The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming. Judy Duarte

to it.”

      Why? Had he realized that the sheriff might have mistaken him for someone else?

      No, she’d been told that his photo and name lined up. “I suppose, if you don’t remember who you are, your name wouldn’t sound familiar.”

      “That’s the problem. Something about that name doesn’t feel right, although I have no idea why. Maybe because my brain is still so scrambled.” He let out a weary sigh. “Anyway, you don’t really have to be responsible for me. I waited for you to get here because Dr. Nielsen seems like a nice woman, and I don’t want to get her in trouble with the hospital bigwigs. But you can just drop me off at a nearby homeless shelter or rescue mission. I’ll be fine.”

      She couldn’t possibly dump him just anywhere, especially in his condition. Yet he turned his back and continued on his way, his only goal the hospital exit.

      “Joe,” she called out.

      At the sound of his name—or maybe just her voice—he turned in response.

      With her boots still planted in the middle of the hall, she asked, “Have you ever stayed in a homeless shelter or a rescue mission?”

      “I don’t know.”

      For a guy who didn’t seem to know very much about himself, he had no problem putting one combat boot in front of the other and pretending that nothing was wrong.

      “Have you ever been to Brighton Valley?” she asked.

      “Don’t know that, either.”

      She wondered if he was getting tired of sounding like a broken record. “We don’t have any homeless shelters or rescue missions here. There’s a community church that lets people sleep in the basement, but the pastor usually goes home before now, so I doubt that they’re open.”

      “Then I appreciate your offer to give me a ride and a place to stay for a day or two—at least, until my memory returns.”

      “No problem. Dave and his family would have done the same.”

      The furrow in his brow deepened as if he was reaching deep into his memory banks, only to find them empty. Then he nodded and continued to the elevator.

      She followed him. When the doors opened, they stepped inside.

      His fingers lingered over the panel for longer than necessary, so she pressed the L for lobby. Again, she reminded herself that by taking him home she was doing the right thing. After all, she couldn’t very well let him wander the streets if he couldn’t even operate a simple elevator.

      He glanced at her, and his blank stare tore at her heart. Had the gravity of his situation finally sunk in?

      “You sure you don’t mind me bunking with you?” he asked.

      “Of course not. You’re a friend of Dave’s, and honestly, it’s his ranch. I’m only doing what he and his mother would have done for any of their friends.”

      “I’ll try to make it up to you—the inconvenience and what not—when I figure out who I am and what I’m good for.”

      “Judging by the dosage 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