Jolt Page 2

  After the discovery that "he" was a "she," he'd sent the Hill brothers to fetch Mrs. Kettler but proceeded to undress her himself down to her underthings—the strangest, skimpiest underthings he'd ever seen. If she hadn't been in desperate need of warming up, he would have waited for his housekeeper for the sake of propriety, but he'd told himself that the young woman's health was more important, and he was, after all, a doctor.

  Mrs. Kettler had arrived in time to remove the last of the girl's wet clothes and get her dressed for bed in one of his late wife's nightgowns.

  As surprising as her underclothes had been, the colorful flowered tattoo that covered her right shoulder and upper arm had captured his attention the entire time he had been warming her in the bath, and even now his eyes drifted to the spot, even though he couldn't see it through the long-sleeved gown.

  He couldn't help but appreciate the artistry—he'd never seen a tattoo like it—but was shocked that a woman would have such a thing permanently done to her body. Not to mention the piercings on her earlobes. One of her earrings was missing, but the hole was still plainly there. With such bodily decoration, he feared that she had spent time in a house of ill repute. The cross necklace she wore at least spoke to the possibility of redemption.

  He sat back, letting his gaze rest on her peaceful face, her long dark lashes resting against her high cheek bones. Perhaps it's all merely for tribal distinction.

  Another curiosity was her hair. Not even the Ute men wore their hair so short. His eyes narrowed remembering the union suit she'd been wearing with the prospector's slogan on the backside. Was she trying to pass for a miner? He smiled. Better remove the other earring, then, missy.

  He was just about to make himself a cup of coffee, when her nose twitched and a sigh escaped her lips. Pulling his stool closer to the bed, he was hopeful that his wait was over.

  Lalita couldn't open her eyes for the pounding in her head. She groaned and almost immediately felt a hand on her forehead. A deep voice resonated an "Ah" that sounded miles away, ringing in her ears for several moments before there was silence once more.

  She tried to turn her head, but light sparked around her eyes, sending her hands in search of her face. They seemed to be under something heavy and cloth-like, and she panicked to get her hands out.

  The weight lifted off of her arms as the voice spoke again, sounding closer this time. "Shh, it's all right. Can you hear me?"

  Lalita tried to swallow, but her mouth had absolutely no spit. She gave a small nod as she licked her dry lips in vain.

  A strong hand slid under her shoulders and lifted, and she felt a glass against her lower lip. "See if you can take a sip for me. You've been out quite a while."

  Lalita gripped the quilt as she sipped the water. She had a vague remembrance concerning water, but it slipped away before she could grab onto it. The last thing she remembered was watching the blacksmith at the history farm. It was really hot by the forge. Did I faint?

  When the glass was pulled away, and she was laid back down, she was determined to see where she was. Putting a hand to the eye that was throbbing, she managed to ease the other one open.

  A very serious man was looking at her intently. She shut her eye tight and opened it again, trying to gain better focus. Dark brown eyes stared back.

  Suddenly aware that she was no longer in her clothes, both eyes snapped open, and despite the pain in her head, she looked down to see what exactly she had on. She seemed to be in a lightweight, though long-sleeved granny nightgown of some kind, and she was pretty sure she didn't have anything on underneath. "What the hell's going on?" she squeaked out, covering her right eye with her hand once more.

  The man reached for her hand, easing it away from her face. "It's all right. There's no need to be frightened." His mouth hinted at a tiny smile. "Or any need to swear. I'm a doctor. You've been injured somehow, but I'm at a loss to know just what happened. You don't appear to have any abrasions, contusions, bruises, or broken bones."

  Lalita closed her eyes again. "My head hurts something awful. Do you have any extra-strength Tylenol?"

  Instead of answering, the man who claimed to be her doctor pried open the eye closest to him and held some kind of lantern up to it. "You speak very well for a Ute woman."

  She pushed his hand away. "A what woman?"

  He took her hand and pulled it to the bed. "A Ute woman. The natives of this area. Or did you come from elsewhere?" He then proceeded to examine her eye once again.

  Once again, she pushed him away. "Hey! That's really annoying right now when my head feels like someone's hitting it with a cricket bat."

  "I'm terribly sorry, but if you've had a head injury, I need to examine your eyes—see how they respond to light."

  He started his hand toward her other eye, and she slapped it. "Just wait a minute. I'll do it myself."

  It took a lot of effort, but she managed to flutter the other eye open. "Why would you assume that I'm descended from your local tribe? People travel all over, you know."

  Lalita wiped the watering corner of her eye as the doctor sat back on the stool he had pulled close to the bed. He seemed to be trying to contain a smile. "That they do, Miss. My apologies for my assumptions. You have obviously been well educated."

  She stretched out her arms in front of her. "So what's with this funky nightgown, and is Nonnie here?"

  "The nightgown was… I let you borrow it, since your clothes—such that they were—were soaking wet. Two men brought you to my door last night, and no one has inquired about you."

  "Last night!" She bolted upright, only to fall sideways with sudden vertigo.

  The doctor caught her. "Careful. Take it slow. You are most certainly short on sustenance."

  Lalita clung to him as the room spun, her thoughts spinning with it. Last night? Nonnie must not know where I am. "I need to let Nonnie know what's happened, although I don't really understand what's happened. She was with me at Rock Ledge Ranch, so where is she?"

  He held onto her stiffly, his breath tickling her ear. "What were you doing at Rock Ledge Ranch?"

  Lalita was perplexed by his tone that almost sounded accusatory. "Taking the tour like everyone else. What do you think?"

  He didn't speak for a moment. "You were not found at a ranch. You were found on top of Pikes Peak."

  The spinning in her head stopped, and she pulled out of his arms. The scent of his strong aftershave seemed to come with her. "Pikes Peak? But Nonnie wasn't with me?"

  He shook his head, looking more than a little concerned. "I've heard nothing of a Nonnie."

  "I don't understand…"

  "Neither do I, Miss… I guess I should inquire your name."

  "Lalita Torres," she answered, on the verge of tears.

  "Well, Miss Torres, I'm Dr. Tate Cavanaugh, and let's not panic just yet. I'm sure more will come back to you as time goes on, and I promise, we'll find your Nonnie."

  Her stomach rumbled, and the brown-haired man gave her hand a pat. "Mrs. Kettler has left for the day, so I suppose it's up to me to find you something to eat."

  Lalita looked around the room, and for the first time, it dawned on her that she was in a house rather than a hospital or doctor's office. A very stylish house. A very stylish Victorian house. She looked back to the man who was heading out of the room in high waist slacks and suspenders over his crisp white shirt. I don't remember going up Pikes Peak at all… Maybe I never left Rock Ledge Ranch.

  ***

  While Tate warmed some broth on the stove, he pondered his new patient. He was relieved that she was awake, and the need to take her to the hospital had diminished. Along with the arduous journey, he feared that she might not receive the best care due to her heritage. Many folks bore animosity toward Indians.

  He stood straighter, his chin ticking up. Many do, but I will not.

  Her level of education was more than a little surprising given her gender and background, but her colorful way of speaking wasn't likely to land her in
the best of social circles. There were certain society rules that most young ladies were schooled in at a very young age. He thought of his late wife's struggle to fit into Denver society, and he grit his teeth.

  Dipping a spoon in the broth, he tested its warmth with a sip before setting it on the spoon rest. Satisfied, he poured the broth into a bowl and turned to retrieve a clean spoon from the drawer, when he heard a crash.

  Running down the hall to the examination room, he found his patient on her knees, trying to pick up pieces of a broken lantern. He quickly moved to lift her up by the shoulders "Careful, girl, you'll cut yourself." Scooping her up, he carried her back to the bed and examined her feet before pulling the quilt over her once more.

  She looked mortified. "I'm so sorry. I'm sure that was an antique. I can pay you for it." She looked around the room. "That is, if I can find my purse. That's what I was looking for when I got dizzy. That and my clothes."

  Tate waved a hand in dismissal. "Nonsense. It was an ordinary lantern. Nothing special about it. Now stay in bed while I fetch your broth and a broom."

  Returning moments later, he helped Lalita to prop herself up in bed and left her to the eating of the broth while he swept up the broken glass and mopped up the spilled oil with an old rag.

  He straightened from the task just in time to see her lift the bowl to her lips. His eyebrows rose of their own volition. "Well," he stuttered, trying to pretend he hadn't witnessed her lack of social graces, "how do you feel after a bit of broth?"

  She wiped her mouth on the napkin he'd given her. "I'm still starving. Could I have something else before I leave?"

  "Leave? I don't think you're quite ready to strike out on your own yet. Besides, it's getting dark. We should probably see how you feel in the morning." He set the broom behind the door. "I'll give you a thorough exam then, and hopefully, your full memory will have returned."

  Her mood seemed to shift in an instant. "Look, I appreciate the fact that you've taken care of me for a day, but it's time to cut the crap. You're just a volunteer at the Ranch pretending to be a doctor for the sake of realism. I should just give Nonnie a call and have her come get me. Since I can't find my purse, and my phone is in it, would you be so kind as to let me borrow your cell?"

  Tate had no idea what the woman just said, and he feared she might be having a stroke. Moving swiftly to her bedside, he sat on the stool. "Can you repeat that?"

  Rolling her eyes, she flung the quilt back and attempted to get out of bed. Tate put out a hand to stop her. "Miss Torres, I'm going to ask you to stay in bed. Even though I can find no evidence of it, I believe you've had a head injury that could lead to further serious complications. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

  She sat down, clearly exasperated. "Of course I can understand what you're saying, but I'm saying I need to leave now. The show's over. You've done a marvelous job of staying in character, but I really need to go."

  Tate blinked, wondering how to proceed. He needed to calm her down before she fled and injured herself again. He tried smiling. "Thank you, Miss Torres, for your sincere compliment, but I'm going to ask you to stay here with me just one more night."

  The girl's lips went into a thin line, and her agitation was evident. "Why don't I have anything on?"

  Tate wondered if this was more gibberish. He put a hand to her forehead to check for fever but found her to be cool to the touch. "What do you mean? You very plainly have on a nightgown."

  "Underneath, Sherlock. I've got nothing on underneath."

  He had no idea why she'd call him Sherlock when he'd told her his name quite plainly, but he did understand the rest of her sentence and despite being a doctor, he blushed. "Miss Torres, I can explain."

  Lalita crossed her arms over her chest. "So talk."

  "When the men brought you to me, you were soaking wet from a rain storm and nearly blue with cold. It was important to get you warmed up, so… so my housekeeper got you undressed for the bath. Not me." He moved to a free-standing wardrobe and opened the doors. "Your clothes are right here. Mrs. Kettler laundered them today, and you are free to put them back on if you like, although I think the union suit may be a bit warm for this time of year down here in the valley."

  He wasn't sure why he'd felt the need to cover up the fact that he had, indeed, undressed her down to her undergarments. As a doctor he had dealt with much more embarrassing facts.

  Lalita rose and walked across the room. Her boots, socks, underwear, and bra were stacked neatly on a shelf, along with a pair of red long johns that were obviously not hers. "Where's my tank top and shorts?"

  The doctor's brow furrowed. "I don't know about those items. This is what you were wearing when you arrived."

  She shook out the long johns and held them in front of her. "Are you kidding me? I was wearing this?"

  She read the backside's slogan— Pikes Peak or Bust— and had a flash of a memory that was there for just a moment and gone. She swayed, and he stepped forward to steady her. She felt fear rise up again, but it was squelched by the appearance of a small blonde holding a china doll in a nightgown almost identical to the one she was wearing.

  The doctor followed her gaze, his manner shifting gears. "Miss Nell, what are you doing out of bed?"

  "Papa, I heard a noise, and I wondered…" she whispered. She stepped into the room and pulled on his arm. He bent his ear to her lips, and Lalita had to strain to hear her. "I wondered if she was awake."

  Before he could answer, Lalita stepped forward, forgetting her earlier fear. "I am awake."

  The girl closed the gap between them, and Lalita squatted down to her height, still holding the long underwear. "Did you help take care of me while I slept?"

  The little blonde nodded, her long curls bouncing. Lalita put a hand to her shoulder. "Well, I appreciate it very much."

  Nell cupped her hands around her mouth, and Lalita turned her head to receive the intended message. "I'm also hungry."

  Lalita smiled and looked up at the man who was smiling down at them both, looking a bit mystified. "Me, too. I believe your papa was about to make me a bedtime snack. You can join me." She rose and stuffed the long johns back in the cupboard. "Isn't that right, Doc?"

  "I suppose we could try a bit of bread with some broth this time." He turned his attention to his daughter. "Nell, go wash your hands."

  He waved a hand toward the door. "Miss Torres, would you care to join Nellie in the dining room?"

  "In a minute. If you don't mind, I think I'll at least put on my underwear."

  Nodding, he reached for the door knob. He hesitated before closing it behind him, however. "Does this mean that you'll be staying until morning?"

  "Apparently."

  "May I ask what made you change your mind?"

  "Well, I just figured this all out. My two passions are history and kids, and here I am in a cool Victorian house with an adorable little girl." She smiled. "And you're totally hot." She took her clothes off the shelf. "I'm still sleeping, Doc, and this is just a really fantastic dream."

  Chapter 4

  Tate watched Miss Torres interact with his daughter, the two of them laughing over a silly show that the animated young woman was relating. It must have been the most fantastical stage production ever produced, being set under the sea. Or perhaps this Sponge Bob Square Pants is just another product of her head injury.

  He smiled at Nellie's laughter. Joviality had been too far removed from their lives the last few years.

  As his patient reached for another piece of bread and proceeded to mop up the last of her broth with it, Tate thought about her pronouncement that she believed she was merely dreaming. He'd not had a lot of experience with head injuries—at least not where strange delusions were involved. I may need to consult with other physicians on this case. For the time being, her dream idea was keeping her calm and happy until he could figure out some way to help her.

  Nellie yawned, and Tate checked his pocket watch. After eleven. He rose to put the rest
of the bread in the larder. "All right, Miss Nell, it's back to bed with you."

  He hesitated at the dining room doorway, loathe to leave his patient unattended while he tucked Nell back in bed. Then he had an idea. "Miss Torres, would you like to assist Nellie with her toilet and putting her to bed? She can show you the way."

  Taking one last gulp of water, she pushed back from the table. "Sure, no problem."

  She followed Nellie up the stairs while Tate carried the bread and dirty dishes to the kitchen. He didn't want to leave a sink full of dishes for Mrs. Kettler in the morning, so he washed them himself and placed them back in the cupboard, using the time to ponder what kind of treatment would help Miss Torres gain back her memory and sort out the confusion in her speech. Of course you are assuming that she wasn't confused before. He turned and leaned against the counter. Perhaps she is just mentally disturbed.

  He immediately regretted sending her upstairs with his daughter. Running through the house and up the stairs, he opened Nellie's door. By the light of a nearly full moon, he could see that she was in bed. He walked quietly forward until he could detect the sound of her breathing.

  Letting out a breath of his own, he went back out to find Miss Torres. Looking further up the hallway, he could see that the bathroom door was closed. He went to his bedroom to wait for her to come out.

  After fifteen minutes had passed, where he'd nearly fallen asleep in the chair, he jumped up and strode to the bathroom door. He knocked lightly. "Miss Torres, are you all right in there?"

  He heard a thump and pictured her on the floor, passed out. Without thinking, he opened the door.

  His patient was leaning out of the tub trying to retrieve his safety razor that was now on the floor. She gasped when she saw him, ducking back down, her forearms along the tub's edge, her chest pressed against the side. He moved swiftly and swept the razor up. "What were you doing with this?" His eyes slipped to her tattooed shoulder, then to the curve of her hip his vantage point afforded. He backed up to the doorway.