The Forgotten Rider (Preview)

Prologue

The smell of fresh grass was so strong he curled his nose and turned his head away. That simple motion caused an unbelievable amount of pain in the left side of his head, the direction he’d turned it. 

As he came slowly to consciousness, grass wasn’t the only thing he smelled. The thick coppery scent of blood invaded his nostrils, and no matter how hard he tried, it took over the more refreshing smell he’d initially detected. 

He was lying in the grass, a burning train car just a few feet from him, off the tracks, tilting but not quite all the way on its side. People were screaming and running around. At first, he didn’t hear the screams. After a few moments, his ears opened and the sound wrenched through his broken, bruised body. 

He tried to sit up but it was too painful. One of his arms didn’t want to take any weight on it. It was his wrist. Was it broken? Fractured? He couldn’t tell. 

When he finally made it to a sitting position, he closed his eyes and tried to think. Where was he? Clearly he had been in that train car when it derailed. His vision sharpened and he saw men wearing bandanas over the lower half of their faces. 

Their narrow, angry eyes scared the passengers, some who hadn’t been in the train car, judging by their clean and uninjured state. They were trying to help those who had been in the car. 

Instinctively, he put one hand down to push himself to his feet. It was the wrong hand. His wrist cracked when his weight settled on it and he fell to the side, crying out in pain. 

“Are you all right?” 

The strangest thing about the question was that it was whispered. He turned his head, this time with less pain since he was sitting up, and saw an older blond woman who looked like she could have been his mother crouching beside him. He opened his mouth to speak but she put one finger to her lips, her eyes snaking over to the derailed train car. 

“You have to be quiet. Those men will hurt you if they see you.”

He frowned, trying to get a handle on what was happening. Why were his thoughts so scrambled? Why couldn’t he even think of his own name? Why was he in the train car? What had happened to make the car derail? 

A wave of insecurity washed over him. How could he not remember yesterday? How much of his memory was gone? And why? What happened to him? 

The woman settled one hand on his back and patted him gently. “Just stay right here. You’re injured, and I can help you. My father was a doctor and took care of many men during his time in the war. I know how to bandage and stitch and give you lots of whiskey so you don’t feel a bit of pain.”

She smiled but her words had fallen on a confused mind. He stared at her, grateful she didn’t look away. 

“Why are you helping me?” he asked, surprised that he’d found his voice. The sound of it didn’t seem familiar. 

“Because you’re hurt,” the woman replied, keeping her voice low, constantly looking around to make sure there were no bandits coming toward them. “I’m Sue Barnes. What’s your name?”

“Jack,” he responded without thinking. He blinked a few times, sweeping his eyes around him. The name had come out instinctively. “I… I can’t remember my last name.” He shook his head. “I can’t remember anything.”

“Well, you know your first name and you’ve remembered how to speak English. That’s a big hurdle to overcome, don’t you think?” 

She reached toward him. He flinched but allowed her to touch his face, where he assumed there were cuts and bruises. She didn’t press her fingers against his skin. She just barely touched him, studying his face. 

“Looks like you’ve already got a scar from something right here. You must lead a hard life. Do you remember what you do for a job or where you were traveling from?”

Jake shook his head. “I… I don’t remember anything.”

It was the strangest thing in the world. Why were his emotions fluctuating so much? Why was he feeling angry and guilty? 

“I think they’re coming this way!” Sue stated in a soft but firm voice, looking behind her. “Can you walk? We may have to run. Follow me.”

A feeling of urgency slid through Jack. The noises around him had calmed. The screaming had stopped. He looked back at the derailed train, which was smoking, small fires lighting up the grass and brush. 

This could quickly turn into a wildfire. It was best to get out of the area as quickly as possible. Fire in the forest was extremely dangerous. 

Regardless, that was the direction Sue was leading him, straight into the forest away from the train car, the havoc, the whimpering and soft chatter of voices as those the bandits left behind tended to their fallen loved ones. 

Did Jack have someone else in that car? Sue gave no indication that she knew him or they had been together before the crash that took Jack’s memories from him. 

He got to his feet and headed after Sue down a trail, looking behind him at the bandits, who were indeed coming their way in a hurry. But the men turned to the left and headed for the group of horses and a guard where they were waiting. 

He swung his gaze back to the train car, feeling sorry for those left behind but with no knowledge of how to help them. His brain was scrambled. He still felt disoriented, even though he’d had time to gather his thoughts. 

Looking back to where the men were standing, Jack saw one of them point in the direction he and Sue were going. His heart jumped in his chest. Were they pointing at him? 

Never before had he been given an opportunity to see things through the eyes of a newborn. Everything he saw was new, though once he set his eyes on something, the name of the item popped into his head. Would it be like that with all his memories? Would they come back in flashes of light, faces, places, things he owned?

Or would they never return, leaving him to face a future that was equally as unknown as his past?

“Come on, Jack!” Sue hissed. “If they see us, they’ll come after us! Come on.”

Chapter One

Sarah Mae Whitmore turned the shirt she was mending as she pulled the needle through it.

“I’m so disappointed,” she murmured, looking up at her brother, Sam, who was smoking a pipe, staring into the fire that burned hot in the hearth. He turned his green eyes to her, clutching the pipe with his teeth and his fingers. He pulled it out to speak.

“What are you disappointed about, sis?” he asked. 

Sarah and her brother lived in a large house, the main house of a ranch that topped at twenty acres. It was a lot of land to take care of, but Sarah and Sam had managed it quite well with the ranch hands they hired. The Whitmore Ranch was left to Sarah by her late husband, Thomas. 

“I’m disappointed by the numbers, Sam. Our finances. They’re really bothering me.”

“You talkin’ about the crops and the garden? You reckon we aren’t gonna make enough for the bills this season, right?”

Sarah nodded, shrugging one shoulder as she finished off the knot that would keep the thread in Sam’s shirt. She lifted it up and shook it out to make sure she hadn’t caused any shifting of the symmetry. 

It looked good, so she tossed it over to Sam. He caught it with one hand and set it on his lap.

“Thanks, Sarah. I do appreciate you doing the mending. I can get it done in town but I’d rather you do it than to pay for it.”

Sarah shook her head. “You’re right about that. That’s money we need for other things. I’m worried we might not even be able to pay the ranch hands this week. What if we don’t get what we need at the auction? Should we be selling the cattle to a butcher instead?”

Sam snorted. “We won’t get the kind of money we need selling our cattle to a butcher. They don’t want fifty cows. They’d have nowhere to keep them.”

Sarah could think of other uses for cows but said nothing. The cattle auction would get them the most money. She reached to the side and picked up a cup of tea that had lost its heat about an hour before. She recoiled when taking a sip. 

“Oh, I thought this was still hot,” she murmured.

“It tastes just as good when it’s cold, you know,” Sam responded with a grin. 

“Well, it’s warm, not cold, and I don’t like it. I’m getting a new cup. Do you need anything from the kitchen?”

“We still have any of those strawberry tarts you made?”

Sarah smiled, nodding. They didn’t have anyone cooking or cleaning for them. That was all part of Sarah’s daily routine. She didn’t mind. Thanks to their mother, who had taught both her son and daughter how to cook, they were both equally skilled at it.

“We’re going to need a cash influx and I don’t think the bank will give us another loan.”

“Do you want me to talk to them?” Sam asked. “I don’t mind, if you want me to. And I can get a job or something, in town. I can always go hunting, too. We can sell the meat and have some for ourselves, and if I can, I’ll get a big buck and sell the antlers or maybe a bear. People want the skin as well as the meat, right?”

Sarah didn’t like thinking about morbid subjects but she nodded in agreement. “Do you want to go hunting?” she asked curiously. It always gave her hope that her brother was willing to go the extra mile to bring some money in. 

“Of course. I love to hunt. But if I do, we might have to hire someone to take care of things here. I’ve been working as the foreman and I’m not sure anyone else can do what needs to be done, managing the work to make sure everything is properly done the first time around.”

Sarah thought about it a moment, taking another sip of her tea. It reminded her she was going to refill her cup so she stood up. 

She left the living room, which was decorated with a brown couch and wooden chairs with brown cushions. Many different shades of brown with only one touch of color, the yellow flowers blooming in a dark brown planter in front of the window to the left of the front door. 

“I’m going to get more tea,” she called back to him. 

As she strolled into the kitchen across the foyer, she thought about their money problems. When Sam mentioned hunting for bear and deer, she’d gotten a little rush of hope. He was just as determined not to give in to Marcus Dalton, a man who bought up all the land he wanted and had no care or concern for the lives he destroyed while doing it. 

Sarah had long suspected that her husband, who had been killed just two short years ago, was taken from her by Marcus Dalton. He was an evil man. She detested the very sight of him. 

But he was extremely wealthy and a keen businessman. He’d made ranch owners bend to his will before. This time, when Thomas wouldn’t bend, Sarah believed Marcus had had him killed. 

He’d been at an auction and had received a good amount of money from the sale of their herd. On his way home, he was ambushed and his life and money were both taken from him at the same time. 

The following two years, while Sarah mourned for her husband, she’d done her absolute best to survive without him. She had to dig out of the hole that was caused by the money being stolen. That money had already been tagged to pay bills and buy necessary items for the ranch. 

Sarah had left the tea kettle on the burner on their large pot-bellied stove. There were three eyes on top. The fire in the stove burned hot so the kettle kept the tea warm. When she poured a new cup, steam rose from the liquid, making her smile. 

Back in the living room with Sam, she settled in her chair, taking small sips from the hot tea, blowing on it just a bit beforehand.

“You’re not thinking about Dalton, are you?”

Sarah frowned on the other side of her cup, sighing heavily. “I don’t like to think about him, but yes. I was.”

“You can’t give in to him, Sarah,” Sam responded, his voice lower than usual. “I know I have no say in this, but I’ll be so disappointed if he ends up getting this land.”

Sarah shook her head, leaning to set her cup on the short table in front of her. The top was made of glass, protected by surrounding mahogany wood that held the glass in place and gave it firm legs to stand on. 

If Sarah wasn’t emotionally attached to much of the furniture, since Thomas had bought it all, she would have considered selling off a few pieces. Still, that wouldn’t be enough to settle their debts. 

“You do have a say, Sam. But I’ve never been tempted yet to sell my land to Dalton. This is your home, too.” She smiled at him affectionately. “If it wasn’t for you coming to live here, I wouldn’t have this land now. I would have been forced off one way or another and the only way out would have been to sell to Dalton. He’s been after this land for five years.”

Sam understood the problem. She knew that. He was four years older than her, still a bachelor and seemed to have no interest in having a family of his own. His big dream was to travel the world. 

If Sarah hadn’t lost Thomas the way she did, he might have been on some boat in the middle of the ocean, traveling the world and putting his life in danger instead of sitting in that chair, his legs stretched out closer to the fire. His boots were off and he was enjoying the serenity. 

“I’m glad you told me and I had enough time to close up shop and get down here.”

Sarah would always be grateful to Sam, who had only stayed on shore because he was worried about her. At thirty-two, he could have been making his own plans to go to other countries and have adventures, exploring places she would never venture to. He’d put everything on hold for her, and she was grateful for it. 

He’d sold his men’s suits shop in nearby Breckenridge and moved to Whitmore Ranch, giving her all the money from the sale. She hadn’t wanted to take his money, but she really hadn’t had much choice. He’d sacrificed so much she wouldn’t be thrown off the ranch and onto the hard, dangerous streets.

He had saved her life. She was grateful and felt sure that eventually Sam would get his chance to head off on his adventures. She would be happy for him when that happened. For now, he gave his time to her and the ranch. 

She loved him for that. 

Chapter Two

Sarah looked out over the property, focusing her eyes as far out into the distance as possible. Sam was supposed to return that morning from a hunting trip in the north section of the property. She was anxious, her heart pounding. 

Sam wasn’t usually late. He always did his very best to return when he said he would. She was worried about this sudden change in routine. She remembered waiting for Thomas for days when he hadn’t returned from a trip. Surely the past wasn’t repeated itself.

Sarah stayed where she was on the back porch, her arms folded over her chest. She stared out over the land until her eyes dried out and it stung when she blinked.

Finally, she saw a speck in the distance. She stood up, going to the edge of the porch, one arm wrapping around the column that held up the porch roof. That speck transformed into a man on horseback. 

It had to be Sam. It looked like he had a large rug draped over the back of his horse. The horse was running but wasn’t moving as fast as she would have expected, since he was late and knew she would be worried.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to see what it was on the back of his horse. It had looked like a rug but now she was second-guessing that assessment. He’d gone hunting, after all. What was she expecting to see? Whatever it was, it would provide a lot of meat for the winter.  

Curious to see what kind of animal her brother had brought, she stepped down the wooden steps and jogged to meet with him, holding up her skirt so she wouldn’t trip on the hem.  

The sun reminded her how warm it was as sweat beaded on her forehead. She slowed down as he got closer. Her eyebrows shot up when she realized the animal on the back of his horse was not, in fact, an animal. It was a person.  

It was a man. Unconscious, battered, bloodied.

Sarah gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. She turned around and ran back toward the house. She didn’t stop when she got there. She raced to the closet where she kept all the health aids. Rolls of bandaging, needles, thread, tape, bottles of laudanum for pain and other items someone with an injury might need. 

She threw it all in a small basket she got from under the sink and ran outside again.

By this time, Sam had attracted the attention of several ranch hands who were working nearby. They abandoned their duties and ran to the horse, gently lowering the man to the ground and then lifting him more comfortably in their arms. 

Sam was directing them to take the man into the bunkhouse and lay him on one of the cots. 

“Who is that, Sam?” Sarah asked, carrying her basket over. The two men who were holding the stranger, Felix and Manny, stayed where they were when they saw her. 

“I don’t know,” Sam replied, dismounting, his eyes on the man. “Found him at the north corner. Looked like he’d been dumped there. He’s been hurt bad but it looks like somebody tried to help him. He’s breathin’ but hasn’t been conscious since I picked him up.”

“Bring him inside the big house,” Sarah told Manny and Felix, gesturing with one hand. “Put him on the couch in the living room for now.” 

She followed the two men while Sam detached the saddle bags and brought them in behind her and the men. 

Once they had settled the man on the couch, Sarah thanked them. They nodded and backed out of the room, turning at the door to murmur to each other as they returned to their work. 

Sam went in the kitchen first to put his saddle bags on the counter and got a slice of ham from the icebox before he came into the living room. He leaned against the back of one of the chairs with one arm across it and the other holding the ham, which he bit off and talked through as he chewed. 

“I don’t think he’s a poacher. He had nothing with him. Nothing sayin’ who he was or what he was doin’. His guns are both loaded, one with a few bullets missing, but they haven’t been fired recently. Not that I could tell. Looks like he mighta been in a coach accident or fell off his horse and tumbled down a ravine. Look at the mess he’s in.”

Sarah nodded, pulling a chair over to the couch. She said nothing as she soaked a white cloth and brushed the man’s face with it. She did it as gently as she could and was glad when he didn’t wake up. 

He had many cuts to his face, dark hair that was almost black, and his light red shirt was ripped in the same places as his outer leather vest. His trousers were torn to shreds, especially near the ankles. He wasn’t wearing boots. Only socks protected his feet from the elements. 

Sarah moved down and inspected his feet—or rather, his socks. He hadn’t been walking since taking his boots off, or since they were taken from him. The socks were much less dirty and worn than the rest of the man. She formed an idea in her mind.

“I think he might have been in some kind of fight. Maybe he was attacked by bandits and they stole everything he had, beat him senseless, and left him in the middle of nowhere, stealing his boots as a bonus.”

Sam nodded, sticking the last bit of ham in his mouth and chewing with intensity, his eyes remaining on the stranger.  

“Sounds about right. But if he was in a fight, they would have taken his guns, wouldn’t they? Why would they just take his boots and not his guns?”

They shared a confused look and Sam shrugged. “I figgered you would want me to bring him back here. I didn’t see anyone else around.”

“How long did it take you to get here from when you found him?” Sarah asked.

Sam shrugged, pushing off the back of the chair and standing upright. “It took me four hours to get from the north portion of the land to the house. Usually it takes me two. He didn’t wake up in that time. And I can tell you he wasn’t there when I left to go hunting two days ago. 

Sarah resumed gently washing the man’s face. When would he wake up? Would he attack her, thinking she was hurting him? She sat up, pulling the cloth away, gazing at his face. 

Under the blood, dirt and grime, he seemed to be very handsome. Ruggedly so. Probably about her age. Or Sam’s. The years between them made her twenty-eight. 

She rung out the cloth into a small bowl and continued to clean him. His eyes were closed. She imagined he was very handsome when he wasn’t bruised and bloodied. 

His shoulders were broad and he was muscular. He looked like he could handle himself in a fight. He must have been attacked by several men. If it was just one on one, she would bet money this stranger could win.

“I’m gonna get some more ham. You really outdid yourself with that, sis. It’s delicious.”

Sarah smiled at him as he turned and sauntered back out of the room.

The stranger turned his head to the side but his eyes didn’t open. Sarah felt a quick uptick in her heartbeat. She didn’t feel fear. Not really. She was apprehensive. She didn’t know anything about him. For all she knew, he was a ruthless bandit who liked to shoot men and leave women with broken hearts.

She let out a soft humorless chuckle at the thought. If this man was an outlaw, where was his gang? Why were his guns still loaded? 

In truth, neither of those things were proof the stranger wasn’t an outlaw. Sarah was going to have to trust her gut and trust that her brother wouldn’t have brought a stranger home if he didn’t think it was necessary. 

When Sarah moved the man’s torn shirt, unbuttoning it to reveal his chest, she sat for a moment, shocked by what she saw. Across his entire chest, through the dark hair spread thinly across it, she saw nothing but bruises. 

The dark black, blue, and purple bruises had spread so much, she pictured a full-on blow that had impacted the entire area. But what could have done that? It certainly wasn’t what bruises that resulted from punches looked like. A punch left a distinct impression on bruised skin. This man had come in contact with something big and flat and very, very hard or had a very, very fast impact.

What could he have gone through to leave him looking so healthy but so near to death at the same time?