“YOU USED TO have an earring in high school.”
A swallow of his milk shake went down the wrong way, and Clint gave a couple of rough coughs before turning in his seat to stare at her. In the dim light of the parking lot at a nearby burger joint, he could just make out her questioning gaze. He’d decided against going to the park, worried about being too alone with her.
This was more public, although he wasn’t exactly sure what he was worried about. Surely they could both handle this situation like adults. Running into each other from time to time was part of adult behavior.
And going to the fair and having dinner with her and her mother?
All part of being back in his hometown. It meant nothing. At least, he’d better make sure it didn’t.
And what about her asking about his earring?
Jessi must have changed clothes before leaving the hospital, because she wasn’t wearing a lab jacket or rubber-soled shoes but a pair of slim, dark jeans, lime-green T-shirt and a pair of shoes that had a wedged heel. Not what he would consider doctor gear at all. In fact, she looked much more like the teenager he’d known in high school than a mom with a grown daughter.
He felt like an old fuddy-duddy in comparison, still in his shirt and tie. He could have sworn the kid at the drive-through window had eyed Jessi with interest. Clint had thrown the teen a glare in return, which had felt like something Jessi’s actual father might have done.
When had he turned into such a square?
Maybe when he’d seen the emotional wounds of those returning from battle. And how they reminded him of his own.
“I did have an earring. I took it out the night before I reported for boot camp.”
The night of their graduation. The night he’d made love to Jessi. It had marked the end of an era for him, a journey from childhood to becoming a man. Removing the earring that night had been something the old Clint wouldn’t have done. He’d have reported to boot camp and waited until someone ordered him to take it out. But he hadn’t. After watching Jessi’s house for a while that night, he’d gone home—avoiding the after parties and festivities that had gone along with graduation—and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. God, he’d wanted to stay in Richmond that night. For the first time he’d thought of doing something other than running away. And it had been all because of Jessi.
Instead, he’d unhooked the small gold hoop and pulled it from his ear. As if that one act would give him the courage to walk away when everything inside him had been yelling at him to stay and fight for her, shoving aside his fears about what might happen if he did. What kind of life he might drag her into, if he stayed.
But, even if he’d decided to risk it all for her, Jessi was already spoken for, at least according to Larry and all their friends.
The image in the mirror that night had told him which of them had had a better shot of giving Jess a good life. The choice had been obvious—at least to him. He had just been a screwup from a dysfunctional family, his finger a constant reminder of what that brought.
He hadn’t wanted that for her.
So he’d let her go. An act his teenage self had decided was the mature thing to do. He still had that old hoop in a box somewhere.
Jessi unexpectedly reached up, her fingers cool from holding her frozen drink as they touched his chin. Using gentle pressure, she turned his head to the right, leaning over to look. Her breath washed across his skin, the scent of vanilla catching hold of his senses and making him want to sneak a taste of her mouth.
“Is there still a hole where your earring used to be?”
What was with all the questions? And why had he ever thought sitting in a car—or anywhere else—with her was a good idea?
Just being an adult. Proving he could control his impulses.
He swallowed. “I haven’t really looked in a while.
Why?”
“We had a guy come into the ER tonight who’d hooked himself while fishing and I had to push the barb all the way through his ear. He was worried his family would think he’d pierced it.” She gave a soft laugh. “He wanted to know how long it would take to heal. I told him he should be more worried about the risk of tetanus than a tiny hole.”
Her nose wrinkled. “The worst thing was there was still a live worm attached to the end of that hook.”
“Well, that had to be an interesting scenario.”
“I almost couldn’t do it.” She let go of him and leaned back in her seat. “Did you ever have to do something and wonder if you’d be able to get through it?” She made a sound in her throat. “Never mind. Of course you have.”
He could think of two at the moment. One was leaving her behind twenty-two years ago. And the other was not touching her now, when everything inside him was straining to do just that. “I think everyone eventually gets a case like that. Or at least wonders if the patient would be better off with another doctor.”
Jessi suddenly bent to get her milk shake. In the process the lid came off, dumping the cup, and half of its contents, right onto her lap.
He moved to grab it just as her cry of dismay went up. “Oh, no. Clint, I’m so sorry. Your car.”
“I’m more worried about you turning into a block of ice.” He sent her a half grin as he tried to scoop some of the shake back into the cup. It only ended up sloshing more onto her shirt and jeans.
“Don’t move.” He got out of the car, cup in hand, and strode into the restaurant to throw it away, exiting a few seconds later with a fresh empty cup and a handful of napkins.
Together they corralled most of the spillage between the paper cup and a spare lid, and then sopped up the remainder with the pile of napkins.
“I always was the clumsiest girl in high school.”
“Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“You used to cut yourself down for things, even when they weren’t your fault.”
He could always remember some self-deprecating comment or other she would throw out there in school, making everyone laugh and passing it off as a big joke. But there had always been a ring of conviction to the jibes that had made him wonder if she didn’t actually believe all the “I’m such a klutzo” and “Wow, am I ever a nerd” statements.
She glanced up at him, her hand full of napkins. “Everyone did that. Even you.”
Yes, he had. And he knew for a fact that he’d believed most of what he’d said. Maybe that’s why it bothered him so much when she did it.
“Let’s get you home.”
“I’ll pay for whatever it costs to clean your seats.”
He shook his head. “They’re leather. I’ll just wipe them down with a damp rag. They’ll be fine. You, however, might need to be hosed off.” He said it with a grin to show he was joking.
“Thanks for being so understanding,” she said, as he gathered up the rest of the trash and got out of the car once more to throw it all away.
Understanding? Hell, he was barely holding it together. He put the car in Drive and followed her directions to her house. “Come on in while I change. We can talk about Chelsea over coffee, if that’s okay?”
“Sounds good.”
No, it didn’t. It sounded idiotic. Impulsive. And he should leave. Now. But something drove him to open his car door and follow her up the steps to her house.
It’s just coffee. She hasn’t propositioned you. You’re her daughter’s doctor, for God’s sake.
He was the one who’d called to arrange this meeting in the first place.
Which meant he should have asked her to come to his office, not a fast-food joint.
But surely Jessi had patients who were acquaintances or the children of acquaintances during her years of working in the ER. And it would make sense that she might meet them in the hospital cafeteria or a coffee joint to catch up later. It was kind of hard to work in a town where you grew up—no matter how large—and never expect to run into anyone you knew.
Only Jessi was more than an acquaintance.
And what they’d had was more than a quick hello and goodbye.
That was years ago. They’d spent a little over an hour down by a creek, hopped up on hormones and the thrill of graduating from high school. And she’d been distraught by her father’s unbending rules.
It was in the past. All of it.
And that kiss beside his car at her mother’s house a week ago?
Fueled by memories of that shared past. It wouldn’t happen again. Not if he could help it.
She unlocked the door, glancing behind her as if to make sure he was still coming. “I’ll get you that rag if you want to wipe the seat down while I change. I’ll leave the front door open.”
“Sounds good.” And if he were smart, he’d leave the rag just outside the door afterwards and take off in his car before she could come back out of her bedroom.
And that would be just as unprofessional as kissing her had been.
At least that was his mental excuse, because after wiping up the few drops of milk shake from his seat he found himself back inside her house, calling up the stairs to her and asking her what she wanted him to do with the rag.
“Just put it in the sink and have a seat in the living room. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Instead of doing as she asked, he rinsed out the rag and hung it over a towel bar he found in her utility room. Then he spotted the coffee machine on one of the counters and a huge glass jar filled with those single-serving coffee filters that seemed to be all the rage nowadays. He had one of the machines at home himself. The least he could do was make the coffee while he waited. He’d just found the mugs when Jessi came traipsing back into the kitchen, this time dressed in a white floral sundress similar to the one she’d worn during dinner at her mom’s, her feet bare, hair damp as if she’d showered.
He tensed, before forcing himself to relax again.
Of course she’d had to rinse off. She’d had a sticky drink spilled in her lap. It meant nothing.
“Sorry, Clint. I didn’t intend you to get the coffee ready, too.”
“No problem. I just thought I’d save you a step.” He realized something. “Where’s Cooper?”
“At Mom’s. He’s a communal pet, remember? I get him tomorrow.”
“Ah, right.”
She reached in a cabinet. “What do you take in your coffee?”
“Just sugar.”
She set a crystal bowl down and then went over to the refrigerator and pulled out a container of milk. “Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
They worked in silence until the coffee was done and they’d moved into Jessi’s living room, which was furnished with a huge sectional and a center ottoman. Pictures lined the fireplace mantel and as he took a sip of his coffee he wandered over to them. There were several snapshots of Chelsea doing various activities and one of a more formal military pose. She was soft and natural in every photo except the last one, since official portraits were supposed to be done sans smile. But even in that one there was a spark of humor lighting her eyes that the woman back at the VA hospital lacked.
There was one picture of Jessi and Larry in their wedding attire. Both of them looked so young. Larry would be forever ageless, never having had a chance to really grow up and become a man.
He might still be alive if someone hadn’t …
Her earlier words came back to mind. If he were still alive, Clint would probably not be standing here in her living room right now.
He probably shouldn’t be, regardless.
And the sight of the two of them smiling up at each other sent something kicking at his innards. A slight jabbing sensation that could have been jealousy but that made no sense. He’d been the one who’d left. What had he expected Jessi to do? Dump Larry and wait for him to come back for her?
He hadn’t. He’d never set foot in Virginia again until now. And if he’d known who Chelsea was before he’d agreed to come, he doubted very seriously he would be standing here now.
“Clint?”
Her voice reminded him that he was still staring at the picture. “Sorry. Just seeing how Chelsea was before she deployed.” He turned and sat on the shorter leg of the sofa perpendicular to her. “She smiled a lot.”
“Yes. She was happy. Always. Which is why it’s so hard to see her like this and not know how to help her.”
“I’m sure it is.” He took another sip of his coffee, wishing he hadn’t added quite so much sugar.
“Did she talk at all today?” Jessi tucked her legs up under her, smoothing her hemline to cover her bare knees.
“She shared a little about what her days in captivity had been like. What she did to pass the time.”
“You said on the phone there weren’t any breakthroughs. You don’t consider that one?”
That was a tricky question to answer. Because while it was technically more than Chelsea had told him in the past, she’d spoken without emotion, as if she were using the information itself as one more blockade against questions that might venture too close to painful subjects. Like that macabre tissue paper baby she kept in her nightstand.
“It does help to know a little about what went on. But she’s not talking about her captors or about her rescue. Just about what she did. Reciting her ABCs and having conversations inside her head.”
Jessi slumped. “It’s been almost two and a half months.”
He didn’t mention that sometimes the effects of PTSD lasted a lifetime. His dad, instead of getting better, had slowly sunk into a pit filled with alcohol, drawing away from those he’d known and loved. And when he or his mom had tried to force the issue … Yeah, that was something he didn’t want to talk to Jessi about.
“I know it seems like forever. But she was held for four months. It takes time. Sometimes lots of it.”
She stared down at her cup for several long seconds before glancing up with eyes that held a wealth of pain. “It sounds so terrible for me to say this out loud, but I’m afraid to have her home again. Afraid the next time she tries something I won’t get there in time to stop her.” Clint set his coffee cup down on a tray that was perched on an ottoman between the two seating areas. He went over to sit beside her, setting her coffee aside as he draped his arm around her shoulder and drew her close. “Jess, you’re dealing with some aftereffects yourself. Maybe you should talk to someone.”
She lifted her head. “I’m talking to you.”
“I mean someone objective.” The second the words came out of his mouth he wished he could haul them back and swallow them whole. He tried to clarify his meaning. “It would be a conflict of interest for me to treat you both.”
He realized that explanation wasn’t any better when she tried to pull away from him. He squeezed slightly, keeping her where she was. “I’m not explaining myself very well.” Hell, some psychiatrist he was. He couldn’t even have a coherent conversation with this woman.
“No, it’s okay.” She relaxed, and her arm snaked around his waist with a sigh. “I’m being overly sensitive.”
No, she wasn’t. And Clint was drawing closer and closer to a line he’d sworn he wasn’t going to cross with her. But with her head against his chest and her hand curled around his side, her scent surrounded him. She surrounded him.
Her fingers went to his left hand and her head lifted slightly, staring at something. Then she touched his damaged finger. She bent a little closer. “What happened?”
Damn. He tried to laugh it off. “An old war wound.”
“You never mentioned going to war.”
He hadn’t. That particular war had been fought here on American soil. Not even his father had known what he’d done to his son with that hard, angry squeeze.
“I was making a joke. A bad one.” He shrugged. “It’s not important.”
Her head went back to his chest, but her finger continued to stroke his crooked pinkie, the sensation strangely intimate and disturbing on a level that was primal.
He needed to get up and move before either of them did something they would regret.
Then she lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed his finger, the delicate touch ramming through his chest and driving the air from his lungs.
Her tongue trailed across the skin, and his hand tightened slightly on her shoulder. He wasn’t sure whether or not it was in warning. And if it was, was he warning her not to stop? Or not to continue? His body responded to the former, rejecting the latter. Because he did want her to continue. To keep on kissing him with those featherlight brushes. And not just there. Everywhere.
“Jess,” he murmured. “I think I should move back to the other seat.”
She stopped, still holding his hand. “Does that mean you’re going to?” Her whispered words were as much a caress as her touch had been.
Heat swirled through him.
“Not if you keep talking to me in that tone of voice.”
She let go of his hand and moved hers a little bit higher, smoothing over his biceps until her palm rested on his shoulder. And when she looked up at him, he was lost.
Decision made.
He was going to kiss her. Just like she’d kissed him. Softly. Gently. And with just enough contact to drive her wild.