A Dark Lure (25 page)

Cole thought of Adele and her husband and his small disability fund. Jane needing money. Clayton Forbes up to his neck in house-of-cards financing. The Clinton community being promised jobs, tourism.

How many people’s dreams were resting on the sale of Broken Bar, and the promise of development?

He thought of Olivia.

“I need to make a call. Good-bye, Jane.” He hung up.

Cole was now ready to draw his battle line in the sand. Whatever in the hell his father did with this ranch, it wasn’t going to Forbes, not on his watch. It was the principle of the thing. Before, Cole didn’t care. Now he did. This ranch fell under the Agricultural Land Reserve. By law it had to be used for farming. It couldn’t be developed without government maneuvering. And he suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of it being sliced and sold off in pieces.

Maybe it was his own long-held animosity toward Forbes. Or maybe it was Olivia. He didn’t the hell know, but the fire was back in him. And he liked the feel.

He looked up Clayton Forbes’s home number on his charging computer. He dialed. The call went straight to voice mail.

He left a message. “Forbes, it’s Cole McDonough. I’m back on Broken Bar. Our deal is off. We need to speak.”

Almost as soon as he hung up, the library phone rang. It was Forbes.

“Cole! Welcome back, buddy. I heard—”

“Listen, don’t waste your breath, there’s no deal. At least not from my end. I don’t care what you’ve arranged with Jane, but should part of the estate ever fall into my hands, there will be no sale.”

“Now, now, McDonough. Take it easy. Hear me out. I have a legal document, vetted by my corporate legal team. And—”

The line went silent.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

Cole tapped the hook switch. “Forbes, are you there?”

The phone was dead.

Cole moved quickly to the phone in his father’s office. No dial tone, either. Landlines must have gone down. Wind gusted on cue, ticking branches against the library window. The loose shutter banged repeatedly. The storm was closing in, and they’d lost contact with the outside world. He peered out the window into the dark.

An eerie green glow rippled across the sky, reflecting on the black surface of the lake. Northern lights. He stilled a moment as he caught sight of someone moving around the side of the house. But perhaps it was just a trick of light and dark.

Eugene fingered the cables and glanced up the wall to be certain he had the right ones for the sat dish. He’d already taken care of the phone lines. He reached for the bolt cutters slung at his hip, but stilled as he heard someone come out the kitchen door. He ducked back into the shadow of the wall, waiting while a garbage can clanged as refuse was emptied out. The lid banged again, then the kitchen door shut. It went quiet and dark again. He moved back to the cables. He didn’t need a flashlight thanks to the soft green-blue haze that was now billowing gently across the sky. It wouldn’t last long. Along the horizon a blackness grew, marching closer. It carried snow. Urgency crackled like soft electricity over his skin.

He reached for the bolt cutter
. . .

CHAPTER 15

Cole entered the open-plan lounge and dining area. Ace lay in front of the fire on an old Persian rug worn thin over the years. Cowhide lampshades and flickering candles cast a warm glow through the room. Wood paneling, heavy log beams along the vaulted ceiling, the bleached antlers above the kitchen entryway all added to the old hunting lodge ambience.

At the far end of the hearth his father was parked in his chair, staring into the flames and nursing a rather large tumbler of whisky. On the sofa sat the daughter of Gage Burton, looking burdened by a serious chip on her young shoulder.

Two older couples conversed animatedly at the bar. One pair Cole recognized from the campsite—the owners of the de-barked poodle. Gage Burton joined them.

Behind the rustic bar, a man in his late twenties poured drinks for the guests. A slender blonde woman about the same age as the bartender was busy setting wineglasses on the linen-covered dining tables. Music in the background was a soft jazz.

Cole went up to his dad. “How’re you doing?”

Myron just grunted. He was clearly well into his cups, and his cheeks appeared even more sunken than earlier.

Cole inhaled deeply, worry worming through him. His dad was taking a turn for the worse. He needed to call the doc, find out what next steps were required in the management of his father’s care.

The flat-screen television that had earlier shown news of the horrific murder was muted and set to the weather channel. He watched for a moment the meteorological images of a massive storm cell moving in fast from the south. The pilot in him cringed at the sight of that weather hump. It was going to be a big one. And it could hit by morning. Already he could hear the wind moaning eerily and continuously in the top of the old stone chimney flue.

The Burton child was giving him the eyeball. He turned and smiled at her. She was quite beautiful under the carapace of her foul mood. And he wondered where her mother was—why she and her father were alone at a lodge for Thanksgiving.

“Hey,” he said, deepening his smile. “I’m Cole. I grew up on the ranch.”

Her eyes narrowed. She seemed to be weighing whether to answer him at all. “I’m Tori Burton.”

“I saw you guys out in the boat with Olivia this afternoon. You catch any fish?”

“Olivia did. She let me bring it in.”

“Big one?”

“Big enough to keep,” she said. “But I released it.”

The television screen flickered suddenly, then died to black. Cole went up to it and turned it off, then on again. No life. He checked the wires. Everything was connected.

“Is it dead?” Tori said.

“Stone cold,” he said. “That weather heading our way must be interfering with our sat signal as well as the phones.”

Which likely meant no Internet. No more laptop research on the Watt Lake Killer, or Sarah Baker, until things were up and running again. So much for charging his laptop. And with phones down, too, they were pretty much cut off from civilization now, with a serious storm closing in around the wilderness.

As if on cue, the wind moaned again, and shutters banged somewhere.

The kitchen door swung suddenly open. Olivia exited, carrying two bottles of wine. She paused as she caught sight of Cole. His pulse quickened as their eyes met.

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.”