McCain's Memories

by Maggie Simpson

  “I think so,” he said, then lapsed into silence as if he needed time to process what she had told him.

  The rocks beneath her were getting harder by the minute, so to ease her aching bottom, Lauren shifted sideways. The cowboy jerked when she accidentally bumped his head. “Oh, I’m sorry. You are hurt, aren’t you?”

  “No.” His voice was laced with pain.

  She knew he wasn’t telling the truth. But his response was just like a man, she thought, thinking of her father and brother. “Yes you are, or you wouldn’t have groaned.” She ran her hand across his forehead and felt beads of perspiration.

  When he didn’t make a move to stop her, she continued searching until she felt the congealed mass of blood at his temple. It could have been caused by any of a number of things. But for some reason she knew what had hit the man. “You’re wounded. Did the guy outside shoot you?”

  “Something like that.” He flinched as she fingered the wound.

  It wasn’t very deep, but she was sure it hurt, and because he was already running a fever, she suspected it was getting infected. “Why didn’t you go to a hospital?” She asked the question, though she knew the answer.

  “I didn’t have that option.”

  “I see. Because there wasn’t one close by or because you couldn’t risk being caught?”

  “A little of both.”

  He seemed to have relented and given her an honest answer. Maybe he was beginning to trust her. But his answer had lent credence to her suspicion—that he was involved in something illegal. That still wasn’t reason to leave him wounded out in the desert. “You have some fever, so the wound may already be infected. I’ve got a first-aid kit. I’ll see what I can do. Do you have a flashlight or anything that will give off a little light?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t reckon.”

  “Will you move to the mouth of the cave, then?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you that you don’t need to see me or know anything about me, lady?”

  “Okay. We’ll do it your way. In the dark. But if I hurt you, it’s your fault.” She cursed the blackness as she felt around for the saddlebags she had dumped carelessly on the floor when he’d tugged her down beside him.

  Finally, she found the first-aid kit. “Hold out your hand.” Dropping two aspirin in his open palm, she said, “Swallow these. Here’s the canteen if you need a drink to wash them down.”

  “What are they?” the man asked, skepticism in his voice.

  “Aspirin for your fever.”

  “Aspirin.” He repeated the word as though it were new to his tongue.

  She listened as the man gulped the water. “Okay, let’s see what we can do about that head wound. This may hurt,” she said. His cheek quivered at her tentative touch as she searched for the wound. His flesh was smooth and too warm.

  She wrapped dampened gauze around her fingers and carefully dabbed the wounded area, trying to clean it, then she applied a generous amount of cream to what felt like a shallow gash. The darkness and her own agitation made her fumble as she tried to cover the wound with a simple pad. When he gasped, she hurriedly withdrew her hand and asked, “Am I hurting you?”

  “No.” She could hear the tension in his voice as he added, “Go on, finish up.”

  Quickly she secured the bandage. “That’ll make it a little more comfortable,” she whispered, “but at the first chance, you had better see a doctor.” Her fingers lingered at the side of his head. Against her better judgment, she wanted to continue touching him, to brush the hair from his forehead.

  “Much obliged for the doctoring and the advice.” His voice was low and strained, but he seemed to have regained some of his earlier strength.

  “You’re quite welcome,” she said, wondering at his use of an expression she associated with her grandfather. She traced his eyebrows lightly with her fingertips. “What color are your eyes?”

  “Red! Lady, do you realize the situation you’re in? You’re in the middle of nowhere with a man you know nothing about and you’re acting like a—a barroom strumpet.” He rolled over, effectively pinning her beneath him. “I could kill you, compromise you or whatever I want, and you can’t keep your hands to yourself!”

  Chapter 3

  John didn’t know what had made him react so violently to her touch or to say such a crude thing. He just knew he had to put an end to her gentle caress. Her touch ignited feelings he didn’t want or need to feel. No woman had ever driven him crazy by just lightly grazing his face. But this one did, and he hadn’t even gotten a good look at her.

  He didn’t have to see her to know she was a threat to his well-being. She’d doctored his wound, all the while thinking he was a criminal. She’d been nice to him, but he didn’t want her to be nice to him. When she was nice, he liked her, and he didn’t want to like her. He wanted to keep her at a distance so he could be rational. The logical side of him said her story was a lie—it had to be a lie. Women weren’t attorneys. Her family couldn’t own a ranch here. They weren’t a hundred and some odd years in the future.

  So why did his heart tell him she was good and kind and truthful? The memory of her running her hands over him while he pretended to sleep caused even his wounded body to respond. As if she understood the direction his thoughts were taking, he felt her squirm to push him off, but he kept his weight resting along her length.

  She gasped, “I was tending your wound, not copping a feel. You’re not going to hurt me or you’d have already done it, so quit threatening me.”

  Her indignant tone renewed his efforts to put emotional distance between them. John laughed, trying his best to make it sound just a tad wicked. “I didn’t feel up to it a little bit ago, but now that I feel better—who knows what I might do.”

  Apparently considering his words, she tensed, but didn’t move or make a sound for a couple of seconds. She must have decided he was bluffing because she retorted, “I’ve been told I’m a pretty good judge of character. And I think your rattle is worse than your bite.”

  “I could be a good character or I could be dangerous as all get-out.” He raised himself up on one elbow, taking his weight off her body, allowing her freedom to move. He hoped she wasn’t foolish enough to touch other men the way she had him. They probably wouldn’t act like gentlemen. Not that the way his body felt right now was all that harmless, but he did have the fortitude to control it. “Now, I’m going to give you some advice, lady. Don’t trust everybody. For all you know, I could be a serpent talking.”

  Even though she could have moved, she didn’t. “Are you saying you’re a snake?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not. But I may be a bit like Adam in the garden who ate the forbidden fruit. You’re awfully tempting.” He buried one hand in her hair, then brought it up to his nostrils and breathed deeply. That scent again. He knew he would remember it forever. As illogical and as wrong as it was, he still felt the stirring in his loins. He had to make her reject him. He didn’t have the strength to stop if she encouraged him, so he tried again. “And I don’t have anything better to do right now than...”

  “Than what? Pluck me from a tree?”

  He liked her spirit. She wasn’t easy to intimidate. He’d have to try harder if he was going to make her cower. But he wasn’t sure that was what he wanted. In fact, he was enjoying their verbal sparring. He lowered his head close to her ear to make the next words sound even more boastful. “I think I can guarantee you’d enjoy—”

  “You’re a little too confident for my taste.” She pushed his head away and tried to wiggle out from under his body.

  Releasing her hair, he rolled off of her and shifted back to a sitting position against the wall. He decided the best thing to do was to change tactics. He’d keep his hands to himself while they talked. “Displaying confidence is a mark of honor. Anything less is cowardice. You should know that you never let your opponent think otherwise.”

  Without so much as brushing against him, she scooted up to lean against t
he wall in turn. “Now we’re opponents? I thought we were on the same side. Us against him.”

  He could still feel her body heat, though she was inches away. “Maybe that’s what you want me to think. You could have planned all this.” Even as he said the words he didn’t really believe them. More than anything he wanted to hear her deny that she was one of Cardis’s pawns.

  “Wait a minute. You think I planned to be shot at and to meet you in this cave?”

  “Could be.” On second thought, Cardis might be using her to lure him out into the open, where he could be captured.

  “Get real. I’d have certainly chosen a more comfortable place. Besides, what would I gain?”

  He didn’t have that part figured out. Actually, he didn’t have anything about her figured out. “That’s what I want to know. What are you doing out here?”

  “I’ve already told you.” She enunciated each word slowly, as though she was talking to a child. “I was on an early morning ride when someone took a shot at me. It doesn’t take a genius to try to hide from bullets, so I hid here.”

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic, but for your sake, I hope your story’s true.” If it wasn’t, they were both going to be in a lot of trouble. He wasn’t going to allow Cardis to take him without a fight. And now that John had discovered he had a gun, though he didn’t know how he’d gotten it, the confrontation was likely to be deadly.

  “It’s definitely true. But why would it matter if it wasn’t?”

  “If the right people thought you could lead them to me, you could be in danger even after you leave here.” He forgot his decision to keep his hands to himself as he fumbled in the darkness for her hand. Upon finding it, he tightened his fingers around hers. “And if you’re working for them...” He left the obvious unsaid.

  “It would help a lot if I knew who the so-called ‘right people’ are. What have you done?”

  “My job.” There was no way he could explain everything that had happened to him during the past few days. And it was better she didn’t know. The details were too sordid. “That’s all I’m going to tell you.”

  “I’ve leveled with you, cowboy, and wish you would with me.” Her tone pleaded with him. For some reason it was important to her for him to trust her. “I wish you believed me.”

  He thought about what she’d said, then reluctantly admitted, “For some strange reason, I do.” He squeezed her hand tighter. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

  Lauren understood what he was saying, because for totally illogical reasons, she, too, trusted him. Still, she wanted to know why he was being so secretive. As an attorney, she’d been taught to continue asking questions. Sometimes, like water eroding rocks, constant questioning produced answers. “Please, tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.”

  “No, I think you’ll be safer not knowing anything.”

  Disappointed at his response, but at the same time feeling special because he wanted to keep her safe, she sighed and leaned back. “Are you feeling better? You were burning up with fever earlier.”

  “The nap and water helped, and the...aspirin. I’m much obliged to you.”

  “Obliged enough to tell me your name?”

  “No, not that much. It wouldn’t be wise for me to tell you, just as it wouldn’t be wise for you to tell me yours, and I’ve already explained why.”

  Lauren shivered, as much from the knowledge that they couldn’t even exchange the common pleasantries of names, as from a sudden chill that seemed to permeate the dark cave.

  When the cowboy gently disengaged his fingers from hers and pulled away, she was disappointed. The disappointment was replaced with relief and a certain excitement as he put his arm around her shoulder and, without saying a word, pulled her closer against his warm body. Resting her head on his chest, she could hear his heartbeat and feel his ribs move with each breath. The intimacy was unsettling. She wanted to snuggle closer, to wrap her arm around his waist, and at the same time she wanted to jump up and run, to get as far away from this sensual man as she could.

  She shifted in an attempt to erase the disturbing thoughts from her mind. He didn’t move when her head bumped the gun holster, but earlier, when she’d discovered it, he’d acted surprised as well as angry. Had he forgotten about it? She asked, “Why are you carrying a gun?”

  “Most people carry one for safety or for food. Guns are necessary out here.”

  In a sense, that was true. A lot of people carried a weapon when in the wilderness alone. But she knew he wasn’t referring to safety from four-legged, wild animals. “Then why haven’t you used it to get away from here? You could shoot that man out there.”

  The cowboy took his time before he finally provided a clipped answer. “I’ve got a pistol. He’s got a rifle. No match.”

  She had to agree. In his weakened condition, he would have been foolhardy to go up against a man with a high-powered rifle. The cowboy’s fever might have gone down, but she figured he was still weak. If only there was something she could do. “If you’ll just tell me who’s after you, maybe I can help. After all, I’m an attorney and the law’s designed to protect people.”

  The cowboy grunted. “Look, lady, I told you. I’m not involving you in this any more than you already are.” Continuing to cradle her in his arms, he stroked her hair, curling small strands around his callused fingers. “But since you claim to be an attorney, tell me about your work.”

  “I don’t just claim to be an attorney, I am one.” If she concentrated on his words she could ignore his hand, the way it stroked the hair away from her face, the way it made her feel—all confused.

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am, for using the wrong word.”

  “Apology accepted.” Lauren explained her usual day to cover her growing physical awareness of her companion. “I joined a one-man firm in a small town when I got out of school. I work from seven to seven. Then I go home, too drained to have much of a social life. Sometimes I bring work home with me or I watch a little television.” As she heard the words she realized how sterile and boring her life sounded.

  “Television?” he asked, stumbling over the word.

  “I like to catch the evening news. Why? Are you one of those people who think it’s a waste of time?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “You don’t watch TV?”

  “No, I don’t reckon.”

  “Maybe you’re smarter than most of the population.” She wondered if he was some eccentric hermit who had come to West Texas to escape civilization. When he didn’t respond, she continued, more to fill the empty space with noise than to impart any great information. “Usually I take files and my supper to bed and read until I fall asleep.”

  “It’s a mite hard reading at night, isn’t it?”

  “Not at all.” Lauren twisted, trying in vain to see the man in the blackness. He had strange responses to everything she said. “You sound like my grandmother, who always told me it would hurt my eyesight.”

  “I sorta object to being compared to someone’s grandmother.”

  Lauren smiled at the feigned hurt in his voice. He was about as unlike someone’s grandmother as one could get, something that was becoming harder to ignore the longer they were together. “I didn’t mean...”

  “I know.” This time his voice was low and seductive. “Are eating and reading all you do in bed?”

  The question was arousing rather than insulting. Lately, sleep had been about all she’d done in bed, but after a day in a cave with this stranger who radiated masculinity, she was beginning to wish otherwise.

  She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. “Are you asking if I share my bed with someone?”

  “Do you?” Winding his fingers in her hair, he drew her face upward.

  She couldn’t move. Excitement pitted her stomach, daring her to forge ahead. “I’ll tell you...if you’ll tell me what I want to know.”

  “No deal, lady.” His breath mingled with hers. “I just want to know if
you’re married.”

  “Oh.” Hardly able to breathe, much less talk, she answered, “No, I’m not married.” All thoughts of what she had wanted to know were forgotten. He was going to kiss her. She could feel the tension in his muscles as he pulled her to him, expertly searching for her mouth in the darkness. His hand cupped her chin, giving him better access to her waiting lips. With practiced skill he teased her top lip, all the while giving her an opportunity to pull away if she chose.

  Abandoning all common sense, she chose to remain still. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted it more than anything. His mustache brushed the sensitive skin around her mouth as he continued his exploration of her bottom lip. She knew nothing about this man, but his arms and his lips felt so natural. She cautiously returned his kiss, memorizing the taste and feel of him. Later in her lonely bed she would remember the stranger’s kiss and the longing he’d awakened.

  His lips moved gently over hers. They teased and played with her until she ached. Tightening his hold on her trembling form, he eased open her lips, igniting a fire she hadn’t expected. Her body responded with a flood of desire. Suddenly, she wanted more than his teasing. Every part of her begged for the passion promised by his lips.

  She moaned softly as she wound her arms tighter around his neck. Encouraging him further, she parted her lips to accept his exploring tongue. She was melting. The outside world with its gunman no longer existed. Only this man’s touch, his kiss, his smell and the darkness around them were real. The kiss seemed to go on forever, or perhaps time stopped—she wasn’t sure.

  When both of them were breathless, he left her lips and feathered kisses across her cheeks and down her neck. She tilted her head back to offer him better access to the tender flesh there, almost pleading with him to continue. He seemed to understand, because his hand at her back forced her tighter against him and he lowered his head to kiss and nip at the hollow of her throat. She couldn’t restrain the groan that escaped her parted lips.