Chapter 3

Clarissa marveled at the family meal. The noise level was high, since all the Clearys were enthusiastic talkers, but the love and companionship they shared was heartwarming for someone used to solitary, quiet dinners. Clarissa made meal time a necessary occurrence, eating quickly and efficiently to quell her hunger.

The Cleary family approached dinner the way they did everything else in life she’d been a witness to so far: with joy, fun, and overwhelming pleasure.

Seated between Serena and her oldest son, Clarissa detected two distinct vibes surrounding her. From her right, Serena was open and relaxed. From her left, Pat sat rock straight, all of his attention given to his brother Dennis as the younger man outlined a new computer program he’d developed for the veterinary clinic.

Initially, Serena had stood and served her family, but when second helpings and then thirds were called for, the food was passed from person to person.

Clarissa was astounded at the amount of food the men at the table ate. She’d barely been able to finish what Serena had piled on her plate, much less want to go back for more.

And she knew dessert was still to come.

Throughout the meal Pat ignored her.

She’d felt the little frisson of electricity pass between them in the guest bedroom when he’d touched her hands. It was a quick hot spark and shot all the way down to her toes. She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes as he’d continued to stare at her, and she’d beat a hasty retreat from the room.

Utter awareness of him as a fully desirable man galloped through her system right then, and her nerves had sent her all but running from the room.

Suddenly, Baby Baby Baby blared from the phone in her bag.

“Excuse me.” She reached down, and with her phone to her ear, left the dining room.

“Dr. Rogers.”

“Annie Dugger from OB, Doc.”

Clarissa brought the middle-aged obstetrics nurse’s face to mind. “Hi, Annie. What’s up?”

“Your patient, Nora Reeves, was admitted a few minutes ago. She’s already six centimeters dilated, so I thought you’d appreciate a heads-up.”

“I do, thanks. I’m five minutes out. Prep a delivery room for me?”

“Done.”

“And make sure the NICU is notified. Nora’s last delivery was a fetal distress, and I don’t want to take any chances with this one.”

“On it, Doc.”

“See you in five.”

Clarissa disconnected, turned and barreled straight into Pat’s chest.

Arms outstretched, the phone still clutched in her hand, Clarissa’s pulse pounded when his hands gripped her upper arms.

“Steady,” he told her.

The feel of him made her anything but, in fact, the direct opposite. His chest was like a block of marble against her palms, smooth and solid. She wanted nothing more than to keep on touching it.

A blast of sanity blew into her brain. “I—I have to go…I have a baby on the way…not me, a patient—”

“I heard.” Pat took his hands from her arms. “Want me to tell everyone?”

“No, thanks. I will. Sorry.”

She shook her head and hurried back to the dining room where all attention turned to her. She told a now-standing Serena and Seamus the reason she had to leave and thanked them for inviting her.

Before she could think, she was yanked first into Serena’s hug and then her husband’s.

“Pat, walk her out,” Serena ordered her son.

“No, it’s okay, Keep eating. Please.” She bent, grabbed her bag from the floor next to her chair and shoved the phone back into it.

With one last look at all of them she said, “Thanks again. I’m sorry I have to go.”

“We’re used to it in this house,” Seamus told her with a wave.

Pat stood at the front door, holding it open for her.

“You don’t have to walk me out, Pat.”

“I know,” he said, close to her ear, the heat from his breath sending a sensual shiver down her spine again. “But if I don’t I’ll never hear the end of it, so please, go along with it, okay?”

He turned back and called out, “Be right back.”

He caught up with her before she got to the porch stairs. “I think you can get around me. My car is right behind yours, but there should be enough room.”

When they reached her car, Clarissa was surprised when he stretched around her to open the door.

“Thanks,” she told him, tossing her bag on the passenger seat. “And tell your parents again how sorry I am to have to leave.”

Pat stepped back and folded his hands into his pants pockets. “Don’t worry about it. Like Dad said, we’re used to it around here. One of us is always getting called away.”

His body looked relaxed, but Clarissa saw some tension settling around his eyes as they gazed down at her, and worried at the cause. She put a hand out to his arm, forgetting how touching him affected her. “Your dad’s doing fine,” she told him, almost melting from the warmth seeping through her palm. “Really. His wound looks good. Don’t worry.”

Pat’s gaze dropped to her hand and then back up to her eyes. He freed a hand from his pocket and laid it over hers. Brow furrowed, he said, “I know, Clarissa. You’re taking good care of him.”

She nodded, unsure now. If the feel of him through his shirt was all warmth and comfort, the actual touch of his skin next to hers was set to burn a hole in her hand. She’d meant to be the one to comfort him, but when he squeezed her hand she wondered who was the one really being comforted.

They stood, rooted, next to her car, staring at one another.

The ping of Clarissa’s phone resounded in the silence. Pat dropped his hand as she reached into the car.

Get here was written across the display.

“Gotta go.” She threw the phone back in her bag and then slid onto the seat.

With one last glance at Pat, she put the car into gear and backed out of the driveway.

A glimpse in her rearview mirror gave her a full view of him, standing in the driveway, watching her go.

****

“Hey.” Moira stuck her head through the door of Clarissa’s office. “Got time for lunch?”

Clarissa looked up at her friend and smiled. “I finished with my morning patients a few minutes ago.” She stood and removed her lab coat. “Afternoon hours start at one, so I’ve got”—she glanced at her phone display—“about forty-five minutes.”

“Great.”

The two women crossed the street from Clarissa’s office to their favorite salad shop.

Once they had their order, they grabbed a café table on the sidewalk and sat.

The early September day was bright and warm, a gentle breeze slightly cooling the air.

“We didn’t get a chance to talk too much last night before you had to leave,” Moira said.

“I know. I feel so bad bailing on your mom after the great meal she cooked. I didn’t even get a chance to help clean up.”

“No worries.” Moira took a sip of her iced tea. “It was Denny and Step’s night for kitchen duty. And believe me, my parents understand when someone has to up and leave the table for a patient. My dad and Pat have been doing it for years.”

“Pat said the same thing, but I still feel bad.”

“Mom and baby okay?”

Clarissa smiled. “Yup. I got there with barely enough time to catch him and get my name on the birth certificate.”

Both women ate some salad. “So, I never got a chance to ask you. How was Bali?” Clarissa said.

Moira rolled her eyes and grinned. “Amazing. Beyond, really. It was wonderful to be away.”

“Made more so because you had your handsome man with you.”

“Well, yeah. He helped.”

They chatted a few minutes about the trip and then Moira said, “Pat told me about dad’s fainting episode in your office.”

Clarissa peered at her through her glasses. “Moira.”

“I know, I know.” She waved her hand. “You can’t tell me anything because of privacy laws. I get it. But tell me one thing.”

“If I can.”

Moira bit down on her bottom lip. “Is he okay?”

The fret-filled concern in her voice was deep and tugged at Clarissa’s heart. She reached across the small table and took her friend’s hand with her own. Like Pat’s had been, Moira’s skin felt like an electric blanket turned to level ten against her own. “As far as I know, he’s fine.”

“You’ll know more once he has his physical next week, though, right?”

“No secrets in your house,” she said with a grin.

“Okay. I’ll keep good thoughts.”

“Good idea. And what is it about you Clearys and the way you feel?”

“What?”

“Every time I touch one of you I think you have a fever. Your mom, dad. Even Pat. The minute I come in contact with you all, I feel like I’m in an oven.”

Moira laughed out loud. “Are you saying my family is hot blooded?”

“For lack of a better description. I sweat whenever I’m around you all.”

“Even Pat?”

Clarissa felt the heat rush up her cheeks at the way Moira coyly said her brother’s name. She took a deep draught of her diet soda.

“I know my brother is considered hot,” Moira said, sliding her tongue into her cheek, “but I didn’t think you did.”

“Moira.”

“Clarissa,” Moira chided in the same tone as her friend. “What’s been going on since I’ve been away?”

“Nothing.”

“So when did you get an opportunity to feel up my brother?”

“Oh, my God, will you stop.” Clarissa looked furtively around them. “I did not feel up your brother.”

“So how do you know he’s hot? I mean, besides the obvious way he looks.”

Clarissa sighed and finished her soda. “He was upset the other day about your dad. Unconsciously, I reached over to grab his arm, and it felt like my fingers had been singed.”

What she’d neglected to mention were all the other times the same thing had happened. At Moira’s wedding when Pat had danced, once and only once, with her. Yesterday, in the guest bedroom. Even as far back as when they’d first been introduced.

“Interesting,” Moira said.

“Don’t read anything into it, Moira.”

“Okay, but answer me one question.”

“I already gave you your one for the day.”

Moira smiled and placed her elbows on the table, hands clasped in front of her. Clarissa thought she looked every inch her mother’s daughter when she pierced her with the same penetrating gaze Serena possessed.

“Has he asked you out again?”

“N-No.”

“Want him to?”

Clarissa blew out a breath. “That’s three questions.”

“You evade like a girl.” Moira grinned.

“I am a girl.” Clarissa’s own lips started to lift.

Moira cocked her head to one side, settled back in her seat and crossed her arms in front of her. “He looks at you, you know. When he thinks no one is watching.”

“What?”

“I’ve noticed it a few times, at my coming home party, at my wedding, even last night. He kept sneaking peeks at you under his lashes. I’ve never seen him do once-overs with a girl before, almost like he’s shy.”

With a snort, Clarissa said, “Shy is the last thing your brother is.”

“True, but for some reason, around you, he tends to go a little off book. Almost like he’s nervous to be around you.”

Clarissa remembered the moment in the guest room when he’d seemed uneasy and jumpy. She hadn’t known what to make of his behavior at the time.

Could Moira be right? Was Pat anxious around her? And if so, why? He was a man comfortable with women. From what she’d heard from people, very comfortable with women.

So why would he be jumpy around her?

“Would you consider going out with him if he asked you again?” Moira persisted.

“I don’t think he will, Moira. He and I are very different.”

“Because he’s a serial dater and you live like a nun?”

“I do not,” she said, even though she knew she did.

“Really? When was the last time you went on a date?”

Clarissa frowned. “A few weekends ago, when you were on your honeymoon. I had dinner and then saw the new Denzel movie.”

“Who with?”

“Nosey, much? Roger Briggs, if you have to know.”

“Rocky Briggs? The police chief? How’d you meet him?”

“Through a patient,” she said, lifting a shoulder.

Moira’s eyes widened. “His son, Petey, right? His kid’s the most accident prone juvenile delinquent in Carvan.”

“How do you even know anything about him? You’ve been gone for four years?”

“Steps is always telling my parents about the stupid things Petey gets caught doing. They’re in the same class,” Moira said. “Mom was repeating some of his mishaps last night before you got there.”

Clarissa didn’t want to admit it had been the chief’s teenage son who’d brought them together. She’d seen them both in her office one afternoon after Petey Briggs had sliced open his hand with a box cutter. She hadn’t asked how the “accident” had happened. After she’d treated the boy, she’d spoken with his father. He’d called later the same night to ask her out and, because of the vow she’d made to herself to start living like a grown woman, she’d accepted the invitation.

It had been a pleasant enough evening, but no sparks had been ignited and when he’d asked her again she’d been on-call.

“Rocky’s wife left him a few years ago,” Moira said. “Scuttlebutt around town claimed she was fed up with his erratic job hours and their out-of-control kid.”

“Scuttlebutt?”

Moira grinned. “Okay, Mom, a.k.a. the town oracle.”

Clarissa laughed and checked her watch. “Listen, I have to get back. I have a full schedule this afternoon.” She rose and took her lunch debris with her.

“You never really answered my question.” Moira mimicked her movements. “Would you go out with Pat if he asked you again?”

“Moira, let it go. I’m not Pat’s type.”

“You’re breathing, aren’t you?”

Clarissa laughed again. “Now you’re being mean.”

With a shrug, she said, “Maybe. But it’s true. Pat doesn’t really have a type. Which is probably the real problem.”

“What?” They waited for the light to change then crossed back to Clarissa’s office.

“Nothing. Just a thought.”

Outside the building, Moira bent and hugged her friend.

Clarissa still wasn’t used to the easy displays of physical affection she received from the Clearys. She returned the hug, saying, “Thanks for stopping by. It’s good to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home. I’ll call you. Maybe we can go shopping when you’re free.”

“Deal.”