“No problem.” The sheriff put away his notepad and got to his feet. “That’s my job. But you might want to consider that this wasn’t a mere accident.”
Chloe’s hand slipped off Joe’s shoulder. “Why do you say that?”
“There weren’t any skid marks, so either the driver didn’t see you or was aiming right at you.”
The thought that someone might have been out to get him didn’t sit well, but when Joe shot a glance at Chloe and saw the worry that marred her brow, his concern shifted.
He didn’t like seeing her on edge, which was surely the case since she’d removed the warmth of her support when she’d taken her hand from his shoulder. Neither did he want to bring any trouble her way. But he wasn’t about to reassure her with false promises, especially if he had no clue what kind of complications his presence could cause.
“I don’t want to alarm you or be a conspiracy theorist,” the sheriff added, “but there’s a lot we still don’t know about you. And with your temporary memory loss, you can’t answer any of those questions for us. I can’t ignore the fact that someone might have been out to hit you for some reason. Or that they might not want you in town.”
Joe wished he could reassure both Chloe and the sheriff, but he couldn’t. He might not feel like a wanted man, but how would he know for sure? The lawman was probably just trying to cover all the bases, which was wise. It made sense not to restrict his investigation to the easiest, most obvious case solution.
And while Joe had hoped that the sheriff’s arrival would toss him a life raft of sorts, instead, it had only opened up more worries, more concerns, more what-ifs.
What little solid ground he’d once felt under his feet had been whisked away, leaving him alone, tossed about on a choppy sea with no compass, no oars and no sign of the shore.
“So what do we do?” Chloe asked.
We? He couldn’t expect her to help. She’d done a lot already. But the thought of having someone in his corner of the rowboat helped a little.
“My suggestion would be for Mr. Wilcox to try to keep a low profile,” Hollister said. “It might be best if he stayed here at the ranch until we can investigate further.”
“I’d hoped someone in town might recognize him and be able to tell us more about who he is—and why he’s here,” Chloe said.
Joe wasn’t as concerned for his own safety as he was for hers. So far, she’d been a friend, an ally in his messed-up world, and he didn’t want to do anything that might put her in jeopardy.
“Maybe it’s best if I moved on,” he said.
Chloe placed her hand back on his shoulder. And this time, her fingertips sent a whisper of heat through his veins. Her gaze met his, stirring something deep within. “Where would you go?”
He raked a hand through his hair. How the hell did he know? But he’d figure something out. He had to, before this beautiful stranger turned his mixed-up brain even more inside out.
“It has to be frustrating not to know who you are or why you’re here,” the sheriff said. “But from a safety standpoint, I think it’s more important to get to the bottom of this accident first and then figure out the memory problem later.”
Joe could see how Hollister would be more concerned with a crime being committed in his quaint small town. And while it was helpful of the sheriff to go above the call of duty and look for his personal records, it wasn’t as if Joe was suffering from a simple little “memory problem.” It was a full-blown loss of identity, a loss of control over his life. And his gut clenched at the thought, at the possibilities....
What if he had somewhere else to be at this exact second? Or what if someone needed him, but he was AWOL?
Crap. What if the person waiting for him was his wife?
“Uh, Sheriff,” he said. “Do you know if my military file mentioned anything about me being married or having kids?”
“It didn’t say specifically, but you don’t have any military dependents listed. So my guess would be that you’re single.”
Joe released a pent-up sigh. At least he didn’t have a family worrying about him. Not that he was completely off the hook. There could be someone else who needed him, someone who...
No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t sure how he knew that there was no one else, that no one had ever worried about him. He just did.
“All right,” Chloe said. “I’ll keep Mr. Wilcox on the ranch while you finish looking into whoever did this.”
“Sounds good.” The sheriff made his way to the door, then turned and looked at Joe. “I’ll keep you posted as to what else we uncover. And I’ll call the minute I hear anything from the military.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” Joe supposed he should feel better, yet his jumbled mind couldn’t wrap itself around so many possibilities. And that left him just as confused as he’d been the moment he’d woken up in the E.R.
Well, almost as confused.
“I’ll walk you outside,” Chloe told the sheriff.
As the two stepped onto the porch and continued toward the police car, Joe remained in the living room, feeling like a kid left behind so the grown-ups could have a discussion in private.
But he could see why Chloe might want to talk to the cop in private. No doubt she wanted to relay her fears and misgivings about living with a random stranger.
Hell, if she was afraid, he’d have to leave—no matter what Hollister had suggested. Too bad he had no idea where to go.
For the time being, he headed back to the kitchen, determined to mop the floor and to finish the chore Chloe had started before Hollister had arrived. He figured that he might as well make himself helpful around the house and the ranch so she wouldn’t think of him as an obligation or a burden.
Okay. So he was also curious about what was going on outside, what was being said.
He placed the bucket into the sink, then turned on the faucet. While the water flowed out of the spigot, he looked out the big kitchen window, where Hollister and Chloe stood near the squad car.
The sheriff opened the driver’s door and reached across the seat. Then he handed an envelope to Chloe.
Was that Dave’s letter?
For just being a “family friend,” she was certainly concerned about the guy. Not that Joe had any claim to his personal Florence Nightingale, but he couldn’t stop the uneasy feeling rolling through his stomach.
Or the prickle of jealousy that sketched over him, urging him to try and make Chloe experience her own case of amnesia and forget whatever it was that she felt for Dave Cummings.
* * *
Chloe recognized Dave’s loopy penmanship the moment Sheriff Hollister handed over the letter. She’d been tempted to tear into it right then and there, but she merely stared at the worn and smudged envelope that someone had folded in half, measuring the weight of it in her hand.
Apparently someone had been carrying it around for a while—either Dave or Joe. Maybe even both of them.
“I’m curious about the contents of that letter,” the sheriff said.
She could understand why, but she was reluctant to read what Dave had to say in front of anyone. She wasn’t sure what he’d written—or how it would make her feel. She’d never liked hurting anyone’s feelings or angering them, and realizing that she’d either hurt or angered Dave didn’t sit well with her.
“There might be something inside that would suggest why Wilcox is here,” Sheriff Hollister added.
“I thought you would have opened it as part of your investigation,” Chloe said.
“It’s a sealed envelope. I can’t read it without a warrant, and since Dave Cummings wrote it to you, there’s no reason for me to request one.” Sheriff Hollister reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you find any clues that might help with my investigation, I’d appreciate it if
you’d let me know.”
“Of course.”
He nodded, then climbed into his squad car. “Everything I’ve learned about Wilcox suggests that he’s law-abiding. But if you have reason to believe otherwise, give me a call.”
“I will. Thank you.” She refolded the envelope, then shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans.
Rather than return to the house, she waited until the sheriff left and watched the black-and-white vehicle head down the drive, biding her time and tamping down her compulsion to tear into the missive.
While tempted to dash upstairs and pore over the contents so she could get an idea where Dave was and why Joe had possession of the letter in the first place, she reined in her curiosity. She’d already left Joe alone in the house long enough and didn’t want him to think she was rude—or worse, suspicious of him. So she walked up the porch steps and entered the living room.
She thought her houseguest might have gone back to bed—and if he had, she wouldn’t have blamed him. Those head injuries could really take a lot out of a person. But when she heard noise coming from the kitchen, she went looking for him there. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see him fixing himself a snack. But she hadn’t expected to find a bucket on the wet floor and to see him wringing out the mop.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
His movements stilled, and he leaned against the wooden handle, the muscles in his forearms flexed and primed for heartier work. “Thought I’d better help out and pay for my keep.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Yes, I do. I don’t like taking handouts.” His eye twitched, and his brow furrowed, his words drifting off. Had a memory crossed his mind?
She was afraid to ask since she’d already jumped to that conclusion a couple of times, and she’d been wrong.
“At least, I don’t think I do,” he added.
“Dr. Nielson said that you should take it easy.”
“Yeah, and she also told me to be patient, but something tells me I’m not one to sit around and wait for things to happen.”
She continued to stand in the doorway, the letter burning a hole in her back pocket.
“I’ll tell you what,” Joe said. “I’m almost finished here. As soon as I dump out the dirty water, I’ll go to the barn and check out the stables. That way, you can read the letter the sheriff gave you in private.”
Chloe smoothed her hand over the front of her jeans, fingering the hemmed edge of the pocket, making sure it was still hidden inside. Had she been that obvious?
“I saw Hollister give it to you outside, and if I were in your boots, I’d be dying to read it, too. Especially if it says Joe Wilcox is a nutcase and you shouldn’t let him within a hundred feet of you.” He smiled, but she knew he was itching for a clue as to why he was here.
Still, she wanted to be alone when she read whatever Dave hadn’t wanted to tell her in person.
If truth be told, she felt badly about possibly hurting his feelings while he was in a war zone, no matter how gentle she’d tried to be. And she regretted the distance her honesty had created between them.
“Thanks for understanding,” she said. “I’ll let you know if it says anything about you.”
Joe nodded. Then he began to mop the floor under the table, which was the only dry spot left. After he finished, he leaned the mop against the wall and carried the bucket through the mudroom and out into the yard.
When Chloe was finally alone, she went into the living room, took a seat in the chair in which Sheriff Hollister had once sat and took the envelope from her pocket. After opening it, she withdrew the letter and unfolded the single sheet of paper.
Chloe,
If you’re reading this letter, then that means Joe found you for me and hand-delivered it.
I can never thank you enough for what you did for my mom during her last days, and I’m sorry that my love and gratitude made you uncomfortable. Even though my feelings weren’t reciprocated, that doesn’t mean that I felt them any less.
I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than with you. But if you’re not interested in what we could have together, then I won’t bother you again.
Goodbye.
Dave
Chloe read the short note several times, focusing on the last cryptic part. Dave had a penchant for the melodramatic, so it was hard to know what he meant. Still, he didn’t have to stay away. The ranch belonged to him, and she would gladly turn the reins back over to him when he came home.
If he came home. Joe clearly knew where he could be found—that is, if his memory ever returned. When it did, she’d ask him to contact Dave and tell him she was leaving, that she couldn’t stay on the Rocking C forever.
But why hadn’t Dave contacted her in person? And why had he wanted the letter delivered when it would have been much easier to mail it? Or even to call?
Had Dave asked Joe to evict her? Maybe, once she’d cleared out of the house, Joe was to inform Dave so that he could return to the Rocking C without having to see her.
But if that was the case, all he’d had to do was say the word and she’d start packing.
However, she wouldn’t leave the ranch unattended until he actually arrived. So he’d just have to man up and deal with her temporary presence.
In the meantime, what in the world was she going to do with Joe?
And what would he tell her once his memory returned? She had no idea.
For a moment, she pondered showing him Dave’s letter, thinking it might jar his memory. But she didn’t consider that option very long. She’d just tell Joe that Dave had asked him to deliver it in person.
Perhaps just her reassurance that Joe was actually Dave’s friend was enough. It would have to be—until she figured out just what Dave meant when he said, “But if you’re not interested in what we could have together, then I won’t bother you again. Goodbye. Dave.”
What if he’d actually been saying goodbye forever? What if Dave had...?
Oh, God. And what if, somehow, it had been her fault?
Chapter Four
As Joe made his way through the Rocking C barn, the smell of straw and dust stirred more than his senses. He stopped for a moment, scanning the walls where the tack hung and pondering the feeling of déjà vu that settled over him.
Had he actually been here before? It seemed as though he had.
Or was it something about the ranch or the scent of feed and leather that made him feel at home?
A horse whinnied, and he continued to walk to the back of the barn, where an Appaloosa was stabled.
“Hey there,” he told the mare. “How’s it going?”
She snorted, threw back her head, then stepped closer.
He reached in to stroke her neck. He didn’t know how long he stood there, talking to the horse, striking up a friendship of sorts. Certainly long enough for Chloe to have read her letter from Dave.
He supposed he could go back into the house now, but he lingered in the barn, trying to wrap his mind around the cloak of familiarity. Too bad he wasn’t having much luck.
Behind him, boot steps sounded. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted the approach of a stocky, middle-aged cowboy.
When their eyes met, the man introduced himself. “I’m Tomas Hernandez, the ranch foreman. You must be Joe Wilcox.”
For some reason, even though he’d been assured that his identity had been confirmed, the name still didn’t seem to fit. That was probably to be expected with amnesia.
Shaking off the lingering uneasiness, Joe turned away from the horse and reached out a hand to greet the foreman.
“It’s good to see you out and about,” Hernandez said. “I heard about the accident. Sounds like you were lucky.”
Joe didn’t feel so lucky. He felt
lost and out of control. But he wasn’t about to whine about it. “I suppose it could have been a whole lot worse.”
Hernandez nodded. “You’re right. You still could be laid up in the hospital.”
Or in the morgue.
Again, Joe let the reality of the thought pass. “The doctor said to take it easy, but I’m going stir-crazy. I never have been able to sit still.”
He wasn’t sure how he knew that. Maybe because he was chomping at the bit to get back to normal, whatever that might be.
“If you have any work that needs to be done,” Joe added, “just say the word. I’d like to help out any way I can.”
“Chloe said you’re still recovering and won’t be available for a while.”
So they’d talked about him. Joe couldn’t blame them, he supposed. But he didn’t like the idea of being a burden—or someone’s problem. In fact, his gut twisted at the thought, and a shadow of uneasiness draped over him once more, this time weighing him down even worse than the amnesia did.
“I figure I’ll take it easy today,” he told Hernandez. “But I’ll be ready to pitch in tomorrow.”
“That’s good to hear. I’m down a ranch hand, so there’s plenty to keep us both busy for a while.”
As the silence stretched between them, they assessed each other like two stray dogs wondering if they should be friends or foes.
Joe nodded toward the mare. “She’s a pretty horse.”
“Yes, she is. And she has good bloodlines, too. Her name’s Lola. She’s going to foal soon, so I brought her in and stabled her until her time comes.”
Joe still couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been on the ranch before. And in the barn. Did Hernandez recognize him?
“Have you worked here long?” he asked the foreman.
“About four years.” Hernandez lifted his hat, revealing a balding head. “It’ll be five this coming February.”
“I don’t suppose you recognize me,” Joe said.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
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