Chapter Four #3
Something told him that he was a man who kept his thoughts and tactics close to the vest. But Chloe didn’t appear to be suspicious, just curious. So he would let her in on his plan. “I’m going to search for clues about who I really am—not that I even know the first place to start looking.”
“Good idea. I’ll get you logged in. Then, when I come home, maybe you can share some new information with me.”
Sure, he thought. I’ll share with you, just as soon as you share that letter with me. But he smiled and kept that thought to himself.
He followed her to the den, where she set him up on an old desktop device that looked as though it was about to give up the ghost. Joe had no reason to suspect that he was any big computer whiz, but he could easily see that the PC was out-of-date.
He couldn’t recall having any expertise in technology or electronics, but he’d seen the fancy Geekon laptops that the nursing staff had used at the medical center.
There’d been something about the brand name that had struck a chord and triggered a feeling of familiarity. But he hadn’t said anything to anyone about that. Why get excited about something he still couldn’t put his finger on?
When his sexy Florence Nightingale was satisfied that he could operate the machine and that he wouldn’t stay on it for more than an hour before giving his mind and body another rest, she left him alone in the den to search for clues he didn’t know how to find.
Outside, the engine of the old ranch pickup started up, letting him know he was on his own for a while. So he typed in his name, only to get eighty-two thousand hits. So he narrowed his search.
Okay, apparently he was somewhat computer literate. But even that tidbit of information didn’t tell him squat. And even an hour later, he still hadn’t found anything to go on. He suspected that he’d be out of luck until his brain sorted itself out—or until the sheriff came by with more information.
But he wasn’t going to give up that easily. So he typed in Dave Cummings, Brighton Valley and the Rocking C Ranch. This time, the search yielded a better result.
He found an article about the Brighton Valley High School music club and spotted a black-and-white photo of Dave and several of his bandmates.
As he continued his search, he uncovered obituaries for both Mr. Cummings and his wife. As he read them, a heaviness filled his chest, but he’d be damned if he knew why. The fact that they’d died fairly young, he supposed.
He found quite a few articles about Brighton Valley, and so he spent the next fifteen minutes reading through the city’s online newspaper in the hope that something about the small Texas town would jump out at him.
The only article that came close to triggering any sense of significance was a fairly recent one about Clay Jenkins, the founder of Geekon Enterprises and mastermind behind creating its computers and repair stores.
Jenkins had gone to school in nearby Wexler, but apparently Brighton Valley had claimed him as a native son.
The brains behind all the impressive Geekon products had recently moved back to town and had married a woman who’d been working in the local Zorba the Geek computer repair shop.
As Joe studied the picture of the billionaire, another sense of familiarity settled over him.
Why was that? Did he know the man? They appeared to be close in age.
After looking up more information on the big shot in the software industry, Joe decided that Clay’s popularity and fame led to what little recognition he’d sensed.
He glanced at the small antique brass clock on one of the bookshelves. It was getting close to three o’clock, well after the hour when he’d promised to shut down the computer and take an afternoon nap. But he wanted to run one more search.
So he typed in Chloe Dawson. It wasn’t the most common name, but it still garnered several hits.
She’d said she was an army brat and had moved around a lot, so Joe wasn’t really sure where her hometown of record would be.
But a picture of a homecoming queen at a small school just outside of Fort Hood, Texas, certainly resembled the lovely woman who’d volunteered to nurse a poor, unknown former marine back to health.
She stood next to a handsome jock wearing a crown and a sash over his football uniform. Like her, he was holding a bouquet of roses and flashing a happy smile.
Chloe had been a pretty teenager who’d blossomed into a stunning beauty—even when she’d traded in the fancy gown for a pair of faded jeans and a flannel shirt.
That’s why Joe had a difficult time wrapping his head around the possibility that a popular homecoming queen could be attracted to a short, scrawny band geek like Dave. Of course, Dave must have grown up and filled out after joining the Marines. But still, something didn’t compute.
Maybe the two weren’t involved in any sort of intimate relationship. Chloe had said they were only friends. But if that were the case, then why would she stay here on the ranch, breaking her back to keep things running for a guy who couldn’t even find time to call or otherwise check in?
It seemed like a waste, especially when her heart and talents should be pursuing her desired career in the nursing field.
Another question continued to nag him. Why would Dave task a buddy with a mission to hand deliver a letter to the beautiful Miss Dawson when a phone call or a certified letter could have done the same job—and been a whole lot easier?
The delivery method he’d chosen meant the message had to be personal. And as much as Joe would like to get his hands on that letter to find out what was so important that he’d come to Brighton Valley in the first place, he’d sure hate to find out that he was lusting after his buddy’s girl.