The Sheriff's Amnesiac Bride

Another pop and the woman fell on the concrete walkway. From off to his left, someone screamed. Then tires squealed from somwhere down the long line of cars. When he glanced toward the sound, he saw a sedan with two men sitting in front as they roared out of the line and headed down the narrow shoulder of the highway.

Chaos reigned. Car horns honked. People shouted. And the sedan spewed out a huge dust plume as it bumped down the embankment.

Jericho took off at a run. He dropped to one knee beside the woman, checked her pulse and discovered she was breathing but unconscious and bleeding.

“Is she alive?” Deputy Rawlins asked, almost out of breath as he came running up. “I got their plates, Sheriff. But I didn’t dare get off a shot with all the civilians in the way. You want me to pursue?”

Son of a gun. It would figure that he didn’t have his weapon just when an emergency arose.

“Stay with the woman,” Jericho ordered. “You and Fisher get her to Doc O’Neal’s as fast as you can. My rifle’s in the truck, and…” He looked over his shoulder toward the church door. “Tell Macy…”

Right then Macy appeared at the top of the church steps and peered down at him. He was about to yell for her to get back out of the line of fire. But within a second, he could see her quickly taking in the whole situation.

“You go do what you need to, Jericho,” she called out to him. “Don’t worry about us. Just take care of yourself. The wedding’s off for today.”

Chapter 2

It was one of those spectacular Texas sunsets, but Jericho had been too preoccupied to enjoy it. Now that the sun had completely dropped below the horizon, he retraced his steps to the Community Church and the prearranged meeting with his deputy.

“Sorry you didn’t catch them, Sheriff. I searched the grounds like you told me when you called in, and I came up with just this one bullet casing. From a 9mm. Pretty common, I’m afraid.”

Jericho felt all of his thirty-five years weighing heavily on his shoulders tonight. “Yeah, but just in case there might be anything special, send it off to the lab in San Antonio. Okay?” It wasn’t often that a trained lawman witnessed an attempted murder and couldn’t either catch—or identify—the perpetrators. So why him? And why on his wedding day?

The deputy nodded and put the plastic evidence bag back into his jacket pocket.

“What happened with the victim?” Jericho asked wearily. “Is she still alive?”

“Last time I checked she was sitting up and able to talk, still over at Doc O’Neal’s clinic. But she wasn’t giving many answers.”

That figured. Why make his job any easier?

“Did you run the plates?”

Deputy Rawlins frowned. “Stolen. Not the car. The plates were stolen in San Marcos day before yesterday.”

Jericho’s frustration grew but he kept it hidden as he rolled up the sleeves of his starched, white dress shirt. “When I checked in the last time, everyone else was okay. That still true?” He was concerned about Macy. How had she handled postponing the wedding?

“I never saw an assemblage of people disband so quickly or so quietly.” The deputy removed his hat and fiddled with the brim. “Mrs. Ward was amazing. Once we were sure the immediate danger was over, she told everyone to go home and that she’d notify them when there would be another try at the wedding. Had everybody chuckling pretty good…but they went.”

“I’d better call her.”

“Yes, sir.” With a tired sigh, Deputy Rawlins flipped his hat back onto his head. “Doc O’Neal needs someone to take charge of the woman victim. Says her condition is not serious enough to send her over to the Uvalde hospital, but she isn’t capable of being on her own, either. You want me to handle it, Sheriff?”

“No, Adam. You’ve had a long day and you’ve done a fine job. You go on home. I’ll clean up the odds and ends.”

The deputy nodded and turned, but then hesitated and turned back. “Sorry about the wedding, boss. Don’t you think that whole shooting scene was really odd for broad daylight? What do you suppose it was all about?”

When Jericho just raised his eyebrows and didn’t answer, Adam continued, “Wait ’til you try to question that woman victim. She’s a little odd, too. Wouldn’t say much to me. But she’s sure something terrific to look at.”

“Thanks. Good-night now.” Jericho would talk to the victim, and he would take charge of her and this case. But he had a mighty tough phone call to Macy to make first.

As Jericho stepped into Dr. O’Neal’s clinic, his shoulders felt a thousand times lighter. Macy had been wonderful on the phone—as usual. She’d tried hard to make him feel better about ruining the wedding. She had even told him that she’d been considering postponing anyway. When he asked her why such a thing would occur to her, she said they would talk tomorrow.

In a way, he was curious and wondered if he’d done something inadvertent, other than being the sheriff, to make her mad. But in another way, his whole body felt weightless. He had meant to marry Macy today. Still did, in fact. He’d given his word. Besides that, recently he’d come to the conclusion that it was important for him to become a family man in order to honor his father.

But before Macy had suggested it a couple of weeks ago, he had never planned on marrying anyone. He’d begun thinking of himself as a lone wolf. The idea of turning into the old bachelor sheriff had somehow taken root. He’d had visions of ending up like his father and having a girlfriend or two stashed away—ladies he could visit on Saturday nights. But in general the single life suited him just fine.

Now that Macy was hedging, Jericho felt ashamed to admit that her change of heart would seem like a reprieve. His only sorrow if they didn’t marry would be T.J. But maybe things around the county would settle down enough now for him to spend more time with the boy despite not being his stepfather.

“Sheriff Yates.” Dr. O’Neal met him just inside the front door. “I’d like to speak to you in private before you see the patient. Let’s sit out here in the empty waiting room.”

Jericho followed the doc. “What’s wrong? Did the bullet do serious internal damage?”

Dr. O’Neal sat down on the flimsy, fake leather couch and removed his glasses. “No. Her gunshot wound is superficial. The bullet went right through the flesh on her left side and completely missed her ribcage. She twisted her ankle when she fell, but it’s not broken or sprained. She also has some old bruising and a few nontreated cuts that appear to be at least twenty-four hours old. All things considered, her physical condition is unofficially ‘beat-up’ but not serious.

“That’s not the worst of it, though,” Doc added thoughtfully.

Jericho leaned against the edge of Doc’s desk. “What are you trying to say?”

“She can’t tell me how she got the bruises or the cuts. In fact, she doesn’t remember a thing before this morning. I’m no expert in head trauma, mind you. But even with the small bump on her head, I don’t believe she’s suffered any major jarring of the brain. Certainly there’s not enough outward damage to suspect a physical blow caused her amnesia.

“There is a condition known as a fugue state or psychogenic amnesia,” he continued. “It’s caused by a traumatic event so frightening to the patient that they flee from reality and hide themselves in another, safer life—one with no memories. I don’t have a lot of training in psychology, but I do remember learning that this kind of state may last for months or years.”

“Amnesia? But it’s just temporary. The memories will eventually come back, right?”

“Hard to say,” Doc hedged as he blew dust from his glasses. “I understand that in some cases snippets of memories will flash through the mind and memories may fade in and out until the full picture emerges. Sometimes…nothing comes back at all.”

Jericho took a breath. He couldn’t imagine how hard that would be. To never be able to bring back the memory of growing up or the memory of his mother’s face. What would that do to…?

He jerked and straightened his shoulders. Whatever would possess him to think such a thing? His mother had been a drunk and had left the family when he was only a kid. Truth be told, he hated her. Why would he care to remember what her face looked like? That was one memory he wouldn’t mind losing for good.

“Let’s go talk to the patient, Doc. What’s her name?”

Dr. O’Neal shrugged. “No clue. She doesn’t remember and your deputy said he couldn’t find any ID in her clothes or at the church scene.”

Now, that was one thing Jericho would hate to forget. The Yates name meant something. There were generations of Yates men who had been lawmen, sportsmen and landowners. It was a name to be proud of and to do right by.

Sheriff Yates. He’d worked hard to get that title. He’d paid his dues as deputy, been appointed when the old sheriff retired, and finally had been elected on his own merit. He anticipated continuing to be a man worthy of everyone’s respect. And it was high time to do his job.

As Jericho walked through Dr. O’Neal’s office door to meet the mystery woman, he didn’t know what he expected to find. But it was definitely not the most gorgeous woman he had ever beheld.

Yet there she sat on one of Doc’s plastic chairs. Miss America, Miss Universe and Venus de Milo all wrapped into one—with a bad haircut and wild, sky-blue eyes. Jericho had to swallow hard in order to find his voice.

“Good evening, ma’am. I’m Sheriff Jericho Yates. How’re you feeling?”

She lightly touched her temple, but continued to stare up at him, those strange electric eyes boring holes straight into his. “The headache and the four stitches in my side are the worst of it. No, I take that back. Not knowing my own name is the worst of it. Did Dr. O’Neal tell you that I can’t remember anything? He says I have amnesia.”

“Yes, ma’am. I understand. But we need to talk about what you do remember. Can you start with your first clear memory and tell me everything that happened up until the time when you were shot?”