Shifting Calder Wind (Calder Saga 7)

“Did you say you were leaving soon?”

“I did. But I won’t be going just yet.” Moving away from the bed, Laredo crossed to the window and lowered the shade, darkening the room.

He closed his eyes against the pain, but it wasn’t so easy to shut out the blankness of his memory. Who the hell was he? Why couldn’t he remember?

He slept but fitfully, waking often to hear the occasional stirrings of activity in other parts of the house. The instant he heard the snick of the bedroom door latch, he opened his eyes, coming fully alert.

He focused on the woman who filled the doorway, a tray balanced in her hand. She was tall, easily close to six feet, with strong, handsome features that showed the leathering of long hours spent in the sun. She wore boots and jeans and a plaid blouse tucked in at the waist, revealing the firmly packed figure of a mature and active woman.

“You’re awake. That’s good.” Her voice had a no-nonsense ring to it, kind but firm. “I brought you some soup. I thought it would be best to keep you to a liquid diet at first.”

“You must be Hattie,” he guessed as she approached the bed.

“That’s right. I assume you still don’t know who you are so I won’t ask your name.” She set the food tray on the nightstand next to the bed. “Do you think you can manage to sit up or do you want some help?”

“I can manage.” Breathing in the broth’s rich beefy aroma, he felt the first rumblings of hunger. With slow care, he levered himself into a sitting position. Once he was sitting upright, Hattie slipped a pair of pillows behind him for a backrest. “Thanks. The soup smells good.”

“It’s homemade.” She set the tray on his lap. “Is there anything else you need?”

“My clothes.”

“Sorry, Duke, but I’m afraid they are pretty well ruined. I have your shirt soaking, trying to get the blood out of it. Maybe a professional cleaner can get the stains out of your suit, but—”

“Why did you call me that?” He stared at her curiously.

“What?” She gave him a blank look.

“Just now you called me Duke.”

“I did?” She seemed almost embarrassed, then shrugged it off. “I guess it’s because you remind me of him.”

“Who?” he persisted, determined to know who it was he resembled, aware it might mean nothing—or everything.

She looked him square in the eyes. “John Wayne. The Duke. You do know who he is?”

“The movie actor.” He dipped the spoon into the soup.

“That’s right.”

“And you think I look like him.” It started him wondering about the face that would look back at him from a mirror.

“It’s not so much that you look like him, but you remind me of him,” she replied, then explained: “You’re both big-shouldered and broad-chested with craggy features. A take-charge type who isn’t afraid of rough-and-tumble.” She cocked her head to one side. “Does that help?”

“Not really,” he answered, more annoyed than disappointed.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” She studied him thoughtfully. “Amnesia caused by a head trauma is usually temporary. Most of the time, memory comes back in bits and snatches, but in rare instances, it can return full-blown.”

He caught the professional phrases she used. “You sound like you know something about it.”

“Before I switched careers to become a lady rancher, I was a registered nurse.”

“So that’s why Laredo brought me here last night.” It made sense now.

Hattie smiled in a dismissive way. “He knows I have a weakness for taking in wounded animals and strays.”

“Where is Laredo?”

“He went to town to get some clothes for you.”