His Unforgettable Fiancée. Teresa Carpenter
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involved in releasing an injured prisoner. Or worse, didn’t know.
One of Brubaker’s campaign issues had been her overspending, because she’d insisted the town bring the department’s technical capabilities up to the twenty-first century. It didn’t surprise her that he refused to spend any funds on a D and D set to walk out the door in the morning. Much simpler and cheaper to cut the guy loose. Even if he was injured.
“Doctor, this man has a head injury, a concussion at the very least. And possible amnesia. He says he doesn’t remember who he is. We haven’t been able to identify him, as he was missing his wallet when he was picked up walking into town.”
“Sounds like he’s had a rough night. I’ll examine him, of course, but if he has no means of payment and the sheriff’s office refuses to pay, I’m limited in what I can do.”
“Whatever you can do, Doctor, will be appreciated.”
He nodded and pushed the door open. “That’s why I voted for you, Grace. You may draw a hard line between black-and-white, but people matter to you. It’s not all about the bottom line.”
JD sat on the doctor’s stool. At five-seven it was the only way Dr. Honer could see his patient. If JD laid on the exam gurney his head would be up against the wall, and if he sat up he’d be out of the doctor’s reach unless he bent in half—something his equilibrium wouldn’t allow for in his present condition.
After a thorough exam, Dr. Honer announced, “The good news is there doesn’t appear to be any neck or spinal injuries. As for the head wound, I’m going to need an MRI.”
Concerned by the need for a scan of his brain, she stayed with JD, following him down the hall and sitting with him while he waited to take the test. He sat staring at the wall.
* * *
“Are you okay?” the pretty cop asked, her voice low, careful.
“Apparently not, if the doctor wants to do tests.”
“The tests could reveal good news,” she suggested.
“Doubtful. It’s never good news,” he declared with a depth of feeling that belied his lack of memory.
What a fool, sitting here in the hall dressed in a freaking hospital gown—the nurse had found a cloth one big enough to fit—while the whole world paraded by. He glanced at his bare wrist and bit back a curse. Everything had been stripped from him. He couldn’t even mark the time, except to note it was moving at a slug’s pace.
“I hate hospitals. And you know the worst part?” He sent her a sidelong glance. “I don’t even know why.”
“It must be difficult.”
“Frustrating, debilitating, terrifying. The not knowing goes on and on no matter how hard I try to remember.”
“Maybe you should stop trying, give your brain a chance to heal.”
“Easier said than done. There’s just pain and a whole lot of nothingness.” He leaned his head back against the wall, amazed at what he’d revealed to her. Who knew? Maybe he was a Chatty Cathy, but somehow he doubted it. More likely her soothing presence lulled him on a subliminal level. “Talk to me.”
“Okay.” A beat of silence follow as he watched her struggle to find a topic. “About what?” Right, exactly what did you discuss with a stranger who had no memory?
“Why are you still here? According to what I’ve heard, not only are you off duty, you’re out of a job.”
“That’s right.” She chirped cheerfully, the first false note he’d heard from her. “My term as sheriff is up. I’m footloose and fancy-free as of midnight.”
“So answer the question. Why are you still here? I really can handle this alone, you know. I’m not stupid, I’m just—”
“Memory-challenged,” she finished for him. “I know. But you shouldn’t have to go through this alone, JD. You are the victim of an accident and possibly—probably—a crime in our town. It’s the least I can do to help you until you can stand steady on your own two feet.”
“Why?” She called him JD. He supposed it was better than John Doe, which reminded him of dead bodies.
She blinked at him, black brows drawn together. “Why what?”
“Why is it the least you can do? You don’t owe me anything.” And with a certainty he felt to his core he knew the generosity she offered wasn’t as common as she made it sound. Not in his life. It made him itchy—both grateful and suspicious at the same time.
“For me law enforcement isn’t a job, it’s a calling.” The simplicity of the statement did nothing to detract from her sincerity. “My instincts to protect and serve don’t click on and off with the punch of a time card.”
“Was that your campaign slogan? If so, I can’t believe you lost.”
“I didn’t really run a campaign. I felt my work should stand for itself.”
“So you’re an idealist.”
“No, I’m a realist.”
“Wrong. In the real world a candidate’s work should speak to whether they can do the job, but in reality the voters like to be courted. They want to think you care about their opinion, their vote.”
“So you’re a cynic.”
“No, I’m a geek.”
She sat up straight, her breasts pushing against her khaki uniform shirt. “That’s a clue.”
“What?” He dragged his gaze to her face, flushed with excitement.
“You said you were a geek. That’s pretty specific. Your brain let that slip, it has to mean something.”
“Like what? I belonged to the chess club?”
“I don’t know. But no one would look at you and think geek.”
“And we’re back to me.”
“Yes, but we have a clue. Actually we have several. The chaps and leather jacket tell me you were riding a motorcycle. The quality and the expensive watch tell me you have access to money. And now we know you’re a geek. A picture is forming.”
“Of a motorcycle-riding geek with a fetish for expensive watches? Maybe I don’t want my memory back.”
“Don’t say that. So the clues don’t appear to fit together. That’s only because we don’t have all the pieces yet. It’s all part of a bigger picture.”
He found himself staring at his bare wrist again. He rubbed his hand across it. “I wish I had my watch now. I hate waiting.”
“I’d say we’ve found another clue, but I don’t know anyone who likes to wait. Hang in there.” She patted his knee. “The doctor said it wouldn’t be long.”
Oh, no, she didn’t just treat him like a child to be pacified. Even half-dead he couldn’t allow that to slide. There were consequences when a beautiful woman touched him, and she was about to learn what they were.
Shifting toward her, he reached for the hand that committed the offense and slowly drew it to his mouth. He turned her hand palm-up and pressed a kiss to the sensitive center, gazing into her eyes the whole time.
She looked a little shell-shocked, leading him to believe the men of this tiny burg were idiots.
Her eyes narrowed and she tugged at her hand, seeking freedom. He held on for another moment. “Thank you,” he said, keeping his voice soft, intimate. Finally he released her.
Sparks flashed in her eyes and he braced to be read the riot act. “You could be married, you know.”
Not exactly what he expected. And it made him stop and wonder if he had a woman in his life,