His Unforgettable Fiancée Read Free Page B

him.
    “Sheriff Brubaker called.” He informed her. “He’s not authorizing any care for the prisoner. He’s been released instead. An officer is going to drop off his property.”
    Just dandy. Brubaker, the mayor’s brother-in-law—who until today had worked for his wife’s insurance agency—obviously didn’t care about the liability involved in releasing an injured prisoner. Or worse, didn’t know.
    One of Brubaker’s campaign issues had been her overspending, because she’d insisted the town bring the department’s technical capabilities up to the twenty-first century. It didn’t surprise her that he refused to spend any funds on a D and D set to walk out the door in the morning. Much simpler and cheaper to cut the guy loose. Even if he was injured.
    “Doctor, this man has a head injury, a concussion at the very least. And possible amnesia. He says he doesn’t remember who he is. We haven’t been able to identify him, as he was missing his wallet when he was picked up walking into town.”
    “Sounds like he’s had a rough night. I’ll examine him, of course, but if he has no means of payment and the sheriff’s office refuses to pay, I’m limited in what I can do.”
    “Whatever you can do, Doctor, will be appreciated.”
    He nodded and pushed the door open. “That’s why I voted for you, Grace. You may draw a hard line between black-and-white, but people matter to you. It’s not all about the bottom line.”
    JD sat on the doctor’s stool. At five-seven it was the only way Dr. Honer could see his patient. If JD laid on the exam gurney his head would be up against the wall, and if he sat up he’d be out of the doctor’s reach unless he bent in half—something his equilibrium wouldn’t allow for in his present condition.
    After a thorough exam, Dr. Honer announced, “The good news is there doesn’t appear to be any neck or spinal injuries. As for the head wound, I’m going to need an MRI.”
    Concerned by the need for a scan of his brain, she stayed with JD, following him down the hall and sitting with him while he waited to take the test. He sat staring at the wall.
    * * *
    “Are you okay?” the pretty cop asked, her voice low, careful.
    “Apparently not, if the doctor wants to do tests.”
    “The tests could reveal good news,” she suggested.
    “Doubtful. It’s never good news,” he declared with a depth of feeling that belied his lack of memory.
    What a fool, sitting here in the hall dressed in a freaking hospital gown—the nurse had found a cloth one big enough to fit—while the whole world paraded by. He glanced at his bare wrist and bit back a curse. Everything had been stripped from him. He couldn’t even mark the time, except to note it was moving at a slug’s pace.
    “I hate hospitals. And you know the worst part?” He sent her a sidelong glance. “I don’t even know why.”
    “It must be difficult.”
    “Frustrating, debilitating, terrifying. The not knowing goes on and on no matter how hard I try to remember.”
    “Maybe you should stop trying, give your brain a chance to heal.”
    “Easier said than done. There’s just pain and a whole lot of nothingness.” He leaned his head back against the wall, amazed at what he’d revealed to her. Who knew? Maybe he was a Chatty Cathy, but somehow he doubted it. More likely her soothing presence lulled him on a subliminal level. “Talk to me.”
    “Okay.” A beat of silence follow as he watched her struggle to find a topic. “About what?” Right, exactly what did you discuss with a stranger who had no memory?
    “Why are you still here? According to what I’ve heard, not only are you off duty, you’re out of a job.”
    “That’s right.” She chirped cheerfully, the first false note he’d heard from her. “My term as sheriff is up. I’m footloose and fancy-free as of midnight.”
    “So answer the question. Why are you still here? I really can handle this alone, you know. I’m not stupid, I’m