McCain's Memories

by Maggie Simpson

  He answered her plea by standing up. Through lids heavy with passion, Lauren watched in fascination as he stepped out of his pants and kicked them aside. Silhouetted against the window, his body was everything she imagined—lean, hard and ready.

  When he joined her again, she rolled him flat on his back so she could straddle him. She wanted him to experience the same tortured pleasure he’d shown her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she scattered kisses down his throat, then trailed her tongue to the nipples hidden in dark hair. Those she licked and bit at until he swore softly and ground his pelvis against hers. How could she have fallen in love with him is such a short time? But as his hands slid under the waistband of her slacks, sliding them down her thighs and legs, allowing cool air to salve her burning skin, she decided some riddles weren’t worth solving.

  The hunger in his body and her own turned into a raw ache that demanded satisfaction. She gripped his shoulders tighter and quivered in anticipation as his hand stroked her inner thighs, until finally she’d had all she could bear. She leaned forward, her hair forming a curtain on either side of their faces. “Oh, yes, please, Jon,” she murmured, just before he settled her body over his throbbing shaft. Then, grasping her waist in his hands, with one long stroke he thrust up into her wet core.

  Her own gasp of surprise mingled with his low groan as he settled deep within her. She stared down into eyes that claimed her as his. Whatever happened between them now, they would always be a part of each other. Neither moved for a moment as the importance of what had just occurred settled over them, then Lauren felt Jonathan’s hips begin to rock slowly, and she matched his easy rhythm. The sensations building were new and fresh. Nothing had prepared her for the all-consuming demands of his lovemaking. Though she rode him, there was no doubt who was in control as he orchestrated their motions to a primeval beat.

  The pleasure written on his face mirrored her own wonder. It no longer mattered who he was—John or Jonathan. They were one and the same——the center of her universe.

  As he increased the pace, she clutched the headboard and threw her head back, sucking in air, trying to save herself from drowning. “No...not...yet,” she mumbled. But it was too late. The orgasm tore through her body and she sobbed his name before collapsing onto his sweat-dampened chest.

  He wrapped his arms tighter around her, and gasping for each breath, drove hard into her once, twice and then a third time. In her mindless state, Lauren felt all the muscles along his length harden, tremble, then relax as a groan escaped from deep in his throat.

  Later, John gathered Lauren into the crook of his shoulder as he settled back onto the plump pillows he’d arranged against the headboard. It was reminiscent of the way he had held her in the cave less than a month ago. So much had changed. Then, he’d thought he would never see her again. Now she snuggled close and drew one leg up his until it rested across his thigh. The peace and wonder that swamped him were like nothing he had ever experienced. Here in this one woman was his reason for wanting to live.

  He watched the lights of the city twinkling in the distance as he took another deep breath, telling himself that this was all really happening. He was here in Lauren’s bed, and he had just made love to her. And she hadn’t come up with one reason why they shouldn’t—though he had plenty.

  He reached for a bag of tobacco and matches on the nightstand and didn’t find them. Then he remembered he didn’t smoke. As a ranger, he’d taken an occasional chew of tobacco, but hadn’t really liked the stuff. He didn’t understand his sudden impulse. “Do you know if Jonathan smoked?” he asked, against Lauren’s hair.

  She stirred and glanced up at him. “There were ashtrays at the ranch, so probably. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just had this craving and I wondered if my body was responding out of habit.”

  “You mean a cigarette after sex?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “What do you mean, yeah? Are you saying you’re through with me?” He detected a teasing tone in her voice as she sat up and crossed her legs, turning so she could face him. Outlined against the night cityscape behind her, every curve, every graceful movement was framed by the large windows.

  “Not hardly.” His body immediately began to respond, though his brain said it couldn’t. He was middle-aged, and it just didn’t happen again this fast. But his body wasn’t listening to reason. Not wanting to break the physical connection between them, he reached over and rested a hand on one of her thighs.

  “I’ve never heard you say ‘yeah’ before. You’ve always said ‘yes,’” she said.

  “I must have picked it up from the conversations I’ve listened to during the past few weeks. Texans in the twentieth century use it a lot.”

  “I wonder how much of you is the present,” she said, as he ran his fingers up and down the soft skin of her upper leg. “Your fingerprints are Jonathan McCain’s. You obviously look like him and must sound like he did. Your family and Cliff all say you’re J-o-n, not J-o-h-n.”

  “Jonathan’s parents haven’t seen him in over twenty years. They could easily be fooled.”

  “What about Helena and Cliff? They would recognize you.”

  “I don’t have the answers yet. I want to get back to the ranch and search for the diary. Maybe there’s something in it that will clear this up. I’d also like to go to San Elizario. Perhaps the answer is there.” His hand slid lower to her inner thigh, where the satin skin was more sensitive.

  “If you wish, I’ll take you to the ranch tomorrow,” she offered.

  He wasn’t sure she understood what they might discover and what it would mean to them. “I have to try to find out how I got here and if there’s a way back.”

  “I know.”

  “And I’ll have to return if I can. There’s Tommy....”

  “I know.” Light reflected off of a single tear as it rolled from the corner of her eye.

  John thought he was going to be unable to catch his next breath. The sight of her silently crying over him paralyzed his chest. With a knuckle, he caught the tear as it fell down her cheek. He felt like the lowest form of life as he pulled her into this arms.

  After saying goodbye to the McCains the next morning, Lauren drove Jonathan toward San Elizario. By some unspoken agreement, they didn’t discuss what had occurred between them last night. There wasn’t much to say until they checked things out. She could tell that the closer they got to the town, the more preoccupied Jonathan became. He stared out the window at the passing buildings and cars. She suspected he was disappointed in the rambling barrios and mom-and-pop businesses. Was it anything like he thought it would be? Was he still sure he’d been here in 1877?

  The buildings were a blend of functional architecture interspersed with territorial and mission styles from the 1800s. It was a typical border town, home of many poor and few affluent people. Lauren pulled the car into a narrow parking spot on the plaza near the center of town. Large trees that drew groundwater from the Rio Grande not far away shaded parts of the square. Leaves and dirt had collected along the curb, Lauren noticed when she opened the door.

  Searching the area all the time he was slowly getting out of the car, Jonathan didn’t say a word until he came around the back of the car and joined her. He took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

  “So am I.” She couldn’t have let him do this alone.

  Turning her to face him, he said, “About last night... Maybe it shouldn’t have happened, but regardless of what we find here, I’m glad it did. There’s no way I’m sorry for something that was so wonderful.”

  His words brought tears to her eyes again, but she couldn’t let him see that. He would feel worse. Lowering her head, she nodded and whispered, “I have no regrets, either.”

  Hand in hand, they walked down the crumbling sidewalk past a gazebo toward a lovely old mission church. Judging from nearby vehicles, Lauren guessed it was teeming with parishioners. She didn’t know when the white adobe building ha
d been erected, but wondered if it might have been standing when Captain John McCain was brought to San Elizario as a prisoner.

  The town was decorated for Christmas. Luminarias lined the roofs of some of the flat-topped buildings, and the paper bags filled with sand and candles edged many of the sidewalks. They looked sad and disheveled in the middle of the day, but at night the candle flames would glow through the translucent paper, creating magical light shows throughout the area.

  Lauren snuggled closer to Jonathan’s side as a cool breeze rustled the trash and leaves along their path. They walked completely around the plaza before he said, “Nothing looks even vaguely familiar.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you hoped there would be something here that would explain what has happened to you.”

  “Let’s just say I hoped something would jump out at me. Well, so much for that.” With the palm of his hand on the small of her back, he guided her toward the car.

  They were almost there when Lauren noticed a marker in the plaza partially hidden by its surroundings. “There’s a historical marker, Jon. Let’s go read it.”

  His arm settled around her shoulders and he drew her close to his side as they read the bronze plaque, which described a bloody episode of the Salt Wars that had taken place in the fall of 1877 at that site.

  “People can justify fighting about almost anything, can’t they?” Lauren mused as she thought about the struggle for control of the vast Guadalupe Salt Flats.

  “Particularly if money’s to be made.” His dry comment hinted at more meaning than was evident. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee,” he suggested.

  Minutes later they were sitting at a vinyl booth in a small café off the plaza. Colorful papier-mâché piñatas hung from the ceiling in preparation for Las Posadas and the holidays. Red-leafed poinsettias flanked the glass door.

  John took a sip of his coffee and set his cup down before staring through the window blinds toward the plaque that told about the building where he and the other rangers had been held prisoner, then led before a firing squad. He should have been able to recollect the smell of gunpowder and the mass of unwashed people crowding around, but he didn’t. Nor could he imagine the sound of Spanish insults and curses that must have been voiced as he was sentenced. He should have felt fear being in this place again, but instead he felt nothing.

  Lauren’s soft voice intruded on his thoughts. “Are you all right?”

  He turned to face her and propped his elbows on the Formica tabletop. “I’m fine. I was just thinking.” He took another sip of coffee. “You know, it’s funny, in a twisted sort of way, about how events are similar.”

  When a confused look crossed Lauren’s face, he continued, “Over a hundred years ago salt was a precious commodity in this hot desert. Hell, it was a necessity. No refrigeration, so something had to be a preservative. That meant money.”

  He felt her fingers close around his and it made him feel like everything was going to turn out fine. He wanted to tell her what had happened. He knew she still had doubts about him being John McCain—any reasonable person would—but the memories seemed so strong, he had to talk about it. Reconstruct his past, and maybe in the process, reconstruct himself.

  “Back before this area became part of the United States the salt was there for the taking. No one owned it. The salt haulers would leave here with water barrels loaded on their wagons. They would go to a halfway station about forty-five miles out, where they’d rest and leave enough water for their return. Then they went to the flats, loaded up with salt and rested a couple of days before heading back. On the return journey they stopped at the halfway point, desperate for the water they’d left there. Then they headed back here.”

  Lauren let go of his hand and took a sip of her coffee. “Sounds like a grueling existence. I wonder why Charles Howard decided the salt was his.”

  “Money. When this area became part of the U.S., Howard finagled to get the ownership of the salt transferred to him, but he couldn’t protect it. He and Cardis were fighting over it, so Howard requested ranger assistance. I was supposed to guard Howard. Instead, me and the others got ourselves arrested by the Mexicans.”

  “How could they arrest you if this was the United States?”

  John grinned at her naiveté. “In 1877, Mexicans controlled this area. No one paid any attention to sovereignty because that had already changed six times in less than two hundred years.”

  “Real stable place.” She took his hand. “What do you remember about being in jail here?”

  “I only remember the first few days. There were several of us and we were held in that old mercantile store over there.” He looked out the window. “I don’t even remember being shot at. I just know it happened.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can’t answer that.” The idea that he had such stark memories bothered him. That, and the similarity of the past with the present. “Anyway, the motivation for fighting over the salt wasn’t that much different than fighting over drugs today.”

  “I’d say there’s a lot of difference in the effect on people.”

  “Maybe. I’m talking about money. Charles Howard, Chester Van Rooten—both of them wanted money.” John stood and offered her a hand. “Let’s go. I’m anxious to get to that diary.”

  Dusk was fast approaching when they drove up in front of the ranch house. It stood forlorn and deserted. There wasn’t even a dog to run out to greet them as they climbed the steps to the door, and the cat was nowhere in sight. The shadows and the emptiness gave Lauren the creeps. She jumped when a coyote howled in the distance.

  As though he understood how she was feeling, Jonathan said, “It’s rather lonely out here, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not that so much as wondering what has happened here.”

  After he closed the door behind them and flicked on the welcome overhead light, Lauren felt better. He pulled her back against his chest and rested his head on her hair while she gathered the courage to attack their mission.

  She was confident in who she was, and she wanted the same for Jonathan, but she was afraid of what they might discover. For argument’s sake, just suppose by some quirk of fate he was John McCain? If he could travel forward in time, could he go back? He would have to leave her if given the opportunity; she knew that. He wasn’t the type of man to abandon his son. J.C. had said that John McCain never made it back, but maybe now he was being given another chance. His hands, resting on her shoulders, gave her little comfort.

  “Maybe it won’t take us too long to find the diary. The office was probably used often, so let’s start there,” he said.

  Reluctant to give up the warmth she’d been gathering from him, she was nevertheless anxious to get it over with. Instead of the diary proving that John came from the past, maybe it would prove he didn’t. Then there would be a chance for them.

  After they searched the office, Lauren leaned against the desk, disappointed. “You looked through all this earlier, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but I was looking for records, ledgers, that type of stuff—not an old diary. Let’s try the living room.”

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  Fifteen minutes later, and still empty-handed, she placed her fists on her hips and asked, “Where should we look next?”

  “There are books in every room of this house,” he said. “You pick the room, and I’ll follow you.”

  After they’d searched the guest rooms and master bedroom, he looked truly bewildered. “I can’t believe we haven’t found it.”

  Lauren frowned and scratched the top of her head, as if that would increase her thinking power. “Where could it be?”

  “Maybe we’ll find it later,” he said as they wandered into the kitchen. “Right now, I’m hungry. We haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “That’s because we didn’t eat breakfast until eleven o’clock.”

  “That’s because we didn’t get up until after nine o’clock,” he countered, mimicking her tone.


  “And whose fault was that?”

  “Yours, you vixen.” He laughed and pulled her toward him. “You kept me up too late last night.”

  “I kept you up?” She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned back so she could see his eyes. Despite the problems and uncertainties he still faced, he looked happy and relaxed. And she felt at least partially responsible for that. “You were the one who couldn’t get enough.”

  “And that’s your fault, too. If you didn’t have such a cute little butt we would have gotten more sleep, and we wouldn’t be standing here starving now.”

  She laughed at his ridiculous logic. “So, are you hinting that since this situation is my fault, I should fix us something to eat?”

  He forced a solemn expression and nodded. “That would be a start toward righting things. After we eat, we’ll talk about what else you might do.” A wicked grin creased his face as he let her go.

  Their light banter reminded her of the way they had kidded each other in the cave. During the past few weeks the desperate situation Jonathan had been in had dampened both of their senses of humor. Now she felt lighthearted even though the dark cloud of Jonathan’s identity hung over them. For this brief moment it was wonderful to pretend things were going to be fine.

  “While you rustle us up some grub, I’m going to go wash my hands,” he said, heading toward the hallway.

  Lauren found some spaghetti and a jar of sauce in the pantry. She’d just put a pot of water on to boil when she heard a yell and then footsteps hurrying down the hallway. Tossing the towel she’d been holding onto the countertop, she rushed to the doorway.

  She almost bumped into Jonathan as he burst into the kitchen, waving a faded brown book.

  “Look what I found!” he exclaimed.

  “In the bathroom?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He shrugged. “Everybody needs something to read.”

  She tried to control the laughter threatening to erupt. They had searched the entire house except the bathroom. Who would ever have thought of looking there? Yet everyone she knew kept some type of reading material there. “Well, what does it say?”