A/N: Still here? Good. This chapter brings our pal Grissom into the mix. Because really, this is me writing GSR as a warped historical romance novel. Cheezy and cliche'd? You betcha! Updates after this will be weekly. I wanted to give you readers enough of the story up front to do it justice. I'm already way ahead in terms of writing this. I shall NOT leave this hanging as a WIP, I promise!
It takes a while for their words to sink in. I am glad I am sitting, as my head is pounding and I feel rather woozy. I have a brother. Well, I had one. Apparently this Vaquero murdered him.
Annie starts to recount what must have been the story I told them when I arrived. It seems I got word from the Boston liaison of the Union Army that my brother had been killed during the war. I did not take this well and demanded to know how his death had occurred. My brother was a medical officer, a doctor stationed far from the front lines. He should not have been in jeopardy. I learned no more details regarding his death until the surviving members of the local infantry unit returned to Massachusetts. From them I learned that a Confederate soldier, bitter over the loss of the war and the stipulations of the Emancipation Proclamation, had attacked my brother and a few others along one of the highways in the backwoods of Tennessee in rebellious protest. Four officers, along with my brother, were on their way to a ceremony in Chattanooga. They were slaughtered mercilessly by the roadside.
I've been tracking this rogue soldier ever since. I traveled to Tennessee, only to learn that the man was considered a hero by those in the south. The people I spoke with had claimed the murders were an inside job, and that the Army was using their man as a scapegoat. I doubted this and the Army denied any wrongdoing. I was also told that it was quite possible the soldier had left Tennessee and headed for parts west, most likely following the tales of gold and riches in the uncharted land. Upon hearing this, I returned to my hometown and enlisted myself into the Union Army as a nurse, requesting assignment as far west as I could go. I've been hopping from town to town; traveling the new railroad as far as its tracks would take me.
I wound up here four months ago, after learning of El Vaquero de la Noche. I was apparently searching for him down at the mines when I had my 'unfortunate' accident.
My first thought after learning all this was that the Sara I was before had clearly lost her mind. Traveling clear across the country, chasing some thin story about a Confederate rogue? My second thought was that my accident was looking less like an accident and more like an attack, and that even though the Sara I was before might be nuts, she clearly upset someone.
It seems I am not very good at hiding my emotions, as Annie starts to defend this El Vaquero. She must have noticed my disdain. I find it extremely suspicious that the man I'm looking for just happens to rescue me from some unknown peril. I touch the lump on my forehead gently. Did he do this to me?
"He didn't do it, honey. He's done a lot of good for Nelson and Eldorado. We had problems down there at the mines, people getting beaten or even killed almost every day. There was a bad element down there. Ever since he rode into town, he's kept things in line. We all know the sheriff and his greenhorn deputy can't handle everything down there, and he must've known it too. He's an asset to this community."
Annie folds her arms with a 'hmmph', making her point clear.
"Well, I appreciate you sharing all this with me, but for now, I'll have to reserve judgment." I smile wanly and raise my hand to my head. "I'm not really up for debating the merits of a man I can't remember."
This is painfully true. The throbbing ache in my head is getting worse. Al notices and rises to examine me.
"David," he says, "once Miss Sara has completed her breakfast, please take her down to the store. Inform Mr. Grissom of her condition, and ask him if there is perhaps a tonic or powder he could give her that might ease her pains."
Al then turns to me and says gently, "Mr. Grissom will help you."
Grissom. Is that name familiar? I ponder this while Annie clears the table and David readies himself for our outing. Before I walk out the door, I'm handed a floppy-brimmed hat, which I'm told I must wear; otherwise the sun will damage my fair complexion. I feel like an idiot, but I put on the hat.
The view that meets me once I leave the not-quite familiar surroundings of the Robbins' home is nothing if not surprising. Roads are little more than wide dirt trails, and dust lingers in the air after a breeze passes by. Buildings are solid but utilitarian, clearly labeled as to their purpose and function. We pass the bank, the blacksmith, the tailor, and various other non-descript two-story structures that I can only assume are residences for the local townsfolk. When we near the center of town, the general store is clearly marked as the large building on the corner.
I'm really not paying attention to my escort; David's been speaking avidly of who lives where, who works there, and how the Midsummer's Town Festival will be such an event, with everyone preparing in earnest over the next few days. Today is apparently a Tuesday, and the festival is to be held on Saturday. There will be competitions for men, women and children. The height of the festival is the cookout and honest-to-god hoedown that they're holding behind the local saloon. The Silver Pole Saloon.
We reach the store, and David enters firsts, calling out for Mr. Grissom. A young man rushes from behind the counter right to my side. Is this Mr. Grissom?
"Miss Sara! I heard about what happened to you at the mines. Holy Jesus!" he says. He is hovering close to me while David gives a slight cough and a long stare in this man's direction.
"Oh, begging your pardon, ma'am. I didn't mean to take the name of Our Lord in vain. But when I heard, my God… err… my goodness Miss Sara! You could have been killed!"
David finally speaks. "Miss Sara has suffered trauma to her head." And in a hushed voice he says, "She has amnesia."
The young man whispers back. "She's lost her memory?"
"I can't remember much of anything," I say. "In fact, I have no idea who in the world you are."
The young man's face falls and he looks at me strangely, as if I'm joking and I will suddenly return to the Sara he must have known. His stare lasts just long enough to be awkward, and I turn away from him, my eyes downcast to the floor.
David, in an unexpected show of diplomacy, introduces me to the young man. "Miss Sara, this is Mr. Gregory Sanders. He is Mr. Grissom's assistant in overseeing this store."
Mr. Sanders sticks out his hand formally. "Please, call me Greg. You, uh… everyone does." I shake his hand, finding his grip overly vigorous. He releases mine quickly and shoots David a dark look. "I'm more than an assistant. Why, if I wasn't here… this whole place would fall apart. If I wasn't here…"
He's interrupted by a low, deeply-male voice from the far side of the store.
"If you weren't here… what, Mr. Sanders?" The tone is irritated, annoyed.
All our heads turn towards the source. "Mr. Grissom!" David says excitedly. Greg says nothing, but looks suitably embarrassed and humbled.
The man steps out of the shadows of the rear doorway, and intense blue eyes meet mine. I know them, in some deep intimate way, and the realization flashes fire across my skull like an atomic bomb. I hear myself gasp at the intensity. There is blinding white light, the sound of my name on his lips, and then I slip into the dark of nothingness.
oooooooooooo
I awake with a cough and something quite foul shoved under my nose.
"There," he whispers to me. "Easy now, Sara."
The voice, like honey and thunder mixed. I know it, and there is pain associated with it. My head pounds, internal lightning flickering and flashing behind my eyes.
"Will she be all right?" It is Greg this time, not David, who is questioning my welfare. Has David left me here? I crack open an eye when I hear someone approaching me, and I am relieved to see two faces equally etched with concern, both hovering above my own. I've been relocated; I'm laying on my back in yet another bed. But this time, it's not my own. There's a light scent of maleness, and horses, and something else I can't define. Pain stabs into my skull when I realize I must be in Mr. Grissom's bed.
"She's coming around Greg, so yes, she'll be fine. Please leave us for a moment."
David hesitates. "Uh… are you sure about that, Mr. Grissom? Meaning no disrespect sir, but…"
I sense that he's concerned about me being alone with this man. I'm not too pleased about it myself, and I hope they both stick around for a while. But my hope is short-lived.
"Greg, David… she needs some time for the salts to take effect. Please, wait for her downstairs in the store."
I hear them depart and soon the room is silent except for the soft sounds of his breathing and my own. He says nothing as he lays a cool damp cloth across my forehead. Full minutes pass until the pain recedes. It is then that I open my eyes, half-afraid to meet the intensity of those baby-blues.
I'm disappointed as the blue seems to have faded to a milder, mediocre grey. His voice has lost that dark timbre from before; it is much more formal, impersonal.
"It appears you fainted, Miss."
"It seems that way," I reply. The connection I felt with him before is gone. He is nothing more that what he appears to be, a shopkeeper expressing concern for the young lady who collapsed in his store. Still, there is an undercurrent of something not-quite-right, and I log it away for review later.
"I'm going to make you up a tonic for your head injury. It will help with your headaches and dizziness."
"An anti-inflammatory?" I ask. He stares at me in honest surprise. I'm somewhat surprised myself. It must be my nurse's training.
"Yes, mixed with a mild sedative. You should take this each evening, or whenever your head bothers you."
I nod slightly when he rises and leaves the room. I wait a few moments before attempting to remove myself from the bed to examine my surroundings. The man's room is simple, spartan. There's no evidence of family, of friends, of anything. The only things that are somewhat unique are the dried herbs hanging from a homemade rack in the corner. I am hesitant to touch them, as they look fragile. In a way, they are rather pretty; some are clearly from flowering plants and their colors are bright and cheery. There is a mixture of odors as well; I sneeze at the olfactory overload. Time passes, allowing me to sniff every herb and examine every countertop. I'm debating whether to poke around through his dresser drawers when he returns.
"Ah good," he says. "You are up and about again."
"Yeah, I think I'll be okay."
He motions for me to follow him, so I do and he leads down a narrow hallway to a set of stairs. I think nothing of it as I start to make my way down, but the steps seem to slip from beneath my feet, causing me to lose my balance. That instinctive jolt of panic rushes through me and I reach for the handrail, my grip slipping against the wood as I fall. My body jerks to a stop when I feel his hands grasping my shoulders. I lean backwards to stabilize myself, instantly feeling the warmth of his body against my back. I turn and look over my shoulder. The intense blue has returned, and heat rushes through my body, pooling in a location that should not be having any thoughts of pooling, or anything else for that matter. We stand there on the stairs, unable to move, unable to break the contact.
A noise from below does the disconnecting for us; the innocent face of Greg Sanders peering up the stairwell brings me back from wherever the hell I just was. I glance at Mr. Grissom, and he's the non-descript shopkeeper again. Part of me wonders if I'm imagining the electric blue of his gaze. Perhaps he resembles someone I've known, someone I once cared about.
Slowly I make my way down the stairs and back towards the store. David is there waiting; he looks rather frazzled. Once I've assured him that I am okay, we stand idly and wait while Mr. Grissom prepares the tonic for me. Greg brings it out, handing it to David and not me. It seems I can't be trusted with it. There's a mumbling about charging it to 'our account' and we're gone.
On the way back to the place I can't yet consider as 'home', I ask David about Mr. Grissom. David explains he came to town a little more than a year ago, taking over for an elderly couple who used to run the store. Greg Sanders is the elderly couple's grand-nephew - brought in from the east a few months ago, around the same time I arrived in town. Greg was apparently raising hell back home and his parents decided he needed to take on some responsibility and settle himself down. I could easily see that; Greg was adrenaline personified. The elderly couple had spoken highly of Mr. Grissom, and a family decision was made to send Greg to him as an apprentice. It was apparently common knowledge that Mr. Grissom would move on in a few years, following the growth of the frontier and the cultivation of the West. His skill with medicinal things was now well known and much respected. Not to mention the fact that although Mr. Grissom was competent, it was preferred to keep the store within the family.
I questioned why he would even take over the store in the first place, if it was never the intention for him to keep it.
David's reply was that Mr. Grissom did originally plan to open up his own apothecary in town, but once the plight of the couple was brought to his attention, he took over the store and included his tonics and remedies as an addition to the groceries and dry goods. I stared at the brown paper bag in David's hand, wondering what exactly it was that I would be drinking later today. Instinctively I knew it would help me, and a fluttering of trust for a man I didn't know wafted through me.
I asked if there was a Mrs. Grissom and David stopped dead in his tracks.
"Why no ma'am. Mr. Grissom is a confirmed bachelor. And really, who would want to marry such a man? If you can look past his age, his life is his medicines and the store. He lives above it, as I'm sure you realize now, and he owns no land. He's made no secret of his wishes to move west once Greg is ready to assume responsibility for the store and take over as the town apothecary. He has no fortune, no foundation to provide for a family. Even if he did, I couldn't picture him with a wife and children at his side."
I couldn't either, but I couldn't deny the attraction I felt for him. In a fit of girlishness, I asked about my opinions of the man.
"You ma'am? Well, I wouldn't rightly know. You've been very focused on solving the death of your brother, and the clinic is never short for patients. When you aren't helping the Doc and me, you spend most of your free time either in your room, or in the company of Mr. Sanders."
I must have had a weird look on my face, because David clarified quickly. "You and he are very good friends, ma'am. He's come a-calling for you as more than a friend on numerous occasions; he and Deputy Stokes and a few others. But you've made yourself clear on that regard, let me tell you."
I get the impression I've made it clear to David as well, but I say nothing and let him continue.
"Still, you enjoy Mr. Sanders' company. You and he will spend afternoons or spare moments playing chess or solving various word puzzles." David stops in front of the door into the clinic and states rather seriously, "He cares very much for you, Miss Sara. Many people in Nelson do. Please keep that in mind." He turns and walks into the waiting area, leaving me standing in the doorway, wondering what the hell that was all about.
Despite David's conviction of my friendship to Greg, I find it interesting that it is Mr. Grissom and not Mr. Sanders who seems to provoke a response within me. It's all very interesting, and I'm eager to learn more about what exactly my life is, here in this busy little western town.