Passion of the Different (2 page)

Love for Myra exploded throughout his entire being like some star in the night sky going nova and turning the darkness into new and unexpected daylight. Skills he didn't know he had at masking his thoughts clicked into action and his expression smoothed. He felt, not knew, just
felt
that there was nobody more caring than this gentle woman before him. The fact that she was physically pretty was enhanced into a serene beauty by the force of her caring spirit. It pulled him like a magnet. If the situation had been normal and he was one hundred percent certain she felt the same about him, he would have taken her into his arms and kissed her with every fiber of his being. He knew better however, to not act on it. Especially during this moment of near personal crisis.

He knew why the word 'crying' affected him like it did. It sounded close with her musical accent. So very close to something he had tried in vain to recall when he first woke up. His calm finally reached her and she started to search his face for an understanding. Though he was deeply in love with her, he had to guard it. Hide the emotion as much as he could until the time was right to let her know such things. Now however, she needed an explanation as to why he struggled with himself so hard.

“You said crying,” he explained, voice calm as he lowered his hands to hers and politely took them off his chest. “With your accent, it’s close. Almost sounds just like it. It hurt my head coming out and I don’t know why. Because you said crying, I know my name.”

Her hands reversed themselves in his and she clasped his palms and squeezed as she asked sotto voce, “What is it?”

“My name is Ryan,” he replied. She pleasantly surprised him again as her arms went around his neck and squeezed. He hugged her back and suppressed a rising groan. If only she knew what she was doing to him now, but it wasn’t the time for anymore revelations. She smelled so nice and he was distracted by his own churning thoughts that he almost missed it.
She was trying not to laugh
. “What’s so funny?” he said, following up with a friendly smile to let her know he wasn’t offended.

“It’s such a short, funny name,” she admitted, then started to laugh louder as she peeled herself off of him quickly and sat back into the far corner of the couch, establishing personal space as if she realized suddenly how close she was to him. Her laugh was delightful and natural, inviting him to share the humor with her, which he gladly did. It was a few minutes before they laughed themselves out. Then she continued to explain the importance of it. “In fact, short names are unheard of among men. If anyone ever hears of you before I can prepare the folks around here, and it may take some time, believe me, then you'll need a longer name.”

“Why?” he replied, cocking his left eyebrow and giving her a half-smile while defending as kindly as possible what had taken a lot to recall. “Ryan is who I am, what I was given at birth by a mother I can't even remember. That should be good enough for anyone.”

She sighed and tried again. “Because names are what defines respect among men. Not just length, but the sound and how it flows. Your name must reflect your strength and size.” She closed her eyes for a minute and concentrated. “Too long of a name indicates a braggart. Too short, you would be considered a fool and your words would have little to no value.”

“It really hurt my head to remember my name, Myra,” he explained as best he could without sounding rude. “My name is Ryan, that’s important to me.”

“I know,” she said, eyes still closed as she furrowed her brow in deep thought. “Hush a moment please, trust me.” If she had said that in any other way than the caring tone she used, he would have been highly offended. He regarded her lovely face, light blue hair and ample breasts on her slender form as she concentrated. His heart started to ache and he could visualize himself reaching out and gathering her into his arms. This took him by surprise again, these sudden feelings of his that played tag with his surface thoughts before hiding again.

He had only known her for less than half a day, and yet, he felt as if he knew her for far longer. He felt strongly that she wouldn’t accept him this soon, if at all. He may look like a freak to her and she might scream in sudden fright. That was something he didn't want to happen. Then she opened her eyes and interrupted his chain of thought. “My uncle was a warrior in the far west, part of the frontier army called Defenders of Justice. His name was Za'Dajor Vena'kur. With a little twist, we could call you Za'Ryan Ven’Krue.” She paused, studied his face for a moment. “I will call you Ryan when nobody else is around, when the day comes you meet and talk with others.”

He took a moment to think about it. It did occur to him that her generous nature was part of the attraction he had for her, but was he starting to take advantage of such innocent goodwill? Upon further examination of everything that had happened, he was lucky she was taking the time of day with him, big as he was compared to her. She didn't seem frightened or on edge, accepting at face value his good behavior. He respected her for that quite a bit, and now she was trying to help him to fit in socially. Since she took him at face value then he would do the same for her. He would also make good on his offer to work for her efforts and time. He smiled at her quickly, her face was starting to cloud over by thinking he disapproved as he took awhile to analyze the situation.

“I like it,” he told her, genuinely pleased. “My real name is part of it, that makes a big difference. You must really like your uncle, too. So I’ll take it. Za'Ryan Ven’Krue.” She started to perk up and smile under his praise. Then he asked, “What’s your surname? Is it the same or different?”

Her happy expression fell and her smile vanished. He sat up straighter and was thinking of the best way to apologize when she explained. “Women aren’t allowed to have surnames until they’re married. Men don’t like me because I’m too tall. It’s the only reason why I built my home close to the deep woods and away from town.” Her head bent farther down, ashamed. He was completely shocked. He had heard her mention it before, but this is the reason why she secluded herself? Height made her unattractive to the men of her people?

The words were out of his mouth before he could think. “Those men are fools, doubly so. You’re beautiful, gentle and ever so nice to people you don't even know.” Oh no, his heart and mouth were collaborating together to speak before his brain could reach down and slap them both into saying something else. “There's nothing wrong with you and any man should be proud to hold you in his arms. Maybe one day in the future I’ll have the honor of proving it.” Finally back in control of the speech center, he stood immediately and began to pace. He needed a diversion away from the unintended exposure of his feelings. He caught her lavender gaze looking up at him through her light blue bangs, slowly coming back up from feeling ashamed. They were almost luminous.

He had no idea how to read that and he feared he said far too much, maybe frightened her somehow. As he continued to walk back and forth and searched for words to fix his blunder without sounding stupid, she flicked her head back up the rest of the way quickly and her light blue hair whisked out of her face. She changed her expression to neutral as he found the subject he wanted, “I’ll work for you as long as you want me to, Myra. Since you made it obvious that I’m one heck of a stranger around here, I can’t go find a job just anywhere. The moment you're satisfied with my work and want me to leave, I'll do so without complaint. Deal?”

This earned him a warm smile as she stood up and stopped him from pacing by looping her arm around his elbow. “It’s a deal, Ryan,” she happily replied, then pulled him into another part of the large cottage. “I’m starved, let me make dinner and get you measured for those boots.”

Chapter Three - Mild Culture Shock

Ryan’s dark leather boots sank a half-inch into the soft earth with every step he took. He was also whistling a made up tune as he carried the four tied fence posts across his shoulders, his hands on both sides keeping them balanced. The wood they were made out of was dark and heavy, unlike the softer white pine. He guessed they weighed about four hundred pounds altogether, which was one log more than last week. Good. He felt the workouts improving him even more as he earned his keep with Myra.

He arrived at the edge of the property where he was extending the fence and shrugged them off backward. As they thudded to the ground, her exclaim of surprise reached his ears. “Is there no end to your strength, Ryan?” He turned and smiled as she approached with the water pitcher.

He wore the same type of leather work pants and tank top that she did, having them handed to him a few weeks earlier so he wouldn’t ruin any of his comfortable clothes. “Yes there is,” he admitted casually as she handed him a ladle. “I couldn’t carry five.”

Her expression darkened as he spooned the water and sipped. “Don’t injure yourself, I mean it. I had to hire two men from town to carry one at a time several years ago, when I had the gold to build a fence. I would have to hire twice that many just to carry you into your bed.” Her expression didn’t change when he laughed out loud.

“No, you wouldn’t want to do that,” he finally got out between chuckles after his laughing fit died down. “The town would learn about me mighty quick, then.” He winked at her. He recalled the first time he did that and she stared, then asked him to do it again. She had never seen a wink, nor was it anything her people did. It took him almost two weeks to teach it to her because the gesture was so alien to her people. She winked back as he handed her the ladle and took a drink for herself. This time he held the pitcher for her.

Even though it was only a little less than a month when she first found him, Ryan felt huge amounts of respect for her ability to work hard. She couldn’t lift near as much, but what she lacked in volume and heavy hauling she more than made up for it in small doses of speed. It also helped him learn her society, and from his basic feelings that would surge from time to time, he knew they were totally different from his own.

Her large lavender eyes regarded him as she took a second ladle full and drank. He knew he could watch those eyes all day and night. Only one time did he see them fill with tears and it had torn at his heart. He had offered to make a meal so she could take a break from cooking, as she always prepared the various fruits and vegetables she would pick from the wild and her small farm.

It took him several hours to calm her down as she cried her heart out. Among her people, women did all the preparing of food and they take it extremely serious. If a man cooks the meal, it’s telling her she’s a total failure. Worthless. When she understood the meaning of culture shock and that he hadn't intended to insult her, she felt a lot better, to his immense relief.

They both had long talks about his potential origin. There were far more questions than answers. He didn’t have anymore freaky memory explosions. They both sat down one night and went through every word they both knew and nothing else triggered. Then they both stood in front of the mirror side by side and repeated every word they knew, hoping it would happen with a visual clue. It didn’t, but at least they had tried.

She finally finished her drink of water and took the pitcher back from him. He smiled and she smiled back. Bringing him water three times a day was her routine. He learned quickly not to question her routines and just accept it, he never wanted to see her devastated like that again.

“How long?” she wanted to know, gesturing to the fence posts that were on the ground.

“Four days,” he replied easily. “Then you’ll have enough fencing to plant twice the food next spring.” He stretched and felt his muscles ripple. “I better get back to it, or it’ll be five days.” He winked again and started to turn back to his work.

He was suddenly drenched from head to toe. She had soaked him from the three gallon pitcher and was laughing, then squealed unexpectedly while hopping from one foot to the other. He made an exaggerated pivot on his heel in mock anger and genuine surprise and started after her. She dropped the pitcher onto the soft grass while on the run and he scooped it up, exhilarated and delighted at the same time. While she had played small little pranks on him before, this one topped them all combined. As he passed the water trough where they pumped it up through an iron spigot, he scooped and half filled his new water weapon.

He already knew she was fast as lightning when she ran, and all but flew to the rear of the cottage. He got to the house as she broke left and went out of sight behind it. He suddenly stopped and made stamping noises with his feet, then crept up on the opposite corner near the front. He knew he was challenged at this, her footsteps were so light she was more silent than a soft wind. Suddenly and without warning, a new thought from the center of his being pushed forward. It felt like an instinct rather than a memory and he knew
exactly
what to do.

He mentally measured the amount of time it took for her to reach the back. Then he counted off three short seconds and slung the water in an underhanded swing at the far front corner. He laughed hard as it worked! She ran right into it and her light blue hair plastered back, wet and dripping all down the front of her work clothes. Her loud gasp and shocked look turned into an expression of dark humor and revenge as he dropped the pitcher and ran like hell for the barn. She scooped it up and refilled on her way after him, determined not to miss.

As Ryan got sloshed going up the ladder to the loft, he dropped back down and sat in the hay. She sat next to him and they both chuckled and regarded each other. Even with his memory dark and silent, he knew deep down in his gut that he never had such a good time before in his life. He had a large compulsion to give up any quest for recall, to not look back and only build new memories. Here and now, with this gorgeous woman who loved to play as much as she enjoyed work. A woman who took compassion on others no matter how afraid she might be and shared with ample generosity. A wiser, more realistic part of his personality told him that while he may wish to never remember who he was and how he got there, there would be no going back to being ignorant when those memories did choose to resurface.

Two days later he had the fence finished.

They stood by the barn, both back into their soft and comfortable clothes while looking out over the small farm. He had crossed his muscle thick arms and her slender hands were palm down on each side of her small curvy hips. He wore a smug but happy look on his face. She had a cocked right eyebrow as her head swiveled left, then right.

The whole place was completely refurbished. The new fence was twice as wide as the old one, almost three times as long. All the rocks were cleared and the ground was ready for next spring. Every vegetable was picked, stored in the fruit cellar out back and two entire cords of chopped firewood was sitting next to the large cottage all neatly stacked.

“Look at you,” she stated in a matter of fact tone when her eyes settled on him. “I can tell. You’re still full of energy and ready for more, aren’t you?”

“Show me what to do and I’ll get started,” he replied casually, still wearing his happy look and ready for the next project.

“Here I am,” she started to complain mildly. “I’m exhausted. My arms ache, my back is a little twitchy and my feet are sore. I have a crick in my neck.” Then she gestured as he changed his expression to apologetic, but she wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise. “Everything is done. I’m never done. Snow comes when I still got food in the field. Or I let the hammer and wood to repair the fence sit under three feet of winter until the snow melts. I always run out of fire wood just before spring, and you cut five times as much as I could. I got enough for three winters there. I’m impressed, yes sir.” Her voice started to rise and she was getting angry at herself. “I work you and work you and work you. I got you a whole new wardrobe and you gave me a new freaking fence. Clothes are cheap! I give you food and you give me a whole new roof on both the barn and house. I'm the one who owes! Why did I do that to you?” Now she was almost at a full tirade. “I worked too damn it, but you… HEY!”

He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder and started walking for their shared home. He did this the last time too, when she started to bicker and fuss, then yell at a section of her farm that wouldn’t grow no matter how much she tended it. Once he got her away from it, she calmed down and started to shake her nerves off. On a farm, frustration leads to anger and that leads to mistakes that could make sure they both go hungry during the winter. He quickly examined the source of his confidence and wrote off such knowledge to common sense rather than any memory coming back.

“Put me down!” she demanded loudly. He didn’t put her down and took her inside. Unlike last time he pulled her hollering self off the job, there wasn’t a load of work to finish that was subject to angry mistakes. This fueled her anger even more this time instead of leveling out. “You big monster, you know I’m angry and I’m sore, put me down or I’m going to bite you!” The threat had value, she had eye teeth that were naturally longer than his and could cause damage, but he blew it off in his mind. It wasn't in her nature to hurt anyone on purpose. He knew what was
needed
as she did work extremely hard. He had noted the ankle swelling earlier, but she hadn't complained and had walked normally. As for now, there was no insult she could throw at him that would stick. “You walking tree, unhand me this instant! You hulking miscreant! Now I’m really mad! Whoa!”

He had marched into her bedroom and slung her down onto the feather mattress. She bounced lightly on the large flower patterned quilt and her large comfortable looking feather pillow. The last time it was the white wood couch where he took her and spoke in soothing tones. Now it was her bedroom which surprised her to sudden silence. Hanging upside down over his shoulder where she could only see his back and feet, she had no idea he was headed there.

She stared up at him with her wide, luminous lavender eyes, all the complaint and anger from her face evaporating. She didn’t say a word as he raised an eyebrow at her. Then he turned and sat down at the edge of the bed. His strong hand grabbed her ankle and he flipped her quickly onto her side. She must have weighed all of a hundred pounds so this was easy for him. Her gasp at being flipped so casually disappeared when he peeled off her shoe and started to massage the bottom of her swollen heel.

His thumbs traced the lines of her insoles up to the ball of her foot, then all the way back down to the pad of her ankle. She had a thick callous all around the edge and he massaged carefully, knowing he had to work out the soreness without hurting her delicate bone structure and tendons. Her back was almost against his back while on her side, legs in a bent kneeling position that placed both feet easily in his lap. As he took the other foot and peeled off that shoe and went to work, he was glad he decided to do this. The tendons felt spongy and ready to sprain with the slightest mis-step. He couldn’t see her expression but knew this was beneficial. Something inside of him reached out for this knowledge and it came easily. Another instinct welling to the surface or some well honed skill that silently dwelt deep within? He couldn't tell for sure which it was so he didn't question the source.

She remained completely silent and he took that as a good sign. He felt that if he rubbed her feet wrong or too hard, she would let him know with a yelp. Once he was sure he had completely relaxed both feet from toes to ankles, he returned to the first foot and massaged the top. This was the part of the foot that met her ankle and was a little more swollen than the heel. He was more careful in that spot as he got the feel for her muscles, knowing exactly how hard or gentle to go. He had to get enough blood to circulate a healing flow to the right area. Yes, she had been in pain for quite some time and never said a word. No wonder she got so stressed out and lost her temper over nothing.

Her foot was completely limp by the time he finished with it, and then he picked up the second foot and started on it’s top. That one was swollen along the ankle joint as well. He spent around fifteen minutes kneading the knotted muscles back to their original shape. He also knew from her breathing that she was asleep. He carefully stood up so she wouldn't wake, grabbed the spare blanket from the open side closet and gently covered her.

Ryan watched her sleep for a few minutes, wishing his heart wouldn’t go out to her like it did. He was certain she was clueless about how he felt. Her carefree happy and playful nature sometimes made him forget that she didn’t know he was in love with her and he would slip a phrase or gesture. As he practiced though, he got better at covering it up until he could figure out if she was so nice to him because she was feeling pity for his situation, or because she had special feelings for him too.

The sun started to set so he went around the large cottage and lit all the candles in their glass pillars. The design was brilliant, easy to light and put out. If one fell over it would extinguish the flame automatically even if the glass broke. Then he went to his own makeshift room; a blanket hanging to partition an area for his bed and little else near the back door. He slipped under the covers with a tired sigh. Before he could ponder his identity or origins yet again, and look for any internal clues as to his knowledge of feet, sleep fixed its grip on his brain and squeezed.