Chapter Ten
So the Rocking C was in limbo.
Joe suspected that Chloe wasn’t only concerned with the bottom line or the ranch’s finances. From the sound of things, he sensed that she was also concerned about herself. What would happen to her if she had to move?
He knew she wasn’t selfish. Didn’t he? At least, nothing she’d done up until now would make him think so. In fact, it was just the opposite. Yet something nagged at him, something he couldn’t put his finger on.
It was probably a side effect of the amnesia.
“So what would you do if you could stay on the ranch?” He’d meant the question to distract her from worry. At least, that’s what he told himself. But had he been fishing for ulterior motives?
And if so, why?
His question seemed to hang in the air for a moment, then she said, “I don’t know. I’ve had a few ideas. But like I said, I’m not really a rancher, I’m a nurse. There aren’t too many jobs that would incorporate the two.”
“Tell me some of them.”
She bit her bottom lip, but before she could answer, a pickup drove into the yard and parked.
“Oh, good,” she said, her voice light as she shook off his question altogether and strode toward the black Dodge Ram. “That must be the vet.”
Joe watched a dark-haired man slide out of the driver’s seat. The moment the vet looked up, his blue eyes zeroed in on Joe, and recognition dawned on him like the noonday sun.
Joe had a feeling he knew the guy, too. It wasn’t a flashback coming to him in the same way one struck him out by the swimming hole. This was different.
Maybe it was the blue eyes, the dark hair and the olive complexion, because the vet was as familiar to Joe as the face he saw in the mirror each morning.
“Oh, my God,” the vet said. “Joey? Is that you?”
Joe wasn’t sure what to say. Nor did he know how much he wanted to divulge about who he thought he was or what his circumstances were. But Joe wanted answers more than anonymity.
As the vet eased closer, Joe said, “Yeah.”
“It’s me,” the vet said. “Rick.”
Joe was almost too stunned to speak. Had he recognized the guy because he’d actually known him in the past? Or because of their resemblance and the fact that Rick the vet had called him Joey?
“Do you know Joe Wilcox?” Chloe asked the vet.
He had to, Joe thought. They looked similar enough to be brothers.
Brothers? The moment the word crossed his mind, a flicker exploded in his brain, illuminating a couple of the dark corners that had been hidden.
This guy—or rather, Rick—had been a part of Joe’s life at one time. But he’d be damned if he knew any more than that.
“I’ve been looking for you for almost ten years.
” Rick started to reach out toward Joe, possibly to pull him in for a brotherly hug.
But then his movements stalled, as if he thought better of it.
He ran a hand through his hair instead and slowly shook his head.
“Have you been on the Cummings ranch all this time? I never realized you and Dave were so tight.”
Chloe coughed discreetly, and Rick glanced her way as if he’d forgotten she was standing there, watching the awkward, one-sided reunion.
“I’m sorry.” Rick reached out to shake the extended hand Chloe offered. “I’m Rick Martinez, and I haven’t seen my brother since we were teenagers.”
Joe couldn’t do much more than stand there, staring at the man who looked just like him and claimed to be his long lost brother. This amnesia crap was getting to be too damn much for him.
“But Joe’s last name is Wilcox,” Chloe said, looking only slightly less confused than Joe felt.
Rick turned to Joe, his brow furrowed, his head cocked slightly. “What’d you do? Change your name? Maybe that’s why Clay Jenkins couldn’t find you.”
Clay Jenkins. The computer guru? Joe had been right. He really had recognized the billionaire’s photo—and not necessarily because he’d seen his face in magazines or newspapers or online.
But those few little dots were the only ones his brain would let him connect.
Damn. Joe hated not having an answer to questions like that. And he was sick and tired of repeating the same mantra time and time again. But he didn’t have any truthful options. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”
The furrow in Rick’s brow deepened, and Chloe jumped to the rescue once again. “Joe was hit by a car outside the Stagecoach Inn and suffered a head injury. He has amnesia, so we’re not exactly sure who he is.”
Before Rick could respond, Tomas jogged out of the barn and interrupted. “Doctor, please. Lola is this way. She needs you.”
“Of course.” Rick squared his shoulders and grabbed a case out of the back of his truck before following Tomas into the stable.
Joe watched his brother walk away. He might have stood there gaping like an idiot, but Chloe elbowed him to get his attention.
When he glanced down at the petite blonde’s upturned face, she arched a single brow and nodded toward the barn. “Do you remember him?”
“I...I don’t know. I mean, he looks just like me. And even though we have different names, there definitely seemed to be something there when I saw him. Not necessarily an immediate fraternal bond, but something.”
Chloe hesitated for a minute. “Let’s go into the barn. Maybe seeing Dr. Martinez in action or spending some more time with him will trigger another memory.”
Joe followed her, feeling like a lost little child who needed direction.
Up until this point, he hadn’t let the amnesia render him helpless, and he wasn’t about to start now. This was his first major opportunity to learn more about himself. And he needed to face it head on.
When they reached Lola’s stall, Rick was already examining the mare. “You were right, Tomas. The foal is breech.”
Lola whinnied, and Rick stroked her neck and made soft shushing sounds. “It’s okay, mama. It’s okay.”
Joe could almost believe him. Maybe things would soon be “okay” with him, too.
Joe hung out in the barn until Lola had dropped a healthy foal—a filly. Then he’d gone to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. He figured Rick would want to talk to him, and it seemed like a better idea to do it while seated at the kitchen table and not out in the driveway.
The pot had just stopped percolating when Rick entered the kitchen from the mudroom.
“How’s Lola doing?” Joe asked.
“Happy to have it all over, I’m sure. But she and her foal are bonding, so that’s good. Tomas and Chloe are with her now.”
“How about some coffee?” he asked.
“Sounds good. Thanks.”
As Joe poured two cups of the fresh brew, he said, “So, you’re my brother.”
“It’s been ten years, and you’ve grown up—and filled out. But I believe you are—unless you’re an amazing lookalike.”
“You believe it—or you know it? I mean, if you haven’t seen me since I was sixteen, how can you be sure?”
The vet hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans and studied him quietly—and not at all defensive that Joe was calling him out to prove his claim.
“You have a three-inch scar on your right arm,” Rick said.
“A burn mark you got when you were eight. Tío Ramon, our uncle, came home, cocked and ready for a fight. When Tía Rosa didn’t get dinner on the table fast enough, he grabbed the frying pan off the stove.
It had hot oil in it because she was getting ready to fry corn tortillas, but Ramon didn’t give that a second thought.
He threw it at her, and you jumped in front of her to protect her and got hit instead. ”
Joe closed his eyes, the truth setting in, even if the memory hadn’t surfaced. Then he rolled up his right sleeve and showed Rick the raised scar...
As Rick reached out and fingered the scar, another vision flashed in Joe’s brain, this one involving a ten-year-old boy, a younger version of Rick, rubbing ice along the same strip of singed flesh on a smaller arm—Joe’s arm?
—and saying, You’ll be okay. But stay out of Tío’s way next time he comes home drunk. You and me gotta stick together.
“So,” Rick said, intruding on Joe’s flashback, “you joined the Marines. That would make sense. You were always trying to protect people—Tía Rosa, kids being bullied at school.”
“You told me that the two of us had to stick together,” Joe said, but not accusingly. He was just sharing a memory.
“I tried, Joey. I really did.”
Maybe so, but they’d obviously had some kind of falling out. Otherwise, Joe would have given Rick’s name and address as a contact number.
“So what happened?” he asked. “Why didn’t we stay together?”
“After they arrested Tío Ramon and protective services got involved, we were sent to different foster homes. Then, about the time I turned eighteen, Mallory got pregnant, her grandparents sent her out of state and my life spiraled out of control for a while. You ran away and it was damn near impossible to find you—even with the help of a private investigator and a computer whiz.”
“Who’s Mallory?” Joe had no more than asked the question when Chloe entered the kitchen, her hair falling loose around her shoulders, clearly worn out from the ordeal with Lola—and most likely, their own late night.
Rick glanced at her as though he wasn’t sure how to answer any personal questions in front of a nonfamily member, then returned his focus on Joe.
But hell, Joe wasn’t sure he wanted her to know all the details, either. It sounded as if they’d had a pretty crappy life. And from what Chloe had told him, her childhood had been picture-perfect.
Besides that, he had this inexplicable urge to keep some stuff private—between him and his brother.
Sure, Chloe had taken excellent care of him after the accident. He’d been completely dependent upon her and, after last night, their relationship had only gotten stronger.
So why did he feel the need to hide things from her? And why did he question whether he could fully trust her?