“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.
“Here!” the rider called as they reached the drum, using her voice along with her hands and legs to guide the horse around the turn. She did the same for the second and third barrels and then the pair raced back in a straight line until they crossed where the automatic timer was set up. Nineteen point two three seconds.
The announcer repeated the time, adding that it put the horse and rider into second place.
Clint leaned closer, his scent washing over her at almost exactly the same time as his arm brushed hers. The dual assault made her mind blank out for a second. So much so that she almost missed his question. “I always wondered. Why do some of them start with the left barrel rather than the one on the right?”
Play it cool, Jessi.
“B-because horses have a dominant side, kind of like being right- or left-handed.”
“Interesting. So your horse was right-handed?”
She swallowed. So he had seen her. She’d hoped maybe he’d heard that she’d won from a friend, rather than having been there in the flesh. What did it matter? So he’d seen her race. No big deal.
But it was. And she had no idea why.
“Yes, she was.”
Neither of the next two horses beat the time of the leader. Despite her wariness at coming out today, and her horror at realizing he’d watched her the day of her win, she could feel the muscles in her body relaxing. He’d been right to suggest she take a day off.
A real day off.
“Do you think Chelsea—?”
“The hospital will call me if they need me. We’re both off duty today.”
She frowned. “She’s my daughter, Clint. I can’t help but worry about her.”
“I’m not asking you to put her from your mind. I’m asking you to enjoy your day. It’s what she would want.”
She sighed. “She did seem happy when I told her where I was going.” Jessi had insisted on stopping to see Chelsea before they’d left, although she hadn’t told her that she and Clint were going together.
“Exactly.” He bumped her with his shoulder again. “And she’s probably going to ask what you did. So let’s make it good.”
Jessi’s eyes widened. How was she supposed to respond to that?
She was still trying to figure it out when she heard a weird screech of metal, then Clint’s arm was suddenly behind her, crushing her tightly against him.
“Hold on!”
She thought at first it was because a new horse had started the course, but then she sensed something falling, followed by screams.
When she glanced back, she saw that the metal support had broken free—probably from the weight of everyone leaning against it—and was dangling from the far side of the bleachers. And on the ground …
Oh, Lord. Fifteen feet below them were five people who’d evidently tumbled backward off the top seat when the structure had given way. Others were now on their feet in a panic, trying to rush down the stands to get to the ground. One person tripped and landed on another spectator a few rows down.
“Stay here,” Clint muttered.
Like hell. “I’m coming with you. I’m a doctor, to
o, remember?”
Someone in the judges’ booth called over the loudspeakers, asking for everyone to remain calm. And also asking for medical assistance.
Clint cautiously made his way down, trying to make sure he didn’t trample on anyone, and again holding her hand as he took one step at a time.
By the time they reached the bottom they could hear a siren that cut off just as it reached the wide dirt aisle that separated the main arena from campers and horse trailers. The crowd opened a path to let it through.
One of the victims was now on her feet and waving away offers for help. Another person had disappeared, evidently also unhurt. But the remaining three were still on the ground, although one was sitting up, holding his leg.
“I’m a doctor,” Clint said to him. “Can you hold on for a minute while we check the others?”
“Go,” the man said, his thin, wiry frame and rugged clothing suggesting he was a farmer or someone who worked with livestock.
Jessi motioned that she’d take the far patient, a woman who was on her side, moaning, while Clint took the last remaining patient, a child, who was writhing on the ground and crying. They pushed through layers of people who wanted to help.
“I’m a doctor, let me through,” she said to a man who was kneeling next to the woman. The man backed up to make room in the tight circle.
The EMT vehicle stopped and two medical workers jumped from the back just as Jessi crouched near her patient. The woman was conscious but obviously in a lot of pain.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Brandi,” she gasped, ignoring the question and trying to roll onto her back, only to stop with a moan. “My daughter. Where’s Brandi?”
Jessi glanced to the side, but couldn’t see Clint through the bodies of onlookers, but his patient had looked to be a little girl.
“How old is your daughter?”
“She … she’s five. Pink shorts.” Talking was an obvious struggle for her.
That had to be Clint’s patient.
“Someone’s helping her right now. Where does it hurt?”
“M-My ribs. It hurts to breathe.”
Jessi did a quick rundown of the woman’s vitals. Everything seemed good, except for a marked tenderness on her right side. “Did you hit your head at all?”
“No. Just landed flat on my side. I couldn’t get up.”
One of the emergency services workers knelt beside her. “What have you got?”
Jessi glanced at the man, who looked to be almost as young as Chelsea. “Possible rib fractures.” She read off the woman’s vitals. “How’s the little girl next to us?”
“Fractured wrist, but she looks good to go.”
Jessi’s patient broke down in tears. “Is that her? My daughter?”
It was amazing someone hadn’t been more seriously injured or even killed in that fall. But luckily the bleachers had been built on dirt rather than a harder surface like concrete or asphalt.
She turned to the EMT. “Can you ask Dr. Marks if his patient’s name is Brandi? It’s her daughter, if so.”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Asking everyone to move back as he did so, she finally had a clear line of sight to Clint. He gave her a reassuring wink that made her smile.
God, how familiar that was. And it still made a jolt of electricity go through her system.
The girl was indeed Brandi, and within minutes everyone had been bundled up into two ambulances, which were creeping back between the throngs of horses and people, and soon disappeared. The sirens were off this time, probably trying not to spook the horses and risk more accidents.
Clint grasped her elbow and eased her over to the side. “They’re taping off the bleachers.”
Her adrenaline was just beginning to dissipate from her system. “I felt the piece of metal give a little bit earlier, but it’s been here for ages. I had no idea it could come loose.”
“Just an accident.”
“Thank God it wasn’t worse. How about the person who fell, trying to get down?”
“Evidently they were all okay, since we didn’t have any other patients.”
With the excitement dying down, people were moving over to the rail next to the arena as the remaining barrel racers moved back into position.
“Do you want something to eat?”
She glanced up at him. “You can eat, after all that?”
He tweaked her chin. “They’re all fine, Jess. Let’s enjoy the rest of the day.”
Their patients may have been fine, but Jessi wasn’t so sure about herself. The memory of his hand grasping hers as he’d hauled her up the steps wound around her senses. She missed his touch. Wanted to reach over and …
The cell phone on Clint’s hip buzzed. The hospital? Her whole body stiffened as dread rose up to fill her being.
Clint’s system went on high alert as he put the phone to his ear.
“Marks here.”
“Clinton? Clinton Marks?”
Frowning, he tried to place the feminine voice on the other end of the line. While the light Southern drawl was familiar, it definitely wasn’t anyone from the hospital, because they would have called him “Doctor.” If this was some telemarketer, they were about to get an earful for scaring Jessi.
And she was scared. He could read it in her stiff posture and the hands clenched at her sides.
He decided to go ultra-formal. “This is Dr. Marks.”
“Well, Dr. Marks—” there was an air of amusement to the voice now “—this is Abigail Spencer, Jessi’s mom. Chelsea’s grandmother. You remember me, don’t you?”
Hell. That’s why she sounded familiar.
He mouthed “Your mom” to relieve Jessi’s fears, wondering why she was calling him instead of Jessi.
Jessi evidently had the same idea as he did, because she frowned and checked her phone. Maybe it was dead or something.
Clint and Jessi’s dads had both been stationed at the same base, so he’d seen her parents quite a bit during his school years. His memories of Mrs. Spencer were of a kind woman with blond curls very like her daughter’s and a quiet smile. So very different from his own mother’s tense and fearful posture that had cropped up anytime she’d heard that front door open. Or how she would place her body in front of her son’s until she had gauged what mood her husband had brought home with him. He rubbed a thumb across his pinky. His mother hadn’t always been able to protect him, though.
Which was why the Spencer household had seemed so strange and alien to him. He’d never been able to shake the feeling that Jessi’s mom had seen right through to the hurting kid hidden beneath a rebellious leather jacket and spiked hair. He brought his attention back to Jessi’s mom as the silence over the phone grew awkward. He cleared his throat. “Of course I remember you. How are you?”
“Anxious to see my granddaughter. But Jessi told me that’s not a good idea right now. I want to ask why. It’s been over two months.”
He didn’t understand what that had to do with him, unless Jessi had used him as an excuse to deflect her visits. But whatever it was, that was between the two of them as far as he was concerned.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Spencer. I really think you should talk to your daughter about that, because I can’t discuss Chelsea’s treatment. Jessi would have to give written authorization to—”
A poke to his arm made him look at the woman beside him. She shook her head.
Mrs. Spencer’s voice came back down the line. “I can do better than that. Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight? Jessi will be here, and we can hash all this out between the three of us.” There was a pause. When her voice came back it was on the shaky side. “I’m her grandmother. Don’t you think I’m entitled to know what’s going on?”
“Again, that’s not up to me.” He felt like an utter jackass for saying those words to a woman who’d been nothing but nice to him during his time in Richmond, but Jess was staring holes right through him. “Jessi has medical power of att
orney at the moment.”
“She’s trying to protect me, but I don’t need protecting.” An audible breath came through the receiver. “Won’t you please come to dinner?”
There was no way he was going to walk into a situation like that without Jessi being fully aware of what was coming, and he wasn’t willing to admit her daughter was standing right next to him. Not without Jess’s approval. “Tell you what. Call your daughter and talk to her. If she’s in agreement with me coming over tonight, I’ll be glad to.” How was that for admitting he had no other plans for a Friday evening?
Another poke to the arm, harder this time. “What are you doing?” she whispered.
He gave her a helpless shrug.
Unlike Jessi, he’d never married, instead throwing his whole life into helping others who were dealing with traumatic events stemming from their military service. It had been the least he could do for his dad, who, like Chelsea, had felt all alone.
“Okay, I’ll do that.” A quick laugh made a warning system go off in his head. “Do you still like corned-beef brisket?”
She remembered that? He’d eaten over at their house exactly once, which was when he’d discovered how overprotective her dad was—the polar opposite of his. And he hadn’t liked Clint. At all. Clint had never been invited back to the house again.
“I love brisket.” Not that he thought there was a snowball’s chance in hell that Jessi would agree to him coming over and talking about Chelsea’s condition. If she’d wanted her mom to know how treatment was going, surely she would have told her by now.
“See you around seven, then.”
Not quite sure how to answer that, he settled for a noncommittal reply. “Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Spencer.”
The phone clicked off.
He met Jessi’s accusing eyes. “Why did you let her invite you to dinner?”
As if he’d had any choice in the matter. One eyebrow went up. “I think the more important question is how did she get my number and why is she calling me, instead of you?”
“I don’t know what you—”
Her phone started playing some samba beat that made him smile. Jessi groaned. “Oh, Lord. How am I going to get you out of this?”
Summer of Love Page 34