McCain's Memories

by Maggie Simpson

When he raised his head she realized his breathing was as ragged as her own, and she was sure if she’d been able to see his eyes they would have burned with the hunger she fell He was as moved by what was happening between them as she. All it would take was a touch from her and he would make love to her there on the floor of the cave. He didn’t have to say anything. She just knew.

  She whispered her thoughts aloud. “Cowboy, you could be dangerous.”

  Still breathing rapidly, he unclasped her arms from around his neck and pressed her hands flat against his chest. His heartbeat raced beneath her trembling fingers. In a voice unsteady with passion he replied, “I tried to warn you earlier.”

  “I should’ve listened. I...we have to stop. This isn’t the time or place for...” Lauren wasn’t sure how to finish her sentence.

  He clinched her hands tighter. “This isn’t the time or the place for what?”

  She couldn’t very well say “making love,” since love had nothing to do with the lust she was feeling. Somehow, though, it seemed more than just physical desire. But she couldn’t say that to a man she’d never even seen, so she whispered, “For getting carried away.”

  He loosened his hold as if he, too, had regrets. “I wish it was the time and place, but you’re right. We need all our senses to watch for our friend out there.”

  Relieved and disappointed that he’d complied with her request, Lauren wondered who posed the most peril to her well-being—the gunman or the cowboy? “Do you really think the man will come back?”

  “I know a little about character, too, and that man doesn’t give up easily.”

  “You still won’t tell me who he is?”

  “Don’t you ever quit, lady?”

  “No, cowboy. I don’t give up easily, either.” Fighting for control, she pushed away from him and into a sitting position.

  “Then let’s change the subject.”

  “What do you want to talk about?” It didn’t matter what they discussed because she couldn’t think straight. His kiss had seen to that. And it wasn’t just the kiss. Her response confused her. How could she, an intelligent, mature woman, be so attracted to a man she knew nothing about?

  “You choose,” he said.

  She was saved from making a decision when his stomach rumbled and she realized he probably hadn’t eaten in a while. He’d been thirsty when she’d entered the cave, but he hadn’t said anything about food. She’d brought provisions for the day and had more than enough for two. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’d be mighty grateful for anything you’ve got.”

  “How about a ham sandwich?” Thankful for something to get her mind off his kisses, she dug in her saddlebags and, after locating a sandwich, handed it to him.

  The crackle of plastic wrap echoed in the still blackness as he folded back the wrapping from the thick slices of homemade bread. As she listened to the cowboy take bite after bite, she wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten. While she appreciated a healthy appetite, the man was wolfing down the food.

  He stopped eating when he seemed to notice his rudeness. “I’m sorry. You want a bite?”

  “No, I have another one.”

  “This is really good grub. How many of these did you bring?”

  “Two.” She unwrapped the remaining sandwich. “I only want half of this one. Would you care for the other half?”

  “How come you have two if you only want a nibble?”

  She heard the distrust in his voice. “I wasn’t meeting anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking. Our housekeeper, Maria, insists that I be prepared for the day.” Lauren unwrapped the sandwich and handed the cowboy half.

  He resumed eating, but more slowly. “How long were you planning on riding?”

  “It depended how long it took to get the photographs I wanted. I planned to be home by dark.” She squinted at her watch, and in the dark she made out the tiny green phosphorescent dots. “The sun will be going down pretty soon. It’s after five.”

  He stopped eating. “How can you tell in here?”

  When she tilted her wrist toward him, he reached across and fingered the dial, though he seemed to avoid touching her again. “Quite a timepiece you’ve got there,” he muttered.

  The crackling of plastic and sounds of chewing took the place of conversation as the two finished their meal, lost in their own worlds. Lauren wondered if the cowboy was reliving the kiss in his mind, too, or if he was more concerned about their plight. She also wondered why no one had come to find her. Maybe Doc hadn’t made it back, or maybe something else had gone wrong.

  The cowboy’s polite cough interrupted her thoughts. “Uh...would you happen to have some more water?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She pressed the canteen against his arm. When his hand closed over hers, she almost dropped the precious water.

  After he finished drinking, he said, “If I ever have to hide out again, I hope it’s with you. You’re pretty handy to have around.”

  With a tinge of hope, Lauren asked, “How will you find me?”

  “I can always took in caves.” He set the canteen down and leaned back against the rock.

  “Cowboy?” The word was almost an endearment as it rolled from her lips. “That man can’t wander around out there forever. You said he was heading up the canyon earlier. He’s probably gone by now. You could come back to the ranch with me—no strings attached.” If the cowboy was in legal trouble she’d take care of him. Maria, the Hamiltons’ housekeeper, who loved keeping secrets, would help her nurse him back to health. No one else would ever need to know of his presence.

  “No, I can’t risk your getting hurt.”

  “I’ll be fine. You can stay at the ranch—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “Even though I’m pretty sure the man is gone, there’s an outside chance he could be hiding farther up the canyon, waiting. I don’t think he’ll try to harm you again if he doesn’t connect the two of us. He probably mistook you for me earlier.”

  “I can’t just leave you here. Not in your condition. What will you do after I’m gone?”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Then what?”

  “You don’t listen well. Drop it or we don’t talk.” He mitigated his harsh words by finding her hand in the darkness and giving it a squeeze. “How big do you think this cave is?”

  His dismissal hurt, but she followed his lead. “The best I remember, this cave’s not all that big, only twenty yards or so deep.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Lots of times. These cliffs are dotted with small caves, but this one is special. I started using it as a place to escape to and dream of wild adventures when I was about thirteen. If we had a lantern, I’d show you the Indian markings on the wall over there. The Apache roamed this area for years until the Comanche and cavalry ran them off.”

  Lauren paused in her story, remembering how grown-up and adventurous she’d always felt in this cave, never suspecting that one day—today—she’d have a real adventure. “But the most interesting story about this cave is that a Texas Ranger died here sometime in the late 1800s. His remains are buried on our ranch.”

  Chapter 4

  The cowboy’s voice was low and strained when he asked, “You say a Texas Ranger died in this cave. What, ah, what was his name?”

  Lauren answered, “I don’t recall anyone ever saying, and I’m not sure he really was a ranger.”

  “Then what makes you think he was?”

  “Because that’s what I was told as a little girl, and I believed every word of it.” Lauren smiled as she remembered her adolescent fantasies. The mystery of the man’s death, alone and unknown, had always been part of the allure that drew her to the cave. Still, when she’d been in the cave before, she’d had the security of a flashlight or lantern for company. Now she had no light, only this stranger beside her for protection.

  Her voice softened as she recalled the tale. “An old-timer told my grandfather the
story of the ranger, and Grandad loved repeating it.”

  The cowboy shifted as if he was uncomfortable. “What happened?”

  “The old-timer said a skeleton was found here about the turn of the century, and he always speculated that the guy was involved in the Salt Wars.”

  “Salt Wars?”

  Lauren noticed his words were low and forced. “Yes, back in 1877. I guess calling it a war is stretching the use of the word a bit, but two opposing groups were trying to gain control of the Guadalupe salt Hats. It’s a long story.”

  The cowboy coughed, then shifted positions again, his movements echoing through the cave. “Well, since, uh, we’re stuck here, why don’t you go on and tell me? It’ll help pass the time.”

  “Sure. Let me think. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about it.” Lauren leaned back and tried to reclaim the feelings she’d had as a little girl sitting on her grandad’s lap, listening to a legend from the old days. “I remember how Grandad always prefaced the tale by saying that someday he was going to research it. But he never got the chance. Anyway, the people who found the skeleton presumed it was a ranger’s body because pieces of blue wool uniform and some brass buttons were found with it. And since a ranger had disappeared in this area about thirty years before the bones were found, it was a likely solution.”

  Suddenly, a loud screech came from the mouth of the cave, causing them both to freeze until they simultaneously realized it was a large bird that had chosen a rock near the opening as a vantage point. When it dived back into the canyon, Lauren heard the cowboy take a ragged breath and she released her own. Seeking comfort, she scooted closer until their arms were pressed together and she could feel his clenched muscles through the cloth of his coat. She realized he had been as startled by the sudden sound as she had. Neither spoke for several seconds.

  When they both were breathing normally again, he said, “You were saying?”

  Lauren continued, “Grandad said that for hundreds of years, everyone—Spanish, Mexican, Anglo, Indian, it didn’t matter who—shared the salt from the beds. It was more precious than gold before iceboxes came along.

  “After Texas joined up with the Union, there was a judge—I think his name was Charles Howard, but don’t hold me to that. Anyway, he saw the salt as a way to get rich and decided to charge people for what they were used to getting free. To say the least, the locals took offense in a big way. After a few people had been killed, the governor sent four rangers—like they were a garrison of troops—to protect Howard.”

  Lauren hesitated, trying to recall the rest of the story. “I don’t remember exactly what happened next, but somehow the rangers ended up facing a firing squad in San Elizario. A man named Attson...Atkin...something that started with an A, was the first one shot. Grandad always made it sound so gruesome.”

  She felt the cowboy tremble against her arm. What had she said? He’d become agitated when she’d mentioned the man’s name. The name that was so similar to the one the cowboy had cried out. She rotated so she was facing him, though she couldn’t make out more than a slightly darker shadow against the stone wall. She wanted desperately to see his face, to see into his eyes when she asked, “Isn’t that like the name you mentioned in your sleep?”

  He stiffened. “Umm. It’s probably just a coincidence.”

  Lauren wasn’t so sure. She didn’t believe in the supernatural, but there was something about the cowboy’s uneasiness and all of the “coincidences” that made her want to run out into the sunlight and let it wash away the eerie feelings.

  At her silence the cowboy prodded, “What happened then?”

  “The only other thing I remember hearing is that by some quirk of fate, one of the rangers escaped. Grandad said he apparently got as far as this cave before he died of dehydration or exhaustion—or maybe a gunshot wound.” Her feeling of melancholy intensified. “Being out here all alone sounds like a frightening way to die, doesn’t it?”

  The cowboy was silent, as if thinking about what she’d said. Finally, he spoke, but his voice was tight with controlled emotion. “Yes, yes it does.”

  “When I was a little girl I felt sorry for him, so I put wildflowers on his grave because I thought there was no one to care about him. His family didn’t even know where he had died.” Lauren recalled the many times she had wondered about the mystery that lay beneath the grave marked by a mound of smooth river rocks. “Funny, but I haven’t thought about him, or any of this, in a long time. I expect it’s an interesting story. There have to be some records about him somewhere.” She’d never considered the real individual as much as she’d fabricated romantic yarns about him. Now, she wanted to know who the man was.

  The cowboy gently withdrew his hand from hers. Then she heard the sound of his palm rubbing his forehead.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. Was his head hurting or had her story upset him? She’d always found the story romantic and a bit sad rather than upsetting.

  His voice was stronger when he spoke, as if he’d mentally gotten control of what was bothering him. “I’m fine. I just don’t exactly cotton to being in a cave where someone hid out and then died. It packs a little too much irony to suit me.” Suddenly, he stiffened. “Listen. Do you hear anything?”

  “It’s probably the vulture returning.”

  “No. It’s the sound of hooves. Someone’s coming.”

  Lauren strained her ears until she heard the faint sound of a horse neighing in the distance, then the faint sound of a voice. She sat up straighter, trying to make out the words.

  The cowboy stood slowly, drawing her up to stand next to him. His fingers tightened around her wrist when the second call echoed off the cliffs.

  The voice from outside hollered, “Lauren!”

  “That’s my brother, Ted.” She started to walk toward the opening, but the cowboy held her back.

  “You sure that’s your brother?” he asked, his words barely above a whisper.

  “Of course. I’ve listened to his voice arguing with me all my life. My horse must have made it home, so Ted came looking for me. He’ll never let me live down having to be rescued.”

  The cowboy tightened his grip until she was worried that he wasn’t going to let her leave. Then she realized that he was concerned she would give him away. She longed to reassure him, to caress the tense muscles until they relaxed. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone where you are.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.” He sighed and then, when the clattering of horse hooves on the rocks grew louder, leaned close to her ear. “Now let’s get your pack together so you can get going.”

  She raised her hand and gently touched his cheek. “Won’t you come with me?” She knew the answer before she felt the slight shake of his head as his warm lips kissed her fingertips. She ached for those lips on hers again. This might be her only opportunity. “Well, cowboy, I guess this is goodbye, then.”

  Sliding her hand behind his neck, she pulled his head down as she stood up on her tiptoes. She felt him hesitate before his lips met hers in a tender kiss. She arched against him when he ran his hands down her shoulders to the small of her back. The musky male scent of his skin filled her nostrils, and the silky weight of his hair teased her fingers. She yielded further when his large hands encircled her waist, pressing her into direct contact with his lean, taut body. In her desperation to take more than memories with her back to the real world, she deepened the kiss, taking all he could offer in the few seconds that were left to them.

  As Ted’s calls became louder and closer, the cowboy stepped back, releasing her. She would have fallen if he hadn’t steadied her shoulders before he bent down to pick up her saddlebags.

  “Go,” he commanded as he thrust the pack into her hands.

  She handed the canteen back to him. “You keep it. There’s a little water left.” Leaving the cowboy alone troubled her. Wanting to do as much as she could to help him, she fumbled around in the pack for a moment. “Here’s a candy bar in
case you get hungry,” she said, tucking it into his shirt pocket. “And you might need the first-aid kit, too.”

  His voice reflected an uncertain independence. “Again, I’m obliged to you. Now go before I change my mind.”

  With all the dignity she could muster, Lauren walked toward the dimly lit entrance, which promised safety. Yet the security and safety she wanted was staying behind. At the mouth of the cave she picked up her camera, stuck it in the saddlebags and put on her hat. Turning toward the darkness that sheltered the stranger, she said, regret tinging every word, “Goodbye, cowboy. Take care.”

  She barely heard his whispered reply, “Another time, lady. Another time.”

  Keeping to the brush to conceal the location of the cave from anyone who might be watching, she forced herself to pay attention to the dangerous descent. What she really wanted was to run back to the cave and beg the man to come with her. Lost in her thoughts, she scarcely noticed the thorns of the mesquite tearing at her skin and clothing.

  Willing himself not to follow the woman, John moved closer to the front of the cave and crouched in the early evening shadows. He could see her mount a horse in the distance and ride away, side by side with the man she had called Ted.

  Before she turned the bend in the canyon, she twisted in the saddle as though she wanted one last look at the cliff face. He knew she was searching for a glimpse of him. After she disappeared from view, he edged back into the cave and slumped against the wall. The fever and hunger were gone, only to have the void they left filled with confusion.

  Now he could think about his predicament without the distraction of her soft skin and seductive voice. Memories boiled in his mind, bumping each other aside until he had trouble focusing on anything.

  He knew he was a Texas Ranger, a fact that his wife, Annie, had hated when she was alive. His sister was caring for his small son back in San Antonio, and as soon as the dispute about the salt beds was settled, he’d planned to get back to him. But the lady had said it was more than a hundred years later, in which case the dispute would be settled and he’d be dead. But the Good Lord knew he was in too much misery to be dead.