Chapter Eight
As the sound of Cassidy’s steps faded, Karen felt the anger stream out of her in a rush. Hugging herself, she took a shaky breath, then another. Her legs felt weak, and her skin was clammy. It was a textbook case of shock. She’d seen it often enough in others to recognize the signs in herself. If she moved very slowly, everything would be all right.
Rubbing her cold arms with her sweating palms, she stared stupidly at the cluttered surface of Cassidy’s desk. She took a step forward, then another, moving like a woman twice her age, until her hip bumped the arm of Cassidy’s big chair. Slowly, stiffly, she lowered herself into the still warm seat. Okay, now that she knew his true feelings, she would find a way to move forward. But first, she needed to get control of her emotions.
Hysterical laughter rose in her throat. No problem, she told herself, taking great gulps of air to steady herself. Dr. Karen Moore Sloane was one strong lady. A survivor.
During her internship, the chief of medicine had rated her as capable, clearheaded and unflappable. It’s called professional detachment, a curmudgeonly professor had boomed on her first day of medical school. Find it or get out now. Otherwise you’ll end up burned-out or locked up in a padded room.
Detachment. Yes, that was the key, she decided, nodding her head in short little jerks. “Physician, heal thyself,” she muttered, staring straight ahead. Okay, this was a serious wound but far from mortal.
Her mouth trembled, forcing her to clamp her lower lip between her teeth. Crying would not help. She wouldn’t give Cassidy the satisfaction.
A plan. That’s what she needed now. As thorough as a treatment regimen. Simple, but effective. Well considered and comprehensive.
Of course, she and Vicki would move in with her mother temporarily. Vicki already had a room there, kept ready for her frequent overnight visits. It was the same sunny yellow-and-cream dormer room Karen had used as a child, with the same bed where she’d dreamed of her Prince Charming.
Slowly, she reached for the phone, then remembered that it was much too early to call her mother. She would call later, before Mom left for church. First, she needed to get dressed. Then she would have to wake Vicki and…
“Oh, God,” she whispered, her voice breaking as a wave of pain washed over her. It was so unfair. First Goldie and now this.
Vicki’s happy world, the only one she’d ever known, was about to be ripped apart—not only once, but twice—and Karen had absolutely no idea how to cushion her daughter from the agony.
Should she stay a few days? Or leave today?
A change of scenery might be the best thing to help Vicki cope, since all of her memories of Goldie were centered around the ranch. And…and everything else, too. Her toys, her room, her books. Her father.
Karen swallowed something that felt suspiciously like a sob and reminded herself of her vow. Detachment. A reasoned step-by-step plan of action.
Yes, it made sense to tell Vicki as soon as possible. One deluge of pain, hitting all at once, like lancing a boil, for instance, might be better than letting the child start to recover from Goldie’s death, only to whammy her again with her parents’ plans to divorce.
“Oh, baby, I don’t have enough words to make you understand,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. She closed them for a long moment, then gave herself a mental shake and sat up. Her gaze fell on the desktop and she frowned, remembering the photo Cassidy had been staring at when she’d found him here.
With tentative fingers she reached out to lift the blotter. The photo was face down on the desk’s scarred surface. The pasteboard back showed signs of wear—smudges of dirty fingers, a ragged corner, a tear at the bottom edge.
What if it’s another woman? a voice prodded. His mistress? A lost love?
The possibility shuddered through her like a violent fever.
At least she would know more about Cassidy than she knew now, she decided as she turned the photo to the light—and stopped breathing. It was their wedding picture, a duplicate of the one on her mother’s mantel.
The woman he married, that young, starry-eyed girl desperately in love and eager to please, was gone forever, she thought sadly as she replaced the photo. On unsteady legs she rose, then walked with deliberate steps toward the door. When she gained the hall, she reached back and quietly closed the door behind her.
As Karen walked through the silent house, the sun filtered through the drapes of the living room that separated the hacienda’s two wings. Dust motes danced with wicked glee as she pulled the lapels of her robe tighter around her. After she was gone, Cassidy would have to get someone to clean for him. And cook, too, although he knew his way around the kitchen better than she did.
Perhaps he could arrange to take his meals with the men in the bunkhouse where Billy’s wife, Dora, was in charge of the kitchen. Or perhaps, if they divorced, he would marry again. Statistics said that most men did. And Cassidy had wanted more children. Three or four.
A silent sob shuddered through her, nearly bending her double. Stop it, Karen, she told herself firmly as she straightened. They weren’t even officially separated, let alone divorced, she reminded herself as she headed down the hall toward the master bedroom.
Did they have a twelve-step program to help a person fall out of love? she wondered. A one-day-at-a-time sort of thing for a woman too besotted to realize that her husband held her in contempt?
The sound of heartbroken weeping coming from Vicki’s room interrupted her thoughts, and she sighed. Cassidy must have told her about Goldie, she thought. Feet silent on the carpeting, she walked past the master bedroom toward Vicki’s.
The door was open, and the light on the dresser had been switched on again. Cassidy was sitting on Vicki’s bed, holding her against his big chest, his cheek resting on her head. Her small hands were clutching his shirt, and her shoulders were shaking as she sobbed. Cassidy’s big hand made slow circles on her back even as his body radiated tension.
“I know it hurts, baby,” he said in a low rough voice that seemed torn by force from his throat. “I know.”
“I l-loved her s-so much,” Vicki sobbed. “It’s not f-fair.”
“No, it’s not fair.”
Karen folded her arms and hovered by the door, wanting to help, but knowing that Vicki needed her father’s comfort more than hers right now.
“C-can we bury her here, up by the big oak tree where we buried Tabbythecat’s kitten when it died?” Vicki asked, glancing up at her father’s strong face.
Karen saw his jaw firm and knew what he was thinking. A thousand-pound horse needed a big grave and a crane to lift the body into it.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, baby,” he hedged, gazing down into Vicki’s tear-filled eyes. His expression was wary, the planes of his tanned face taut.
Karen closed her eyes for a long moment. Victoria was a rancher’s child, exposed to the basic side of nature in many ways. But since Cassidy hadn’t lost a horse in years, Vicki didn’t realize that on other ranches horses were considered livestock to be bred and sold instead of pampered pets like Goldie. Nor did she realize that dead farm animals were either burned or sold off for tallow or pet food.
“Please, Daddy” came Vicki’s plaintive cry. “Goldie will be lonely if she’s buried anywhere else.”
Karen watched Cassidy take a deep breath. This was difficult for him, she realized. In spite of her bruised heart, she couldn’t help feeling a certain sympathy for him. Cassidy was a good man, if not a flexible one. Maybe, if he’d had half the love and tenderness he lavished on Vicki when he’d been growing up, he might not have grown so hard inside.
“Honey, I’m not even sure it’s legal. A horse is a big animal, and there are sani—”
“But, Daddy!” Vicki’s tear-filled eyes sparked with determination. “This is our ranch, and you’re the boss. Everyone does what you say.”
“I suppose I could use the ‘dozer to scrape a big enough hole,” he said, flipping one of
her braids over her back.
“I saw some of those pretty blue wildflowers growing by the pump house,” Vicki said with a trembling smile. “As soon as I get dressed, I’ll go pick a big bouquet, as big as the one Mr. Bidwell gave Grandma for her birthday.”
“That’s a good idea,” Karen said softly, drawing the attention of both father and daughter. “Goldie loved to eat my nasturtiums, remember?”
Vicki’s grin was wobbly, all but breaking Karen’s heart. “And the apples from the tree by Billy’s trailer! ‘Member how she used to drag me over there?”
“Darn animal made herself sick gorging on apples,” Cassidy muttered, his gaze holding Karen’s for a moment before he looked away. He lifted a hand to smooth Vicki’s hair. Karen noticed that it trembled. “She had a good life. Plenty of company, a nice dry stall, fresh hay. And you. Not many horses are so well loved.”
Vicki stared at her father’s face, looking for reassurance. For the security that a child needed. Deserved. Finally she offered a soft smile.
“Maybe an angel will ride her like I used to.”
Karen saw Cassidy swallow hard. “I can just about guarantee it,” he murmured, his voice thick.
Alone by the doorway Karen swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’ll make breakfast while you dress, sweetie. Then you can go pick your flowers.”
* * *
“Can you do it?” Karen asked as she absently twirled a bite of blueberry pancake around in the puddle of congealed syrup in the middle of her plate.
Cassidy washed down his last bite of scrambled egg with a sip of his third cup of coffee. Or was it his fourth? Karen had lost track. Cassidy drank coffee the way others drank water, the only excess he allowed himself.
“I can do it,” he said, his tone grim. “I just wish she hadn’t thought of it.”
Karen glanced out the window toward the hill overlooking the ranch house where the old oak stood in solitary dignity, sunshine gilding its huge branches. Partially hidden by the dense shade, Billy was seated atop the yellow bulldozer, methodically moving earth and rock.
After bolting her breakfast, Vicki had taken off in search of a funeral bouquet, leaving her parents alone in a kitchen that was suddenly too small and too silent. Karen wished now that she had switched on the radio. A little soft music would be a nice distraction. Even a news broadcast would help take the edge off the tension that crackled between them.
“Perhaps the ritual of a funeral will provide the closure she needs in order to begin the healing process,” she said quietly, thinking about the days ahead.
“You think so?” He sounded only mildly interested.
Very carefully she put down her fork and picked up her napkin to blot her lips. She’d eaten only a few bites, and the churning in her stomach suggested that even those might have been too many. As she carefully refolded her napkin, she realized her hands were shaking, and she lowered them to her lap where they would be out of sight.
“Vicki’s needs are the most important, of course,” she said with the same care she exercised when discussing a procedure with a patient. “I assume you agree?”
Cassidy regarded her with inscrutable eyes the color of weathered oak. A gray tinge underlay his tan, and the character lines bracketing his mouth appeared to have deepened since their conversation in his office. Karen felt the first tickle of tears behind her eyes and reminded herself that professional detachment didn’t include a disregard for suffering.
“I agree,” he said after a long moment’s deliberation.
“I realize that the timing is atrocious, but perhaps there is really no good time to tell a child her parents are splitting up.”
He said nothing, simply watched her.
“Vicki and I can move in with Mother until I find an apartment,” she went on. “Mother always keeps Vicki’s room ready, and there’s plenty of space in the backyard for Rags.”
“I want unlimited access to my daughter, and I intend to pay for her keep.”
“Of course you can see Vicki as often as you like. We’ll have to work out a schedule.”
As Cassidy listened to the calm cadence of her soft voice, he felt panic claw its way from the steel cage where he kept feelings he couldn’t control. Once loosed, it ripped into him so hard and fast it took several long moments to shove it back in the dark box where it belonged.
“When will you leave?” he asked, careful to keep his voice level.
“It would probably be easiest if I just packed and left some time today, but we have to consider what’s best for Vicki. Two major upheavals in her life at the same time would be terribly traumatic.”
“She’s a tough kid. She’ll manage.”
As he had? she wondered. She tilted her head and narrowed her gaze. Sunlight shafted across his face, deepening the harsh lines bracketing his grim mouth. Beneath the lethal power contained in that hard scowl, she sensed a deeply buried pain. It had been one of the first things she’d noticed about him when they’d met. At the time, she’d been so sure she would be able to heal him. Now she knew better. The gentleness she’d been so sure existed beneath his solid shell had merely been a romantic fantasy. A virginal longing of a lonely, overworked young woman who had sacrificed her teenaged years to her dream of becoming a doctor. She knew now that the longing she thought she had sensed in Cassidy to love and be loved had been merely a reflection of her own deepest desires.
The man she married—no, trapped into marriage—was first and foremost a hard, bitter man. A loner at heart. Whatever softness he had was offered only to Vicki, and almost always when he thought no one was around to notice.
“Funny, all these years, I thought we had something rare, something special.” She sighed, then shook her head. “‘The human psyche has a great capacity for self-deception.’ I read that somewhere.”
Instead of answering, he consulted his watch and frowned. “What time did you say your mom was coming?”
“Noon. She couldn’t manage sooner because she’d already committed to teaching Sunday School.”
He nodded. Telling Sylvia wasn’t high on his list of pleasant experiences. In fact, he figured it would be pure hell—especially considering the things she’d said to him at the party.
“Are you going to tell her or shall I?” he found himself asking.
“I’ll tell her. She’ll be upset, of course. She thinks of you as a son, you know.”
He didn’t answer. How could he tell her how much that had meant to him? Or that he would miss Sylvia’s easy affection?
“God, this is hard,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to her plate.
Her hair tumbled past her cheeks, a short dark halo that teased a man’s senses. When they’d made love the first time, he’d been enthralled by the warmth of its caress against his cheek.
His gut twisted painfully. Was this how his old man had felt when Myra walked out? Like he’d been gut-shot and left for the buzzards? Abruptly, he got to his feet.
“Anything else before I head out?”
She looked up. “I’ll need a car.”
“Keep the Rover. I bought it for you.” He pushed the chair under the table, then gripped the high back with both hands.
“We’ll each need an attorney. To…handle the details.”
“Whatever.”
“I was thinking I’d call Amos Bynner. He handled Lucy Martin’s divorce last year.”
“Guess one lawyer’s good as the next.”
She cleared her throat, looked down at her plate. “Let’s not tell Vicki today, Cassidy. Tomorrow will be soon enough. Let her have this one last night thinking we’re still a family.”
He nearly shattered then, but only inside, where no one could see. “Fine.”
He carried his plate to the sink and rinsed it before putting it into the dishwasher. Turning, he saw that she had left her chair and come up behind him. In her robe and slippers, with her hair more curly than styled and her mouth pale, she looked as though she’d just gotten out of a warm b
ed after a long, hot night of loving. He shoved his fingertips into the back pockets of his jeans. If he touched her, he would crack.
“Tell me the truth, Cassidy,” she said in a strained little voice utterly unlike her normally calm tones. “Did you ever love me, or was I just fooling myself all these years?”
It was the first time she’d ever asked. Perhaps because it no longer mattered. “I care about you, Kari, more than I ever thought I could, but it’s just not in me to give you the kind of love you want.”
She nodded, then wet her lips in that quick nervous gesture that had always charmed him. “Thank you for not lying to me.”
“I’ve never lied to you, Kari. At least give me credit for that.”
“You’re wrong,” she said distinctly, her voice without emotion or depth. “You lied when you promised to love me. On our wedding day. And you’ve been compounding that lie every day since by letting me believe you meant it.”
Cassidy felt his mind ice over. Soon he would turn cold inside and out, a trick he’d perfected years ago, a way of protecting himself from the pain he knew was coming. When the chill was on him, he could feel almost nothing.
It was better that way. Lonelier perhaps, but safer.
“I’ll let you know when it’s time for Goldie’s funeral.”
For the second time that morning, he walked out, leaving her staring after him with tears in her eyes.
Chapter Nine
In spite of all Cassidy’s efforts, the smell of blood still lingered in the foaling barn, mingled now with the stinging scent of disinfectant. Goldie and her foal were lying side by side in the stall where they’d died, covered by a tarp.
It had taken every ounce of guts he possessed to stitch up the wound left by the vet’s emergency C-section and wash away the clotted blood still clinging to their coats. It had taken almost as much courage to watch Vicki say goodbye to her friend earlier this morning.
Damn, but he’d been proud of her, he thought as he ran his hand over the distended belly of a mare in the last stall on the left. Beneath his palm, he felt the sharp outline of a tiny hoof and hoped to hell this little one made it okay.
The Parent Plan Page 11