McCain's Memories

by Maggie Simpson

  But what was he doing out here? She doubted that he’d come hoping to photograph a mountain lion like she had. No, she reasoned, whoever had shot at her had tried to kill this man, too. Otherwise, why would he be groaning, “Don’t shoot”?

  When she’d questioned the cowboy, he hadn’t been cooperative, and she doubted he was going to be any different when he woke. So anything she learned about him was going to have to be from her own initiative.

  His voice had been deep and had a mature quality. She couldn’t put her finger on why, but there was something about his manner that made her think of a time gone by. Of a desperado.

  She knew he was tall, because when he’d jerked her against him, his belt buckle had dug into her back, and the top of her head hadn’t reached his chin until he’d leaned down.

  If she moved, she was afraid he would waken, but by being careful, maybe she could find out enough about him to identify him later. Raising her hand, she lightly searched for the curve of his upper lip. The bristly hair growing there caused her to pause. A mustache.

  Touching him in this intimate way was having more of an effect on her than she had expected. She realized her fingers practically shook where his breath warmed them. The urge to withdraw her hand and cram it into her jeans pocket was strong. But if she did that she might never know what he looked like.

  When he didn’t move, she drew her fingertips up and across hard cheekbones until she felt the soft caress of thick lashes. Carefully, she circled the delicate skin below his closed lid. Tiny creases radiated from the corners of his eye, she noticed. He wasn’t a young man, but he wasn’t old, either. He was a man in his prime.

  His flesh burned with fever under her fingers. Was he ill? She hoped he wasn’t seriously injured or sick.

  He’d seemed faint earlier, but it hadn’t made him too weak to manhandle her. His fingers around her wrists had been as effective as a pair of steel handcuffs.

  She continued moving her fingers down the ridge of his jaw. He would be a handsome man in the light, she felt sure. The muscles of his face were tense, as if he had been clenching his teeth. Even in sleep he didn’t allow himself to totally relax.

  The short stubble that covered the lower part of his face felt like coarse sandpaper, evidence that he hadn’t shaved that morning. Her fingers brushed against the straight hair growing above his collar. It felt clean when she rolled it between her fingertips, so he must have recently bathed. He couldn’t have been in the desert for more than a day or two.

  Moving her hands carefully to keep from waking him, she continued her exploration. She found the collar of his shirt unbuttoned and was not surprised to feel damp, curly hair in the open neck. She guessed his shirt hid a chest covered with wiry hair.

  Unsolicited, a thought crept into her mind—about how many other women had lain beside him and felt the heat from his skin against their own flesh after they had made love. Maybe that was why he continued to sleep so soundly. Maybe he was used to sleeping with a woman wrapped in his arms. Maybe he was married.

  His breathing was still regular and he hadn’t moved, so she became bolder and more careless in her search. She had to get this over with. She didn’t want to be affected by touching him. She didn’t want to think of him as an attractive, desirable man. She had to remember he was her captor, and probably a common criminal, as well.

  His chest felt hard and muscled beneath the broadcloth of his shirt. But she’d already known that. Whatever else he was, he was definitely a fine male specimen. But finding out what he looked like wasn’t her only goal. She needed to find out if he was armed.

  Running her fingers under the open front of his duster, she discovered a pocket, which held a pen. Nothing there to give her any clue to his identity. Then her fingers brushed against something hard over his left breast.

  A gun. Maybe, just maybe, she could get it and make her escape. Surely he wouldn’t be foolish enough to call her bluff if she had a gun pointed at him. If so, she didn’t know what she would do. She knew how to use a gun—most ranch girls did—but that didn’t mean she could use it against another human. She prayed he wouldn’t try to stop her. The thought of injuring him made her sick. All she wanted to do was get away.

  Her hand stilled as she listened for any sign that he might be waking. When he didn’t move, she easily flipped the snap on his holster. The resulting pop seemed to echo loudly in the cave, though she knew it had been barely perceptible. Again she paused and waited, then, holding her breath, she tried to slowly ease the gun out of his shoulder holster.

  With lightning speed, the man grabbed her hand in a crushing vise. “What are you doing?” His voice was cold and deadly, daring her to lie.

  Lauren gasped in surprise and pain. The fingers around her wrist were so tight they prevented the flow of blood. A tinge of fear began to creep up her spine as he swung around hard against her, causing him to sprawl practically on top of her. She felt the belt buckle pressed into her stomach and the rough ridge of his zipper against the tender inside of her leg. The explosive nature of her predicament began to sink in. She was totally at his mercy.

  He lowered his mouth until she could feel his lips brush the crest of her ear. His breath was warm and ragged as he practically spat at her, “I asked what you were doing.”

  Determined not to show her fear, Lauren cleared her throat and tried to push him away. She didn’t want to feel his body over hers. “I—I was checking you out. You wouldn’t tell me anything about yourself so I resorted to learning something about you my way.”

  “Running your hands over me isn’t going to answer the kinds of questions you want answered.” The scorn in his voice didn’t conceal the sexual innuendo.

  She ignored the undertones. “It’s a little too dark for me to run my eyes over you,” she retorted, frightened that he would be angry, but not at all embarrassed by her bold search. She had to be bold if she intended to survive this ordeal. “How long have you been awake?”

  “For a while.” He seemed to relax a little.

  The thought of him lying there awake while she ran her hands over him did embarrass her. “You could have said something.”

  “I didn’t want to.”

  She thought she detected a hint of humor in his voice, as if he was enjoying her discomfort. She didn’t like being at a disadvantage. In this situation she had to accept that physically she had no choice, but verbally she could hold her own. So she decided to steer the conversation away from the personal. “It wasn’t very smart of you to leave your gun where I could easily get to it.”

  “My gun?” He released her hand and reached for the gun, as if he’d forgotten about it.

  “Yes, your gun.” Now she had a chance to scoot out from under him and she took it, but she didn’t move away because she knew he would immediately grab her.

  She could hear him awkwardly fumble with the holster and weapon, but he didn’t say a word.

  “I wouldn’t have shot you, you know,” she said. The words just slipped out. For some reason she wanted him to know she hadn’t meant to hurt him. “I just wanted to get out of here.”

  “Not yet.” His own words weren’t threatening. In fact, they sounded more like a promise he’d deliver on later.

  She knew he would let her go as soon as he thought it was safe. As soon as the sniper was gone. She suddenly remembered the name he’d called out in his sleep. “Who’s Atkinson?”

  The cowboy tensed against her side and he seemed to choose his words carefully before he spoke. “How do you know about him?”

  She had surprised him, she could tell. “You called out his name in your sleep.”

  “Did I say anything else?” His tone was cautious and worried.

  Lauren decided honesty might be the best way to get the cowboy to tell her what was going on. “A little. You said something about not shooting after you called out Atkinson’s name.”

  The man beside her let out a deep breath. “He was just a guy I used to work with.” />
  “Is he the one trying to kill you?”

  “No.” He stirred restlessly, as if answering her questions made him uncomfortable.

  She wanted to reassure him so he wouldn’t clam up again. “I didn’t think so. Did someone shoot at him, too?”

  His voice was barely a whisper. “Yes.”

  Whatever he was remembering, it must have been painful, she thought. Yet she couldn’t stop herself from asking more questions, even if they did cause him pain. Maybe she would find out something that would help her—them—get away. “Was it the same man who shot at me?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Her voice was gentle as she probed. “Or you won’t tell me?”

  Lauren felt him shrug and knew that he wasn’t going to answer. She had to accept that for now.

  Time dragged slowly by, and she became more and more conscious of his arm wrapped around her and his body pressed against her. She could almost feel the tension and anger leave him, as if he were willing it through some type of meditation. Not only did he have a strong body, but apparently he had a strong mind.

  When it became almost unbearable to remain still, she made a request. “Do you think I could sit up now? This floor is getting hard.” While it was true that the floor was uncomfortable, she was hoping a change of position would mean he need not hold her so closely.

  “Sure.” He pulled her with him as he struggled into a sitting position against the wall.

  So much for putting distance between them. “Thanks.”

  Silence again. He seemed content to dwell on his own thoughts, but the silence and waiting were driving her crazy. “If you won’t tell me who you are, would you at least tell me what you look like so I can imagine you when I talk to you?”

  He shifted, bringing his face closer to the top of her head, where she could feel his warm breath in her hair. His voice was devoid of all anger when he spoke. “Umm, let’s see. I’d say I’m pretty ordinary. I have two hands, two feet, two eyes....”

  “So do most people.” Lauren groaned aloud in mock frustration. She, too, could pretend that only a short while ago she hadn’t been debating whether she could pull a trigger if he tried to stop her escape.

  He loosened his hold on her slightly and laughed.

  His laugh was a deep, hearty chuckle—one that made her feel comfortable and made her think she’d have liked this man, had they met under different circumstances. “You seem to feel better now,” she said to him.

  “The sleep helped. Thanks for letting me rest.”

  She was amazed at his words of thanks. One minute he threatened to kill her and the next he was being considerate. She realized with certainty that this man was not going to hurt her, that he was who he said he was. Call it a gut feeling or woman’s intuition, she knew she was safe. “You’re welcome. Now, are you going to tell me what you look like?”

  “What do you want to know?” His hand slid down her arm, but this time it didn’t feel restraining, but more like a caress. Or was her mind playing tricks?

  She didn’t stop to think about it. She wanted to take advantage of his open invitation to question him. “What color is your hair?”

  “How about blond?”

  She shook her head in disbelief. She knew he’d lie to protect his identity. He would be a fool not to. “I noticed your hair is thick around the bottom, but I’ll bet it’s thin on top.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Your voice.” She found its gravelly tones intriguing. “I’d say you were in your forties, maybe older.”

  “You’re good, but you’re wrong.”

  “I don’t think so.” He’d lie about his age, too.

  As though he could read her mind, he asked, “Why would I lie?”

  “You’re afraid I’ll be able to describe you when I get out of here, so the more false information you feed me the more incorrect my description.”

  “I don’t have any reason to fear you describing me,” he said, but his words didn’t ring true.

  “Okay, then, let me feel.” Before he could stop her, she reached up and fingered the thick locks of hair falling over his forehead, then she quickly withdrew her hand. There was something different about touching him while he was awake—when she knew he was awake. Something much more disturbing.

  “Satisfied?” he asked softly, almost tenderly. “Now, ma’am, since you got to feel of me, it’s my turn.”

  Lauren tried to pull away, but his arm held her tightly against him. She took a deep breath and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Despite the utter foolishness of it, she wanted to know how his touch would feel when he wasn’t just trying to restrain her. She was unable to move when his hand brushed her neck ever so slightly as he searched for her hair. It was so fleeting she wasn’t sure she hadn’t dreamed it. Then she felt the gentle tug as his fingers closed around the loose tendrils of hair hanging down her neck.

  For a couple of seconds he paused, seeming to enjoy the texture of her hair as he rolled it between his thumb and index finger. Then he cleared his throat and asked, “What color’s your hair? You had on a hat when you came in the cave, so I couldn’t see it.”

  The feel of his fingers against her hair was almost hypnotic. She had to force herself to respond, and then she didn’t have the will to lie. “Blond.”

  “I bet it’s beautiful.”

  The compliment touched her very soul. Somewhere in the back of her mind came the thought that she should stop him, but she had neither the strength nor the desire to do so. She wanted him to let her hair down. She wanted him to continue touching her.

  Her breath caught in her throat and her pulse quickened in anticipation as he shifted to reach her better and began to gently work the pins out of her French roll. The weight of her long blond hair caused it to cascade to her shoulders when he released the last pin. Never before had she been so aware of how sensual it felt against her neck. He continued to thread its length through his fingers as he combed loose strands away from her face and gently tucked them behind her ear. She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to.

  His fingers were slightly unsteady, and she knew that he, too, was affected by what was happening. Then, as if coming to his own senses, he let the silky strands slide through his fingers and fall to graze her cheek. “What are you really doing out here?” he asked.

  The magical spell broken, she pushed against his side to put some space between them. This time he allowed her to move so only their hands were linked. Though his touch was light, she knew if she pulled farther away his grasp would tighten and he would restrain her. He was going to give her only so much freedom. But the space allowed her to gain control of her breathing and some semblance of reality.

  He said, “I asked you a question.”

  “I told you. I was out riding when someone took a shot at me.” She shuddered, remembering the fear she’d felt when she’d realized the man on the cliff was trying to hit her. “I’d gotten off my horse to take a photograph of what I hoped was a mountain lion, but it turned out to be a man with a rifle. I hid in here and that’s all I know.”

  “You take photographs?” he asked. “Like Mathew Brady?”

  Lauren frowned. Why would he refer to Mathew Brady, who’d been dead for the last century? Was the cowboy a history buff? “Not exactly like Brady. I’ve got a 35 millimeter with a zoom lens. Photography’s a hobby, a diversion from my job.”

  “Let me get this straight. You take photographs, and you have a job?”

  “You’re right on both counts. I’m an attorney.”

  “A female attorney?” His voice was filled with skepticism.

  “Yes, in Sierra, and don’t make it sound so objectionable. It’s an honorable profession.” She hoped the cowboy wasn’t someone who harbored a grudge because he thought he’d been wronged by a lawyer sometime in his past. If that was the case, she’d just made a mistake by telling him what she did for a living. “I’m taking a break this wee
kend to visit my dad here on the ranch.”

  The cowboy shifted and sat up straighter. His voice full of certainty, he said, “There’s only one attorney for a hundred miles around here, and he’s a man.”

  This time his words confused Lauren, making her wish she could see his face to determine if he was teasing her or if he truly believed what he was saying. “Cowboy, I don’t know where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing, but West Texas is full of attorneys and quite a few of them are women.”

  She felt the man’s growing tension as he increased the pressure on her fingers. “You said your dad has a ranch nearby?” He asked the question as if he didn’t believe her.

  “Yes, I did. It’s been in the family since 1895.” Her ancestors had been some of the early pioneers in the area.

  The man sat silently for several seconds before he spoke. This time his words were direct, more like he was interrogating her than having a conversation. “What’s today?”

  “Saturday.”

  “No. The date.”

  “The twenty-fifth.”

  “No, the full date.”

  “November 25.”

  “The year, dammit.”

  Confused, Lauren told him.

  The man slumped against the cave wall and murmured in a low voice that she had to strain to hear, “That can’t be right.”

  Lauren was discomfited by the man’s response. He hadn’t known what year it was. She’d been so sure earlier that he’d been in recent contact with civilization. His clothes weren’t dirty or ragged. He’d bathed, shaved and even wore aftershave. But still he’d been upset to hear what year it was. “How long have you been out here?”

  When he didn’t answer, she recalled how hot his face had felt against her cool hand. Maybe he was ill and couldn’t remember. “Are you sick?”

  “I...I don’t know. Just a little groggy, I guess. I’ll be okay in a few minutes.”

  “I hope so. You seem confused.” The man worried her. There was something wrong with him, but she couldn’t tell whether it was brought on by his physical condition or not. If he was truly ill she couldn’t just go off and leave him out here. He might die. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, squeezing his fingers.