“Oh.” Casey laughed a little. “Well, you know Lannie Wilson? She’s the jewelry designer who has a little shop on the main plaza in town?”
Nodding, Matt said, “Yes, I know her. She’s a struggling jewelry artist making a name for herself.” He didn’t go into Lannie’s background: Her father was in prison and her mother had died when Lannie was only two years old. Hank Wilson was a mean son of a bitch of a drunk. When Lannie had been taken to the hospital with a broken leg at age five, the doctor on the case had said it was abuse. Lannie’s relatives in Cheyenne had refused to take her on, so she’d ended up in a number of foster homes here in Jackson Hole. Lannie had turned angry and rebellious. She’d gotten into a lot of trouble off and on as a teen. And then her lifestyle had caught up with her and, at fifteen, Lannie had nearly died. Matt had watched the young woman’s life play out across the fabric of the town. Though there were people who hated her, Lannie had her supporters, too. Only her creativity and love of making jewelry had saved her from a life on addictive drugs.
Touching the necklace, Casey said, “Ever since I came here, I’ve gone over to Jewels of Terra and drooled over Lannie’s creations. They’re expensive and I’ve wanted one for so long.”
“And so you bought it today as a celebration that you’re going to get well?” Matt guessed. He’d suspected Casey loved jewelry, but she never wore any. Maybe it had to do with her PTSD?
“How did you know?” Amazed, Casey laughed. Matt had a lot of insight into people’s actions. “Lannie doesn’t just make pretty jewelry. She knows about the energy of the stones, too. There’s purple lepidolite beads on my choker. Did you know lepidolite contains natural lithium? And that lithium calms a person who has anxiety or restlessness?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, and there’s amethyst on here, as well. Lannie made this especially for me, Matt, based upon all my symptoms. She calls them ‘working’ necklaces. The gems she chooses are just right for a particular person.” Patting it gently, Casey said, “I love this necklace, Matt. When I put it on this morning after my doctor’s appointment, I just felt so good!”
Warmed by her enthusiasm, something he rarely saw in Casey, he said, “Now I wish I’d known you loved jewelry so much. I’ve never seen you wearing any.”
Frowning, Casey said, “I guess I’m coming back to life, Matt. Charley finally released me from the visitor’s center and I’m working in the back country on several wildlife biology projects. He seems to think that maybe he was wrong about me being targeted. I was so relieved! And, of course, getting help with my PTSD…I just wanted to celebrate it all by purchasing this necklace.”
Smiling fully, Matt fought the urge to lean over and kiss Casey’s smiling, soft lips. “Maybe we should take Megan over to see Lannie? My daughter loves jewelry.”
“What a wonderful idea,” Casey said. “Lannie says making working necklaces for children is tough because they are hard on them and sometimes, they swallow beads and choke on them. We can always ask Lannie and see what she says.”
“We will. Megan loves jewelry,” Matt said. “She was constantly digging into Bev’s jewelry box. I think she’ll be okay wearing a necklace.”
Nodding, Casey felt her heart swell with such hope that all she could do was burst into a smile. Without thinking, she reached over and gripped Matt’s hand that rested near his coffee mug. “Listen, I want my whole life back, Matt. I want to be my old self. You never got to meet the original Casey Cantrell.” She felt his fingers move to curve around hers. Feeling the monitored strength in them, the work-worn flesh tingling against her smoother skin, she added in a whisper that only he could hear, “I want you, Matt. All of you. I deserve happiness and so do you. We make each other happy. Just think what could happen if my cortisol levels go back to normal! Dr. J said I would be my old self, just like before the attack happened. Because, back then, my cortisol was within normal ranges.”
Hearing the urgency, the hope in her huskily spoken words, Matt yearned to kiss Casey. He didn’t dare do it here in the firehouse. Being on duty meant exactly that. Releasing her hand, Matt rasped, “I’m going to enjoy getting to know the old Casey Cantrell. A new chapter in our lives?”
Nodding, Casey felt the prick of tears and fought them back. Oh, to stand up, frame his face in her hands and kiss him until they melted together! That was what Casey wanted more than anything. Matt had been patient and understanding. She’d seen the yearning to kiss her in his eyes, but he respected her needs and never made a move to do anything but support her. In her eyes, he was a true hero. “I can hardly wait for this month to be over!”
“Makes two of us.” Matt shared an intimate look with Casey. She immediately colored.
“Well, speaking of that, Charley has asked me to work with Gwen Garner on the Arts Committee. They’re holding their Fall Arts Festival in mid-September.” She patted her necklace again. “Lannie actually got me involved in that in one of our conversations earlier this year. She’s going to enter several of her working necklaces. And I love art, anyway, even if I can’t draw a straight line.”
Grinning, Matt could see there was a nice relationship between rebellious Lannie Wilson and Casey. Both women had certain qualities of independence that many women did not. “Charley is coordinating through you for artists who paint wildlife?” he guessed.
“Yep. I was surprised to find out Charley is a wild-duck painter. I learn something new about my supervisor every month.” She grinned.
“The Fall Arts Festival draws the biggest artists in North America here. Did you know that?”
“No, but I’m finding it out. Gwen is assigning me to a group of people who take care of the entry paperwork.” She held up her hands. “I’m a fast typist.”
“You’re a fast learner,” Matt said. “I’m glad you’re teaming up with Gwen. There’s nothing she doesn’t know about everyone.” He chuckled.
“That’s true,” Casey murmured, finishing off the last of her coffee. She set the mug aside. “Gwen’s always very careful what she doles out. Slander isn’t where Gwen is at.”
“I agree,” Matt said. “Hey, I heard the other day over at the sheriff’s department that Cade and Susan Donovan are finally going to get hitched. He told me September twenty-first is their wedding day.”
“That’s wonderful!” Casey said, clapping her hands together. “I was wondering when they’d get hitched! Gwen told me about her future daughter-in-law. She was in the FBI witness protection program and they moved her here to Jackson Hole to hide. Gwen told me Susan’s ex-husband escaped from prison back east and he was hellbent on finding and killing her.” Shivering, Casey said, “Now that, to me, would be a horrible and chilling threat. I’ve met Susan several times and she’s a wonderful person, Matt. And Cade’s adopted daughter has taken to her and calls her Mommy now.”
“Cade told me that his mother is running around like a one-armed paperhanger balancing all the wedding plans along with this arts festival.”
“Oh,” Casey said, laughing, “if anyone can balance two events like that, it’s Gwen Garner! She knows how to ask people for help and gets them whipped into team formation to do the work.” Her eyes sparkled. “I ought to know. I walked in to buy some material for a fall blouse I wanted to make, and before I knew it, she’d roped and hog-tied me into volunteering on the arts festival.”
“That’s Gwen,” Matt agreed. The change in Casey already was stunning. Matt hungered to simply sit here and pass the hours away talking with her. Dr. Jordana had offered her help—and more importantly, hope. That was what had been missing in Casey, he realized. All those times he’d seen sadness lingering in her gaze and had been unable to interpret it accurately. Matt had no doubt this medicine would work and give Casey back her life. He could hardly wait.
Rising, Casey looked at her watch and said, “I’ve got a meeting with the Arts Festival people in twenty minutes.”
Matt stood. “Careful—if Gwen sees you have volunteeritis, she’ll
take advantage of you.” He grinned.
Walking to the door, Casey said, “No, I’m not going to let that happen.” She turned. Matt was less than two feet away. Silently, Casey appreciated his broad, strong shoulders. The navy-blue T-shirt stretched tantalizingly across his deep chest. She stopped the urge to step into his arms and kiss him. Casey imagined running her exploring fingers across his hard, powerful body. She ached to feel safe again with a man. But not just any man. Just Matt Sinclaire. Moving her gaze to his eyes, she absorbed the predatory hunger lurking there. There was a magical connection between them, and Casey swore she could read his mind and his desires.
There was a new gleam in Casey’s large gray eyes, Matt discovered. She had just started her treatment with the adaptogen, but he swore he already saw a difference. He lifted his hand and gently curved his fingers along the line of her shining brown hair. Matt barely grazed the shining strands and he saw Casey react in the most wonderful of ways. Instead of seeing the fear and caution in her eyes that he’d always seen before, he saw something new. As his hand fell to his side and he gave her a sheepish grin, Matt saw desire burning there. Desire for him. For a moment, it stunned him. He’d wanted Casey for so long, hungered for her, dreamed of her nightly. Now he was seeing it returned in her eyes. And it was real. It was no longer a figment of his imagination. Swallowing, he whispered, “Only good things for you from now on, Casey. You’re like Persephone who was stolen by the Greek god, Hades, and dragged into his dark Underworld within the Earth. Now, you’re being released and you’re seeing daylight and your hope has started to come back.”
“I love the Greek myths.” Casey sighed. “And yes, you pegged me right on that one. I’m like Persephone who was abducted by Hades and forced to live with him in his underground world. No sunlight, no warm breezes, no moonlight, just the darkness of his cavelike existence.” Her scalp tingled where Matt’s fingers had barely grazed her hair. How much more she wanted from him! Cautioning herself, Casey knew that one day on the medicine wouldn’t cure her distrust and wariness, but she recognized that hope had replaced her depression. And Matt had accurately read her expression, and he’d known she wanted him to touch her. And he had. Her heart bubbled with such excruciating joy Casey wondered if she could die from happiness.
Pushing open the door that led out into the bay where the fire trucks sat, Casey said, “I’ll be in touch, Matt. Stay safe, okay?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I’M SO GLAD WE COULD meet here at the Aspens and finally have lunch,” Clarissa said to Casey. As the senator’s wife, she had the best seat in the small, exclusive, five-star restaurant. The U-shaped blue leather booth was situated along the wall where she could see anyone who was coming in or leaving the posh place.
Casey smiled. “Me, too. I don’t get out to places like this too often, and it’s a treat.” Clarissa was dressed in a white linen pantsuit perfect for the August weather. Casey was sure that her multicolored silk scarf covered with butterflies was hand-dyed. The opal drop earrings enhanced the tasteful ensemble.
“Oh,” Clarissa said, “I’m sure your mother took you to many places like this in San Francisco.”
“She did,” Casey acknowledged, spreading the white napkin out across her lap. The maître d’ arrived and, with a flourish, presented them with the gold-lettered menus. And then the waiter, a young, thin man in his twenties, delivered Clarissa her favorite drink, a glass of Sofia Riesling, from the Coppola Winery in California. She had persuaded Casey to try it, as well.
“My husband is in Washington, D.C., but I wanted to take a break from all the inside-the-Beltway insanity and get back out here where real people live.” Clarissa smiled, lifted the glass and they clinked them together. Taking a sip, Clarissa closed her eyes. “I just love this wine! What do you think?”
Casey tasted it. “Wow, this is really nice. Many flavor levels to it.”
Beaming, Clarissa nodded. She wore her red hair up and swept back into a tortoiseshell comb set with small opals. On her wrist she wore a similar bracelet. “I’m so glad you like it!”
Casey set the wineglass down as the waiter came over to take their order. She knew without any doubt that if her mother weren’t one of the most successful fundraisers in the U.S. Clarissa would completely ignore her. People like Clarissa sought out power, wherever it was, and orbited the powerful individual’s structure to see what they could get out of it. No, Casey didn’t treat this luncheon as anything but Clarissa poking around to see if Casey Cantrell was really worth her time and focus. The shallowness was always there behind the smile papered across her full mouth. Casey never saw the smile reach Clarissa’s mascaraed eyes with the pale green shadow emphasizing their emerald pupils.
After ordering, Clarissa happily focused on Casey. “You look very fetching in your pantsuit,” she said.
“Thank you. It’s nice to get out of my forest service uniform,” Casey murmured.
“I don’t recognize the designer who made it for you.” She barely touched the soft blue linen jacket with her bright red fingernails.
“Oh,” Casey demurred with a teasing grin, “it’s a very famous designer.” She knew that in Clarissa’s world, everyone wore designer clothes. It was just a question of which designer. And the more expensive the creation, the higher up that woman was seen on the pedestal of power.
“Tell me,” she pleaded, smiling. “I especially like the thread work on the lapels. Really well-done.”
Touching the lapel, Casey said, “My mother made it for me.”
Brows flying upward, Clarissa sat back in amazement. “Really? Because the design on your clothes speaks of top-seamstress work you’d find in a French couture house.”
Hiding her smile over Clarissa’s gushing and taking it in stride, Casey said, “My grandmother, Rachel Trayhern, taught my mother how to sew. My grandmother, to this day, makes clothes for all the kids. Even though she’s in her eighties, she manages to make something for all of us girls on our birthdays.”
“Amazing,” Clarissa murmured, again touching Casey’s lapel. “This is just the best work. Well, when I meet your mother at another charity I must tell her that her work is superior. The fact that this isn’t made by a designer tells me her skill level.”
“Yes, if she wasn’t so good at raising millions for charity,” Casey said, “I guess she could find a job at a fashion house.”
“Oh, my,” Clarissa said, waving her elegant hand in Casey’s direction, “she’s far too good for that!”
Their salads were brought and Casey was glad for the diversion. This kind of small talk was always stressful for her. Granted, her mother made it a high art, but Casey had never liked the shallowness of it. She didn’t like shallow people. She preferred people like the Garners and Matt Sinclaire, who were the salt of the earth. And what they told her would be honest and backed with integrity.
“So tell me,” Clarissa said as she delicately moved her fork through the baby Bibb lettuce and croutons, “I hear all kinds of gossip over at Quilter’s Haven. Why, just the other day I was over there getting some new summer fabric for my cousin when I overheard some quilters whispering about Matt Sinclaire.”
Keeping her face unreadable, Casey said, “Oh?”
Smiling, Clarissa said, “You’re sweet on him!”
Groaning inwardly, Casey said, “He’s my friend, Clarissa. That’s all.” Liar. Casey wasn’t ready to go there with this woman. Gwen Garner had the good sense to know when not to spread gossip. Clarissa did not.
“I hear that his mute daughter, Megan, just dotes on you. I think that’s so wonderful of you to volunteer to help that poor child. It just broke my heart when we heard that Matt had lost his wife, Bev, in that arson fire. I felt so sorry for Megan.” She frowned and stopped eating for a moment. “No child should go through that kind of trauma. Gwen was telling me that you are having a positive influence on Megan.”
Nodding, Casey focused on her salad. The less said, the better. But Clarissa wasn�
�t detoured.
“She said that the new doctor in town, Jordana Lawton, is treating her.” Wrinkling her long, fine nose, Clarissa whispered across the table, “You do know about Dr. Lawton, don’t you?”
Looking up, Casey said, “No.”
“She’s got a very checkered past, you know.” Raising her chin to an imperious level, Clarissa said, “Frankly, I would never let her touch me.”
“Why is that?”
“She’s trailer trash.”
“Umm.”
Tilting her head, Clarissa said, “She just doesn’t belong here in Jackson Hole. Only the finest people live here.”
Translated, Casey knew this meant the snobbish woman would like to see all hardworking people thrown out, leaving the town to the rich and famous. “I like Dr. Lawton.”
Giving Casey a guarded look, Clarissa pushed her mostly uneaten salad aside. A busboy quickly picked it up and took it away. “Why do you say that?”
“Because Megan is improving under her care.”
“Oh…I didn’t know that.”
“No, it was obvious you didn’t. I guess that didn’t get to Quilter’s Haven yet?” Casey gave her hostess a dripping smile that spoke volumes. Clarissa’s carefully made-up face twitched as she considered the veiled warning.
“Oh…well…I’m glad Megan is responding.”
The waiter came over with a fresh wineglass of Sofia Riesling. Clarissa was silent for a moment. More patrons were filling the restaurant and she eyed each one. Some of them came over to speak to her, others placed air kisses on her cheeks and still others shook her hand.
Casey said nothing and wasn’t introduced to any of the millionaires coming in for lunch. That was fine by her. They would all be shallow intros and she would be passed over in favor of the powerful senator’s wife, Clarissa. It was a world Casey wanted nothing to do with. She swore silently that there would be no more lunches with Clarissa. She wanted the simplicity and honesty of Matt and Megan. She often wondered how her mother was able to tolerate this world, and figured she had some genes that didn’t get passed on to her daughter.
Deadly Silence Page 18
