The Ranger and The Rescue

No. One of the hallmarks of her beloved ex-husband’s character was his complete lack of patience.

Sucking in another deep breath, she ruthlessly forced Hank out of her consciousness, then left the bathroom. On the way to her bedroom, she encountered the stranger in the hall. Her pulse jumped. Conscious of his semi-nude state, and hers, she wrapped her towel more closely around her body.

“Afternoon, Serenity.”

He was so courtly, so polite. Her heart melted. By his tone of voice, she knew that if it were proper to wear a hat inside the house, he would have tipped his Stetson for her. “H-hello, Justus.”

His eyebrows arched. “Feelin’ better?” Full of concern, his rich, brown eyes scanned her face.

“Yes. I’m…I’m sorry I blew up at you like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

He reached out, though not for her towel. One finger stroked her cheek. She tried to not flinch, but failed when he gently touched the scar on her forehead Hank had inflicted.

She remembered the occasion: their first fight. Six months into their marriage, he’d made mai tais and shoved pineapple rinds down their cheap garbage disposal. When she’d tried to stop him, he’d backhanded her across the face into a kitchen cabinet, and the sharp handle had cut her forehead.

Happy memories indeed.

“I can tell something’s troubling you.” Her cowboy’s Texas twang brought her back to the present.

Serenity flinched again.

“You don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready.”

“I know that.” She hated the defensiveness edging her voice. Serenity had worked hard to become someone other than Hank’s victim. She wanted to destroy the protective shell she’d developed, but couldn’t seem to grow beyond it.

“But I do want to talk.” His scrutiny shifted to the peach-colored towel cloaking her body.

Uh-huh. Talk. “Perhaps later.” Serenity retreated to her bedroom, clutching the towel around her.

Chapter Three

By late afternoon his jeans had dried, so Justus explored the streets of Lost Creek with Serenity at his side. Her wild grass fragrance mingled with the chaparral scent of the desert town. The sun slanted through dust motes, turning the wooden planks of the walk-ways to white-hot gold. Some of the buildings had hitching rails and false fronts that he remembered from Wild West shows. Part of the tourist attraction of the place, he supposed.

Strange that he recalled scenes from old movies but not his own name or life.

“Late in August, it’s pretty quiet here.” Serenity’s wide-brimmed straw hat shielded her face from the sun’s fury. “Too hot for tourists. We hope some will come back for the Labor Day weekend festival, but it isn’t until Samhain that the place really starts to rock and roll.”

“‘Samhain’?”

“What most people call Halloween.”

He blinked, taking that in.

“There’s the police station.” She pointed across Main Street.

He started across the dusty avenue without going to the corner or checking stoplights. He halted in the middle of the asphalt. Jaywalking felt…funny to him, as though he normally obeyed traffic signals without question. What had he been, a crossing guard?

He looked left, then right. Of course there was no traffic. Serenity was right. The August heat had turned Lost Creek into a ghost town.

The deserted police station reflected the general sleepiness of the place. Peering in a window, he tried to peek through battered Venetian blinds. He saw only a wooden counter behind which sat a couple of tired-looking chairs near a beat-up metal desk.

The scene looked…wrong to him. He didn’t know where the images came from, but he knew he should see a bunch of busy people inside, working on computers and answering phone calls. Maps with push-pins should paper the walls, with the acrid smell of burned coffee tainting the air.

Perhaps he’d watched a lot of cop shows on TV.

He heard the soft slap of Serenity’s sandals on the plank sidewalk behind him. “There’s funding from the State of New Mexico for a full-time lawman, but no one wants the job.” She shrugged. “I guess cops want to be in a big city capturing crooks and making a name for themselves.”

“Maybe if you become a policeman, you go for excitement.” He turned away from the window. No answers there. “Is there a doctor in town?”

“Um, we’re pretty small. No. Won’t you try my friends? They’re talented holistic healers. They’ve helped a lot of people.” Sweet of Serenity to look so anxious about his welfare.

“Okay.” What did he have to lose? “I s’pose I can go see a regular doctor if these, er, healers can’t help me.”

“What can a doctor do except give you drugs?” She frowned. Serenity clearly didn’t approve of drugs.

He didn’t, either. “No drugs. I won’t take any pills.” He wondered about the immediacy and firmness of his reaction. Maybe he’d had a bad experience with drugs in the past.

She looked relieved. “Good. Let’s go see Mairen.” Taking his arm, she led him down the street.

“Who’s Mairen?”

“I told you. Mairen can fix you up.” Serenity strolled down the planking, towing him along. “I’m sure that the division within your spirit can be healed with the application of the right crystals and breathing methods.”

Was she nuts? “No.”

She stopped, looking a tad upset. “Why not?”

His mind went blank. Why not, indeed? Besides, he liked Serenity and didn’t want to offend her. “Um, will it hurt?”

“No, of course not. Mairen is the gentlest of souls. You’ll see.”

At the intersection of First and Main, Serenity paused in front of a bookshop at the corner. Its sign, painted on wood with colorful rainbows, read Great Bear’s Book Nook. As she pushed open the door, a bell tinkled, heralding their arrival. He followed her when she entered.

Inside, he smelled sage and incense. Crystals winked from shelves, reflecting the afternoon sunlight. Racks of esoteric books lined the store while an oval counter in the center displayed Native American jewelry and artifacts. Soft flute music played, interspersed pleasantly with the murmur of several table fountains.

A door in the back of the shop opened to reveal the largest man he’d ever seen. Broad and tall, the copper-skinned fellow wore a tie-dyed T-shirt and shorts. His gray-streaked hair, braided with feathers and beads, reached his shoulders. He beamed at Serenity.

“Great Bear, this is the stranger I told Mairen about.” Serenity gestured. “Justus, this is Great Bear, Mairen’s soul mate. Great Bear discovered my true name and totem animals in a naming ceremony.”

Sounded pretty strange, but he couldn’t be picky. And Great Bear seemed friendly enough.

“Welcome, Justus,” Great Bear boomed. “Enter our home.”

A perky woman with white hair bobbed up behind Great Bear. “Want some fresh carrot juice?” she asked in a high, sweet voice. Clad in a flowing, robe-like dashiki, her bracelets clattered as she waved a glassful of orange liquid.

“Mairen.” Serenity kissed the woman’s cheek.

Great Bear remained in the shop, presumably to welcome any customers. Mairen led them into the kitchen in the back of the store and served large glasses of chilled carrot-orange juice.

He discovered he enjoyed the sweet blend. Serenity and her friends sure were unusual, but they ate and drank well.

“Mairen, this is yummy.” Serenity set down her glass after draining it.

“Even better, the electrolytes will promote the return of your memories.” Mairen directed her cheery smile at him.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He drank more electrolytes. Lucky for him they tasted so good.

“Come with me, stranger.” Her colorful skirts flowing, Mairen led the way into an adjoining room, which contained sofas, chairs, and a television set with a VCR. Evidently Mairen and Great Bear didn’t share Serenity’s disdain for mass media.

A brown-and-rust Native American-style rug decorated with a tree of life design lay in front of a brick fireplace. After closing the curtains, Mairen went to a cupboard and retrieved a long, misshapen swatch of umber-colored leather. She spread the hide over the rug.

“I usually let Great Bear do the smudge purifications,” she confided to him, “but I have had more success with issues involving mind-spirit integration.”

“Uh, what exactly will this, um, purification do, ma’am?”

“It’ll clear your mind and spirit of unwanted energies that could interfere with your memory.”

He tentatively fingered the leather. Its softness rivaled a woman’s cheek, and he bet it had been hand-tooled. “What is this, ma’am?”

“It’s a doeskin. Great Bear killed the animal himself and tanned her skin after asking her permission to use her hide for healing work.”

He didn’t recall asking permission from anything he’d killed. The certainty that he’d taken life hit him with the force and power of a wrecking ball. Shattered, he went cold. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t tell these good, innocent people he was a killer. He didn’t know if he wanted to conquer his amnesia. What if he found out he was a criminal?

Mairen reached into the cupboard again and removed a bundle of dried, leafy branches, about eight inches in length, tied with colorful strands of silk.

Recovering his voice, he asked, “And this is?”

“A sage smudge stick. It’ll purge the atmosphere of any negative energy or harmful spirits which might interfere with your healing.”

Yeah, right. “Oh, okay, I guess.”

Serenity smiled at him. “Your skepticism is acceptable, though you have no reason to disbelieve anything you see or hear today, do you?” She lit a candle that sat on a nearby shelf.

He blinked. “You’re right. I haven’t any experience with any of this that I can remember. Who knows, it could be the best thing since sliced bread.” He looked at Mairen. “Go for it, witchy woman.”

She giggled like a kid. “Lie down on the hide.”

He did, resting his head against the soft doeskin. His reclined position gave him a good view of the cracked stucco and a water stain or two on the ceiling. They oughtta reroof this place.

Serenity sat at his feet, cross-legged. She beamed at him. One high, elegant cheekbone reflected the candle’s mellow light.

He’d go through a thousand purification rituals just to see her smile.

Mairen, at his head, gently rubbed his temples. Her silver-and-turquoise bracelets softly clinked. “Tell us about your dreams.”

He tensed.

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