Page 6 of Clara Knows Best

He knew what she meant, but his sympathy did not extend to Dr. Wilder. “Don’t expect me to feel sorry for her. She started running marathons knowing full well she’d destroy her knees.”

Clara laughed at that, and told him, “She said the same thing herself.”

“Well, good.”

“She’s going to love having you around,” she assured him. “Y’all have, like, identical bedside manners.”

He wanted to argue with her, but found himself speechless. There was nothing so horrifying and humbling as being casually likened to someone who’d ripped your heart out.

“Anyway, there it is,” she announced. “Probably looks about the same. Been awhile, huh?”

“Been awhile,” he echoed absently, looking up at the big, old house as they came up the driveway.

He didn’t know if it had ever been a plantation, but it looked like it could have been. Col. Wilder and his wife had moved there from the D.C. area not too long before Jesse came to live with them, and back then it had been in rough shape after years of neglect.

Like Jesse himself.

Enough with the introspection. “Place looks good,” he said aloud.

“Well, it’s a never-ending project.”

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, and climbed out of the truck. “Hey, Colonel. How are ya?”

Clara’s father had emerged from the barn and now raised a hand in greeting. Asa Wilder was a handsome man, tall, swarthy, and fit for his years, and Jesse knew him to be half Navajo Indian and half Danish. The occasional thousand-yard stare from his dark eyes suggested that he had Seen Things during his military tours, but he was a devoted husband and his kids idolized him.

“Jesse,” he said, and they shook hands.

A few seconds’ eye contact with the Colonel was a ten-minute conversation with anyone else.

“Help me get this unloaded.”

“Sure,” Jesse said, having anticipated this turn of events. Good thing he’d taken that nap, because he’d spent the night on his feet in the OR.

Clara must have read his mind. “You slept for thirty minutes, and in case you were worried about it, you didn’t snore,” she said as she slid carefully down from the truck with a purse slung over her shoulder and her hands full of coffee mugs, keys and her phone. “Want me to help, too, Dad?”

“Wouldn’t want you to chip your polish,” the Colonel replied as he started unfastening tie-down straps.

“A chip I could handle. A break would be disastrous,” she said as she tossed him the keys. Then she turned her brilliant brown eyes back to Jesse. “Want me to take your bag in?”

“Nah, I’ll get it,” he said, and directed his attention to the massive alfalfa bales. The last thing he needed was for the Colonel to catch him looking at Clara.

The second-to-last thing he needed was to be thinking about her at all.

3

Dr. Wilder had moved to the couch and was folding laundry in her lap. “Hey, did you pick up my doctor?” she asked, seeing Clara.

“Sure did. He’s helping Dad with the hay.”

“How much luggage did he bring with him?”

Clara looked curiously at her mother. “One bag. Why?”

“I just wasn’t sure he’d really stay the whole week.”

“Would it really matter if he didn’t? Dr. Pike will be back soon enough. If the office has to close for a few days, people can go to urgent care.”

“I don’t know if Melinda can get back as soon as she expects to,” Dr. Wilder confided. “Her mother could die at any time or hang on for three months. That’s why I want to stay open as long as we can.”

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