“I guess I should say it’s all forgotten,” John said.
Both men smiled at the bad joke before they walked across the wide lawn, through the garage and storage areas before coming back to the main house. J.C. said, “Well, let’s go into my den.”
John followed J.C. into the walnut-paneled room. A large desk dominated the center and two walls lined with bookshelves contrasted with the light shining through the windows. Photographs of a young boy and girl were placed amid the books and old trophies. John crossed the room and picked up one of the framed pictures. He knew it was a photo of Jonathan and his sister, Helena. They were laughing as they wrestled with a dog and a water hose.
“That’s another thing I regretted.” When John raised a questioning eyebrow, J.C. looked down at the expensive floral carpeting and explained. “Einstein—that’s what you named that dog—wasn’t a thing like his namesake. Before he wallowed in every flower bed we had, I got rid of him.” J.C.’s lips, compressed in a tight band, quivered slightly before he continued. “You cried.”
John couldn’t keep from hurting for the little boy in the photograph and the man standing before him, his eyes begging for forgiveness. Seeing no reason not to soothe the older man’s wounds, John nodded as if he understood. When a weak smile showed on J.C.’s face, John set the gold frame back on the shelf and slowly walked around the room, looking at each item.
A Little League trophy—Jonathan’s?—was displayed beside a baton-twirling trophy that must have been Helena’s. He read a plaque on the wall; it was a man-of-the-year award J.C. had received from the El Paso Chamber of Commerce. Next to it was another plaque lined with small engraved bronze plates that recorded Jonathan McCain’s prowess in track and field. Whatever his faults, J.C. had obviously been proud of his son.
The thought of a son reminded John of the one he’d left in San Antonio. The one he might never see again. His chest felt tight and he swallowed a couple of times before moving to the next wall. There, on a shelf about midway up, was an old tintype of a woman, and next to it was a faded brown photograph.
John’s heart seemed to stop beating as he reached for the photo. “Who’s this?” he asked, his voice steady despite his growing fear.
J.C. cleared his throat. “That’s your great-great-grandfather, ol’ Captain John McCain himself, and the other one is his wife.”
The yellowed photograph was behind hazed glass, but there was no doubt in John’s mind that it was a picture of himself. The ranger uniform, dark hair, fancy mustache, everything. This was a picture of him. And he had been dead for over a hundred years.
J.C. must have noticed his growing discomfort. “Are you all right?”
John couldn’t speak. He just nodded and closed his eyes. It was too much to handle. He didn’t believe in ghosts or reincarnation. As wave after wave of nausea passed through him, he fought to maintain some composure. Maybe J.C. would know what had happened to Tommy.
“He had a son. What happened to the son?”
“He grew up and came out here to West Texas to find out what happened to his dad. He was my grandfather Thomas.” J.C. stared a moment, his lips parted in surprise. “Hey, you remembered something.”
Chapter 13
Saturday evening Lauren stood in the center of the elegant hotel suite Alicia had insisted on booking for her. The day before had seemed to last forever. She’d watched the clock, dying to call Judge Estrada to be certain Chester Van Rooten still hadn’t shown up in Sierra. Although she knew enough about Estrada’s reputation to know he wouldn’t renege on his timeline to clear Jonathan of charges, she also knew he carried a heavy load covering several counties and could have gotten overwhelmed with other work. Finally, the judge had called and announced that the charges against Jonathan had been dropped.
Lauren then called Jonathan and his parents to tell them the wonderful news. They had insisted she come to a small dinner party celebrating Jonathan’s release. And now, twenty-four hours later, she surveyed El Paso through windows draped in white-and-beige damask. The glass ran from floor to ceiling along one entire wall that must have been twenty-five feet long. A traditional armoire and a sofa with matching chair were grouped around a coffee table in one part of the L-shaped room. But as Lauren crossed to the windows, the king-size bed tucked around the corner was what demanded her attention. It was the focal point of the room and had been positioned so that it faced the glass wall and the valley below. It was a room you wanted to share with someone you loved.
Since parting in the judge’s chamber, Lauren had cherished Jonathan’s promise that he would see her when he was a free man. Now that was a reality, and in less than three hours, she would meet him face-to-face. Had he had anything to do with his mother’s kindness? Whether he had or not, it was wonderful to feel pampered and special, Lauren thought, as she laid out her clothes for the coming party. Uncertain how formal the dinner would be, she’d chosen a silk, vested pantsuit that draped every curve she had to advantage. And tonight she wanted an advantage.
She could concentrate on Jonathan as a man, not as her firm’s client. And she had high hopes for the evening. Enjoying the feel of the deep pile carpet under her bare feet, she strolled to the bathroom and turned on the water in the large marble tub. Softly, she hummed to herself as she poured perfumed bath gel into the water and watched the bubbles swirl around in a small whirlpool. For the first time in days she could really relax and enjoy her surroundings—the warmth of the water as it slid up her thighs when she crawled into the tub, the fresh flowers in the crystal vase on the countertop and the soothing sounds of jazz playing in the background.
Life was good, she thought, leaning against the back of the tub and imagining Jonathan’s green eyes free of the tension that had haunted them since she’d known him. Maybe his laugh would be easier, his hesitancy gone. Her father had kidded her earlier that morning, saying she reminded him of when she was a squeally teenager too excited to eat. It was true. She’d never be able to eat tonight with butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
An hour later she stood before a mirror in the sitting area and sized up her reflection while she twisted her long blond hair into a French roll. People had told her she looked great in pastels. She thought she looked pretty good in them, too, particularly the soft pink that swathed her body. Swallowing a sigh of anxiety and excitement, she clasped a strand of pearls around her neck. Then, ready to meet Jonathan at last, she headed out the door of her hotel suite.
Despite her white leather coat, Lauren stood shivering on the front porch of the McCain home while she waited for someone to open the massive door. She was prepared for the joy that flooded through her when the door opened and Jonathan stood before her, his eyes gleaming with pleasure, but she wasn’t prepared for the rush of sexual awarness she felt when he reached out to pull her into the room. “God, you look good,” he whispered into her ear as he slipped her coat off, his hands lingering on her shoulders.
She didn’t even try to control the obvious excitement she felt. She wanted him to know she was glad to see him. “So do you,” she whispered back. He looked gorgeous in slacks and a turtleneck that matched his dark hair, but that wasn’t what she meant. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had been wearing a burlap bag, he looked so wonderful. Some of the tension was gone from his face, and he smiled as if he was were genuinely happy, not just mildly amused.
“Come on in and close the door,” J.C. said from somewhere behind Jonathan. “There’s no way we can crank the heat up high enough to warm the outdoors.” A knowing grin flickered on his face.
Jonathan closed the door behind Lauren and, clutching her elbow, guided her into the hall, just in time to be knocked sideways by two little boys barreling through the hallway, performing karate kicks. From the next room a woman yelled for them to stop.
“They’re supposed to be my nephews,” Jonathan explained as he helped Lauren regain her footing.
“They are your nephews.” The woman, her hair as dark as Jonath
an’s, appeared in the archway. “They’re too much like you were for them not to be, although you are a bit nicer now.” Her voice was filled with affection as she looked from him to his companion. “And you must be—”
“Lauren Hamilton,” Jonathan interrupted, laying his arm protectively around her shoulders. “And Lauren, this woman claims to be my sister.”
“His sister’s name happens to be Helena Clark,” the woman said as a sandy-haired man joined them. “And this is my husband, Russell Clark.”
Lauren laughed at Helena’s deadpan act. “I’m pleased to meet you, Helena, Russell.”
“The little warriors are Chase and Crey. I want to assure you they’re not always like this.” Helena clutched the boys to her, one on each side.
“No, unfortunately they’re not.” Russell shook his head. “They’re usually worse.”
“Oh, Dad!” The boys giggled, each of them tackling one of his legs.
“Why don’t you attack your uncle Jon and let me get some rest?” The boys eyed Jonathan, the temptation of their father’s suggestion gleaming in their eyes.
“I’m worn-out myself, boys. Another time, okay?” They groaned, but obeyed. “Now, let’s go on in. I think your grandmother has dinner waiting,” Jonathan said, clearly amused by the family before him.
The dining room was lit by red candles of all sizes cradled in holly boughs and sparkling gold ribbons. Lauren waited expectantly, hoping to be seated next to Jonathan, and she wasn’t disappointed. All through the traditional Mexican meal, she could feel his leg pressed against hers. The conversation was gracious and general. No one mentioned any subject that might have caused distress, including Jonathan’s ordeal. Alicia was the perfect hostess and everyone followed her lead, even Jonathan’s nephews.
After dinner everyone retired to the living room for coffee. Helena and Russell had a time keeping their five- and eight-year-old sons from jumping about the room. Finally, after the boys almost succeeded in knocking over the Christmas tree, Helena had enough, and she and Russell took the boys upstairs and put them to bed in the guest room.
“It’s becoming a tradition when we all have dinner here,” Alicia explained, coming to sit opposite Lauren. “The boys like to spend the night because we let them watch TV in bed until they fall asleep.”
J.C. griped, “She won’t even let me do that.”
“Grandchildren get privileges grandfathers don’t.” Alicia patted her husband on the knee before she turned from him and addressed Lauren once again. “Children are special, too. We appreciate so much what you did to help our son. I know he’s grateful, also.”
Lauren glanced at Jonathan, who was standing in front of the fireplace. His expression was controlled as usual, but he gave her a slight wink. So he wanted to play it cool, did he? She followed suit. “It’s my responsibility to help all my clients—or clients of the firm, I should say.” She almost smiled when he raised an eyebrow and frowned slightly at her comment.
“I was thinking maybe your interest extended a little beyond the normal client relationship,” J.C. commented, his smile distorted by what Lauren assumed to be a nudge from Alicia.
Having years of experience sparring with her own father, Lauren replied matter-of-factly, “You’re right. I don’t normally put myself in danger. But your son is a special case.” She glanced at Jonathan, who was walking toward the sofa. If he was bothered by his father’s suggestion that their relationship had extended beyond professional contact, he was hiding it well. Too well.
Her liberty to reveal to his parents just how much she cared for him rested entirely with Jonathan making the first acknowledgment. She was hoping that was what he was doing when he sat down. He was close enough to her that she felt his body heat, making it difficult for her to resist the urge to scoot nearer.
“And Lauren’s a special woman.” Jonathan laid his arm on the back of the sofa behind her. He didn’t touch her, but the symbolism was there. He was making the statement that they were a couple.
Pleased by Jonathan’s message to the McCains, yet feeling a little awkward, Lauren smiled. J.C. humphed and Alicia returned Lauren’s smile. As if he were oblivious to the reactions, Jonathan never moved or changed expression. Lauren figured he was enjoying himself as his parents tried to size up the situation.
Finally, she sought to divert their attention away from the growing intimacy between Jonathan and herself. “It was very nice of you to invite me to El Paso this weekend. The suite is lovely beyond words, and so was the meal. Thank you.”
“Next time, you’ll have to stay with us,” Alicia said.
Helena and Russell came back into the room in time to hear the end of the conversation. “Even though we filled up the bedrooms, we thought you should be here, since you played a part in making it possible for Jonathan to be back with us.” Helena pulled a chair in closer to the group and sat down, while Russell headed to the kitchen for more coffee.
J.C. gripped Alicia’s shoulder. “Yes, this is the first time we’ve had all of our family together in over twenty years. Even though Jonathan doesn’t remember yet, we used to have some good times during the holidays.”
Helena pointed an accusing finger at Jonathan. “I remember the day you told me there wasn’t a Santa Claus. I’ll never forgive you for that. Then you made me promise not to tell Mother and Daddy. You said we’d get more presents if we pretended to believe.”
Jonathan groaned when the others laughed. “Was I that mean?”
She nodded. “I think you were born a cynic and took perverse delight in destroying every illusion I had—from the tooth fairy to the Easter Bunny, to the fact that in eighth grade Bobby Joe Blanchart didn’t love me for my mind.”
Everyone laughed as she continued, “And your elder nephew takes after you. He considers it his duty to make sure his younger brother isn’t taken in by any of that ‘hokey’ stuff grown-ups pull.”
Lauren remembered telling Ted that he was stupid when he insisted that Santa Claus wasn’t their father. “I told my brother the same thing,” she admitted, shaking her head. “I’d forgotten all about that.”
Jonathan said, “What a thing to have in common—we were both mean to our younger siblings.”
“I wasn’t mean.” Lauren tilted her head and looked down her nose at him. “Just superior. I thought it was my place to educate the ignorant masses—of which my brother was the only one on the ranch. So I practiced my powers of persuasion on poor Ted and any cows or horses I could get to listen.”
“That’s probably why you became a lawyer—all that arguing before the livestock.” Jonathan grinned.
“I wouldn’t poke fun if I were you, big brother,” Helena started to tease, but her tone became more serious as she spoke. “You’ve always had a superior attitude, too. You were critical of everyone’s faults, including your own. Until the last couple of days, that is. You seem different now.” Her voice became lower and softer. “I hope that part of the old you doesn’t return when you get your memory back.”
Lauren tensed. She hoped the same thing. Would Jonathan still be the person she was falling in love with? He must have sensed her concern because he rested his fingertips on her shoulder. The pressure was so slight she had to concentrate to feel it through the thin fabric of her vest. But that barely perceptible touch made her long to feel his open palm against her naked skin. Would physical contact allay her growing fears?
Alicia, the perfect hostess, tried to calm everyone’s concern. “I’m sure it won’t. Why, a couple of days ago, Jonathan looked at an old family portrait and remembered something.”
Lauren turned to face Jonathan. “What?”
John had wrestled with that question himself. He couldn’t say he remembered something that he hadn’t been aware of all along. Soon, maybe, he could share who he was with Lauren. Now, though, he couldn’t say that he’d seen a picture of himself. “I saw a photograph of my great-great-grandfather Captain John McCain.”
“Oh, is it the one I
saw when I came by to get the photos?” she asked J.C.
“That’s the one.” J.C. nodded and explained, “The captain was one of the early Texas Rangers. Joined up in the early 1870s, when most of the rangers were single and a little wild. He was supposed to have come out here to West Texas to defend the salt flats. It was going to be his last duty before he resigned.” J.C. shook his head. “Well, it was, but I don’t believe it was the way he wanted.”
“How’s that, J.C.?” Russell stretched his feet out and rubbed his hands over his stomach. Helena gently nudged him. He grinned, but straightened up. “No, really, it’s a good story. Miss Hamilton might get a kick out of it.”
J.C. brightened, obviously pleased to retell the story. “Please indulge me, Lauren. I enjoy making suppositions about my ne’er-do-well great-grandpapa.”
John sucked in his breath, unsettled by this unbecoming reference to himself. He might not have been indispensable, and maybe he hadn’t done right by his family, but he’d provided them with a living. And he’d been planning to quit and raise Tommy proper. Then, too, Lauren already knew a little about the incident, but John decided to be quiet.
J.C., oblivious to John’s reaction, stood and walked over to the fireplace and propped his foot on the ledge. Satisfied he had everyone’s attention, he began. “He was part of a small contingent of Texas Rangers sent out here to El Paso to quell a rebellion. Seems an Anglo claimed rights to the salt flats, and the Mexicans took offense. A big brawl took place in San Elizario down the road a piece from here, and all the Anglos were hauled before a firing squad. Including John Thomas McCain. Somehow our ingenuous ancestor escaped, but it didn’t do him much good.”
“What do you mean?” John asked, trying to master his fight-or-flight response to the thought of the firing squad and the bullet grazing his head. He wanted to jump up and demand that someone explain what was going on. They were all sitting there as if J.C. was just relating a story about an irresponsible ancestor. But they couldn’t know they were talking about him.
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