I’m your son’s doctor.”
Vince’s stormy gray gaze said he wasn’t buying it. She could put whatever label she wanted to on their relationship, but it would always be deeper than whatever she described it as. That’s what history did. It wound ties around two people that couldn’t easily be severed.
Out of the blue he asked, “Are you seeing anyone now?”
She couldn’t help her defensive reply. “That’s really none of your business.”
“Maybe not, but I thought I’d ask anyway. Are you?”
Was there a reason he was asking? A reason that had to do with those silver sparks in his eyes? “No.”
“Then any awkwardness you’re feeling isn’t about that—about a boyfriend not liking the idea.”
“No, it’s not.”
“So that means the awkwardness between us has to do with everything that happened, what we said and what we didn’t say. We’ll never resolve that over a cup of coffee or tea.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t try to resolve it,” she admitted softly. “Maybe we should just realize we’re different people now and go from there.”
He leaned toward her. “Are we different people?”
Vince’s cologne, the shadow of his beard on his jaw, the way he listened—as if she were the only one in the world to listen to—almost urged her to lean toward him. But then she concentrated on his question and wondered if Vince was thinking about her father and his involvement in their breakup, his involvement in her life. “Yes, we’re different people. You’re a father now and I’m the doctor I always wanted to be.”
“Always?” he challenged.
For the span of her marriage, all she’d wanted to be was Vince’s wife and the mother of his children. She’d told him that when they’d married. She might still become a mother if she was lucky—if someone chose her profile at the adoption agency…if an unwed mother picked her to adopt her child. But she didn’t know what the possibility was of a woman choosing her over a married couple. There was no point going into her dream of adopting with Vince. It might never happen.
Studying his somber expression, knowing he was searching for answers as she had, she replied, “My dreams as a teenager had to change as an adult. Once I decided to become a doctor, that was my dream.”
The quiet in the office became uncomfortable until she asked the question gnawing at her. Turnabout was fair play. “Are you dating? I mean, were you serious about someone when you became Sean’s legal guardian?”
For a moment their gazes held but neither of them spoke. Then Vince answered her. “I wasn’t seriously dating.”
“I see.”
He pushed himself up from the desk, all casual easiness gone. “No, you don’t see, Tessa. I was a homicide detective—on call day, night and weekends. Unless I wanted to hook up with another detective who understood that—” He shook his head. “Most of those relationships don’t make it, either. So when I dated, I dated for fun, to forget my work and have a good time. That’s probably something you wouldn’t understand because you were never that kind of woman.”
“Is that a compliment or an insult?”
He blew out a breath in frustration. “Neither. You wanted a home and family, or you wanted a career. But whatever you wanted, you weren’t the kind of woman who could have fun for a night and then forget about it.”
“You were that kind of man?”
“I turned into that kind of man. But now that I have Sean to think about and focus on I have to be a role model and I have to be there for him 24/7.”
She studied the set of his shoulders, the slide on his bolo tie in the shape of the state of Texas, which was a symbol of the professional responsibility he was shouldering. But the responsibility of fatherhood was even more daunting. “You seem to have accepted being a parent without much of a fight. Maybe it’s what you wanted all along.” Her heart hurt as she thought about the child they’d lost, a child Vince had been as excited about as she had been. She could see he was thinking about that little boy now.
“The past always surfaces, doesn’t it?” he asked in a low voice.
“It’s our common ground.”
“Whether we want it to be or not.” His gaze assessed her again from head to toe as if trying to figure out something. “Did you find the life you wanted?”
“I’m still working on it.”
His jaw became more set, but then he said, “Good luck with that.”
They were finished. They really were. There was too much hurt and resentment swirling under the surface.
What if they brought it all out into the open?
That might only make things worse.
Standing, putting a little distance between them, she motioned to the card on his desk. “I hope you like the therapists.” She wouldn’t see Vince again until after his consultation with Dr. Rafferty. If the specialist recommended surgery, then she wouldn’t see Vince until after that surgery was completed. At that point, he’d probably be thinking about leaving Sagebrush.
“Good luck with Sean, Vince.”
His expression was unreadable as he replied, “Thanks. I’ll walk you out.”
They obviously had nothing more to say. They obviously had too much to say and couldn’t say any of it.
After he opened his office door, she was careful as she passed him that their bodies didn’t touch. She was careful not to breathe in his cologne or glance back at him or remember. She pushed open the swinging wooden gate herself. He caught it and passed through after her.
At the glass door, she knew everyone in the room was watching them. She extended her hand irrationally, needing some kind of last contact.
He clasped it in both of his.
“See you around,” she murmured.
“See you around.” He released her hand.
As she left she felt as if she’d lost something precious she could never find again.
“One…two…three!” Vince chanted enthusiastically the following Monday as he raised Sean’s arm up and down. After three, Vince put his lips to the little boy’s tummy and blew a puff of air, making Sean giggle. Sean always giggled when Vince did that and Vince loved to hear it.
However, Sean stopped midgiggle and gave a little cough.
Vince studied his son then commented to Mrs. Zappa, who was folding laundry, “He’s sniffling. I noticed it this morning when I gave him his bottle.”
Mrs. Zappa was a short, robust woman, with rimless spectacles and gray salting her black hair. She was full of energy and seemed to love taking care of Sean.
Mrs. Zappa placed Sean’s little shirts in a chest drawer and crossed to the changing table where Vince stood taking his son through the routine of exercises for his arm.
She studied the baby. “He ate this morning.”
“Not as much as usual,” Vince reminded her.
“Does he have a fever?”
Vince picked up the ear thermometer he’d bought. “According to this he doesn’t, but maybe I’m using it wrong.”
Mrs. Zappa took it from him and crooned to Sean. “Let me try to take your temperature, too.” Afterward she scanned the readout. “Normal. But with a baby, that could change at any time. I’ll check it every hour or so. We’ll make it a game.”
Vince glanced at his watch. “I should get going.”