face she saw was strange and new to her—even those of her closest friends and relatives.
“You’re telling me I could be like this forever?”
Dr. Patel, her neurologist, shrugged helplessly. “Every recovery is different. You could snap back to normal in a matter of days, weeks, months or…yes, the damage could be permanent.”
“What about my short-term memory?” She couldn’t even remember what she’d had for breakfast that morning.
Again a shrug. Why was it so difficult to get a straight answer out of a doctor?
“Do you think I’ll be up to speed for medical school in the fall?” She asked the question as casually as she dared.
Dr. Patel abruptly dropped his professional-doctor mask. “I didn’t know of your plans. I’m sorry.”
“I guess that’s a big, fat no.” Willow softened her comment with a smile, but she had to force it. She should be grateful to be alive, to be walking and talking with no disfiguring scars. Her car accident during last week’s tornado had been a serious one and she easily could have died if not for the speed and skill of her rescuers. Right now, though, she didn’t feel grateful at all. Her plans and dreams were in serious jeopardy.
Dr. Patel closed Willow’s chart and offered a tentative smile. “Sometimes life throws us curve balls. But if your dream is to be a healer, you will find a way.”
Maybe, but not at University of Texas Southwestern. Willow had fought so hard to be accepted in the first place. If she withdrew at this late date with no explanation, she had very little chance of being accepted again. And if she told them the truth…well, no medical school wants a student with cognitive dysfunction.
For Willow, that meant only one thing. She would recover sooner rather than later. Damn the prognosis. She was not going to let anyone—not even fate—snatch away her dreams.
Not this time.
She was in control of her future. In six weeks, she intended to be at med school with a fully functioning brain.
Chapter One
One week later, Willow pasted on a smile as yet another wedding guest approached the register book. This was much, much harder than she’d anticipated.
“Why, Willow, it’s so good to see you up and around!” The woman was in her fifties, fashionably dressed, slender. The man with her was balding, wore glasses, carried himself with an air of self-importance.
Now, who in Cottonwood fit that description? Only about a zillion people. “I’m feeling much better,” Willow responded, plucking the white-plumed pen from its stand and holding it out. The woman took the hint and signed the book. Willow read the signature upside-down, a skill she was quickly acquiring. The Honorable and Mrs. Milton Chatsworth. Duh! The mayor and his wife. Their daughter, Anne, had been Willow’s favorite babysitter.
“How’s your granddaughter doing?” Willow asked. Anne was now married and the mother of a darling baby daughter.
“Growing like a weed,” the mayor crowed. “Do you want to see pictures?” He reached for his wallet, but his wife, Deborah, stopped him.
“Now, Milton, Willow’s busy. Maybe she can look at the pictures later.” She gave Willow a shoulder-squeeze and the couple moved on.
Willow breathed a sigh of relief as she surreptitiously jotted notes on an index card under the table skirt. Deb. Chatsworth. Teal dress, emerald ring. She’d given up on cataloguing the men. They were all wearing gray suits and navy ties. It was as if they’d called each other last night and arranged to match. But if she could keep the women straight, that might work, since couples tended to stick together. Unfortunately, she had to write down the cues, since her memory was still so spasmodic.
At first, she hadn’t wanted to attend her friend Mick’s wedding. It had sounded like her worst nightmare—a hundred people she knew, all of them with the same face. Then she’d reasoned that if she was going to cure her brain problem, she had to put herself in challenging situations and exercise her gray cells. And so far, so good. No one had even suspected she had a problem.
She turned her attention to the couple approaching her table. Ugh, another man in a gray suit. This one had blond hair and was undoubtedly handsome, though she could only judge that by objectively cataloguing his regular features, blue eyes and square jaw.
Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, please, don’t let it be him. Don’t let it be Cal Chandler. She was in no mood to face him, not when he was with a shapely woman in a snug red dress. Though it was tempting to rub his face in the fact that she was off to medical school in five weeks, despite everything he’d done to wreck her life, she wouldn’t be able to gloat with any sincerity—not when her future was again in doubt.
Just thinking about him started a slow burn in her gut. She’d gotten her life back on track despite the devastating setback she’d suffered five years ago, but she couldn’t say the same about him. He was practically a genius, with a degree in biomedical science. But he’d blown off vet school after one year and was now wasting his life as a casual laborer on a ranch. Not that it wasn’t good, honest work, but with Cal’s potential—
“Willow,” the woman in the red dress said with a warm smile as she signed the book. “I didn’t expect to see you here. You look a little flushed—are you okay?”
Willow glanced at the signature and sighed with quiet relief. This handsome blond man was Jeff Hardison, her grandmother’s doctor, and his wife, Allison, Cottonwood’s dentist. She was spared Cal for the moment.
Willow summoned a smile. “I’m feeling great.”
“Are you sure? I could bring you some punch.”
“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Willow said reassuringly. “It’s just a little warm in here.” Or maybe it was just her. It burned her up just thinking about all the opportunities Cal had tossed away while she’d toiled through college working three jobs—
Okay, she had to stop thinking about him or she was going to embarrass herself.
“It’s good to see you,” Jeff said, sincerity tingeing his voice. “You had the whole town worried for a few days.”
“I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine now.”
As the Hardisons walked away, Willow realized her grandmother was standing beside her. Pathetically, she only knew it was Nana because she recognized her gaudy rhinestone brooch.
“Any problems?” her grandmother asked in a stage whisper. “You know, recognizing people?”
“I’ve got a pretty good system going.” Willow showed Nana her stack of index cards with their hastily written hints. “No one suspects a thing.”
“I don’t know why you don’t want anyone to know,” Nana said. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Nana, think about it. Do you want the whole town to think I’m brain-damaged? Even once I make a full recovery, that’s a label that could stick with me and ruin my life.”
Nana clucked like
