Judy Duarte: Under The Mistletoe With John Doe

Sure, every now and then she thought about buying a place of her own, one that was closer to the hospital and to Shady Glen, the retirement community in which her parents lived. But even if she wanted to move, she’d have to rent at this point in her life. She’d used almost every dime of her savings to buy stock in the medical center-something very few people knew.

“And you have no plans to move to a place of your own?”

“No, not now. Doc is getting older, and his health isn’t as good as it once was. Since his wife died, he’s all alone.”

“And you feel an obligation to look after him?”

“It’s more of an honor.” And she felt the same about looking after her parents, too.

“You’re not only a good doctor,” John said, “you’ve also got a good heart.”

She wasn’t sure what made her more uneasy-his praise or her self-disclosure-and she wondered if she ought to back away. After all, she didn’t know this man from Adam.

“So,” John said, connecting the dots, “in a way, you’ve become Doc’s personal physician.”

“I guess you could say that.” She glanced at the clock on the wall, then drew up as tall as her five-foot-two frame would allow. “My shift will be starting soon, so I’d better go. I just wanted to check in on you.”

“I like having my own personal physician, too.”

That wasn’t the impression she’d wanted to give him, but what did she expect? She’d stopped by his bedside for the second time today.

And if truth be told, her interest in him had drifted beyond that of physician-patient and bordered on female-male.

But she’d be darned if she’d admit that to anyone, especially to him.

She glanced at her pager, even though she hadn’t heard a sound or felt a single vibration. “Well, I’d better go. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Will you be back in the morning?” he asked.

Would she?

She shouldn’t-and she hadn’t planned on it.

Yet she found herself agreeing anyway.

Two days later, after closing up the cozy little house she’d called home for the past two years, Betsy strode across the yard to where she’d left her car.

The brisk wintry air and an overcast sky suggested a storm was on its way, so she turned up the collar of her jacket. Most women who worked a day shift would be ready to put on a pot of soup and batten down the hatches for the night. But not Betsy. She was heading to the hospital to start another twelve-hour shift.

As she reached the driver’s door of her white Honda Civic, she spotted Doc walking out of the barn and heading toward her. Nearly ninety, his gait was more of a shuffle these days.

“You’re leaving earlier than usual,” he said.

She smiled at the man who’d become a mentor, a second father and a friend. “I want to check in on a patient before I start work.”

“A child?” he asked, knowing that she had a heart for kids, especially those who were seriously ill or injured.

“Actually, it’s a man who was robbed and assaulted outside the Stagecoach Inn Wednesday night. He’s got amnesia.”

“Oh, yeah?” The old man leaned his hip against her vehicle, as though intrigued by the case, too.

“He’s a stranger in town,” Betsy added, “but the expensive clothing he wore tells me that he has ties to a community somewhere.”

“That’s too bad. I had a case of amnesia once, back in the late seventies. A father of three fell off a railroad trestle near Lake San Marcos and damn near broke his neck. When he came to, he didn’t know who he was or where he came from.”

“Did he ever get his memory back?”

“Eventually. Once his wife reported him missing, police were able to put two and two together.”

Betsy sobered. Did John have a wife? The possibility sent an uneasy shudder through her veins.

“So how old is this fellow?” Doc asked.

“My age or a little younger.”

“How’s he look?”

“Medically speaking? He’s got a gash on his head that’s healing. And his rib cage is bruised.”

“That’s not what I meant. Do you think he’s good-looking?”

Uh-oh. So Doc was more intrigued by Betsy’s interest in an adult male patient. But she’d have to put his mind to rest, even if she couldn’t completely deny her budding attraction.

“I suppose he’s handsome,” she said, downplaying the fact that the current John Doe was drop-dead gorgeous. “I talked to Jim Kelso, the resident neurosurgeon, and he’s planning to discharge him soon. He’ll need to stay in town, I suspect. But at this point, he has no place to go or any resources.”

Doc fingered his chin and furrowed his craggy brow. “That’s too bad. Not only is the poor guy struggling with the memory loss and a lack of cash or credit, but he’s also backed into a corner.”

Betsy nodded, glad Doc seemed to think her interest in John was strictly professional.

Okay, so maybe it was a little of both. No one needed to know that.

“I thought I would talk to Sadie down at the Night Owl Motel. She might be able to give him a discount on a room.”

“You can’t ask Sadie to run a tab like that for a stranger. What if he isn’t financially set? What if he can’t pay for his keep?”

“I plan to cover the cost,” she admitted. But Doc was right. They didn’t know anything about John. Nor did they know how long he’d have to stay in town.

“Under the circumstances, I can’t let you do that. You could be left holding the bag for a very long time. And your savings can’t take another hit like that.”

Betsy had received a solid financial settlement after her divorce, thanks to her ex-husband’s innate ability to invest their money wisely. And she’d made a risky investment herself, one that had nearly tripled her funds overnight. Then she’d used the proceeds to buy stock in the medical center.

Doc had made a sizable investment in the facility himself. And with the hospital struggling financially… Well, Betsy wouldn’t think about that now.

“Tell the patient he can stay here,” Doc said. “I’ve got room in the house. And you and I can keep an eye on him that way.”

Have John stay at the ranch?

Her heart ricocheted in her chest. Just the idea was…

What? Brilliant? Perfect?

Reckless?

“Knowing that he has a place to stay and a way to support himself ought to help put his mind at ease,” Doc said.

It might put John at ease, Betsy realized. But the thought of John Doe living so close to her was doing a real number on her.

As one day stretched into a second, and then into a third, John still couldn’t remember who he was or what he was doing in Brighton Valley.

His injury had been serious, and doctors were monitoring the contusion to make sure it didn’t worsen. If it did, he would need surgery.

There were a lot of things he didn’t know these days, but he was certain that he didn’t want anyone operating on his brain. And so far, so good. He hadn’t needed surgery.

Dr. Kelso had mentioned something about releasing him in the next day or so, which was great. But he had no idea where he’d go.

He’d figure out something, he supposed. He certainly couldn’t lie around in a hospital bed for the rest of his life. But God only knew what he’d do to support himself.

Footsteps sounded, and he looked up to see a dark-haired teenage girl wearing a pink-striped apron. She poked her head into his doorway and smiled. “Would you like a magazine or a book to read?”

John hadn’t felt up to doing much of anything for the past couple of days, but it was much easier to concentrate now. His headaches weren’t as intense and he was feeling more like himself.