Janice Lynn - The Doctor's Secret Son

“You’re also an old friend of Trace’s?” Alexis’s accent came out a bit thicker than previously.

“We aren’t old friends, just acquaintances who met here a few years ago.”

“Ah,” Alexis said as if gaining insight. This time it was her dark gaze going back and forth between Chrissie and Trace.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get started,” Chrissie said, feeling more and more awkward.

She walked away before either could say anything. She didn’t want to listen to the beautiful woman chat up Trace and she sure didn’t want to listen to whatever response he made to the woman’s obvious interest.

Had they been an item when Trace worked with her? The woman was so beautiful that no doubt they’d made an attractive couple.

He was free to do whatever he wanted. Whomever he wanted. But she didn’t want to know about it. Or see it.

What she’d really like to do was block it completely from her mind. Forever. She began organizing supplies and forcing a smile to stay on her face.

Attitude was everything and she was going to have a good attitude this weekend even if it killed her.

* * *

Chrissie was jealous.

She had no reason to be jealous, but the fact that she was made Trace happier than it should have.

Alexis was still chatting about the hospital and his former coworkers, but Trace’s attention followed Chrissie to where she began opening bins with a vengeance and a smile that didn’t fit. He’d already helped volunteers set up tables and chairs in their tent, so, other than however they opted to organize their supplies, there wasn’t a lot more to do. Many of their items would stay boxed up until needed.

“Who is she?”

Alexis’s question didn’t surprise him. Right or wrong, he hadn’t attempted to hide his interest in Chrissie.

“I met her here four years ago.”

“You stayed in touch?”

Still watching Chrissie work, he shook his head. “I’ve not seen or spoken to her since until today.”

Surprise registered on Alexis’s face. “That must have been some meeting four years ago.”

“Must have been,” was all he said, then, “I’m going to help her set up. You coming?”

* * *

Chrissie was one of those people who liked event-opening ceremonies. She liked knowing the history of whatever was taking place, of who the funds were going to help, of who they had already helped. Tonight’s was no exception.

Listening to Bud and Agnes talk about their daughter who’d died with cancer at such a young age, of the heartbreaking prevalence of childhood cancers, listening to how they had formed the Children’s Cancer Prevention Organization and how the charity had grown, and their hope it would expand further into more cities, filled her heart with warm emotion.

She simply could not imagine something happening to Joss or how she would react if it did. Like Bud and Agnes, she’d like to think she’d deal with her grief in a way that would make the world a better place for others.

She wasn’t sure she’d be able to function at all.

“What are you thinking?”

Chrissie jumped at Trace’s question. “I didn’t see you.”

“Obviously.” His gaze was on her rather than the stage where Agnes spoke. “You were lost in your thoughts.”

“I was marveling at how Bud and Agnes turned something so personally tragic into something so positive.”

“They are good people who live to give to others.”

“Some would say a man who gave up four years of his life to help others was a good person, too.”

His expression tightened. “On my best day I don’t measure up to the man and woman on that stage.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t say I meant you,” Chrissie assured him, grateful when his serious expression lightened at her comment, as she’d intended.

There was something darker about him than she remembered. No doubt the things he’d seen over the past four years had changed him.

Was there anyone in Trace’s life that made it better? Someone who helped him deal with the no doubt tragic situations he’d encountered while working overseas?

“Is Alexis an old girlfriend?” That wasn’t what she’d meant to ask when she’d opened her mouth.

“We went out a few times.”

His smile was quick and too cocky for her liking. He knew she was jealous of the woman. Great.

“Which is more than you can say about me, so I guess that answers my question.” Which probably only made her sound jealous and bitter and judgmental. Ugh. She should keep her mouth shut.

“What question would that be?”

“Whether or not you’d slept with her.” She fought to keep the image of him with the woman from her mind. An image she’d fought for four years. She’d just never had a face to put with her thoughts of what he’d been doing while she’d been raising their son.

“I haven’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“I said she and I went out a few times. I didn’t say we had ‘stayed in’ a few times.” At her continued doubt, he added, “I have no reason to lie to you.”

He had a point. He owed her nothing, least of all a defense of whether or not he’d had sex with someone.

“No, I guess you don’t,” she admitted, trying to hide the fact that she was happy he hadn’t slept with the beautiful Alexis.

“Would it matter if I had?”

Good grief. Could he see inside her head or what?

“No.” But she was lying. It would have mattered. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it would have. Because of Joss, she told herself. That was why she cared who he’d slept with and who he hadn’t. Because she’d given birth to his child that made her more possessive, more concerned. At least, that was what she was going to keep telling herself, as she conveniently ignored the fact he’d been out of the country for four years.

Hoping he hadn’t realized she’d lied and that if he had, he wouldn’t call her on it, Chrissie focused on the stage.

Agnes was still speaking and Chrissie did her best to take in each word. With Trace standing so close, she couldn’t focus on the woman on stage. She was surrounded by people. How was it possible to be so physically aware of one man that she could smell his spicy scent, hear the call of his body?

“I don’t believe you,” Trace whispered close to her ear, further sensitizing her nerve-endings.

His breath tickled her skin. She could feel his heat and would swear he’d just nuzzled her hair.

“It really doesn’t matter what you believe,” she said, stepping back. “I’ll see you in medical.”

With that she pushed through the crowd to get away from him.

But mainly to get away from her unwanted reaction to everything about him.

* * *

Later that evening in the medical tent, Trace lifted the fifty-year-old woman’s foot and examined her swollen ankle.

“Yep.” He glanced at her name tag on the lanyard around her neck. “Ms. Perez, you have definitely done a number on your ankle.”

“I shouldn’t have been quite so vigorous dancing in the bubbles, eh?”

“Apparently not.” He had her turn and rest on her knees while he squeezed her calf, watching carefully as it triggered the appropriate movement in her foot. “There’s no evidence that you’ve torn your Achilles’ tendon, but you’re definitely out of commission for the rest of the weekend.”

The woman’s face fell. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Can’t you give me a quick-fix pill?”

“It’s not that easy, Ms. Perez. Some things take time and rest, not a pill. I’m sorry.”

She heaved her chest in frustration. “Me, too.”

“Sit here with ice for about twenty minutes with your foot elevated. Later, one of the guys will drive you on a gator to your tent. Is there someone we can call for you?”