Free Under the Mistletoe with John Doe by JUDY DUARTE Page A

one in the medical field had been able to tell him when his memory would return,but the brief vision he’d had earlier today suggested it was coming—one piece at a time.
    He took a seat in one of the rockers and tried to find comfort in the beautiful winter night. But all he could seem to think about was how insignificant he and his amnesia were in the scheme of things.
    As he glanced at the empty chair beside him, he wondered if Doc ever sat out here with Betsy.
    Just the thought of the attractive woman caused him to seek out her house, to notice the lamp on inside her living-room window. Did that mean she was awake?
    And if so, would she like company?
    What would she think if he showed up unannounced?
    The idea was still in the thinking stage when her porch light went on, her front door swung open and she stepped outside.
    He watched as she made her way across the yard and approached Doc’s house.
    Did she know John was out here? Would his presence startle her?
    â€œHey,” he said, wanting to let her know he was on the porch. “What are you doing?”
    â€œJust coming over to check on Doc. What’s he up to this evening?”
    â€œReading, I suspect. He’s really gotten into that novel.”
    She continued to approach the porch, as if Doc wasn’t the only one she’d come to see about. And it pleased him to think that she cared about how he was faring.
    â€œIt’s a nice night,” he said. “Are you up for some stargazing?”
    â€œSure.” She took a seat in the rocker next to his and set hers into motion, the chair squeaking and creaking against the wood flooring.
    They didn’t talk right away, didn’t really need to. The evening sky, with its nearly full moon and massive splatter of twinkling stars, was providing them with an amazing celestial display.
    John easily found the Big and Little Dippers, as well as Polaris, which had played a big role in helping the people traveling on the underground railroad. In fact, there’d been a coded song called “Follow the Drinking Gourd” that had helped the escaped slaves find their way to freedom in the north.
    How weird was that? he wondered. The basic knowledge he’d accrued over the years didn’t seem to be affected by his amnesia, yet he couldn’t remember the people, the places or the things that had been a part of his life before he’d set foot in Brighton Valley.
    As he pondered the injustice of it all, Betsy said, “The stars are prettier than usual tonight.”
    â€œI was thinking the same thing. Being out in the country like this makes a big difference. You don’t get the full effect of the night sky in the city.”
    She turned to him. “That’s the second thing you’ve said to lead me to believe that you’re a city boy.”
    He considered her comment, but other than the words that had slipped out of his mouth, he couldn’t say one way or the other. So he shrugged. “I’m not sure where that came from.”
    â€œSo you’re still drawing a blank?”
    â€œPretty much. I do know that I drink my coffee black and I’m not too fond of vegetables.”
    â€œThe rest will come.”
    He didn’t see any reason to agree or to argue, so he let it go and stole a look at his pretty companion as she sat in the rocker, her hands perched on the armrests.
    She was seated close enough to touch, close enough for him to take hold of her hand and give it a warm and gentle squeeze. But he knew better than to overstep his boundaries, no matter how much he’d like to. So instead of boldly touching her, he continued to take in the starlit sky and the smell of night-blooming jasmine, the sounds of a cow lowing in the distance.
    He wasn’t sure how long they’d sat here, together in pensive silence and appreciation.
    A few minutes, he supposed.
    When he turned to offer her a smile, he saw that her eyes were closed and