Her gaze fell from his face and settled on the folds of her blue hospital gown. “No one here at the hospital seems to recognize me. I…don’t know if I have any…family.”
His hand was suddenly touching her shoulder and the warmth from it spread through her, easing the chill that she couldn’t seem to shake in spite of the extra blankets the nurses had spread over her.
“If you do, we’ll find them. Trust me on that.”
He sounded so confident, so firm in his conviction, that she had to believe him. Her gaze fluttered back to his face. “I can’t remember anything about the place where you found me. Was it near a house or anything?”
“No. The road is a back road that leads into the mountains. Ranchers use it to move their sheep and cattle from one range to another and hunters travel it during open season. That’s about all. The nearest house to where we found you is probably six or seven miles away.”
She shook her head with dismay. “What could I have been doing there? Was there a car? Anything?”
“Not that we’ve found yet. We’ll be examining your clothes and scouring the area in the morning. If you left anything behind, we’ll find it.”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out. She was exhausted and her body was screaming for sleep, yet she fought the fogginess settling over her. She wanted to be with this man a little longer, absorb the security he lent her.
“If I—don’t remember, is there much you can do to find out who I am?”
His fingers tightened reassuringly on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about that tonight. Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”
He was trying to make her feel better and oddly enough, he was. “I don’t even have a name for you to call me,” she said, then tried to laugh at the ridiculousness of her situation. “I guess I’m a Jane Doe, aren’t I? But please don’t call me that. I never liked the name Jane that much.”
His brows arched. “How do you know something like that without remembering?”
“I—well, I don’t know why I dislike the name. I just know that I do,” she said with faint surprise. “But I guess you’re right. Subconsciously I must be remembering something.”
Brady had never wanted to take anyone in his arms more than he did this woman at this very moment. She looked lost and wounded and utterly beautiful. And everything inside him wanted to make her better.
“See,” he said gently, “your memory will all come back and then you can tell me your real name. But for now let’s give you another one. What would you like to be called?”
One hand lifted, then fell helplessly back to the bed covers. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It must have,” he said with an easy chuckle. “You didn’t want to be called Jane.”
A tiny smile curved her lips and he felt instantly better.
“Well. That’s different,” she said. “I don’t want to be a Jane. I want to be someone real.”
“All right. Then I’m going to call you…” He thought for a moment, then smiled with satisfaction. “Lass.”
Even though her gray eyes were full of sleep, he could see surprise flicker in their drowsy debts.
“Lass,” she repeated as though testing the name on her tongue. “Why?”
Brady couldn’t stop his fingers from moving to her forehead and gently pushing a strand of shiny black hair away from the bruised flesh near her eye. Did this woman have a husband somewhere, he wondered? A husband that often touched her this very same way?
During the time the two of them had spent waiting for the ambulance to arrive, Brady had studied her hands. From a professional standpoint, he’d wanted to see if there had been defensive wounds on her hands or traces of flesh or hair beneath her fingernails from fighting off an attacker. From a personal position, he’d wanted to see if she was wearing a wedding band or engagement ring.
Except for a bit of grime on her palms, her hands had been clean. But that might not mean she was single. Her ring could have been stolen or she could have simply not been wearing it when she’d left home. Or not had one on for very long—not long enough to get a tan line or callus.
“Well, Lassie got lost lots of times,” he reasoned, “and she always found her way back home to her family. Then everyone was happy again. That’s the way it’s going to be with you, Lass.”
She reached for his hand and as her fingers curled loosely around his, her eyelids drifted downward
“Lass,” she repeated sleepily. “That’s very pretty. Thank you, Deputy.”
Brady was about to tell her that no thanks were needed, but at that moment the muscles in her face went lax and the fingers wrapped around his lost their grip and dropped to the white sheet covering her body.
She’d fallen asleep and it was time for him to go, he realized. Yet he lingered beside the bed, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman.
She was smaller than he’d first estimated, but her arms appeared toned and muscled. No doubt the rest of her was as fit, he thought. This told him she wasn’t someone who sat around all day. She either worked at something that required manual labor or she made frequent visits to the gym. Her hair was shiny and well cared for, the straight ends trimmed to blunt precision. Pale pink polish covered her short, well-manicured nails and her satiny smooth skin looked as though it had been pampered since birth.
She definitely wasn’t blue collar, he thought. Along with her grooming habits, there were also the earrings attached to her lobes. If he was a betting man, he’d wager the glittering stones circling the chunks of turquoise were real diamonds. A fact that only added to her strange circumstance.
If someone had whacked her in the head to rob her, why hadn’t the thief taken the pricey jewelry? No, something else had gone down with this little, lost lassie and he was going to do his damnedest to find out.
His thoughts were interrupted by a faint knock on the door and Brady turned from the bed just as his sister stepped into the room.
“I think she’s gone to sleep,” Brady said, hoping he didn’t look as sheepish as he felt. “And I…was just about to leave.”
Bridget peered around his shoulder at her sleeping patient, then back at him. “I’m on my way home. I wanted to see if she recalled anything that might be helpful.”
Brady shook his head. “No.”
“Well, it will come.” She rose on tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Brady. And don’t look worried. You’ve always been good at your job. You’ll figure out where this Jane Doe belongs.”
“She’s not Jane Doe. I’ve named her Lass and that’s what she’s going to go by. Until—well, until she remembers or we figure out her real identity.”
Bridget appeared amused. “Lass, eh? That ought to fit right in with our Irish brood. What are you doing, making plans to adopt her?”
“Damn it, Brita, that remark was uncalled for.”
Frustrated, he stepped around his sister and headed out of the room. Bridget followed closely on his heels and once they were out in the corridor, she grabbed him by the arm.
“Okay. I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I was only trying to lighten things up with a little humor. What’s the matter with you tonight, anyway? You’re as prickly as Grandma’s rose bushes.”
Brady sighed. He honestly didn’t know what was eating at him. He was thankful, very thankful, that he and Hank had just happened to be traveling the road where Lass had lain unconscious. If not, well, he didn’t want to think about the outcome. And yet, the whole ordeal had shaken him, affected him like nothing he’d dealt with before.
“You’re right.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he momentarily closed his eyes. “I guess…it’s not every day that we find someone left on the side of the road for dead. I keep thinking, if that was you I’d want someone to do everything they could to help you.”
Bridget rubbed his forearm with understanding. “I always thought you were too soft-hearted for this job,” she said gently.
A dry smile curved his lips
as he opened his eyes and looked down at her. “Hell, other than Grandma, you’re probably the only one in the family who thinks I have a heart.”
Her soft laugh was full of affection. “That’s because they don’t know you like we do.”
Were his sister and grandmother the only ones who realized he was more than a lawman, covering his heart with a bullet proof vest? How did Lass see him?
Forget that last question, Brady. How Gray Eyes sees you is irrelevant. She’s just a part of your job. Nothing more. Nothing less.
The next morning, Brady and Hank and two other deputies returned to the mountain road near Picacho to search the area for clues. Thankfully, the day was bright and no rain had fallen during the night to wash away evidence. But unfortunately, they found nothing, except a crumpled betting ticket from Ruidoso Downs Racetrack. The twenty-dollar bet, found lying against a clump of sage, about a hundred yards down the road from Lass, had been for a trifecta on the fifth race of yesterday’s card. After a quick call to the track, Brady had learned that the ticket was worthless, so there was no other record of it.
But the money, or lack of it, was inconsequential at the moment, Brady figured. The main question was why the ticket was here on this back road where there was nothing but wilderness? Had a group of party-goers from the track driven out here just to find an isolated place to whoop it up? Teenagers might do something that foolish. But teenagers couldn’t wager. And Lass wasn’t a teen.
None of it made sense to Brady or his partner as they exchanged speculations.
“Maybe Lass was at the track yesterday and the ticket fell out of her pocket when she whammed her head,” Hank said as the two men stood in the middle of the quiet dirt road.
“Or when someone whammed it for her,” Brady said grimly. “We’ll post a few pictures of her at the track. We might get lucky and one of the clerks working the betting cages will recognize her.”
Last night, after Brady and Hank had left the hospital, they’d driven the thirty-mile trip to their headquarters in Carrizozo to finish the remainder of their shift. Before he’d gone home, Brady had looked through as many missing cases that could possibly be tied to the area and he’d come up with nothing that matched Lass’s description. No calls had come in to the sheriff’s office reporting anyone missing. Nor had there been any calls for domestic disputes, robberies or assaults. Other than the incident with Lass, the only thing that had gone on was a few public intoxication and DUI arrests. Like Hank had said, last night had been as quiet as a sleeping cat.
This morning, after a lengthy meeting, Sheriff Hamilton had turned the entire case over to Brady and now as he scanned the rough terrain beyond the smoky lens of his sunglasses, he was feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders. For years now, Ethan Hamilton had been his mentor, even his hero. He never wanted to let the man down. Yet incredibly, it was Lass and her pleading face that was weighing on him the most.
Hank’s voice suddenly interrupted Brady’s deep thoughts. “It’s too bad we couldn’t have found her in the daylight. We might have been able to pick up on more footprints. Looks like most of them were blown away with last night’s wind.”
“No one ever said our job was supposed to be easy,” Brady replied as he continued to study the area around them.
The trees and vegetation weren’t exactly thick, but there was enough juniper and pine for a person to hide or get lost in. Not that either scenario applied to Lass, he thought. But his gut feeling kept telling him that she’d come out of the mountains and then ended up at the road’s edge, rather than the other way around.
“I think I’ll have a talk with Johnny Chino and see if he’ll come have a look at things,” Brady said after a moment. “It might help us to know what direction Lass came from before she ended up in the ditch.”
Hank tossed him a skeptical glance. “Good luck. Johnny hasn’t done any tracking since—well, not for years.”
Brady sighed. The Apache tracker was one of the best. But for a long time now the man had turned his back on a job that had once taken him all over the southwest. Brady didn’t exactly know what sort of personal demons the tracker was carrying around, but he figured working again would be the best way for Johnny to get rid of them.
“He might do it for me. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”
“Like I said, good luck,” Hank muttered.
She was running through inky darkness. Stumbling over rocks and fallen branches. Her breaths were gasps of fire, burning her lungs and stabbing her chest with searing pain. Somewhere, far in front of her, she would find light and safety. If only she could keep running. If only…
“Lass? It’s Dr. Donovan. Wake up and talk with me.”
The firm voice penetrated the dark terror around her and Lass jerked awake with a jolt to see Deputy Donovan’s sister standing next to her bed.
“Oh! It’s you, Doctor.” Shoving a handful of disheveled hair off her face, Lass eased to a sitting position in the bed and blinked her eyes. Her whole body felt damp and her heart was pounding with lingering fear. “I guess I dozed off. I must have been dreaming or maybe I was trying to remember—I don’t know.”
The redheaded doctor studied her closely. “Do you remember your dream?”
Nodding, Lass shivered. “I was running in the dark. Away from something. And I was terrified. That’s all I know.”
The doctor pulled out a pin light and flashed it in both of Lass’s eyes. “Mmm. That’s a common nightmare. It could be a result of the trauma you’ve gone through or you could be remembering something that happened. Hard to say. In any case, I’m happy to report that your scans have been read and there are no fractures to your skull or any other major brain damage. You have a garden variety concussion and it should go away in the next few days. And it’s a positive sign to see that your short-term memory is working. You obviously remember that I’m your doctor and you remembered your dream.”
The doctor put the pin light away and placed a stethoscope to Lass’s chest. Once she’d listened to her satisfaction, then hung the instrument back around her neck, Lass asked, “What about the rest of my memory? I keep working my mind, trying to think past last night. I can’t.”
The doctor gently patted her shoulder. “I’m hopeful that once the swelling in your brain starts to recede and everything begins to heal itself, your memory will return. But in the meantime, I’m going to have a specialist come in this afternoon and speak with you.”
“A specialist?” Lass asked warily. “What kind of specialist?”
Dr. Donovan’s smile was meant to be reassuring. “A psychiatrist.”
Lass stared at her in horror. “Do you…think I’m crazy? Oh, God, I never thought about that! I might have been institutionalized and wandered away. Maybe I hurt someone and they put me away! I—”
With each word that passed her lips, Lass grew more and more agitated.
“Lass,” the doctor said gently. “You need to stop this. I can assure you that no one here has detected any sort of mental illness. The psychiatrist will simply talk to you and perhaps help coax some of your memories to return. That’s all.”
Lass’s shoulders slumped with relief. She didn’t know why her thoughts kept running toward such negative speculations. Had she been in some sort of trouble? Criminal trouble?
What a stupid question, Lass. Trouble might as well be written across your forehead. Anyone who’s found on the side of the road with a head bashed is bound to be connected to some sort of trouble. What do you think you were doing out there in the mountains in the middle of the night? Admiring the wildflowers?
Swallowing, she forced the troubling questions aside and tried to focus on the doctor. “So—how much longer will I have to be in the hospital?” she asked.
“If no complications pop up, I’ll be releasing you tomorrow.” Dr. Donovan smiled with encouragement. “As for this morning, the nurses are going to come in and help you shower and dress. And if you’re steady enough on your feet, you can move a
round somewhat. But I don’t want you overdoing it, okay?”
Lass agreed and the doctor continued to give her a few more orders before she finally said goodbye and left the room.
Once she was gone, Lass let out a heavy sigh as her gaze surveyed her surroundings. For the moment, the small, stark room was her home. But tomorrow she’d be leaving. To where? Where was her home? Oh, God, if she only knew.
Chapter Three
Later that afternoon while Hank questioned workers at the racetrack, Brady drove to the hospital to check on Lass. From the report Bridget had given him earlier this morning, the young woman’s memory was still a blank. But he was hoping each hour that passed would bring her closer to recalling her identity and, moreover, what had happened to her the night before.
On the second floor, he stepped off the elevator and turned right in the direction of Lass’s room, but before he could get past the nurse’s desk, a young woman with long brown hair wrapped in a knot atop her head waved and called to him.
“Hey, Brady! Are you going to the concert next weekend at the rodeo arena?”
He paused as the nurse came rushing up to him. Miranda was a sweet girl he’d once dated a few times, but it had quickly become obvious to both of them that she’d wanted more than just a good time together. Thankfully, she’d understood that he wasn’t looking for a permanent partner and they’d parted on friendly terms.
He shook his head. “Not unless I have to provide security. And right now the city police are planning on handling it.”
With Lass’s case thrown on his plate, he wasn’t going to have much free time in the coming days. Unless, she miraculously recovered, or someone showed up to identify her.
“Guess you’re busy with the Jane Doe thing,” she commented. “I think I ought to tell you that most of the hospital stopped by to see her. We’d been hoping someone would recognize her, but nobody does.”
“Thanks for letting me know, Miranda. I appreciate the attempt.”
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