56
Clara sipped her margarita—her first and only margarita of the evening—and smiled as she watched Yoli belting out “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown.” Yoli’s first three songs had been for her new husband, but this one was dedicated to her maid of honor.
Clara laughed aloud when Leroy Brown became DeWitt Brown, and the girl named Doris became the girl named Clara. She supposed she had kind of lived out the story, with one notable exception—DeWitt hadn’t been beaten up by her jealous husband. If only.
“Didn’t realize people were singing ballads about me,” said a voice near her ear. “Kind of embarrassing, actually.”
She almost fell off her chair. “Jesse! Oh, my gosh, what are you doing here?”
“Are you drunk again?” he asked, sliding his arm around her waist the way he had done the last time. But this time he pulled her tight against him.
“No, I—Are we hugging? Okay!” And she put her arms around him, feeling stunned. She’d gotten used to seeing him in office attire, but the man looked good in a cowboy hat, and she could feel the warmth of his skin through the soft, thin fabric of his T-shirt. She took a deep breath of his musky, minty scent and felt almost giddy with happiness. Don’t let go of me! she wanted to cry, but he was pulling away.
“You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she answered, absurdly pleased. He didn’t say it automatically, but seriously, like he meant it. Her corset top had taken her a ridiculous amount of time to make, but it fit her like a glove, and the short ruffle sleeves were perfect for Texas summer nights. To know that he appreciated the fruits of her labor was incredibly gratifying—especially coming from Mr. “You didn’t hear it from me”!
“I like looking at you,” he added.
“You do?”
“I missed you, Clara.”
What had happened to make the man willing to admit it? Had he been visited by three ghosts? “You did?” was all she could say.
His eyes were serious. “Yeah, I did.”
“This one’s for the lovebirds,” Yoli crooned into the microphone, and launched with unjustified confidence into Etta James’ “At Last.”
Jesse smiled down at her. “Want to dance?”
“Dance?” Her pulse was racing, and she took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t jump to any heartbreaking conclusions, Clara.
“Yeah.” His smile was quizzical, like he half-expected her to turn him down. Or like he wasn’t sure why she was repeating everything he said.
“Okay. Yes,” she managed.
He led her to the front where the tables had been moved for dancing, and turned to face her, pulling her into his arms again. He held one of her hands in his, and she placed the other on his shoulder. She looked up in surprise when his hand on her lower back tugged her closer as they began to sway to the music.
“What’ve you been doing?” he asked, raising his voice over Yoli.
“Me? Nothing,” she said automatically. Nothing that would explain why he had shown up so suddenly and wanted to slow dance with her, anyway.
“Not what I heard,” he answered, leaning down so his voice was close to her ear. “I heard you’ve been building a design portfolio.”
She blinked. “You’ve talked to Hart?”
“I’ve seen him a few times. He destroyed me on the tennis court. Are you starting a business?”
“No,” she denied. “No, I told you, I don’t like business.”
He smiled. “So you say.”
She tried to shake off the brain fog brought on by being held in his arms. “I’m sorry, what are you doing here? ”
He opened his mouth to answer, shook his head, and took her hand without a word to lead her outside. As they wove through the crowd, Skip and Helio and a few others gave him welcome-back claps on the shoulder.
They emerged from the noisy, crowded bar, and Clara breathed deeply of the warm night air and was grateful that her legs continued to support her without the help of her misfiring brain.
He drew her around the corner of the building for some privacy, and then turned to face her.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” she replied.
“Too loud in there.”
“I know.”
Then, by mutual, unspoken decision, they moved toward each other. Jesse tilted his hat up away from his face before slipping his fingers through the belt loops of her denim shorts. Shivering happily, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
It didn’t matter why he had come back. It just mattered that he was there.
His kiss was long and unexpectedly gentle; he held her as though she was something precious. When he lifted his head and looked down at her, she had to blink away tears.
“Are you happy to see me?” he asked, with surprising humility.
“Happy to see you? I love you!” It was a relief to say it out loud.
“Oh, thank God,” he said, and he sounded relieved, too. He dragged her back into his arms and hugged her tightly.
“Were you actually worried about it? I’ve been so obvious,” she laughed, resting her cheek against his shoulder.
“Of course I was worried about it. I never know what the heck you’re thinking.”
She looked up, amused. “Well, I’ve been thinking I love you! since Valentine’s Day.”
His arms were crushing her, but she didn’t think he realized it. “Was it the kiss? The fight? Or was it the way I drooled when they numbed my mouth?”
“It was the little girl in the medical tent.”
He frowned, apparently drawing a blank.
“You were so sweet with her and her family. They were hanging on your every word. I know you get this all the time, but you really are a good doctor. I think it’s because you’re a good human.”
“Huh,” he said.
“Remember how you kept asking me if I was okay?” she teased. “I wasn’t okay! I was falling in love with you.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear. “I wasn’t ready to hear it back then.”
“I know you weren’t,” she said, reveling in the simple caress.
“I’ve been in some pretty serious denial.”
“I know,” she agreed, laughing.
He took her face in his hands and gave her a soft kiss. “I love you, Clara. Don’t ever doubt it. You’re my life.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
He wiped a tear from her cheekbone. “I might not be good at saying it as often as I should.”
“You just need practice,” she said gently. “It will get easier.”
“I thought maybe I could lavish you with gifts instead.”
She laughed. “Well, have it your way.”
“You’ll know why I do it.”
“Because…you love me?”
“That’s right.”
“I like gifts,” she said.
“You didn’t like the Gatorade.”
“Are you kidding? I loved it. I just hated drinking it.”
“Oh,” he said slowly. “That explains those horrible faces you were making.”
“Shut up,” she said blissfully. “What are you doing now?”
He had knelt down, and he held her hand in both of his, but she knew the man wouldn’t dare to propose to her outside a bar.
“Clara,” he began, and paused.
She knew he wouldn’t, but Jesse Flores in a Stetson, down on one knee with a question in his eyes— it was some powerful imagery, and her inner nine-year-old was squealing like a piglet. “Yes?”
“Go out with me.”
“Okay,” she managed to say very calmly.
“Be my high-maintenance little girlfriend. Go through my stuff. Wax my nostrils, I don’t know.”
“Okay,” she laughed, and tugged on his hand until he stood up again.
“I just wanted it to be official,” he explained.
“It’s official,” she assured him. “Which means you better start answering my texts, among other things.”
“What are you talking about? I always answer your texts.”
“With emojis! Never words.”
“I couldn’t,” he said, rather choppily. “Behind their backs—it didn’t feel right.”
She felt her mouth drop open. “Whose backs?”
“Your parents’, I guess. Everyone’s. When people think of you as a son and brother…it’s serious stuff.” And he did look serious.
“Oh,” she said, impressed. Yes, she supposed that was pretty serious stuff. Yet here he was. “So, does that mean…you talked to all of them about me?”
“I told them I was going to ask you out,” he admitted. “Nash and Beck are pro, Hart says he’s neutral.”
“My mom?”
“Doesn’t want to involve herself in our love lives. Loves me.”
She smiled to hear him say it. “And Dad?”
Now he smiled, like whatever her dad had said made him pretty happy. “Colonel gave me the green light.”
“I told you he’s a softie!”
“He’s definitely not a softie, Clara.”
“Hey, I guess I need to move back to Austin,” she realized. “If you think I’m going to do the long-distance thing, think again. It sucks.”
“I don’t like it, either, but you don’t have to move. I’m moving here.”
She was stunned. “For real?”
“For real,” he said with great patience.
“But you can’t be a small-town GP,” she protested. “You’re a gifted trauma surgeon.”
“My old colleagues will fly me to Austin when they need my help. But I don’t want to do that all the time anymore. I want to be around.”
She looked up into his dark, beautiful eyes. “But are you sure you’ll be okay living way out here?”
He smiled as he set his hat back in its proper place on his forehead. “Yeah, I’m sure. Enough feelings talk. Come on, let’s go back in.”
“Inside? Why?”
“I want to dance with my little lady, that’s why.”
“Oh,” she said. Her heart felt lighter than air. “Dancing sounds great!”
“Gonna tell our grandkids I picked you up in a karaoke bar,” he added smugly.
“You are not!”