Bed of Roses

by Rebecca Paisley

  Turning her head away from him so he wouldn’t see her tears, she wiped her eyes dry. “You brought lunch out here. Are you hungry now?”

  He picked up a pebble and hurled it into the stream. “I think we should eat, Sawyer. We did not have breakfast.” She handed him a carrot.

  He ignored her hand and the carrot.

  “Why did you bring all this food out here if you are not going to eat it? Was it just for me?”

  For a moment he watched a sparrow fly from branch to branch in a nearby tree. When the sparrow finally flew away, he threw a twig into the creek and watched it float downstream.

  Zafiro tore off a hunk of the bread. “Well, if all this food is just for me, then at least I know that even if you are not talking to me, you are still thinking about me.” She slipped a morsel of bread into her mouth. “Sawyer? I…I know you are horrified by what you remembered last night, but—”

  The stiffening of his body, the hard, cold glitter that suddenly iced his eyes, silenced her instantly.

  She felt utterly uncertain about the man who sat beside her. He looked like the Sawyer Donovan she knew, but he was not that man.

  The Sawyer beside her now was a complete stranger to her. His eyes, his body…everything about him was cold and distant, as if he’d been frozen and taken away to a place too far to reach.

  Zafiro picked up another carrot, a small, slender one, and slipped its thickest end into her mouth. “When I was a little girl, I used to smoke carrots, twigs, pencils…anything that looked like a cheroot to me,” she rambled nervously, the carrot waving up and down in her mouth as she spoke. “I did not light them though. I only pretended to smoke. Grandfather smoked sometimes. Once, he caught me with one of his cheroots in my mouth. He took it away from me and told me that smoking would make my hair smell bad.”

  Talk to me, Sawyer. Please do not be this icy way with me.

  “Will you try to find Maclovio’s whiskey machine today, Sawyer? I will help you if you want to go looking for it.”

  Clicking the toes of his boots together, he scared away a bothersome fly that buzzed around his legs.

  “Sometimes I have wondered what it is like to be drunk,” Zafiro continued. “Maclovio, he always seems to have a good time. At least he does before he becomes violent. He sings and he dances. He laughs at things that are not funny to anyone else. One day maybe I will get drunk. Just to see what is the feeling of being so silly and so happy.”

  She slipped a small piece of cheese into her mouth and let it melt on her tongue before she spoke again. “I promised Tia I would take her to gather berries today, Sawyer. There are no more apples. The berries, they do not grow inside La Escondida, but the patch is very near. You will have to come with me when I take her.”

  He wouldn’t go with her to pick berries, she knew. The task of having to bend and straighten with her so many times to gather the succulent fruit would deeply irritate him.

  How were they going to remove the handcuffs? she wondered.

  Trying to stay busy, she pinched off another bit of bread, rolled it into a small, tight ball, then threw it into the creek. Quickly, dozens of fish began to snap at it, their silvery fins looking like clusters of watered stars. “Do you want to feed the fish?” She placed another ball of rolled bread into the palm of his hand, saddened when he made no move to toss it to the fish.

  She neither said nor did anything more. What was the use? He responded to nothing.

  It was only when a low snarl hissed from within the grove of trees to her left that Sawyer finally reacted. Jumping up from the sandy shore, he forced Zafiro to her feet as well. His eyes narrowing, he peered into the dark area of the trees.

  A mountain lion crept out of the shadows, then stopped and crouched low to the ground.

  Zafiro shrank back toward Sawyer. “It is not Mariposa. That cougar looks like he is starving. Look at his bones, Sawyer.”

  “He’s a she.” Yanking Zafiro along, Sawyer waded into the deepest section of the stream, where the water bubbled around his chest and up around Zafiro’s neck.

  “She is very hungry,” Zafiro said. “I know she will wait for us to come out of the water, Sawyer. I have watched Mariposa wait for hours for a rabbit she knew was in a hole.”

  Sawyer watched the great cat slink toward the bread and the cheese. The cougar sniffed at the bread and the carrots, then devoured the entire wedge of cheese. Licking its mouth, the animal then turned toward the stream and lay on its belly.

  “We’re going to float downstream,” Sawyer said. “Just turn onto your stomach, keep your head above the water, and let the water take us along.”

  The swift current of the stream immediately carried them along on its journey.

  On the shore, the mountain lion followed.

  “Dammit,” Sawyer swore, watching as the golden cat ran just as quickly as the water.

  “She will get tired of running,” Zafiro said, then choked as water filled her mouth and ran down her throat.

  “But there’s no telling when she’ll stop or where we’ll end up!” Sawyer shouted, spitting water as the stream splashed his face. “That cat could follow us for miles before stopping!”

  As she continued to watch the mountain lion lope along the shore, Zafiro began to recognize the area of the woods that surrounded the stream. “Sawyer, we are home! The cabin is just beyond those trees!”

  He stopped himself and her immediately, holding her steady until her feet met with the creek bottom. “We still can’t get out,” he said, noticing that the cougar stopped right along with them.

  “We can call for Maclovio to bring the sword. Maybe he is sober and will hear us.” She opened her mouth to call for Maclovio.

  Sawyer clamped his hand over her mouth, suffocating her loud call. “What if he’s not sober? What if he’s falling-down drunk? There’s no way in hell a drunk man can defend himself from a hungry mountain lion. A sober man doesn’t even stand much of a chance. Or don’t you remember how I met Mariposa?”

  Zafiro pulled his hand from her mouth. “Then what are we going to do?”

  “Wait.”

  They waited.

  So did the cougar.

  An hour passed.

  The cougar, her dark yellow eyes never leaving her prey in the water, possessed a wealth of patience.

  And her forbearance was soon rewarded.

  Jengibre came scooting out of the forest, clucking and flapping her wings.

  “Sawyer!” Zafiro cried, pointing toward the bank. “Jengibre! Oh, Dios mío, someone must have gone into the garden and let her out!”

  The cougar turned from the stream and saw the fat chicken.

  “Santa Maria, the lion is going to eat my sweet Jengibre!” Oblivious to the danger of her own actions, she started toward the shore.

  Sawyer stopped her. “Are you crazy?” he blasted. “You can’t fight that cougar, Zafiro! You can’t—”

  “Let me go!” Wildly, she twisted and turned in his arms, her heart pounding with fear for her pet chicken. “Sawyer, let me—”

  “No!”

  She pummeled at his chest, tried to kick him beneath the water, but her strength was no match for his.

  Finally, she gave up. Turning her back to the lion and Jengibre, she laid her face in her hands and began to sob. “I cannot watch,” she wept. “I cannot see my pet be killed.”

  Her cries of anguish filling his ears, Sawyer continued to watch the scene on the shore. The mountain lion crouched. Jengibre began to flee as fast as her scrawny legs and wings could carry her.

  Sloshing through the water, Sawyer dragged Zafiro nearer to the shore, then began to splash water at the cougar, who stared at him momentarily before bringing her attention back to the squawking chicken.

  “No!” Zafiro screamed when she saw the cougar begin to slink toward Jengibre. “Sawyer, do something!”

  Terror for her pet forced renewed strength through her body. She wrenched away from Sawyer’s side, falling into the water as
she tried madly to reach the shore. “Sawyer!” she sputtered through the water and her tears. “For the love of God, please help me save her!”

  Her piteous plea severed every fiber of logic Sawyer possessed. Without further thought of the fact that he was going to fight a mountain lion to save the stupid chicken who hated him, Sawyer stumbled toward the shore, pushing Zafiro back behind him every time she tried to reach the bank before he did.

  Standing in shallow water, he reached for a handful of stones and dashed them at the cougar. Another handful of the rocks followed, and another.

  Growling, the cougar turned toward the stream and crouched.

  “Oh, God,” Sawyer muttered when he realized the cougar was about to attack. He couldn’t fight the animal. Being handcuffed to Zafiro made the notion impossible. As fast as he could and with as much strength as he had, he pushed Zafiro back into the water, hoping to reach deep water again.

  But she fell in the shallow water, and when she toppled over he splashed right down beside her. “Crawl!” he screamed at her. “Get into the deep water!”

  The moment he shouted the command, he knew it was too late. He saw the cougar wiggle its hindquarters and spring into the air, leaping directly toward where he and Zafiro lay.

  Instinctively, Sawyer covered Zafiro’s body with his own, curling his limbs around her in an effort to protect as much of her as possible from the vicious cat’s claws and teeth. His own body contracted, every muscle hard with tension, every nerve stretched tightly as he waited for the starving cat to land on him.

  But instead of feeling anything, he heard. Heard the tremendous sound of a growl, followed by another. Lifting his head and twisting around, he saw Mariposa meet the other cougar in midair.

  The two lions landed loudly on the ground and began a ferocious fight that soon drew blood from both of them. On the leaf-strewn shore they rolled, locked around each other, their teeth bared, their claws unsheathed, their muscles bulging beneath their golden coats.

  “Mariposa!” Zafiro yelled, trying to wade out of the water. “Sawyer—”

  “Stop it!” With a grip that defied her every movement, Sawyer kept her right where she was, beside him in the stream. “What are you going to do, throw yourself in the middle of a cougar fight? You can’t do anything, dammit!”

  Powerless to aid Mariposa, Zafiro could only watch and pray as her tamed cougar battled the wild one. But so entwined were the animals as they fought, she could not tell which was Mariposa. All she knew was that both lions were bleeding.

  And then—as fast as it had begun—the savage fight ended.

  One cougar limped down the shore and disappeared into a thick grove of trees. The other cougar spat fur from her mouth, sat on the bank, and began to lick a wound on her shoulder.

  “Mariposa!” Zafiro screamed.

  The tawny cat trotted toward the stream, holding out her paw when she reached the water.

  Finally, Sawyer released Zafiro, whereupon she lunged out of the water and threw her free arm around her pet.

  “Zafiro!” Tia shouted as she waddled out of the forest, followed by the rest of La Escondida’s inhabitants. “We heard Mariposa fighting! I think even Lorenzo heard the noise!”

  Maclovio was the first to reach the stream. Sober, he clasped Sawyer and Zafiro’s arms and led them out of the water. “What happened?”

  Exhausted from her sleepless night, her swim down the stream, her struggles with Sawyer, and her unmitigated fear for Jengibre and Mariposa, Zafiro sank to the ground, bringing Sawyer down with her. “Tia, please see if Mariposa is fine.”

  “Si, chiquita.” Tia made a quick but thorough exam of the cougar. “She is fine, Zafiro. I find only three scratches on her, and I will dress the wounds when we go back to the house. Now, you must tell us what happened.”

  Pushing her wet hair out of her face, Zafiro began to explain.

  As she related more and more of the story of what had happened with the wild cougar, a variety of insights began to come to her, building upon each other until they formed a solid wall of realization.

  She stopped her own story and looked up at Sawyer. “You tried to save Jengibre,” she whispered.

  He brushed sand off his wet breeches. “Don’t remind me. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

  “And then you covered me with your own body when that other cougar jumped at us.”

  He brushed more sand off his pants and shrugged. Zafiro got to her knees and straddled his legs. Her hands flat on his chest, she gazed directly into his eyes. “You have never killed anyone, Sawyer. I know that as truly as if I had just read it in the Bible.”

  She saw the cold glitter return to his eyes, but heedlessly continued. “Sawyer, don’t you see? A man who would risk his life to save a chicken is not a man capable of murder. And a man who would die for another is not a man capable of murder. Today you did both of those things. A cold-blooded murderer would do neither.”

  “Sawyer thinks he is a murderer?” Pedro asked.

  Swiftly, and without Sawyer’s permission, Zafiro told her people about the particles of memory that had come to him.

  Maclovio sat down beside Sawyer, picked up a twig, and began drawing circles in the dirt. “Thinking of four dead people in a house does not mean that you are the one who killed them, Sawyer Donovan. When I first met Luis I knew in my heart that he was a bad one. But I have never felt the same way about you. I agree with Zafiro. You are not a murderer.”

  “I agree with her too,” Azucar said. Her scarlet dress whispering, she moved to stand behind Sawyer, then began to massage his shoulders. “You are gentle, Sawyer. A strong, handsome, gentle buck. I sense such things, you know. I must, because I would never invite a killer into my bed. There are many women in my profession who do not possess the same sense that I have. Some of them have ended up dead.”

  “Zafiro, Maclovio, and Azucar are right,” Pedro stated, reaching out and pressing the shape of a cross on Sawyer’s forehead. “I am Peter the Apostle, the keeper of the keys and sentinel to the gates of heaven. By the grace of God Almighty, I recognize a sinner when I see one. But you, Sawyer, you have done many kind things for us. You have rebuilt our home and saved me from burning. With a hurt leg you fought with Maclovio to keep him from destroying our possessions. But most important of all, you have become a friend to our Zafiro. You have made her a swing, and you have made her laugh. I assure you, my son, nothing that might have happened in your past has taken away the place that our Father has prepared for you.”

  “What did everyone say?” Lorenzo wanted to know.

  Maclovio, whose shout was the loudest, motioned for Lorenzo to sit on the ground beside him. “Sawyer thinks he’s a killer!” he yelled straight into Lorenzo’s ear.

  Lorenzo nodded. “A pillar,” he said, and grinned. “Yes, he has been a pillar of strength for us all. You are a kind man, Sawyer. Sometimes you remind me of Ciro. He was like you. Kind. Strong. Very smart. There is a big heart inside you.”

  “What is this talk of killing?” Tia chided, waving her hand as if to blow away the discussion. “Francisco, you would not hurt anyone or anything. Do you remember how angry Jengibre made you while you were in bed recovering all those weeks? You could have wrung her neck, my son, but you did not even swat at her. Now, stop this talk of killing. I do not like for you to speak of such things.”

  Before Sawyer could reply, he felt Zafiro and all her people reach for some part of him to hold. The men took him by the arms and shoulders. Tia and Azucar both patted his hands, and Zafiro curled her slender fingers around his cheeks.

  One by one he thought about each of them.

  Pedro had lost his mind. Azucar had lost her youth, beauty, and her mind. Lorenzo had lost his hearing, and Tia had lost her son. Maclovio had lost the will to face reality and took refuge in the bottle.

  And Zafiro… She’d been hidden away at La Escondida for ten years and probably would remain here for many more years. Zafiro had lost the entire worl
d.

  And he’d lost his past.

  They’d all lost something important. Some of them might possibly regain what they’d lost, others never would. But the fact remained that they all had something in common, and the moment Sawyer realized and deliberated upon that truth, guilt coated him inside and out.

  He’d tolerated the old people under Zafiro’s care, but he’d never gone out of his way to be truly kind to any of them. They couldn’t help being the way they were any more than he could help having lost his memories.

  Whoever and whatever he was, these people accepted him, he realized. They not only doubted the bad that might exist within him, they saw and appreciated the good.

  He looked into each of the six pairs of eyes that were staring at him and saw concern in all those unblinking gazes. Trust and confidence. He recognized kindness, loyalty, and affection.

  Faith. He didn’t miss their faith in him, either. The feeling shone from their eyes as brightly as diamonds on black velvet.

  Sawyer closed his own eyes then, thinking, concentrating, sorting out his emotions.

  And for the first time since he’d lost his past, he wondered if he’d found a present and a future.

  At La Escondida.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “The problem, you see,” Lorenzo said, bending over Sawyer and Zafiro’s cuffed hands as he wiggled the pick into the lock, “is that this is the quietest lock that I have ever come across.” He scooted his chair closer to the table and practically laid his ear on the lock. “I would have to be a bat to hear the clicks I need to hear.”

  The thought of Lorenzo possessing the amazing hearing of a bat was one of the most ludicrous Sawyer had ever heard. Looking at Zafiro, he tried to tell her with his eyes that waiting for Lorenzo to remove the handcuffs was a waste of time. “Thank you anyway, Lorenzo!” he yelled into the old man’s fuzzy ear. “But it’s going on two days now already, and I have to think of another way!”