When Last We Loved (11 page)

The greyhound-lean frame cast a protective shadow over the white cocoon of her hospital bed.

“Some entertainers will go to almost any length for a little free publicity.” Raspy fatigue belied the irony of Hoyt's words. Cassie opened her eyes and noticed the sunken smudges that ringed his blue eyes. She wanted to reach out and touch him, reassure herself that he was really there, but she couldn't— she simply didn't have the strength.

“Don't stay too long, Mr. Temple. She needs all the rest she can get to help her recuperate.” The swinging door creaked shut as Dixie Young placed a discreet wood and glass barrier between herself and the somewhat self-conscious couple.

“Do you remember anything that happened to you, Cassie?” He leaned over her and spoke in a gentle voice.

“Fire.” She shook her head, unable to comprehend the complete chain of events that had nearly succeeded in snuffing out her life.

“You were lucky. The firemen said they weren't even looking for occupants. They were just trying to prevent the blaze from spreading to the other buildings.” Hoyt's mouth was a twisted, bitter line and she worried that his anger was directed at her.

“How long have I been here? How did you know where to find me?” There were so many unanswered questions nagging at her. She ignored the searing pain that talking caused.

“I was finishing up some paper work in my office at the ranch. They had a news bulletin on the radio station I was listening to.” Hoyt glanced at the gold watch that encircled his tanned wrist and Cassie saw the fine lines of tension etched into his lean, handsome face. “You've been out a little over twenty-four hours.”

“What happened?” She croaked like a frog, but she had to arm herself against the hideous ghost of dancing flames that clawed at her dreams. Tears crept down her cheeks. Would she ever be able to sing again?

“The fire department hasn't completed its Investigation yet. According to Ingram, though, the fire probably started in the office wastebasket. He said a man named Harlan Purdy visited him a little after closing time that night, and that Purdy threw a cigar butt into the basket. Evidently it smoldered for a while, and a couple of hours later the whole place went up like a damned tinderbox.”

“Why did Purdy come back? I'd already told him to forget it.” Now she was really confused. Maybe she'd better tell Hoyt the whole story and let him see if he could get to the bottom of it. “Hoyt, are you positive Allen said it was Harlan Purdy?”

He nodded. “I'll try to get a handle on everything before they release you. Until then— ”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Temple, but you'll have to leave. Doctor's orders.” Dixie Young held the door open for him. Her firm tone left no room for argument

Hoyt nodded curtly and spun on his heel without so much as a fare-thee-well. Cassie's gaze remained riveted on the broad shoulders and slim hips until the door closed. She waited in vain for Hoyt to resume his vigil behind the glass partition.

“Now that you're awake, I expect they'll want to transfer you out of intensive care and into a private room.” Dixie plumped the pillow. Cassie was grateful that the busy nurse didn't appear to notice her patient's distress.

The new-old pain in her heart said she'd been mistaken to assume she'd jumped all of her fences when she left Coyote Bend. Unbidden tears trickled from her violet eyes and trailed down the sides of her face toward the black tangle of her hair. She wasn't free yet— maybe she never would be. “I'll bet I look like something the cat dragged in and didn't want,” Cassie finally said.

“Hush up,” Dixie admonished. “Considering what you've been through, you look pretty darned good. Besides, you ought to see some of the patients they bring in here.” She busied herself tucking in the corners of Cassie's thermal blanket. The soft white gauze that bound Cassie's right hand prevented her from performing even the simple task of brushing her hair away from her eyes, so Dixie smoothed the black veil off her forehead.

“The doctor will probably want to change that dressing tomorrow to see how your hand is doing. Just lie back now and rest. You need to reserve your strength. This next week will tell the tale.”

Cassie obeyed the kindly worded order to the point of closing her eyes, but her mind refused to turn off. Why had Harlan Purdy returned to the Stardust? Not to tell Allen about the audition. He'd already known the outcome of that farce the last time she'd seen him. And why... ? She drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

“Cassie, it's time to wake up. Dr. Reyes wants to check your hand.” Dixie's gently prodding voice was the lifeline that rescued Cassie from a nightmare of flame that the drug-induced quilt of sleep couldn't smother.

“Good morning, Miss Creighton. How are you feeling today?” The slightly accented voice was kind. Cassie fluttered her lashes, trying to focus her eyes.

“Do you think you're up to letting us move you into a private room this morning?” Dr. Reyes started unwrapping the bandages that swathed her hand. “I want to see how this is coming along.” He explained as he worked. “You had a pretty nasty burn.”

Cassie collected her thoughts and faced the unpleasant fact of her miserable financial situation.

“I think you ought to know that I don't have any insurance to cover these bills that I'm running up.” Pride wouldn't allow her to consider herself a charity case. “If they'll let me sign a note, though, I'll pay back every cent.” She sighed. It looked like she'd be waitressing for quite a while, with a side order of singing engagements when she could get them. She tried to push the disappointment she felt out of her mind. At least she was alive.

Dr. Reyes’ black eyes flicked from Cassie to Dixie. Then he cleared his throat, as if the subject of money embarrassed him.

“Hoyt Temple signed you into this hospital as soon as he learned of your misfortune. I understand that he's assumed the responsibility for your expenses, also. Quite frankly, Miss Creighton, I don't think you have to worry about anything but getting well.”

“Why doesn't he just mind his own business!” she exclaimed furiously. “Every time I turn around, that man is meddling in my affairs!”

Cassie knew that her outburst surprised the nurse and doctor, but she didn't care. It was complicated enough to love a man whose only interest was her body. The last thing she needed was to have a financial obligation to him, too.

“As soon as they move me out of here, I'm going to check into this with the business office,” she asserted.

Dixie assisted Dr. Reyes in changing the sterile dressing that immobilized Cassie's right hand. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out in pain when the gauze was removed. But she couldn't suppress a small gasp of shock when she saw her grotesquely swollen hand.

“There will be minimal scarring and no loss of mobility,” Dr. Reyes reassured her. “You're scheduled for therapy later this week. I guarantee that you'll be able to play your guitar again with the best of them.”

“How did you know?”

“My wife and I have been to the Stardust several times,” he explained. “Your music has given us many hours of pleasure. Unfortunately, I can't say the same for the food you serve.”

Dixie placed a pair of scissors in the doctor's extended palm and he trimmed the cotton swathing before he secured it with surgical tape.

“As a matter of fact, I have given explicit Instructions that you are to practice writing your name as soon as possible,” he continued. “I fully intend to display your autograph in a prominent place in my office. Then, when you become a famous singer, I can point with pride to my
handiwork,
if you'll excuse the pun.”

“I'll keep you in mind if I ever need a comic to open my show.” Cassie laughed. Things were looking better than she might have imagined.

“What about my voice, Dr. Reyes?” She dreaded asking, but she wanted the truth. Her entire future depended upon his answer. “Do you really believe I'll be able to sing again? Give it tome straight.”

“I think inhalation therapy and cooperation on your part— resting your vocal cords, for instance— should restore your voice completely. Good singers depend upon their diaphragms as much as anything else, and that part of your anatomy hasn't been affected.”

Dr. Reyes walked toward the door, then stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Personally, though, I prefer that certain smoky quality in a woman's singing voice.” He never cracked a smile, and only the sparkle in his black eyes gave him away.

“I hope you practice medicine better than you tell jokes,” she teased.

The next morning Cassie was transferred to a sunny private room in the new wing of the hospital. Dixie stayed on as her private-duty nurse.

“I'd be as helpless as a newborn babe without you.” Cassie handed her knife and fork to Dixie and watched the nurse cut the meat into bite-sized pieces. “That pork chop is as tough as boot leather! I don't know if they're trying to cure me or kill me.”

“I sure wish you'd let me order some decent food from the coffee shop.” Dixie shook her head and laid the utensils aside when she'd finished cutting up the meat. “My daddy had the stubbornest mules in three counties, but I swear you'd have given them all a run for their money.”

“I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to repay Hoyt,” Cassie argued. “If it means saving even a dime, I'll eat hospital food until it runs out my ears.”

“Finish your lunch,” Dixie instructed as she checked her watch. “You have therapy in twenty minutes.”

“Shuffle the cards while I'm gone and I'll give you another chance to win back some of that three million dollars you owe me.” Cassie speared a shriveled piece of pork chop. “Ugh!” She wrinkled her nose. “Even the Stardust had better food than this.”

* * * *

“Country music lovers are the most loyal fans in the world.” Dixie slit open an envelope and handed Cassie another one of the numerous cards sent to wish her a speedy recovery from her ordeal.

“I can't believe how nice all these people are. And half of them don't even know me!” Cassie was bowled over by the fact that so many Dallas residents cared about what happened to her.

“They feel like they know you, though, because you've reached out to them with your music,” Dixie said. “Just think what it would be like if you were nationally known, instead of a local celebrity.” She reached for another envelope to open. “This is kind of fun, if you want to know the truth. When I was younger, I was the secretary for an Elvis Presley fan club. We had a ball, sending out his travel schedule and— ”

A timid knock interrupted Dixie's story. Hoyt hadn't returned since that day in the ICU. And though she'd managed to conceal it, Cassie was keenly disappointed because none of the Twisters had visited, either.

“Tell them I don't want a snack.” Cassie didn't bother to look up from the card she was reading.

The door creaked open.

“I said I didn't— ” Her jaw dropped in surprise. A shaggy blond head topped by a battered Stetson peeked around the edge of the door. “Scrappy!” Cassie threw the card onto the tray table and ran across the room to embrace her fiddle player. He clutched a lovely bouquet of freshly picked wildflowers to his chest and patted her awkwardly on the back

“Did you give me up for dead? I've been here for a whole week now. Why didn't you come see me sooner? Where are Mike and Jess? Why aren't they here with you?” She bombarded him with her excited questions as she dragged him over to meet Dixie.

“This is my fiddle player, Scrappy— ” Cassie giggled. “Do you realize that I don't even know your last name?” She threw her arms around his neck “Who cares? You're like a breath of fresh air. Oh, I've missed you guys so much! As soon as they let me out of here, let's hit the road for Nashville.”

Over Scrappy's shoulder, she saw the door swing open a second time, and Hoyt strolled into the room, followed by Dr. Reyes.

Cassie couldn't read the expression that flickered across Hoyt's face, but his eyes were the dark-blue of a summer sky just before a storm, and there was an air of barely suppressed fury about him. She dropped her arms and released Scrappy from her stranglehold.

“Well, it certainly looks as though you're recovering your strength,” Hoyt drawled. His silently accusing glare went from Cassie to Scrappy.

Her cheeks burned as she caught the implication behind the sarcastic greeting. “Scrappy and I were— I was just so darned glad to see him after— ” Cassie was infuriated that she was tripping all over her tongue. It was none of Hoyt's business, anyway. If he'd given even a tinker's damn about her recovery, he would have been in to see her sooner.

Dr. Reyes motioned for her to sit on the bed while he examined her hand. “We removed the bandages the other day and she seems to be progressing quite well in therapy.” He spoke over her head, addressing Hoyt.

“When will you sign her release papers?”

“Pardon me, Dr. Reyes,” Cassie interrupted. “But since I'm the patient, don't you think that I'm the one you should be talking to?” Whose hand was it anyway?

“Yes, of course, Miss Creighton.” The doctor bowed his head in polite apology, then resumed his conversation with Hoyt. “I see no reason why she shouldn't be released tomorrow morning if she will continue to do the therapy on her own at home and check in with me weekly so that I can monitor her progress.

“Weekly!” Cassie exclaimed, blurting out her surprise. This was a delay that she hadn't taken into consideration. “But, Dr. Reyes,” she protested, “I don't have a home in Dallas anymore. Besides, I wanted to head for Nashville as soon as I leave here.” She'd signed a promissory note to the hospital and had been instructed to mail in her monthly payments.

Thunderclouds rolled across Hoyt's face. Cassie ignored the ominous warning. She'd have to deal with one problem at a time.

“I'm afraid that I will have to insist upon your staying in Dallas for at least another six to eight weeks,” Dr. Reyes said. “We've made remarkable progress with your hand, considering how badly it was burned. The only way I can guarantee your complete recovery, however, is to see you weekly for a while and recommend new exercises for you to practice at home.”

There was that word again. Home. For the first time since she'd left Coyote Bend, Cassie felt utterly defeated. Where could she stay?