Will and Elizabeth Meet on Rancho Arroyo (Book One, Chapter Two, Section 1)

        Will awoke cold and confused. He had no idea where he was or how he came to be there, though he felt both exhausted and weak, as though he had traveled a long distance. He turned his head to the side, seeking some clue about his location, and saw light streaming in through a window on the other side of the room. Indoors. He was in a room somewhere. The room was clean but sparsely furnished, with a table and set of chairs near the window. He was in a bed. There was an unknown woman sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, and he could not sit up.

He tried again to move, but stopped when he felt a sharp pain shooting from his left leg up through his right shoulder. He grunted in pain and fell back against the bed. Something was very wrong with his body. Moaning, he tried again. He was in unfamiliar surroundings, without a clue about how he arrived there, and it wasn’t safe for him to stay in this bed. It wasn’t safe for him to be at such a disadvantage. What if these people weren’t his friends? What if danger came through the door? He needed to be up and moving, ready for whatever came his way. He didn’t know how he’d come here, but he could remember that there had been danger, and recently. Something had been wrong, and he had been scared the last time he was awake.

Suddenly, though, the woman was at his side, no doubt roused by his struggles to rise.

“Hush, now,” she said, pushing him back down on the bed. “It isn’t safe for you to move. You’ve been hurt, and you’ll tear the stitches I put in.”

Will sank back onto the bed, registering the increased pain in his thigh and shoulder and trying to process what she had said. “Where am I?” he mumbled.

The woman smiled kindly. “You are on my family’s ranch.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Elizabeth Arroyo,” she answered quietly.

Will frowned, thinking. That name was familiar. Did he know her? Had she been his friend once, or had her husband helped him at some time? He tried to track the thought but had trouble focusing through the pain in his shoulder, and put the idea away for another time.

  “What is your name?” the woman was asking.

He thought briefly, forcing his mind to function. His head was terribly sore, as though he’d been drinking for weeks, and didn’t want to work the way it should. "Will,” he remembered suddenly. “My name is Will Austin." 

“Will Austin. Welcome. You are on my family’s ranch outside the town of Santa Maria, about 50 miles south of the border. You have been here for two days.”