When Last We Loved

by Fran Baker

  “The doctor will probably want to change that dressing tomorrow to see how your hand is doing. Just lie back now and rest. You need to reserve your strength. This next week will tell the tale.”

  Cassie obeyed the kindly worded order to the point of closing her eyes, but her mind refused to turn off. Why had Harlan Purdy returned to the Stardust? Not to tell Allen about the audition. He'd already known the outcome of that farce the last time she'd seen him. And why... ? She drifted off to sleep.

  * * * *

  “Cassie, it's time to wake up. Dr. Reyes wants to check your hand.” Dixie's gently prodding voice was the lifeline that rescued Cassie from a nightmare of flame that the drug-induced quilt of sleep couldn't smother.

  “Good morning, Miss Creighton. How are you feeling today?” The slightly accented voice was kind. Cassie fluttered her lashes, trying to focus her eyes.

  “Do you think you're up to letting us move you into a private room this morning?” Dr. Reyes started unwrapping the bandages that swathed her hand. “I want to see how this is coming along.” He explained as he worked. “You had a pretty nasty burn.”

  Cassie collected her thoughts and faced the unpleasant fact of her miserable financial situation.

  “I think you ought to know that I don't have any insurance to cover these bills that I'm running up.” Pride wouldn't allow her to consider herself a charity case. “If they'll let me sign a note, though, I'll pay back every cent.” She sighed. It looked like she'd be waitressing for quite a while, with a side order of singing engagements when she could get them. She tried to push the disappointment she felt out of her mind. At least she was alive.

  Dr. Reyes’ black eyes flicked from Cassie to Dixie. Then he cleared his throat, as if the subject of money embarrassed him.

  “Hoyt Temple signed you into this hospital as soon as he learned of your misfortune. I understand that he's assumed the responsibility for your expenses, also. Quite frankly, Miss Creighton, I don't think you have to worry about anything but getting well.”

  “Why doesn't he just mind his own business!” she exclaimed furiously. “Every time I turn around, that man is meddling in my affairs!”

  Cassie knew that her outburst surprised the nurse and doctor, but she didn't care. It was complicated enough to love a man whose only interest was her body. The last thing she needed was to have a financial obligation to him, too.

  “As soon as they move me out of here, I'm going to check into this with the business office,” she asserted.

  Dixie assisted Dr. Reyes in changing the sterile dressing that immobilized Cassie's right hand. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out in pain when the gauze was removed. But she couldn't suppress a small gasp of shock when she saw her grotesquely swollen hand.

  “There will be minimal scarring and no loss of mobility,” Dr. Reyes reassured her. “You're scheduled for therapy later this week. I guarantee that you'll be able to play your guitar again with the best of them.”

  “How did you know?”

  “My wife and I have been to the Stardust several times,” he explained. “Your music has given us many hours of pleasure. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the food you serve.”

  Dixie placed a pair of scissors in the doctor's extended palm and he trimmed the cotton swathing before he secured it with surgical tape.

  “As a matter of fact, I have given explicit Instructions that you are to practice writing your name as soon as possible,” he continued. “I fully intend to display your autograph in a prominent place in my office. Then, when you become a famous singer, I can point with pride to my handiwork, if you'll excuse the pun.”

  “I'll keep you in mind if I ever need a comic to open my show.” Cassie laughed. Things were looking better than she might have imagined.

  “What about my voice, Dr. Reyes?” She dreaded asking, but she wanted the truth. Her entire future depended upon his answer. “Do you really believe I'll be able to sing again? Give it tome straight.”

  “I think inhalation therapy and cooperation on your part— resting your vocal cords, for instance— should restore your voice completely. Good singers depend upon their diaphragms as much as anything else, and that part of your anatomy hasn't been affected.”

  Dr. Reyes walked toward the door, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Personally, though, I prefer that certain smoky quality in a woman's singing voice.” He never cracked a smile, and only the sparkle in his black eyes gave him away.

  “I hope you practice medicine better than you tell jokes,” she teased.

  The next morning Cassie was transferred to a sunny private room in the new wing of the hospital. Dixie stayed on as her private-duty nurse.

  “I'd be as helpless as a newborn babe without you.” Cassie handed her knife and fork to Dixie and watched the nurse cut the meat into bite-sized pieces. “That pork chop is as tough as boot leather! I don't know if they're trying to cure me or kill me.”

  “I sure wish you'd let me order some decent food from the coffee shop.” Dixie shook her head and laid the utensils aside when she'd finished cutting up the meat. “My daddy had the stubbornest mules in three counties, but I swear you'd have given them all a run for their money.”

  “I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to repay Hoyt,” Cassie argued. “If it means saving even a dime, I'll eat hospital food until it runs out my ears.”

  “Finish your lunch,” Dixie instructed as she checked her watch. “You have therapy in twenty minutes.”

  “Shuffle the cards while I'm gone and I'll give you another chance to win back some of that three million dollars you owe me.” Cassie speared a shriveled piece of pork chop. “Ugh!” She wrinkled her nose. “Even the Stardust had better food than this.”

  * * * *

  “Country music lovers are the most loyal fans in the world.” Dixie slit open an envelope and handed Cassie another one of the numerous cards sent to wish her a speedy recovery from her ordeal.

  “I can't believe how nice all these people are. And half of them don't even know me!” Cassie was bowled over by the fact that so many Dallas residents cared about what happened to her.

  “They feel like they know you, though, because you've reached out to them with your music,” Dixie said. “Just think what it would be like if you were nationally known, instead of a local celebrity.” She reached for another envelope to open. “This is kind of fun, if you want to know the truth. When I was younger, I was the secretary for an Elvis Presley fan club. We had a ball, sending out his travel schedule and— ”

  A timid knock interrupted Dixie's story. Hoyt hadn't returned since that day in the ICU. And though she'd managed to conceal it, Cassie was keenly disappointed because none of the Twisters had visited, either.

  “Tell them I don't want a snack.” Cassie didn't bother to look up from the card she was reading.

  The door creaked open.

  “I said I didn't— ” Her jaw dropped in surprise. A shaggy blond head topped by a battered Stetson peeked around the edge of the door. “Scrappy!” Cassie threw the card onto the tray table and ran across the room to embrace her fiddle player. He clutched a lovely bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers to his chest and patted her awkwardly on the back

  “Did you give me up for dead? I've been here for a whole week now. Why didn't you come see me sooner? Where are Mike and Jess? Why aren't they here with you?” She bombarded him with her excited questions as she dragged him over to meet Dixie.

  “This is my fiddle player, Scrappy— ” Cassie giggled. “Do you realize that I don't even know your last name?” She threw her arms around his neck “Who cares? You're like a breath of fresh air. Oh, I've missed you guys so much! As soon as they let me out of here, let's hit the road for Nashville.”

  Over Scrappy's shoulder, she saw the door swing open a second time, and Hoyt strolled into the room, followed by Dr. Reyes.

  Cassie couldn't read the expression that flickered across Hoyt's face, but his eyes were th
e dark-blue of a summer sky just before a storm, and there was an air of barely suppressed fury about him. She dropped her arms and released Scrappy from her stranglehold.

  “Well, it certainly looks as though you're recovering your strength,” Hoyt drawled. His silently accusing glare went from Cassie to Scrappy.

  Her cheeks burned as she caught the implication behind the sarcastic greeting. “Scrappy and I were— I was just so darned glad to see him after— ” Cassie was infuriated that she was tripping all over her tongue. It was none of Hoyt's business, anyway. If he'd given even a tinker's damn about her recovery, he would have been in to see her sooner.

  Dr. Reyes motioned for her to sit on the bed while he examined her hand. “We removed the bandages the other day and she seems to be progressing quite well in therapy.” He spoke over her head, addressing Hoyt.

  “When will you sign her release papers?”

  “Pardon me, Dr. Reyes,” Cassie interrupted. “But since I'm the patient, don't you think that I'm the one you should be talking to?” Whose hand was it anyway?

  “Yes, of course, Miss Creighton.” The doctor bowed his head in polite apology, then resumed his conversation with Hoyt. “I see no reason why she shouldn't be released tomorrow morning if she will continue to do the therapy on her own at home and check in with me weekly so that I can monitor her progress.

  “Weekly!” Cassie exclaimed, blurting out her surprise. This was a delay that she hadn't taken into consideration. “But, Dr. Reyes,” she protested, “I don't have a home in Dallas anymore. Besides, I wanted to head for Nashville as soon as I leave here.” She'd signed a promissory note to the hospital and had been instructed to mail in her monthly payments.

  Thunderclouds rolled across Hoyt's face. Cassie ignored the ominous warning. She'd have to deal with one problem at a time.

  “I'm afraid that I will have to insist upon your staying in Dallas for at least another six to eight weeks,” Dr. Reyes said. “We've made remarkable progress with your hand, considering how badly it was burned. The only way I can guarantee your complete recovery, however, is to see you weekly for a while and recommend new exercises for you to practice at home.”

  There was that word again. Home. For the first time since she'd left Coyote Bend, Cassie felt utterly defeated. Where could she stay?

  Scrappy shuffled his feet and an idea flashed through her mind.

  “You're coming to the Diamond T with me,” Hoyt stated categorically before she could voice her own idea.

  She whirled around to protest, but he was halfway across the room.

  “I'll pick you up at nine o'clock sharp tomorrow morning.” Cassie slumped on the bed. The futility of arguing was as plain as the nose on her face. She wasn't in much of a position to debate the matter, because her purse and everything she owned had burned with the Stardust.

  “Well, at least I won't be bumping into him all the time,” she grumbled to herself. “That house of his is big enough for an army to hide in.”

  But was it big enough for the two of them?

  * * * *

  “It's too bad about your car exploding in the alley.” Dixie commiserated with Cassie while she brushed her patient's long silky hair.

  “I hope to be able to replace my guitar soon,” Cassie replied, performing her prescribed exercises while she waited for the candy-striper who would take her downstairs.

  “Hoyt will probably turn tail and run when he gets a load of his hayseed baggage,” Cassie said. Dixie had loaned her a T-shirt that was several sizes too large and a pair of baggy, patched jeans that she'd cinched around her tiny waist with a borrowed belt.

  “All I need to complete this picture is a stalk of wheat hanging out of my teeth and a moonshine bottle slung over my shoulder.” She hooted at her reflection in the mirror and curled her bare toes to emphasize her point

  “Honey, you'd look like a million dollars in a burlap bag, and don't you forget it.” Dixie smiled and Cassie realized how much she'd miss the woman's company.

  “Well. I came in with nothing, and that's exactly how I'm leaving.” Cassie hugged the nurse. “I'll send these back to you as soon as I can.”

  “I assure you from the bottom of my heart that there's no hurry about that." Dixie returned the hug.

  The teen-aged volunteer who guided the wheelchair into the room stared in amazement as the oddly attired patient plopped down and announced she was ready to leave.

  Hoyt was waiting in the hospital lobby. The young nurses bustling by on their way to a coffee break threw flirtatious looks in the direction of the hard male figure in the tailored suit.

  “I've signed you out and the car is in front.” He accepted her ridiculous appearance without comment. Cassie was disappointed that he hadn't risen to the bait. She was spoiling for an argument, something to clear the air between them and set the guidelines for their temporary living arrangements.

  Suddenly she realized that she was the center of attention. “Why didn't you warn me?” Cassie's eyes flashed black fury as she whirled in the wheelchair and glared at him.

  Hoyt leaned over and planted a brotherly kiss on the tip of her nose and she was blinded by the flashbulb of a camera.

  “The entertainment editors at both newspapers are friends of mine, and I thought your release would make an interesting item for the fans who have expressed their concern about you,” he explained.

  “Can I have your autograph?” A thin woman in a seersucker dress shoved a piece of paper and a pen under Cassie's nose.

  Cassie held up her scarred hand and smiled an “I'm sorry.”

  “Who's that?” A wiry little man in bib overalls gestured rudely at Cassie with his thumb.

  “Don't ask me who she is.” The woman sniffed, shrugged her coat-hanger shoulders, and stuffed the paper and pen into her vinyl purse. “She's sure got a fancy opinion of herself, though. Wouldn't even give me an autograph!”

  “You became public property the minute you stepped onstage at the Stardust, so you'd better get used to things like that,” Hoyt whispered when he saw Cassie's outraged expression. “You know what they say: ‘Be careful what you want because you might get it.’ If you can't handle local publicity and the problems that attend it, then you'll really be up a creek if you hit it big.”

  “Is it true that you're going to recuperate at the Diamond T, Miss Creighton?” A brisk female reporter stood over Cassie to catch her response.

  “Mr. Temple, would you mind kissing Miss Creighton again?” the young photographer asked. Cassie stared into a leering mechanical eye that was waiting to snap the event.

  “My pleasure.” Hoyt's mouth grazed her lips this time, and the sensual impact of the close encounter sent shivers up her spine. Cassie twisted her face away to avoid meeting those knowing blue eyes.

  “Are there any plans yet for your return to the ‘Dallas Hayride’ TV show?” the reporter queried. “And is there any truth to the rumor that you and Mr. Temple— ”

  “That's enough for now.” Hoyt held up his hand and cut off any more questions. “Miss Creighton has survived a harrowing experience, and I'm sure you understand that she's exhausted.”

  “My editor sent me here to get a story, not the brush-off,” the reporter snapped.

  “I'll confirm for you that Miss Creighton will be recuperating at the Diamond T, but we've made no further plans as far as her career is concerned at this point.” He smiled that convincing smile and the hard-boiled woman blushed. “As soon as she's regained her strength, we'll call a press conference at the Diamond T and you can ask questions to your heart's content. How does that sound?”

  “It's a deal.” The woman scribbled some notes on her pad and she and the cameraman cleared a path for Hoyt and Cassie.

  “That's the nosiest woman I've ever met!” Cassie exclaimed as Hoyt gunned the motor and roared out of the circular drive.

  “She's just doing her job,” he said. “By the way, I've made arrangements for you to charge clothes, cosmetics, or anything el
se you might need. I'd suggest that you take advantage of those arrangements before too long. It wouldn't do for a budding star to be caught in baggy jeans and a T-shirt every time she ventures out.”

  Hoyt's Porsche ate up the miles on the northbound Central Expressway, whizzing past gleaming glass skyscrapers and maneuvering easily through the snarled traffic. Soon they were surrounded by the open countryside, colorful in its blanket of bluebonnets, buttercups, and prickly yucca bushes. Cassie tried to relax in the reclining passenger's seat and she hummed along to the catchy new Alabama tune playing on the radio. It was good to leave the dishwater-dull routine of the hospital behind, to be free again.

  But was she really free? Cassie glanced sideways to study the chiseled profile silhouetted against a cloudless azure sky. Her good hand closed in a tight fist and she forced herself to look out her own window. A melting desire raced through her veins, but the hollow ache inside her was a throbbing reminder that lust without love was useless, destructive. And Hoyt had made it perfectly clear that he didn't love her. Cassie refused to surrender to the tears gathering in her eyes. If only...

  “I really appreciate everything you've done for me.” She felt obligated to fill the empty silence. “I promise that I'll repay every cent you've had to spend.” The hospital had canceled her promissory note at Hoyt's angry insistence, and she hadn't argued the point. As soon as she found employment in Nashville, she would reimburse him.

  “There's only one way you can repay me, Cassie. And that's to give me your word that you'll steer clear of Allen Ingram from now on.” Hoyt didn't look away from the highway, but Cassie could swear that she felt his gaze boring through her.

  “Why is there so much bad blood between the two of you?”

  “I didn't think he'd have the guts to tell you the truth.” Hoyt shook his head in disgust. “I fired Ingram seven years ago. He'd hired on as foreman at the Diamond T and we caught him plumping up the feed bills to the tune of several hundred dollars a month.”