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, and the wondering made his head hurt. He realized he was rubbing his hand over the wound below his rib cage.
“I’m not.”
“You can’t know that for certain.”
“No,” he agreed. Because she was right. No memories existed to support his claim. “Yet somehow I do.”
He wished he knew where the certainty came from. Maybe then he could plumb the source for actual memories, for real recollections. But the more he fought for it, the worse his brain hurt.
Luckily a male tech strolled up. “We’re ready for you. Please follow me.”
“Wish me luck.” He stood, hospital gown flapping around his knees, strangely reluctant to leave her.
“Good luck.” She stood, too, tucked her thumbs in her back pockets. “You’ve got this. After all, you’re a smart guy, just memory-challenged.”
A smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. “Can you hang for a while longer?”
She nodded. “I’ll be here.”
* * *
More than a little flustered, Grace spent the next long, worry-fraught hour gathering her composure around herself. Memory failed her as to when a man last affected her so strongly. She had no reason to care, but she did.
When JD appeared, she hopped to her feet. He looked so drawn. Exhaustion and pain weighed heavily on him. Without a word she followed him back to the doctor’s office and took up her position in the corner.
“Who is the President of the United States?” The doctor started in on the questions needed to determine the extent of JD’s memory loss.
JD answered with a scowl, adding, “What is it with you two and your obsession with the president?”
“General questions are used to create a baseline,” Dr. Honer said. “It helps to determine if you’ve forgotten learned elements, a chunk of time or personal memories.”
“Well, I should know the president’s name. I’ve met him three times.”
Silence fell over the room.
“How do you know that?” she demanded.
JD
