McCain's Memories

by Maggie Simpson

  She’d called Jon the evening before. He’d sounded relieved and eager to get the whole thing behind him. They had talked for several minutes, but the conversation had been mostly business. There just hadn’t been time since Cliff’s bombshell to sort through where they stood on a personal level.

  Cliff had gone out to the ranch and had spent the night there. Lauren felt relieved that Jon hadn’t been left alone again.

  She sighed, started toward the stairway, changed her mind and walked over to a window and looked down at the parking lot for the umpteenth time. The lot was half-full of people needing to register their vehicles, pay their property taxes or something equally mundane. Sierra wasn’t a high-crime area. She caught herself tapping her nails against her briefcase, then looked at her watch again. Where were they?

  Estrada wouldn’t be eager to release Jonathan in any case, but if he were late, the judge would take it as a personal affront. Lauren looked up expectantly when she heard the echo of footsteps on the marble floor but was disappointed to see it was Alex Stewart. Alex was never late, even though he’d had to drive eighty miles from his office in Fort Bend.

  “Hello, Lauren.” Smiling, Alex stopped only a few feet away and looked her up and down in open admiration. “You look wonderful. How’ve you been?”

  “Fine,” she answered, feeling a little discomfited, wishing the man would hurry up and marry Gwen Keefer, his longtime fiancée. “And you?”

  “Great. Just gearing up for the spring primaries. Say—” he gestured toward the judge’s chamber “—what’s this I hear? Estrada told me there might be some more evidence in the McCain case, but he didn’t elaborate, except to say the DEA was claiming Jonathan worked for them.”

  “We’ll explain in a few minutes.” She looked down the hallway again, hoping to spot Cliff and Jonathan.

  “My, my, but you’re being secretive.”

  “No, I’m not, Alex. You’re going to be told everything as soon as we’re in Estrada’s chambers.”

  Before he could reply, Lauren heard voices and footsteps along the corridor and looked up to see Jonathan strolling down the wide hallway as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He was flanked by a U.S. marshal and Cliff.

  Lauren’s breath caught as she stepped away from Alex. She had only seen Jonathan in prison overalls, jeans and casual shirts, but now he wore an obviously expensive Italian suit, tailored not only to fit, but to enhance every line of his body. He was stunning. His dark hair fell over the back of his collar, giving him a devil-may-care look.

  She tried to swallow the catch in her throat but couldn’t. The sight of him dressed this way caused her to realize how little she knew about the real Jonathan McCain. Though Cliff had told her that Jonathan had been a successful businessman in Mexico City, the reality of it hadn’t sunk in—until now. Now she realized that he didn’t need her. In a few minutes, the judge and Robert would discuss the details that would make Jonathan a free man. Free to leave the ranch. Free to go back to his life. Free to leave her.

  She had believed Jonathan cared for her, but that was then. This was now. He had his own resources. He had Cliff to talk with. And soon, maybe, he’d have his memory.

  About the time the three men reached her and Alex, Robert stepped into the hall and said, “You folks about ready?”

  “I believe so,” Jonathan said, smiling at Lauren. He stopped at the open doorway and gestured for her to enter before him. She tried to pretend she wasn’t affected by his presence.

  “Thank you.” The warmth spreading through her body because of Jonathan’s smile was chilled by the scowl she saw on Alex’s face. She checked her own response, aware that Alex could see his reelection being affected by what was about to be unveiled.

  “You bet we are,” Cliff said, seconding Jonathan. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

  “You can bring in some more chairs if you like,” the judge said, motioning to the three chairs across from his desk.

  “No, this is fine.” Alex stepped forward. “Lauren, why don’t you and Robert be seated? And Mr. McCain, since this involves you, take this chair.”

  After a few disclaimers by Robert and Jonathan, Alex’s suggestion was followed. Lauren wanted to gag at Alex’s fake gallantry. He was obviously threatened with this impromptu hearing for Jonathan, and he needed to impress Estrada.

  Cliff and the U.S. marshal leaned against the back wall, while Alex took a stance to the side of Estrada’s desk, slightly behind Lauren.

  Placing his elbows on the top of his starkly bare desk and interlocking his fingers, Judge Estrada leaned forward and began the hearing. “I understand from Robert that Mr. McCain works for the DEA and you have some new information.” He looked directly at Lauren, his eyes as black as freshly mined coal.

  “Yes, sir. I do.” Refusing to let his visage intimidate her, she slowly withdrew the photograph from her briefcase and held it as she explained about being shot at and meeting Jonathan in the cave. “Sir, this is an enlargement of the photograph I took in the canyon on the day the sheriff said he was hiding from Jonathan McCain. Unarmed, he said. Notice the date on the lower right-hand side.” Lauren pointed it out. “And while the image of the rifle is small, it looks like it could be the same make as the one used to kill Saul Rodriquez.” Lauren didn’t go into any more details because she knew Robert had already filled the judge in.

  Leaving his glasses on, but lifting them from his nose so he could see beneath the lenses, the judge studied the photo. Grunting, he then handed it to Alex, who had come to stand at the end of the desk. The judge said, “This puts a different light on the initial testimony, but I don’t intend to be too hasty about dismissing the charges against Mr. McCain.”

  While Lauren listened to Estrada, she watched Alex’s jaw begin twitching as he stared at the photo. She speculated that he, too, was upset that someone they had all known and trusted for so many years had lied. In fact, he was probably furious with Van Rooten for putting him in this situation, particularly with the election in the near future. She watched as he struggled for control before he casually laid the photo back on the desk and crossed his arms.

  The judge turned to Alex. “Jordan told me that Van Rooten might need to be available for questions, but when my secretary called his office, she was told that he was out of town. Do you have any idea where he is?”

  Alex cleared his throat. “Not really. He said something about going to visit his brother in Phoenix.”

  “What?” Estrada thundered. “He left town in the middle of an investigation?”

  “I really don’t know, sir, but if he’s gone, he must have had an emergency.” Alex shifted from one foot to the other.

  “Your only witness disappears, and you don’t know where he is? Considering this new information and barring a plausible explanation from the sheriff, you do realize that your case isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m glad for that, counselor.” Estrada had obviously lost what little patience he had. “I suggest that you get him back here within forty-eight hours with an explanation, or I’m dropping the charges against the defendant. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Forty-eight hours.”

  Alex nodded.

  “Well, get out of here and find him.” Estrada waved him out of the room.

  Lauren felt kind of sorry for Alex as he left the room. She was sure he saw his political future dissolving.

  Before the door closed behind Alex, Robert said, “Judge, there’s another consideration. Since I’m fairly certain the sheriff is a danger to my client—no disrespect to the marshal’s abilities—Jonathan needs twenty-four-hour protection.”

  The judge grunted and pursed his lips while he considered the issue. “How about holding him over in jail? Van Rooten’s not there.”

  Lauren saw Jonathan’s shoulders tense beneath his custom-made suit. Anxious to intervene on his behalf, she said, “We don’t know that
the sheriff was the only officer involved. Jail might be dangerous.”

  Estrada raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment and nodded his agreement.

  “And,” Cliff interjected, “the ranch is too remote and hard to watch for him to go back there.”

  “Does anyone have a better idea?” Estrada asked.

  Lauren remembered the pain on Alicia McCain’s face when she’d talked about her son. Jonathan’s family would be more than happy to have him come home for the first time in over twenty years. “What about his parents’ house in El Paso?”

  “Take care of the arrangements and I’ll sign the papers.” As a signal that the meeting was over, Judge Estrada stood and walked around his desk to shake hands with Jonathan.

  Lauren hung back as the men began to move out of the chamber into the hall. She was apprehensive about the future, though they had accomplished what they’d wanted. Jonathan would probably be free in a couple of days. Should she make the first move and let him know she wanted to stay in touch...to allow what was developing between them to grow...to make love to him? What did a person say in a situation like this?

  When Jonathan reached the door, he seemed to realize she wasn’t with the others. He turned and scanned the room until he noticed her standing near the window, then he strolled over to join her.

  “Thanks for everything you’ve done.” He shoved a hand in his pocket as if he, too, didn’t know what to say.

  “You’re more than welcome.” She looked up into his jade eyes as the chamber door shut behind Robert and the judge. For a few precious minutes she and Jonathan were alone. There was so much she wanted to say, but there wasn’t time. “I think you’ll be safe at your parents’.”

  Neither of them said anything for a couple of seconds, then they both started to speak at once. He stopped. “You first.”

  “No. Go ahead. What were you going to say?”

  “Cliff and the marshal are probably waiting for me.”

  Lauren tried to hide her disappointment, but was unable to force a smile.

  She’d hoped he was going to say he would see her in a couple of days. “Yes, I’m sure they are.”

  He took his hand out of his pocket and stepped closer. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

  So it was over, just as she’d feared. Her voice was low and husky when she managed to whisper, “I’ll miss you.”

  She saw him move, then felt the pressure of his hands on her shoulders before he pulled her to him. He wrapped her in a tight embrace and buried his face in her hair. She tried to focus on the way his hard body felt against her, the scent of his cologne, the sound of his heart under her cheek so she would have the memories when he was gone. A tear slid down her cheek and onto the fabric of his suit. She was so wrapped up in her own despair she almost missed the meaning of his next words.

  “I’ll see you as soon as I’m a free man,” he said. “Then we can pick up where we had to stop.”

  Before she could respond, she heard someone at the door.

  Lauren and Jonathan both tensed and stepped away from each other as Cliff stuck his head in and said, “Jonathan, let’s get a move on it. We need to get you to El Paso and settled in before dark.”

  “I’ll be there in just a minute.” When the door closed, he turned to Lauren, raised his hand and wiped the moisture from her cheek with the back of his finger. “Why the tears? You accomplished your objective. It looks like the charges against me will be dismissed.”

  She nodded and tried to smile. He was being so matter-of-fact. Didn’t he understand that he was more than Robert’s client? She cared about him as a man. Before she could put her mixed-up feelings into words, he pulled her into his arms and covered her lips with his.

  His searing kiss was swift and desperate before he set her away from him. “I don’t want to leave. We need to talk, but I’ve got to go. They’re waiting. I’ll call you soon.” He started for the door.

  The kiss erased some of her doubts and his words left her with hope. Maybe things would work out between them if nothing bad happened. “Take care. You aren’t out of danger, yet.”

  Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, he said, “I’ll watch my back. You be careful, too.”

  Early the next day, John wandered from room to room in his so-called parents’ house, undecided about what to make of the massive Georgian structure. Maybe his feeling of unrest was because he couldn’t get his mind off Lauren. Their parting the afternoon before had left him troubled. When she’d said she would miss him, he had been unable to prevent himself from pulling her into his arms. He’d needed reassurance that when all of this was over, he would see her again. He’d thought she felt the same way, although her tears were those of someone who was afraid they were saying goodbye forever.

  He continued ambling through the first-floor rooms, deciding that the light and intimacy of the small sunroom snuggled at the back of the house was more to his taste than the ornate front rooms. He paused in the doorway and cleared his throat to attract the attention of a slender, stately woman dressed in a silk house robe. She’d done everything possible to make him comfortable when he’d arrived last night. Still, he felt like an intruder.

  “Oh, Jonathan, I’m so glad you’re up early.” Alicia McCain gestured toward a sideboard that held a coffeepot and an assortment of fruit and breads. “Please help yourself and join me so we can talk.” Her warm chocolate eyes seemed to take measure of him as her fingers crushed the napkin into a tight little band. “I know you must feel uncomfortable about being here. That nice young attorney told us what happened—and about your amnesia.”

  “She told me a few things about myself, too. Namely, I haven’t been much of a son.” He didn’t dispute the amnesia. It gave him a crutch until he found out what was going on. He poured a cup of coffee and sat down at the small, wrought-iron table with the woman who was supposed to be his mother. He had realized last night in the brief time they had all spent together that she and her husband were fine people—just the kind he would want for parents if he could choose. What he didn’t understand was why Jonathan McCain had refused to have anything to do with them.

  “Oh, Jonathan, let’s let bygones be bygones.” Her voice shook as she spoke. She compressed her lips as she fought to retain her composure. “Helena said you were handsome just like your father, and proud, too.” Her voice sharpened. “Both of you are too proud for your own good.”

  Seemingly of its own accord, his hand slid across the table and covered one of her frail ones in comfort as she fought back tears. He didn’t want this nice woman to suffer anymore for what her son had done.

  She covered his hand with her free one and squeezed. “It’s so good to have you home.”

  “I’d like to say it’s good to be home, but...” he looked around the room “...I’d be saying something meaningless because I don’t remember this as home. But I do want to thank you for having me.”

  “I understand. That Mr. Atkinson thinks your head wound caused your amnesia. Maybe being home will help restore your memory. How long do you think you’ll be here?”

  “No more than three days. Of course, the sheriff could show up today, and I’d have to go back to Sierra.”

  “I suspect Mr. Atkinson is correct in assuming that Mr. Van Rooten is deep in Mexico by now.” Alicia sighed. “I hope he’s found so he’ll be locked up and you can be completely vindicated. And safe.”

  John nodded toward the front of the house, where an officer was sitting in a parked car. “The man outside is supposed to make sure I’m safe.” He took a sip of his coffee, then smiled over the cup’s rim at her.

  With the optimism of a mother, Alicia said, “I’m sure everything is going to turn out fine. Neither J.C. nor I had any doubt that you were innocent or that Robert could get this misunderstanding cleared up.” Then she repeated, “I’m just so glad you are here—”

  “So am I, son. So am I.” J.C. McCain’s booming voice interrupted his wife. He crossed to the sideboard and poure
d himself a mug of coffee, then brought the entire platter of breads over to the table and plopped them in the center. “Now, boy, you need to eat something.” J.C. buttered a roll and asked, “Does anything register around here?”

  John looked at the man who was supposed to be his father. Despite the older man’s attempt at bravado, pain and yearning shone from his eyes.

  “No,” John said, selecting a Danish not so much because he was hungry but because he thought it would please J.C. John still didn’t understand what had happened between Jonathan and his parents, but surely it was time to go beyond the grudges.

  Alicia asked, “Did any of the photos I sent with Ms. Hamilton help?”

  John shook his head. “So far I haven’t remembered anything about you or my past.”

  “When you’re finished eating I’ll show you around the house and tell you about your youthful escapades,” J.C. offered. “Maybe that’ll do it.”

  John almost smiled at the older man’s denial. It was the same thing he himself had felt a week ago. Then, he’d thought if he just tried hard enough, or encountered the right stimulus, everything would right itself. He’d either reawaken and it would be 1877 or something here would make sense. He’d since learned it wasn’t that simple, so he’d quit expecting a miracle. Hoping for one, yes. But expecting one—no. Still, a guided tour of Jonathan’s old home couldn’t hurt.

  After breakfast, J.C. told John about how he’d misjudged his scruffy, long-haired son when he’d had been arrested as a seventeen-year-old. He explained that his generation had been ready to believe the worst about all youngsters in the seventies. “I could’ve kicked myself a dozen times when you left, but, dammit, I guess I had too much pride. I’ll always regret it.”