THE ROOM WAS silent for five long seconds.
Clint knew, because he counted every damn tick of the clock. He hadn’t told Jessi or anyone else about his dad and the problems he’d had. Could his mom have mentioned it to Abigail or someone else from their past?
Worse, did Jessi know?
Even as the questions ducked through his cerebral cortex, looking for a believable response, he thought he saw pity flit through Jessi’s eyes, although right now her mouth was hanging open in shock.
But, eventually, he had to say something. The ache in his pinky finger sprang to life, reminding him of all the reasons he’d decided to join the military and leave Jessi far behind. He clenched his fist to rid himself of the sensation and made a decision.
He was going to tell the truth. Air his dirty laundry—at least about his father. After all these years.
“Yes. I do know.”
Jessi’s fork clattered to her plate, and her mouth snapped shut. “Mom, I don’t think that’s an appropriate thing to blurt out at the dinner table.”
Wounded green eyes, so like her daughter’s, widened. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I just assumed that everyone knew—”
“It’s okay,” Clint said, his thumb scrubbing across the crooked joint, a habit he used as a daily reminder of why his job was so crucial. Because PTSD didn’t affect just the individual soldier … it affected everyone around them, as well. “I didn’t talk about my problems much. And for a long time I didn’t realize that something could be done.”
Jessi finally spoke up. “You had PTSD?”
“No. My dad did. It was back when I was in high school.”
Differing emotions flickered through her eyes. Sadness. Shock. Then finally the one he’d hoped never to see: guilt.
“Clint, I—” Her tongue flicked across her lips. “You never told any of us.”
“Would you have?”
He knew she’d catch the inference. That her father—a tough army boot-camp instructor—had been vehement in his opposition to her being involved with anyone in the military. After Mrs. Spencer’s words, he now wondered if it was because Jessi’s dad and the entire base had witnessed the hell his mom had gone through because of his dad. Because of the way he’d used the bottle to blot out the demons related to his war deployment. It hadn’t worked. He’d just created a living hell for everyone around him. Clint wouldn’t want any daughter of his to go through what his mom had on a daily basis.
Whatever Mr. Spencer’s reasons, it had ended up saving Clint’s hide down at that creek. It—and his enlistment papers—had given him the perfect out for leaving Richmond. He’d jumped at the excuse, although he now realized that’s all it had been. An excuse. He’d been afraid of his dad and for his dad. Had run away from the possibility that he might turn out to be just like him. But most of all, he hadn’t wanted anyone to know the shame he’d felt.
The irony was, they had known, according to Abigail.
“No,” Jessi said. “I wouldn’t have shared my secrets with just anyone.”
The hint of accusation in her voice was unmistakable. Because she had shared her secret with someone: him. But he hadn’t returned the favor by telling her his. Maybe because he hadn’t wanted to add any more to her plate. Maybe because the only thing he’d wanted at the time had been to erase the pain in her eyes.
Instead, he’d ended up making love to her and adding to his long list of sins. Which included leaving her the very next day. He’d thought it was to protect her.
Not that it had done any good. Jessi’s own daughter was now struggling with trauma related to her military service, so he hadn’t ended up protecting her from anything. Just his own ugly past and uncertain future.
Little had she known back then that he had harbored a secret crush on her. Maybe it had been part of the whole badass, wanting-to-redeem-himself syndrome. The same reason he’d enlisted. A need to redeem himself and maybe even his father—or at least to make peace with what had happened.
Clint’s job, though, had turned into a passion he just couldn’t shake. In some small measure he had redeemed himself. Each time he was able to help an emotionally wounded soldier have a shot at a normal life, he was somehow giving his father the help he’d never received when he’d been alive. And in doing that—Clint flexed his damaged finger again—he helped protect their sons and daughters.
Abigail broke into his thoughts. “I really am sorry. I just assumed that Jessi knew, since you went to school together.”
They’d done more than just that. Which was something he could not—would not—think about right now. Not with her mom sitting there, looking more than a little mortified.
“It’s fine …”
“Don’t worry …”
He and Jessi spoke at exactly the same time, which caused everyone to laugh and broke the tension instantly. Even Cooper gave a quick woof of approval.
And although he’d been the one to say, “Don’t worry,” he was worried. More than a little. Because every time he caught Jessi watching him, his gut slid sideways.
“I have some peach ice cream for dessert,” Abigail said, “if anyone wants some.”
He glanced down at his watch. Almost nine. He could safely take off and claim to have survived the evening. “Thank you, but I probably should be heading home. I have an early morning tomorrow.”
He pushed his chair back, dislodging Cooper from his foot in the process. The dog’s nails clicked on the hardwood floor as he slid from beneath the table and pressed his cheek against Clint’s calf. Reaching down, he scratched behind the animal’s ears.
“Are you sure?” Abigail asked.
“Yes, unless there’s something I can do to help clean up.”
She smiled. “Not a thing.” A quick frown puckered her brow. “I almost forgot. When can I see Chelsea? I don’t want to set her treatment back, but if I can just spend a minute or two with her to assure myself that she’s really—”
“Of course.” He glanced at Jessi for confirmation. “How about if we make it for the next time Jessi and I meet with her? Friday at three?”
Jessi nodded her approval. “It’s okay with me. I want to talk to you a little bit about her condition first, though, okay, Mama? I don’t want you to be shocked by what she might say … or not say.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday. I know it’s bad. I just want to see her.”
“I’ll pick you up on my way home from work, then. We can go together.” She kissed her mother on the cheek, something that made Clint’s chest tighten. Despite Mr. Spencer’s heavy-handed ways, this had been a house of love. It was obvious the two women were close. And he was glad. Glad that her teenage angst hadn’t left any lasting scars.
His arthritic pinky creaked out a warning shot when he curled his hand around the chair to push it back in.
“Thanks again for dinner, Mrs. Spencer.”
“You’re very welcome, and I’m glad you came. I already feel better.”
As he started for the door, he was surprised to find Jessi right behind him. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
He opened the door, forgetting about Cooper. The dog bounded out before he could stop him.
“It’s okay,” Jessi said. “He does it to everyone. He won’t go far.”
The walk down the driveway was filled with the scent of magnolia blossoms, a smell he remembered well. Unbeknownst to Jessi, he’d sat in front of her house for hours the night of graduation, listening for any sounds of fighting, or worse. It had been hard back then to remember that not every father struck out with his fists.
But there’d been nothing that night. Just the muggy heat and that rich floral scent—something he connected to Jessi every time he smelled it. Even now, memories of the soft carpet of moss he’d felt beneath his hands as he’d supported his weight swirled around him. Of her face, soft and flushed, tilting back as he’d trailed his mouth down her neck.
Damn. He never should have come here.
He quickened his steps, only to have her hand touch his arm as they reached his car. He turned to face her, keys in hand, ready to get the hell out of there. The faster he left, the sooner he could regain his sanity.
Which right now was nowhere to be found. Because all he wanted to do was kiss her. Right in front of her house. To relive a little of the magic he’d experienced all those years ago.
“Why didn’t you tell me … back then?” she asked.
He might have known this was why she’d wanted to come with him. “I thought I’d explained that. It was my problem, there was no reason to involve anyone else.”
“God, Clint. I bawled my eyes out about my dad’s stupid rules without even knowing what you—”
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want anyone to know. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s all in the past.”
“And your dad is gone.”
His jaw clenched. His father’s liver cancer, brought on by years of alcohol abuse, didn’t mitigate the fact that Clint wished he’d known sooner how to help him. “So is yours.”
“Yes. I’m just glad he’s not suffering. The strokes came faster at the end …”
“I’m sorry.” He put his arm around her, meaning to give her a quick squeeze and release her. Instead, somehow she wound up against his chest, palms splayed against his shirt, staring up at him with those huge eyes.
The same eyes that did something to his insides every damn time she looked at him. It had happened in high school. And it was still happening now. He leaned back against the car door, still holding on to her.
She bit her lip for a second. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you were the one—back then. And I’m glad it’s you now.”
Whoa. If that wasn’t a kick in the gut, he didn’t know what was. She was glad he’d been the one who’d taken her virginity and not Larry? He’d beaten himself up about that for years afterwards.
And what did she mean, she was happy it was him now? She had to be talking about Chelsea.
“I had no idea who she was, Jess, until you stepped into that room. I swear.”
“I didn’t know it was you either. Until I saw the nameplate on your desk.”
Her fingers came up and touched the line of his jaw, and she smiled. “I never believed that rebel freedom air you put on back in school.”
He cocked a brow. “Oh, no? And why was that?”
“Because you looked so lost at times. I just never understood what caused it back then.”
Before he had time to tense up, she continued. “Mama is right, you know.”
“How’s that?”
“You are the absolute best person to be treating Chelsea.” She closed her eyes for a second before looking up at him again. “I’m so glad you’re here, Clint. So glad you came home.”
The squeezing sensation in his chest grew. The tightrope he was toeing his way across was thinner than he’d realized … harder to balance on than he’d expected.
“Promise me you won’t drop the case,” she added.
That’s exactly what he should do. Especially now. Bow out and ask someone else to step in. Transfer the hell out of that hospital and go back to California.
A thought came to him. Was this why Jessi was in his arms, staring all doe-eyed at him? “I can’t make you that promise. I have to do what I think is in the best interests of your daughter.”
“I know. Just promise me that tomorrow, when you walk into that office, you’ll still be the one treating her.”
He was suddenly aware of her fingers. They were still on his skin, only now they’d moved slightly backward, putting his senses on high alert—along with certain parts of his body. “I’ll be there for her.”
“Good. Because I think I’m about to do something very, very stupid.”
He didn’t need to ask what it was. Because he was on the verge of doing something just as stupid.
But it didn’t stop him from tugging her closer, neither did it stop his lips from closing over hers in a sudden crazy burst of need.
And once their mouths fused together, he was transported to the past. Twenty-two years, to be exact. He’d been unable to get enough of her. Her taste. The faint scent of her shampoo or body wash, or magnolias—whatever the hell it had been that had filled his senses, intoxicating him more than the booze he’d been offered earlier ever could have.
A faint sound came from her throat. He was fairly certain it wasn’t a gasp of protest, since her arms had wound around his neck and her body had slid up his as she’d gone up on tiptoe. He buried his fingers in the hair at her nape, the slight dampness probably due to the Virginia humidity, but it brought back memories of perspiration and bodies that moved together in perfect harmony. Of …
The sound of Cooper’s plaintive howl split the air a short distance away, followed by the sound of the front door opening. Abigail’s voice called out the dog’s name.
Cursing everything under the sun, he let Jessi pull free from his lips, even though the last thing he wanted to do was let her go. He wanted to drag her into the car and drive right to the creek to see if that night had been everything he’d remembered it being.
Abigail’s voice called the dog’s name again. The bushes shielded them from view, so Clint didn’t look. Besides, his gaze was glued to Jessi’s pale features.
Even when Cooper decided to lumber over to them, instead of going to the house, he didn’t break eye contact.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” The gutted apology as she backed up one step, then two, made his lungs burn. The back of her hand went to her mouth, and she pressed hard. Her feet separated them by another pace, then she reached down to capture Cooper’s collar. “Please, don’t dump her. This was my fault. Not hers.”
As she led the dog back to the front door, Clint gave his head a silent shake. There was no one else. He couldn’t leave. Not yet.
Chelsea couldn’t afford to lose two doctors in the space of two weeks.
Which meant Clint couldn’t afford to start something he would never be able to finish. He’d made love to Jessi once and had barely been able to find the strength to walk away. If it happened twice, there was no hope for him.
So, from now on, he would tread carefully. And keep his distance from Jessi and her mom as much as possible.