Judy Duarte - The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming

He had no idea what had happened to him. A normal, healthy guy who hadn’t jarred his brains on the highway would have remembered how he’d messed himself up like that, especially since it looked as though he’d had surgery to correct it.

Damn. He hated not knowing anything about himself—who he was, where he was from, where he’d planned to go next.

At the sound of footsteps padding down the hall, he turned to the doorway, where the pretty blonde stood holding a stack of folded clothes.

“Good morning,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess. Last night, before dozing off, I convinced myself that I would wake up feeling completely back to normal and with my memory intact.”

“And...?”

“My head doesn’t feel nearly as bad as before. But my memory?” He clucked his tongue. “Still nothing.”

“How about a cup of coffee? Maybe a jolt of caffeine will trigger something.”

Just seeing his pretty caretaker wearing a snug black sweater, leaning sexily in the doorway was enough to jolt him wide awake. But he wasn’t about to make a comment like that. “Sure, coffee sounds great.”

“How do you like it?”

“Black.” The fact that he’d had an answer for her was enough to make him think his memory might actually return before long. He just wished it would hurry up. The brain fog was enough to make him climb the walls.

“You got it,” she said. “How about bacon and eggs? I could also whip up some oatmeal or maybe some hotcakes for you. Do you have a preference?”

Nothing jumped out at him. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Nonfat Greek yogurt and bananas?”

No, he’d pass on the healthy crap. A slow grin tugged at his lips. “Would hotcakes and bacon be too much trouble?”

She tossed him a sunny smile. “Not at all. Do you want me to serve you in here?”

While having a beautiful blonde sit on his bed, spoon-feeding him, triggered an intriguing vision and opened up some interesting possibilities, he didn’t want her to think of him as an invalid. “No, I’ll come out to the kitchen.”

She lifted the folded clothing in her arms. “I brought you something you can wear—pants and shirts that belong to Dave. I also put fresh towels on the bathroom counter.”

A shower sounded good. And so did having breakfast with her. “Thanks.”

“Did you want to eat first?”

“If you don’t mind. I want to take another dose of my pain medication, and I’m not supposed to do that on an empty stomach.”

“You got it. I’ll have it on the table in no time at all.” She tossed him another smile, then placed the clothing on the top of the dresser.

When she turned and left the room, he threw off the covers, wincing when he bumped the scrape on his knuckles that was no longer protected by the bandage he’d removed, and got out of bed. He couldn’t very well join her for breakfast without clothes. And since he was going to postpone the shower for later, he snatched the pair of folded jeans off the stack she’d set on top of the dresser, slipped them on and followed the aroma of sizzling bacon to the kitchen, where he found Chloe standing at the stove, her back to him. Her long blond hair had been pulled back into a ponytail.

Apparently, she hadn’t heard him approach the kitchen, so he could just stand here and enjoy the view. But something told him not to get caught up in romantic dreams when he had no idea who he was or where he was going—or if there was a family waiting for him somewhere. So he decided to let his presence be known. “Something sure smells good.”

* * *

At the sound of Joe’s voice, Chloe turned to the kitchen doorway, where he stood wearing one of Dave’s T-shirts and a pair of jeans. Yet that’s where any similarities between the two men ended.

Dave had been fair-haired and on the thin side, while Joe was dark-haired with an olive complexion. His bulkier frame filled out that T-shirt in a way Dave never had.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.

“No, I have everything under control. Just come on in and have a seat.”

As he complied, taking one of the kitchen chairs near the bay window that looked out into the nearest pasture, she poured him a mug of coffee and carried it to the table.

He thanked her, then took a sip. “You know, I really appreciate you providing me with a temporary place to stay, although I don’t like the idea of causing you extra work.”

“It’s no problem.”

“Maybe not, but I’d be happy to help out any way I can.”

Since the ranch hand who usually helped Tomas with the chores had taken some time off to visit his family in Mexico, there was plenty to do. “That’s nice of you to offer. And I might take you up on it—once you’re feeling strong enough.”

He smiled, revealing a pair of dimples and a glimmer in those amazing blue eyes. For a moment, she lost her train of thought.

“I’ll start today,” he said, “but don’t worry. I’ll take it slow and easy.”

“Let’s wait until tomorrow. I’d feel better if you had a little more time to rest.”

“All right. Then I’ll just have to hang out here at the house. But I promise not to get in your way or cause you any trouble.”

Something told her that any trouble that came her way would be of her own making. “I’m sure you won’t be. And to be honest with you, it’ll be nice to have someone to talk to every now and then.”

The big old ranch house could get lonely at times, especially in the evenings.

“So you’re a guest here, too,” he said.

She nodded, then turned back to the hotcakes that were browning on the griddle. She flipped each one over, then reached for a platter on which she could put them as soon as they were done.

“So what do you do when you’re not nursing the injured?” he asked.

“I’m between jobs right now, which worked out okay in the long run. Tomas, the ranch foreman, is shorthanded, so I’ve been helping out when I can.”

In truth, Tomas was a good worker—and he tried hard. But he’d never really had a supervisory role before. But when the previous foreman retired, Chloe had to find someone to step up to the plate. If she’d had more money to work with to offer a fair wage to someone better equipped, she would have. As it was, she promoted him based upon seniority.

“When you go back to job hunting,” Joe said, “what kind of work do you do?”

“I used to be an aide at an assisted-living facility in town. I also plan to attend nursing school next semester.”

“Pretty cool. I have my very own Florence Nightingale to help me get back on the mend.”

She turned to face him again and smiled. “Nursing has always been a dream of mine.”

Of course, after being terminated from the Sheltering Arms, she’d spent a little time wondering if she’d pinned her heart on the wrong dream.

Had Teresa Cummings, Dave’s mother, still been alive, Chloe would have shared her disappointment and concern over her firing, which had seemed so unfair.

Then again, if Teresa had been alive, she would have advised Chloe to handle things differently at the time than she had, to confront her boss, to stir the pot. And if the administrator had seen fit to fire her anyway, Teresa might have encouraged her to file a wrongful termination suit.

But Chloe had never liked making waves. So she’d rolled over and walked away from the one job that had been the perfect fit for her.

She was tempted to share the details with Joe, but she bit her tongue. What did she really know about him?

Sure, she was drawn to him, although she blamed that on him being injured and her having a nurse’s heart. She’d always been a nurturer, and she knew she’d make a good R.N. someday. But it wasn’t just her heart Joe had touched. There was something about him she found attractive.