CASEY

by Lori Foster

  She gave a wistful sigh. "You've got a lot of nieces and nephews now, don't you?"

  He shrugged. To Emma, it probably seemed like a lot. She had only her mother and father, and had been estranged from them for a long time. "Jordan has those two; Morgan has Amber, now eleven, and Garrett who's nine. And Gabe has the three daughters." Casey grinned. "By the way, they not only look like Gabe, but they all take after him, too."

  "Natural-born flirts, huh?"

  "Yep. And it makes him crazy. Gabe's about the most doting father you'll ever meet, and he shakes whenever he talks about his girls growing old enough to date."

  Emma snorted. "He's probably remembering his own unrestrained youth."

  "Gabe was rather unrestrained, wasn't he? Not that any of the women complained."

  "'Course not."

  Casey admired the way her eyes glowed, her cheeks dimpled when she was amused. Hearing Emma laugh was a treat. "I have a little brother too, you know. Shohn, who's almost ten now. He's a hyper little pug, never still, and he knows no fear." Knowing he bragged and not caring, Casey added, "He learned to water-ski when he was only five. Now he's like a damn pro out there."

  "Uh-huh. And who taught him to ski?"

  Casey pushed the glass doors open and ushered her inside. "Me."

  Air-conditioning rolled over them as they stepped into the hospital and headed for the elevator. Casey transferred his hand to the small of Emma's back, and just that simple touch stirred him. Her waist dipped in, taut and graceful, then flared out to her hips. Standing next to her emphasized the differences in their sizes. He told himself that was why he felt protective. Then. Now.

  Always.

  Naturally, he cared about her. They'd been friends for a long time, and that, combined with the sexual chemistry, heightened his awareness of her. It wasn't anything more complicated than that.

  But even he had to admit that talking with Emma came pretty easy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd shared stories about his family. When he was with a woman, he remained polite, attentive, but everything felt very...surface. There wasn't room for personal stuff. Yet with Emma, he'd just run down his whole damn lineage – and enjoyed it too much.

  He was disturbed with his own realizations on that, when he heard someone say his name. He looked down the hallway and saw Ms. Potter, the librarian, being pushed in a wheelchair by a nurse, followed by her daughter, Ann. Casey drew Emma to a halt. "Just a second, okay?"

  He went to Ms. Potter and bent to kiss her cheek, which warmed her with a blush. "Getting out today, huh?"

  "Finally."

  "You were only here two days," the nurse teased, then added, "And you were a wonderful patient."

  Ms. Potter fussed with the elaborate bouquet of spring flowers in her lap. "Even so, these will look much better on my desk than on the windowsill here."

  Casey gave her a mock frown. "Your desk? Now don't tell me you're rushing right back to work."

  "Monday morning, and it's none too soon. I can just imagine what a mess my books are in. No one ever puts them away properly."

  Ann stepped up to the side of the wheelchair. Her brown eyes twinkled and her dark hair fell in a soft wave to her shoulders when she nodded down at her mother. "The flowers are gorgeous, Casey. Thanks for bringing them to her."

  "My pleasure." He saw Ann look beyond him to Emma, so he drew her forward. "Ann, Ms. Potter, do you remember Emma Clark?"

  Ms. Potter, always sharp as a tack, said, "I do. It was a rare thing for you to come to the library, young lady."

  Embarrassed, Emma stammered, "I – I've never been much of a reader."

  "You only need to find the right books for you. Come and see me next week and we'll get you set up."

  Emma blushed. "Yes, ma'am."

  Casey did his best not to laugh. Ms. Potter had a way of putting everyone on the spot, but always with good intentions. She genuinely cared about people and it showed.

  Ann stared hard at Emma before her eyes widened with recognition. "Now I remember. You went to school with me, didn't you?"

  "A long time ago, yes. I think we were in the same English class."

  "That's right. Didn't you move away before your senior year?"

  "Yes." To avoid going into details, Emma grinned down at Ms. Potter. "That's a doozy of a cast you have on your leg. And very art deco, too."

  Ms. Potter reached out and patted Casey's hand. "You can blame this rascal right here. I was all set to keep it snowy white, as is appropriate for a librarian and a widow my age. But Casey showed up with colored markers." She pointed to the awkward rendition of a flower vine twining around her ankle in bright colors of red and blue and yellow. "Before I could find something to smack him with, Casey had flowers drawn all over me. After that, everyone else had to take a turn."

  The nurse shook her head. "She loved it. She wouldn't let me move those markers and she made sure everyone who came in left their signature behind."

  "Tattletale," Ms. Potter muttered with a smile.

  Emma bent to look more closely and laughed. Casey had signed his name to his artwork with a flourish. Others had added a sun and birds and even a rainbow. "It looks lovely."

  "I think so – now that I'm used to it."

  Laughing, Ann said, "Mom is insisting on going back to work, but she'll only be there part-time and with limited duties. Your dad is stopping in later today to see her, to make sure it'll be okay, and he'll keep tabs on her."

  Casey shook his finger at Ms. Potter. "I know Dad won't want you overdoing it."

  Ann said, "That's what I told her, which is why I got two student employees to promise to stay with her and follow her directions. They'll be doing most of the lifting and storing of books." Ann winked at Casey. "Mom'll have the library back in order in no time."

  "I'll be checking in on you with Dad," Casey warned, "so you better follow doctor's orders. That was a nasty break you had." He took Ann's hand. "If you need anything, let me know."

  Ann pulled him toward her for a hug. "We'll be fine, but thank you. And, please, thank Morgan again for us. If he hadn't found her car that night..."

  Casey explained to Emma, "Ms. Potter ran her car off the road, and because of the broken leg, she couldn't get out to flag anyone down. Morgan was doing his nightly check and noticed the skid marks in the road. He found her over the berm and halfway down the hill."

  "If you're going to tell it, tell it right. The deer ran me off the road." Ms. Potter sniffed. "The silly thing jumped out right in front of me. Of course, he escaped without a scratch."

  "Thank God for Morgan. I thought she was at bingo and wouldn't have worried until she didn't come home. She might have been there for hours if it hadn't been for him."

  "It's his job," Casey commented.

  Ann turned to Emma, and her dark eyes were sincere but cautious. "I should get Mom home. Emma, it was nice to see you again."

  Casey slipped his arm around Emma as she said, "Thank you. You too."

  "Have you moved back home?" Ann asked.

  "No, just visiting my father."

  "He's here at the hospital too," Casey explained. But because he didn't want Ms. Potter or Ann to ask Emma too many questions, he gave their farewells.

  Ann had been as nice as always, but anyone could blunder onto uncomfortable ground. He kissed Ms. Potter on the cheek again, and drew Emma away.

  They moved inside the elevator and Emma pressed the button for the fifth floor. "Is Ann married?"

  She asked that casually, but she looked and sounded stiff. Casey wanted to hug her close, but he had no idea why. "Not yet, but she and Nate – you remember Morgan's deputy? – are getting real friendly, especially since this happened with her mom. On top of the broken leg, she had more scrapes and bruises than I can count. Nate was the one who went to get Ann while Morgan took Ms. Potter to the hospital."

  "They seem nice."

  "Ms. Potter's a sweetheart, and Ann's just like her."

  "Pretty too."

 
Casey shrugged. Ann had dark hair and eyes, and a gentle smile. He supposed she was an attractive woman. What he noticed most about her though was that she didn't judge others. She had a generous heart, and he liked that about her. "She's thanked Morgan about a dozen times now. She and her mom are really close."

  Emma actually winced. If he hadn't been watching her so closely, he wouldn't have seen it. Emma quickly tried to cover up her reaction. "As big and bulky as he is, Morgan can be really gentle. He's a perfect sheriff."

  Casey wasn't fooled. "I think so."

  "Your dad's the same way." She spoke fast, almost chattered. "I remember when most every female in Buckhorn mooned over him and your uncles. Even the girls my age used to eye them and fantasize."

  Casey put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the elevator wall. "You too?"

  She cast him a quick, flustered look. "No. Of course not."

  "How come?"

  "I had my sights set on a different target." Her attempt at humor fell flat, even though she lightly elbowed him. "I was embarrassingly obvious."

  Something in her tone got to Casey. Nothing new in that. Emma had always touched him in ways no one else could. "You never embarrassed me, Em."

  She appeared rattled by the seriousness he'd injected, and quickly turned her attention to the advancing floor numbers. Casey crowded closer to her and inhaled the subtle aroma of her hair and skin. It was the same as and yet different from what he remembered. Would she taste the same?

  The elevator door hissed open and Emma all but leaped out. He had to take big steps to keep up with her headlong flight down the hallway toward her father's room. Her nervousness had returned in a crushing wave. He could feel it, but was helpless as to how to help her.

  When she reached the right door, she gave Casey an uncertain look. "There's a waiting room at the end of the hall if you want to watch a little television or get some coffee." She pushed her hair behind her ear with a trembling hand.

  He glanced down the hall. It was empty. Not that it mattered. In that particular moment, he had to hold her. He pulled Emma against his chest and gently enfolded her in his arms. She resisted him for a moment before giving up and relaxing into him.

  God, it felt good, having her so close again. He lowered his mouth to her ear, felt her warmth and the silk of her hair against his jaw. "I'll be waiting if you need me."

  She lifted her head to stare up at him, embarrassed, confused, a little flushed. "I'm fine, Casey. Really."

  The softness of her cheek drew his hand. He wanted to stroke her all over, find all her soft spots. Her hot spots.

  Taking her – and himself – by surprise, he bent and kissed her. Her lips parted on a gasp, an unconscious invitation that was hard to resist. But Casey kept the kiss light, contenting himself with one small stroke of his tongue just inside her bottom lip. He leaned back, hazy with need, not just lust but so many roiling emotions he nearly groaned.

  Using just her fingertips, Emma touched her mouth, drew a breath, and then laughed shakily. "Well, okay then." Bemused, she shook her head, turned and opened her father's door to peer inside.

  Casey watched as she entered the room. Damn it, he'd rattled her when all he'd meant to do was offer comfort.

  He heard her whisper, "Dad?" with a lot of uncertainty and something more, some deep yearning that came from her soul. Then the door shut and he couldn't hear anything else.

  Humming with frustration, Casey stalked into the waiting room. There was no one else there, yet empty foam cups were left everywhere and magazines had been scattered about. He occupied himself by picking up the garbage, rearranging the magazines and generally tidying things up.

  It didn't help. Pent-up energy kept him pacing. All he really wanted to do was barge into that room with Emma to make sure her father didn't do or say anything to hurt her. Again.

  He hated feeling this way – helpless, at loose ends. Emma was a grown woman now, independent, strong. She neither wanted nor needed his help. There was no reason for him to want to shield her, not anymore.

  Moving around didn't help his mood, not when his imagination kept dredging up the sight of her bruised face eight years ago.

  After about ten minutes, he gave up. Telling himself that he had every right to check on her, Casey strode across the hallway and silently opened the door to Dell Clark's room. The first bed, made up with stiff sheets and folded back at one corner, was empty. A separation curtain had been drawn next to it so that he couldn't see the second bed where Dell rested. But he could hear Emma softly speaking and he drew up short at the sound of her pleading voice.

  Without a single speck of guilt, Casey took a muted step in and listened.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DELL'S VOICE sounded weak and somewhat slurred, from the stroke or the medication, Casey wasn't sure which. But he could understand him, and he heard his determination. "See yer mama."

  "Dad." Weariness, and a vague acceptance, tinged Emma's soft denial, making Casey want to march to her side. "You know I can't do that. Besides, I doubt she even wants to see me. And if I did go, we'd just fight."

  Casey realized that Emma hadn't yet seen her mother. She hadn't even been to her home, choosing instead to stay in a motel. He frowned with confusion and doubt.

  "She' szer mother."

  "Dad, please don't upset yourself. You need your rest."

  Shaken by the desolation in Emma's words, Casey didn't dare even breathe. Their conversation didn't make sense to him. Why would Emma make a point of coming to see her father, the man who'd run her off, but not want to visit her mother?

  "Damn it." Dell managed to curse clearly enough, but before he spoke further, he began wheezing and thrashing around. Casey heard the rustling of fast movement, heard Emma shushing him, soothing him.

  "Calm down, Dad, please. You'll pull your IV out."

  In his upset, his words became even more slurred, almost incomprehensible. "Hate this ... damn arm..."

  "The nurse says you'll get control of your arm again soon. It's just a temporary side effect of the stroke. You've already made so much progress—"

  "'Mnot a baby."

  A moment of silence. "I know you're not. I'm sorry that I'm upsetting you. It's just that I want to help."

  "Go 'way."

  There was so much tension in the small room, Casey couldn't breathe. Then Emma whispered, "Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe I shouldn't have come home..."

  Casey's heart skipped a beat, then dropped like a stone to the bottom of his stomach. If she hadn't come home, he wouldn't have ever gotten the chance to see her again.

  Dell didn't relent, but a new weariness softened his words. "She neez you."

  As Emma reseated herself in the creaky plastic chair, she brushed the curtain, causing it to rustle. "Dad, she doesn't even like me. She never has. When she called to tell me about you, she made it clear that nothing's changed. I've tried to help her, and it's only made things worse."

  "Can't help 'erself," Dell insisted.

  Even before she spoke, Casey could feel Emma's pain. It sounded in her words, weary and hoarse and bordering on desperate. "You have to stop making excuses for her – for her sake, as well as your own."

  "Love 'er."

  Sounding so sad, Emma murmured, "I know you do." Then softly, she added, "More than anything."

  "Emma..."

  Images from the past whirled through Casey's mind. Emma hurt. Emma wandering the streets at night. Emma with no money for new clothes or schoolbooks.

  Emma needy for love.

  He fisted his hands until his knuckles turned white. I know you do, she'd said. More than anything.

  Or anyone?

  With sudden clarity, Casey knew that Emma wasn't estranged from her father.

  No, as he remembered it, Dell Clark had been genuinely worried when Emma had run off. He'd blustered and grumped and cast blame, yet there'd been no mistaking the fear and regret in his eyes.

  But her mother ... not once had she a
sked about Emma, or shown any concern at all. Casey had all but forgotten about the woman because folks scarcely saw her anymore. She stayed hidden away, seldom going out.

  Now Emma was in town, but staying at a motel rather than her home. And despite her father's pleas, she resisted even a visit with her mother.

  In rapid order, Casey rearranged the things he knew, the things he'd always believed, and decided he'd come to some very wrong assumptions. Just as Emma had fled to his house for protection, perhaps Dell had gone along with that plan for the same reason.

  Jesus. He propped his hands on his hips and dropped his head forward, trying to decide what to do, what to believe.

  The door swung open behind him, making him jump out of the way, and Dell's doctor entered, trailed by a nurse. Recognizing Casey from his association with Sawyer, the doctor bellowed a jovial greeting. "Casey! Well, this is a surprise."

  In good humor, he thwacked Casey on the shoulder. There was nothing Casey could do now but take his hand. "Dr. Wagner. Good to see you again."

  "But what are you doing here?" Concern replaced Dr. Wagner's smile. "The family's okay?"

  Emma stepped around the curtain, rigid, appalled, her attention glued to Casey. Her big dark eyes were accusing, her mouth pinched.

  Casey got his first look at Dell and realized that he looked like death. His face was white, his eyes red-rimmed and vague from medication, one more open than the other. His mouth was a grim line, drooping on one side, and his graying hair stuck out around an oxygen tube that hooked over his ears and ran across his cheeks to his nostrils. More tubes fed into his arm through an IV. Machinery hummed around him.

  Aw hell. Casey watched Emma for a moment, hoping to make her understand that everything would be okay now, that it didn't matter what he'd heard or what had happened in the past. But she turned away from him.

  "The family's fine," Casey said without looking away from her. "I'm here with Emma."

  The doc apparently sensed the heavy unease in the room and glanced from one person to the next. "I take it you two know each other then?"