Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas Gift\The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming\Santa's Playbook (23 page)

Joe released a pent-up sigh. At least he didn't have a family worrying about him. Not that he was completely off the hook. There could be someone else who needed him, someone who...

No, that wasn't true. He wasn't sure how he knew that there was no one else, that no one had ever worried about him. He just did.

“All right,” Chloe said. “I'll keep Mr. Wilcox on the ranch while you finish looking into whoever did this.”

“Sounds good.” The sheriff made his way to the door, then turned and looked at Joe. “I'll keep you posted as to what else we uncover. And I'll call the minute I hear anything from the military.”

“Thanks. I'd appreciate that.” Joe supposed he should feel better, yet his jumbled mind couldn't wrap itself around so many possibilities. And that left him just as confused as he'd been the moment he'd woken up in the E.R.

Well, almost as confused.

“I'll walk you outside,” Chloe told the sheriff.

As the two stepped onto the porch and continued toward the police car, Joe remained in the living room, feeling like a kid left behind so the grown-ups could have a discussion in private.

But he could see why Chloe might want to talk to the cop in private. No doubt she wanted to relay her fears and misgivings about living with a random stranger.

Hell, if she was afraid, he'd have to leave—no matter what Hollister had suggested. Too bad he had no idea where to go.

For the time being, he headed back to the kitchen, determined to mop the floor and to finish the chore Chloe had started before Hollister had arrived. He figured that he might as well make himself helpful around the house and the ranch so she wouldn't think of him as an obligation or a burden.

Okay. So he was also curious about what was going on outside, what was being said.

He placed the bucket into the sink, then turned on the faucet. While the water flowed out of the spigot, he looked out the big kitchen window, where Hollister and Chloe stood near the squad car.

The sheriff opened the driver's door and reached across the seat. Then he handed an envelope to Chloe.

Was that Dave's letter?

For just being a “family friend,” she was certainly concerned about the guy. Not that Joe had any claim to his personal Florence Nightingale, but he couldn't stop the uneasy feeling rolling through his stomach.

Or the prickle of jealousy that sketched over him, urging him to try and make Chloe experience her own case of amnesia and forget whatever it was that she felt for Dave Cummings.

* * *

Chloe recognized Dave's loopy penmanship the moment Sheriff Hollister handed over the letter. She'd been tempted to tear into it right then and there, but she merely stared at the worn and smudged envelope that someone had folded in half, measuring the weight of it in her hand.

Apparently someone had been carrying it around for a while—either Dave or Joe. Maybe even both of them.

“I'm curious about the contents of that letter,” the sheriff said.

She could understand why, but she was reluctant to read what Dave had to say in front of anyone. She wasn't sure what he'd written—or how it would make her feel. She'd never liked hurting anyone's feelings or angering them, and realizing that she'd either hurt or angered Dave didn't sit well with her.

“There might be something inside that would suggest why Wilcox is here,” Sheriff Hollister added.

“I thought you would have opened it as part of your investigation,” Chloe said.

“It's a sealed envelope. I can't read it without a warrant, and since Dave Cummings wrote it to you, there's no reason for me to request one.” Sheriff Hollister reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you find any clues that might help with my investigation, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me know.”

“Of course.”

He nodded, then climbed into his squad car. “Everything I've learned about Wilcox suggests that he's law-abiding. But if you have reason to believe otherwise, give me a call.”

“I will. Thank you.” She refolded the envelope, then shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans.

Rather than return to the house, she waited until the sheriff left and watched the black-and-white vehicle head down the drive, biding her time and tamping down her compulsion to tear into the missive.

While tempted to dash upstairs and pore over the contents so she could get an idea where Dave was and why Joe had possession of the letter in the first place, she reined in her curiosity. She'd already left Joe alone in the house long enough and didn't want him to think she was rude—or worse, suspicious of him. So she walked up the porch steps and entered the living room.

She thought her houseguest might have gone back to bed—and if he had, she wouldn't have blamed him. Those head injuries could really take a lot out of a person. But when she heard noise coming from the kitchen, she went looking for him there. She wouldn't have been surprised to see him fixing himself a snack. But she hadn't expected to find a bucket on the wet floor and to see him wringing out the mop.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

His movements stilled, and he leaned against the wooden handle, the muscles in his forearms flexed and primed for heartier work. “Thought I'd better help out and pay for my keep.”

“You don't need to do that.”

“Yes, I do. I don't like taking handouts.” His eye twitched, and his brow furrowed, his words drifting off. Had a memory crossed his mind?

She was afraid to ask since she'd already jumped to that conclusion a couple of times, and she'd been wrong.

“At least, I don't think I do,” he added.

“Dr. Nielson said that you should take it easy.”

“Yeah, and she also told me to be patient, but something tells me I'm not one to sit around and wait for things to happen.”

She continued to stand in the doorway, the letter burning a hole in her back pocket.

“I'll tell you what,” Joe said. “I'm almost finished here. As soon as I dump out the dirty water, I'll go to the barn and check out the stables. That way, you can read the letter the sheriff gave you in private.”

Chloe smoothed her hand over the front of her jeans, fingering the hemmed edge of the pocket, making sure it was still hidden inside. Had she been that obvious?

“I saw Hollister give it to you outside, and if I were in your boots, I'd be dying to read it, too. Especially if it says Joe Wilcox is a nutcase and you shouldn't let him within a hundred feet of you.” He smiled, but she knew he was itching for a clue as to why he was here.

Still, she wanted to be alone 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?

Chapter Four

A
s 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, she is. And she has good bloodlines, too. Her name's Lola. She's going to foal soon, so I brought her in and stabled her until her time comes.”

Joe still couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been on the ranch before. And in the barn. Did Hernandez recognize him?

“Have you worked here long?” he asked the foreman.

“About four years.” Hernandez lifted his hat, revealing a balding head. “It'll be five this coming February.”

“I don't suppose you recognize me,” Joe said.

“No, I'm afraid not.”

“I thought maybe Dave had brought me around,” he told the foreman.

“Not that I'm aware of.”

That shot down his theory, he supposed. Maybe he'd grown up on a ranch. But where?

He scanned the barn again. So why did he have this feeling of déjà vu? Was his scattered brain playing tricks on him? Maybe. Still, Hernandez wasn't very forthcoming.

“When did Dave join the Marines?” he asked the foreman.

“About two and a half years ago. He and his father had a big falling out over something or other. And Dave enlisted to spite him.”

“What'd they fight about?”

“Almost everything. But that last time was the worst. And I'm sure Dave was sorry about it afterward.”

“You mean joining the corps?”

“Leaving home, mostly. His father died of a heart attack shortly after Dave finished recruit training. And I think Dave blamed himself for it. Last time he was here, to attend his mother's funeral, he told me he'd be home soon and wouldn't ever leave again. He asked me to look out for things until he did. But he hasn't contacted any of us in quite a while.”

No wonder Chloe was eager to read that letter.

And now Joe was even more curious than ever to know what it said. He and Dave might be buddies, but they hadn't enlisted at the same time. According to what the sheriff had said, Joe had joined five years earlier.

He stroked his chin, felt the stubble of the beard he hadn't shaved this morning. That shower he'd been meaning to take after he'd taken his morning pain meds was long overdue.

“Well,” he said to Hernandez, “I'm going to head back to the house. If you start making a list of chores you'd like me to do, I'll get started on them tomorrow.”

“All right. I'll do that.”

Joe gave Lola's neck one last stroke, then strode toward the barn door. He hated not knowing anything about himself. And while he continued to get some fleeting thoughts about his character and things he liked or disliked, he had no idea how to cobble them together.

After entering the living room, he took a moment to survey the leather furnishings, the built-in bookshelf in the far wall, the stone fireplace with photos lining the mantel. When he noticed one of a smiling marine in uniform, he made his way to the hearth so he could take a better look.

He lifted the brass frame and studied the fair-haired man's image. He wished he could say that he recognized him, but he didn't.

“That's Dave,” Chloe said.

Joe turned toward her voice. She stood in the doorway that led down the hall to the bedrooms. The moment their gazes met, he felt another stirring—one that was far more appealing than the scent of leather and hay that had provoked his senses in the barn.

“His mother never understood why he'd joined the service in the first place,” Chloe said. “As the only child, the only son, he knew his father expected him to stay on the ranch and take over someday. But I've sensed there was more to it than that. I think he had a blowup with his dad, although he never said anything to me about it.”

Joe took another gander at the photo in his hand.

“Does he look familiar?” Chloe asked.

“No, I'm afraid not.” Joe returned the frame to the mantel.

“Well, you definitely knew him. In his letter, he mentioned that he'd given it to you and asked you to bring it to me.”

“That's all he had to say?”

She bit down on her bottom lip, as though struggling with the answer. “About you? Yes, that's all.”

What else had Dave written? The rest of his message had obviously been personal and something she wasn't eager to share.

Joe figured he didn't have a right to ask if he could read it himself, although his curiosity was mounting. And so was his interest in what made Chloe tick, an interest that threatened to turn into full-blown attraction if he'd let it.

And maybe it was morphing into that anyway.

Even today, with her white-blond hair pulled into a ponytail that hung down her back and no makeup other than the pink lipstick she had nearly worn off, he found her intriguing.

She wasn't wearing anything fancy—just faded jeans and a blue, lightweight sweater. Yet she couldn't hide her wholesome beauty behind a plain Jane facade. Not when those whiskey-colored eyes had zeroed in on him and set his libido on end.

As if unaware of his thoughts, she crossed the room, joined him near the fireplace and reached for the framed photograph he'd just replaced on the mantel. As she stood within touching distance, her faint, lemon-blossom scent aroused more than his interest.

She studied the marine in the photo for a moment. While she did so, Joe studied her—the thick dark lashes, the delicate features of her face, the fullness of her lips...

“After Dave joined the service and his father passed away, his mom was left to run the ranch on her own.” Chloe took one last look at the photo, then returned the frame to its rightful place on the mantel. “When she got sick, I tried my best to help in any way I could, but I didn't know anything about working on a ranch— although I'm learning.”

“So you'll wait here until Dave returns home?”

She bit down on her lip again, then gave a slight shrug of her left shoulder. “Since Teresa had provided a home for me when I needed one, I felt a certain obligation to her. So I promised her I'd stay until then.”

Did she feel obligated to Teresa's son, as well?

Again, Joe shook off the curiosity that plagued him. Well, at least he tried to. There was a lot Chloe had left unsaid, a lot he wanted to know about her. And since his past wasn't readily available to him, he focused on learning more about hers.

“So where are you from?” he asked.

She smiled wistfully. “Here, there and everywhere.”

He leaned against the mantel, crossed his arms and tossed her a grin to soften his line of questioning. “So you don't like to be tied down to one place?”

“No, it's not that at all. My parents are both in the military, so we moved around a lot when I was a kid. I also had to change schools more often than seemed fair. So now that I'm on my own, I want to settle down and create some stability in my life.”

Since she'd mentioned that Mrs. Cummings had taken her in when she'd needed a place to stay, he suspected she'd had a few bad breaks—or trouble at home.

“Do you see your family very often?” he asked.

“I used to try and spend the bigger holidays with them, but I wasn't able to do that last Christmas because they were stationed in Hawaii. And it looks like I'll be staying in Brighton Valley again this year, too.”

He had a feeling that she wasn't happy about it, so he said, “That's too bad.”

“Do you...” She paused, and her cheeks turned a rosy hue. “I'm sorry. I was going to ask about your family and their holiday traditions.”

He shrugged a single shoulder. “Don't worry about it. I wish I had an answer for you.”

Chloe reached out and touched his arm, sending a pulsing shot of heat through his veins. He glanced down at the delicate fingers that rested on his sleeve and warmed him from the inside out.

She wasn't wearing any jewelry. But what about her other hand?

He fought the compulsion to check out her left ring finger—something he'd neglected to do earlier. But he didn't want her to catch him in the act. So he looked into her eyes instead, nearly losing himself in her intoxicating gaze.

“Christmas always makes me homesick,” she said. “My mother really does things up big. Probably to make me and my brothers feel as though we had a real home and more stability in our lives. But I'm stuck here this year. And apparently, you are, too. So we'll just have to roll with that and create a down-home, country-style Christmas for the two of us. That way, maybe we can help each other make a brand-new memory.”

Her suggestion caught him off guard, although he wasn't sure why. The fact that his brain was still healing, maybe. And that she'd removed her hand from his arm, stealing the warmth of her touch.

But as she continued to peer into his eyes, to search his expression, to silently plead her case, he gave in. “Sure. Why not?”

He'd been tempted to shake off her offer for more reasons than one. But as he thought about it, he realized that he actually liked the idea of making new memories with Chloe.

* * *

When the buzzer on the dryer sounded, Chloe retrieved the last load of laundry. After folding the small batch of towels and linens, she carried them down the hall to put them away.

Before placing them in the linen closet, she decided to make a quick check of the guest bathroom to make sure there were plenty of clean washcloths for Joe to use.

She reached for the doorknob and gave it a turn. The locking mechanism made a click-click sound, but the door swung right open, releasing a bit of steam.

And revealing Joe standing at the counter, his face lathered with shaving cream, his body bare other than a small white towel wrapped around his waist.

Her cheeks warmed. “Oh, my gosh. I'm so sorry. I—”

“It's okay. I'm practically dressed.”

No, it wasn't all right. And he was naked underneath that towel. All it would take was one simple little tug at the waist...

Reining in her sexual thoughts, she gathered her wits. “The door. You didn't lock it.”

“Actually, I did. But apparently it isn't working.”

Yeah, well... She supposed she could cast the blame on the lock—or on everyone else, including the man in the moon, but that didn't cool her cheeks. Nor did it hide the handsome man who was a sight to behold.

She swallowed—hard. It was nearly impossible to think, let alone speak, so she nodded, turned and shut the door.

As she put away the folded washcloths into the linen closet, she fought the urge to slip outside and find some chores to do in the yard so she wouldn't have to return to the house. But that wasn't feasible. She'd have to go back inside eventually. So she may as well deal with the embarrassment.

Still, just living with Joe here, knowing that he was sleeping down the hall, just two doors away from her bedroom, sent her thoughts scampering in an unexpected direction.