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“And what if she tries to do something to herself?” She set the bagel back down on the plate, unable to leave the subject alone.
“I’ll take steps to avoid the possibility.” He steepled his fingers and met her gaze with a steadiness that unnerved her. The man was intimidating, even though she knew he wasn’t trying to be. Despite his reassurances, she still wasn’t convinced Clint was the man for the job. Especially considering their history—which, granted, wasn’t much of one. On his side, anyway.
What other option did she have, though? An institution? Bring her home and hope Chelsea didn’t try to take her life again?
No. She couldn’t risk there being a next time.
She’d do anything it took to help bring her daughter back from wherever she was. That included seeing Clint every day for the rest of her life and reliving what they’d done by the bank of that creek.
Decision made.
“I want you to keep me informed of every move you make.”
One brow quirked. Too late she realized he could have taken her words the wrong way. But he didn’t throw a quick comeback, like he might have done in days gone by. Instead, he simply said the words she needed to hear most: “Don’t worry, Jessi. Even if we have to break every rule in the book, we’re going to pull her through this.”
And as much as the word we made something inside her tingle to life, it was that other statement that reached out and grabbed her. The one that said the old Clint was still crouched inside that standard issue haircut and neat-as-a-pin desk. It was there in his eyes. The glowing intensity that said, despite outward appearances, he hadn’t turned into a heartless bureaucrat after years of going through proper channels.
He was a rule-breaker. He always had been. And just like his bursting into the ladies’ restroom unannounced, it gave her hope, along with a sliver of fear.
She knew from experience he wasn’t afraid to break anything that got in the way of what he wanted. She just had to make sure one of those “things” wasn’t her heart.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_d68fd2c0-16ef-5a61-8ecc-b5122e6fde95)
JESSI HAD JUST finished suturing an elbow laceration and was headed in to pick up her next chart when a cry of pain came from the double bay doors of the emergency entrance.
“Ow! It hurts!”
A man holding a little girl in his arms lurched into the waiting area, his face as white as the linoleum flooring beneath his feet. The child’s frilly pink party dress had a smear of dirt along one side of it, as did her arm and one side of her face. That had Jessi moving toward the pair. The other cases in the waiting room at the moment were minor illnesses and injuries.
The man’s wild eyes latched on to her, taking in the stethoscope around her neck. “Are you a doctor?”
“Yes. How can I help?”
“We were at a … She fell …” The words tumbled out of his mouth, nothing making sense. Especially since the girl’s pained cries were making the already stricken expression on his face even worse.
She tried to steer him in the right direction. “She fell. Is this your daughter?”
“Yes. She fell off a trampoline at a friend’s house. It’s her leg.”
Like with many fun things about childhood—climbing trees, swimming in the lake, riding a bike—danger lurked around every corner, ready to strike.
Jessi brushed a mass of blond curls off the girl’s damp face and spoke to her. “What’s your name?”
“Tammy,” she said between sobs.
She maintained eye contact with her little charge. “Tammy, I know your leg must hurt terribly. We’re going to take you back and help fix it.” She motioned to one of the nurses behind the admission’s desk. Gina immediately came toward them with a clipboard.
The girl nodded, the volume of her cries going down a notch.
“Let’s take her into one of the exam rooms, while Nurse Stanley gets some information.”
It wasn’t standard protocol—they were supposed to register all admissions unless there was a life-threatening injury—but right now Jessi wanted to take away not only the child’s pain but the father’s, as well.
Maybe Clint wasn’t the only one who knew how to break a few rules.
But she had to. She recognized that look of utter terror and helplessness on the dad’s face. She’d felt the same paralyzing fear as she’d crouched in the bathtub with her daughter, blood pouring out of Chelsea’s veins. She’d sent out that same cry for help. To God. To the universe. To anyone who would listen.
And like the distraught father following her to a treatment room, she’d been forced to place her child in the hands of a trained professional and pray they could fix whatever was wrong. Because it was something beyond her own capabilities.
But what if it was also beyond the abilities of the people you entrusted them to?
Raw fear pumped back into her chest, making her lungs ache.
Stop it.
She banished Clint and Chelsea from her thoughts and concentrated on her job. This little girl needed her, and she had to have her head in the game if she wanted to help her.
“Which leg is it?” she asked the father.
“Her right. It’s her shin.”
“Did she fall on the ground? Or which part of the trampoline?”
She asked question after question, gathering as much information as she could in order to narrow the steps she’d need to take to determine the exact nature of the injury.
Gina followed them into the room and was already writing furiously, even though the nurse hadn’t voiced a single question. That could come later.
“Set her on the table.”
As soon as cold metal touched the girl’s leg, she let out an ear-piercing shriek that quickly melted back into sobs.
As a mother, it wrenched at her heart, but Jessi couldn’t let any of that affect what she did next. Things would get worse for Tammy before they got better, because Jessi had to make sure she knew what she was dealing with.
“Gina, can you stay and get the rest of the information from Mr …?” She paused and glanced at the girl’s father.
“Lawrence. Jack Lawrence.”
“Thank you.” She turned back to her nurse. “Can you do that while I call Radiology?”
Once she’d made the call, she made short work of getting the girl’s vitals, talking softly to her as she went about her job. When she slid the girl’s dress up a little way, she spied a dark blue contusion forming along her shin and saw a definite deformation of the tibia. The bone had separated. Whether they could maneuver the ends back in place without surgery would depend on what the X-rays showed.
Within fifteen minutes, one of the radiology techs had whisked the five-year-old down the hall on a stretcher, her father following close behind. His expression had gone from one of fear to hope. Sometimes just knowing it wasn’t all up to you as a parent, that there were others willing to pitch in, made a little of the weight roll off your shoulders.
So why did she still feel buried beneath tons of rubble?
Because Chelsea’s injury went beyond the physical to the very heart of who she was. And Jessi wasn’t sure Clint—or anyone else—could repair it. There was no splint or cast known to man that could heal a broken spirit.
A half hour later Tammy and her father were back in the exam room, and an orthopedist had arrived to take over the case. The urge to bend down and kiss the little girl’s cheek came and went. She held back a little smile. She didn’t need to break all the rules. Some of them were there for a reason.
Hopefully, Clint knew which ones to follow and which ones to break.
He did. She sensed it.
He wouldn’t go beyond certain professional boundaries. Which meant he would try to keep their past in the past. If one of them stepped over the line, he’d remove himself from Chelsea’s case.
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 (#ulink_e8e859f7-3b1a-5697-b13b-d05324467922)
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 blasе. 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.
