Reclaiming His Past (2 page)

He was staring at the face of a stranger.

Chapter Two

“I
've completed my examination.”

Gatlinburg's only doctor—middle-aged, distinguished and a stranger to frivolity—entered the kitchen after being closeted with their visitor for more than an hour.

Jessica gave the vegetable soup a final stir, the aroma of potatoes, carrots and pungent greens causing her stomach to rumble.

“How is he?” Alice poured hot, black coffee into a blue enamel mug and carried it to him.

Depositing his scuffed medical bag on the table they used as a work space, he accepted her offering and sipped the steaming brew. “He's a fortunate young man. If the cut had been any deeper, I would've had to perform surgery. Now, if we can stave off infection, he should heal without complications.”

“Poor man.” Alice twisted the plain wedding band on her fourth finger. Jessica's pa had been gone for many years, but her mother liked the reminder of him. “We heard his suffering clear out here, didn't we?”

Jessica clamped her lips together. His pitiful moans still echoed through her mind.

“He refused my offer of laudanum,” Doc said.

“It's quiet now.” Jessica busied herself slicing up the corn bread, trying not to think of the agony he'd endured. For all she knew, he'd been the one to instigate the violent encounter. He could be a thief. He could've ambushed someone, and that person fought back.

“He eventually lost consciousness.” Silver hair gleaming in the midmorning light streaming through the kitchen window, Doc cradled the mug in his bear-paw hands.

Jessica shook her head to dislodge the image of the blond stranger in Jane's old bed, as weak as a kitten and vulnerable.

“He claims to have lost his memory,” she said. “Do you believe him?”

“While I haven't personally treated any patients with amnesia, I've read about numerous cases. Each one is slightly different. The young man has suffered head trauma, so it's plausible.”

Her ma's age-spotted hands rested on the chair back. “Not everyone has a hidden agenda, Jessica.”

Tired of the vague references to Lee and his perfidy, she sighed. “We know nothing about him.” Wiping the crumbs from the knife, she addressed the doctor. “Besides, it's hardly our problem. You'll be moving him to your residence right away, I assume.”

He grimaced. “My rooms are occupied with other patients, I'm afraid. If you're uncomfortable with him here, I can look for another family to take him in.”

“What about his injuries?” Alice asked.

“At this point, moving him would exacerbate them.”

Jessica hugged her middle to calm her churning insides. “Ma, he could be a dangerous criminal. He could have enemies searching for him.”

“Or he could be an upstanding young man who met with an unfortunate accident. Would you turn him out on the slim chance he's pretending to have amnesia?”

As much as she hated to admit it, her mother had a point. There was no way to know for sure. What if he was one of the good guys, and they turned him away? His further suffering would be her fault.

“Would one of your nephews be willing to spend a few nights here?” Doc shifted his weight. “Having another man around might ease your concerns.”

“They've got their own families.”

“Will might do it.” Her cousin Nathan's young brother-in-law wouldn't mind. Will Tanner was always up for an adventure, but levelheaded enough that he'd be helpful if danger presented itself.

“Good idea. I'll go and speak to him after lunch.” Pulling serving bowls from the hutch, Alice addressed the doctor over her shoulder. “Would you care to join us, Doc?”

“Next time, perhaps. My wife's expecting me.” Draining his mug, he gathered his bag. “I'll come tomorrow and check on the patient. If you have any problems before then, you know where to find me.”

“Jessica, would you mind seeing Doc out while I deliver soup to our young man?”

Our
young man? She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Her mother's never-ending well of compassion was admirable most days. Today was different.

“I'll take it to him.” This was the perfect time to deliver a warning. He'd soon discover she'd do anything to protect her family. Past mistakes had carved lessons onto her heart that she wasn't about to repeat.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Jessica didn't miss her look of surprised approval. No doubt she thought Doc's assessment had erased her misgivings.

“What are we supposed to call him?” she asked Doc. “If he's going to remain here for any length of time, we can't keep referring to him as
the patient
.”

He stroked his chin in thoughtful concentration. “I suggest you discuss the matter with him. Let him choose a name.”

Ma's smile held a world of sympathy. “Hopefully he'll remember his true name before long.”

Jessica wished she'd inherited a smidgen of her ma's positive outlook.

While the pair conversed on the porch, Jessica assembled his meal.

He appeared to be asleep when she entered the room. Sliding the tray onto the bedside table, she brought a chair from the dining room and sat, prepared to be patient. She noticed Doc had cleaned up his hands. Pink and raw in places, one knuckle was busted, indicating he'd used them in the scuffle. For fending off an attacker? Or for inflicting damage?

Uncertainty waged war inside her. He didn't look dangerous. Lying there in her sister's old bed, he looked forlorn. In need of a helping hand. And if they didn't help him, who would? They had ample space, food to spare, and, unlike many households in these mountains, there were no children underfoot. He'd have peace and quiet to speed his recovery.

This blond-haired, blue-eyed stranger was someone's son. Possibly someone's brother or cousin or even husband. If one of her loved ones was in the same predicament, she'd be begging God to keep him safe. To place him in the path of decent people.

While Jessica wasn't pleased with her mother's decision, offering him shelter and meeting his basic needs didn't mean she had to suspend caution. Even before her life became entangled with Lee Cavanaugh's, her outlook hadn't been all sunshine and rainbows. Now it was positively morose. She anticipated the worst. Expected people to fail her. Or deceive her.

God was no doubt displeased with this manner of thinking, but she wasn't sure how to undo what had been done.

He stirred, the quilt covering his lower body sliding low on his waist. His bloodied shirt had been disposed of, and a long-sleeved white cotton undershirt hugged his shoulders, sculpted chest and flat stomach. Thick padding covered his wound beneath the fabric.

The man would benefit from a bath and a shave. He wore his fair hair short on the sides, with slightly longer strands sweeping over his forehead. The brown cast of his skin indicated he worked outdoors.

“How long have I been out?”

His raspy inquiry snapped her out of her inspection. “Nearly an hour. I've brought you soup and some buttered bread. Do you feel up to eating?”

Hefting himself up so that the headboard supported his back, he studied the tray's contents. “I'll try the bread first, thanks.”

When he'd finished, she handed him the still-warm bowl. “The soup is rather strong. If it's not to your liking, I can make a thin broth.”

“No need to go to any extra trouble.” His disconcerting gaze locked on her, he tested it. “It's very good.”

“Did Doc give you anything for that busted lip?”

The bowl cradled against his chest, he shook his head. “It'll heal soon enough.”

“Why didn't you want anything for the pain?” She gestured to the padding beneath his shirt. “Must've been horrible.”

“Medicine messes with your head. I figure mine's messed up enough.” Shadows passed over his face. “Plus, I'm uncomfortable with the idea of not being in control of my actions.”

A stilted silence blanketed them. When he'd polished off half the contents and handed the bowl back to her, he rested his folded hands on his middle.

“I didn't expect to wake and find you watching over me.”

The muted mischief in his eyes needled her. “That's not what I was doing,” she huffed.

“Why don't you tell me the true reason, then? Afraid I might swipe something of your sister's?”

She arched a brow at him. “It's been decided that you will remain here until you've recuperated.”

“I can tell you're pleased.” Wry humor touched his mobile mouth.

He would laugh at her, would he? Her movements measured, she made a show of removing the Colt Lightning from her ankle holster. Barrel pointed to the wall, she lazily spun the full chamber. “I have no problem protecting what's mine.” She smiled tightly. “A benefit from growing up with three competitive, slightly overbearing males.”

Her warning didn't shock or anger him. If anything, his humor increased, joined by open admiration. “A woman who can take care of herself. I like that. So you have brothers?”

“Cousins. Their family's property adjoins ours.”

“And you have one sister?”

“Four, actually. I'm the youngest.”

“Are you the only one still living at home?”

The question was innocent enough, yet it unleashed a rock slide of hurt and disappointment. She was the last unwed O'Malley sister. Growing up, Jessica hadn't obsessed over boys, hadn't daydreamed about her future husband. She'd wanted a family of her own, of course. Someday. Once she'd reached marriageable age, she'd become friendly with a few interesting men. Nothing serious had developed. She'd been content with her single life until a dashing young man from Virginia moved to town. Suddenly, love and marriage became a priority. She'd wanted it all.

She replaced her weapon. “My life's details aren't important. Yours are. Doc thinks you should think up a name for yourself.”

His expression altered, and she almost felt sorry she'd introduced the subject.

“Right. I suppose I do need one.” His exhale was shaky. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“You could choose something classic, like John or James. Or you could go with a decidedly Biblical name, like Hezekiah. Or Malachi.”

The softening of his mouth gave Jessica a strange feeling...something akin to satisfaction that she'd lightened his burden.

“Any more suggestions?” he said.

She strove for something unexpected. “Wiley? Fentress?”

“This is too bizarre.”

“If I were you, I'd settle on something simple. You don't want to get too attached.”

“On the other hand, I might be saddled with this name for the rest of my life.” He absently rubbed the knot behind his ear.

“You remind me of a boy I went to school with. His name was Grant Harper.”

That startled him out of his melancholy. “I do?”

“He had the same fair coloring as you.” And the same roguish streak cloaked in innocence.

“What happened to him?” His eyes narrowed.

“Nothing dramatic. His family moved away about five years ago to be closer to his grandparents.”

He stared up at the rafters, quiet for long minutes. “Grant, huh?”

“What do you think? Can you live with it?”

“It'll do. Just don't expect me to answer to it right away.”

“Understood.” She rose to leave.

“Jessica?” His expression turned earnest. “You have nothing to fear from me. I won't harm you or your mother.”

She didn't answer. Nodding, she left him, all too aware of how convincing a person could be when the stakes were high.

* * *

He stared at the doorway his intriguing hostess had vacated rather abruptly. He wondered what or who was responsible for the guardedness in her eyes. His arrival on her doorstep couldn't be the sole cause.

Nevertheless, she didn't want him here.

He'd rather be anywhere but here, at the mercy of strangers, an unwelcome guest with no past and an uncertain future. His sole possessions were the clothes on his back. He had nothing with which to repay their kindness. No matter what type of man he'd been before, it galled him now to be a recipient of charity.

So he was to be called Grant. He had no strong feelings about those particular five letters. It was nice and ordinary. A simple name, Jessica had said. But it likely wasn't the one he'd been born with.

What am I supposed to do, Lord Jesus?

His heart rate doubled. That had been a spontaneous prayer. He must be a man of faith. Wasn't difficult to believe in a divine Creator. All a man had to do was look around and see the evidence... Someone hung the stars in the sky, molded the mountains, carved the riverbeds, imagined the vast varieties of animals into being.

He squeezed his eyes shut and offered up a plea.
Heavenly Father, I'm in desperate need of Your guidance. The doctor's not sure if I'll ever recover my memories. I'm lost. Alone.

“Grant?”

Mrs. O'Malley approached his bedside, her eyes kind behind the spectacles.

“I hope it's all right that I call you Grant. Jessica told me you'd settled on it.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

There was little resemblance between her and her youngest daughter. Short and plump, the woman had liberal amounts of gray streaked through the brown hair she wore pinned into a thick bun. She was dressed conservatively in a serviceable blouse and black skirt, a ruffled apron with pockets covering the entire front. She possessed a maternal air he'd missed growing up.

Hold on a minute. How had he known that?

“Is your head paining you, son?”

He realized he'd been gripping his head. “I—I think I've remembered something.”

“Oh? That's wonderful.”

Alice didn't press him. “Nothing specific. It was just an impression.”

“Any progress, no matter how big or small, is a positive thing.” Smiling, she eased into the chair. “Doc said to tell you he'll bring a cane when he checks on you tomorrow. You're not to put weight on that ankle.”