McCain's Memories

by Maggie Simpson

  “I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet. I’ll tell you what. You cook and I’ll read to you.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. Then, propping one arm on the kitchen table, he stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles as he opened the small book.

  His deep voice filled the kitchen as he read, along with the steam from the boiling water and the aroma of marinara sauce. Lauren worked quietly so she could catch each word. Sometimes his voice was clear and strong. Other times, when a passage affected him, his voice drifted so low she had to concentrate to hear.

  He read about life in San Antonio with a woman he referred to as a good mother to his child, about the hardships they faced, about her death and his guilt. He read about the anguish he’d felt over his decision to take one last assignment with the rangers. He read about the San Elizario salt haulers almost word for word the way he’d described them earlier that day. Then he flipped the book closed as if he’d had enough, and stood up to stretch.

  His sigh tore at Lauren’s heart, but he didn’t mention his disappointment. Instead, he walked over to the stove, looked down, closed his eyes and sniffed deeply. “Is it ready yet?”

  “Yes, it is.” Lauren poured tea while he helped set the table. His lack of comments stood like a barrier between them, until Lauren had to say something. His brief lighthearted mood was gone. “I know reading that must have been upsetting.”

  He nodded and sat down opposite her.

  They said very little while they ate the spaghetti. When they were finished they put the dishes in the dishwasher and wiped off the table. After the last spoon was put away, Jonathan leaned back against the counter, dried his hands on a paper towel and tossed it toward the trash can.

  As if he had been thinking all during the meal, he picked up the conversation where it had ended before dinner. “I don’t understand it, but I don’t feel like I expected I would. It doesn’t feel intimate...immediate. I can’t form clear pictures of the situations I described in the diary. I should be more upset about my son. I’m concerned for him, but I feel almost disconnected, as if he were someone else’s child. I know that Annie was small and fair, but I can’t see her, I can’t remember how she felt, how she smelled when I held her in my arms.”

  He put his hands on Lauren’s shoulders and held her at arm’s length while he talked. “So unlike you. I’ll never forget how you try to stifle a giggle when you think you shouldn’t laugh, or how soft your skin feels, or your scent after we make love. It won’t matter if a hundred and twenty years do pass, I’ll remember that like it was yesterday.” He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

  With her cheek crushed against his chest, her ear to his pounding heart, she could feel his frustration and confusion. But she didn’t know how to help him.

  “Thanks for being here for me,” he whispered against her hair.

  It wasn’t the first time he had expressed his gratitude, and she was beginning to understand how much he really needed her. How could she have thought otherwise? She tightened her arms around his waist and snuggled closer.

  “It’s late. Let’s go to bed,” he said.

  Nothing had been said about her spending the night. “I’ve got to go to work in the morning, but—”

  “Stay with me one more night. I need you.” He buried his hand in her hair and tilted her face upward so she could see the despair in his eyes.

  The job could wait. Weaving her arms around his neck, she lifted her lips to meet his, hoping she could heal the pain he was feeling.

  “Oh, lady, my sweet lady,” he murmured against her mouth before he hauled her hard against him.

  Lauren awoke sometime in the middle of the night, shivered and rolled over, then stretched out an arm, searching for warmth. Jonathan’s side of the bed was empty. Immediately she jerked up and looked at the clock. It was almost four. Memories of their lovemaking the night before flooded through her as she slipped on Jonathan’s terry-cloth robe and went in search of him.

  She found him in the living room, head buried in his hand. Beneath the yellow glare of a lamp, the diary lay closed on the end table. He looked up when he heard her. A haunted expression marred his handsome face. Crossing the room, she asked, “How long have you been up?”

  “A couple of hours. I couldn’t sleep.”

  When she knelt beside him, he immediately reached out and buried one of his hands in her hair and gripped her by the back of the neck, holding her as if his very life depended on it.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He released a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t know if I am or not anymore.”

  “Was there something in the book that upset you?” She knew the answer before he spoke. Whatever he had read had changed him.

  “Not really. There’s nothing there I didn’t already know.” He looked down into her eyes, his own dark with pain. “In fact, everything I remember I could have gotten from this diary.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Every recollection I have about my life is here. I can’t think of anything that I can’t find in this.” He picked up the book, his thumb rubbing the worn brown leather.

  “But the diary was left in San Elizario. You remember things that happened after that.”

  “Only what is in these reports of Cardis’s that I found tucked in the back of the diary.” Jonathan thumped a couple of sheets of paper. “J.C. mentioned finding them in the archives.”

  “So what does this mean?”

  “I don’t know.” He stood up and pulled her with him. “What if I’m not John McCain? What if I read this book and assumed his identity?”

  Chapter 15

  John could really be Jonathan. All the previous day he and Lauren had searched and found nothing to suggest there was any way for him to travel through time. As he read the diary, the possibility that it was the source of all his memories crept into his thoughts, until the reality of his being mentally disturbed took form. He wasn’t sure which would be worse—knowing he was from the past and being unable to get back or finding out he had absorbed someone’s identity from a damn book.

  He felt the light touch as her fingers gently smoothed the wrinkles on his brow in an effort to reassure him. It was useless. Didn’t she understand? He had been certain who he was even if the time wasn’t right. Now he didn’t even have that assurance. She was the only stable thing in his life, his only bridge to reality of any kind. And whatever he did would cause her more pain.

  If he told her to leave, he knew she would be devastated. If he kept her with him, he would only be postponing the inevitable. There was no way she could love a man who had no past at all. But she hadn’t turned him away when she’d thought he was from the past. She’d loved him until the demons had receded enough for him to laugh. That had felt so wonderful—the laughing and teasing.

  He brought her hand up and turned his mouth against the softness. “God, lady, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he whispered into her palm.

  “You don’t have to find out. I meant it when I said I’d be here, regardless of who you are. You’re a wonderful man.”

  “I don’t know about being so wonderful.” Her pulse fluttered beneath his lips as he kissed her open hand, then trailed his warm breath to the sensitive skin on her inner wrist. Again his doubts and conscience were overridden by his love. He needed her. He needed the comfort she offered, the trust, the passion. When she moaned in response, he pulled her into his arms.

  Quivering with anticipation, Lauren laced her fingers through his hair and opened her mouth, inviting his tongue inside. This time his kisses weren’t gentle. It was as though he was trying to hold on to the present or to rid himself of the past when he ground her lips under his.

  The onslaught caught her by surprise, causing her knees to weaken and buckle. Only his tight embrace prevented her from falling. Jonathan’s hands moved over her roughly, as if he’d committed her body to memory and it
was his to possess at will. She didn’t care that there was little gentleness in him. She understood his need and frustration. Each brush of his fingers wrung soft moans from her throat, while his lips continued to devour her, to beg her to end his torment. When finally he raised his head and gasped for breath, she clutched at his shoulders to keep from falling.

  The barely controlled power she felt under her hands would have been frightening if she hadn’t known him. She knew he would never hurt her no matter how confused and angry he became.

  He quickly shed his clothing and backed her down on the sofa, pulling open the robe she was wearing. She felt the nipples of her full breasts pucker when the cool air hit them. He lowered his head to suckle first one, then the other, tugging them deep into his mouth before releasing them. Bracing himself with one hand on the back of the sofa, he rose above her.

  She breathed deeply of his male scent, hungrily licking at his nipples with her tongue, surprised that they were as hard as her own had felt. She spread her fingers, sliding them down the hard muscles of his chest and his flat abdomen until he caught her hand and closed it around his hardness. At her touch, he shuddered, and his voice, husky with need, whispered, “Now, lady, now.”

  With little foreplay, John sought sanity inside her. Perhaps buried deep within her softness he would find himself. But moments later, sated and physically spent, he still didn’t feel complete. He felt closer to it, though. In Lauren’s arms he felt he was more of a real man than he had at any other time, and he was reluctant to move from the warm cocoon she wrapped around him. Her soft purrs of contentment roused him from his troublesome thoughts.

  He propped himself up on one elbow and peered down at her, feeling a bit loutish. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “About what?” Her voice was still low and husky from their lovemaking.

  “I didn’t mean to be so...” He searched for words. How did he go about apologizing for putting his own needs before her pleasure? “Did I hurt you?”

  “Oh, not at all.” She ran a finger along his jaw as she smiled up at him. “Jon, you need to understand something about me. I would have stopped you if I hadn’t enjoyed it.”

  It was her matter-of-factness that brought a smile to his face. She had felt in control the entire time, despite his lack of it. He hugged her tightly and buried his face against her neck. He loved her. There was no other way to describe his feelings.

  Love.

  It sounded so simple, but the emotions were so complex.

  The question of who he really was and his mental state kept him silent. At this point it wouldn’t be fair to complicate things by telling her how he felt. Love meant promises and commitment. Not problems. And if he really were Jonathan McCain, he faced a whole new set of problems. From the little he had learned, he didn’t even think he would like himself. Jonathan appeared to have been an egocentric bastard, even though Cliff had said a few nice things about him.

  Very few.

  When he released his hold slightly, Lauren wiggled out from under him and looked out the window, where the first sliver of light was beginning to streak, white and pink, across the sky. “I’ve got to go or I won’t make it to work this morning. Do you want to come with me? You can stay at my house.”

  “Thanks. But I’d like to stay here for a few days and try to figure out how to turn this place into a real cattle ranch.” In case he was Jonathan McCain, he was going to have to have an occupation. Returning to Mexico City wasn’t an option—not with Lauren in Sierra. Plus the thought of a crowded city didn’t appeal to him. “And there are several loose ends I need to tie up with Cliff. We still don’t know who all is involved in the drug-smuggling operation. I think I’ll go into town and pick up my guns one day this week. Until Van Rooten is behind bars, I’d feel safer with some ammunition.”

  “Do you feel confident enough to drive after the quick lesson I gave you yesterday?” she asked.

  “You bet. Driving’s easier than saddling a horse,” he assured her.

  A half hour later he walked Lauren to the car and kissed her one last time. He hated to see her go, but he figured he was lucky that they’d had the last two nights together. Tomorrow might not be so kind to him.

  “You will come to see me when you come to town?” She opened the car door and turned back to face him.

  “Don’t worry. You’re top of my list.” How could she doubt for a moment that he would come to town as soon as he could? “I’ll give you a call.”

  He couldn’t put his finger on why but he didn’t feél right. He wanted to keep her with him on the ranch, where he could be certain she was safe. She had lived alone and taken care of herself for years, but the break-in at her house had made him uneasy. Then, too, this nagging in his gut could just be the side effects of falling in love. He could either get over it or get used to it, because he was definitely in love.

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. “Take care.”

  A freak December blizzard blew in two nights later, and by late afternoon of the following day, Sierra was blanketed with snow. It had taken Lauren twice as long as usual to get home from work. After a quick shower, she looked out her living room window at the growing drifts. If the weather didn’t stop him, Jonathan should be arriving for their date in less than an hour.

  He’d said nothing could keep him away from her. And it hadn’t. First, he’d come to town to pick up his guns from the sheriffs office and had dropped by to see her. Then yesterday, he came in for lunch, because he said he couldn’t stay away. She smiled, remembering how he’d handled his Mercedes as if he’d been born in one. More and more things pointed to the fact that he was truly Jonathan and had suffered a severe case of amnesia. She could deal with that easier than believing he was from the past.

  Realizing that in her excitement to leave work on time she’d left some paperwork she needed the next morning, Lauren decided to make a quick trip back to the office before Jonathan arrived. Not that she expected to have time to work after dinner—not with him there.

  In case Jonathan got to her house before she returned, Lauren called to tell him she’d be back in a few minutes. After several rings with no answer, she figured he’d already left the ranch. She tried his cellular phone, but didn’t get him. Sighing, she flipped the device back into her purse, used to cellulars being less reliable than smoke signals because of the mountains and canyons.

  If he’d just left, she thought, she had a good forty or forty-five minutes to make it to the office and back. She flicked off the light switch, stopped and turned it back on. Leaving the door unlocked so Jonathan could come in and wait, she kicked at the small snowdrift on her porch. When the white powder floated around her ankles, she smiled in delight, thinking about asking Jonathan to help build a snowman later.

  Now, though, she picked her way over the frozen ground to her car and carefully eased out of the driveway. Because it snowed so infrequently, she and the other Sierra drivers were unprepared for the icy conditions.

  She’d spent so much time on Jonathan’s case that she’d gotten behind at work and needed to review a will before she met with the Jacquezes in their home the next morning. No sweat, she thought, feeling the energy bubble inside her like it had for the past few days. She was so much in love that she was too excited to sleep. Living for Jonathan’s voice and yearning for his touch, she felt incomplete unless he was nearby.

  After parking in her usual space at the rear of the law office, she slowly made her way to the door, and then, shivering from the cold, fumbled with the key, trying to insert it in the lock. The wind whipped up the snow as it whistled around the sides of the building, making it hard to see the tiny keyhole. Finally, she got the back door open and stepped inside. The hallway leading to the offices was illuminated. Funny, she thought, she didn’t remember leaving a light on, and she had been the last person to leave the office that afternoon. She was so preoccupied with Jonathan she was getting careless.

  Even as she rational
ized her behavior she realized something was wrong—other than the light. It wasn’t anything she could identify. The doors to Robert’s and her offices were closed, just as they should have been. At the mouth of the hallway near the front, Lauren could see the reception area, with Lyna’s well-organized desk spotlighted by moonbeams streaming in through the window. It all looked normal, but it didn’t feel right.

  Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck prickled and she was faced with a decision. She could check things out or she could retreat. It only took a split second to decide to go get help. Just as she turned to run, a gloved hand reached out from behind the door and clamped over her mouth. “Make one little peep and you’re dead,” a man’s muffled voice said, while he tightened an arm around her chest and nudged hard metal into her side.

  Bile rose in Lauren’s throat and her eyes widened. Desperate, she tried kicking at the man as he forced her outside, but she lost her footing on the slippery concrete. In a split second that felt like an eternity, she heard more than felt her head hit the porch. Even as she descended into uncon-sciousness, she couldn’t believe it was happening. She’d lived thirty years and had never had a gun pointed at her; now, in the space of a few weeks, it had happened twice.

  Somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, Lauren felt her nose itch. She was miserably cold and uncomfortable. Country music blared from a radio, making her ears and her head hurt. At least she was alive.

  Opening her eyes the tiniest slit, she realized she’d been shoved into the back seat of a club-cab pickup. Her wrists were restricted behind her back. Tape, she thought, when she felt it pull the hair on her arm. A slight movement let her know that her ankles were also taped. And so was her mouth. Slowly she forced herself awake, fearful of moving or letting the man driving know she was regaining consciousness.

  She was furious, but realized she had to keep that fury under control. First of all, there was absolutely nothing she could do now except wait. Whoever had kidnapped her hadn’t done it to take her to a church social. He was dangerous. Trying to make sense of this, she realized it had to be tied in with Jonathan.