Belonging to Taylor (15 page)

Trevor paced while he could, then sat beside Taylor on the plane and railed silently at the time it was taking him to get to Jason. He hated the helplessness of not being able to do a damn thing to help his brother, gnawing anxiety tormenting him. And guilt.

Taylor's hand slipped into his as the plane finally took off, and when his fingers closed over hers fiercely, she spoke in a soft voice. "He'll be all right, Trevor."

He stared blindly down at their clasped hands. "I keep telling myself that," he said hoarsely. "I have to believe it. It's just been the two of us for so long...."

"You raised him, didn't you?" Her voice was still soft, gentle. 'Tell me about it."

He found himself talking, rapidly and disjointedly. Telling her things he'd not told a living soul until now. About Jason and about himself. About Little League games and parent-teacher meetings, broken arms and bloody noses. About the little anxieties of report cards and neat bedrooms, and the larger ones of late dates and accidents. About his own feelings of ineptitude in assuming the role of parent, his worry at the responsibility for another life. The sleepless nights and careful, anxious balancing of checkbooks.

He told her about teaching Jason to shave, to drive, to cook. About fishing trips and hiking trips and ball games. Sipping the coffee he couldn't remember ordering, he told her about raising a boy to be a man when he wasn't sure himself what it
meant
to be a man.

He told her briefly about a woman who hadn't been able to accept the presence of his brother in her life, and of Jason's only recently discovered feelings about that. He told her about the wrenching loneliness of Jason's college years and the final pang of seeing his brother a man grown and living apart from him.

And he told her of the guilt he felt now. Jason would have stayed in Chicago if he'd asked, not gone at all....

"You couldn't have known."

"I put him on that plane!"

"You couldn't have known, darling."

"He knew I needed to talk—and wouldn't. He knew. He would have stayed if I'd asked. But I turned away from him. I couldn't talk to him. He saw me too clearly, and I couldn't bear that, so I put him on that plane."

"You needed to talk?"

Trevor nodded. He looked at her, forced a wry smile. "I was trying to come to terms with ... how I felt about you."

Taylor didn't ask the question nine out of ten women would have asked. Not "How did you feel?" but a simple, "And you couldn't talk about that to him. I'm sure he understood, Trevor."

"But I've never been able to talk to him!" Trevor said savagely. "Not about anything that mattered. I've never told him I love him. I haven't even hugged him since he was a kid. God, I've made so many mistakes!"

"Jason's a fine man, isn't he?"

"Yes," Trevor said in a softer voice. "Yes, he is."

"Then your mistakes didn't hurt him. Trevor, you're human. You were a boy forced to be a man too soon, forced to shoulder his life as well as your own. But you did it. You raised your brother to be a fine man."

"I'm... proud of him," Trevor said, his voice almost inaudible. "And I've never told him that."

"You will."

"Unless it's ... too late."

"It won't be."

He accepted that because he had to, needed to. And his own words set up an echo in his mind.
Too late... too late... too late
... He looked at her, saw her clearly, and realized that it wasn't too late for one thing, at least. He heard his own voice emerge, queerly conversational but strained.

"I love you, you know."

Taylor smiled slowly, eyes glowing. "I'm glad. I love you, too," she said simply.

Trevor barely heard the pilot announcing their descent into Casper; all his attention was focused on that beloved, fascinating face. "I couldn't tell you before. I was ... afraid. I thought I needed time to... learn. Time to find out if I could give you what you needed."

"You have," she said, softly. "All I needed was your love, Trevor."

He realized then what he'd done. "All that about raising Jason," he said slowly. "I've never told anyone that before. I... needed to. But I never did. I was always afraid to... let it out."

"And now?"

With a sudden feeling of release, a feeling of burdens lifted, Trevor realized that the ghostly wall in his mind was gone. The fear and anxiety over Jason had driven him to talk, and he had instinctively reached out to the woman he loved. He looked at her wonderingly.

Taylor, gazing into that strong face that hid his vulnerability so well, felt the breath catch in her throat. He was looking at her, finally, as if he were finding what he wanted, needed, in her own face. As if, perhaps, he'd only just realized how much he needed. As if he were astonished and moved unbearably to see what he needed in her.

"And now I love you," he said huskily. "God, how I love you!" He leaned forward to kiss her tenderly. The vivid blue eyes gazing softly into his were brighter than ever, and he realized only then that she was crying silently.

'Taylor..."

She laughed shakily, one hand lifting to touch her wet cheeks. "I'm crying because it matters," she marveled. "Finally because it matters. Oh, Trevor, I love you so much!"

They had shoved the world aside for those few precious moments, but now it intruded again as the plane touched down and taxied toward its particular gate. But the warmth of their love surrounded them both, cushioning against the chill of Jason's disappearance. Wrapped in that love, they automatically gathered their things and left the plane, Trevor's hand instantly catching hers once the narrow aisle had been left behind them.

A blond young man waited restlessly for them just inside the building, his lean face troubled and anxious. He greeted Trevor with "No word yet," and responded politely to the introduction to Taylor.

"I've chartered a helicopter to take us up to the lodge," he told them as they worked their way through the crowd. 'The search teams are based there, coordinated by the Rangers."

It wasn't until they were in the noisy helicopter and lifting high in the chilly air above Casper that a sudden thought occurred to Trevor. Using the headphones that made conversation possible, he asked Owen, "Did Jason leave any of his clothes at the lodge?"

"I think so," Owen called back. "Why d'you ask?"

Trevor looked at his love, and she responded with a decided nod. "The lady's psychic," he explained to Jason's friend. "Maybe she can find a trail for us."

Owen turned in his seat to favor Taylor with a long, interested look, then nodded. "I sure as hell hope so." He gestured
worriedly at the sun sinking rapidly in the west. "We'll have at best a couple of hours of daylight left. The teams can search at night, but it's black as pitch up there. The Rangers'll probably want us to wait at the lodge after dark."

"If we haven't found Jason by dark, they'll want in vain," Trevor said calmly. He looked down at Taylor again. "Can you ride?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "And I've ridden on mountain trails before."

He squeezed her hand. "I've been up here a couple of times with Jason," he told both her and Owen. "I know the area almost as well as he does."

Owen nodded, then hesitated before saying casually, "There's a doctor staying at the lodge."

Trevor only nodded in response, but his throat tightened. Almost instantly, he felt the warmth of the "security blanket" creeping over him. His own inner anguish had blocked that feeling until he had reached out to Taylor on the plane. Now he felt it wrapping him gently in strength and warmth, and he smiled down at Taylor, lifting her hand briefly to his lips.

"He'll be all right," she said firmly.

"Yes." He'd be all right.
He had to be all right.

The helicopter touched down in a clearing near a rambling log building nestled in a high valley. A temperature quite a few degrees colder than they'd left in Casper greeted them as they climbed out of the machine and hurried toward the lodge together.

Inside, they found a comfortable "hunters'" lodge, the pine-paneled walls hung with hunting and fishing trophies, the people milling about in the large lobby-den mostly men. All were dressed for warmth and preparing lanterns and strong flashlights, and all wore grim faces.

A swift question from Trevor caused them to drop their bags by the casual desk and turn quickly toward a tall man, his heavy jacket nearly hiding the uniform beneath. Trevor introduced himself and his two companions, discovering that Owen knew the man in charge of the rescue teams.

The Ranger, whose name was Pat Carmichael, favored the two strangers with a fleeting but keen once-over from tired brown eyes. "There isn't much I can tell you." He was speaking directly to Trevor. "We know he headed north, and we've
combed all the lower trails. It'll take time to cover the higher ground, and that's something we may be short of if the weather prediction's accurate—and I think it will be. I've lived in these mountains too long not to know a storm's coming. If snow catches the searchers up on the high trails ..."

He didn't have to finish the statement; Trevor knew full well that the search would have to be called off in bad weather. "If we can borrow some gear and horses," he said evenly, "you'll have three more for the search."

"Those mountain trails are tricky—"

"We'll manage."

The tired brown eyes measured him thoughtfully, then glanced down at Taylor. "How about the lady? No offense, ma'am."

"None taken," she said promptly. "I can manage, too, Mr. Carmichael. In fact, I may be able to shorten the search. If Jason left some clothes here, that is."

"How's that, ma'am?" he asked mildly.

She met his inquiring eyes squarely. "I'm psychic," she said bluntly. "I may be able to point us in the right direction."

The Ranger seemed to weigh her small, determined self, then nodded slightly. "Never believed in that myself," he said, still mild. "But I've seen stranger things in these mountains. And I'd be a fool to turn down any help offered—if Mr. King here was to
let
me turn it down, which I doubt. You're welcome, ma'am."

Taylor nodded and turned to Trevor. "I'll get his room key and check on the clothes."

He watched her hurry away, the warmth of her presence still with him; he realized then that he'd never lose it as long as he had her. With the Ranger's earlier bleak words ringing in his mind, he badly needed that warmth.

"Think she can find him?" Carmichael asked quietly.

Trevor met the other man's intent gaze. "I think she can find him," he responded, just as quiet.

The Ranger nodded, accepting. "You'll all need heavier coats than those you have," he said. "Hats and gloves, too. This way."

Taylor came back downstairs just in time to shrug herself into the heavier coat Carmichael had found for her. It was a bit
large but much warmer than her own quilted jacket. But she refused the proffered gloves. In her hand was a flannel shirt Trevor recognized as Jason's, and her eyes were more vivid than he'd ever seen them.

Carmichael protested her refusal of the gloves. "Ma'am, the temperature's dropping like a brick out there, your hands'll be frozen inside an hour!"

She shook her head firmly. "I have to be able to hold this— without gloves. I'll be fine."

Trevor took the gloves and silently put them in his pocket, as worried as the Ranger was about her hands but knowing better than to protest.

Sighing in defeat, Carmichael said only, "I suppose you know what you're doing, ma'am." He led the group outside, where a dozen horses waited, efficiently splitting the searchers into three groups and assigning the ground to be covered as well as a Ranger to each group. As Trevor had expected, Carmichael assigned himself to the three most concerned with Jason's well-being.

It would be a clear night boasting a full moon, a fact the Ranger wryly gave thanks for as he led the way from the lodge and up a gradually steepening trail. The horses were mountain-bred, carrying their riders easily and finding footholds where a goat would have balked.

The temperature dropped steadily.

Carmichael rode in the lead, with Taylor behind him. Then Trevor, with Owen bringing up the rear. It was still light enough to see without lanterns or flashlights, and they made good time for the first hour. Conversation was brief, dealing only with necessities. The Ranger kept in touch with the other search parties with a walkie-talkie, the negative reports drawing curt responses from him.

Taylor said almost nothing at all, but Trevor could glimpse from time to time her fingers moving over the shirt she held firmly. She rode easily, her slender body swaying to her horse's movements. She made no objection to the Ranger's choice of direction until they were slightly more than an hour from the lodge. Then, at a fork in the path they followed, she spoke up.

"Not that way."

Carmichael turned in the saddle as he halted his horse,
looking at her searchingly through the gathering twilight. "That trail's no more than a rabbit lane, ma'am," he said, indicating the path he'd been on the point of ignoring. "It peters out after a hundred yards or so, and the rest is straight up. A man on foot—"