He was lying on his right side, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was her. She was knitting something and looking down at it, and it gave him a chance to look at her. Really look at her. He hadn't realized how beautiful she was until just that moment, and his breath caught at the sight of her. She looked up and right at him, and he felt the full impact of those aqua blue eyes. She saw that he was awake and smiled at him. "Hello, handsome," and as soon as she said it he knew that she'd called him that many times before. "You gonna stay with me for a while?"
"What happened?"
"You broke open some stitches, and they started to bleed. How's your face feel?"
"My face? Why?"
"Because when you collapsed, you fell on it. Simon was afraid you'd broken something."
"Simon was here?"
"He was. Don't you remember?"
"No. You're sure he was here?"
"Positive. Bret was here, too. Do you remember that?"
"Bret? Sure. I spent the day with him."
"He felt guilty when you collapsed. Wanted to go get a hotel room so I could sleep in the bed. I finally convinced him to stay here after all."
"Where . . . ?"
"Where is he? Out back with Lucy."
"Lucy the cat?"
"That's right, Lucy is the cat."
Bart couldn't tell if it was day or night; he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. "Is it morning?"
"No, actually, it's afternoon. You've been unconscious or asleep since last night."
"No wonder I'm hungry." Bart tried to move his head but pain shot through him like a knife. "What did Simon do?"
Doralice looked up from her knitting. "He had to take new stitches – double stitches, he said, because your scalp just did not want to hold together. He said you could sit up if you wanted to, but no getting out of bed. He'll be back tonight to check everything."
"I didn't do anything I wasn't supposed to," Bart insisted.
"Simon thought it might have been the riding. He wants to make sure you're healed this time before he lets you do anything like that again." She set aside her knitting and smiled. "How about I fix you something to eat? Do you want breakfast or lunch?"
"I don't care. Whatever's easy, as long as it comes with coffee."
"I'll be back soon." As Doralice left the bedroom, Bret walked in holding a brown tabby cat. She wiggled frantically until he set her down on the bed. She crawled up to Bart and snuggled in next to him, purring furiously.
"Obviously she's your cat," his brother remarked as he sat in the recently vacated chair. "Glad to see you're awake. This is my fault – I should have insisted we take the buggy. Sorry."
"Not your fault. It could have happened with the buggy. I was in a big hurry to get out of this bed . . . for all the good it did me." He looked down at the furry brown bundle all curled up next to him. "So you're Lucy, huh?"
'Brrrrrrruuuppp' was the cat's response, startling both brothers. "I guess that's who she is, alright," Bret laughed. "I didn't know one little cat could get that loud."
Bart had a sudden flash of memory. "Yes, you did. Remember her momma, the one that found me on the Trinity River? I named her . . . Melody."
"You remember the Trinity River? What else?"
"Just . . . just that. The river and the cat. It was her meow that did it."
Doralice appeared with coffee for both brothers. Bret helped Bart sit up in bed, and each took a cup. "Lunch will be ready in a minute. Bret, I've fixed you some, too. You didn't eat breakfast."
"Doralice, I don't want . . ."
"I don't care. No arguing with the lady of the house."
"How long are you gonna stay in Little Bend?" Bart queried, in between swallows of coffee.
"A couple more days. Then I've gotta go back. Ginny will be sittin' in the living room, waitin' for me with a shotgun."
"Tell me about your wife and your kids. You haven't said a word about 'em."
"Ginny is the most beautiful redhead . . . "
For the next hour, Bret told his brother everything he could think of about his wife and their two children, Grace and Bartley. Doralice served lunch and Bart listened to every word his brother said, interrupting now and again to ask questions, but nothing sounded in the least familiar. Somewhere during that hour Beauregard got tired of playing with his little brother and slipped into the room, crawling into bed with his father and displacing the cat. "He's an odd child, isn't he?" Bart asked once he'd determined that Beau had fallen asleep.
"Scooter's a good kid," Bret answered.
"Why do you call him Scooter?"
"Before he could walk he used to scoot around the floor on his bottom. Even after he learned to walk, he still scooted around a lot. He's too old for that now, and he's told me to call him Beauregard, but I keep forgettin'. And he's already playin' poker. You should see him shuffle and cut, better even than you and me did at that age. He wants to play professionally, Bart, whether you want him to or not. And you're his hero . . . he wants to be just like you."
"He does?"
"Yes, he does."
They sat for a few minutes in silence, Bart brushing the boy's hair off of his face. Eventually Beau stretched and yawned, and his eyes opened slightly as he looked up at Bart and smiled. "Daddy?"
"I'm here, Beauregard."
The boy closed his eyes and was soon asleep. "You know what he's gonna think, don't you?" Bret questioned.
"Yeah, but that's alright. He just wants his daddy to love him."
"Can you do that without remembering?"
The amnesiac chuckled softly. "I think I already do."