Texas Gun Smoke

But Jaclyn had turned away and was staring at the wall. He backed out of the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He still wasn’t convinced she had transient or any other kind of amnesia, but whatever she was into, she didn’t want his help. That was good enough reason to get the devil out of here and get some sleep himself. He had a busy day tomorrow. Still, his heart twisted a little when he looked back and saw how lost she looked in the formless hospital gown.

The pretty ones are the most trouble. Definitely a truism worth remembering.

JACLYN HEARD THE DOOR shut behind Bart and fought the unexpected but excruciating ache to call out to the cowboy with the quick humor and mesmerizing smile. She wouldn’t let herself make that mistake, not when she knew his offer of help would be about as lasting as this little show she was putting on. As soon as he found out who she really was he wouldn’t be able to get away from her fast enough.

He’d know already—they all would—if she hadn’t gotten to her driver’s license first. She’d taken it out of her handbag while she’d been waiting to see the doctor and hidden it beneath the folds of the bloodstained blouse she’d been wearing at the wreck.

So the hero cowboy could just go back to his bunkhouse and forget all about her.

Still, Bart Collingsworth had a way about him. Too bad that trusting anyone at this point could be a deadly mistake.

Chapter Three

Bart spent a restless night and got up aggravated with himself for letting thoughts of Jaclyn rob him of needed sleep. He had plenty to do without worrying about a woman who didn’t want his help. He tried to concentrate on issues at hand, checking the progress of the new fence going up in the northwest pasture and meeting with his brother Matt to discuss the possibility of increasing their Angus herd size by ten percent over the next twelve months.

By noon the meeting with Matt had concluded and Jaclyn had moved to front and center of his thoughts again. He started to go up to the big house for lunch but instead drove right by it and toward the gate. It wouldn’t hurt to check on her and make certain she was recovering from amnesia—if she’d ever actually had any memory problems.

He reached the hospital at ten after twelve and went straight to the second floor. A middle-aged nurse carrying a meal tray spotted him before he reached Jaclyn’s room.

“You’re one of Lenora Collingsworth’s sons, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Bart.” It was difficult to go anywhere in Colts Run Cross and not run into someone who knew him or a member of his family.

“I’m Bev Garland. I know your mother from our Feed the Children program. She’s on our board of directors.”

“I’ll tell her I ran into you.”

“You must be here to see the mystery woman.”

“How did you guess?”

“Easy—she’s our only patient. And I heard you were the one who rescued her from the wrecked car last night.”

“I just happened to be the first one to show up. How is she?”

“She ate a big breakfast and she seems to be feeling fine, but she can’t remember a thing. Poor woman. She can’t even call her husband and tell him she’s safe.”

“Is it okay if I stop in and see her? I promise I won’t stay long.”

“Stay as long as you like, but I don’t know how much conversation you’ll get out of her. She hasn’t said but a few words to any of us all morning. I think the confusion is making her depressed. I was just taking her a lunch tray. You can tag along with me.”

“Thanks.” His boots clomped across the tile while her rubber-sole shoes barely made a sound. The nurse balanced a tray of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green peas in one hand and tapped on the door with the other, though she didn’t wait for a response before pushing into Jaclyn’s room.

“I have lunch and a visitor,” the nurse announced in a singsong voice that sounded as though she was talking to a toddler.

She set the tray on the table that swung over the bed. The covers were tousled and pushed back. Jaclyn was nowhere in sight. “You have company, honey,” the nurse said again, this time looking toward the closed bathroom door.

There was no response.

Bev asked about Bart’s grandfather Jeremiah, who was recovering at home from a stroke, and listened to his explanation before walking to the bathroom door and tapping lightly.

Still no response. She knocked again, then turned the handle and pushed the door open. “Not in there,” she said, turning back to Bart. She shrugged her shoulders and placed her hands on her bulging hips. “Now where did that woman get off to?”

“Are you certain she wasn’t discharged?”

“I was standing right here when Dr. Cane said he wanted to keep her another day. The patient didn’t even put up an argument.” Bev opened the small locker built into the wall. “Now this is strange. Her clothes are missing.”

“Looks as if she discharged herself,” Bart said.

“I don’t know where she’d go when she didn’t even know her name.”

Which gave a lot of credence to his belief that the amnesia was faked in the first place.

“I better call Dr. Cane and let him know his patient ran out on him and her bill.” The nurse was muttering to herself as she shuffled from the room.

Bart grabbed a piece of chicken on his way out. Seemed a sin to let good fried chicken go to waste. He took the stairs again and exited through the back door. He was almost to his truck when he caught a glimpse of someone hunched down and darting between cars.

A second glance and he knew it was Jaclyn, her handbag and duffel flung over her shoulder, trying car doors. He dashed across the parking lot, reaching her just as she found the kind of easy mark she’d been looking for. Not only was the door of the white compact car unlocked but the keys were also dangling from the ignition—not all that uncommon in Colts Run Cross.

Bart grabbed her arm as she started to climb behind the wheel. “Care to explain what you’re doing?”

She groaned. “Don’t you have a life?”

“Not nearly as exciting as yours.”

“I was only going to borrow the car.”

“We call taking a car without permission ‘stealing’ in Texas.”

“You do have the quaintest customs.” She stepped away from the car. “Now I suppose you’re going to call that nice sheriff so that I can spend some time in one of your friendly jail cells.”

“I’m giving it serious thought.”

“Look, no harm was done. I didn’t even start the engine. Why don’t you forget the sheriff and give me a ride to the nearest Greyhound bus station so that I can go home?”

“What about your amnesia?”

“That’s the neat thing, see. My memory came back, just like the doctor said it would.”

“Then I guess you have a last name now?”

“Sure. It’s Jones. Now are you going to give me a ride or not?”

Jaclyn Jones. He doubted that. “Why take a bus? You could just rent another car. The one you were in is going to be out of commission for a while.”

“Like I said last night, I’m a little short of cash.”

“Tell you what—level with me about who ran you off the road and why, and I’ll give you a ride wherever you want to go.”