Texas Gun Smoke. Joanna Wayne

was no reason not to believe Dr. Cane’s diagnosis, but still Bart had a hard time buying it. “Do you think she could be faking the amnesia?”

      “That’s always a possibility.”

      And with Jaclyn, Bart considered it more than a possibility. There were just too many things that didn’t add up, like what a Louisiana girl was doing on a dark Texas road alone so late at night. And more bizarre, why had some homicidal crackpot decided to run her off the road for no apparent reason?

      Dr. Cane pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We’re keeping her overnight for observation, longer if necessary. I’ll consult with a neurologist tomorrow, but if her condition worsens or continues past forty-eight hours, we’ll move her to a facility in Houston.”

      “Can I see the patient?”

      “I don’t see why not. Since you’re the last one she spoke to before the onset of amnesia symptoms, seeing you might trigger a memory. But don’t tire her out or upset her. The sheriff called and he’s on his way to the hospital to question her about the wreck. He was just waiting for us to finish the examination and assign her to a room. She’s in 224.”

      Bart thanked the doctor for the info and took the stairs to the second floor.

      “What brings you out on such a rainy night?”

      He stared at the nurse who’d spoken, a girl he’d graduated with from Colts Run Cross High School. No longer a girl, she was pregnant—and from the looks of the bulge, ready to deliver most any day.

      “Hi, Cindy. I didn’t know you were working here.”

      “Yeah, for just over a year. I worked in Houston for a while, but when I got married we decided to move back here. I married Bud Johnson. You remember him. He was a couple of years ahead of us.”

      “I remember.” And he really didn’t want to make small talk tonight. “I’m here to see the patient who was admitted tonight with a concussion.”

      “Oh, the mystery woman. How do you know her?”

      “I don’t. I just came up on the car wreck after it happened.”

      “Then you must be the one who called for the ambulance. She doesn’t remember any of that.”

      “So I heard.” Bart held up the duffel. “I got this from her car and thought she might need it.”

      “Did you check it for ID?”

      “No.” He hadn’t realized he’d need to until a few minutes ago.

      “You can let her check it. She’s awake. Room 224. But if the two of you find out who she is, we could sure use that information for her records.”

      “You got it.” He stopped at the door and tapped lightly.

      The whispered, “Come in,” was so faint he could barely make it out.

      He stepped inside. Jaclyn’s light blue hospital gown fell off one slender shoulder as she rose to her elbows. She jerked it back in place, then stared at him blankly, either not recognizing him or doing a good job of faking it.

      “Hello, Jaclyn. I brought you this,” he said, swinging the duffel onto the foot of the bed. “It was in the trunk of your car. I thought you might need it.”

      “Who are you?”

      “Name’s Bart Collingsworth, but we’ve met before. I pulled you from the overturned vehicle earlier tonight.”

      “Then I should thank you, though I don’t remember it. I don’t even remember my name, but Dr. Cane says the fog will clear up quickly.”

      “Do you want me to go through your duffel and see if there’s any identification in there?”

      She stiffened and then shrank back into the blue gown that fit like a loose sheet. “If you’ll hand it to me, I can do that for myself.”

      He handed it to her—and was exceedingly glad he had when she pulled out a pair of white lacy panties and a matching bra. She tossed them onto the bed without notice, working her way through a pair of jeans and two long-sleeved cotton shirts.

      “There’s nothing here that helps,” she said.

      “Someone ran you off the road. Does that help?”

      “I’m afraid not.”

      “What about the name Margo Kite?”

      “No.”

      She answered quickly, but not before he noted an impulsive wince. “If you’re afraid of someone, Jaclyn, the sheriff can make sure you’re protected.”

      “I’m not afraid.”

      He wasn’t convinced. In fact, he was almost certain it was fear or apprehension that shadowed her slate-colored eyes. “Do you want me to stay with you until morning?”

      “No. Why would I? I don’t know you.”

      “Just an offer. I’ll get out of here and let you rest, but if you change your mind about wanting company or if you need anything, you can have the pregnant nurse named Cindy give me a call. She knows how to get in touch with me.”

      But Jaclyn had turned away and was staring at the wall. He backed out of the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He still wasn’t convinced she had transient or any other kind of amnesia, but whatever she was into, she didn’t want his help. That was good enough reason to get the devil out of here and get some sleep himself. He had a busy day tomorrow. Still, his heart twisted a little when he looked back and saw how lost she looked in the formless hospital gown.

      The pretty ones are the most trouble. Definitely a truism worth remembering.

      JACLYN HEARD THE DOOR shut behind Bart and fought the unexpected but excruciating ache to call out to the cowboy with the quick humor and mesmerizing smile. She wouldn’t let herself make that mistake, not when she knew his offer of help would be about as lasting as this little show she was putting on. As soon as he found out who she really was he wouldn’t be able to get away from her fast enough.

      He’d know already—they all would—if she hadn’t gotten to her driver’s license first. She’d taken it out of her handbag while she’d been waiting to see the doctor and hidden it beneath the folds of the bloodstained blouse she’d been wearing at the wreck.

      So the hero cowboy could just go back to his bunkhouse and forget all about her.

      Still, Bart Collingsworth had a way about him. Too bad that trusting anyone at this point could be a deadly mistake.

      Chapter Three

      Bart spent a restless night and got up aggravated with himself for letting thoughts of Jaclyn rob him of needed sleep. He had plenty to do without worrying about a woman who didn’t want his help. He tried to concentrate on issues at hand, checking the progress of the new fence going up in the northwest pasture and meeting with his brother Matt to discuss the possibility of increasing their Angus herd size by ten percent over the next twelve months.

      By noon the meeting with Matt had concluded and Jaclyn had moved to front and center of his thoughts again. He started to go up to the big house for lunch but instead drove right by it and toward the gate. It wouldn’t hurt to check on her and make certain she was recovering from amnesia—if she’d ever actually had any memory problems.

      He reached the hospital at ten after twelve and went straight to the second floor. A middle-aged nurse carrying a meal tray spotted him before he reached Jaclyn’s room.

      “You’re one of Lenora Collingsworth’s sons, aren’t you?”

      “Yes, ma’am. I’m Bart.” It was difficult to go anywhere in Colts Run Cross and not run into someone who knew him or a member of his family.

      “I’m Bev Garland. I know your mother from our Feed the Children program. She’s on our