by Gina Wilkins
Eight months ago, thirty-one-year-old Kara had met twenty-six-year-old Pierce Vanness during a girls’ night out at a bar in a neighboring town. Pierce had been the entertainment that evening, singing with a local band. Like a star-struck groupie, Kara had approached him between sets—and the rest was history. Kara had convinced Pierce to give up his day job working in his father’s shoe store and head for Nashville in search of stardom. She’d named herself his business manager—which seemed to involve supporting him while he pursued his dream.
Serena just couldn’t understand it.
Marjorie spent the next twenty minutes filling Serena in on all the details of Kara’s call. It occurred to Serena only after she’d gone up to bed that Marjorie had never promised to stay away from Sam Wallace until after Dan had thoroughly investigated him.
Sam sat in a chair in his hospital room, gazing out the window at the uninspiring view of the parking lot. The doctor had said it would be good for him to get out of bed, that it would help him build up his strength. Sam was more than ready for that, but he saw no evidence of it yet. His limbs were still as rubbery as a jellyfish. He didn’t want to believe that was a normal condition for him.
The ever-present IV pump stood on its wheeled stand beside his chair, chugging liquids into him through the needle still taped into the back of his hand. He was idly considering using the heavy metal stand to break the window and escape this place when someone tapped on his door and then pushed it open. Expecting one of his nurses, he was a bit surprised when his caller turned out to be a comfortably rounded woman in her mid-fifties with beauty-parlor curls lacquered into her salt-and-pepper hair and soft blue eyes behind plastic-framed glasses. She wore a pale green knit pantsuit and she carried a large black purse in one small hand.
“Mr. Wallace?” she asked.
Without confirming the name, he responded, “What can I do for you?”
She bustled into the room. As far as he could remember, he’d never actually seen anyone bustle before, but it was the only word that seemed to describe this woman’s quick, almost fluttery steps. “Actually, I’m here to find out what I can do for you. I’m Marjorie Schaffer.”
Shrink? Social worker? Had someone figured out his problem already? Acutely aware of his scratched bare legs sticking out from beneath the gown and paper-thin robe the hospital had provided, Sam cleared his throat. “Um—yes?”
“I’m Serena’s mother. She told me all about you.”
Relaxing a little, he murmured, “Did she?” It must not have been much of a conversation, considering how little there was to tell about him at this point.
Marjorie Schaffer bobbed her head. “She said you were passing through looking for work when two evil men robbed you and beat you up. I’m so sorry, Mr. Wallace. I hate to think anyone around here would do such a terrible thing.”
Just what he needed to flood him with guilt—this sweet little woman apologizing for a crime he’d concocted from thin air. He tugged his robe over his bare knees, trying to decide what to say in response.
She didn’t give him a chance to speak, but sank almost royally into the other chair and gazed at him kindly. “You have no family to turn to in your time of need, Mr. Wallace?”
“Um…no. No close family, anyway.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ve lost both my parents, as well as my husband. It’s very difficult to be left so alone, isn’t it? I don’t know what I would do without my daughters.”
“Serena has a sister?”
“An older sister, Kara. She’s living in Nashville, Tennessee, now. She calls often, though. And she knows she’s always welcome to come home—and that Serena and I would both be there immediately if she needs us.”
Because she seemed to expect a comment, he said, “You’re very fortunate to have each other.”
Was there someone even now frantically searching for him? Ready and willing to offer him the type of comfort and support Marjorie Schaffer had just described? Someone who loved him enough to drop everything to come to him? He strained to remember, but the only result was a throbbing headache and a hollow feeling in his chest. If he had a loving family somewhere, they were as lost to him now as his real name.
The memories would come back when his injuries healed, he assured himself. And then he would offer a sincere apology to anyone who might have suffered because of his unplanned absence. But if there was someone who loved him—someone he loved in return—wouldn’t he sense it? Somehow?
“Mr. Wallace?” Marjorie broke into his torturous self-questioning, her soft face creased with concern as she leaned toward him. “Are you in pain?”
He immediately cleared his expression. “Just a headache.”
“Poor dear.” She patted his braced left hand, exactly as if he were a wounded six-year-old. “Should I call a nurse?”
Reacting instinctively to her tone, he answered, “No, ma’am. That isn’t necessary.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, thank you. Someone will be in soon enough.”
She sat back with a sympathetic smile. “If you’re anything like my late husband, you hate being in the hospital. He couldn’t abide the loss of privacy and dignity, even for his own good.”
That was a sentiment Sam heartily shared. “The doctor told me this morning that I’ll probably be released tomorrow. Most likely before noon.”
“So soon?”
Having seen himself in the bathroom mirror, he understood her surprise. The colorful scrapes and bruises that covered most of his exposed skin looked every bit as bad as they felt. He didn’t know whether it was those bruises or the amnesia that had made his face look so much like a stranger to him. But the injuries weren’t life-threatening, and the hospital administrators were probably growing a bit nervous about his lack of insurance. There was little more that could be done for him here. Time and patience were the best medicines for him now.
He just wished he knew where the hell he would go when he was ushered, barefoot and penniless, out of this place. If his memory had not returned by that point, he would be forced to admit the truth to someone. What else could he do?
“Where will you go when you leave here?” Marjorie asked, as if she’d somehow read his thoughts.
“I’m not sure.” He kept his tone deliberately nonchalant. “I guess I’ll play that by ear.”
“What sort of work were you hoping to find before those awful men attacked you?”
Again, he didn’t know quite how to answer her. It was harder, for some reason, to lie to this kind-eyed woman than it had been with the others. Yet something deep inside him refused to let the truth come out. Pride? Fear? He didn’t know what instinct held him back, what repercussions he feared most, but he was no more willing to confess his amnesia now than he had been before.
“As long as it’s legal, I’m not particularly selective about the jobs I take,” he said, bluffing.
“What about waiting tables? Is that a job you would consider?”
“Waiting tables?” He had a vague image of himself sitting in a dimly lit restaurant while white-coated servers set plates of food in front of him. Obviously a glimmer of memory—but where was that restaurant? And who had been sitting on the other side of the table for two he’d envisioned? “I can wait tables.”
She nodded, looking curiously satisfied. “Good. If you’re interested, I have a job for you. You can start as soon as you’ve recovered sufficiently to be on your feet for several hours.”
“You, uh, have a job for me?”
“Yes. I own a little diner downtown. The Rainbow Café. We’re open Monday through Saturday for breakfast and lunch, and we do a brisk business on week-days. I’ve just lost two employees. You can work for me when you’re released—or as soon as you’re physically able, if you need a few days to recover first.”
Sam blinked a couple of times. “Um…a diner?” He couldn’t seem to stop foolishly parroting her.
She nodded brusquely. “I can’t pay you a lot, of cours
e, but you’re in no shape to work at construction or other more physically challenging jobs. You can work for me at least until you recover all your strength, which might take a few weeks.”
“Why are you offering this, Mrs. Schaffer?” He was pretty sure this generous offer was unusual from a complete stranger.
Her smile was angelic. “Because I need your help, Mr. Wallace. And because you need mine. That seems like a fair trade, doesn’t it?”
Surely his memory would return by tomorrow. Maybe he would remember that he did, indeed, have insurance—or a couple of million dollars set aside for emergencies. But just in case… “Thank you. I accept your offer.”
She nodded as if there’d never been any doubt. “You’ll need a place to stay, of course.”
“I’m sure I can—”
“I have a place you can use until you get something more permanent. It’s a little one-bedroom guest house my late husband built for my mother a few years before she passed away. It’s completely separate from the house Serena and I share, so you would have your privacy. You’re welcome to stay there rent-free while you’re working to pay off your medical bills. If you want to stay longer than that, we can discuss rent then.”
“You’re being very kind.” Scary-kind, actually. Did normal people really do things like this?
She beamed at him. “I’ve been accused of making snap judgments, but I’m almost always correct in my instincts about people. I know you’re a good man, Sam. You just need a little help right now.”
He was humbled by her blind faith in him. He hoped she was right. He wanted to believe he was one of the good guys, but for all he knew, he could be a bum or a con man. If the latter was true, he was pulling a hell of a scam this time. He’d even managed to fool himself.
Marjorie stood. “That’s all settled, then. I’m sure my daughter will be by to visit you later. You let her know if you need anything, you hear? We’ll take care of it.”
“Mrs. Schaffer—” He wanted to stand, but that didn’t seem like a very good idea just then, since he would probably fall flat on his face. “Are you sure about all this? As touched as I am by your faith in me, we both know I’m still very much a stranger to you. I would hate to disappoint you.”
She patted his head—exactly as though he were that sick child in need of reassurance, he couldn’t help thinking again. “My husband’s favorite quote was the one that says there are no strangers, only friends we haven’t met yet. Now that we’ve met, I’d like to think we’ll become friends, Sam. I’ll see you soon.”
Some time later he was still staring at the door through which she had disappeared, and still utterly bemused by her unexpected offers. Just what kind of place had he landed in, anyway? Very little so far seemed real to him.
The name Brigadoon flitted through his mind, and he had a vague idea that it was a fictional town with strange, magical properties. From a book he’d read, perhaps, or a film he’d seen—he couldn’t quite remember. He did remember that the people who lived there could never escape.
Was Edstown, Arkansas, his own personal Brigadoon?
Later that day, Serena paused in the doorway of the hospital room in a very uncertain frame of mind. Sam was lying in his bed, staring at the television mounted high on the wall. The TV was tuned to a cable news network, and he was watching as intently as though he would be tested on the subject matter later that evening. His expression was similar to the one that had tugged at her heartstrings before. The one that looked…lost.
“Mr. Wallace?”
He didn’t quite start, but she’d obviously taken him by surprise. He turned his head to look at her, then offered a faint smile of greeting. “Ms. Schaffer.”
“You called me Serena before,” she reminded him, stepping farther into the room.
“And you called me Sam before.”
“Yes.” She perched on the edge of the straight-backed visitor’s chair beside his bed. “I heard you met my mother today.”
“Yes. She’s quite…unusual. A delightful woman.”
“Both adjectives are correct,” she assured him. “She is delightful…and most definitely unusual.”
“Is she always so trusting of strangers?”
Watching his face closely, Serena shook her head. “She isn’t particularly gullible, if that’s what you’re asking—though I can see why you might think she is. She really is a shrewd judge of character, and a sharp businesswoman. She simply makes her decisions about people very quickly.”
“And she’s never been swindled by anyone she trusted so quickly?”
“Not as far as I know. At least, not in any significant way.”
He shook his head in obvious amazement. “That’s hard to believe. Did she tell you she offered me a job? And a place to live?”
She had, actually—and Serena’s first response had been dismay. “Have you lost your mind?” she had asked her mother. “You’ve invited a total stranger to live in our own backyard?”
“Serena, he’s a very nice man who needs our help,” Marjorie had answered calmly. “What kind of people would we be if we turned our backs on someone in that poor man’s circumstances?”
“And what will happen to us if he isn’t a very nice man?”
Marjorie had waved off the question with typical confidence in her own judgment, leaving Serena to do the worrying.
“My mother has a soft heart and a generous nature,” Serena said to Sam. “I would hate for anyone to try to take advantage of those traits.”
“If that’s a not-so-veiled warning, I received it loud and clear.”
She kept her smile cool. “I hope so.”
“I take it you don’t share your mother’s predilection for snap judgments.”
“I tend to be a bit more cautious about giving my trust.”
He was watching her now as closely as she’d studied him earlier. “That’s very wise of you.”
“The truth is, I’m not as good as my mother at reading people. I’ve learned to be more careful.”
“Personal experience being burned?”
“Once or twice.” She quickly changed the subject. “So you’re going to work in the diner. Do you have training for waiting tables?”
He shrugged. “How hard can it be?”
She couldn’t help smiling at that. She would love to be around to watch his first encounter with her mother’s busy lunch crowd, all of them in a hurry to eat and return to their jobs. “Mom said you’re being released tomorrow. Do you know what time?”
“Sometime tomorrow morning. Before noon, they said.”
“I’ll be here to pick you up. Is there anything you need me to bring in the morning?”
His eyebrows rose. “You understand that your mother has offered to let me stay in your guest house?”
“Yes, I know. She’s probably dusting and freshening it as we speak.”
“And you have no objections to this arrangement?”
“I suppose not. After all, Mother already offered.”
“And you claim that she is the trusting one in the family?”
Serena wrinkled her nose at him, amused by his expression. “I don’t have to completely trust you to give you a hand in the morning. Not that I don’t trust you, of course,” she added quickly, in case he’d taken offense. “What I meant to say is—”
He laughed. The sound was so unexpected—and so pleasant—that it silenced her babbling. “I know what you meant,” he assured her. “And there’s no need to apologize. I appreciate your help. I hope I can find a way to repay you and your mother someday for the kindness you’ve shown me.”
Somewhat stiffly, she murmured, “I wasn’t apologizing.”
“Good.”
A young woman in teddy-bear-print scrubs carried a covered tray into the room. “Dinner, Mr. Wallace.”
He eyed the tray without enthusiasm. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a thick steak under there? Or maybe lasagna?”
With an apologetic smile, she set the tray on
the wheeled bed table. “I’m afraid not. It’s macaroni and cheese with English peas and Jell-O.”
The look Sam gave Serena almost made her laugh. It was quite clear that he wasn’t looking forward to his dinner.
“There’s a corn bread muffin to go with it,” the young woman said almost anxiously, as if eager to please him. “I’ve heard the corn bread is pretty good.”
Displaying a smoothness that immediately set off Serena’s alarms, Sam gave the woman a near-blinding smile. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it, then. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She almost stammered, and she was blushing when she hurried out of the room.
Serena doubted that this little hospital had seen many patients like golden-haired, blue-eyed, wicked-dimpled Sam Wallace. She’d heard gossip that the nurses had all but competed with each other to take his vital signs. LuWanda had told her in the hallway earlier that he was one of the nicest young men she’d ever taken care of. “So funny and polite,” she’d raved. “It’s such a shame about his circumstances. Something terrible must have happened to cause such a smart, obviously well-educated man to end up without a home or a job. No one to turn to in his time of need.”
“Maybe he’s just a loner,” Serena had suggested. “Someone who can’t stay in one place for very long. One of those guys who’s incapable of forming lasting attachments.”
“I don’t think so,” LuWanda had murmured thoughtfully. “Have you seen the look in his eyes? Something tragic happened to him—maybe the death of someone he loved deeply or something awful like that. He’s running from a broken heart or tragic memories. I’d bet my next week’s salary on it.”
Remembering those fanciful words, Serena studied Sam’s eyes. Once again the first adjective that came to her mind when she tried to identify his expression was “lost.” She wasn’t sure if Sam Wallace was running away from something or looking for something, but he was obviously not a happy man. But, oh, could he turn on the charm.