Paula Riggs - The Parent Plan Part 3

“Hell, Redtree, I didn’t think you had a sensitive bone in that pitiful wreck you call a body.”

Rio’s chuckle would have been infectious—if Cassidy wasn’t busy bracing himself to read his daughter’s words as soon as they spilled out of the fax. “Funny what living with a good woman can do for a man, ain’t it, Sloane.”

Cassidy closed his eyes on a knife-thrust of pain. “What is this, Redtree, a damned conspiracy to rub my nose in my own stupidity?”

“Something like that, yeah. Is it working?”

“It’s working.”

“Going to try to get her back?”

Cassidy thought about lying. A man had his pride. “I’m considering it.”

“Want some advice from a man who’s been there?” Redtree’s voice was subtly altered, as though he was grinning.

“Might as well, since I figure you’re gonna give it whether I want it or not.”

Rio laughed. “Well, hell, you’re smarter than I figured.”

“You gonna tell me or insult me?”

Cassidy heard a long-suffering sigh that had his teeth grating together.

“Get yourself all duded up, buy her a coupla dozen roses and maybe some candy—to get her in the mood, you know. And then, get down on your knees and grovel. Works every time.”

* * *

Karen woke a little before noon, still groggy from the aftereffects of a long and stressful weekend as a resident-on-duty. Exhaustion still buzzed in her head, and her arches ached.

Just over seven more months and her days as an ill-paid, overworked resident would be at an end. Then, after surviving the worst, she could look forward to private practice as a better-paid, but still overworked doctor.

With a heartfelt sigh, she sat up and threw off the covers. Though her bedroom was the smallest of four on the second floor, she’d chosen it because its two dormer windows looked out on the snow-capped Rockies marking the western horizon. It was the same view she’d had from the master bedroom at the ranch, and it didn’t take much thought to realize why she favored it.

Three weeks down and a lifetime to go, she thought as she glanced at the thick packet of legal papers on the small desk between the windows. She must have signed her name two dozen times in the past weeks, each signature taking her closer to a final act of separation from the man she loved. And couldn’t have, she reminded herself as she climbed out of bed.

Without bothering with a robe, she padded across the chilly floor to the door. The second floor was wrapped in silence as she gained the hall and turned left, heading toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. Halfway to her destination, she was startled to hear a heavy footfall behind her. Turning quickly, her heart suddenly pounding, she was stunned to see Cassidy coming toward her from the direction of the stairs.

He was wearing a sky blue Western-cut shirt that she’d never seen before, and his jeans were clean, though far from new. His jaw was shiny from a recent shave, and he’d made an attempt to tame the unruly curl from his glossy black hair.

Her body responded before her mind, and desire was already racing through her as she stood frozen, unable to move. How long would it take before she stopped acting like a giddy schoolgirl with a crush every time they happened to meet unexpectedly? she wondered as she fought to regain her composure.

When the earth stops spinning or that untamed sex appeal that he exudes suddenly disappears, came the answer from the more primitive part of her woman’s heart.

Cassidy, too, stopped dead when he caught sight of her, and for an instant, she was sure she saw a naked look of longing flash across his carved-granite features, but when he spoke, his voice was as controlled as ever.

“I rang the bell,” he said, shifting his stance. “I figured you wouldn’t mind if I let myself in.”

Karen resisted the urge to huddle deeper into the oversize Broncos jersey that served as her nightshirt. She hadn’t missed the hot lick of arousal that had appeared in his eyes when he first caught sight of her standing there with her legs bare and the neck of the big shirt hanging over one shoulder. That, at least, hadn’t changed. Cassidy found her sexually appealing.

“Of course not. You’re always welcome in my mother’s house.”

He narrowed his gaze, but not before she saw a slice of frustration in those dark depths. “But not in yours?”

“You’re Vicki’s father,” she said evasively. “You’ll always be welcome in her house.”

His mouth slanted. “I came up to see if you were awake yet. I tried to be quiet, just in case.”

She couldn’t help smiling. Cassidy was too big and too impatient to be quiet—unless he was sleeping. And even then, he had a tendency to mutter disjointedly. Though she’d never managed to make out more than an odd word or two, the urgent tone of his rambling suggested that he was pleading with someone only he could see.

Early in their marriage, she’d tried to get him to talk about the problems that followed him so tenaciously into sleep. After a few abrupt but icy rebuffs, she’d let him fight his nocturnal battles alone. Now she wondered if the pleading words had been directed at the mother he claimed to hate.

“You didn’t wake me,” she assured him, endeavoring to make her voice as cool as his. “Or, if you did, it was time for me to get up, anyway.”

He nodded, then glanced back toward the stairs. Probably planning his escape route, she thought. These days they rarely managed more than five minutes of conversation before one or the other walked away. This time she decided to make it easy for him.

“Was there anything particular you wanted?” she murmured politely. To her surprise, he scowled and turned red.

“I had a call from Redtree this morning. It seems that our daughter has taken up journalism.” He reached behind him and pulled a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans. “She wrote this article after her class visited the Herald.”

Cassidy saw the quick look of puzzlement come into Karen’s still sleep-drowsy eyes as she took the fax. Though he kept his gaze resolutely fixed on hers, he was all too painfully aware of the familiar outline of her small, firm breasts beneath the thin covering of her orange-and-blue sleep shirt. One look and he wanted her with an intensity that could weaken him, if he gave into it.

“I was one of the chaperones for that trip,” she said, unfolding the paper. “I do recall seeing her talking with Rio at one point, but she didn’t say anything to me about an article.”

“Yeah, well, she wrote one.” Cassidy shifted, far too aware of the growing desire in his lower body. “Look, why don’t I make some coffee while you read it? We’ll talk when you’re finished.” And dressed, preferably in something that a nun might consider conservative, he added silently as he turned and beat a hasty retreat.

The coffee took four minutes to brew. She was back in six, dressed in old jeans and an outsize University of Colorado sweatshirt the color of a strawberry roan colt he’d once had.

The shirt he could handle. It was too baggy to do more than whet a man’s imagination. But those damn jeans—now, they were giving him big trouble. Something about the way they cupped her backside and caressed her thighs, he suspected, wrenching his gaze to her face.

He’d accepted his sexual need, but his craving for her affection and warmth just seemed to grow stronger the longer they were apart. He thought he’d had this leftover ache tucked safely away, but he’d been wrong.

For a lot of years he’d fooled himself into thinking it was strictly sex he wanted, and sex he offered. But now, even as his body stirred and swelled behind the barbed constriction of his button fly, he knew that he would take a vow of celibacy for the rest of his life if she would look at him with love in those pretty gray eyes just one more time.