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“Well...guess a little peek wouldn’t hurt. Sure, Mr. Barrow, go ahead. Just don’t touch anything.”
“I won’t. Thank you.”
Clint walked down the corridor, hesitated a moment at the open door, then took a few steps into the room, which was lighted by one wall lamp. There was one bed, one patient, a woman who had said one word when asked her name. He winced at the stitches on her forehead and the mean-looking abrasions on her face and hands. There was a hospital cap on her head, but a bit of dark hair showed around the elastic. Her features were as close to perfect as he’d ever seen on a woman’s face—small nose and chin, high cheekbones, well-defined eyebrows and full, beautifully sculpted lips.
“She’s young,” he muttered under his breath. For some reason he’d been thinking of her as a much older woman.
She looked small in that bed, which touched him, and the fact that she was hooked up to several machines touched him even more. An IV ran into her left arm, dripping a clear liquid into her veins.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he questioned why things like this had to happen. Tommy didn’t deserve what he was going through, and neither did this woman.
A hundred thoughts ran through Clint’s mind, but one stood out: he could not desert her. Until her full name was known and her relatives—there must be some—knew where she was and what had happened to her, he would assume familial responsibility and keep a sharp eye on her.
“Sierra,” he whispered. “Is that really your name, or was your mind merely wandering?”
He looked at her for another few moments, sighed deeply and quietly left the room, returning to the nurse’s station to speak to Nurse Cummings again.
“There’s a little motel just down the block—the Bixby. Would you please call me there if there’s any change in her condition, either good or bad?”
“Yes, Mr. Barrow, I’ll call.”
“Thank you. I’ll probably be back in a few hours.”
With her eyes still shut, Sierra mentally bemoaned the hardness of the bed she was lying in. Why was she in such an uncomfortable bed? She moved in an attempt to get more comfortable, and an onslaught of pain made her gasp. Her eyes flew open.
The room was unfamiliar—small, dimly lighted and austere. The door was wide open. Where was she? Panic seized her, and she tried to sit up, only to cry out in pain and fall back to the bed again. She saw the IV tube attached to her wrist. What was happening to her?
She swallowed, or tried to. Her throat and mouth were dry; her heart was pounding fearfully. Nurse Cummings rushed into the room and to the bedside, followed by another nurse.
“You’re awake. Janie, call Dr. North,” she said to the second nurse, who immediately hurried out. Then she smiled at Sierra. “How are you feeling, dear?”
“Could...could I have some water?” Sierra croaked.
“Certainly. There’s some right here on your stand.” The nurse produced a plastic glass of water with a straw. “Don’t raise your head. I’ll hold the glass for you. And take just a little this first time. Dr. North will be along in a moment.”
Sierra sucked some water through the straw, then lay back weakly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Where am I?”
“You’re in a hospital, dear.”
“Why?”
“Because of your injuries, of course. Oh, here’s Dr. North.” Nurse Cummings moved aside for the doctor, saying for his ears alone, “She seems a bit disoriented.”
“Hello,” Dr. North said, bending over her with an ophthalmoscope. “Look at the far corner of the room, please.”
Sierra recoiled. “What are you doing?”
“This is an instrument that permits me to see the inside of your eyes.”
“Why do you want to see the inside of my eyes?”
“Miss, uh, Sierra, you received a mild concussion in the accident. Examining your eyes is merely—”
“What accident?” Sierra cried, panicking again. “And why are you calling me Sierra?”
“Because you told another doctor that Sierra is your name.” Dr. North’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Suppose you tell me your name.”
Sierra’s eyes darted wildly from doctor to nurse and then around the room. Her name...her name. Her head throbbed as she struggled to locate memories that weren’t there. The void in her mind frightened her so much that she tried to get up again, driven by a need to escape this place, these people.
Dr. North pushed her down again and said to the nurse, “Whatever sedative Dr. Pierce prescribed for this patient, get it now!”
“Yes, Doctor.” Nurse Cummings ran from the room and collided with Clint. “Excuse me, Mr. Barrow,” she said, and rushed away.
“Excuse me, ma’am. What’s going on?” he called after her. She didn’t slow down, nor did she attempt to give him an answer. Frowning, Clint stepped into the room. Dr. North was attempting to stop the woman in the bed from thrashing around. She was emitting a low, keening sound and fighting to elude his restraint.
He strode to the opposite side of the bed. “What’s wrong with her?” he anxiously asked.
The doctor glanced at him. “Who’re you, and what are you doing here at three in the morning?”
“I’m Clint Barrow. My son Tommy was the driver of the other vehicle. Why is she so upset?”
“I think because I asked her her name.”
“It’s Sierra.” Clint reached out and gently took her hand. “Sierra?” he said quietly. “Rest easy, Sierra, no one’s is going to hurt you.”
To Dr. North’s amazement, she stopped fighting him. Her eyes went to Clint in a blank but much calmer stare. Taking a breath, Dr. North released his hold on her shoulders.
“You don’t know me, Sierra,” Clint said in that same even, quiet voice. “But I’m here to help you.”
Sierra tried to focus her blurred vision on the man’s face, but his features really didn’t matter, his voice did. It was so kind and soothing, and she wanted to hear more of it.
Nurse Cummings returned with a syringe. “Here you are, Doctor.”
“We may not need that, after all,” he said in an undertone. He backed away from the bed and beckoned the nurse to a corner of the room. “She’s responding to this man’s voice,” he said in a near whisper. “I want to see where it leads. You may go, I’m going to sit in here for a while.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Clint was aware of Dr. North sitting out of Sierra’s line of vision, but only vaguely, as he was focused on her and what he should say next.
Then instinct told him that she wouldn’t care what he said as long as he kept talking. “I’m staying in the Bixby Motel. It’s down the street a block or so. I awoke about an hour ago and decided I needed to see you again. I stopped in an all-night diner for something to eat, then came on over.”
“Where am I?” she asked in a thin, wispy voice.
“In a hospital in Missoula, Montana. It’s a very good hospital, Sierra. You are receiving the best care possible. Have you been hospitalized before?”
She lay silent and staring, and in the corner of the room Dr. North held his breath awaiting her answer.
It finally came, a very weak, very frightened, “I...don’t know.” Dr. North noiselessly breathed again. He now knew what the patient’s problem was.
Clint, however, was at a loss and could only rely on that instinct to keep talking to her. “I was hospitalized once, Sierra, about ten years ago. A horse threw me and I landed wrong. Broke three ribs and—”
She interrupted. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Clint Barrow. Sierra—”
“Is Sierra my name? What’s my last name? Do I live in Missoula?” It was all said in a whispery, shaky voice.
Clint was finally catching on. He darted a glance at Dr. North, who responded with a nod. Sierra had amnesia. She remembered nothing, not even her name.
Clint’s stomach sank, and he licked his suddenly dry lips. He was in over his head here. How much should he tell her? Should he mention the accident, explain what had happened to her, tell her that her van had been totally destroyed and that no one, not one single person in this hospital, maybe even in Missoula, knew who she was?
He mustered an unsteady smile. “Now, that’s information you’re going to have to tell me. You see, I’m merely a concerned friend.”
“You’re a friend. I see,” she whispered, and Clint knew that her cloudy mind was placing him as an old friend, even though it was an illogical conclusion when he had just told her he had no answer to her questions.
Dr. North rose and approached the bed. “Perhaps we should let Sierra get some rest now, Mr. Barrow.”
Her eyes became wild again and she clung to Clint’s hand. “Don’t leave,” she begged him. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
“May I leave you alone for five minutes?” he asked gently. “I promise I’ll be right back.” He had to speak to the doctor alone.
“I...do you promise?” she whispered.
“You have my word.” Gently he disengaged his hand and strolled from the room, knowing Dr. North would follow. They walked down the corridor and stopped in a quiet nook. Clint’s eyes bored into the doctor’s. “She can’t remember anything, can she?”
“That appears to be the case. Mr. Barrow, her injuries were not sufficient to permanently destroy her memory. I will, naturally, order more extensive testing in the morning, but I honestly do not feel her loss of memory is physically caused. Trauma such as she went through in the accident can result in any number of emotional side effects. I strongly believe her amnesia is temporary.”
“How temporary? Are we talking a few days, a week, a month?”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no way of knowing. I find her response to you quite remarkable. You didn’t know her before this?”
“No, we never met. Let me ask you something. How much should I tell her? I mean, should I talk about the accident?”
Dr. North thought for a moment. “My opinion is to avoid that topic for tonight. Talk in generalities. You were doing very well, and I think I’d keep conversation on that level until a psychologist sees her. I’ll arrange for one to visit her first thing in the morning.”
Clint was not normally a nervous man, but he was nervous about this. Why did Sierra trust him? What if he inadvertently said the wrong thing and sent her into another tizzy?
He took a long breath. “I’d better get back to her. Are you going to be available if something happens I can’t handle?”
“I’ll be here until 6:00 a.m. Call the nurse if you need me, and she will take it from there.”
Clint returned to room 217 and saw that Sierra had a death grip on the safety rail on each side of her bed. Forcing a smile, he walked over to her. “Told you I’d be right back. Let’s lower that rail, and then I’m going to move a chair over here so I can sit next to you.”
Sierra watched his every move. She was so grateful he’d come back that tears stung her eyes. When he was seated and holding her hand again, she released a long, heavy sigh and closed her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and fell asleep.
Clint stayed right where he was, and he was glad he had, because every ten minutes or so she woke up and looked at him briefly, as though subconsciously needing assurance that he was still there. Then she closed her eyes again.
Actually, he was damned glad she was sleeping at all, as he couldn’t help worrying about further conversation with her.
Watching her sleeping and holding her hand was a bonding experience, he realized. She wasn’t just the other half of Tommy’s accident anymore, nor merely the woman in room 217, she was a flesh and blood human being with a troubled mind and the warmest, softest hand he had ever held.
He turned it once, looked at the abrasions on her palm and became choked up. The physical evidence of the accident would heal and vanish. Would the emotional damage heal and vanish, as well? Dr. North believed her amnesia was temporary.
All Clint could do was pray he was right.
Three
The next time Sierra awoke, her mind wasn’t nearly as fuzzy as it had been. She knew she was in a hospital room. She remembered Dr. North and some nurses, and the man, Clint Barrow.
Turning her head slightly, she studied him. He had fallen asleep in a chair next to her bed. She recalled him saying they were friends, but friendship had many degrees. Were they merely speaking acquaintances, or were they much more? Frustration suddenly attacked her, and she brought her hand up to her head—perhaps to smooth her hair, or to nervously run her fingers through it, she really didn’t know. But instead of feeling her abundant, heavy, straight hair, she discovered the cap covering it.
Why was she wearing a cap? Why couldn’t she remember being brought to the hospital? Why couddn’t she remember her own name?
“Oh, my God,” she whispered as understanding developed. Her memory was gone! Her heart fluttered in panic. Who was she? Where did she live? What had happened to cause so many aches in her body?
A nurse rushed in and saw that her patient was wide awake, the reason her heart rate had increased. She smiled and checked the flow of the IV. “Are you feeling all right, dear?”
Clint woke and sat up in the chair. “Sorry, I didn’t intend to doze off. Is anything wrong?”
“Everything appears to be just fine,” the nurse said brightly. “Our patient woke up, that’s all.”
Clint leaned toward the bed. “Are you all right, Sierra?” he asked softly.
She turned teary eyes to him. “I can’t remember anything,” she whispered.
The nurse patted her arm. “Dr. North said it’s only temporary, dear. Try not to worry. You’re doing fine.”
“I have so many cuts and scrapes,” Sierra said in a tear-clogged voice. “What happened? Why am I wearing a cap?”
“You have very long hair, dear,” the nurse said. “The cap is merely a means to restrain it.”
“But...my temple. Am I feeling stitches?” Sierra’s hand was exploring her forehead.
“Don’t touch them. There’s no bandage, and we shouldn’t risk infection.”
Clint could tell that Sierra’s mind was much clearer than it had been. She was going to ask questions—she had already asked questions—and he decided then and there that if the nurse didn’t answer them, he would. Maybe a psychologist should talk to her first, but there wasn’t one in the room, and to his way of thinking, she had every right to know what had happened to her.
Sierra asked nothing of the nurse, however. She accepted a drink of water, and lay still while the nurse checked the monitor connections.
“Well, everything seems to be in good order,” the nurse said briskly. “I’ll be at the station if you need me.” Her soft-soled shoes made very little sound as she left the room.
The second they were alone Sierra turned pleading eyes to Clint. “You said we’re friends. Please tell me everything you know about me. Everything,” she repeated in a choked voice.
He had no intention of refusing, although he wondered how best to explain that their friendship had begun only hours ago. If that information upset her...? It would upset her, Clint realized uneasily. She regarded him as her one connection with her past, perhaps as the key that would unlock the door to her memory.
This was far more of a burden than he’d bargained for, but he couldn’t lie to her. “I am your friend, Sierra,” he said quietly. “But I’m a new friend. We only met...recently.”
