His Unforgettable Fiancée. Teresa Carpenter

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      She was an odd mixture of duty and concern, with a whole lot of pretty thrown in.

      Funny thing, his bruised brain only managed to stay focused on two things: pulling back that curtain and the complex G. Delaney, ex-sheriff, misguided realist, delectable morsel. When he couldn’t take the blankness for another second, he shifted his attention to the left and admired the fit of G. Delaney’s uniform to her trim body and soft curves.

      Her question about his marital status served as no deterrent. He wasn’t married. The lack of guilt only supported his irrational certainty.

      “I have to stop by my house first,” she went on completely unaware of his imaginings. “To pick up the rest of my things.”

      “Keep an eye on him.” Dr. Honer directed her. “You know what to watch for with a concussion. Wake him every few hours to check for nausea, pupil variation, incoherency.”

      “I will.”

      “I heard you were moving to San Francisco.” The doctor went on. “Best of luck to you. And to you, young man. I hope you get your memory back real soon.”

      What if I don’t, he wanted to ask, but he bit the words back. The doctor had done all he could. So JD simply said, “Thank you.” He accepted the prescription for pain medicine and followed Grace’s curvy butt from the room.

      * * *

      Grace made a last sweep through her small apartment, making sure she hadn’t left anything behind. The one-bedroom apartment sat atop the garage of her father’s house. She’d already packed her things, which didn’t amount to much—a duffel bag and two boxes. She wouldn’t be back unless it was to drive through on her way to somewhere else.

      After she lost the election, she sold the house and rented back the apartment. Her lease ended tonight.

      Her father had brought her here. With him gone she had no reason to stay. The citizens made that clear, casting an overwhelming vote. She got the message. She’d been too hard-core. They wanted someone who would let boys be boys on occasion. Someone connected, like Brubaker.

      It baffled her why the town council even asked her to finish out her father’s term if they didn’t want her to carry on the regimen he’d put in place. He’d trained her, after all. Probably thought she’d have a softer touch, being a woman. But she couldn’t be less than she was.

      Disappointing, though. She’d thought she’d found the place she wanted to put down roots. Everyone had been so friendly, welcoming her into town when she came to help Dad. She’d mistakenly felt accepted when they asked her to finish his term. The experience made her wonder if she even wanted to continue in active law enforcement.

      Finding nothing left behind, she locked up and skipped down the stairs one last time before sliding behind the wheel of her SUV. JD slept in the passenger seat. He’d dozed off on the way to her place and she hadn’t bothered to wake him for this stop. He would have insisted on helping but was in no shape for it. Why put them both through that argument?

      She believed rules were there for a reason and exceptions created chaos. In the case of the law, it also put people at risk. And if you gave one person an exception, everyone expected to get the same special treatment. Then why have laws?

      Her father had been a stickler for discipline and order when she was growing up. Especially after her mother died when Grace was eight. Tightening the reins had been his way of coping. She understood that now. But to a grieving little girl, all the fun in life seemed to have died with her mother.

      And that didn’t change for a very long time. Still hadn’t, if you talked to the townspeople. Grace Delaney didn’t know how to have fun.

      They were wrong. She liked to have fun as much as the next person. She just chose to do so in less gregarious ways. Hey, when you came off extended hours patrolling shore leave, a little peace and quiet was all the fun you could handle. And a good book or a fast video game was all the company you craved.

      The activity of carrying her things down to the car served to revitalize her for the coming drive. Still, in order to help keep her alert, she pulled into the all-night diner and purchased a coffee to go. Though truthfully, JD’s presence kept her on a low-level buzz.

      He made her usually roomy SUV seem small. His broad shoulders and long limbs took up more than their share of space. The smell of man and antiseptic filled the air. And his heat warmed the car better than her heater.

      Thinking of JD, she added a second cup to her order in case he woke up.

      Grace carried the coffees to the SUV and headed the vehicle toward Santa Rosa. The clear night and full moon made the drive go fast.

      JD stirred every once in a while but didn’t wake up. She couldn’t imagine what he must be going through. Bad enough to be robbed and left injured and abandoned on the outskirts of a strange town. How much more unnerving it must be to lose his memories, to lose all sense of self.

      Except for that one moment of vulnerability before going in for the MRI, he took it in stride. She supposed it was all he could do to handle the pain of his physical ailments.

      Not least of which was a stab wound. The doctor concurred with her time frame for the stabbing at less than a month. JD stated he had no memory of the incident. He’d sounded frustrated, an emotion she shared.

      He had to be wondering about his life—the circumstances of the stabbing for one, the accident for another. He’d been alone when he met up with Porter, but he could well have a family out there wondering about him. A wife praying for his safe return.

      A wife. Her shoulders twitched at the notion. Something deep inside rebelled at the thought of him with another woman. Which was totally insane. There was nothing between the two of them.

      For sugar’s sake, they’d spent half their time together on separate sides of the law.

      Not that it was an issue. He had no wife. Or so he said in that way of his that was so definite. How could he be so sure of some things, yet have no memory to support his conclusion?

      Perhaps the amnesia was a hoax. One big fib to cover a crime.

      So his prints didn’t hit. There were plenty of criminals that never got caught.

      He could have had a falling-out with his cohorts who ditched him and took his ride. Then he could have stumbled into town and unfortunately drawn the attention of a sheriff’s deputy. Who would believe a motorcycle thug with a stab wound owned a seventy-thousand-dollar Cartier watch? No one. So he ditched his wallet and claimed to have lost his memory. All he had to do was sweat it out in the drunk tank for a few hours and he was home free.

      Except for the do-good ex-sheriff who insisted on taking him to the hospital.

      That version made more sense than the motorcycle-riding geek with an expensive taste in watches and a penchant for knowing things he couldn’t back up with facts.

      And yet she believed him.

      The concussion was real. The pain was real. The frustration was real. The occasional flash of fear he tried to hide was very real. She’d been in law enforcement too long not to recognize those elements when she saw them. And there were medical tests to back it all СКАЧАТЬ