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.
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.
“Here!” the rider called as they reached the drum, using her voice along with her hands and legs to guide the horse around the turn. She did the same for the second and third barrels and then the pair raced back in a straight line until they crossed where the automatic timer was set up. Nineteen point two three seconds.
The announcer repeated the time, adding that it put the horse and rider into second place.
Clint leaned closer, his scent washing over her at almost exactly the same time as his arm brushed hers. The dual assault made her mind blank out for a second. So much so that she almost missed his question. “I always wondered. Why do some of them start with the left barrel rather than the one on the right?”
Play it cool, Jessi.
“B-because horses have a dominant side, kind of like being right-or left-handed.”
“Interesting. So your horse was right-handed?”
She swallowed. So he had seen her. She’d hoped maybe he’d heard that she’d won from a friend, rather than having been there in the flesh. What did it matter? So he’d seen her race. No big deal.
But it was. And she had no idea why.
“Yes, she was.”
Neither of the next two horses beat the time of the leader. Despite her wariness at coming out today, and her horror at realizing he’d watched her the day of her win, she could feel the muscles in her body relaxing. He’d been right to suggest she take a day off.
A real day off.
“Do you think Chelsea—?”
“The hospital will call me if they need me. We’re both off duty today.”
She frowned. “She’s my daughter, Clint. I can’t help but worry about her.”
“I’m not asking you to put her from your mind. I’m asking you to enjoy your day. It’s what she would want.”
She sighed. “She did seem happy when I told her where I was going.” Jessi had insisted on stopping to see Chelsea before they’d left, although she hadn’t told her that she and Clint were going together.
“Exactly.” He bumped her with his shoulder again. “And she’s probably going to ask what you did. So let’s make it good.”
Jessi’s eyes widened. How was she supposed to respond to that?
She was still trying to figure it out when she heard a weird screech of metal, then Clint’s arm was suddenly behind her, crushing her tightly against him.
“Hold on!”
She thought at first it was because a new horse had started the course, but then she sensed something falling, followed by screams.
When she glanced back, she saw that the metal support had broken free—probably from the weight of everyone leaning against it—and was dangling from the far side of the bleachers. And on the ground…
Oh, Lord. Fifteen feet below them were five people who’d evidently tumbled backward off the top seat when the structure had given way. Others were now on their feet in a panic, trying to rush down the stands to get to the ground. One person tripped and landed on another spectator a few rows down.
“Stay here,” Clint muttered.
Like hell. “I’m coming with you. I’m a doctor, too, remember?”
Someone in the judges’ booth called over the loudspeakers, asking for everyone to remain calm. And also asking for medical assistance.
Clint cautiously made his way down, trying to make sure he didn’t trample on anyone, and again holding her hand as he took one step at a time.
By the time they reached the bottom they could hear a siren that cut off just as it reached the wide dirt aisle that separated the main arena from campers and horse trailers. The crowd opened a path to let it through.
One of the victims was now on her feet and waving away offers for help. Another person had disappeared, evidently also unhurt. But the remaining three were still on the ground, although one was sitting up, holding his leg.
“I’m a doctor,” Clint said to him. “Can you hold on for a minute while we check the others?”
“Go,” the man said, his thin, wiry frame and rugged clothing suggesting he was a farmer or someone who worked with livestock.
Jessi motioned that she’d take the far patient, a woman who was on her side, moaning, while Clint took the last remaining patient, a child, who was writhing on the ground and crying. They pushed through layers of people who wanted to help.
“I’m a doctor, let me through,” she said to a man who was kneeling next to the woman. The man backed up to make room in the tight circle.
The EMT vehicle stopped and two medical workers jumped from the back just as Jessi crouched near her patient. The woman was conscious but obviously in a lot of pain.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Brandi,” she gasped, ignoring the question and trying to roll onto her back, only to stop with a moan. “My daughter. Where’s Brandi?”
Jessi glanced to the side, but couldn’t see Clint through the bodies of onlookers, but his patient had looked to be a little girl.
“How old is your daughter?”
“She…she’s five. Pink shorts.” Talking was an obvious struggle for her.
That had to be Clint’s patient.
“Someone’s helping her right now. Where does it hurt?”
“M-My ribs. It hurts to breathe.”
Jessi did a quick rundown of the woman’s vitals. Everything seemed good, except for a marked tenderness on her right side. “Did you hit your head at all?”
“No. Just landed flat on my side. I couldn’t get up.”
One of the emergency services workers knelt beside her. “What have you got?”
Jessi glanced at the man, who looked to be almost as young as Chelsea. “Possible rib fractures.” She read off the woman’s vitals. “How’s the little girl next to us?”
“Fractured wrist, but she looks good to go.”
Jessi’s patient broke down in tears. “Is that her? My daughter?”
It was amazing someone hadn’t been more seriously injured or even killed in that fall. But luckily the bleachers had been built on dirt rather than a harder surface like concrete or asphalt.
She turned to the EMT. “Can you ask Dr. Marks if his patient’s name is Brandi? It’s her daughter, if so.”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Asking everyone to move back as he did so, she finally had a clear line of sight to Clint. He gave her a reassuring wink that made her smile.
God, how familiar that was. And it still made a jolt of electricity go through her system.
The girl was indeed Brandi, and within minutes everyone had been bundled up into two ambulances, which were creeping back between the throngs of horses and people, and soon disappeared. The sirens were off this time, probably trying not to spook the horses and risk more accidents.
Clint grasped her elbow and eased her over to the side. “They’re taping off the bleachers.”
Her adrenaline was just beginning to dissipate from her system. “I felt the piece of metal give a little bit earlier, but it’s been here for ages. I had no idea it could come loose.”
“Just an accident.”
“Thank God it wasn’t worse. How about the person who fell, trying to get down?”
“Evidently they were all okay, since we didn’t have any other patients.”
With the excitement dying down, people were moving over to the rail next to the arena as the remaining barrel racers moved back into position.
“Do you want something to eat?”
She glanced up at him. “You can eat, after all that?”
He tweaked her chin. “They’re all fine, Jess. Let’s enjoy the rest of the day.”
Their patients may have been fine, but Jessi wasn’t so sure about herself. The memory of his hand grasping hers as he’d hauled her up the steps wound around her senses. She missed his touch. Wanted to reach over and…
The cell phone on Clint’s hip buzzed. The hospital? Her whole body stiffened as dread rose up to fill her being.
* * *
Clint’s system went on high alert as he put the phone to his ear.
“Marks here.”
“Clinton? Clinton Marks?”
Frowning, he tried to place the feminine voice on the other end of the line. While the light Southern drawl was familiar, it definitely wasn’t anyone from the hospital, because they would have called him “Doctor.” If this was some telemarketer, they were about to get an earful for scaring Jessi.
And she was scared. He could read it in her stiff posture and the hands clenched at her sides.
He decided to go ultra-formal. “This is Dr. Marks.”
“Well, Dr. Marks—” there was an air of amusement to the voice now “—this is Abigail Spencer, Jessi’s mom. Chelsea’s grandmother. You remember me, don’t you?”
Hell. That’s why she sounded familiar.
He mouthed “Your mom” to relieve Jessi’s fears, wondering why she was calling him instead of Jessi.
Jessi evidently had the same idea as he did, because she frowned and checked her phone. Maybe it was dead or something.
Clint and Jessi’s dads had both been stationed at the same base, so he’d seen her parents quite a bit during his school years. His memories of Mrs. Spencer were of a kind woman with blond curls very like her daughter’s and a quiet smile. So very different from his own mother’s tense and fearful posture that had cropped up anytime she’d heard that front door open. Or how she would place her body in front of her son’s until she had gauged what mood her husband had brought home with him. He rubbed a thumb across his pinky. His mother hadn’t always been able to protect him, though.
Which was why the Spencer household had seemed so strange and alien to him. He’d never been able to shake the feeling that Jessi’s mom had seen right through to the hurting kid hidden beneath a rebellious leather jacket and spiked hair. He brought his attention back to Jessi’s mom as the silence over the phone grew awkward. He cleared his throat. “Of course I remember you. How are you?”
“Anxious to see my granddaughter. But Jessi told me that’s not a good idea right now. I want to ask why. It’s been over two months.”
He didn’t understand what that had to do with him, unless Jessi had used him as an excuse to deflect her visits. But whatever it was, that was between the two of them as far as he was concerned.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Spencer. I really think you should talk to your daughter about that, because I can’t discuss Chelsea’s treatment. Jessi would have to give written authorization to—”
A poke to his arm made him look at the woman beside him. She shook her head.
Mrs. Spencer’s voice came back down the line. “I can do better than that. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? Jessi will be here, and we can hash all this out between the three of us.” There was a pause. When her voice came back it was on the shaky side. “I’m her grandmother. Don’t you think I’m entitled to know what’s going on?”
“Again, that’s not up to me.” He felt like an utter jackass for saying those words to a woman who’d been nothing but nice to him during his time in Richmond, but Jess was staring holes right through him. “Jessi has medical power of attorney at the moment.”
“She’s trying to protect me, but I don’t need protecting.” An audible breath came through the receiver. “Won’t you please come to dinner?”
There was no way he was going to walk into a situation like that without Jessi being fully aware of what was coming, and he wasn’t willing to admit her daughter was standing right next to him. Not without Jess’s approval. “Tell you what. Call your daughter and talk to her. If she’s in agreement with me coming over tonight, I’ll be glad to.” How was that for admitting he had no other plans for a Friday evening?
Another poke to the arm, harder this time. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
He gave her a helpless shrug.
Unlike Jessi, he’d never married, instead throwing his whole life into helping others who were dealing with traumatic events stemming from their military service. It had been the least he could do for his dad, who, like Chelsea, had felt all alone.
“Okay, I’ll do that.” A quick laugh made a warning system go off in his head. “Do you still like corned-beef brisket?”
She remembered that? He’d eaten over at their house exactly once, which was when he’d discovered how overprotective her dad was—the polar opposite of his. And he hadn’t liked Clint. At all. Clint had never been invited back to the house again.
“I love brisket.” Not that he thought there was a snowball’s chance in hell that Jessi would agree to him coming over and talking about Chelsea’s condition. If she’d wanted her mom to know how treatment was going, surely she would have told her by now.
“See you around seven, then.”
Not quite sure how to answer that, he settled for a noncommittal reply. “Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Spencer.”
The phone clicked off.
He met Jessi’s accusing eyes. “Why did you let her invite you to dinner?”
As if he’d had any choice in the matter. One eyebrow went up. “I think the more important question is how did she get my number and why is she calling me, instead of you?”
“I don’t know what you—”
Her phone started playing some samba beat that made him smile. Jessi groaned. “Oh, Lord. How am I going to get you out of this?”
“Don’t worry about trying. I can come, if it’s okay with you.” Why he’d said that he had no idea.
“Hi, Mom. No, I’m…out at the fair.” She licked her lips, while Clint handed money to the man in the funnel cake booth. “I know, I’m sorry. It was a spur-of-the-minute thing. A friend invited me.”
She listened again, her face turning pink. “No, it’s not a guy friend.”
Pretend feathers all over his body began to ruffle and quiver in outrage as he accepted two plates from the vender. Uh…he could show her he was a guy, if she needed proof. Scratch that. She’d already seen the proof.
“Don’t sound so disappointed, Mother.” She rolled her eyes and glanced back at him. “You did what? How did you get his number?”
Her lips tightened, and she plopped down on a nearby bench, shutting her eyes for a second. “That’s right. I forgot I left his card on the refrigerator. What were you doing at my house, anyway?”
Clint shifted beside her, uneasy about listening in on the conversation.
“Mom, you are going to spoil Cooper rotten. You know he has a weigh-in coming up.”
Cooper? He set one of the plates on her lap and kept the other for himself. Did Jessi have another boyfriend? Visions of some muscle-bound hunk lounging in her bed came to mind.
No, she would have said something to him.
And exactly when had he given her the chance? He’d asked about Larry, but not about any other man who might be waiting in the wings.
“What? Clint already agreed to come? Wow, he sounds a little desperate, doesn’t he?”
She stuck her tongue out at him, just as he took a bite of his fried cake, making him relax in his seat. “Okay, I’m about done here, so I’ll start heading back that way. Love you.”
He hadn’t exactly agreed to go, and he was glad Jessi had heard for herself his side of the conversation. His smile widened. It would seem Mrs. Spencer could play loose and easy with rules, too.
She got off the phone and picked her cake up with a napkin he held out to her.
“Desperate, am I?” He didn’t try to hide the wry tone to his voice.
“What could I do? If I said you couldn’t come to dinner, she’d make up her own conclusions. And I couldn’t exactly admit that you were sitting right next to me, eating funnel cake, could I?”
That part was his fault. He’d been the one to pretend they weren’t together.
“So who’s Cooper?” He dropped the question as if it were no big deal. Which it wasn’t.
“A communal beagle,” she said, as she swallowed. “Mmm…that’s good stuff.”
Also good was the dot of powdered sugar on her lower lip. One he was just able to refrain from licking off.
“A communal…beagle?”
Her tongue sailed across her lip, whisking away the sugar. “Okay, I guess that does sound weird. He adopted me about a year ago…came waddling up to the door and scratched on it. No one ever claimed him, so Mom and I have been caring for him between the two of us. He’s on a diet. Supposedly.” Stretching her legs out in front of her, she went on, “When I have to work late, Mom takes him to her house. You’ll probably meet him tonight. Since you’re evidently coming to dinner.”
She munched down on another piece of cake, moaning in enjoyment. “That is if you still have room for food after this.”
“You haven’t asked me if I had plans for the evening.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, God. I’m sorry. Do you?”
“No. But I don’t want to make things any harder for you than they already are.” The tortured look when she’d discovered her daughter’s pregnancy came back to haunt him. “I know this isn’t easy, Jess.”
“No, it’s not.” She paused, setting her food back on her plate. “Can you let me set the tone of the conversation? Mom will just worry herself sick if she knew the extent of what Chelsea is facing. And she hasn’t seemed herself recently either. She was on antidepressants for several years, so it has me worried.”
He frowned, surprised by the information. But people sometimes hid their problems well. “Does she know about the suicide attempt?”
“Yes. But she wasn’t there when it happened. She only knew…afterwards.”
He touched her hand. “You sure you want me to come?”
“I’m not sure of anything right now. But Mom is right. Chelsea is her granddaughter. One she hasn’t seen in over two months. It’s time to start letting her know what’s going on. I—I just want to feed her the information in bits she can process. She’s been through a lot in the past five years.”
Since her husband’s death.
“I understand.” He withdrew his hand and sat up straighter. “I’ll let you answer specific questions, and I can fill in any of the medical gaps. How does that sound?”
“Perfect. Thanks so much, Clint.”
Well, at least she hadn’t thrown his card away. Then again, she hadn’t kept it in her wallet either. “If you’re done, I’ll take you back to the house. I’m pretty sure you don’t want us arriving in the same car.”
She handed him her plate and waited until he’d thrown them both in a nearby trash receptacle to answer.
“Probably not a good idea.” She smiled and stood to her feet. As they made their way back to the parking area, Clint had one thought. He hoped tonight went a whole lot better than his day had.
* * *
Jessi’s plans for a relaxing evening at home looked like they were shot to hell. Between helping her mom set the table and dragging her makeup bag from her purse to touch up the dark circles under her eyes, she was getting more and more antsy. It was one thing to spend a few relaxing hours at the fair. It was another thing entirely to eat a meal with him while her mother grilled them about Chelsea’s condition, which of course she would.
She’d just put the last swipe of mascara on her lashes when the doorbell rang and Cooper started up with the baying his breed was famous for. She froze, the makeup wand still in her right hand. Sucking down a breath, she quickly shoved it back in the tube, blinked at herself in the bathroom mirror and headed to get the door.
By the time she got halfway down the stairs she saw her mother had beaten her to it, apron wrapped around her waist. The door opened, and Cooper bumbled forward to greet the newcomer.
As Clint bent to pet the dog, Jessi couldn’t help but stare. He’d evidently showered as well, because his hair was still damp. Dressed in a red polo shirt that hugged his shoulders and snug black jeans that hugged other—more dangerous—parts, he looked better than any funnel cake she’d ever had. He straightened and went over to kiss her mother’s cheek, while Cooper continued to snuffle and groan at his ankles.
His eyes came up. Met hers across the room.
A sting of awareness rippled through her as his gaze slid over her white peasant shirt and dark-wash jeans before coming back up to her face. One side of his mouth pulled up into something that might have been a smile. Then again, it could have just as easily been classified as a modified grimace. Either way, the action caused that crease in his cheek to deepen and her heart rate to shoot through the roof.
Sexy man. Sexy smile. Stupid girl.
Hurrying the rest of the way down the stairs, she grabbed Cooper’s collar and tugged him back into the house, while greeting Clint with as much nonchalance as she could muster under the circumstances. “Glad you could make it.”
Not that there’d been much choice on either of their parts. Her mom had made sure of that. And right now the woman was the perfect hostess, ushering Clint in and offering him a drink, which he declined. That surprised her. He’d been such a rebel in high school that everyone had assumed that he’d played it loose and easy with alcohol, although she’d never actually seen him touch the stuff.
Her mom glanced at her in question, but Jessi shook her head. She needed all her wits about her if this evening was going to go according to plan. If she could help it, they were going to avoid talking about Chelsea as much as possible, and when her mom pressed for information, she would be honest but gloss over some of the more depressing aspects of her granddaughter’s present situation. Like the fact that she either didn’t want to talk about what had precipitated her suicide attempt, or she had simply blocked out that portion of her life. Who knew which it was? And it wasn’t like Clint had had much time to get to the bottom of things. He’d been her doctor for, what…a little under a week?
“You look lovely,” Clint said to her once her mom had gone to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on their meal. Cooper, obviously hoping for a few dropped morsels, puttered along behind her.
“Thank you.” She bit her lip. “I’m really, really sorry you got caught in the middle of this.”
“It’s fine. I haven’t had a homemade meal in…” He paused. “Well, it’s been a while.”
A while since someone had cooked for him? Jessi found that hard to believe. A man like Clint wouldn’t have any trouble finding dates. He was even better looking now than he’d been in high school, although she never would have believed that possible. Gangly and rebellious as a teenager, he had filled out, not only physically—which was impressive enough—but he now had a maturity about him that had been lacking all those years ago. Oh, he’d made all the girls, including her, nervous wrecks back then. But as a man—well, she’d be hard pressed to say he wasn’t breathtaking in a totally masculine way. From the self-assured smile to the confidence he exuded, he gave her more than a glimmer of hope that this was a man who could help her daughter.
“Have a seat,” she told him. “Mom will be back any minute, and I’d like to set some quick ground rules. Like I said earlier, I haven’t told her much about Chelsea’s behavior—she knows about the suicide attempt, but not much about her time at the hospital. I wanted to keep it simple until I felt like there was some ho—”
Her voice cracked as an unexpected wave of emotion splashed over her, blocking the one word she wanted to believe in.
“Until you felt like there was some hope?” He finished the sentence for her. “There’s always hope, Jess. I think we’ll start seeing a little more progress in the coming weeks.”
He shifted to face her. “Exactly what do you want me to say to your mom? I’m not comfortable with lying.”
And yet he’d been the one to suggest she lie to her father about what happened after she’d run out of the gym during graduation all those years ago. To protect himself from her dad’s wrath? Or to protect her?
Maybe it had been a little of both.
“I don’t expect you to lie. You said there’s always hope. If you could just keep that as a running theme when you talk about Chelsea, it would help Mom feel better.”
“She’s going to ask to see her, you know. Is there a reason you don’t want her to?”
“I’m worried about her, like I told you earlier. I want to…be there when she sees Chelsea.”
And I want you to have time to work your magic first. She didn’t say the words, but she wanted them to be true. She trusted him. Why that was she couldn’t say. She hadn’t seen them interact that much. But he’d said he’d do his very best for Chelsea and she believed him. She just hoped it was enough.
Five minutes later, they were called into dinner. Cooper settled under the table with his head propped on Clint’s right foot, despite all her efforts to deter him.
“He’s fine,” Clint said. “As long as he doesn’t expect me to share any of that delicious-looking brisket.”
They all laughed, and Jessi gave a quick sigh of relief. She’d half expected her mom to grill Clint on Chelsea’s prognosis from the moment they sat down, but it was mostly small talk as Jessi munched lettuce leaves with nerves that were as crackly as the salad. The feared topic didn’t hit until they were halfway through her mom’s famed brisket, which, despite being as succulent as ever, was getting tougher and tougher for her to force down.
“Jessi tells me that she thinks Chelsea is dealing with PTSD. Is that what you’re seeing, as well?”
Clint dabbed his mouth with his napkin and nodded. “We see quite a number of veterans who come back with issues related to what they’ve seen and done.”
“Does that mean you have some ideas on how to proceed?”
Jessi’s eyes jerked to his and found him watching her. She put her fork on the table as she waited for him to answer.
“We’re keeping our options open at the moment. I’m still working through the notes from her previous doctor.”
“That’s right. I forgot you’d just moved home. What perfect timing. Or were you just so homesick that you couldn’t bear to stay away any longer?”
Jessi sucked down too much of the water she’d been sipping and choked for a second, but Clint didn’t miss a beat. “Doctors are transferred to other locations on a regular basis, just like any other member of the armed forces.” He gave a rueful twist of the mouth. “We both know about that, don’t we?”
Way to go, Clint. Find something you have in common and use it to evade the real question.
Kind of like he’d done when she’d asked him why he had to leave the day after graduation. “I’ve already signed the papers, and that’s when they told me to show up” had been his answer. She’d bought it at the time. But now? She had a feeling he’d just wanted to avoid her making any demands on him after their shared time together.
Which stung even more now than it had when he’d said the words.
Jessi’s mom smiled back. “I’m sure you’ve done your share of moving, just like we did when Jessi was little.” She paused then said, “I’m really glad you’re back, though, and that you’ll be the one treating Chelsea.”
Clint’s face registered surprise. “Why is that?”
Cutting into another section of her meat, her mom glanced up with a hint of sadness mixed with what looked like relief. “Because you, more than anyone, know what it’s like to live with the effects of PTSD.”