struggling with.
“Doc asked if you would oversee things until it’s all said and done,” she said.
“I’d be happy to. I owe him a lot for providing me with a job and a place to stay.”
She seemed pleased with his answer. But he hadn’t been blowing smoke. He did feel an obligation to Doc, and he really enjoyed working outdoors.
Was that a contradiction to the theory he’d had about being a businessman?
There was also a part of him that didn’t care whether he remembered his past life or not-the part of him that had fallen for Betsy, the part that didn’t want to be with another woman, no matter who she was.
“I also stopped by the admission office at the Shady Glen Convalescent Hospital. When Doc is discharged from the medical center, he can transfer there. And once he recovers more fully, he can move into one of the apartments.”
“How soon do you think that’ll be?”
“If he’s lucky, in the next couple of weeks.”
John watched her fold up the bags and put them in the pantry.
For a moment she froze. “Oh, shoot.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I forgot to get chips and salsa.”
“Do you want me to go back to the market and get that for you?”
“Would you mind?”
“No, not at all.” Maybe getting away from the house and the ranch would help him shake the blue funk he’d been in ever since that last memory had surfaced. He’d tried his best to make sense of every image that had fluttered past him, but he hadn’t gotten a very good handle on any of them, especially that partial, heated conversation between him and a woman.
Instead, he’d felt increasingly unsettled, as though he should be somewhere, as though he had a job to do, as though he might be failing someone. And that didn’t sit well with him at all.
And now, here he was, turning off the ignition and heading into the small mom-and-pop-style grocery store to pick up chips and salsa.
As he made his way through the aisles, he found the Mexican food easily enough, but as he scanned the shelves, he spotted a display of Abuelita brand tortilla chips, which sent a good, hard jolt to his memory.
Several images, sights and sounds began to clamor in his mind and he froze in his tracks. As he realized what was happening, he lifted a bag of chips and studied the smiling old woman on the label, her cheeks flushed with pride. And as he did so, a spark of recognition struck. Rosa Alvarez.
The woman whose recipes and cooking skills had started a company.
A big company.
Jason…Alvarez?
Was that who he was?
He turned the bag over, reading the label. But he skipped over the nutrition facts, instead searching for the processing details: Packaged by Alvarez Industries, San Diego, California.
This was, he realized, the first significant clue he had received. Yet the images were still flickering in his mind like an old nickelodeon that skipped a few photos.
But why?
He reached for a jar of salsa-another Abuelita product-and carried it as well as the chips to the checkout stand.
“That’ll be eight dollars and forty-three cents,” the checker said.
John-no,
He spotted one by the nearby Laundromat and crossed the parking lot to reach it, digging through his pocket for change.
Once inside the booth, he dropped in a quarter, dialed 4-1-1 and asked for the number for the Alvarez Industries corporate office in San Diego. Then, realizing he didn’t have enough coins to handle the long-distance charges, he directed an automated operator to place a collect call.
One ring later, a woman answered, “Alvarez Industries. How can I direct your call?”
“I have a collect call from Mr. Jason Alvarez. Will you accept charges?”
“Yes, we will.” When the call went through, she said, “Please hold, Mr. Alvarez. I’ll get your brother’s office.”
Too bad Jason hadn’t known he had a brother. He blinked a couple of times, hoping it would all come back to him before his brother answered.
“Michael Alvarez’s office,” another woman said.
Here goes nothing, he thought, as he said, “This is Jason. Can I speak to Michael?”
The woman sucked in her breath. “Oh, my God. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
“Michael isn’t in right now. And his cell won’t do you any good. The corporate jet was tied up, and he had to take a commercial flight to Denver. He’s not due to land for another…” She paused, apparently checking the clock or Michael’s itinerary. “Well, he just took off, so it’ll be at least two hours. Are you sure you’re okay, Jason?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” At least he hoped that he would be-now, anyway.
“David’s playing golf at Torrey Pines today with a couple of execs from the J.R. Stein Group. He never takes his cell on the course, so he’s not available, either. Can you leave a number so one of them can call you back as soon as they check in with me?”
“Sure.” He gave her the number at the ranch.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked. “They’re going to ask. All they knew was that you went to Texas. But you never checked in.”
Was that because of the accident and the amnesia? Or did he have another reason for being away?
Jason didn’t want to admit to the woman that he’d been involved in a mugging, that most of his memory was still lost to him. After all, he wasn’t sure what kind of relationship he had with his family or why he was in Brighton Valley in the first place.
After the police had questioned the patrons of the Stagecoach Inn, they’d said he was looking for someone named Pedro Salas. But he had no idea why. And because the secretary hadn’t mentioned the man or hinted at his quest, he decided to keep that information to himself for the time being.
“I’m fine,” he repeated. Hopefully, he’d get more clues after he talked to one of his brothers. “Will you just have one of them call me?”
“Yes, Jason. Of course.”
When the line disconnected, he stood outside the market for the longest time, trying to sort through the facts he’d just learned.
But when push came to shove, he still didn’t know much more than his name.
Chapter Ten
Betsy brought her parents home from Shady Glen around four that afternoon. Because her father was a football fan, she left him in the living room watching the Cowboys and Redskins game while she and her mother went into the kitchen.
She waited for her mom to maneuver the walker into the room, then she had her sit at the kitchen table. Whenever possible, she tried to give her mom a job to do, allowing her to feel as though she’d taken part in the food preparation.
Working together had always been a special time between them, whether it was baking cookies as a child or learning how to fix one of her mom’s favorite recipes.
