A Christmas to Remember

In Little Horn, Texas, Amelia Klondike is known as the Queen of Christmas. Her generosity and sheer joy during the holidays is contagious—to everyone except Finn Brannigan. The attractive, wounded stranger doesn’t know who he is or where he came from—and he isn’t feeling merry at all. It isn’t long before Amelia, her grandfather and their adorable dog begin to warm Finn’s heart. But when Finn’s memory starts to return, his past as a Texas Ranger—the one thing that might cause Amelia to withdraw from him—is revealed. And he worries that he may lose his chance for one perfect Western Christmas with the woman he can’t bear to forget...

“That’s all you remember? Just your name?”

“And my age.” Tell her you’re a Ranger, the honorable side of him scolded the other part that foolishly refused to confess. It felt as if everything would slam back into place once tomorrow dawned, so would it be terrible to just keep this one night as the happy victory it was?

“For a while there I was terrified it wouldn’t come back. That I’d end up one of those freak stories you read about in checkout counter tabloids.”

She laughed. “I can’t imagine you up there with the celebrity tragedies and alien babies. You’re far too normal.”

Normal? Nothing about him felt normal. The scary part was the constant sense that his normal wasn’t anywhere near as nice as right now was, sitting out under the stars near a roaring fire hearing Christmas carols.

Finn waited for his unnamed aversion to all things Christmas to wash up over him. Why couldn’t he grasp the big dark thing lurking just out of his reach?

* * *

Lone Star Cowboy League:

Bighearted ranchers in small-town Texas

A Reunion for the Rancher by Brenda Minton, October 2015

A Doctor for the Nanny by Leigh Bale, November 2015

A Ranger for the Holidays by Allie Pleiter, December 2015

A Family for the Soldier by Carolyne Aarsen, January 2016

A Daddy for Her Triplets by Deb Kastner, February 2016

A Baby for the Rancher by Margaret Daley, March 2016

ALLIE PLEITER, an award-winning author and RITA® Award finalist, writes both fiction and nonfiction. Her passion for knitting shows up in many of her books and all over her life. Entirely too fond of French macarons and lemon meringue pie, Allie spends her days writing books and avoiding housework. Allie grew up in Connecticut, holds a BS in speech from Northwestern University and lives near Chicago, Illinois.

A Ranger for the Holidays
Allie Pleiter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Forget the former things;

do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness

and streams in the wasteland.

—Isaiah 43:18–19

To Barb

Welcome to the family

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Allie Pleiter for her contribution to the Lone Star Cowboy League miniseries.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Pine trees don’t wear gloves.

Amelia Klondike, like any sensible person on God’s earth, knew that. She was out here in the woods to find pinecones for a Sunday school project, not accessories. She set down the last of the lemon bar and coffee she’d brought for breakfast—Amelia didn’t believe in sensible breakfasts, ever—and picked up the glove from its place among the scattered pinecones. Large, well made, worn to a comfortable softness, it was definitely a man’s glove—one that would be missed, so she should try to find its owner. She chuckled as her mind made the connection; a woman whose life’s work was a charity called Here to Help ought to be able to help one glove find the man who owned it.

Not that Amelia was looking to find a man—gloved or otherwise—these days. Just over a year out from a publicly broken engagement, Amelia was barely starting to feel as if talk had died down and she could be seen as Little Horn’s best helping hand, not its saddest broken heart.

She was tucking the glove in her pocket when she spotted its mate ten feet away. Then a boot...and a leg...until there, lying under the largest of the pine trees, Amelia spied the owner of those gloves.

She blinked a few times, startled to see a large, ruggedly dressed man sprawled in the wet needles under the boughs. “Sir?” The angle of his arms and legs wasn’t that of sleep, and last night’s storm certainly wasn’t conducive to camping out under the stars. Amelia dropped the gloves and her pack on the ground and walked over to shake the man’s shoulder. “Hey, sir, are you all right?”

He didn’t respond. Lord, help me, what do I do? she prayed as she looked around for any sign of companions or transportation. Short of Louie, her own horse, who stood inspecting a clump of grass behind her, Amelia was alone. She didn’t recognize the rather handsome man; he was clean-cut, well if casually dressed, but mud-smeared as if he’d been out here all night. As if he’d come to some kind of mishap. “Are you hurt? Sick? You don’t look like you should...”

Amelia swallowed her words as the man groaned and turned his head to reveal a grisly wound across his forehead. “Oh, mercy!” Amelia gasped, fumbling back to her backpack for her cell phone. She had to call 911. This man needed an ambulance.

The phone was no help—she should have known she’d get no cell service way out here. How was she going to get this poor soul to help? Amelia twisted a blond curl around her fingers in panicked consideration of her options. Sometimes text got through on almost no service and she was good friends with Lucy Benson, the sheriff. Would Lucy be nearby on a Saturday morning? She pulled up Lucy’s cell number and typed Emergency!

She shook the man gently, pulling the scarf from her neck to wipe the worst of the drying blood from his face. Someone—or something—had taken a good whack at his forehead. Accident? Fight? Bandit? Little Horn had been experiencing its own odd crime spree in recent weeks, so there was no telling if the attractive man on the ground before her was a good guy or a bad one. If the past year had taught her anything, it was that bad guys could come in good-looking packages.

Hero or villain, this was a hurt man in need of help, and right now she was the only help to be had. Carefully, she rolled him fully onto his back, which made him wince. “Sorry about this,” she offered as she rummaged through his pockets for a phone, wallet or, hopefully, car keys to a truck just out of sight.

The search came up empty. No keys, no wallet, no phone. “Looks like someone had it in for you, mister.” Given all the robberies taking place in Little Horn of late, it wasn’t hard to think the criminals had expanded their cattle and equipment theft to face-to-face holdups. It took a special brand of mean to not only take a man’s valuables, but to dump him unconscious in the middle of nowhere. “Come on there, cowboy, wake up. This’d be a whole lot easier with you conscious.”

Her phone dinged an incoming text from Lucy. Hurt? Gramps?

It would be natural for Lucy to think any emergency of Amelia’s involved the elderly grandfather who lived with her, but not this time. Found injured man in woods just over ridge behind Palmer’s Creek. Call 9-1-1 for me?

I’m not too far from there. On my way.

Some days it paid well to be best friends with the local sheriff. “Help is on the way,” she told the unconscious man. Wasn’t it important to keep concussion victims awake? Why hadn’t she paid more attention when watching medical dramas? Try talking to him. She grasped one of his broad, solid shoulders and shook him a little harder. “Do you hurt anywhere? What’s your name?”

No response other than a groan, but he had moved his hand and Amelia spied a watch. “Why’d they leave your watch when they took everything else?” She began unbuckling the old, worn timepiece—it was a long shot, but maybe the watch could at least give her a name or initials if it was engraved.

It was. Finn: all my love, B. Mystery man had a name—and someone who missed him. “You’re no slouch to look at, Finn, B’s a lucky lady. And worried, I expect.” She’d spent enough time praying for her now-ex-fiancé, Rafe, to come off duty from the Texas Rangers safe and sound that her heart twisted in sympathy for the likely frantic B. It looked as if Finn had been out here all night, if not longer. “Wake up, Finn.” She leaned in closer to his fine features. “Finn! Finn, can you hear me?”

A hint of awareness washed over the man’s features. He dwarfed her—she guessed him to be over six feet tall and very fit. “Can you sit up?” She tried to pull his chest vertical, but he winced and his eyes shot wide open. They locked on to her for a second, a startling sky blue contrast to his glossy dark brown hair, before losing focus again as he fell back to the ground and murmured, “Ouch.”

“I guess you’re more hurt than you look.” Amelia pushed up the fleece he wore to see blood staining the shirt underneath. “Mercy, Finn, I don’t think you should move at all. Help is on the way, so you just sit still.”

His hand moved to his chest. “Ribs.” He said, the word slurring a bit.

“You might have cracked a few of those, and you’re definitely bleeding.” She took her scarf from behind his head and bunched it up against the red spot on his shirt. “Stay with me, Finn. Keep those eyes open.” She grabbed Finn’s hand, finding it alarmingly cold, and guided it to press against the scarf on his wound. His eyes found her again, the fear and confusion in his gaze going straight to the pit of her stomach.

“My name’s Amelia, and I’m getting you help.” She bit her lip. “You just stick with me, okay?”

Finn nodded his head. When he coughed, she could see the pain shoot through him even as he grabbed her hand. “Where am...?” Finn’s words fell off into a sharp hiss as he tried to rise again.

Amelia put a hand gently to his shoulder. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’d better stay still.”

Finn’s eyes wandered again, then returned to her as he let his head fall back against the ground. He looked at her as if she was the only person in his world—and right now, wasn’t she? “Where am I?” he asked in halting words.

“You’re in...well, the middle of nowhere, really.” She grabbed his free hand—the one where the watch had been—and held it, stroking his forearm in an effort to keep him calm. Keep him talking to you. “What on earth made you come up into the forest in last night’s storm? Or did someone just dump you here?”

“I...” Finn’s eyes rolled back and his lids fell shut. The hand Amelia was touching lost its tension and dropped to his chest.

He’d lost consciousness again—that couldn’t be good news. “Lord,” Amelia prayed aloud, helplessness pushing her pulse higher, “I need to know what to do here. Don’t You let Finn die before help comes. Don’t You do that to him or to me.” She laid her hand against Finn’s chest, grateful to feel breath and a heartbeat.

Amelia checked her phone again, then used the edge of her jacket to blot the sheen of sweat now beading Finn’s forehead. “Finn? Finn, wake up. Show me those nice blue eyes.” She grabbed his hand again, shaking it a bit to rouse him. “I found your gloves.” That struck her as a ridiculous thing to say, but she didn’t have a lot of experience making conversation with men out cold. Gramps fell asleep nightly—okay, hourly—in his recliner, but that was different. “Come on, Finn, give a gal a break. Open your eyes. Groan a little. Let me know you’re still in there.”

Finn seemed to grow more still, even the tension in his rugged features going soft as if falling sleep. Was he dying? He was such a nice-looking guy—if she discounted the mud, leaves and blood. Far too dashing to meet his end out here in a pile of pine needles.

Her phone beeped again. Shout out the text from Lucy said. Amelia dropped Finn’s hand and stood to yell “Lucy!” at the top of her lungs. She heard the distant rumble of an engine and dashed over to the side of the ridge to see a little all-terrain vehicle scrambling up the hillside with Lucy’s white police SUV not far behind. Some distance back, Amelia could see the flashing lights of what had to be an ambulance.

“Here!” Amelia yelled again, jumping up and down and waving her arms as relief filled her chest. “Over here!”

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.”

Finally, someone who didn’t look at him as if he’d been damaged beyond repair. “Got it.”

“See you later, Finn.” Hearing her say it, his name did sound right. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Chapter Two

Amelia caught Dr. Tyler Grainger, the local pediatrician, in the hallway when she came back to the Medical Center a few hours later.

“I heard about your dramatic rescue,” Tyler said. “That’s got to be a first for Here to Help, isn’t it?”

“No one’s more surprised than I,” Amelia offered. “And speaking of surprises, word is you have one yourself.”

She could see Tyler hesitate. After such a public split from her own fiancé, it wasn’t hard to see why he might hold back his news. “So you heard I proposed to Eva?”

She made sure to give him a warm smile. “Good news travels almost as fast as gossip in Little Horn. Congratulations.” She really was happy for the good doctor, and Eva was becoming a close friend, but the news still stung. Their engagement came on the heels of that of League president Carson Thorn and another of Amelia’s friends Ruby Donnovan. Even Amelia’s sister, Lizzie, was recently engaged—Little Horn was having as much of a wedding boom as a crime spree lately. “Well, I’d best get in to visit my new project.”

Tyler looked at the package from Maggie’s, the local coffee shop, in Amelia’s hand. “The nurse told me you left some flowers in Ben Stillwater’s room, too. That’s a nice thing to do.” Ben Stillwater was a young man from Little Horn currently in a coma from a riding accident. “Does this man know how fortunate he is to be a project of yours?” the doctor teased.

“If he doesn’t, he will soon.” Amelia waved as she pushed the hospital room door open.

Finn looked better. Her heart still twisted at the lost look in his eyes, the way he searched places and faces as if desperate for any anchor. He looked at her as if hers was the only face that held any meaning for him. The half-eaten dinner beside him stirred her sympathy. Hospital food? If anyone needs the comfort of home cooking, it’s someone who can’t remember where home is.

He noticed her looking at the plate. “I remembered I don’t like peas.” The comment brought the faintest hint of a smile to his features. Finn’s mussed, lost-puppy charm kicked Amelia’s compulsion to help up a notch. That helpfulness was her special gift, but it occasionally proved her greatest weakness.

“I don’t care for myself, actually. My favorite food is pie. I’m extra partial to blueberry, but really, any pie will do.”

She’d hoped he’d say something like My favorite is apple, but he only shrugged and said, “Who doesn’t like pie?”

Amelia sat down, putting the bakery box on his bedside table. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I went for the basics—apple, cherry and, given the season, pumpkin.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, startled. “You brought me pie?”

What kind of life had he led that a simple kindness seemed so foreign to him? “I am of the opinion that pie makes most things better,” she explained as she retrieved a second box with her own slice of blueberry. “Actually,” she added, fishing two plastic forks out of the bag, “I haven’t met the situation that can’t be improved by a good slice of pie.” Amelia dismissed his bed tray to the other side of the room and replaced it with the selection of pie slices. “Anything look especially appealing?”

She watched as his startled expression warmed to a small smile. Small, a tiny bit forced, but enough to restore the striking quality of those light blue eyes. Against the white of his bandages and the brown-black gloss of his hair, his eyes drew her gaze, making her stare even though she knew better.

Picking up the fork, he scanned the selection. “I think I like pumpkin.”

“Only one way to find out,” Amelia cued as she picked up her own fork and dug in. Delicious. She hoped Finn thought so, too.

She watched in satisfaction as his face registered the gastronomic pleasure that was Maggie’s Coffee Shop pies. “Oh—” he sighed in just the way she’d hoped he would “—that’s good. Beats peas and whatever meat that was supposed to be.” He took another bite. “Thank you kindly.”

It was gratifying to see him even a little bit happy. “My pleasure.”

After a third bite, he paused to look at her, his head cocked sideways in analysis. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you being so nice to a complete stranger?” The sad edge he gave those last two words poked Amelia under the ribs.

Amelia had trouble explaining her compulsion to help folks in need to good friends, much less to strangers like Finn. Only he wasn’t a stranger. He was someone she was supposed to help. Someone she didn’t find by accident, but by Providence. She recognized the pull toward his circumstances, the slow burn of burden in her heart that she’d come to know as her unique gift in God’s kingdom. While life had taken away important people—her parents, her grandmother, Rafe—life had given her lots of funds and a generous heart. “I make it a practice to be nice to everybody. And you’re not really a stranger anymore.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he concentrated on a fourth bite of pie until his curiosity evidently got the better of him and he asked, “You’re really nice to everybody?”

“Well—” she dug her fork into the luscious pie again, feeling her face flush that he’d called her on such an exaggeration “—I admit it’s harder with some folks than others, but yes, I try to be.” It was doubly hard with folks like Byron McKay. Byron, the vice president of the Lone Star Cowboy League and so mean that everyone hoped President Carson Thorn never had to step aside, had laid into her but good this afternoon about some silly detail of League business. “Truth is, today I needed this pie as much as you.”

He sat back and looked at her a few heartbeats longer than he ought to have. “I can’t imagine anyone giving you a hard time.”

Amelia squeaked out a laugh, unsettled by his stare. “Oh, you’d be surprised.” She felt the words tumble out of her, rushing against the rise of warmth under the blue scarf she wore. She remembered wiping his face with the white one she’d worn this morning—now stained beyond repair. “Little Horn may be small by big-city standards—” she felt her words speeding up, filling the too-warm space between them “—but there’s no shortage of opinions and ornery personalities here. We’ve had tensions. We’ve got grumps and gossips. It’s been a rough patch these past two months. Try the apple.”

Finn did as requested, nodding his approval. “Tell me about Little Horn,” he asked, then evidently seeing the surprise on her face, added, “Maybe some little detail will spark a memory, and right now your voice is the only one that feels familiar.”

Amelia sat back in her chair. Finn’s admission that he found her voice comforting rose an insistent little hum in her stomach. “Little Horn’s the same as a hundred other small Texas towns, I guess,” she started. He must be feeling the worst kind of lonely, to draw such a complete blank on his home and family and everything the way he had. She wanted to fill in as many details for him as she could, to take at least some of the shadows from the corners of his eyes. “Most folks are ranchers or the like, but—” and here she hoisted her slice of pie “—we’ve got some good cooks, a warm, welcoming church—and of course, very nice doctors. The sheriff, my friend Lucy? She says Little Horn is about as upright a place as can be—that is up until all the rustling that’s been going on. That has everyone on edge.”

“Cattle rustling?” His interest seemed to pick up on that. Amelia wasn’t sure if that should be an important sign of something.

She set down her fork. “Livestock and equipment started going missing from some of the more prosperous ranches around town. Byron McKay—that grouch is the reason for my pie today, if you really want to know—was hit first. Ten head of cattle and a whole bunch of fancy equipment just walked off his ranch. You don’t want to get on Byron’s bad side, let me tell you. He’s barely nice on a good day. Only it didn’t stop there.”

Finn started on the cherry pie. “The rustlers struck again?”

“They hit Carson Thorn’s ranch. He’s the head of our chapter of the Lone Star Cowboy League. That’s a service organization that helps ranchers in these parts. Carson’s as nice as they come, so then we knew it wasn’t just someone sore at Byron. There have been over ten thefts since September alone, all different kinds of things taken from different kinds of ranches. Even the Welcome to Little Horn sign disappeared. It’s got everyone more than a little spooked.”

“So your perpetrators weren’t all about personal retaliation.”

Amelia saw Finn register the same surprise she felt at his choice of words. The technical language he used was the same she’d heard over and over from Lucy and from her ex-fiancé, Rafe. Police language.

So Finn’s interest in the rustling likely wasn’t criminal, it was professional. Her instincts were right, he was a good man. The satisfaction at her insight warred with the residual sting she still carried over men with badges. If that wasn’t enough to warn her off the connection she felt with him—and it was—Finn’s watch had told her someone was waiting for him to come home. Should she mention that?

She decided on a different topic instead. “You talk like you’re with the law, Finn. Are you?”

His eyes squinted, trying the idea on for size. “Could be. Only wouldn’t the force be out looking for me if I was? Dr. Searle says no one has filed a missing-persons report for anyone matching my description.” He said the words with a weary acceptance that made Amelia’s throat tighten.

“Of course someone’s missing you. I’ve no doubt there’s a pretty lady plain out of her mind with worry right now.”

Finn put down his fork, the rest of the cherry pie uneaten. “I don’t think so. I don’t feel any sense that there’s anyone out there missing me.” His eyes lost all their warmth. Amelia had met plenty of people in tight spots but she couldn’t remember ever seeing the kind of lifeless resignation that currently filled Finn’s features. He looked as if it came as no surprise that no one missed him.

“Sure there is.” She said it as much to remind herself as to remind him. “There’s B.”

* * *

“B?” Amelia spoke as if the letter should mean something to him, and Finn had the vaguest sensation that it did.

“Doc Searle didn’t show you the watch?”

Finn looked at his left hand, noticing the now-faint tan line that showed where he wore his watch. Dr. Searle had mentioned an inscribed watch but hadn’t shown it to him. Somewhere from the back of his brain came the fact that where a man wore his watch usually indicated if he was left-or right-handed. It seemed an odd detail for a person to know with the certainty he did and backed up the theory that he was somehow connected with law or security—he seemed used to collecting details as clues. Only if that were true, where was the force that should be out looking for their missing officer? Why wasn’t someone posting departmental notices? APBs?

Finn went to reach for the small drawer in his bedside table, but the action sent jolts of pain through his chest. “Let me look,” Amelia said. “It’s in here.” She pulled out a square gold watch on a black leather band. A nice watch, the kind that got given as a gift. Amelia placed it facedown in Finn’s hand. He ran one finger over the words as he read the inscription. Finn: all my love, B. The sight of those words brought up a bittersweet emotion he couldn’t place. Sorrow? Regret? Loss? Anger? It wasn’t clear enough to name, but it was strong enough to tighten his throat.

“See?” Amelia’s soft, comforting voice came at his shoulder. “There’s at least one person out there who loves you and misses you.” She said it like a blessing, like something that should make him feel better. It didn’t, but he couldn’t explain why. His face must have shown the turmoil, for Amelia’s face lost its encouraging glow and she backed away. “I’m sorry. Maybe there was a reason Dr. Searle waited to show that to you.”

“No,” Finn countered, “I’m glad you did...sort of. Kind of helps to see solid evidence that I’m Finn.” He turned the watch over to stare at the face. It should look familiar, but it was just an object. “I was wearing this when you found me?” He knew plenty of men who’d stopped wearing watches now that cell phones were an easy way to keep track of time—the watch clearly had sentimental value to him.

“It’s all we had to go on. There was no wallet or cell phone or car keys or that sort of thing.”

“If it was a robbery, why not take the watch?” His brain was used to putting facts together like this—it made Finn more convinced he was in some kind of security field.

“That’s what I can’t figure out. Only, you were wearing gloves—I found the glove before I found you—so maybe they didn’t see the watch.” Amelia twisted a finger around one curl of her cascading blond hair, hesitating before asking, “So, no idea who B is?”

Finn took a deep breath, trying to focus his thoughts, to push them through the veil of murky nothingness. “Only that she’s important.” It surprised him—in a much-needed good way—that he knew B was a she. He felt like some strange emotional version of Hansel and Gretel, scanning the world for bits and pieces of a trail to lead him back home. He was Finn and he had—or once had—a B. It wasn’t nearly enough to go on, but other than his recollections of Amelia’s rescue, it was all he had.

He put the watch on, pleased to note it matched the faint tan line on his wrist. He had at least something of his life now. “Thanks for showing that to me. It helps. Really.” He smiled at her, pleased when she smiled back.

“There is more, you know,” Amelia said as she rose up off the chair to open the narrow closet on the far side of the room. “You were wearing these when I found you.” She held up a pair of jeans, a plaid shirt and a heavy fleece—clothes that could have been attributed to half the men in Texas, and certainly no big clues to his identity. “Nice boots,” Amelia offered as she hoisted a pair of worn cowboy boots. She was digging for anything positive to bolster his spirits, and it touched him that she was trying so hard.

“They look like mine,” he said, not sure how he could make the claim but wanting to go along with her relentless hunt for affirmations. “Like something I think I’d wear, I mean.”

“Well,” she said, rehanging the clothes, “you know more now than you did this morning. Tomorrow you’ll find out even more. That’s what Dr. Searle said, that you’d get things back as you went along. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if by this time tomorrow you know your name, your address and your grandmother’s birthday.”

A knock on the door signaled Dr. Searle’s entry into the room. He nodded toward the watch on his hand. “So you’ve seen that. Bring up anything?”

Nothing good, but Finn didn’t really want to admit that. “I don’t know who B is, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Only it’s a she, and she’s important,” Amelia added. “That’s good progress, don’t you think?”

Finn touched the watch again and thought about the tender inscription now against his skin. B sounded like a wife, or a sister, or a love—so why didn’t he remember her, and why hadn’t she come looking for him? Why was his response to the watch so dark? Nothing made any sense.

“Pie?” Dr. Searle noticed the three pieces sitting on the tray beside Finn’s bed.

“Amelia was fixing to convert me to her theory that pie makes everything better. And that knowing which flavors I like was vital information.”

Dr. Searle laughed. “I could think of worse therapies.”

“I read that tastes and smells are among the most powerful memories. It seemed like an ideal way to wake up Finn’s brain cells.”

Finn sat up. “You were researching amnesia?” He hated using that term to refer to whatever it was that happened to him. It sounded so dramatic.

“Well, if you call looking things up on the internet on your smartphone while you’re waiting in line at the pharmacy for Gramps’s prescriptions research, then yes. I mean, really, how many amnesia patients does a person get to meet? It’s fascinating.”

Not so much from where I sit, Finn thought darkly. The feeling of everything being just slightly beyond his control was too prickly for his liking. Exhaustion pulled on his composure, and he tried to stifle a yawn.

“Speaking of Gramps, I’d better get home to him. He’s usually good about his evening medicines, but not always. And he’s an absolute bear in the morning if he stays up too late watching television.” She touched Finn’s arm again in that soft, kind way. “You must be worn-out—it’s been quite a day. I expect rest is about the best gift you can give yourself right now, so see that you get lots of it. I’ll stop back by tomorrow after church. And I’ve already added you to the prayer list, so you’re set there.”

“Pie, pajamas and prayer—what more can a man ask for?” Finn had to wonder if he was always this bad at conversation or if his slumbering synapses just made him say stupid things. “Thank you,” he offered, finding the words painfully inadequate for all Amelia Klondike had done.

Her blue eyes glowed, as if she understood all he’d failed to say. “You’re welcome. Rest up now, and we’ll see what else comes back to you tomorrow.” Amelia collected her things and sent him one last warm look before ducking out the door.

“Is she really that nice to everybody?” Finn asked Dr. Searle as they heard her heels clip down the hallway.

“Amelia? Sure thing. Helping people is what Amelia does. Ever since she and her sister came into her daddy’s money, she’s turned helping folks into a full-time thing. Me, I might have skedaddled to some tropical island with that kind of cash, but Amelia just turned her hobby into a nonstop kindness campaign. My wife says Amelia would just about up and die if she had to stop giving folks a hand up—it’s her gift.” He motioned for Finn’s wrist and took his pulse. “If I had to pick anyone in Little Horn to find me out cold in the woods, it’d be Amelia. God was watching out for you, son. You remember that when all this memory nonsense gets to you.”

“It’ll come back, won’t it, Doc?”

Dr. Searle sat down on the chair Amelia had vacated. “It should. The brain is the organ we know the least about—lots of it is still a mystery. But amnesia onset by head trauma is less rare than you think. You may never remember the accident, but the rest of it is likely to come back over the next few days.”

Finn fiddled with the thin hospital gown, suddenly eager to get into pajamas like a normal person instead of this ridiculous getup that made him feel like an invalid. “Do I have to stay in here until it does?”

“Your preliminary tests will be done by tomorrow afternoon, and then come back for an office visit Monday. So yes, you’ll be free to go tomorrow but, Finn, where would you go?”

If Finn was supposed to get rest, there wasn’t a less restful question in all the world.

Chapter Three

I should never have agreed to this. Finn stared at the holiday decorations that filled Amelia Klondike’s front porch late Sunday afternoon and fought the urge to bolt for the nearest hotel. As grateful as he was to get out of the hospital, their annoying holiday decorations paled in comparison to the blast of Christmas cheer that was Amelia’s house.

Why did anything Christmas bother him so? It was something else to heap onto the pile of unknowns. Dr. Searle had showed him a list of missing-persons reports, but none of them contained a Finn and he still couldn’t even say if Finn was a first, last or nickname. It made obscure recollections like his intense dislike of Christmas that much harder to bear. Finn knew he didn’t like any of it, but he still didn’t know why.

“You don’t need to put me up, Amelia. I don’t want to put you and your grandfather out.” The fact that he hadn’t seen anything even close to a motel on the short drive from the hospital just made it worse.

“Nonsense. Where else would you go with no wallet, no credit cards and no name other than Finn?”

Thanks, he thought, it sounds so much less desperate when you put it that way.

He must not have hidden his scowl well. “Even if you knew your address—” Amelia backpedaled “—you’re not supposed to drive. You can’t possibly live nearby, so how would you come back for those tests Doc Searle wants? And to tell the truth—” she gave him one of her wide-eyed, I-can’t-help-myself-from-helping looks “—I just plain think you shouldn’t be left on your own.” She pulled her silver SUV into the garage. “Gramps loves a mystery and no one even uses the upstairs bedrooms anymore. Besides, even if there was a hotel in town, what if some traumatic accident memory comes back to you in the middle of the night? Who’d want that in some cold hotel room all alone? I couldn’t forgive myself if I let that happen.”

One fact had become relentlessly clear: trying to stop Amelia Klondike from lending a hand to a soul she thought in need was like trying to stop a buffalo stampede with a flyswatter. It couldn’t be done—not without getting trampled. It won’t be for long, Finn told himself. Things are coming back to you. It’d be rude to refuse, right? She’s been so nice. From out of nowhere, Finn got the sense that he hadn’t had much home comfort of late—a vague impression of microwave bachelor food and bare-bones furniture pushed its way into his consciousness. He shivered—as if his body remembered the cold of the place without his brain remembering where that place was.

“What was that?”

Finn blinked, pulling himself back from the—the what? Memory? Hunch?—to see Amelia staring at him with a startled concern in her eyes. “What was what?” he asked, knowing that would do nothing to stave off her questioning.

She cut the car’s ignition. “Your whole face changed just now. And you shivered. You remembered something, didn’t you?”

It bothered him that she could see it. He wanted the return of his memories to be private. He was a private person—that much he knew. “I’m not sure.” It was no lie—he wasn’t sure what that flash in his brain was. “Except I think I live alone. And...not very well.”

Her voice changed, going all soft and warm in a way that got under his skin. “What did you just remember?”

He didn’t want to tell her, but the image rattled so loudly in his head it had to come out. “When you said that about waking up alone in the dark upset. I’ve done that. Or used to do that. A lot.”

“Oh, Finn. Do you know why?” Her eyes were so bittersweet, as if she knew exactly how it felt to be alone in the dark missing someone.

Missing someone? Where had that come from? Was it B? Was B gone from his life, whomever she was? Was that why no one was looking for him?

He caught her eyes again, feeling unmoored and too much at the mercy of randomly returning memories. He shifted his eyes to his hands and willed his fingers to unclench from their white-knuckled curl. “I don’t think I was a very happy man.” He wanted to take back the words the moment they escaped. To not know so much but to know that? What kind of torture was it going to be like to have things trickle back like this? “I don’t like Christmas.” He needed her to know how hard this was right now. Everything was messed up—he wanted company and he needed to be alone. He needed to remember but didn’t like what was coming back to him.

She blinked at him, unable to accept the thought. “Everybody likes Christmas.”

“I didn’t. I don’t. I mean...” Finn blew out a breath, the exhaustion welling up over him again. “I don’t know what I mean.”

“I’m sure I can’t begin to imagine what you are going through. It’s got to be so hard. But if there’s anything I do know, Finn, it’s that hard things are harder alone.” The dark, hard edge showed in the corners of her eyes again, the way it had whenever they talked about the possibility of him being in law enforcement. He’d noticed that little detail like he’d noticed a dozen others—how she avoided talking about herself, how she curled a finger around her hair when she got nervous, how everyone spoke about her in tones of veiled “bless her heart” pity.

Maybe that was why he felt such an affinity for her; she’d been knocked down by something but was fighting to stay up. He wasn’t very good at that fight but she was; she hadn’t let whatever it was beat her down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let a bit of that optimism rub off on him.

A wedge of light spilled on the car, and Finn looked up to see an older man standing in the door that led to the house. He could see more Christmas decorations behind the man, even from here. The urge to run was as strong as the urge to go inside. Not knowing quite who he was seemed to push every emotion closer to the surface, and he was too tired to fight it.

“Come inside,” Amelia coaxed. “If you still want to leave in the morning, we’ll talk about it. It’s almost supper and you need food and rest.”

The scents of a home kitchen wafted through the garage as he hauled himself out of the car and Finn’s stomach growled. He winced as he grabbed the tiny “luggage” the hospital had given him—sad to note all his current possessions fit into the small plastic bag.

“Finn, is it?” called the old man, leaning on a cane. He had Amelia’s eyes and a head full of bushy gray hair.

“Yes, sir.”

The man waved the formality off. “Oh, don’t ‘sir’ me. Luther’ll be just fine.” He held out a hand with thick, wrinkled fingers and shook Finn’s with a strong grip. “Tough go you’ve had there, son. I could barely believe it when Amelia told me.” He hobbled into the kitchen, motioning for Finn to follow.

A holiday home decor tidal wave assaulted Finn’s eyes, bringing a surge of nauseated panic to clutch at Finn’s throat.

“It gets worse every year,” Luther remarked, his expression telling Finn that he hadn’t hid his reaction well. “I feel like I’m living in a department store window some days.”

Pine boughs, candy canes and red ribbon seemed to erupt from every available surface. A miniature tree with tiny ornaments stood in the center of the kitchen table while lights twinkled from every window.

Amelia bustled in behind him, her face a mix of pride and embarrassment given the admission he’d just made in the car. “I admit,” she said with a raised eyebrow, “I enjoy the holidays.”

“I think we went past ‘enjoy’ four years ago.” Luther gave Amelia an indulgent kiss on the cheek. “Now it’s closer to ‘obsess.’ Gets it from her mother, God rest her soul.”

Amelia set another bakery box down on the counter—more experimental pie slices?—and shucked off her coat. “Gramps says all the Klondike men married women with the gift for ornamentation.”

The gift for ornamentation. That was one way to put it. Finn fished for some kind of well-mannered compliment to pay the display, but came up short. When the kitchen clock struck the hour by playing “Joy to the World,” he wanted to shut his eyes and run from the room. But what good would that do? The rest of the house would likely offer the same festive assault.

A series of snuffles and small barks came from another part of the house, and a fat dog with bulging eyes waddled into the room.

“Bug, say hello to our new friend Finn.”

Bug, who looked as if his face was permanently pushed up against some invisible glass window, sniffed noisily around Finn’s boots, a pig-curly tail twitching in curiosity. Finn reached down and let the dog sniff his hand. “Hi there, Bug.” Bug, of course, sported a red collar dotted with green Christmas trees and a shiny silver bell.

Bug’s interest in Finn lasted only until Amelia lifted the lid off a Crock-Pot on the counter, sending a spicy, beefy aroma into the air. That sent Bug to jumping at Amelia’s feet, hoping for a taste. Finn couldn’t blame the dog for his enthusiasm. Real food. Maybe he could put up with the Yuletide high tide if it came with good home cooking. He owed it to himself—and to Amelia—to at least try.

“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Gramps, why don’t you show Finn to his room and he can settle in.”

“Less decorations up there, I think,” Luther said as he headed for a banister wrapped in red and gold ribbon. “You’re upstairs at the end of the hall. I don’t do stairs anymore, so I’ll just point you in the right direction, if that’s okay.” He pointed to a door Finn could just see off the left of the staircase. “Take a moment to wash up and get your bearings, and we’ll see you back down here in just a bit.”

“Thanks, Luther.” Finn mounted the first stair, then found himself reaching for the banister. His side was throbbing, and he didn’t like the fact that he needed the support to climb the flight.

“Think nothing of it, son. Least we can do.”

Nobody has to do anything for me, Finn thought darkly. I’ve no friends here.

That’s not true, a small voice argued with his darker nature. And that’s not bad.

* * *

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Amelia didn’t like the scowl Lucy Benson gave her as they took Bug for his evening walk when Lucy stopped over after supper. “I know you can’t help helping,” Lucy continued, “but we don’t know anything about him. For all we know he could be connected to the thefts.”

Amelia buttoned up her coat against the evening chill. “He’s not a criminal, Lucy.”

“Amelia, you don’t know that. Seeing the good in everybody doesn’t mean you have to put them up in your home. He could rob you blind while you sleep tonight and it’s not as if you and Gramps and Bug could defend yourselves.”

Amelia stopped walking to stare at Lucy. “He’s not our rustler, Lucy. I’m sure of it.”

“Well, forgive me if I don’t put that much stock in those hunches of yours. Being sheriff means I have to depend more on solid evidence than your famous intuition.”

Amelia chose a new topic. “Well, Madam Sheriff, what new have you learned about our cattle thieves? Any closer to catching whoever is doing all this?” Little Horn had been experiencing a strange brand of crime spree, with cattle disappearing from wealthy ranchers’ estates while gifts of supplies and equipment had appeared to families in need. A cowboy version of Robin Hood.

“Some folks are downright scared, having their security violated and goods stolen. And they’ve a right to be worried. I don’t mind telling you I’m getting a lot of pressure to solve this case. The finger-pointing is going to get ugly if we don’t get a break soon.” Lucy pushed out a sigh, her breath a white whisp in the clear night air. “Then there are the folks who’ve received gifts. They’re grateful, but I know they can’t help thinking their gain might be at someone else’s expense. As to who’s doing it? I wish I knew.” She gave Amelia a sideways glance. “And I can’t say your fellow isn’t involved, Amelia. Have you thought about that he may be involved and not remember it? With this amnesia thing, he could genuinely believe he was innocent and still be guilty.”

Amelia hadn’t thought of that. “I can see that all of his memories aren’t happy ones. There’s something dark just beyond his reach—he’s even said as much—but it can’t be criminal. He uses phrases you do, which makes me think he’s in law enforcement.”

Lucy stopped walking and halted Amelia with a hand on her shoulder. “All the more reason for you to steer clear. I get that he’s handsome and in distress and all, but haven’t you sworn off us badge types since Rafe?”

“I’m helping him, not dating him, Lucy.”

“And what if one turns into the other?”

“Believe me, I won’t let it.” Bug pulled on the leash, in no mood to stand still on such a chilly night. “I trust the nudges I get to help somebody.” Amelia started walking again. “God’s never sent me astray yet, and I don’t think He’s gonna start now. Finn needs a whopping load of grace and a safe place to work everything through. I don’t think it’s any surprise to God that I’m the one who found him—I’m the one who was supposed to find him. I can help, so I’m going to help.”

“I’m not saying don’t help him. I’m saying don’t take him in.”

“He needs taking in most of all. You said it yourself—there’s no one looking for him. Can you imagine how that feels? He’s the worst kind of lonely. I can’t let him go through that in some hotel two towns over, not when Gramps and I are here and we’ve got the room and I’m the one who found him.”

“Well, I’ve been your friend long enough to know you’re gonna do this no matter what I say.” This wasn’t the first time Amelia had listened to a lecture from Lucy on overextending her helpful nature. She reminded herself that a friend who spoke the truth in love was a good friend to have, even when it felt exasperating. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, and you’ll listen if I have to come to you with information you don’t like.”

“Fair enough. And if Finn remembers anything I think you should hear, I promise I’ll tell you. Even if it proves my hunch is wrong.” She narrowed an eye at Lucy. “But it never is.”

“Yet,” Lucy corrected, wagging a finger at Amelia.

“Yet,” Amelia conceded. She was glad to feel the tension leave the conversation. “But really, have you got any leads at all?”

Lucy squared her shoulders. “The League Rustling Investigation Team and I have a theory or two.”

“Any you can share?” Amelia tried to be sensitive to Lucy’s official capacity and the sensitive information that often went with it.

“There’s a ranch hand, someone with a sketchy past who worked at three of the big ranches that got hit. He’d know the layout enough to get in and pull off the burglaries.”

“That seems like a strong lead.” Amelia loved to watch Lucy work on a case. She was an amazing strategist, a talented puzzle-solver who could see connections others missed. Little Horn was blessed to have her.

“There’s more,” Lucy went on. “This same guy just won a handful in the state lottery. That would puff him up enough to dare taking revenge on any ranch that let him go.”

“And it would mean he’d have the funds to give gifts to the struggling ranchers,” Amelia added. “I know you were wondering how our thief was turning all that livestock and equipment into cash for those other purchases so quickly.” It wasn’t as if a saddle went missing from one ranch only to appear on another—the taken items seemed to disappear, while different gifted items showed up out of nowhere.

“Only, I can’t connect him to the folks who’ve gotten gifts yet, only the folks who were robbed.”

“You’ll find the connection. You always do. And you’ve got the ‘Posse’ helping you.”

Lucy rolled her eyes at the nickname some of the townspeople had given the Rustling Investigation Team. “‘Helping’ isn’t always helpful. I had to make Tom Horton give me his gun on our stakeout the other night—he’s a little too eager to play ‘cops and robbers’ if you ask me. I’m glad to have Doc Grainger and Carson join the team, but we’re still not getting anywhere solid. Byron’s demanding answers, and he’s not alone.”

Byron McKay had been the first and hardest hit, so he had cause to be concerned. Only, Byron was tough to like under even the best of circumstances. He’d been mean to everyone lately, so Amelia could just imagine the kind of grief Byron must be giving Lucy for the fact that the identity of Little Horn’s ranch brand of Robin Hood remained unsolved. “Byron making your life miserable?”

“More than usual, and that’s saying something.” Lucy let out a weary sigh. “If we don’t solve this soon it’s going to be a hard, mean Christmas in Little Horn.”

Her friend’s words brought the ice from Finn’s eyes back to Amelia’s memory. Had Finn known nothing but hard, mean Christmases? Surely Little Horn could change that. Surely she, of all people, could change that.

Chapter Four

Monday while Finn was back at Dr. Searle’s for more tests and treatments, Amelia went to visit her younger sister, Lizzie, to go over plans for Lizzie’s upcoming wedding. As she watched her sister slump onto the couch, Amelia would be hard-pressed to say who was having the more trying afternoon—her or Finn. “I’m tired of all this,” Lizzie moaned, hand on her forehead “Why do we have to plan everything so far in advance?”

Lizzie’s wedding plans couldn’t be classified as ‘far in advance’ by any stretch of the imagination. As much as she loved putting together events, and Lizzie really was the only family she had other than Gramps, Amelia was starting to regret her role as stand-in mother of the bride/wedding planner. “You want it to come off well, don’t you? You keep telling me you want the perfect wedding.”

“I do.” Lizzie sighed, gesturing to the stack of wedding magazines and notes scattered across the coffee table. “I want Boone and my wedding to be spectacular.”

“Well—” Amelia tried to keep the frustration from her voice “—spectacular can’t really be done at the last minute. It’s December, and you want to get married the first weekend in April. You’ve got a whole lot of great ideas here. You just need to make a few decisions.” She leaned in and gave Lizzie a supportive nudge. “Settling on a color scheme would go a long way to getting us organized.”

Lizzie sunk her face in her hands. “Ugh. I can’t decide. You choose.”

Amelia pulled out the three color schemes. It had taken her two weeks just to get Lizzie to narrow it down to three. “I am not choosing your color scheme for you. I’ll happily implement it down to the last detail, but honey, this is your and Boone’s wedding. You and Boone need to make some of the decisions.” Secretly, Amelia knew which she was rooting for—and it wasn’t the purple and sage. And the red and gold was just too bold no matter how she looked at it. No, the mint and cream was by far the best for Lizzie’s skin tone and the early-spring timing. It’s not my place to choose, she reminded herself even as her hand rested on the mint-and-cream palette. Don’t over-help. This needs to be Lizzie’s choice.

“Boone told me I could do whatever I wanted.”

Amelia had heard enough do-whatever-you-wants from Rafe to recognize such disinterest as a red flag between couples. Still, she could just as easily suspect Boone to be nothing more than frustrated with Lizzie’s indecision. “Well, then, it really is up to you. They’re all fine choices, Lizzie, just pick one.”

Lizzie straightened on the couch. Amelia wished she believed in mental telepathy so she could send Mint, mint, mint! messages to her sister. As it was, she just said a prayer for wisdom on Lizzie’s part and grace for herself.

“I want the red and gold. I want lots of shiny gold details so my wedding sparkles.”

Not exactly a spring palette—more holiday, to tell the truth—but at least Lizzie had chosen. “Excellent choice. You’ll have the sparkliest wedding in the county. I can see red roses and gold ribbons in your bouquet already, can’t you?”

Lizzie’s eyes fairly glowed as she picked up the paper with all the red-gold color variations on it. “You know what I was thinking, Lia?” Lizzie often used the nickname she’d given her sister when as a youngster she couldn’t quite pronounce Amelia.

“I was thinking I’d love to walk down the aisle in sparkly gold shoes. I’d feel like a princess in glittery shoes. And Boone’s vest could be gold lamé, couldn’t it?”

Amelia swallowed the disco ball remark tickling the tip of her tongue and smiled. “There’s all kinds of things we can do now that you’ve made your choice.” She slid the elegant mint-and-cream pages back into her file alongside the purple and sage. If Lizzie wanted to shout her color scheme to the world, that was a bride’s choice. She’d just have to do a big sister’s best to ensure the wedding guests didn’t feel as if they’d run off to the circus. Amelia hid the grin such a thought gave her behind a sip of iced tea.

“Can we rent a tent?” Lizzie asked, shifting the gold fabric on the paper this way and that to catch the sunshine coming in through the windows.

The circus-tent connection was a bit too striking, and Amelia nearly choked on her tea. “Pardon?”

“Do you think we can have the wedding outside under a tent?”

“April can be a bit unpredictable weather-wise, Lizzie. We might want to stick with the League banquet hall to keep things from becoming a circus.” She cringed at the word choice, fighting the urge to whack her own forehead.

“A circus!” Lizzie’s eyes went wide. “That’s it!”

That is not it. Oh, please, don’t let that be it. “Oh, Lizzie, I’m not so sure that’s a...”

Lizzie had already shot up off the couch, circling the room with animated gestures. “Can’t you see it? A circus wedding? No one would ever forget it!”

I can guarantee you that, Amelia thought. “Lizzie, honey...”

“Couldn’t you just see Boone in one of those red coats? The ones with the black lapels? And a top hat? Just like one of those—” she whirled a hand, trying to pick the word out of the air “—what are they called?”

Amelia began to feel slightly ill. “Ringmaster?” Her voice took on an unfortunate squeak with the word.

Lizzie spread her hands in delight, oblivious to Amelia’s alarm. “Exactly. Oh, Lia, you’re right—it is the perfect choice. You’re so good at this. I’m so glad you’re my sister.” She bent over Amelia and hugged her tight. “If anyone can give me a circus wedding, it’s you!”

“Sure.” Amelia winced inside her sister’s hug. “You know me and parties.”

Lizzie released her and began pushing papers around on the coffee table in search of her cell phone. “I’ve just got to tell Boone right away!” She punched in a few numbers and then practically skipped off to the kitchen to leave Amelia staring at the red-and-gold carnage scattered across the table. “Guess what, Pookie?” Lizzie shouted from the other room, using the ridiculous nickname she and Boone continually used. Amelia put a finger to the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. You wanted her to choose. At least everything red and gold should be on sale right after Christmas.

She would swallow the cringe she suspected would permanently settle in her stomach and give Lizzie a wonderful wedding, because she was the only one who could. Mama’s illness had taken her from Amelia and Lizzie when they were teenagers, so there was no mother of the bride to step in and help. Daddy had made sure she and Lizzie were very well provided for before his liver disease finally took him, but Amelia had always suspected Daddy died more of a broken heart than a sick liver. She had memories—good ones—of what Mama and Daddy had been like as a happy couple, but she could easily recall the light that never came back to Daddy’s eyes once Mama was gone. Lizzie, being younger, maybe didn’t have as many memories of their parents’ marital bliss. That could be what was driving Lizzie’s urges for a nuptial spectacular.

Or—and Amelia felt a shudder at the thought—the urge to prove that at least one Klondike could make it to the altar.

And really, was it such a chore to give her baby sister the wedding of her dreams? More like saving Lizzie from herself, Amelia mused, picturing what Lizzie’s unrestrained imagination could dream up. Left to her own devices, Lizzie might rent an elephant to give rides on the League front lawn. Oh, Lord, I’m gonna need a heap of grace and patience for this. And you know I don’t have much of either on this particular subject.

“Boone just loved the idea!” Lizzie came back into the room to plop down on the couch, arms and legs skewed at dramatic angles. “People will be talking about this wedding for years, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I completely agree.” One thing was sure—Lizzie’s “circus” wedding would give Little Horn’s wagging tongues something else to talk about than her own broken engagement. Amelia came over to sit next to Lizzie on the couch. “Just promise me one thing, baby sister.”

“Sure. Anything.”

Amelia took Lizzie’s hand. “Promise me you’ll put as much work into the marriage as you do into the wedding.”

Lizzie pulled away the slightest bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you and Boone are young. You haven’t known each other all that long, and I haven’t seen either of you in church for weeks. A marriage is a lot more than just a fabulous party. If Daddy were here, he’d tell you a happy marriage takes hard work. I want you and Boone to have a happy marriage.”

Lizzie pulled her hand from Amelia’s. “You don’t really like him, do you?”

Amelia sighed. They’d had some version of this discussion so many times. “I don’t really know him. I want to get to know him, but I can hardly find ten minutes together with the two of you. He stayed all of thirty minutes at Thanksgiving.”

“Boone had to be somewhere. Why are you coming down so hard on him?”

She’d never heard Boone talk of any nearby family—who had “places to be” on Thanksgiving? Places that didn’t welcome the woman he intended to marry? “I’m not saying he’s a bad choice, Lizzie. I’m just saying...”

“Oh, I get loud and clear what you’re saying.” Lizzie stood up. “Look, just because your fiancé left you high and dry doesn’t mean every man is a louse.”

“That’s not at all what I mean.”

Lizzie spun to turn on Amelia with sharp, narrow eyes. “Why can’t you just let me be happy?”

“I do want you to be happy, Lizzie. And the right man will make you happy. Just give me a chance to get to know Boone as the right man.”

“Boone is the right man for me. And if you can’t see that, maybe you shouldn’t be helping with my wedding.” Lizzie began stuffing all the notes back into the bag until Amelia put a hand out to stop her.

“I’m sorry. I trust you to choose the right man for you. But I wouldn’t be your sister if I didn’t try to counsel you toward a good marriage. Just promise me you and Boone will do the premarital program at church between now and April. Their isn’t a soul on earth who doesn’t need God’s help to make a strong marriage. Even Daddy and Gramps would tell you that.”

“Well—” Amelia was glad to see Lizzie sink back down onto the couch “—I have heard good things about Pastor Mathers’s program. And I know Boone says he’s okay with church.”

Okay with church? Amelia wondered. What kind of commitment is that? “Then why don’t you and Boone come to supper some night next week?”

“We’ll see,” Lizzie replied, holding the shiny gold fabric up to the light again.

We will indeed, Amelia thought to herself.

* * *

Dr. Searle waved the annoying flashlight again, peering too close at Finn. The bright light hurt. “So,” the doctor said, trying too hard to sound casual, “anything new come back to you?”

“Vague impressions, but nothing useful. Nothing like my name, or my address, or what I do, or why I’m here.” The list was depressing.

“Well, now, it hasn’t been that long.” Searle cued Finn to go through the silly-feeling exercises he had done at every visit—things like pushing and pulling against the doctor’s grip. Physically, he was healing as well as could be expected. His brain wasn’t being nearly as cooperative. “Still dizzy?” the doctor asked.

“Only if I stand up too fast or move my head too quickly. And when I’m tired. Which seems to be a lot.” Finn was no fan of having to recite his current weaknesses. It was good to be out of the hospital, but he still felt like an invalid.

“All to be expected.” Searle made some notations on a chart. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a smart choice to be at Amelia’s. You ought not to be on your own for the next few days, given that you’re a fall risk.”

That pronouncement sank into Finn’s gut. Old people were fall risks, not him.

Searle raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to end up back here, do you?”

Had he been that irritable in the hospital? “No, sir.” Searle’s expression told Finn he hadn’t been a dream patient.

Searle took off his glasses. “And I realize this may seem like asking a lot, but I’d like you to stay off the internet. We have Lucy and the sheriff’s office working on your identity. You fishing around cyberspace for clues isn’t the best use of your energies right now. The last thing you need is some false piece of information sending you down a stressful rabbit hole.”

That seemed unreasonable. “But...”

Searle cut him off. “I understand this is uncomfortable for you. But, son, you’re going to have to trust the healing process. Think of it this way—right now, your brain knows more than you do. It’s going to give up secrets at a pace we can’t determine. Force things, and you may end up making it worse for yourself. You’re in no danger, you’ve got Amelia helping you—which means you’ve got all of Little Horn in your corner—so I see no reason to rush this.”

Can an amnesiac fire his neurologist? Finn didn’t much care for the advice he was getting, but even he knew there weren’t other options at the moment. He was stuck in the here and now whether he liked it or not. “I hate this,” he pointed out, petulant as it sounded.

“I can understand how you do. But the sooner you make peace with it, the better off you’ll be.”

I’m stuck in a small town with the Queen of Christmas and no idea who I am or how to get home, Finn thought darkly. Right now I got a pretty low bar for “better off.”

Chapter Five

Amelia had just enough time after her visit with Lizzie to look in on poor Ben Stillwater and say a prayer for the still-unconscious young man. It reminded her that there were worse problems than questionable weddings. And speaking of worse problems, one look at Finn’s face outside Dr. Searle’s office told Amelia that clearly she hadn’t had the worst afternoon of the day. The frustrated knot of Finn’s eyebrows made him look years older than when she’d dropped him off before Lizzie’s.

“That bad?” she asked.

“He made me do eye exercises that made me sick and dizzy. He told me I’m a ‘fall risk’ and to be patient and stay off the internet.” Finn growled and headed straight for the door. “What’s wrong with me that I can’t sit in a chair and move my eyes without falling over?”

She hurried to keep up with his long strides. “You had a serious knock to your head, Finn. A concussion and all. That’s going to take time to heal. You are going to have to be patient.”

Finn gave her a look that displayed how little patience he had.

She was almost afraid to ask, “Any breakthroughs?”

“He showed me the list of missing-persons reports from the sheriff’s office to see if any of the names felt familiar.”

It didn’t take Lucy’s skills to guess the answer. “Nothing rang a bell?”

“I could be any of those people and not know it. I’m useless to find even my own name on a list.” He furrowed one hand in his thick brown hair as if he could squeeze the answers out with his fingers.

Amelia knew stress wasn’t helpful in his situation, but she had no idea how to calm Finn down. “Well, he did say none of the missing-persons reports matched your description, so isn’t it possible your name wasn’t on that list?”

He stopped walking to glare at her. “Yes. No one is out there looking for me. I’ve dropped off the face of the earth and no one has even noticed. You can imagine how comforting that is.”

Amelia had spent the better part of last year wanting to disappear. Here was a man who actually had, and he was twelve times more miserable than she’d ever been. There’s a lesson in that, Lord. Thank You. But help me help him. “I can imagine how lonely that must be. I’m glad you’re staying with us and not going through this by yourself. I’m glad to help you, however I can.”

“There isn’t anything you can do, Amelia.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and resumed walking toward the car. “There isn’t a solution for this.”

She grabbed his jutting elbow, stopping him again. “That’s because the solution for this is time. You just need to hang on until the first bits of memory come back—and they will.”

His eyes were so sad. “How do you know they will?”

She didn’t, of course, but she refused to believe he’d be living under the weight of a blank slate forever. “I just do. My intuition is legendary, you know.”

He didn’t exactly roll his eyes, but his face was far from confident. Hopeless was a better word, and it jabbed into her chest.

“You didn’t die out there in the woods. You’re alive and healing. I just came from visiting a young man named Ben Stillwater in that same medical center. He fell from his horse and is in a coma, not walking around like you are. You’ve a lot to be thankful for, Finn, and maybe you’d be better off focusing on all you have instead of parts you’ve lost.” She hadn’t planned a lecture, but someone had to shake him out of this harmful dark funk. “Why, Gramps would give his eye teeth to have your strength. Even Bug is jealous of how you can walk up the stairs.”

That almost made him laugh. “Your dog is jealous of me?”

“Haven’t you seen him standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up toward your room? He used to love to sleep in the sun in that room, and now he can’t make it up there. I’ve seen him watch you when you go up. He’s jealous.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but at least now it was more in puzzlement than anger. “And this is supposed to make me feel better?”

“I admit, it’s not a tidal wave of encouragement, but...”

He shook his head. “You amaze me. No one else would ever come up with a fat dog’s envy as a source of encouragement.”

“Bug is not fat.”

Finn gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me look.

“Okay, maybe Bug could stand to shed a few pounds.”

That incredulous look only deepened. If he was in law enforcement, he had the intimidating eyes for it.

“Maybe more than a few. Look, you know what I’m trying to say here. Count your blessings—that’s all you can do in a situation like this.” She sighed, her own frustration getting the better of her. “With a sister like Lizzie, it’s all either of us can do.”

“Things not go well with your sister today?”

Amelia spilled the whole story of Lizzie’s wedding theme. The weight of having to be her ever-helpful self lifted as she watched his reaction. At least someone else found Lizzie’s ideas quirky if not downright odd. He balked at the ringmaster-coat idea, and she was glad for both their sakes of his genuine laugh at her worries that Lizzie might rent an elephant.

“See,” she said as she unlocked the car, “the best antidote for your own troubles is to help someone else with theirs.”

He eased himself into the car with a wince; his ribs evidently still hurt him. “I haven’t done a thing to help you with any of that.”

“Yes, you have. You listened. And you laughed, so I know I’m not the only one who thinks this whole thing is crazy.”

“Anyone with any sense at all would laugh at that crazy idea.”

She pointed a teasing finger at him. “Don’t you dare say that in front of Lizzie.”

“Sure, boss, whatever you say.”

Before she put the car in gear, she gave Finn a direct look. “Am I right, do you feel better? Even the tiniest bit?”

His boyish grin was all too charming. “Sort of.”

“Well, you look less like Scrooge than you did ten minutes ago. That’s got to count for something.” The tension had eased in his shoulders, and most of his scowl was gone. Stealing a glance while she pulled the car out of the parking lot, Amelia wondered what Finn would look like happy. He was a handsome sort even down-and-out—all that dark glossy hair and those stunning blue eyes made brooding a good look on his features. Well and happy, she didn’t doubt he’d be a heart-slayer. Based on what she’d already seen, if Finn revived confidence, he’d command a room.

If they could retrieve one tiny detail. The article she’d read said taste, smell and music had some of the most powerful abilities to reawaken brain functions. People who couldn’t manage speech could often sing. Alzheimer’s patients who couldn’t recall their spouses could remember how to play instruments. The trouble was, most of the tastes and scents and sounds around them now were about Christmas, and that was as much of a hindrance as a help for Finn. They’d already used a gift card provided by the hospital to get Finn some basics like a few changes of clothes and soap. There must be something on her to-do list that Finn could help her accomplish.

“We’re going to the candy store. Is that okay?”

“Candy?”

“I have to buy candy to fill the stockings for the League Christmas party. I want the good stuff, not just anything from the supermarket. Can you help?” He looked a bit tired, but she didn’t think sitting at home with Gramps watching game shows was going to do him any good, either.

“Is this another of your ‘let’s find things you like’ experiments?”

She chose his earlier response. “Sort of. I mean, you might. But I really do need to get this done and I really could use the help.”

“Don’t you have to get home to Luther?”

She liked that he had taken to Gramps. They were good for each other in a way she couldn’t quite yet explain. “We’ll be home by suppertime easily. And quite frankly, if I have to tell Gramps his granddaughter is planning a circus wedding, I want some of his favorite butterscotch to soften the blow. And I always give a big basket of candy to Lucy and the sheriff’s office every Christmas, so we can take care of that, too.” She hesitated a moment before asking, “Do you still feel like maybe you are in some kind of law-enforcement field?”

Finn settled back in his seat. “As much as I know anything. Only it doesn’t help much. Texas could have thousands of law-enforcement officers my age and height. Police, private security, Rangers, FBI—without a name there’s no good way to search.”

“Can’t they run Finn?”

“Dr. Searle had someone try. It’s unusual enough that it would pop, but nothing. We both think it’s a nickname, but that’s no help, either.”

“Something will come back to you. Or we’ll find some detail that leads us to another. You’ve got to keep your hope strong.”

“And you think butterscotch is the key to that?” He managed a small smile at that, and she was glad for it.

“Well, no, but I don’t see how it could hurt.”

* * *

“What kind of a fool scheme is that?” Luther waved the serving spoon in the air so hard at dinner that night that Finn fought the urge to duck away from airborne mashed potatoes. Amelia had elected to wait until dinner to reveal Lizzie’s crazy wedding plans, which Finn thought as good a strategy as any.

He wasn’t sure it worked. Luther’s reaction to the circus theme was just about as stunned as Finn’s own response. Amelia had laid it out in even greater detail than she had to him. A regrettable choice, he thought—it only got worse with the elaboration.

“My granddaughter’s getting married at a circus?” Luther balked.

“A circus-themed wedding. There’s a difference.” Amelia was trying to champion Lizzie’s absurd idea, but if Finn could see right through Amelia’s forced support, surely Luther could, as well.

“Not how I see it.” Luther snorted. Finn sent Amelia a “hang in there” look. “Why on earth didn’t you stop her?”

“She couldn’t choose a color scheme to save her life. Somehow when I said the word circus, it all just clicked for her.” Finn watched Amelia run a fork through her potatoes, the air of a doomed woman coming through her false smile. “Believe me, it wasn’t my intent to suggest an actual circus at all. She latched on to the idea, and evidently Boone loves it. Lizzie wants it to be memorable.”

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