“Vicki needs time to heal. She’ll do better without me around.” He zipped his fly, then grabbed a shirt, shrugging into it with savage movements. “I’ll be gone four or five days, depending on how fast I can make arrangements to ship him back.”
Karen managed a shaky breath. “I have a staff meeting at six tomorrow morning. It…it’s too late tonight to call the chief resident, but—”
“Keep your schedule. I’ll make sure Vick gets off to school all right.” He walked to the bureau and jerked open his sock drawer.
“No, I’ll do it,” she said, numbly watching him take out a pair of thick boot socks.
He closed the drawer and turned. She waited for him to make a scathing remark about her career. Instead he nodded wearily before sitting down in the old cane chair under the window to pull on his socks.
When he was finished, he simply sat, his elbows resting on his thighs as though he was suddenly too weary to move. “I behaved like an ass,” he said, lifting his head to look her way. “Nothing I can say or do will change that.” He swallowed, glanced down at the floor, then straightened his shoulders and stood up. “Set up the divorce any way you want. I won’t fight you.”
Cassidy saw the surprise on Karen’s face and wanted to fall to the floor at her feet and beg her to forgive him. But the memory of another time when he’d done that and more rose like bile in his throat, choking off the pleading words.
“All I ask is that you let her spend as much time as possible with me, and that you let me support her—and you—until you’re established in a practice.”
“I don’t want your money. I never did. All I wanted was your love.” She smiled then, a sad, beautiful, cold smile that ripped into him like sizzling shrapnel. “Thank you for showing me what a fool I was.”
“Don’t say that.” His voice was that of a man stretched on a rack of his own making. It shamed him, as did the look of numb disinterest she gave him.
Somehow he managed to hold it together long enough to leave the bedroom, to jam his feet into his boots in the utility room and slam out of the house.
Alone in the bedroom, Karen heard the violent sound and wondered idly if the door had splintered. Not that it mattered, she thought with a dazed detachment that seemed to be growing stronger with each breath she took. If the door was broken, that was Cassidy’s problem. At least that could be fixed, she thought as she got to her feet and forced herself to move toward the bathroom.
Behind the closed door, she reached inside the shower stall and turned on the water, adjusting the taps to a temperature that was just short of scalding. Then, standing frozen on the other side of the curtain, she waited while steam filled the tub and rolled over the curtain rod to cloud the mirror and clog her lungs.
Only then did she slip out of her robe and strip off her nightgown. Staring straight ahead, she stepped into the tub, gasping only when the hot water hit her bare skin. She stood it as long as she could, long enough to wash away the last of her childish dreams. Long enough to let the determination to drive Cassidy out of her heart take root. Long enough to sob until there were no more tears left to fall. Only then, when her skin was red and stinging painfully, did she shut off the water and step from the tub.
As she dried herself she marveled that so much heat could leave her so cold inside. Detachment. That was the key. Blessed healing detachment.
The sooner she left the ranch—and her place as Cassidy’s wife—the sooner she could start to get on with the rest of her life.
* * *
“Sweetie, you have to eat,” Karen chided gently when Vicki sat with her hands in her lap and stared down at the strawberry waffle on her plate.
“Not hungry,” the little girl muttered. Her lower lip was stuck out in a rare pout and anger radiated from her small body. Karen stifled a sigh. Explaining to the chief of residents why she wouldn’t be in today had been a piece of cake compared to dealing with a little girl who had inherited her father’s temper and her mother’s determination.
It was just past seven-fifteen. The school bus was due in three-quarters of an hour and Vicki wasn’t yet dressed.
“Sweetheart, I thought we’d talked all this out last night.”
“I’m not going to school,” Vicki declared mutinously. “You can’t make me.”
“Oh, but I can, Victoria,” Karen reminded her softly but firmly. “I can carry you out to the Rover in your robe and jammies if I have to. And I can sit in the classroom and make sure you stay there.”
“I’ll scream. Ms. Grant will report you to the principal and he’ll throw you out.”
“Don’t count on it. Ms. Grant is not only a good teacher; she’s also a mother.”
“I hate Ms. Grant,” Vicki cried, slipping from her chair. Before Karen could react, she’d turned and was racing through the mudroom to the back door.
Karen heard it creak open at almost the same time as Cassidy’s deep voice. “Whoa, there, peanut. It’s awful cold out there for just a robe and pj’s.”
“Let me go” came Vicki’s strangled cry.
“In a minute. First tell me where you’re tearing off to in such a rush.”
Karen closed her eyes, willing herself to ignore the rush of emotion evoked by the sound of her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s voice.
“Make Mommy let me stay home. She’ll listen to you.”
There was a moment of silence, then Cassidy spoke again. “Vick—”
“Tell her you’re sorry for what you said. Then she won’t be mad at you anymore and we can stay a family.”
Karen froze, her hand creeping to her throat. She thought she heard Cassidy sigh before he spoke again. “C’mon, peanut, let’s go get you dressed while I try to explain why that’s not going to happen.”
“But, Daddy—”
“Do what I say, sweetheart.” Cassidy’s voice was firm, and yet, Karen heard a note of terrible weariness, as well.
“Oh, okay, but you can’t make me go to school.”
Karen closed her eyes. Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn.
“Good morning.”
She opened her eyes to find Cassidy watching her from the open doorway to the mudroom. Shadows rimmed his eyes, and his shirt was wrinkled and flecked with bits of straw, as though he’d tossed and turned his way through the night. Vicki was standing next to him, her hand in his, and her chin angled defiantly in her mother’s direction.
“Good morning,” Karen returned quietly, folding her arms over her wildly beating heart.
His gaze skimmed her robed figure, then returned to her face. “You’re really taking the day off?”
“Yes. Tomorrow, too, if I need it.”
He nodded, one side of his mouth moving. His tan seemed to have faded overnight, and she couldn’t recall ever seeing him look so tired, so utterly spent.
“Vicki seems to think she deserves a day off, too,” she said, smiling at her sulking daughter. “We’re just on our way to her room to have a talk about that.”
Karen glanced at the clock. “You have exactly thirty-six minutes before she has to be at the bottom of the lane. Otherwise, she’ll miss the bus.”
Cassidy glanced down at Vicki’s glossy head. “Hear that, peanut? Time’s wasting.”
“Don’t care.”
Cassidy’s expression smoothed, a sure sign he was up to something. “If you hurry, you’ll have time to visit with the new foal before you leave.”
“Don’t want to,” she declared fiercely, but Karen noticed that her eyes were alive with curiosity, and her posture wasn’t quite as rigid.
“Prettiest little filly you ever saw,” Cassidy went on as though Vicki hadn’t responded. “Has a white blaze and three white feet. And the brightest green eyes.”
Vicki glanced up at her father with a look of outrageous disbelief. “Horses don’t have green eyes!”
Cassidy crooked one black brow and gave every appearance of looking surprised. “Is that a fact?”
“Oh, Daddy, you’re just teasing me
, right?”
He tilted his head, his eyes crinkling, giving him an oddly boyish look. Karen felt something tear inside. “Am I?”
“I’d check it out if I were you,” Karen said, drawing the attention of both father and daughter. “Stranger things have happened.”
“No way,” Vicki declared, drawing her brows together.
Karen made a stab at looking guileless. “Guess you’ll have to prove us wrong, then.”
“Oh, pooh,” Vicki muttered, but she tugged on her father’s hand as though to drag him from the room. “Come on, Daddy,” she ordered when he just stood there, his gaze locked on Karen’s. His attempt at a smile failed miserably, as did her stab at hardening her heart.
“I called the breeder from the barn phone. He can have the bull ready to travel by midweek.”
She realized she was twisting her napkin and relaxed her fingers. “When will you leave?”
“As soon as I throw a few things in a bag. Billy’ll drive me to the airport.” He glanced past her at the window, as though making sure his ramrod’s old blue truck was still parked outside the shed. “The guy in California’s going to make arrangements for me to ride the same train that brings the bull back to Grand Springs,” he added as he looked her way again.
“When…” She stopped to clear an annoying thickness from her throat. “When will you be back?”
“Probably not before Friday.”
“Dad-dy. Hurry up!”
He glanced down at the scowling little girl trying to jerk his arm from his socket. “I’ll leave the breeder’s number on my desk. He’ll know where I can be reached in case you need me.”
Karen had to force herself to breathe. “I won’t,” she said, her voice mild but her meaning clear.
A shadow crossed his face before those privacy shutters slid silently, implacably in place again. “I understand.” His mouth slanted, and he nodded slowly, before letting Vicki drag him from the room.
After they were gone, Karen sat quietly, knowing that she was in no fit state to move just yet. Slowly, feeling as limp as the first batch of spaghetti she’d cooked in this same kitchen as a bride, she turned her head toward the window where another glorious spring day was busy being born.
Blue skies and sunshine and the end of a marriage, not necessarily in that order. The thought gave rise to a ridiculous urge to laugh, which she suspected would quickly turn to a sob. She took one breath after another until the urge passed.
She was still looking out the window when she heard the pounding of boot heels on the hall carpet. Seconds later, Vicki came barreling through the kitchen with her windbreaker in one hand and her backpack slung over one shoulder. The now neat braids showed a few irregular patches where the silken strands had snagged on Cassidy’s rough fingers, and the tips of her bangs were wet where she’d most likely swiped a washcloth over her face.
“I’ve got twenty minutes left,” she shouted as she disappeared into the mudroom.
The door slammed, and the sharp crack of wood hitting wood made Karen wince. Like father, like daughter, she thought, and had to fight to keep from breaking into a thousand pieces. Later, she told herself as she rose slowly to gather up the remains of the special breakfast she’d fixed for Vicki and herself.
She had just scraped the waffles into Rags’s dish and was opening the dishwasher door when she heard Cassidy walking down the hall. It occurred to her then that most likely she’d spent her last night under this roof, and she closed her eyes on a wave of pain before making herself turn to face him.
He was dressed for traveling in a wear-soft leather jacket, blue plaid shirt and reasonably new jeans. To her shock, he was wearing the rawhide belt with the turquoise-and-silver buckle she’d bought him for their first Christmas together. Though he’d professed to love it, she soon noticed that he rarely wore it. Too ornate, she’d figured out after a time. Cassidy had simple tastes and an aversion to pretense.
In one big hand he carried his best fawn-colored Stetson, an old army satchel in the other. He’d shaved, she noticed, then sucked in her breath at the sight of the handprint now purpling on his cheek, hidden earlier, she realized now, by his morning beard.
An image of his expression as his head had snapped back rose to taunt her. For an instant he’d looked shattered. Utterly bereft.
He deserved it, she told herself before an irrational guilt could take hold.
As though sensing the turn of her thoughts, he scowled. “Vicki’s still pretty raw,” he said, his voice strained. “Maybe you should call that shrink you took her to last time.”
“I already have—right after I called the hospital. Vicki has an appointment for tomorrow after school.” She reached for a towel to dry her hands, but in reality to keep him from noticing how badly they were shaking.
“Sounds like you have everything under control.”
“Not everything, but I’ve made a start, anyway.” She gestured to the pad covered with scribbles only she could read.
“Another of your lists?” he teased, only to have his words come out harsh and accusing.
“Yes, another of my lists,” she said coldly. “But after today, you won’t be bothered with my little quirks any longer.”
Cassidy shifted his booted feet and wondered if a man could choke to death on his own pride. He should be so lucky, he thought grimly as he glanced at the clock. It was time to leave, but he couldn’t make himself walk away.
“Kari, can’t we get past this? I’m…I’m willing to try again if you are.”
The gaze she turned on him was only mildly interested. “Why?”
Because I don’t want to be empty again, the way I was before I met you. “For our daughter’s sake.”
“Vicki would only suffer more if we tried and failed.”
He gritted his teeth. An urge to haul her into his arms nearly overpowered him before he mastered it. He could almost see her shedding her feelings for him. The way everyone else had. Everyone but Vicki. And maybe, after today, she, too, would start to despise him.
“You’ll miss your flight,” she said very calmly, as though it didn’t matter one way or another.
He wouldn’t beg. Not even for her. “Take…care of yourself,” he said, his voice suddenly raw.
“Goodbye, Cassidy,” she said before she turned away.
He left her then, carrying the image of that stiff, brave back with him as he slowly, painfully started to bleed inside.
Chapter Eleven
Cassidy propped one foot against the carved wooden railing, looking past the beer bottle in his hand at the bright lights spelling out the name of the motel near the entrance. On the small, mission-style patio table at his elbow was the bucket of chicken he’d bought earlier—along with the six-pack he was steadily pouring down his throat.
It was almost dark, he realized without really caring. Scowling, he tipped the bottle to his lips and drank. His stomach recoiled, and a shudder of revulsion ran through him.
God, he’d hurt her.
After all those years of telling himself he’d shucked off his past like dead skin, he’d let old memories and buried resentments twist him into a sadistic bastard. A sorry, selfish shell of a man who’d been too busy making sure he never let anyone close enough to hurt him the way his mother had hurt him to realize what he was throwing away with both hands.
His chest hurt at the memory of the bruised disbelief in Karen’s beautiful gray eyes. Day and night, awake or tossing through the occasional hours of sleep he managed when exhaustion finally claimed him—he couldn’t stop remembering.
He was sick with it. Almost as sick as when he’d seen his father slumped over in a pool of sticky blood. That afternoon, while he’d waited for the cops to arrive, he’d made some hard and painful decisions. No woman was worth that kind of pain, no matter how pretty or seductive or kind. No matter how much he needed to feel her arms around him at night.
He knew now he’d been the worst kind of coward—afraid to love the one woman
who could have healed him. He’d sell his soul to make it right. The thought had him spitting out a vicious curse. Even that was denied him, he realized, because his soul was already destined to burn in the fires of hell.
The hell he was already living.
* * *
The Bank of Grand Springs was nearly as old as the town itself. Like most of the early structures, the first building had been little more than rough-planed planks covered with tar paper, necessitating an around-the-clock guard in order to preserve the fledgling bank’s assets while a larger, sturdier building of brick and stone was being erected two lots down. That structure was still in use, though with extensive renovations and security measures added along the way.
This was where Sylvia had found work after she’d been widowed, and where she was now an executive. Over the years, Karen had spent a lot of after-school hours in the employees’ lunchroom, doing her homework until her mother was ready to leave. Even as an adult, she’d headed for the bank whenever she had news that couldn’t wait.
Just walking through the heavy double doors evoked a myriad of memories, almost all of them worth cherishing, too, like the first time she’d brought Vicki in, wrapped like a plump, cooing mummy, to be admired and praised by her mother’s friends.
Thursday was usually a quiet day, and this Thursday was no exception. Seated in front of the new accounts desk, Karen let her gaze trail over the gleaming brass fixtures that had once held gas jets while the clerk processed her application for a new checking account.
The bank was supposed to be haunted by the ghost of a crusty old sourdough, shot down by the bank robber who’d left his mark on the wall. Her mother swore she’d seen him once, standing in front of one of the windows with a poke of nuggets clutched in one grimy hand. Cassidy had simply laughed. He didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t test with his senses.
“That should just about do it, Karen,” the clerk said as she added the signature card Karen had just completed to the account folder and closed it with a soft pat.
The Parent Plan Page 14