when she read whatever Dave hadn’t wanted to tell her in person.
If truth be told, she felt badly about possibly hurting his feelings while he was in a war zone, no matter how gentle she’d tried to be. And she regretted the distance her honesty had created between them.
“Thanks for understanding,” she said. “I’ll let you know if it says anything about you.”
Joe nodded. Then he began to mop the floor under the table, which was the only dry spot left. After he finished, he leaned the mop against the wall and carried the bucket through the mudroom and out into the yard.
When Chloe was finally alone, she went into the living room, took a seat in the chair in which Sheriff Hollister had once sat and took the envelope from her pocket. After opening it, she withdrew the letter and unfolded the single sheet of paper.
Chloe,
If you’re reading this letter, then that means Joe found you for me and hand-delivered it.
I can never thank you enough for what you did for my mom during her last days, and I’m sorry that my love and gratitude made you uncomfortable. Even though my feelings weren’t reciprocated, that doesn’t mean that I felt them any less.
I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than with you. But if you’re not interested in what we could have together, then I won’t bother you again.
Goodbye.
Dave
Chloe read the short note several times, focusing on the last cryptic part. Dave had a penchant for the melodramatic, so it was hard to know what he meant. Still, he didn’t have to stay away. The ranch belonged to him, and she would gladly turn the reins back over to him when he came home.
If he came home. Joe clearly knew where he could be found—that is, if his memory ever returned. When it did, she’d ask him to contact Dave and tell him she was leaving, that she couldn’t stay on the Rocking C forever.
But why hadn’t Dave contacted her in person? And why had he wanted the letter delivered when it would have been much easier to mail it? Or even to call?
Had Dave asked Joe to evict her? Maybe, once she’d cleared out of the house, Joe was to inform Dave so that he could return to the Rocking C without having to see her.
But if that was the case, all he’d had to do was say the word and she’d start packing.
However, she wouldn’t leave the ranch unattended until he actually arrived. So he’d just have to man up and deal with her temporary presence.
In the meantime, what in the world was she going to do with Joe?
And what would he tell her once his memory returned? She had no idea.
For a moment, she pondered showing him Dave’s letter, thinking it might jar his memory. But she didn’t consider that option very long. She’d just tell Joe that Dave had asked him to deliver it in person.
Perhaps just her reassurance that Joe was actually Dave’s friend was enough. It would have to be—until she figured out just what Dave meant when he said, “But if you’re not interested in what we could have together, then I won’t bother you again. Goodbye. Dave.”
What if he’d actually been saying goodbye forever? What if Dave had...?
Oh, God. And what if, somehow, it had been her fault?
As Joe made his way through the Rocking C barn, the smell of straw and dust stirred more than his senses. He stopped for a moment, scanning the walls where the tack hung and pondering the feeling of déjà vu that settled over him.
Had he actually been here before? It seemed as though he had.
Or was it something about the ranch or the scent of feed and leather that made him feel at home?
A horse whinnied, and he continued to walk to the back of the barn, where an Appaloosa was stabled.
“Hey there,” he told the mare. “How’s it going?”
She snorted, threw back her head, then stepped closer.
He reached in to stroke her neck. He didn’t know how long he stood there, talking to the horse, striking up a friendship of sorts. Certainly long enough for Chloe to have read her letter from Dave.
He supposed he could go back into the house now, but he lingered in the barn, trying to wrap his mind around the cloak of familiarity. Too bad he wasn’t having much luck.
Behind him, boot steps sounded. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted the approach of a stocky, middle-aged cowboy.
When their eyes met, the man introduced himself. “I’m Tomas Hernandez, the ranch foreman. You must be Joe Wilcox.”
For some reason, even though he’d been assured that his identity had been confirmed, the name still didn’t seem to fit. That was probably to be expected with amnesia.
Shaking off the lingering uneasiness, Joe turned away from the horse and reached out a hand to greet the foreman.
“It’s good to see you out and about,” Hernandez said. “I heard about the accident. Sounds like you were lucky.”
Joe didn’t feel so lucky. He felt lost and out of control. But he wasn’t about to whine about it. “I suppose it could have been a whole lot worse.”
Hernandez nodded. “You’re right. You still could be laid up in the hospital.”
Or in the morgue.
Again, Joe let the reality of the thought pass. “The doctor said to take it easy, but I’m going stir-crazy. I never have been able to sit still.”
He wasn’t sure how he knew that. Maybe because he was chomping at the bit to get back to normal, whatever that might be.
“If you have any work that needs to be done,” Joe added, “just say the word. I’d like to help out any way I can.”
“Chloe said you’re still recovering and won’t be available for a while.”
So they’d talked about him. Joe couldn’t blame them, he supposed. But he didn’t like the idea of being a burden—or someone’s problem. In fact, his gut twisted at the thought, and a shadow of uneasiness draped over him once more, this time weighing him down even worse than the amnesia did.
“I figure I’ll take it easy today,” he told Hernandez. “But I’ll be ready to pitch in tomorrow.”
“That’s good to hear. I’m down a ranch hand, so there’s plenty to keep us both busy for a while.”
As the silence stretched between them, they assessed each other like two stray dogs wondering if they should be friends or foes.
Joe nodded toward the mare. “She’s a pretty horse.”
“Yes,
