The Texan's Future Bride

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  Time ticked by.

  Then Tammy looked up and said, “There’s Mike,” as her fiancé strode toward them.

  Jenna got to her feet, with Tammy on her heels.

  Doc said to them, “The results were normal, but we’re going to keep him overnight for observation.”

  “Then what?” Jenna asked.

  “Then we’ll reevaluate his condition in the morning.”

  “Do you think his memory will return by then?”

  “It’s possible. Oftentimes these sorts of lapses only last a day or two. But it could continue for a while. It’s hard to say.”

  “Can I see him?”

  “Once we check him into a room, you can visit him.”

  By the time that happened, the stranger was asleep. Doc and Tammy went home, and Jenna sat in a stiff plastic chair beside his bed and watched him. She used the opportunity to study his features: dark eyebrows, a strong, sharp nose, cheekbones a male model would envy, medium-size lips with a bit of a downward slant. That made her curious about his smile. Was it bright? Crooked? Brooding? She noticed that he was harboring a five-o’clock shadow. The sexy scruff made him look even more like the cowboy she assumed he was. The hospital gown, however, didn’t; it robbed him of his edge.

  He stirred in his sleep, and she frowned. Although he had a semiprivate room and the curtain was drawn, the TV of the older man next to him sounded in her ears. A game show was playing, a program that had been on the air since she was a kid. She’d never actually seen it, not all the way through. But she’d gotten used to hearing the noisy show in the background when her dad used to watch it, much like she was hearing it now.

  Tuning out the sound, she studied the stranger again. Because she was tempted to skim his cheek and feel the warmth of his skin, she kept her hands on her lap. She even curled her fingers to keep them still. Being this close to him while he slept wasn’t a good idea. She should go home, but she stayed for as long as the hospital would allow, already anxious to return the following day.

  * * *

  In the morning, Jenna had breakfast with her sister in the main house, surrounded by retro-style gingham accents in the kitchen. Unfortunately it was too early to head over to the hospital. With the exception of spouses and significant others, visiting hours were limited.

  She’d barely slept last night, wondering if the stranger would recoup his memory today.

  She glanced across the table at Donna, but her sister didn’t look up. She was busy texting, in between sips of fresh-brewed coffee and bites of a Spanish omelet, courtesy of the soon-to-retire cook.

  Jenna continued to study Donna. They’d always been different from each other. Jenna, a certified horseback riding instructor, loved everything country, and Donna, a magazine writer turned marketer, loved everything city. As soon as the B and B was off the ground, Donna would be returning to New York, where she lived and worked. Jenna, on the other hand, planned to stay at the ranch and help run the B and B with Tammy.

  Donna finally glanced up. “What?” she said.

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why were you staring at me?”

  “I was just thinking about how opposite we are.”

  “We’re siblings, not clones.”

  “Yes, but you’d think that we would have more in common. Or look more alike or whatever.” Although both were blonde, Donna was a year older, three inches taller and wildly curvy. She had the figure of a 1940s pinup, while Jenna was small and lean.

  Donna shrugged and went back to texting, and Jenna considered how distant their relationship was. Her sister had trouble connecting with people on an emotional level, but Jenna could hardly blame her. They’d been raised in a go-your-own-way environment.

  Tammy entered the room, and Jenna immediately said, “Hi.”

  “Hello, yourself.” Their cousin sat down and greeted Donna, as well. Then she turned back to Jenna and said, “Mike left a couple of hours ago to check on our patient.”

  Her stomach fluttered. “He did? Any word?”

  “From Mike? No. But I’m sure he’ll call when he can.”

  Donna quit texting. “What patient? Who’s sick?”

  Jenna answered, “I found a man yesterday. He was wandering around on the road with a concussion.” She went on to explain the details. “Hopefully he’ll be better today.”

  “Wow,” Donna said. “Can you imagine losing your memory?”

  No, but Jenna wouldn’t mind forgetting about the mess their dad had made of things. But he’d been notorious for disappointing her, even when she was a child. He’d never been there when she needed him. He’d been too busy with his corporate job. He rarely attended parent-teacher conferences or planned birthday parties or took his daughters to the movies or engaged in the types of activities that would have made them seem more like a family.

  She glanced at Donna. Funny thing about her sister. Before the skeleton in Dad’s closet had surfaced, Donna used to idolize him. He’d been her hero, the person she often emulated, particularly with her workaholic, career-is-king habits. Not that Donna would ever admit how deeply he influenced her. But Jenna was keenly aware of it.

  Clearing the Dad-clutter from her mind, Jenna said to Tammy, “I was planning on going to the hospital later, but maybe I should wait for Mike to call.”

  “It might take him a while to check in,” her cousin replied. “He has a lot of rounds to make. Why don’t you head over to the hospital now and look in on the man? I can tell you’re still worried about him.”

  “I can’t see him until noon.”

  “Says who?”

  “The hospital visiting hours.”

  Tammy waved away the rules. “They probably won’t notice if you slip in a little early.”

  “I think it would be better if I went at noon.” She wasn’t comfortable taking liberties. She preferred to play by the book.

  Tammy didn’t push her out of her comfort zone and neither did Donna. They allowed her to be her regimented self.

  When the time rolled around for her to get ready, she donned classic Western wear: a broomstick skirt, a feminine blouse and a nice pair of boots. She freshened up her face and fluffed her hair, too. Not that it should matter what the stranger thought of her appearance. If he was better today, this would probably be the last time she saw him.

  She arrived at the hospital at twelve o’clock sharp and went to the nurses’ station, where she inquired about the patient’s condition. They informed her that he was awake and coherent, and once everything was in order, Dr. Sanchez would be releasing him.

  So, he was better.

  She thanked them for the information and continued down the hall. A moment later, she stalled. She was nervous about conversing with him.

  Pushing past the trepidation, she proceeded. She entered his room and passed the TV-watching patient. Today he was engaged in a sitcom from the seventies. He didn’t glance her way, and she left him alone, too.

  She moved forward and came face-to-face with the stranger. He was sitting up in bed. His gaze zeroed in on hers, and her heart went bumpy.

  “Good morning,” she said, keeping a calm voice.

  “You’re the girl from yesterday.”

  “Yes.”

  “The blonde I thought I was dating. I’m sorry about that.”

  Dang. Did he have to go and mention it? “It’s okay. You were out of it.”

  He nodded, and she took the seat next to his bed, the same spot where she’d watched him sleep. “You look healthier.” Still a bit worn-out, she thought, but an improvement nonetheless. “I heard that Doc will be releasing you.”

  “Yes, but I’m supposed to take it easy.”

  “You can’t go kicking up your heels just yet?”

  “No. Not yet.” He smiled a little.<
br />
  It was sinfully crooked. The bump-bump in her chest returned. “I’m Jenna, by the way. Jenna Byrd.”

  “Thank you for what you did. Jenna,” he added softly.

  The bumping intensified. “I’m glad I was there to help.” She scooted to the edge of her chair. “So, what’s your name?”

  He furrowed his dark brows. “I don’t know. I still can’t remember anything, aside from you bringing me to your ranch and coming here.”

  She gaped at him. “Your memory hasn’t recovered? Then why is Doc releasing you?”

  “Because I’m not dizzy or confused, and my vital signs are good. I have what’s called retrograde amnesia, but they can’t keep me in the hospital for that. Besides, my memories are supposed to return. It’s just a matter of when.”

  She didn’t know what to say. He was still as much of a stranger as he was before.

  He said, “The sheriff was here earlier. He took a report. He took my fingerprints, too.” He held up his hands and gazed at them. “If I’m in the system, they’ll be able to identify me that way.”

  He might have a criminal record? That wasn’t a comforting thought. “Do you think you’re in the system?”

  “I don’t know.” He lowered his hands. “But the sheriff doesn’t want Dr. Sanchez to release me until the results are in. So we’re waiting to hear. I guess the police want to be sure that there isn’t a warrant out for my arrest before they put me back on the streets.”

  “Do you mind if I wait until you hear something?”

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  Because she still felt responsible for him. Or was it because she was so doggone attracted to him? That wasn’t a comforting thought, either. Confused and covering her tracks she said, “I’m interested in knowing who you are.” And hoping that he was an upstanding guy.

  “At the moment, I’m no one.”

  “That’s not true. Everyone is someone.”

  He glanced away. Obviously her comment hadn’t made a dent in his amnesiac armor. She wanted to reassure him, but how could she, especially since he might be wanted by the police?

  Just then, double sets of footsteps sounded, and Jenna turned around in her chair. The stranger shifted in the direction of the approaching people, too.

  It was Doc, making a crisp-white presentation in his lab coat, and next to him was a tall, stocky lawman.

  As the air grew thick with anticipation, the stranger shot Jenna a quick glance.

  Trapping her in the moment they’d been waiting for.

  Chapter Two

  Amid the silence, Doc caught Jenna’s attention. She expected him to ask her to leave, but he merely nodded an acknowledgment. Maybe it was going to be okay. Maybe there was nothing to be concerned about.

  The lawman said to the patient, “I’m Deputy Tobbs. The sheriff assigned your case to me.”

  “Do I have a record?” the stranger asked bluntly.

  The deputy shifted his weight. “No, you don’t. Your fingerprints aren’t on file, but I’m going to investigate further. I’ll do my best to uncover your identity and discover what happened to you. I’ll be questioning everyone in the area, in case you work around here or were visiting someone.”

  “Someone who hasn’t noticed that I’m gone?”

  “It could have been a surprise visit and you never made it to your destination. It could have been a number of things. I’m inclined to think that you were assaulted and robbed, possibly carjacked, which would account for you wandering around on foot. But we’ll have to wait and see what turns up.”

  The stranger tugged a hand through his hair, stopping short of his injury. “It could be worse, I guess.” He addressed Doc. “Are you going to sign my release papers now?”

  “Yes, but first we need to figure out where you’re going to go.”

  The stranger replied, “Is there a homeless shelter in the area?”

  The deputy answered the question. “There’s one in the next county, about thirty miles from here.”

  “Then that will have to do, if they’ll take me.”

  “I can give them a call,” the deputy said.

  No way, Jenna thought. She wasn’t going to let him go off like that. She would worry about him. Still, did she have a right to intervene? Regardless, she couldn’t seem to hold back.

  She said to the stranger, “You can stay at the Flying B until you regain your memory or until Deputy Tobbs finds out who you are. We’re turning the ranch into a B and B, and we have guest rooms and cabins on the property.”

  “I can’t stay there.”

  Jenna persisted, especially now that she’d made up her mind about saving him, or whatever it was she was trying to do. “Why not?”

  “I just can’t. I shouldn’t.”

  “Sure you can,” Doc said, supporting her idea. “It would be a good place for you to recover.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jenna frowned. “What’s not to know? Just say yes.”

  He frowned, too. “Are you always this insistent?”

  Was she? “Sometimes.” Considering from the time that she and Donna were kids, the one lesson their father had always taught was to go after what they wanted. “But Doc agrees with me, so you’re outnumbered.”

  “Consider it part of your treatment,” Doc said. “I could keep a better eye on you, and being surrounded by fresh air would be a heck of a lot nicer than being holed in a homeless shelter.”

  The deputy interjected. “Sounds like you’ve got it worked out.”

  “We do,” Jenna assured him.

  “Then I’m going to take my leave.” He placed his card on the rolling stand beside the bed. “Call me if you have any questions,” he told the man with amnesia. “And if I need to reach you, I’ll stop by the Flying B.” The deputy turned to Jenna. “You should introduce him to everyone at the ranch. It’s possible that someone there will recognize him.”

  “I will, just as soon as he’s feeling up to it.”

  He turned back to the patient. “You take care.”

  “Thank you,” came the polite reply.

  Deputy Tobbs said goodbye to everyone and left the room, a hush forming in his absence. Jenna wondered if Doc was going to depart, too. But he stayed quietly put.

  She said to the stranger, “You’re going to need another name, other than John Doe.”

  His dark gaze caught hers. “Some people have that name for real.”

  “I know. But it’s doubtful that you do.”

  “Then you can pick one.”

  “You want me to name you?”

  “Somebody has to.”

  Jenna glanced at Doc. He stood off to the side, clutching a clipboard that probably contained “John Doe’s” charts. Anxious, she crossed her arms over her chest. Doc’s silent observation created a fishbowl-type effect. But he had a right to analyze his patient’s reactions.

  Was he analyzing her, too?

  She’d been bothered by the John Doe reference from the beginning, but now that she’d been given the responsibility of changing it, she felt an enormous amount of pressure.

  Could Doc tell how nervous she was?

  She asked the stranger, “Are you sure you don’t want to come up with something yourself?”

  “I’m positive.”

  He sounded as if it didn’t matter, that with or without a makeshift name, he still considered himself no one.

  Reminding her of how lost he truly was.

  * * *

  As he waited for the outcome, he thought about how surreal all of this was. He felt like a ketchup jar someone had banged upside the counter, with memories locked inside that wouldn’t come out.

  Emptiness. Nothingness.

  His only lifeline was
the pretty blonde beside his bed and the doctor watching the scene unfold.

  “What do you think of J.D.?” she asked.

  “The initials for John Doe?”

  She nodded. “I always thought that using initials in place of a name was sexy.”

  He started. Was she serious? “Sexy?”

  She blushed, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Intrigued, he tilted his head. She’d gone from being aggressive to downright shy. “How did you mean it?”

  “That it’s mysterious.”

  “Then I guess it fits.” Everything was a mystery, right down to his confusion about dating her. Was she the type he would’ve dated in the past? Or did he even have a type?

  “So we can start calling you J.D. now?” she asked, obviously double-checking.

  He nodded.

  “And you’re going to stay at the Flying B?”

  He nodded again, still feeling reluctant about being her houseguest or cabin guest or whatever. As far as he was concerned, a homeless shelter would have sufficed.

  She said, “When I first saw you, I assumed that you were a cowboy, maybe an employee of a neighboring ranch. I hadn’t considered a carjacking, but I wondered if you might be a hitchhiker. I’m glad the deputy is going to talk to everyone in the area about you. Then we’ll know for sure.” She glanced at his clothes, which were hanging nearby. “You were certainly dressed like a local cowboy, except that you didn’t have a hat. But I figured that you’d lost it somewhere.”

  He followed her line of sight. The T-shirt, jeans and worn-out boots he’d been wearing were as unfamiliar as the day he’d been born. “I don’t have a recollection of doing ranch work.”

  “You don’t have a recollection of anything,” she reminded him.

  “I know, but wouldn’t I have a feeling of being connected to ranching? Wouldn’t it be ingrained in me if that’s what I did for a living?” He turned to the expert. “What do you think, Dr. Sanchez?”