flares. Brought nothing that could take pictures or record events. No weapons of any sort, except her pocket jackknife, complete with tweezers and toothpick, so tiny it wouldn’t even count as a weapon.

  Her backpack felt oddly light but that was no big deal. She was no longer a park ranger or a member of an elite search and rescue team. She was a camp attendant. Her biggest challenge would be to lead the mules, keep the girls happy and prepare their meals. Monty would be responsible for guiding the group over the bogs and streams and rough ground. Still, with all the restrictions, she felt unprepared.

  She fingered her pack, reminding herself there was nothing to worry about. No cliffs with narrow ten-inch ledges. Just a leisurely ride to the base of the foothills, and she’d even be on a mule. They were more sure-footed than horses, less inclined to spook. But her boots felt glued to the floor, as if they knew she was forgetting something. Trail riding was unpredictable, especially with guests whose experience in the backwoods was limited.

  Danny had only been twelve when he died. Sharon hadn’t mentioned the ages of these girls but even though Kate was just a camp helper, their safety was still her concern. She certainly intended they ride out in one piece. And to do that, she needed to be prepared, no matter the ridiculous instructions.

  She wheeled, yanked open the dresser drawer and scooped up her trusty knife. Then carefully switched it from the snap-on belt clip to her concealed boot sheath. Once it was attached to the inside of her boot, she felt much better. Because essential trail equipment should never be left behind. Besides, she used the big knife around guests during her survival classes. Obviously she could be trusted with it.

  Freshly confident, she strode from the dorm, detouring toward the dining hall. The sun hadn’t poked over the trees yet but she knew every foot of the beaten path and relished the morning peacefulness. The only sounds were the muted chatter of kitchen workers and the occasional clinking of dishes.

  She slipped into the staff room, poured a black coffee then began filling her jacket pockets with granola bars.

  The cook shuffled over, her eyes slightly puffy. “You won’t need those,” she said. “They took enough food to last normal folk a month. And you’re not allowed to take anything except what was approved. It all has to be safe for celiacs.”

  Kate quickly put the bars back on the table. So the guest rider wasn’t just gluten intolerant. Celiac meant a higher level of care was required as food could be tainted merely by proximity to gluten in the packs. Still, if everything that was brought in was gluten free, that made her job easier. It was liberating for anyone suffering from food intolerances if they didn’t have to worry about cross contamination. It was never fun to have an intestinal episode. But on the trail—far from the comforts of a bed and bathroom—it was exponentially worse.

  “That’s great to know,” she said cheerfully. “Can you tell me which bars were approved?”

  “Just those ones.” The cook jabbed her thumb at some protein bars with a circular GF logo on the purple wrapper. “And I’ve been cooking for guests for more than two decades. Can’t believe they wouldn’t let me deliver the food. We had to get up extra early and unlock the storeroom.”

  “What do you mean?” Kate asked, busy replacing her granola bars with the gluten-free ones. Having food in her pockets satisfied her ingrained need to be self-sufficient. Riding at the back with the slower mules meant she’d have an opportunity to nibble on a bar whenever she wanted a snack.

  The cook gave a disapproving sniff. “Those men came by half an hour ago. Wouldn’t let food leave the storeroom without supervision. Very insistent. Crazy if you ask me. Even Monty was surprised.”

  “Monty was here? You mean the food’s already gone?” Kate froze, then turned and bolted toward the door. She wanted to be the first at the barn, liked to have a relaxing moment to greet each horse, pull in a breath and just enjoy the solitude. A chance to prepare the animals before dealing with the people. And Monty had admitted he was the same way. But he was already there, alone with the guests. He must be frazzled.

  “Don’t forget your coffee,” the cook said.

  “You drink it for me,” Kate called over her shoulder. No way did she want to wander up with a coffee in hand, looking like a spectator unprepared to work. Monty’s wranglers would have assembled the trail equipment, but it was risky to pack in with a load she hadn’t personally checked. It was important to have equal weight on both sides of the animal and not to hurry the knots. An uneven or slipping pack could cause delays on the trail or blister a mule’s back or even worse, cause a wreck...

  Stop it, she told herself, as she sprinted toward the barn.

  She slowed before rounding the corner, calling out a soft hello so as not to startle the animals. They were all tied to the hitching post: six horses, three mules. The palomino was fidgeting, his white mane and tail gleaming beneath the exterior barn lights. None of the horses had been saddled and the mules’ backs were also bare.

  She pulled in a relieved breath, glad she wasn’t late. There was still time to greet the mules, run a brush over their backs and pick out their feet. Monty would insist the guests groom their own horses but she preferred to double check. Riders often complained about saddle sores, but for the animal it was much more agonizing. And losing the services of a horse or mule, deep in the isolated back country was always disastrous.

  “Stop right there,” a craggy-faced man snapped as he swooped from the shadows. “You must be the replacement.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m Kate,” she said, surprised by his aggressiveness. “In for Donna.”

  “Yeah, I know. The mule girl.” He glanced down at his sheet, silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was just as curt, his posture even more rigid. “Set your bag on the table. Unzip it.”

  “Pardon?” Her arms tightened around her pack. “These are my personal things. Less than ten pounds.” Exactly nine and a half pounds. And this man’s attitude rankled. The mule girl? Besides, he was out of line. No guest had the right to search her bag.

  “I need to see what’s in there.” The man stepped closer, his gaze raking over her body, rather rude in its appraisal. “I don’t care about the weight.”

  “Well, we should care about the weight,” she said, trying to be diplomatic. “The animals aren’t machines.”

  He just glowered. She gripped the pack tighter, determined not to raise it over her breasts, or to step back. The man was probably in his late thirties, clearly accustomed to snapping orders and using his size to intimidate. His boots and jeans appeared brand new. He looked like he’d been in good shape once, but she noted how his gut sagged over his belt, and how he kept trying to suck it in. A bully who cared about how he looked. Interesting.

  “And some guests are heavier than what the animals are used to,” she added, holding his stare with a pointed one of her own.

  “Raise your arms,” he said, and now there was a new edge to his voice, as if he wasn’t used to being challenged. “I need to check you. All over.”

  “I’ve got this, Kessler,” a familiar voice said.

  She blinked in shock as Jack stepped in front of her. “Place your bag on the table, ma’am,” he said, his voice every bit as authoritati
ve, his stance no less menacing. But it was his eyes that showed the biggest change from last night. They were totally glacial.

  She stared, unmoving. Despite the coolness of the air, heat warmed her face. Less than five hours earlier she’d danced with this man, had been wrapped in those strong arms, charmed by his slow smile. Admittedly, she’d even hoped to see him again. She’d accepted that it had been a pleasant but meaningless flirtation—at least on his part—but she couldn’t accept that he would pretend not to know her. That his face could look like carved granite, with eyes so suspicious.

  And that these two men intended to rifle through her underwear.

  “I don’t understand.” Her gaze shot past them, searching for Monty, for Sharon, for anyone familiar.

  “You don’t need to understand,” the man named Kessler growled. “Come on. We need to hurry this up. We have people to keep safe. And you still have a non-disclosure agreement to sign.”

  “This way, please,” Jack said.

  It was the word “please” that prompted her to walk woodenly to the table and lower her backpack.

  “Unzip it,” Jack ordered, his cool eyes on her face.

  She fumbled to unzip her bag, then watched as his hands slid expertly and impersonally over her spare socks, her jeans, her panties. He even opened her waterproof box of matches, checked her toothpaste and gave her fire starter a suspicious sniff.

  “What is this all about?” she asked, hiding her hurt.

  “It’s protocol,” he said.

  “Protocol? For what?”

  “Raise your arms, please.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. This was not protocol. She’d been on countless rides and ranch events with wealthy and important guests. Some had even arrived on their own helicopters. Never had this happened. “You’re going to frisk me now?” she asked.