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“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?”
