“That’s what I can’t figure out. Only, you were wearing gloves—I found the glove before I found you—so maybe they didn’t see the watch.” Amelia twisted a finger around one curl of her cascading blond hair, hesitating before asking, “So, no idea who B is?”
Finn took a deep breath, trying to focus his thoughts, to push them through the veil of murky nothingness. “Only that she’s important.” It surprised him—in a much-needed good way—that he knew B was a she. He felt like some strange emotional version of Hansel and Gretel, scanning the world for bits and pieces of a trail to lead him back home. He was Finn and he had—or once had—a B. It wasn’t nearly enough to go on, but other than his recollections of Amelia’s rescue, it was all he had.
He put the watch on, pleased to note it matched the faint tan line on his wrist. He had at least something of his life now. “Thanks for showing that to me. It helps. Really.” He smiled at her, pleased when she smiled back.
“There is more, you know,” Amelia said as she rose up off the chair to open the narrow closet on the far side of the room. “You were wearing these when I found you.” She held up a pair of jeans, a plaid shirt and a heavy fleece—clothes that could have been attributed to half the men in Texas, and certainly no big clues to his identity. “Nice boots,” Amelia offered as she hoisted a pair of worn cowboy boots. She was digging for anything positive to bolster his spirits, and it touched him that she was trying so hard.
“They look like mine,” he said, not sure how he could make the claim but wanting to go along with her relentless hunt for affirmations. “Like something I think I’d wear, I mean.”
“Well,” she said, rehanging the clothes, “you know more now than you did this morning. Tomorrow you’ll find out even more. That’s what Dr. Searle said, that you’d get things back as you went along. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if by this time tomorrow you know your name, your address and your grandmother’s birthday.”
A knock on the door signaled Dr. Searle’s entry into the room. He nodded toward the watch on his hand. “So you’ve seen that. Bring up anything?”
Nothing good, but Finn didn’t really want to admit that. “I don’t know who B is, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Only it’s a she, and she’s important,” Amelia added. “That’s good progress, don’t you think?”
Finn touched the watch again and thought about the tender inscription now against his skin. B sounded like a wife, or a sister, or a love—so why didn’t he remember her, and why hadn’t she come looking for him? Why was his response to the watch so dark? Nothing made any sense.
“Pie?” Dr. Searle noticed the three pieces sitting on the tray beside Finn’s bed.
“Amelia was fixing to convert me to her theory that pie makes everything better. And that knowing which flavors I like was vital information.”
Dr. Searle laughed. “I could think of worse therapies.”
“I read that tastes and smells are among the most powerful memories. It seemed like an ideal way to wake up Finn’s brain cells.”
Finn sat up. “You were researching amnesia?” He hated using that term to refer to whatever it was that happened to him. It sounded so dramatic.
“Well, if you call looking things up on the internet on your smartphone while you’re waiting in line at the pharmacy for Gramps’s prescriptions research, then yes. I mean, really, how many amnesia patients does a person get to meet? It’s fascinating.”
Not so much from where I sit, Finn thought darkly. The feeling of everything being just slightly beyond his control was too prickly for his liking. Exhaustion pulled on his composure, and he tried to stifle a yawn.
“Speaking of Gramps, I’d better get home to him. He’s usually good about his evening medicines, but not always. And he’s an absolute bear in the morning if he stays up too late watching television.” She touched Finn’s arm again in that soft, kind way. “You must be worn-out—it’s been quite a day. I expect rest is about the best gift you can give yourself right now, so see that you get lots of it. I’ll stop back by tomorrow after church. And I’ve already added you to the prayer list, so you’re set there.”
“Pie, pajamas and prayer—what more can a man ask for?” Finn had to wonder if he was always this bad at conversation or if his slumbering synapses just made him say stupid things. “Thank you,” he offered, finding the words painfully inadequate for all Amelia Klondike had done.
Her blue eyes glowed, as if she understood all he’d failed to say. “You’re welcome. Rest up now, and we’ll see what else comes back to you tomorrow.” Amelia collected her things and sent him one last warm look before ducking out the door.
“Is she really that nice to everybody?” Finn asked Dr. Searle as they heard her heels clip down the hallway.
“Amelia? Sure thing. Helping people is what Amelia does. Ever since she and her sister came into her daddy’s money, she’s turned helping folks into a full-time thing. Me, I might have skedaddled to some tropical island with that kind of cash, but Amelia just turned her hobby into a nonstop kindness campaign. My wife says Amelia would just about up and die if she had to stop giving folks a hand up—it’s her gift.” He motioned for Finn’s wrist and took his pulse. “If I had to pick anyone in Little Horn to find me out cold in the woods, it’d be Amelia. God was watching out for you, son. You remember that when all this memory nonsense gets to you.”
“It’ll come back, won’t it, Doc?”
Dr. Searle sat down on the chair Amelia had vacated. “It should. The brain is the organ we know the least about—lots of it is still a mystery. But amnesia onset by head trauma is less rare than you think. You may never remember the accident, but the rest of it is likely to come back over the next few days.”
Finn fiddled with the thin hospital gown, suddenly eager to get into pajamas like a normal person instead of this ridiculous getup that made him feel like an invalid. “Do I have to stay in here until it does?”
“Your preliminary tests will be done by tomorrow afternoon, and then come back for an office visit Monday. So yes, you’ll be free to go tomorrow but, Finn, where would you go?”
If Finn was supposed to get rest, there wasn’t a less restful question in all the world.
Chapter Three
I should never have agreed to this. Finn stared at the holiday decorations that filled Amelia Klondike’s front porch late Sunday afternoon and fought the urge to bolt for the nearest hotel. As grateful as he was to get out of the hospital, their annoying holiday decorations paled in comparison to the blast of Christmas cheer that was Amelia’s house.
Why did anything Christmas bother him so? It was something else to heap onto the pile of unknowns. Dr. Searle had showed him a list of missing-persons reports, but none of them contained a Finn and he still couldn’t even say if Finn was a first, last or nickname. It made obscure recollections like his intense dislike of Christmas that much harder to bear. Finn knew he didn’t like any of it, but he still didn’t know why.
“You don’t need to put me up, Amelia. I don’t want to put you and your grandfather out.” The fact that he hadn’t seen anything even close to a motel on the short drive from the hospital just made it worse.
“Nonsense. Where else would you go with no wallet, no credit cards and no name other than Finn?”
Thanks, he thought, it sounds so much less desperate when you put it that way.
He must not have hidden his scowl well. “Even if you knew your address—” Amelia backpedaled “—you’re not supposed to drive. You can’t possibly live nearby, so how would you come back for those tests Doc Searle wants? And to tell the truth—” she gave him one of her wide-eyed, I-can’t-help-myself-from-helping looks “—I just plain think you shouldn’t be left on your own.” She pulled her silver SUV into the garage. “Gramps loves a mystery and no one even uses the upstairs bedrooms anymore. Besides, even if there was a hotel in town, what if some traumatic accident memory comes back to you in the middle of the night? Who’d wa
nt that in some cold hotel room all alone? I couldn’t forgive myself if I let that happen.”
One fact had become relentlessly clear: trying to stop Amelia Klondike from lending a hand to a soul she thought in need was like trying to stop a buffalo stampede with a flyswatter. It couldn’t be done—not without getting trampled. It won’t be for long, Finn told himself. Things are coming back to you. It’d be rude to refuse, right? She’s been so nice. From out of nowhere, Finn got the sense that he hadn’t had much home comfort of late—a vague impression of microwave bachelor food and bare-bones furniture pushed its way into his consciousness. He shivered—as if his body remembered the cold of the place without his brain remembering where that place was.
“What was that?”
Finn blinked, pulling himself back from the—the what? Memory? Hunch?—to see Amelia staring at him with a startled concern in her eyes. “What was what?” he asked, knowing that would do nothing to stave off her questioning.
She cut the car’s ignition. “Your whole face changed just now. And you shivered. You remembered something, didn’t you?”
It bothered him that she could see it. He wanted the return of his memories to be private. He was a private person—that much he knew. “I’m not sure.” It was no lie—he wasn’t sure what that flash in his brain was. “Except I think I live alone. And...not very well.”
Her voice changed, going all soft and warm in a way that got under his skin. “What did you just remember?”
He didn’t want to tell her, but the image rattled so loudly in his head it had to come out. “When you said that about waking up alone in the dark upset. I’ve done that. Or used to do that. A lot.”
“Oh, Finn. Do you know why?” Her eyes were so bittersweet, as if she knew exactly how it felt to be alone in the dark missing someone.
Missing someone? Where had that come from? Was it B? Was B gone from his life, whomever she was? Was that why no one was looking for him?
He caught her eyes again, feeling unmoored and too much at the mercy of randomly returning memories. He shifted his eyes to his hands and willed his fingers to unclench from their white-knuckled curl. “I don’t think I was a very happy man.” He wanted to take back the words the moment they escaped. To not know so much but to know that? What kind of torture was it going to be like to have things trickle back like this? “I don’t like Christmas.” He needed her to know how hard this was right now. Everything was messed up—he wanted company and he needed to be alone. He needed to remember but didn’t like what was coming back to him.
She blinked at him, unable to accept the thought. “Everybody likes Christmas.”
“I didn’t. I don’t. I mean...” Finn blew out a breath, the exhaustion welling up over him again. “I don’t know what I mean.”
“I’m sure I can’t begin to imagine what you are going through. It’s got to be so hard. But if there’s anything I do know, Finn, it’s that hard things are harder alone.” The dark, hard edge showed in the corners of her eyes again, the way it had whenever they talked about the possibility of him being in law enforcement. He’d noticed that little detail like he’d noticed a dozen others—how she avoided talking about herself, how she curled a finger around her hair when she got nervous, how everyone spoke about her in tones of veiled “bless her heart” pity.
Maybe that was why he felt such an affinity for her; she’d been knocked down by something but was fighting to stay up. He wasn’t very good at that fight but she was; she hadn’t let whatever it was beat her down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let a bit of that optimism rub off on him.
A wedge of light spilled on the car, and Finn looked up to see an older man standing in the door that led to the house. He could see more Christmas decorations behind the man, even from here. The urge to run was as strong as the urge to go inside. Not knowing quite who he was seemed to push every emotion closer to the surface, and he was too tired to fight it.
“Come inside,” Amelia coaxed. “If you still want to leave in the morning, we’ll talk about it. It’s almost supper and you need food and rest.”
The scents of a home kitchen wafted through the garage as he hauled himself out of the car and Finn’s stomach growled. He winced as he grabbed the tiny “luggage” the hospital had given him—sad to note all his current possessions fit into the small plastic bag.
“Finn, is it?” called the old man, leaning on a cane. He had Amelia’s eyes and a head full of bushy gray hair.
“Yes, sir.”
The man waved the formality off. “Oh, don’t ‘sir’ me. Luther’ll be just fine.” He held out a hand with thick, wrinkled fingers and shook Finn’s with a strong grip. “Tough go you’ve had there, son. I could barely believe it when Amelia told me.” He hobbled into the kitchen, motioning for Finn to follow.
A holiday home decor tidal wave assaulted Finn’s eyes, bringing a surge of nauseated panic to clutch at Finn’s throat.
“It gets worse every year,” Luther remarked, his expression telling Finn that he hadn’t hid his reaction well. “I feel like I’m living in a department store window some days.”
Pine boughs, candy canes and red ribbon seemed to erupt from every available surface. A miniature tree with tiny ornaments stood in the center of the kitchen table while lights twinkled from every window.
Amelia bustled in behind him, her face a mix of pride and embarrassment given the admission he’d just made in the car. “I admit,” she said with a raised eyebrow, “I enjoy the holidays.”
“I think we went past ‘enjoy’ four years ago.” Luther gave Amelia an indulgent kiss on the cheek. “Now it’s closer to ‘obsess.’ Gets it from her mother, God rest her soul.”
Amelia set another bakery box down on the counter—more experimental pie slices?—and shucked off her coat. “Gramps says all the Klondike men married women with the gift for ornamentation.”
The gift for ornamentation. That was one way to put it. Finn fished for some kind of well-mannered compliment to pay the display, but came up short. When the kitchen clock struck the hour by playing “Joy to the World,” he wanted to shut his eyes and run from the room. But what good would that do? The rest of the house would likely offer the same festive assault.
A series of snuffles and small barks came from another part of the house, and a fat dog with bulging eyes waddled into the room.
“Bug, say hello to our new friend Finn.”
Bug, who looked as if his face was permanently pushed up against some invisible glass window, sniffed noisily around Finn’s boots, a pig-curly tail twitching in curiosity. Finn reached down and let the dog sniff his hand. “Hi there, Bug.” Bug, of course, sported a red collar dotted with green Christmas trees and a shiny silver bell.
Bug’s interest in Finn lasted only until Amelia lifted the lid off a Crock-Pot on the counter, sending a spicy, beefy aroma into the air. That sent Bug to jumping at Amelia’s feet, hoping for a taste. Finn couldn’t blame the dog for his enthusiasm. Real food. Maybe he could put up with the Yuletide high tide if it came with good home cooking. He owed it to himself—and to Amelia—to at least try.
“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Gramps, why don’t you show Finn to his room and he can settle in.”
“Less decorations up there, I think,” Luther said as he headed for a banister wrapped in red and gold ribbon. “You’re upstairs at the end of the hall. I don’t do stairs anymore, so I’ll just point you in the right direction, if that’s okay.” He pointed to a door Finn could just see off the left of the staircase. “Take a moment to wash up and get your bearings, and we’ll see you back down here in just a bit.”
“Thanks, Luther.” Finn mounted the first stair, then found himself reaching for the banister. His side was throbbing, and he didn’t like the fact that he needed the support to climb the flight.
“Think nothing of it, son. Least we can do.”
Nobody has to do anything for me, Finn thought darkly. I’ve no friends here.
T
hat’s not true, a small voice argued with his darker nature. And that’s not bad.
* * *
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Amelia didn’t like the scowl Lucy Benson gave her as they took Bug for his evening walk when Lucy stopped over after supper. “I know you can’t help helping,” Lucy continued, “but we don’t know anything about him. For all we know he could be connected to the thefts.”
Amelia buttoned up her coat against the evening chill. “He’s not a criminal, Lucy.”
“Amelia, you don’t know that. Seeing the good in everybody doesn’t mean you have to put them up in your home. He could rob you blind while you sleep tonight and it’s not as if you and Gramps and Bug could defend yourselves.”
Amelia stopped walking to stare at Lucy. “He’s not our rustler, Lucy. I’m sure of it.”
“Well, forgive me if I don’t put that much stock in those hunches of yours. Being sheriff means I have to depend more on solid evidence than your famous intuition.”
Amelia chose a new topic. “Well, Madam Sheriff, what new have you learned about our cattle thieves? Any closer to catching whoever is doing all this?” Little Horn had been experiencing a strange brand of crime spree, with cattle disappearing from wealthy ranchers’ estates while gifts of supplies and equipment had appeared to families in need. A cowboy version of Robin Hood.
“Some folks are downright scared, having their security violated and goods stolen. And they’ve a right to be worried. I don’t mind telling you I’m getting a lot of pressure to solve this case. The finger-pointing is going to get ugly if we don’t get a break soon.” Lucy pushed out a sigh, her breath a white whisp in the clear night air. “Then there are the folks who’ve received gifts. They’re grateful, but I know they can’t help thinking their gain might be at someone else’s expense. As to who’s doing it? I wish I knew.” She gave Amelia a sideways glance. “And I can’t say your fellow isn’t involved, Amelia. Have you thought about that he may be involved and not remember it? With this amnesia thing, he could genuinely believe he was innocent and still be guilty.”
A Ranger for the Holidays (Lone Star Cowboy League) Page 3