of painkillers Dr. Nielsen sent home with you, I don’t think you’ll be much good at anything for a few days. So let’s get you well first.” She nodded toward the main entrance to the lobby. “Come on, let’s go.”
He didn’t need any convincing, soon taking the lead as they left the holiday-decorated lobby, leaving Bing Crosby crooning about dreams of a white Christmas behind.
Other than the soles of their boots tapping on the dusty concrete, they walked in silence until they reached the well-lit parking lot. Then Joe paused to look around.
Was he having a breakthrough?
“I’m not sure where we are,” he said, “or what’s nearby. But the doc told me to take the medicine when I eat. And for some weird reason, I have a real craving for Mexican food. Is there a taco shop nearby? Someplace where I can get some good menudo or albondigas?”
The way the Spanish words rolled off his tongue—as if he was a native speaker—surprised her. That was an interesting twist since Wilcox wasn’t a typical Mexican surname.
Maybe he wasn’t who they thought he was. That was a possible cause for alarm, but the USMC tattoo she’d seen before he’d put on that sweatshirt was enough to waylay at least some of her concern.
“Tía Juana’s is a drive-through,” she said. “And it’s not too far from here. We can pick up something on the way back to the ranch.”
“Thanks. That sounds great. And as a side note, I’d offer to pay, but you’ll have to take my IOU. The sheriff was supposed to drop off my wallet at the hospital earlier today, but he hasn’t done that yet.”
“No problem,” she said. “But as a side note of my own, I’m sorry.”
“About what? Me not having any cash? That’s the least of my problems.”
“I know. And it must be horribly frustrating for you. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
Fortunately, though, he’d just had a change in luck.
Joe Wilcox now had Chloe Dawson to watch out for him—and with no one else to nurse these days, she intended to focus all her TLC on him.
* * *
By the time they reached the ranch, Joe was beyond exhausted. It had taken all his energy to finish off the spicy Mexican soup he’d ordered at Tía Juana’s and to eat a couple bites of a quesadilla. Then he’d washed down his pills with a glass of iced tea.
“I’ll show you to the guest room,” Chloe said.
He followed her out of the kitchen, through a cozy living room with a stone fireplace and a built-in bookshelf, past a staircase leading to the second floor. He wondered where she slept. He knew better than to ask, though. No need for her to think he had ulterior motives, although she was one hell of a pretty woman.
He’d always been attracted to blondes...
Hadn’t he? While that bit of information seemed to be a memory, it certainly wasn’t one that was going to be very useful.
Still, Chloe’s hair was a platinum shade that hung down her back in soft, shimmering waves he was tempted to touch and to watch slip through his fingers.
He kept his hands to himself, though. The last thing he wanted to do was to step out of bounds before he’d spent ten minutes alone with her. Besides, he wasn’t up to fighting weight yet.
And speaking of hands... He glanced at the oversize bandage that was more trouble than it was worth. The tape was already flapping up. He’d told the nurse who’d put it on that he hadn’t needed it, but she’d insisted, and he’d been too tired and rheumy to argue.
As he followed Chloe to the hall, she pointed out a bathroom on the left, then led him to the first door on the right. “I’d give you Dave’s room, but if he shows up, he’ll need a place to sleep. So this will have to do.”
“I’d be happy on the couch. All I need is a pillow and blanket.”
“We can do better than that,” she said.
“‘We’?” He hadn’t realized that she might not live alone.
“Sorry. I’m actually just a guest here myself, so I don’t consider the house mine.” She flipped on the light switch, illuminating a small room with a double bed, a single nightstand and a dresser that rested near the window. “Would you like me to find you something to sleep in? There should be some men’s pajamas in Dave’s room.”
Something told him he’d prefer to sleep in the raw, but he decided not to mention that. “No, thanks. My boxers will have to do.”
“Okay.” She bit down on her bottom lip, as though worried about something.
“I plan on crashing the minute my head hits the pillow,” he added. “I doubt I’ll wake up until morning.”
“Good.” She brightened a moment, and then her smile slipped away. “I mean, a good night’s sleep ought to do wonders.”
An awkwardness settled around them, but Joe was too far gone to ponder why—or to even care.
“I’ll leave you alone so you can get some rest,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thanks again.”
“You’re more than welcome.” She waited a beat, as if still struggling with something. Attraction maybe?
Well, that was too damn bad. As nice as he might have found that before his accident, his jumbled and sleepy brain was too intent upon hitting the sheets—alone.
Of course, that didn’t mean he’d feel the same way tomorrow.
* * *
For a guy who didn’t know who or where he was, Joe had gotten a fairly good night’s sleep. But now, as the morning rays lit the guest bedroom, he winced and stretched out his bum knee, hoping the ache would ease. He must have exasperated an old injury, because he’d spotted some nasty scarring earlier.
He had no idea what had happened to him. A normal, healthy guy who hadn’t jarred his brains on the highway would have remembered how he’d messed himself up like that, especially since it looked as though he’d had surgery to correct it.
Damn. He hated not knowing anything about himself—who he was, where he was from, where he’d planned to go next.
At the sound of footsteps padding down the hall, he turned to the doorway, where the pretty blonde stood holding a stack of folded clothes.
“Good morning,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay, I guess. Last night, before dozing off, I convinced myself that I would wake up feeling completely back to normal and with my memory intact.”
“And...?”
“My head doesn’t feel nearly as bad as before. But my memory?” He clucked his tongue. “Still nothing.”
“How
