His Unforgettable Fiancée. Teresa Carpenter

he agreed. Because she was right. No memories existed to support his claim. “Yet somehow I do.”

      He wished he knew where the certainty came from. Maybe then he could plumb the source for actual memories, for real recollections. But the more he fought for it, the worse his brain hurt.

      Luckily a male tech strolled up. “We’re ready for you. Please follow me.”

      “Wish me luck.” He stood, hospital gown flapping around his knees, strangely reluctant to leave her.

      “Good luck.” She stood, too, tucked her thumbs in her back pockets. “You’ve got this. After all, you’re a smart guy, just memory-challenged.”

      A smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. “Can you hang for a while longer?”

      She nodded. “I’ll be here.”

      * * *

      More than a little flustered, Grace spent the next long, worry-fraught hour gathering her composure around herself. Memory failed her as to when a man last affected her so strongly. She had no reason to care, but she did.

      When JD appeared, she hopped to her feet. He looked so drawn. Exhaustion and pain weighed heavily on him. Without a word she followed him back to the doctor’s office and took up her position in the corner.

      “Who is the President of the United States?” The doctor started in on the questions needed to determine the extent of JD’s memory loss.

      JD answered with a scowl, adding, “What is it with you two and your obsession with the president?”

      “General questions are used to create a baseline,” Dr. Honer said. “It helps to determine if you’ve forgotten learned elements, a chunk of time or personal memories.”

      “Well, I should know the president’s name. I’ve met him three times.”

      Silence fell over the room.

      “How do you know that?” she demanded.

      JD carefully turned his head around to her. Confusion briefly flashed through his eyes before he blinked it away. “I don’t know.”

      “Do you remember under what circumstances you met him?”

      “No.”

      “Because we might be able to identify you from news reports if we can pinpoint the event.”

      “I can’t recall. But I know I’ve met him, just as I know I didn’t have a drink last night.” He turned to the doctor. “How is that possible? To know something but not have the memory to support it?”

      “The brain is a marvelous and complex thing,” Dr. Honer responded. “We’re still learning many of its capabilities. The results of injuries are as varied and unpredictable as the number of people who sustain them. Do you remember anything about your childhood? Where you grew up? Your parents’ names?”

      “No.” JD pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly in pain, clearly exhausted.

      “What is the prognosis, doctor?” Grace asked softly.

      “As you suspected, Sheriff, he has a severe concussion and a less serious laceration. Though they are in the same general area I don’t believe they are connected. Is it possible you were in a motorcycle accident?”

      “I can’t say, Doc.”

      “It’s probable.” Grace spoke up. “He was wearing leather chaps when Porter brought him in.”

      Dr. Honer nodded his balding head. “The surface bump and laceration aren’t significant enough to cause the level of swelling revealed by the MRI or the symptoms you’ve described. They certainly shouldn’t have caused a memory lapse. But if you were in a motorcycle accident, it would explain the additional trauma.”

      “How so?” JD wanted to know.

      “The helmet protected your head, which probably saved your life, but you still connected with the ground with enough impact to shake your head up inside the helmet, causing the brain to ricochet against the skull. Probably knocked you out for a few seconds. An accident would account for the bruising on your hip, as well.”

      “And the laceration?” Grace asked.

      “It had gravel in it, which tells me it most likely happened after he removed the helmet. He may have fallen on his walk into town. Or more likely someone knocked him down.”

      “More likely?” Grace mused in full sheriff mode. “What makes you say that?”

      “There’s faint bruising on his lower jaw and on the knuckles of his right hand inconsistent with his other injuries. Since you mentioned he didn’t have a wallet on him, my guess is someone ran him off the road and attempted to rob him. He probably came to in the middle of it, fought back and took a right to the jaw. In his condition that’s all it would take to put him on the ground, causing the bump and the cut. Double head trauma more than accounts for the possibility of memory loss.”

      “Does that mean I’ll get my memories back once the bump goes away?”

      The doctor scratched his cheek. “I’m more concerned with the swelling of the brain. It could be fatal if it reaches the point of critical mass.”

      “And what are the chances of that?” JD’s calmness amazed Grace.

      “I’m cautiously optimistic considering the time lapse since you were picked up. You need to remain under observation and have another MRI after a bit, to see if the swelling is increasing or diminishing. It’s possible once the swelling goes down that you could regain some, if not all, of your memories.”

      “What are my options if the swelling reaches critical mass?”

      “Some people respond to medication. Worst-case scenario—a hole may need to be drilled into your skull to relieve the pressure.”

      She shuddered. That sounded scary.

      Dr. Honer directed his next comments to her. “I highly recommend he be moved to the city. We don’t have the necessary equipment to handle a delicate procedure of that nature.”

      Great. No way Brubaker would authorize the cost of ambulance service to the city. He’d already released the prisoner. JD was on his own. And her duty ended over an hour and half ago.

      She could have left at any time, but she kind of felt invested. She could only imagine what JD must be going through: in pain, dealing with strangers, unable to remember anything of his life, not even his own name. It must be frightening. Yet he handled it with stone-faced grace.

      “Sheriff, if I can have another moment?”

      “There’s no need to leave, Doc.” JD halted them, a grim note in his voice. “If it’s about me, I have a right to hear it.”

      “You need another MRI and to be monitored throughout the night, if not the next few days. I’ve expended all the resources I can at this point.”

      “I’ll drive him.” The words were out before she fully considered them, but what the heck, she was leaving town anyway. This just moved her agenda up by a few hours. Her sense of duty didn’t end with the removal of her title and paycheck. And it went against every instinct to leave an injured man to take care of himself.

      Looking at JD, no one would doubt his ability to handle himself. Though injured, he radiated a quiet intelligence, his stoic endurance testament to an inner core of strength. Which said a lot. Between Dr. Honer’s prognosis and JD’s memory loss, his whole world was one big uncertainty.

      “You can drive him. Good, that’s good.” Dr. Honer sighed in relief. “Take him to the free clinic on Main. I’ll send a referral over, let them know to expect you.”

      “I can pay.” JD stated with certainty.

      She and Dr. Honer stared at him, neither wanting to question how he’d pay