She asked the stranger, “Are you sure you don’t want to come up with something yourself?”
“I’m positive.”
He sounded as if it didn’t matter, that with or without a makeshift name, he still considered himself no one.
Reminding her of how lost he truly was.
As he waited for the outcome, he thought about how surreal all of this was. He felt like a ketchup jar someone had banged upside the counter, with memories locked inside that wouldn’t come out.
Emptiness. Nothingness.
His only lifeline was the pretty blonde beside his bed and the doctor watching the scene unfold.
“What do you think of J.D.?” she asked.
“The initials for John Doe?”
She nodded. “I always thought that using initials in place of a name was sexy.”
He started. Was she serious? “Sexy?”
She blushed, her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Intrigued, he tilted his head. She’d gone from being aggressive to downright shy. “How did you mean it?”
“That it’s mysterious.”
“Then I guess it fits.” Everything was a mystery, right down to his confusion about dating her. Was she the type he would’ve dated in the past? Or did he even have a type?
“So we can start calling you J.D. now?” she asked, obviously double-checking.
He nodded.
“And you’re going to stay at the Flying B?”
He nodded again, still feeling reluctant about being her houseguest or cabin guest or whatever. As far as he was concerned, a homeless shelter would have sufficed.
She said, “When I first saw you, I assumed that you were a cowboy, maybe an employee of a neighboring ranch. I hadn’t considered a carjacking, but I wondered if you might be a hitchhiker. I’m glad the deputy is going to talk to everyone in the area about you. Then we’ll know for sure.” She glanced at his clothes, which were hanging nearby. “You were certainly dressed like a local cowboy, except that you didn’t have a hat. But I figured that you’d lost it somewhere.”
He followed her line of sight. The T-shirt, jeans and worn-out boots he’d been wearing were as unfamiliar as the day he’d been born. “I don’t have a recollection of doing ranch work.”
“You don’t have a recollection of anything,” she reminded him.
“I know, but wouldn’t I have a feeling of being connected to ranching? Wouldn’t it be ingrained in me if that’s what I did for a living?” He turned to the expert. “What do you think, Dr. Sanchez?”
“I think it’s too soon to be concerned about that. You just need to rest and let your feelings fall into place when they’re meant to.” He smiled. “I also think you should start calling me Doc.”
“Okay, Doc.” He preferred less formality, too, and already he’d gotten used to hearing Jenna say it. A moment later, he shifted his gaze back to his unfamiliar clothes.
Jenna said, “You put some miles on those boots.”
“I must have thought they were comfortable.” He noticed that the toes were starting to turn up. “I guess I’m going to find out if I still like wearing them.”
“Yes, J.D., you are,” Doc said, using his new name. “In fact, you can get dressed now, if you want. I can send a nurse in if you need help.”
“No, I can handle it.”
“All right. Then I’ll go get your papers ready, and Jenna can step out of the room and come back when you’re done.”
J.D. got a highly inappropriate urge, wishing that he could ask her to stay and help him get dressed. He even imagined her hand on his zipper.
Hell and damnation.
He should have insisted on going to a shelter. Clearly, being around Jenna wasn’t a good idea.
She and the doctor left, closing the curtain behind them. J.D. got out of bed and walked over to the closet, still thinking about Jenna.
He cursed quietly under his breath, stripped off the hospital gown and put on his Western wear. He grappled with his belt. He fought the boots, too. They felt odd at first, but he got used to them soon enough.
Curious to look at himself in the mirror, he went into the bathroom. He didn’t recognize his reflection, with him wearing the clothes. He was still a nowhere man.
Luckily, the hospital had provided a few necessities, like a comb, toothpaste and a toothbrush. Still standing in front of the mirror, he combed his hair straight back, but it fell forward naturally, so he let it be. They hadn’t provided a razor, so he had no choice but to leave the beard stubble. It was starting to itch and he wanted it gone. Or maybe it was the image it created that he didn’t like. It made him look as haunted as he felt, like an Old West outlaw.
J.D. the Kid? No. He wasn’t a kid. He figured himself for early thirties. Or that was how he appeared. But he could be mistaken.
Blowing out a breath, he returned to his room and opened the curtain, letting Jenna know that she could come back.
She did, about five minutes later, bringing two cups of coffee with her.
“It’s from the vending machine,” she said. “But it’s pretty good. I had some last night when I was waiting for your test results.” She handed him a cup. “It has cream and sugar. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s fine. Thanks. I don’t have a preference, not that I’m aware of, anyway.” He sat on the edge of the bed, offering her the chair. “You’ve been putting in a lot of time at this place, hanging out for a man you barely know.”
“I’m starting to get to know you.” She smiled. “You obviously like coffee.”
“So it seems.” He drank it right down. “I had orange juice with breakfast, but this hits the spot.”
“We have gourmet coffeemakers in the guest cabins. You can brew yourself a fancy cup of Joe tomorrow morning.”
“That sounds good, but maybe I shouldn’t stay there. You don’t need the burden of having a guy like me around.”
“You can’t back out. You already agreed. Doctor’s orders, remember?”
Yes, but his recovery didn’t include the stirrings she incited. Even now, he wanted to see her blush again. He liked the shy side of her.
“When this is over, I’ll repay you for your hospitality,” he said.
“Just get better, okay? That will be payment enough.”
“You’re a nice girl, Jenna.”
“And you seem like a nice man.”
“You thought I was drunk off my butt when you saw me stumbling around. I remember you telling me that I had too much to drink.”
“I retracted that when I saw that your head was bleeding. How is your head, by the way?”
“Still hurts a little.”
“How about your feet?”
He squinted. “My feet aren’t injured.”
“I was talking about your boots. How do they feel?”
Oh, yeah. The boots. He glanced down at the scuffed leather. “Fine.” He motioned to hers. “You’ve got yourself a fancy pair.”
“These are my dressy ones. Sometimes I go dancing in them, too.”
“I