Under The Mistletoe With John Doe

Chapter Five

John was surprised to see that Betsy had picked up some of the toiletries he would need, as well as boxer shorts, socks and a couple of outfits.

“I don’t know what to say.” He studied the clothing purchases, which had been laid out on the double bed in Doc’s guest room. Then he caught her eye and smiled. “Thanks for doing this for me.”

“You’re welcome.”

She turned away, as if the intimacy made her uneasy, and pointed to the shaving gear and toiletries she’d placed on the bureau. “If you need anything else, let me know. I can pick it up for you the next time I’m in town.”

“This ought to do it. Thanks again.”

She nodded, then left the room.

John might have forgotten a lot of things, like his name and occupation, but he somehow knew that people weren’t always that kind to strangers. And that Betsy was showing her true character, that she was more than a pretty face and a skilled physician.

Thanks to Dr. Graham’s prodding, she stayed long enough to join them for lunch, a simple fare of grilled cheese sandwiches, chips and fruit. They made small talk while they ate, then she excused herself and went home.

John was sorry to see her go, although he knew she needed some rest. It might be her day off, but working nights had to be rough. He figured she could stand to catch a little shut-eye whenever she had a chance.

A nap wouldn’t hurt him, either. He might be feeling better and getting stronger each day, but his body was still recuperating from the beating and he didn’t want to push it. Not when he needed his brain to heal as quickly as possible. He was eager to get on with his life-wherever that might be.

After Betsy left, Doc said he was going to sit on the porch and read a bit.

“Do you want to join me?” he asked. “I’ve got a good-size collection of books you can choose from in my den.”

“Maybe later, thanks. I think I’d rather lie down for a while. It’s been a few days since I’ve gotten this active.”

John followed Doc into the living room, where the old man stopped by the lamp table closest to an easy chair and picked up a hardbound Dean Koontz novel.

Before slipping off to the bedroom John had been given, he scanned the cozy living area, noting the stone fireplace and hand-carved mantel, where several framed photographs were displayed.

Figuring Doc had meant for his guests to check out the photos of his friends and family, John eased closer to the mantel and took a look at them.

There was a black-and-white snapshot of a young Dr. Graham wearing a military uniform and standing next to an attractive blonde. John assumed the woman was his wife, and as he found an older picture of the couple near the Eiffel Tower, he decided his assumption was correct.

There was a photograph of Betsy with a smiling gray-haired couple seated by a decorated Christmas tree. John guessed they were with her parents, even though he didn’t notice a resemblance. Then he remembered that she was adopted, so that would explain it.

He wondered if she’d ever looked for her biological family. Some people felt compelled to do that. And if she were one of them, then maybe that’s why she’d taken him under her wing. She understood how lost he felt without having a sense of his roots.

As he thought of Betsy and their commonalities, he glanced at the door she’d walked out of earlier, wishing she was still here.

But there was no need to stew about that. So he replaced the frame on the mantel, then walked to the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

As he slipped into the privacy of his room, which was simply decorated with a dresser and a double bed, his eye was drawn to a picture hanging on the wall. It was just a print of two curly-haired cherubs, nothing remarkable or expensive. He’d glossed over it before, yet he was drawn to it now.

It looked oddly familiar, as if he’d seen it before.

For a moment, a vision flashed before him of a silver-haired woman wearing a floral-print apron and a warm smile.

The scent of tomatoes, cilantro and spice.

Children’s laughter.

The sound of a screen door slamming.

But the wisp of a memory faded before he could wrap his mind around it, leaving him grasping for mental straws.

What did it mean? Was his life coming back to him?

God, he sure hoped so.

As if he could hurry it along, he kicked off his shoes and climbed on top of the bed, which was covered with a calico quilt. The old-fashioned box springs squeaked from his weight as he settled into the comfort of the mattress.

He closed his eyes and tried to recall the disjointed recollection-the sight, the scents and the sounds that had disappeared as quickly as they’d formed. But the vague memory was lost to him, along with his past.

The clock on the dresser ticktocked, lulling him to sleep. He awoke hours later to the sound of a knock at his door and the aroma of chicken baking in the oven.

“Dinner’s ready,” Doc said.

“I’ll be right there.” John climbed out of bed, straightened the quilt he’d been laying on and the pillow he’d been using. Then he went into the bathroom and washed his face and hands.

When he finished, he joined Doc at the kitchen table. “It sure smells good.”

“Doesn’t it? It’s a chicken-and-rice casserole. Betsy came by earlier and put it in the oven for us.”

“Does she cook for you often?”

“Whenever she gets the chance. She thinks I need someone to fuss over me.”

“And you don’t agree?”

“Who doesn’t like a little TLC?” the old man said with a wink.

John agreed, especially if Betsy was the one providing it. “Is she going to eat with us?”

“No, not this evening.”

John wondered why, but he didn’t ask. There wasn’t any need for Dr. Graham to think he was hoping for a little tender loving care himself. Or for him to think John was crushing on the pretty redhead who lived only a few footsteps away.

While they ate, Doc chatted about his life as the only physician in the valley, about some of the miracles and mishaps he’d been a witness to.

John found the man and his stories more than a little interesting, and each time Doc grew quiet, John asked him a question, just as he’d done with Betsy earlier. He’d spent too many lonely days in the hospital with only the television to keep him company. And because he had nothing to offer in terms of his own past, he enjoyed getting to know the new people in his life.

Of course, the one he wanted to know the most about was Betsy.

“Why doesn’t she work days? Is she a night owl by nature?”

“Actually, she’s a real team player and steps in whenever the hospital is shorthanded. And that means she’s got the worst of both worlds. Sometimes she works nights, then she’s back on days. And changing shifts like that is really tough.”

“Sounds like she’s a good employee.”

“And loyal to a fault,” Doc said as he stood and began to gather the empty plates.

John scooted his chair back and got to his feet. “Let me help.”

“Nope,” Doc said, “not tonight. You need to take it easy for the next day or two. And then, at that point, I’ll let you start doing some of the easier chores. We’ll slowly build up from there.”

John wouldn’t argue with the man because this was his first day out of the hospital. But he wasn’t ready for bed, either. So he asked, “Do you mind if I sit out on the porch for a while?”

“Not at all,” the old man said. “It’s not too cold tonight, but you might want a jacket. I’ve got one hanging on the coat tree in the living room. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

John made his way to the front of the house. Then he took the black corduroy jacket from the hook, slipped it on and went out on the porch where two wicker rockers sat.

Once outside in the winter evening, he couldn’t help wishing that the crisp air would clear his mind. He’d been disappointed that no one in the medical field had been able to tell him when his memory would return, but the brief vision he’d had earlier today suggested it was coming-one piece at a time.

He took a seat in one of the rockers and tried to find comfort in the beautiful winter night. But all he could seem to think about was how insignificant he and his amnesia were in the scheme of things.

As he glanced at the empty chair beside him, he wondered if Doc ever sat out here with Betsy.

Just the thought of the attractive woman caused him to seek out her house, to notice the lamp on inside her living-room window. Did that mean she was awake?

And if so, would she like company?

What would she think if he showed up unannounced?

The idea was still in the thinking stage when her porch light went on, her front door swung open and she stepped outside.

He watched as she made her way across the yard and approached Doc’s house.

Did she know John was out here? Would his presence startle her?

“Hey,” he said, wanting to let her know he was on the porch. “What are you doing?”

“Just coming over to check on Doc. What’s he up to this evening?”

“Reading, I suspect. He’s really gotten into that novel.”

She continued to approach the porch, as if Doc wasn’t the only one she’d come to see about. And it pleased him to think that she cared about how he was faring.

“It’s a nice night,” he said. “Are you up for some stargazing?”

“Sure.” She took a seat in the rocker next to his and set hers into motion, the chair squeaking and creaking against the wood flooring.

They didn’t talk right away, didn’t really need to. The evening sky, with its nearly full moon and massive splatter of twinkling stars, was providing them with an amazing celestial display.

John easily found the Big and Little Dippers, as well as Polaris, which had played a big role in helping the people traveling on the underground railroad. In fact, there’d been a coded song called “Follow the Drinking Gourd” that had helped the escaped slaves find their way to freedom in the north.

How weird was that? he wondered. The basic knowledge he’d accrued over the years didn’t seem to be affected by his amnesia, yet he couldn’t remember the people, the places or the things that had been a part of his life before he’d set foot in Brighton Valley.

As he pondered the injustice of it all, Betsy said, “The stars are prettier than usual tonight.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Being out in the country like this makes a big difference. You don’t get the full effect of the night sky in the city.”

She turned to him. “That’s the second thing you’ve said to lead me to believe that you’re a city boy.”

He considered her comment, but other than the words that had slipped out of his mouth, he couldn’t say one way or the other. So he shrugged. “I’m not sure where that came from.”

“So you’re still drawing a blank?”

“Pretty much. I do know that I drink my coffee black and I’m not too fond of vegetables.”

“The rest will come.”

He didn’t see any reason to agree or to argue, so he let it go and stole a look at his pretty companion as she sat in the rocker, her hands perched on the armrests.

She was seated close enough to touch, close enough for him to take hold of her hand and give it a warm and gentle squeeze. But he knew better than to overstep his boundaries, no matter how much he’d like to. So instead of boldly touching her, he continued to take in the starlit sky and the smell of night-blooming jasmine, the sounds of a cow lowing in the distance.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d sat here, together in pensive silence and appreciation.

A few minutes, he supposed.

When he turned to offer her a smile, he saw that her eyes were closed and her head was resting against the back of the chair.

Hadn’t she gotten any rest this afternoon? He had a feeling that she hadn’t. No wonder Doc had been worried about her.

He let her rest for a while longer, then decided to wake her so she could go to bed, where she’d be more comfortable. So he reached over and placed his hand over hers, felt the softness of her skin, the warmth.

While he knew he should give her hand a little nudge and jar her awake, he held back for a moment and basked in the intimacy of their touch, in the connection they shared for one moment in time.

In a way, it made him feel less alone. Less isolated. Less cornered into a reality that wasn’t of his own making.

Finally, he stroked the top her hand, his fingers sliding over her knuckles. “Betsy?”

Her eyes fluttered opened and she turned to face him. “Yes?”

With reluctance, he withdrew his hand. “It’s time for bed.”

She blinked several times and yawned. Then she slowly got to her feet. “I’m sorry for dozing off.”

“Don’t be. But I hope you’re going to start working the day shift soon.”

“I’m off this weekend.” She shoved her hands in the pockets of her knit jacket. “And on Monday, I’m back to working days until the medical center needs me again.”

“Good. I’m not sure how healthy it is for you to be bouncing back and forth between shifts.”

She smiled. “Have you been talking to Doc? He’s been worried about me, but I know when to slow down and when to take it easy.”

John hoped so and tossed her an I’m-glad-to-hear-it smile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, as she started down the steps and headed for the guesthouse.

As she left him on the porch, he rubbed his thumb over his fingertips, which were still warm and charged from their brief physical contact.

Touching Betsy had been much nicer than he’d expected it to be. And for a moment, in spite of the vastness of the sky and the innumerable celestial lights shining throughout the universe, he didn’t feel the least bit insignificant.

For the next five days, John didn’t get to see nearly as much of Betsy as he would have liked. Her work schedule hadn’t allowed for more than a few occasional visits, which was too bad.

But on the bright side, he’d started doing more around the ranch to help Dr. Graham and to pay for his keep. He still didn’t know much about the man he used to be, but it appeared that hard work came naturally to him.

And so did being around horses.

Apparently, he had some experience working on a ranch and seemed to know things without being told, which led him to believe he’d done his share of mucking stalls and grooming horses in the past.

And something told him that he’d liked it.

There was a palomino mare with a sweet disposition who’d taken to him, but it was a spirited roan gelding that had really caught his eye.

“Do you think it would be okay if I took him for a ride one of these days?” he’d asked Doc over dinner.

“Sure, as long as you don’t do anything foolish, like running or jumping. You’re not ready for anything that strenuous yet.”

“I’ll be careful. No one wants to see me get better more than I do.”

“You’re right. And for what it’s worth, it’s been nice having your company, son. So don’t think I’m in any hurry to see you leave. There aren’t too many young people who have time for a rambling old man.”

John chuckled. “You’ll have to introduce me to him. I haven’t met any rambling old men around here.”

Dr. Graham, with his thick head of white hair, lively blue eyes and quick wit, could put an interesting spin on a conversation, and John couldn’t help but like him.

“And speaking of having you around,” Doc said as he got to his feet, “let’s get these dishes done.”

“You got it.”

There wasn’t much to clean up this evening, but John helped by putting the leftovers into the fridge and wiping the counters, while Doc filled the dishwasher. Then, as was becoming their habit in the evenings, Doc picked up his novel-this time one by Michael Crichton-and settled into his easy chair, while John went out to the porch.

But it wasn’t fresh air or peace and quiet that he was seeking; it was Betsy. She’d been working the day shift this past week and usually got home around eight. But it was well past that now.

He lifted his wrist to check the time, a useless habit that continued after his mugging. And as he glanced at the place where a watch used to be, he was again reminded of all that had been stolen from him.

It had to be close to nine when Betsy finally arrived home, and John got up from his seat and met her in the driveway.

“I was getting worried about you,” he said, as he approached her car.

“My parents just got home from their trip to Galveston this afternoon, so I stopped by to see them.”

“Did they have fun?”

“Well, the bus broke down once. But other than that, they had a great time.” Betsy pushed the remote on her key chain, locking the doors. “My mom picked up a boysenberry-flavored herb tea while she was gone, so I stayed and had a cup with her.”

They walked to the porch, but she didn’t take a seat. Instead, she stood at the railing and peered into the Texas night. There was something about this place that renewed her spirit and cleared her head.

“It’s nice that you and your parents are close,” John said.

Betsy smiled and turned away from the railing, facing John instead. “I’ve really been blessed.”

“Have you ever wanted to find your biological parents?”

The question took her aback, but she answered truthfully. “No, not really.”

She’d always been curious about her birth parents, of course, but she’d never tried to track them down. She wouldn’t do anything that might hurt the people who’d raised her and had earned the titles of Mom and Dad. So she’d embraced the wonderful parents she had.

“Don’t you ever wonder about them?”

“Sure. I think most people who’ve been adopted do.” She studied the man before her, realizing he knew less about his birth family than she did. And she found herself telling him something she hadn’t told anyone else. “Actually, my biological mother’s attorney contacted me a couple of weeks ago and asked to set up a meeting.”

“And did you? Agree to meet her?”

“Not right now.”

She couldn’t deny a curiosity about the woman, especially after the attorney had said, “She’d like to know if your hair is still red. It was that color when you were a newborn.”

Many women who gave up their babies chose not to see them or hold them, and Betsy wondered if her birth mom had been an exception. A part of her hoped so.

Nevertheless, she told the woman’s attorney that yes, she was a redhead. And that her life was a little too complicated to set up a meeting for the time being.

Besides, getting involved in any kind of relationship right now, especially with a woman she knew nothing about, could really complicate her life.

It would be risky, too. What if she was disappointed? What if she met her biological family and realized they could have made television appearances on The Jerry Springer Show?

No, she didn’t want to deal with anything like that now. And even if she did, there was one thing she valued above everything else: people who’d proven themselves as loving, dependable and trustworthy.

“In some ways, we’ve got a lot in common,” he said. “Neither of us have much knowledge of our roots.”

Yes, but while he’d probably give anything to learn more about his, she wasn’t eager to face the changes that the past might make in her life. Not if it might hurt her parents.

He grew pensive for a moment, and she figured that he was wondering about his family, about the place he’d come from, and her heart went out to him.

As he glanced down at his feet, she took the time to study him. He was dressed in one of the new outfits she’d purchased-jeans and a flannel shirt. And he was wearing Doc’s jacket again. He looked like any of the local ranchers, albeit a lot more handsome. Yet she had to remind herself that he was a stranger, no matter how familiar he seemed.

“So how did your day go?” she asked, trying to draw him from the thoughts that appeared to be dragging him down.

He looked up and shrugged. “I managed to get some work done. I repaired a gate on the corral and mucked out the stalls. Then I made friends with a couple of horses.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve got to get you out into the real world and around more people.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Buck and Sadie are awfully nice. And they pretty much go along with everything I say.”

“There’s something to be said about that, I suppose.”

Their gazes locked, and the humorous moment passed, leaving something else in its wake. Something charged with heat.

“Would you like to go riding with me someday?” he asked.

Was he thinking that the outing would be a date?

The spark in his eyes and a spike in her heart rate suggested that he was. Yet in spite of all the reasons she should decline, she couldn’t help thinking a ride on a Sunday afternoon would be a nice change to her routine.

“Sure,” she said, “but you’ll have to give me a gentle horse. I’m really not what you’d call a cowgirl.”

“It’s pretty easy. I’ll teach you whatever you need to know.”

“You’ve got experience with horses?”

“I think so.” His brow furrowed as he gave it some further thought.

So the man she’d considered a city boy had country roots? Or was she wrong about her assumptions?

She could see the same questions in his eyes, the frustration at not even knowing a few of the basics.

Unable to help herself, she reached out and stroked his cheek, fingering his solid, square-cut jaw, the faint bristle of his beard.

His gaze locked on hers, stirring up something deep within her, and any reservations about getting involved with him flew out the window.

As he lowered his mouth to hers, his musky, masculine scent assaulted her better judgment and set her mind swirling in a maelstrom of desire.

This was so not what she’d planned, but it no longer seemed to matter.

He brushed his lips against hers, once, twice, a third time. Then he took her mouth and claimed it as his own.

The kiss intensified, and she opened her mouth, letting his tongue mate with hers. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him, holding him close.

Closing her eyes, she let herself go, losing herself in a surge of pheromones and need, kissing him deeply, thoroughly.

She couldn’t remember the last time she and Doug had kissed-certainly long before their split. But she couldn’t remember it being anything like this. She tried to blame it on hormones and the sexual drought she’d been living in since her divorce. But something told her it had nothing to do with biology and everything to do with the man whose hands were exploring her back, her hips, her…

Oh, Lordy. Her knees were giving out on her, and an ache was settling deep in her core, demanding she throw caution to the wind. But Doug’s deception was still too fresh on her mind, and so was her decision not to get involved with a stranger.

So she placed her hand on John’s chest, where his heart pounded in a primal rhythm, announcing that the kiss had touched him in the same reckless way that it had her.

But someone had to be strong, had to consider the repercussions. And as she gave a gentle push against him, as she pulled her mouth from his, she grieved for what she was denying them.

He sucked in a breath and raked a hand through his hair, as though taken aback by the heat of what they’d just shared.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.”

It had only been a kiss, a small voice inside her argued. But it had been so much more than a kiss. It had been a sexual prelude to something she could only imagine.

“I shouldn’t have let that happen,” she said. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea about what? The fact that we’re attracted to each other? That kissing you again could lead to a whole lot more?”

All she had left was her honesty. “It was good to say the least. But a physical relationship isn’t a good idea for either one of us at this point in time.”

She’d already made one mistake in her life: she’d fallen for a man who wasn’t the person she’d thought he was. And she was on the verge of repeating the same mistake.

If she hadn’t already.