Mysterious Mountain Man

The months of hard physical labor had done him good. He’d come to terms with his life. He’d accepted the kinds of behavior he could live with and had set boundaries for those he couldn’t. The mountains had done their healing work on him. Maybe it was time for him to look at his options and consider what he wanted to do next.

One option he knew he’d never consider would be to return to Seattle and the life he’d once attempted to establish there.

Mel came out of the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He studied Jake for a moment before he asked, “How ‘bout a game of dominoes?”

Jake nodded. “Sounds good.” He picked up his cup, stepped behind the counter for a refill, then followed Mel over to one of the tables in the back. He set the cup down and pulled off his coat, hanging it on a nearby hook before he sat down across from the older man.

Mel and Betty were the closest thing he had to family. He loved them with a deep-seated sense of loyalty and appreciation. But he still couldn’t talk to them about his life and the choices he’d made. He knew that they loved and accepted him, but they had trouble understanding him.

He wasn’t any good at trying to talk about his feelings. He never had been. He’d learned early on that if he was going to survive, he had to depend on himself. Nobody else. He’d never been one to talk about himself, about his goals in life. About his dreams.

After his mother had died, he’d been like a half-wild animal, snarling at everybody, resisting any authority. He hadn’t trusted many people in his life, that’s for sure. Mel and Betty, of course. Hell. They’d more than half raised him.

And Brock Adams. For whatever reason, he’d learned to trust and admire Brock Adams during the years they’d worked so closely together. He’d made an error in judgment, though, believing in Brock, believing he knew the kind of man Brock was. And he’d paid for the error. He’d left a well-paid job and a promising career without looking back or regretting the cost.

Payment enough in any man’s book.

So why in hell were they looking for him now, after all this time?

“You gonna play or just sit starin’ at the spots?” Mel asked, breaking into Jake’s thoughts.

Jake blinked, suddenly focusing on the dominoes in front of him for the first time in several minutes. “Sorry, guess my mind was wandering.”

“No need to be sorry. This ain’t brain surgery. You’re allowed to take all the time you want, but I’m going to have to get to work here directly,” Mel responded, glancing at the clock over the front door.

Jake studied the layout before him, then placed a domino along one line.

“Maybe I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Looks like you’re gonna beat me if I don’t do somethin’ mighty fast here.”

Jake scratched his chin. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, another sign of his abstraction. He’d been taking long hikes lately, now that he’d finished all the construction plans for his place. Sometimes he would end up camping out overnight if he was too far from the cabin when the winter dusk caught up with him.

“Gettin’ restless up there in them mountains, aren’t you?”

“A little,” Jake admitted.

“I could never figure out why you wanted to live up there all alone, anyway.”

Jake grinned. “I’m far from alone, Mel. There’s plenty of company. Most of the time I much prefer Mother Nature and her wildlife to people. At least the predators are easier to recognize.”

“Don’t you ever miss that job you had out in Seattle?”

Jake frowned. “Sometimes.”

“I can’t rightly remember what it was they made at that factory.”

“They manufactured various parts used in the building of airplanes, helicopters—whatever the aeronautical industry needed.”

“Do you suppose that guy that was here is wanting to offer you a job?”

“Wouldn’t matter if he was.”

Neither one of them spoke for a while. One game ended and they started another without a word. Occasionally Betty came over and refilled their coffee cups.

“You guys gettin’ hungry?” Betty finally asked.

Mel grunted. Jake glanced up. “I could probably eat a sandwich.”

The sound of tires on the gravel driveway outside announced that the tiny restaurant would soon have more business. Jake leaned back in his chair and watched a couple with two small children get out of a late-model minivan.

“Looks like your noon rush just arrived,” he drawled, grinning. Mel hurried to the kitchen while Betty reached for the stack of menus, a smile on her face for the children.

* * *

Rebecca Adams had been following the arrow-straight highway east out of El Paso for what seemed like hours, looking for the Dry Gulch Café. The desolate West Texas terrain had so mesmerized her with its sameness that she almost drove past the small settlement without noticing it. She was almost upon it before she noticed the sign advertising the café.

She peered at the cluster of weathered, gray buildings while hurriedly braking to make the turn. There were only two vehicles in the gravel parking lot—a minivan and a pickup truck.

Rebecca quickly glanced into the rearview mirror of her rental car, thankful there was no one to see that she hadn’t bothered to signal her intentions as she pulled off the highway. She parked neatly beside the angled truck and turned off the car engine.

She’d left Seattle early that morning and hadn’t paused in her travels since. Woody had told her that the only people he’d found who seemed to know anything about Jake Taggart were here at this café.

She took a deep breath and slowly released it. She was here now, ready to begin her search for the elusive Mr. Taggart. She’d made up her mind that nothing was going to stop her from finding Jake and talking to him, no matter what she had to do.

She quickly ran a comb through her dark, shoulder-length hair, powdered her nose and checked to make sure she still had on her lipstick. Her wide-set gray eyes stared back at her apprehensively from her compact mirror. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever been so nervous before, but then she’d never had to deal with such high stakes before. She couldn’t afford to lose this particular gamble.

She could think of any number of people she would have preferred to look for besides Jake Taggart. She’d never understood her father’s enthusiasm about the man. He may have been a genius at what he did for the company, but he’d been an impossible person to get to know.

She’d always taken pride in the fact that she could figure most people out. She’d made human behavior her main study, but Jake had always managed to elude her analysis.

As soon as she stepped out of the car, Rebecca paused to straighten her slim dark skirt and adjust the tailored matching jacket that stopped a few inches above the mid-thigh length of her skirt. She reached for her briefcase, which held her purse, and straightened, inwardly seeking the professional calm that carried her through her daily working routine.

The gravel made walking in heels difficult. She picked her way carefully across the dusty expanse. The last thing she needed was an injury of some sort out here in this godforsaken wilderness.

She was relieved to reach the smoother surface of the picturesque porch, which held a cluster of chairs—straight-backed and rockers—and a couple of tables. She glanced around her, perplexed by the evidence of her own eyes. Had Jake Taggart actually grown up in this area? In no way did it fit the image of the man she remembered.

The sagging screen door protested with a squeal when she pushed it open and stepped inside.

Her appearance seemed to have frozen the few occupants in the room into suspended animation. Every eye seemed to be trained on her. A casually dressed man and woman occupied a nearby booth with two small children. The little girl sat in a high chair at the end of the table, while the boy was perched on a booster seat beside his father.

All four stared at her as though she’d just stepped off a space ship and was there to make inquiries of the local inhabitants.

The woman behind the counter stood with a forgotten coffeepot in her hand, her eyes round as she stared at the newcomer.

Only the cowboy in the back seemed uninterested in her. He sat with his chair leaning against the wall, balanced on two legs, as though he had nothing better to do than to hang around a café all day. His thick black hair was worn too long, brushing his collar and tumbling across his forehead. He’d glanced at her when she’d first walked in, then he’d looked away as though unimpressed, while casually twirling a pair of sunglasses by one of the earpieces.

Rebecca gripped her briefcase tighter and approached the woman behind the counter.

“Good afternoon, miss,” the woman said before Rebecca could speak. “Are you here for lunch?”