Harlequin Superromance January 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: A Ranch for His FamilyCowgirl in High HeelsA Man to Believe In

by Hope Navarre

  He could see Cassie in his mind’s eye lying back in that recliner, resting and staying painfully still while the chemo invaded her body through the port in her chest. He could imagine the three infusion bottles hanging upside down on the metal holder silently dripping the poison into her. Hear the soft, soothing music playing from her iPod. Cassie hated this treatment. Knowing how much this cure hurt her made his heart ache. He’d do anything to be in her room right now. He wanted to be there for her. Hold her hand. Stand watch over her until the last awful drop of chemo was finished, then bundle her into his arms and carry her home.

  She never answered the text he’d sent her on Friday. If Gil and Rudy hadn’t distracted him all weekend, he would have gone out of his mind. The sooner her therapy was over, the sooner he could begin his campaign to win her back. He wasn’t a praying man, but this entire ordeal was bringing him to his knees. All he could do was keep working. He headed to the nurses’ station. Rachel was there managing her morning paperwork.

  “How are you holding up, Peter?”

  He tapped the finished chart to his forehead. “Not so good. How about you?”

  “I hate thinking about her up there,” Rachel said.

  “Bobby said she had a good night’s sleep so was rested for the treatment.”

  “I spoke with her yesterday. She sounded steady.”

  While he tucked the chart in the filing bin, Rachel said, “Huey tells me he’s joining you fellows for the fishing expedition next week.”

  He was grateful she changed the subject. At least working on the fund-raiser gave him a sense of doing something positive to help Cassie. Maybe if he told Rachel how badly he wanted to speak with Cassie, she would pass the word.

  “I’d do anything for a chance—”

  “Rapid response team. Floor three. Room three-seventeen.”

  Peter’s blood ran cold at the alert coming over the speaker. He and Rachel exchanged shocked glances. “That’s Cassie’s room!”

  He bolted for the stairs.

  Doc was coming out of the elevator as Peter blasted through the stairwell on the third floor. Without a word, the two men ran to Cassie’s room. Help was already there with the crash cart and gurney. The nurses were stripping the chemical lines from her port, reading her vital signs, prepping the oxygen bag.

  The chemo nurse said, “Blood pressure eighty over forty. Anaphylaxis.”

  With one glance at the monitors, Doc said, “Let’s get her down to emergency.”

  * * *

  CASSIE FLOATED. SHE really wished Doc would stop barking orders. She could hear him just fine. She was comfortable where she was. Light. Free. Oh, if she waited just a little longer, she’d see Kyle. She’d heard him whisper her name in the whiteness surrounding her, but Doc’s voice was too loud. Mom was answering him in her crisp, efficient nurse voice. There were other voices invading her hearing, vaguely familiar but they meant nothing to her.

  “Cassie...come on, honey. Wake up.”

  Peter! Now, his voice drew her attention. Like sea-swept air and burgundy wine, Peter’s voice spiced her awareness with recognition, with want, with desire to reach out and connect. She sighed. The feeling of lightness and well-being that engulfed her deteriorated to a buzzing in her ears, burning in her chest, her nostrils stinging with the deep inhale of air.

  Her eyes opened. She felt as if she were returning from a distant place. Peter’s face hovered above her, his concern quickly morphing into that heart-melting grin. Those dark eyes softened when his gaze locked onto hers. Unbridled love seemed to pour right into her from the look in his eyes. She was mesmerized.

  “Hey, beautiful. Welcome back.”

  “Peter? What...?” Her throat parched, she couldn’t finish speaking.

  Peter bent to kiss her forehead. “Anaphylactic shock, honey. You had a delayed allergic reaction to the chemo.”

  Doc and Mom stood on the other side of her bed. Relief flooded her mother’s face. Doc flashed her that satisfied smile they always shared between them when a medical task was well done.

  Beth took her hand. “How do you feel, honey?”

  Tired. Sweaty. Like crap. “I want to go home.”

  Doc chuckled. “We’re going to watch you a bit longer before releasing you, Cassie. That was a close one.”

  She nodded. “I could sleep.”

  Bobby stepped up to the bed, stood next to Peter. “Well, you’ll be happy to know that I fainted.”

  Cassie was too weak to express her amusement. Even in her exhaustion, she registered how pale he looked. “Oh, Dad. Such a softie.”

  “I’m a wimp. At least I own up to it.”

  Doc laughed. “You’re more of a man than most just for admitting the truth.”

  Careful of the IV in her other hand, Peter slipped his fingers through hers. “How does it feel to be on the receiving end of the E.R.?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Let’s not have a replay anytime soon, okay?”

  Beth nodded. “You won’t have to worry about that.”

  Tears filled her eyes. A close call. She was done. “No more treatments for me, Mom. Dad. If the cancer doesn’t kill me, the chemo will.”

  Doc squeezed her arm. “No problem there. As of this morning, your chemo treatments are officially over. We’re not taking any more chances with chemicals.”

  “When can I go?”

  Doc laid a hand on her shoulder. “Rest for a few more hours. Once we’re sure you’re stabilized, I’ll release you for home.”

  She closed her eyes. Not even aware that the thought had become words, she whispered, “Will Kyle be there?”

  She realized what she’d said when the pressure of Peter’s hand loosened. As he slid his fingers from hers, she opened her eyes. Peter was staring at Bobby, a look of regret on his face. He glanced at her, briefly smiled, then exited the room.

  * * *

  PETER PULLED INTO the lighthouse parking lot and looked due east. Clouds over the horizon shimmered with predawn light. The Fisherman’s Memorial, Long Island’s easternmost piece of art placed between the Montauk Point lighthouse and the vast Atlantic crashing on the rocks below the cliff, stood silhouetted against the orange and pink hues staining the sea and sky.

  When they had first met, Cassie had told him that Kyle’s mother came here on his anniversary every year to leave flowers in his memory. Sure enough. He could see the damned bouquet she’d placed last week from here.

  No way could he compete with the dead.

  Peter approached the memorial, the sculpture’s relief taking shape against the silhouetting sunrise. A pink granite pillar supported the bronze form of a man standing in a boat. The inscription read: In Remembrance of Those Lost at Sea While Fishing These Waters.

  His insides wrenched at the thought of Cassie surviving a near brush with death yesterday, Kyle’s name, not his, on her lips. He remembered the grateful look of love in her eyes when she had regained consciousness and seen him. Yet, when speaking about going home, she had wanted Kyle.

  A damned ghost.

  The woman of his dreams was fighting for her life. All he wanted to do was love her, help her heal. But no. She’d turned him, and his offer of marriage, away because of a man—and a memory—lost at sea years ago. Peter couldn’t even lay hands on the dude to punch him out for breaking her heart...and get some satisfaction or release for his anger.

  His tormentor stood over him in the form of Montauk’s larger-than-life memorial—a muscled fisherman, shirtless, wearing waders and hauling a line. The fisherman stared away from Peter with sightless eyes, intent on the invisible catch over the side of the boat.

  Peter pulled the engagement ring from his pocket. His grandmother’s ring. Saved for the perfect woman. From his other pocket, he drew a pocketknife. As the morning sun rose over the
horizon and splashed brilliant gold light around him, Peter kneeled to the left of the fisherman, and sliced deep into the grass. In a hole deep enough to siphon his life, he buried the ring, marking the burial place in his heart.

  He walked away.

  Sometimes the ocean—and the dead—had no mercy.

  * * *

  IT WAS LATE MORNING, Cassie sat up in her bed in lightweight sweatpants and a pink hoodie, the fleece cap on her head, finishing off breakfast on a tray, which she had balanced across her lap—if one considered breakfast a strawberry milk shake, barbecued chicken wings and a pile of mashed potatoes.

  It had taken four days for Cassie to start feeling better. Luckily, they had only begun to administer the chemo drip in the hospital when she had reacted adversely to the drugs—her body didn’t have to purge as much poison had she consumed a full dosage.

  The physical discomforts from the drugs administered before the chemicals had run their course. Still, Cassie was wiped. She’d slept more during these four days than any of the other treatments combined. A part of her suspected her emotional side had needed some time off. Sleep had offered a fine escape.

  Today, she felt stronger. Thank goodness. Brian and her friends had planned a fund-raiser for her tomorrow night. She wanted to be well enough to attend, visit with her friends and personally thank them for rallying to her financial aid. Most of all, she wanted Peter to see firsthand how important her network of friends were to her. She wanted him to understand the benefits of trusting in more than his insulated world of just him and his brother.

  She sighed. It didn’t matter anymore. She’d sent him packing. What he chose to do now was his business.

  Cassie ate another forkful of potatoes. After a few days of very light, almost nonexistent meals, she had woken up this morning with a powerful hunger and a distinct craving. Her dad had anticipated her cravings, and because the guys were headed out early this morning to fish for tomorrow’s fund-raiser, Bobby had hit the grocery store last night for the ice cream and chicken wings she’d wanted. She wondered if she’d have such crazy cravings when she finally had kids.

  Then, ruthless reality struck.

  She’d never have kids. The chemo took care of that possibility. She put down her fork, appetite done.

  The pressure of tears rose in her eyes so fast, she choked back a sob. Covering her mouth with her hand, she turned her gaze out the open window and inhaled a deep breath. The sun streaming in was exactly what she needed. Outside, birds chirped in the trees, the leaves rustling in the air making a sound like distant applause. The cheery day acted as a balm to her sad thoughts.

  What exactly had she done to deserve this trial?

  Cassie was also fighting a huge bout of conscience. After mentioning Kyle’s name out loud when she hadn’t intended, and seeing the effect her words had on Peter, she’d chosen to speak very little since. Cassie was hoping Peter would have called, but no one said anything about him the few times she had awakened. She wondered if maybe she chose to sleep so much because not only did she feel physically exhausted, but she also wanted to hide from her blunder. She had wounded Peter again.

  Given the mess this cancer had made of her, she’d probably done him a favor driving him away, one more time. He may have been understanding about her becoming sterile, but instinct told her Peter Chapman would love to see a baby made from his own seed. She didn’t want to live with the guilt of depriving him of such a desire.

  A soul-deep sigh escaped her lips. She’d made a pact with herself. The job of dealing with her illness and her own demons rested on her until she was healthy again. Right now, she had some more healing to do. Given the aborted chemo sessions, there would be different types of treatments, like radiation, to consider for her recovery if the lymphomas had not been destroyed. Her own personal fears and her guilt over hurting Peter simply had to wait.

  Her mom walked in with an armload of magazines. A large basket with handles dangled from her arm.

  Cassie swiped away the brimming tears and grinned. God bless Mom for finding busy things to do to help distract her. “What do you have there?”

  No doubt Beth noticed her melancholy but said nothing. “If you feel up to it, I thought we’d make some soul cards.”

  Cassie tilted her head. “Soul cards?”

  Beth climbed onto her bed, nestling next to her against the headboard. She splayed the magazines on the spread.

  “Yeah. We go through these different magazines. Tear out any pictures that we’re drawn to, either in a good way like achieving a goal, or a treasure or a place we’d like to visit. Then we pick photos that affect us in a bad way, like being repulsed or angered or disgusted by something.”

  Sounded interesting. “And then?”

  Beth pulled scissors, a paper cutter, glue sticks and a stack of five-by-eight blank cards from the basket. She lifted a card. “We title each one. Then cut out and glue pictures we’ve chosen to represent the title.”

  “Like what?”

  Beth shrugged. “Like a love card. A career card. An adventure card...”

  Cassie held up a hand. “Got it.”

  “Want to?”

  She lifted her tray. “You know what? I’d love to. Let’s clear this food away.”

  Beth lifted the tray onto the floor, pushing it away from the bed with a toe. “We’ll take care of that later.”

  She pulled a pair of reading glasses from the basket. “The most time-consuming part is finding the pictures. Don’t even think. Just rip or cut out whatever gives you a strong gut reaction.”

  Cassie chose a high-gloss fashion magazine. Inside the cover was an outside-the-box advertisement for designer clothes—a pregnant woman dressed in an elegant white, bejeweled halter gown that draped her rounded breasts and swollen belly in a rich satiny fabric that fell over her bare feet. The woman screamed of sex appeal, sophistication and class. Close behind her stood a dark-haired man in a white tuxedo, a shadow of a beard on his chiseled face, his large hands possessively on her hips. He joined the woman in staring at the camera as if they had achieved the sensual and erotic secrets to the perfect, fairy-tale family life with the person of their dreams.

  Oh, God! She would never be pregnant!

  Anger hit like a lightning strike. Cassie ripped the page from the magazine and tore it into shreds. The tears she’d held back earlier burst like water through a floodgate. With each rip, she cried, “Why. Did. This. Happen. To. Me?”

  “Cassie!” Her mother watched her, bewildered.

  Cassie threw the scraps away from her. Tossed the magazine. “I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t do this.”

  Beth bundled her into her arms. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

  She couldn’t answer, and buried her face in her mom’s shoulder and wept.

  Rocking her slowly, Beth whispered, “Cassie. Please. Tell me how I can help.”

  “You can’t do anything.”

  “I can listen.”

  Cassie let her emotions drain while her mother held her. No matter if they were good times and bad, she and her mom had seen them through together. This was one of the bad times. Yet, Beth was here—ready, willing and able to do whatever needed to be done to make the situation right. Cassie felt safe to air her regrets. Mom would never judge her.

  She wiped her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her hoodie, then met her mother’s penetrating gaze, ready to accept whatever she had to say.

  “The fact that I’ll never have kids is hitting me hard today. Sorry. I feel pretty foolish.”

  Beth scoffed. “Foolish? Becoming sterile against your choice is not an easy reality to bear. You have every right to be upset.”

  Cassie frowned. “At least you had me. One kid is better than none.”

  A sad smile crossed Beth’s face. “Honey, we tried to have more children before t
he cancer, but they never came. Then I got sick and the rest is history.”

  “You had the chance to experience childbirth.” Cassie grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.

  Beth chuckled. “Some women prefer never to have the experience, yet still become wonderful mothers.”

  Cassie closed her eyes, let her head fall back against the headboard. “Adoption?”

  Beth waited until Cassie looked at her again. “Yes. Don’t discount the option, honey.”

  She hugged her knees up to her chest. “Peter said the same thing.”

  “Peter is wise.”

  “He’ll make some woman a wonderful husband one day.”

  Beth grew silent. After a moment, she slipped from the bed, picked up the tray and headed for the kitchen. The weight of her unspoken words hung in the empty space between them. Cassie pulled socks on her feet and followed her mother.

  Beth had her back to Cassie, staring blindly at the counter.

  “Mom, what is it?”

  She turned, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Cassie, I think I’ve done you a huge disservice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She blotted her eyes. “You know, I have always lived honestly and openly in front of you.”

  “Yes. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the way you raised me, Mom.”

  She released a sigh. “I appreciate you saying that, honey, but I’m beginning to think I exposed you to too much of my own personal crisis.”

  “Your cancer?”

  She shrugged. “That and afterward, my lingering anger toward your dad.”

  “But you got over being upset.”

  “Until a few days ago? No.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Her smile was sad. “Sure, you do, honey. You’ve simply worked around the knowledge, or better yet, ignored it.

  “Resentment has been simmering inside me ever since I was sick. I used a negative emotion to keep myself safe and strong.”