CHAPTER THREE

Clint moved deeper in the house.

The inevitable kick in his gut came right on schedule, as it always did whenever his gaze locked with Jennifer’s. Tonight, the sensation hit him hard. It wasn’t an altogether awful feeling, kind of reminded him of danger-induced adrenaline.

Precarious territory. “Where’s the patient?”

“Her name is Sandra.”

“Right.” Clint shed his coat, tossed it on a nearby bench. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs in her room.”

Clint recognized the panic in Jennifer’s voice, which was mirrored in her wide, almond-shaped green eyes. Her long, wavy hair was also disheveled, as if she’d dragged both hands through the now tangled strands more than a few times.

At the obvious signs of her distress, everything in him softened. He gently touched her sleeve. “I’m here, Jennifer. I’ll take care of the child.”

She drew in a few unsteady breaths, her legendary hostility toward him diminishing with each exhale. “I... I believe you.”

He dropped his hand. “One last question before I have a look at her. How old is she?”

“She turned seven last month.”

His throat squeezed shut. His eyes began to burn.

What were the odds? He swallowed, hard. He’d barely regained his equilibrium when Jennifer took off at a clipped pace.

Clint followed after her. They moved at the speed of light from kitchen to living room to stairwell. The smells of home filled him, a mixture of floral scents, furniture polish and freshly baked bread.

He hadn’t been inside this house in years. Like a good neighbor, he’d left Jennifer alone. She’d done the same for him, a situation that worked for them both.

But now, as he followed her through the house, Clint wondered why he’d kept his distance. He liked the grown-up Jennifer, sometimes, when she wasn’t being snarky or unnecessarily antagonistic. A couple of unfortunate incidents from the past didn’t mean they couldn’t find a happy rhythm going into the future. Maybe they could even be friends. Now that she was twenty-nine and he thirty-four, their five-year age gap didn’t seem so large.

At the top of the stairs, she stopped outside the second room on her right. Hand on the doorknob, she swung her gaze to his. Slam. He told himself he was imagining the body blow. But, of course, he wasn’t.

“ Jennifer, after I’m through examining the child I’d like the two of us to—”

A little girl’s whimper cut off the rest of his words. Clint’s pulse picked up speed. Blood rushed in his ears. Memories yanked at him, emptying his mind of everything but a miserable sense of grief and loss.

He hadn’t expected this strong reaction. He saw kids every day at the office . No problem. Yet here he was, his heart pounding and his breath speeding up. He fought the urge to close his eyes. If he did, he’d be back at Fort Bragg, back to the time when he thought he would be a husband and a father. A split-second swerve to miss a skunk had taken away that future.

This wasn’t about him.

Mouth grim, he shoved aside the unwanted memories and walked into the room.

Jennifer couldn’t figure out why Clint’s shoulders were bunched as he made his way toward Sandra’s bed, or why he seemed overly tense. She’d take his behavior personally, but now that she thought about it, she realized he’d been relatively relaxed when he first entered through the back door. He’d only grown silent and progressively distant as she’d guided him through the house.

A tall, broad-shouldered man, he moved toward Sandra at the slow, steady pace of a graceful jungle cat. With his glossy black hair and pale blue eyes, Clint Covington was entirely too good-looking for his own good. The two days’ worth of scruff on his well-defined, square jaw gave him a dangerous edge.

Jennifer had no problem imagining him in the Army Ranger uniform he’d once worn. She shook away the thought, and lifted up a silent prayer that Clint proved to be the capable doctor everyone in their small town of Village Green, Colorado, claimed he was.

With heavy, lumbering steps, Jennifer joined him beside Sandra’s bed. Tonight he looked more like a regular guy than a former soldier turned successful doctor. He wore faded jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt that read Of Course I Don’t Look Busy. I Did It Right the First Time.

Typical Clint, the big, bad, frustrating bane of her existence.Ever since he shoved off her confession she told herself she hated him . But she knew that lie was only to everyone and not to herself.

“You must be Sandra,” he said to the little girl in a low, rough voice that sounded slightly tortured. What was up with that? “I’m your neighbor Clint. I’m also a doctor.”

In her unnaturally pale face, Sandra’s big blue eyes rounded. “You don’t look like a doctor.”

“That’s because I keep my white coat at the office.” He drew in an audible breath, then carefully sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes running over the child, gauging, measuring. “I understand you’re not feeling well.”

Sandra’s blond curls bobbed up and down. “My tummy hurts real bad.”

“Can you tell me where it hurts?”

She whimpered. “Everywhere.”

He went still for a beat, his expression bland, giving nothing away. Jennifer had no idea what was in his head, but she knew what was in hers. Concern for the little girl she’d agreed to take into her home. The transition from carefree single woman to legal guardian of a seven-year-old had begun months ago, only becoming official this week. She was still reeling.

“Okay, Sandra, I’m going to—”

“You can call me Sandy.” Cheeks bright pink, the little girl lifted a skinny shoulder. “But only if you want to.”

The easy, affectionate smile Clint gave the child was very different from the tight, barely tolerant ones Jennifer received.

“Okay, Sandy , I’m going to perform a few tests. When I press on your stomach, I need you tell me if it hurts ."

The little girl nodded again. There was nothing but trust in her eyes, even while her hands clenched around the bedcovers as if she were preparing to embark on a wild amusement park ride.

Incredibly gentle, Clint pressed on her stomach. “Any pain?”

“Nope.” Sandra’s death grip released, as did Jennifer’s fear. But when Clint moved his hands to the lower right portion of Sandra’s abdomen, Jennifer’s breath caught in her lungs.

“How about now?” he asked. “Does it hurt when I press here?”

“Not really.”

“You’re doing great, Flicka. Just a little bit longer and we’ll be through.” Clint continued the rest of the exam with a firm but gentle manner.

When he held Sandra’s ankle with one hand and her knee with the other, then rotated her hip, the little girl simply watched him in silent fascination. No gasp of pain. No clenched fists in the comforter.

Jennifer nearly cried in relief.

Eventually, Clint stood, said goodbye to Sandra, then motioned for Jennifer to follow him into the hallway.

The moment they were alone, she asked the question burning in her in her mind. “Is it her appendix?”

“Nothing indicates that particular diagnosis.”

What kind of cryptic, unhelpful answer was that? “Are you certain?”

“She’s not experiencing swelling in the abdomen or pain in the lower right region. At this point I don’t believe an ultrasound or additional lab work is necessary.”

He’d pitched his voice low, as if to calm her fears. Jennifer wasn’t appeased. “If it’s not her appendix, then what’s wrong with her?”

“She has a stomachache.”

His matter-of-fact tone increased her distress. “Is there something you can give her to make her feel better?”

“For now, there’s nothing to do but continue supportive measures. Keep her hydrated and resting. If the symptoms persist or worsen, call me and I’ll come back over.”

Why was he so calm? Didn’t he understand how worried she was? “I can’t bear seeing her in pain.”

“Jennifer, relax. Sandy has a stomachache, probably brought on by stress or the consumption of junk food or both.”

“You’re saying this is my fault because I let her eat junk food.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. Kids suffer stomachaches all the time. I’m confident she’s going to be okay.”

Why didn’t she feel better? Why this terrible spasm of guilt in the center of her heart? “I feel so helpless.”

“You did the right thing calling me.”

Actually, she’d called Ryder. Clint’s younger brother by two years was so much easier to take. Though he was just as good-looking as Clint, nearly identical actually, with Ryder there was none of the friction and hostility she experienced in the company of this particular Dr. Covington.

“I mean it, Jennifer. You can call me anytime, no matter how late.”

She gaped at him. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because I’m a nice guy.” The grin he flashed her was full of the teenage boy she remembered, the one she’d spun a few girlhood dreams around, not the one who’d humiliated her in front of his friends, twice.

“Seriously, why?”

“I’m giving you a pass because you’re new to this parenting thing.” His eyes sparked with genuine compassion.

No fair. The man had amazing eyes, long-lashed and full of secrets. She saw sorrow there as well, more prominent than usual.

It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed that look in Clint’s eyes. Their paths crossed a lot, primarily because he often came into her restaurant, Senor O’Toole’s, on his lunch break.

He might be the big, bad, frustrating bane of her existence. But the lone wolf image didn’t ring true, not tonight. Hardly ever, if she was being honest with herself. The raw vulnerability simmering under that tough exterior made Jennifer want to reach up and smooth away his pain.

She resisted. “Sandra’s really going to be all right?”

“For now.” He looked about to say more. He even opened his mouth, but then closed it and headed down the stairs.

Jennifer hurried after him, catching up just as he was shoving his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

He reached for the doorknob, then paused. “Call me,” he said. “Anytime, for any reason.”

There were so many ways to take that suggestion, even more ways to respond. She chose the most sincere. “I will, and thank you for coming over so quickly. I really appreciate your help tonight.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave her a warm smile.

Her heart stuttered. It actually stuttered.

“Good night, Jennifer.”

“Night, Clint.”

Still smiling, he swung open the door. And disappeared into the night