Buchanan's Pride by Pamela Toth

through her feelings about him and what she’d found out today.
    Was he telling the truth about his memory loss? She had no reason to think otherwise, but his unwillingness to try to find out his identity still rankled. How could she allow herself even the slightest feelings of attraction toward a man she knew nothing about, not even his real name?
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    Later that night, John lay on his cot in the tack room wondering the same thing. How could he stay here, attracted to Leah the way he was, when he had no idea what he’d left behind or what waited for him to return? Somewhere out there he must have a life, a job, a place to live. Possessions, a pet, friends. Parents, family? He shied away from the idea that he might have children, an ex-wife. So why was he reluctant to let Sheriff Brody try to find out who he was?
    John shifted restlessly on the narrow bed and punched his pillow before he jammed it back under his head. As he stared into the darkness, listening to the night sounds the horses made in their stalls, an image of a woman popped into his head. A pretty woman with dark hair.
    Bits of an argument floated through his mind. No, not an argument exactly. There was sadness, but no anger. The woman was crying as she folded clothes and put them in a cardboard carton sitting on a bed. John was watching her, torn by mingled relief and regret.
    He tried hard to remember more, what they’d said, who she was. As he narrowed his eyes and peered into the darkness, searching for clues, more images faded in and out. Scenes of the two of them laughing, talking, walking together. Waking up next to her. It all felt so distant, so long ago, but he couldn’t tell if that was because of the amnesia. There’d been some kind of break between them, though, he was sure of it.
    Finally, exhausted, he gave up with only a vague idea who the woman was and what she’d meant to him.
    As he lay in the darkness, sleep eluding him, he tried hard to remember other things in his life. Maddeningly, the answers seemed to linger at the edges of his consciousness, just beyond his grasp. It was as if his mind could deal with only so much at a time and no more. With a frustrated sigh, he finally gave up. His head was beginning to throb dully. Glancing at the luminous dial on his watch, he turned over, squeezed his eyes shut and willed sleep to come.
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    The next morning when Leah came out to the barn, John was already up and dressed. When she handed him a steaming mug of coffee, he barely grunted his thanks. He looked tired.
    â€œDidn’t you sleep well?” she asked as he turned away, pitchfork in hand. It was barely dawn, but he’d already turned out several of the horses, including the two with foals at their sides.
    â€œI’m okay.” His tone discouraged further questions.
    Leah watched him walk away, his shoulders slightly bent as though the weight of the world rested on them. Making a sudden decision, she hurried after him.
    â€œAre you sure you don’t remember anything about where you’re from?” she asked. She’d been thinking about it half the night, trying to find a way to learn more about him. When she got to the library, she was going to call the sheriff and ask if there was anything he could do without John’s consent. Even if he didn’t have to know, she did.
    John swung back around, eyes blazing. When she saw his expression, Leah stumbled to a halt. He held the pitchfork in one hand, the coffee mug in the other.
    â€œDamn it, Lisa!” he exclaimed. “Leave me alone.”
    Leah’s whole body stiffened. “Who’s Lisa?” she asked.
    John shook his head. “Leah. I meant to say Leah.”
    â€œNo,” she responded quietly, heart aching. “You said Lisa, plain as day. It was no mistake. You’ve remembered something, someone , haven’t you?” She swallowed past the lump in her throat and took a deep, steadying breath.