Kitabı oku: «The Deputy's Lost and Found / Her Second Chance Cop»

The Deputy’s

Lost And Found

Stella Bagwell

Her Second

Chance Cop

Jeanie London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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The Deputy’s

Lost And Found

Stella Bagwell

Dear Reader,

Like the pages of a book, our minds are layered with memories and as the years pass we’re able to look back, read those pages and revisit the moments that make up our lives. Memories tell us the type of person we’ve been, point out our accomplishments and failures, and invariably guide the plans we map out for our future.

However, in The Deputy’s Lost and Found, the pages of my heroine’s memory are frighteningly blank. She has nothing to guide her, except the feelings in her heart. Can she trust them? And even more importantly, can she trust the sexy deputy, who’s vowed to keep her safe?

To find the answers, come with me and saddle up for another trip to Lincoln County, New Mexico, where the desert meets the mountains, old friends welcome new ones, and the youngest Donovan brother helps my heroine find her true home!

Thank you all, dear readers, and may God bless each trail you ride.

Stella

About the Author

STELLA BAGWELL has written more than seventy novels. She credits her loyal readers and hopes her stories have brightened their lives in some small way.

A cowgirl through and through, she loves to watch old Westerns, and has recently learned how to rope a steer. Her days begin and end helping her husband care for a beloved herd of horses on their little ranch located on the south Texas coast. When she’s not ropin’ and ridin’, you’ll find her at her desk, creating her next tale of love.

The couple have a son, who is a high school math teacher and athletic coach.

To my dearest sister, Thelma Louise.

The memories we’ve made together will

always be etched in my heart.

Chapter One

“The woman is turning into a pest, Hank,” Deputy Brady Donovan said as he steered the official SUV around a mountain curve. “Last week I told her flat out that I didn’t want to go out with her again, but she’s still jamming my cell phone with text messages.”

The junior deputy sitting in the passenger seat offered his best explanation. “Maybe Suzie has a hearing problem?”

“Only when it comes to the word no,” Brady muttered.

Groaning, Brady’s young partner rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Man, if I could just be you for one day I’d overdose on women.”

Brady chuckled wryly. “Trust me, Hank, a daily diet of females can be hazardous to your health.”

“So is starving. And I don’t want a diet of women. I want a feast. Like you.”

Brady tossed his partner a droll look. “I don’t know where you get your ideas, Hank. If you ever expect to be a good deputy you’ve got to do a better job at sizing up people.”

“Yeah. Just like you could size up Suzie’s figure?”

Chuckling again, Brady rolled his head to ease the stiffness that had been building in his shoulders for the past hour. “You sound just like my family. They have this notion that I’m a cowboy James Bond. Thrilling chases after criminals and making love to a bevy of beauties. They don’t understand that we spend hours on the road, talking about nothing, and wishing an antelope would cross the road just to break the monotony.”

Moving to the edge of his seat, Hank twisted the rearview mirror so he could study his freckles. “Cowboy James Bond. I wish. Maybe it would change my luck if I ordered my iced tea shaken and not stirred?”

“Damn it all, Hank, straighten that mirror before it snaps off. Or do you want to explain to Sheriff Hamilton why our vehicle needs repairs?”

It was nearing ten-thirty on a pitch-black Sunday night in August. For the past two hours Brady and Hank had been patrolling the southeastern corner of Lincoln County. Not a simple feat, considering the New Mexican county covered more than four thousand, eight hundred square miles and some of the roads were rough dirt, winding through steep mountains. But Brady and his partner both knew that if criminals were out to smuggle drugs, do illegal deals or rustle some rancher’s livestock, it would most likely occur on these secluded back roads. And there was nothing that Brady liked more than catching a criminal in the act. Liked it much more, in fact, than cozying up to Suzie Pippin on a cold night, or even a hot one, he thought wryly.

But so far this evening, everything appeared to be quiet. Another quarter mile to go and they’d be at Highway 380 near Picacho. Brady would be glad to get back on asphalt. Deep winter snows, followed by unusually heavy spring rains, had washed out huge sections of this particular road. He’d spent the past thirty minutes wrenching the steering wheel one way and the other in order to dodge deep holes and road ledges that were crumbling away to the steep canyons below.

“Aw, Brady, you’re no fun tonight. You could’ve let me dream for another minute or two.” Hank readjusted the mirror to its proper position and settled back in the bucket seat.

“You can dream while you’re in bed,” Brady retorted.

Hank sighed as he stared out at the empty dirt road in front of them. “Okay, I’ll put the dreaming on hold. When we get to 70 let’s head into Ruidoso. The Blue Mesa stays open all night and I want some coffee and maybe a piece of cherry cream pie,” Hank said as the SUV bounced over another rough spot. “No. Make that apple. With cinnamon on it. And some ice cream on top of that.”

“Forget it. We’re driving on to the county line. Sheriff Hamilton didn’t send us over here to eat pie. Or dream about women. Which is all you seemed to be doing tonight.”

“Hell, what else is there to do?” Hank countered. “This night is as dead as a doornail.”

Brady slowed the vehicle as they crossed a washboard surface in a road that had narrowed down to little more than a dirt track hugging the side of the mountain.

“Okay,” he relented. “After we reach the county line, we’ll head back to Ruidoso and—” All of a sudden, Brady stomped on the brakes and the vehicle skidded to a stop in the middle of the road. “Hellfire! What’s that, Hank?”

Sensing the urgency in Brady’s question, the other man bolted upright in his seat and leaned toward the windshield. “Where? I don’t see—”

Before he could finish, Brady rammed the gearshift in Park and jumped to the ground. Grabbing a flashlight, Hank quickly followed and lengthened his stride to catch up with his partner.

“Over there,” Brady instructed. “To our left. In the ditch. It looked like a body to me.”

The orb of the flashlight swung to a steep cliff covered with boulders, scrubby pinyon pine, juniper and tall clumps of sagebrush, then dropped to a white object lying in the ditch.

“Man, oh, man, somebody met up with some trouble!” Hank exclaimed in a hushed tone.

“Yeah.”

Before moving to the downed figure, Brady took a few seconds to assess the situation. There were no other vehicles to be seen or any evidence of a driving mishap. No persons or animals. Nor a sound to be heard. Like Hank had said earlier, the night was dead. Brady only hoped to God that wasn’t the case for the person lying several feet away.

“Call this in, Hank.”

To the onlooker, the two deputies appeared equal and for the most part they shared duties just as they shared a friendship. But during critical calls, Brady’s position of chief deputy demanded that he take control. Thankfully Hank was more than happy to accept the protocol.

“Right,” Hank replied. “An ambulance, too?”

“Let me have a look first. We might need the coroner.”

The other man tossed Brady the flashlight, then made a quick U-turn back to their unit. Brady moved purposely forward, his gaze surveying the body lying facedown on the rocky ground. The person was slender, dark-haired, dressed in blue jeans and white shirt and unfortunately showing no sign of life.

Homicides were extremely rare in the county. In fact, during his seven years at the sheriff’s department, Brady had only worked two murder scenes. The last thing he wanted was a third.

His senses on keen alert, he squatted near the body and, using one hand, swiftly slid his finger to the artery at the side of the victim’s neck, the flashlight throwing a narrow beam of light. The faint pulse fluttering against the pad of Brady’s finger sent relief rushing through him.

Behind him, the sound of crunching gravel alerted him to Hank’s approach.

“Is he alive?” the other man asked quickly.

“Yes. But unconscious.”

Very carefully Brady rolled the person to a face-up position and was instantly whammed with shock as he found himself staring at a young woman! One side of her black hair was wet with blood, while dried smears marked her forehead.

“Hank, get a blanket from the unit and call for an ambulance,” Brady ordered swiftly. “It’s a woman. And she has a nasty gash on the forehead.”

While the other deputy hurried away, Brady carefully searched her limbs for obvious broken bones or visible injuries. Other than the head wound, there didn’t appear to be any, but he could only guess what might be going on internally. Except for a crumpled tissue, there wasn’t anything in her pockets.

Hank arrived with the blanket and as Brady folded it to make a cushion for her head, the woman suddenly made a faint groaning noise.

Encouraged by the sound, Brady stuffed the makeshift pillow beneath her head, then questioned, “Miss? Can you hear me? Wake up and tell us what happened! Is there anyone else injured?”

She groaned again and Brady glanced at Hank. “What’s the ETA on the ambulance?”

“Twenty-five minutes. When it’s time, I’ll drive to the highway to signal them,” Hank told him. “Unless you’d rather me stay with her and you do it.”

Brady wasn’t about to leave the woman. Everything about the situation was screaming that some sort of foul play had taken place and he wanted to be around to make sure nothing else happened. “I’m staying,” he said bluntly.

“What the hell could she have been doing way out here?” Hank wondered aloud.

“I can’t make sense of it,” Brady responded. “She doesn’t look like the typical person involved in drug use or trafficking. And this area isn’t a national forest with camp sites or hiking trails for nature lovers. I don’t want to start speculating, but I’m getting a bad vibe.”

“Could be she had a simple accident,” Hank suggested.

“Yeah. But why did a simple accident happen in the middle of nowhere?”

“Maybe she’s been out hunting. Her vehicle might be parked on one of the offshoot roads and we didn’t spot it.”

“Maybe. But there’s no rifle or bow and hunting season is closed. Besides, she isn’t dressed for that sort of thing. Look at those cowboy boots. Small fortune for those hand-stitched babies. And she’s wearing turquoise—the expensive kind—on her wrist and neck. A robber wouldn’t have left that behind.”

“Hmm. That’s why you’re the chief deputy,” Hank said wryly. “You don’t have to study about noticing things. You just see them.”

Brady glanced up at Hank. “Walk the edge of the road and see if you can spot a wallet or handbag lying around,” he ordered, then, turning his attention back to the victim, he lifted her hand and patted the back of it. “Come on, miss, wake up!”

This time his voice must have penetrated. Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly lifted. Brady anxiously watched her gaze attempt to focus on him.

“Hello,” he said to her. “Welcome back.”

She stared blankly at him. “What—where … am I?”

Even though her voice was dazed and weak, Brady was relieved to hear her speak. Bending near, so that she could get a look at his face and official uniform, he explained, “I’m Chief Deputy Brady Donovan.”

“A deputy?” she repeated dazedly. “Have I … been in some sort of accident?”

“It appears that way.” He squeezed her hand. “An ambulance is on the way. Other than your head, does it feel like anything else is injured?”

Her free hand slowly lifted to her temple. “My … head is … pounding.”

“Anything else hurt?”

She closed her eyes and for a moment Brady feared she was going to lose consciousness again.

“No— I … don’t think so,” she mumbled.

Encouraged that she might not be as badly injured as he’d first feared, he asked, “Can you tell me anything? What happened?”

Confusion puckered her forehead. “No. I— Where am I?”

Brady pulled a handkerchief from his pants and began to wipe at the blood trickling near her eye. If someone had deliberately struck this lovely young woman, they’d obviously left her for dead. The idea sent a shudder down his spine. “You’re on a mountain road in Lincoln County, New Mexico. You don’t remember?”

Her eyes widened and Brady could see they were a deep gray, the color of a snow cloud on a stark winter day. They were framed by black winged brows and long thick lashes that fluttered like a silk curtain caught in the wind.

“New … Mexico? I—” She broke off as her trembling fingers traveled from her forehead down to her dirt smeared cheek. “That doesn’t … make sense to me.”

“Why?”

“I … don’t know! It—” Suddenly in a panic, she attempted to rise. Not wanting her to struggle and perhaps worsen her condition, Brady helped her to a sitting position. By now, her whole body was beginning to shake, a signal to him that she might be slipping into shock.

Supporting her with an arm around her shoulders, he wrapped the blanket around her, then tucked it close to her body to help hold in the warmth. “Don’t worry about it now, miss,” he gently instructed. “You’ve had a nasty knock to your head. Just try to relax and we’ll start from the beginning. Can you tell me your name?”

She looked at him and Brady felt something twist in his gut as he watched her lips tremble with fear and uncertainty. He’d never seen a woman look so lost and vulnerable and the protective side of him ached to reassure her, yet the lawman in him yanked those emotions back and ordered him to remember that his first priority was doing his job.

“I … no! Oh, God help me, I don’t know my name!”

Over the years, Brady had learned that people who found themselves in trouble with the law oftentimes conveniently forgot their identities. That could be the case with this gray-eyed gal, but he didn’t think she was acting. The shock on her face looked far too genuine.

Before he could decide how to reply to her anguished plea, Hank walked up carrying nothing but a flashlight. Brady rose from his squat to talk to his partner.

“Nothing, Brady. Maybe we’ll find something after daylight.”

With a pointed glance at the blanket-wrapped woman, Brady gently elbowed Hank in the ribs and the two men walked a short distance away before stopping to converse in low voices.

“She’s claiming she doesn’t know who she is or where she is,” Brady told him. “I’m thinking she has a heck of a concussion. It might be tomorrow before we find out what took place.”

Frowning, Hank glanced over his shoulder at the injured woman. “Yeah. But she could be lying. Especially if there was a drug deal gone wrong. By tomorrow, she might lawyer up and decide not to tell us anything.”

Brady’s lips stretched into a grim line. He wasn’t buying that scenario. He’d sensed something innocent about the woman. No doubt Hank would laugh at that notion, so Brady kept the opinion to himself. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

“Is she Apache? Maybe she’s from the res.”

“No. She’s white. Somewhere in her mid-twenties, I’d say.”

Hank shook his head with disbelief. “Boy, oh, boy. And I thought this was going to be a boring night.”

Brady slapped him on the shoulder. “You’d better get down to the highway. The ambulance ought to be here soon.”

Forty-five minutes later, the ambulance had picked up the injured woman and carried her to Sierra General Hospital in Ruidoso. Brady and Hank arrived directly behind the emergency vehicle and followed the paramedics as they pushed the injured woman through the swishing doors.

Once they were inside the building, Hank said, “Guess we’d better give Admitting what information we have. But that’s not a heck of a lot.”

Brady’s expression was rueful. “We have nothing but white female. Black hair, gray eyes, mid-twenties. They’ll have to admit her as a Jane Doe.”

As Brady and his partner paused in the middle of the corridor, two nurses hurried out and ordered the paramedics to take the patient farther down the hallway. As he watched the gurney and medical attendants make a sharp left and disappeared from view, Brady had the oddest urge to follow. He wanted to see for himself that the woman was going to be okay, that the nurses and doctors did everything they could to alleviate her pain and fears.

The urge was totally out of character for Brady and made him feel foolish. He’d always made it a policy to never let his emotions get tangled up with his job. It was easier that way. Easier to go home at night and forget the victims who’d been battered or robbed or abused. As a deputy, his job wasn’t to fix personal problems, but to put criminals away so that no one else might be harmed.

Sure, when a young child was involved, there wasn’t an officer on the force who wasn’t emotionally affected. But the woman he’d found on the road tonight was hardly a child and what happened to her next shouldn’t be on Brady’s mind.

“Hey, Brady, you here on official business tonight? Or just to see your sister?”

At the sound of the female voice, Brady turned to see Andrea, a nurse who often worked the night shift in emergency.

“Bridget is working tonight?” he asked.

Brady’s sister was a medical doctor with a very busy practice. She wasn’t a hospital resident, but if any of her patients needed hospitalization she treated them here at Sierra General. If he could find her, he might be able to talk her in to taking over Jane Doe’s case.

The tall, blonde nurse nodded. “I saw her a few minutes ago. She had some sort of emergency with a patient on the third floor.”

Brady turned to his partner. “Can you deal with admitting her on your own?”

Hank shrugged. “Sure. Why?”

At that moment a male nurse at the front desk called to Andrea and as she quickly excused herself, Brady told the deputy, “I’m going to look for my sister.”

Hank’s brown brows pulled together to form a puzzled frown. “Bridget?” he asked blankly. “Why in heck do you need to see her right now? Your family having problems you haven’t told me about?”

Brady had two brothers, three sisters, parents and a grandmother. And, except for one sister, they all lived in the same house on the Diamond D Ranch. Among that many relatives there were always problems arising, but thankfully usually minor ones.

“No, Hank. No problems!” Trotting toward the elevator, Brady said over his shoulder, “And don’t run off to the coffee shop until I get back!”

On the third floor, Brady stepped off the elevator and headed to the nearest nurse’s station. But before he reached the post, he spotted Bridget striding toward him.

When the petite redhead reached his side, she looked at him with faint alarm. “Brady! What are you doing here? Nothing is wrong with the family, is it?”

“Relax. As far as I know everyone is okay. I’m here on business.”

Looping her arm through his, his sister pulled him to one side of the wide corridor so as not to clog the pathway. “Oh, I hope it’s not a domestic battery,” she said quickly. “I hate to hear about those victims, much less see them in the hospital.”

Removing a gray Stetson from his head, Brady raked a hand through thick, tawny-colored waves. “Actually, I’m not sure what this woman is a victim of. Hank and I found her on a back mountain road a few miles from Picacho. The paramedics just brought her in a few minutes ago. She’s had sort of trauma to the head. And I was … hoping you’d take a look at her.”

His sister frowned. “Isn’t one of the emergency doctors dealing with her?”

Brady felt like an idiot. The hospital was full of competent doctors and no doubt Gray Eyes would get the best of care. That should be enough for any patient. So why was he trying to garner her more attention?

“Yes. She’s … being treating now. But I thought—well, I’d just feel better if you’d stop in and look at her.”

“Who is it?” Bridget quickly questioned. “A friend? Someone we know?”

Shaking his head, he said, “Never seen her before. She doesn’t know who she is.”

Bridget started to ask another question, but at that moment, a small group of people walking past them called greetings to his sister, momentarily distracting her from their conversation.

“Sorry, Brady,” she said, once the medical personnel had moved on down the corridor and away from them. “You were saying—”

“She’s blank, Brita. Not her name, where she was or why. Nothing. And no ID to tell us.”

A thoughtful frown crossed his sister’s face. “A head injury, you say?”

Brady nodded. “A bad gash near her temple.”

Suddenly she patted his forearm in a placating way. “I think Dr. Richmond is on emergency call this evening. He’s certainly capable of taking care of this type of injury.”

“I’m sure he is. But she’ll have to be handed over to the care of a permanent physician. And she doesn’t know anyone and—”

Sensing his urgency, she released a sigh of surrender. “Okay, Brady, okay. I’ll take a look. But mind you, when her family steps forward and requests another doctor, I’ll be gone. Understand?”

Smiling with relief, he clasped a loving arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Did you know that you’re my favorite sister?”

She shot him a tired look. “Yeah. Your favorite is the one you happen to be with at the moment. And do I need to remind you of the messes you’ve gotten me into? That time—”

“We don’t have time to go into my transgressions now, sis,” Brady interrupted as he urged his sister toward the nearest elevator. “I promise I’ll make everything up to you. Someday.”

The cubicle behind the plain beige curtain was cold and smelled faintly of disinfectant. Standing a few feet away, at the foot of the narrow, railed bed, a middle-aged doctor with dark blond hair and black rimmed glasses was scratching notes on a clipboard, while barking orders at the attending nurse.

Since arriving in the emergency unit, she’d been stripped of her boots and clothing, sponged clean and dressed in a blue cotton gown that tied at the back. The doctor had poked and prodded, asked her questions that she couldn’t answer and generally done little to assuage her fears.

Now that he’d ended his examination and was conversing with the nurse, her mind vacillated between sheer panic and a pit of total emptiness.

Scans. Sutures. Neurological tests. The medical words she managed to catch here and there made little to no sense to her.

Oh, God, who was she? Where was she? The questions pounded through her head, adding to the horrible throb in her right temple.

Thinking was like bouncing herself off a black wall where there was no door or crack of light to lead her either forward or backward. Other than waking up to see a deputy sheriff hovering over her, there was nothing in her mind, except icy, paralyzing fear.

She tried to push the terror back and keep from sobbing as the doctor exited the cubicle and the young nurse with a kind face bent over her. The name tag pinned to the left side of her chest said her name was Lilly.

“All right, miss,” she said warmly. “Let’s get some pain medication started and then we’ll see about taking you down to radiology. When that’s done someone will come around to put some stitches in your scalp.”

During the ambulance ride, the paramedics had started an intravenous drip. Now the nurse simply pushed a syringe full of medication into the tube already affixed to her hand.

“Why am I going to radiology?”

“To take pictures of your skull and brain,” the nurse replied. “Dr. Richmond needs to see if you have internal injuries.”

“Oh.” She didn’t want pictures or stitches, she wanted to scream. She wanted her memory back. “Will that take long? The tests?”

“No,” the nurse assured her. “They won’t hurt, either.”

She closed her eyes. “Um—the deputy who found me. Is he here?”

Lilly answered, “I saw Hank Ridell out in the corridor a few minutes ago. Is that who you mean?”

She opened her eyes to see the nurse was writing something on the chart the doctor had left behind.

“No. His name was Donovan, I think. He was tall and had on a gray hat and he had a little scar right here.” She touched a finger to a spot on her cheekbone near her eye.

Lilly suddenly smiled a knowing smile. “Oh. That’s Brady. He’s the chief deputy of Lincoln County. And considered quite a catch by most of the young women around here.”

The pain medication was beginning to course rapidly through her bloodstream, easing the pounding in her head. “Including you?” she asked the nurse.

Lilly blushed and laughed. “No. I have a boyfriend. Besides, I’m not in Brady Donovan’s league.” She placed the chart in a holder at the foot of the bed, then studied her more closely. “Did you need to talk with the deputy for some reason?”

There were a thousand things she wanted to ask the man, things that might help jar her memory. But that wasn’t entirely the reason she wanted to see the deputy again. He’d been nice and gentle. He’d held her with strong hands and soothed her with his low voice. At some point during their wait for the ambulance, he’d become her light in a heavy fog. She’d not wanted to leave him and now she fervently wished he was back by her side.

“I would like to speak with him. If you think that’s possible.”

Smiling, Lilly winked at her. “While you’re in radiology I’ll do my best to find him.”

The nurse quickly swished out the door and as she watched her go, she desperately prayed the woman would find the deputy.

Her world had gone crazy and he was the only person, the only thing her memory had to go back to. She was totally and utterly lost. And without Deputy Donovan, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to find her way back home.

Chapter Two

More than an hour later, Brady and Hank were sitting in the hospital coffee shop, finishing off huge slices of pie when Bridget walked up to their table.

Shaking her head, she looked at the crumbs on their plates. “Looks like both of you are really worried about good nutrition,” she said wryly.

“Pecan pie must be good for you or the hospital wouldn’t serve it, right?” Hank asked.

“Wrong. But it looks delicious,” she said with a weary sigh.

Immediately, Hank jumped from his seat and pulled out a chair for her.

“Did you see our Jane Doe?” Brady questioned before she had time to get comfortable.

The doctor thanked Hank, then pushed a hand through her tumbled hair. “I did,” she said to Brady. “And I’ve become her doctor. For the time being.”

“I’m glad. So what about her condition?” Brady questioned.

His sister frowned at him. “I can’t give you details, Brady. You know that’s invading a patient’s privacy.”

Brady muttered a curse word under his breath. For the past two hours he’d not been able to think about anything except the gray-eyed woman he’d held in his arms. Now his sister wanted to act all professional with him.

“Damn it, Brita, just tell me—is she going to get better? Is she going to be able to remember? Tell us who she is?”

Bridget studied him keenly, and then glanced pointedly at Hank. “What has he done, had a love-at-first-sight experience?”

Hank grinned. “You mean another one?”

Normally Brady liked to joke. In fact, Fiona Donovan had often called him her most lighthearted child, full of happiness and humor. But at the moment he wasn’t feeling anything of the sort. In fact, he was getting a tad angry at both his sister and his partner.

Scowling, Brady muttered to the both of them, “I’m not in the mood for this!”

Seeing he was serious, Bridget relented. “Okay, brother, I’ll be straightforward. Your Jane Doe will get better. The good news is that physically she’s fine. She wasn’t raped, and aside from some bruising on her arms and legs she isn’t seriously injured. As for her memory, how long that might take is a question I can’t answer.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?”

Reaching across the table, she patted the back of his hand. “No. Medicine is not always an exact science. And head injuries are sometimes tricky. She might remember everything in the next few minutes, years from now, something in-between, or never.”

The picture of awful uncertainty his sister was painting hit Brady like a fist to his mouth. No matter the circumstances that caused the injury, the woman didn’t deserve this.

“Isn’t there something you can do to make her remember? Give her some sort of drug?”

“Trust me, Brady. If she doesn’t improve quickly, I’ll be calling in a specialist. But since she’s a ward of the county, cost has to be considered—there’s just so much the hospital will allow. And quit staring at me like you expect me to perform some sort of miracle. I’m just a doctor.”

Hank suddenly interjected, “Look, Brady, it might be that we find her ID when we return to the scene in the morning. Who knows, we might even find an abandoned vehicle in the area.”

Brady wished they didn’t have to wait until daylight to return to the scene. He wanted answers now. But the department’s manpower was already stretched across the enormous county. To bring in searchlights would be costly, time-consuming and perhaps even worthless in the long run.

“Yeah,” Brady agreed. “Let’s hope.”

Bridget suddenly squeezed his fingers and he glanced back at his sister.

“I almost forgot—she’s asking for you.”

Brady’s mouth fell open. “Me?”

Bridget’s smile was wry. “Yes, you. She wants to see you. I expect the meds we’ve given her will be putting her to sleep soon, so you’d better get going.”

Gray Eyes wanted to see him? The news didn’t just stun Brady, it pleased him in the goofiest sort of way and he hurriedly scraped back his chair.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes, Hank.” Rising to his feet, he pulled out his wallet and tossed several bills at Hank. “Here. Buy Bridget a piece of pie. She looks hungry.”

He headed toward the plate glass door leading out of the coffee shop when suddenly his sister’s voice called out to him.

“Brady, where are you going?”

Frowning with frustration, he glanced over his shoulder. “Where do you think I’m going?” he asked impatiently.

With a shake of her head, she looked drolly over to Hank, then back to her brother. “I don’t know. There are nearly five hundred rooms in this hospital. Don’t you think you need the number to find her?”

If Brady didn’t feel like an idiot before, he certainly did now and he was glad he was standing a few feet away from the table. Otherwise Hank could easily see the red on his face.

“All right,” he conceded. “I wasn’t thinking. What’s the number?”

“Two-twelve. And Brady, be easy,” she warned.

A lazy smile crossed Brady’s face. “Don’t worry, sis. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s handling women. Especially damsels in distress.”

When a knock sounded on the door, she didn’t bother to open her eyes. For the past thirty minutes the nurses had been coming and going from the hospital room like ants on a picnic blanket. She expected the footsteps she heard approaching her bed belonged to yet another nurse who was there to take her blood pressure for the umpteenth time.

“Excuse me, miss. It’s Deputy Donovan. Do you feel like talking?”

The sound of his voice set her heart to pounding and her eyes popped open to see him standing near the head of the bed. His gray hat was in his hand and beneath the dim lighting she could see rusty-gold hair waving thickly about his head, tanned features molded in a sober expression.

He was a young man, she decided. Somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties. Handsome was not the word to come to her mind as she studied him more closely. But rugged and sexy certainly did. Sharp cheekbones, a thrusting chin, hazel green eyes and a full lower lip merged together to form one strong face.

Suddenly feeling as weak as a puny kitten, she cleared her throat and tried to speak in a normal voice. Instead, it came out raspy. “Thank you for coming, Deputy Donovan.”

A faint smile tilted the corner of his lips and her gaze was drawn to his mouth and the dimple marking his left cheek.

“My pleasure,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

That voice. It was her first memory of anything and she clung to it like a child with a blanket. “Lousy. But better.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Hopefully, you’ll be right as rain real soon.”

She swallowed as hopeless emotions thickened her throat. “Doctor Donovan was very positive about that. She … told me that she’s your sister.”

His smile deepened. “That’s right. We’re from a big family. We all live together in a big ranch house.”

Family. Parents. Siblings. Did she have any? And if she did, where were they? Nearby? Far away? Maybe she had no one. Oh, God, let her remember, she prayed.

Her gaze fell from his face and settled on the folds of her blue hospital gown. “No one here at the hospital seems to recognize me. I … don’t know if I have any … family.”

His hand was suddenly touching her shoulder and the warmth from it spread through her, easing the chill that she couldn’t seem to shake in spite of the extra blankets the nurses had spread over her.

“If you do, we’ll find them. Trust me on that.”

He sounded so confident, so firm in his conviction, that she had to believe him. Her gaze fluttered back to his face. “I can’t remember anything about the place where you found me. Was it near a house or anything?”

“No. The road is a back road that leads into the mountains. Ranchers use it to move their sheep and cattle from one range to another and hunters travel it during open season. That’s about all. The nearest house to where we found you is probably six or seven miles away.”

She shook her head with dismay. “What could I have been doing there? Was there a car? Anything?”

“Not that we’ve found yet. We’ll be examining your clothes and scouring the area in the morning. If you left anything behind, we’ll find it.”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out. She was exhausted and her body was screaming for sleep, yet she fought the fogginess settling over her. She wanted to be with this man a little longer, absorb the security he lent her.

“If I—don’t remember, is there much you can do to find out who I am?”

His fingers tightened reassuringly on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about that tonight. Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”

He was trying to make her feel better and oddly enough, he was. “I don’t even have a name for you to call me,” she said, then tried to laugh at the ridiculousness of her situation. “I guess I’m a Jane Doe, aren’t I? But please don’t call me that. I never liked the name Jane that much.”

His brows arched. “How do you know something like that without remembering?”

“I—well, I don’t know why I dislike the name. I just know that I do,” she said with faint surprise. “But I guess you’re right. Subconsciously I must be remembering something.”

Brady had never wanted to take anyone in his arms more than he did this woman at this very moment. She looked lost and wounded and utterly beautiful. And everything inside him wanted to make her better.

“See,” he said gently, “your memory will all come back and then you can tell me your real name. But for now let’s give you another one. What would you like to be called?”

One hand lifted, then fell helplessly back to the bed covers. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It must have,” he said with an easy chuckle. “You didn’t want to be called Jane.”

A tiny smile curved her lips and he felt instantly better.

“Well. That’s different,” she said. “I don’t want to be a Jane. I want to be someone real.”

“All right. Then I’m going to call you …” He thought for a moment, then smiled with satisfaction. “Lass.”

Even though her gray eyes were full of sleep, he could see surprise flicker in their drowsy debts.

“Lass,” she repeated as though testing the name on her tongue. “Why?”

Brady couldn’t stop his fingers from moving to her forehead and gently pushing a strand of shiny black hair away from the bruised flesh near her eye. Did this woman have a husband somewhere, he wondered? A husband that often touched her this very same way?

During the time the two of them had spent waiting for the ambulance to arrive, Brady had studied her hands. From a professional standpoint, he’d wanted to see if there had been defensive wounds on her hands or traces of flesh or hair beneath her fingernails from fighting off an attacker. From a personal position, he’d wanted to see if she was wearing a wedding band or engagement ring.

Except for a bit of grime on her palms, her hands had been clean. But that might not mean she was single. Her ring could have been stolen or she could have simply not been wearing it when she’d left home. Or not had one on for very long—not long enough to get a tan line or callus.

“Well, Lassie got lost lots of times,” he reasoned, “and she always found her way back home to her family. Then everyone was happy again. That’s the way it’s going to be with you, Lass.”

She reached for his hand and as her fingers curled loosely around his, her eyelids drifted downward

“Lass,” she repeated sleepily. “That’s very pretty. Thank you, Deputy.”

Brady was about to tell her that no thanks were needed, but at that moment the muscles in her face went lax and the fingers wrapped around his lost their grip and dropped to the white sheet covering her body.

She’d fallen asleep and it was time for him to go, he realized. Yet he lingered beside the bed, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman.

She was smaller than he’d first estimated, but her arms appeared toned and muscled. No doubt the rest of her was as fit, he thought. This told him she wasn’t someone who sat around all day. She either worked at something that required manual labor or she made frequent visits to the gym. Her hair was shiny and well cared for, the straight ends trimmed to blunt precision. Pale pink polish covered her short, well-manicured nails and her satiny smooth skin looked as though it had been pampered since birth.

She definitely wasn’t blue collar, he thought. Along with her grooming habits, there were also the earrings attached to her lobes. If he was a betting man, he’d wager the glittering stones circling the chunks of turquoise were real diamonds. A fact that only added to her strange circumstance.

If someone had whacked her in the head to rob her, why hadn’t the thief taken the pricey jewelry? No, something else had gone down with this little, lost lassie and he was going to do his damnedest to find out.

His thoughts were interrupted by a faint knock on the door and Brady turned from the bed just as his sister stepped into the room.

“I think she’s gone to sleep,” Brady said, hoping he didn’t look as sheepish as he felt. “And I … was just about to leave.”

Bridget peered around his shoulder at her sleeping patient, then back at him. “I’m on my way home. I wanted to see if she recalled anything that might be helpful.”

Brady shook his head. “No.”

“Well, it will come.” She rose on tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Brady. And don’t look worried. You’ve always been good at your job. You’ll figure out where this Jane Doe belongs.”

“She’s not Jane Doe. I’ve named her Lass and that’s what she’s going to go by. Until—well, until she remembers or we figure out her real identity.”

Bridget appeared amused. “Lass, eh? That ought to fit right in with our Irish brood. What are you doing, making plans to adopt her?”

“Damn it, Brita, that remark was uncalled for.”

Frustrated, he stepped around his sister and headed out of the room. Bridget followed closely on his heels and once they were out in the corridor, she grabbed him by the arm.

“Okay. I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I was only trying to lighten things up with a little humor. What’s the matter with you tonight, anyway? You’re as prickly as Grandma’s rose bushes.”

Brady sighed. He honestly didn’t know what was eating at him. He was thankful, very thankful, that he and Hank had just happened to be traveling the road where Lass had lain unconscious. If not, well, he didn’t want to think about the outcome. And yet, the whole ordeal had shaken him, affected him like nothing he’d dealt with before.

“You’re right.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he momentarily closed his eyes. “I guess … it’s not every day that we find someone left on the side of the road for dead. I keep thinking, if that was you I’d want someone to do everything they could to help you.”

Bridget rubbed his forearm with understanding. “I always thought you were too soft-hearted for this job,” she said gently.

A dry smile curved his lips as he opened his eyes and looked down at her. “Hell, other than Grandma, you’re probably the only one in the family who thinks I have a heart.”

Her soft laugh was full of affection. “That’s because they don’t know you like we do.”

Were his sister and grandmother the only ones who realized he was more than a lawman, covering his heart with a bullet proof vest? How did Lass see him?

Forget that last question, Brady. How Gray Eyes sees you is irrelevant. She’s just a part of your job. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The next morning, Brady and Hank and two other deputies returned to the mountain road near Picacho to search the area for clues. Thankfully, the day was bright and no rain had fallen during the night to wash away evidence. But unfortunately, they found nothing, except a crumpled betting ticket from Ruidoso Downs Racetrack. The twenty-dollar bet, found lying against a clump of sage, about a hundred yards down the road from Lass, had been for a trifecta on the fifth race of yesterday’s card. After a quick call to the track, Brady had learned that the ticket was worthless, so there was no other record of it.

But the money, or lack of it, was inconsequential at the moment, Brady figured. The main question was why the ticket was here on this back road where there was nothing but wilderness? Had a group of party-goers from the track driven out here just to find an isolated place to whoop it up? Teenagers might do something that foolish. But teenagers couldn’t wager. And Lass wasn’t a teen.

None of it made sense to Brady or his partner as they exchanged speculations.

“Maybe Lass was at the track yesterday and the ticket fell out of her pocket when she whammed her head,” Hank said as the two men stood in the middle of the quiet dirt road.

“Or when someone whammed it for her,” Brady said grimly. “We’ll post a few pictures of her at the track. We might get lucky and one of the clerks working the betting cages will recognize her.”

Last night, after Brady and Hank had left the hospital, they’d driven the thirty-mile trip to their headquarters in Carrizozo to finish the remainder of their shift. Before he’d gone home, Brady had looked through as many missing cases that could possibly be tied to the area and he’d come up with nothing that matched Lass’s description. No calls had come in to the sheriff’s office reporting anyone missing. Nor had there been any calls for domestic disputes, robberies or assaults. Other than the incident with Lass, the only thing that had gone on was a few public intoxication and DUI arrests. Like Hank had said, last night had been as quiet as a sleeping cat.

This morning, after a lengthy meeting, Sheriff Hamilton had turned the entire case over to Brady and now as he scanned the rough terrain beyond the smoky lens of his sunglasses, he was feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders. For years now, Ethan Hamilton had been his mentor, even his hero. He never wanted to let the man down. Yet incredibly, it was Lass and her pleading face that was weighing on him the most.

Hank’s voice suddenly interrupted Brady’s deep thoughts. “It’s too bad we couldn’t have found her in the daylight. We might have been able to pick up on more footprints. Looks like most of them were blown away with last night’s wind.”

“No one ever said our job was supposed to be easy,” Brady replied as he continued to study the area around them.

The trees and vegetation weren’t exactly thick, but there was enough juniper and pine for a person to hide or get lost in. Not that either scenario applied to Lass, he thought. But his gut feeling kept telling him that she’d come out of the mountains and then ended up at the road’s edge, rather than the other way around.

“I think I’ll have a talk with Johnny Chino and see if he’ll come have a look at things,” Brady said after a moment. “It might help us to know what direction Lass came from before she ended up in the ditch.”

Hank tossed him a skeptical glance. “Good luck. Johnny hasn’t done any tracking since—well, not for years.”

Brady sighed. The Apache tracker was one of the best. But for a long time now the man had turned his back on a job that had once taken him all over the southwest. Brady didn’t exactly know what sort of personal demons the tracker was carrying around, but he figured working again would be the best way for Johnny to get rid of them.

“He might do it for me. We’ve been friends since we were kids.”

“Like I said, good luck,” Hank muttered.

She was running through inky darkness. Stumbling over rocks and fallen branches. Her breaths were gasps of fire, burning her lungs and stabbing her chest with searing pain. Somewhere, far in front of her, she would find light and safety. If only she could keep running. If only …

“Lass? It’s Dr. Donovan. Wake up and talk with me.”

The firm voice penetrated the dark terror around her and Lass jerked awake with a jolt to see Deputy Donovan’s sister standing next to her bed.

“Oh! It’s you, Doctor.” Shoving a handful of disheveled hair off her face, Lass eased to a sitting position in the bed and blinked her eyes. Her whole body felt damp and her heart was pounding with lingering fear. “I guess I dozed off. I must have been dreaming or maybe I was trying to remember—I don’t know.”

The redheaded doctor studied her closely. “Do you remember your dream?”

Nodding, Lass shivered. “I was running in the dark. Away from something. And I was terrified. That’s all I know.”

The doctor pulled out a pin light and flashed it in both of Lass’s eyes. “Mmm. That’s a common nightmare. It could be a result of the trauma you’ve gone through or you could be remembering something that happened. Hard to say. In any case, I’m happy to report that your scans have been read and there are no fractures to your skull or any other major brain damage. You have a garden variety concussion and it should go away in the next few days. And it’s a positive sign to see that your short-term memory is working. You obviously remember that I’m your doctor and you remembered your dream.”

The doctor put the pin light away and placed a stethoscope to Lass’s chest. Once she’d listened to her satisfaction, then hung the instrument back around her neck, Lass asked, “What about the rest of my memory? I keep working my mind, trying to think past last night. I can’t.”

The doctor gently patted her shoulder. “I’m hopeful that once the swelling in your brain starts to recede and everything begins to heal itself, your memory will return. But in the meantime, I’m going to have a specialist come in this afternoon and speak with you.”

“A specialist?” Lass asked warily. “What kind of specialist?”

Dr. Donovan’s smile was meant to be reassuring. “A psychiatrist.”

Lass stared at her in horror. “Do you … think I’m crazy? Oh, God, I never thought about that! I might have been institutionalized and wandered away. Maybe I hurt someone and they put me away! I—”

With each word that passed her lips, Lass grew more and more agitated.

“Lass,” the doctor said gently. “You need to stop this. I can assure you that no one here has detected any sort of mental illness. The psychiatrist will simply talk to you and perhaps help coax some of your memories to return. That’s all.”

Lass’s shoulders slumped with relief. She didn’t know why her thoughts kept running toward such negative speculations. Had she been in some sort of trouble? Criminal trouble?

What a stupid question, Lass. Trouble might as well be written across your forehead. Anyone who’s found on the side of the road with a head bashed is bound to be connected to some sort of trouble. What do you think you were doing out there in the mountains in the middle of the night? Admiring the wildflowers?

Swallowing, she forced the troubling questions aside and tried to focus on the doctor. “So—how much longer will I have to be in the hospital?” she asked.

“If no complications pop up, I’ll be releasing you tomorrow.” Dr. Donovan smiled with encouragement. “As for this morning, the nurses are going to come in and help you shower and dress. And if you’re steady enough on your feet, you can move around somewhat. But I don’t want you overdoing it, okay?”

Lass agreed and the doctor continued to give her a few more orders before she finally said goodbye and left the room.

Once she was gone, Lass let out a heavy sigh as her gaze surveyed her surroundings. For the moment, the small, stark room was her home. But tomorrow she’d be leaving. To where? Where was her home? Oh, God, if she only knew.