Under The Mistletoe With John Doe

Chapter Eight

Ten days and two paychecks later, John had settled into the ranch and had tackled all the chores that had been expected of him and several fix-it projects he’d found on his own.

At first, he’d thought that Doc had offered him a place to stay and a job out of the goodness of his heart. And while that was probably a big part of it, John had soon come to realize that there was more going on than that.

Over the past couple of years, Doc had sold off several parcels of land, as well as a lot of his stock. But he was still having a hard time keeping up with the daily work and the regular maintenance of the ranch.

That shouldn’t be surprising, though. Dr. Graham was pushing ninety and, as a result, was slowing down.

The elderly physician knew it, too. He and John had even talked about it briefly over breakfast this morning.

As he’d poured himself a cup of fresh coffee, Doc had said, “I’m thinking about selling this place.”

The man’s comment had surprised John, although he wasn’t sure why. “If you do decide to sell, where will you go?”

Doc carried his mug back to the table and sat across from John. “Have you ever heard of Shady Glen?”

“Yes, I’ve even been inside the lobby.”

Doc took a sip of coffee. “It’s not a bad place. In fact, I know quite a few people there, including Pete and Barbara Nielson. And everyone seems to like it.”

“Are you thinking about moving into one of the senior apartments?” John asked.

“That’s certainly crossed my mind. I may not like facing my physical limitations, but I need to. It happens to all of us eventually. Besides, I don’t have much family left, just a couple of nephews who live out of state. And as much as I’ve come to think of Betsy as my daughter, she really isn’t. So why burden her?”

John had come to know Betsy pretty well, so he didn’t think he was out of line when he said, “I don’t think she’d mind.”

“Maybe not. But even her own parents know that she works too hard as it is. And that she wouldn’t have a life at all if she had to take care of them.”

Doc had a point. Betsy had taken up the slack again this week at the hospital when one of the E.R. residents had broken his leg skiing on Saturday. So neither John nor Doc had seen very much of her.

She’d even had to cancel that Sunday dinner she’d wanted to have with her parents, thanks to a cocky young intern who should have stuck to the bunny slopes and not tried to hotdog it.

Of course, that didn’t mean John hadn’t seen her at all. After dinner each night, when Doc had retired to his room and curled up with a good book, John had gone out to the porch and waited until Betsy came home from work. Then they’d hung out for a while and talked about their days.

It had become an evening ritual, he supposed. After a while, Betsy would make an excuse to go home, and he’d walk her to the door. Then he’d kiss her good-night, something they both clearly enjoyed.

Trouble was, each kiss seemed to be more heated and more demanding than the last, which was a damn good sign that the two would be good together in bed. But Betsy had continued to hold back, to keep things from getting out of hand.

John couldn’t blame her for that, he supposed. But he was ready to take their relationship to a sexual level, and it was getting to the point that he’d have to suggest something to her pretty soon. Maybe even tonight.

A plan began to form-a quiet dinner, a glass of wine. Candles, some soft romantic tunes.

He had her cell-phone number, so he would call her later and tell her not to eat before coming home. Then, after lunch, he would borrow Doc’s truck, drive to the market and pick up everything he needed to make a special dinner for two.

He wasn’t sure what he’d fix, though. Maybe tacos. He’d been craving some good Mexican food lately. He hadn’t had any since…

Well, it had been ages, he supposed, as he socked away yet another vague and useless recollection.

As he reached for another nail to hammer into the loose porch railing, he pondered taking Betsy out to dinner instead. He’d seen a restaurant in town called La Cocina, which translated to The Kitchen in English.

His movements froze. How had he known that? Was he bilingual? Or had he just taken Spanish in school and been left knowing some of the basics?

Was he Latino?

Whenever he looked into the mirror, he thought he might have Hispanic bloodlines. Had he learned English as a second language? Was he craving the type of food he’d grown up eating?

At this point, he had absolutely no way of knowing, and frustration rose inside of him. He tried to release it with each swing of the hammer, each pound on the nail, but he wasn’t having much luck.

He had, however, fixed the railing in no time flat.

As his stomach growled, he looked up at the sun, which was high in the winter sky and starting a slow descent. Was it after noon already? Doc hadn’t called him in for lunch yet.

It wasn’t any big deal, he supposed. But he set the hammer in the toolbox and went into the house.

“Doc?” he called.

No answer.

When he reached the living room and spotted the old man lying on the floor, his heart dropped to his gut.

“Oh, God.” He hurried to the Doc’s side. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

Doc’s lips quivered, but he didn’t speak.

John hurried to the phone and dialed 9-1-1. When the dispatcher answered, he explained the situation and requested an ambulance and immediate help. Then he called Betsy on her cell.

“Something’s happened to Doc,” he said. “I think it’s a stroke.”

“Did you call the paramedics?”

“They’re on their way.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

A response wadded up in his throat, so he didn’t say anything else. When he ended the call, he sat on the floor next to the elderly man who’d become a friend, hoping that help arrived in time.

John followed behind the ambulance in Doc’s pickup, trying to keep up with the emergency vehicle without breaking the law. The paramedics had confirmed what he’d suspected: Doc had suffered a stroke.

As red lights flashed up ahead and the siren blared all around him, a disjointed vision formed in his mind-a black Mercedes, its air bags deployed. A light blue minivan, broken glass, twisted metal. The cries of a child. Another siren sounding.

John blinked a couple of times, trying to hold on to the images and to make sense of them, but nothing materialized.

Had he been in an accident?

Had he witnessed one?

Damn, the amnesia was getting old. And it frustrated the hell out of him.

He followed the ambulance to the entrance of the medical center, where it turned to the left and headed toward the front doors of the emergency room. John continued on and found a place to park. But by the time he got inside, Doc was already back in one of the exam rooms.

Now what? he wondered, as he scanned the waiting room that was neither full nor empty.

Not all of those seated were patients, but they represented the people Betsy dealt with every day: the worried parents holding a sick feverish toddler; a teenage boy with a gash on his knee; a blue-collar worker with what appeared to be a broken arm.

On the night John had been found beaten in the parking lot of the Stagecoach Inn, he’d probably been rushed through this same room on a gurney. But he had to have been unconscious when they brought him in. The place didn’t look even remotely familiar.

Before taking a seat, he wondered if he ought to let Betsy know that he was here, but he didn’t want to call her away from Doc. Not while she might be working to save the man’s life. So he took a seat near the television, although he didn’t give a damn what channel it was on. He couldn’t concentrate on anything other than the two double doors that required a security code to get through.

Finally, about twenty minutes later, he spotted Betsy standing behind a glass window where the receptionist sat. She was looking out into the waiting room, and when she spotted him, she waved, then beckoned toward the doorway that led to the exam rooms. He crossed the room and when the doors opened, he joined her.

“The paramedics told me you were driving Doc’s pickup and would be waiting here,” she said as she led him through a maze of exam rooms.

“How’s he doing?” John asked, keeping step with her.

“I think he’s going to be okay, but it’ll be a while before we know if there’s been any permanent damage. But you got him here quickly, and we’ve started treatment.”

“Are you going to be his doctor?”

“No, I’ve called in Jim Kelso. We’ll know more after he’s had a chance to examine him and run the appropriate tests.” Betsy entered the break room and indicated that John should take a seat. “It’s going to take a while. Do you want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

She filled two disposable cups, brought them to the table and handed one to John. Then she took the chair next to his. But instead of taking a drink, she circled her fingers around the foam container, soaking up what little heat it gave out.

Doc didn’t have any family members who lived close enough to make decisions, but she was up for the task. In fact, she wouldn’t want it any other way.

“When Doc’s released from the hospital,” she said, “I’m going to have to find a caretaker who can stay with him at the house.”

John placed his hand on her forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. When she looked into his compassionate gaze, her heart took a tumble.

“You don’t need to go to the trouble,” John said. “I can look after him, but I think he might be ready to move into Shady Glen.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked.

“Because we actually talked about that at breakfast this morning. He told me that the ranch was becoming too much for him, and he said he planned to put it on the market. He also mentioned how happy your parents seemed to be at Shady Glen and that he thought he would be, too.”

Betsy pondered John’s words, realizing that Doc had already contemplated his future, and that the stroke would only force him to make a move sooner than he’d planned.

“I know you’d like to find a way for him to stay at home,” John said, his hand still resting on her arm, his body heat warming her to the bone. “But I think he’ll fight you on that, honey.”

His understanding of the emotions running through her heart, as well as the friendship that had developed between her and her mentor, surprised her. And as a result, she didn’t know what to say.

“Doc has accepted the limitations his age has brought about,” John added.

“And you’re saying that I need to accept it, too?”

He nodded. “That’s about the size of it. And I’m sorry.”

She took a deep breath, acknowledging the truth of his words, of Doc’s situation, then slowly blew it out. “There’s an intermediate care facility located right next to the Shady Glen apartments.”

“So Doc will be close to your parents, and they can visit him often.”

That was true. And the nurses and the staff at Shady Glen were exceptionally kind and loving to the residents. They never let a holiday go by without decorating and planning various outings and activities to honor that particular day or season.

In fact, the day after Thanksgiving, they put up that big Christmas tree in the lobby. But thoughts of the holidays at Shady Glen took a sad turn.

Last year, Betsy had brought her mom and dad to Doc’s house for the day. They’d had a special dinner together, complete with homemade pies from Caroline’s. But this year, she wouldn’t be cooking. Not if Doc wasn’t at home.

There’d be no more Christmas mornings at the ranch, sitting around the tree, enjoying a cozy fire in the hearth, laughing with the three people she loved most in the world.

Betsy, more than anyone, knew that time marched on and that change was inevitable, but she wasn’t ready for it. And she wasn’t just getting nostalgic about Christmas, either.

If Doc was going to sell the ranch, she’d have to move, which shouldn’t be that big of a deal for a woman who spent so little time there. But the little guesthouse had become home to her, a quiet little corner of the world where she could let down her hair and just be herself.

She would have the memories of living on the ranch, of course, but since she’d spent so much of her life burning the candle at both ends, she wouldn’t have as many of them as she could have-if she’d stopped long enough to smell the roses.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she struggled to blink them back. But it was too late. They filled her eyes to the brim and began to roll down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” John said again, as he lifted his hand and brushed his thumb under her eyes, wiping away her tears.

She managed a smile. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

They sat like that for a while, wrapped in an emotional cocoon and connected in a way that went beyond the physical-the stolen glances, the good-night kisses. Somehow, over the past couple of weeks, they’d become friends-and more.

When one of the licensed vocational nurses came into the break room and removed a yogurt she’d left in the fridge, she froze in her tracks.

“I’m sorry,” she said, apparently picking up on the vibes Betsy and John must have been putting out. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all.” Betsy pushed her chair back, got to her feet and, addressing John, said, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to check with Dr. Kelso and get a prognosis.”

At least, that’s the excuse she came up with for gathering up her heart before she threw it at the man, hoping he’d catch it.

And hoping that he’d cherish the gift Doug had taken for granted.

After Betsy had talked to Jim Kelso and learned that Doc’s situation seemed a little more promising than it had appeared to be when he’d been brought into the E.R., she’d relayed the prognosis to John.

“Thank God,” he’d said, relieved to know the retired doctor would probably recover-with time and physical therapy.

“They’ll be taking him to Intensive Care for a day or so,” she’d added, “but that’s routine. They want to monitor him closely.”

At that point, John could have taken off and gone back to the ranch, he supposed. But the elderly man didn’t have any family to speak of, and John figured he could use a friend about now. So he’d waited until Doc was settled in the ICU, then stopped by to see him.

Doc had opened his eyes long enough to acknowledge John’s visit. His lips quirked in what might have been a smile, then he’d dozed off.

John stood at his bedside for a while, then told the nurse in charge that he would be back in the morning.

Yet he still didn’t leave the hospital. Instead, he called Betsy and told her he was going to wait in the lobby until she was free to leave.

“You’ve got to be hungry,” he told her. “And I’m starving. Let’s go out to dinner.”

“All right.”

He hoped she didn’t give him a hard time about picking up the tab tonight. The local bank, where Doc had an account, had allowed him to cash his paycheck without any ID. He’d already made a small payment to the hospital, as well as one to Dr. Kelso. He would pay them more next week, but he’d kept enough to spring for dinner tonight. And that felt good.

At a few minutes after seven, Betsy met John in the lobby. She was wearing her street clothes-black slacks and a pink sweater. She’d also let her hair down-soft curls a man longed to touch.

“You look nice,” he told her. She also looked as sexy as hell, but he kept that thought to himself.

“Thanks. I keep a change of clothes in the locker room and decided to wear them tonight. I’ve been spending most of my waking hours in scrubs.”

“Where do you want to eat?” he asked, as they headed for the lobby doors.

“There’s an Italian restaurant that just opened up a month or so ago. I’ve never eaten there before, but I’ve heard that it’s good. What do you think?”

He really didn’t have a preference. He’d eat just about anything right now, as long as they offered quick service. “Italian’s great.”

“We can walk,” she said. “It’s not very far.”

She was right. Cara Mia was located just a couple of blocks down the street. Other than a black awning over the door, the eatery didn’t look anything out of the ordinary on the outside. But the inside, with its polished hardwood floors and white walls, was warm and inviting.

Each table, which was draped in crisp white linen, was adorned with a single red rose in a glass bud vase and several lit votives. A stone fireplace in the back, with flames licking over real logs, added to the ambience. And so did a Christmas tree that had been decorated with a variety of colorful ornaments and blinking lights.

Everyone in Brighton Valley seemed to be ready for the holiday, and John realized he was going to have to get with the program. He didn’t have much money to spend or more than a couple of gifts to buy, but he wanted to give Betsy something special.

The waiter pointed out the wine list. After a brief perusal, Betsy asked for a glass of sauvignon blanc, and John chose one of his favorite Napa Valley merlots.

When John realized that he’d just remembered yet another inconsequential fact, he kept the news to himself. Why put a damper on the evening by reminding Betsy that he still had no real memory of the life he’d once led?

While the waiter served their drinks, they looked over their menus. Betsy decided on the vegetarian lasagna, and John asked for the chicken marsala.

The prices weren’t as steep as John was used to-another tidbit of information that he would have to tuck away-yet even so, the bill would take the bulk of his remaining cash. But he didn’t care about that. He wanted the evening to be memorable.

He also wanted to carry his own weight, which had always been important to him.

It was odd, though. There were some things he just seemed to know about himself. And he tried to take comfort in the fact that he had a sense of honor, that he liked the finer things in life and that he paid his own way.

As the candlelight flickered on the table, casting a romantic spell over them, John and Betsy enjoyed a tasty meal.

“Cara Mia was a good choice,” John said.

“I think so, too.” Betsy scanned the intimate room, with its artsy, European-style prints framed in black and hung upon white plastered walls. “Isn’t the ambience great?”

John agreed. “Maybe next time we can try La Cocina, which is just down the street.”

“I’d like that. I haven’t had good Mexican food for a long time. My ex-husband used to like it, so it was almost a given that we’d have it often. But I kind of swore off of it for a while after he moved out.”

She’d told John that her ex-husband hadn’t been dedicated to the relationship, but she hadn’t gone into detail. He supposed it wasn’t any of his business, but he was curious about the guy and about the downfall of their marriage.

“So why did you two split up?” he asked.

She paused, as if he’d tapped a sensitive subject. Then she lifted the linen napkin and blotted her lips. “He was seeing someone else.”

He’d had an affair? John couldn’t imagine a man doing something like that to Betsy, and his heart went out to her. If he had a wife like her…

Damn. Did he have a wife?

He glanced at his left hand, which was resting on top of the linen-covered table. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

Was that enough to go on?

It was hard to say. It was possible that he’d been wearing a ring, and that it had been stolen along with his wallet and any money or credit cards he’d had when he’d first come to town.

But he didn’t see a tan line.

Still, he wasn’t going to stress about that now. What if he never got his memory back? What if he was stuck in Brighton Valley for the rest of his life?

Would that be so bad?

Right this minute, as he sat across from Betsy, with violin music playing in the background and candlelight flickering, the answer was a definite no. And he wondered how Betsy would feel about that.

As Betsy studied her handsome dinner companion, she couldn’t remember when she’d had an evening as nice as this. And she couldn’t help thinking about their trip home tonight.

They would walk back to the hospital and drive to the ranch in separate cars. But then what?

Would John kiss her good-night the way he’d been doing each evening this week? Would either of them press for more than a kiss on the front porch?

She could certainly invite him into the guesthouse for a nightcap. But as she stole a glance at her handsome dinner companion, his smile sent her heart scrambling to right itself, and she realized it wasn’t an after-dinner drink that she was craving. It was John.

After he’d paid the bill, they took a leisurely stroll back to the hospital and noted the Christmas decorations in the various store windows.

They turned left at the light and into the parking lot where they’d left their cars. Their arms brushed against each other, and he took her hand in his, warming her from the inside out.

They were dating, she supposed. And while she ought to be at least a little concerned about what that might mean in the future, she couldn’t seem to conjure any of the apprehension she’d had when she’d first realized her attraction to him.

Moments later, they reached her car, and she opened the door with the remote.

“I’ll follow you home,” he said.

She appreciated his protective nature. In fact, there were a lot of things about John that she found appealing. He was bright, kind and thoughtful, a gentleman who knew how to treat a lady.

He was also far too handsome for her own good.

All the way to the ranch, she continued to glance in her rearview mirror, to see John’s headlights as he followed at a safe distance behind her.

When they arrived, she parked near the guesthouse, and he pulled up beside her.

Should she invite him to come inside? Or should she wait to see what he suggested?

Before she could decide, he walked up to her, took her by the hand and strode toward her front door, where the yellow glow of the porch light welcomed them home.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “That’d be nice.”

His smile and a heated glimmer in his eyes caught her off guard, leaving her a little unbalanced.

Did he have any idea what he did to her?

When they reached the front door, she let him into the living room and turned on the lamp.

Now what? she wondered.

He walked over to the entertainment center, which she didn’t use as often as she’d thought she would when she purchased it last summer. Then he turned to her and smiled. “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”

“No. Go ahead.” She dropped her purse on the sofa but continued to watch him.

He fiddled with the knobs and dials for a moment, then tuned in a country-and-western station.

A duet sung by Faith Hill and Tim McGraw was on-a sexually charged love song. He turned to her and grinned, showing off a gorgeous pair of dimples that spun her heart around.

Then he reached out his hand to her. “Dance with me, Betsy.”

It wasn’t a question, but she wouldn’t have declined even if it had been. So she stepped into his embrace, swaying to the beat as Faith and Tim crooned softly in the background.

His cologne, a faint, wood scent, mingled with those ever-present pheromones that taunted her whenever he was near.

As he wrapped his fingers around hers and slipped his arm around her waist, holding her, possessing her, she placed her hand on his chest and felt the warmth of his body, the solid beat of his heart.

She closed her eyes, letting herself go, trusting him. Trusting fate.

His voice, low and husky with desire, whispered against her cheek. “I might not be able to tell you much about the man I am, Betsy, but I know the woman you are. And I’m falling for you.”

Oh, God, she thought. She was falling for him, too.

The words of the song, the sensual beat, the man in her arms, all stirred something deep within her core-a sweet ache. A desperation.

She drew away just long enough to look in his eyes, to catch his expression. And when she did, he lowered his mouth to hers.

As their lips met, separating, their tongues touched, and the warmth of his breath-still laced with the sweetness of the tiramisu they’d shared earlier-nearly buckled her knees.

She kissed him, harder, deeper, until she finally had to stop long enough to catch her breath.

Did she dare tell him what she wanted? What she needed?

Fortunately, she didn’t have to because he spoke, his breath warm and ragged against her skin. “I want more than a kiss tonight. But if you don’t, then tell me to stop now.”

She wanted more, too. So much more. And there was no use denying it or making up an excuse as to why they should sleep alone.

So she made the decision to lay her heart on the line, no matter what the cost. And taking him by the hand, she led him into her bedroom.