ten o’clock, Chloe had done two loads of laundry, cleaned the stove and washed the big bay window near the antique oak table. She enjoyed having her morning coffee where she could look out into the yard and pastures, so keeping the glass spotless had always been a priority.
While she worked, she kept the noise down. Joe might have offered to help her out on the ranch, but not long after eating breakfast and taking his pain medication, he’d mentioned being dizzy and had returned to the guest room and taken a nap. And she was glad that he’d done so.
Like it or not, he’d suffered a concussion. There was no way she would let him push himself too hard until he’d fully recovered.
She’d grown up as an army brat—the only girl with two older brothers, so she knew how stubborn men could be and how hard it was to admit their weakness. She’d keep that in mind the next time he offered to help. In the meantime, she continued to do her morning chores.
Next up was the kitchen floor. She’d just entered the mudroom to retrieve the plastic bucket and mop when the phone rang, so she hurried back to the kitchen and answered the old-style wall-mounted telephone before the noise disturbed Joe.
“Chloe,” the caller said, “it’s Betsy Nielson. How’s our patient doing this morning?”
“He had a good breakfast. Now he’s resting again.”
“Good. Is he able to remember anything yet?”
“Not that I’ve seen so far.”
“Give it some time. My husband, Jason, suffered from amnesia about four years ago. It was pretty tough on him, but his memories slowly began to return.”
“How long did it take?”
“A couple of weeks. But each case is different, so it’s impossible to predict. Just encourage Joe to be patient and let nature take its course.”
“I will.” Chloe wrapped the coiled phone cord around her index finger. “Has there been any news? I mean, how is the investigation going?”
“I haven’t heard, but I’m sure Sheriff Hollister will be contacting Joe soon to give him an update.”
“That’s good. Joe will be eager to talk to him.”
After the call ended, Chloe placed the receiver back in the cradle on the wall. She was eager to hear what the sheriff had to say, too. She hadn’t heard from Dave in months and wondered where he was—and why he’d sent a letter to her through someone else.
A few weeks ago she’d written to him, but he hadn’t responded. Then, just last Monday, she’d found her letter in the mailbox. The military had forwarded it to Dave, using the ranch address, which led her to believe his tour of duty had ended and that he’d been discharged.
If that was the case, then why hadn’t he contacted her or come home yet? If he had actually been discharged, then he was no longer in Afghanistan. And that was a relief. Sure, his attachment to her had made her uncomfortable, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care about him.
She wasn’t sure why he’d latched on to her like he had. She suspected that stress, battle fatigue and the recent death of his mother had all compounded and caused him to assume their friendship was something it had never been.
She’d done her best to explain that to him, but he couldn’t seem to get the picture. Finally, when he began naming the children he’d imagined them having, she’d sent him a nice letter, trying to be kind, yet firm and direct.
Of course, she’d have to move off the ranch now that he was home. She couldn’t risk having him think that there was any chance of her changing her mind about the two of them having a future together. Maybe, if he was out of the service and back in Brighton Valley, he could be more realistic about their relationship.
Either way, she would leave the Rocking C as soon as he arrived. She’d been looking after the ranch and trying to hold things together for him while he was gone, but her savings were just about gone, and the bills were still mounting up. She hoped he returned while he could still dig his way out of the hole he probably didn’t know he was in.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
Chloe turned to find Joe standing in the kitchen doorway. He was still wearing the same clothes. Even though he hadn’t yet showered and appeared to be a bit battered, he looked as sexy as ever.
“My thoughts aren’t worth much,” she said, shaking off her worries and forcing a smile.
“Either way, I’m sorry, Chloe. I didn’t mean to offer my services, then get dizzy and pass out on you.”
Her smile deepened. “Don’t give that a second thought. There’ll be plenty to keep you busy when the time comes. It’s best if you take it easy for now.”
She couldn’t help taking in his broad chest, the masculine bristle he’d yet to shave and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. Again, she couldn’t help comparing him to Dave, which wasn’t fair to the other man. Not when Joe was drop-dead gorgeous.
He seemed to be checking her out just as closely as she’d been assessing him. Flushing, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, wishing she’d put on something other than jeans this morning.
At the sound of an approaching vehicle’s engine, Chloe peered out the window and into the yard, where a police car pulled up.
“The sheriff is here,” she said.
Joe stiffened. A flicker of emotion tumbled across his face, while apprehension marred his brow.
The poor man. Chloe crossed the room, reached out and touched his forearm, felt the warmth of his body heat. “It’ll be okay.”
His gaze seemed to say, I hope you’re right, yet the tension in his stance suggested he had his doubts. Then he pulled free and headed for the living room, with her following behind.
* * *
Joe opened the front door, where a uniformed law enforcement officer stood on the stoop.
“I’m Shane Hollister,” the sheriff said. “I’m heading up the investigation into your hit-and-run accident.”
The words wadded up in Joe’s throat. What was he supposed to say, other than “Thank God. What news do you have?”
Yet for some reason, facing the lawman sent a wisp of apprehension through him.
Damn. Did he have some reason to feel guilty?
Rather than stew about all the memories that evaded him, he shook off the uneasiness and said, “Hello, Sheriff.”
Hollister gave him a once-over. “It’s good to see you up and around. How are you doing?”
“Not bad. But I still can’t remember squat—if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, maybe I can help.” The sheriff handed him a wallet. “I meant to give you this before you left the hospital, but I missed you.”
“That’s
