McCain's Memories

by Maggie Simpson

  “He disappeared.” J.C. sighed and straightened up. “Still don’t know what happened to him. His son, Thomas—my grandfather—came here in the late 1890s trying to find some trace of him. He didn’t find anything, but settled down here anyway.”

  John’s fingers clasped Lauren’s shoulder. He knew his heart was racing and his palms were sweating.

  J.C. continued, “Must have died out in the desert. I located some records in the archives from the Mexican commander Cardis, which described how he followed him about a hundred miles east and never did catch him.”

  “How did you know he was planning to resign as a ranger?” Lauren asked. She flinched slightly, causing John to realize he had been tightening his grip on her shoulder as J.C. spoke. He uncurled his fingers and massaged her soft flesh.

  “His diary and other personal effects were salvaged from the mercantile store in San Elizario. Someone sent them back to the family in San Antonio,” Helena answered. “Remember, Jonathan? When you were at the house back in the summer, you surprised me by finally taking an interest in family history. Dad let me have the diary, then you borrowed it from me, saying you wanted to read it.”

  John tried to control the growing despair he felt. Not only were people telling him he was dead, but he’d left intimate details of his life to be read by anyone and everyone, including himself. He tried to sound only mildly interested when he answered. “I guess I need to find it and read it.”

  “Do you think it’s still at the ranch?” Lauren asked.

  “I can’t think of a reason why it wouldn’t be. That is, unless Chester decided he wanted to take that, too.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. You’ll have to get the guns yourself when you go back, but I went by the sheriffs office before coming out here and picked up your car keys and a few other things Van Rooten had confiscated from your house.”

  “I appreciate it. Now I can drive that fancy car parked in the garage when I remember how.” John tried to chuckle, but his earlier nearly lighthearted mood was gone.

  The talk turned to things that were less personal, but John couldn’t force himself to pay attention. He wanted to get away from all the people so he could think. It wasn’t that they weren’t being nice. They were. It was the small talk that required him to answer occasionally or appear rude that was interfering, so when J.C. suggested a bridge game, John jumped at the chance to escape.

  “If you’re going to play bridge, you won’t need us, so I think I’ll see Lauren back to her hotel,” John said.

  Less than twenty minutes later Lauren closed the door of her suite behind Jonathan. At his parents’ house, she had known he’d wanted to talk to her—alone. During the ride to the hotel, he’d been silent and restless. Something had upset him. She took off her coat and tossed it onto an overstuffed chair before she turned to him. “I was watching your face tonight when your father was talking about your great-great-grandfather. You made a connection between him and the bones buried on our ranch, didn’t you?” She’d listened politely, not letting the McCains know she’d heard parts of the story before. And perhaps knew something they didn’t.

  He nodded and sat down on the sofa, burying his head in his hands. The lamplight from a nearby end table glinted off his dark hair.

  Softly she said, “So did I, but it wasn’t the time to say anything to your parents. Not until you tell me what is wrong. This was a person you never knew, Jon, but you’re acting like it was a long-lost friend. Please, tell me what’s going on?” She sat beside him and gently pried his hands from his head so she could see his face. He looked up at her with what could only be described as a haunted expression. She glimpsed a far-off look in his eyes before he leaned forward and studied the nondescript carpet.

  “You won’t believe me,” he finally said.

  “Let me decide.” She clasped both of his hands in hers. “I know there’s more involved in this than just amnesia. So tell me. What is it?”

  He took a deep breath and turned to face her. “I didn’t much care for that story because those bones may be mine.” His voice was steady and sure. “I’m Captain John McCain!”

  “What? I think I misunderstood you.” Lauren couldn’t believe her ears. Had Jonathan gone mad?

  “No, you didn’t misunderstand. I don’t remember Jonathan McCain, but I seem to remember a lot about John McCain, Texas Ranger.”

  She had to make him see reason. “Jon, your own parents recognize you. So does your sister. Cliff. Everyone. You’re Jonathan McCain III.”

  The corners of Jonathan’s mouth gave the impression of a wry smile, though she knew no humor was intended. “Not hardly.”

  Lauren shook her head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I seem to be a different person from Jonathan. Even Helena remarked tonight that I behave differently than I used to. And I like my...parents.” He struggled with the word. “Jonathan didn’t.”

  Lauren’s grip on his hands tightened. “Cliff said you’d mellowed, too.”

  “See what I mean about being different? Then there’s the whole question of Cliff. I don’t understand anything about him, either, except his last name is Atkinson, which was the name of one of the men I was locked up with in San Elizario.”

  Lauren stared at him. “Jonathan, that has to be pure coincidence. Lots of people have the same last name. Don’t try to make it something it isn’t.”

  “Maybe, but...” He shook his head.

  “You’ve had memories only Jonathan could have had. Things like Van Rooten firing a rifle and alluding to a partner.”

  “I can’t explain it. Those were only brief flashes. I couldn’t hold on to them. They weren’t real.”

  “Jonathan, you can’t be John McCain. Time travel doesn’t exist,” she whispered, though she remembered reading that Stephen Hawkings now thought it possible. Maybe she ought to go back and read what the brilliant scientist had written.

  “You asked me to tell you what was bothering me, so I did.”

  “It’s not that I think you’re lying to me—it’s that it just doesn’t make sense. For example, what became of Jonathan?”

  “I don’t know.” He held up his hands. “I don’t understand, myself, but it appears that this is his body. Yet most of my memories and reactions are the captain’s. I remember living in San Antonio and being sent here to protect Charles Howard and his salt. The best I can recall, it all happened just like J.C. said. The arrest, being in jail in San Elizario, the firing squad and me being able to scramble away during the little riot that took place. I jumped on a horse and took off, then it wasn’t long before Cardis and lots of others came after me. The next thing I remember is when I awoke in the cave and you were there. The rest you know.”

  Lauren stood, hoping the effort would clear some of the cobwebs that filled her brain. This was unbelievable, but she knew the cowboy wasn’t intentionally lying to her. He was sincere. Though his explanation raised a lot of questions, it also explained some of his earlier reactions and lack of knowledge. “Jon, what do you remember about your life before you came out here to West Texas?”

  “I remember one of my fingers was cut off when I was twelve.” He held out his hand, all fingers intact. “I remember I hated farming and its backbreaking work. That’s why I joined the rangers. And I have a son named Tommy back in San Antonio. I’d be bustin’ my rump to get back if I didn’t think it was futile.”

  “If you have a son, then you must have a wife.” Lauren felt a numbness creeping over her. He was married. If this bizarre story had any validity, the man she had finally fallen head over heels in love with thought he was married.

  “No, she died before I was sent to El Paso. My sister is—was taking care of Tommy.”

  Lauren breathed a sigh of relief over the fact that he hadn’t deceived her. “I take it that Tommy was the Thomas J.C. said was his grandfather?”

  Jonathan dragged a hand across his face and leaned back against the sofa. “Hell of a mess, huh?”

/>   “Tell me about your wife.” Though it was illogical to be jealous of a wife who had died a hundred and twenty years ago, Lauren was envious of the woman he thought had shared his life. It was neither the time nor place for her to express her doubts to him about who he thought he was. There’d be time for that later.

  “She was a good mother. Uh...” Jonathan seemed to be struggling to remember. “She hated the rangers, wanted me at home to be a father. I’d told her that I was quitting soon. After she got a fever and died, I was filled with guilt, but restless as all get-out. My sister helped me out with Thomas. It looks like she raised him.”

  “And he must have turned out fine. Look at your family now. You should be proud.” So that she could see him better, Lauren turned sideways on the sofa and tucked one leg under the other.

  “Considering the circumstances, I don’t think proud is an option. I skipped out, according to J.C., and never went back. Remember?” He looked at her as if willing her to deny the facts, then stood up and crossed to the wall of windows.

  John pulled a cord and the draperies slowly parted, exposing a view of the city nestled in the valley below. Far-off traffic signals blinked red, yellow and green amid the thousands of twinkling white lights. The wonders of electricity were not only convenient, but they were beautiful, too.

  He started to drop the cord, then realized what he had just done. There was no way he, John McCain, could have known how to make the draperies work. Did Jonathan’s body remember how to do things from the present time? God! It was all too confusing.

  He heard the soft tread of Lauren’s footsteps as she walked up behind him. She was close enough that he could feel her body heat and smell the elusive perfume that drove him mad. There had been nights when he had awakened in a sweat and sworn her scent clung to the bed. Those were the nights he couldn’t go back to sleep.

  “What are we going to do?” She snuggled up to him, wrapping her arms around him.

  The feel of her arms around his waist should have given him courage, but he was still afraid she would leave him when she had time to consider all he had told her. “We?” He stressed the word as he stared out the window.

  “Yes. You don’t think you’re going to handle this alone, do you?”

  He thought for several seconds before he answered. “I guess, in the past, I’ve always done everything pretty much by myself and I—”

  “Jon,” she interrupted, “people try to help people they care about.”

  He turned and took her face between his hands, holding it so she was forced to look up into his eyes. His voice was low, almost pleading in its intensity when he spoke. “And do you...care about me?”

  The atmosphere around them changed as he waited for her answer. The air became heavier and charged with tension. He was asking for more than the words conveyed. He needed to know if she believed him, if she trusted him, if she loved him, if she wanted him.

  The answer was there in her eyes before she whispered, “Yes, I do.”

  “As your client?”

  Lauren stepped back and slowly raised her hands and began to take down her hair. He stared, transfixed by the metamorphosis from classic professional to seductive vixen as she ran her fingers through the blond tresses until they hung in a cascade around her shoulders. He clenched his fists to keep from touching her. That would be sensory overload—and foolish. Though he wanted her more than he remembered ever wanting anything, he wasn’t good for her. She had a future full of promise. He had a past full of unanswerable questions.

  But for the moment he allowed himself the luxury of devouring her with his eyes as the light played across her face and body. All evening he had ached to feel the silk she wore against the skin of his hands as he caressed her, and when she licked her lips with the tip of her pink tongue in a manner that was so provocative he felt himself instantly harden, every bit of common sense deserted him.

  “You aren’t even close to being my client anymore,” she said, taking a step closer.

  “Thank God!” He reached out, grasped her shoulders and pulled her hard against him. “I know I shouldn’t be doing this, that I’m not the man for you, but I’ve waited so long for this.”

  He thought he was going to explode with the pure joy of finally having her in his arms. When he’d told her who he was, she hadn’t laughed or ridiculed him, but instead had offered to help. His fears of being rejected had been unfounded. If only he could offer her something other than this one night.

  She drew back and whispered his name in a voice so low and husky it seemed to come from the depths of her heart. “Jon,” she purred, “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

  Forgetting the problems that would be facing them tomorrow, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed.

  Chapter 14

  After gently laying her on the bed, John stood beside it and stared down at Lauren. She looked up at him with blue eyes that begged him to make love to her, not that he needed any begging. The fact was, he had to force himself to slow down. For a forty-year-old man who should know how to exercise restraint, it was difficult.

  The sight of Lauren taking down her hair had instantly aroused him. Now the bulge straining against the fabric of his trousers was demanding he do something. But he wanted to take his time, to savor every second, to ensure that Lauren understood what she meant to him. Sometimes words failed him, but he could use his body to worship her.

  Without taking his eyes from hers, he stepped back, tugged his black sweater over his head and, after tossing it toward a chair, slowly stepped back to the bed, bringing him closer to the woman of his dreams. Her blond hair shimmered in a halo against the pillow as the light from the window bathed her still-clothed body. But even silk couldn’t hide the tantalizing curves. She was gorgeous.

  When she raised one hand to beckon him closer he couldn’t wait any longer. A low groan of complete surrender escaped from deep in his throat as he knelt on one knee beside her. For this one night he wouldn’t think about who he was or what was going to become of him. He wouldn’t think about the future or if making love to Lauren was wise. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was burying himself deep inside her and forgetting everything but the sanity her lips and arms offered.

  The mattress gave under his weight when he leaned forward and planted one hand in the pillow on either side of her head. Bracing himself above her, he savored the yearning he saw in her eyes. Though she hadn’t said the words, he knew she felt what he did. She was experiencing the same aching desire to plunge ahead, but was wanting to make the night, perhaps their only night, memorable. No one knew what tomorrow was going to bring. If he could come through time, then he might be able to go back. And if faced with having to decide between his son and previous life and the woman under him, he didn’t have a choice.

  His son meant everything to him. He couldn’t choose not to go back to San Antonio.

  But that choice would rip him apart. Leaving Lauren after tonight would kill him. He knew that his heart would slowly harden and his soul shrivel until there was nothing left for anyone. If he were a stronger man, he would get up and leave before he hurt her further. But he wasn’t strong. He wanted—no, he needed—to feel her hands on his body again. “Touch me,” he whispered hoarsely.

  She obeyed, placing her palms against his chest, her fingers spreading wide, giving him the contact he sought. He raised his head, arched his back and took a deep breath, memorizing the feel of her hands as they slid through the hair on his chest. When she splayed them across his back, he bent over her and kissed the tip of her nose, her eyelids, her cheeks, then ran his tongue over his lips, tasting her sweetness. There were so many sensations he wanted to cherish.

  Beneath him, Lauren melted with the same emotions. Just the strength of his muscles filling her hands made her breath catch. She had dreamed of the feel of his hard body against hers since he’d first kissed her in the cave. Now, finally, nothing was keeping them apart. Nothing except a hundred and twenty years. She
ignored her doubts about his sanity and concentrated instead on the need flooding through her veins as their lips finally met. His were demanding, as though he had waited as long as he could.

  He deepened the kiss until tongue played with tongue, building within her a rousing fire. She whimpered when his hand slid under her top and his fingertips grazed her nipples through the lace of her bra. All of her senses centered on his slightest touch, and she writhed with pleasure as he continued to tease her breasts.

  She wanted to feel the weight of his bare chest pressed against hers, so she slid her hands between them to the opening of her vest and began to unfasten the buttons one at a time. He rose up and watched her with smoldering eyes for several seconds before again lowering his mouth. His lips followed her hands as she slowly exposed her naked flesh to his ravishing kisses. When the last button was undone, he reached up to her shoulders and began tugging the top off. She arched her back as he pushed the vest down her arms and tossed it to the floor.

  For a long moment their eyes met in silence. Then he began to trail one finger down Lauren’s cheek, to rest in the hollow of her throat, where, she knew, he could feel her thundering pulse.

  “You’re beautiful, even more beautiful than my fantasies in the cave,” he said, continuing his journey downward to the swell of her breasts. He ran his fingertip along the top edge of her bra, as if enjoying the sight of his darker skin against the milky whiteness of hers. Then he slid the straps down, exposing her engorged nipples to his gaze.

  As he unclasped her bra and cast it aside, he said, “I’ve dreamed of this since I first touched you.” His head dipped down and his tongue traced wet circles around her areola until Lauren ceased to think. All she knew was that she loved him beyond reason and she wanted to feel him inside of her, his body and soul one with hers. She threaded her fingers through his hair and moaned softly, “Oh, Jon, please...now.”