The Ranchers Son (5 page)

Then he thought
bigger, expanding his thoughts from understanding that the sun was warmth and
how it would feel on his skin. The touch of it tingled, and the brightness of
it was enough to have him wincing. Dr. Armitage pointed out that Adam was
tanned, that he apparently spent time in the sun, and that he didn’t have the
paleness of a long-term resident Chicagoan with winter painted on his skin. He
wasn’t burned or suntanned to the point of obscenity, his skin was warmed with
a soft brown in and around the dark tattoos that climbed his arm and curled
over his shoulder.

He expanded
thinking about the sun, attempted to focus on the scent of something—trees,
grass, even horses, although he guessed horses just smelled of manure and hay.

Horses.

A nebulous poke of
a memory—
or was it a sensation?
—pricked his brain. Smoke. He couldn’t
smell it, but he could see the grayness of it, and white markings that moved in
front of his eyes before lying flat on the ground.

And abruptly,
stealing his breath from him, a startling pain stabbed at him.

Smoke was a
memory. Smoke was something that meant so much to him. He
just
didn’t know
what. Tears built in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Everything
would come back to him; he
would
remember it all.

Tired, he counted
back from fifty, the remarkable ability to do so at odds with the fact that he’d
forgotten everything else.

And he slept.

And the dreams
came. But this time instead of running and the fear of recalling nothing, he
was holding something in his hands.

However much he
tried to look down, he couldn’t see what it was. Whatever he recalled touching was
soft, like velvet, and he was crying again, screaming in his sleep and sobbing
that he’d lost everything and that the smoke was dead.

Ethan was there, a
firm hand on his shoulder, a pressure that grounded him, and Adam looked up.

Adam, wake up,
Adam….

Only it wasn’t
Ethan who looked back at him. It was a young man with blond hair and blood on
his face. Who was it? Who was holding him down?

Come on, Adam.
This isn’t good.

Adam couldn’t breathe.
Acid burned in his chest, every muscle screamed, and he scrambled to get away
from the hand. “No!” he shouted and curled up on himself, yelling out his pain
and opening his eyes to a dark room.

“Adam? It’s okay.
Come on, I’ve got you, it’s all right.”

Ethan’s voice,
calm and steady, framing his return from the nightmares with solid
dependability.

Ethan always
made everything make sense.

For the longest
time, Adam gripped Ethan hard, burying his face in Ethan’s jacket and trying
his hardest to settle the ragged, grating breathing.

And through all of
it, Ethan talked.

“When you were
eight or so, I found you and Justin with the horses. You had your own, you
know, and my dad, he had this new saddle and you were trying to get it on your
horse, and I came in, so much taller and stronger, being as I was ten. And I
bragged I could get this saddle up and on the back of the horse in one go. I
tried, and I slipped and fell on my ass, slap bang in a pile of shit. Justin
snorted this huge laugh, and I was so pissed, my pride all hurt, until I
managed to knock Justin’s legs from under him and he went face first into the
same, somewhat flattened, pile of shit. We were rolling around in this barn,
scaring the horses. Kids with no sense, but I remember you laughing so hard you
were crying.”

The words were
soothing. Warmth welled up inside Adam until it became all he could think
about. The idea of Ethan covered in manure was something that made a laugh
bubble up inside him. Even though he didn’t let it out, it was enough to chase
away the shadows of the nightmare.

“I had a horse,”
Adam murmured.

“Uh-huh,” Ethan
offered. He’d committed what Dr. Armitage had warned him about, the sin of
feeding Adam too many memories.

“What was its
name?”

“You should try
and remember,” Ethan said with regret lacing his voice.

“Is this the horse
on my back, the big gray with the white markings? You said so, right?”

Ethan didn’t
answer at first, and then Adam felt him sag a little in his support. “Yes, I
did.”

“Tell me, Ethan.”

“I’m not supposed
to—”

“One fucking
thing,” Adam snapped, his hands tightening momentarily on Ethan’s biceps as if
he could hurt Ethan into telling him.

“Smoke,” Ethan murmured.
“You called him Smoke.”

Abruptly Adam knew
he’d had his first memory. Albeit one sent to him in the pain of a disabling
nightmare. Still, it was a memory, and he wanted to hold it close.

“He was in my
dream.”

“You want to talk
about it?” Ethan asked carefully. Probably the last thing Adam wanted to talk
about was his fucked-up head.

As an alternative to
thinking about talking, Adam slipped his
hands up Ethan’s arms and around his back, slowly, so as not to jar his mending
bones. In this position, half-sitting, clinging to Ethan, who was supporting him
so strongly, Adam closed his eyes again. “I just need to sleep,” he said.

Ethan didn’t move,
didn’t pull away or unpeel Adam from his comfortable position.
Instead
he placed
his hands behind Adam and tugged at the pillows until Ethan was supported as
well. “We can do that,” he whispered. “Go to sleep, Adam.”

And like that,
Adam slept.

When Adam woke
from a sleep with mercifully no dreams or nightmares he could remember, he
realized three things.

The drapes were
drawn, but bright light peeked through the middle where they didn’t quite meet,
as if someone had opened them a little to look outside.

He was in pain to
the point he could hardly move.

And lastly, that
Ethan wasn’t sleeping with him.

“Ethan?”

Ethan didn’t reply,
but Adam wasn’t about to go looking for him. He had enough to think about just
getting up off the bed. As he moved he saw his meds and water on the small
bedside cabinet and reached for them, seeing how his hand shook and noticing
the little things, like the coolness of the room making the hairs on the back
of his arm stand up.

“Wait, I’ll get
that,” Ethan said from the bathroom. He was next to Adam in an instant, helping
him down the pills and sit upright. “How you feeling?”

“Like I was
trampled in my sleep,” Adam grouched. He couldn’t help it; he wasn’t used to being
ill. He was physically strong and focused and capable and—

How do I know
that? How could I even know what kind of man I am?

“I’m sorry about
last night,” Ethan began. “Waking you up from a nightmare, when the books say
you shouldn’t do that.”

Adam realized Ethan
was talking to him, and he focused in on the words. “I don’t get why they say
that. I wasn’t in a good place, and you pulled me out of it.”

Ethan sat on the
side of the bed next to him. “Still, they say you shouldn’t. It probably messes
with the brain or something.”

Adam chuckled,
immediately wishing he hadn’t when his sore muscles pulled. “My brain is
already fucked.”

For a moment they
sat there in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but Adam sensed Ethan had
something to say.

He was right.

“Last night you
remembered Smoke.”

So they were
talking, then, about things that Adam didn’t feel like discussing this early in
the morning. “Breakfast,” he said.

The single word
hung there for a moment, and it was enough to propel Ethan to his feet.

“I found a small
mall, with a clothes outlet and at least three places to get breakfast. I’ll go
get some—”

“No, I’d like to
go. Get some air.”

Feel the April
sun on my skin.

Ethan looked
doubtful. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

Adam shook his
head. “Probably not. I’ll need help getting my sneakers on, and my fleece. And
maybe a cap so I can hide my face a bit, stop people staring.”

He’d slept in his
sweats and T-shirt, and felt grungy, but the idea of food outweighed how shitty
he felt, or how messed up he looked. He was hungry. “I should eat soon.” He
indicated the plastic meds bottle. “Bacon.”

Ethan didn’t
hesitate; he knelt at Adam’s feet and helped to slip on the sneakers, lacing
them and then patting Adam on the knee. “Done.”

Ethan stood and
extended a hand, which Adam took. It was enough to get him standing and able to
walk, slowly, to the bathroom.

“There’s a
toothbrush I got from the shop,” Ethan called through the closed door.

“Thanks.” He used
the bathroom, washed his hands and face, brushed his teeth, and picked up the
deodorant, which he assumed was Ethan’s. He debated asking if he could use it,
and then decided that was a pretty stupid question to consider asking. Ethan
wouldn’t care; he’d expect Adam to use it. Ethan was a nice guy.
He always
had been.

Adam steadied
himself by gripping the edge of the sink, and he stared down at the water
droplets collecting around the drain. There it was again—a feeling, not a memory
as such, more an understanding of who Ethan was, of who he himself was.

Was this the start
of things? Of everything coming back to him?

No one had posted
a missing person’s report. No one had flagged him as missing at all. What if
the memories turned up a family of sorts?

Pain slid from
temple to temple and he closed his eyes.

“You okay in
there?” There was more than a little concern in Ethan’s words.

“Sorry, yeah, I’m all
right. Okay to use the deodorant?”

“That’s yours. I
got it when I got the toothbrush.”

Of course you
did. You never let us—

Adam snapped
himself out of the negative thoughts, not sure where they were going. He sprayed
some of the Tahitian Blue under his shirt, angling it up and getting a face
full of spray.

He coughed—that
hurt, so he stopped, which hurt even more as he held his breath.

He caught sight of
himself in the mirror and blanched. He looked awful.

With a heartfelt
sigh, he hoped to hell the headache would go, that his chest wouldn’t burn, and
that he could manage to get breakfast quickly enough to stop the meds making
him sick.

Adam let himself
out, allowed Ethan to help him on with the fleece, and waited by the door.

Ethan pocketed his
cell, shrugged on his jacket, and picked up the key card. “Let’s go,” he said,
with added enthusiasm.

Evidently Ethan
had been lucky enough to have already got coffee this morning.

“I need coffee,”
Adam announced as they left the hotel.

“Five minutes,”
Ethan said with a smile. “This way.” He led them across the parking lot and to
the first café they saw. “This looks good.”

Adam didn’t care.
At this point all he wanted was coffee and bacon, and it didn’t matter which
order they came in. They attempted to sit in a booth, but Adam couldn’t quite
bend himself to slide round and so they ended up at a table by the window.
Coffee was quick, and a plate of steaming pancakes with bacon and syrup
appeared not long after.

Adam didn’t eat
too fast. If the wrap thing he’d had last night had taught him one thing, it
was that his stomach was still fragile.

They didn’t talk
much, nothing more than Ethan asking if Adam needed more syrup or coffee. The
waitress buzzed around them, clearing nearby tables and generally making enough
noise for the silence between the two men to stay comfortable.

“You want to get
some more clothes?”

Adam looked down
at the sweats he was wearing. “I suppose I need to.”

“You’ll be in the
car. Nothing fancy, just comfortable things. We can go after that.”

Silence again.
Then a question occurred to Adam. “What was I wearing when I was found? I never
asked.”

“Jeans, a light
blue tee, a sweatshirt, and a dark leather jacket.”

Adam’s eyes
widened. “You remember all that?”

Ethan shrugged. “I
remember the little details. Like there was no wallet, no ID,
no loose change.”

“So, it was a
mugging, then? Whoever jumped me took my wallet.”

“That’s the theory
the cops worked with, certainly.”

“But not one you
agree with?”

Ethan looked down
at his plate and worried at the last of his bacon with his fork, his other hand
flat on the table, tapping his fingers every so often. “I don’t know. Nothing
about this makes any sense. No one reported you missing, no one knows who you
are. You have no ID.”

Ethan didn’t look
back up at Adam, and something about that spoke volumes to him. Ethan was
struggling with all of this: the lack of memories, the missing years. Cautiously
he placed his hand over Ethan’s. “Something will come up.”

It was odd to be
the one reassuring the big tough cop, but he was rewarded with the flash of a
smile.

“I know.”

Adam removed his
hand and concentrated back on his last pancake, considering whether he should
be putting an order in for another stack when Ethan’s cell vibrated on the
table.

“I need to take
this,” Ethan said in apology.

“Go for it.”

The call clearly
wasn’t personal, because Ethan didn’t leave the table, just answered it with a
curt “Allens.”

Allens.
The word didn’t sound familiar. Well, not
any more familiar than any other family name he’d been exposed to over the last
week. No ringing bell announced that he’d suddenly connected everything in his
brain and made his synapses fire.

Nothing. Nada.
Blank.
Not even a connection
to
that vivid smoke dream.

He couldn’t help
but hear Ethan’s side of the conversation, given they were maybe a foot apart.

“Two weeks,” Ethan
said in response to whomever was on the other end of the line. Adam looked up
at him from under his lashes, attempting to make it as unobtrusive as he could.
“I’m owed at least that.”

Ethan was
frowning, his gray eyes stormy. His eyes were gorgeous, an unusual dark
gray-blue, and there was definitely a hint of red in his brown hair, which he
kept short. Adam couldn’t figure out if Ethan’s stubble was designer or not,
but it was neat. And sexy. His shirt was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, and his
jacket on the back of the chair, which meant that Adam could get a look at the
base of Ethan’s throat, at the glimpse of hair on his chest, and the way the
shirt stretched over his lean, spare body.

There was really
no doubt Adam was gay; this
just
proved it. The waitress with her ample good
points was fussing around them, but Adam only had eyes for Ethan.

Not that Ethan had
taken any kind of interest in her. He was probably used to being hit on,
though, all sharp angles and sexy, come-to-bed eyes.

“I’ll try. I
promise. … Jeez—”

Ethan snapped off
his words and looked directly at Adam, catching him staring. Adam flushed,
looking back at his plate and forking the last mouthful into his mouth.

“He’s here,” Ethan
said. Adam glanced up at him. Whomever Ethan was talking to was talking about Adam.
“I’ll tell him, and no, there’s no way we’re doing that. I want at least another
week. … Tell him to call me if it’s a problem. Jen—”

The voice on the
other end was louder and Adam could hear the string of profanities.

“Okay, okay, I’m
sorry, I’m just— … Yeah. … Bye.” He ended the call and placed the cell back on
the table. “Work. My partner, Jennifer Young. She’s covering for me and
negotiating for me not being in the office.”

“And that isn’t
going well? Do you need to get back?”

Ethan shook his
head. “Fuck no, I’m owed the days. It isn’t the vacation time they’re worrying
about, it’s lack of notice and lack of cover. But, we have to get you home, and
then….”

“Then what?”

“See what happens
with your….” He circled his finger in the air.

“My head.”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think
will happen? That I’ll see this place, this Single Tree place, and every memory
will magically reappear in the right order?” He wanted to hope that it would,
so much, but nothing made him more nervous than hope.

What? Where did
that come from?

“It’s
Crooked
Tree,” Ethan corrected him.

“Sorry?”

“You said Single
Tree. It’s actually Crooked Tree.”

“Is there one?”

“One what?”

“A crooked tree?”

“Oh.” Ethan tilted
his head. “Yes, it was actually struck by lightning, and it split into two, and
the parts kind of twined and tilted. We used to…. Nothing.”

Adam was getting
sick of people not finishing sentences around him when it came to his memories.
No, that wasn’t right, he was getting sick of Ethan doing it, as if Adam
was
something
brittle that would snap if he wasn’t handled the right way. “Go on, finish the
sentence.”

“They said in the
hospital to be careful.”

Adam sat back in
his chair a little. “Well, that’s going to make for a very dull road trip. What
did we do with the tree? Climb it? Did I used to climb trees?”

“We all did. Only,
it hangs out over the water, the river, and when Justin was—” He screwed his
face up in thought. “—eleven, maybe? He fell out of it, cracked his head, so Dad
put fencing up to stop us getting in.”

“It didn’t keep us
out, did it?”

“Nope. Me, Nate,
and Cole, we’d all grown some over the summer and could easily get over the
fencing, and one of us would hoist you over. It was like a boys
’
club, the five of us. Then Gabe got big enough, and he was added as well.”

“And Cole is my
brother; that is what you said. Older than me, I assume, and he’s in the Navy.”

“He was married,
to a girl called Mary. She lived in town and they were sweethearts, married
young. It didn’t last long, and he joined up pretty much as his marriage broke
down.”