A Ranger For The Holidays. Allie Pleiter

sighed. They’d had some version of this discussion so many times. “I don’t really know him. I want to get to know him, but I can hardly find ten minutes together with the two of you. He stayed all of thirty minutes at Thanksgiving.”

      “Boone had to be somewhere. Why are you coming down so hard on him?”

      She’d never heard Boone talk of any nearby family—who had “places to be” on Thanksgiving? Places that didn’t welcome the woman he intended to marry? “I’m not saying he’s a bad choice, Lizzie. I’m just saying...”

      “Oh, I get loud and clear what you’re saying.” Lizzie stood up. “Look, just because your fiancé left you high and dry doesn’t mean every man is a louse.”

      “That’s not at all what I mean.”

      Lizzie spun to turn on Amelia with sharp, narrow eyes. “Why can’t you just let me be happy?”

      “I do want you to be happy, Lizzie. And the right man will make you happy. Just give me a chance to get to know Boone as the right man.”

      “Boone is the right man for me. And if you can’t see that, maybe you shouldn’t be helping with my wedding.” Lizzie began stuffing all the notes back into the bag until Amelia put a hand out to stop her.

      “I’m sorry. I trust you to choose the right man for you. But I wouldn’t be your sister if I didn’t try to counsel you toward a good marriage. Just promise me you and Boone will do the premarital program at church between now and April. Their isn’t a soul on earth who doesn’t need God’s help to make a strong marriage. Even Daddy and Gramps would tell you that.”

      “Well—” Amelia was glad to see Lizzie sink back down onto the couch “—I have heard good things about Pastor Mathers’s program. And I know Boone says he’s okay with church.”

      Okay with church? Amelia wondered. What kind of commitment is that? “Then why don’t you and Boone come to supper some night next week?”

      “We’ll see,” Lizzie replied, holding the shiny gold fabric up to the light again.

      We will indeed, Amelia thought to herself.

      * * *

      Dr. Searle waved the annoying flashlight again, peering too close at Finn. The bright light hurt. “So,” the doctor said, trying too hard to sound casual, “anything new come back to you?”

      “Vague impressions, but nothing useful. Nothing like my name, or my address, or what I do, or why I’m here.” The list was depressing.

      “Well, now, it hasn’t been that long.” Searle cued Finn to go through the silly-feeling exercises he had done at every visit—things like pushing and pulling against the doctor’s grip. Physically, he was healing as well as could be expected. His brain wasn’t being nearly as cooperative. “Still dizzy?” the doctor asked.

      “Only if I stand up too fast or move my head too quickly. And when I’m tired. Which seems to be a lot.” Finn was no fan of having to recite his current weaknesses. It was good to be out of the hospital, but he still felt like an invalid.

      “All to be expected.” Searle made some notations on a chart. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a smart choice to be at Amelia’s. You ought not to be on your own for the next few days, given that you’re a fall risk.”

      That pronouncement sank into Finn’s gut. Old people were fall risks, not him.

      Searle raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to end up back here, do you?”

      Had he been that irritable in the hospital? “No, sir.” Searle’s expression told Finn he hadn’t been a dream patient.

      Searle took off his glasses. “And I realize this may seem like asking a lot, but I’d like you to stay off the internet. We have Lucy and the sheriff’s office working on your identity. You fishing around cyberspace for clues isn’t the best use of your energies right now. The last thing you need is some false piece of information sending you down a stressful rabbit hole.”

      That seemed unreasonable. “But...”

      Searle cut him off. “I understand this is uncomfortable for you. But, son, you’re going to have to trust the healing process. Think of it this way—right now, your brain knows more than you do. It’s going to give up secrets at a pace we can’t determine. Force things, and you may end up making it worse for yourself. You’re in no danger, you’ve got Amelia helping you—which means you’ve got all of Little Horn in your corner—so I see no reason to rush this.”

      Can an amnesiac fire his neurologist? Finn didn’t much care for the advice he was getting, but even he knew there weren’t other options at the moment. He was stuck in the here and now whether he liked it or not. “I hate this,” he pointed out, petulant as it sounded.

      “I can understand how you do. But the sooner you make peace with it, the better off you’ll be.”

      I’m stuck in a small town with the Queen of Christmas and no idea who I am or how to get home, Finn thought darkly. Right now I got a pretty low bar for “better off.”