tattoo was evidently hidden beneath the long sleeves of his shirt, but he still projected an attitude of blasé amusement. She’d seen that mask crack one time. And that memory now kept her glued to her chair instead of storming out and demanding that the “punk” who’d slept with her and then left without a word be removed from her daughter’s case immediately and replaced with someone who actually cared.
Someone who had at least a modicum of empathy.
He did.
She’d seen it.
Experienced it.
Had felt gentle fingers tunnel through her hair, palms cupping her face and blotting her tears.
She sucked down a deep breath, realizing he was waiting for a response. “Thank you. He’s been gone a long time.”
And so have you. She kept that to herself, however.
His gaze shifted back to something on his monitor before fastening on her face once again. “Your daughter. There’s no chance that …?”
“I’m sorry?” Her sluggish brain tried to sift through his words, but right now it seemed to be misfiring.
“Chelsea. Her chart says she’s twenty-one.”
It clicked. What he was saying. The same question Larry had asked her before storming off: Is the kid even mine? Pain slashed through her all over again. “She’s my husband’s.”
His jaw hardened further. “You didn’t waste much time marrying him after I left.”
She was sure it would have seemed that way to him. But Clint had been already on his way out of town. Gone long before he’d actually left. There had never been any question of him staying, and he’d used protection that night, so surely he knew Chelsea couldn’t be his. But, then, condoms had been known to fail.
“You weren’t coming back. You said so yourself.” The fact that there was a hint of accusation in her voice didn’t seem to faze him.
“No. I wasn’t.”
And there you had it. Clinton Marks was the same old looking-out-for-number-one boy she remembered. Only now he was packed into a man’s body.
A hard, masculine body with a face capable of breaking a million hearts.
He’d broken at least one.
Only she hadn’t admitted it at the time. Instead, she’d moved on with her life the day he’d left, doing everything in her power to erase the memory of that devastating night. She’d thought she’d succeeded with Larry. And she had loved him, in her own way. He’d been everything Clint hadn’t. Kind. Dependable. Permanent.
And willing to give up his career to be with her.
Three months later they’d married, and she’d become pregnant.
And Jessi certainly loved the child she’d made with him.
In fact, that was why she was here: Chelsea.
“It was a long time ago …” Her gaze flicked to the nameplate, and she made a quick decision about how to treat this unexpected meeting. And how to address him. “Dr. Marks, if you think that what happened between two kids—and that’s all we were—will hinder your ability to help my daughter—”
“Are we really going to do this, Jessi May?” His brow cocked as the name slid effortlessly past his lips. “Pretend that night never happened? I’m interested in treating Chelsea, not in making a play for you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Her face heated. “Of course I’m not.”
And he was making it perfectly clear that he had no more interest in her now than he had all those years ago.
“I only asked about her parentage because I would need to remove myself from her case if it turned out she was … not Larry’s.”
In other words, if Chelsea were his.
What a relief it must be to him that she wasn’t.
What a mess. Not quite a love triangle, but almost. There was one side missing, though. Larry had been infatuated with her. She’d been infatuated with Clint. And Clint had loved no one but himself.
Which brought her back to her current dilemma. “My daughter is sensitive. If she thinks you’re treating her to work your way up some military ladder, you could damage her even more.”
“I’m very good at what I do. And I’m not interested in going any further up the ladder.”
The words weren’t said with pride. In fact, there was an edge of strain behind them.
She believed him. The word Colonel in front of his name attested to decades of hard work. She knew from her father’s days in the army that it took around twenty years to make that particular rank. Her dad had made it all the way up to general before his death five years ago.
In fact, her father was why she and Clint had wound up by the creek. When he’d realized Larry was headed for a military career her dad had gone off on her, using her mom’s depression as ammunition for his position. The night of graduation had brought home all the changes that had been about to happen. Everyone she cared about had been on their way out of her life.
Only Larry had changed his mind at the last minute, inexplicably deciding to study at a local community college and take classes in agriculture instead.
Her glance went back to Clint, whose jaw still bore a hard edge of tension.
Me and Larry … neck and neck.
And Larry had stayed behind. With her.
The only one who knew about her dad besides her girlfriends was … “Oh, my God. You told him, didn’t you? You told Larry about my father.”
He didn’t deny it. He didn’t even blink. “How is he? Your father?”
“He’s gone. He died five years ago.” The pain in her chest grew. They may never have seen eye to eye about a lot of things, but she’d loved the man. And in spite of his shortcomings, he’d been a tower of strength after Larry had died and she’d been left alone, pregnant and grieving.
“I’m sorry.” Clint reached across the desk to cover her hand with his. “Your mom?”
“She’s okay. Worried about Chelsea. Just like I am.”
He pulled back and nodded. “Let’s discuss your daughter, then.”
“The nurse said you’ve already seen her, and you’ve read her chart, so you know what she tried to do.”
“Let’s talk about that, and then we’ll see her together.” He pulled a yellow legal pad from a drawer of his desk and laid it in front of him. He was neat, she’d give him that, and it surprised her. Around ten pencils, all sharpened to fine points, were lined up side by side, and a single good-quality pen was at the end of the row. Nothing else adorned
