A Montana Man. Jackie Merritt

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      Tommy looked puzzled. “Isn’t Sierra a peculiar name? Sounds more like a last name than a first. What do you think, Dad?”

      “I don’t know what to think about that, Tommy. But the rest of what Dr. Pierce said is very good news.” He got to his feet. “Come on, I’ll walk you out. It’s time you went home. You have those exams to deal with tomorrow.”

      Tommy rose. “You’re not going with me? How come?”

      “I’m not sure. I just have this feeling that I should stick around.”

      “But you won’t have a car.”

      “If I need a car, I’ll rent one.”

      In the parking lot, Clint saw his son off. “Drive safely, and no shortcut over Cougar Pass.”

      Tommy nodded grimly. “Don’t worry about that.”

      Clint watched the red pickup until it was out of sight, then walked back into the hospital. In ICU, he went directly to the nurse’s station.

      “May I see the woman in room 217?”

      Nurse Cummings looked sympathetic. “She’s still unconscious, Mr. Barrow.”

      “I know, and I would only stay a minute. But I need to see her, ma’am.”

      “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?”

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