Love Me Tender (19 page)

She'd be leaving Dave without giving notice. He didn't deserve that.

But in the long run, it'd be for the best. No way could she stay here a couple more weeks. Perhaps run into Dr. Young on the street. Her parents, even Gramps's death, had taught her that you had to put yourself first because you couldn't count on anyone else doing it. And what she needed now—or at least tomorrow—was a clean break and a fresh start.

 

 

Cassidy jogged up the four flights of stairs to Dave's suite. Perfectly healthy, not the slightest problem with her leg—so there, Dr. Young! She snapped the buttons of her Western shirt closed, because Dave got a kick out of ripping them open. And tonight, she wanted physical sex, fiery passion, driving need, not gentle, tender intimacy.

Something inside her warned that too much tenderness might break her.

And she didn't break. Not since Gramps had died.

She tapped lightly on the door, then opened it and went in. “Howdy, cowboy,” she drawled as he came to meet her, tall and handsome in jeans and a white Western shirt that showed off his tan.

“Hey, you.” When she reached up to clasp his face between her hands, he said, “You smell of horse.”

“I visited Cherry and Malibu. Want me to wash my hands?”

“Nah. I like it, country girl.” He leaned down to kiss her. A light hello kiss. “Guess what? I snagged a few of Mitch's gold rush trail cookies before the committee ate all of them.”

The cookies, studded with dried fruit, nuts, and coconut, were a favorite of hers.

“Cookies, a cup of tea or a glass of wine, a little TV?” he suggested.

How cozy and domestic. They'd spent a number of evenings that way, ending up with lazy lovemaking either on the couch or in his bed. Perfect evenings.

No, she couldn't do that. Not tonight. She shook her head. “I'm hungry. But not for cookies.” She hooked her hands in the top of his shirt, one on each side, and pulled downward, hard. The snap buttons popped and the sides of his shirt parted to reveal his rangy, muscled torso.

She'd learned his erogenous zones and now went for the spot at the base of his neck, sucking and tonguing it until he moaned. His distinctive masculine scent was an aphrodisiac.

Breathing hard, he pulled his shirt off.

Next she went for his nipple, the pebbled bud hard under her tongue. When she closed her teeth gently around it, his hips thrust toward her.

Running her hand over the growing bulge behind his fly, she said, “That's what I'm hungry for.” She dropped to her knees, and by the time she'd freed him from his jeans and boxers, he was fully erect. Mmm, that was her favorite aphrodisiac. Her pussy throbbed in needy response to the sight of him.

When she closed her lips around him, inhaling his sexy musk, he groaned again. “Jesus, Cassidy. I don't know what's gotten into you, but I like it.” His fingers wove through her short hair, cupping her head, steadying her as he thrust slowly in and out of her mouth.

As he did, she sucked him, licked him, used her fingers to slick moisture down his shaft, caressed his balls, using all the tricks that she'd learned heightened his pleasure. Each one sharpened the ache between her legs—and, thank heavens, shut down her ability to think about anything other than sex.

His voice husky, he said, “Oh man, that's good.” He tugged her hair. “Come here. I want to kiss you, be inside you.”

She wanted him deep inside her, driving hard and fast. So she released his erection and let him pull her to her feet. When he kissed her hungrily, she knew he was tasting himself—and she was tasting his need, giving him hers. Their tongues darted fiercely and they nipped and sucked each other's lips, inflicting tiny barbs of pain that only heightened arousal.

She whimpered against his mouth and went up on her toes, trying to grind her needy sex against his hard-on.

He thrust her away and ripped her shirt open. As she shrugged it off her shoulders, he reached for the zipper at the back of her sundress. The dress joined her shirt on the floor.

Dave freed himself from the jeans and boxers that had tangled around his lower legs, then fumbled in his jeans pocket to find a condom. She'd taught him to always be prepared.

Cassidy pulled her bra over her head, not bothering to undo it. While Dave sheathed himself, she yanked her thong down her legs. “Now. Now, Dave.” She hooked her hands behind his neck and jumped up, into him.

Though she took him by surprise, he caught her, gripping her as she wound her legs around him. “You are so hot tonight,” he gasped.

“You make me hot.” She reached down to grasp him and guide him to her entrance.

He pumped his hips, thrusting deep and strong. Another thrust, and he filled her completely, stroking every needy cell to tingly sensation.

“God yes,” she gasped. “More. Give me more.”

And he did. She clung, riding him as he pistoned back and forth, slick with the moisture of her arousal.

She whimpered. “Everything, give me everything.” Shifting slightly, she maneuvered so that her clit ground against him with each stroke. Oh yes, that was it, exactly right, the pleasure was so intense she couldn't take it any longer, she had to—“Oh God!” She cried out as her orgasm hit like a flash of lightning, sharp and bright and fierce.

A moment later, Dave broke too, jerking hard into her, the force of his climax prolonging the rhythmic pulses of her own.

Then, his legs finally giving out, he staggered toward the couch and managed to tip their still joined bodies down onto it. Breathing hard, they clung together in a messy tangle of arms and legs. Eventually, they sorted themselves out and he dealt with the condom.

He spooned her as she curved her butt into his belly. “How was your day?” he asked.

Her heart jumped. “Fine. Good. Nothing exciting. How was the Heritage Committee meeting?” She didn't want to talk. And now she realized she didn't want a night with Dave. No way could she handle that. She had to get moving. Should she tell him she was leaving town? If she did, he'd ask why. She'd say she'd been struck with itchy feet; they'd fight; it would be bad. A horrible way to end an amazing relationship.

“Good.” He yawned. “Sorry. Long day and you drained me, totally. Anyhow, the oral history project is making great progress, and we worked on a strategy”—yawn—“to try to persuade old Mrs. Peabody's beneficiaries not to tear down her house.”

Good. With some encouragement, he would fall asleep. “That's the one that used to be a gold rush bordello?”

Another yawn. “A fact that the dear old lady always denied.” Her pulse raced and she had to force herself to hold still. He yawned again. “But our records provide evidence that's hard to refute.” His words were coming slowly. “We should go to bed.”

She couldn't. “In a minute. Tell me about your strategy.”

“You wouldn't believe some of the . . .” Yawn, stretch. “. . . famous people who . . . frequented that . . . bordello . . . So we thought . . .” She waited, holding her breath, forcing herself to lie absolutely still. No more words came. His breathing was slow, his arm heavy.

She gave him five minutes. Another five, her heart hammering like she was running a marathon. Then she eased away, lifting his arm, sliding out, laying his arm gently on a pillow.

Quickly she pulled on her clothes.

Before clicking off the light, she took one final look at him. The nicest guy in town. He would be hurt and annoyed, and she hated that. But at least they'd kept things light.

She liked to think she'd been good for him. He wasn't stuck in the past any longer. While he clearly still loved and grieved for Anita, he'd figured out how to move on and enjoy life.

And he'd continue to do it, once she was gone. As would she. There was absolutely no reason that she should feel a pang in her heart, a hint of moisture in her eyes.

“Good-bye, Dave Cousins,” she whispered.

Outside his apartment, she sprinted down the stairs. Her legs couldn't move fast enough. It was time to go. Waiting until morning was going to kill her. Was there a bus leaving tonight? She used her phone to check. Aha! One for Vancouver left just before midnight.

What would she say when she texted folks to explain her sudden disappearance? Something bright and breezy about moving on. Itchy-footed Cassidy: easy come, easy go. And if her heart secretly yearned for more—well, she'd learned long ago not to chase unrealistic dreams.

Dave drifted from sleep to hear a distant jangling. Wincing as pain stabbed into his neck, he straightened his body and opened his eyes—to find that he was on the living room couch. The persistent jangle was the alarm clock in his bedroom.

Had Cassidy slipped off to bed and left him on the couch? But no, as he forced his kinked-up body to walk to the bedroom, he saw that the bed hadn't been slept in. He jammed a hand down on the alarm to silence it, then scratched his head.

They'd had crazy-wild sex, then curled up on the couch. She'd asked him about the Heritage Committee meeting and he must have fallen asleep in the middle of telling her. But why had she gone back to her place rather than wake him and go to bed here?

Women. No doubt she had some reason that made perfect sense to her. It was her day off, so maybe she wanted to sleep in without him waking her.

All the same, he wished she had stayed.

He took Merlin for a run, the exercise easing out most of Dave's aches, then fed the dog and went to stand under the pounding warm spray of the shower. When he was dressed, he went downstairs again, the poodle at his side, to check in with Sam.

The night manager stared at him with a befuddled expression.

“Something wrong?” Dave asked.

“I finished. Typed ‘The End.'”

“Wow.” Dave held out his hand. “Congratulations. That's big.”

Sam shook absentmindedly, without his usual firm grip. “I guess. But what happens next?” His bewildered tone indicated that the question was serious.

“I'm no expert, but when I do reports or funding proposals, I revise them until they're as good as I can make them.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He barked out a laugh. “You're saying ‘The End' means I have to start all over?”

“That's your decision. But take a moment to feel good about finishing, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, good idea.” Finally, he leaned down to pat Merlin, who'd been waiting patiently for the usual attention.

Sam gave Dave a summary of the night's events, finishing up with, “I noted a couple things need doing, things Cassidy can attend to. Sent her an e-mail. They can wait until tomorrow, since she has today off.”

“Sure.”

“She's worked out well, hasn't she?” Sam winked. “In more ways than one. Never would have guessed that first night when she flaked out on the lobby floor.”

“I suppose not.” He remembered his own first sight of her, and the way long-dormant feelings had sparked to life. Attraction. Curiosity. He'd felt an odd desire to know her better, to help her find work, but little had he guessed that she'd be the one to make him laugh again. To become his good friend, his sexy lover, an integral part of his life.

No, wait, he couldn't think that way. Couldn't let her get too deeply under his skin. Come December, or perhaps earlier, she'd be off on her gypsy way. Man, he'd miss her.

Feeling a little depressed, Dave headed to the kitchen to grab coffee and a muffin. With Merlin at his side, he took his breakfast into his office and focused on work.

An hour later, his office phone rang. Robin said, “Where's your cell phone?”

He slapped a hand against his jeans pocket. “Must have left it upstairs. What's up?”

“What happened to Cassidy? Why did she go?”

“Huh? Go where? What do you mean?”

A pause, then, “You don't know? She didn't tell you?”

“Rob,” he said patiently, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Cassidy left town! She texted me to say good-bye.”

He shook his head, feeling residual stiffness from his night on the couch. “She hasn't left town. Whatever she texted you, you're misinterpreting.”

“I am not! Listen, Dad. She says, ‘Robin, it's time for me to leave Caribou Crossing. I don't have time to say good-bye in person, but I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed getting to know you. You're a fabulous person. And we're Facebook buddies, right? We'll stay in touch. Give your dad a hug from me. xo, Cassidy.'”

“No.” He realized he was still shaking his head, and it still hurt. He stopped and rubbed his neck. “It must be some bizarre joke.”

“She didn't say anything to you? She didn't text you?”

“Oh, hell.”

“Dad, you swore.”

“Sorry. I'll run upstairs and check my cell, then call you back.”

With the dog at his heels, Dave raced up the four flights, burst into his suite, and located his cell on the kitchen counter behind the wrapped plate of cookies he'd brought back from the meeting. And yes, there was a text.

What the fuck? This made absolutely no sense. As he'd told Robin, it had to be a bizarre joke. But it wasn't funny.

Frowning, he phoned his daughter. “I got a text too, but I don't believe it.”

“I tried calling her, but it went to voice mail. And I checked Facebook. She posted yesterday morning, saying how great she felt and how she was looking forward to autumn. That's the last thing.”

“I'll try calling. If she doesn't answer, I'll go to her place and find out what's going on.”

“Let me know, okay? Even if I'm in school. Text me and I'll check when I can.”

Dave rang Cassidy's number and he, too, got voice mail. Annoyed, a little worried, he said, “It's Dave. Got your message. Give me a call.” Then he headed for the door.

Merlin almost tripped him up. Dave gave his head a quick pat. “Sorry, pal, not this time.” He traded his boots for running shoes and headed out at a sprint.

When he reached the rancher, he went around the side to knock on Cassidy's door. A couple of taps brought no response, so he knocked louder. Still nothing. It wasn't eight o'clock yet. Would Ms. Haldenby be up? He took a few tentative steps into the backyard.

The kitchen door opened and Ms. Haldenby, clad in a tailored navy dressing gown, peered out through her thick-lensed glasses. “Dave Cousins. Are you coming or going?”

“Coming.” He was too worried about Cassidy to be embarrassed that his former schoolteacher might think he'd spent the night. “Do you know if Cassidy's home? I knocked but she didn't answer.”

“Come in, come in.” She waved him into the kitchen. “I don't know. I just got up myself and was making coffee. Let's see if she answers if we knock from this side.”

Dave followed her. On the floor outside Cassidy's door lay a piece of paper.

“It's a note,” he said, bending to pick it up.

When he held it out to Ms. Haldenby, she waved it away. “I left my reading glasses by the bed. Read it to me.”

Cassidy's familiar handwriting was larger and a little less messy than he was used to seeing, no doubt designed to be read by a woman with vision problems.

“She's gone?” Ms. Haldenby looked as stunned as he felt.

Without asking her permission, Dave knocked once on the door to the studio apartment and then opened it. The room was neat and clean, empty of any trace of Cassidy. “I don't believe this.” Annoyance now trumped concern. “She just took off?”

“I need to sit down.” The elderly woman turned on her heel, made for the kitchen, and sank into a chair.

Dave followed, and she asked, “When did you last see her?”

“Last night.” Too upset to sit, he paced aimlessly.

“She didn't say anything? Did you have a quarrel?”

“No quarrel and she didn't say a word,” he said grimly, remembering the wild sex and falling asleep with his arm around Cassidy. “How about you?”

“We had a cup of tea and a chat two or three days ago. I had no idea she was thinking of leaving.”

“Nor did I.”

“She didn't give notice at the Wild Rose?” She shook her head impatiently. “No, of course she didn't. I apologize; I'm being stupid. It's a shock.”

“It is. Damn it, she always talked about her gypsy lifestyle, how she never planned, she treated each day as a fresh start. But I never thought that one day she'd just take it into her head to leave.” When he hired her, she'd promised to give fair notice. She sure as hell hadn't done that for her job, much less give her friends any warning.

Ms. Haldenby rose and went to the coffeemaker. “How did she leave? And when?”

“I have no idea.” He checked his cell as she poured two cups of coffee. “Her text to me was around one in the morning. God, I hope she wasn't hitchhiking in the middle of the night.”

“Where might she be going?” She gave him a cup and took hers back to the table.

He shook his head and took a swallow, almost burning his tongue. “Her brother's getting married in Victoria in December. Maybe she went there. But why now? I wonder if she got an emergency phone call? But why wouldn't she say so?” He took a more cautious sip, hoping caffeine might stimulate his brain. “Wait, what's that thing about Irene? Does she mean she's gone to stay with some friend named Irene?”

“No, it's—” Was Ms. Haldenby blushing? “That's something else entirely.”

“Oh? Well, damn, how could Cassidy be so irresponsible? She's not the woman I thought she was.” And that hurt him to the core. Even more so when he realized that when she was with him last night she must have known she was leaving. She'd already cleaned her apartment.

Ms. Haldenby frowned. “Apparently I misjudged her character too. That's rare for me.”

“She had us all fooled,” he said bitterly. “She didn't even say good-bye to Robin, just sent her a text.”

“It can be hard to say good-bye, especially when you care about people,” she said thoughtfully, her hands wrapped around her coffee cup.

“Care? Hah. If she cared about us she wouldn't have left.” He thought of the trail of people Cassidy kept up with, using her phone in spare moments to access Facebook and e-mail. By leaving this way, she'd made it pretty damned clear that her friends in Caribou Crossing meant no more to her than any of the others she'd met during her travels.

Why would he have thought differently? And why should he care? He'd known all along that she didn't intend to stay here. Hadn't he just been thinking that he couldn't let her get any further under his skin? And yet she
was
under his skin . . . Damn her.

“Sometimes there are reasons for leaving, even when you do care about someone.” Ms. Haldenby sighed. “I'll miss her.”

“Don't waste time missing her,” he said bitterly. “She chose to move on, and so should we.” Realizing he still gripped the note, he put the piece of paper, crumpled now, down on the kitchen table. “Speaking of which, I need to go post an ad for a new assistant manager.”

Even as he said it, he knew no one could replace Cassidy—not at work, and definitely not in his personal life.

A couple of hours later, Dave, still in a foul mood, answered the phone in his office.

“Dave, it's Daphne Haldenby.”

Daphne? He'd never even thought of her as having a first name. “Hello, Ms. Haldenby.” Heart racing, he leaned forward in his desk chair. “Have you heard from Cassidy?”

“No, I haven't. But . . .”

“Yes?” he prompted when she didn't continue.

“You know those tests the doctor was doing? Cassidy never said if she got the results.”

“Her leg problem cleared up, so she figured it was just some strange thing that healed itself, or that yoga cured.”

“Hmm. But Dr. Young never actually told her the test results?”

“Not as far as I know. Why do you ask?”

“The garbage pickup was today. They're not the most meticulous young men, and after they'd gone I found a few items lying on the ground. One was a pamphlet on multiple sclerosis.”

“There was a pamphlet on multiple sclerosis in your garbage can?” What did that mean?

“Anyone could have walked down the back alley and put it in the can. Or . . .”

Or Cassidy might have. Had Carlene Young told her the test results, and Cassidy had kept them a secret? Did she have a serious illness? Heart pumping so fast he had trouble thinking, he said, “Do you know anything about MS?” Wasn't it some kind of nerve disease?