31

In slow motion and with painstaking care, Jesse placed his bandaged, unconscious patient in the large crate that had appeared out of nowhere and arranged her broken leg beside her. Then he latched the door and straightened, stretching stiff back muscles and working his sprained shoulder as he looked down at his work.

It was only then that he noticed his foster mother. She was sitting on the little round stool beside the counter and looking quite at home, though he didn’t remember seeing her come in. Her walker stood against the wall near the door.

“How long have you been here?” he asked curiously.

Dr. Wilder smiled while Yoli sputtered in disbelief. “She’s been handing you instruments for half an hour! Y’all discussed the Fallopian tube at length .”

Well, he stayed in the zone when he was operating, so hearing that didn’t surprise him. “You shouldn’t have told Clara that I’m a miracle worker.”

“I think maybe you are,” Dr. Wilder replied. “That was worlds better than I could have done.”

“That dog is going to die,” he said flatly. And Clara’s going to blame me .

She was smiling again. “I don’t think so.”

He rubbed the back of his neck wearily, and as he looked at her he remembered the first time he’d ever seen her. She’d been somewhere around forty, a working professional with unlimited interest in her four children, and so much energy and love to spare that she’d turned her hand to raising other people’s kids, too. And she’d been lovely, so lovely, with a barrette in her shoulder-length dark hair, pretty, conservative clothing and short, polished fingernails. He hadn’t known mothers could be like that outside of TV sitcoms. As the son of a heroin addict, just looking at Grace Wilder had been a form of therapy. He’d worshiped her from Day One.

“Better than you, huh?” He didn’t believe it, but he didn’t hate hearing it.

“Why do you think I put you through medical school?” she asked reasonably.

“I don’t know. Noblesse oblige ?”

She laughed as though that were ridiculous. “Help me up, Yoli. Thank you. Jesse, you’d better get moving. It’s after ten now.”

He watched her careful progress towards the door Yoli held open. “Did you put me through medical school so I’d take over your practice when you retire?”

Dr. Wilder laughed again and rounded the corner out of sight.

He shot a questioning glance at Yoli. “Was that a yes or a no?”

The tech beamed at him. “She put you through school because you have a gift, Dr. Flores. A person would have to be a big, blind idiot not to see it.”

“Thanks,” he said dryly, and she, too, laughed as she walked away.

He glanced at the border collie, but she was deeply asleep and wouldn’t be waking up for several hours. Time to face the music—that is, Clara.

He unbuttoned his blood-spattered shirt as he went slowly down the hall, wishing he had a Dr. Pepper. His undershirt, at least, looked pretty good. He pushed open the antique swinging door to the reception area and paused at the unexpected crowd of people. Besides Yoli and the two Wilder ladies, there were three patients waiting in chairs and Jordan, the police deputy, was coming in the front door.

At the sight of Jesse, they erupted into applause, and Clara threw her arms around him.

He barely had time to brace himself for impact, but at least she didn’t squeeze his bruised rib. He placed one hand very gingerly on her back and left the other hovering a few inches away from her. “Don’t cry or anything,” he said awkwardly.

“I’m not crying,” she answered with a laugh, holding him tightly around the waist and leaning into him. How easy it would be to put his arms around her—but he resisted. “Thank you so much, Jesse. Mom said the dog is going to be fine!”

“Well, that’s not a sure—”

“I knew you could do it,” she said over him. Her brown eyes were luminous, her smile one of pure bliss. Well, bliss with a little hero-worship mixed in.

“Clara, we’re not out of the woods by any—”

She pulled his head down and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I want you to have the honor of naming her. What name do you like?”

“Uh…Mrs…Milkbone?” he suggested blankly.

“I’ll name her,” Clara decided, and kissed his cheek again. “But I owe you one, seriously. ’Long as I got a biscuit, you got half.”

The phrase startled a laugh out of him, but he cut it off just as abruptly when he saw her father entering the room, and lifted both hands like a man under arrest. The Colonel’s somber eyes took everything in and gave nothing away.

He tried again. “Clara, I’m trying to tell you that I still think she might—”

“Shh! Don’t jinx it,” she said, covering his mouth. “She’s going to be fine. And you have patients to see now. You have to get cleaned up.”

“I’m sorry to keep you all waiting,” he said in the direction of the waiting room as Clara pulled him toward the offices. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Yoli—”

“I can see you myself, Barbara, if you’ll come into Dr. Pike’s office,” Dr. Wilder said to one of the women who waited. “Yoli, take Mr. Driscoll into Room 2 and get him started. You shouldn’t have to wait too long, Patty. Jordan, what do you need?”

“Just came to see how the pup was doing,” the deputy explained. “Made Clara mad earlier, I think, joking around.”

“Well, Clara’s not mad anymore,” Dr. Wilder assured him, and the deputy saluted and took off.

Clara nudged Jesse into her mother’s private office and followed him in.

“You don’t need to be in here,” he said instantly. “I can change my own—” He broke off, seeing a twenty-ounce Dr. Pepper on the desk. He looked at her, askance. “Did you…how did you know?”

“Yep, I talked to Margo. She said you always have Dr. Pepper after surgery.”

“I do,” he admitted, torn between disproportionate gratitude and wishing she would leave before the Colonel stormed in and gave him a real concussion.

“I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed. My mom brought you a clean shirt, and I figured you’d want your lidocaine patches out of the car. And the ice pack for your ribs, maybe.”

She really did think of everything. Why did he expect her to say next that she’d sprayed perfume on his Dr. Pepper to “give it a little something extra”?

“ Legally Blonde ,” he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “That’s what your dress reminds me of. That sorority lawyer.”

“Oh,” she said in surprise, and looked down at herself. “Okay.”

“Hey, thanks for the Dr. Pepper, but you gotta go.”

She took a step towards the door, but hesitated. “I’m sorry I cried. Earlier. I want you to know I didn’t do it on purpose.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he worked on getting out of his long-sleeved shirt. “I don’t need help,” he reiterated, seeing a look on her face that reminded him of a cat watching a mouse—an alarming level of attentiveness.

“I’m leaving,” she assured him. “I just wanted to say that I know you only did it because I was crying, and I don’t want you to think I was trying to manipulate you.”

“That’s not why I did it,” he said automatically.

“Yeah, it is,” she said, smiling a little.

Now would be a good time to tell her that the dog’s chances still weren’t good, but he said, “I know you weren’t faking it.”

“What’s crazy is I don’t even like dogs.”

“Me, neither,” he said.

She laughed at him. “I like that dog, though.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

She smiled at him one last time and slipped out of the room.

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