CHAPTER 7
Coffee. An unmistakable aroma was wafting through the air, waking his senses. Nature sounded its morning wake up call, just as the night sounds lulled him to sleep the evening before. Birds sang as rays of sunshine danced on his walls, promising another beautiful spring day in McKenzie.
Guy turned to his side, searching for the clock he recalled sitting on his nightstand the night before. A sharp reminder of his injuries abruptly stopped him when the pain charged straight through him. It didn’t matter what time it was at that point. Aside from the jarring pain, fading to tolerable discomfort, Guy felt good.
Not just in the manner of health, but a certain woolly-headed bemusement had settled in. Though he couldn’t be certain, he didn’t believe this to be the typical morning rush of emotions he was accustomed to. It felt new, fresh.
As that enticing aroma teased his senses again, he had to wonder if his host and current care-taker
had something to do with it. She was beautiful to look at, that was a given, but that wasn’t what impressed him most. In their brief acquaintance, he had found himself drawn to something else.
Her humble charm and smoldering fire had his attention from the word go. She was the no nonsense, take charge, type. Her confidence was as endearing as her thoughtful kindness. All things he wouldn’t take advantage of but would enjoy while he could. There was something to be said about a hardass with soft edges. There wasn’t anything fussy or uptight about this woman, he liked that. Or, at least thought he did.
Dressed in the only clothes he had, Guy found his way to the kitchen by following the multitude of mouthwatering smells that now included a very distinct tease – bacon. A scattering of voices could be heard, the closer he got. Not yet familiar with who to expect at Morgan’s house, or any of her acquaintances in general, he wasn’t sure who he was going to find.
Aching ribs pulsed as the anticipation increased due to the somber tone he felt, the closer he got. Something was wrong. A familiar inkling of nervous tension began to form deep in his gut. Something of a sixth sense – or premonition – had him on high alert and prepared to turn around and go back to comfortable confines of the bed he just left, where he’d heard birds chirping and everything seemed like rainbows and roses.
Blake. Morgan. And a man he hadn’t met yet. Blake and Morgan were seated around the large farm house table, coffee’s in hand, while an old spry of a man stood over the stove, piling bacon and what looked like ham, on a platter. The room went silent when his presence was acknowledged – the silence so piercing – the elder man turned to see what he had missed. Sympathetic expression crossed the old man’s craggy face when he saw Guy.
“How do, I’m Chapman. You there must be Guy.” A friendly toothless smile and courteous nod followed.
“That’s what I’m told,” Guy retorted with an awkward chuckle, wondering what the protocol was when introducing one’s self to someone when you hadn’t a clue who you were. “Nice to meet you, uh, Mr. Chapman.”
“It’s just Chapman – you can call me Chappy. Have a seat, son, I’ll fix ya up a plate. I think they’s wantin’ to talk to ya anyway.” There was something familiar about Chappy that tersely struck Guy, as a memory or recognizable feeling tried to come to the forefront of his mind. He paused and blankly stared, trying to reconcile that which was flooding his mind.
“Guy?” Morgan’s soft voice interrupted, concern evident in her tone. “Are you okay? What is it?”
Stirred from his confusion, Guy slowly turned his eyes from Chappy as that feeling began to evaporate, pinning his eyes on Morgan. “Yes, sorry. I, uh, I just felt – I don’t know – something familiar, but can’t put my finger on it.” The smile he wore when he walked in to the room had faded into a sullen look of disappointment.
“Have a seat; let’s talk for a minute while Chappy finishes up over there.” Blake added, “We might have found something.”
Eager to hear what that something
was, he took one more hard glance at Chappy, before taking his seat at the table. “Found something?”
Setting his coffee cup down in front of him, Blake leaned forward against his crossed arms on the table, “Well, we aren’t sure, but we may have found your horse.”
“My horse?” Guy sat there stunned, tossing Blake’s words around, hoping they would drum something up. But, they didn’t. “I suppose it would make sense that I had one, how else would I have ended up out there?” He reasoned, nodding to pastures in the distance that were barely in view.
“We assumed you were on a horse, based on the tracks we found near where you were lying,” Blake shared.
Nodding, Guy understood, but was left speechless at this, yet again, absent memory.
The glass door slid open as a flustered Dunny walked in. His expression told a story of an early morning that had already become a long day. “Doc Bain is here, he’s with the horse – wants to see you.” He said, nodding to Blake and Morgan.
His glance swayed to Guy briefly, just long enough to narrow his eyes in distaste before looking back to the two he was interested in talking to. “It doesn’t look good.” He mentioned the horse, before delivering the real kick in the ass of the morning. “And Morgie, I sent a crew out to the back forty – another fence down. We wrangled up the cattle, moved the other pasture for now.
“You still having problems out there?” Blake asked full of suspicion.
“Yeah, this is the third time in so many months we’ve had to repair one of the back fences,” she sighed.
“That a little odd to you?” Blake questioned. “I don’t recall your dad having so many issues.”
“The place is just fallin’ apart. Regular wear and tear combined with age. I’m sure he had his own problems to deal with, it just would’ve been nice if they were all resolved before he and mama moved. If it’s not a fence, it’s the irrigation.” Morgan had gained a tremendous amount of respect for her father once he left, more than she thought possible. He handled this ranch with ease and never let on to the fact that it was a constant project for repair and quite the money pit.
Chiming in, Dunny had his own two cents to offer, having worked for Morgan’s father and now her on the same ranch his entire life. “Nah, not unusual. Shit happens. It’s a lot of property, a lot happening, a lot that can go wrong.” His confidence went a long way with the group as they seemed to go with Dunny’s reasonable explanation. It made sense.
But, Blake wasn’t so sure. Something didn’t feel right about all of the ranch mishaps and misfortune. Then, add a guy with amnesia that may or may not own a wounded horse? He made a mental note to talk to Dunny, when no one was around – he wanted extra eyes on the place. He also wanted to vet Dunny a bit more and dig through that story of his.
When his gut hardened, and intuition reared its head, Blake didn’t like it – especially when it surrounded one of his people. Bringing his focus back to the task at hand, he turned to Guy, “You up to walking out to the barn with us? See if the horse stirs any memory – if you recognize it?”
Guy’s insides twisted into knots, why, he wasn’t sure. He wanted answers, an identity even, but if he was being honest with himself, there was a niggling sense of fear coursing through him. He couldn’t identify why. “Uh, sure. I don’t recall anything about a horse, but you’re right. Maybe it will stir something up.” He said that last part full of confidence and knowing because it was certainly already stirring something up inside.
Laying a comforting hand on Guy’s shoulder stirred another round of that familiarity, before Chappy said, “Go ahead boy, I’ll keep you a plate warm.”
More emotions to sort through…later.
Doc Bain was a middle aged, silver fox type. He stood in the barn, a petulant look on his tightly pinched face, stroking an impressive steed’s neck. A ranch hand was relieving the horse of his saddle. If the scene told any kind of story, it was bad news for the handsome brown horse.
“What’cha got, Bain?” Blake inquired as he watched for Guy’s reaction.
“It’s not good, Coop,” Bain said, acknowledging Blake with a nod, “clean shot, through and through – already infected pretty good. To be honest, I’m not even sure how he’s walking. Both shoulders are likely shattered, given the location, and he’s having trouble holding his neck up and balance is off. This horse shouldn’t even be alive.”
Doc Bain’s voice trailed off while Guy stepped forward and laid his hands on either side of the horses face. Sadness washed over him when the horse leaned his head into Guy, accepting the affectionate petting. Guy’s head dropped, trying to hide the emotion consuming him. He didn’t remember this horse, but he knew him, he was sure of it. The pain and agony the horse must be in began to weigh on him, and he didn’t understand it. How could he feel so deeply about something he didn’t remember?
“I’d say that’s your horse, fella,” Bain said to Guy, running his hand down the horse’s side. “If I were a bettin’ man, I’d say your theory is right, he was spooked. I think he came back, lookin’ for his rider. You must be somethin’ special to him for him to hang on and come find ya with this level of injury.”
After a long pause, Bain’s low voice broke the churlish silence, “We’re going to have to put him down, son.”
Panic overcame Guy at Doc Bains words. He’d just found a piece to his puzzle and it was to be gone as quickly as it came. He hugged the horses snout one more time, gave him a loving pat, whispering, “Bye, boy.” Before walking out of the barn.
As he passed the saddle on the rack to his right, he paused a moment to take it in, assuming it was his
. It was rich brown leather, well worn, with a large, encircled M, branded on the side. There was the inkling of familiarity again. M. Why did that mean something to him? He would have to sort it out later; he needed to get out of there.
“I’d say we hit something with Guy.” Blake said as the group watched him disappear in the distance.
“Yeah, emotions. I can’t imagine what he must be going through.” Morgan sympathized watching through the barn doors, even though he was long gone, “that was hard to watch.”
Dunny moved closer, placing a hand on her shoulder at which she tossed him a shy distant smile.
“Blake, I don’t know about your hunter theory,” Doc Bain interrupted. “It made sense over the phone, but this doesn’t look like the work of a hunting rifle.”
“Oh? How so?” Blake had that intuitive nagging again. Something hadn’t felt right and now it was being confirmed.
“I don’t know much about firearms – not my thing – but I do treat a lot of gunshot wounds ‘round here and this is different.”
“Different?”
“Yes, Morgie, different. I couldn’t tell ya exactly why or how, it…just is. Any bad blood between you and woods people?” he asked Morgan point blank referring to the people that lived back in the woods, off the grid and away from civilization.
“No, not at all. Haven’t seen them or any poachers near the property. In fact, I go out once a month with the gang. We do rounds; hand out medicine, food, clothes, whatever we have, that they need.”
“Hmmm…”
“Doc, can you get that bullet out? Looks like a double shot…I see two points of entry, one exit. Might still have a bullet in there?” Blake questioned.
“Huh, you could be right. I can try.” Doc agreed.
“What do ya need the bullet for?” Dunny had a not so subtle nervousness to his voice that wasn’t missed by anyone.
“Ballistics, Duncan Haines – ballistics. It’ll tell us what the weapon was – rifle, meaning poachers, or not a hunting rifle and…”
Blake added a dramatic spin to emphasize the seriousness of the situation and how closely he would be watching, “We have a mysterious man, that doesn’t know who he is, a half dead horse, and gunshot wounds…might be evidence of a crime, might be nothing at all.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Looks like you have a bit of a mystery on your hands, Coop,” Doc offered.
Blake had an eye pegged on Dunny when he replied with, “Appears so.”
Morgan stood in the front doorway of the main house, watching Guy from afar. She found him in a cushioned seat at the far end of the front porch, completely lost in thought with one hand holding his ribs and the other in a tightly closed fist. His pain could be read for days.
Certain the pain was as much about finding the horse, his horse, as it was the ribs, he tugged at her heartstrings in ways she hadn’t experienced. So strongly drawn to him, Morgan wanted to comfort him, take away his pain – all of it. A man she only knew for days, and only knew as a stranger, had a hold of her heart. It didn’t make sense, nor did she want to make sense of it.
A loud bang sounded from somewhere behind the house, pulsing through the air, startling both Morgan and Guy. A gunshot. The horse was gone, it was over, and the only clue he had as to who he was – gone.
Turning to face her, he watched her with a heavy distraught stare. The intensity of his gaze as it raked over her had a magnetic pull. Morgan went to him, ready to be whatever he needed.
“You okay?” she asked, slowly moving toward him, trying to gauge whether he needed a friend or not.
“Alright, I guess. Not sure how I feel entirely. I think it all just sort of hit me. I don’t know who I am, Morgie.” He used her nickname, warming her heart and it guilting her just the same. A deep yearning, for something she didn’t yet understand, combined with a companionable ache in her chest and a lusting core, creating a contradiction that made her head spin.
Drawn to this man in a charged and lust filled way felt entirely inappropriate. She could feel his sorrow to the very depths of her being. It confused her. Never had she had to balance two such strongly conflicting emotions, and she wasn’t prepared to reconcile such as it related to a man she only knew a handful of days.
Slowly sitting beside him to make sure she was welcome in his despair, she placed her timid hand on his leg. A bold move on her part, even she was surprised. “We’re going to figure this out, Guy. I promise you. We’ll figure out who you are, whether you remember or not. You won’t have to put the pieces back together on your own.” And she meant every word.
“And if finding out who I am means finding out that it’s just me? I don’t…” he stalled to choke back the emotion trying to make its way out, “I don’t know if there’s anything waiting for me. It’s been days – nobody is looking for me – other than a dead horse.”
He dropped his head with a deep sigh. Trying to regain his composure in a weak moment, he turned his head away from Morgan to collect himself.
“You have me…” her words, nearly a whisper, rang loud, capturing his attention once again.
Placing his hand over hers, he weaved their fingers together and smiled a sweet appreciative smile. Hand in hand, the air shifted between them through their silence. Two strangers they were no longer.
Morgan was one of the kindest, most genuine people he had the privilege of knowing. He didn’t need his memories to be sure of that because people like Morgan Jameson were a once in a lifetime experience. Together, they would figure this out.