Buchanan's Pride by Pamela Toth

he handed her the lunch he’d packed.
    Wondering whether he should have grabbed the baseball cap from his bag, John plopped the hat on his head and tugged experimentally on the brim. It felt surprisingly comfortable. He realized he’d approached the horse she’d indicated without a qualm, automatically raising his hand for an introductory sniff.
    He was barely aware of Leah telling him that the gray was named Candy, and except for a trot like a bad road, he was an easy ride. The gelding blew his warm breath on John’s hand and a curtain parted in his mind. Relief flooded him. It was all he could do to keep from falling to his knees and kissing the ground.
    He could ride. The knowledge was there, even if the memory wasn’t. He had no idea how he could be so certain, but he was. A wad of emotion rose in his throat, threatening to choke him. To give himself a moment for composure, he turned his back to Leah and adjusted the stirrups with easy familiarity.
    â€œLooks as though you remember a little bit,” she commented, dividing the sandwiches and cans of soda between her saddlebags.
    â€œLike you said,” he agreed, “some things you don’t forget.”
    Leah’s thoughts scattered. If he were to smile like that more often, she’d be in big trouble. Dismayed, she gathered up Jewel’s reins and swung onto the horse’s back. When John mounted up, Candy took a couple of side steps in token protest. John settled him down with a few softly spoken words and then looked at Leah expectantly.
    Wearing the Stetson she had loaned him pulled low over his eyes, he reminded her of one of the old sepia photographs she’d seen in a book on western history. All the man needed was a handlebar mustache and a six-shooter strapped to his hip to complete the romantic image.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” he asked, shattering her daydream.
    â€œNothing.” Leah called to Duke, who danced with excitement, avoiding her horse’s legs. Jewel ignored him.
    â€œWe’ve wasted enough time.” Leah was irritated without knowing why. “Let’s head out.”
    Â 
    Leah had been worried that John might not be able to keep up with her. If it truly had been a while since he was on horseback, he’d be sore later, but for now he rode as easily as if he spent a lot of time in the saddle.
    â€œIt’s beautiful country,” he said after they rode through a gate and Leah shut it carefully, leaving the ranch buildings behind them. “You’re very lucky.”
    â€œWhy do you say that?” she asked. The last thing she’d felt lately, with her killer schedule and endless frustrations, was lucky.
    â€œI have the impression that you have a good sense of who you are.” His head was tipped back as he watched a magpie fly overhead.
    Maybe she didn’t much like who she was, Leah protested silently. Maybe she would have liked to trade places with someone else, someone with no responsibilities, no bills, no unfinished family business. But she couldn’t say that to a man who didn’t appear to be concerned with any of those things, a man who seemed to have neither roots nor responsibilities—or at least none he was willing to talk about. “Doesn’t everyone know who they are?” she countered instead. “Don’t you?”
    His gaze flicked away from hers. For a few moments, the only sounds were the swish of the grass, the muffled thud of horses’ hooves and the jingle of their bridles. Leather creaked as he shifted in his saddle.
    â€œI guess I thought I did once,” he replied when she’d almost given up on a response. He sounded wistful, even sad. “Now I have no idea who I am.”
    â€œWho do you want to be?” She slowed so they were riding abreast. For some reason she couldn’t understand, his answer was important. She was disappointed when he shrugged.
    His grin was crooked. “I don’t