Chapter Two
The ranch foreman, Tomas Hernandez, had just left for the day when Chloe’s cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She recognized the number to the Brighton Valley Medical Center and slid her finger across the screen. “Hello?”
“Chloe? This is Dr. Betsy Nielsen. Joe Wilcox is in stable condition and we’re going to be discharging him soon.”
She switched the phone to her other ear, thinking she hadn’t heard correctly. “Who?”
“Joe Wilcox. The hit-and-run patient you came in to see last night.”
“His memory returned?”
“No, I’m afraid it hasn’t. Sheriff Hollister called shortly after you left the hospital last night. During the investigation, he learned who our patient is. Apparently, Mr. Joseph Wilcox arrived in town yesterday evening and checked into the Night Owl Motel. When the manager let the sheriff into his room, they found his wallet and the keys to a rental car, which also had been leased to Joseph Wilcox. The name on his California driver’s license is a match, as well. I was told the photo bears his likeness. But they’ve yet to uncover any other information, so they still don’t know much about him—or why he’s in Texas.”
Dave mentioned something about a buddy in the corps named Joe. The last name might have been Wilcox, but she wasn’t sure.
“A deputy took his fingerprints,” the doctor added, “Apparently he has a military record, although it will take more time to get any classified information. Unfortunately, we don’t know how long that will be. And, like I said, physically, he’s stable. So there’s no legitimate reason for me to keep him another night.”
Chloe knew Betsy wouldn’t release a patient before it was wise to do so, but she didn’t have the same confidence in the hospital administration who might be worried about him not being able to pay the bill. Her experience with the administrator of the Sheltering Arms Rest Home gave her cause to worry.
“Surely the hospital won’t turn him out on the street,” Chloe said. “He has no memory, nowhere to go and no one to take care of him.”
“Of course not. That’s why I called you. Since you left your name and number as his emergency contact, I was hoping that we could release him into your care.”
Chloe didn’t want to say no. After all, helping people was her natural calling, an intrinsic part of who she was. But she was living in the ranch house alone. And the man was a stranger.
“If you’d rather not take on the responsibility,” Betsy said, “I understand.”
Chloe might not know anything about the man, but he either was or had been a marine. And he had to be Dave’s friend. Why else would he be delivering a letter to her?
“What time is he scheduled to be discharged?” She still needed to finish up her evening chores, and it was already pushing five o’clock.
“He should have been released a couple of hours ago, but I stalled the admin assistant until I had time to call you personally.”
So much for finishing her chores before dark. She walked to the row of hooks just inside the back door and grabbed a red barn jacket to ward off the winter chill. “Then I’ll leave now.”
“That’s great. He’s on the third floor, in room 327. I’ll have the paperwork ready for his discharge.”
Five minutes later, Chloe climbed into the faded green GMC pickup and turned on the ignition. The old ranch truck roared to life, just as dependable as Chloe herself.
To be honest, she was apprehensive about taking in a stranger, but she chided herself as quickly as the thought crossed her mind. Teresa Cummings, Dave’s mom, had let Chloe move to the Rocking C when she didn’t have anywhere else to go. So taking in Joe Wilcox was her way of paying it forward. Besides that, Teresa would have taken the wounded marine under her wing in a heartbeat.
One night, before Teresa’s death, she and Chloe had shared a pot of tea and talked about Teresa’s terminal illness, her fears and her thoughts on life. The dying woman had also shared her regrets, one of which was about a kid she’d neglected to take in and offer a home.
Apparently, years ago, when Dave had been in high school, one of his friends had needed a home. The teenager had been living in foster care and had been miserable. So Teresa had asked her husband if the boy could move in with them. Her husband had been reluctant because the kid had gotten into trouble in the past and had even been suspended from school on several occasions. Still, he’d always been polite and helpful whenever he’d been on the Rocking C, and Teresa had suspected he’d only been acting out because of his sad childhood and difficult living situation.
Dave had begged them to let the boy stay with them, but his father had been firm in his decision. Teresa hadn’t pushed her husband, although she always suspected she could have gotten him to see reason.
Shortly thereafter, the boy ran away from his foster home and was never heard from again. Dave had been inconsolable for nearly a year, and his relationship with his father had suffered terribly because of it.
Teresa had wished that she would have insisted that they take the boy in. And she’d always wondered what might have happened, how he might have fared if she had provided him a loving home. She also wondered if Dave and his father’s relationship might have been a happier one, especially since her husband had died of a heart attack shortly after Dave joined the Marines in his one and only act of sheer rebellion.
To appease her guilt, Teresa had promised herself that, from then on, the Rocking C Ranch would always have its paddocks open for any stray, whether it had four legs or two.
And since Chloe had resolved to keep the ranch running exactly as Teresa would have done had she still been alive, that meant letting a hit-and-run victim who couldn’t recall his own name recover there.
By the time she reached the medical center, it had grown dark outside and was threatening to rain. She turned into the hospital parking lot and pulled into a spot close to the entrance.
After entering the lobby, which had been decorated with twinkly lights and a big Christmas tree near the front window, she took the elevator to the third floor, where the nurses’ station was a flurry of activity, reminding her of the shift changes at the Sheltering Arms. But thanks to the administrator at the nursing home who’d fired her rather than the incompetent nurse she’d reported, Chloe was no longer a part of the staff.
She checked out the room numbers until she spotted 327. The door was open, so she walked in. But she stopped short when she saw the wounded man standing near his bed, wearing a pair of tattered jeans, his broad chest bare.
Unable to help herself, she watched as he attempted to put on a torn black sweatshirt he must have been wearing at the time of the accident. His left hand was wrapped in an oversize bandage, and his muscled form struggled with the effort.
“Would you like... I mean, I could...”
He glanced over his shoulder, those amazing blue eyes locking in on hers and exposing something deep within, something vulnerable.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it.” His handsome face bore a couple of scrapes, but other than that, he appeared strong and healthy. She could hardly tell
