The Cowboy And The Countess

“Move ’em up and head ’em out,” the woman’s lips formed.

The doctor came to the side of the bed. “How many fingers am I holding up, Kent?”

“Call me K.C. Everyone does.”

The doctor nodded. “Okay. How many fingers am I holding up, K.C.?”

K.C. smiled. “Three.”

The doctor touched his forehead. “Any headaches, dizziness, nausea?”

He shook his head.

The doctor pulled down the lower lid of his right eye, then his left. “Any double vision?”

“Nope. I’m ready to saddle up and be on my way.”

The doctor laid his fingertips against the inside of K.C.’s wrist. “Where would you be heading?”

K.C. looked to the window and the smog-shrouded cityscape. “I’m here to find Anna.”

“She lives here in L.A.?” The doctor lifted K.C.’s arm, bent it up and down at the elbow.

K.C. nodded. “Somewhere in one of those big mansions. Bel Air or Brentwood or the Hills. She’s a countess.”

“So you mentioned,” the doctor said. “And you’re here to find her?”

K.C. nodded once more.

“To ask her to marry you?”

K.C. looked around the room, at the strange faces he didn’t know. Still, he could see what they were thinking. “You all think I couldn’t drive nails in a snowbank, don’t you?”

Blank faces looked at him.

“It’s okay if you think the fodder isn’t full in the silo. It’s nothing I haven’t thought of myself. I mean, why would someone who has everything—fine looks, intelligence, wealth, breeding, not to mention the pick of the crop—marry someone the likes of me? You’re right. I’m crazy. Crazy in love with Anna. And crazy people do crazy things. So here I am, in La-La Land, to find her, to ask her to be my wife…and make me the happiest guy alive.”

The woman moved back from the bed.

“I know this might not make much sense to you all—”

A choking sound came from the woman.

“But if you’ll unhook me here—” he nodded toward the tube attached to his arm “—and pronounce me fine and dandy, I’ll thank you for your fine care and hospitality and be on my way.” He started to shift his weight off the bed.

The doctor laid a hand on his arm. “K.C., do you remember having an auto accident this morning?”

He looked at the doctor, then up at the circle of faces again. He leaned back, smiling with relief. “Is that why you all look so worried? Here I am, spouting away like a hot spring.” He started to sit up once more. “Again, I’ll thank you for your concern and care, but besides feeling as if a bronc got the better of me, I’m fine.” He pushed back the sheet.

Again the doctor’s hand pressed on his forearm. “K.C.—”

“Kent. Kent. His name is Kent.” The woman’s voice split the air.

K.C. looked at her anguished face. “Ma’am, I don’t mean to—”

“I’m not your ‘ma’am.’ Good God.” She came to the bed, grasped his hands. “I’m your fiancе.”

He pulled back from her imploring gaze. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but—”

“Kent,” the doctor interceded, “this morning you lost control of your vehicle and ended up in an embankment off I-5. Fortunately, your air bag engaged, and you suffered a few bruises and a concussion. However, a blow to the head often results in a loss of memory, a blocking out of critical personal information.”

“What’re you saying, Doc?”

“You’ve got amnesia.”

“Amnesia?”

“Most cases last only a few days or, at the most, a few weeks. The rate of recovery is often quite amazing during the first six months after the head trauma. Often the brain just needs time to recover from the impact. Impairments could begin to disappear within days. I’d like to schedule a few more tests, but preliminary indications suggest you can expect a full recovery.”

K.C. looked up at the white marble woman, the full-faced short man. He looked back at the doctor. “No one else was hurt, were they?”

“No.” The doctor allayed his fear. “According to the report, you were following too close behind a bus and when it braked to take the ramp, you steered right to avoid hitting it, lost control and went over the side.”

“You rolled the Range Rover good a few times,” the short man noted.

K.C. looked at him, studying him. “You’re…?”

“I’m your business partner, Leon Skow.”

“Business partner?”

Leon chuckled, his soft cheeks shaking. “We’re not exactly even-Steven, but I’ve been with you since you started beefing up surplus PCs and selling them from your dorm room.”

“And I’m your fiancе, darling,” the woman said.

He looked her way.

“Hilary Fairchild.” She brushed a hand across his arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you, and we’ll get you better in no time. After all, the wedding is less than a month away.”

K.C. studied the woman’s beautiful face. He saw a stranger. He looked to the man. Nothing.

Business partner, fiancе, beefed-up PCs, wedding?

“I’m sorry, but there’s been a mistake. You must have me confused with another Kent Landover.”

The man chuckled again. “Believe me, there’s only one Kent Landover.”

K.C. looked to the doctor for an explanation. The doctor watched him, said nothing.