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Should she talk to Chelsea about what had happened down at the creek—tell her she’d gone to school with Clint? Not necessary. He appeared to have a plan. Besides, if she heaped anything else on her daughter, she might hunker further down into whatever foxhole she’d dug for herself. She needed to give Clint enough time to do his job.
“Jessi?” Gina, the nurse from the earlier, caught her just as she was leaving her patient’s room. “You have a phone call on line two.”
“Okay, thanks.” It must be her mom, confirming their dinner date for tonight. She’d promised to update her on Chelsea’s condition, something that made her feel ill. With her father gone, Jessi and Chelsea were all her mother had left. And though her mother was no longer taking antidepressants, she’d been forgetful lately, which Jessi hoped was just from the stress of her only granddaughter’s illness.
Going to the reception desk, she picked up the phone and punched the lit button. “Hello?”
Instead of the bright, happy tones of her mother, she encountered something a couple of octaves lower. “Jess?”
She gulped. “Yes?”
“Clint here.”
As if she hadn’t already recognized the sound of his voice. Still, her heart leaped with fear. “Is something wrong with Chelsea?”
“No. Do you have a minute? I’d like to take care of some scheduling.”
“Scheduling?”
A low, incredibly sexy-sounding hum came through the phone that made something curl in her belly.
“I want us to talk every day.”
“Every day?”
About Chelsea, you idiot! And what was with repeating everything he said?
“Yes. Our schedules are probably both hectic, but we can do it by phone, if necessary.”
“Oh. Okay.” Was he saying he didn’t want to meet with her in person? That he’d rather do all of this by phone? She had no idea, but she read off her schedule for the next five days.
A grunt of affirmation came back, along with, “I’ll also want to meet with you and Chelsea together.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t Dr. Cordoba have family sessions with you?”
She shook her head, only realizing afterwards that he couldn’t see it. “No, although he mentioned wanting to try that further down the road.”
“I believe in getting the family involved as soon as possible, since you’ll be the one working with her once she’s discharged.”
Discharged. The most beautiful word Chelsea had heard in weeks. And Clint made it sound like a reality, rather than just a vague possibility. So he really was serious about doing everything he could to make sure treatment was successful.
A wave of gratitude came over her and a knot formed in her throat. “Thank you, Clint. For being willing to break the rules.”
Was she talking about with Chelsea? Or about their time together all those years ago.
“You’re welcome, Jess. For what it’s worth, I think Chelsea is very lucky to have you.”
Her next words came out before she was aware of them forming in her head. But she meant them with all her heart. “Ditto, Clint. I think Chelsea and I are the lucky ones.”
“I’ll call you.”
With that intimate-sounding promise, he said goodbye, and the phone clicked in her ear, telling her he’d hung up. She gripped the receiver as tightly as she could, all the while praying she was doing the right thing. She was about to allow Clint back into her orbit—someone who’d once carried her to the peak of ecstasy and then tossed her into the pit of despair without a second glance. But what choice did she have, really?
She firmed her shoulders. No, there was always a choice. She may have made the wrong one when she’d been on the cusp of womanhood, but she was smarter now. Stronger. She could—and would—keep her emotions in check. If not for her own sake, then for her daughter’s.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE FIRST FAMILY counseling session was gearing up to be a royal disaster.
Jessi came sliding into Clint’s office thirty minutes late, out of breath, face flushed, wispy strands of hair escaping from her clip.
He swallowed back a rush of emotion. She’d looked just like this as she’d stood to her feet after they’d made love. He’d helped her brush her hair back into place, combing his fingers through the strands and wishing life could be different for him.
But it couldn’t. Not then. And not now.
“Sorry. We had an emergency at the hospital, and I had to stay and help.”
“No problem.” He stood. “I have another patient in a half hour, so we’ll need to make this a quick session.”
“Poor Chelsea. I feel awful. I’m off tomorrow, though, so I’ll come and spend the day with her.”
When they walked into Chelsea’s room, the first thing he noticed was that the lunch she’d been served an hour ago was still on a tray in front of her, untouched. At the sight of them, though, she seemed to perk up in her seat, shoveling a bite of mashed potatoes into her mouth and making a great show of chewing.
Manipulating. He’d seen signs of it earlier when he’d tried to coax her to talk about things that didn’t involve the weather.
Her throat worked for a second with the food still pouched inside one cheek. She ended up having to wash the potatoes down with several gulps of water. She sat there, breathing as hard as her mother had been when she’d arrived a few moments ago.
“Enjoying your meal?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain blasé. So much for showing Jessi how good he was at his job.
As if this was even about him.
He ground his teeth as his frustration shifted to himself.
Chelsea shrugged. Another bite went in—albeit a much smaller one this time.
Not polite to talk with my mouth full, was the inference.
Well, she’d run out of the stuff eventually. And since she was pretty thin already, he was all for anything that would get food into her system. That was one of the comments on the sheet in her file. She didn’t eat much, unless someone wanted to interact with her in some way. The staff had taken to coming to her room and loitering around, straightening things and making small talk. It was a surefire way to get that fork moving from plate to mouth.
He decided to give her a little more time.
Jessi stood there, looking a little lost by her daughter’s lack of greeting. He sent her a nod of reassurance and motioned her to sit in one of the two nearby chairs and joined her.
“Let’s go ahead and get started, if that’s okay with you, Chelsea.”
Chew, chew, chew.
She moved on to her green beans without a word. Okay, if that’s the way she wanted to play it, he’d go right along with it.
He turned to Jessi, sorry for what he was about to do, but if anything could break through her daughter’s wall it might be having to face some hard, unpleasant subjects. “Since Chelsea’s busy, why don’t you tell me what led her to being here.”
Right on cue, Jessi’s eyes widened. “You mean about the day I called …”
“Yes.”
Her throat moved a couple of times, swallowing, probably her way of either building up the courage to talk about the suicide attempt or to refuse.
“Well, I—I called Chelsea’s cell phone to let her know I was coming home early. It rang and rang before finally going over to voice mail. I was going to stop and pick up some Thai food—her favorite …” Jessi’s eyes filled with tears. “I decided to go straight home instead, so we could go out to eat together. When I got there … Wh-when I got to the house, I—”
“Stop.” Chelsea’s voice broke through, though she was still staring down, a green bean halfway to her mouth. “Don’t make her talk about it.”
Whether the young woman wanted to spare her mother’s feelings or her own, Clint wasn’t sure. “What would you like to discuss instead, then?”
There was a long pause. Then she said, “What you hope to accomplish by keeping me here.”
“It’s not about us, Chelsea. It’s about you.”
“Where’s Dr. Cordoba?” Her head finally came up, and her gaze settled on him.
“He went to work somewhere else.”
“Because of me.” The words came out as a whisper.
Clint shook his head. “No, of course not. He made the decision for personal reasons. It had nothing to do with you.”
Jessi’s chest rose and fell as she took a quick breath. “We all just want to help, honey.”
“Everything I touch turns to ashes.”
“No.” Jessi glanced at him, then scooted closer to her daughter, reaching out to stroke her hair. “You’ve been through a lot in the past several months, but you’re not alone.”
“I am, Mom. You have no idea. You all think I’m suffering from PTSD, because of my time in that camp, don’t you? Dr. Cordoba did. But I’m not.”
Clint glanced at Jessi, a frown on his face. “You tried to take your life, Chelsea. Something made you think life wasn’t worth living.”
The girl’s shoulders slumped.
“Does this have to do with your pregnancy?”
Two sets of female eyes settled on him in shock.
Hell. Jessi hadn’t known?
It was right there in Chelsea’s medical chart that her physical exam had revealed she’d given birth or had had a miscarriage at some point. He’d just assumed …
His patient went absolutely rigid. “I want her to leave. Now.”
“But, Chelsea …” Jessi’s voice contained a note of pleading.
“Now.” The girl’s voice rose in volume. “Now, now. Now!”
Jessi careened back off her chair and stumbled from the room as her daughter’s wails turned to full-fledged screams of pain. She was tearing at her hair, her food flung across the room. Clint pressed the call button for the nurse and between the two of them they were able to administer a sedative, putting an end to Chelsea’s hysterical shrieks. Her muscles finally went limp and her eyes closed. He stood staring down at her bed for a few moments, a feeling of unease settling over him as it had each time he’d met with Chelsea. There was something here. Something more than what was revealed in her records.
And it involved that pregnancy. She’d been calm until the moment the subject had come up.
It was time to do a little more digging. But for now he had to go out there and face Jessi. And somehow come up with something to say that wouldn’t make things worse than they already were.
“I didn’t know.”
Clint came toward her as she leaned against the wall twenty feet away from Chelsea’s door. Her stomach had roiled within her as the nurse had rushed into the room and the screams had died down to moans, before finally fading away to nothing. All she wanted to do was throw up, just like she had during a previous visit, but she somehow held it together this time.
“I’m sorry, Jess.” Clint scrubbed a hand through his hair, not touching her. “I’d assumed she told you.”
“She hasn’t told me anything. Could it have been while she was a prisoner?”
“I’m not sure. This is the most emotion I’ve seen from her in the past week. We hit a nerve, though. So that’s a good thing.”
“I can’t imagine what she went through.” She leaned her head against the wall and stared at the ceiling.
Chelsea’s convoy had been ambushed during a night patrol by enemy forces disguised as police officers. The group had been held for four months. Chelsea had said they’d all been separated and interrogated, but she’d had no idea one of the prisoners had died until she and the rest of those rescued had been flown home.
Jessi sighed and turned back to look at him. “The army debriefed her, but I was never told what she said, and I—I was afraid to press her too much. She seemed to be doing fine. Maybe that in itself was a warning sign.”
“There was no way you could have known what she was going to do.” Clint pushed a strand of hair off her cheek.
She wasn’t sure she could stand seeing her daughter in this much pain week after week. And a pregnancy …
Had her daughter been raped during her captivity? The army had said there was no evidence of that, but then again Chelsea wasn’t exactly a fount of information. “I think I’m doing more harm than good by going in there with you.”
“Let’s see how it goes for the next week, okay? Chelsea was admitted under a suicide watch. That gives you permission to make decisions regarding her health care. She could still open up.”
“She doesn’t even want me here, Clint. You heard her.” Jessi’s head still reverberated with her daughter’s cries for her to get out.
“That was the shock talking. She didn’t expect me to ask that particular question. At least she’s getting it out, rather than bottling it all up inside.”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her face. “How long’s it been since you’ve done something that hasn’t revolved around your job or Chelsea?”
She thought for a second. “I can’t remember.”
“The last thing she needs is for you to break down as well, which is where you’re headed if you don’t take some down time.”
She knew he was right. She’d felt like she’d been standing on the edge of a precipice for weeks now, with no way to back away from it.
Before she could say anything, he went on. “You said you’re off tomorrow. Why don’t you go out and do something fun? Something you enjoy?”
“I need to spend the day here with Chelsea.”
“No. You don’t. She’ll understand. It might not be a bad idea to give her a day to think through what just happened.”
She hesitated. “I don’t even know what I’d do.” Chelsea might need a day to think, but the last thing Jessi wanted to do was sit at home and let her brain wander down dark paths.
“Tell you what. I don’t have anything pressing tomorrow. Why don’t we do something together? It’s fair season. There’s probably something going on in one of the nearby counties.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t. Chelsea—”
“Will be fine.”
Conflicting emotions swept through her. The possibility of spending the day with Clint dangled before her in a way that was far too attractive. “I’m not sure …”
“Is it because I’m her doctor?”
“Yes.” He’d given her the perfect excuse, and she grabbed at it with both hands.
“That can be remedied.”
Panic sizzled through her. He’d hinted once before that he might drop her daughter’s case.
“No. I want you.”
He paused, then shook his head and dragged his fingertips across her cheek. “Then you have to take care of yourself.”
She nodded, unable to look away from his eyes as they locked on her face. Several emotions flicked through them, none of them decipherable.
“I’ll try.”
“How about I check the local schedules and see if I can find something for us to do? Something that doesn’t involve a hospital.”
Guilt rose in her throat, but at a warning glance from him she forced it back down. “Okay.”
He nodded and let his hand fall back to his side. “Are you going to be okay tonight?”
Was he asking her that as a psychiatrist or as a man?
It didn’t matter. The last thing she wanted was to jeopardize her working relationship with the one man who might be able to get through to her daughter. She needed to keep this impersonal. Professional. Even though his touch brought back a whole lot of emotions she hadn’t felt in twenty-two years.
But she had to keep them firmly locked away. Somehow.
“I’ll be fine. Just call if there’s any change, okay?” She was proud of the amount of conviction she’d inserted into her voice.
“I will. I’m off at ten, but the hospital knows how to reach me if there’s a problem.” He took a card from his desk and wrote something on the back of it, then handed it to her. “I’ll give you a yell in the morning, but until then, here’s my cell phone number. Call me if you need me.”
If you need me.
Terrifying words, because she already did. More than she should. But she wouldn’t call. No matter how much that little voice inside her said to do just that.
CHAPTER FIVE
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.
“You did?”
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.
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