Chapter Five
“You didn’t tell me your administrative assistant was so pretty,” Cheyenne remarked as Oakley parked his SUV in the hospital lot. “I loved the dress she was wearing, didn’t you? Such vibrant colors. I wonder where she bought it? I’ll have to ask her.”
“No idea.” He prayed his new admin didn’t have more clothing like it, for if she did, that might be his undoing.
Rachel had been wearing a bold floral pattern featuring blues and greens.
The dress was perfectly respectable for the office, with the loose skirt landing at her knees.
But he’d been unable to help noticing how the bodice had showcased her breasts.
The cap sleeves had directed his attention to her lithe arms. And her hair?
Whatever the stylist had done should be outlawed.
Oakley had had the sudden urge to reach both hands into Rachel’s long, silky locks and feel how soft the strands were, all while kissing a mouth that featured no adornment but a swipe of clear gloss.
She wasn’t wearing makeup either. She was a natural beauty with a siren’s call. He found her irresistible.
Which would be a problem if he didn’t get his libido under control.
“She was nothing like I’d thought she’d be,” Cheyenne said as they walked toward the main entrance. “I liked her.”
“I like her, too,” Oakley admitted. “So does everyone in the Dallas office.”
“Oh, I can see how you liked her.” Cheyenne gave him a playful bump on the shoulder. “You couldn’t take your eyes off her, and, well, you two appeared pretty tight when I walked in.”
“We were going over the contracts.”
Cheyenne waggled her eyebrows. “Uh-huh, if that’s what they’re calling it these days. Then again, you’re so ancient, you probably haven’t seen chemistry since the Stone Age.”
Oakley usually let her ribbing roll off his back, but since this one hit a little too close to the mark, he pushed back in exasperation. “Cheyenne, we work together.”
Moments later, Emerald Ridge Memorial Hospital loomed above them, and Oakley let out a huge sigh of relief. As far as he was concerned, they’d arrived in the nick of time, because it nipped any further discussion on Rachel in the bud.
Thank goodness, too, because any more talk about this supposed chemistry between the two of them was not a good idea.
The doors to the hospital’s main entrance slid open, as did the next set, as they went through the entry vestibule. He followed Cheyenne to the information desk, where a volunteer in her mid-fifties greeted her warmly since the two knew each other.
“We’re here to see Johnny Doe,” Cheyenne told the woman.
Oakley expected the receptionist to push back by citing health care privacy or something. Instead she began typing on her keyboard. “Well, as no one else has come forward to claim him, you two are probably the closest thing he’s got to having people who care.”
“Really?” Cheyenne leaned her elbow on the divider. “No one else?”
“No visitors, except for the police. They left about an hour ago. I overheard them talking about the fact he has amnesia. They have no idea who he is, and neither does he.”
“That’s crazy. Wow.” Cheyenne’s lips widened into an O of surprise. “He must have hit his head harder than we originally thought.”
She and Oakley put on their visitor badges and headed for the elevator. Johnny Doe had been moved post-surgery to the intensive care unit. “Don’t worry, I have access here, too. Besides, you found him and helped him. Maybe seeing you will jog his memory.”
“I might have seen him when I was walking to the restaurant to meet our dad,” Oakley said. “I passed tons of people, so I can’t be certain.”
“If you did, and he remembers you, that might really help him get his memory back.” Cheyenne paused as the elevator doors opened.
They stepped out and approached the nurses’ station. Since Cheyenne knew everyone, Oakley let her do the talking, listening as the injured man’s nurse told them that Johnny had regained consciousness briefly after his emergency surgery for an epidural hematoma in his left temporal lobe.
“He has no idea who he is, or how he ended up on the riverbank,” the nurse told Cheyenne.
A buzz sounded at her desk, and she raised a finger to call into the room and then dispatched an orderly to help a patient to the restroom. “All of that from a gash?” Cheyenne asked. “Oakley found him. Said it looked bad.”
The young nurse nodded. “Took sixteen stitches to close. The CT scan also showed a contrecoup injury affecting the right temporal lobe, which we believe is causing him to have amnesia yet still allows him to have the capability for speech.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Oakley muttered.
“The fall on the left side of his head caused the initial hematoma, while the brain’s momentum resulted in a contrecoup injury to the right temporal lobe,” the nurse explained.
“In other words, it means that when he fell on the left side, Johnny’s brain sloshed to the right and hit his skull, causing damage on that side as well,” Cheyenne told him. “Johnny has a traumatic brain injury and it’s bad. He’ll be here awhile.”
“At least three weeks, but he won’t spend the whole time on this floor,” the nurse confirmed.
“Because of the surgery, the staff will monitor him for continued bleeding or swelling in both temporal regions during recovery,” Cheyenne added for Oakley’s benefit.
“Ah, okay. Makes sense.” He found himself impressed by his sister’s knowledge, and the easy way she communicated with the nurse.
Apparently, she’d learned a great deal in the time she’d been volunteering.
They made their way to the patient’s room and found Johnny Doe awake and hooked up to monitors. He blinked at them.
“You’re not the nurse.” Oakley noticed that besides being raspy, the man enunciated his speech clearly.
Cheyenne pressed the button and let the person who answered know Johnny needed someone. “Your nurse will be here in a minute.”
“Thanks.” The man grimaced, as if speaking had hurt. He appeared to be in a lot of pain, which Oakley figured was par for the course. He didn’t want to keep him any longer than necessary. “And you are?”
Oakley automatically stepped forward as if to shake the guy’s hand and then thought twice. Johnny didn’t appear as if he wanted to move. “Sorry. I’m Oakley Fortune, and this is my sister Cheyenne.”
“Fortunes,” the man muttered.
“Yes. Oakley’s the one who found you.” As if she was helping one of her geriatric charges, his sister adjusted his pillow. “There. That looked uncomfortable.”
“It was.” The injured man coughed slightly, and Cheyenne lifted his water jug and had him take a sip through the bendable straw. He nodded at her when done, and she set the cup back on the over-the-bed table. “Thanks.”
“I wanted to check on you, see how you were,” Oakley said.
Johnny’s blue eyes held his. “Feel like crap.” His hand lifted as if to touch his forehead, which was covered in layers of white gauze.
On one side, a few tufts of dark hair stuck out.
On the other, the surgeons had most likely shaved most of his hair away.
“They tell me I hit my head and needed surgery since I was bleeding internally. Do you know what happened to me?”
Oakley explained what he’d seen on the riverbank when he found him.
“Don’t remember it or why I was there. No idea who you are, either. Sorry.” Johnny winced again.
Oakley kept his smile friendly. “No worries. We thought it might help your memory, seeing me. Guess not.”
“Worth a try,” Johnny said. “I’ll do anything at this point.” In obvious pain, he grimaced again.
“Do you still have the letter and the photo?” Cheyenne asked.
When Johnny told her he thought the nurse had put them in the closet, she retrieved them and gave them to Oakley.
He hadn’t had a decent chance to study the items the other day.
Unlike his dad, he’d been more concerned with trying to get the man help than solving a mystery.
He showed Johnny the picture of the smiling baby, but Johnny shrugged.
Then he took the letter out of the envelope, unfolded it and read the letter aloud.
“I think of you often and hope you forgive me.”
Johnny tried to get comfortable. “No clue what this means. As I said, I have no memory. Not of the fall or how I got here. Sorry.”
“Shh. It’ll be okay,” Cheyenne promised. She offered him more water, which he eagerly sipped. “We’re going to help you and we’ll figure it out.”
Johnny tried to nod, grimaced instead and closed his eyes.
“We should go.” Oakley took photos of the items that had been in Johnny’s pocket before handing them to Cheyenne so she could return them to the closet.
“Once I get a break during my shift, I’ll come back and check on him,” Cheyenne said.
Hearing that, Johnny’s eyes flew open. “Fortune. You’re Fortunes.”
Cheyenne smiled. “Yes. We said that earlier. Did you remember anything?”
“Clemons Fortune.” Johnny frowned. His eyebrows knit together as if a huge burst of pain had blasted through him. He closed his eyes. “I know that name. But how?”
Oakley wanted that answer, too. “That’s my dad. He was with me when we found you.”
“Don’t remember that,” Johnny reminded him. “Why can’t I remember?”
“Because your brain has an injury,” the nurse said, entering. She scanned her badge to log into the computer. “I’ve got your medications and we’re going to check your bandages.”
“Good,” Johnny said. “Everything hurts.”
“Of course it does,” the nurse told him. “You’ve had a traumatic injury requiring surgery. It’ll take a little while to heal.”
Since Johnny was preoccupied with getting his meds and neuro checks, Cheyenne and Oakley left the room. “Do you think he knows our dad?” Cheyenne asked. “That would be weird.”