The Legacy of Copper Creek (2 page)

A
s was his custom, Whit awoke instantly. Without moving, he took a moment to gather himself. The mattress of his bunk wasn't nearly as soft as the one at home, but he'd slept on worse. In his years with the herd, he'd often slept on the ground, cushioned only by his bedroll. If a man worked hard enough, he could sleep anywhere, under any conditions.

He heard the soft sigh of the woman in the bunk above him and the slight movement as she rolled to her side. Cara Walton. He could smell her in the blanket. On his pillow. A really pleasant scent. Not the sweet, cloying perfume favored by some of the girls in town, hoping to overcome the smells of sweat and horses and wet leather that pervaded Wylie's Saloon. He breathed it in and found himself grinning. Delicate. Like wildflowers on a spring morning.

Not that he was going to be fooled by that scent. This was no delicate flower. He didn't care what she smelled like. And he wasn't going to let himself think about that amazing body he'd viewed under the blanket she'd worn like a suit of armor.

Who was Cara Walton, and what in the hell was she doing way out here?

Just how long had she been holed up in this range shack? As far as he knew, none of the wranglers had used this place for months, not since the herd had been rounded up last autumn.

She'd appeared genuinely terrified about sharing this space with him, and yet she'd put up a good fight. A good actress? Or an act of desperation? Whatever was going on with her, he'd figure it out sooner or later.

He'd been too weary to hear her story last night. In truth, he could barely recall sliding into the bunk. He'd been dead on his feet and ready to collapse.

But today was a new day. And after a good night's sleep, he was a new man. He'd grab some grub and about a gallon of coffee, and then he'd be ready to deal with the weather and the woman, both of whom seemed full of surprises.

Cara awoke to the wonderful aroma of coffee. After the night she'd put in, tossing and turning in the upper bunk, she felt vaguely disoriented as she pulled the covers over her head. Then, as she heard the door slam and felt the quick rush of cold air that shivered over her, she sat up with a start.

The cowboy. Whit MacKenzie.

She'd gone over and over again in her mind the story she would tell him. By the time she'd finally given in to sleep, she was satisfied that it would work.

She descended the ladder and hurried into the tiny bathroom to prepare for the day while he was outside.

She'd never showered and dressed in such haste, but since coming here she'd learned that there was nothing like freezing cold water to turn a shower into a torture chamber. She would have taken a pass today, but she wanted to look casual and disinterested by the time the cowboy walked in.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror over the sink and shuddered. With no makeup, and no way to dry her hair, she looked like something out of a horror flick. Not that it mattered. She certainly didn't need to impress this backwoods bozo, even if he was good looking. But, she cautioned herself, she needed him to believe her.

She winced before muttering, “Yeah. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.”

She stepped out of the bathroom just as the door was opened on another blast of frigid air.

Whit's arms were filled with logs. He used his hip to nudge the door shut before crossing to the fireplace and depositing them on the hearth, where he knelt to add more logs to the already blazing fire.

When he was done, he stood and wiped his palms down his pants before turning. “Hey. Morning, Goldilocks.”

His obvious good humor caught her by surprise. His use of that stupid nickname, however, had her smile turning to a frown. “If I'm Goldilocks, I guess that makes you one of those smelly old bears.”

When she got no reaction from him, she added, “I see you've been busy.”

He nodded as he removed his parka and hung it on a hook by the door. “The first rule of ranching: Start your chores early if you want to stay one step ahead all day.”

“And you like staying ahead of the game?”

Another quick nod. “You bet. It's a MacKenzie law.”

He walked to the tiny kitchen and hauled powdered eggs and canned ham from a cupboard before rummaging around in search of utensils.

She found herself staring at the ripple of muscle beneath the sleeves of his shirt. “Is there something I can do?”

“Not unless you can cook.”

“I cook a little. Enough to get by.” She bent down and retrieved a skillet. “How do you like your powdered eggs?”

“Any way you can fix them.” He retrieved a loaf of bread from his saddlebags. “I'll make the toast.”

Cara set the ham in the skillet on a rack over the blazing fire. Then she began stirring powdered milk, water, and half a dozen different ingredients into the egg mixture before pouring it into a second skillet.

A short time later the little cabin was filled with the most wonderful, mouthwatering scents.

Whit carried a plate of toast and jelly to the small wooden table before pouring two mugs of coffee. He handed one to Cara and watched as she sliced the steaming ham before turning the bubbling egg mixture onto a second plate.

He carried the ham while she carried the eggs. He held her chair before taking the seat across from her.

She was caught off guard by that little touch of courtesy. It wasn't at all what she'd been expecting from the owner of this cabin, who'd found a squatter taking up residence.

Whit filled his plate and tucked into his breakfast. He didn't say a word for long minutes while he emptied his plate, then filled it a second time and emptied that as well. Finally he lifted his coffee to his mouth before smiling.

“You lied.”

Her hand bobbled and coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He met her worried look. “You said you cook enough to get by. After tasting those eggs, I'd say you do a lot more than get by. Anybody who can turn powder into something that tastes like heaven is a miracle worker.”

She relaxed and gave him a smile. “Actually, I've done a good bit of cooking.”

He nodded and stabbed at a last bite of egg. “Where'd you do this cooking?”

“A little town called Minerva, Montana. Ever hear of it?”

He shook his head.

“Neither has anybody else. Minerva's so small, if you hiccup, you miss it.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Miss it?”

She sat back, fiddling with her spoon. “I used to think that if I could just get out of Minerva, I'd never look back.”

Whit watched her. “Copper Creek isn't much of a town either, but I'd miss it if I left.”

“Then you're one of the lucky ones. When I left Minerva, I promised myself I'd never be back.”

“Where'd you go when you left?”

“All over Montana. College, then jobs at a dude ranch, and finally a job at a ski resort.”

He chuckled. “I guess you were eager to leave Minerva but not the state of Montana.”

“Maybe I'm a country girl at heart.”

She set aside the spoon and looked up to find him watching her a little too carefully. “Tell me about your ranch.”

He sipped his coffee, aware that she was trying to change the subject. “It's big. We raise cattle. It takes a whole lot of work. What else would you like to know?”

She noted his sarcasm. “Did you grow up here, working the ranch?”

“Yeah. My grandfather had a ranch next door. After his accident, he moved in with us and merged his land with ours.”

“What kind of accident?”

“A truck on a slippery road. It flipped, and by the time he was rescued, he needed a wheelchair.”

“That sounds tragic.”

“It's not a tragedy if you deal with it. Mad deals. He's always dealt with whatever life throws at him.”

“Mad?”

“Maddock MacKenzie. He's Mad to everyone.”

She chuckled. “Just as long as he isn't mad
at
everyone.”

“Sometimes he is. There's a lot of bluster in the old man. The MacKenzie family is known for a hot temper. But once you get past that, he's got a heart of gold.”

“Is that true of all of you?”

He shook his head. “Just the others. I'm the heartless one. But Mad…” Whit grinned. “Despite his sharp tongue, he wears his heart on his sleeve.”

“So you don't mind having your grandfather living with you?”

“Mind?” He grinned. “When he moved in, he took over the kitchen from our long-time housekeeper, Myrna Hill.” Whit arched a brow. “You'd like her. The two of you have something in common. You're both good cooks. But so is Mad. He's self-taught, and he makes a mean pot roast.”

That piqued Cara's interest. “So there's more than you and your grandfather and a housekeeper? How many does he cook for?”

Whit paused. “Let's see. My mom and two brothers and their wives, plus little Casey and Ethan. They're my newly acquired nephews. Our ranch foreman and any of the wranglers who are spending the night in the bunkhouse. Oh, and any friends or neighbors who happen to stop by. Most of them arrange a visit in early evening so they're sure to be included in our supper plans.”

“So many people. Sounds as though the MacKenzie ranch is a pretty popular place.” She paused. “You didn't mention a father.”

Whit's smile faded. “He's dead. He was shot almost a year ago. The coward who shot him in the back hasn't been found yet. But he will. We intend to see that he pays for what he did.”

“I'm sorry.” She stood and began gathering up the dishes, aware that her question had struck a nerve.

Whit surprised her by rounding the table and taking the dishes from her hands. “You cooked. I'll clean up.”

He carried them to the sink and filled it with dish soap and hot water from a kettle he'd warned over the fire. Without a word, Cara removed a clean dish towel from a stack in a drawer. Stepping up beside him, she began drying the dishes and setting them in their proper cupboards.

Standing this close, she became even more aware of him. Of the muscled arms as he washed each dish. Of the size of his big, work-worn hands. Of the way he towered over her. Her head barely reached his shoulder. “I bet you don't wash dishes at home.”

He grinned. “You'd win that bet. The kitchen is Mad and Myrna's territory, and they guard it jealously. None of us would ever dare to intrude.”

“Do you know how to cook?”

He glanced over. “I won't ever starve. But it's pretty basic stuff. Steak and eggs. Toast. Coffee. When I'm up here in the hills with the herds, I don't much care what I eat as long as I have something that fills me up.”

“What do you do when you're way up here, away from civilization?”

“Play poker with the wranglers. But I prefer being alone so I can think. Watch the stars. Read.”

Her head came up sharply. “You read?”

He gave a wry laugh. “From the expression on your face, I guess that means you figured I'd just look at the pictures.”

She joined in his laughter. “Sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything. But I didn't think reading was something a cowboy would enjoy.”

“This cowboy loves it.”

“So do I. Sometimes I just want to get away from people.”

“To read?”

She nodded. “I love it, too. But sometimes I just want to write.”

“What do you write?”

“Just…stuff.” She turned away, ducking her head.

He drained the soapy water and dried his hands on her towel before starting across the room. “I'm going outside to get another armload of firewood. It doesn't look like this storm is going away any time soon.”

Cara simply stared at his retreating back.

He hadn't asked her how she happened to be here, or where she was going, or anything about her personal business except where she'd been born.

Strange. And as if that wasn't enough, he'd been relaxed, fun, and a real gentleman.

Not that she was complaining. She would take this Whit MacKenzie over last night's angry version any time.

Still, it wouldn't do to let down her guard. From the look of him, she had the impression that this rugged cowboy could go from sweet to snarling in the blink of an eye. And she didn't want to be on the receiving end of the MacKenzie temper he'd boasted about.

Cara decided that two could play this game.

As long as he was making nice, so would she.

W
hit swung the ax and felt the blade bite into the log. It felt good to breathe the frigid air deep into his lungs while he worked up a sweat. The smooth, easy rhythm of chopping firewood allowed his mind to work overtime.

The nervous, jumpy-as-a-cat female he'd encountered last night was gone this morning, replaced by a composed, rather pleasant woman. She hadn't lied about being able to cook. Anybody who could take powdered eggs and turn them into a feast had a gift for cooking. Still, though she may have passed the cooking test, she had yet to pass the truth test.

He'd thought about grilling her over breakfast, but he'd been sidetracked by the surprisingly good food. Now, fortified, he figured he'd let her stew while he took care of the basics. Once he laid in a supply of firewood and checked on Old Red, he'd find a way to engage her in an in-depth conversation. And she had better offer him a plausible explanation for what had brought her here, to the middle of the wilderness.

As far as he could figure, she had to be on the run. If she turned out to be an ax murderer, he'd turn her in to the authorities. If she was running for her life…He grinned. He'd still turn her into the authorities. For her own good.

When he'd chopped enough wood to get them through the day and night, he made his way to the lean-to and filled Old Red's troughs with feed and water.

Then he lifted as many logs as his arms could hold and trudged through waist-high snow to the door of the cabin.

Inside, he breathed in the scents of wood smoke and coffee and found himself smiling as he deposited the firewood on the hearth. Turning, he wiped his hands on his pants.

“You look happy, Cowboy.”

He glanced over at Cara, who was filling two mugs with fresh coffee.

“I am.”

“I don't know too many men who would be happy spending hours in snowdrifts, chopping wood.”

“Then you don't know too many ranchers.” He hung his parka on a hook by the door before crossing to the tiny kitchen area. “This is one part of my life that never gets old. My herd is safe and well fed. I've got food and shelter and a warm fire. Add to that a pot of fresh coffee”—he lifted his mug in a salute to her—“and life couldn't get much better.”

“Is your life always this simple?”

He thought about that while he drank. “It's not complicated. Whether I'm up in the hills or working on the ranch, my life revolves around my family and the whims of the weather.” He fixed her with a steady look. “How about your life? Simple or complicated?”

She looked away. “Not as simple as yours, I guess. But not very complicated.”

“So hiding out in the middle of nowhere, in a cabin that belongs to strangers, is your idea of not very complicated?”

She turned and met his look. “Score one for you, Cowboy.”

He drank again and topped off his mug before crossing to the fireplace. “I'm not looking to score points. I'm looking for the truth. You said you were born in Minerva and moved around the state. Where's your home now?”

“I…don't actually have one at the moment.”

“Where were you living before coming here?”

“In a condo at a ski resort.”

“It's a big state. Where, specifically?”

“Ghost Mountain. A…friend's place.”

Whit raised a brow. “Pretty pricey digs. You must travel with some high rollers.” When she didn't respond, he frowned. “How did you happen to go from Ghost Mountain to Copper Creek?”

“I was on my way to see someone.”

“And you just happened to get sidetracked along the way? How did you get to these highlands, with no transportation? And what are you doing way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“So many questions.” She took in a breath and crossed the room, settling herself in one of the chairs in front of the fire. She drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “I got up here to…
your
”—she emphasized the word—“cabin by walking. Of course, there was no snow, so it wasn't as impossible as it sounds.”

“How long ago?”

“I've been here eight days now.”

He nodded, his face a study in concentration.

Seeing it, she gave a puzzled frown. “You don't seem surprised. What's that look about?”

His mouth relaxed into a grin. “At least I know that much is the truth.” Before she could ask more, he added, “The trash can out back is full of empty cans and boxes. When my wranglers stay here, they have orders to carry the trash home with them, so it isn't tossed around by wild critters. And a few minutes ago you knew where to find clean dish towels. You knew exactly which cupboard held the various plates and bowls. You didn't learn that in a day.”

She swallowed, even more aware than ever that she wasn't dealing with some brainless hick.

“So you've been here for eight days, after climbing to the highlands. Did you have a destination when you started?”

She looked away. “No.”

“But you were in a hurry to get as far away as possible. What were you running from?”

“Not what. Who.” Her voice lowered. “I'm running from a man.”

“An angry lover? An ex-husband?”

“No.”

“Who, then?”

“I don't know his name.”

“Uh-huh.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Okay. What do you know about Mr. No Name?”

“Not much, except that he's evil and I believe if he finds me, he'll do his best to keep me from telling what I saw.”

“What did you see?”

“I didn't actually see him do anything wrong, but I heard him threaten another man.”

“Threaten what?”

“To make him sorry if he told what he knew.”

“Did Mr. No Name say what the other guy knew?”

“No.”

“Who was the man Mr. No Name threatened?”

“I don't know.”

“Where did this happen?” His tone lowered with annoyance. “And don't tell me you don't know. It's beginning to sound like an old-time comedy act.”

She almost smiled before biting her lip. “Just outside a town called Red Rock.”

Whit nodded. “I know Red Rock. About a hundred miles from Copper Creek. Where were you and these two men when you overheard this threat?”

“I was standing on a rancher's porch, hoping to ask directions. I was lost, and my rental car's GPS system quit on me. The door between the porch and kitchen was open, and two men were standing in the kitchen. One was white-haired and wearing overalls and a plaid shirt. I figured he lived there. The other was wearing a suit and tie and certainly didn't look like a rancher. The white-haired man was upset about something and started calling the other man a thief and a liar. That's when Suit-and-Tie grabbed him by the front of his plaid shirt and said he had two choices—keep his mouth shut and take the money or go to the police, who would never take his word over that of a man of the law. But if the old man tried to report him, he would find himself the victim of a ‘terrible accident.' His words, not mine.”

“What did you do while all this was being said?”

“I was upset. I started to turn away, and both men heard me and stepped apart. I ran to my car. When I got there, I realized that Suit-and-Tie had run after me. Just as I started to drive away, he grabbed at the open window of my car and caught a handful of my hair. I looked over and saw his eyes, and I was so scared I floored the gas pedal and drove away. But he saw my face. He knows what I look like. And I know, without a doubt, if he sees me again, he'll do whatever he can to keep me from repeating what I saw and heard.”

Whit's voice was as calm as hers was agitated. “And you know all this because…?”

She shook her head. “You don't understand. I saw his eyes. They were…they were pure evil. So evil, I think he'd even kill me to keep me quiet.”

“And how did all of that happen to bring you here?”

“I was driving as fast as I could through Red Rock, where I got stopped by a police officer for speeding. When I tried to tell him why I was going so fast, I had to pass a Breathalyzer to prove I was sober.”

Whit grinned. “I'm not surprised. It's a hell of a far-fetched story. What was his reaction?”

“He told me Suit-and-Tie couldn't be a lawman around there. He was the only officer in Red Rock besides the chief, and neither of them wore a suit and tie in their lifetime, except to weddings and funerals. Then he calmly told me that if I wanted to protest the fine, I could hire a lawyer and appear the following week before a judge.”

“So you paid the fine.”

She nodded. “I didn't see that I had any choice. I couldn't spend a week in Red Rock.”

“Why?”

“I had to get out of there. I was afraid that Suit-and-Tie was tailing me.”

“Tailing you? I guess that proves one thing. You watch a lot of cop shows on TV. All right. You paid your fine. By check?”

“Cash. It took almost all I had left, and then I got out of town as fast as I could.”

“And then?”

“I was looking for a place to spend the night when I saw Suit-and-Tie again. He drove past while I was waiting for traffic to clear, but when he spotted my car he turned around. I saw him in my rearview mirror and knew I had to disappear. I drove like a maniac until I lost him. Then I turned onto a dirt lane and just kept driving until I ran out of gas.”

“At which point you started walking up a mountain until you found this place?”

She got to her feet and began to pace. “When you say it like that, it sounds stupid. But honestly, I was so afraid of seeing those evil eyes again, that's what I did. The dirt road I was following led to an old abandoned ranch. When I realized there was nobody around to help me, I just left my car where it was and called the car rental agency to tell them the approximate location of their car. They said there would be an additional fee on my credit card for picking up the car. I figure by the time they're through with additional fees, my bank account will be maxed out.”

“And you got here by…?”

“Walking. I just kept walking up these hills. And here I am.”

Whit studied her before biting back a smile. “That's good, Goldilocks.”

Her head snapped up. “Good?”

“You tell a whale of a tale.”

“But you don't believe it.”

“Not a word of it. But you told it really well.”

“Thanks.” She gripped her hands together and gave a sigh of annoyance. “I had all night to rehearse.”

“Yeah. That's what I figured.” He carried his mug to the coffeepot simmering over the fire and filled it before turning. “Okay. So you're here for whatever reason, which you don't care to share with me, and now that you've been found out, what's your next move? Is there a Plan B?”

She shook her head. “I don't have one.”

He glanced out the small window, where a curtain of snow was falling. “I'm sure by the time we're able to leave, you'll figure it out.” He managed a lazy smile. “All that work has me revved. How about a game to pass the time?”

She had the look of a deer in the headlights before she composed her features and shot him a glare guaranteed to freeze a man's blood. “Sorry. I'm not into games, Cowboy.”

When he realized her misunderstanding, he muttered, “You must have been hanging out with some pretty bad dudes.” He crossed to a cupboard and held up a deck of cards and a board game. “I was talking about poker or Scrabble. You play, don't you?”

She looked so relieved, he couldn't help smiling.

“I played when I was a kid.”

“Even better. Let's start with Scrabble.” He took a seat at the wooden table and opened the board before digging into a bag for a handful of letters, laying them out in front of him. “How about a penny a point?”

“I don't have any money left.”

“It doesn't matter. I'd be happy to accept your IOU. It'll make it more interesting.” He studied the letters. “Take a seat. First one able to make a word gets to start.”

As she sat and reached into the bag of letters, a slow smile touched her lips and she grabbed a pencil and pad of paper. “It's not that I don't trust you, Cowboy, but just for the sake of honesty, I'll keep score.”

“Suit yourself. I should warn you, though. I'm considered something of an expert around the bunkhouse.”

“Oh, I'm sure those brainy cowboys are a real challenge.” Her tone was as smug as his.

Whit stared at the board as Cara carefully laid down her last letters. “What's that?”

“Abacus. It means—”

“I know what it means. How'd you get another
A
?”

“I just dug one out.”

He looked down at the
X
and
Z
in front of him. He'd been hoping for a vowel, and now the bag was empty. “I guess I'll have to declare you the winner. Again.”

“Let's see.” Cara began tallying up the points before looking over with a triumphant smile. “You owe me seven dollars and twenty-five cents.”

“If you don't mind, I'd like to check those figures.” He circled around the table and bent over her shoulder.

As he did, she breathed him in and felt a quick little flutter of nerves. For the past hour she'd been forced to sit across the table from him, watching those midnight blue eyes narrow in concentration or crinkle with joy whenever he came up with an impossible word. She'd been absolutely enthralled at the range of emotions that crossed that rugged, handsome face. And it was handsome, made even more rugged with the growth of dark hair on his cheeks and chin.

“All right. The numbers tally.”

He dug into his pocket and counted out the money, dropping it on the table in front of her. “You play this game like a pro. I thought you said you hadn't played since you were a kid.”