Under The Mistletoe With John Doe

by Judy Duarte

  “Sure.”

  “You know,” Doc said, brightening, “why don’t you invite Betsy to come over and eat with you?”

  A grin tugged at John’s lips. “That would be nice. And neighborly.”

  Doc opened the pantry door and pulled out another bottle of wine, that one a white-pinot grigio.

  “Why don’t you serve this?” Doc put it in the refrigerator to chill. “It’ll go well with the chicken.”

  It would go well with candles and a little mood music, too. The possibilities were opening up by the minute.

  “Thanks,” John said. “I think I’ll head over there and ask her to dinner now.”

  He hoped she would agree because he’d like to spend the evening with her.

  And have her all to himself.

  Betsy had hung up the telephone and was pondering the conversation she’d just had with Roy Adkins, a private investigator, when a knock sounded.

  She still held the portable receiver in her hand when she crossed the small living room to see who’d stopped by to see her. She never had company drop by without an invitation, so she figured it had to be either John or Doc.

  And she was right. As she swung open the door, John stood on her porch wearing a heart-stopping grin.

  “Have you started dinner yet?” he asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “Because Doc put some chicken in the oven, then got a better dinner offer and took off. Do you want to join me?”

  “Sure, why not? I have some vegetables I can make. I’ll bring them over to Doc’s and fix them there. Just give me a minute.”

  As John scanned the inside of her living room, with its new pale green love seat and the matching chair upholstered in a floral print, she realized he hadn’t been inside the guesthouse before.

  “You can come in, if you like, but I’ll just be a minute.” She lifted the telephone receiver she still held. “Oops, I’d better put this away first.”

  “Did you want to make a call? I can take the vegetables with me, and you can come over when you’re finished.”

  “Actually, the call just ended. It was the private investigator Carla hired to find me.”

  “Carla?”

  “My biological mother. I guess she wasn’t happy with the answer I gave her attorney a couple of weeks ago-that I didn’t want to set up a meeting just yet. She’s eager to talk to me, but I told the investigator the same thing I told her attorney. I’m stretched to the limit right now and don’t want to set a date or time.” Betsy put the receiver back in the cradle. “Wait here. It’ll just take me a minute to get the veggies.”

  She went into the kitchen, picked out a ripe tomato, an onion, several zucchinis, a small package of frozen corn and some low-fat cheddar cheese.

  When she returned, John was still standing on the porch. “I’m surprised you put off meeting her. If I was approached by a family member, I’d jump on it.”

  Under the circumstances, she was sure that he would. But her situation was different.

  As they headed outside, the sun was setting, taking away the last bit of warmth in the day.

  “I’d like to meet her,” Betsy admitted, “but my life is complicated these days…” And, truthfully, she wasn’t sure when it would be any better.

  A bevy of goose bumps lit on her arms, which she suspected was a result of the half-truth she’d told the investigator and had just repeated to John.

  He didn’t question her comment, and she was glad that he hadn’t. The fact was, she was downright afraid to meet Carla and open up her life-and that of her parents-to a complete stranger.

  How would she feel upon meeting the woman who’d given her up? How would any of them feel?

  She stole another glance at John, realizing that one stranger at a time was about all she could handle, all she would risk.

  But the call from Mr. Adkins had given her another idea, and she’d pondered hiring her own investigator to search for John’s roots. But at this point, she wouldn’t go that far. Still, she was eager for his memory to return. Maybe when he found his identity and remembered his past, it would settle her uneasiness about getting physically-and emotionally-involved with a man she really didn’t know.

  As they crossed the front lawn, John pointed toward the pasture. “Do you see that palomino mare and the roan gelding grazing over there?”

  “Yes, that’s Buck and Sadie. What about them?”

  His steps slowed, and as he studied the horses in the pasture, a look crossed his face that she almost considered a yearning. And an appreciation for horses maybe.

  “I talked to Doc about this already,” John said, “and one of these days I’m going to take the gelding for a ride. Sadie would be perfect for you, if you still want to go along.”

  “That sounds like fun. But where did you learn to ride?”

  He shrugged. “I…don’t know.”

  “Maybe you’re from Texas,” she said. “Maybe.”

  Of course that was still anyone’s guess.

  “I was working with them yesterday,” John said, “and I had a… Well, I can’t exactly call it a memory, but it was a piece of one. I remember riding along an equestrian trail, enjoying a sunset and feeling the ocean breeze on my face.”

  “You might have experience on a ranch.”

  “It seems like it.”

  “And ocean breezes would limit the states that you’re from.”

  He turned to her, that sense of yearning gone. “But not nearly enough. There are a lot of states that border an ocean. And I could have been on vacation.”

  So they still had nothing concrete to go on.

  They continued on their way. Once inside Doc’s kitchen, Betsy checked the chicken roasting in the oven, as well as the potatoes Doc had added, deciding dinner was nearly done.

  Next, she washed the vegetables, chopped them into chunks and sautéed them in olive oil with a little salt and pepper. As the veggies were starting to soften, she added grated cheese on top and covered the skillet with a lid.

  “I’ll set the table,” John said. “And since Doc suggested we try the pinot grigio with dinner and put it in the refrigerator to chill, I’ll uncork the bottle.”

  “That sounds nice. I can’t remember the last time I had a glass of wine with dinner.” Or when she’d had a quiet meal with a man whose smile seemed to turn her inside out.

  Before long, dinner was ready, and they were both seated at Doc’s dining-room table, where John had lit a couple of tapered candles. It was a romantic touch, and she wondered why John had lit them.

  Was he a romantic at heart?

  Or was he just trying to provide her with a special evening?

  She ought to ignore the romantic aura, but she couldn’t help appreciating it-and even basking in it.

  “The chicken is really tasty,” John said. “And while I’m not usually a big fan of vegetables, these are really good.” He looked up, his gaze catching hers. Instead of the usual heart-strumming intensity in his eyes, she could see frustration on his brow.

  “I keep remembering all kinds of insignificant things,” he said, “but nothing that’s actually helpful.”

  “Your memory will come back to you.”

  “Yeah. But when?”

  Betsy rested her forearms on the table and her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “I wish I had the answer.”

  With the truth of her statement ringing in their ears, they continued to eat and enjoy their wine in relative silence. When they finished, Betsy helped John with the dishes.

  “I have next Sunday off,” she finally said. “So unless something changes and I get called in to cover someone’s shift, I’m going to have my parents over for an early dinner. Do you want to join us? I’ll be inviting Doc, too.”

  “Thanks, I’d like that. But make a grocery list and let me pick up the food for you. I owe your dad a meal, and I’ll have my first paycheck by then, according to Doc. He’s insisting on paying me for fixing the truck and being his ranch hand.�
�

  “I’m not going to let you spend your first check on groceries. Maybe next time, okay?”

  He hesitated a moment, then finally said, “All right.”

  Betsy really hadn’t planned to include John in activities with her family again, especially when there was so much she still didn’t know about him. But because pieces of his past had already come back to him while being on the ranch, like a familiarity with horses, she found herself thinking that being around her mom and dad might stir his memory about his own parents.

  At least that’s the excuse she gave herself. But as they stood at the sink together, he lifted a handful of bubbles and blew them at her, showing her a playful side of him. She couldn’t help flicking her fingers, splattering water droplets and foam his way.

  They both laughed, and she realized that her efforts to keep him at arm’s distance were failing miserably.

  She was becoming emotionally involved with John, whether she wanted to or not, and she struggled with what she ought to do about it.

  When they had the kitchen put back in order, she was tempted to make an excuse to stick around awhile longer. But instead, she told him she was going to go home, that she wanted to turn in early for the night.

  “Okay, then I’ll walk you home.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I know.” His gaze enveloped her, wrapping her up in some kind of electrically charged force field, protecting her it seemed. And suddenly, a whole lot of things didn’t seem to matter anymore.

  How could she not be right about him? How could he not have a romantic and protective nature?

  So she dropped any and all objections as she headed for the door with John on her heels.

  “Where’s your jacket?” he asked.

  “I forgot to bring one.”

  “Then take this.” He reached for the coat tree, removed the corduroy jacket he’d been wearing earlier and held it for her while she slipped her arms in the sleeves. Then he opened the door and waited until she walked outside.

  It was dark tonight. A few scattered clouds hid most of the stars and the moon, but they were still overhead, twinkling and casting their celestial glow.

  It had been a wonderful evening, and Betsy wasn’t ready for it to end.

  When her shoulder bumped against him, it took everything she had not to reach for his hand, not to slip her arm through his.

  A twig crunched under her foot, and somewhere in the pasture, a horse whinnied.

  When they reached the steps to her house, she paused, wanting to prolong their time together. “Thanks for a nice evening.”

  “The pleasure was mine.”

  Still, neither of them moved.

  His gaze zeroed in on hers, and her heart buzzed with anticipation. She was sorely tempted to make a romantic move but didn’t.

  Thank goodness she didn’t have to.

  John placed his hands on her waist and drew her toward him, touching his lips to hers, offering a kiss she knew she really ought to refuse. But she’d be darned if she would deny herself the opportunity to hold him one more time. To feel his mouth pressed on hers, to taste him. To…

  Oh, how that man could kiss! Her heart soared, her pulse raced and her knees nearly gave out on her.

  When it finally ended, leaving her breathless, he ran his knuckles along the side of her cheek, blazing a trail of heat to her core. It had been so long… Too long.

  As her mind swirled with what-ifs, his words whispered over her, low and husky. “Good night, Betsy. Sleep well.”

  She merely nodded, letting him go, even though every cell in her body was demanding that she invite him in for a nightcap-or whatever else might cross his mind.

  John had missed out on one hell of an opportunity last night when he let Betsy go with just a kiss. He knew he could have pressed for more, and by the look in her eyes, she probably would have welcomed it. But in his heart, he sensed that she was treading carefully with him.

  And he should take things slow, too. He really didn’t know if he was free to pursue her.

  Was he married? Engaged? Dating someone special?

  Either way, he seemed powerless to stop the growing attraction or the subtle infiltration of her scent and her smile into his thoughts, even when she wasn’t around.

  Of course, that didn’t mean he hadn’t been productive. Doc’s truck was running like a charm now, thanks to the new starter. So he’d been able to drive himself to the rescheduled appointment with Dr. Kelso today. Then he’d oiled the hinges on the barn door and repaired the broken latch on the corral. Doc had quite a few fix-it projects, and John had gotten a good number of them done this week.

  Now, here he was, as usual, waiting for Betsy to come home.

  She’d been working the day shift this past week, but she was still away from the ranch from dawn until dusk.

  So after he’d shooed Doc out of the kitchen and washed the dishes, he’d gone out to the front porch and took a seat in one of the rockers to wait for Betsy to come home.

  And just as he’d learned to expect, she arrived a little after seven-thirty, parked her car and joined him. She was wearing a white lab coat over a black pantsuit, and her curls had been swept up into an attractive twist-the kind a man might like to unpin and let fall down around her shoulders.

  Maybe it was her hairstyle or the clothing she was wearing instead of her usual scrubs, but she seemed to be more dressed up than usual.

  “So how did your appointment go today?” she asked, as she took a seat in the empty rocker and set it in motion.

  “Physically, I’m doing fine. But I still can’t remember anything other than a few fleeting images here and there.”

  Dr. Kelso hadn’t seemed too bothered by that, and following an exam, told John he was doing great otherwise.

  “No more limitations?” she asked.

  “Well, he doesn’t want me involved in any strenuous activity or contact sports for another week or so. But I can pretty much do anything else.”

  For some reason, when the doctor had mentioned activity, the only physical endeavor that came to mind was sex. And the only woman he could imagine taking to bed was Betsy. So he’d specifically asked Dr. Kelso about making love, just in case Betsy had been holding back out of concern for his well-being.

  The doctor had given his okay, but that would be John’s ace in the hole. There wasn’t any reason for Betsy to think that he was hoping their next heated kiss would evolve into more.

  So they enjoyed the night sounds for a while and made small talk. Still, he couldn’t help deciding that Betsy had been unusually quiet tonight.

  “Is something bothering you?” he asked.

  Silence enveloped them for a moment. Then Betsy slowed her rocking motion. “There was a hospital board meeting this afternoon, and things got a little tense. I’m afraid the medical center is struggling financially and may not be able to stay afloat another year.”

  “What happened? Mismanagement of funds?”

  She shook her head. “It’s complicated. But the biggest problem is that the community wasn’t quite large enough to support a medical facility when it was first built.”

  “Sounds like a mistake in planning,” he said, thinking someone who got paid very well to avoid that sort of thing had dropped the ball.

  “Maybe so, but the population and demographic projections show that it’s just a matter of time when it will be. So the only thing we can do is to wait it out and hope we can stay afloat and hold our own until then.”

  John stole a glance at Betsy, saw her brow furrowed, her mind clearly burdened. He didn’t like seeing her worried about something she couldn’t do anything about. As an outsider looking in, it seemed to him that the investors had a lot more to worry about than she did.

  “If the hospital has to close its doors,” he said, “you’ll find other work. You’re a skilled doctor and you’ve established a name for yourself in town. You shouldn’t have any problem if you go back to private pra
ctice.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  She glanced down at the hands in her lap-gifted hands, talented hands. And when she looked up, worry was still splashed across her face.

  The hospital, he realized, was her life. But that was sad. A woman like Betsy deserved to have it all-love, marriage, kids if she wanted them.

  Not that she should give up a career to do that. A lot of women managed to juggle both just fine, and he suspected that she could be one of them.

  Unless, of course, she didn’t want to be. And she was the only one who held the answer to that. So he decided to bide his time and see what she would reveal.

  Betsy wasn’t sure why she’d confided as much as she had in John. It’s not as though he could help her with the solution to her problems. But for some reason, she found herself sharing things with him anyway.

  Of course, she didn’t want to tell him that she’d invested her life savings in the hospital. Not when most people in Brighton Valley thought she was just a dedicated doctor who worked morning and night for the benefit of her patients and the community at large.

  “Would it help if the hospital got a loan?” he asked.

  “Maybe.” She would loan them the money herself, if she could, but she was stretched to the limit right now. She’d invested everything in the hospital, and thanks to Doug, that “everything” was nearly five hundred thousand dollars.

  Doug had been brilliant when it came to buying the right stocks and knowing when to sell, so she’d received a respectable settlement when they divorced.

  Normally conservative herself, she’d planned to open a money-market account. But then she’d remembered Doug talking about a good investment in a new pharmaceutical company. She’d heard of the firm and she’d had some knowledge of their research team and the work they were doing. So she’d taken the bulk of her settlement and purchased stock while the price was low.

  Betsy wasn’t a gambler by nature, but she really didn’t consider that particular investment to be all that risky. And her purchase paid off.

  When several investors decided to build the Brighton Valley Medical Center, Betsy joined them as a silent partner-putting the bulk of the money gained from selling her stock into the venture. Then she poured her blood, sweat and tears into the hospital.