Strangers in Paradise (35 page)

Sam hated to let any of them down.

“I appreciate your faith in me, gentlemen, but I don't even have a college degree. I'm not qualified to run this town.”

Chuck lifted a booted foot up onto the barrel of electrical tape by the counter, leaning an elbow on his upraised knee. “Hell, Sam, you're the smartest guy I know. You could run this town in your sleep.”

The thing was, there was probably truth in Chuck's assessment. While Sam might need to stay awake to sign checks, he
could
run Shelter Valley. He just didn't want to.

He'd promised himself before he came back here, that he wouldn't allow them to influence him. He would ignore their persuasions and compliments. At one time he couldn't handle the pressure this town put on him, and that had caused him to betray his wife, to hurt those he loved most, to destroy his life.

But he was stronger now. And armed with his hard-won self-knowledge, he wasn't going to fall into the trap of other people's desires.

* * *

On Monday, after work, Cassie went straight home, changed into an old pair of cut-off shorts and a cropped T-shirt, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. She had a mission.

She was going to tile the alcove in her guest bathroom.

Leaving on the television in her bedroom, she went to the kitchen, flipped on that set, and helped herself to a large glass of soda with lots of ice. She'd eat later if she got hungry enough to quit work. Next stop was the garage for the supplies she'd bought the day before—the plastic floor protector, two-by-two, yellow-and-green ceramic tiles, paste and putty knife, and the hammer she was going to use to break the square shower tiles into smaller pieces.

She loved to decorate. Had studied interior decorating in the evenings a few years ago and still avidly read the magazines she received each month. After her talk with Phyllis, she'd decided to concentrate on something she loved, something other than her work. An activity that would take up her time, consume her.

With the set on in the bathroom, as well, she waited for her evening companions to appear and keep her company. She felt as though she knew Pat Sajak and Alex Trebek personally.

Jeopardy
came on first. Cassie was on her knees cracking tile, angling the hammer to get varied shapes. Later she'd lay them out in designs that let the different colors and shapes complement each other, before applying them to the wall.

“What are Lisbon and Madrid?” she mumbled between cracks of the hammer. The two Iberian cities the Lusitania Express ran between.

As Diane, the thirty-something contestant with the stylish navy suit and short fly-away hair, asked the correct question, Cassie picked up the piece of tile she'd just broken. Round on one end, it was jagged on the other. She really liked that one. She set it aside to become a focal point in the finished design.

The television droned on. Tuning out the five minutes of commercials, Cassie continued to break up tiles, allowing her artistic eye freedom and refusing to let her mind roam. Sam had taken Mariah into Phoenix for an appointment with her counselor that afternoon. And he hadn't called with a report.

She didn't want to place too much importance on that.

Mariah hadn't made any more progress on Saturday. Had not, in fact, seemed as interested in Sammie. She hadn't looked at all while Cassie laughed and made a big production out of playing Frisbee with Zack's dog. And her little hand had merely rested on Sammie's head when Cassie brought the dog back to her. There was no burying of fingers in Sammie's fur.

But it could have been that she was simply taking comfort from the dog with less effort.

Or maybe she'd been paying more attention to Cassie. Cassie had been telling her about their senior prom, when she and Sam were crowned king and queen. She'd described the crown in great detail. And remembering back, she'd described Sam as she'd seen him that night. A true king—not just at the dance, but always.

“What is Nevada?” she said aloud. The show was back on. She had something to focus her thoughts on. The U.S. state that had sagebrush as its state flower.

She and Diane both got it right.

Diane chose “Feather Fun” for two hundred dollars. “The reptilian feature that evolved into feathers.” Alex read.

“What are scales?” Cassie looked up, willing Diane, the person she was rooting for, to get it right. “Scales,” she said again.

Before she found out if Diane knew the answer, the doorbell rang.

It was Sam.

“Where's Mariah?” she asked, opening the door, forgetting what she must look like. Forgetting she didn't want Sam there, alone with her, in her house. He was still wearing the slacks and polo shirt he must've worn for the trip in to Phoenix. His longish dark hair was mussed, his green eyes troubled. His face was grim.

“Home,” he said, lips tight. “The trip into town tired her out. She fell asleep right after dinner.”

“Your mother's with her?” Cassie asked. They didn't want Mariah waking up alone, being frightened, just when they'd begun to make a little progress.

Sam nodded. “I'm interrupting something?” he asked, pointing to the hammer still clutched in her fist.

Glancing down at herself, Cassie brushed self-consciously at the tile dust on her knees. Though why it should matter what she looked like for this man, she didn't know. It didn't matter. Not at all.
He
didn't matter.

But his daughter did.

“I was just working in the guest bathroom,” she explained.

He frowned. “Did you need help fixing something?”

Cassie shook her head. “I'm creating.” Because his presence in her house was bothering her, making her too aware—uncomfortably aware—of her own confused feelings, she headed back to her project. She needed something other than Sam, other than her own emotions, to focus on.

Sam followed her, leaning against the sink as she showed him what she was doing. She felt like a nervous teenager.

“I'm impressed,” he said, kneeling to put together a couple of odd-shaped pieces of tile. They complemented each other perfectly. “What kind of grout are you planning to use?”

Before she knew it, she and Sam were discussing the project in detail, with him giving construction pointers as she showed him her plans. Until that moment, she'd completely forgotten he was in the renovation business. That projects like this were the kind of work he did.

She found herself kneeling in her bathroom beside him, sharing ideas, approving of what she heard. Laughing at small jokes.

Almost like old friends.

Sam seemed more relaxed than when he'd first come in, and Cassie was glad. It was good to see the Sam she used to spend hours with, working on some project for school or planning a dinner party. He laughed, and her stomach melted.

When he reached over her for a piece of tile and his hand grazed her arm, Cassie stood up, moved away from him.

Things were suddenly far too intimate. Too dangerous.

“I imagine you had a reason for stopping by,” she said, hammer in hand.

He placed a couple more tile shards in the mosaic they'd been building on the floor, brushed his hands and stood up.

The party was over.

“They want to institutionalize Mariah.”

“No!” She took a step toward him, forgetting everything but the little girl who'd already grown to mean so much to her. “They can't
do
that to her! She shouldn't be with strangers, in a place where they're constantly testing her, monitoring her, studying her,” Cassie said passionately. “She needs to be with family, with people who love her.”

“I know.”

“You're not going to let them do that, are you?” she asked.
Jeopardy
ended.
Wheel of Fortune
came on, and Cassie didn't even notice.

Sam frowned. “I have to consider what's best for her. Her counselor believes that if putting her someplace where they can work with her every day, where they'll have several doctors assessing her, is going to help her—” He broke off. “I don't know.”

“We're making progress, here, Sam. Taking her away from you now might just lock her away—emotionally—forever.” Cassie might not have all the education that psychiatrist in Phoenix had, but she had a fair amount of training. Some relevant experience. And instincts that hadn't led her wrong yet.

“I know,” Sam said. “Dr. Abrams mentioned that possibility. Cassie, she's already lost so much.”

The pain in his eyes broke through the ice that had to surround Cassie whenever she was with Sam. Making her heart bleed for him. For the decision he had to make.

And for the little girl whose future lay in the balance.

“What do your parents think?”

Sam shrugged, and she watched his solid shoulders move. He was leaning against the sink, facing her. And his back was reflected in the mirror behind him.

“They don't want to send her anywhere. At least, not yet,” he said. “But we've lost six months of her life, Cassie. She's going to be a year behind in school if we can't get her back soon, help her catch up before next fall.”

But to send that lonely, frightened little girl away? To an institution? No matter how they tried to fix those places up, they were still cold.

Because an institution wasn't home.

Cassie acknowledged that they were right for some people, with certain kinds of problems. But not Mariah.

The child would just die there. Or learn to cope—but in the process lose the person she really was. Both the love and the hatred in her past would be difficult to think about, painful to remember, but it had to happen if Mariah was to return to herself. And to them...

“She's in there, Sam,” Cassie said urgently. “The fact that she watches you so intently has got to be a sign that you mean the world to her. If not, why doesn't she just stare at whatever happens to be around? It seems quite deliberate that she won't look at things—as though she's afraid to take them in, get too involved with her environment. But she takes
you
in. That has to mean something.”

The muscles in his jaw were working as he gazed at her, his eyes bright, emotions in check.

Cassie wanted so desperately to help him.
Needed
to help him. It was as if they were teenagers again, feeling each other's pain.

“Give me a little more time. I'll move more quickly, take her out of the park this week. Perhaps she'll participate more with the world if she's exposed to unfamiliar stimuli without you to focus on.”

“Sending her away seems so wrong,” Sam said, the intense struggle he was experiencing evident in his voice. “But what if I make a mistake? What if this
is
what she really needs? How can I rob her of that chance?”

Without conscious thought, Cassie reached out to Sam, grabbing his hand between both of hers so naturally that she didn't even notice what she'd done until the warmth of his skin sent shocks right through her. Abruptly, Cassie let go. “Listen to your heart, Sam. It'll tell you what to do.”

Phyllis had given her the same advice a few days before. And recalling why, Cassie turned away.

“Cassie...” He stretched out his hand, taking hers again.

Her skin burned, her body remembering other times those fingers had touched her, and she found herself reacting automatically.

She jerked her hand away. “I'm here if you decide to continue,” she said, turning from him. “Just let me know.”

“Cassie,” he said again.

Cassie didn't face him. She couldn't. She faced the bathtub, instead, and listened to Pat Sajak congratulate a winner as he started the next round.

Sam didn't try to talk to her anymore, but he was taking a long time leaving. She didn't know how much more she could stand.

“Can you still do tomorrow afternoon?” His voice sounded weary when he eventually spoke.

“Of course.” Cassie looked over her shoulder at him, but only briefly. “We can meet in the park as usual.”
Go now,
she silently begged.

“Thanks,” he said, and it sounded as if he'd turned to go.

Cassie waited.

“And thanks for listening,” he added. “You have no idea how badly I needed to see you tonight....”

She waited until she heard the front door click quietly behind him before she turned around.

And then, with her three televisions droning in the background, she fell to the floor, buried her face in the tile dust and sobbed until her ribs ached.

Chapter 11

T
hings at Borough Bantam were running amuck. The king and queen had adopted a little mouse that had crawled into their town. They were preoccupied, scurrying around, trying to please the little creature. Their usual pursuits were being neglected.

Leaning over his desk, Sam concentrated on the page coming to life beneath his rapidly moving pencil. Without the king and queen's watchful eye, the kingdom was falling into chaos and disrepair, and the magistrate was too busy worming around his empty little circle to see anything wrong.
I am. I am. I am.

Without forethought, Sam moved to the last frame of this week's episode, a figure of the newcomer—the wild stallion—forming quite naturally. He was sitting under a ledge, gnawing on a piece of straw, a cowboy hat on his head while he watched. And waited.

The king and queen glanced at him from time to time. They weren't opposed to his being there. But they were withholding judgment.

Could be that they were too involved with their new addition to give him their complete attention. Or that he'd never be fully welcome here.

So, did he have a role in Borough Bantam? A purpose? Or was this just a stopping place on his way somewhere else?

Eager to find out, Sam was looking forward to next week's episode.

* * *

“Phyllis? It's Cassie. Am I interrupting something?”

“I'm grading papers, so interrupt away.”

Cassie grinned. It'd been so long since she'd allowed herself friends. “I have a question for you.”

“What's up?”

“Sam came by last night and said that Mariah's doctor in Phoenix has suggested the possibility of institutionalizing her. Sam doesn't want to do it. And I don't think he should.” Cassie glanced at the television playing softly in the background in her office. “At least, not yet. We're making progress with Sammie. We just need a little more time.”

“Reaching her in a normal life environment, if it's possible, is certainly better than trying to do it in the controlled environment of a hospital,” Phyllis said slowly, as though choosing her words carefully.

“Then you think I was right to encourage Sam not to rush into anything?”

“As long as he's comfortable with continuing the way you are.”

“He says his instincts are telling him to hang on to her.”

“Then he probably should.”

“That's what I thought, too.”

“They
might
get quicker results in an institution. Forcing her to respond within a very predictable, structured situation, having her live around other traumatized kids, surrounded by caring staff—it could work,” Phyllis said. “But not necessarily. And not necessarily with the best results.”

“What do you mean by that?” Cassie had another fifteen minutes before her first appointment of the day. And she'd been worrying about Sam and Mariah for most of the night.

“Just that Mariah might come out of herself a little sooner that way, but she may not emerge as completely.”

“She might be emotionally alienated,” Cassie said. “Disaffected. Able to function adequately on a surface, everyday level but lacking emotional depth.”

“Right.” Phyllis gave Cassie a rundown of several cases in which recovery had been complete after the patient had been allowed to recuperate from a tragedy in her own time, in the safe environment of a loving home. “It takes longer sometimes, but the result could be a perfectly normal, well-adjusted life.”

“Rather than one with dysfunctional relationships due to an inability to feel, to open oneself to others.”

Thinking of the little girl who'd stolen her heart, a heart that had been empty since she'd lost her own little girl, Cassie knew which scenario she'd rather have. It was up to her and Sammie to make sure Mariah got that chance.

* * *

Sam, dressed in cutoffs and an equally revealing tank top, brought Mariah to the park right on time the next afternoon. Cassie's breath caught in her throat. He was so gorgeous.

A couple of mothers with strollers watched him cross the park. Sam seemed completely oblivious.

Cassie wished
she
was oblivious to
him.

How was it possible, after all he'd done, that she could still feel such attraction?

The women followed him with their eyes, one leaning toward the other to say something. They both nodded; the second woman said something. They both laughed.

Probably fantasizing, Cassie thought. About how good that body would look stepping out of the shower, slick and wet. The chest would be contoured to perfection, firm to a woman's touch. The hair would be dripping over his forehead and into his eyes, large drops of clear, warm water...

He strode with such confidence, yet was the epitome of tenderness as he leaned toward his daughter, giving the unresponsive child his entire attention. He spoke to her as though they were both involved in the conversation.

The woman across the park actually turned around to stare once he'd left their line of vision. His tight backside wouldn't disappoint them.

Cassie could practically see them drooling.

He's mine,
she wanted to tell those women.
He's always been mine.

But the moment wasn't real. It was like a scene from a movie she was watching. Or a particularly good book she was reading to pass the time on this warm April afternoon. She was just a witness. It wasn't happening to her.

Until Sam and Mariah reached her and Cassie couldn't find the breath to say hello.

Oh, God. What was happening to her? She was losing control of her world.

Sammie greeted Mariah, butting her head up under the little girl's free hand.

“Is an hour long enough?” Sam asked, looking at her strangely.

Cassie nodded.

“Right here?”

“Yeah.” She found her voice. And hoped her composure wasn't far behind.

He lowered himself to Mariah's eye level as he let go of her hand. “You stay with Cassie and Sammie, okay, honey?” he said. “Daddy has some work to do in town, and then I'll be right back to get you.”

Mariah stared at him, making no response, her little face lifting as he rose.

Good luck,
Sam mouthed to Cassie. With one last, concerned look in her direction, he turned his back and walked away.

As intent as Mariah, Cassie stared after him until he was out of sight. Something would have to give soon. Before Cassie's sanity did.

Maybe it was time to go to Phoenix and find herself a man. But after ten years of celibacy, she wasn't sure she'd know what to do with one if she had him.

She couldn't imagine
wanting
one. Not if he wasn't Sam.

And she didn't want Sam at all.

* * *

Cassie decided to take Mariah to the ice-cream shop. Close to the park, the shop was fairly safe, she thought, since she could get the child back to her usual spot if it appeared that the outing was going to upset her too much. And all kids loved ice cream. Didn't they?

“You like chocolate ice cream?” Cassie asked the little girl, as soon as Sam had been gone long enough for her heart to slow down to its normal speed.

Mariah didn't answer. Nor did she react when Cassie took the small hand Sam had dropped. Mariah didn't pull back, and she didn't grab hold. The limp little fingers just lay in Cassie's grasp.

“Have you been to the Shelter Valley ice-cream shop yet?” Cassie asked, starting down the sidewalk as though there was no doubt that Mariah would walk beside her. “Come on, Sammie.”

As Sammie moved, so did Mariah, although the little girl looked neither left nor right. Or straight in front of her, for that matter. Her stare was almost vacant, focused—if you could call it that—on some point between her waist and the ground.

Cassie refused to be daunted; the possibility that Mariah might be placed in an institution kept her going. She chatted all the way to the ice-cream shop, trying to engage Mariah's interest. The child had a difficult moment when she had to leave Sammie to wait outside as they reached the door, but when Cassie turned and walked inside, Mariah followed, her hand sliding from the dog's head.

Cassie ordered them each a scoop of ice cream in a paper cup. “You'll have to hold this one, honey, until we get outside.” When Mariah made no move to accept it, Cassie lifted the child's hand, placed her fingers around the cup, then carefully let go. Mariah held on to the cup.

Without another word, Cassie took Mariah's free hand and ushered the child outside and back to Sammie.

Sammie started off walking at Cassie's side, between her and the street, and Mariah did an amazing thing. She dropped Cassie's hand and switched to the other side, between Cassie and Sammie. She couldn't touch the dog, not if she was holding Cassie's hand and a cup of ice cream, too. But she'd made her point. She and Sammie stuck together.

Cassie blinked back tears as she silently applauded the little girl.

* * *

Zack didn't want to do it, but Randi made him. She and Ben had set up a little game of basketball at the university on Friday afternoon, making use of the vacant gym, and Randi thought he should call Sam and invite him to join them.

Zack, who saw no point in encouraging the man to hang around, argued with her until she reminded him he could bring Sammie, Sam could bring Mariah, and the two could have a little session of pet therapy without involving Cassie.

That was incentive enough. He'd seen Cassie through the worst of times, but he'd never seen her quite the way she'd been this past week. Focused and determined one minute; lost the next.

Keeping her away from Sam, even for one session, was a good enough reason to ruin a game he'd been looking forward to. Though, he had to admit, he was a little surprised by how readily Sam agreed to join them. Either the man was stupid—Zack's personal opinion—or he didn't care that he'd be hanging out with people who came pretty close to hating him.

When Ben heard that Mariah was coming, he decided to bring Alex along, as well, giving Tory a few hours to herself to catch up on the study time she'd missed the night before, when she'd had to comfort a crying Alex and rock her to sleep. The girl's natural mother had called that day, catching Alex before Tory or Ben knew who was on the phone, and had brought back memories that were still recent enough to disturb the child.

Ben had told Zack this morning that Alex's mother wanted him not to testify in the child abuse trial Alex's natural father was facing. Ben refused to consider such an option. He expected to be subpoenaed but even he wasn't, he intended to represent his daughter's interests. Zack couldn't help wondering if it might be best to let it go and get that white trash out of Alex's life, once and for all.

But that was a conversation he'd have with his friend on another day.

Zack had been watching from center court as Sam arrived with his daughter; the other man immediately spotted Sammie and walked Mariah over to her.

“You sit right here, honey.”

Zack's heart lurched when, without taking her eyes from her father, Mariah sat down, inched as close to Sammie as she could, and laid her hand on the dog's head.

Damn. Cassie was right. Sam's little girl could be reached. At least, by Zack's dog.

She was right about something else, too. Sam Montford was devoted to his adopted daughter; the look on his face made that abundantly clear.

But as far as Zack was concerned, the man still had a lot to answer for.

“So, we doing two on two?” Randi asked, as soon as Ben had joined them on the court.

Zack sized up his three opponents. Ben and Sam, both dressed in gym shorts and tank-style T-shirts, had a lot of muscle. Zack knew he could take Ben at least half the time. Which left Sam the unknown entity.

“Since I want a friendly bed-partner tonight, I'm not playing against you, Zachary,” Randi said, grinning. She looked at Sam and Ben. “He hates it when I win.”

“Because you cheat,” Zack said, grinning back at her.

“I do not.” Her chin jutted out sexily. “It's merely a case of brain over brawn.”

She was going to pay for her sassiness when he got her home—probably even before dinner—and she knew it. That was why she egged him on. They both loved the payback.

“Brain, my a—”

“Zack!” Randi said, as the men laughed. “There are children present.”

“Yeah, Zack, I'm present!” Alex called from the corner of the gym. She was sitting on Sammie's other side, coloring.

“Did you ask Mariah if she wanted to color, squirt?” Ben asked.

“Yeah, but I don't think she does.”

Randi bounced the basketball at her feet. “Okay, Sam and Ben against me and Zack. Jump ball!”

She waited while Zack and Sam got into position, then tossed the ball up.

Zack came down with the ball. Barely. And he had the most uncomfortable feeling that Sam had let him have it.

The game was grueling, but Zack had to admit that it felt damn good to pound Sam Montford on the basketball court. Or at least to attempt it. He was on the man full court, never letting up. Trying to steal the ball every time Sam had possession, blocking every shot or pass he tried to make.

The score reflected his aggression. But not as much as he would've expected. He and Randi were barely ahead. Not only that, but Randi seemed a little annoyed when she met Zack under their basket about ten minutes into the game. Sam and Ben were in-bounding the ball.

“Cool it,” she wheezed, slightly out of breath.

Zack glanced down at her, loving her so much it hurt. “I can't,” he said simply. The cousins made their way down the court. “He deserves it.”

Zack couldn't wait for her reply; he ran up-court, guarding Sam.

With some impressive footwork, Sam got around him and scored. Zack moved to the sideline to take the ball that Randi was going to throw him.