At the sound of footsteps padding down the hall, he turned to the doorway, where the pretty blonde stood holding a stack of folded clothes.
“Good morning,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay, I guess. Last night, before dozing off, I convinced myself that I would wake up feeling completely back to normal and with my memory intact.”
“And...?”
“My head doesn’t feel nearly as bad as before. But my memory?” He clucked his tongue. “Still nothing.”
“How about a cup of coffee? Maybe a jolt of caffeine will trigger something.”
Just seeing his pretty caretaker wearing a snug black sweater, leaning sexily in the doorway was enough to jolt him wide awake. But he wasn’t about to make a comment like that. “Sure, coffee sounds great.”
“How do you like it?”
“Black.” The fact that he’d had an answer for her was enough to make him think his memory might actually return before long. He just wished it would hurry up. The brain fog was enough to make him climb the walls.
“You got it,” she said. “How about bacon and eggs? I could also whip up some oatmeal or maybe some hotcakes for you. Do you have a preference?”
Nothing jumped out at him. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“Nonfat Greek yogurt and bananas?”
No, he’d pass on the healthy crap. A slow grin tugged at his lips. “Would hotcakes and bacon be too much trouble?”
She tossed him a sunny smile. “Not at all. Do you want me to serve you in here?”
While having a beautiful blonde sit on his bed, spoon-feeding him, triggered an intriguing vision and opened up some interesting possibilities, he didn’t want her to think of him as an invalid. “No, I’ll come out to the kitchen.”
She lifted the folded clothing in her arms. “I brought you something you can wear—pants and shirts that belong to Dave. I also put fresh towels on the bathroom counter.”
A shower sounded good. And so did having breakfast with her. “Thanks.”
“Did you want to eat first?”
“If you don’t mind. I want to take another dose of my pain medication, and I’m not supposed to do that on an empty stomach.”
“You got it. I’ll have it on the table in no time at all.” She tossed him another smile, then placed the clothing on the top of the dresser.
When she turned and left the room, he threw off the covers, wincing when he bumped the scrape on his knuckles that was no longer protected by the bandage he’d removed, and got out of bed. He couldn’t very well join her for breakfast without clothes. And since he was going to postpone the shower for later, he snatched the pair of folded jeans off the stack she’d set on top of the dresser, slipped them on and followed the aroma of sizzling bacon to the kitchen, where he found Chloe standing at the stove, her back to him. Her long blond hair had been pulled back into a ponytail.
Apparently, she hadn’t heard him approach the kitchen, so he could just stand here and enjoy the view. But something told him not to get caught up in romantic dreams when he had no idea who he was or where he was going—or if there was a family waiting for him somewhere. So he decided to let his presence be known. “Something sure smells good.”
* * *
At the sound of Joe’s voice, Chloe turned to the kitchen doorway, where he stood wearing one of Dave’s T-shirts and a pair of jeans. Yet that’s where any similarities between the two men ended.
Dave had been fair-haired and on the thin side, while Joe was dark-haired with an olive complexion. His bulkier frame filled out that T-shirt in a way Dave never had.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.
“No, I have everything under control. Just come on in and have a seat.”
As he complied, taking one of the kitchen chairs near the bay window that looked out into the nearest pasture, she poured him a mug of coffee and carried it to the table.
He thanked her, then took a sip. “You know, I really appreciate you providing me with a temporary place to stay, although I don’t like the idea of causing you extra work.”
“It’s no problem.”
“Maybe not, but I’d be happy to help out any way I can.”
Since the ranch hand who usually helped Tomas with the chores had taken some time off to visit his family in Mexico, there was plenty to do. “That’s nice of you to offer. And I might take you up on it—once you’re feeling strong enough.”
He smiled, revealing a pair of dimples and a glimmer in those amazing blue eyes. For a moment, she lost her train of thought.
“I’ll start today,” he said, “but don’t worry. I’ll take it slow and easy.”
“Let’s wait until tomorrow. I’d feel better if you had a little more time to rest.”
“All right. Then I’ll just have to hang out here at the house. But I promise not to get in your way or cause you any trouble.”
Something told her that any trouble that came her way would be of her own making. “I’m sure you won’t be. And to be honest with you, it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to every now and then.”
The big old ranch house could get lonely at times, especially in the evenings.
“So you’re a guest here, too,” he said.
She nodded, then turned back to the hotcakes that were browning on the griddle. She flipped each one over, then reached for a platter on which she could put them as soon as they were done.
“So what do you do when you’re not nursing the injured?” he asked.
“I’m between jobs right now, which worked out okay in the long run. Tomas, the ranch foreman, is shorthanded, so I’ve been helping out when I can.”
In truth, Tomas was a good worker—and he tried hard. But he’d never really had a supervisory role before. But when the previous foreman retired, Chloe had to find someone to step up to the plate. If she’d had more money to work with to offer a fair wage to someone better equipped, she would have. As it was, she promoted him based upon seniority.
“When you go back to job hunting,” Joe said, “what kind of work do you do?”
“I used to be an aide at an assisted-living facility in town. I also plan to attend nursing school next semester.”
“Pretty cool. I have my very own Florence Nightingale to help me get back on the mend.”
She turned to face him again and smiled. “Nursing has always been a dream of mine.”
Of course, after being terminated from the Sheltering Arms, she’d spent a little time wondering if she’d pinned her heart on the wrong dream.
Had Teresa Cummings, Dave’s mother, still been alive, Chloe would have shared her disappointment and concern over her firing, which had seemed so unfair.
Then again, if Teresa had been alive, she would have advised Chloe to handle things differently at the time than she had, to confront her boss, to stir the pot. And if the administrator had seen fit to fire her anyway, Teresa might have encouraged her to file a wrongful termination suit.
But Chloe had never liked making waves. So she’d rolled over and walked away from the one job that had been the perfect fit for her.
She was tempted to share the details with Joe, but she bit her tongue. What did she really know about him?
Sure, she was drawn to him, although she blamed that on him being injured and her having a nurse’s heart. She’d always been a nurturer, and she knew she’d make a good R.N. someday. But it wasn’t just her heart Joe had touched. There was something about him she found attractive.
But she’d already had one bad relationship, if you could even call it that. Either way, she’d made a big mistake and didn’t trust her judgment or instincts about men these days. And as long as she didn’t act upon that attraction, they ought to get along just fine.
Chapter Three
By ten o’clock, Chloe had done two loads of laundry, cleaned the stove and washed the big bay window near the antique oak table. She enjoyed having her morning coffee where she could look out into the yard and pastures, so keeping the glass spotless had always been a priority.
While she worked, she kept the noise down. Joe might have offered to help her out on the ranch, but not long after eating breakfast and taking his pain medication, he’d mentioned being dizzy and had returned to the guest room and taken a nap. And she was glad that he’d done so.
Like it or not, he’d suffered a concussion. There was no way she would let him push himself too hard until he’d fully recovered.
She’d grown up as an army brat—the only girl with two older brothers, so she knew how stubborn men could be and how hard it was to admit their weakness. She’d keep that in mind the next time he offered to help. In the meantime, she continued to do her morning chores.
Next up was the kitchen floor. She’d just entered the mudroom to retrieve the plastic bucket and mop when the phone rang, so she hurried back to the kitchen and answered the old-style wall-mounted telephone before the noise disturbed Joe.
“Chloe,” the caller said, “it’s Betsy Nielson. How’s our patient doing this morning?”
“He had a good breakfast. Now he’s resting again.”
“Good. Is he able to remember anything yet?”
“Not that I’ve seen so far.”
“Give it some time. My husband, Jason, suffered from amnesia about four years ago. It was pretty tough on him, but his memories slowly began to return.”
“How long did it take?”
“A couple of weeks. But each case is different, so it’s impossible to predict. Just encourage Joe to be patient and let nature take its course.”
“I will.” Chloe wrapped the coiled phone cord around her index finger. “Has there been any news? I mean, how is the investigation going?”
“I haven’t heard, but I’m sure Sheriff Hollister will be contacting Joe soon to give him an update.”
“That’s good. Joe will be eager to talk to him.”
After the call ended, Chloe placed the receiver back in the cradle on the wall. She was eager to hear what the sheriff had to say, too. She hadn’t heard from Dave in months and wondered where he was—and why he’d sent a letter to her through someone else.
A few weeks ago she’d written to him, but he hadn’t responded. Then, just last Monday, she’d found her letter in the mailbox. The military had forwarded it to Dave, using the ranch address, which led her to believe his tour of duty had ended and that he’d been discharged.
If that was the case, then why hadn’t he contacted her or come home yet? If he had actually been discharged, then he was no longer in Afghanistan. And that was a relief. Sure, his attachment to her had made her uncomfortable, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about him.
She wasn’t sure why he’d latched on to her like he had. She suspected that stress, battle fatigue and the recent death of his mother had all compounded and caused him to assume their friendship was something it had never been.
She’d done her best to explain that to him, but he couldn’t seem to get the picture. Finally, when he began naming the children he’d imagined them having, she’d sent him a nice letter, trying to be kind, yet firm and direct.
Of course, she’d have to move off the ranch now that he was home. She couldn’t risk having him think that there was any chance of her changing her mind about the two of them having a future together. Maybe, if he was out of the service and back in Brighton Valley, he could be more realistic about their relationship.
Either way, she would leave the Rocking C as soon as he arrived. She’d been looking after the ranch and trying to hold things together for him while he was gone, but her savings were just about gone, and the bills were still mounting up. She hoped he returned while he could still dig his way out of the hole he probably didn’t know he was in.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
Chloe turned to find Joe standing in the kitchen doorway. He was still wearing the same clothes. Even though he hadn’t yet showered and appeared to be a bit battered, he looked as sexy as ever.
“My thoughts aren’t worth much,” she said, shaking off her worries and forcing a smile.
“Either way, I’m sorry, Chloe. I didn’t mean to offer my services, then get dizzy and pass out on you.”
Her smile deepened. “Don’t give that a second thought. There’ll be plenty to keep you busy when the time comes. It’s best if you take it easy for now.”
She couldn’t help taking in his broad chest, the masculine bristle he’d yet to shave and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. Again, she couldn’t help comparing him to Dave, which wasn’t fair to the other man. Not when Joe was drop-dead gorgeous.
He seemed to be checking her out just as closely as she’d been assessing him. Flushing, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, wishing she’d put on something other than jeans this morning.
At the sound of an approaching vehicle’s engine, Chloe peered out the window and into the yard, where a police car pulled up.
“The sheriff is here,” she said.
Joe stiffened. A flicker of emotion tumbled across his face, while apprehension marred his brow.
The poor man. Chloe crossed the room, reached out and touched his forearm, felt the warmth of his body heat. “It’ll be okay.”
His gaze seemed to say, I hope you’re right, yet the tension in his stance suggested he had his doubts. Then he pulled free and headed for the living room, with her following behind.
* * *
Joe opened the front door, where a uniformed law enforcement officer stood on the stoop.
“I’m Shane Hollister,” the sheriff said. “I’m heading up the investigation into your hit-and-run accident.”
The words wadded up in Joe’s throat. What was he supposed to say, other than “Thank God. What news do you have?”
Yet for some reason, facing the lawman sent a wisp of apprehension through him.
Damn. Did he have some reason to feel guilty?
Rather than stew about all the memories that evaded him, he shook off the uneasiness and said, “Hello, Sheriff.”
Hollister gave him a once-over. “It’s good to see you up and around. How are you doing?”
“Not bad. But I still can’t remember squat—if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, maybe I can help.” The sheriff handed him a wallet. “I meant to give you this before you left the hospital, but I missed you.”
“That’s okay.” Joe turned the dark leather over in his hands, then flipped it open. He pulled out the California driver’s license.
Sure enough, that was his photo staring back at him, verifying his name was Joseph Wilcox, even if it still didn’t sound familiar. According to his address, he lived on base at Camp Pendleton.
“Please,” Chloe told the sheriff, “come in and have a seat.”
Hollister chose one of the chairs near the fireplace, then pulled a small notepad from his breast pocket. He flipped through a couple of pages before launching into his reason for coming by.
“We got a hit on your military service record,” he told Joe. “It looks like you were medically discharged from the Marine Corps a few months ago.”
If that were the case, then his address was no longer valid.
“The military won’t release much of your information,” Hollister said, “but I have a buddy up at the Houston NCIS office looking into it for me.”
“NCIS?” Chloe asked.
“It stands for Naval Criminal Investigative Service,” Hollister explained. “They work with both the navy and the Marine Corps, so my friend should be able to access
info for us. Hopefully we’ll know more later this week.”
“Was there any word about Joe serving with Dave?” Chloe asked. “Or do you have any idea where Dave might be?”
“Not yet. That’s something my contact at NCIS might be able to provide.” Hollister turned his focus back to Joe. “It looks like you joined the Marines about six months after your eighteenth birthday. You were a staff sergeant at the time of your discharge, which tells me that you probably had a stellar service record to move up the ranks so quickly.”
Joe blew out a ragged sigh. “That’s good to know, I suppose. It’s too bad I can’t recall some of that stellar service myself.”
Chloe eased up to his chair and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Dr. Nielson said to give it some time. Her husband suffered from amnesia a few years back, and his memory returned slowly over the course of a few weeks.”
“That sounds like ages to me,” Joe said. “I’ve never had much patience.”
“You haven’t?” As if eager to grab on to anything positive, Chloe gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’d say that’s good news.”
Joe looked up at her and furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“If you know that so readily about yourself, then it sounds like a memory has returned already.”
Unfortunately, Joe didn’t find that very helpful and returned his gaze to the sheriff. “Have you found out anything else about the person who hit me?”
“Judging from the tire tracks and a couple of eyewitness accounts, we think the perp was parked at the Stagecoach Inn and jumped the curb before hitting you. I have a couple of my deputies questioning all the patrons who were there that night—and looking over their cars to see if there’s any corresponding bodywork damage. But that’s assuming it was one of the locals. We’re still gathering credit-card records in case it was someone who was just passing through on the highway and decided to stop off at the bar for a few drinks to wait out the evening traffic.”
“I appreciate your efforts to find whoever it was who hit me,” Joe said. “And for helping me piece my life back together.”
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