Teresa Carpenter - His Unforgettable Fiancée

“I can’t say, Doc.”

“It’s probable.” Grace spoke up. “He was wearing leather chaps when Porter brought him in.”

Dr. Honer nodded his balding head. “The surface bump and laceration aren’t significant enough to cause the level of swelling revealed by the MRI or the symptoms you’ve described. They certainly shouldn’t have caused a memory lapse. But if you were in a motorcycle accident, it would explain the additional trauma.”

“How so?” JD wanted to know.

“The helmet protected your head, which probably saved your life, but you still connected with the ground with enough impact to shake your head up inside the helmet, causing the brain to ricochet against the skull. Probably knocked you out for a few seconds. An accident would account for the bruising on your hip, as well.”

“And the laceration?” Grace asked.

“It had gravel in it, which tells me it most likely happened after he removed the helmet. He may have fallen on his walk into town. Or more likely someone knocked him down.”

“More likely?” Grace mused in full sheriff mode. “What makes you say that?”

“There’s faint bruising on his lower jaw and on the knuckles of his right hand inconsistent with his other injuries. Since you mentioned he didn’t have a wallet on him, my guess is someone ran him off the road and attempted to rob him. He probably came to in the middle of it, fought back and took a right to the jaw. In his condition that’s all it would take to put him on the ground, causing the bump and the cut. Double head trauma more than accounts for the possibility of memory loss.”

“Does that mean I’ll get my memories back once the bump goes away?”

The doctor scratched his cheek. “I’m more concerned with the swelling of the brain. It could be fatal if it reaches the point of critical mass.”

“And what are the chances of that?” JD’s calmness amazed Grace.

“I’m cautiously optimistic considering the time lapse since you were picked up. You need to remain under observation and have another MRI after a bit, to see if the swelling is increasing or diminishing. It’s possible once the swelling goes down that you could regain some, if not all, of your memories.”

“What are my options if the swelling reaches critical mass?”

“Some people respond to medication. Worst-case scenario—a hole may need to be drilled into your skull to relieve the pressure.”

She shuddered. That sounded scary.

Dr. Honer directed his next comments to her. “I highly recommend he be moved to the city. We don’t have the necessary equipment to handle a delicate procedure of that nature.”

Great. No way Brubaker would authorize the cost of ambulance service to the city. He’d already released the prisoner. JD was on his own. And her duty ended over an hour and half ago.

She could have left at any time, but she kind of felt invested. She could only imagine what JD must be going through: in pain, dealing with strangers, unable to remember anything of his life, not even his own name. It must be frightening. Yet he handled it with stone-faced grace.

“Sheriff, if I can have another moment?”

“There’s no need to leave, Doc.” JD halted them, a grim note in his voice. “If it’s about me, I have a right to hear it.”

“You need another MRI and to be monitored throughout the night, if not the next few days. I’ve expended all the resources I can at this point.”

“I’ll drive him.” The words were out before she fully considered them, but what the heck, she was leaving town anyway. This just moved her agenda up by a few hours. Her sense of duty didn’t end with the removal of her title and paycheck. And it went against every instinct to leave an injured man to take care of himself.

Looking at JD, no one would doubt his ability to handle himself. Though injured, he radiated a quiet intelligence, his stoic endurance testament to an inner core of strength. Which said a lot. Between Dr. Honer’s prognosis and JD’s memory loss, his whole world was one big uncertainty.

“You can drive him. Good, that’s good.” Dr. Honer sighed in relief. “Take him to the free clinic on Main. I’ll send a referral over, let them know to expect you.”

“I can pay.” JD stated with certainty.

She and Dr. Honer stared at him, neither wanting to question how he’d pay as it was clear this was one of those things he knew without knowing how he knew. Remembering the seventy-thousand-dollar watch, she tended to believe him. However, a hospital would be much less trusting.

A knock came at the door and the receptionist stuck her head into the room. “Sheriff’s department dropped off this property bag for Sheriff Delaney.”

“Thanks.” Grace took the large, clear plastic bag, checked to make sure it still held all its contents and handed it to JD. “You’ve officially been released from custody.”

CHAPTER THREE

JD ACCEPTED THE sealed bag. He’d been released. He supposed that was a good thing. But where did it leave him?

“Does that mean you won’t be driving me to the hospital?” No big deal. He didn’t really care for all this medical mumbo jumbo anyway. Especially the whole bit about drilling into his head. He’d take his chances on the swelling going down.

Once that happened, the doc said, his memories might come back. He could feel them out there, as if they were hidden behind a dark curtain in his head and all he had to do was find the lever that worked the curtain.

He’d miss Grace, though. She was the only constant he knew in this new world.

“I said I’d take you, and I will.” She assured him. Her gruff tone made him wonder if she was insulted to have her word questioned or if she regretted making the offer in the first place.

She was an odd mixture of duty and concern, with a whole lot of pretty thrown in.

Funny thing, his bruised brain only managed to stay focused on two things: pulling back that curtain and the complex G. Delaney, ex-sheriff, misguided realist, delectable morsel. When he couldn’t take the blankness for another second, he shifted his attention to the left and admired the fit of G. Delaney’s uniform to her trim body and soft curves.

Her question about his marital status served as no deterrent. He wasn’t married. The lack of guilt only supported his irrational certainty.

“I have to stop by my house first,” she went on completely unaware of his imaginings. “To pick up the rest of my things.”

“Keep an eye on him.” Dr. Honer directed her. “You know what to watch for with a concussion. Wake him every few hours to check for nausea, pupil variation, incoherency.”

“I will.”

“I heard you were moving to San Francisco.” The doctor went on. “Best of luck to you. And to you, young man. I hope you get your memory back real soon.”

What if I don’t, he wanted to ask, but he bit the words back. The doctor had done all he could. So JD simply said, “Thank you.” He accepted the prescription for pain medicine and followed Grace’s curvy butt from the room.

* * *

Grace made a last sweep through her small apartment, making sure she hadn’t left anything behind. The one-bedroom apartment sat atop the garage of her father’s house. She’d already packed her things, which didn’t amount to much—a duffel bag and two boxes. She wouldn’t be back unless it was to drive through on her way to somewhere else.

After she lost the election, she sold the house and rented back the apartment. Her lease ended tonight.

Her father had brought her here. With him gone she had no reason to stay. The citizens made that clear, casting an overwhelming vote. She got the message. She’d been too hard-core. They wanted someone who would let boys be boys on occasion. Someone connected, like Brubaker.