The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming. Judy Duarte

hearing their voices, he stirred. When his eyes opened, her breath caught at the sight of their stunning sky-blue color.

      He zeroed in on her, and his brow furrowed. “Who are you?”

      “My name’s Chloe Dawson. You had a letter addressed to me.”

      He merely studied her, his gaze laced with confusion.

      “Do you know Dave Cummings?” she asked.

      “I suppose I should, since they tell me that’s who wrote the letter I had in my pocket. But the name doesn’t ring a bell.” He reached up and stroked his head, massaging the temple.

      “You could be one of Dave’s friends,” Chloe said. “I’d have to ask him, but I’m not sure how to get in touch with him. He was in Afghanistan the last I heard, although he could be back in the States now.”

      The handsome but wounded marine looked at the doctor, then back to Chloe. “Apparently, my brains were scrambled in that accident. And the pain medication the nurse gave me is really kicking in.”

      “Good,” Betsy said. “Maybe you’ll wake up fresh in the morning and remember who you are and what you’re doing in Brighton Valley.”

      “About that letter that was addressed to me,” Chloe said. “I’d like to see it. To be honest, I haven’t heard from Dave in months, and I’ve been worried about him.”

      “I don’t have it. The paramedics told me about it when they brought him in. From what I understand, the sheriff is using it as part of his investigation.”

      “You mean he thinks that letter may give him a clue as to who the driver was?” Chloe asked. “That doesn’t make sense.”

      “It was probably just a random hit-and-run. But they want to rule out any criminal motivation.”

      Chloe stiffened. Had there been a crime committed? Had the handsome G.I. Doe done something illegal?

      As if sensing Chloe’s concern, Dr. Nielson placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. Sheriff Hollister used to be a detective with the Houston Police Department, so he’s just being thorough. He’s going to check with any witnesses or people working at any of the nearby businesses. He’ll get to the bottom of this—probably by morning, if not sooner.”

      Chloe hoped so. She couldn’t imagine how the poor guy must feel—injured, alone, confused.

      “If the letter doesn’t give us a clue to his identity,” Chloe said, “it might let us know where we can find Dave. He ought to be able to shed some light on the problem.”

      “So I take it I’m the problem you’re trying to solve,” the handsome marine said. “That’s a little unsettling.”

      “I didn’t mean to imply that.” Chloe eased closer to the bed. “Besides, I’d think that you’d want to get to the bottom of this.”

      “To say the least.” G.I. Doe blew out a weary sigh. “So how do you know that guy—Dave Cummings?”

      “I’m a family friend. I live on his ranch and have been house-sitting until he comes home. That’s all.”

      Betsy glanced at the chart in her hand, then back to Chloe. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to complete the paperwork to have him admitted for the night.”

      “All right. But under the circumstances—and assuming that he’s a friend of Dave’s—will you make a note of my name and number in his paperwork? I’d like to be kept informed about his condition.”

      The doctor addressed her injured patient. “Do you have a problem with that?”

      “As long as you don’t list her as next of kin, I’m okay with it.”

      “Why would it bother you to think that I was related to you?” Chloe asked.

      A slow grin stretched across his face. “Because you’re too damn pretty. If we were related by blood, I’d have to fight the guys off you—rather than fight to be at the top of your consideration list.”

      “Would you, now.” So G.I. Doe was not only handsome, but a flirt. She glanced at his left hand, checking for a ring and not finding one.

      Not that it mattered if he was already taken. She had enough on her plate these days without stressing over a romance.

      Still, he was more than a little attractive, even in his injured state. But she wouldn’t think about that now. The important thing was that he was her only link to Dave. And until Dave came home and could take over the ranch, Chloe was stuck in limbo and unable to get on with the future she had planned.

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