A Forever Christmas - By Marie Ferrarella Page 0,14

yourself miserable,” he explained. “And if it doesn’t, well, then you’ve wasted a lot of precious time anticipating something that turned out not to happen.”

A pragmatic thought rose to the fore—was she like that at heart? Or did this reaction just naturally evolve from her form of resignation? Again, nothing answered her silent query.

“From where I’m standing,” she told Gabe, “looks to me like I’ve got nothing but time to waste.”

“You’re not going to be wasting time,” Gabe told the blonde cheerfully. “You’re coming with me, remember? To Pine Ridge Memorial to see what they have to say about all this.”

It felt as if her head was spinning around in endless circles and she just wasn’t making any headway. Both Gabe and the doctor seemed to be nice, but were they? And why were they so willing to go out of their way for her like this?

“Do I know either one of you?” she asked, looking from one face to another again.

But her reaction to either man was just the same as it had been a moment earlier. Neither one looked the least bit familiar, woke up nothing in her depleted memory banks.

“No, you don’t,” Dan answered for both of them.

Even in her present limited state, she knew that just didn’t make any sense. “Then why are you doing this? Why are you taking me to a hospital in another town?”

“Because there is no hospital here,” Dan replied matter-of-factly.

“Because you need help,” Gabe told her almost at the same time.

It still didn’t make sense to her. “And that’s enough?” she questioned, puzzled.

Something told her that she wasn’t accustomed to selfless people. That everyone was always out for their own special interests.

“It is for me,” Gabe told her. “And for the doc,” he added, nodding at the other man.

Damn but the way this woman looked at him made him want to leap tall buildings in a single bound and change the course of mighty rivers, just like the comic-book hero of long ago. The very thought worried him. And yet, he couldn’t quite make himself back off. Couldn’t just turn her over to either Alma or Joe.

This woman was his responsibility. His to help.

“Let’s go,” he urged the woman, putting his hand lightly to the small of her back. A thought occurred to him before they’d gone two steps. “Unless you’d like to get something to eat first?” he suddenly suggested. He looked over his shoulder at Dan to see if the doctor had any objections about the slight delay in getting to the hospital. “Would it make any difference if she got a bite to eat first before going to the hospital for those tests you ordered?”

During his exam, Dan had already checked her eyes extensively, using a probing light to determine the condition of her optic nerves. As a result, he was satisfied that there was no imminent danger, no swelling as far as he could see.

“I didn’t detect anything that needed immediate attention,” Dan told both of them.

Gabe had his answer and was pleased Dan sided with him. “All right, then, why don’t we get you something to eat at Miss Joan’s and then we’ll be on our way.” It wasn’t a suggestion so much as a plan.

“Miss Joan’s?” she repeated, confused. Everything sounded like a huge mystery, a question mark to her, and she’d already become weary of the blanks that she kept drawing.

The older woman had always been known to one and all as “Miss Joan.” “Miss Joan owns the only diner in town. Best food you’ve ever had,” he promised her.

“How would I know?” she answered, raising and lowering her shoulders in a vague, careless shrug. After all, she had nothing to compare it to. She might as well have lived in a cave these last—how old was she, anyway? Something else that she didn’t know, she thought, frustrated.

“Trust me, it is,” Gabe easily assured her as he ushered the woman out the door. Turning, he called out, “Thanks, Doc.”

She took her cue from that, turning her head as well and calling out, “Yes, thank you.”

With a quick wave, Dan turned back to go inside the clinic just as he saw two of his patients heading toward the building.

Trust me.

That was what the tall, dark-haired cowboy had just said. Why did that make her uneasy? Did she know him, after all? Was he not trustworthy?

Or was this uneasy feeling generated by someone else? Someone who she couldn’t summon up in her defunct memory?

She stopped just