The Deputy's Lost and Found / Her Second Chance Cop: The Deputy's Lost and Found / Her Second Chance Cop. Stella Bagwell
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her to sleep soon, so you’d better get going.”
Gray Eyes wanted to see him? The news didn’t just stun Brady, it pleased him in the goofiest sort of way and he hurriedly scraped back his chair.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Hank.” Rising to his feet, he pulled out his wallet and tossed several bills at Hank. “Here. Buy Bridget a piece of pie. She looks hungry.”
He headed toward the plate glass door leading out of the coffee shop when suddenly his sister’s voice called out to him.
“Brady, where are you going?”
Frowning with frustration, he glanced over his shoulder. “Where do you think I’m going?” he asked impatiently.
With a shake of her head, she looked drolly over to Hank, then back to her brother. “I don’t know. There are nearly five hundred rooms in this hospital. Don’t you think you need the number to find her?”
If Brady didn’t feel like an idiot before, he certainly did now and he was glad he was standing a few feet away from the table. Otherwise Hank could easily see the red on his face.
“All right,” he conceded. “I wasn’t thinking. What’s the number?”
“Two-twelve. And Brady, be easy,” she warned.
A lazy smile crossed Brady’s face. “Don’t worry, sis. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s handling women. Especially damsels in distress.”
When a knock sounded on the door, she didn’t bother to open her eyes. For the past thirty minutes the nurses had been coming and going from the hospital room like ants on a picnic blanket. She expected the footsteps she heard approaching her bed belonged to yet another nurse who was there to take her blood pressure for the umpteenth time.
“Excuse me, miss. It’s Deputy Donovan. Do you feel like talking?”
The sound of his voice set her heart to pounding and her eyes popped open to see him standing near the head of the bed. His gray hat was in his hand and beneath the dim lighting she could see rusty-gold hair waving thickly about his head, tanned features molded in a sober expression.
He was a young man, she decided. Somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties. Handsome was not the word to come to her mind as she studied him more closely. But rugged and sexy certainly did. Sharp cheekbones, a thrusting chin, hazel green eyes and a full lower lip merged together to form one strong face.
Suddenly feeling as weak as a puny kitten, she cleared her throat and tried to speak in a normal voice. Instead, it came out raspy. “Thank you for coming, Deputy Donovan.”
A faint smile tilted the corner of his lips and her gaze was drawn to his mouth and the dimple marking his left cheek.
“My pleasure,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
That voice. It was her first memory of anything and she clung to it like a child with a blanket. “Lousy. But better.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Hopefully, you’ll be right as rain real soon.”
She swallowed as hopeless emotions thickened her throat. “Doctor Donovan was very positive about that. She … told me that she’s your sister.”
His smile deepened. “That’s right. We’re from a big family. We all live together in a big ranch house.”
Family. Parents. Siblings. Did she have any? And if she did, where were they? Nearby? Far away? Maybe she had no one. Oh, God, let her remember, she prayed.
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