Paula Riggs - The Parent Plan

“I guess I don’t have to tell you how proud we all are of your wife,” Friendly went on, apparently oblivious to the chill that had settled over their little corner of the huge structure.

Cassidy cocked a thick black brow. “You don’t? Why not?”

Friendly’s mouth opened and closed, reminding Cassidy of a particularly unattractive bass. He glanced at Karen. The laughter in her eyes and the way she was biting her lip told him she was trying mighty hard to keep from giggling.

“Well, I, that is, of course we’re proud of her,” Friendly protested “Why, it gives the strongest man pause to think of her working so diligently in the emergency room, not even knowing her own little girl was trapped underground.” Friendly chuckled. “I reckon you know how lucky you are to have her.”

Cassidy’s control thinned. “Is there a point to this, Friendly?”

Before the councilman could blunder on, Karen leaned closer to Cassidy’s side to whisper urgently, “We’ll leave early, I promise.”

“Now, Kari,” he demanded, pinning her with a look that dared her to resist.

“But, Cassidy, we can’t just walk out.”

“Sure we can.”

“Cassidy, listen to me, please,” she pleaded, her gaze searching his. “More than anything, I want to be with you. But it wouldn’t be fair to the committee and everyone who’s worked so hard—”

“Forget it, Karen. I got the message.” His face closed up.

Karen wanted to scream in frustration. Just like that, he was once again the cold, angry man standing in the glare of rescue lights, his eyes rejecting her. But this time there was another emotion buried within those intimidating onyx depths, something that suggested an emotion far more complex than anger. It was a look she’d seen before, in patients suffering intractable pain.

Her heart contracted, and she felt the sudden, inexplicable press of tears against the backs of her eyes. Somehow she had to reach him, to make him understand.

“Cassidy, please don’t do this,” she whispered.

“Do what?” he challenged, making no effort to lower his voice. “Deny that I resent the demands other people make on my wife? Or the fact that you let them?”

Her body humming in ways she hadn’t felt for months, she leaned closer, deliberately brushing his arm with her breast. “Cassidy, it won’t be all that long before I’ve fulfilled my obligations and then we can leave.”

“Don’t kid yourself. We’ll be lucky if we get out of here before eleven.”

Conscious of the councilman’s curious gaze shifting from one to the other, she turned slightly to hide her face and whispered, “I want to make love to you, Cassidy, but—”

Brow arched, he deliberately took a step away from her. “I’ve heard that before, Kari, and ended up sleeping alone while you’re off on some emergency or other.”

Karen heard the resentment buried in his caustic words and felt her stomach constrict. Take a chance, Kari, she thought. Grab that thick, strong wrist of his and make a beeline for the truck. Maybe they couldn’t spend the entire night at the Fireside Inn, but—“Great party, isn’t it?” Friendly declared as he caught her eye again. Like all true politicians, it seemed, he couldn’t stand a lull in the conversation.

“Excuse me, I’m goin’ to find the bar,” Cassidy drawled. With that, he nodded to the councilman, then turned away to be swallowed up by the shifting currents of humanity.

“Did I say something wrong?” Friendly asked, his brow furrowed over troubled eyes that suddenly seemed more perceptive than she’d thought at first glance.

Reminding herself that Bill Friendly was her host, Karen summoned a social smile. “It’s not your fault. My husband hates to talk about Vicki’s accident, that’s all.”

“Understandably.” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t I get you something cold to drink, and then I can fill you in on the presentation ceremony.”

Karen bit off a groan. “Ceremony?” she asked warily.

Friendly held up a hand. “Nothing fancy, I promise. The VFW will present the colors, of course, and the American Legion marching band will play the ‘Star-Spangled Banner,’ then Hal Stuart will say a few words.” He sighed, then glanced around quickly before adding in a low voice, “Don’t get me wrong, Dr. Sloane, but I sure do miss Hal’s mama coming into City Hall every morning with that sunny smile of hers.”

Karen welcomed the distraction. Her cheeks were still hot as the result of the longing Cassidy had aroused in her. “Have the detectives handling the case uncovered any more leads?”

Friendly shook his head. “Not that I know of, but that young detective, Richardson, plays his cards pretty close to his vest.”

“I suppose that’s best.” Karen glanced around. At six-three in his boots, Cassidy had the advantage of height on most of the males in the room. Her spirits drooped even lower when she realized he wasn’t in sight.

“Shall we?” Friendly asked, offering his arm.

As Karen slipped her hand into the crook of the councilman’s elbow and allowed him to lead her through the throng, she couldn’t help thinking about the early days of her marriage when nothing short of a cataclysm would have pried Cassidy from her side.

By eight-thirty, the formalities had been concluded, which for most of the attendees meant that the real party could start. Slim-Boy Brown and the Old Time Fiddlers tuned their instruments and a couple of slicked-up, freshly barbered and cologned cowboys eager to dance with the pretty ladies cleared a space near the bandstand.

With a whoop of excitement, one of Cassidy’s hired hands led a shy, freckled teenager onto the floor, and Slim-Boy shouted for the dancing to commence. Like a restless herd surging toward an open gate, couples spilled into the cleared area, some in jeans and boots, others in suits and sleek cocktail dresses, while friends and strangers alike cheered them on.

Across the cavernous hall, barbecued ribs and chicken sizzled on the grill of a huge old-fashioned chuck wagon while the caterer and her staff of gingham-clad cowgirls ladled up coleslaw and potato salad by the gallon. Nearby, bartenders in flannel shirts and derby hats served beer and wine to thirsty customers. As the bottles and kegs emptied, the noise level rose.

In the midst of the gaiety, Cassidy stood alone near the open doors of the main entrance, the silk tie he’d carefully knotted two hours earlier now wrenched free of the stiff collar, his patience thinned to tissue paper.

“Somethin’ tells me you’d rather be out chasing strays than proppin’ up the wall,” Travis Stockwell commented as he ambled Cassidy’s way.

Cassidy straightened, and for good measure, gave the knot of his tie another jerk. “You got that right,” he said as he saluted the younger man with the can of soda he’d been nursing for the past hour.

“‘Pears to me you’d do better to grab you one of these,” Travis advised, indicating the long-necked beer bottle in his big hand.

Cassidy gave it some thought. He hadn’t been drunk since the night of his father’s funeral. Now, on the rare occasions that he indulged, he limited himself to two beers. Eight years of watching his old man dive deeper and deeper into a bottle had made him cautious.

“Guess I’ll stick with the soft stuff,” he said, taking a swig. “Got me a mare ready to foal any minute now.” He’d been right to call Russell. Golden Girl had gone into labor an hour after they’d headed for town.

Travis nodded, one cowboy to another. “The bay?” he asked after taking a long pull on the bottle.

“No, the palomino, Golden Girl out of Goldenrod.”

“I’m guessin’ she’s a maiden, for all the worryin’ you’re doin’.”