The Parent Plan

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  She bristled, then realized that the sarcasm that usually accompanied a mention of her career was absent. In its place was a grim acceptance that she found oddly disturbing.

  “Well, ‘the doctor’ still thinks you should spend at least one night under observation.”

  “Just what I need,” he grumbled. “People running in and out of my room all night long, asking me stupid questions.”

  “I told you why that’s necessary, Cassidy. Even a slight pressure on the brain from swelling or seepage can cause serious problems.” Even death, she added silently with a slight shiver.

  He slitted one eye open. “I’ve been through all that before. I don’t intend to go through it again.”

  “At least let me make an appointment with a neurologist for tomorrow.”

  “No.”

  “Are you seeing double?”

  “No, and I’m not queasy,” he said before she could launch into the series of questions she’d already asked a half dozen times since Billy helped him into the house.

  “Cassidy, this isn’t a game.”

  His sigh was ragged. “Let it go, Kari. Rassling with you wears me out worse than any knock on the head.”

  “Since when?” she retorted, tossing the soiled cotton into the trash basket before reaching into the well-equipped kit for a packet of sterile gloves.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. Concentration tightened his facial muscles and added new lines to his forehead. “This will sting,” she warned as she broke open the packet of suture materials.

  He grunted and let his thick lashes drift closed. She busied herself preparing the needle and sutures, then drew a breath.

  “Cassidy, are you okay?”

  “Hell no, I’m not okay,” he grated. “I just fell off a horse in front of half the county, my head aches like a son of a bitch, and I’m sitting here damn near naked, trying not to think about making love to my…doctor.”

  Karen blinked. “You can’t be—” She broke off when she realized the direction of her thoughts—and her gaze. Below the low-riding knot of the towel, his body was surging to an impressive hardness.

  “Aroused?” he supplied in a taut voice. “Sitting here wanting you so much I’m half out of my mind?”

  Realizing she had no answer to that, she busied herself cleansing the suture area with antiseptic. “Ready?” she asked, poised to begin.

  “Guess so,” he said, setting his jaw.

  “Try not to move,” she warned, but she knew her words were unnecessary She was the one who had to take several deep breaths to settle the sudden jitters in her stomach.

  Five minutes later she was finished. Cassidy hadn’t moved, though his face had turned ashen and sweat beaded his skin.

  “All done,” she said, dropping the used needle into its packet. When she left, she would throw it into the trash bin outside.

  “What, no neon Band-Aid?” he said, his voice only a little hollow.

  “Nope. Fresh air helps it heal.”

  His chest rose as he inhaled slowly, drawing her attention to the wedge of black hair covering his pecs. Now that her work was done and there was no need to center her attention on the practice of medicine, she was intensely aware of his potent masculinity—and powerless to withstand the sensual cascade of memories.

  “If you think you can stand, I’ll help you to bed.”

  He seemed half-asleep as he opened his eyes and looked at her. Between the midnight lashes, his eyes were disturbingly lifeless. “Thank you,” he said in a voice that was scratchy and slightly slurred.

  Alarm ran through her, crowding out the more personal thoughts. Even as she helped him to stand, she was searching for a way to convince him to let her drive him into the hospital.

  “Okay?” she asked as he swayed, then leaned heavily on the shoulder she’d slipped under his arm.

  “Let’s get it done,” he rasped, his expression fierce as he fought to regain his balance. Together they made it to the bedroom, but when Karen started toward the far side of the bed where he’d always slept, he stopped her.

  “This side.” Her side.

  Without comment, she used one hand to pull back the covers, then eased him onto the mattress. The towel slipped open, giving her a glimpse of a hard muscled thigh—and more. This time, when the wild need ran through her, she simply accepted it.

  With a sigh, he lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes. Frowning, he gradually relaxed, and his breathing evened into a quiet rhythm. It was as if he’d reached the end of his endurance and was instantly asleep.

  Karen frowned. In and of itself, that wasn’t a reason for alarm. Coupled with the blow to his head and the hard jolt his body had suffered, however, it could be significant.

  You heard him, she lectured herself. He’s fine. As tough as that thousand-pound specimen of fighting horse he’d battled to a draw.

  Biting her lip, she reached for the knot cinching the towel and worked it free. He muttered something as she gently rolled him onto his side in order to pull the bunched towel from under his buttocks, then rolled him to his back again.

  “Kari?” The sound of his voice startled her into dropping the towel.

  “Yes, Cassidy?”

  “When I said I was sorry, I wasn’t…I meant for… accusing you of being like my mother. I was dead wrong.”

  “Thank you for that,” she said softly.

  For an instant he looked as though he intended to say more, then his expression hardened. “Just so you know,” he grunted before closing his eyes again.

  * * *

  Cassidy woke to the sound of a groan in the dark, and for a moment, while his heart rate made a stab at a world’s record for speed, fought to orient himself. It took him a few bad moments to realize that he was the one making enough noise to wake a dying man.

  Damn that black bastard to hell! He made a stab at sitting up, but the movement sent a mountainside of viciously sharp boulders tumbling over and over inside his skull. He tried to concentrate on the wedge of silvery light formed on the coverlet by the moonlight streaming through the window. Bad mistake, he realized almost instantly, and then he slowly, carefully shut his eyes.

  There were a few holes in his memory, but he remembered enough to know he’d hit the ground going the speed limit at least. Damn near dug to China with his head, he reckoned, lifting a hand to the lump on his temple.

  Even thinking hurt. Breathing didn’t help much, either, and as for moving—forget it. Maybe, in a week or two, he might try blinking his eyes. At the moment, however, even that seemed beyond him.

  He touched rough skin and the sharp little edges of the sutures Karen had knotted into his scalp while he sat there trying not to wrap his arms around her and press his aching head against her soft breasts.

  The thought gave rise to another kind of pain, and he groaned again.

  “Cassidy?” Karen’s hauntingly soft voice came through the gray cobwebs clinging to his brain. It took some doing, but he managed to pry open his eyes again. He saw darkness, the patch of moonlight, a hazy outline of a woman’s enticing body.

  “Leave me alone,” he ordered the shimmering image that always seemed to float just out of his reach whenever she showed up to tear a few more chunks out of him.

  “Do you know where you are?” the voice persisted, and he closed his eyes against the taunting sound.

  “In hell,” he muttered, turning his head away. Where there was no way out and no relief from the remorse that tormented him night and day. He knew why he was dreaming of her again. She’d been in the house, in this room, leaving behind a hint of her perfume and a man who hadn’t had a peaceful moment since the last night they’d spent together in this bed.

  “Exactly where is hell?”

  Now she was making him mad, and she wasn’t even real. “Wherever you are,” he grated through a clenched jaw.

  “I’m serious, Cassidy. If you don’t give me a straight answer I’m going to t
urn on the light and drag it out of you.”

  The soft voice suddenly had an all-too-human edge. Suspicious and more than a little wary, he forced open his eyes one more time, afraid she’d be there, even more afraid she wouldn’t. The first thing he saw was a deliciously curved female hip, much too close to the side of his bed, and sheathed in jeans that seemed much too big. Inching his gaze upward, he found the alluring swell of womanly breasts covered in an old sweatshirt he belatedly recognized as his own.

  Above the stretched-out ribbing of the neck, he saw the familiar tilt of a small chin with a cute little indentation and the stern line of lips that could also be soft and yielding. “Kari?” His voice came out as rusty as the hinges on an old corral gate, and he cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”

  That won him a frown. Scant comfort to a man starved for a smile. He’d stopped hoping for more somewhere high above the Rockies on his way west to pick up the Brahma. It was then that he’d realized just how out of control he’d been that last night. How ugly his words had been. How they must have ripped into her gentle soul.

  “How do you feel?” The edge still rode her voice, but it was tempered by the instinctive concern of doctor for patient.

  “Lousy, but it’ll pass.”

  “Headache?”

  “Some,” he hedged. He shifted his gaze to the window, hiding a wince at the cost of even that small movement. “Looks like the rain let up.”

  “Around nine, and don’t change the subject.” She sounded exasperated and moderately testy. He felt one side of his mouth curve. Kari was cute as a spitting kitten when she was “managing” him.

  “What time is it now?”

  “Eleven. What’s your name?”

  He sighed. “Cassidy Rogers Sloane, but you can call me a gold-plated fool, since that’s what everyone else has been saying I am this past month.”

  Her mouth turned down at the edges. He didn’t blame her. As humor, it was damned pathetic. As truth, it was dead-on.

  “Where are you?”

  “Some godforsaken place in Colorado.” He lifted a hand to tug at the edge of the sweatshirt. He took it as a good sign she didn’t jerk away. “You should have left some of your clothes here.”

  “Can I get you anything? A glass of water, or maybe some tea?”

  He let his hand fall away. “No, nothing.”

  “Go back to sleep, then. I’ll be in to check on you at midnight.”

  Too wiped out to argue, he let his eyes close. Above the throbbing in his head, he caught the sound of her feet brushing against the rug as she walked to the door, heard the faint click of metal on metal as she touched the knob.

  “Karen?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, Cassidy?”

  “Why did you stay?”

  A sigh whispered between them. “Someone had to. I’m trained for it.”

  He heard the rustle of clothing, the quiet click of the latch, and she was gone.

  * * *

  Shortly after Karen had checked on him at twelve and found him in a surly but lucid frame of mind, she tried to catch some sleep on the couch—and failed. She tried reading but couldn’t concentrate.

  After that, she checked on Vicki and Rags, who’d been allowed to sleep at the foot of Vicki’s bed in order to ease Vicki’s mind about the poor, penitent creature’s welfare, then headed toward the back door and a breath of rain-freshened air.

  On the way through the kitchen, she stopped to refill her mug with coffee and managed a few sips before carrying it with her to the porch. The ranch looked deceptively peaceful, like a small village slumbering in the moonlight. Only the glare from the security lights and the ugly outline of the bulldozer marred the pastoral scene.

  Taking a breath, she willed her tired mind to numbness. Her body, she discovered, was already there. It took her a moment to notice Billy heading across the moon-washed yard toward her. It was then that she saw his truck parked under the light pole by the equipment shed.

  “How is he?” the ramrod asked without preamble as he gained the steps.

  “Okay so far,” she said in a quiet voice. “He’s sleeping.”

  Karen saw the flash of relief in his steel-colored eyes. “Best thing for him, other than you being here.”

  “He might give you an argument about that.”

  Instead of answering, Billy leaned his back against one of the posts holding up the roof and crossed both his arms and one booted foot over the other. It was a stance she knew well. Cassidy sometimes stood that way when he was untangling a particularly knotted problem. “He’s started drinking. Heavily.”

  Karen blinked. “Drinking what?”

  Billy moved a shoulder. “The empties I’ve seen have all been Scotch.”

  She frowned, certain she had misunderstood. “Cassidy hates hard liquor.”

  “Could be, but he’s still pouring it down his throat like water every night—unless Vicki’s sleeping over. Then he works all night, instead. Either way, I figure tonight’s the first solid sleep he’s had since you left.”

  Very carefully she wet her lips. “Have you…voiced your concern?”

  Billy snorted. “I tried. It’s an experience I don’t care to repeat.”

  “He was angry?”

  “Naw, just stripped a few layers of skin off my hide with a few well-chosen words.”

  Karen realized she was holding her breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you for telling me,” she said carefully.

  Silence settled between them, and beneath the wide brim of his hat, he seemed to be watching her intently. Something about the set of his chin told he was working up to something. Finally, he let out a sigh and pushed back his shoulders.

  “I’m not much for asking favors, Karen, but I’m asking now. Give Cass another chance.” He waited, braced.

  “I offered to withdraw the divorce petition. He’s the one who insisted I go ahead.”

  He compressed his mouth and nodded, his disappointment almost tangible. “Man’s stubborn, no way around it.”

  “No, no way around it,” she repeated, the tears she fought off all day welling again as she hugged him. “You’re a very special man, Billy.”

  “Well, hell, Karen, any more of this and you’ll have me bawling, too,” he said with a self-conscious grin that faded almost as quickly as it had come. “If you ever need a friend, you know where to find me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  When she went to check on him at one, Cassidy was still lying on his back with one hand buried under the pillow, the other outstretched toward the empty half of the big bed. The sheet was bunched across his navel, revealing the impressive expanse of bare chest and shoulders that never failed to thrill her.

  In the hour since her last visit to the bedroom, the moonlight had shifted, angling now across his face, which was turned toward the door. He was asleep, his stark black brows drawn, his too-gaunt features a mask of harsh bronze scored with bitter lines. He looked ten years older, ten years harder. And yet, there was a vulnerability around his mouth that she’d never seen before.

  “Back so soon, Doctor?” His voice was heavy with defiance under the taut words, and he didn’t open his eyes.

  “Back again,” she told him in a decent imitation of Nurse Tutt’s military bearing. “And not in the mood to humor an ill-tempered grouch, so let’s have it, buster. Name, address, the whole drill.”

  His mouth relaxed enough to erase some of the harshness from his expression. “Cassidy Sloane, I live in Colorado, and I’m not seeing double.”

  “How do you know if you don’t open your eyes?”

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll see what I can do.” His lashes lifted then, thick black crescents that cast shadows on the silvered bronze cheekbones.

  “What do you see?” To her chagrin, her voice caught.

  “A beautiful woman in my bedroom.” He withdrew the hand hidden under the pillow and reached for hers. She wanted to resist. Would have moved. But his fingers were already tigh
tening, drawing her closer. Shivers ran along the network of nerves under her skin. Though she knew the tiny tremors were fueled by chemical changes in the brain, she didn’t want them to end. Not yet.

  The air changed. Suddenly she was twenty-four and sure she’d just met the man whom she wanted to be the first to fill her body with pleasure.

  “No,” she whispered. Meaning it. Not meaning it.

  “Yes, Kari.”

  “You need rest.”

  His hard, callused fingers tightened but gently, carefully, as if he were afraid of bruising her, while his thumb rubbed the spot on her wrist where her pulse pounded.

  “I need you, Kari. So much I’m sick with it.” His voice was rough, controlled.

  She saw them then, the faded, worn rosebud pattern on the pillow beneath his black, tumbled hair, and her heart opened on a choked sob. “Oh, Cassidy.”

  “Kiss me, Kari. Please kiss me.” His voice was so taut with suppressed emotion it seemed to vibrate.

  Karen eased lower, careful to keep from jostling him as she fitted herself alongside his big body. Warmth from the fire inside him enveloped her instantly, and she sighed with the sheer pleasure of being with him again.

  “Promise me you’ll tell me if there’s pain,” she whispered, furrowing her fingers into the curly black hair on his chest. Beneath her eager fingers, she felt him suck in.

  She froze. “Cassidy? Should we stop?”

  A sound—half chuckle, half groan—rumbled in his throat before he urged her mouth closer with the gentlest of pressure on the back of her neck. “Don’t stop,” he begged an instant before their lips met.

  She expected a sensory explosion, but the feeling that spread through her was achingly sweet, like the first taste of a sun-kissed peach. She felt herself melting, giving herself up to that sweetness.

  Her hand trembled as she traced the line of sinew and swell of muscle along the slope of his shoulder, down to the massive biceps that rippled under her questing fingers. Drunk on her own pleasure, she raked her short nails along the upper curve and felt those ripples deepen to a sudden shudder.

  “Easy, honey,” he muttered against her mouth. “I’m a sick man, remember?”