Praise for Tina Beckett

‘… a tension-filled emotional story with just the right amount of drama. The author’s vivid description of the Brazilian jungle and its people make this story something special.’

—RT Book Reviews on Doctor’s Guide to Dating in the Jungle

Born to a family that was always on the move, TINA BECKETT learned to pack a suitcase almost before she knew how to tie her shoes. Fortunately she met a man who also loved to travel, and she snapped him right up. Married for over twenty years, Tina has three wonderful children and has lived in gorgeous places such as Portugal and Brazil.

Living where English reading material is difficult to find has its drawbacks, however. Tina had to come up with creative ways to satisfy her love for romance novels, so she picked up her pen and tried writing one. After her tenth book she realised she was hooked. She was officially a writer.

A three-time Golden Heart finalist, and fluent in Portuguese, Tina now divides her time between the United States and Brazil. She loves to use exotic locales as the backdrop for many of her stories. When she’s not writing you can find her either on horseback or soldering stained glass panels for her home.

Tina loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website or ‘friend’ her on Facebook.

The Soldier She Could Never Forget
Tina Beckett

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Sometimes life gives us second chances: a dream job we passed up for something else, a return trip to a childhood home, a first love that was lost many years ago. And sometimes … sometimes we come to understand why things happened the way they did in the past.

Thank you for joining Jessi and Clint as they unexpectedly come face-to-face after years apart. As Jessi struggles to understand what went wrong between them Clint wrestles with the demons that haunt him. And maybe, through the power of forgiveness and with an approving nod from fate, they can rediscover a love they thought long dead.

Clint and Jessi’s journey has a special place in my heart. I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I loved writing it!

Much love

Tina Beckett

To my children. You bring me joy, every single day.

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Tina Beckett

About the Author

Title Page

Dear Reader

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

PROLOGUE

Twenty-two years earlier

“JESS. DON’T CRY.”

The low words came from behind her, the slight rasp to his tone giving away his identity immediately.

Jessi stiffened, but she didn’t turn around. Oh, God. He’d followed her. She hadn’t realized anyone had even seen her tearful flight out of the auditorium, much less come after her. But they had. And those low gravely tones didn’t belong to Larry Riley, who’d had a crush on her for ages, or her father—thank God!—but Clinton Marks, the last person she would have expected to care about what she thought or felt.

“I—I’m not.”

One scuffed motorcycle boot appeared on the other side of the log where she was seated, the footwear in stark contrast to the flowing green graduation gowns they both wore—and probably topping the school’s list of banned attire for tonight’s ceremony.

The gown made her smile. Clint, in what amounted to a dress. She hoped someone had gotten a picture of that.

He sat beside her as she hurried to scrub away the evidence of her anguish. Not soon enough, though, because cool fingers touched her chin, turning her head toward him. “You’re a terrible liar, Jessi May.”

Somehow hearing the pet name spoken in something other than his normal mocking tones caused hot tears to wash back into her eyes and spill over, trailing down her cheeks until one of them reached his thumb. He brushed it away, his touch light.

She’d never seen him like this. Maybe the reality of the night had struck him, as well. In a few short hours, her group of friends would all be flying off to start new lives. Larry and Clint would be headed for boot camp. And her best friend would be spending the next year in Spain on a college exchange program.

They were all leaving.

All except Jessi.

She was stuck here in Richmond—with an overly strict father who’d come down hard when he’d heard Larry was gearing up for a career in the army. The papers weren’t signed yet, but they would be in a matter of days. She’d done her best to hide the news, but her dad had been bound to find out sooner or later. He didn’t want her involved with a military man. Kind of unreasonable in a place where those kinds of men were a dime a dozen.

Maybe she should have picked an out-of-state college, rather than choosing to commute from home. But as an only child, she hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to leave her mom alone in that huge house.

“What’s going on, Jess?” Clint’s voice came back to her, pulling her from her pity party.

She shrugged. “My dad, he … He just …” It sounded so stupid to complain about her father to someone who flouted authority every chance he got. If only she could be like that. But she’d always been a people pleaser. The trait had gotten worse once she’d been old enough to realize her mom’s “vitamins” were actually antidepressants.

Instead of the flip attitude she’d expected from Clint, though, his eyes turned this cold shade of gunmetal gray that made her shiver. His fingers tightened slightly on her chin. “Your father what, Jess? What did he do?”

Her teeth came down on her lip when she realized what he was saying. There’d been rumors about Clint’s family, that his father was the reason he was the way he was.

Her dad was nothing like that.

“He didn’t do anything. He’s just … unreasonable. He’s against me being with people like you or Larry.”

His head tilted. “Me … and Larry.” His mouth turned up at the corners. “I see your dad’s point. Larry and I are definitely cut from the same cloth.”

They weren’t. Not at all. Larry was like her. He was all about good grades and toeing the line. Clint, however, lived on the edge of trouble—his skull tattoo and pierced ear making teachers shake their heads, while all the girls swooned.

Including her.

His words made her smile, though. “You’re both going into the army.”

“Ah, I see. Your father wouldn’t like me, though, in or out of the army.”

Her smile widened. “He’s protective.”

He made a sound low in his throat that might have been a laugh. “The thing is …” his eyes found hers again and a warm hand cupped the back of her neck “… I didn’t know I was even in the running. So I’m neck and neck with Larry straight-A Riley.”

Something hot flared low in her belly. Clint had never, ever given the slightest hint he was interested in her. And yet here he was. Beside her. The only person to notice her walk off the stage and slip out the door after getting her diploma. The only one who’d followed her.

“I—I … Did you want to be?”

“No.”

The word should have cut her to the quick, except the low pained tone was somehow at odds with his denial.

“Clint …?” Her fingertips moved to his cheek, her eyes meeting his with something akin to desperation.

Another sound rumbled up from his chest, coming out as a groan this time. Then, something she’d never dreamed possible—in all of her eighteen years—happened.

Clinton Marks—bad boy extraordinaire—whispered her name. Right before his mouth came down and covered hers.

CHAPTER ONE

“CHELSEA’S NEW DOCTOR arrived today.” The nurse’s matter-of-fact words stopped her in her tracks.

Jessica Marie Riley blinked and turned back to the main desk of the Richmond VA hospital, where her twenty-one-year-old daughter had spent the past two months of her life—a frail shell of the robust soldier who’d been so proud of toughing it out at army boot camp.

It had always been just her and Chelsea against the world. They’d supported each other, laughed together, told each other everything.

Until she’d returned from her very first tour of duty as a former POW … and a different person.

“He did?” Jessi’s stomach lurched. Her daughter’s last doctor had left unexpectedly and she’d been told there was a possibility she’d be shuffled between the other military psychiatrists until a replacement could be found.

Maria, the nurse who’d admitted Chelsea and had shown a huge amount of compassion toward both of them, hesitated. She knew what a sore spot this was. “Dr. Cordoba had some family issues and resigned his commission. It really wasn’t his fault.”

Jessi knew from experience how devastating some family issues could be. But with the hurricane that had just gouged its way up the coast, her work schedule at Scott’s Memorial had been brutal. The shortage of ER doctors had never been more evident, and it had driven the medical staff to the brink of exhaustion. It also made her a little short on patience.

And now her daughter had lost the only doctor she’d seemed to bond with during her hospitalization.

Jess had hoped they’d finally get some answers about why Chelsea had spiraled into the depths of despair after coming home—and that she’d finally find a way to be at peace with whatever had happened in that squalid prison camp.

That tiny thread of hope had now been chopped in two. Anger flared at how easy it was for people like Dr. Cordoba to leave patients who counted on him.

Not fair, Jess. You’re not walking in his shoes.

But the man wasn’t walking in hers, either. He hadn’t been there on that terrible day when her daughter had tried to take her own life.

She couldn’t imagine how draining it was to deal with patients displaying symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder on a daily basis, but Jessi had been handed some pretty awful cases herself. No one saw her throwing in the towel and moving on to some cushy private gig.

Maria came around the desk and touched her arm. “Her new doctor is one of the top in his field. He’s dedicated his life to treating patients like your daughter—in fact, he transferred from California just to take over Dr. Cordoba’s PTSD patients. At least until we can get a permanent replacement. He’s already been to see Chelsea and reviewed her chart.”

Top in his field. That had to be good, right? But if he was only temporary …

“What did he think?”

This time, the nurse wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. “I’m not sure. He asked me to send you to his office as soon as you arrived. He’s down the hall, first door on your left.”

Dr. Cordoba’s old office.

The thread of anger continued to wind through her veins, despite Maria’s encouraging words. This was Chelsea’s third doctor. That averaged out to more than one a month. How long did this newest guy plan on sticking around?

A sudden thought came to her. “How did the hospital find this doctor so quickly?”

“This is what he does. He rotates between military hospitals, filling in …” The sound of yelling came from down the hallway, stopping Maria’s explanation in its tracks. A woman headed their way, pushing a wheelchair, while the older gentleman in the seat bellowed something unintelligible, his fist shaking in the air.

“Excuse me,” said the nurse, quickly moving toward the pair. She threw over her shoulder, “Chelsea’s doctor is in his office. He’s expecting you. Just go on in.” Her attention shifted toward the agitated patient. “Mr. Ballenger, what’s wrong?”

Not wanting to stand there like a gawker, Jessi stiffened her shoulders and headed in the direction Maria had indicated.

First door on the left.

All she wanted to do was skip the requisite chit-chat and go straight to Chelsea’s room. But that was evidently not going to happen. Not until she met with the newest member of Chelsea’s treatment team.

Feeling helpless and out of control was rapidly becoming the norm for Jessi. And she didn’t like it. At all.

She stopped in front of the door and glared at the nameplate. Dr. Cordoba’s credentials were still prominently displayed in the cheap gold-colored frame. The new guy really was new.

Damn, and she’d forgotten to ask the nurse his name. It didn’t really matter. He’d introduce himself. So would she, and then he’d ask her how she was. That’s what they always did.

Tell the truth? Or nod and say, “Fine,” just like she did every other time someone asked her?

She lifted her hand and rapped on the solid wood door.

“Come in.” The masculine drawl coming from within was low and gruff.

The back of her neck prickled, the sensation sweeping across her shoulders and down her arms, lifting every fine hair in its path. If she had to pick a description to pair that voice with, she’d say impatient. Or sexy. Two words you didn’t want associated with an army psychiatrist. Or any psychiatrist, for that matter. And certainly not one charged with her daughter’s care.

He’s probably fat and bald, Jess.

Comforted by that thought, she pushed the lever down and opened the door.

He wasn’t fat. Or bald.

His head was turned to the side, obscuring most of his face, but the man seated behind the gray, military-issue desk had a full head of jet-black hair, the sides short in typical army fashion, while the longer top fell casually across his forehead. Jessi spied a few strands of gray woven through the hair at his temple.

He appeared to be intently studying his computer screen. Something about his profile tugged at her, just like his voice had. She shook off the sensation, rubbing her upper arms as she continued to stand there.

He had to be pushing forty, judging from the lines beside his eyes as well as the long crease down the side of his left cheek. The result of a dimple utilized far too many times?

Something in her mind swirled back to life as if some hazy image was trying to imprint itself on her consciousness.

“Feel free to sit,” he said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

She swallowed, all thoughts of new doctors and balding men fading as worry nibbled at the pit of her stomach. Was something wrong with Chelsea? She tried to open her mouth to ask, but the words were suddenly stuck in her throat. Maybe that’s why Maria wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. Had Chelsea made another suicide attempt? Surely the nurse would have said something had that been the case.

Pulling one of the two chairs back a few inches, she eased into it, her gaze shuffling around the room, trying to find anything that would calm her nerves.

What it landed on was the nameplate on the doctor’s desk. Not Dr. Cordoba’s. Instead …

Jessi froze. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision and focused on the letters again, sliding across each one individually and hoping that an a would somehow morph into an e.

Her gaze flicked back to the portion of his face she could see. Recognition roared to life this time.

She should have realized that prickling sensation hadn’t been a fluke when she’d heard his voice. But she would never have dreamed …

Images of heated kisses and stolen moments in the grass beside the creek near her high school flashed through her head.

God. Clinton Marks. A ghost from her past … a rite of passage.

That’s all it had been. A moment in time. And yet here he was, sitting across from her in living color.

Worse, he was evidently her daughter’s new doctor. How was that possible?

Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her.

When his gray eyes finally swung her way, that hope dropped like a boulder from a cliff. A momentary burst of shock crossed his face, jaw squaring, lips tightening. Then the familiar mocking smile from school appeared, and his gaze dropped to her empty ring finger.

“I should have recognized his last name,” he said. “Me and Larry. Neck and neck …”

His murmured words turned their shared past into a silly nursery rhyme. His next words shattered that illusion, however. “Still married to him?”

She swallowed. “Widowed.”

Larry had died in a car accident a few months after their wedding. Right after he’d discovered from a mutual friend that she’d been seen returning to the auditorium with Clint the night of graduation. He’d asked her a question she’d refused to answer, and then he’d roared off into the night, never to come home.

“I’m sorry.”

Was he? She couldn’t tell by looking at him. The Clinton Marks of twenty-two years ago had worn this exact same mask during high school, not letting any kind of real emotion seep through. The earring was gone, and his tattoo was evidently hidden beneath the long sleeves of his shirt, but he still projected an attitude of blasé amusement. She’d seen that mask crack one time. And that memory now kept her glued to her chair instead of storming out and demanding that the “punk” who’d slept with her and then left without a word be removed from her daughter’s case immediately and replaced with someone who actually cared.

Someone who had at least a modicum of empathy.

He did.

She’d seen it.

Experienced it.

Had felt gentle fingers tunnel through her hair, palms cupping her face and blotting her tears.

She sucked down a deep breath, realizing he was waiting for a response. “Thank you. He’s been gone a long time.”

And so have you. She kept that to herself, however.

His gaze shifted back to something on his monitor before fastening on her face once again. “Your daughter. There’s no chance that …?”

“I’m sorry?” Her sluggish brain tried to sift through his words, but right now it seemed to be misfiring.

“Chelsea. Her chart says she’s twenty-one.”

It clicked. What he was saying. The same question Larry had asked her before storming off: Is the kid even mine? Pain slashed through her all over again. “She’s my husband’s.”

His jaw hardened further. “You didn’t waste much time marrying him after I left.”

She was sure it would have seemed that way to him. But Clint had been already on his way out of town. Gone long before he’d actually left. There had never been any question of him staying, and he’d used protection that night, so surely he knew Chelsea couldn’t be his. But, then, condoms had been known to fail.

“You weren’t coming back. You said so yourself.” The fact that there was a hint of accusation in her voice didn’t seem to faze him.

“No. I wasn’t.”

And there you had it. Clinton Marks was the same old looking-out-for-number-one boy she remembered. Only now he was packed into a man’s body.

A hard, masculine body with a face capable of breaking a million hearts.

He’d broken at least one.

Only she hadn’t admitted it at the time. Instead, she’d moved on with her life the day he’d left, doing everything in her power to erase the memory of that devastating night. She’d thought she’d succeeded with Larry. And she had loved him, in her own way. He’d been everything Clint hadn’t. Kind. Dependable. Permanent.

And willing to give up his career to be with her.

Three months later they’d married, and she’d become pregnant.

And Jessi certainly loved the child she’d made with him.

In fact, that was why she was here: Chelsea.

“It was a long time ago …” Her gaze flicked to the nameplate, and she made a quick decision about how to treat this unexpected meeting. And how to address him. “Dr. Marks, if you think that what happened between two kids—and that’s all we were—will hinder your ability to help my daughter—”

“Are we really going to do this, Jessi May?” His brow cocked as the name slid effortlessly past his lips. “Pretend that night never happened? I’m interested in treating Chelsea, not in making a play for you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Her face heated. “Of course I’m not.”

And he was making it perfectly clear that he had no more interest in her now than he had all those years ago.

“I only asked about her parentage because I would need to remove myself from her case if it turned out she was … not Larry’s.”

In other words, if Chelsea were his.

What a relief it must be to him that she wasn’t.

What a mess. Not quite a love triangle, but almost. There was one side missing, though. Larry had been infatuated with her. She’d been infatuated with Clint. And Clint had loved no one but himself.

Which brought her back to her current dilemma. “My daughter is sensitive. If she thinks you’re treating her to work your way up some military ladder, you could damage her even more.”

“I’m very good at what I do. And I’m not interested in going any further up the ladder.”

The words weren’t said with pride. In fact, there was an edge of strain behind them.

She believed him. The word Colonel in front of his name attested to decades of hard work. She knew from her father’s days in the army that it took around twenty years to make that particular rank. Her dad had made it all the way up to general before his death five years ago.

In fact, her father was why she and Clint had wound up by the creek. When he’d realized Larry was headed for a military career her dad had gone off on her, using her mom’s depression as ammunition for his position. The night of graduation had brought home all the changes that had been about to happen. Everyone she cared about had been on their way out of her life.

Only Larry had changed his mind at the last minute, inexplicably deciding to study at a local community college and take classes in agriculture instead.

Her glance went back to Clint, whose jaw still bore a hard edge of tension.

Me and Larry … neck and neck.

And Larry had stayed behind. With her.

The only one who knew about her dad besides her girlfriends was … “Oh, my God. You told him, didn’t you? You told Larry about my father.”

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t even blink. “How is he? Your father?”

“He’s gone. He died five years ago.” The pain in her chest grew. They may never have seen eye to eye about a lot of things, but she’d loved the man. And in spite of his shortcomings, he’d been a tower of strength after Larry had died and she’d been left alone, pregnant and grieving.

“I’m sorry.” Clint reached across the desk to cover her hand with his. “Your mom?”

“She’s okay. Worried about Chelsea. Just like I am.”

He pulled back and nodded. “Let’s discuss your daughter, then.”

“The nurse said you’ve already seen her, and you’ve read her chart, so you know what she tried to do.”

“Let’s talk about that, and then we’ll see her together.” He pulled a yellow legal pad from a drawer of his desk and laid it in front of him. He was neat, she’d give him that, and it surprised her. Around ten pencils, all sharpened to fine points, were lined up side by side, and a single good-quality pen was at the end of the row. Nothing else adorned the stark surface of his desk, other than his nameplate and his computer monitor. So very different from the scruffy clothes and longish hair she remembered from their school days. And she’d bet those motorcycle boots were long gone, probably replaced by some kind of shiny dress shoes.

Maybe that had all been an act. Because the man she saw in front of her was every bit as disciplined as her father had been.

She shook herself, needing to gather her wits.

The only thing she should be thinking about was the here and now … and how the Clint of today could or couldn’t help her daughter.

What had happened between them was in the past. It was over. And, as Clint had said, what they should be concentrating on was Chelsea.

So that’s what Jessi was going to do.

If, for some reason, she judged that he couldn’t help in her daughter’s recovery, then she would call, write letters, parade in front of the hospital with picket signs, if necessary. And she would keep on doing it, until someone found her a doctor who could.

CHAPTER TWO

CLINT FORCED HIMSELF to stare over her shoulder rather than at the mouthwatering jiggle of her ass. The woman was no longer the stick-thin figure he’d known once upon a time. Instead, she boasted soft curves that flowed down her body like gentle ocean swells and made his hands itch to mold and explore.

Forget it, jerk. You’re here for one thing only. To help Jessi’s daughter and others like her.

No one had been more shocked than he’d been to realize the beautiful woman sitting across from him, worry misting her deep green eyes, was none other than the girl he’d lusted after in school.

The one he’d kissed in a rare moment of weakness, her tears triggering every protective instinct in his body.

The woman he’d handed off to the boy she’d really wanted—the one she’d married.

Unfortunately for Clint, he still didn’t seem to be immune to her even after all these years.

He’d wanted to protect her.

Only he hadn’t been able to back then. He couldn’t now.

The only thing he could do was his job.

They reached Chelsea’s room, and he shoved aside a new ache in his gut. The one that had struck when he’d realized the young woman’s age was close enough to a certain deadly encounter to make him wonder whose she was.

Three months earlier and this story could have had a different ending.

No. It couldn’t.

He’d done what he’d had to do back then—left—and he had no regrets.

Jessi glanced back and caught his look, her brows arching in question.

Okay, maybe he had one regret.

But it was too late to do anything about that now.

His fingers tightened on Chelsea’s chart, and he started to push through the door, but Jessi stopped him. “I’ve been hearing things about the VA hospitals, Clint. You need to know up front that if I feel like she’s not getting the treatment she needs here, I’ll put her somewhere else.”

His insides turned into a hard ball. He cared about his patients. All of them. No matter what the bean counters in Washington recommended or the hospital administration at whatever unit he was currently assigned to said or did, he treated his patients as if they were his comrades in arms … which they were. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve heard. As long as I’m here, she’ll get the best I have.”

“But what if the hospital rules tell you to—?”

One side of his mouth went up. “Jessi May, always worried about something. Since when have you known me to play by anyone’s rules?” A question they both knew the answer to, since he’d challenged almost every regulation their high school had been able to come up with.

“Would you please stop calling me that?”

His smile widened. “Is it a rule?”

“No.” Her whole demeanor softened, and she actually laughed. “Because it’ll just make you worse.”

“I rest my case.”

A nurse walked down the hallway, throwing them a curious look and reminding him of the serious issues Jessi was facing.

He took a step back. “Are you ready?”

“I think so.”

Clint entered the room first, holding the door open for her.

Sitting in a chair by the window, his patient stared out across the lawn, not even acknowledging their presence. Hell, how could he not have seen the resemblance between the two women?

Chelsea had the same blond hair, the same pale, haunted features that her mother had once had. Only there was no way the young woman before him today could have survived basic training while maintaining that raw edge of vulnerability, so it was new. A result of her PTSD.

It affected people differently. Some became wounded and tortured, lashing out at themselves.

And some became impulsive and angry. Hitting out at others.

Clint wasn’t sure which was worse, although as a teenager with a newly broken pinkie finger, he could have told you right off which he preferred.

Only he’d never told anyone about his finger. Or about his father.

And when he’d found Jessi crying outside the school building because of something her own father had done … he’d thought the worst. Only to have relief sweep through his system when it had been something completely different.

He drew a careful breath. “Hi, Chelsea. Do you remember me from earlier today?”

No reaction. The waif by the window continued to stare. He glanced at her chart again to remind himself of the medications Dr. Cordoba had prescribed.

He made a note to lower the dosage to see if it had any effect. He wanted to help Chelsea cope, not turn her into a zombie.

Jessi went over to her daughter and dropped to her knees, taking the young woman’s hands in hers and looking up at her. “Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I want to go home.” The words were soft. So soft, Clint almost missed them.

Jessi hadn’t, though. Her chin wobbled for a second, before she drew her spine up. “I want that, too, baby. More than anything. But you’re not ready. You know you’re not.”

“I know.” The response was just as soft. She turned to look back out the window, as if tuning out anything that didn’t get her what she wanted.

Clint knew Chelsea’s reaction was a defense mechanism, but having her own daughter shut her out had to shred Jessi’s insides even though she was absolutely doing what was right for Chelsea.

He pulled up a chair and sat in front of the pair, forcing himself to keep his attention focused on his patient and not her mother. “I’m going to adjust some of your medications, Chelsea. Would that be okay?”

The girl sighed, but she did turn her head slightly to acknowledge she’d heard him. “Whatever you think is best.”

He spent fifteen minutes watching the pair interact, making notes and comparing his observations with what he’d read of her past behavior.

She’d slashed her wrists. Jessi had found her bleeding in the bathtub and had fashioned tourniquets out of two scarves—quick thinking that had saved her daughter’s life.

A couple of pints of blood later, they’d avoided permanent brain and organ damage.

Unfortunately, the infusion hadn’t erased the emotional damage that had come about as a result of what her chart said was months spent in captivity.

Trauma—any trauma—had to be processed mentally and emotionally. Some people seemed to escape unscathed, letting the memory of the event roll off their backs. Others were crushed beneath it.

And others pretended they didn’t give a damn.

Even when they did.

Like him?

Jessi had coaxed Chelsea over to the bed and sat next to her, arm draped around her shoulders, still talking to her softly. He got up and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll give you a few minutes. Stop in and talk to me before you leave the hospital.” He didn’t add the word okay or allow his voice to change tone at the end of the phrase, because he didn’t want to make it seem like a request. Not because he wasn’t sure she’d honor it, but part of him wondered if she’d head back to the front desk and demand to have another doctor assigned to the case.

Clint had to somehow break the tough news to Jessi that she was stuck with him for the next couple of months or for however long Chelsea was here. There just wasn’t anyone else.

So it was up to him to convince her that he could help her daughter, if she gave him a chance. Not hard, since he believed it himself. Clint had dealt with all types of soldiers in crisis, both male and female, something Dr. Cordoba had not. It was part of the reason Clint had agreed to this assignment. His rotations didn’t keep him anywhere for more than six months at a time. Surely that would be long enough to treat Chelsea or at least come up with a plan for how to proceed.

If he’d known one of Dr. Cordoba’s toughest cases was Jessi Spencer’s daughter, though, he wouldn’t have been quite so quick to agree to return to his hometown.

Being here was dangerous on a number of levels.

Jessi’s not the girl you once knew.

He sensed it. She was stronger than she’d been in school. She’d had to be after being widowed at a young age and raising a daughter on her own. And according to the listing on Chelsea’s chart, Jessi was now an ER physician. You didn’t deal with trauma cases all day long without having a cast-iron stomach and a tough emotional outlook.

He’d seen a touch of that toughness in his office. Her eyes had studied him, but had given nothing away, unlike the Jessi of his past, who’d worn her heart on her sleeve.

Just as well. He was here to treat the daughter, not take up where he’d left off with the mother. Not that he’d “left off” with her. He’d had a one-night stand and had then made sure her beau had known that to win her heart he had to be willing to give up his dreams for her.

Evidently he had.

That was one thing Clint wouldn’t do. For anyone.

If he could just keep that in mind for the next couple of months, he’d be home free. And if he was able to help Chelsea get the help she needed while he was at it, that was icing on the cake.

He corrected himself. No, not just the icing. It was the whole damn cake. And that was what he needed to focus on.

Anything else would be a big mistake.

“And how long will that be?” Jessi’s mouth opened, then snapped back shut, before trying again. “I don’t want Chelsea’s next doctor to give up on her like …”

Her voice faded away as the reality of what she’d been about to say swept through her: Like Dr. Cordoba did. Like Chelsea’s father did when he took off into the night.

“Are you talking about Dr. Cordoba?”

She blinked. Had he read her mind? “Yes.”

“He didn’t give up on her.” His voice softened. “His wife is very ill. He had to take a job that allows him to be home with her as much as possible. He couldn’t do that and continue working long hours here. He knew his patients deserved more than that.”

Oh, God. Her ire at the other doctor dissolved in a heartbeat. She’d been so caught up in her own problems that she hadn’t even stopped to think that maybe he had been dealing with things that were every bit as bad as hers were. Maybe even worse. “I …” She swallowed. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

The events of the past months were suddenly too much for her, and her heart pounded, her stomach churned.

Please, no. Not now.

She’d had two panic attacks since Chelsea’s hospitalization, so she recognized the signs.

Pressing a hand to her middle, she tried to force back the nausea and took a few careful breaths.

“I thought you should know.” Clint leaned forward. “If you’re worried about me suddenly taking off, don’t be. I’ll give you plenty of notice.”

This time.

The words hung in the air between them, and for a horrible, soul-stealing second she thought he was hinting for her not to get her hopes up.

“I’m not expecting you to stay forever.” The sensation in her chest and stomach grew, heat crawling up her neck and making her ears ring. Her vision narrowed to a pinpoint. And then it was too late to stop it. “I think I’m going …”

She lurched to her feet and somehow made it through the door and to the first stall in the restroom before her gut revolted in a violent spasm, and she threw up. She’d been running on coffee and pure adrenaline for the past several weeks, and she hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning. The perfect set-up for an attack.

That had to be the reason. Not finding Clint sitting behind that desk.

Again and again, her stomach heaved, mingling with tears of frustration.

When she finally regained control over herself, she flushed the toilet with shaking hands before going to the sink, bending down to rinse her mouth and splash water over her face. She blindly reached for the paper-towel dispenser, only to have some kind of cloth pressed into her hand.

Holding the fabric tightly to her face and wishing she could blot away the past two months as easily as the moisture, she sucked down a couple more slow breaths, her heart rate finally slowing to some semblance of normality.

“Thank you.” She lifted her head, already knowing who she’d find when she opened her eyes. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Why? Because it’s against the rules? I thought we’d already sorted all that out.” He added a smile. “Besides, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

The words swirled with bitter familiarity through her head. They were the same ones he’d said the night of their high-school graduation ceremony when she’d suddenly veered away from the rows of chairs and rushed out into the parking lot and then down to a nearby creek. Thankfully neither her dad nor mom had seen her. And an hour and a half later, when the ceremony had been over and the reception had been in full swing, she’d returned. With the lie that Clint had told her to use trembling on her tongue … that she’d been sick with nerves.

Her dad had bought it, just like Clint had said he would.

Only when she’d said it, it had no longer been a lie, because she had felt sick. Not because of nerves, but because the boy she’d always wanted—the boy she’d lost her virginity to—would soon be on his way to the airport, headed for boot camp. Leaving her behind forever.

“It’s just the shock of everything.”

“I know.”

She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Clint made no effort to take off his jacket and drape it around her. It was a good thing, because she’d probably dissolve into a puddle all over again if he did.

“Have you eaten recently?”

“What?”

“I get the feeling you’re running on fumes along with a heaped dose of stress. Which is probably why—” he nodded at the closed stall “—that just happened.”

Leave it to him to point out the obvious. “I can eat later.”

He nodded. “Yes. Or you could eat while we go over some treatment options. I skipped breakfast this morning and could use something, as well. Besides, some carbs will help settle your stomach.”

Before she knew it, she found herself in the hospital cafeteria with a toasted bagel and a cup of juice sitting in front of her.

A hint of compassion in his voice as he detailed the treatments he’d like to try told her this wasn’t going to be an easy fix. It was something Chelsea would be dealing with for the rest of her life. He just wanted to give her the tools she needed to do that successfully.

It was what Jessie wanted, as well. More than anything. As a mom, she wanted to be able to make things better, to take away her daughter’s pain. But she couldn’t. She had to trust that Clint knew what he was doing.

He certainly sounded capable.

“And what if she tries to do something to herself?” She set the bagel back down on the plate, unable to leave the subject alone.

“I’ll take steps to avoid the possibility.” He steepled his fingers and met her gaze with a steadiness that unnerved her. The man was intimidating, even though she knew he wasn’t trying to be. Despite his reassurances, she still wasn’t convinced Clint was the man for the job. Especially considering their history—which, granted, wasn’t much of one. On his side, anyway.

What other option did she have, though? An institution? Bring her home and hope Chelsea didn’t try to take her life again?

No. She couldn’t risk there being a next time.

She’d do anything it took to help bring her daughter back from wherever she was. That included seeing Clint every day for the rest of her life and reliving what they’d done by the bank of that creek.

Decision made.

“I want you to keep me informed of every move you make.”

One brow quirked. Too late she realized he could have taken her words the wrong way. But he didn’t throw a quick comeback, like he might have done in days gone by. Instead, he simply said the words she needed to hear most: “Don’t worry, Jessi. Even if we have to break every rule in the book, we’re going to pull her through this.”

And as much as the word we made something inside her tingle to life, it was that other statement that reached out and grabbed her. The one that said the old Clint was still crouched inside that standard issue haircut and neat-as-a-pin desk. It was there in his eyes. The glowing intensity that said, despite outward appearances, he hadn’t turned into a heartless bureaucrat after years of going through proper channels.

He was a rule-breaker. He always had been. And just like his bursting into the ladies’ restroom unannounced, it gave her hope, along with a sliver of fear.

She knew from experience he wasn’t afraid to break anything that got in the way of what he wanted. She just had to make sure one of those “things” wasn’t her heart.

CHAPTER THREE

JESSI HAD JUST finished suturing an elbow laceration and was headed in to pick up her next chart when a cry of pain came from the double bay doors of the emergency entrance.

“Ow! It hurts!”

A man holding a little girl in his arms lurched into the waiting area, his face as white as the linoleum flooring beneath his feet. The child’s frilly pink party dress had a smear of dirt along one side of it, as did her arm and one side of her face. That had Jessi moving toward the pair. The other cases in the waiting room at the moment were minor illnesses and injuries.

The man’s wild eyes latched on to her, taking in the stethoscope around her neck. “Are you a doctor?”

“Yes. How can I help?”

“We were at a … She fell …” The words tumbled out of his mouth, nothing making sense. Especially since the girl’s pained cries were making the already stricken expression on his face even worse.

She tried to steer him in the right direction. “She fell. Is this your daughter?”

“Yes. She fell off a trampoline at a friend’s house. It’s her leg.”

Like with many fun things about childhood—climbing trees, swimming in the lake, riding a bike—danger lurked around every corner, ready to strike.

Jessi brushed a mass of blond curls off the girl’s damp face and spoke to her. “What’s your name?”

“Tammy,” she said between sobs.

She maintained eye contact with her little charge. “Tammy, I know your leg must hurt terribly. We’re going to take you back and help fix it.” She motioned to one of the nurses behind the admission’s desk. Gina immediately came toward them with a clipboard.

The girl nodded, the volume of her cries going down a notch.

“Let’s take her into one of the exam rooms, while Nurse Stanley gets some information.”

It wasn’t standard protocol—they were supposed to register all admissions unless there was a life-threatening injury—but right now Jessi wanted to take away not only the child’s pain but the father’s, as well.

Maybe Clint wasn’t the only one who knew how to break a few rules.

But she had to. She recognized that look of utter terror and helplessness on the dad’s face. She’d felt the same paralyzing fear as she’d crouched in the bathtub with her daughter, blood pouring out of Chelsea’s veins. She’d sent out that same cry for help. To God. To the universe. To anyone who would listen.

And like the distraught father following her to a treatment room, she’d been forced to place her child in the hands of a trained professional and pray they could fix whatever was wrong. Because it was something beyond her own capabilities.

But what if it was also beyond the abilities of the people you entrusted them to?

Raw fear pumped back into her chest, making her lungs ache.

Stop it.

She banished Clint and Chelsea from her thoughts and concentrated on her job. This little girl needed her, and she had to have her head in the game if she wanted to help her.

“Which leg is it?” she asked the father.

“Her right. It’s her shin.”

“Did she fall on the ground? Or which part of the trampoline?”

She asked question after question, gathering as much information as she could in order to narrow the steps she’d need to take to determine the exact nature of the injury.

Gina followed them into the room and was already writing furiously, even though the nurse hadn’t voiced a single question. That could come later.

“Set her on the table.”

As soon as cold metal touched the girl’s leg, she let out an ear-piercing shriek that quickly melted back into sobs.

As a mother, it wrenched at her heart, but Jessi couldn’t let any of that affect what she did next. Things would get worse for Tammy before they got better, because Jessi had to make sure she knew what she was dealing with.

“Gina, can you stay and get the rest of the information from Mr …?” She paused and glanced at the girl’s father.

“Lawrence. Jack Lawrence.”

“Thank you.” She turned back to her nurse. “Can you do that while I call Radiology?”

Once she’d made the call, she made short work of getting the girl’s vitals, talking softly to her as she went about her job. When she slid the girl’s dress up a little way, she spied a dark blue contusion forming along her shin and saw a definite deformation of the tibia. The bone had separated. Whether they could maneuver the ends back in place without surgery would depend on what the X-rays showed.

Within fifteen minutes, one of the radiology techs had whisked the five-year-old down the hall on a stretcher, her father following close behind. His expression had gone from one of fear to hope. Sometimes just knowing it wasn’t all up to you as a parent, that there were others willing to pitch in, made a little of the weight roll off your shoulders.

So why did she still feel buried beneath tons of rubble?

Because Chelsea’s injury went beyond the physical to the very heart of who she was. And Jessi wasn’t sure Clint—or anyone else—could repair it. There was no splint or cast known to man that could heal a broken spirit.

A half hour later Tammy and her father were back in the exam room, and an orthopedist had arrived to take over the case. The urge to bend down and kiss the little girl’s cheek came and went. She held back a little smile. She didn’t need to break all the rules. Some of them were there for a reason.

Hopefully, Clint knew which ones to follow and which ones to break.

He did. She sensed it.

He wouldn’t go beyond certain professional boundaries. Which meant he would try to keep their past in the past. If one of them stepped over the line, he’d remove himself from Chelsea’s case.

Should she talk to Chelsea about what had happened down at the creek—tell her she’d gone to school with Clint? Not necessary. He appeared to have a plan. Besides, if she heaped anything else on her daughter, she might hunker further down into whatever foxhole she’d dug for herself. She needed to give Clint enough time to do his job.

“Jessi?” Gina, the nurse from the earlier, caught her just as she was leaving her patient’s room. “You have a phone call on line two.”

“Okay, thanks.” It must be her mom, confirming their dinner date for tonight. She’d promised to update her on Chelsea’s condition, something that made her feel ill. With her father gone, Jessi and Chelsea were all her mother had left. And though her mother was no longer taking antidepressants, she’d been forgetful lately, which Jessi hoped was just from the stress of her only granddaughter’s illness.

Going to the reception desk, she picked up the phone and punched the lit button. “Hello?”

Instead of the bright, happy tones of her mother, she encountered something a couple of octaves lower. “Jess?”

She gulped. “Yes?”

“Clint here.”

As if she hadn’t already recognized the sound of his voice. Still, her heart leaped with fear. “Is something wrong with Chelsea?”

“No. Do you have a minute? I’d like to take care of some scheduling.”

“Scheduling?”

A low, incredibly sexy-sounding hum came through the phone that made something curl in her belly.

“I want us to talk every day.”

“Every day?”

About Chelsea, you idiot! And what was with repeating everything he said?

“Yes. Our schedules are probably both hectic, but we can do it by phone, if necessary.”

“Oh. Okay.” Was he saying he didn’t want to meet with her in person? That he’d rather do all of this by phone? She had no idea, but she read off her schedule for the next five days.

A grunt of affirmation came back, along with, “I’ll also want to meet with you and Chelsea together.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t Dr. Cordoba have family sessions with you?”

She shook her head, only realizing afterwards that he couldn’t see it. “No, although he mentioned wanting to try that further down the road.”

“I believe in getting the family involved as soon as possible, since you’ll be the one working with her once she’s discharged.”

Discharged. The most beautiful word Chelsea had heard in weeks. And Clint made it sound like a reality, rather than just a vague possibility. So he really was serious about doing everything he could to make sure treatment was successful.

A wave of gratitude came over her and a knot formed in her throat. “Thank you, Clint. For being willing to break the rules.”

Was she talking about with Chelsea? Or about their time together all those years ago.

“You’re welcome, Jess. For what it’s worth, I think Chelsea is very lucky to have you.”

Her next words came out before she was aware of them forming in her head. But she meant them with all her heart. “Ditto, Clint. I think Chelsea and I are the lucky ones.”

“I’ll call you.”

With that intimate-sounding promise, he said goodbye, and the phone clicked in her ear, telling her he’d hung up. She gripped the receiver as tightly as she could, all the while praying she was doing the right thing. She was about to allow Clint back into her orbit—someone who’d once carried her to the peak of ecstasy and then tossed her into the pit of despair without a second glance. But what choice did she have, really?

She firmed her shoulders. No, there was always a choice. She may have made the wrong one when she’d been on the cusp of womanhood, but she was smarter now. Stronger. She could—and would—keep her emotions in check. If not for her own sake, then for her daughter’s.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE FIRST FAMILY counseling session was gearing up to be a royal disaster.

Jessi came sliding into Clint’s office thirty minutes late, out of breath, face flushed, wispy strands of hair escaping from her clip.

He swallowed back a rush of emotion. She’d looked just like this as she’d stood to her feet after they’d made love. He’d helped her brush her hair back into place, combing his fingers through the strands and wishing life could be different for him.

But it couldn’t. Not then. And not now.

“Sorry. We had an emergency at the hospital, and I had to stay and help.”

“No problem.” He stood. “I have another patient in a half hour, so we’ll need to make this a quick session.”

“Poor Chelsea. I feel awful. I’m off tomorrow, though, so I’ll come and spend the day with her.”

When they walked into Chelsea’s room, the first thing he noticed was that the lunch she’d been served an hour ago was still on a tray in front of her, untouched. At the sight of them, though, she seemed to perk up in her seat, shoveling a bite of mashed potatoes into her mouth and making a great show of chewing.

Manipulating. He’d seen signs of it earlier when he’d tried to coax her to talk about things that didn’t involve the weather.

Her throat worked for a second with the food still pouched inside one cheek. She ended up having to wash the potatoes down with several gulps of water. She sat there, breathing as hard as her mother had been when she’d arrived a few moments ago.

“Enjoying your meal?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain blasé. So much for showing Jessi how good he was at his job.

As if this was even about him.

He ground his teeth as his frustration shifted to himself.

Chelsea shrugged. Another bite went in—albeit a much smaller one this time.

Not polite to talk with my mouth full, was the inference.

Well, she’d run out of the stuff eventually. And since she was pretty thin already, he was all for anything that would get food into her system. That was one of the comments on the sheet in her file. She didn’t eat much, unless someone wanted to interact with her in some way. The staff had taken to coming to her room and loitering around, straightening things and making small talk. It was a surefire way to get that fork moving from plate to mouth.

He decided to give her a little more time.

Jessi stood there, looking a little lost by her daughter’s lack of greeting. He sent her a nod of reassurance and motioned her to sit in one of the two nearby chairs and joined her.

“Let’s go ahead and get started, if that’s okay with you, Chelsea.”

Chew, chew, chew.

She moved on to her green beans without a word. Okay, if that’s the way she wanted to play it, he’d go right along with it.

He turned to Jessi, sorry for what he was about to do, but if anything could break through her daughter’s wall it might be having to face some hard, unpleasant subjects. “Since Chelsea’s busy, why don’t you tell me what led her to being here.”

Right on cue, Jessi’s eyes widened. “You mean about the day I called …”

“Yes.”

Her throat moved a couple of times, swallowing, probably her way of either building up the courage to talk about the suicide attempt or to refuse.

“Well, I—I called Chelsea’s cell phone to let her know I was coming home early. It rang and rang before finally going over to voice mail. I was going to stop and pick up some Thai food—her favorite …” Jessi’s eyes filled with tears. “I decided to go straight home instead, so we could go out to eat together. When I got there … Wh-when I got to the house, I—”

“Stop.” Chelsea’s voice broke through, though she was still staring down, a green bean halfway to her mouth. “Don’t make her talk about it.”

Whether the young woman wanted to spare her mother’s feelings or her own, Clint wasn’t sure. “What would you like to discuss instead, then?”

There was a long pause. Then she said, “What you hope to accomplish by keeping me here.”

“It’s not about us, Chelsea. It’s about you.”

“Where’s Dr. Cordoba?” Her head finally came up, and her gaze settled on him.

“He went to work somewhere else.”

“Because of me.” The words came out as a whisper.

Clint shook his head. “No, of course not. He made the decision for personal reasons. It had nothing to do with you.”

Jessi’s chest rose and fell as she took a quick breath. “We all just want to help, honey.”

“Everything I touch turns to ashes.”

“No.” Jessi glanced at him, then scooted closer to her daughter, reaching out to stroke her hair. “You’ve been through a lot in the past several months, but you’re not alone.”

“I am, Mom. You have no idea. You all think I’m suffering from PTSD, because of my time in that camp, don’t you? Dr. Cordoba did. But I’m not.”

Clint glanced at Jessi, a frown on his face. “You tried to take your life, Chelsea. Something made you think life wasn’t worth living.”

The girl’s shoulders slumped.

“Does this have to do with your pregnancy?”

Two sets of female eyes settled on him in shock.

Hell. Jessi hadn’t known?

It was right there in Chelsea’s medical chart that her physical exam had revealed she’d given birth or had had a miscarriage at some point. He’d just assumed …

His patient went absolutely rigid. “I want her to leave. Now.”

“But, Chelsea …” Jessi’s voice contained a note of pleading.

“Now.” The girl’s voice rose in volume. “Now, now. Now!”

Jessi careened back off her chair and stumbled from the room as her daughter’s wails turned to full-fledged screams of pain. She was tearing at her hair, her food flung across the room. Clint pressed the call button for the nurse and between the two of them they were able to administer a sedative, putting an end to Chelsea’s hysterical shrieks. Her muscles finally went limp and her eyes closed. He stood staring down at her bed for a few moments, a feeling of unease settling over him as it had each time he’d met with Chelsea. There was something here. Something more than what was revealed in her records.

And it involved that pregnancy. She’d been calm until the moment the subject had come up.

It was time to do a little more digging. But for now he had to go out there and face Jessi. And somehow come up with something to say that wouldn’t make things worse than they already were.

“I didn’t know.”

Clint came toward her as she leaned against the wall twenty feet away from Chelsea’s door. Her stomach had roiled within her as the nurse had rushed into the room and the screams had died down to moans, before finally fading away to nothing. All she wanted to do was throw up, just like she had during a previous visit, but she somehow held it together this time.

“I’m sorry, Jess.” Clint scrubbed a hand through his hair, not touching her. “I’d assumed she told you.”

“She hasn’t told me anything. Could it have been while she was a prisoner?”

“I’m not sure. This is the most emotion I’ve seen from her in the past week. We hit a nerve, though. So that’s a good thing.”

“I can’t imagine what she went through.” She leaned her head against the wall and stared at the ceiling.

Chelsea’s convoy had been ambushed during a night patrol by enemy forces disguised as police officers. The group had been held for four months. Chelsea had said they’d all been separated and interrogated, but she’d had no idea one of the prisoners had died until she and the rest of those rescued had been flown home.

Jessi sighed and turned back to look at him. “The army debriefed her, but I was never told what she said, and I—I was afraid to press her too much. She seemed to be doing fine. Maybe that in itself was a warning sign.”

“There was no way you could have known what she was going to do.” Clint pushed a strand of hair off her cheek.

She wasn’t sure she could stand seeing her daughter in this much pain week after week. And a pregnancy …

Had her daughter been raped during her captivity? The army had said there was no evidence of that, but then again Chelsea wasn’t exactly a fount of information. “I think I’m doing more harm than good by going in there with you.”

“Let’s see how it goes for the next week, okay? Chelsea was admitted under a suicide watch. That gives you permission to make decisions regarding her health care. She could still open up.”

“She doesn’t even want me here, Clint. You heard her.” Jessi’s head still reverberated with her daughter’s cries for her to get out.

“That was the shock talking. She didn’t expect me to ask that particular question. At least she’s getting it out, rather than bottling it all up inside.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her face. “How long’s it been since you’ve done something that hasn’t revolved around your job or Chelsea?”

She thought for a second. “I can’t remember.”

“The last thing she needs is for you to break down as well, which is where you’re headed if you don’t take some down time.”

She knew he was right. She’d felt like she’d been standing on the edge of a precipice for weeks now, with no way to back away from it.

Before she could say anything, he went on. “You said you’re off tomorrow. Why don’t you go out and do something fun? Something you enjoy?”

“I need to spend the day here with Chelsea.”

“No. You don’t. She’ll understand. It might not be a bad idea to give her a day to think through what just happened.”

She hesitated. “I don’t even know what I’d do.” Chelsea might need a day to think, but the last thing Jessi wanted to do was sit at home and let her brain wander down dark paths.

“Tell you what. I don’t have anything pressing tomorrow. Why don’t we do something together? It’s fair season. There’s probably something going on in one of the nearby counties.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t. Chelsea—”

“Will be fine.”

Conflicting emotions swept through her. The possibility of spending the day with Clint dangled before her in a way that was far too attractive. “I’m not sure …”

“Is it because I’m her doctor?”

“Yes.” He’d given her the perfect excuse, and she grabbed at it with both hands.

“That can be remedied.”

Panic sizzled through her. He’d hinted once before that he might drop her daughter’s case.

“No. I want you.”

He paused, then shook his head and dragged his fingertips across her cheek. “Then you have to take care of yourself.”

She nodded, unable to look away from his eyes as they locked on her face. Several emotions flicked through them, none of them decipherable.

“I’ll try.”

“How about I check the local schedules and see if I can find something for us to do? Something that doesn’t involve a hospital.”

Guilt rose in her throat, but at a warning glance from him she forced it back down. “Okay.”

He nodded and let his hand fall back to his side. “Are you going to be okay tonight?”

Was he asking her that as a psychiatrist or as a man?

It didn’t matter. The last thing she wanted was to jeopardize her working relationship with the one man who might be able to get through to her daughter. She needed to keep this impersonal. Professional. Even though his touch brought back a whole lot of emotions she hadn’t felt in twenty-two years.

But she had to keep them firmly locked away. Somehow.

“I’ll be fine. Just call if there’s any change, okay?” She was proud of the amount of conviction she’d inserted into her voice.

“I will. I’m off at ten, but the hospital knows how to reach me if there’s a problem.” He took a card from his desk and wrote something on the back of it, then handed it to her. “I’ll give you a yell in the morning, but until then, here’s my cell phone number. Call me if you need me.”

If you need me.

Terrifying words, because she already did. More than she should. But she wouldn’t call. No matter how much that little voice inside her said to do just that.

CHAPTER FIVE

CLINT STEPPED ONTO the first row of metal bleachers and held his hand out for her. Grasping his fingers, and letting him maneuver through the crowd of seated spectators, they went to the very top, where a metal brace across the end provided a place for their backs to rest.

She watched the next horse in line prance into the arena, ears pricked forward in anticipation. Three fifty-five-gallon drums had been laid out to form a familiar triangle.

Barrel racing.

The speed event looked deceptively easy, but if a horse knocked over a barrel as it went around it, the rider received a five-second penalty, enough to cost a winning ribbon.

“I used to do this, you know. Run barrels.”

“I know you did.”

Her head swiveled to look at the man sitting next to her, completely missing the horse’s take-off.

“You did?”

He smiled. “I came to the fair on occasion. Watched a few of the 4-H events.”

The thought of Clint sitting on one of these very bleachers, watching her compete, was unnerving. How would she have missed him with the way he’d dressed back then? He hadn’t exactly looked the part of an emerging cowboy.

Exactly. She would have noticed him.

Which meant he’d never actually seen her race. She settled back into place.

“I didn’t realize you were interested in 4-H.”

His gaze went back to the arena. “I wasn’t.”

Something about the way he’d said that …

“Do you still have your trophy?” He was still looking straight ahead, thankfully, but her gasp sounded like a gunshot to her ears, despite the noise going on around her.

The metal brace behind her groaned as more people leaned against it. Jessi eased some of her weight off it.

“How did you know I …?” She’d only won one trophy in all her years of entering the event.

“I happened to be in the vicinity that day.”

How did one happen to be in the vicinity of the fair? It spanned a large area. And the horse arena wasn’t exactly next to the carnival rides or food.

“You saw me run?”

“I saw a lot of people compete.”

Okay, that explained it. “So you came out to all the horse events?”

“Not all of them. I had a few friends who did different things.”

Like run barrels? She didn’t think so. Neither did she remember him hanging out with any of her 4-H friends. And the only year she’d won the event had been as a high school senior.

The next horse—a splashy brown and white paint—came in, and she fixed her attention on it, although her mind was going at a million miles an hour. The rider directed the horse in a tight circle near the starting area and then let him go. The animal’s neck stretched forward as he raced toward the first barrel, tail streaming out behind him.

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