Part 1: Coach

Chapter 1

It was a warm October day in Scottsdale, Arizona, but windy, and ominous dark clouds had moved in from the southeast. From my perch atop a roof timber of a house that was under construction, I could see the storm front, like a line in the sky, oblique and moving toward me as lightning danced at its edges. I was where I was to inspect the steel plate attached to the ridge beam with bolts, and I didn’t like what I saw. A gust of wind and dust struck my face like a forceful puff from a bellows. Dirt gritted between my teeth when I grimaced.

“Aaron, you’d better get down off that beam before the wind brings you down,” Gabe Williams shouted over the roar of the approaching storm. Gabe was the general contractor for the house, a large custom house that I’d designed.

“The ridge beam is split!” I yelled as I grabbed for the roof joist attached to the beam with the same steel plate. I started to shimmy down the joist, hand over hand, my feet dangling in the wind about fifteen feet from the rough, plywood subfloor below.

I was four feet from the ladder when the air around me crackled, and a white light more brilliant than the inside of a star surrounded me.

---

Cold rain pelted John Windom’s face, and he tried not to scowl as he shook Coach Flynn’s hand and congratulated him and his team. Windom’s boys had lost again, the sixth loss of the season. No wins.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on perspective, Windom knew he wouldn’t be fired for the losing season. He coached high school football in a small Nevada town, although the high school served more than a town; it was a feeder high school for most of one county, White Pine County, and exceptional coaches were hard to come by for small high schools. School administrators made do with the quality of teachers and coaches they could attract. Mediocrity in action. Besides, Windom also taught freshman English, and he was a better-than-average English teacher for a coach.

Windom turned and sloshed through the driving rain toward the goalposts at the end of the field. Beyond the goalposts, he watched the members of his team scrambling into a school bus to get out of the rain. It was an old bus, like the equipment his players were issued, rundown and held together literally with duct tape and metaphorically with baling wire. The team would need reassurance, he knew, but he didn’t have it in him to tell them that they’d tried hard, given their all, because the words would be a lie. They hadn’t tried hard. The defense had exhibited a few brief moments of stellar effort, but the offense had been lackadaisical at best.

Fuck it, he thought as he walked under the goalposts.

To boost his depressed mood, his mind wandered back in time to relive the halcyon days of his high school football career and his first year at college before he was injured, but fleeting insertions of his current miserable situation soured the memories of his glory days and amplified his depression. Now he had a shrew for a wife who was spending him into the poorhouse. And a little girl. He didn’t know how to interact with a little girl. He’d wanted a son, but...

The air crackled and a white light more brilliant than the inside of a star surrounded him.

---

I woke up dazed and befuddled, staring up at a dark sky with cold rain splashing on my face.

“John! Are you all right, John?” a pudgy, bald man said.

John? I didn’t know a John, not at the construction site, anyway. Maybe...

What the hell? I wasn’t lying on the subfloor of a house under construction. My eyes focused on what looked like goalposts! And I felt wet grass under my back, not rough plywood.

The pudgy, bald man helped me to my feet, and I needed his help. That’s when I noticed my size. I wasn’t five-eleven and a wiry one hundred sixty pounds like I was before I lost consciousness. Not by a long shot. I was well over six feet, maybe six-five, and considerably heavier than two hundred pounds, maybe two-fifty.

“Who are you?” I said to the bald man. The sounds coming from my mouth were deeper than my normal voice, I noted.

“Huh,” the bald man replied.

I repeated my question.

“You know me, Coach,” he said. “I’m Orville Canton, your assistant coach. I run the defense.”

“Coach?” I muttered, shaking my head, trying to clear my thinking.

Looking extremely concerned, Canton nodded yes, but didn’t speak.

“Who am I?” I said.

“John Windom,” he said. “Lightning hit you; or rather hit the goalposts as you walked under them. Must have rattled some synapses in your brain, caused temporary amnesia, maybe. And your shoes are smokin’. We’d better get you to the hospital.”

---

John Windom didn’t wake up lying on wet grass under a goalpost. He woke befuddled in a hospital, his head wracked with pain.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a nurse said. “How are you feeling, Mr. MacDonald?”

“Head hurts,” he said. “What did you call me?”

“Mr. MacDonald,” the nurse said.

“Name’s Windom,” he said, “John Windom.”

The nurse frowned. “I’ll get the doctor. Be right back.”

He squirmed on the bed, trying to become more comfortable, and the movement caused more excruciating pain originating in his right elbow. He reached for the elbow, but the tube connected to his left hand impeded his reach.

An I.V., he figured.

Then he saw his hand, a hand that wasn’t his! His hands were large and hairy, but the hand in front of his eyes was small with long, slim fingers, almost hairless fingers.

Frightened, he kicked at the sheet covering his body. Then he screamed, a sound of agony and terror.

“Where is my body?” he wailed.

The nurse rushed back into the room, followed by the doctor.

“Calm down,” the nurse said and tried to hold him steady.

While cursing and thrashing in terror, he backhanded the nurse, knocking her away. She slammed against the wall of the room and crumpled to the floor. Blood spurted from her nose.

“Get some orderlies in here!” the doctor yelled through the open door toward the nurse’s station in the corridor.

“What did you fuckers do to me?” Windom bellowed. “What did you do with my body?” He ripped the tubes from his arms and rolled his feet to the floor.

He was rising from the bed when two burly orderlies entered the room. While they tried to restrain him, his flailing fist struck one of the orderlies on the cheek, but the blow carried little power. The other orderly threw the violent man back onto the bed and held him down with the weight of his heavy body. The other orderly rushed to help. Windom kicked and screamed like a trapped wild animal until he felt a pinprick in his shoulder, and blackness overwhelmed him.

“Transfer him to the psych ward and restrain him,” the doctor said.

“The crazy bastard broke my nose,” the nurse muttered, her face splattered with blood.

---

Less than an hour ago, I was Aaron MacDonald. I am still Aaron MacDonald, but my ego or consciousness or soul or whatever it is that makes me me, occupies a different body, a body that is known by those who know him as John Windom. The transfer happened when...

Wait! Was it a transfer or a swap? I was struck by lightning in Scottsdale, Arizona, and John Windom was struck by lightning in Ely, Nevada, perhaps at the same instant. Is John Windom occupying my body, Aaron MacDonald’s body?

The concept, the possibility astounded me. Intrigued me, too.

I chuckled. If that’s what happened, as bodies go, it appeared that I came out ahead on the swap. As Aaron MacDonald, I was forty-five years old. With the switch, I picked up about twenty years. Maybe.

“Orville, how old am I?” I said to my... friend?

“Twenty-five or six, thereabouts,” he said.

“Besides colleagues, are we also friends?”

Orville took his eyes off the road and looked at me. “Friends would be a stretch, Coach.” He pulled into a parking lot next to a small hospital. “Can you walk to the emergency room entrance?” He pointed. “Or should I drop you off before I park?”

“I can walk, Orville. I don’t think the lightning strike hurt me, except for memory loss,” I said. A permanent memory loss, I told myself. I sure as hell can’t tell anyone that I’m Aaron MacDonald, not John Windom. I’d end up in a crazy house.

As we strolled toward the emergency room, I said, “Orville, tell me about John Windom.”

My colleague huffed a derisive laugh and said, “Tell me what you remember about yourself, and I’ll try to fill in some of the blanks.”

“I have no memories at all, zero, zip, nada. My history is a blank slate. Orville, we’re not friends. Let’s start there. Why aren’t we friends as well as colleagues?” I shortened my stride so Orville didn’t have to hurry to keep up with me. I felt some pain at my ankles.

He said, “We met last summer when you took over from Coach West because he retired. I tried to be a friend, but you made it plain that you weren’t interested in my friendship. You treated me with disdain, probably because I’m not an athlete. I never played football, never played any sport, but I was a fan, still am. I’m a math whiz. I teach algebra and one class of calculus for a few honor students. But, as I said, I’m a huge fan of football, and accordingly I studied the technical aspects of the game. Five years ago, Coach West needed some help, mostly a warm body, he said, but also someone who knew something about the defense, and he asked me if I’d like to be an assistant coach. The assistant coaching job paid an extra stipend, so I said yes, and Coach West put me in charge of the defense. To my great joy, I discovered the extra job I’d taken because I needed the money also gave me great satisfaction and purpose, that is until Coach West retired and you took his place. To be frank, we had words, John. I told you I’d stick out the season, but that you could take the assistant coaching job and stick it out after the last game this year. I don’t like you. I consider you a bully and a know-it-all.”

Great, I thought cynically. Maybe I didn’t get the better end of the swap after all.

“With that said to clear the air,” Orville said, “when we get inside, if you want, I’ll call your wife to let her...”

“I’m married?” I said, interrupting him.

“Yes, and you have a daughter.”

That should be ... Interesting was the descriptive word that came to mind. My marriage when I was Aaron MacDonald didn’t last long, less than a year. My ex-wife believed monogamy was for chumps. I’m a chump. No children, fortunately.

“Tell me about my wife and daughter,” I said.

“I don’t know much about them. Your wife’s name is Yvonne; she’s a beautiful woman. Piper, your daughter, is four or five years old, I think.”

Automatic doors opened, and we stepped into the emergency room.

---

The doctors, nurses, and various technicians poked, prodded, and tested. I had minor burns that wrapped around my ankle bones, making the burns look like the Nike logo, and while I was at the hospital, reddish-brown feathery skin lesions appeared. A doctor informed me that the lesions were common with lightning-strike victims and would disappear in a few days. The condition was an inflammatory response rather than a burn.

They could find no physical evidence for my professed amnesia, not even in the MRI. After questioning me about the extent of my memory loss, the doctor told me the condition was probably temporary, which was normally the case with electrical shock-induced amnesia.

“Usually, memory loss only involves the traumatic event itself or a short time before the event,” the doctor said. “What you’re reporting sounds like total retrograde amnesia, which is extremely rare without serious brain damage. Still, retrograde amnesia is usually temporary, as well. Don’t let your memory loss worry you.” He smiled. “You’ll get your memory back sooner or later.”

I grunted. “In other words, suck it up and learn how to live with the problem until it goes away on its own.”

“Yep,” he said, widening his smile.

“Are we done here? May I leave?” I said.

“Yep,” he said.

---

“Orville, you’re still here?” I said, surprised as I walked into the waiting room.

“Yeah. I haven’t been able to locate your wife, so I figured I’d better hang around in case you were released and needed a ride home,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said. Then I laughed. “Good thing you stayed. I don’t know where I live, don’t know my telephone number, don’t know anything about this city...”

“Ely isn’t a city,” Orville said, interrupting my litany of what I didn’t know. “It’s a town at best. It is the county seat of White Pine County. You coach White Pine High School’s football team. You also teach some freshman English classes.”

English I could teach, maybe, but football...? I knew nothing about the finer points of football.

As we were leaving the hospital, a woman rushed to stop us.

“Ah, Mr. Windom, I have your invoice ready,” she said and handed me a sheet of paper.

Her nameplate said she was Gloria Peterson. She was a pretty blonde, a little overweight, mid-thirties, with thick glasses with atrociously thick black rims. I noticed a wedding band on her finger.

“Sorry about that, Mrs. Peterson,” I said and glanced over the invoice. I gulped at the total and looked at Orville. “Do I have medical insurance?”

He laughed. “Yes. I carry my insurance card in my wallet.”

I felt my back pocket. How about that? A wallet. I leafed through the cards in the wallet and found the insurance card, which I handed to Mrs. Peterson. She smiled with relief, took the card, and Orville and I followed her to her desk.

While Mrs. Peterson inserted my insurance information into a computer to redo the bill, I looked over the other items in my wallet. My Nevada driver’s license said I was six-four, not six-five, and I weighed two hundred forty pounds. I calculated my age from my birthday: twenty-six. I’d be twenty-seven next year on January 15^th.

The efficient Mrs. Peterson looked up from her computer and said, “Your insurance covers all costs except $150 co-pay for the emergency room visit.”

No cash, but I had a credit card in my wallet. I gave her the card. She smiled, took the card, and said she’d be right back.

“Tell me more about Ely and the high school,” I said to Orville.

“Ely and the surrounding towns have a population of about 7,000,” Orville pontificated. “The county’s population is around 10,000. The high school totals about 400 students, with about 20 students per teacher, which is a pretty good ratio. Lund, a town south of Ely, also has a high school. Ely...”

“Mr. Windom,” Mrs. Peterson said as she returned, “I’m sorry, but your card was refused.”

I checked my wallet. No other credit card. I shrugged. “I’ll have to send you a check, Mrs. Peterson, and I don’t have my checkbook with me.”

She looked dubious, but nodded.

As Orville and I left the hospital, I said, “Looks like my finances aren’t in very good shape.”

He snorted. “Teacher’s pay isn’t much.”

---

Orville drove me to my vehicle parked at the high school. It appeared that I owned a four-year-old, four-door Chevy pickup truck. Was it paid for, or did I still owe a bank some payments? I followed him to my house in the pickup.

Not like my house in Scottsdale, I mused as I gazed at an ancient residence whose architectural style defied description. Ugly fit best. Did I rent or own? I hoped for the former. I didn’t want to own the house.

The rundown, architecturally ugly house sat on a gentle hill sloping up from front to rear. A falling-down stone wall at the curb acted as a retaining wall at the front of the property. No driveway. Street parking seemed the norm, I figured as I glanced up and down the street. I thanked Orville, waved as he drove away, and trudged up some uneven concrete stairs to the entrance sidewalk.

Time to meet the wife and kid.

A key on the ring with my truck keys opened the front door. I stepped inside. The house was dark and silent.

The swap, if indeed a swap had actually occurred, had given me about nineteen years to live over, but otherwise so far, John Windom had gotten the better end of the trade. Yvonne Windom was not a good housekeeper. Was she equally slovenly in appearance?

A note on the kitchen table made me wonder if I’d ever determine if my inherited wife was beautiful, average, or ugly. Then I remembered that Orville had said that Yvonne Windom was a beautiful woman. Beautiful or ugly didn’t matter, it appeared. Yvonne Windom had packed up and left, taking her daughter with her. The note also informed me that she’d cleaned out the bank account.

I shrugged. Par for the course.

At least the hot water heater worked. I crashed in soiled sheets after a long hot shower.

---

Saturday morning I woke up disoriented until, slowly at first and then with blinding speed, my memories from the day before returned. After another hot shower, I shaved and found some clean but wrinkled clothes and dressed.

I poured cereal in a bowl, but the milk from the refrigerator was sour. The bread was a few days old but edible after toasting, and I located a can of frozen orange juice in the freezer portion of the refrigerator. No butter. No coffee, either.

The telephone still worked. I dialed the only local phone number I knew.

“When’s payday, Orville?” I asked.

“Huh?” he said.

“Yesterday, while I was becoming intimately acquainted with high voltage electricity, my wife packed up and left me, but not before she cleaned out my bank account. From what happened at the hospital, I have to assume that the credit card I found in my wallet is maxed out, or it’s a debit card without overdraft protection. Not much food in the house; I had to scrounge for a meager breakfast, and I noticed on the drive back from the school last evening that the pickup is almost out of gas. When’s payday?”

“The first of the month, next Friday.”

I groaned audibly and said, “You’re the only person I know, Orville, and you tell me I’m a bully and a know-it-all. So, you’re not a friend. Do I have one, a friend, that is?”

“A friend that you can tap for a loan until payday?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Just a minute.”

I heard murmuring over the telephone, and a minute later, Orville said, “I’ll lend you a hundred dollars until payday. I wish I could do more, but I can’t.”

I thanked him and after getting his address and directions from my house, I hung up. I couldn’t live with the mess around me, so I started to clean house. The washer worked. Would the dryer? While my clothes were washing, I hand-washed and dried the dirty dishes in the sink (about a week’s worth, maybe) and put them away. No dishwasher. Then I scrubbed the hard floors. No wax, so when I finished, the cracked linoleum didn’t shine, but at least it was clean. The bag in the vacuum cleaner was full, but I couldn’t find a new bag, so I made do. I tidied up the rooms, dusted horizontal surfaces, and made the beds. It was cold out, but the air inside the house was stale, so I opened some windows while I cleaned. The two-bedroom house wasn’t spotless when I finished for the morning, but I had clean clothes, a clean kitchen, and fresh sheets to sleep in that night.

---

Orville’s wife, Gladys, didn’t like me, but then Orville didn’t either. I took the $100 they offered, promising to pay them back on Friday, and drove to the grocery store, a place called Ridley’s. I asked to speak to the manager, and I was directed to the back of the store.

When I walked into his office, he spoke before I could open my mouth. “Hi, Coach. Bad luck yesterday.”

“Yeah, in more ways than one,” I said, assuming he knew I’d been struck by lightning.

“Maybe you’ll have better luck with Elko next Friday.”

Good grief, he’s talking football.

“Maybe,” I said. “Look, I’ve got a problem. After the game yesterday, while walking to the bus, lightning struck the goalposts as I walked under them. I’m fine, but I ended up with what the doctor calls retrograde amnesia. My memory loss is complete. Do I know you?”

“I saw the lightning strike, Coach, saw it knock you to the ground, but you got right up and walked away with Orville, so I figured you were fine. Amnesia, huh?”

“Yes.”

“About you knowing me, we met at a Rotary luncheon shortly after you arrived. My name is Clyde Robb.”

I stuck out my hand. “Clyde, it’s nice to meet you again.”

He returned my smile and shook my hand.

“Clyde, amnesia isn’t my only problem. When I got home after being released from the hospital, I found a note from my wife. She left me, Clyde, just packed up and left, taking our daughter with her, and before she left she cleaned out my bank account. It also appears that she maxed out my credit card. What’s more, the cupboard is bare. I need a few groceries. Can I buy some groceries on account until Friday when I get paid?”

“Gee, Coach, we don’t sell groceries on account, haven’t for a lot of years.”

I nodded. “Okay, thanks for listening anyway.”

As I turned to leave his office, he said, “How about I loan you the money for your groceries, and you pay me back on Friday?” He rose to his feet and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “Fifty all right?”

I grinned. “You bet! You’re a lifesaver, Clyde.”

I took the fifty and spent it all on food, except for vacuum cleaner bags and some floor wax.

During the drive back to my house, I noticed a car at the side of the road. A woman stood by the vehicle looking distressed. I couldn’t see a flat tire, but something was wrong, so after passing her, I pulled my pickup off the road and walked back to see if I could help her. She was an attractive woman, mid-twenties, like John Windom, like me now. Long black hair, startling blue eyes, good body. She wore jeans and a blue sweater. Her eyes matched the color of her sweater. The black boots she wore almost reached her knees. Classy.

“Got troubles, ma’am?” I said. Her distressed look turned to anger when she recognized me.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve, Coach,” she said.

Hellamighty! Does everyone in town hate John Windom? I cocked my head, smiled, and said, “I assume we know each other.”

Her angry look turned into a confused expression. An explanation was needed. “I was struck by lightning yesterday. I have complete retrograde amnesia. You know me, but I don’t know you. Obviously, I’ve offended you sometime in the past. I’m sorry about that, probably. I don’t remember what I did that makes you dislike me. I said I was probably sorry because if I did remember, I might not be sorry. Anyway, I stopped because you looked like you needed some help. May I help you or not? If not, I’ll be on my way.”

“Bull crap!” she hissed.

I tried not to, but I couldn’t stop myself. I laughed, which infuriated her. I gave her a half salute and said, “Have a nice day, ma’am,” and turned to walk away.

“Wait,” she said. When I turned back to her, she continued. “My car stopped running.” She paused. “If you ask me if it’s out of gas, I’ll hit you.”

I laughed again. “Need a ride somewhere?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, but first let’s get your car completely off the road. Get behind the wheel, take the transmission out of gear, and I’ll push you off the road.”

We got that job done, and I opened the passenger door of the pickup for her. She looked surprised at the gentlemanly gesture but said nothing. When I sat behind the wheel, I said, “I’m told I’m John Windom. You might think my memory loss is bull crap, but I’ll have to continue calling you ma’am unless you tell me your name.”

She shook her head, her lovely dark hair waving with the movement of her negative response. Her sparkling blue eyes glinted with ire. “You’re a real piece of work, Coach. Okay, I’ll play your silly game and go along with your cockamamie story. I’m Robyn Clark.”

“Thank you, Ms. Clark.” I grinned as I started the pickup. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Where to?”

“My apartment,” she said and gave me an address.

“My memory loss includes the layout and streets of this town. You’ll have to guide me,” I said.

“Straight ahead; take a right at the second stoplight you come to,” she said.

As I drove, I said, “Orville Canton told me that I’m a football coach and teach English at the high school. He also told me that I’m married and have a little girl named Piper. We obviously know each other. How...?”

I noticed a gas station on my right. “Hold that thought. Gotta get some gas, or we’ll both be stranded,” I said and pulled into the station. I prepaid for $20 worth of gas, pumped it into the tank, and got back into the pickup.

“If you don’t remember the layout and streets of this town, how did you find your way home last night?” she asked.

“Orville waited for me at the hospital, drove me to my pickup at the school, and then I followed him to my house. He also gave me directions to the grocery store this morning.” I snorted a derisive laugh. “Orville’s like you. He doesn’t like me. He says I’m a bully and a know-it-all.” I stopped at a red light, and when the way was clear, turned right. “Now where?”

She pointed. “Those apartments at the corner.”

I pulled into the entrance of the small apartment project. Architecturally, the project was ugly. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen any structure in Ely that wasn’t ugly.

“You can park there,” she said, pointing again.

When she opened the door to hop out, I said, “Is there a library in town, and if so, where?”

“There is, but it closes at noon on Saturdays.”

I grimaced.

“You aren’t the library type, Coach,” she said. “Why a library?”

“Libraries have computers. I teach English. No problem, mostly because this morning while I was cleaning my house, I found my lesson plans. I know the difference between a gerund and an adverb, but the finer points of football took a hike with my memories. I can’t walk away from my job. I need the money. My wife left me and cleaned out my bank account before she beat feet for parts unknown. So, I thought I’d Google football and learn some of the finer points of the game.”

She laughed riotously and said, “Yep, a real piece of work.” She slammed the door and walked away.

I drove home, put away the groceries, fixed some lunch, and called Orville. “It’s your non-friend again, Orville. Does the school have computers?”

“Of course.”

“With internet connections?”

“Yes, some of them. Why?”

“I need to do some research, and the library is closed.”

I’d been honest with the delectable Ms. Clark. I did plan to research the game of football, but more importantly, I’d remembered some offshore numbered accounts in which I’d squirreled away some poker winnings when I was Aaron MacDonald. For recreation, I played online Texas hold ‘em poker. With a computer and an internet connection, I could transfer some of the money from one of the offshore accounts to my bank account in Ely, enough to pay the debts I was incurring with enough left over to buy my own laptop and set up my own high-speed internet connection. And maybe find a better place to live.

“Find Jasper at the school,” Orville said. “He’s the janitor and maintenance man. He’ll let you into the computer lab.”

I found Japer; he let me into the lab, and I transferred $10,000 into the account number printed on the personal checks I’d found while cleaning that morning. Then I Googled football, got lost in the mass of information available, refined the search criteria, and in the end, realized that I needed more help than the internet could give me.

Back at the house, I called Orville.

“It’s the pest again, Orville.”

He chuckled. “Now what?”

“I need some help. My memory loss includes the finer points of football.”

His chuckle turned into an all-out belly laugh. I waited until he gained a semblance of control and said, “Are you having fun yet, Orville?”

“Jeez, Coach, you brought tears to my eyes.”

I said, “The research I wanted to do on the computer concerned the game of football, about which I know nothing. If you want your money back, I’ve got to keep my job until Friday. If you have some time tomorrow, how about coaching the coach?”

He laughed again. “This is choice. How could I refuse? Drop by the house tomorrow morning about ten o’clock.”

“Will do, and thanks, Orville. One more question, do you know a woman named Robyn Clark?”

He laughed again, but not riotously. “Yes, she’s a guidance counselor at the high school. Why?”

“Her car broke down, I stopped to help, and then gave her a ride home. She’s like you, Orville. She doesn’t like me. Do you have any idea what I did to cause her to hate me, besides being my normal obnoxious self, that is?”

“Got it on the first try, John. Rumor has it that you got fresh with her. She didn’t like it and slapped you silly.”

“Ah,” I said, drawing out the word. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Orville, and thanks again.”

---

I spent the better part of Sunday with Orville. He went over the playbook, talked about the boys on the team, the strengths and weaknesses of each, and at the end of the day, I had a partial idea of what my coaching job entailed. Could I fake it? No way, not without Orville’s help.

Fortunately, during our session, Orville slowly warmed up to me. Gladys, too. She made us lunch, which I appreciated. I complimented her cooking honestly and effusively.

From what Orville told me, I was coaching a losing team: six losses, no wins.

“Is the losing season the fault of coaching or the team, Orville?” I asked.

“For the size of the school, the team is average at best,” he said. “But you’ve stomped on the players’ enthusiasm for the game and have beaten down their self-confidence. Also, the offense playbook is too complicated for the talent we have at our disposal.”

“Part of my bully, know-it-all personality, huh?” I said.

“Frankly, yes,” Orville replied.

“Okay. How long would it take you to put together a new playbook that complements the talents of our players?”

He looked at me as if I’d pushed a thumbtack into his forehead.

“Listen to me, Orville. I’m the head coach, but with my memory loss, I can’t do the job, and from what you’ve told me, I wasn’t a very good coach before I danced the light fantastic with lightning. I can walk away from the job or fake it. I can’t walk away from the job because I’m broke. With your help, maybe I can fake it. What do you say?”

He stared at me for a moment and then nodded. “Okay. I’ll work on a new playbook tonight. With luck, we can present it to the team before Tuesday’s practice.”

I nodded and stuck out my hand. “You’ve got a deal, Orville.”

He was smiling when he shook my hand.

I offered, and Gladys let me give her a hug before I left. I had a hunch my life as John Windom would be short on hugs. I’d take them whenever I could.

Chapter 2

John Windom in Aaron MacDonald’s body lay restrained on a hospital bed, drugged to the gills. Each time the drugs wore off enough to make him partway lucid, he screamed and yelled about the loss of his body while thrashing around like a three-year-old having a tantrum. Once he even tried to bite the nurse attending him, his teeth being the only weapon available because his arms and legs were strapped to the bed.

“The lightning strike unhinged him completely. He thinks we’re aliens, that we transplanted his brain into a different skull,” one nurse said to another. “I heard Dr. Stein talking to another doctor about transferring him to Arizona State Hospital.” Dr. Percy Stein was a psychiatrist who did rounds in the psychiatric ward of the hospital. Arizona State Hospital was a psychiatric hospital that housed violent and criminal mental patients.

“No surprise there,” the other nurse said. “Poor man. I understand he was a well-known, respected architect before his accident.”

“All I can say is that he’s lucky he has such good health insurance.”

“Lucky, he’s not, Agnes, good health insurance or otherwise. I think the odds against getting struck by lightning are over a million to one.”

---

Monday morning, I wandered the halls of the high school until I located the administrative offices.

“Tough loss,” a secretary said after I asked to see the principal.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I saw the lightning hit the goalposts and knock you down. Are you all right?”

“Mostly,” I said.

I thanked fate that the principal’s name was painted on the door to his office, so I could greet him by name. “Good morning, Mr. Early,” I said. “Got a minute?”

“Sure, Coach. Tough loss, Friday,” he said. “Have a seat, and please call me Tom.”

“Okay, Tom. Did you hear that I did battle with lightning after the game?”

“I saw the battle take place. You can’t imagine how happy I was when I saw Orville help you to your feet.” He chuckled. “Not as happy as you, probably. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, but the lightning strike scrambled the synapses in my noggin. The doc said I have retrograde amnesia. I don’t remember much about my life before the lightning strike. I remember some skills, but faces, names, and places are a complete blank. I can do my job, but I’ll need help for a day or two, someone to show me the way from one class to another, make introductions, those sorts of things. I’m sitting in front of you right now because I thought you should know about my memory loss. Frankly, I would prefer keeping my problem a secret; it’s embarrassing. But keeping it secret would be impossible.”

He closed his gaping mouth and said, “Maybe you should take some time off until you get your memories back.”

I raised an eyebrow. As Aaron MacDonald, I could not raise just one eyebrow. If I tried, both eyebrows would shoot up toward my receding hairline. How about that? A new motor skill. No receding hairline, either.

“With pay?” I said.

“To a point. You have a few sick days accrued,” he said.

I shook my head. “If it’s all right with you, I’d rather do my job, which I can do, Tom, with just a little help.”

He leaned back in his chair and gave me a hard look. He was about fifty years old, salt-and-pepper hair in a military cut, overweight but not obese, altogether, a dapper-looking man.

Finally, he nodded and reached for the phone, asking for someone named Evelyn. Evelyn, I discovered, worked in the administrative offices as a clerk. Tom told her my sad tale, instructed her to dig out my schedule and show me from class to class, whatever I needed to get by for the day.

I liked Evelyn immediately. She was a short woman, wore thick bifocals in a wire frame, about forty years old, maybe forty-five, plump and happy. She guided me to my first class and was waiting when the class ended to take me to the next. I quickly became bored with explaining my plight to the boys and girls in class, but I doggedly persevered and got through the morning. I ate lunch with Orville in the teacher’s lounge (like me, he was brown-bagging it), and we talked about his new playbook, quietly because we didn’t want to be overheard.

Orville said, “I think we should go back to basics, Coach, and use the single wing offense. Occasionally, we’ll switch to double wing, but mostly for pass plays.”

He showed me the single wing formation. “This offense is simple and plays to some of our strengths. Barry, the quarterback, is big for a quarterback, and he’s a good blocker, a must when using the single wing offense. We’ll make Greg the tailback. He can run like the wind. Cal will be our fullback; he’s like an aircraft carrier, hard to stop once he gets going, and Peter will be our wingback. Peter is our best backfield pass receiver. We’ll use unbalanced line formations, placing four players on one side of the center and two on the other side, while shifting the backfield into a wing formation. Like this.” He pointed at a diagram. “When we pass, we’ll send three or four receivers downfield.”

“Sounds great, Orville. Is the playbook finished?”

“Yes.”

“Make copies. We’ll pass it out after practice this afternoon and schedule a team meeting for the start of practice on Tuesday to review the new offense. That will give me a day to get up to speed on the new plays.”

Orville gave me a curious look. “No argument?”

I chuckled. “Orville, I don’t know enough to argue the details in the playbook with you. Hell, we’re zero and six. What have we got to lose?”

He nodded, looking pleased with himself.

Before going to my first class after lunch, I went to the office and called my bank. The wire transfer had arrived.

“Do you offer overdraft protection?” I asked the person speaking with me.

“We do?”

“With this deposit, do I qualify?”

“If you fill out an application...”

I cut her off. I wouldn’t know the answers to the questions on any credit application. “How about I put five thousand dollars in a CD as security for the overdraft protection?”

“That’ll work,” she said.

“I have a free class right now. Would you put the paperwork together, so all I have to do is sign where I need to sign when I come in? I won’t have much time.”

“Certainly, Coach.”

“One other thing while I have you on the phone. I’ll want to open a new checking account in my name only, transfer all my funds to that account, and close the old account. My wife packed up and left me Friday. I don’t want her to have access to this money.”

“I’ll have that paperwork ready for you, as well.”

The bank was efficient. I managed to get back for my next class, but barely. By then, everyone in the school knew about my memory loss, so I could curtail the amnesia explanation. I’m sure I was the talk of the day, and the students, as students do, played some games with me during the class, games like switching names on me, and asking questions impossible to answer, memory or no memory.

“No sympathy, huh?” I said, standing with my hands on my hips in front of the class. “Well, I can play games, too. Diagram all the sentences on the second page of To Kill a Mockingbird.” Although the freshman English class I was teaching dealt mostly with grammar and sentence and paragraph structure, the real John Windom had included reading and reporting on To Kill a Mockingbird in the syllabus that he’d distributed on the first day of the class. “Turn in the diagrams tomorrow. They’ll count as a pop quiz.”

The students groaned; the bell rang, and I headed for the teacher’s lounge to meet Orville and have a cup of coffee. As I was entering the lounge, I ran into Robyn Clark, literally. The books in her hand went flying. I helped her gather them from the floor.

“I’m sorry for being an immovable moving wall,” I said, which made her smile. Hooray! “I’ve been told that you don’t like me because I got fresh with you. For that, I apologize. But surely, Ms. Clark, violence wasn’t needed to put me in my place. Don’t you think slapping me silly was a bit extreme?”

“I do not,” she said, turned, and walked away.

With a shrug, I grabbed a cup of coffee to go and trudged to my final English class of the day.

Football practice was a hoot. I spent all my time trying to put names on faces, tying the names to the positions each of them played, and trying to remember whether a player was first string or second or a water boy.

At the end of the practice, Orville and I handed out the new playbook and announced a team meeting before suiting up the following afternoon. I paid my debt to Orville, telling him that when I went to the bank, I discovered I had a small savings account that my wife didn’t know about. I thanked him for the loan, and he thanked me for paying it.

“You might not consider me a friend, Orville,” I said, “but I sure do consider you a friend.”
He grunted. “Well, my attitude is changing about that.”

I drove home completely exhausted but rallied after eating. Chores needed to be done, so I drove to the hospital and paid my debt there, and then drove to Ridley’s. Clyde had gone home for the night. I asked for an envelope, wrote a thank-you note explaining the savings account, put a fifty in the envelope with the note, sealed it, wrote his name on it, and left it on his desk. At the bank, I had determined that the credit card I carried was indeed a debit card. I’d cancelled the card and ordered a new one tied to the new account, which would arrive via mail before the end of the week. As far as I knew, except for the monthly payments on the pickup truck, I was debt-free. Hallelujah!

The shopping facilities in Ely sucked, but I located Computa Cat Corner (cute name, huh?) on Aultman Street and bought their top-of-the-line laptop. While there, I arranged for a satellite connection to the internet, but the connection wouldn’t be activated until the next day. Back at the house, I stole a nearby wireless connection I could tap into with the laptop and logged onto the online gambling site where I played Texas hold ‘em poker. I created some new profiles to include my new checking account so I could transfer funds to and from the site and took a virtual seat at a table, but the cards weren’t acting kindly to me, so I logged off when I lost $500. As Aaron MacDonald, I usually played tournaments rather than hopping into a game at a table, but tournaments took more time than I wanted to spend because I wanted to study Orville’s new playbook. I went back onto the internet and researched single-wing offenses, and afterwards the playbook made more sense. The computer and internet connection had cost me more than I expected, so I transferred more money from a different offshore account (I had three of them that totaled over $500,000) to my new account in Ely before I closed down the computer for the night.

At daylight the next morning, I put on my sweats and went for a run. As Aaron MacDonald, I’d run three days a week and visited a fitness center on opposite days, resting on Sunday. On the fitness center days I practiced tai chi as well. The high school had a weight room. I’d use it in lieu of a gym. I was bigger now and much stronger, but I wasn’t in very good shape, I quickly realized, so I cut the run short, showered and shaved, dressed and drove away to find a place to have breakfast. I took Orville’s playbook with me to study while I ate.

I found a coffee shop in the Jailhouse Casino on 5^th street and ordered a big breakfast, which was interrupted a number of times by local high school football fans. I told all of them that our offense would be using new formations for the Elko game and invited them to come to the game. To a man, they said that they never missed a game. The entertainment venues in Ely must be limited, I figured, but then changed my mind. The town had casinos and lounges with live bands. I’d also seen a movie theater and a bowling alley. I think high school football, probably all high school sports, got a lot of attention because they offered the only live sporting events in town.

The next day was better at school. At least, I didn’t have to explain my memory loss at the start of each class. At the end of the day, I thanked Evelyn and told her I wouldn’t need her anymore.

The team meeting went as well as could be expected considering some of the players knew more about the single wing offense than I. A few players grumbled that it was an old-fashioned offense, complaints I squelched by saying that with no wins and six losses, old-fashioned or not, we were going to play to the strengths of some of our players. I praised Barry, telling him he was a good quarterback, and he’d still have opportunities for some pass plays using our new offensive formations, but he was also an excellent blocker, a critical key to success with the single wing offense.

“Greg,” I added, “you can run like the wind. With good blocking, your end-around running plays as a tailback should provide big yardage for us. Cal, you move like a freight train, hard to stop. As a fullback, I’ll expect you to pound out first downs when short yardage is needed. Peter, you’re an excellent pass receiver. I’m looking for a lot of receptions from the wingback position on Friday. The offset line should confuse Elko, and we’ll be switching the offset sides, sometimes in the opposite direction of the direction of the ball in play. Plus, we’ll be sending three or four receivers downfield on every pass play. Give this new playbook a chance, men. I think you’ll be surprised with how effective it can be. All right, suit up. First, we’ll walk through the plays in the playbook. Then we’ll run through them. Expect an extra-long practice this afternoon.”

My pep talk and praise seemed to work. Orville even commented that my positive attitude appeared to have a positive effect on the team.

That night I won $2,500 playing hold ‘em, less the site rake-off of $250, or 10%. I’d soon be ready to join tournaments again.

The next afternoon during practice, I provided mostly positive reinforcement. If a player did something right, I praised him. If another player did something wrong, I pointed out his mistake without belittling him. It was an exercise in operant conditioning, and it was working.

As we were leaving the field, Orville said, “I hate to say it, but I’m glad lightning struck you. You’re a different man, Coach, and I mean that in a good way.”

Thursday, we scrimmaged using the new formations and plays. They seemed to work. Friday, we beat Elko eighteen to fourteen, and the high school football fans in Ely went nuts. I felt bad about it, though. I got the credit for the win, not Orville or the team, where credit was due. Go figure.

Saturday morning, a process server handed me divorce papers. I read them carefully, noting that the documents had been drafted by a law firm in Las Vegas. Yvonne Windom wanted alimony and child support. The alimony was minimal; the child support reasonable-for a rich man, not a high school coach and teacher. My so-called wife also wanted full custody of the little girl and was disallowing any visitation rights. Full custody didn’t bother me, but the no visitation rights did. I didn’t know the girl, but it seemed to me that a father in her life would be better than no father at all.

After e-mailing a letter to the editor of the Ely Times, giving Orville Canton the credit for the win and mentioning a number of players that gave 110 percent, I checked out the yellow pages and made an appointment for that afternoon with a local lawyer, a woman named Elizabeth Conner. I figured a female attorney had to try harder than a man to succeed.

I had time for lunch before the appointment, so I returned to the coffee shop in the Jailhouse Casino. If I thought I’d received too much attention at breakfast earlier in the week, I was mistaken. It was only a small fraction of the attention coming my way at lunch. I had a difficult time finding the time to chew between effusive congratulations and “keep up the good work” comments. I kept mumbling, “Read my letter to the editor in the Ely Times when it comes out. I credit the win to Orville Canton and some young men who gave the game all they could give, not me.” From my observations, nobody believed me.

---

Elizabeth Conner was a big woman without carrying an ounce of fat that I could see. I guessed her age at thirty to thirty-five and her height at six feet in her heels, and even as tall as she was, she wasn’t bashful about wearing very high heels. I figured Elizabeth Conner would be a presence in any room full of men or women. With monumental effort, I discouraged an urge to stare at her massive bosom and instead looked her in the eye when I introduced myself. The introduction confused her.

“We’ve met previously, John,” she said, her voice taking on sultry tones. “I’m surprised you don’t remember me.”

“I don’t remember anyone, Ms. Conner,” I said and went on to tell her about my memory loss. I also told her how my wife had cleaned out my checking account. “I had to borrow money from an assistant coach and the manager at the grocery store to eat. Then, while cleaning the house, I found an I.O.U. from a man from my past. The I.O.U. listed a phone number. I called it, and the man wired money into my account in two payments over two days, so I paid the hospital and other debts. If your fees are close to reasonable, I think I can pay you to handle the divorce.”

I handed her the papers I’d been served that morning. She skimmed over the pages, sat back in her chair, and sighed.

“Besides the money in your checking account, do you have any other assets?” she asked.

I deduced that she was concerned about my ability to pay her. Then I changed my mind. She probably needed my balance sheet, so to speak, to determine how much I could afford to pay for alimony and child support.

“A pickup truck, but I still have six more monthly payments before it’s free and clear. The house where I live is on a month-to-month rental. The house came furnished. Here’s the lease.”

She took the lease document and skimmed it like she’d skimmed the divorce papers.

“I got paid last Friday,” I said and handed her the payroll stub. “Teachers get paid once a month. I don’t think I can meet Yvonne’s demands.”

After she looked at the stub, she laughed and said, “That’s for sure. Okay, John, what do you want? Do you want the divorce?”

I shrugged. “With my memory loss, I don’t know the woman, but the doc told me that my amnesia is probably temporary, so it’s difficult for me to answer that question. She abandoned me, took my daughter, and cleaned me out financially before she left, so I’m inclined to say yes, I want the divorce, but when my memories return, I might have a different attitude. Then again, considering her shoddy behavior, I seriously doubt that I’ll change my mind. I don’t have an issue with my wife having primary custody of the little girl. Although I don’t remember the girl, every child should have the nurturing love of a mother, but I do think a child should also know her father. I’d like visitation rights, and I’d like to have custody of the girl during the summer months when I’m not working, say a month every year, and perhaps a few days during the Christmas break. Accordingly, I have no problem with reasonable child support.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Okay, I’ll take your case.”

We discussed legal fees, and I wrote a check for her retainer. I stood up to leave.

“John, do not discuss the divorce with your wife’s attorney, ever, and before you talk to Yvonne about it, speak to me.”

“I hear you,” I said. “Thank you, Elizabeth. I’m happy I picked you out of the yellow pages. You’re a class act.”

My comments surprised her, but she recovered quickly, smiled, and shook my hand. As I was leaving her office, I wondered how we’d come to know each other and made a mental note to ask her when we spoke again after she contacted my wife’s attorney. If Elizabeth and I had been intimate, it wouldn’t happen again. As Aaron MacDonald in John Windom’s body, I wasn’t attracted to her. I wanted her to be my friend, not a lover.

I was on a roll. I made $4,000 playing hold ‘em that night. Instead of just joining a table with a game in progress, I’d bought into a tournament with ten players. The tournament was winner take all less the site rake-off of 10%, no second or third place prize money like on most gambling sites, my preference when playing tournaments. The buy-in was $500. As Aaron MacDonald, I usually joined tournaments with a $1,000 buy-in. With the win that night, my self-confidence had been restored. The next time I played, I’d move back up to the $1,000 buy-in. If I won, I’d win $8,000.

---

On Sunday, I drove around town looking at the different neighborhoods. I saw nothing that caught my eye architecturally. Plus, I was unsure about moving before the financial details of the divorce were settled. My thoughts ran more along the lines of buying land, designing my home, and then hiring a general contractor to build it. I’d probably have to hire a local architect if only to stamp the plans so I could obtain a building permit.

Completely frustrated, I finally stopped at a real estate office that appeared open for business. It wasn’t, open that is, but the door was unlocked, so I walked in.

“We’re closed,” a female voice said from behind a desk enclosure.

Then she walked around the partition. Hoo boy! She took my breath away. Then she smiled, and my heart stopped.

“Hi, Coach,” she said. “Nice win Friday.”

“Thanks. What are your hours? I’m looking for some land, and I don’t have much free time except on Saturdays and Sundays.”

She glanced at her wristwatch. What a dainty hand, I thought. I wanted her to reach out with that hand and lay it gently on my face so I could feel the pulse of her blood and her body heat and her...

“I’ve got a little time before an appointment,” she said. “How about we look through the listings for land now, shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes, and then we can make an appointment at a time that will work for both of us so I can show you two or three properties that you select?”

“That would be great, Ms...?”

“Oh, sorry, Coach. My name is Danielle Kurt. I go by Danny.”

I happily shook her dainty hand when it was offered. I felt the pulse of her blood and her body heat, and...

“Let’s sit side by side at that desk,” she said and pointed. “The listings are all on the computer.”

I’d sit by her side at every opportunity. I guessed her age was close to mine, mine as John Windom, not Aaron MacDonald. She looked a little like Cindy Crawford, but without the mole next to her mouth, and she had more of the girl-next-door look about her. She was tall and slim, but her feminine curves were in all the right places. She wore calf-height boots with short heels, tan slacks, and a blue silk blouse with the top two buttons open. Gorgeous!

The architecture in this town might be ugly, but it contains at least two beautiful women: Robyn Clark and Danielle Kurt.

When I sat down, the scent of her invaded my senses. The fragrances of her perfume and shampoo were light enough to let me smell the woman beneath the cosmetics. I wanted to nuzzle my face on her long, long neck.

Please God, let her be single and unattached. I looked. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.

“Acreage or a building lot?” she said.

“Let’s start with acreage,” I said after taking a deep breath to compose myself.

“Price range?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. I’ll build a residence on the land, so location is as important as price. As you know, I work at the high school, so commuting will be an issue.”

“Will you be financing the purchase?”

I smiled. I figured she knew teachers didn’t make much money.

“No,” I said. “I inherited some money. The bequest is in probate, so it will be a couple of months before I can close, but I have enough cash on hand for earnest money.”

She smiled, which made my heart race, and we started to quickly move through the listings. Fifteen minutes later, I’d flagged three properties, but I was almost certain I preferred the five acres off 7^th Street just past Morley Avenue. The land was situated in the foothills, slightly above the rest of the town.

“Can I have horses on the 7^th Street property?” I asked. As Aaron MacDonald, I’d owned horses, and I’d grown up with them. My father had been a horse trainer, mostly Arabians, but also some quarter horses. He and my mother died in an automobile accident two years ago. Neither of them had any brothers or sisters. Aaron MacDonald was alone in the world. Besides a wife and daughter that had left him, was John Windom alone like Aaron MacDonald? I didn’t know, and that bothered me.

“You bet,” Danielle said. I didn’t see her as Danny. Danielle fit her better.

“What about utilities?”

“Water and sewer are 300 yards from the property line at the junction of 7^th and Morley. Electricity is in front of the property.”

“That being the case, $30,000 per acre is a bit steep. Would the owner consider $25,000?”

“Maybe, especially since you’ll be making a cash offer.”

I leaned back in my chair. I couldn’t buy the property in my name, not with the pending divorce.

“Is there a market for horses in the area?” I asked. “Show horses like quarter horses or Appaloosas, for example?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

I nodded. “I’ll look into it. If I operate a horse business on the property, I’ll probably buy it with a corporation or LLC. I’ll instruct my attorney to form the entity tomorrow. You’ve been a big help, Danielle. When can I see the properties?”

“You tell me,” she said.

“Next Saturday morning is out. We have an away game in Winnemucca Friday. I’ll be sleeping in Saturday morning. But Saturday afternoon or Sunday would work.”

“What’s your preference?”

“Saturday afternoon.”

“Will your wife be joining us?”

“No, we’re separated. I’m not sure, but I think she’s in Las Vegas. I received the divorce papers from a Vegas attorney this morning.”

Her smile after that announcement was dazzling. Was she as interested in me as I was in her? Unlikely in the extreme, I decided.

We set up a time for Saturday afternoon, and I left.

I lost my $1,000 buy-in at hold ‘em that night. I couldn’t concentrate on the game. Images of the delectable Danielle in various stages of undress kept dancing across the stage in the theater of my mind.

While fantasizing about Danielle, for the second time since the swap, I took myself in hand and gave myself an orgasm. I’d tested my equipment the morning after the swap. After all, I had to know if I was a functioning male. I’ve gotta admit that I came out way ahead in the swap as far as length and girth. However, staying power hadn’t been tested and was still open to question. With delectable Danielle, considering the excitement she engendered, it would certainly be an issue.

---

Peggy knew everyone and everything, but she was also Danny’s boss. To hell with it, Danny thought. I need to know, preferably before the sales meeting. Danny had spent a restless night. She couldn’t get John Windom out of her mind. She’d been intensely attracted to him, more than any other man she’d ever met.

The regularly scheduled Monday sales meeting would start in fifteen minutes.

“I have a new client, Peggy,” Danny said. “Coach Windom. He dropped by the office yesterday while I was doing some paperwork before an appointment to show a house. What do you know about him?”

“He’s big, brutally handsome, and brutal.”

“Huh?”

“A bully.”

“Oh.” Damn! Macho men and bullies turned Danny off, not on.

“What’s he looking for? Another rental?” Peggy said with a sneer in her voice.

“No, land. He says he’s inheriting some money. Probate on the estate will close in about two months, and he wants land to build a house. He also plans to breed and sell show horses. He mentioned Appaloosas or Quarter Horses. He’s interested in the five acres off 7^th Street near Morley but also selected two other properties to view. I’ll be showing him the three properties next Saturday afternoon.”

“Interesting,” Peggy said. “I heard he has amnesia. After the game a week from last Friday, he was struck by lightning while walking under the goalposts. No physical damage, but he claims severe memory loss.”

“Claims?” Danielle said.

“Humph, amnesia is a cop-out. I don’t believe for an instant that he has amnesia.”

“He’s married, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and has a daughter.”

“He says his wife left him and has filed for divorce.”

“No surprise there. I know of at least two women he’s bedded besides his wife since he moved to Ely last summer.”

That does it, Danielle thought, and felt her previously intense interest in the man wane. The last thing she wanted was a relationship with a man who couldn’t be trusted, especially a bully. Did he beat his wife? Is that why she left him?

“Test his memory loss, Danny,” Peggy said. “Ask him how he remembered the fact that he is inheriting some money if he lost his memories?”

Danny said nothing.

“No, don’t antagonize him,” Peggy said. “Sell him that land. It’s been listed for over a year.”

---

“Elizabeth, it’s John,” I said on the telephone during my lunch hour.

“Hello, John. I’ve got a call into your wife’s attorney. We’ve been playing phone tag, so I have nothing to report as yet.”

“I called you about another matter. Could you form a corporation or LLC for me? Do you do that short of work?”

“John, I do more real estate and corporate work than I do divorces, and I won’t touch a criminal case.”

“Good. Yesterday I reviewed some listings for acreage for sale, and I think I found five acres I want to buy, but I don’t want to buy the property in my name. If I did, it could get tangled up in the financial settlement for the divorce.”

“It could anyway, John. Five acres doesn’t come cheap, and your credit sucks. I know; I ran a credit check on you. Do you have assets you didn’t tell me about?”

“Yes, but neither Yvonne, her lawyer, nor even you could find them,” I said.

“John, I can’t represent you if you lie to me,” Elizabeth said with anger tinged with disappointment.

I sighed. “Okay. I’m a poker player, online Texas hold ‘em. The server for the gambling website is offshore, and I have some numbered offshore bank accounts. When I was cleaning the house the day after I was struck by lightning, instead of an I.O.U., I discovered a carefully hidden file that contained information about the online gambling site and offshore bank accounts. Back then, I didn’t own a computer, so I don’t know what computer I used to gamble online, probably a computer at the library or at the computer lab at the school. Before my wife left, she cleaned out our bank account. The one credit card I have is a debit card. I was flat broke, so I transferred some money from two offshore accounts to my bank here. Then I bought a top-of-the-line computer and ordered a satellite internet connection, logged onto the gambling site, and made some money. I’ve been averaging about $2,000 a night.”

“Jesus!” she gushed.

“I’m positive, Elizabeth, that Yvonne does not know about my gambling acumen.”

“What she’ll settle for regarding alimony and child support will tell us if she knows or not.”

“True. Will you form the LLC and act as the resident agent for me?”

“Is this for your gambling business?” she asked.

“No, to purchase the acreage I told you about. I’ll build my residence on the land, but I’ll also use the land to train, breed, buy, and sell horses.”

“Horses?”

“Yes, if there’s a market for show horses here.”

The attorney laughed. “Not likely, but quality horses will attract customers from Vegas, California, and beyond.”

“I figured.”

“Okay, I’ll form the LLC and act as resident agent. Have you thought of a name for the limited company?”

“Dream Catcher Ranch,” I said.

“John, the rancher, huh? Well, you’ve got the body for it.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

We discussed the fee to form the LLC, and I told her I’d put a check in the mail.

She laughed. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Ms. Conner, you have a dirty mind,” I said.

“I do, don’t I?” She giggled.

“Gotta run. I need to eat before I face the bright, attentive faces representing the future of our country.”

She laughed. I hung up.

I had to pay for my future home. That night, I put Danielle out of my mind, concentrated, and won $8,000.

---

I woke up in the middle of the night shivering. The bedroom was so cold I could see my breath in front of my face. I reasoned the furnace must have stopped working. When I rolled my feet to the floor, I yelped. The floor was icy cold! I’d heard talk at school that a cold front was predicted to blow down from the north, but this was ridiculous. Maybe I wouldn’t settle here. Maybe I’d move south, to Las Vegas, maybe, or Phoenix. No, Phoenix was too hot in the summer, and being John Windom in Phoenix would confuse me because I’d lived there as Aaron MacDonald.

One thing I knew for sure, I couldn’t stay in that cold house.

I dressed quickly, packed a bag, grabbed my toiletries, tossed on my coat, and headed outside.

While sitting in the driver’s seat, I couldn’t see through the windshield of the pickup. It was covered with a thick layer of frost. I found a spatula in the kitchen, returned to the truck, and cleared the iced-up windshield.

Dammit! I should have started the engine before cleaning the windshield. Cold! How long would it take for the heater to start blowing out warm air?

And sometime today, I’m buying a warmer coat.

The full name of the Jailhouse Casino was the Jailhouse Casino and Motel. I rented a room in the motel, took a hot shower to get warm, and went back to bed.

When I looked out the window the next morning, I saw snow on the ground. God, it was beautiful! So white! So pristine! Like a virgin bride dressed and veiled in white. I packed, checked out, grabbed a cup of coffee to go in the coffee shop, and hit the weight room at the school. Then I showered, shaved, and dressed for the day.

By lunchtime, the pristine snow was melting and dirty with soot. Ugly! It had lost its virginity. I left the school and bought a sheepskin coat and some warm boots. A fast food lunch from Arby’s filled the hole in my stomach.

I’d called the landlord from the motel earlier to tell him that the furnace had stopped working. Did the furnace get fixed? If it didn’t, I’d spend another night in the motel, in which case I’d need a cell phone.

I needed one anyway. Verizon Wireless on Great Basin Boulevard fixed me up with a cell phone. The air felt warmer on my face when I walked out of the store. The snow was almost gone, replaced by dirty mud. Pristine had become sluttish.

While driving back to school, I called my landlord. The furnace was working again. Then I called Elizabeth to give her the cell number.

“I reached your wife’s lawyer. We’re negotiating,” she said.

“Good,” I said.

“I also finished the Articles of Organization for Dream Catcher Ranch, LLC, and filed the LLC with the state. Two organizers were required. I used my secretary as the other organizer. When the timing is right, you’ll be named as the manager. In the meantime, please drop by my office and sign some documents relative to the LLC. These documents will not become public. They’re internal and merely for my protection and yours should something happen to either of us.”

“Okay. I can drop by tomorrow during lunch.”

“That’ll work. If I’m not there, my secretary knows what to do.”

“Any progress on the negotiations for the divorce?” I said.

“Yes, Yvonne’s demands for both alimony and child support have come way down. She’s painfully aware of how much money you make as a coach and teacher. I’m trying to eliminate alimony completely and will be more generous with child support if I succeed.”

“I like the sound of that,” I said.

“Thought you would, and like you, I’m convinced your wife is ignorant of your online poker business. I expect another call from her attorney this afternoon. The negotiations I mentioned took place yesterday. With a little luck, we’ll be able to draft settlement documents by the end of the week.”

“Excellent. I’m at the school. Talk to you later. Good work, Elizabeth.”

When I entered the school building, I heard my name on the pager, so instead of hurrying to my class, I hurried to the administrative offices.

“You rang?” I said to the office secretary with a smile.

She didn’t return my smile.

“Telephone call. You can take it at that desk.” She pointed. “Line four.”

I settled on a chair at the desk and punched the blinking button for line four. “This is John Windom.”

“Mr. Windom, I’m Lieutenant Valdez with the Las Vegas Police Department. I have some bad news for you. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. Your wife, Yvonne, is dead.”

Chapter 3

“When? How? What about my daughter?” I said, my voice sounding frantic even to my ears. I didn’t know my wife and daughter, had never met them, and I was still shocked. My breathing was rapid, and my pulse rate was high. Saliva filled my mouth. I swallowed.

Valdez said, “Your daughter is fine; she’s with Child Protective Services. Your wife died from knife wounds.”

I gasped, and I’m sure I suddenly looked very pale because I felt lightheaded.

Valdez continued, “She was murdered sometime between when she was last seen alive at midnight and six o’clock this morning when the body was discovered. The M.E. estimated the time of death at 2:00 a.m., give or take an hour.”

“Was my daughter with my wife when she was killed?”

“No.”

“Do you know who killed her?”

“We have a suspect in custody,” Valdez said.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means we have a suspect, and the suspect is in custody.”

Doublespeak, I thought.

“Why was she killed?” I said.

“We’re still working on that,” Valdez said.

“All right. My daughter will need me. I’ll travel to Vegas the quickest method available, and I’ll want to talk with you while I’m there.”

“I understand.”

He gave me enough information to contact him and a woman from Child Protective Services who had custody of my daughter.

After I ended the call, I sat stunned. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at Principal Early’s concerned face.

“Some son of a bitch murdered my wife, Tom,” I said.

“I know. What about your daughter?” he said.

“She’s all right. Tom, were you aware that my wife left me the day I did battle with lightning?”

“No,” he said.

“When I arrived home from the hospital, I found a note. She’d packed up and left that day, cleaned out our bank account before she left, and took my daughter with her. She filed for divorce using a Las Vegas law firm. I was served with the papers Saturday morning.”

I dropped my eyes to my hands. “That she’d left me and filed for divorce didn’t upset me because, with my memory loss, I didn’t know her. I had no emotional connection with her. I don’t know my daughter either, but she is my daughter. She’s a little girl, and she’s all alone down there. I’ve got to go to her.”

“Of course you do, Coach. U.S. Air Express flies out of Yelland Field to Vegas. I’ll have my secretary make a reservation for you.”

“Soon, Tom. Today.”

Tom nodded.

“It’s Tuesday. I’ll be in Vegas most of tomorrow, maybe longer. I want to find out what happened to Yvonne. I owe that much to her. How about I fly from Vegas to Winnemucca for the game Friday? I’ll rent a car at the Winnemucca airport. No, a taxi will suffice,” I said. I knew I sounded manic, but I couldn’t stop talking. “Piper will be with me. Is that all right?” I took a deep breath. “No, that won’t work. She’s only five years old. Someone will have to watch over her while I work. Maybe I can hire someone in Vegas. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.” I stood up. “I need to talk to Orville, and I’ve got to pack.” I pulled my debit card from my wallet. “Give that to your secretary to pay for the airline ticket to Vegas, a hotel in Vegas, too, maybe Circus Circus; kids like Circus Circus, I hear. Tell her a room with two beds for tonight and Wednesday and Thursday. See if she can reserve the flight from Vegas to Winnemucca Friday morning for Piper and me and a ... ah, nanny. I have the money, Tom. Since Yvonne left, I’ve won a goodly sum playing online Texas hold ‘em, so I can handle the expenses. What am I leaving out, Tom?”

He shrugged, looking overwhelmed. Vera, his secretary, saved him. She’d been taking notes. Then she took my debit card from his hand.

“I’ll handle everything, Coach,” Vera said. “How will you, your daughter, and the nanny get from Winnemucca to Ely? If the nanny is a temp, she might prefer to fly back to Vegas from Winnemucca. If she does, you and Piper can return to Ely with the team on the bus.”

“Let’s plan on doing it that way. By the way, I have a cell phone now,” I said and gave the secretary the number. She jotted down the number. “Orville will handle the football team. What about my English classes?”

“We’ll bring in a substitute teacher,” Tom said. “Because of the away game, I had one set up for Thursday and Friday already. Don’t worry; your English classes will be covered.”

“Thanks. Could Orville ride with me to pack?” I said. “We need to discuss how to handle the football team in my absence.”

“I’ll have him paged now,” Vera said.

“Oh, no! Funeral services,” I muttered. “I’ll need to arrange ... Christ! I don’t know Yvonne’s relatives! They should be notified. I don’t know if her parents are still alive. Or their names if they are. Or where they live. Her brothers and sisters, if any! And my parents! Are they alive? My brothers and sisters, if I have any! Oh, shit! This is terrible!”

I took a deep breath to calm down and said, “Maybe Yvonne’s effects will give me some clues.” My shoulders slumped. “Being an amnesiac is horrible. I’ve been so alone, but I’ve handled it, but this ... this is terrible!” My face fell into my hands, but I had a sudden idea and snapped my head upright. “I’ll hire a private investigator to track everyone down. That’s what I’ll do. Tom, you’ve got records about my past that I don’t have, where I went to college, where I coached before, right?”

“Yes,” he said.

“A good private investigator can start with your records and work backwards. I’ll hire one while I’m in Vegas. He’ll have time to track everyone down. The police won’t release the body right away.”

Orville arrived at the administrative offices. I quickly filled him in on what had happened. “Ride with me. I’ll tell you about my itinerary and how you fit in while I pack.”

He nodded, and Orville and I left the school. My plans changed a little while we talked. Orville said it would be better if he drove his SUV to Winnemucca. His wife would go with him, and she’d tend Piper during the game. Piper and I could ride back to Ely with them. I called Vera with this change. I wouldn’t need an extra airline ticket from Vegas to Winnemucca.

“You’re a friend, Orville,” I said.

“Yes, I am,” he said.

---

Elizabeth called me on my cell phone while I was waiting to board my flight to Vegas.

“I heard,” she said when I told her that Yvonne had been murdered. “I just got off the phone with her attorney. What do you know about what happened, John?”

“Next to nothing. The police lieutenant who called me wasn’t very forthcoming. He did say that he had a suspect, and the suspect was in custody.”

“What I have might not be the truth, John.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Yvonne didn’t leave you to go off by herself.”

“I’m not surprised. Someone had to be paying for her living expenses in Vegas and the legal fees for her end of the divorce,” I said.

“She met a man from Vegas at one of the casinos here in Ely when you were at an away game. She left you for him.”

“What is his name?”

“Anthony Ferrari.”

“Mafia?” I said.

“He might be connected; I don’t know. What I do know for sure is that he’s a pimp, albeit a high-class pimp. Ferrari is the suspect the police had in custody. Notice the past tense. After the police lieutenant talked to you, a high-priced lawyer arrived, and the police were forced to either arrest Ferrari for Yvonne’s murder or let him go. They let him go. Yvonne’s divorce lawyer told me that Ferrari recruits women from small towns, brings them to Vegas with promises of excitement and riches and love, and then turns them out. The lawyer spent some time with Yvonne. He thinks she refused to go along with Ferrari’s plans for her, so he killed her as an object lesson for the other call girls in his string.”

“Christ, what a mess,” I muttered.

“Her lawyer is guessing. Please, don’t get involved, John. Let the police handle this.”

“I can’t get involved. I don’t know my daughter, but she is my daughter, my flesh and blood, and I’m the only parent she has now. I have to think of her first.”

I heard Elizabeth’s large sigh of relief. “You’re a good man, John Windom,” she said.

“Maybe you can help me with another problem,” I said and told her about my need for a private investigator. “I need a name or an individual or a company, Elizabeth, someone who’ll fill in some holes in my past. Intuitively, I don’t think picking an investigator out of the yellow pages is the appropriate approach.”

She laughed. “You’re right about that. I’ll do some research and call you.”

“Thanks. They’re boarding, Elizabeth. Gotta go. I’ll call you from Vegas after I land.”

---

In my past life as Aaron MacDonald, I had not believed in love at first sight. Lust at first sight, yes, but not love. I believed love arrived slowly in increments through experiencing many emotional moments with another person.

I was wrong.

The split-second I first saw my daughter, I fell deeply, irrevocably in love with her, not romantic love, of course, but love nonetheless. In the past, I’d also believed that to love someone meant you were more concerned about the other person’s happiness than your own. I got that one right.

Piper, my five-year-old daughter, was adorable, and I adored her instantly. Her frightened, worried look tore at my heart. She was so... small! Light brown, wavy hair, almost blonde, bright blue eyes. Did Yvonne have blue eyes? I didn’t know.

Then she saw me, and her face brightened. She let go of the woman’s hand she was holding and ran to me.

“Daddy!” her little voice exclaimed as her spindly legs thrashed to get to me. “Daddy!”

I knelt and held out my arms, and she ran into them. I hugged her tight and stood up. “I love you, Piper,” I whispered in her ear as she hung onto my neck as if it were a life preserver.

“I love you, too,” she said with a tiny voice that echoed sweet and clear in my mind. Tears stung my eyes.

“Mommy’s in heaven, Daddy,” she said, the words breaking with emotion.

“I know, but we’ve got each other. I’m here for you, dear Piper. I’ll never let you go again. I’ll protect you and love you always and forever.”

For the first time in my life, either life, my life, had real meaning and purpose.

---

Wednesday morning, with my daughter’s small hand in mine, we walked into a building that housed the office of Lieutenant Valdez with the LVPD. In short order, we were ushered into his small office. I introduced myself and Piper, and then said, “Is there someone who can watch over my daughter while we talk?”

Valdez nodded and reached for a phone. Moments later, a policewoman arrived, and Piper left with her. I sat in a hard chair in front of the lieutenant’s desk. He was maybe forty-five, obviously Hispanic, maybe some Native American blood, as well. Weak jaw and narrow shoulders. Brawn didn’t make him a leader of men in the police force, which probably meant he was a smart man.

I elected not to telegraph that I knew more than he’d told me.

“Did you arrest the suspect you have in custody?” I said.

“No. We didn’t have enough evidence to arrest him. He lawyered up, and we were forced to release him. The investigation is ongoing.”

“Do you have another suspect?”

“No.”

“Do you believe the man you released murdered my wife?”

“Yes, but proving it will be difficult.”

“Do you have a motive?”

“We believe we do.”

“And that motive is...?”

Valdez sat back in his chair. “You’re a large man. Strong. Do you have a temper?”

I smiled. “Everyone has a temper. If you’re worried that I will go after this man myself, put your mind at rest. The well-being of my daughter comes first. My wife left me, Lieutenant. Before she left, she cleaned out our bank account. She also took my daughter with her. Last Saturday, I was served with divorce papers. I did not contest the divorce. I did object to Yvonne’s demand for full custody of our daughter. I’ll tell you why in a moment, but first there’s more you should know about me. The day Yvonne left I was struck by lightning. When I regained consciousness, I didn’t know my name. I have retrograde amnesia, Lieutenant, which means I don’t know my wife. I don’t know my daughter, either, but I feel strongly that my daughter, any child for that matter, should have a father in her life. That’s why I opposed full custody. I’m telling you this so you understand that I don’t have strong feelings about what happened to my wife. In my mind, a mind with no memories, we’ve never met. Still, I believe I should know what happened to her. I’d be grateful if you told me what you know and what you surmise, so Piper and I can put this sad time behind us and go on with the rest of our lives.”

I waited. He seemed to be considering my request, so I gave him an incentive to talk. “The money in our bank account wasn’t much, Lieutenant. I’m a high school football coach in a small school. I don’t make very much money. What she took from our account would not be enough to handle her living expenses in Vegas or pay legal fees to initiate a divorce, which means someone was helping her financially, which also means that she left me for another man. That man, Lieutenant, was not local, not from Ely that is. He probably lives in Vegas. Is this man your suspect?”

Valdez said nothing, but seconds later he nodded. “Yes. He’s a pimp but doesn’t think of himself as a pimp. He owns and operates an escort service, but plain and simple, he is a pimp. We surmise he lured your wife from Ely to Vegas by telling her that he loved her and promising to give her the good things in life. This is his standard method of operation, how he recruits new women to his stable. At first, the women are sent out to be companions for lonely men, but only as companions. He slowly introduces them to prostitution. He’s very good at what he does. But, we surmise that your wife rebelled, not regarding being a companion for a lonely man for an evening, but rather to becoming a prostitute.”

“Good for her,” I said.

“Her rebellion caused her death,” Valdez said.

“No, the pimp caused her death,” I said. “You said the investigation is ongoing. You also said that it would be difficult to prove that he killed my wife. Is this pimp going to get away with murder, Lieutenant?”

Valdez said nothing, which told me everything.

I nodded.

“When will my wife’s body be released?” I said.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Give me a range. Two days? A week? Longer?”

“Longer than a week, less than a month,” he said.

I nodded again. “I have another problem, Lieutenant. With my amnesia, I don’t have a past. In my mind, neither does my wife. I have no way to contact Yvonne’s relatives about her death and the funeral because I don’t know who they are. I don’t know how to contact my relatives, for the same reason. To that end, I hired a private investigator to determine the names and contact information of my relatives and Yvonne’s. It occurred to him that Yvonne might have some files or other information in her effects that would assist him in his effort. May I or the investigator search wherever she was living and have access to her personal property?”

He pursed his lips. “Give me the name of your doctor. Before I give you or your investigator access right now-as next of kin, you’d have access later, by the way-I want to verify that you are indeed an amnesiac.”

I grimaced with effort and finally said, “I don’t remember his name.” I chuckled. “But his name is not tied to my amnesia. I just don’t remember the name of the doctor who treated me. Call the hospital in Ely; there’s only one hospital. And ask for the doctor who treated Coach John Windom after I was struck by lightning. You can call my boss, the principal at the school, that’s White Pine High School. His name is Tom Early. Tom and most of the teachers know about my amnesia, and all of the students know. And you can call my attorney, Ms. Elizabeth Conner. She told me that she knew me before my wrestling match with high-voltage electricity. I hired her after that event to handle my divorce by picking her name out of the yellow pages.”

He had jotted down the facts that I’d given him without commenting, so I stood to leave.

“Call me or my investigator with your decision.” I gave him my cell phone number and the investigator’s name and contact number. “I’ll be in Vegas until Friday morning when I’ll be flying to Winnemucca to coach a football game.” I gave him my cell phone number and left his office.

Piper was sitting on a chair next to the policewoman in the corridor. When she saw me, she hopped off the chair and ran to me. I took her hand, and we walked out of the building.

“Do you like to shop?” I said.

“Uh-huh. Mommy sometimes took me shopping with her.”

“What clothes do you need?”

“Underwear,” she said. “Mommy said some of my underwear is getting ... ah, string bare.”

“Do you mean threadbare?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you have warm clothes for winter?”

“I have a coat,” she said.

“Is it warm enough to wear playing in the snow?”

She shrugged her little shoulders. “It’s too small.” She giggled. “Mommy said I’ve been growing up.”

“Let’s go back to the hotel room and check out the clothes you have in your suitcase. Then we’ll go shopping to buy what you need.”

“‘Kay. I like bright colors,” she said, “red and yellow and orange.”

“No grays or browns?” I said.

“No. I like white, though.”

I had a blast shopping with the little girl, so I probably went overboard. We had to pick out a set of luggage to hold all her new clothes for the flight to Winnemucca.

With the funeral pending, I bought a black dress for Piper and a black suit for me. The suit was off the rack, so it needed extensive alterations. I made arrangements to have the suit shipped to Ely.

Mid-afternoon, while Piper and I were enjoying an ice cream cone in the food court at the mall, Everett Cox called me. He was the investigator Elizabeth had recommended and I’d hired. She’d told me that he specialized in finding missing persons, a skip-tracer in private eye parlance. I stood up and walked away from the table so Piper couldn’t hear me but still had me in sight.

“Lieutenant Valdez called me,” Cox said. “He’s giving me access to your late wife’s residence and personal effects. I’ll be watched and won’t be allowed to remove anything, but I’ll be allowed to take notes if I find anything that points to names and contact information of her relatives and friends, yours, too, for that matter.”

“Great. Keep in touch. Although the funeral won’t take place until her body is released, I’ll want to notify her relatives and mine about her death as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” he said.

---

“Hello, it’s John,” I said to Mrs. Carol Jacobs, apparently my mother.

Yvonne’s effects included an address book. One of the listings in the book was John’s Mother. Carol Jacobs lived in Reno, Nevada. I’d attended the University of Nevada in Las Vegas on a full athletic scholarship until an injury scuttled my football career, the private investigator told me. I then transferred to the University of Nevada in Reno to finish my education, probably to save on room and board. After graduating, I worked as an assistant coach and teacher at a high school in Reno for three years before taking the head coach and teaching job at White Pine High School. I married Yvonne my senior year in college. She must have been pregnant at the wedding ceremony because Piper was born six months later.

With a happy voice, my mother said, “John! You don’t call; you don’t write...”

“I was struck by lightning, Mother. I’m all right physically, but I have retrograde amnesia. I had to hire a private investigator to uncover my past. I didn’t know your name or contact information until today.”

She said nothing.

“Yvonne left me, ran off with another man, so she couldn’t help me with any of my lost memories, and she left nothing in the house that pointed me toward any of my relatives or hers.”

“That bitch! I never liked her, John. What about Piper? What about my beautiful granddaughter?”

“Yvonne took Piper with her when she left, but she’s with me now. Mom, Yvonne was murdered early Tuesday morning.”

She gasped. “Oh, no! That’s terrible, John!”

“Yes, it is. I didn’t know her. With my memory loss, I had no emotional connection with her, but when a police officer from Las Vegas called me to tell me about her death, I was still shocked and upset. The police let my investigator go through Yvonne’s effects, and he found an address book. Your name and phone number were listed. I was happy to discover that I had a mother who was still alive. Ah, do I have a father?”

“Yes, but he’s in prison. Your father had a violent temper, John, and he was a big man, like you. He killed a man in a bar fight when you were twelve. I divorced him and later married a man named William Jacobs. Bill was a good man, John. He helped you financially to finish college after you lost your scholarship. He was killed in an accident at work three years ago. He worked in construction.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do I have any brothers and sisters?”

“No, you were an only child. Your father... ah, when he drank, he became abusive. I was pregnant, and he beat me. I lost the baby, and the doctors told me that I couldn’t have any more children.”

“That’s a shame. The cowardly brute should be in prison. Listen, the funeral will be in Ely. I don’t know when it will take place. The police tell me that it will be at least a week before the body is released. When the funeral arrangements are solidified, I’ll call you. Should anyone else in my family be notified?”

“My sister, your Aunt Barbara. She and her husband, George, might want to come to the funeral. You and Barbara were always close. There’s no need to notify anyone in your father’s family. We cut off all ties to them.”

“Okay. Would you please tell your sister about Yvonne? I have to call Yvonne’s parents, and...”

“They don’t like you, John,” my mother said, interrupting me. “They didn’t think you were good enough for their perfect daughter.”

“Thanks. Forewarned is forearmed,” I said.

“I’ll call my sister,” my mother said.

“Do I have any friends I should call?”

“Yes, call Boyd Hansen. He was your best and oldest friend and the best man at your wedding. You kept in touch with Boyd.” When asked, she gave me his phone number. I gave her my cell number, and then she asked to speak with Piper. From listening to my little girl’s side of the conversation, I understood that Piper liked my mother, which made me happy.

My call to Yvonne’s parents was not pleasant. Her mother fell apart on the telephone, and her father cursed me for not protecting his little girl. He also didn’t believe I had amnesia but did agree to notify Yvonne’s other relatives and friends. Neither Yvonne’s mother nor father asked to speak with Piper.

I said to Piper, “That was your Grandfather Pickett. He didn’t have time to talk to you right now. Later, he said.”

“He doesn’t like me,” she said. “Neither does Grandmother Pickett.” She squared her shoulders. “So I don’t like them, so there.”

It was as if she were defying me to contradict her. I said nothing but wondered how anyone could not like my very likeable daughter.

What a mess!

The phone number my mother gave for Boyd Hansen was no longer in service. I wouldn’t be overly concerned if I couldn’t reach him. I had no emotional connection with him. The previous John Windom and Boyd Hansen were friends.

---

Thursday morning at breakfast, I asked Piper if she liked horses. She nodded enthusiastically.

“Are you up to some more shopping this morning?”

“Uh-huh.”

“We need some Western duds, both of us, if we’re going to look at horses today. Do you think I’ll look good in a cowboy hat?”

She giggled and nodded.

“Good. I think you’ll look adorable in one. And we both need some cowboy boots.”

We spent the morning buying Western outfits. I was right. Piper looked adorable in a cowboy hat, but then she’d look adorable wearing a gunnysack.

That afternoon we visited two horse ranches. The first ranch bred and trained quarter horses, the second appaloosas. I let Piper pick the type of horses we’d buy for our little horse ranch.

“I like the spotted horses best, Daddy,” she said, so we went with the Appaloosas.

I bought a broodmare and a filly. The filly’s sire was a world champion, and her dam was a national champion. The broodmare had produced a number of champions. The stallion they had for sale didn’t impress me, but I wasn’t dismayed. Over the next year, Piper and I would visit other ranches that offered champion Appaloosas for sale to fill out our string to include a champion stallion. If necessary, I’d put the mares to stud elsewhere or purchase frozen semen. I also realized that I’d need more than five acres to make the ranch profitable. Before Piper came into my life, I’d planned a small ranching operation, more a hobby than a business. Now I wanted more for my daughter: a real legacy, a profitable horse ranch. The delectable Danielle would be disappointed when I didn’t buy the five acres off 7^th Street on Saturday.

“I’ll make arrangements to transport the horses,” I told the owner of the Appaloosa ranch. “It’ll be a while.” I huffed a laugh before I said, “I haven’t bought the land for my horse ranch yet.”

The owner shook his head and then grinned. “I’ll board the horses here until you’re ready.”

“Would you continue the training for the filly, as well?”

“You bet,” he said, and then detailed his boarding and training fees, which were higher than a cat’s back.

That night after Piper went to sleep, I won two tournaments of Texas hold ‘em, netting $16,000. My incentive to make a good life for myself had just doubled. I had to make a good life for my little girl, too.

---

Orville and Gladys met us at the airport in Winnemucca. I introduced them to Piper, and Gladys turned into a mother hen before Orville’s and my eyes, which tickled me because Piper accepted Gladys’s nurturing with little-girl enthusiasm.

“We can’t have children,” Orville told me while we waited for our luggage. Gladys and Piper were out of earshot. “We talked about adopting, but with what a teacher makes, raising a child would place hardships on us we weren’t willing to accept. Consequently, Gladys mothers our nieces and nephews, too much at times. It looks like she just added your little girl to the list of children she mothers.”

“Fine by me,” I said.

“What’s with the Western clothes?” Orville said.

Piper and I were decked out as ranchers from head to toe. I wore a Stetson on my head and Tony Lama boots on my feet that combined made me two or three inches taller than my normal six-four. I was rather proud of the imposing look I presented.

“What you see is the new me, Orville. In addition to coaching and teaching, I’ve decided to breed, train, buy, and sell champion Appaloosa horses. With my memory loss, the finer points of football were a blank to me, but the skills and knowledge needed to raise horses survived my bout with lightning. I’m not giving up coaching and teaching, though. Like you, I find coaching gives me pleasure and purpose. I’m merely adding another source of income so I can give my little girl the good life she deserves.”