Under the Mistletoe with John Doe (11 page)

“Until today, I wasn't even aware of my name. So, no, Mike, I haven't gotten around to it yet.” There it went again, the irritation.

“I'll take care of that for you.”

“Thanks.”

When the call ended, Jason sat in the living room for the longest time, hoping that more of the voices and images would come back to him. But the only thing that came to mind was anger and annoyance at his older brother. And he wasn't sure what that was about.

Twenty minutes later, when the sun had set and the room had grown dark, the phone rang again. And this time, it was another brother who'd gotten the message and was returning his call.

“Hey, Jason. It's David. What's going on? Where are you?”

He gave him the lowdown, and this time, he handled the amnesia news a little better. Or maybe, thanks to Mike's clarifications, the conversation went a little smoother.

“So what do you think?” Jason asked, clearly unable to let go of the questions that had been dogging him. “Do you think there's any substance to Cheryl's allegation?”

“You know how Mike is,” David had said. “He's a big flirt and he doesn't always keep his hands to himself or his mouth shut.”

“So it's possible that he
did
say or do something that Cheryl could call sexual harassment?”

“Sure, I suppose it's possible. But we're family. So we've got to stick together, right?”

He supposed so.

“Besides,” David added, “Mike claims he didn't do or say anything wrong. And I've got to believe him.”

Did Jason feel the same way? Until he found some of the missing parts to his jigsaw puzzle, he wasn't sure.

“I'm hopeful that this is all hype on Cheryl's part,” David said. “But she's got a couple of former employees to back up her statement.”

“And Pedro should be able to testify on Mike's behalf?”

“Before you left San Diego, you told us that you had reason to believe that he'd overheard a conversation that would prove the so-called witnesses were involved in a scam.”

But Pedro had been fired for drinking on the job and had moved away, Jason thought, cobbling the pieces he remembered with those he'd been told.

“Did you find him?” David asked.

“No, not yet. But I'll take up the search again tomorrow.”

“Good.”

Jason gripped the receiver tighter. “So what happens if I don't find him?”

“The lawsuit won't break us. We've got EPLI.”

Employer Protection Liability Insurance, Jason realized.

“But the family has always had a great reputation, and no one's happy about the claim, false or otherwise.”

That made sense.

A pause stretched across the phone line, and Jason began to think that of his brothers, he might be closest to David.

“Hey,” he said. “I've got a question for you. And it's going to sound crazy.”

“What's that?”

“Am I married?”

“Not anymore.”

“So I'm divorced?”

“Yes. Don't you remember Renee?”

No, but he wanted to. “Just give me a quick recap.”

“Okay. Renee Perez. Five-six, a hundred and twenty pounds. Shapely, brunette with green eyes and a great smile, thanks to the set of veneers you paid for.”

“Where'd we meet?”

“At a fundraiser held at the polo fields in Rancho Santa Fe.”

So was that where he'd picked up his knowledge about horses? At the polo fields?

“You honeymooned in Spain, but once you got home, you went back to work 24/7, just like the rest of us.”

Suddenly, the angry woman's voice came back to him, making sense this time.
Those sweet-talking promises of yours aren't going to work on me anymore, Jason. If you go now, it's over. I'll be gone before you get home.

And apparently, she'd made good on her threat.

“She liked the nice house, the beautiful clothes and all the money you provided her,” David added, “but she wanted more of your time.”

“And that's why we split?”

“Pretty much. She called you an incurable workaholic, although it was that dedication to Alvarez Industries that ensured her a pretty damn good settlement.”

“So how long have I been divorced?”

“A couple of years.”

“Am I dating anyone in particular?”

David laughed. “I've never seen you at any function—business or otherwise—when you didn't have a date. But just recently, you've had the same woman on your arm. She's tall and blonde and, apparently, a lot
more understanding than Renee was. I think her name was Katrina.”

“Were we sleeping together?” Jason asked.

“I have no idea. You never were one to kiss and tell.”

Jason raked a hand through his hair. He didn't have a clue who Katrina was—or what she meant to him. But he wasn't married. That was good news, wasn't it?

Still, he
had
been seeing someone.

After the line disconnected, he continued to sit in silence, thinking mostly.

So now he knew something solid. He was an executive in a successful family business. A divorced workaholic who had no trouble getting dates.

He also lived and worked…and played in California.

What did that mean in regard to his having a relationship with Betsy, a woman who was firmly planted in Brighton Valley?

Could they ever make a life together?

Or would it be best if he just let her go?

 

Last night, after John left…

Betsy paused in midthought to correct herself. His name was Jason now. She'd have to remember that. But the point she was trying to make was that she'd made excuses for his silence and his retreat to the ranch house.

He was confused by the memories that were returning, she'd explained to her parents. And he needed to be alone.

They seemed to understand why he'd left, and on
an intellectual level, she did, too. He just needed a little time and space to sort things through. Within the next day or so, things would be back to the way they'd been.

But that wasn't true. Something had changed; Jason was different now, and she wasn't sure in which way.

When he'd left her house last night, their gazes had locked, and she'd seen a spark in his eyes, an emotion too difficult for her to decipher. And that's when the remorse had settled over her. That's when she'd faced the truth. And no matter how often she told herself that she was making something out of nothing, that everything would be okay, she couldn't accept that reasoning.

During the last few months of her marriage, she'd made excuses for Doug, too. She'd accepted those long hours he spent at work. And she hadn't questioned all the times she hadn't been able to contact him because he'd supposedly forgotten to take his cell phone with him.

But Doug had also become cryptic and distant at the end, which had made it easier for him to maintain a secret life. And it was that past experience that kept niggling at her now, warning her, preparing her for the worst.

At the end of the evening, she'd taken her parents home and then returned to the guesthouse alone. And even though she'd tried all of her tricks—a warm bath, a cup of chamomile tea—she hadn't been able to sleep.

Around midnight she'd peered out the window toward the ranch house, where several lights lit up the living room as well as the bedroom that belonged to Jason while he was staying with Doc.

The fact that they'd both been awake yet apart left a lump in her chest that lasted throughout the night.

Finally, as dawn spread its fingers over the countryside, she made a decision. She couldn't leave things to chance. She needed to find out who Jason really was, and that meant she would have to be proactive.

So early that morning, on her way to work, she stopped by the sheriff's office. She would ask if they had any news, if there'd been any missing person reports, any stolen cars recovered. After all, Jason had to have gotten to the honky-tonk somehow. Wouldn't it stand to reason that he had a vehicle?

After parking in front of the two-story brick building next to the courthouse, she entered the office.

Deputy Lester Brophy was on duty, and when he spotted her, he got up from his desk near the file cabinets and approached the counter to greet her. “Well, hello there, Dr. Nielson. What can I do to help you?”

“I was wondering if you had any information on that mugging a couple of weeks ago at the Stagecoach Inn. The victim was a man in his late twenties or early thirties, and his injuries landed him in the hospital a couple of days. He's also suffering from amnesia.”

“John Doe,” Lester said.

“That's the one.”

The deputy lifted his hat and scratched his balding head. “I'm afraid there's not much for us to go on. All we found out was that he was asking about a guy named Pedro Salas.”

“Do you know who that is?”

Lester shrugged. “Not for sure. Joaquin Salas lives up at Clemson Ridge with his wife and kids. We talked
to him, and it seems he's got an uncle by the name of Pedro, but we don't know if it's the guy John Doe was asking about.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Just that Pedro lost his wife and his son in a fire about ten years ago. And after that, he went off the deep end.”

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently, he's an alcoholic and has a hard time staying employed. Last they heard, he was working in California. He called his nephew after he got fired for drinking on the job and asked if he could come back to Texas and stay with him. But Joaquin told him he'd have to dry out first. And they haven't heard anything else from him.”

Betsy leaned her hip against the counter. “What else do you know?”

“That night at the Stagecoach Inn, John Doe got into a tussle with Slim Ragsdale and Bobby Wolford.”

“Did he cause the fight?”

“Nope. Slim and Bobby are a couple of troublemakers who've had run-ins with the law on several occasions—vagrancy, disturbing the peace, that sort of thing. But without any witnesses to the mugging, we can't do much about it. And if you talk to Bobby and Slim, they'll try to convince you that they left the bar and went straight to choir practice.”

“And that's it?”

Lester nodded.

“No missing person reports?”

“Not in our office or in Wexler. But we've been pretty
shorthanded since Hank Rawlings went out on disability and haven't checked with the other counties.”

So Betsy didn't know much more than she already did, other than Pedro Salas had a drinking problem. And he and Jason might both be from California.

“Anything else I can help you with?” Lester asked.

“No, that's it for now. Thanks.”

As Betsy started for the door, her shoulders sank under the weight of the answers she'd been given, answers that only served to trigger more questions.

Why would a well-dressed man go into a honky-tonk looking for a drunk? And why would he set off a couple of local troublemakers?

Apparently, whatever keys to Jason's identity lay far away from Brighton Valley. And if she knew what was good for her, she'd get out while she could.

J
ason tossed and turned until about two that morning. And when he finally fell asleep, he didn't rest long. A dream of automobiles crashing into each other, glass shattering and air bags deploying tore into his slumber, shaking him to the core.

But most disturbing of all was that sound of a woman's cries.
Be careful!

I'm pregnant.

Don't hurt the baby. Please…

Then she shrieked, as if she were being torn in two, and Jason shot up in bed. His heart was pounding like a runaway train, and his skin was cold and clammy.

“Damn,” he uttered, his breaths coming out in short, ragged huffs.

He raked his fingers through his hair and scanned the darkened room, needing to assure himself that the accident hadn't really happened.

Surely the nocturnal vision had only been a figment of his sleep-deprived imagination. But it had been all too real to be sure.

If the goose bumps on his arms had any significance whatsoever, it could be an eerie premonition.

Or had it been an actual memory that had been triggered by the conversations he'd had with his brothers?

He blinked his eyes, trying to recall the details of his unsettling dream.

There'd been an intersection, a blinding glare. A car speeding by. Metal slamming upon metal. Mangled vehicles spun this way and that.

A blonde in her early thirties sat in the driver's seat of a minivan. A jagged gash marred the side of her head, and shards of glass littered her blood-matted hair.

Tears streamed down her face as paramedics and firefighters worked on the vehicle, using the Jaws of Life to cut her out of the crushed metallic prison that held her body captive and refused to let go.

Who was she? The only blonde in his life that he was even vaguely aware of was Katrina, the woman he'd been dating. Was she the injured driver? Was she expecting a baby?

And if so, was it
his
baby?

Is that how Jason figured into all of it?

He might have told his brothers not to worry, that his memory was coming back. But clearly, some things were still lost to him.

Another wave of confusion swept over him as he tried to remember the life he'd once lived.

A sprawling home with an ocean view. A black Mer
cedes in the driveway. A closet full of suits. A calendar full of meetings and charity events.

Bits and pieces were all he had. But the only life that kept coming back to him, the one that made sense, was the one he'd recently stumbled upon in Brighton Valley. The one he'd found with Betsy.

But if there was a woman he'd been seeing, a woman who might be pregnant, then getting involved with Betsy was wrong. And making love to her, as sweet as it had been, was the last thing he should have done.

His gut clenched at the thought of giving her up, of letting her go. He'd come to care too deeply for her. Hell, he might even love her. But his life was getting more complicated by the minute, and it wasn't fair dragging her into his mess.

Maybe what he needed to do was to go to California, where his life made sense again. Where he could make some decisions based upon fact.

Going back to sleep was out of the question now, so he got out of bed and padded into the bathroom, where he showered. The hot water pounded his neck and back and the steam swirled around him.

As confused as he was, as uneasy as he was about leaving Brighton Valley and all he'd found here, the past was clearly calling him home. Maybe in San Diego, when he was immersed in familiar surroundings, everything would fall into place.

He sure hoped so. The alternative—eternal uncertainty—wasn't going to cut it.

After getting dressed, he went to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. While he waited for it to brew, he checked the dialing history and called his brother.

Not Michael, though.

He couldn't explain why or how he knew it, but it was David he went to when he had a problem. David who came to him for the same reason.

His brother answered on the fourth ring, his voice groggy and sleep-laden. “Yeah?”

“David?”

A pause. “Jason? What's up, man?”

“Did I wake you?”

Another pause. A glance at the clock? “Damn. It's three in the morning. I'm not sure where you are, but if it's in Texas, there's got to be a two-hour time difference between us.”

Jason blew out a sigh. “I'm sorry about that. I didn't think. I've only been firing on a few cylinders lately.”

“What's wrong?”

“I'm coming home, Davey. But I need money.”

“You got it. I'll wire whatever you need first thing this morning.”

“I'm going to fly home today, too.”

“I'll send the corporate jet for you. It was out of commission yesterday, but it should be ready to go today. Where's the closest airport?”

“Wexler, Texas, I think.”

“You got it.”

“Davey?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm sorry for waking you up.”

“Since when?” his brother asked, a hint of humor sparking his sleep-graveled voice. “We've been covering each other's butts for as long as we've been walking and talking.”

That was good to know.

Real
good.

“So how's life in Texas?” Davey asked. “Did you get a chance to play cowboy?”

“Just a little.”

“Good. Ever since we moved into the house in Rancho Vista, you wanted to work with horses.” He had?

“Do you remember riding on those equestrian trails near the beach?”

Jason thought for a moment, the memory clicking. Their parents had purchased an estate in an exclusive area near the ocean with two-to five-acre parcels that were zoned for horses. All three of the boys had learned to ride, although their time was also taken up with schoolwork, sports and girls.

“Yes,” Jason said, “I remember.”

He'd actually tossed around the idea of attending the University of California at Davis and majoring in animal science or something in the agricultural field. But Mike had talked him out of it, saying a business major at USC, their dad's alma mater, was the only way to go for a future executive at Alvarez Industries.

“So what time do you want the jet at the airport?” David asked. “Best case scenario, it's going to be at least nine before they can even take off.”

“Let's shoot for about one o'clock my time.”

“You got it.”

As the call ended, Jason realized that it was a good thing he'd woken up early. He had to get busy if he intended to fly home today.

First, he'd have to hire someone to look out for Doc's
place while he was gone. That would have presented a problem for him, but while he'd been at the feed store yesterday, the proprietor had mentioned that his son was home from college and looking for work over winter break.

The kid's first job would be to drive Jason to the airport in Wexler, although they'd have to stop by the hospital on the way. Jason needed to let the accounting department know that he had medical insurance and that he would forward that information to them shortly. Then he would go up to the third floor and visit Doc.

He was going to thank the man for everything he'd done. He'd also assure him that someone would take care of the ranch while Jason was gone. He wasn't sure when or even
if
he'd be back. But either way, he'd find someone permanent to step in when the student returned to college.

The last thing Jason planned to do was to talk to Betsy. And that visit was going to be tough. He wasn't sure what he was going to say to her. He had to either end things or put their relationship on hold, no matter how much she'd come to mean to him.

But going back to San Diego was his only option, even if he didn't know what it would bring.

Just talking to Davey had caused more of his memories to surface. A picture had begun to form, and it was finally starting to make sense. He'd recalled the closeness he and David had shared, the house on Derby Lane in which they'd grown up, the horses they used to ride.

Everything Jason owned, everything he was—his life,
his identity—was in California. So he had no choice; he had to go back.

He even had a game plan for leaving and seemed to have his proverbial ducks in a row. But that didn't change what he felt for Betsy.

Nor did it make saying goodbye any easier.

 

The E.R. was pretty quiet, even for a Tuesday morning, so Betsy decided to take advantage of the lull.

She'd just stopped by the break room to pour herself a cup of coffee when Kay Henderson, one of the volunteers, poked her head in the door. “Doctor, there's a guy in the waiting room claiming to be your friend and asking to see you. He says his name is Jason Alvarez, but that you know him as John Doe.”

Her heart soared at the news. Had he come to tell her his life had all come together? That he had things to share with her, things that she could pin her heart on?

But she feared that wasn't the case and braced herself for the worst.

After pouring out her coffee into the sink and running the water to rinse it down the drain, she tossed away the disposable cup and went to hear what John Doe aka Jason Alvarez had to say. But once she reached the receptionist's window and spotted him standing near the door, words weren't necessary. She could see the solemn expression on his face.

Whatever he had to say wasn't going to be good, at least not from her perspective. But she may as well get it over with.

“Kay,” she said to the volunteer covering for the receptionist, “will you please tell Dawn that I'm going
outside for a few minutes. I'll be near the rose garden if she needs me.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Then Betsy went out into the waiting room to talk to Jason.

He was wearing a pair of jeans and one of the shirts she'd bought him, which made her think that maybe she was wrong. That maybe he wasn't going to morph back into a stranger.

“I came to tell you that my memory is coming back,” he said. “And that I have to leave.”

Her heart cracked at the news, but she put on her doctor game-face. “I'm glad to hear that.”

“That I'm leaving?”

No. Not that. Yet she forced herself to remain stoical. To pretend that she was giving a patient's family bad news and that she had to be strong, detached.

She nodded toward the entrance. “Let's go outside and talk privately.”

“Okay.” He followed her out the door, then they turned right and took the sidewalk to the rose garden that provided people with a refuge from the pain and suffering that went on behind the walls of the hospital and a place to pray or meditate.

“I know these past few weeks have been difficult for you,” she said, stopping beside one of the concrete benches. “And you must have family and friends who were worried about you.”

He nodded. “I don't remember them all. But it's coming back.”

Don't ask about a wife or a lover,
she told herself.
And whatever you do, don't you dare cry.

“I'm an executive with Alvarez Industries,” he explained. “It's a family business.”

An executive, she thought. That explained the nice clothing, the education he seemed to have. But it still left a lot of questions, most of which would probably remain unanswered as far as she was concerned.

“I'm glad it's all come back to you,” she said.

He skipped over that, saying, “I owe you a lot, Betsy. And I don't know how to thank you.”

“You already did.” She thought of the memories he'd left her with, the evenings on the porch, the dinner at Cara Mia, the wonderful nights they'd spent making love.

“I've settled up with the accounting office,” he added, as if remembering her concerns about the hospital's financial situation. “I gave them my insurance information and an address where they can send a bill for my share of the cost.”

“That's good.” She stood as tall as her petite frame would allow, even though she wanted to crumple to the ground and bawl her eyes out.

“About the other night,” he began.

“Don't give it another thought.” She forced a straight face, then felt it weaken when curiosity about his marital status won out. “Unless you found out that you have a wife.”

“I did at one time,” he said, “but I'm divorced.”

She felt momentarily relieved until he added, “But I'm not sure if I'm committed to anyone or not. And until…”

“I understand.” A cool breeze ruffled past her, leav
ing goose bumps in its wake. “But for the record, I'm okay with what we did. We both needed the release.”

“Is that all it was to you?” His gaze snared hers, demanding honesty.

But she couldn't be truthful. Not when their lovemaking had been so much more than sex to her. Not when she'd fallen in love with him.

She could kick herself for letting it happen, but she hadn't been able to stop the inevitable.

Her rational side tried to shake some sense into her, insisting that she'd fallen in love with John Doe, a man who wasn't real. That he and Jason Alvarez had very little in common other than the body they shared.

But boy, oh boy, what a body that had been—the olive skin, those blue eyes, that crooked grin. The broad chest, taut abs…

And now that he was standing in front of her, looking every bit like the man who'd held her in his arms, who'd kissed her senseless, who'd put dreams in her heart once again, she felt a wave of remorse at losing him and what they'd once shared, even if he—and
it
—hadn't been real.

Still, her rational side popped up again, explaining why it had happened: she'd needed the respite from her troubles and worries for as long as it had lasted.

Of course, her heart wasn't buying it.

John Doe had made her feel like a woman again, instead of a doctor. And he'd healed something deep within her, even though she should have been the one doing the healing.