She knew he was right. She’d felt like she’d been standing on the edge of a precipice for weeks now, with no way to back away from it.

Before she could say anything, he went on. “You said you’re off tomorrow. Why don’t you go out and do something fun? Something you enjoy?”

“I need to spend the day here with Chelsea.”

“No. You don’t. She’ll understand. It might not be a bad idea to give her a day to think through what just happened.”

She hesitated. “I don’t even know what I’d do.” Chelsea might need a day to think, but the last thing Jessi wanted to do was sit at home and let her brain wander down dark paths.

“Tell you what. I don’t have anything pressing tomorrow. Why don’t we do something together? It’s fair season. There’s probably something going on in one of the nearby counties.”

“Oh, but I couldn’t. Chelsea—”

“Will be fine.”

Conflicting emotions swept through her. The possibility of spending the day with Clint dangled before her in a way that was far too attractive. “I’m not sure …”

“Is it because I’m her doctor?”

“Yes.” He’d given her the perfect excuse, and she grabbed at it with both hands.

“That can be remedied.”

Panic sizzled through her. He’d hinted once before that he might drop her daughter’s case.

“No. I want you.”

He paused, then shook his head and dragged his fingertips across her cheek. “Then you have to take care of yourself.”

She nodded, unable to look away from his eyes as they locked on her face. Several emotions flicked through them, none of them decipherable.

“I’ll try.”

“How about I check the local schedules and see if I can find something for us to do? Something that doesn’t involve a hospital.”

Guilt rose in her throat, but at a warning glance from him she forced it back down. “Okay.”

He nodded and let his hand fall back to his side. “Are you going to be okay tonight?”

Was he asking her that as a psychiatrist or as a man?

It didn’t matter. The last thing she wanted was to jeopardize her working relationship with the one man who might be able to get through to her daughter. She needed to keep this impersonal. Professional. Even though his touch brought back a whole lot of emotions she hadn’t felt in twenty-two years.

But she had to keep them firmly locked away. Somehow.

“I’ll be fine. Just call if there’s any change, okay?” She was proud of the amount of conviction she’d inserted into her voice.

“I will. I’m off at ten, but the hospital knows how to reach me if there’s a problem.” He took a card from his desk and wrote something on the back of it, then handed it to her. “I’ll give you a yell in the morning, but until then, here’s my cell phone number. Call me if you need me.”

If you need me.

Terrifying words, because she already did. More than she should. But she wouldn’t call. No matter how much that little voice inside her said to do just that.

CHAPTER FIVE

CLINT STEPPED ONTO the first row of metal bleachers and held his hand out for her. Grasping his fingers, and letting him maneuver through the crowd of seated spectators, they went to the very top, where a metal brace across the end provided a place for their backs to rest.

She watched the next horse in line prance into the arena, ears pricked forward in anticipation. Three fifty-five-gallon drums had been laid out to form a familiar triangle.

Barrel racing.

The speed event looked deceptively easy, but if a horse knocked over a barrel as it went around it, the rider received a five-second penalty, enough to cost a winning ribbon.

“I used to do this, you know. Run barrels.”

“I know you did.”

Her head swiveled to look at the man sitting next to her, completely missing the horse’s take-off.

“You did?”

He smiled. “I came to the fair on occasion. Watched a few of the 4-H events.”

The thought of Clint sitting on one of these very bleachers, watching her compete, was unnerving. How would she have missed him with the way he’d dressed back then? He hadn’t exactly looked the part of an emerging cowboy.

Exactly. She would have noticed him.

Which meant he’d never actually seen her race. She settled back into place.

“I didn’t realize you were interested in 4-H.”

His gaze went back to the arena. “I wasn’t.”

Something about the way he’d said that …

“Do you still have your trophy?” He was still looking straight ahead, thankfully, but her gasp sounded like a gunshot to her ears, despite the noise going on around her.

The metal brace behind her groaned as more people leaned against it. Jessi eased some of her weight off it.

“How did you know I …?” She’d only won one trophy in all her years of entering the event.

“I happened to be in the vicinity that day.”

How did one happen to be in the vicinity of the fair? It spanned a large area. And the horse arena wasn’t exactly next to the carnival rides or food.

“You saw me run?”

“I saw a lot of people compete.”

Okay, that explained it. “So you came out to all the horse events?”

“Not all of them. I had a few friends who did different things.”

Like run barrels? She didn’t think so. Neither did she remember him hanging out with any of her 4-H friends. And the only year she’d won the event had been as a high school senior.

The next horse—a splashy brown and white paint—came in, and she fixed her attention on it, although her mind was going at a million miles an hour. The rider directed the horse in a tight circle near the starting area and then let him go. The animal’s neck stretched forward as he raced toward the first barrel, tail streaming out behind him.

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