Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas Gift\The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming\Santa's Playbook (27 page)

Joe wondered how he knew the man with a different last name. Didn't he have
any
relatives? He asked Danielson that same question.

“I did a little snooping and ran Conway's name through our database. I can't give you any information about a fellow marine, even though he's retired and has no listed relatives, either.”

Joe understood immediately that the agent was letting him know that his next of kin was actually an older marine with no family to speak of. Clearly, Joe wasn't related to the man by blood, but apparently this guy was the closest thing he had to a family.

So where had the tamale recipe come from, not to mention that birthday party and the piñata memory, if Joe didn't have any relatives of his own? Had his family members died?

“What about David Cummings?” Chloe asked.

Joe wasn't surprised by her interest in finding out more information about her “family friend.” He'd been watching her closely since she'd gotten the news of Dave's death. Granted, he didn't really know Chloe very well, but he could definitely spot a look of uneasiness on someone's face.

He'd seen her expression when she was sad, and he'd seen her confused. But up until this morning, he'd yet to see her look guilty.

Was that because she and Dave had been more than friends? And that before she'd known of his death, she'd kissed Joe?

Or did that have to do with whatever paperwork she'd been looking for today?

“I'm not at liberty to give you guys access to Corporal Cumming's file,” Danielson said. “But off the record, he was injured by the same snipers who shot your knee.”

Danielson told them that Joe and the men in his squad had been bunkered behind an overturned minibus in the middle of Helmand Province. They'd been under fire from Taliban insurgents carrying assault rifles and hiding in an abandoned apartment building. The communications specialist had radioed for backup.

“Before anyone arrived,” Danielson said, “one of your men charged the snipers. He took down one of them, but was severely wounded. You followed him, grabbed him by the back of his pack and pulled him to safety—in spite of the fact that you took a bullet in the knee.”

So that's how Joe had been wounded.

“Who was the man I went after?” Joe asked.

“David Cummings. His injuries were even more serious than yours, and by the looks of the report, you saved his life.”

Too bad he didn't remain alive long enough to enjoy it.

“After you recovered in Germany,” Danielson added, “you were medically discharged and returned to the States. Cummings was discharged later since his injuries were much more serious.”

“So then he didn't die from his battle wounds?” Chloe asked.

“Negative. The coroner in San Diego notified us of his death and sent us the death certificate so that we could terminate disability benefits. My suggestion would be to contact them to get an autopsy report or death certificate for yourselves.”

Joe could barely process what the agent had told them about Dave because he was still reading the incident report of what had happened in Afghanistan. Fragments of his dream began to make sense.

“That's all I've got for you,” Danielson said as he politely extracted the confidential report from Joe's hand. “Good luck with that whole amnesia thing. If I hear anything else, I'll keep you posted.”

Chloe thanked Danielson for his time and nudged Joe with her elbow. Apparently he'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed the NCIS agent trying to graciously end the meeting.

Danielson held out his hand, and Joe shook it.

“No matter what else you find out about your identity,” Danielson said, “you're a hero, son.”

Funny, but for some reason, Joe didn't feel like one.

As he and Chloe left the office and climbed back into Ol' Greenie, they both remained silent. He figured there was almost too much to say, but neither of them wanted to share their thoughts out loud.

Chloe started the engine and backed out of the parking space. Before she headed onto the street, she glanced across the seat at Joe. “Do you mind if we do a little shopping while we're here?”

“No, not at all.” In fact, after talking to Danielson, he'd welcome a distraction. “What do you need to buy?”

“I already shipped gifts home to my parents, but I'd like to pick up a few last-minute presents for some of my friends.”

He should have realized that she had a social life. A beautiful woman like her would.

“So what are we looking for? Clothes, perfume...?” He tossed her a grin as he dug for a little more information. “Aftershave?”

“Actually, I'm not sure what to get for them. They're both in a nursing home. Do you have any ideas?”

“Nope. Not a single one.” Something told him he didn't usually get caught up in the Christmas spirit. “But I'm more than willing to help you shop. That is, as long as you don't make me carry your purse.”

She laughed as she pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the heart of downtown.

Now that he thought about it, Joe was glad they were going shopping. If he was going to spend Christmas with Chloe, he'd like to get her a gift.

As they chugged and rumbled along, he glanced at the discharge paperwork he still held and at the contact info for Stanley Conway. He'd have to call the guy who might be able to fill in even more details of his life.

Did he actually want to stick around in Brighton Valley? He knew enough about himself and had the means to leave and find his way home to California.

But when he stole a glance at the beautiful blonde humming along to a George Strait song on the old truck's FM dial, when he remembered the kiss they'd shared last night—and waking with her in his arms this morning—he realized that he wasn't quite ready to leave just yet.

* * *

By the time Chloe and Joe found the shopping district, it was early afternoon. She hadn't eaten much at breakfast and hunger pangs reminded her of that fact. Maybe she should suggest they eat while they were in town.

She snagged a parking space close to The Cowboy Connection, the store she'd wanted to visit, and shut off the ignition. As they climbed from the truck, she caught the aroma of grilled meat and barbecue sauce.

“Do you smell that?” Joe asked.

“I sure do.” Chloe scanned the area and spotted Earl's Smokehouse, a restaurant across the street with a green door and a black, wrought iron railing around the outdoor curbside tables.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Sounds like you are,” she said with a smile. “And if you're talking about eating at Earl's, I'm game.”

“You read my mind. The tables outside are empty, probably because of the chill. But look in the window. The place is packed. I'll bet it's really good.”

“You're probably right. But then again, this is Texas. And we know good barbecue when we taste it.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

They crossed the street, and when they reached the green door, Joe opened it and stepped aside so Chloe could enter first.

They were greeted by a smiling, middle-aged brunette wearing a red-and white-checkered shirt and jeans. “Hey, y'all. Two for lunch?”

When Joe told her yes, she snagged the menus. “Come with me.”

Once they were seated at a small booth in back, Joe said, “I think I grew up in Texas.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I really have a hankering for barbecue beef, as if it's always been my favorite meal. Well, that and Mexican food.”

“That's certainly possible,” Chloe said. “But there has to be more reason for you to think that other than your food choices.”

“There are, but it's more of a feeling right now. I can't explain it.”

When the same waitress who'd seated them came by to take their orders, Chloe chose the chicken salad and a glass of sweet tea.

“I'll have tea, too,” Joe said. “And for lunch, I'd like the sampler platter with potato salad, French fries and coleslaw. Plus a side of cornbread.”

Chloe's jaw dropped. “Are you sure you want that sampler? I think it's meant for two or more people to share. It comes with three different kinds of meat.”

Joe chuckled. “I guess I have a big appetite.”

And he'd been right because, when the waitress brought the food on the large metal plates, he ate every last bite.

“How was it?” Chloe asked.

“Great. I'd come back.”

When the bill came, Chloe reached for it, but Joe grabbed her wrist. “Oh, no, you don't.” He continued to hold her arm while he used his free hand to pull out his wallet. “You drove, so I'm paying for lunch.”

“Are you sure? You might need that money for something else.”

“Like what?”

She laughed. “Like the ingredients to make a whole lot more tamales. With the way you can put away food, you must spend a fortune on groceries.”

“Funny thing is, I still have room for dessert.”

“I wouldn't be surprised to find out that you're a born Texan. Only someone from the Lone Star state can love brisket that much.”

He smiled at her attempt at levity, then sobered. He supposed it was time to talk about the big white elephant sitting at the table with them. So he stroked her fingers softly, broaching that physical connection they'd had earlier and the attraction that had been brewing ever since they'd kissed last night. “How are you feeling about everything?”

“I'm sad about Dave,” she said. “I'd expected him to come back to the ranch soon, and I'm in limbo.”

“Why is that?”

Chloe pondered the question as well as her answer, since she didn't want to dump any more on Joe than she had to. “Because I don't want to move until the new owner is located.”

“New owner?”

“Whoever stands to inherit the ranch now that Dave is gone.” She figured that was enough of an explanation. “How about you? Are you feeling badly about Dave's death?”

“I don't know. I don't feel any differently than I did yesterday. If we were friends, and I'm beginning to believe that we were, I should be sad about his death. But maybe because I don't remember him it hasn't really hit me yet.”

“That's probably true.”

“There might be another reason for it,” he added. “If he gave me that letter before he died and I carried out his wish, it's possible I already knew about his death before coming here. And if that's the case, then maybe I've already done my grieving.”

“Did Sheriff Hollister mention when Dave died?” Chloe asked, realizing she should have quizzed the sheriff.

“No. But that ought to be easy enough to figure out. We can check with the coroner in San Diego—or ask Hollister what they told him.”

When the waitress returned with their change, Joe left a generous tip.

“Dr. Nielson was probably right,” he said as he got to his feet. “I need to be patient and wait for my brain to heal and my memory to return. So let's enjoy our time in Houston and make the most of the rest of the day.”

Chloe forced a smile, then stood. After they left the restaurant, they walked to The Cowboy Connection, a department store that catered to those who liked Western wardrobes and home decor.

The store had been adorned with wreaths and expensive ornaments, and Christmas music filled the air. Her mood continued to lift—no doubt due to the holiday spirit.

While they walked past displays that provided more than a few gift ideas, Joe helped her choose a bronze horse figurine for Sam Darnell.

Next she found a pair of pajamas for Ethel Furman. As she waited to pay the clerk for her purchase in the lingerie department, she glanced over to a display where Joe stood, fingering the silky fabric of a skimpy black nightie and studying it intently.

Had another memory returned? If so, Chloe couldn't find it in herself to be happy for him. She'd wanted him to remember the life he'd led before coming to Brighton Valley. But she certainly hadn't wanted him to remember a particular woman dressed in something so sexy.

When he turned toward the cash register where she stood, waiting in line to make her purchase, their gazes met and locked.

And for one magical moment, she wished she'd been the woman he was trying so hard to remember.

Chapter Eight

J
oe hadn't expected Chloe to catch him looking at the sexy lingerie on display, let alone fondling them. So the moment their eyes met, he felt like a kid who'd been caught with his hand in the candy bowl.

Had she known that he'd been thinking of buying one of those skimpy nighties for her? That he'd envisioned her sitting on the side of his bed, like she had last night, only dressed in a whisper of black silk instead of a cotton gown? Not that the thin cotton hadn't been just as sweet and sensual to look at—just in a different sort of way.

He'd better put some distance between her and his lust-filled thoughts before he asked her to try on something for size. So he let the slinky fabric slip out of his hand and said, “If you don't mind, I'm going downstairs to check out the menswear. I need to buy some clothes that fit me better than jeans with a thirty-inch inseam and old high school T-shirts that make me look like a band geek.” Then he headed for the escalator before she could answer.

She must have gotten sidetracked with another purchase, because by the time she found him in the shoe department, where he was trying on a pair of cowboy boots, he'd already bought three pairs of jeans and several work shirts. She took the seat next to him and glanced at the shopping bags on the floor. “I see you've been busy.”

“It's easy when there's a good selection.”

“That's why I love this store. Every time I come in here, I want a ranch of my own. I didn't grow up around horses, but I must be a cowgirl at heart.”

“I thought you were a nurse at heart.”

“Maybe I'm both.”

He stopped wrestling with the second boot long enough to cast a glance her way and catch a glimmer in her eye. “If you had a ranch of your own, would you give up nursing?”

“I don't know. Maybe. I'd probably invite some friends to live with me, so I'm not sure how much time I'd have to study.”

“Which friends?”

She bit down on that bottom lip again. Then she shrugged a single shoulder. “I'm not sure. I really haven't thought much about it.”

He didn't believe her. She seemed too pensive. She must have given it more than a little consideration. But he let the remark pass and removed the first pair of boots from his feet and reached for the black Ropers.

As he tried those on, Chloe stood and wandered through the women's shoe section until she stopped at a table that displayed a pair of custom stitched red boots.

“Aren't these cool? I wonder if they have them in a size six.” She turned them over and glanced at the sticker price on the sole. Then she put them right back where she'd found them.

She continued to study them a moment longer, though.

He figured she couldn't afford a new pair of anything, let alone expensive leather boots. Yet here she was, shopping for gifts for her elderly friends in the nursing home. She'd also been sharing her groceries with him and shelling out gas money to drive him into Houston.

When Chloe wandered off to check out a display of slippers, Joe asked the clerk if she had those red boots in a size six. When the woman said they did, he asked her to add them to his latest purchase—the black Roper boots.

Once he'd paid for both pairs, he hid hers at the bottom of the bag that held his clothing and headed for the slipper display to join her.

“Did you find something else to buy?” he asked.

“I was looking for something to go with the nightgown I bought for Ethel. But I don't think she'll like any of these.” She shifted the shopping bag she held to her other hand. “Is there something else you need?”

“A hat,” he said, “especially if I'll be working on the ranch with Tomas.”

“I saw them near the escalators.” She bumped his arm with hers. “Come on.”

He followed her to the display and considered his options. Knowing he'd soon get it dirty, he reached for a straw hat and tried it on.

He'd no more than given it a proper tilt when Chloe snatched it from his head, replaced it with a black felt Stetson and smiled. “I've always been a sucker for a man in a black hat.”

“Sold.” He flashed her a boyish grin, then headed for the nearest register. After paying the clerk, he decided to wear it out of the store.

As Joe and Chloe strode toward the pickup, he inadvertently bumped her shoulder. Apparently she thought he'd done it on purpose, because she smiled and bumped him right back.

“I'm glad we came here today,” she said. “It's been a nice break from everything, and I had fun.”

“Me, too.” He felt compelled to take her hand in his, but after considering the consequences of a move like that, the possible complications, he held back.

Besides, something still wasn't quite right, leaving him completely off stride. In spite of what he'd learned at the NCIS office, he felt undeserving, not only of medals, but of the beautiful blonde who walked beside him.

Why was that?

What memories was his mind still holding hostage?

* * *

Joe had been pretty quiet on the drive home, and his pensive mood hadn't lifted, even after dinner. He'd volunteered to do the dishes, then had insisted on making the tamales on his own, saying he wanted the quiet time, hoping it would trigger some memories.

If it had, Chloe had no way of knowing, because two hours later he excused himself and turned in for the night, leaving her to watch TV alone.

It had been a long day, and she was exhausted, so she turned off the television at ten. After setting the alarm for six so she'd be the first one up, she went to bed.

She slept fairly well and, just as she'd hoped, she beat Joe to the kitchen, where she put on the coffee, then fried some turkey sausage and whipped up the pancake batter. She'd just set the table, when Joe finally entered the room.

He was sporting his new clothes and holding his hat, which he set on the table. As he sauntered to the coffeemaker and poured himself a cup of the fresh brew, he moved with a sexy swagger that scrambled her senses.

Dang. Joe Wilcox looked better than a cowboy had a right to.

If he knew she'd been ogling him, he didn't let on. Instead, when he looked at her, he blessed her with a heart-stopping grin.

“So what's on the agenda today?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Did he think she had another shopping trip in store for him?

“Do you have a list of things you'd like me to do? Or should I go outside and look for Tomas?”

Oh, he meant work. Actually, having him busy and out of the house would allow her more time to search the files in the den and to decide what she was going to do now that Dave wasn't coming home.

She also wanted to contact the coroner's office in San Diego and find out how she could get a copy of Dave's death certificate. She didn't know a thing about estate planning or probate court, but she was pretty sure she'd need to file some official documents with somebody. But she kept those thoughts to herself.

It wasn't that she didn't want Joe to know what she was doing. She had nothing to hide. But after the troubling dream he'd had two nights ago and their visit to the NCIS office yesterday, she figured the poor man had been through enough and she didn't want to burden him with her financial woes.

“Tomas is probably already out and about,” Chloe said. “As soon as I see him, I'll ask if he has any work that needs to be done. Do you know anything about cattle or horses?”

“I'm not sure. I guess we'll find out soon enough.” He went back to eating, digging into that stack of hotcakes and syrup with the same gusto he'd shown yesterday at lunch and again last night at dinner.

Joe either had a hearty appetite or was just as anxious to get to work as she was. An active man like him had to be going stir-crazy by being cooped up indoors with no physical outlet.

Of course, if they spent any more time alone together, Chloe might lose her head and offer to provide him with a physical outlet of the bedroom variety.

Her cheeks warmed at the thought, and she turned away to avoid his gaze.

When a horse whinnied outside, she looked out the big bay window and spotted Tomas walking Lola to the paddock. The prize broodmare had been stabled in the barn and was expected to foal soon. He must be exercising her.

“There's Tomas now,” she said. “Why don't we go out and ask him what needs to be done. I'll come back and wash the breakfast dishes later.”

Joe's chair scraped the tile floor as he scooted away from the table. Then, after getting to his feet, he snatched his hat and followed her from the kitchen, through the mudroom and out the back door.

Once outside, he slipped on the new Stetson and gave it a little adjustment—just like a real live Texan.

Even though his stonewashed jeans and flannel work shirt were brand-new, they appeared to have been worn several times before. With the added boots and hat, he looked like the real McCoy—born and raised on the Rocking C—and not just a city slicker who wanted to play rancher.

Chloe hadn't meant to admire the sexy marine's transformation, but she'd always been a sucker for a handsome cowboy. And she was eager to see how he did on a horse.

She had a sneaking suspicion that he was no stranger to the ranch life. And with the way his backside filled out that denim, he was certainly no stranger to looking the part.

“Buenos dias,”
Joe said to Tomas.

The ranch foreman responded in Spanish. They spoke that way for a while, then lapsed into English.

If Chloe had been able to focus on more than two words at a time, she would have appreciated the switch to a language she could understand.

While they talked, she tried to get her lusty thoughts in check. Finally, she managed to tune in to the end of their conversation.

“That would be helpful,” Tomas said, “if you're sure you're up for it.”

Joe insisted that he was.

“Good.” The foreman brightened. “Then I can stay here and work in the stables, just in case Lola needs me.”

Tomas started toward the barn with Joe on his heels, and Chloe hurried to catch up—both physically and mentally. Apparently, the foreman had told Joe there'd been some damage to the fence after the last storm.

“I'll ride along the boundary of the ranch,” Joe said. “If I see any damage, I'll fix it.”

“If there's anything you and those tools you're carrying can't handle, just flag the spot. When you get done, I'll go back out with you.”

The men made it sound like a simple task. And it probably would be. Joe seemed hearty enough to stay in the saddle and not get lost.

“Make sure you take plenty of water with you,” Chloe said, her nursing instincts finally kicking in. “Even though it's cold out, you can still get dehydrated.”

Both men looked at her as though they didn't much welcome her ministrations, so she excused herself and told them she was going back inside to do the dishes.

Once that was out of the way, she went to the den. But instead of immediately dealing with the stack of bills on the desk, she stood at the window and watched Joe lead Dave's gelding out of the stable.

Fortunately, Firestorm had been named for his reddish color and not for his temperament. He was a strong and dependable horse, well-suited for ranch work. But was Joe?

Chloe knew she shouldn't worry, but as he mounted, as he threw his right leg over the saddle, she held her breath.

He settled into the saddle like a natural, then cantered around the yard, no doubt allowing the horse to get used to him—and vice versa.

When she realized that he was perfectly capable of handling the reins, she let out the breath she'd been holding. Her stance relaxed even more when Tomas handed Joe one of the ranch's walkie-talkies. At least, if he had a problem along the way, he could call for help.

Still, she stood at the window and watched until Joe and Firestorm were well out of sight. At that point, she turned back to the desk and finished the work that had piled up since Joe had arrived.

Next, she did an internet search to find contact information for the San Diego coroner's office. It was two hours earlier on the west coast, so she couldn't call yet. But fortunately she learned how to request the records she needed.

With that knowledge tucked under her belt, she searched Texas probate law. It didn't take long to realize she wasn't going to handle any of that on her own. She was in way over her head.

She checked the time—a couple of minutes after nine—and then placed a call to Jeffrey McDougall, the attorney who'd handled Teresa's estate.

Mr. McDougall was out of the office, but his secretary assured Chloe that he was familiar with the Rocking C and the Cummings family. The woman expressed her condolences over Dave's death and told Chloe that the attorney would call back the next afternoon.

After hanging up, she tackled the overdue invoices from some of the ranch's suppliers. Before mailing any payments, she would need to reconcile the Rocking C bank account and figure out how the ranch was going to pay its two employees after January rolled around.

A local rancher had offered to purchase a hundred head of cattle, but Chloe had been reluctant to accept it. She had a feeling the buyer was lowballing her—not only because she was a female, but because he knew she wasn't all that familiar with the going rate for cattle.

Unfortunately, Tomas, who'd been a ranch hand prior to stepping up to help run things when the previous foreman retired, wasn't up on fair prices, either.

But Chloe knew someone who was. The next time she stopped by the Sheltering Arms for a visit—which would be soon—she would talk to Sam Darnell about it. The old cattleman may not keep up on his food intake, but he definitely kept up on his agricultural knowledge.

By noon, Joe had crept back into her thoughts. He'd been gone for quite a while. Maybe he'd overdone it by repairing one of the fence posts that often came loose following an East Texas rainstorm.