The Deputy's Lost and Found / Her Second Chance Cop: The Deputy's Lost and Found / Her Second Chance Cop

Dr. Donovan’s smile was meant to be reassuring. “A psychiatrist.”

Lass stared at her in horror. “Do you … think I’m crazy? Oh, God, I never thought about that! I might have been institutionalized and wandered away. Maybe I hurt someone and they put me away! I—”

With each word that passed her lips, Lass grew more and more agitated.

“Lass,” the doctor said gently. “You need to stop this. I can assure you that no one here has detected any sort of mental illness. The psychiatrist will simply talk to you and perhaps help coax some of your memories to return. That’s all.”

Lass’s shoulders slumped with relief. She didn’t know why her thoughts kept running toward such negative speculations. Had she been in some sort of trouble? Criminal trouble?

What a stupid question, Lass. Trouble might as well be written across your forehead. Anyone who’s found on theside of the road with a head bashed is bound to be connected to some sort of trouble. What do you think you were doing out there in the mountains in the middle of the night? Admiring the wildflowers?

Swallowing, she forced the troubling questions aside and tried to focus on the doctor. “So—how much longer will I have to be in the hospital?” she asked.

“If no complications pop up, I’ll be releasing you tomorrow.” Dr. Donovan smiled with encouragement. “As for this morning, the nurses are going to come in and help you shower and dress. And if you’re steady enough on your feet, you can move around somewhat. But I don’t want you overdoing it, okay?”

Lass agreed and the doctor continued to give her a few more orders before she finally said goodbye and left the room.

Once she was gone, Lass let out a heavy sigh as her gaze surveyed her surroundings. For the moment, the small, stark room was her home. But tomorrow she’d be leaving. To where? Where was her home? Oh, God, if she only knew.

Chapter Three

Later that afternoon while Hank questioned workers at the racetrack, Brady drove to the hospital to check on Lass. From the report Bridget had given him earlier this morning, the young woman’s memory was still a blank. But he was hoping each hour that passed would bring her closer to recalling her identity and, moreover, what had happened to her the night before.

On the second floor, he stepped off the elevator and turned right in the direction of Lass’s room, but before he could get past the nurse’s desk, a young woman with long brown hair wrapped in a knot atop her head waved and called to him.

“Hey, Brady! Are you going to the concert next weekend at the rodeo arena?”

He paused as the nurse came rushing up to him. Miranda was a sweet girl he’d once dated a few times, but it had quickly become obvious to both of them that she’d wanted more than just a good time together. Thankfully, she’d understood that he wasn’t looking for a permanent partner and they’d parted on friendly terms.

He shook his head. “Not unless I have to provide security. And right now the city police are planning on handling it.”

With Lass’s case thrown on his plate, he wasn’t going to have much free time in the coming days. Unless, she miraculously recovered, or someone showed up to identify her.

“Guess you’re busy with the Jane Doe thing,” she commented. “I think I ought to tell you that most of the hospital stopped by to see her. We’d been hoping someone would recognize her, but nobody does.”

“Thanks for letting me know, Miranda. I appreciate the attempt.”

Miranda grimaced with regret. “Poor thing. And she’s so pretty, too. What will happen to her? I mean, if she doesn’t remember? I guess she’ll have to go to one of those shelters.” Miranda shuddered with distaste. “Maybe you’ll figure it out, Brady, before that happens.”

He nodded and she quickly excused herself as the phone on the nurse’s desk began to shrill loudly. Brady hurried on to Lass’s room and as he went, Miranda’s suggestion plagued him. To think of Lass thrown in a rescue mission or a shelter for battered women sickened him. And whether she remembered or not, he couldn’t let it happen.

After a short knock on her door, he stepped inside the room and was pleasantly surprised to find her dressed and sitting in a cushioned chair positioned near the room’s only window.

“Well, you look much better than the last time I saw you,” he greeted. “How are you feeling?”

She was wearing the clothes he’d found her in and though they were smudged with dirt in spots, they made her look far more normal than the hideous hospital gown. Her long hair had been pulled back from her face and fastened at her nape with a rubber band. The style exposed her swollen eye yet at the same time revealed the long, lovely line of her neck.

“Stronger,” she answered. “And my head doesn’t hurt nearly as much.”

He moved across the room, then stopped a couple of feet from her chair. The late afternoon sun slanted a golden ray across her lap and cast a sheen to her crow-black hair. Except for her cheeks, her skin was as pale as milk and he found himself tempering the urge to reach over and touch it, test its softness with the pads of his fingers.

Clearing his throat, he said, “That’s good. Bridget says you’re on the mend.”

Her features tightened. “Did she also tell you that she sent a psychiatrist to talk with me?”

Brady looked at her in surprise. “No. But I’m glad. I told her to help you in every way that she could. Obviously she’s not going to leave any stone unturned.” He took a seat on the edge of the narrow bed. “So what did the psychiatrist have to say?”

She rubbed her hands nervously down the thighs of her jeans. “Well, that I’m not crazy or anything like that.”

Brady grinned. “I could have told you that much.”

She darted a sober glance at him. “He also said that I might not be remembering because I’m afraid to remember.”

Folding his arms against his chest, Brady studied her with interest. “Like a psychosomatic thing,” he said.

Her brows arched with surprise. “Why, yes. How did you know that? Have you studied medicine, too?”

Brady chuckled. “No. I left that to my sisters. I’m a lawman. I study human characters. And believe me, seeing people under stress and in trouble makes for a good psychology class.”

Dropping her head, she let out a heavy breath. “Well, I’ve not remembered anything. Unless you count the dream I had. And that didn’t tell me much. Except that I was running in the dark and whatever was behind me was scaring the living daylights out of me.” She looked up at him, her expression twisted with something close to agony. “Your sister says she’s going to release me from the hospital tomorrow. What does that mean, Deputy Donovan? What will happen to me then?”

He swiftly shook his head. “I’d be pleased if you’d call me Brady. And don’t worry—we’ll find some place nice for you to stay until we can get a fix on where you really belong.”

Suddenly it dawned on him that she had nothing but the clothes on her back. No handbag with all the little necessities women carried with them. No cell phone filled with numbers of friends and family that she might call for help. No credit cards or checkbook or any sort of means to provide for herself. She was totally dependent and, at the moment, looking straight at him for answers.

She didn’t make any sort of reply to his comment and Brady figured there wasn’t much she could say. She was at the mercy of the county and what it could provide for her. Unless he stepped in, he thought, as his mind suddenly jumped forward. Since his older sister, Maura, had married Quint Cantrell, her room had become empty. Brady’s home, the Diamond D Ranch, was a huge place with plenty of space for a guest. What would his family think if he showed up with Lass? He and his sister Dallas had always been guilty of picking up strays that needed a home. Well, Lass was no different, he rationalized. She needed a home in the worst kind of way.

“Thank you, Brady. I guess … Well, you know the old saying—beggars can’t be choosers. I’m obviously in that position now.”

Changing the subject for the moment, he suddenly asked, “Did someone from the sheriff’s department come by to take your picture?”

She nodded. “Yes. A lady. She said you were going to be putting it on posters around town and posting it on the Internet.”

“That’s right. We also plan to put it in the area papers. See if that will turn up any leads. But in the meantime, you’ll need some help. A place to stay, clothes and things like that. I’m thinking—” His gaze zeroed in on hers. “How would you feel about staying at my home? Until we get your problem worked out?”

Her gray eyes narrowed with something like mistrust. “I don’t understand. I’m not your responsibility. I mean, I know that you and your partner are the ones who found me, but that doesn’t mean—”

She broke off as he quickly shook his head. “Look, Lass, I’ll be frank. I don’t think you’d much like living in a shelter. You wouldn’t have much privacy and some of the women there—they’re dealing with some pretty bad problems.”

Her lips quivered. “And I’m not?”

He tried to give her the same sort of smile Brady’s mother gave him when he was fretting over an issue that was beyond his control. “As of right now, Lass, the only problem we’re certain that you have is amnesia. And the way I see it, you could’ve had a whole lot worse things happen to you.”

“Maybe I did. And we just don’t know. Maybe I’d bring trouble to your family and—” Her words abruptly trailing off, she shook her head and rose slowly from her chair. “I don’t want to be a burden or a … problem. Thank you for your kind offer, Brady, but I can’t accept.”

Feeling ridiculously squashed, he watched her move to the window and stare out at the small manicured lawn at the back of the building. To one side of the grassy area, a patio had been constructed and offered a group of comfortable lawn chairs to visitors who needed a break from the confines of a sterile hospital room.

At the moment a young woman with two small children in hand was strolling among the potted desert plants that adorned the patio. Lass appeared to be focused on the sight of the playful youngsters and Brady wondered if she might have children of her own, children that were missing their mother. For some reason he didn’t like the image of her being a mother, or a wife. And yet, he realized that if she did have a family waiting for her somewhere, she needed to get back to them as quickly as possible. More importantly, it was his job to see that she was reunited with her loved ones.