“Doc must be a generous and kindhearted man.”
“He’s the best.”
As they got out of the car, an elderly man with a head of thick white hair stood up from where he’d been seated on the porch and started toward them.
John met him halfway and extended his hand. “I want you to know how much I appreciate your offer to let me stay here. Dr. Kelso said I’ve got to take it easy for another week or so, but as soon as I’m able, I’ll do whatever I can to help you out.”
Dr. Graham took his hand and gave it a gentleman’s shake. “It’ll be a win-win for both of us. Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”
John looked at Betsy. “Are you coming, too?”
She didn’t answer right away, and he wondered if she was going to make up some excuse and bow out. But instead, she smiled. “Sure. Why not?”
Why not, indeed.
Betsy Nielson intrigued him more each time he saw her, each time he talked to her and she uncovered another layer of her past. Too bad it wasn’t his past that was unfolding, but he couldn’t stew about that now. He was stuck in Brighton Valley and had to make the best of it.
There was an upside, though. A powerful attraction appeared to be brewing between the two of them.
And if a romance developed?
He’d be hard-pressed to try to stop it.
Chapter Five
John was surprised to see that Betsy had picked up some of the toiletries he would need, as well as boxer shorts, socks and a couple of outfits.
“I don’t know what to say.” He studied the clothing purchases, which had been laid out on the double bed in Doc’s guest room. Then he caught her eye and smiled. “Thanks for doing this for me.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turned away, as if the intimacy made her uneasy, and pointed to the shaving gear and toiletries she’d placed on the bureau. “If you need anything else, let me know. I can pick it up for you the next time I’m in town.”
“This ought to do it. Thanks again.”
She nodded, then left the room.
John might have forgotten a lot of things, like his name and occupation, but he somehow knew that people weren’t always that kind to strangers. And that Betsy was showing her true character, that she was more than a pretty face and a skilled physician.
Thanks to Dr. Graham’s prodding, she stayed long enough to join them for lunch, a simple fare of grilled cheese sandwiches, chips and fruit. They made small talk while they ate, then she excused herself and went home.
John was sorry to see her go, although he knew she needed some rest. It might be her day off, but working nights had to be rough. He figured she could stand to catch a little shut-eye whenever she had a chance.
A nap wouldn’t hurt him, either. He might be feeling better and getting stronger each day, but his body was still recuperating from the beating and he didn’t want to push it. Not when he needed his brain to heal as quickly as possible. He was eager to get on with his life-wherever that might be.
After Betsy left, Doc said he was going to sit on the porch and read a bit.
“Do you want to join me?” he asked. “I’ve got a good-size collection of books you can choose from in my den.”
“Maybe later, thanks. I think I’d rather lie down for a while. It’s been a few days since I’ve gotten this active.”
John followed Doc into the living room, where the old man stopped by the lamp table closest to an easy chair and picked up a hardbound Dean Koontz novel.
Before slipping off to the bedroom John had been given, he scanned the cozy living area, noting the stone fireplace and hand-carved mantel, where several framed photographs were displayed.
Figuring Doc had meant for his guests to check out the photos of his friends and family, John eased closer to the mantel and took a look at them.
There was a black-and-white snapshot of a young Dr. Graham wearing a military uniform and standing next to an attractive blonde. John assumed the woman was his wife, and as he found an older picture of the couple near the Eiffel Tower, he decided his assumption was correct.
There was a photograph of Betsy with a smiling gray-haired couple seated by a decorated Christmas tree. John guessed they were with her parents, even though he didn’t notice a resemblance. Then he remembered that she was adopted, so that would explain it.
He wondered if she’d ever looked for her biological family. Some people felt compelled to do that. And if she were one of them, then maybe that’s why she’d taken him under her wing. She understood how lost he felt without having a sense of his roots.
As he thought of Betsy and their commonalities, he glanced at the door she’d walked out of earlier, wishing she was still here.
But there was no need to stew about that. So he replaced the frame on the mantel, then walked to the hallway that led to the bedrooms.
As he slipped into the privacy of his room, which was simply decorated with a dresser and a double bed, his eye was drawn to a picture hanging on the wall. It was just a print of two curly-haired cherubs, nothing remarkable or expensive. He’d glossed over it before, yet he was drawn to it now.
It looked oddly familiar, as if he’d seen it before.
For a moment, a vision flashed before him of a silver-haired woman wearing a floral-print apron and a warm smile.
The scent of tomatoes, cilantro and spice.
Children’s laughter.
The sound of a screen door slamming.
But the wisp of a memory faded before he could wrap his mind around it, leaving him grasping for mental straws.
What did it mean? Was his life coming back to him?
God, he sure hoped so.
As if he could hurry it along, he kicked off his shoes and climbed on top of the bed, which was covered with a calico quilt. The old-fashioned box springs squeaked from his weight as he settled into the comfort of the mattress.
He closed his eyes and tried to recall the disjointed recollection-the sight, the scents and the sounds that had disappeared as quickly as they’d formed. But the vague memory was lost to him, along with his past.
The clock on the dresser ticktocked, lulling him to sleep. He awoke hours later to the sound of a knock at his door and the aroma of chicken baking in the oven.
“Dinner’s ready,” Doc said.
“I’ll be right there.” John climbed out of bed, straightened the quilt he’d been laying on and the pillow he’d been using. Then he went into the bathroom and washed his face and hands.
When he finished, he joined Doc at the kitchen table. “It sure smells good.”
“Doesn’t it? It’s a chicken-and-rice casserole. Betsy came by earlier and put it in the oven for us.”
“Does she cook for you often?”
“Whenever she gets the chance. She thinks I need someone to fuss over me.”
“And you don’t agree?”
“Who doesn’t like a little TLC?” the old man said with a wink.
John agreed, especially if Betsy was the one providing it. “Is she going to eat with us?”
