“Good idea, little gal. I want to see your client eyeball-to-eyeball in the morning so me and the deputies can focus our attention on a few other goings-on rather than having to put out an APB on McCain again.”
After Van Rooten hung up, Lauren held the receiver like a club, relishing the thought of using it to beat the condescending chauvinism out of Chester Van Rooten. Aggravated that she’d lowered herself into having Chester-like thoughts for even a few seconds, she pulled herself together and flipped off her computer.
She was still irked that he’d dismissed her report of being shot at by saying that he’d heard through the grapevine that some guys from central Texas had been hunting that day. According to him, they’d probably mistaken her for a deer, and when they figured out their mistake, and considering it wasn’t hunting season anyway, they’d hightailed from the area. While she couldn’t prove it, she was sure this was another one of Chester’s lies. What was he up to, anyway? Was he a participant in illegal activities or was someone buying his favor? He’d never been mistaken for a paragon of virtue, but he’d always seemed to be on the up-and-up.
She wasn’t really concerned about Jonathan skipping out. After all, she herself had warned him to stay hidden after seeing the tire tracks. When she’d gotten into town yesterday she’d swung by the sheriffs office to check the tire patterns on his car. They had matched and so did the pattern on the deputy’s car. And the car next to it. She figured most of the cars in town had the same prints.
Hoping Jonathan was in his house now, she tried calling him, but when there was no answer, she decided she’d better drive out. Since someone needed to know where she was going, and she figured Lyna would worry less than anyone, she called the secretary and explained the situation.
Paying no attention to the passing landscape as she sped southward, Lauren fretted about Jonathan. What if something really had happened to him? What if Van Rooten wasn’t at the root of this mystery and the real villain had gone out to see Jonathan first? Could Jonathan be somewhere alone, hurt? Trapped?
She reprimanded herself for leaving him alone yesterday. Just because he was physically fit didn’t mean he was able to take care of himself. From the way he’d talked, there was no way of knowing how deep his memory gaps went. He could have forgotten basics that put him in danger. Things like light the burner when you turn on the gas. Don’t stick a metal object in an electrical outlet. The list was endless, and Lauren considered almost every one of them on the long drive to the ranch.
She parked in front of the big house, half-afraid of what she would find inside. Van Rooten had said Jonathan wasn’t there, but she sensed he was nearby. The fears she had built to near-volcanic proportions subsided as she approached the veranda. Jonathan was okay. She knew it.
When no one answered the door. she went inside. The living room looked just as she’d left it the day before. Her footsteps echoed through the empty house as she searched the bedrooms. Jonathan’s bed was unmade and the closet was full. If he’d left, he hadn’t packed.
The fear that something terrible had happened to him, the fear she thought she’d conquered, began building again as she hurried to the final room. Memories of him saying how he felt about her, the way he’d looked early in the morning with his tousled hair and bare chest, came flooding back while she stood in the center of the kitchen and glanced at the unwashed coffee mugs in the sink.
The faint sound of a door being pushed open alerted her a split second before Jonathan appeared at the back door. He stood there as if nothing was amiss.
“You looking for me?” he asked, his face expressionless.
Lauren clutched the counter behind her to keep from falling. “Oh, Jon, where have you been?”
“After you called me yesterday I decided it was stupid just to sit here and wait for trouble, so I went up to the old bunkhouse.”
Wanting to run into his arms, she instead slowly walked toward him. “That was smart. But I was really worried for a few minutes. When you weren’t here, I was afraid something terrible had happened to you.”
He must have read the pain on her face because without another word he reached out and drew her into his embrace, burying his face in her hair. It was as if he was garnering strength from her presence, just as she was from his.
“Not that I’m disappointed, but what are you doing back here so soon?” he asked as he brushed a loose curl away from her temple.
She looked up into his face. His eyes were dark and she thought she saw a glimmer of mistrust when she explained, “Van Rooten said he’d been out here to check on you and didn’t find you. He wondered if you’d left and demanded to see you in the morning.”
“I saw him, but it didn’t look like he’d come on a social call or to see if I was minding my manners.” Jonathan’s voice was almost too cold and casual, as if he was distancing himself from harm.
“What did you think—that he came back to kill you?”
“I don’t know what to think. The sheriff was waving a pretty big gun when he sneaked around to the back door.”
Lauren was puzzled. “What do you mean, sneaked?”
“I didn’t hear or see a car. He didn’t knock.” Jonathan described the sheriff’s visit.
“That’s not what he told me. He said he did everything but shoot cannons to rouse you.”
Jonathan shrugged his shoulders. “Wrong.”
“And you were close enough to see the gun?”
“I could nearly smell it.”
The image of the tables being turned on Van Rooten caused her to chuckle more with nervous relief than amusement. “So you watched him the whole time he was here, and he never had a clue.”
“If he had, I believe he’d have pulled the trigger.” Jonathan tugged at the corners of his mouth for a mustache that didn’t exist. “The fact is, I’m a pretty popular fellow.” He paused as though waiting for Lauren to consider his words. “I’ve already had two visitors today.”
“Two?” Lauren raised an eyebrow.
“Two. I couldn’t tell much about the first fella except he was, oh, say, about average.” Jonathan used his hands to demonstrate. “He eased up in a gray car and nosed around for fifteen minutes or so, then left.”
Lauren wondered who the man was. “It could have been a reporter hoping to get a scoop.”
“Who knows?” Jonathan opened the refrigerator. Peering inside, he asked, “Would you like a beer? That’s all there is to drink unless you want some water, or I could make some coffee in that fancy little machine over there.”
Lauren smiled. “I wouldn’t put you out. Beer will be fine.”
He opened two bottles and handed one to her before straddling a kitchen chair and taking a big sip of his own drink. Then he leaned forward and crossed his arms on the ladder back of the chair. “Just why would a reporter be interested in me?”
Lauren sat down at the table next to him and rotated the bottle in her hands as she explained about his family being prominent citizens of El Paso. How those who didn’t have much seemingly enjoyed reading about the failings of those better off financially. How it helped sell newspapers.
“So I’m one of those failings?” Still clutching the bottle in one hand, John leaned forward and rested his head on his crossed arms. “I can’t recall them, even after looking at all those pictures you left me.”
“I told you they seemed to be very nice people. You’re tall like your father, and you have your mother’s coloring.” Lauren hesitated, then began again. “Jon, there is one thing I didn’t tell you the other day.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“Your mother said you and your father got angry with each other over twenty years ago and quit speaking. So, if you do happen to remember anything, it might be good to remember that he wants to help you now.”
Everything was getting more complicated for John. He closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to pull up an image of his father other than the one in a photo, but his efforts were of no avail.
Rubbing his hands over his face, he grew disheartened. The only things he’d recalled were a couple of flashes too short to be called memories. When he was captured and had stared up at the blinking lights on the hovering helicopter, he’d remembered seeing lights swooping down another time. He flinched, realizing those lights had been on the airstrip not a quarter of a mile away from where he was sitting right now.
And earlier today he’d experienced another unsettling vision—of Van Rooten bragging about his lawyer. Other than the sheriff being involved both times, John still hadn’t sorted out what the flashes meant. Were they hallucinations brought on by cocaine?
Even that didn’t make sense. After all, he’d never seen Van Rooten until the trial, so how could he remember something that never happened, hallucination or not? He felt Lauren lay a hand on his shoulder and move around behind him. Her touch was gentle and reassuring, as was her voice. “Things will work out, Jon. Your memory will come back. It just may take time.”
He didn’t move, but sat there savoring the feel of her fingers as they massaged his neck. As Lauren’s fingers continued to caress the muscles and work their way up to his temples, John leaned back until the top of his head was resting against her soft breasts. He sighed with contentment. During the past thirty-odd hours while she’d been gone, all the muscles in his body had grown harder and more tightly wound in his effort to stay alert. He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of relaxing until now.
As Lauren soothed the furrows from Jonathan’s brow and massaged from his forehead down his hairline to the top of his spine, she felt the tension and confusion leave his body. She denied herself the luxury of thinking of him as a man. Instead she focused her attention on the way his muscles were relaxing under her fingertips, not the way his bronzed skin looked under her hands, nor the way the dark hair curled over his ears.
After a few minutes, he appeared to be asleep, his head almost cradled between her breasts. She wondered when he had last slept well. Probably before Saul had been shot.
When her hands ceased moving, he slowly sat up and rolled his head around as if to get the last of the kinks out. “That felt good.”
“I hope it relaxed you a little.” It had done everything except relax her. Stepping back to avoid the potential fire, she took her beer bottle and poured the rest of the drink in the sink.
The kitchen was growing dimmer as night began to fall, and the waning light brought back memories of another evening. She recalled the night before last—now an eternity ago—when she and Jonathan had stood here together and prepared a meal. Had it only been two days since she’d almost made love to him on the floor of the living room? And earlier today, when she’d thought something had happened to him, she’d regretted having missed the experience.
She folded her arms over her chest and watched him. He seemed lost, unsure of what to do or what to say. It was hard to imagine the inner turmoil he must be feeling because he couldn’t remember anything about himself or his family. She realized she would have to be his bridge to reality.
Now was as good a time as any to begin. “Did you find anything that seemed familiar to you while I was gone?”
“Other than the clothes fitting me, this place could belong to anybody. That polished vehicle outside doesn’t mean a thing. Nothing’s struck a chord with me one way or the other.”
“I’d hoped the pictures, the books, the surroundings would help.”
“In a way, they did. When Van Rooten was here and I was huddled out in one of the stalls, I think I remembered something. It was kind of like an impression of seeing him before, holding a gun...a rifle...my rifle, apparently—” he nodded his head toward the living room and its empty gun case “—and firing it. He has to be involved some way. The smuggling or the murder.” Jonathan shrugged his shoulders. “Or both.”
Lauren’s face froze when she realized the significance of what he had said. If Chester were involved in smuggling, then Jon... She refused to follow that line of thought. She focused her energy instead on Jonathan. “Let’s look at this positively. You remember something. If Chester was holding a rifle, it means he could have been shooting at you. That’s where you got your wound.”
“It could also have happened another day.”
She ignored that. “No. According to what I read about amnesia, any memories you have would probably be significant. Being shot at certainly qualifies. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Chester’s behind the drug smuggling and probably the murder and you just happened on it. That would explain a lot... and means Chester wants you dead.” She started pacing the tile floor, answering her internal questions. “He doesn’t want to charge you with any drug-related crime. If he did, Robert would start digging around and might find something the sheriff doesn’t want anyone to know.”
“That gives me an idea.” Jonathan’s eyes burned emerald bright with hope. “But...” He paused. “I’d have to leave the ranch.”
“You can’t, Jon. The judge would issue a bench warrant for your arrest and you’d end up back in jail. Besides, Van Rooten would have the perfect excuse to shoot if he caught up with you outside of the ranch.”
“Lauren, I can’t just sit here and wait for the sheriff to return to kill me, if that’s what he aims to do.” He caught her as she walked by, closed his large hands over her shoulders and squeezed. “Next time, he might be successful. I’ve got to sleep eventually.”
His hands transmitted some of the desperation he was feeling, and Lauren wished she could wave a wand and fix the situation. But it wasn’t that simple. “I think you should let Ted come out and stay. Two of you would be harder to catch unawares. Plus, Ted and I might be able to do for you what you can’t. In fact, tomorrow I’m going to begin investigating the sheriffs finances. Besides, if he knows we’re watching him, he may back off for a while or slip up.”
“Ted, you said. He’s your brother?”
“Yes, and—”
“I don’t want anyone out here I don’t know.” His voice lowered until it wove its own special web around her heart. “I’d rather have you stay.”
She didn’t resist when he pulled her nearer until there were only a few inches separating their bodies. The heat radiating from his skin seeped into her pores, and with it a strong desire to get closer to its source.
He was hard to resist with his blazing eyes and inviting lips. Would it hurt to kiss him once more? Every time he touched her, kissed her, it became more difficult to say no the next time. Her wants and needs warred with her better judgment. When she’d thought he might be dead, she’d wished they had made love so she would have the memory to cherish. And the relief of seeing him alive and well reduced her defenses against him. She wanted to feel his lips on hers more than anything in the world. “I shouldn’t...”
He cupped her chin in one hand and held it firmly as he lowered his head, stopping mere inches from her lips. His warm breath fanned across her cheeks. “Tell me to stop.”
When she was able to speak, her voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t want to.” With those words she rose on tiptoe to press her lips to his.
She felt the tight restraint he’d kept on his own passion ebb from his muscles as he hauled her against him, molding her body to his in a desperate attempt to find what he was seeking. The feel of his arms wrapping around her gave her a sense of security and contentment, as if she was coming home. The utter joy that washed over her as he searched her mouth with his couldn’t be wrong no matter what ethics decreed. She gave up the battle and buried her hands in his hair. Here in Jonathan McCain’s embrace she felt whole.
John groaned and gave himself up totally to the desire pulsing through his veins. He knew he was taking a chance failing in love with this woman. But no matter how hard he denied his feelings, they were there—in the middle of his confusion over his identity, in the middle of his fear for his life. He couldn’t get away from them no matter how hard he tried. When he needed to be concentrating on his own problems, all he could think ab
out was her smile, the way she felt in his arms, the way she moaned softly when he kissed her.
As she sagged against him in total surrender, he took her weight in his arms and set her on the kitchen table. Immediately she pulled his head back down to hers and parted his lips with the tip of her tongue. The way she responded without inhibition was so erotic he felt like he would explode with the need to make love to her. He ran his hands up and down her denim-clad legs, relishing the heat of her body, imprinting it on his mind, knowing that soon he was going to have to call a halt to this. Even though she was a willing participant, he didn’t want her to compromise her own ethics for him. He didn’t want to be responsible for her feeling guilty later.
Of their own volition, his hands ignored his brain and slid farther up her legs until he was cupping her firm buttocks in his palms and settling himself between the vee of her legs. An involuntary shudder racked his body as he tore his lips away from hers and leaned his head against her hair. He knew he had to stop or there would be no turning back for either of them. He held her tightly as he took deep breaths in an effort to gain control. She, too, seemed to be struggling with her desires as she buried her head against his chest. Neither of them moved for several seconds.
The first coherent thought Lauren had was of the phone ringing. As Jonathan took a step backward, she slid from the table and took the receiver he handed her. Trying to quell the quaver in her voice, she answered, “Hello?”
“Is that you, Lauren?” Lyna hollered. “I can’t hear you. The connection must be bad. Are you okay?”
Lauren cleared her throat. “Yes, Lyna, I’m fine.”
“I’m glad you are, because you’re fixing to get sick when I tell you some bad news.”
Lauren hadn’t heard much lately that wasn’t bad. “What’s happened?”
“I got a call from the police. Someone broke into the office this evening, must have set off the alarm. They went through your desk and files, and that’s not all. Your neighbors also called the cops. Apparently, when whoever broke in didn’t find what they were looking for in the office, they tried your house. Or maybe they did the house first. I’m not sure. Anyway, we’ve got a mess here in the office, and you’ve got a bigger mess at your house.”
McCain's Memories Page 12