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The ER doc gave him a half smile. “All I can say is good luck. Let me know if you need some help in there.”
Clay frowned and headed toward the curtained-off area where the sound of voices was growing louder. One female and one male… who sounded none too happy.
Noting that there was no chart in the holder, he swished open enough of the curtain to get through. He stopped in his tracks. Even though her back was turned, the female arguing with his patient wasn’t a nurse. It was Tessa. And she was trying her damnedest to pull back the sheet covering the patient, while he held on to the fabric with all his might. Her Brazilian accent was there in all its blazing glory.
Not that it was doing her any good.
“No one is seeing my privates except my doctor!”
“I am a doctor, Mr. Phillips. I’m here to look at your leg.”
What the hell? Why was Tessa trying to look at his patient’s leg? Dr. Stark had said he’d called in another resident, but Clay had assumed it was an orthopedic resident.
If it wasn’t for the seriousness of the man’s injury, he might have been tempted to just stand back and see how things played out between the two of them, because the Tessa he knew didn’t give up once she got going. For anything.
That probably wasn’t in the best interest of his patient, though.
He stepped closer. “Anything I can do to help?”
Two heads craned around to look at him. Surprisingly, Tessa’s normal irritation at seeing him was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she looked almost relieved.
The patient—Mr. Phillips—yanked harder on the sheet. “This little lady is trying to get a look at my equipment.”
He wasn’t sure whether he was more shocked by the “little lady” description or by the fact that a patient was basically calling Tessa a Peeping Tom.
“I’m trying to see his mole.”
Ouch.
Wait. Maybe she really did mean mole as in…
“I thought this was my patient. Broken left femur?”
Tessa nodded. “And a suspicious skin lesion on his other leg. Which is why Dr. Stark called me in.”
Damn. Of all the rotten luck. So much for the idea that keeping busy could keep him from thinking about her. Because right now his job included the very person he was trying to block out of his mind.
Even more pressing, though, was the need to keep the patient calm. Which meant he just might have to ruffle a few of Tessa’s feathers.
Stepping to the other side of the bed, he ignored her for a moment. “How about if I ask Dr. Camara to step back while I take a look? Would that be better?”
“But—”
He stopped her words with a look. Surprisingly, instead of the dark anger he expected to see on her face she simply nodded, let go of the sheet and took ten steps back until she was against the curtain on the far side of the space.
Glancing at the patient’s face and seeing it crumple in relief, he noted a dark bruise where the man had evidently fallen already apparent on his right cheek. As was the pain he’d been holding back. Clay touched the top edge of the sheet. “May I?”
Mr. Phillips released the covering and allowed Clay to pull it down. He edged the gown up as far as he could without totally exposing the man. The area just above his left knee was obviously broken, the frail-looking limb bent at a five-degree angle. And at the top of his other thigh was a dark mark about the size of a quarter.
Irregular edges. Mottled coloring that looked like the boiling up of a tar pit.
Tessa was the expert when it came to skin conditions, but Clay knew enough to bet this was exactly what she thought it might be. Melanoma. The deadliest form of skin cancer. And the most likely to have spread. Whether it had metastasized to his bones and caused the femur to break was something they wouldn’t be able to determine without more tests. Regardless, both conditions needed immediate treatment. The break was the most urgent, but the size of the growth on his other leg was also worrisome.
He glanced up at her and gave a nod. “He does have a lesion.” He added a quick description, leaving out the actual word.
“I need to see it to be sure.”
Mr. Phillips started to reach for the sheet again, but Clay stopped him with a hand to the shoulder. He glanced back up at Tessa. “Could you leave us alone for a moment?”
Even with her red hair pulled back in a clip and twin smudges of exhaustion beneath her deep green eyes, Tessa was beautiful. Probably even more so now than she’d been back in medical school. There was an iron determination that hadn’t been there when they’d been together. Or maybe it had been and he’d simply been too busy—and too entranced by her porcelain skin and vibrant personality—to notice.
But he saw it now, and so he added, “Please? Trust me on this.”
Without another word, she ducked beneath the fabric of the privacy screen rather than pulling it to the side.
He turned back to his patient. “Mr. Phillips, Dr. Camara is a professional.”
“Still. My wife has been the only woman to see me naked in all these years.”
“You’ve never had a female doctor?”
The man shook his head. The pain had to be excruciating, but evidently the thought of having Tessa see him was even more uncomfortable than his injuries. Clay could always call in another dermatologist—a male one—and risk bringing Tessa’s wrath down on his head. But that wasn’t fair, either. Tessa was a doctor, and to send her away just because she was a woman made something stick in the lower regions of his gut. So he came up with another solution instead.
“How about if we do this? We’ll keep your hospital gown where it is, and I’ll cover you with the sheet like this.” Clay arranged the folds so that it draped over his waist and created a little “U” of exposed skin. Only the skin lesion was visible. Nothing else. They’d have to examine the rest of him to see if there were any other suspicious areas but they could do that while he was under anesthesia for his leg, if tests showed he was strong enough to even have the operation.
The head of the bed had been cranked up so that Mr. Phillips could see what Clay was doing, and the man visibly relaxed. “I guess that would be okay. But don’t let her pull it any farther.”
Clay gave him a grave nod. “You have my word.”
“Well, okay, then.”
“Tessa? Could you step back in here?”
The man turned his head sharply. “I have a daughter named Tessa.”
“Well, see there? That must be a sign.”
Tessa came over to stand by the bed. “Did I hear you right? You have a Tessa at home?”
“Well, not at home. She’ll be forty-nine next week. Lives in Montana with her husband and three horses.”
“Do you have any other family members you want us to call?”
Even as she spoke, her eyes were already on the skin lesion, and Clay could see her mentally sizing it up in her head.
“My wife’s been gone for ten years and my two kids—Tessa and Jeremy—live a long way away.”
Clay’s gut tightened. Maybe Mr. Phillips should think about moving closer to them. But that wasn’t up to him. It was up to his family. “Did you give the front desk a way to reach either of them?”
“Yes.”
Tessa rounded the exam table until she stood across from Clay, although she didn’t look directly at him. Instead, she kept her gaze on their patient. “Thank you for letting me see the spot. We’ll need to take that off, maybe even while Dr. Matthews fixes your leg. Would that be all right?”
“I s’pose so. As long as you keep your eyes where they’re supposed to be, young lady.”
Tessa smiled. “Absolutely. I give you my word.”
The man’s head fell back onto the pillow, the pain lines deepening. “Then what d’you say we get this show on the road.”
An hour later—with an EKG and bloodwork confirming that Mr. Phillips had the constitution of an ox, even if he had the bones of the eighty-year-old man he was—Tessa shared an operating room with Clay for the very first time.
And the very last time, if she had her way. Her hands might not be shaking, but the rest of her certainly was as Clay stood across from her, working on the broken femur as she excised the skin tumor on the man’s other leg. “It’s not as deep as it could be,” she said, unable to prevent herself from talking as she worked, something she’d always done. No one had seemed to mind it in the past. And Clay didn’t seem to mind it now.
But for his part he’d been mostly silent as he worked on drilling holes for the pins that would hold the ends of the patient’s bone together and allow it to heal.
Once she’d gotten clear margins, Mr. Phillips would have to undergo a PET scan to see if the cancer had spread. The tumor was large enough to make her uneasy, but things like this had surprised her before. She could only hope for the same good outcome. She glanced up. “How does his other leg look?”
Clay paused for a minute, before meeting her gaze. “I think he’s got a good shot, if he’s careful.”
Keeping true to their word, Clay had made sure that Mr. Phillips’s private parts were covered at all times, even though the man would never know the difference. And it made something inside her warm to know that Clay cared about his patient’s dignity.
He was a good man. Even if he wasn’t the right one for her.
And he wasn’t. She’d done a lot of thinking over the past four years about her actions. Her temper—or maybe it was her pride—had gotten the best of her, and she’d ended their relationship in the worst possible way, mailing his gift back to him and basically telling him to get lost.
Yes, maybe someday she would find a way to apologize for that. She wasn’t sure when or how, but now that they were working together, surely it was a sign that Fate was giving her an opportunity to make things right. Maybe they could at least become colleagues, even if they could never be friends.
She screwed up her courage, finding it took a lot more cranks of the handle than she’d expected. But she finally took a deep breath and succeeded in opening her mouth. “Do you want to go grab something to eat once we’re finished? Unless you’ve already had dinner.”
He eyed her for a second as if not completely trusting her motives. “Where did this come from?”
“If you’d rather not…”
Okay, now she felt like an idiot, but it wasn’t as if she could withdraw her invitation.
“Tessa, Tessa…” He clucked his tongue. “I didn’t say that.”
So what was he saying? That he wanted to go after all?
Before she could ask, he went on, “Molly’s staying at my folks’ house tonight, in fact. So dinner it is.” He put his head down and went back to work as if that was that.
The reminder of his daughter brought home the fact that Clay had a child with another woman. A supermodel, from the looks of his ex. What had happened between them, anyway?
Maybe he’d tried to buy her one too many gifts. Except the former Mrs. Matthews didn’t look like the type who would have any trouble accepting gifts or anything else from him.
No, that was just her. Stupid, prideful Tessa, who just had to do everything on her own. She’d come to terms with Clay’s parents and had come to appreciate everything they’d done for her. So why couldn’t she do the same with their son?
Because she’d wanted to be his equal. Had wanted so badly to know that she could live and survive and thrive on her own, as her parents had done after moving to the United States. That she was every bit as smart as they’d been.
And then Clay had come along with his easy charm and old-fashioned attitude that said it was okay for him to want to take care of her… when she had still been learning how to take care of herself.
Was it his fault that he’d been born into a wealthy family?
No. But it wasn’t her fault that she’d been born into a family who’d had to work hard for every single thing they had, either. And Tessa had wanted to prove that she was cut from the same cloth. That she could work just as hard and achieve just as much as they had. All on her own.
It wasn’t rational. She would be the first to admit it. But it was what it was.
She finished up the sectioning of the tumor and dropped the last piece into the collection tray to be taken to Pathology. “How are you getting on?”
“Almost done.” He glanced over at her surgical site to find her putting in the sutures. “I’m probably fifteen minutes behind you, if you want to go get cleaned up.”
“Do you mind if I watch?” She smiled. “After all, you got to watch me a few days ago.”
She wondered if he’d even remember what she was referring to, when he’d stood on that observation deck and made her feel so nervous. She’d started out today as a bundle of nerves as well, but had calmed down once she’d realized he had been just as engrossed in his surgery as she’d been in hers. It had felt almost good to be working side by side with him.
No. Not good. Just not crazy scary, as she’d expected it to be. Maybe even like the equals she’d wanted to be all those years ago.
It gave her more hope that they’d be able to come to some sort of accord, since it was inevitable that they’d see each other from time to time around the hospital, just as they had today in the ER.
So maybe she wouldn’t have to avoid him, as she’d thought she would. Maybe she could just smile and walk on by when she happened to see him, instead of ducking into a room and hiding, as she’d resorted to a few days ago.
He smiled back at her, giving her a jolt when his teeth flashed that slow sexy smile she’d once loved so much. “I don’t mind at all, Dr. Camara. By all means… watch me.”
A wave of heat washed over her at the words. Because she could remember a time he’d said just that. Only he hadn’t been operating at the time. No, he’d been lifting her hips, getting ready to…
God! She physically shook her head, trying to rid it of the images that were now spiraling out of control. How he’d wanted her to watch as he sank into her. Slowly. Deeply.
And she had.
She finished her last stitch and tied it. Then had the nurse cut the suture before dropping her needle into the discard tray, her thoughts in a tizzy.
So… she could just grin and give Clay a happy wave whenever she saw him? Evidently not. He’d just shot that idea to hell.
She took a step back from the table, wanting nothing more than to flee the room. But to do that would look funny after everyone in the surgical suite had heard her ask to watch him complete his surgery. And they’d also heard her ask him out to dinner.
More heat poured through her, pushing blood into her head and making it pound with embarrassment. What had she been thinking? She’d wanted to set the record straight—apologize—but there had to have been a better way to do it than going out to eat with him.
Too late to do anything about it now.
And he probably hadn’t even meant his words the way she’d taken them. He’d just been giving her permission to observe him.
Watch me.
Oh, hell. There it was again.
Think about something else, Tessa.
She focused on his hands, watching those long nimble fingers as they worked on Mr. Phillips’s leg. Fingers she could remember running over her in passion, drawing forth reactions she hadn’t known she was capable of.
Make this about his job. Not about what you once meant to each other.
She looked at him with new eyes. And what she saw impressed her. He was good at what he did. Confident. Unerring. Just as she hoped to be one day.
If she could just fix herself on those kinds of thoughts, she would be able to get through dinner, and he’d be none the wiser about anything. Like how she still turned to mush just looking at him.
Please, no. Just get through tonight.
Once they were done eating, she would slide back into her normal routine and forget this surgery—with all its terrible revelations—had ever happened.
CHAPTER SIX
“SO YOU’RE GOING for a fellowship in Mohs?”
They were sitting in a small restaurant around the corner from the hospital two hours after completing the surgery on Mr. Phillips. Tessa had ordered some scans to make sure the tumor had not metastasized past the site on his leg.
She’d acted strangely at the end of the surgery, though, and Clay had wondered if she was going to back out of dinner. And maybe she should have. Or he should have. It didn’t feel half-bad, sitting across from her. Some of the bitterness and resentment he’d had toward her seemed to have leached away over the years.
“Yes, I was planning on applying in the fall, hoping to get an early start.”
The waiter interrupted, bringing their wine and taking their orders. When he left again, Clay leaned forward. “I know Dr. Wesley, head of Oncology. We’re friends, actually. I could put in a good word for you.”
There was silence at the table for about five seconds. Then Tessa’s face turned pink. But it wasn’t the soft color that had infused her skin in the operating room, filling him with a heat that had threatened to make itself known to everyone in the vicinity. No, this was a very different kind of red.
She was angry. At least he thought she was.
“Do you think I can’t get the fellowship on my own?”
What the hell?
“I just thought since I knew Josiah, I could—”
“Take care of it for me. Help me out.”
“Is there a problem with one doctor helping another?”
It was what doctors did all the time. Part of the politics of a hospital, whether he liked it or not. There were a lot more residents than there were fellowship slots. Most people he knew would welcome anything that gave them an edge.
“I don’t need any favors, Clay. Or gifts. Or scholarships. Not anymore.”
The soft words were said with such quiet conviction that they took him aback. They’d had many arguments about his gift-giving over the course of their relationship, but had their problems extended even further than what he’d thought? “Are you talking about my parents? Was that what our breakup was about… them helping you with a few expenses?”
And there it was. The bitterness he’d felt standing in front of the door of her dorm room was back with a vengeance. He should have known they couldn’t have a meal together without getting into some kind of argument. The woman had a chip on her shoulder the size of Mount Everest.
“A few expenses? Meu Deus! It was more like my whole education.” Her voice rose enough that a couple of people at nearby tables glanced their way. She closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling as she took a deep breath and let it out. “Look at it from my perspective. I thought I had earned that scholarship. I worked hard in college and applied for every financial aid opportunity under the sun. And then to find out that my scholarship had nothing to do with merit or anything else I’d done…”
His stomach tightened. “Why didn’t you say anything while we were together?”
“Because I didn’t know where the money came from. Not until the day of my graduation.” She toyed with her fork, eyes not meeting his.
“You didn’t know until…”
Everything fell into place in an instant: why she’d thrown their relationship away with a haughty look of disdain, why she hadn’t wanted to talk about anything.
But it was only money.
“No, and you went out with me and never said a single word about it the whole time we were together.” Her eyes did come up this time. “I felt so humiliated. My rich boyfriend’s parents paid my way through one of the best medical schools in the country. Only no one saw fit to tell me.”
When she put it that way, he could see why she’d been so upset that day. But his parents had certainly felt as if she’d deserved the scholarship—had seen it as an investment in the future. Yes, they had a soft spot for Tessa’s folks—they were good friends, in fact—but they weren’t the kind of people who threw money at a cause they didn’t believe was worthy. They’d expected Clay to work just as hard as they did. And Tessa had made stellar grades. Better than his, even.
His anger faded. He reached across the table, touching her face. “My parents may have paid the tuition, but you’re the one who earned that degree, Tess, not them. I know how many hours you put in studying. And if their scholarship hadn’t paid your way, any other awards agency would have been happy to step up to fill in any gaps. Is it so terrible that it was my mom and dad who happened to set it up?”
Her gaze held his for a long second. “I don’t know what to think. My parents didn’t know about it, either. Wouldn’t it have been easier if they had just told us about everything up front?”
“They probably thought your parents would refuse the money if they knew who it came from. They’re proud. Very much like a certain young doctor I know.” He took his hand away and sat back.
A small smile played about her lips. “I’m just a little proud.”
“Oh, Tessa, if that’s your definition of a little…” He sighed, then fixed her with a look. “You’re going to be a damn good doctor. You already are, in fact. I saw you operate on Mr. Phillips’s leg.”
He hesitated about saying the next thing that came to his mind, but went ahead. “Your mother would be proud of all you’ve accomplished. And I know your dad is. Mom says he talks nonstop about you.”
Tessa’s eyes turned soft and moist, the green glittering like meadow grass covered with dew.
“Thank you.” The words came out a shattered whisper. “My dad and I miss her more than words can say.”
Suddenly his focus slid lower. To the pink lips that had once parted beneath his own. He wanted to part them again… to use his mouth to chase away the pain and grief he heard in her voice.
As if she heard his thoughts, something simmered in the air between them. An electric current that seemed to draw them closer and closer.
If not for the fact that there was a table and plates between them, he might have leaned across and kissed her right then and there—to see if the experience was as heady as he remembered.
But there was a table… along with a whole lot of baggage. So he picked up his fork and speared one of the meatballs on his plate of spaghetti instead. Just because she’d confessed the reasons why she’d broken things off with him, there was no reason to think they could pick up where they left off.
They couldn’t.
Too much time had passed. He had a daughter and an ex-wife. He, more than anyone, should know when to leave well enough alone.
Tessa took a bite of her salad, her gaze now traveling around the room. Time to steer the conversation toward something a little more superficial.
“How is Marcos and everyone over at the studio?”
She smiled. “Still as ornery as ever. They’re excited about the exhibition.” She paused. “Which reminds me, I totally forgot to call him and ask which day would be best.”
“Better sooner than later. Molly saw a movie a few weeks ago about a kid who learns to do all kinds of fancy karate moves. She’s been going on about it nonstop. Capoeira isn’t karate, but I think it would seem like it to her.”
“I’m sure Marcos wouldn’t mind her coming in. I’ll try to ask him sometime tomorrow morning.” Tessa’s lips pursed for a second. “I’m sorry about your divorce.”
The shift back to personal subjects took him by surprise, hitting a little too close to home. “Long-term relationships don’t suit me, evidently.”
She laughed. “You and me both. Your daughter is beautiful, though, so something good came out of it.”
Yes, it had.
“She’s my life.”
Those simple words contained more truth than he’d handed to anyone in ages. They cut to the heart of who he was now, barreling past the flip replies that seemed to come far too easily these days.
He could only hope he and Lizza had spared Molly most of the ugliness that had gone along with their breakup. Those last few months hadn’t been pleasant ones. Thankfully Molly had been too young to understand what the fights and arguments had been about back then—unlike now. He did his best, but he still got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever it was Lizza’s turn to have her for the weekend.