A Cowboy's Honor. Lois Richer

have you been, Dallas?” Rage replaced curiosity. “Did you even consider how worried I was? Surely you could have called, written—something?”

      Terror filled his face. He was afraid? Of her?

      He jumped up from the grass.

      “I didn’t mean to bother you, ma’am. I’m sorry I…”

      Brown eyes brimmed with shadows she didn’t understand. But his fear was obvious. A riot of emotions flashed in his eyes, a wariness she’d never expected. As if she were a stranger.

      Gracie stood up in turn, touched his arm. “Don’t you think you owe me some kind of explanation, Dallas?”

      He fidgeted as if he found her touch painful. Then he grew still and his eyes met hers for the first time.

      Empty eyes.

      “You…know me?”

      She might have missed his question if she hadn’t been standing inches away.

      “Of course I know you.” Anger chased frustration. “What are you playing at, Dallas?”

      His Adam’s apple bobbed as he struggled to swallow. “So my name is Dallas.”

      Gracie pulled back. This was not the man she knew. This was a stranger in his body—a wary stranger who showed no signs of recognizing her. She longed to shake him, to finally pry loose the responses she’d been denied. But his uncertainty, the watchful way he peeked at her, like one of those wary birds he’d been feeding…Gracie gulped down her bitterness, sought nonchalance.

      “What’s been going on with you, Dallas?”

      “Dallas what?” He stared into space, looking for all the world as if he hadn’t heard the most important question she’d ever asked.

      “Pardon?”

      “My last name. What is it?”

      “Henderson.”

      He turned his focus on her then, obviously mulling over something in his mind. After a moment he stepped back.

      Gracie waited for an apology, an explanation. Something. But he continued to regard her with that blank stare.

      “Who am I?”

      His rushed whisper sounded deadly serious. But Gracie couldn’t quite believe it. And until she figured out if he was playing some kind of game, she had to be cautious.

      “Let’s sit down on the bench. You can share my lunch. Please?” she added when it looked as if he’d refuse. “Are you hungry?”

      “Not really.”

      “Well, I am. Maybe you could wait while I eat my lunch.” Gracie drew him toward the bench, motioned for him to sit. She needed to buy some time, figure out what to do next. “I have some juice and some coffee. Which would you like?”

      “I love coffee.”

      He always had.

      She handed it over. Dallas removed the lid, sniffed and closed his eyes as he savored the aroma. The familiar gesture brought tears, but Gracie dashed them away.

      She would not weep. Not then. Not now.

      Not ever.

      “This is good coffee. Thank you, ma’am.”

      If he had a hat she knew he would have doffed it. Like a gallant cowboy. Her cowboy. The sting pierced deep and hard, but Gracie was used to pain. She ignored it, focused on getting the answers she craved.

      “Can you tell me where you’ve been?” For now she had to push back the raging inner voice and try to figure out her next move.

      “California.”

      “What did you do there?”

      “I worked with animals.”

      That made sense to Gracie. It didn’t matter why he’d been there. She knew it would have to do with the almost spiritual rapport Dallas had always shared with animals. But that was the only part of Dallas she recognized.

      “Did you come to this city straight from California?”

      He nodded, accepted the half sandwich she held out, munched on it before speaking. “Yes. I needed to figure out the dream.”

      “You had a dream?”

      He looked around. “Maybe more of a memory. Of this park, I think. It was different, but it was the same day as today. May 1.” He glanced around, frowned. “I kept hearing a word. Dallas. So I came to Dallas.” He pulled on his earlobe, fiddled with a shirt button. “I know that sounds weird.”

      The significance of the date may have escaped him, but Gracie couldn’t forget.

      “My name is Dallas. Dallas Henderson,” he repeated.

      She held her breath as she gently probed. “You say you couldn’t remember your name before?”

      “It was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t catch it. Do you know how that is?” He held out a bit of crust from his sandwich. The big, generous smile she remembered so well flashed when a bird hopped onto his knee and took the bread.

      “Dallas, do you know my name?”

      The smile vanished when he turned sideways to study her. “No.”

      “My name is Gracie.”

      “Hello, Gracie.” He held out a hand, shook hers with solemn formality. “Pleased to meet you. You’re very lovely. Your eyes are the color of bluebells.”

      “Thank you.” She detected no sign of recognition on his face. For now she’d have to assume he wasn’t pretending. Her heart jerked.

      “Do you know me well?” Dallas played with his pant leg while he waited for her answer.

      “I thought I did.”

      “Oh.” He lifted his head, searched her face. “How did we know each other?”

      “We met in this park.” Gracie wasn’t sure how much to reveal. “Over there. Where you were feeding the birds. On that hillock. I was here on a vacation during college.”

      “So I came back to a familiar place.” He nodded, his brown eyes pensive. “The doctors said I might.”

      Doctors…So he’d been in hospital?

      “Do you remember anything about being here before? About me?”

      “Nothing is clear.” His rubbed his temple, his visible agitation warning her to proceed with caution. “If I could only—”

      “It doesn’t matter.” Concerned about the white pinch of his lips, she pushed back her own gnawing uncertainties. “We don’t have to talk about it now.”

      “You’re the first person I’ve met who knows me. I want to talk, to figure things out,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “I just don’t know what to talk about. I—I’m afraid.”

      Yes, she’d seen fear crawl into his dark eyes a few moments ago. She just hadn’t recognized it. Dallas had never been afraid. Of anything.

      “What is it you’re afraid of?”

      “There must be a reason I can’t remember. Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I committed a crime, ran away from the law or something.” He kept his head bent. “Maybe I was in jail and I don’t want to go back.”

      It was so preposterous Gracie almost laughed—until she saw his hand shake as he brushed away some crumbs.

      “I knew you very well, Dallas, and I’m fairly certain you were never in jail. You don’t have to worry about that.”

      “Then why don’t I remember anything?”

      “I’m