I'll Remember You (Hell Yeah!) by Sable Hunter Page A

Wade?”
    Austin felt at a disadvantage. It was obvious this man knew him, but he didn’t have equal knowledge. “I’m much better.” And that was true, he did feel much improved. Like the horse, he needed to run and expend energy. There was a coiled urgent impulse to act, to rectify. Only he didn’t know which direction he should take—not yet.
    “Good. I’m glad to see you on your feet.” The big man smiled at him. “Alessandra told me of your troubles.”
    The way he said her name told Austin volumes. There was tenderness in his tone. Ah, now he knew who Martina’s sister had been waiting on the other day. “You’re American.” He stated the obvious.
    “So are you.”
    An odd knowing smile was on the other man’s face. Austin got the feeling this stranger had the answers he needed. But he also knew he would have to approach him carefully. “I think you’re right.”
    “My name is Brock Phillips.”
    They shook hands. “Austin Wade, so they say. You couldn’t prove it by me.”
    “No memories returning, yet?” Brock seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
    “Not any I can make sense of.” They were dancing around something. Austin just wasn’t sure what it was.
    “Be careful,” Philips stated flatly. “The Patrona is a difficult woman to love, I’m sure.”
    Austin laughed harshly. “You have to understand something about me and ‘the Patrona’.” He said the name with emphasis. “I don’t remember anything. These people, all of them, are strangers. This place is not my home. Hell, I don’t even know my own name. Are we friends?” Austin pointed in between the two of them.
    The cowboy turned his back and began to put up the curry comb and a blanket on a shelf against the wall. “I’d like to be your friend.”
    At the other man’s admission, it was as if a damn broke inside Austin. He had held it in so long, he needed to talk to someone. “This is like the twilight zone for me, Brock. I don’t know which end is up. Martina says she is my fiancé, but I feel more of a connection to Tomas than I do her.”
    Philips turned around, looked to the right and then to the left, as if he were making sure they were alone. “You and I need to have a long talk soon, somewhere off this ranch. There are eyes everywhere. But I want to protect Alessandra before this place goes up like a keg of dynamite.”
    Austin didn’t understand. “Go up like a keg of dynamite? What do you mean?”
    “No. We can’t talk here, I said.”
    “All right, I hear you. How about we go out for a beer tonight? Surely there’s a cantina nearby?”
    Brock continued to talk low. “Can you leave the ranch?”
    Narrowing his eyes, Austin looked at his new friend. “Can I leave the ranch? Why shouldn’t I be able to leave? I’m not a prisoner.”
    A wry laugh from Philips made the hair stand up on the back of Austin’s neck. “No, I suppose not. If you say so. Let’s do it. Eight sound good?”
    “Yes. I’ll meet you down by the garage. We’ll have to take your vehicle.” Looking at his watch, Austin noted the date. “Thanksgiving isn’t far away. Shoot, it will be another three weeks before I’m cleared to drive.” The image of a pick-up came in his head. A Ford. He drove a dark blue Ford pick-up. Now, that was progress.
    “Great. I look forward to it. What will you tell Señorita Martina about our meeting?”
    “Why, I’ll tell her the truth. What else?”
    Austin returned to the house and went up to his room to take a shower. No one seemed to be about, thank God. Of course there were always the ever-present guards standing on the front porch, rifle in hand. At first, he’d tried to reason that out and the best he’d been able to come up with was where the ranch was located and the likelihood of people coming through on their way to the US border, like they had the other day. He knew violence was prevalent down here. Drugs were everywhere and the cartels were powerful. But still, all of the