McCain's Memories

by Maggie Simpson

  Lauren eased to the side of the bed and worked her wrists and ankles to get the cramps out. Sitting there, she listened through the darkness for Chester. She knew not hearing him didn’t mean he wasn’t just on the other side of the door. If she could get to the straight-backed chair Jonathan kept in the corner, she could prop it under the knob. That might give her the time she needed to get out the window before Chester came in.

  Lauren inched around the wall, groaning silently when the floor creaked. She waited for what seemed like interminable minutes before she took another step. Finally, she touched the chair. Now, the trick was to carry it to the door without making a sound. She’d just reached the door when it flew open.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Chester shouted at her. Face red and eyes angry, he threw the chair aside when she tried to hurl it at him and grabbed her by the arms. “I’ll teach you a lesson. This is all your fault, you know. If you hadn’t been wandering around where you had no business being in the first place, neither one of us would be in this mess.”

  He shook her until Lauren thought her neck was going to break. When she felt his hold lessen, she yanked her arms away and backed up against the bed of her small prison. “Have you gone crazy?” She’d never seen him like this.

  “Why do you have to call it crazy when all I wanted was a decent living?” He took a slow, deliberate step toward her, his face marred by the feral gleam in his eyes. “Don’t you see that your meddlin’s left me no choice?”

  Terror continued building with the realization that he was indeed crazed if not crazy. “Get away from me, Chester.”

  “It’s too late, Lauren. You’ve already shown me you’re not going to make it easy on yourself.” He closed the remaining few inches separating them until he was so near she felt his breath. “Now, I can’t take a chance on your giving me away.”

  When he reached out and grabbed for her, she screamed and fought him with all her strength. His fingers found their away around her throat, and Lauren knew she had to will herself to relax. If she didn’t fight him, maybe he wouldn’t notice she was trying to change positions. She wilted and a second later kicked her knee into his groin and yanked backward at the same time, falling onto the bed.

  Chester screamed in pain and coughed as he bent over, giving her the second she needed. She scrambled to her feet and stumbled to the door, dodging his feeble attempt to stop her. In the hallway, she regained her footing and sped down the hallway. She didn’t know how badly she’d hurt the sheriff, but hoped it would slow him down long enough for her to get away.

  She burst from the house, straight into a pair of strong arms and an immovable chest. She couldn’t see who it was so she kicked and scratched at her captor. She had come this far and no one was going to prevent her escape—not even this big lug who was repeating her name over and over.

  “Lauren, it’s me.” Jonathan’s voice had a sense of urgency. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Finally, reason soaked through her adrenaline and fury enough for her to register the fact that Jonathan held her in one arm and a gun in the other. The relief was so overwhelming she wanted to collapse, but she knew Chester would be right behind her. Jonathan was right: they had to move in a hurry. If she could get her legs to cooperate.

  She felt him tense a split second before he shoved her behind him, placing his body between her and the light that spilled from the open doorway, illuminating everything in its path for several yards.

  Lauren peeked around his side. Chester stood on the step, pointing a gun at Jonathan. His mouth was twisted in hatred. Holding the gun with both hands, he waved it, saying, “You still don’t remember anything, do you, McCain? Well, it looks like you’re gonna die that way.” The click of the trigger being cocked sounded like a cannon in the crisp night air.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Van Rooten.” Jonathan’s voice was clipped. “Others are right behind me. You won’t walk out of here alive.”

  “You always were a bullshitter. We had a good thing going, McCain. Money. Power. But, no, you doublecrossing...” Chester’s voice became more hysterical with every word. He tried to steady the gun, but it dipped wildly, pointing from one corner of the yard to the other.

  “Run, Lauren,” Jonathan whispered, taking a step away from her and pushing her toward the cover of darkness.

  Still stunned, Lauren stumbled on the slick terrain, not sure she understood. Was Jonathan telling the truth about others coming or was he bluffing? Could she run without him?

  John wished Cliff and the others would hurry up and arrive. His impulsive decision to catch Lauren as she stormed from the house had been stupid. He should have let her run past while he waited for Van Rooten alone. Now, he only hoped his need to reassure her didn’t prove deadly.

  At least he knew Lauren was okay. If she ran. He could see she was indecisive. “Run, dammit,” he hollered, keeping his gun trained on Chester as he dived in the opposite direction.

  “I told Saul you were dangerous, that we had to get rid of you. But he wouldn’t listen,” Chester screamed as he began firing.

  “Run, Lauren, run,” John yelled, rolling on. the ground. He took quick aim before pulling off one shot, just as he felt a sharp pain at the side of his head. But he saw the impact of his bullet. Chester flew backward, the gun falling from his hand. Sliding down the side of the house, the sheriff clutched at his arm, blood flowing between his fingers.

  John lay back on the ground, not knowing if he’d run up against a rock or another bullet. Breathing heavily, he shook his head, trying to clear up his disorientation.

  For that split second, time seemed to freeze. It was deathly quiet.

  Then through a fog he heard Lauren’s voice. “Jon, are you okay?” she asked, kneeling beside him.

  “Yeah,” he answered, still clutching his revolver. He licked at his lips, meeting the salty taste of blood. When he heard the sound of running footsteps, he struggled to sit up.

  “You guys all right?” Cliff called out, before bursting from the brush into the yard.

  “In a manner of speaking.” John lowered the pistol and slumped back down on the cold, wet ground.

  An hour later, Jonathan sat on the sofa trying to get warm. He felt drained, physically and emotionally. His head ached, not just from the bump but from the rush of thoughts bombarding his brain. He remembered everything—from his childhood to Saul’s murder.

  But now he had to concentrate on what was going on around him. At least the cleanup was basically done—inventory, pictures, arrests. And as for honor among thieves, Van Rooten had told who his contact was—a lawyer in Ysleta, one the DEA had never suspected. Cliff had already called the El Paso office with the information, to make certain the guy didn’t skip across the border before morning.

  Chester was going to live. Jonathan hadn’t wanted to kill him, but he was pleased the bastard had suffered double damage. Lauren had wreaked her havoc, and then Jonathan had rearranged the man’s right shoulder. He’d already been whisked away to a hospital for treatment.

  “Damn waste of taxpayers’ money if you ask me,” Cliff had said.

  Alone with Lauren at last, Jonathan looked at her in admiration as she washed the blood from the side of his face. He experienced a sense of déjà vu. But at least this time he could see her. She was a real trooper. “You know, I believe you’d have escaped on your own if I hadn’t shown up.”

  “No, he would’ve caught me. If I’d kept my wits about me and run like you said, we might have made it without your being hurt. But maybe not. Chester would have still been loose with the gun. No telling who would have been hurt. I’m just glad he was a bad shot.”

  “I am, too. But we were in the dark and he was silhouetted like a... Ouch.”

  “Sorry. But I think I’ve about got the bleeding stopped. At least enough to get you to the hospital and have a doctor look at it.”

  “I don’t need a doctor. All I did was hit my head on a rock.” But that rock ha
d changed everything for him. He didn’t know how to tell Lauren what had happened without just doing it. “Lauren,” he said, “my memory’s back.”

  He saw a flash of joy in her eyes, quickly replaced with uncertainty. Withdrawing the bloody cloth and staring at him, she tentatively asked, “And?”

  “I remember Chester always strutting around, bragging about how smart he was and how the money was going to buy him power.”

  “Which means you’re—”

  “Jonathan McCain,” he interrupted, wanting to say it first. “I haven’t worked through everything, but I know that much.”

  “The head injuries, then, caused this.” He felt her shiver before she asked, “But what would have ever made you think you were your great-great-grandfather?”

  “I think I have that figured out. I’d been reading Grandpa John’s diary just before I went out to the airstrip that night. When I saw Chester raise the rifle, I dived out of the way. He managed to nick me. Apparently, Saul tried to tackle me and got in the way of Chester’s second bullet.” Jonathan leaned against the back of the sofa, hoping to ease his aching head. He could faintly hear Ted and Cliff talking in the kitchen over a cup of coffee.

  “What about the name Atkinson? It was mentioned in the diary, and then there’s Cliff....” Lauren shrugged her shoulders.

  “It must have been a coincidence. Perhaps in my mind I got the two people mixed up and that led to some of my confusion. After I was shot, I knew I had to contact Atkinson and then I remembered, because I had just read it, that Atkinson had been shot in San Elizario.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I hate what happened, but everything is turning out fine. It sounds like a melodrama, but the bad guys got caught by the good guys, and you know who you are.”

  “Yeah.” He closed his eyes, not so sure things had turned out fine. There was a lot she didn’t know about Jonathan McCain, and when she found out, she wasn’t going to be too pleased that she was involved with him. But now his head hurt so badly he didn’t want to face all of that. Not until he could think more clearly.

  The relief he’d felt at finding Lauren safe was slowly turning to dismay as he realized who he was and what type of life he had led. The nature of his undercover work had required that he associate with lowlifes. Fed up with the deceit and danger, he’d wanted to get away. That was why he’d bought this ranch. He’d wanted a chance for a new life, but it hadn’t happened. He’d been sucked right back in.

  Jonathan McCain hadn’t exactly lived an exemplary life. In fact, Cliff had been right—he was a real jerk. From the time he’d walked out of his parents’ lives, he hadn’t felt any particular need to be nice. He’d had enough money to get by with, doing pretty much what he wanted. With the exception of Cliff, he’d never formed close ties. He wasn’t good at relationships. What’s worse, he’d been rather proud of it. No, he wasn’t anybody worth Lauren Hamilton’s love.

  Lauren closed her eyes and shifted around, trying to get comfortable in the green vinyl chair outside the emergency room. She’d finally convinced Jonathan that a trip to the hospital was necessary, and she was just waiting for him to come out of an examination room. Her own bump on the head had been superficial and the medicine the doctor had given her had already lessened the pain. Still, her energy was sapped. In retrospect everything that had happened seemed surrealistic, something she’d discount if it hadn’t been for the blood. The blood had focused her attention.

  Jonathan’s blood.

  And, yes, Chester’s. Was he truly demented, or had it been the age-old story of greed and desire for position that had warped his perspective? She shivered, thinking how close he’d come to making her lose everything.

  Yet, she realized, in a convoluted way she had Chester to thank for her getting to know Jonathan. If Jonathan hadn’t been in that cave, hadn’t been running, if Chester hadn’t shot at her, she might never have met her cowboy. Oh, life was so complicated.

  Smiling to herself, she leaned back. Complicated or not, Jonathan was okay.

  Hearing low voices, Lauren raised her head and yawned. The white glare of the emergency room lights cast an eerie glow behind Jonathan as he shook hands with the doctor, then crossed the hall to join her. She stood.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked. The white bandage taped to his temple wasn’t as large as she’d expected.

  “Almost as good as new. Another superficial wound, the doc said.” A wry grin played on his lips. “Looks like I’ll have a matched set of scars, one on each side of the head.” He fingered his hairline, where the scar left by Chester’s bullet was beginning to fade, as he looked up and down the hall.

  “I sent everyone home,” she explained. “It’s after midnight and they were all exhausted.”

  “It’s been a long day. For both of us. All of this has been too much, too fast.” His voice was flat, nearly emotionless.

  Lauren had a sense of foreboding. Since Jonathan had regained his memory, he’d been distant. Quiet He’d already said more here in the hallway than he had during the drive back to Sierra. She wasn’t sure if it was because he’d been tired and in pain, or because he’d been rehashing his life. Maybe he regretted their relationship now that he remembered things about himself. Maybe there was another woman in Jonathan McCain’s life.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I’ll drop you by your house.”

  “I’ll drive,” Lauren suggested.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Both of them were close to collapse, Lauren knew, so the ten-minute drive seemed longer. Jonathan had again retreated into his own world. It was late and she wanted to ask him to stay with her. She needed to feel the security and intimacy of his arms around her tonight. After he pulled into her drive, he left the motor idling, so she asked, “Why don’t you come in? I’ll make you a sandwich. Besides, it’s late and you aren’t in any shape to drive back to the ranch tonight.”

  He was silent for a couple of seconds as he stared out the window. “I think I’d better get on back.”

  “Jonathan, don’t do this.” She reached out to touch his arm. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t offer any encouragement, either. Whether he realized it or not, Lauren knew Jonathan needed her. “Don’t shut me out. I love you.”

  “You don’t understand.” He turned to face her, but the shadows hid his expression. “I’m not the man you think I am.”

  “Yes, you are. Despite your amnesia, all along you were still you. The same mannerisms, ways, thought processes.”

  “No. You don’t know me. You don’t know how I’ve lived.” He touched her cheek gently. “It hasn’t all been pretty. Because of me, your life was jeopardized.”

  “My being shot at and kidnapped were just a matter of coincidence.”

  “Yeah, a coincidence that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t come into the picture.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Jonathan looked away from her and leaned back against the seat. “That’s not the only reason, Lauren.”

  Lauren felt a sudden chill. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know if we ought to see each other anymore.” His voice was cool and matter-of-fact.

  “Is there someone else?”

  He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean is there another woman, someone you didn’t remember until tonight?”

  “There have been women, but no one special.” His voice reflected sorrow.

  Her chill was replaced by a sudden rush of anger. “Then you’re saying that I mean nothing to you?”

  “On the contrary. Look, Lauren, don’t make this any harder,” he said. “I’ve got to sort things out, and I just don’t think...” His words trailed off as he shrugged his shoulders and turned his head away from her.

  She jumped out of the car, hurting her fury at him. “I can’t believe this. The mighty undercover guy would risk his all to catch smugglers, but when it comes to something personal—to me and you—you’re afraid to even
take a chance! You’re right. I don’t know you.”

  Chapter 17

  It was the last morning of the year, cool and clear. Crisp, some people would say. It was perfect weather for the revelers who’d be bringing in the New Year that night, but Jonathan wasn’t in a mood to celebrate anything. He didn’t even plan to watch any of the specials on television. He’d put up with all the false gaiety he could at Christmas. His parents had done everything possible to make him happy, but the ache in his heart had refused to go away.

  He looked out the window at the ranch he’d thought held such promise. A shin oak swayed in a lazy motion as the gentle wind rippled through it. The weatherman had said it would reach the high sixties tomorrow. Jonathan didn’t care one way or the other.

  He dropped the curtain and returned to pacing the floor of his living room until he thought he’d go stir-crazy. Slipping on a jacket and his black felt hat, he decided he had to get out of the confines of the house. He saw Lauren in it everywhere. Cuddled up on the sofa to avoid his bed, pacing the floor protecting him from Cliff, in the kitchen making coffee. Laughing with him, encouraging him and embracing him. Rushing out the door with terror on her face. Maybe a brisk walk would erase her from his mind, if only for a few moments. It would grant him a welcome reprieve from his guilt and loneliness.

  The barns and deserted corrals stood like useless sentinels on a barren ranch. Fitting, he thought, feeling rather empty himself. Jonathan wandered through the buildings, remembering how Lauren had walked side by side with him as he tried to make sense of his life. All she’d ever done was try to help him. All he’d done was set her up for harm and disappointment.

  He gave careful consideration to his past, not liking much of anything. What he’d considered independence had actually been a detachment from life. He was thoroughly disgusted that he’d wasted so many years being separated from his family. His father had apologized for believing his son guilty of drug possession, but apparently anything short of a flogging hadn’t been retribution enough for the old Jonathan. The best thing that resulted from being shot and getting hit on the head with a rock was having the chip on his shoulder knocked off. And meeting Lauren. Through his own self-righteousness, he’d hurt everyone, including her.