under his suddenly tight collar. Physical closeness and sexual intensity had never been the problems in their marriage. It had been just about everything else, especially her devotion to the rodeo and her horses. He’d been amazed to hear that she’d retired from trick riding and wondered what had happened. It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. She wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t his problem. She’d made that clear when she’d walked out and never looked back.
“Dr. MacCormack, are you sure he’s okay? He looks a little flushed,” Alex’s mom said, finally getting Payson’s attention by touching his arm.
“You’re just fine, aren’t you, buddy?” Payson asked the little boy standing next to him. “Bring him in tomorrow, so I can check that ligament in his arm. I’ve been meaning to do that anyway, right?”
He was sure the boy had not been hurt, but with a child like Alex, he couldn’t leave anything to chance. Since Alex’s birth, Payson had overseen the boy’s care, including the multiple surgeries he’d endured in his short life. The geneticists insisted that he was affected by an unnamed syndrome. For Alex, the vague diagnosis meant that he had fragile tendons and ligaments that tore easily and stretched so that his bones became misaligned.
Payson had been annoyed that Karin, Alex’s mom, had put him in the riding program, especially one run by his ex-wife. There were too many things that could go wrong. And he should know. He’d seen Jessie with bruises and broken bones. He knew intellectually that the therapy program had little or nothing in common with the trick riding that Jessie loved. Still, his gut insisted that the chances for recovery equaled the chances for injury. Not that his gut mattered. Evidence. Scientific evidence was all that was relevant. Jessie might run on gut and feeling, but not him.
He looked over his shoulder at his ex-wife, who hadn’t gone very far before one of the program’s volunteers stopped her. She didn’t look all that different from when they had married ten years ago—when she’d been nineteen and he twenty—in a ceremony that had given his Chanel-wearing mother heart palpitations.
Jessie’s blond-streaked hair was still long enough to pull through the back opening of her ball cap and trail down her back. She might have been a native Arizonan, but she only wore a Stetson when she was riding in the rodeo parade. He didn’t need to be close to know that her eyes remained the smoky green of sagebrush. She might be tall and thin, but muscles, earned every day by riding, cleaning stalls and moving hay bales, gave her a shape that filled out her jeans and her pearl-buttoned shirt.
Not that those curves affected him anymore. Obviously. When he had the time and interest to start dating, he’d choose a woman who moved in the same circles as his family, a woman who wore stilettos and never dusty, scarred boots. He might not be close to his parents, the way Jessie was with hers, but finding an “appropriate” woman might help him find common ground with his mother and father.
“Molly,” Alex said. “I want to give Molly her apple. Miss Jessie promised.”
Payson could hear the rising hysteria in Alex’s voice. Why wasn’t the boy’s mother calming him? Instead, Karin fluttered around and looked at Payson to intervene.
“Next time, Alex,” Jessie said as she neared them. “Molly understands that you need to go home today. How about you wave goodbye?”
“No,” Alex said and shook his head. “I want to give Molly her apple.”
With more fluttering from Karin, Alex’s face got redder. Payson picked up the boy, thinking briefly that he could’ve had a child around Alex’s age. His and Jessie’s child. “Which one?” he asked shortly.
Jessie didn’t say a word but moved off slowly. He followed, refusing to notice how her Wrangler jeans outlined the shift and roll of her muscles. Alex chattered and Payson nodded absently during the mercifully short walk.
“Wave goodbye, Alex,” Jessie said. The little boy waved his arm and a fat Shetland pony that looked vaguely familiar raised her head and gave a long friendly whinny on cue, followed by a bouncing jog to the fence.
Alex wanted more, though, and wiggled and squirmed until Payson finally put him on his own feet. The boy, holding tight to Payson’s hand, walked to where the pony had its nose forced between the slats of the fence.
“She wants to give me a kiss,” Alex explained as they neared. The boy put his cheek to the pony’s lips, and Molly nibbled gently, making the boy squeal in delight. Payson braced himself for the animal to bite Alex or lash out with a hoof. Instead, the pony looked as though she was smiling as she pulled away and shook her mane into place. Her head came back through the fence and Alex tugged on Payson’s arm. “She wants to kiss you now.”
“It’s time to go,” Payson said.
“No. Molly wants to kiss you.”
“Yes, Payson,” Jessie said, laughter clear in her voice. “Molly likes giving kisses.”
“No. She only likes to kiss little boys, and I’m not a little boy,” he answered. No way was he letting that pony near him with its mouth or any other body part. Molly’s lips smacked together, and Alex tugged on him again. “Fine. I’ll let her give me a kiss if Miss Jessie gives me a kiss, too.”
He knew it was a challenge. One he was sure that Jessie would decline. Instead, she snapped, “No problem.” Her surprisingly soft lips curled into an evil grin.
Payson leaned over so the pony could touch her lips to his cheek. The smell of oats and molasses wafted over him as the little animal chuffed a breath across his face. He pulled back quickly. Jessie grinned. He reached up his hand to check his face. Slimy pony slobber. He strode forward before Jessie could move and wiped his cheek on hers. She laughed, and he covered her mouth with his to wipe that smirk off her face. Their lips met, and hers parted and softened. Damn. His hand moved down her back, and he pulled her close.
“Dr. Mac, Dr. Mac, I want to go now.”
Saved by the kid, Payson thought. No way he resented that. He and Jessie were over long ago. Having his heart ripped out once was more than enough. “Sure, Alex. Let’s go.” He easily swung the boy up into his arms and carried him to his mother’s car.
He knew what—if he went with his knee-jerk reaction—he’d tell the hospital administration about the program: therapy riding posed an imminent danger to patients. He’d seen a youngster miss being trampled by inches. He would not talk about what had happened to his brain when he saw Jessie go into that corral. Time had stopped. That usually only happened during surgery, when everything went away except the small field of skin exposed by draped hospital fabric. When the seconds stretched out, making each of his movements deliberate and slow. Often after surgery, he was surprised by the amount of time that had passed.
“He’s going to be okay, right?” Jessie asked as they watched the boy and his mom drive away.
“Yes,” he said tightly, not willing to argue with her about safety right now. “What about you? What’s up with your knee?”
“Nothing.” She shifted, and the silence stretched between them, tense and heated. “I want to invite you to come back another day. Alex is doing really well out here. In fact, so well that he’s starting to misbehave because he has the strength and confidence.”
Jessie’s gaze didn’t waver as she looked at him. Double damn. It was as hard saying no to her as to Alex, which was exactly why he’d been reluctant to evaluate this program. On the other hand, when the administration “asked” a doctor to do something, it was never good for his career to refuse. Now that he was involved, he needed to step back and act like the scientist he was. Could he formulate any conclusions after only one visit? He really hadn’t had a chance to assess the program before Alex’s great escape. Spending more time with Jessie and her program was strictly in the interest of research.
“My schedule is full for the next week,” he said in his professional voice. “Call me at the hospital and talk with my office manager. Maybe she can find time in two or three weeks.”
Payson