The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming. Judy Duarte

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