Under the Mistletoe with John Doe. Judy Duarte

blue eyes.

      “You were robbed outside the Stagecoach Inn,” she said, trying to shake the sympathy that drew her to him and was making it difficult to keep a professional distance. “What’s your name?”

      He stared at her blankly. Then confusion spread across his face. “I don’t know.”

      In spite of the blood and dirt on his brow and cheek, he was an attractive man, and her heart quivered with the realization.

      Get over it, she scolded herself. He was a patient. A victim. And a complete stranger.

      “Do you know what day it is?” she asked.

      A furrowed brow suggested that he didn’t, and his eyes sought hers. “No, but the…kid? Her mom? Are they okay?”

      “There wasn’t anyone with you.” At least that was the word she’d gotten. She looked to Sheila for confirmation.

      The head EMT nodded. “As far as we know, he went in and out of the Stagecoach Inn alone.”

      Betsy returned her attention to her patient. “You were the only one hurt. And it wasn’t a car accident. Someone assaulted you when you left a local bar and stole everything but the clothes on your back.”

      The tension in his expression softened, but only slightly. Then he closed his eyes and drifted off again.

      The head injury could account for the temporary amnesia, and while she didn’t suspect a fracture, she knew his brain had experienced some serious trauma tonight.

      Betsy glanced across the gurney to Dawn, who usually worked the evening shift with her in the E.R. “Let’s get an MRI and see what’s going on.”

      The nurse nodded. “Anything else?”

      Betsy issued the rest of her orders, and as soon as Dawn left to make sure they were fulfilled, Betsy took another look at her patient.

      She reached for his nearest hand, which just happened to be his left. He wasn’t wearing a ring, wedding or otherwise.

      It might have been stolen along with his wallet and other valuables, she supposed, but she didn’t see an indention or a tan line. His fingers were straight, sturdy and they appeared to have been manicured recently.

      She turned his hand over. Too bad she couldn’t read palms. It would be helpful to know more about him—medically speaking, of course, although her curiosity was mounting. Who was this guy? And what had he been doing in a rip-roaring honky-tonk on a Wednesday night?

      A hardened ridge of calluses marred his lifeline, suggesting that he might lift weights or swing a golf club regularly. Or maybe it was from gripping the handlebars of a bike.

      His build, while sturdy and strong, seemed more in line with sports than with weights and gym equipment, but it was hard to tell.

      Who are you? she wondered.

      He appeared to be a city boy, so it was easy to assume he was a stranger in town—a tall, dark and handsome one at that.

      She had a feeling that he’d be drop-dead gorgeous when he was in full form and had all of his senses about him. The kind of man who could even turn the most dedicated doctor’s head.

      Cases like this didn’t drop into town or the E.R. very often, and Betsy was glad that they didn’t. After her unexpected and painful divorce, she’d sworn off romance, especially with someone who might not be the man he pretended to be.

      She released John Doe’s hand, trying to shake her interest in him. The sooner she admitted him to the hospital and sent him up to the third floor, the better off she’d be.

      The last thing in the world she needed to do was to befriend a man who couldn’t even remember his name.

      Chapter Two

      Betsy’s shift ended at seven o’clock the next morning. But instead of going home, fixing herself a bite to eat and unwinding with a cup of chamomile tea as usual, she rode the elevator up to the third floor to check on John Doe.

      Betsy took a personal interest in each one of her patients. Typically, after they left the E.R. and were handed over to other doctors, she was able to set her concern aside. But this particular patient had really tugged at her heartstrings and she wasn’t sure why.

      She supposed it was only natural to sympathize with a man who’d been robbed of his valuables, as well as his memory, even if the amnesia proved to be temporary.

      When the elevator doors opened, letting her off on the third floor, she headed to the nurses’ desk, where Molly Mayfield sat, her head bowed as she studied a patient’s chart.

      It was both nice and reassuring to see her friend and coworker on duty today. Molly was one of the top nurses at Brighton Valley Medical Center, but she only worked part-time. After marrying race-car driver Chase Mayfield and giving birth to their baby girl, she’d cut back her hours at the hospital. But it was great having her stay on staff, even if it was only two or three days each week.

      When Molly looked up from the chart and spotted Betsy, she brightened. “I thought you were working nights this week. Did you change your schedule?”

      “No, I just stopped by to check on a patient.” Betsy rested her arm on the counter, next to a lush poinsettia plant, its red-and-green leaves a reminder that Thanksgiving had just passed and that Christmas was right around the corner.

      Her gift list wasn’t very long—only three people this year—but she put a great deal of thought into each present she gave, which meant she’d have to start shopping soon.

      Her interest in the poinsettia didn’t go unnoticed, as Molly smiled and leaned forward. “Isn’t it pretty? Chase brought it the other day when he and Megan came by to have lunch with me.”

      “That was sweet,” Betsy said.

      “I know. Chase is always doing little things like that to surprise me.”

      “It’s nice to see you so happy.”

      Molly grinned, her eyes sparking with love and contentment. “I never realized how much I’d enjoy being a wife and a mom.”

      At one time, Betsy had entertained thoughts of mother hood, too, but not anymore. Doug Bramblett had seen to that.

      Three years into their marriage, when she’d been wrapping up her internship, she’d found out that her husband was having an affair. She’d no more than come to grips with his deceit when she learned that the extramarital relationship he’d had with a receptionist at his office hadn’t been the first.

      Betsy had filed for divorce, then spent the rest of her internship trying to pick up the pieces of her once-perfect life. Then, two years later, Doug was arrested and convicted for his involvement in an insider-trading scheme.

      Clearly the guy she’d once loved and trusted hadn’t turned out to be the honest, loyal and ethical man she’d thought he was. But she pressed on by moving away from the big city to Brighton Valley, where the neighbors knew—and could vouch—for each other.

      And now that she was here, her focus was on work, on the medical center and seeing it succeed.

      “How are Chase and little Megan doing?” she asked her friend.

      Molly’s grin nearly lit the entire west wing. “They’re doing great. And Megan just cut her first tooth. She’s pulling herself up and taking a few steps. You ought to see her, Betsy. She’s the cutest little thing.”

      “I’d love to. We’ll have to get together soon.” Of course, Betsy didn’t have many free nights. With the financial situation at the hospital being what it was, they’d had to cut back on staff, and she’d been taking up the slack.

      “Maybe, when you switch to working days, you can come to dinner some evening,” Molly said. “I miss not seeing you.”

      In spite of being friends,