Читать книгу The Parent Plan Part 3 - Paula Riggs Detmer - Страница 8

Karen Sloane was still mulling over her friend, Lindy’s, words a week later while sitting alone in her mother’s kitchen at midnight after a hectic Saturday night helping out in the ER.

She’d seen her soon-to-be ex-husband, Cassidy, only once since the conversation in the cafeteria—this morning when she dropped Vicki and Rags off for the weekend. His face had been impassive beneath the familiar Stetson as he’d nodded in her direction. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t exactly pining for her. In fact, he looked magnificently confident as he stood in the small training corral adjacent to the big barn, working an unfamiliar black gelding on a lunging line.

Though it had been early by her standards, only a few minutes past eight, his jeans and buckskin vest were streaked with grime and sweat.

Stifling a yawn now, she forced herself to take another bite of the quiche she’d heated in the microwave and thought about the meeting she’d had that afternoon with the divorce lawyer. Terse to the point of rudeness, the man had asked a series of questions, then asked her to compile a list of assets she considered exclusively her own, and those she shared with Cassidy.

Assets, she thought with a sad shake of her head. Property.Things.

But what about her dreams? What about the threads of her life that were so firmly braided into Cassidy’s dreams?

And what about her daughter?

The attorney had sounded almost bored when he’d asked what kind of custody arrangement she wanted to set up. As though Vicki, too, was an asset to be divided.

She felt pressure in her sinuses, a sudden difficulty with her breathing. As she’d done too many times in the past few weeks, she banished the need to cry to the list of things she would do later, when she had some spare time.

Time? To spare? she thought glumly. What was that?

A nasty, sadistic gnome with a whip who hated her, she decided with a whimsy that was far from comforting.

“You look like a lady who could use a slug of my famous double strength cocoa,” Frank said, flashing that rogue’s smile of his as he came into her mother’s spotless chrome-and-glass kitchen, bringing a rush of vitality and leashed power with him.

“The man is a saint,” she said, fashioning a smile of her own as she straightened her slumped shoulders and made an effort to force down another bite.

“Not even close, darling Kari,” he said as he rattled through the pans in the cupboard until he found one he liked.

“No doubt that’s a big part of the reason Mom is so crazy about you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his deep chest. “That and the fact that I’ve never tried to change a hair on that gorgeous head of hers. Not that I’d want to, you understand.”

“A refreshing attitude in a male,” she muttered.

Frank let that pass as he opened another cupboard and took down three mugs, then fetched the cocoa, sugar and the milk—all with the easy familiarity of a man very much at home in the kitchen in spite of the aura of lethal toughness surrounding him.

“Of course, your mom is wise enough to offer me the same courtesy,” he said, prying open the lid on the cocoa tin.

“I assume you’re talking about Mom and you exclusively,” she said evenly, watching him.

“Who else would I be talking about?” he asked with a bland look that made her scowl.

“Haven’t a clue,” she said, struggling against a leaden need to throw her tired body into his arms and absorb some of his strength, the way Vicki ran to her father for comfort.

“Mother said you’re trying to talk her into a June wedding,” she said, deliberately changing the subject to one less troubling. “Again.”

“Yeah, well, sooner or later she’s going to get it into her head that I’m not giving up, no matter how many jumps she puts me over.”

Karen felt the skin of her face pulling into a frown. “Are you saying that my mother is deliberately keeping you…uh—?”

“Dangling.” His voice blended a wry humor into the firm declaration.

“Now, that’s flattering,” she grumbled.

His eyes crinkled as he dug into a drawer for a wooden spoon. “I’m in love with your mother, Karen. I’ve been in love with her for years, but I’m not blind to her faults.”

“Faults? My mother?” She clucked her tongue. “Shame on you, sir.”

His grin flashed. “A stubborn streak a mile wide,” he said in his rough baritone as he pulled open the door to the fridge and took out a gallon of milk. “A tendency to fuss over the smallest things, a penchant for worrying about people she loves.” The door closed with a quiet thump as he added softly, “And a deep-seated fear that if she lets herself love me, she’ll lose me.”

Karen rubbed at her suddenly cold cheek. “Because she loved my father and he died, you mean?”

“Smart girl. Excuse me, woman. I’ve spent five years proving to that woman she’s stuck with me, no matter how hard she tries to drive me away.”

“But Mother loves you.”

“Sure she does, but that doesn’t mean she can keep herself from testing me.” He measured the cocoa by his own mental rule and added milk before turning on the burner. Only then did he turn to look at her. “She’s a special lady, my Sylvie. And dammit, she’s going to marry me if I have to toss her over my shoulder on June 1 and carry her to Judge Patrick’s chambers kicking and screaming every step of the way.”

Karen laughed at the image of her impeccably groomed mother dangling upside down over Frank’s broad shoulder. “If you do, promise me you’ll give me enough notice so that I can find a ringside seat.”

“You got it,” Frank said, grinning as he stirred the cocoa that was already beginning to smell sinful. He would make a wonderful husband for her mother and a great stepfather, she decided, watching him lift the wooden spoon to his well-shaped mouth for a taste.

At least, she was pretty sure of that—though she’d heard someone say once that he’d been a real hell-raiser as a young man. Abandoned at an early age by his teenage mother, he’d grown up in series of foster homes—until he’d slugged one of his foster “fathers” for taking a belt to one of the other kids. After that, he’d lived on his own, supporting himself by working in one of the silver mines that had been prevalent in the area thirty years ago.

Though he was nothing like the image she held of her own gentle, intellectual father, he’d knocked around enough in his early years to acquire a rough sort of charm that Karen found endearing. Add to that the fact that he was sensitive, funny and a whiz at making her mother blush, and you had one terrific man. Even dressed casually in jeans and a luscious burgundy-and-cream cable-knit sweater that probably cost more than she made in a month, he exuded a quiet air of authority that had nothing to do with his well-padded bank account. Immediately she thought of Cassidy and waited out the fast little flurry of pain that always accompanied thoughts of him.

“So how’s it going?” he said, turning down the heat before leaning against the counter and crossing those huge miner’s arms.

“Do you want the truth or a soothing evasion?”

He lifted one silvered brow. “Let’s go for the truth first.”

She dropped her fork onto her plate and pushed it away. “Vicki’s miserable, I’m miserable, and Rags is driving everyone crazy with his own version of misery.”

Raised from a tiny pup on the ranch, the sensitive shepherd had developed signs of severe homesickness almost immediately. Night after night he sat in the backyard and howled. When he wasn’t howling, he was barking or trying to dig himself an escape route under the tall redwood fence. Sometimes he barked and dug simultaneously.

Sylvia had already received two complaints from neighbors and a not-so-veiled threat to call Animal Control from old Mr. Hornutt on the corner. They’d tried bringing Rags into the house, but the independent canine hated confined spaces and nearly wore himself out pacing from the front door to the back. It seemed he was only happy at the ranch.

“You neglected to mention Cassidy.”

Karen swiveled to the side and hooked her sock-clad toes onto the rung of the chair. “Cassidy is…like those big old boulders on that ranch he loves so much. It would take an earthquake to move him so much as an inch.”

“Obstinate, is he?”

“You have no idea,” she assured him with a heavy sigh.

A twinkle appeared in his sky blue eyes. “Oh, I think I have a glimmer,” he said before reaching into yet another cupboard for a bottle of very old, very expensive brandy that her mother kept just for him.

“You think I’m being too hard on him?”

He poured the now steaming chocolate into the cups. “What I think is, I’d be ten kinds of a fool to answer a question like that,” he said as he rinsed out the pan and upended it in the drainer.

“Coward,” she accused with a fond smile.

“Absolutely.” He added a generous amount of citrus liqueur to two of the cups, then, bottle poised over the third, lifted a brow in question.

“Sure, why not?” A nice little alcohol buzz might let her sleep through the night for once without dreaming of Cassidy.

“Not on duty tomorrow?” He poured the same amount into hers before corking the bottle and returning it to the cupboard.

“I’m working swing this month,” she said, thanking him with a smile as he set the steaming mug in front of her. The rich scents of chocolate and citrus curled upward, and she inhaled with pleasure.

“Lovely,” she murmured after taking a sip.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said with a dip of his silvered head.

“Welcome,” she managed to say before treating herself again. The taste was both tart and sweet—and just a little wicked. Exactly like Cassidy’s kisses.

Seconds ticked by, unnoticed, until finally she realized Frank was watching her. No, measuring her. She lifted her brows and tilted her head.

Frank seemed oblivious to anything but her. Finally he sighed heavily and straightened those big shoulders. “Karen, did you know that my company had the listing on the Barlow ranch before Cassidy bought it?”

She shook her head, puzzled that he would bring that up now.

“He still had his army haircut when he showed up with everything he owned in the back of a third-hand pickup and a chip on his shoulder the size of Pikes Peak.” Frank wrapped his big hand around the mug and brought it to his lips for a quick sip. “He had no credit, no friends to recommend him and, sadly, not nearly enough cash to cover the down payment Sue Ellen Barlow was demanding for her daddy’s place.” His mouth twitched. “I took one look and told myself I’d be crazy to waste my time trying to put together a deal that didn’t have a chance in hell of getting past a reputable loans officer.”

She must have looked bewildered because he chuckled. “I quoted him a down payment that he could afford, made up the difference from my own pocket and swore Charlie Too Tall down at the bank to secrecy.”

“You did what?” she blurted out, her mug frozen halfway to her mouth.

“I took a calculated risk, nothing more.”

She blinked, trying to understand. From the family room came the sound of music. Vivaldi, she registered absently. “Why?” she asked finally.

“Now, that’s a question I asked myself a lot during that first year when it came time for him to make his monthly mortgage payment.”

“He was late?”

Frank shook his head. “Not once, but I suspect there were a lot of months when he had to choose between eating and meeting his obligation.”

She stared at him, seeing the kind eyes and the strong features. “But the risk…you must have had a reason.”

“He had hungry eyes.” Something flickered in his own eyes, and for an instant, his jaw tightened. “Nobody had to tell me he’d had a rough time as a kid. Or that he was desperate for a place of his own, a piece of earth and sky and security where he could put down roots, a place no one could take from him.” His smile was sad. “It’s hell growing up knowing no one wants you.”

“Oh, Frank,” she whispered, deeply touched, for him, for Cassidy—and more than a little confused. “Does Mother know what you did?”

“No one knows, except Charlie and me—and Cassidy.”

That threw her. “When did you tell him?”

“I didn’t. He found out a few weeks before you two were married, when he went to the bank for a second mortgage in order to finance some renovations on the house.”

“He was angry?”

“You might say that, yeah,” Frank drawled before lifting the mug to his mouth again. “Had this notion I felt sorry for him, and his pride wouldn’t let him accept charity.”

Karen rubbed her toes along the chair rung. “Men and their pride.”

Instead of grinning as she’d expected, Frank responded with a frown. “Sometimes, when a man’s had a lot to overcome, pride’s the only thing holding him together.” Absently he rubbed at a thin white scar along his jaw.

“Did you feel sorry for him?”

“No.” She heard the trace of annoyance in his deep voice and knew he’d put it there deliberately. “I told you I understood him, but what I told him was the truth, too. What he got from me was a loan, nothing more—with enough interest tacked on to have him sucking in hard.”

I’ll bet, she thought, seeing Frank in a new light. “And?”

“And he chewed on the furniture for a while, added a couple of points to that interest and told me to write it up as a separate note.” He grinned. “Made me a tidy bit of change on that cowboy of yours.”

She smiled, but it seemed he wasn’t finished. “I’ve made a fortune on reading people—what they say they want and what they really want. Cassidy wants you. I’d stake every penny I made on that.”

She held the mug to her cheek and wondered if she would ever be able to talk about her failed marriage without feeling sick inside. “Then why am I sitting here talking to you instead of out at the ranch where I belong?”

He arched a brow. “Good question. Got an answer you’d care to run by me?”

“A lot of them, some that even make sense.” She took another sip and held her breath against the intoxicating heat sliding down her throat. “He just wore me out, I guess. I got tired of defending myself for wanting to do what I could to make the world a better place.”

He nodded. As practically a member of the family, he knew all about the problems that had led up to their separation.

“I have pride, too, Frank. Maybe more than I should, but I simply couldn’t stay with a man who held me and my goals in contempt.”

“Are you so sure he did?”

“He…he told me I reminded him of his mother and that he hated her.” She felt her stomach lurch as she revisited the scene in the den in her mind. “He used our daughter as a weapon to blackmail me into doing what he wanted, and when that didn’t work he threatened to take my daughter away from me.”

“And you can’t forgive him for that?”

“No. Yes.” She frowned. “I don’t know.”

“Poor kid, you’re really hung up on the guy, aren’t you?” He slipped the words out so softly that it took her a moment to react.

When she did, it was with a bleak smile. “Does it show?”

“In neon lights.”

She drew a shaky breath. “All I was asking was that he bend just a little,” she said in a small voice.

He regarded her in sympathetic silence for a long moment, then picked up both mugs. “It’s just an observation, Kari, but it seems to me Cassidy was doing nothing but bending from the moment you decided to go back to med school. And he’s been bending ever since.” He paused by her chair to drop a kiss on her hair. “You might want to think on that some when you get to feeling lonely.”