CHAPTER ONE
A fiery gold and rose sunset blazed across the Californian sky, shading the vastness in a warm, vibrant glow. The day was dying fast, but it was sure going out in a blaze of glory.
One man stood alone on the brow of a sage-covered hill overlooking the flat expanse of plain which stretched out as far as the eye could see towards an infinite misty horizon.
Standing there, his tall, leanly muscled stature cast a long, dark shadow across the land, which aptly reflected the darkness in his soul.
When a man has no past, he can never look back; cut adrift from whatever life he had before the present. Here was such a man, void of memory, gazing searchingly into the far horizon, feeling the need to see more than what had happened since yesterday.
In a day, he’d lived a lifetime.
Viewing the distant horizon, his mind rewound the events of the last twenty-four hours . . .
It began when he regained consciousness in the home of Doctor Evett Lainey.
‘How’re you feeling?’ the doc asked, leaning over him with a concerned look on his scrubbed, world-weary, fifty-year-old face. A pocket watch and chain hung from his waistcoat which he wore over a freshly laundered, white, collarless shirt, giving the impression of a professional man who was both precise and pristine.
‘Everything’s kinda fuzzy,’ he muttered, feeling groggy and weaker than a kitten. ‘Where am I?’
‘You’re in my home. I’m Doc Lainey. My boy, Derry, found you lying unconscious near the river. We nearly took you for dead. You’ve got a humdinger of a bump on your skull, feller. Lucky you weren’t killed.’ There was genuine concern in the doc’s voice.
Instinctively, he put a hand up to feel the bump, and audibly winced in pain at the touch. ‘What happened?’
‘We were hoping you’d tell us,’ the doc replied.
Us? It was then that he noticed a young woman standing a few feet away from his bedside. His vision was still a mite hazy, but she was a vision in herself. Golden-red hair framed a delicately pretty face, and she wore a dress that reminded him of sunshine and which gave a sun-kissed glow to her face like holding a buttercup under your chin.
‘Can you tell us what happened?’ the doc reiterated, interrupting his patient’s secretly appreciative study of the young woman. ‘You bein’ a newcomer to town, nobody we’ve asked seems to know anything about you.’
‘I, eh…’ he strained to remember. ‘I…’
The doc eased another question at him. ‘What’s your name, feller?’
His name? Alarm bells sounded in his head. What was his name? He couldn’t remember!
‘Can you remember where you’re from?’
The anxious expression in his deep-set, river green eyes was all the answer the doc needed to confirm his diagnosis.
‘I suspected this might happen, Amber.’ The doc voiced his concern to the young woman.
Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he demanded to know what was going on. A single linen sheet was all that covered his nakedness.
‘Now just you relax there, feller.’ The doc’s tone was calm and steady, but it was Amber’s hands on his bare shoulders directing him to lie back down that reassured him most. Up close, he could see her eyes were like two topaz gemstones and her lips, soft rubies. Altogether, in name and in appearance, Amber was a truly precious gem of a creature.
‘Like I said,’ the doc began to explain slowly, ‘you were found unconscious near the river with a lump the size of a man’s fist on your skull. You’ve been out cold for the best part of a day. I suspect you may have lost your memory – temporarily,’ he hastened to add.
‘My father is a well-respected physician in these parts. You’re in good hands,’ Amber assured him further.
He didn’t doubt it, though it was her hands which were the best medicine.
It was strange, he thought, that amid the awful emptiness and worry, he still found it in him to admire this young lady. She had a fresh, clean scent, like newly washed linen, and flowery overtones which reminded him of rosewater.
‘What is it?’ Amber asked, seeing a flicker of realization on his hard but handsome face.
‘Are you wearing rosewater?’
She looked at her father, then back at him. ‘Why, yes.’
‘So, I do remember something,’ he said, beaming with relief.
‘I’m afraid it ain’t as simple as that,’ Doc Lainey explained. ‘You see, when a person loses their memory, they remember most of the basic things which are stored in their mind. Things like talking, riding a horse, what colour the sky is. What they don’t remember is who they are, who other people are. It’s kinda confusing, I know, but you’ll soon understand what I’m getting at.’
‘How long you reckon it’ll take before I can remember who I am?’
The doc shrugged. ‘Hard to say, but you’re a strong and healthy feller, so there’s a good chance it won’t be too long. Likely, it’ll come back piece by piece; little things will trigger parts of your memory, until one day, everything returns back the way it was.’
Although Doc Lainey had advised him to lie in bed and sleep awhile, a restlessness stirred inside him, urging him to get up and start remembering. He had a heap of questions that urgently needed answers, so he was glad when the doc’s talkative young son, Derry, took it upon himself to fill in as many gaps as possible.
Amber had laundered his jeans and dark blue shirt, which he wore with boots and a long duster coat and low-crowned stetson. The clothes on his back were the only possessions he had. No gun, no holster, no horse, no money – and no identity whatsoever.
‘They must have robbed ya, mister,’ Derry calculated as they walked the length of the small town of Copperstone Creek together. The gangly fourteen-year-old had a mop of unruly ginger hair and world-curious hazel eyes set in a pleasant freckle-sprinkled face which was as scrubbed as his father’s.
He gave the boy a quizzical look.
‘Amber checked your clothing for something which would tell us who ya were, but your pockets were clean empty, which ain’t like any man I knows. None of us have seen you around town before, but you must have been heading here, being so close to the river an’ all. Question is, why were you coming Copperstone?’
‘And where was I coming from?’ his deep, husky voice added ominously.
The boy shrugged blankly. ‘Father says you sound like a feller he used to know, and he was from Montana.’
‘Montana?’ He tested out the word, but got no spark of recognition.
‘How about Arizona? Texas? New Mexico? Nevada?’ The boy was trying to be helpful, but it wasn’t having any effect.
They continued to mosey along the sun-baked main street, lined with a motley selection of wooden-constructed buildings. Redwood was the predominant feature, which gave a sturdy wholesomeness to the town’s character. It appeared to have one of every kind of business people would need, including a blacksmith shop and livery stable, a saloon, hotel, bakery, and mercantile and general supply store. And at the far end of the main street stood a white-painted meeting house with a rooftop bell which doubled as a school and the local church.
‘When ya found me, was there any sign of a horse? Perhaps it had wandered off a ways?’
‘Nope, I didn’t see no horse, mister. And you wasn’t wearing a gun or holster either, which I thought was mighty strange ‘cause you looked like a rough-hewn type to me.’
Barely were the words out the boy’s mouth than he realized his honesty might have caused offence.
‘But ya clean up real good, mister,’ Derry added hastily, his hazel eyes anxiously wide.
‘Don’t worry, boy,’ he said, smiling. ‘I ain’t offended.’ Momentarily evaluating his appearance, he deduced there wasn’t a hint of softness in him. ‘Reckon I am the rough-hewn type.’
‘There’s nothin’ wrong with that, mister- ’ The boy broke off suddenly and gave him a thoughtful look. ‘We’ll have to give ya a name. I can’t be callin’ ya mister all the time. Besides, no one should be without a name, even if they have forgotten it.’
A name? Probably the boy was right. For the time being, he would need one.
‘What name d’ya figure would suit me?’
Derry studied the man’s features for a long moment. ‘Somethin’ special. And something’ beginnin’ with the letter J.’
‘The letter J?’
‘Well you got one of them tattoos on your shoulder.’ Derry pointed up at the man’s right shoulder. ‘I seen it when you was lying in bed with your shirt off.’
He immediately pulled his coat and shirt away from his shoulder to reveal a small initial J tattoo. He felt it should have prompted some shred of recollection, but it didn’t. The disappointment showed in his face and suddenly the town was too public a place for such private discoveries.
‘Don’t worry,’ the boy said kindly. ‘Pa says your memory will get better and he’s the best doctor for miles around. I’m goin’ to be just like him when I’m all grown up,’ Derry announced proudly. ‘And amber, she’s already a fine medical assistant.’
He absorbed what the boy said, but a need for more privacy took precedence. ‘Maybe we should be goin’ back to the house?’
The boy agreed, and they turned in their tracks and headed back.
‘Amber’s also a great cook,’ Derry said with a grin as he strode alongside. ‘An’ she’s making something mighty tasty for supper tonight, Jay.’
Supper lived up to expectations. Amber had made a tasty beef stew with mashed potatoes and corn bread, followed by apple pie and plenty of good coffee. It was served in the main room of the Lainey’s comfortably furnished house, with the room being lit by the warm yellow glow of two coal-oil lamps. A polished mahogany dining-table assumed pride of place, spaciously seating Doc Evett Lainey, Amber, Derry and Jay.
Despite the delicious meal, friendly company and polite conversation, the event of sitting down to a family supper seemed to be an unfamiliar experience to Jay, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation. Nevertheless, he’d done his best to look presentable. He’d shaved the stubble from his harsh yet handsomely sculptured face and slicked back his rich, sable hair, in an attempt to look less rough-hewn, but his sun-darkened skin and tall, broad-shouldered, leanly muscular physique needed more taming than he was capable of.
‘Apart from getting your memory back,’ Doc Lainey commented as they finished the remains of the meal, ‘there are also the practical matters that have to be dealt with.’ He went on to elaborate on what these were. ‘You’ll need money to live on, somewhere to stay, a horse, and other things a man needs to survive in these parts. Certainly, you’re welcome to bunk here until you get back on your feet and I can lend you some money-’
Jay interrupted. ‘I cain’t be acceptin’ any money from you folks. You’ve already been a great help to me and I don’t intend imposin’ on your hospitality any longer.’
‘Oh, you’re not imposing,’ Amber insisted. ‘We’re doin’ what any dutiful folks would do when someone’s down on their luck through no fault of their own.’
She was wearing a beautiful blue dress tonight and her hair shone in soft liquid gold waves from the blue ribbon which tied it back from her heart-shaped face. Jay sighed inwardly. She was almost too good to look at. Frequently throughout the meal, he’d deliberately kept his eyes from lingering too long on her loveliness for fear his desires might show and cause offence.
‘You’re decent folk, and I thank you for your hospitality, but I intend looking fer work to pay my own way in this town before movin’ on,’ Jay explained.
Doc Lainey nodded. ‘A man’s pride is all fine and well, and I understand what you’re saying, but I insist you live under my roof at least until you find work. And maybe I can help you there too; some neighbours of ours have been on the lookout for extra hands to work on their ranch, and I’m sure they’d be glad of a strong feller like you. I could introduce you tomorrow and explain your circumstances.’
‘I’d be much obliged,’ Jay said, pleased to accept the offer.
‘Pa will tell ‘em you ain’t no outlaw,’ Derry chipped in, trying to be helpful.
‘That will do,’ Amber chided her brother. ‘Jay is obviously not an outlaw.’
‘I didn’t mean no insult to Jay, ‘cause I like him, but none of us knows for sure he ain’t a wanted gunman; even Jay doesn’t know who he is,’ Derry reasoned.
‘Well I’m a very good judge of character,’ Amber argued. ‘And if Jay had a shady past, I’d know it. Women can always sense these things.’
Her defence of Jay was a little more forceful than it should have been, unless she was secretly attracted to him which of course, she was. A blush rose in her cheeks as she realized she’d made her feelings for him rather obvious to all concerned. Her father, brother and Jay pretended not to notice which, in itself, was silent and embarrassing testimony to the fact.
‘Maybe you’ve got a wife and family of your own?’ Derry blurted out. His suggestion served to fan the flames of Amber’s embarrassment, which she was doing her darnedest to hide behind a calm facade and despite rose-bright cheeks.
Jay was inclined to disagree. ‘Somehow, I don’t think so. I don’t feel married.’ His timber-deep voice spoke the word married as if it were anathema.
‘You never can tell,’ the doc said, backing up Derry’s suggestion. ‘I’d estimate you to be in your late twenties to early thirties, and you’re a fine-looking feller, so the chances are you could be married.’
The doc turned to his daughter and said teasingly, ‘What does your woman’s intuition sense about Jay having a wife?’
Amber sunk her father with a withering look before addressing all three males at the dinner-table. ‘I’m just thankful I’m not wed, ‘cause most men aren’t worth the trouble they bring to us women.’ With that scathing comment, she went to make a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen.
Jay hoped her ire wasn’t entirely directed towards him, though he wasn’t certain why she was riled.
‘Don’t worry,’ Derry whispered to Jay. ‘When a woman gets angry like that, it means she likes ya.’
Jay smiled at the boy’s attempted wisdom regarding the female gender. Memory or no memory, Jay reckoned women were as unpredictable as a summer thunderstorm and he was certain he’d never ever fathom them out. Derry probably understood his sister’s moods very well, and it was warming to imagine that she kinda liked him, though where such feelings could lead, he couldn’t presume to surmise. When he got his memory back, there was no telling what his past might divulge. Until he knew who and what he was, he didn’t dare harbour any romantic notions for Amber Lainey.
So, here he was, standing alone in the deep velvet stillness of the night, gazing into the far distance. The gold and rose sunset had now darkened to a purple and midnight-blue aurora. Even the languid breeze had gone to sleep.
Slumber had escaped Jay. Far too restless to sleep, he’d slipped silently out of the house where the Laineys had kindly let him bed down for the night. From his vantage point, he could see the lights of Copperstone’s town flickering way below the hillside.
Suddenly, amid the stillness, something stirred behind him in the long grass.
Whirring round to face the threat, instinct made him reach for his gun, which wasn’t there. Luckily, there was no real danger; the noise he’d heard was simply a night-time varmint which was more scared of Jay than he was of it, and scurried back into the darkness from which it came.
In that instant, he realized something about himself. Even though he wasn’t wearing a gun, it was mighty clear he was used to having one around – and the lightning speed with which he’d reached for it indicated he was a fast draw. Very fast.
What kind of man did that make him, he wondered, tension gripping hold of his guts. An outlaw, or an upholder of the law, or maybe just a feller who was adept at protecting himself? He didn’t have any answers, but the reality remained – he was incredibly fast with a gun, and there had to be a good reason for this ability. Even if it was a bad reason.
CHAPTER TWO
By sun-up, Jay was back at the Lainey house, sitting on the front porch, as if he’d simply risen at the crack of dawn and was waiting for the rest of the occupants to awaken. The house was right in the hub of Copperstone and Jay sat on the porch steps watching the town slowly come to life.
A raw, dazzling brilliance was a sure sign that the day was going to be a real scorcher. The sun, a gleaming white-hot gold, bolstered Jay’s hopes of the new day shedding some light on his past.
Although he hadn’t had a wink of sleep, adrenalin was keeping him alert. He felt as if he were waiting on something, something vital, which of course he was. Apprehensively, he was waiting on his past to catch up with him. But there was something else, in the dark recesses of his memory…a feeling deep in the pit of his guts, coiled like a rattle-snake waiting to strike.
Squinting against the sunlight, he noticed a man eyeing him from the other side of the street, and making no secret of it. Standing outside the mercantile, the stranger was givin’ him a bone-breakin’ stare. He was wearing a sombrero, high-holstered pistols, and a mean expression.
For several pulsing seconds, their vision clashed. The emotion in the man’s dark eyes was as cold as the day was hot.
Jay stood up, undecided whether or not to cross the street and approach him. The man obviously recognized him and, for whatever reason, hated him on sight.
Anticipating Jay’s approach, the man immediately mounted his pinto and rode off, heading out of town, kicking up a cloud of angry dust in his wake.
‘Who was that?’ Derry gasped, drawing Jay’s attention away from the departing Mexican. Derry had been standing in the open doorway behind Jay. ‘He was staring at ya real hard.’
‘I dunno,’ Jay replied, wishing he did know, instinct warning him it wouldn’t be too long before he found out.
‘If looks could kill, ya’d be a dead man,’ the boy exclaimed, seeming to shudder at the prospect.
‘Well they cain’t and I ain’t.’ Jay’s response was casual, but only on the surface. Underneath the calm exterior, every nerve in his body was on red alert.
‘Reckon he’ll come back to git ya?’
Jay soothed the boy’s trepidation. ‘Nah, I shouldn’t think I’ll be seein’ him again.’ Nothing in Jay’s strong face betrayed his doubt.
Derry brightened, eagerly prepared to take Jay’s word that nothing was wrong. ‘Amber says breakfast’s ready.’
Derry led the way inside to the kitchen where Amber and Doc Lainey were already seated and tucking in.
‘Help yourself to coffee,’ Amber instructed Jay, pointing to a pot on the kitchen stove.
He did, and then seated himself down to breakfast. A hearty plate of bacon, eggs and fried bread was already laid out for him.
‘How’s your head this mornin’?’ the doc asked.
Jay gave it a reassuring rub. ‘Feels almost better.’
Doc Lainey leaned across to double-check. ‘The swelling seems to have subsided,’ he confirmed, prodding the bump. ‘Another day or two and you’ll be right as rain. Except of course, for your memory, but that’ll come back in time.’
A shadow passed over Jay’s face, as if something dark had crossed his soul. He chose his words carefully before asking, ‘Even if a man had lost his memory, would he know whether his past was good or bad?’
‘You’re asking me whether or not you could be a bad ‘un?’ the doc summarized.
Jay nodded briefly.
‘Depends on what you consider bad,’ Doc Lainey hedged. ‘Ya see, it’s possible, though I’m not sayin’ you did, that you killed somebody and don’t remember. Now that’s only bad if ya killed ‘em other than in self-defence and there was no other choice. If it was self-defence, that don’t make you a bad person.’ He hesitated, hoping he’d made his point understood, before concluding, ‘From everything I know about amnesia, a man can usually tell whether he has a black heart or a pure one. And, as far as I can figure, you ain’t black-hearted.’
The doc’s opinion was just the balm Jay needed to help push any worrisome notions to the back of his mind, at least, for the present.
‘Father’s going to take you over to the Mistral ranch this morning to meet the Garrett family,’ Amber said. ‘Likely they’ll give you a job.’ Her tone was light and breezy, as if the idea of him staying awhile in Copperstone Creek appealed to her.
Jay’s green eyes surveyed her under thick black lashes. She was wearing a pink dress this morning, and he pondered whether she had one for every colour of the rainbow? If he had it in his power, he’d buy her all the pretty dresses she wanted and all the ribbons to match.
Topaz eyes viewed him unblinkingly across the table as she awaited his response to her statement, trying to ignore the prolonged and intense scrutiny his eyes were directing at her.
Reacting to her expression, Jay jerked his mouth into action. ‘I’d be much obliged.’ Time just seemed to stand stock-still whenever he looked at her and his mind wandered way off the main track. Without a doubt, Amber was the type of woman who could derail him without even trying. How easy it would be to fall deeply in love with her. And, unless he was mistaken, Amber’s heart was struggling against succumbing to his dark and mysterious sensuality.
It was then he decided it wouldn’t be right to encourage a young woman’s affections, to entice her heart into danger. Much as it hurt him to shatter her illusions, this was neither the place nor the time to go a-courting.
‘Reckon I won’t be hangin’ around Copperstone for too long,’ Jay said, dashing her hopes. ‘Once my memory’s restored, I’ll be movin’ on.’
He deliberately dropped her heart from a great height, and although there wasn’t a word or gesture from her, he sensed her drowning in her own internal tears.
The Mistral ranch was on the outskirts of town, a fair-sized property set amid a flat expanse of plain. Copperstone’s river touched one edge of the ranch where the grass was greener under a canopy of juniper trees.
Doc Lainey took Jay over in his horse and buggy, having kindly given him a well-worn leather bag containing a collarless pale-blue shirt, shaving kit and a few necessary odds and ends to help him out.
After explaining the circumstances to the Mistral’s owner, Chuck Garrett and his wife, Verity, the doc returned home, leaving Jay at the ranch. The Garretts had been mighty pleased to take him on, though their charge-hand, Trask Draven, had been less enthusiastic. Abruptly, he’d excused himself from the proceedings after hearing all he needed, or wanted, from Doc Lainey. At best, Draven was a man of few words, and this morning, his silent opinion had spoken volumes.
‘Good help is scarce,’ Chuck Garrett admitted to Jay, as they sat on the ranchhouse porch discussing their business. ‘We sure could use ya.’ Garrett stood up and held out a hand that was as large and steady as Jay’s.
Rising to his feet, Jay gripped Garrett’s hand firmly. ‘I’m grateful for the work.’
Having secured their agreement on a handshake, they then walked outside across the yard towards the bunkhouse. Chuck Garrett was a robust, square-set man in his early fifties. Greying brown hair poked out from under his stetson and his moustache was a feature in itself, resembling a pair of buffalo horns turned upside down. His ruddy face was seamed with deep-etched lines like a sun-dried riverbed, and life’s trials and tribulations had watered-down his eyes to an almost colourless blue, but Jay got the impression they still didn’t miss a trick.
‘The hours are long, but the pay’s fair, and we’ll feed ya and give ya a place to bunk.’ Garrett pointed towards a log-built bunkhouse adjacent to the painted timber ranchhouse. The bunkhouse consisted of two large log cabins adjoined by a dog-trot. A shelf ran along the outside of one half of the cabins where a number of bare-chested ranch-hands were shaving, using the shelf to rest their soap, brushes, shaving mugs and razors.
Several sets of unwelcoming eyes turned to glare at Jay. It was hate at first sight, at least on their part. Either too fat, or too darn skinny, Jay inwardly applauded their nerve at standing there trying to look tough.
Draven stood beside them, the smug expression on his chiselled face indicating his triumph at having poisoned the men against Jay before they’d had a chance to get properly acquainted.
Jay sensed they intended giving him a hard time, but for some inexplicable reason, maybe a quirk in his nature, he didn’t give a damn.
Garrett halted and spoke in a low tone just out of earshot of the other men. ‘Bein’ as you’re a friend of Doc Lainey, and ‘cause of your predicament, I’m prepared to advance ya a month’s wages.’
‘That’s mighty decent of ya. I won’t let ya down.’
‘Don’t go tellin’ the boys,’ Garrett confided. ‘They can be a wordy lot when they’re riled, but I need ‘em to work the ranch. And take no mind of Trask Draven, he don’t like nobody. Indifference is as good as ya’ll git.’ Garrett passed Jay a sly wink.
Jay nodded. ‘Ah git your drift.’
‘This here’s Jay,’ Garrett announced to the men. ‘He’s gonna be workin’ here awhile.’
There was a low rumble of acknowledgement, not to Jay, but to Garrett.
Garrett then addressed Draven. ‘As charge-hand, see he gits his share of the tasks,’ he ordered, before walking back to the ranchhouse.
‘Sure, boss,’ Draven confirmed with vicious glee behind Garrett’s retreating figure.
Jay had a bad feeling. Garrett had just given Draven a big stick with which to beat him. He cussed inwardly. Life at the Mistral ranch was gonna be a heck of a time. The charge-hand would make sure of that.
Trask Draven matched Jay in years and stature, but bitterness had gnawed his hawkish features into an ageing grimace. The bitterness seemed to run in rivulets down his face, the furrowed lines ending at the precipice of a pointed chin. Inborn resentment towards most things had dragged his features downwards, and his character with it. Even his overly broad shoulders sloped at a pessimistic angle, but Draven bore the inclined posture with a fierce defiance.
The threatening figure of Draven approached Jay, his cold grey eyes lancing him to the core. ‘Ya better tread warily,’ Draven rasped in warning. ‘We don’t cotton to strangers round here, especially when they’re as strange as you.’
The gibe ricocheted off Jay’s untrammelled masculinity, hitting Draven straight in the eye.
The strength of Jay’s wordless parry gave the charge-hand pause for thought.
‘He looks real shifty ta me, Draven,’ a skinny cowboy said, throwing his opinion of Jay into the ring, safety in numbers being the reason for his bravado.
‘Garrett must have a soft spot for stray vermin,’ another chimed in, ridiculing Jay, ‘because I smell a rat.’
A sneer rippled through the men as each one condemned him without justice. Clearly, they were spoiling for a fight, mistaking him for an easy target on whom to vent their resentment.
Up to a point, Jay understood their animosity, though he didn’t like it one iota. And if he hadn’t been desperate for work, he’d have spat the threat back in their faces and left the ranch there and then.
‘For all we know, we could be sharing a bunkhouse with a rustler, an outlaw or a cold-blooded murderer,’ Draven sniped.
‘Better hope I’m not a murderer,’ Jay retorted, low and deep. ‘Nor give me any reason to become one,’ he added, with an edge of malice that seemed to come natural to him.
There was a long moment of charged silence, as several men’s eyes mentally gunned him down.
Although outnumbered, Jay stood his ground. Whoever he was, he’d just discovered something else about himself – he didn’t react well to threats and, when backed into a corner, was quite prepared to fight.
Draven was the first to retaliate, shattering the silence with a hail of verbal bullets. ‘I don’t like ya, and I ain’t afraid of ya neither. In fact, I reckon your useless piece of hide needs whippin’, and I’m just the man to do it.’
The ranch-hands stepped back out of harm’s way, leaving Jay to whatever fate Draven had in mind.
Fiery emotions ablaze, Draven was like a powder keg about to go off, and they didn’t want to be too near him when he blew.
‘I ain’t lookin’ for trouble, mister,’ Jay said, attempting to diffuse the explosive situation.
‘Then ya came to the wrong place,’ Draven responded, grinding the words out between gritted teeth. A hungry dog with a bone, the charge-hand wasn’t prepared to let go.
‘As I said,’ Jay repeated calmly, ‘I ain’t lookin’ for trouble.’
Draven’s grey eyes sparked dangerously beneath the shadowed brim of his dark stetson. ‘Well it’s lookin’ for you.’ His shirt-sleeves were rolled up to reveal the corded muscles in his forearms. The muscles twitched as he spoke, as if anticipating using their strength to strangle Jay like a rope of steel.
Within him, Jay felt a surge of adrenalin charge through his veins, preparing to defend himself if necessary. And it seemed it would be necessary because Draven’s eyes were boring holes into him and his hands, held loosely at his sides, were clenching eagerly into fists.
Tension singed the hot air as the two men stared each other out.
Any second now, Jay knew Draven would strike the first blow, and he mentally steeled himself to counter it ferociously. Although he had no recollection of how to fight, an inner belief told him he could. He let go the grip he had on his leather bag, letting it fall to the ground, leaving both hands free to defend himself.
Suddenly, Draven advanced, challenging Jay with a vicious punch straight to his face. Jay jerked his head back, causing the punch to hit nothing but thin air. This maddened Draven, who issued a second fist to the head. This time the blow struck its mark, contacting with Jay’s chin.
His strong-boned jaw absorbed the blow without any damage being done. In immediate retaliation, Jay threw a forceful right hook to Draven’s jaw which blasted him clean off his feet. He hit the ground with a dull thud, bone-dry dust gusting up from the force of his landing.
Jay could have kicked in his ribs while he lay there, but he didn’t. Instead, he let his opponent scramble to his feet, so he could knock him straight back down again.
A chorus of voices encouraged Draven to get up and kill Jay.
It crossed Jay’s mind that someone might die today, but it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be him! He’d fight ‘em tooth and nail.
Incensed, Draven pulled a knife from his boot and lunged full force at Jay, who side-stepped the attack, thereby causing his assailant to lose his balance and eat the dust yet again.
‘Had enough?’ Jay asked, glaring down at him, and kicking the stray knife out of reach of Draven’s vengeful grasp.
An enraged growl erupted from Draven’s mouth, his own anger having caused him to bite through his bottom lip. Wiping the blood away with the back of his hand, Draven dragged himself to his feet and once more entered into the fray. Punching wildly, he tried to sink a body blow on Jay. It was futile. Jay blocked every punch with a fierce countering strike.
Then finally, with a force which came from deep within him, Jay thrust an iron fist mercilessly into Draven’s face, busting his nose wide open and sending him reeling to the ground, splashing blood.
Seeing their charge-hand knocked senseless, three of the ranch-hands rushed Jay at once, fists flailing.
Jay assumed a strong fighting stance, taking down the first man with a clean punch to his exposed torso. He dropped like a stone.
The other two kept coming at him, and he suffered a few blows before delivering two hardhitting strikes to the second man, effectively eliminating him from further attack.
The third was a dirty fighter, kicking and trying to eye-gouge. He was joined by a fourth man, and between them, they managed to wrestle Jay to the ground. But Jay was quick to react, despite being overpowered and outnumbered. He elbowed the fourth man in the throat, causing him to retreat on all fours gasping for breath.
Instantly, Jay got to his feet, but the dirty fighter had got hold of Draven’s knife and was wielding it with the savage glee of a man keen to slaughter.
He repeatedly jabbed the knife at Jay, who did his best to avoid being cut. Suddenly, the knifeman lashed out and upwards, finally managing to slash across Jay’s upper right arm, ripping through his shirt sleeve to reveal his initial J tattoo. The knife wound sliced at an angle, underlining the letter. Blood spurted from the open cut, and Jay winced slightly at the sharp burning pain which seared his arm.
A sadistic smile blazed across the knifeman’s face, and he held the weapon aloft as a mark of triumph. The cold steel of the blade glinted in the sunlight, its point dripping red.
‘Cut his throat, Bodine,’ someone urged.
Bodine didn’t need to be encouraged; he’d tasted blood and he was out for more. Jabbing the knife at Jay’s head and throat, he tried his damnedest to cause permanent injury.
Ducking and weaving away from the flashing blade, Jay evaded the knife, biding his time for the split second when Bodine’s guard would drop, allowing him to fell him with a debilitating parry.
Confident he’d be the victor, Bodine shortened the distance between them, and that’s when Jay made his countermove. He buried a backfist into Bodine’s face, finishing him off with a downward hammer blow to the back of his neck. Bones were broken.
The fight was over.
Simultaneously, a gun-shot fired into the air a few yards away, causing everyone to freeze.
‘Hold it!’ Corey Garrett yelled, still pointing his Colt .45 skyward. ‘You’re paid to work, not to kill each other.’
‘Your pa hired this troublemaker,’ one of the ranch-hands shouted accusingly, trying to saddle Jay with the full burden for what happened.
Corey’s blue eyes immediately locked with Jay’s, icing him with a glacier-cold stare. Jay noted the likeness between father and son, right down to the upside down, buffalo horn moustache. Corey was a thirty-year-old version of Chuck Garrett, robust and square-set with the same brown hair minus the grey, and blue eyes which life had yet to fade to the colourless hue of his father’s.
Drawing his eyes away from Jay, Corey addressed the ranch-hands. ‘Put Draven and Bodine in the buggy and take ‘em into town to see Doc Lainey.’
Bruised and beaten, three of the ranch-hands lifted Draven’s and Bodine’s unconscious and bloodied bodies on to the horse-drawn buggy. Two of them travelled with them into town.
‘It’s probably best that I leave,’ Jay said to Corey, picking up his leather bag from the dusty ground.
‘Nobody asked to you leave.’ Corey’s response was blunt, but accompanied by a sharp-eyed glare. ‘However, if you’re gonna work this ranch, you better keep your fists to yourself. Understand?’
Jay nodded.
‘You’ll work with me today,’ Corey stated briskly. ‘I need a hand with the fencing.’ Corey walked off, his attitude indicting Jay should follow.
Once out of sight of the ranch-hands, Corey spoke his mind. ‘That was a damned fool thing you did back there. Draven and his men could have ripped you apart.’ He threw Jay a curious look. ‘Where did you learn to fight like that?’
Jay shrugged his shoulders.
‘Oh, I forgot, ya don’t remember nothin’.’ Then he added with a wry grin. ‘Maybe just as well. Any man who fights as tough as you do must have a whole lot of trouble taggin’ along behind him.’
‘I didn’t intend to cause no trouble,’ Jay assured him.
‘I know. But Draven could cause a fight in an empty prairie, and the other men look to him for their lead.’
‘You saw what happened?’ Jay asked.
‘Yep. I was watching – just in case they got the better of ya.’ He smiled. ‘Sure was good to see Draven gettin’ what was comin’ to him. I’ve always said someday he’ll cross the wrong man and git himself killed. Well, ya didn’t kill him, but you sure gave him a whippin’ he’ll never forget.’
Jay grimaced. ‘Chances are Draven will want to get even when he recovers. Bodine too.’
Corey thought about it for a moment before replying. ‘If Draven’s as sly as I think he is, he’ll keep his distance from ya for a while – but I’d watch my back if I were you. He won’t go risking another public beatin’, but he’ll bide his time waiting to catch you off guard when no one else is around.’ He paused, then added, ‘And as for Bodine, well, he’ll likely try to git on your good side. He won’t want to cross the likes of you again.’
‘With any luck, I’ll be gone quite soon. Once I git my memory back, I’m heading outa here to wherever I really belong.’
Corey viewed him sceptically. ‘Some men don’t belong anywhere. They jest drift from town to town.’
‘I don’t feel like no drifter,’ Jay commented as they reached the ranchhouse where Verity Garrett was standing alert on the front porch.
‘Where’s Pa?’ Corey called out to his mother.
‘He’s headed over to the south range,’ she replied, eyeing Jay as she spoke. ‘What happened?’
‘Draven and the boys got outa hand. Bodine cut Jay’s arm with knife,’ he explained briefly. ‘Could ya fix him up while I git the horses ready? Jay’s working with me today.’
Verity, a small, slight but tenacious looking woman, wanted more details.
‘Jay will tell you all about it while you’re fixin’ his arm,’ Corey promised, leaving Jay to do just that.
Verity cleaned the wound which wasn’t as bad as the amount of blood on the remains of his shirt sleeve suggested. She was kind, and keen to hear Jay’s version of the story as she wrapped the bandage around his arm.
‘Is this the reason they call you J?’ she asked, seeing the tattoo.
‘Yes, ma’am. It was Doc Lainey’s boy who came up with the idea of callin’ me Jay. But I’m hoping it won’t be long before I know what the initial J really stands for.’
Verity finished bandaging his wound and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Jay suits ya,’ she confirmed. ‘Although I knew a man once who had his sweetheart’s name tattooed on his forearm.’
She looked away, unable to hold his gaze, and he suspected she might be talking about herself.
‘Verity is a mighty pretty name for any man to wear on his arm,’ Jay said, grinning.
‘Don’t you go mentioning this to Chuck,’ she whispered, trying to contain her own smile. ‘We’ve been married for more than thirty years but he still gets jealous about my first beau.’
Jay’s green eyes lit up with his smile. ‘I won’t ever say a word.’
‘Say a word about what?’ Corey asked, walking in on their conversation.
‘About nothin’,’ his mother said, nipping Corey’s question in the bud. ‘Jay’s all fixed up, so you two can be getting on with the ranching and let me get on with my own chores.’
‘Thanks, Ma,’ Corey acknowledged, then turned to Jay who was wearing the clean shirt Doc Lainey had given him. ‘Come on, I got a mustang saddled and ready for ya.’
Outside, Corey mounted his roan and Jay did likewise on to the mustang.
‘Some of the fences on the north side need mendin’. You can give me a hand,’ Corey told him as they rode north together. ‘I cain’t imagine what it must be like not to know who ya are,’ Corey added, seemingly unable to fathom Jay’s situation.
‘I’d never have believed it possible,’ Jay admitted. ‘It’s hard to explain what it’s like.’
‘Well, you sure know how to fist fight, and ride as good as any ranch-hand round these parts,’ Corey credited him. ‘If you’re good at mending fences, Draven better watch out you don’t git his job.’
Jay sensed the comment was made half in jest and half in earnest, but he really had no intention of staying in Copperstone that long.
‘As I said before, I’ll be movin’ on soon, but I appreciate your being fair-minded about everything, Corey.’
‘Ya never can tell how things will work out,’ Corey concluded. ‘Pa don’t like Draven any more than I do. If the truth be known, we’d be glad to see the back of him – if we’d a suitable replacement. Maybe ranching’s in your blood?’
‘Ya never can tell,’ Jay echoed, trying to keep an open mind, but doubting this was where his future lay.
Corey had to show Jay how to mend any gaps in the fences, but he proved to be a quick learner and a tireless worker.
Later, back at the bunkhouse, Draven and Bodine were resting from their injuries. No words were exchanged between Draven and Jay, just a grudging silence which spoke volumes. The other ranch-hands made no bones about the situation, though they did tread warily around Jay. Bodine, true to Corey’s prediction, tried to make friends with Jay. He didn’t want a friend like Bodine, but with allies thin on the ground, he didn’t need another enemy. They shook hands over their differences – a gesture which Bodine wrongly assumed made them friends.
Jay chose a bunk for himself at the far corner of the cabin away from the others. Here he ate a plateful of stew and bread, washed down with coffee. He kept to himself, and that’s the way he planned to continue while he was here.
After supper, Jay assisted Corey and Chuck Garrett to secure the horses in the corral for the evening.
‘I’ve told the boys I want no more trouble, so you shouldn’t have any problems sharing the bunkhouse,’ Chuck avowed to Jay before he and Corey retired to the ranchhouse.
‘We’ve got an early start tomorrow, Jay,’ Corey added. ‘Git some shut-eye.’
‘See ya in the mornin’,’ Jay affirmed, walking away into the darkness, guided only by a dim light glowing from the bunkhouse.
His thoughts were rewinding the day’s events, when a faint noise triggered a disturbing warning. Halting in this tracks, he listened warily. There was nothing but silence -and darkness.
In that instant, something flickered in his mind, as if the chord of a distant memory had been stirred. What it was, he couldn’t fathom, but something in his bones told him it was vital to his survival.
Walking on, the whispered sounds followed his every step, almost as if something invisible were pursuing him.
Keeping a strong, steady pace, he continued towards the bunkhouse, heaving an inner sigh of relief when it reached it safely. Draven, Bodine and the others were all present and accounted for. Whoever, or whatever, was outside lurking in the shadows, was a stranger. It certainly wasn’t the Garretts, for he’d seen them go into the ranchhouse.
Reining his stray thoughts together, he considered that he might be just plain dog-tired. Unsure, he decided to give himself the benefit of the doubt. So, attributing it to lack of sleep, he settled down for the night.
Lying in bed, his thoughts returned again to recent events, which were his only real memories.
At the end of his first day at the Mistral ranch, he concluded that little light had been shed on his past – but he had the feeling he was at least one day closer to remembering something important. Something which might save his life.
