Page 5 of Protected By the Lumberjack
The doctors report that I'm in good physical condition. I spent the night here in the hospital for observation-- Carver refused to leave my side. He slept in a chair with a wary eye toward the door of my room.
A couple of conversations with medical doctors and a two hour interview with a psychiatrist this morning, and they're saying I have amnesia.
I thought amnesia was just a plot device for soap operas and suspense novels.
"Ma'am."
The men break their huddle when they see the nurse has left the room. Sheriff Henderson-- Erik, he says I can call him-- stands at one side of my bed while Carver and Deputy Hawkins stand at the other.
"Yes?"
Hope tinges my voice, like maybe the three of them managed to magically find out something about my missing identity just from the quiet conversation that was happening while I was being prepped for discharge.
"We're going to run your prints through the national database and, if it's all right with you, we'll take a DNA sample and see what that turns up."
I almost nod, but first, I look toward Carver. In the last forty-eight hours, the gruff mountain man has become my savior, my lifeline, my best friend, and my protector. He's concerned that I might have been running from an abusive situation, or worse-- getting trafficked into one.
Carver nods, indicating that he's on board with the plan, while he easily allows my hand to take hold of his. Somethingthat seems to be our default state since I woke up in his camp hammock two nights ago.
His callused hand enfolds mine completely, the warmth and tender strength of it calming me immediately.
"We'll run everything confidentially," Erik is saying. "Carver here says you have arrangements to stay with him until we have more to go on, is that right?"
"Yes." I'm quick to make it clear that's what I want. I want to stay with Carver. Maybe more than I want to find out my own name.
"Carver and I agreed I'd stay with him while we look for my...family."
Erik nods and excuses himself to get back to the office and start looking for answers about me. Deputy Hawkins tips his own hat toward me, giving me a warm smile and sharing that his wife promised him a home baked pie if he stops by the local fruit stand for fresh berries on his way back up to mountains.
"I'll be by to check up on you," he assures us. "Keep you in the loop while we figure out who this young lady is."
"The nurse told me you can go home." Carver reaches back for a bag that the deputy brought with him this morning. "Hawk had his wife pack you some things. Not sure they'll fit, but the things you were wearing are trashed. Get changed and let's get out of here."
Carver
Scrapes. Bruises. Signs she may have taken a blow to the head, but no injuries she won't recover from or hasn'talready considering she stayed at the wrecked plane for ten nights waiting for rescue.
They told us the amnesia is probably temporary. It could have been caused by a physical injury from the crash or, more likely, it could be a trauma response to the event.
While we're in the valley, I'm more than happy to treat her to a good meal and a trip by a couple of the local stores to pick her up a few outfits that aren't comprised of donated hand-me-downs or my old shirts.
Not that my shirt didn't look good on her or that I don't hope to see her in it more often.
My attraction to her has me in a hell of a state. I'm dying to pull her into my arms, kiss away her worries, and claim her for myself.
If she needs a name, I'll give her mine.
It probably makes me an asshole of the worst sort, but I almost hope Erik and Hawk find out she was escaping a bad scene. I want an excuse not to give her back to whoever she left behind.
"Carver?"
Our drive back up the mountain has been quiet, both of us are lost in our own thoughts. But her hand never strays from mine for long and I'll be damned if it doesn't feel like it belongs there.
"Yeah?"
I resist the urge to bring her hand to my lips. It feels like the natural thing to do, but I'm too aware of all the unsolved variables still keeping us from exploring something I'm sure isn't all on my end.
"I need a name."
