“I—I … Did you want to be?”

“No.”

The word should have cut her to the quick, except the low pained tone was somehow at odds with his denial.

“Clint …?” Her fingertips moved to his cheek, her eyes meeting his with something akin to desperation.

Another sound rumbled up from his chest, coming out as a groan this time. Then, something she’d never dreamed possible—in all of her eighteen years—happened.

Clinton Marks—bad boy extraordinaire—whispered her name. Right before his mouth came down and covered hers.

“CHELSEA’S NEW DOCTOR arrived today.” The nurse’s matter-of-fact words stopped her in her tracks.

Jessica Marie Riley blinked and turned back to the main desk of the Richmond VA hospital, where her twenty-one-year-old daughter had spent the past two months of her life—a frail shell of the robust soldier who’d been so proud of toughing it out at army boot camp.

It had always been just her and Chelsea against the world. They’d supported each other, laughed together, told each other everything.

Until she’d returned from her very first tour of duty as a former POW … and a different person.

“He did?” Jessi’s stomach lurched. Her daughter’s last doctor had left unexpectedly and she’d been told there was a possibility she’d be shuffled between the other military psychiatrists until a replacement could be found.

Maria, the nurse who’d admitted Chelsea and had shown a huge amount of compassion toward both of them, hesitated. She knew what a sore spot this was. “Dr. Cordoba had some family issues and resigned his commission. It really wasn’t his fault.”

Jessi knew from experience how devastating some family issues could be. But with the hurricane that had just gouged its way up the coast, her work schedule at Scott’s Memorial had been brutal. The shortage of ER doctors had never been more evident, and it had driven the medical staff to the brink of exhaustion. It also made her a little short on patience.

And now her daughter had lost the only doctor she’d seemed to bond with during her hospitalization.

Jess had hoped they’d finally get some answers about why Chelsea had spiraled into the depths of despair after coming home—and that she’d finally find a way to be at peace with whatever had happened in that squalid prison camp.

That tiny thread of hope had now been chopped in two. Anger flared at how easy it was for people like Dr. Cordoba to leave patients who counted on him.

Not fair, Jess. You’re not walking in his shoes.

But the man wasn’t walking in hers, either. He hadn’t been there on that terrible day when her daughter had tried to take her own life.

She couldn’t imagine how draining it was to deal with patients displaying symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder on a daily basis, but Jessi had been handed some pretty awful cases herself. No one saw her throwing in the towel and moving on to some cushy private gig.

Maria came around the desk and touched her arm. “Her new doctor is one of the top in his field. He’s dedicated his life to treating patients like your daughter—in fact, he transferred from California just to take over Dr. Cordoba’s PTSD patients. At least until we can get a permanent replacement. He’s already been to see Chelsea and reviewed her chart.”

Top in his field. That had to be good, right? But if he was only temporary …

“What did he think?”

This time, the nurse wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. “I’m not sure. He asked me to send you to his office as soon as you arrived. He’s down the hall, first door on your left.”

Dr. Cordoba’s old office.

The thread of anger continued to wind through her veins, despite Maria’s encouraging words. This was Chelsea’s third doctor. That averaged out to more than one a month. How long did this newest guy plan on sticking around?

A sudden thought came to her. “How did the hospital find this doctor so quickly?”

“This is what he does. He rotates between military hospitals, filling in …” The sound of yelling came from down the hallway, stopping Maria’s explanation in its tracks. A woman headed their way, pushing a wheelchair, while the older gentleman in the seat bellowed something unintelligible, his fist shaking in the air.

“Excuse me,” said the nurse, quickly moving toward the pair. She threw over her shoulder, “Chelsea’s doctor is in his office. He’s expecting you. Just go on in.” Her attention shifted toward the agitated patient. “Mr. Ballenger, what’s wrong?”

Not wanting to stand there like a gawker, Jessi stiffened her shoulders and headed in the direction Maria had indicated.

First door on the left.

All she wanted to do was skip the requisite chit-chat and go straight to Chelsea’s room. But that was evidently not going to happen. Not until she met with the newest member of Chelsea’s treatment team.