Strangers in Paradise (26 page)

That burden wasn't going to stop him from coming home. Shelter Valley was Mariah's only hope.

And maybe Sam's, too.

* * *

The house looked exactly as he'd left it. Driving slowly, Sam approached the circular drive, heart pounding in spite of his admonitions to the contrary. This wasn't going to be easy. He knew that. He'd come fully prepared to accept the hostility that was his due. Prepared to make amends as far as was humanly possible for destroying the hopes and dreams of those who'd loved him so faithfully.

Parking in front of the house, Sam sat and stared, taking in the heavy double doors, the stucco walls, the shrubbery under the huge picture windows. As a little kid, he'd been paid a buck an hour to clean up behind the gardener who trimmed those shrubs.

A buck an hour. To a kid who was a millionaire in his own right. But what had
he
known? He'd wanted to grow up and be a gardener someday. To make some of the dingy houses in town look as beautiful as his did. Even then, working with his hands had been all Sam cared about.

Sam's finger itched now, for the drawing pencil that was never far away these days. His mind was reeling with stories for next week's strip.

Mariah's small brown hand slid across the seat and stole into Sam's. Turning, he met the frightened eyes of his little girl—and felt traces of the heartache that would never ease.

“You're going to love it here, honey. See all the pretty flowers your grandma has growing in the yard?”

Mariah continued to gaze at him, unblinking now, and suddenly Sam wasn't at all sure about what he was doing. Unbuckling Mariah's belt, he pulled her across the seat and onto his lap, cradling her protectively in his arms.

Shelter Valley was her only hope. He knew that. The people in this town, with their huge hearts and warm smiles, would coax his little girl out of the silent world of terror into which she'd sunk. They'd teach her to smile again. To play. They'd make her laugh. Forget.

Maybe, someday, she'd even find the courage to love.

He wondered if his parents still had Muffy, the cocker spaniel he and Cassie had bought them shortly after Sam had left home to marry Cassie. The dog would be almost twelve years old.

Best not get Mariah's hopes up on that one. Or Sam's, either. He'd been very partial to that dog.

“It's going to be okay, baby, it's going to be okay.”

Mariah shuddered, her little hand coming to rest in his again. Sam could only imagine the thoughts running through the child's mind—terrifying images of the tragedy that had torn her life apart.

Looking at the familiar front door of the big house that had been both prison and haven to Sam, he wondered if maybe he should go back to Phoenix, get a hotel room, tuck Mariah in for a nap and call his parents from there.

He'd sent them a brief note, almost three weeks ago, telling them he'd be arriving some time soon.

A brief note. That and a few very short phone calls were all the communication he'd had with them in the ten years since he'd left home in disgrace. They knew nothing about his life since. Nothing about Mariah.

And he knew nothing about them, other than that they were both healthy. Nothing about the state of his father's business, the small but prestigious investment firm James had founded thirty years ago. He knew nothing about Shelter Valley, except for what he'd seen on the drive in. From the moment he'd walked out of his and Cassie's house that Saturday morning, his parents had never mentioned her again. And after he'd left town two weeks later, they'd never mentioned Shelter Valley, either.

He'd never even received divorce papers, although he'd signed documents before he left town, allowing Cassie to terminate their marriage. He'd never given anyone a forwarding address.

He'd never expected to come home.

He'd purposely kept the time of his arrival vague. Hadn't wanted them to be waiting for him, or to have anyone else waiting to welcome him home. Hadn't been able to bear the thought of their
not
waiting, either, if truth be known.

But for Mariah's sake, he'd needed to arrive in town with as little fuss as possible.

Now, sitting outside his childhood home, he felt like a fool. How could he take his fragile little girl in there, with no idea of what she'd have to face. Sam was all she had left in the world. How would she react if his parents were rude to him?

Or worse, indifferent? Cold?

A chill swept through him, in spite of the child sweating against him and the Arizona sunshine beating down on his truck. He had to turn around. Go back to Phoenix. He couldn't risk creating any more anxiety or tension in Mariah's life.

His parents were going to love her. He knew that. But he also knew he had to smooth her way. Give them a chance to speak their piece against him without her witnessing it.

And maybe he needed a little more time than he'd realized, as well—

“Sam?” The voice came from far off, but Sam's heart recognized the call immediately. “Sam, is that really you, son?”

His mother came running out of the big front doors of Montford Mansion, almost tripped over her own feet as she came around to his side of the truck.

“Yeah, Mom, it's me,” he said under his breath, before pulling open the door. Mariah's fingers dug into him, and she buried her face against his shoulder, just as his mother threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Oh, son, let me look at you,” she said, crying, smiling, trembling all at once. “I've missed you so mu—”

Her words broke off, and Sam, watching her face, knew she'd seen Mariah. Her eyes filled with wonder, with curiosity—and fresh tears—as she pulled back.

Sam grabbed hold of her hand.

Taking a deep breath, offering a short silent prayer, he ran his other hand down his daughter's coal-black hair. “This is Mariah, Mom. I adopted her three months ago. She's been waiting to meet you.”

Chapter 2

“H
ey! Zack and I are on our way to my folks' for a barbecue and swim. You want to come along?”

Cassie jumped, her pen slashing across the journal subscription form she'd been filling out. The voice coming from her office doorway—when she'd thought herself alone in the clinic—gave her a shock. Not her partner's voice, as she might have expected, but his wife's. Zack would have made a lot of noise as he entered, to warn her that she wasn't alone.

In case she'd been doing something private. Like crying.... Reaching for the remote just beyond her right hand, Cassie turned down the volume on the small television she'd been listening to while she worked.

“I've got reports to catch up on,” she said, smiling in spite of her refusal. Zack Foster had been her sole confidante and best friend for more than nine years. They'd met after she'd left Shelter Valley to finish her education in Phoenix. Now that he'd married Randi, she had a second best friend.

A friend who was far less predictable than Zack—

Randi leaned over Cassie's desk, peering at the paperwork she'd just messed up. “Looks like important stuff to me,” Randi said, raising both eyebrows.

Cassie pointed to the pile of manila folders stacked in the tray on the far corner of her desk. “Those are the reports.”

“That pile doesn't look as big as Zack's.”

And he has time to take the day off,
Cassie finished for her.

“He writes faster than I do.” She had no intention of crashing her friends' family gathering, but Cassie didn't mind continuing their banter. Even though she intended to stand by her refusal, she was actually enjoying herself. She enjoyed arguing with Randi over big issues and small ones. Randi's professional sport days might be over, but the woman was a born competitor.

“Ah,” she was saying now, “but it takes Zack longer to figure out what to say.”

“And I have to supply forms to fill out. My medical supply rep is coming by first thing in the morning. Your husband tends to get a little testy when he doesn't have the syringes he needs.”

Randi shoved aside the folders and perched on the corner of Cassie's desk. “It's not good for you to be here alone on a Sunday afternoon.”

Though Randi's concern wasn't necessary, Cassie was warmed by it. “The last million or so haven't hurt me any.”

“That's debatable.”

“I'm fine, Randi, really,” Cassie said, brushing a lock of red hair away from her face. She usually wore it pinned up or tied back, but since she'd been planning to spend the day alone, she hadn't bothered with her hair. Or her clothes, either. She was wearing jeans she'd owned since high school.

Randi frowned, apparently not satisfied with Cassie's assurances. But then, Randi was stubborn. It was hard for her to accept being wrong. It usually took her a couple of minutes to figure out that she was.

“How'd your meeting with Phyllis go yesterday?” Randi asked, referring to a mutual friend, psychiatrist Phyllis Langford.

“Wonderful,” Cassie said. “Even better than I'd expected.” Her enthusiasm for the pet therapy project she and Phyllis had discussed infused Cassie's voice. “She gave me some great insights that I'm going to incorporate into my next article. And an idea for a case I worked on back east this winter. A woman who'd lost several babies and was suffering from acute depression. Phyllis thinks a puppy might satisfy her mothering instinct to some extent, perhaps helping her accept adoption as another choice.”

Randi scoffed, though Cassie knew full well that during the past months, working with Zack on his nursing-home project, Randi had been won over to the miracles that happened regularly through pet therapy. “You think a puppy who pees everywhere in the house, chews up her shoes and bites at her ankles is going to help the poor woman?”

“Brat's giving you problems, eh?” Cassie grinned. Zack had adopted the dalmatian puppy the week before, when the owner of its mother had despaired of finding the runt of the litter a home. Randi, though, had been the one to name him—Miserable Little Brat, or Brat for short.

“It's Zack's dog,” Randi said, rubbing at the leather on her pristine white tennis shoe.

Cassie knew better. She'd been over at Randi and Zack's for pizza a few days earlier and had seen Montford University's seemingly tough women's athletic director cuddling that puppy.

Until Randi had noticed Zack and Cassie looking. Then she'd shooed him away, pretending to scold, while passing him a pepperoni slice under the table by way of apology.

“I don't know why he thought we needed another dog,” she muttered. “As if Sammie and Bear aren't trouble enough.”

Two of their trained pet therapy dogs, Sammie and Bear weren't any trouble at all. In fact, Zack had told Cassie that on a couple of occasions Randi had made excuses to take Sammie to work with her. Apparently, the dog was quickly becoming the mascot of the women's athletic department.

Cassie had Randi's number. The woman was strong when she needed to be and maintained an effective façade of toughness. But in reality, she was indeed the princess her family had always thought her. Tender, loving, frequently indulged. And kinder than anyone Cassie had ever known. With Zack's encouragement, she'd gotten over her lifelong fear of dogs, and a latent love of animals had begun to emerge.

Although she and Cassie had graduated from Shelter Valley High School the same year, had grown up together in Shelter Valley—population two thousand when the university wasn't in session—the two women had hardly known each other. Cassie had been completely besotted with her one true love, Samuel Montford the fourth, the town's esteemed future mayor and savior of the world. And Randi had been absent a lot of the time, training for her career in professional women's golf.

Neither woman's life had turned out the way she'd planned. They were both back in Shelter Valley, Cassie without Sam, and Randi with a bum rotator cuff that had ruined her swing.

“You'd better get back to your husband, or he's going to be in here looking for you,” Cassie told her friend. Cassie knew her partner. Zack had all the patience in the world; he just didn't like to wait.

Randi shook her head. “No, he won't. He said you were going to be pissed if we kept hounding you, so he refused to come in. As a matter of fact, he went to get some gas and wash the Explorer.”

Glancing at her watch, Cassie said, “Which means he should be pulling in right about now.”

Randi didn't budge. “Other than the few times Zack and I've been able to coerce you over to our place, you've been hiding out in this clinic ever since you heard Sam was coming home,” she said bluntly. “You can't keep hiding.”

Retrieving another subscription form from a sample issue of the journal, Cassie started to fill it in. “I'm not hiding out. And I can do whatever I damn well please. That's the great thing about being single and living alone.”

At least, she told herself that often enough. And it was true. Sort of. She
enjoyed
living alone. She had to. Or live her life without enjoyment.

“It's been three weeks,” Randi said. “He's probably not coming back, after all.”

“It doesn't matter to me one way or the other,” Cassie lied.

“Uh-huh.”

“Isn't your family going to be getting mighty hungry?” Cassie asked, still concentrating on the form in front of her.

“Dinner's not until five.”

Oh. Great.

“Look,” Cassie said, putting down her pen as she met her friend's gaze. “My life with Sam was a long time ago. I'm a different person now, and I'm sure he is, too.”

“But that doesn't mean—”

“He killed any feelings I had for him when he went to another woman's bed,” Cassie interrupted, before Randi could say anything she might have a hard time denying.

It was taking everything she had to keep her mind on the right track. And her heart from splintering into a million pieces with the force of bitterness and regret.

Randi stood up, headed for the door. “You need to learn how to lie better before you go trying it again,” she said, getting the last word. “We'll bring some barbecue by your place later tonight. You'd better be there, or I'll make Zack come here and drag you out.”

No question, Randi had won that round.

But Cassie would have her turn. She wasn't going to let anyone get the better of her again. Not her partner's new wife. And not the ex-husband she hadn't heard from in ten long years.

After three weeks of waiting, of constantly looking over her shoulder, of hiding out to avoid the chance of inadvertently running into Sam, Cassie's nerves were a little raw.

But maybe Randi was right. Maybe he wasn't coming, after all. His cryptic note had come three weeks ago. Surely it didn't take that long to get to Shelter Valley, no matter where he'd been.

It was time to get on with her life. She wouldn't give Sam the opportunity to rob her of it again.

Sam.
Where had his letter come from, anyway? The postmark had been someplace back east. But the letter had been sitting on James Montford's desk for a day or two before his wife had happened upon it in the middle of a party—a celebration to welcome their long-lost nephew into the fold. She'd gone to the library to check on her guests' sleeping babies, had come through James's office on her way back to the party, and had been reaching for a tissue on his desk, when she'd knocked a pile of unopened mail onto the floor.

She'd recognized her son's handwriting on the envelope with no return address. After ten years, she still recognized Sam's handwriting.

Cassie knew she'd have recognized it, too.

What else about Sam would be recognizable?

No.
She shook her head, pulled the stack of files toward her. She wasn't going to spend another minute of her life thinking about something that hadn't been real for a very long time.

He wasn't coming, anyway.

* * *

The clinic was new, built since he'd left town. Not too far off Main Street, it sat on a lot that had been vacant Sam's entire life. With its fresh stucco finish and smoothly paved parking lot, the clinic spoke of success.

It spoke of Cassie.

Leaving his truck parked under the shade of a tree, Sam took Mariah's hand, drawing as much comfort as he gave. Somehow, his having a child made facing Cassie more tolerable. He didn't question that Cassie would have a family; it was all she'd ever wanted. He wondered briefly about the man she must have married—someone he knew?—then dismissed the thought. It occurred to him that in some ways, Mariah's presence put him and Cassie on a more equal footing. They'd both moved on. She wouldn't be the only one who was a parent now. They were both parents...although not of each other's children. He slowly approached the door of the veterinary clinic. It was Monday morning; he wasn't ready for this. Could hardly drag the air through his lungs. But he'd become a man who faced hardships and challenges head-on, and this was one of the biggest.

There were only a couple of cars in the parking lot. He hoped one was Cassie's. And that she'd have a minute or two to spare for him. While he and his parents had spent a miraculous five hours talking the night before—about their lives and his, about Mariah—they'd never mentioned Cassie.

The unspoken message was very clear.

He'd have to clean up this mess on his own. And until he did, his parents weren't going to give him anything where Cassie was concerned. They loved her like their own daughter. Always had.

They were on her side.

Sam couldn't blame them. He'd be on her side, too, if there were any way for a man to be in two places at once.

“We're going to see an old...friend of Daddy's,” he told the silent child who'd refused to leave his side in the eighteen hours they'd been in town.

His mother had been enchanted—as Sam had known she would be—with Mariah. Though the little girl was completely unresponsive, at least outwardly, Carol Montford hadn't lost any opportunity to make contact. To touch Mariah's hand. To smile at her, tend to her, stroke her hair. To get some food—any food—into the child's stomach.

His father was already wrapped around Mariah's little finger.

Mariah just didn't know it yet.

She didn't know she'd met her match in those two. They were going to love Mariah back to life. Period. Between him and his parents, she wouldn't have a chance
not
to become the vivacious, happy child she'd once been.

They walked across the parking lot. “Her name is Cassie and she's just about the prettiest woman you've ever seen,” Sam said, remembering.

He had to do this, to see her first thing. It wouldn't be fair to either of them to accidentally bump into each other in town. And he hoped that seeing her at work would mean he wouldn't be face to face with her children. Or her husband. At least not yet. Unless it was in the form of a photo on her desk.

It was what he wanted for her, what he'd been imagining all these years. A husband who deserved her love, who cherished her as Sam had promised
he
would. All the children she'd dreamed of raising. It was the only way he could live with himself, believing that without him she'd managed to have everything she wanted. That she was happy.

“She used to be Daddy's best friend, a long time ago.”

Mariah walked solemnly beside him, her long black hair in a high ponytail tied with a blue bow that matched the jeans overalls and pink-flowered top he'd chosen for her that morning. Before the disaster that had changed her life so completely, Mariah had insisted on choosing her own outfits every day. And on doing her own hair, as well. She'd looked a little lopsided a time or two—but Sam would trade that for the smile she'd worn any day.