Texas Gun Smoke. Joanna Wayne

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ and pulled onto the highway. Five minutes later he reached the gate to Jack’s Bluff. He could turn in and forget all about no-last-name Jaclyn just as she’d told him to do. But whatever she was into, whether her husband was behind her trouble or not, she definitely could use a friend with a broad shoulder to lean on tonight.

      His shoulders had nothing better to do.

      BART HAD BEEN AT THE hospital for over an hour before Dr. Cane—a tall, lanky fellow with unruly shocks of bright red hair and horn-rimmed glasses—finally came to the emergency waiting room to give him an update. “The patient is seriously disoriented and experiencing traumatic amnesia, probably caused by swelling near the brain.”

      Bart stared at Dr. Cane. “Are we talking about the same woman? The one involved in the car wreck less than two hours ago?”

      “That’s the one. The ambulance driver said you gave her name as Jaclyn, but she’s not responding to that now. She has no knowledge of who she is or how she got here.”

      “Did you look in her handbag for identification?”

      “Two of the nurses searched the purse and wallet thoroughly. There was no driver’s license or any other form of identification.” Dr. Cane scratched his whiskered chin. “How did she seem when you were with her?”

      “She was a tad woozy when I pulled her out of the car,” Bart admitted, “but she was responsive. We carried on a conversation of sorts.”

      “That would be consistent with the diagnosis of transient amnesia due to trauma. The increased swelling from the time of the wreck until the present has interfered with memory functions. This is unusual but not unheard of, even with a minor concussion such as the patient has.”

      “How long do you expect the amnesia to continue?”

      “Just until the swelling is reduced. She could be functioning normally in a few hours or it could last as long as a couple of days. It would be extremely rare for it to continue for more than forty-eight hours but not impossible.”

      There was no reason not to believe Dr. Cane’s diagnosis, but still Bart had a hard time buying it. “Do you think she could be faking the amnesia?”

      “That’s always a possibility.”

      And with Jaclyn, Bart considered it more than a possibility. There were just too many things that didn’t add up, like what a Louisiana girl was doing on a dark Texas road alone so late at night. And more bizarre, why had some homicidal crackpot decided to run her off the road for no apparent reason?

      Dr. Cane pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We’re keeping her overnight for observation, longer if necessary. I’ll consult with a neurologist tomorrow, but if her condition worsens or continues past forty-eight hours, we’ll move her to a facility in Houston.”

      “Can I see the patient?”

      “I don’t see why not. Since you’re the last one she spoke to before the onset of amnesia symptoms, seeing you might trigger a memory. But don’t tire her out or upset her. The sheriff called and he’s on his way to the hospital to question her about the wreck. He was just waiting for us to finish the examination and assign her to a room. She’s in 224.”

      Bart thanked the doctor for the info and took the stairs to the second floor.

      “What brings you out on such a rainy night?”

      He stared at the nurse who’d spoken, a girl he’d graduated with from Colts Run Cross High School. No longer a girl, she was pregnant—and from the looks of the bulge, ready to deliver most any day.

      “Hi, Cindy. I didn’t know you were working here.”

      “Yeah, for just over a year. I worked in Houston for a while, but when I got married we decided to move back here. I married Bud Johnson. You remember him. He was a couple of years ahead of us.”

      “I remember.” And he really didn’t want to make small talk tonight. “I’m here to see the patient who was admitted tonight with a concussion.”

      “Oh, the mystery woman. How do you know her?”

      “I don’t. I just came up on the car wreck after it happened.”

      “Then you must be the one who called for the ambulance. She doesn’t remember any of that.”

      “So I heard.” Bart held up the duffel. “I got this from her car and thought she might need it.”

      “Did you check it for ID?”

      “No.” He hadn’t realized he’d need to until a few minutes ago.

      “You can let her check it. She’s awake. Room 224. But if the two of you find out who she is, we could sure use that information for her records.”

      “You got it.” He stopped at the door and tapped lightly.

      The whispered, “Come in,” was so faint he could barely make it out.

      He stepped inside. Jaclyn’s light blue hospital gown fell off one slender shoulder as she rose to her elbows. She jerked it back in place, then stared at him blankly, either not recognizing him or doing a good job of faking it.

      “Hello, Jaclyn. I brought you this,” he said, swinging the duffel onto the foot of the bed. “It was in the trunk of your car. I thought you might need it.”

      “Who are you?”

      “Name’s Bart Collingsworth, but we’ve met before. I pulled you from the overturned vehicle earlier tonight.”

      “Then I should thank you, though I don’t remember it. I don’t even remember my name, but Dr. Cane says the fog will clear up quickly.”

      “Do you want me to go through your duffel and see if there’s any identification in there?”

      She stiffened and then shrank back into the blue gown that fit like a loose sheet. “If you’ll hand it to me, I can do that for myself.”

      He handed it to her—and was exceedingly glad he had when she pulled out a pair of white lacy panties and a matching bra. She tossed them onto the bed without notice, working her way through a pair of jeans and two long-sleeved cotton shirts.

      “There’s nothing here that helps,” she said.

      “Someone ran you off the road. Does that help?”

      “I’m afraid not.”

      “What about the name Margo Kite?”

      “No.”

      She answered quickly, but not before he noted an impulsive wince. “If you’re afraid of someone, Jaclyn, the sheriff can make sure you’re protected.”

      “I’m not afraid.”

      He wasn’t convinced. In fact, he was almost certain it was fear or apprehension that shadowed her slate-colored eyes. “Do you want me to stay with you until morning?”

      “No. СКАЧАТЬ