Page 127 of Clara Knows Best

“Really?” Jesse asked, startled.

“Yeah, dude.” Hart was projecting sympathy now—no, it was pity.

Jesse knew he had lost control of the encounter. He had let Hart get inside his head, just as he had been determined not to do, but there was nothing he could do about it now. “Huh,” was all he could manage, yet again.

“Why do you think my mom guilt-tripped you into coming home? Do you really think she needed your help at work?”

Jesse had a sinking feeling. Was Dr. Wilder only interested in reconnecting with him for Clara’s sake? “I thought she wanted me to buy her out,” he admitted.

“Did she?”

“No,” he said slowly. “She said she’s not ready to retire.”

“There you go.” Hart looked up and thanked the waitress for his whiskey soda.

Jesse didn’t even glance at his water. He didn’t want to think about Dr. Wilder in the role of matchmaker right now. But of course it was true—why else would she bother bringing him back?

One crisis at a time, he told himself.

It would be unforgivably stupid to assume that Clara was in love with him just because she’d had a crush when she was younger, or to read anything into the Spanish double-major, which in a state like Texas was probably nothing more than a good business move.

Still, though… There was no longer any question in his mind about one thing—he was hightailing it for Romeo the first chance he got to assess the situation.

“Clara hasn’t said anything lately, has she? About me?”

“Not to me,” Hart said, adding ruefully, “and I talk to her at least once a day about flipping houses.”

“Flipping houses? Clara?”

Hart shrugged. What can you do?

“Never mind. Do you—”

“Do I have any advice for dealing with the Colonel? There’s only one way to deal with the Colonel. Answer fast; don’t make him wait. Stick to the truth and keep it simple.”

“Don’t you—”

“Don’t I think he’ll bust your kneecaps and bar you from the premises? No, he won’t do that. If there’s one thing we can be sure of, he wants his princess to have anything she wants.”

That was logical, and logic was comforting. Did his foster parents only value him as a match for their daughter? If so, that was a lot better than nothing—and he should know. He was very familiar with nothing.

“There’s another side to that coin,” Hart warned. “If you start something with Clara and you don’t finish it, or if you marry her and then make her unhappy in any way, you’re dead. And the old man will stand up at your funeral crying crocodile tears and tell everyone what a great guy you were.”

“The Colonel? I have it on good authority that he’s a total softie.”

Hart grinned. “Good luck, man.”

The waitress delivered their lunch then, and then she hung around for a few minutes making flirtatious small talk with Hart. Jesse was almost done wolfing down his sandwich by the time she walked away.

“Is Clara flipping the cabin?” he asked curiously.

“Not technically. She’s renovating it before Memo puts it back on the market. Expects to make a huge profit.” Hart smiled angelically. “I think she’s probably right.”

“Margo, you’re not going to be happy with me.”

He was about to head up Grisham’s office, and he felt bad that he was going to be letting her down.

Margo did not look up from the stack of paperwork she was glancing through. “I will be disappointed,” she said, “if you don’t go with your gut instinct. You have better instincts than any doctor I’ve ever known.”

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