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
