A Ranger For The Holidays

When the ATV veered in her direction, Amelia dashed back to Finn, still motionless on the ground.

“It’s okay, Finn,” she said, mopping his face again. “We’re gonna get you out of here.” She grabbed his hand, breathless and surprisingly near tears. “Help is here. You’re safe.”

* * *

“Hello there. Welcome back. I’m Dr. Searle.” A man in tortoiseshell glasses was peering at him as if he was a science experiment. The doctor’s warm tone felt suspiciously rehearsed. “Can you tell me your name?”

His name? His name seemed just out of reach. The combination of pain and confusion left him feeling weightless and heavy at the same time—as if he couldn’t tell up from down or left from right. He couldn’t answer.

The doctor adjusted his glasses. “Amelia found a watch on your wrist inscribed to Finn. Is that your name?”

“Sounds...right,” he said, mostly because he didn’t know what else to say. Amelia? Did he know that name?

“Well, let’s go with Finn for now. Tell me, can you see my face clearly?” Dr. Searle asked.

“Uh...I guess so.” Glory, even his teeth hurt. His tongue felt dry and sluggish. Where did this awful headache come from? Why did everything feel so out of place?

Dr. Searle switched on a small light and waved it back and forth. “Do you know where you are?”

“No.” Admitting that made the pounding in his head go double-time, a steady rhythm of not-good, not-good, not-good.

“You’re in the Little Horn Regional Medical Center. Amelia Klondike found you unconscious in the woods early this morning. Can you tell me how you got there?”

The pounding turned into a slam, with a sucker punch of fear to his gut. “No.” Hospital? In the woods? Out cold? Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember anything about anything except that this Amelia person sounded a bit familiar. The air turned thin and his head began to spin. “My head hurts. And my ribs.”

“I expect so. You’ve had a concussion, along with a few broken ribs and several nasty lacerations. Whatever hit you was big and mean. Took your wallet and your phone and left you out in the storm from the looks of it. Amelia said you had nothing on you but the watch.”

Amelia. He focused on the half-familiar name and remembered a vague impression of some very pretty blue eyes and a soft, soothing voice. Everything else was a blank.

“Well, Finn, it seems the knock on your head has rattled things around a bit. I’d try not to worry about it. It’s not that unusual for head-trauma patients to lose the hours around their injury at first.”

Finn didn’t like that he’d said “that unusual.” And he hadn’t just lost a few hours—right now it felt as if he’d lost everything. The spinning started again and he closed his eyes.

“I’m going to run some tests and give your description to the police. We might not be able to learn much over the weekend, but it’s worth a shot. Can you tell me if Finn is your first name, a last name or a nickname?”

Finn licked his dry, cracked lips. It hurt to think. For that matter, it hurt to breathe. “I don’t know.” He put his hand to his forehead, immediately regretting the sparks of pain it sent through the back of his eyes.

The doctor put a hand on Finn’s arm. “Try not to get all worked up. You must have friends or family looking for you. It won’t take long to sort things out.”

If Dr. Searle could have picked the one idea to make Finn feel worse... The haunting sense that no one was missing him or searching for him, that he was alone, was as deep as it was inexplicable. “I don’t remember anything, Doc.” It felt as if the admission swallowed him whole.

“It’ll likely come back to you in the next few hours. Are you up for a visitor? Amelia’s been out in the lobby waiting for you to wake up, and if you ask me, you could do with a distraction right about now.”

“Sure.” After all, this Amelia was the only thing he thought he remembered right now.

Dr. Searle gave him a half casual, half concerned smile as he moved to the door and opened it.

“Well, look at you, awake and everything.”

“Amelia” swept into the room with a bouquet of flowers and a bundle of plaid fabric. The particular turquoise of her eyes did feel vaguely familiar, as did her voice. In fact, her voice and eyes were the only memory he could pull up at all.

She deposited the flowers on his bedside table with a hopeful smile. As rescue squads went, she was pretty easy on the eyes with a tumble of blond hair and a petite, curvy figure. “Do you remember me? I found you early this morning.”

“A bit.” He had no idea what to say.

“Dr. Searle says you’ll recover just fine despite being pretty banged up. Gramps broke a rib once—I know it isn’t much fun.”

Should he know who Gramps was? “It’s not.” Finn stared at her, feeling as if he ought to know more about her but coming up short. All he remembered was the sound of her voice saying You’re safe and the blue of her eyes. And her hand. He remembered her holding his hand. He started to say You’re the only thing I remember, but changed his mind.

She mistook his silence for curiosity about the bundle, so she held up what turned out to be pajamas. “I think hospital gowns make you feel sicker than you already are. I figured you’d want to be comfortable, seeing as Doc Searle says you’ll be here over the weekend while they run a bunch of tests. You look to me like a blue plaid kind of guy.” She handed them to him, and when her fingers brushed his arm, the familiarity returned again. Something—anything familiar—made Finn fight the urge to grab her hand and hold it to see if the sensation would grow stronger.

Her face softened with concern. “So you don’t remember anything?”

“I remember your voice saying I’d be okay.”

That was the wrong thing to say—a flush pinked her cheeks and she looked away for an awkward moment. Finn felt foolish, lost and stumbling through this absurd situation.

“I’ve never met anyone with real, true amnesia before. I thought it only happened on soap operas.”

Amnesia. The word made him cringe. He looked down at the pajamas rather than at her eyes, feeling more exposed than any hospital gown could achieve.

“You’ll be all right, you know. Little Horn is a nice town, filled with nice people who’ll lend a hand to anyone in a tight spot.” She was talking to fill the awkward silence, clearly trying to put him at ease. “You do know you’re in Texas, don’t you?”

Finn was grateful to have one question he could answer. “The accents made that easy to figure out, yes.” Amelia had that lilting, musical quality to her voice that made Texan women so easy to talk to. The sound of home...wherever in Texas that was for him. How could he not know something so simple as his name and address?

As if she heard his thoughts, Amelia said, “Well, you have to be from somewhere around here, too, given yours.”

“I suppose.”

“And you know it’s just after Thanksgiving?” She looked optimistic and hopeful, as if it would be a victory for both of them if he said yes.

Finn pointed to the “Happy Thanksgiving” decoration still up on his room wall. “I hope I ate well.” The near-joke surprised him. Her presence was the only thing that even came close to putting him at ease. Finn was thankful for her brightness against the black void he could feel lurking where his memory ought to have been.

“I’m sure this will all work itself out. Doc says your memory is likely to come back in bits and pieces over the next few days. I’ll do my best to make sure you’re comfortable while that happens and find your folks so they’re not out of their minds with worry. You just focus on resting and getting better.”

He really was injured, wasn’t he? The more he thought about it, the more he hurt. It felt as if someone had drained his body like a bathtub—Finn felt empty and fragile. At a loss physically, mentally and even emotionally. He put his hands up to cover his face for a moment, worried he couldn’t hold all the emptiness in. He didn’t even know where to go once they let him out of here.

A hand touched his elbow—the familiar touch he so desperately needed. “Hey, hey there,” she said softly. “I know this has got to be hard but, Finn, you’re gonna be fine. We’ll all help you until you know what’s next, okay?”

“Thank you for helping me.” It came out with more emotion than he would have liked.

“Well, that’s me. I’m a professional helper.” The cheery smile lit up her face again. “But I have to say, you’re my first honest-to-goodness rescue.”

She seemed so proud of it. It made him feel just a little bit less freakish. She tugged on a curl in her hair and he remembered—he remembered—her doing that. The whole world before her was a complete blank, but at least he could remember small details about her. “No kidding,” he said, smiling himself.

They stared at each other for a moment, oddly connected and yet in reality complete strangers.

“Well,” she said, breaking the quiet, “I’ve got to run some errands for the Lone Star League—that’s our local community organization—and you’ve got some tests and paperwork to do, so how about I come back after supper to see how you’re holding up?” She stood up. “I don’t live very far away, so it’s no trouble.” She pointed at him, her brows furrowing in mock-seriousness. “I expect my rescue-ees to make a full recovery, so you’ve got your work cut out for you.”