PAROLED!

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  Before Cait had a chance to draw a breath, Tyler had the biker's massive arm twisted behind him and was marching him toward the door.

  Big Mike struggled against the powerful hands controlling him, but Tyler had wrestled steers as a boy and knew how to exert the right amount of leverage. Seconds later Mike was sprawled in the dust outside and Tyler was facing the room again, one man against a dozen or more.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Cait saw the waitress edge toward the pay phone by the rest rooms, then stop, as though she'd suddenly seen something in Tyler's face that had startled her.

  Cait saw it, too. It was a cold, lethal rage, tightly controlled, utterly potent. In the past she had seen Tyler angry many times and never once had she been frightened. She was frightened now.

  "Fun's over for tonight, ladies and gentlemen," he told the excited crowd.

  "Like hell," someone muttered. "We ain't done drinkin'."

  Tyler's gaze searched the room until he found the man who had spoken. He was almost as large as Mike and equally belligerent.

  "I say you are, friend." The threat wasn't an idle one. Cait knew it. The others did, too.

  Slowly the mood shifted. Within seconds, it seemed, the bikers and their ladies had thrown wads of bills onto the tables and left. The men at the bar returned to their drinks. The plaintive song on the jukebox ended and another began.

  Cait let her shoulders slump and her face relax. Tyler remained where he was, watching her but saying nothing. It seemed an eternity before Angie hurried forward, concern written in the world-weary lines of her face.

  "Can I get you something, hon?" she asked when she reached Cait's side.

  "Anything but a mirror," Cait muttered, and then realized that her voice sounded very strange, as though it had been forced through the wrong end of a funnel.

  "Ice and a clean towel." Tyler jerked his head toward the bar. Angie nodded and hastened to do as he ordered.

  "You run a taut ship here, Tyler," Cait muttered.

  He watched her without expression, the same way he watched everyone now. But inside his belly was knotted, and his jaw was tight.

  "Good thing for you I do."

  "True enough." She wiped her hand on her skirt before gingerly touching her fingers to her cheek.

  "Ouch," she muttered, more to herself than Tyler. "This is certainly a first for me. Knocked flat because I didn't want to dance."

  "Yeah, well, this isn't the Mark Hopkins," Tyler drawled. "A lady takes her chances when she walks in here."

  "Thanks for the advice. I'll remember that the next time."

  He lifted one eyebrow, and his face changed. From dangerous to sardonic. "Planning to become a regular here, are you, Dr. Fielding?"

  Cait decided to ignore the sarcasm. Instead she took her time replacing her shoe and straightening her jacket. Spilled beer had soaked into her skirt. Her hands felt grimy where they had smacked the floor.

  "Thanks for your help," she told him with a slight sharpness. "I have a feeling Big Mike and I weren't exactly evenly matched."

  "Save your thanks, Cait. I didn't do it for you. I did it for me. The last thing I need is a bunch of cops hassling me."

  "You? It was that cretin biker who should be arrested!"

  Tyler rested his hands on his hips. He had always been lean, but his muscular body now seemed honed to new hardness

  "It's a funny thing about being on parole. All of a sudden you're guilty until proven innocent. But then, you know all about that, don't you?"

  Cait flushed. "Please, Tyler. Let's … let's not dig up old pain."

  "Just two old friends getting reacquainted? Is that the way this is supposed to go?"

  Far too conscious of Tyler's steely eyes following her every move, Cait braced one hand on the seat of a nearby chair and prepared to lever herself to her feet. But her legs didn't seem connected to her body, and her head was suddenly swimming.

  "I … there seems to be a slight problem." She tried to clear the thickness from her throat. As though from a distance, she saw Tyler take a step toward her, then stop.

  "What hurts?" he asked.

  "My pride, mostly."

  "Anything else?"

  She thought she detected a faint softening in those cold eyes, as though he might be smiling inside. "My head."

  "Any nausea?"

  "No."

  "Dizziness?"

  Cait shook her head. "Well, not much, anyway."

  With an inner sigh, Tyler knelt down and pressed two fingers to her neck. In spite of the blood seeping into the capillaries to form bruises, her skin had the texture of the finest silk.

  Beneath the softness that teased his fingertips, her pulse was fast but strong. Her color was good, warming her cheeks like a few hours in the sun. It hit him then that he hadn't felt a woman's distinctive warmth for a long time. Nor had he been distracted by the subtle scent that was rapidly disorienting him now.

  His immediate reaction was instant and predictably physical. That he could handle. It was the subtle feeling of loss that caught him unaware. Tensing, he withdrew his hand and stood.

  "You'll live."

  Cait had expected the lack of interest in his tone. She hadn't expected the sadness it aroused in her.

  "Is that your professional opinion?" she asked as she got to her feet.

  "Bartenders don't have opinions."

  Without seeming to, he looked for signs of weakness or fainting. He saw only a faint trembling of her hand as she pushed back the hair escaping from the pins. It seemed darker than he remembered. More black than brown. But then, a lot of things seemed different to him these days.

  "Okay, Cait," he said with a trace of impatience now. "What's important enough to get you into a place like this?"

  The swift slice of command in his tone rankled, but Cait kept her features serene. "I need to talk with you about something personal."

  The lady had guts, coming here, he would give her that. There was a time, after the shock of the trial and the sentence had worn off, when he wouldn't have trusted himself alone with her.

  "So talk."

  Cait glanced around. The haze was still thick, and the music still blared. Half the tables were empty now, but those who remained were watching the byplay between the two of them with open interest.

  "Is there someplace where we can talk privately?" she asked as her gaze came back to his.

  "You want privacy, write me a letter. Right now I've got work to do."

  Cait's patience was wearing thin. No one treated her rudely without her permission. Permission she had just withdrawn.

  "Look, Tyler," she said in a slightly more chilly tone, "I know this is uncomfortable for you, but—"

  "Uncomfortable?" His hard mouth slanted into a sneer. "Lady, you don't know the first thing about uncomfortable." He turned and walked toward the bar.

  "It's about Kelsey," she shouted over the music. He spun around. Three long strides brought him back to her. His hand grasped her arm. He was stronger, stronger even than she had imagined.

  "Is she hurt? Sick? Tell me."

  "She's not hurt and she's not sick," she said with feigned calm. "Now please let go of me before my arm is completely black-and-blue."

  Tyler hadn't realized that his hand was wrapped around her upper arm. He jerked it free as red spread over his cheekbones. "Damn it, Cait—"

  Angie returned then. In her hand she carried a white towel wrapped around a number of ice cubes. "Here, hon," she said, thrusting the towel toward Cait. "This should help some with that swelling."

  "Thanks, Angie. I appreciate it." Cait pressed the make-shift ice pack against her cheek. Her skin felt hot and swollen, and the cut inside her mouth was still bleeding. Angie hovered. "You're gonna have some kind of shiner by tomorrow."

  "I can hear the questions from my patients already," Cait muttered.

  "Tell 'em you were hit by a door."

  "More like a truck."

  Angie laughed. "Anything else I can get
you, hon? More wine? A stiff Scotch?"

  "Wine, please. I didn't quite—"

  "That's the last thing you need," Tyler interrupted with a scowl. Before Cait could protest, he asked Angie to cover for him, adding that he would be in the office if she needed him.

  "Office?" Cait lowered the ice pack. Suddenly the idea of being alone with Tyler wasn't as necessary as she'd thought.

  "You said you wanted privacy, well, that's as private as it gets around here. Unless, of course, you want to come upstairs to my place."

  "The office is fine, thanks."

  Before Angie hurried away, she shot Cait a sympathetic look. It didn't help.

  "It's at the end of the hall," Tyler said, nodding to a badly lit corridor by the phone.

  She felt the curious looks of the men at the bar follow her as she walked a few paces ahead of him. The door to the office was closed. Trying the knob, she discovered that it was locked. She stepped back, only to stumble against Tyler's hard torso. Surprise that turned to heat spread through her.

  "Excuse me," he said as he brushed past her to open the door. She noticed his aftershave then. It was a no-nonsense citrus that suited the man he'd become.

  The door swung inward. Pocketing his key, Tyler preceded her into the small room. She left the door open, and he made no move to close it. Instead he moved away from her and waited while she took a quick look around.

  The place was small and cluttered, but scrupulously clean. It contained a desk, one chair and a sagging couch in a drab shade of brown. On her left a lone window looked out on the alley. To her right stood an ancient filing cabinet in desperate need of paint. There were no pictures on the walls, no diplomas, no personal touches of any kind.

  Tyler watched and waited with the utter stillness that was such a part of him now. It didn't take a medical degree to realize that the lady was uncomfortable and trying not to show it. Good, he thought. Let her sweat the way he'd sweated once.

  He waited for her gaze to return to his. When it did, he saw apprehension gleaming between her luxurious lashes, and something more, something that made his jaw bunch. Pity.

  "Okay, you've got your privacy." Frustration put a razor edge on his words that hadn't been there before. "Now what's this all about?"

  Her chin stayed up, and Tyler watched temper replace the pity he hated. "Mind if I sit down first?" Without waiting for an answer, she chose the couch and settled onto the lumpy cushion.

  Tyler leaned against the edge of the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. She decided to take the offensive. First she placed the now-soggy ice pack in the clean ashtray on his desk. Next she drew her feet together and sat straighter. Thus armored, she met his unfriendly gaze head-on. "I meant what I said. I'm here because of Kelsey. She was having problems at school and—"

  "Okay if I come in?" Angie asked from the doorway. She was watching Tyler, who nodded. The mournful twang of a country song followed her into the room, grating on Cait's already taut nerves.

  "I figured you wouldn't want this layin' out there in the booth." Cait noticed her forgotten purse then, slung over Angie's shoulder, and managed to thank her without wincing.

  "If you'll hand me my wallet, I'll pay what I owe."

  "On the house." Angie shot a quick look in Tyler's direction. "Right, Ty?"

  He nodded curtly.

  Angie dropped Cait's bag onto the cushion next to her before leaving. As she closed the door behind her, the latch clicked, metal on metal.

  Because Cait was looking at Tyler, she caught the sudden bracing of his big shoulders. Habit, she thought. The leftover reflex of a man accustomed to locks he couldn't open.

  "Now what's wrong?"

  Cait heard the burr of irritation in his voice and realized that she was staring. "Nothing."

  His mouth curled at one tight corner. "You never could lie worth a damn, Cait."

  "I'm not lying."

  "Aren't you?" His eyes were dark and shadowed, like the memories they carried of each other. And his mouth had a hardness that made her feel strangely sad.

  Her confidence faltered. Where should she begin? How could she possibly find the right words? she wondered, then sighed inwardly. As if there were right words to explain the terrible regret she felt.

  "Okay, so I'm not what you'd call at my best at the moment, but this isn't easy, you know. Seeing you again after … after so much has happened."

  "You thought it would be?" His tone registered sardonic disbelief.

  Cait shook her head. Had she ever been in control with Tyler? she wondered. Even now, when she'd counted on the advantage of surprise, he had somehow taken charge. Perhaps that was best, she told herself.

  "No," she said truthfully. "I knew it would be a nightmare."

  Surprise, quickly erased, flickered in his eyes. "You were telling me about my daughter."

  Cait drew a long breath before beginning. "A few months ago, a few weeks after school started, Kelsey began to have problems. Poor appetite, bad grades, mood swings. I put them down to … to delayed grief over her mother's death." She paused to clear her throat. Her cheek was beginning to ache badly now.

  "Go on."

  "About a week ago she woke up screaming. She'd had a nightmare. Mostly about you and the trial."

  His face froze, etching the lines of suffering even deeper into his lean cheeks. "Don't start that again, Cait," he ordered in the same dangerously calm tone that should have warned Mike and didn't.

  "Just listen, Tyler. That's all I ask." Suddenly nervous, she wet her lips with a swift motion of her tongue.

  It was an involuntary thing, he knew, that small quick sliding of her tongue over her slightly swollen lower lip. The stirring of his body in reaction was equally involuntary. Annoyed, he pushed himself from the desk and walked around to sit in the chair, which creaked under his weight.

  "I'm listening," he prompted coldly.

  Cait's chin inched higher. "She's had nightmares every night since. I've asked a colleague of mine, Dr. Hazel O'Connor, to put her in intensive therapy."

  At the word "therapy" something sparked in his eyes. "For delayed grief?"

  "Yes and no."

  "What is this, Cait? Twenty questions?" He turned his wrist, revealing a dime-store watch. "Maybe you're not in a hurry, but I've got eight minutes left of my break. It's up to you how you want to use them."

  Cait wished now that she had taken Angie up on her offer of a good stiff drink. "It's difficult to know where to begin—"

  "As I recall, you usually say exactly what you mean." The utter truth in his words seared her.

  "True, but in this case—"

  "Eight minutes, Cait. After that, I go back to work. You can do whatever you please."

  Anger replaced her indecision. Angling her chin, she caught his gaze and held it. He wanted words. She would give him words.

  "I came here today to tell you that Kelsey has admitted that she lied."

  Under the deep tan, his face turned parchment white. "Lied?"

  "Yes, about the things she accused you of doing to her. I believe her. So does Hazel. All the signs point to a child in severe emotional shock."

  He had been numb for so long that it took him a moment to feel the sharp, slicing thrust in his gut. "That's what you said the last time."

  "Are you telling me I shouldn't believe her now?"

  "You shouldn't have believed her four years ago!"

  Life came back to his eyes. Along with it came an utterly cold, utterly bitter anger. Like ice crystals forming over steel.

  "Three years I was in that place, Cait." The lethal quiet of his voice was far more frightening than any shout. "Three stinking years. Locked away from everything I cared about."

  "I'm so sorry." Her voice caught. "I'll do everything I can, anything you want me to do, to … to make things right."

  "Can you give me back those years, Cait? Can you take away the stigma? The shame? Can you get my license to practice medicine restored?" He stood so suddenly th
at the chair went crashing backward into the wall. "No, you can't do any of those things, can you?"

  Two angry strides took him to the window. His back was rigid, his shoulders stiff. He braced a muscle-knotted hand against the wall and dropped his head. He was breathing heavily, like a drowning man desperate for air.

  Cait wiped her palms on her skirt. There was nothing she could do about the shakes inside. "Please, Tyler. Please don't blame Kelsey. She didn't understand what she was doing."

  "She understood right and wrong." He lifted his head and stared through the dusty panes at the row of garbage cans.

  "Not really, Tyler. She was confused and frightened."

  He turned to look at her. Cait had to work to stifle a gasp. He looked like a man who had aged twenty years overnight.

  "Why? I've never hurt her."

  Cait thought she detected a faint softening in his hard mouth. It was enough to give her the courage to stand and go to him.

  "Crys told her that you would take her far away and she would never see her mother again." Her voice was steady, but hushed. "At five, a girl's mother is the most important person in her life, no matter how much she loves her father. She's even blaming herself for Crys's death."

  "Way I heard it, Crys managed that on her own."

  Somehow she had to reach past that terrible anger to the man he had been. The man who still loved his daughter.

  "Kelsey needs you, Tyler. She desperately needs to know that you love her. That you don't blame her for the … for what happened to you."

  "Then who should I blame, Cait?" he asked in measured tones. "You?"

  "Yes, if that will help you put all this behind you."

  She had tried words. Now, because she was desperate, she tried touching him. It was the lightest of touches on his arm, to show that she understood the anguish he was feeling.

  Beneath the warm skin, his muscles pulled taut until his arm was as unyielding as stone. He didn't move, but Cait felt him reject her touch. Quickly she withdrew her hand.

  "Please, Tyler. Will you help?"

  "I'll think about it."

  His answer was so counter to her expectations that at first she was certain she had misunderstood. "Think about it?" she questioned softly.