The Buckhorn Legacy

by Lori Foster

  Using just her fingertips, Emma touched her mouth, drew a breath, and then laughed shakily. “Well, okay then.” Bemused, she shook her head, turned and opened her father’s door to peer inside.

  Casey watched as she entered the room. Damn it, he’d rattled her when all he’d meant to do was offer comfort.

  He heard her whisper, “Dad?” with a lot of uncertainty and something more, some deep yearning that came from her soul. Then the door shut and he couldn’t hear anything else.

  Humming with frustration, Casey stalked into the waiting room. There was no one else there, yet empty foam cups were left everywhere and magazines had been scattered about. He occupied himself by picking up the garbage, rearranging the magazines and generally tidying things up.

  It didn’t help. Pent-up energy kept him pacing. All he really wanted to do was barge into that room with Emma to make sure her father didn’t do or say anything to hurt her. Again.

  He hated feeling this way—helpless, at loose ends. Emma was a grown woman now, independent, strong. She neither wanted nor needed his help. There was no reason for him to want to shield her, not anymore.

  Moving around didn’t help his mood, not when his imagination kept dredging up the sight of her bruised face eight years ago.

  After about ten minutes, he gave up. Telling himself that he had every right to check on her, Casey strode across the hallway and silently opened the door to Dell Clark’s room. The first bed, made up with stiff sheets and folded back at one corner, was empty. A separation curtain had been drawn next to it so that he couldn’t see the second bed where Dell rested. But he could hear Emma softly speaking and he drew up short at the sound of her pleading voice.

  Without a single speck of guilt, Casey took a muted step in and listened.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DELL’S VOICE SOUNDED weak and somewhat slurred, from the stroke or the medication, Casey wasn’t sure which. But he could understand him, and he heard his determination. “See yer mama.”

  “Dad.” Weariness, and a vague acceptance, tinged Emma’s soft denial, making Casey want to march to her side. “You know I can’t do that. Besides, I doubt she even wants to see me. And if I did go, we’d just fight.”

  Casey realized that Emma hadn’t yet seen her mother. She hadn’t even been to her home, choosing instead to stay in a motel. He frowned with confusion and doubt.

  “She’szer mother.”

  “Dad, please don’t upset yourself. You need your rest.”

  Shaken by the desolation in Emma’s words, Casey didn’t dare even breathe. Their conversation didn’t make sense to him. Why would Emma make a point of coming to see her father, the man who’d run her off, but not want to visit her mother?

  “Damn it.” Dell managed to curse clearly enough, but before he spoke further, he began wheezing and thrashing around. Casey heard the rustling of fast movement, heard Emma shushing him, soothing him.

  “Calm down, Dad, please. You’ll pull your IV out.”

  In his upset, his words became even more slurred, almost incomprehensible. “Hate this…damn arm…”

  “The nurse says you’ll get control of your arm again soon. It’s just a temporary side effect of the stroke. You’ve already made so much progress—”

  “’Mnot a baby.”

  A moment of silence. “I know you’re not. I’m sorry that I’m upsetting you. It’s just that I want to help.”

  “Go ’way.”

  There was so much tension in the small room, Casey couldn’t breathe. Then Emma whispered, “Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe I shouldn’t have come home…”

  Casey’s heart skipped a beat, then dropped like a stone to the bottom of his stomach. If she hadn’t come home, he wouldn’t have ever gotten the chance to see her again.

  Dell didn’t relent, but a new weariness softened his words. “She neez you.”

  As Emma reseated herself in the creaky plastic chair, she brushed the curtain, causing it to rustle. “Dad, she doesn’t even like me. She never has. When she called to tell me about you, she made it clear that nothing’s changed. I’ve tried to help her, and it’s only made things worse.”

  “Can’t help ’erself,” Dell insisted.

  Even before she spoke, Casey could feel Emma’s pain. It sounded in her words, weary and hoarse and bordering on desperate. “You have to stop making excuses for her—for her sake, as well as your own.”

  “Love ’er.”

  Sounding so sad, Emma murmured, “I know you do.” Then softly, she added, “More than anything.”

  “Emma…”

  Images from the past whirled through Casey’s mind. Emma hurt. Emma wandering the streets at night. Emma with no money for new clothes or schoolbooks.

  Emma needy for love.

  He fisted his hands until his knuckles turned white. I know you do, she’d said. More than anything.

  Or anyone?

  With sudden clarity, Casey knew that Emma wasn’t estranged from her father.

  No, as he remembered it, Dell Clark had been genuinely worried when Emma had run off. He’d blustered and grumped and cast blame, yet there’d been no mistaking the fear and regret in his eyes.

  But her mother…not once had she asked about Emma, or shown any concern at all. Casey had all but forgotten about the woman because folks scarcely saw her anymore. She stayed hidden away, seldom going out.

  Now Emma was in town, but staying at a motel rather than her home. And despite her father’s pleas, she resisted even a visit with her mother.

  In rapid order, Casey rearranged the things he knew, the things he’d always believed, and decided he’d come to some very wrong assumptions. Just as Emma had fled to his house for protection, perhaps Dell had gone along with that plan for the same reason.

  Because she needed a way out.

  Jesus. He propped his hands on his hips and dropped his head forward, trying to decide what to do, what to believe.

  The door swung open behind him, making him jump out of the way, and Dell’s doctor entered, trailed by a nurse. Recognizing Casey from his association with Sawyer, the doctor bellowed a jovial greeting. “Casey! Well, this is a surprise.”

  In good humor, he thwacked Casey on the shoulder. There was nothing Casey could do now but take his hand. “Dr. Wagner. Good to see you again.”

  “But what are you doing here?” Concern replaced Dr. Wagner’s smile. “The family’s okay?”

  Emma stepped around the curtain, rigid, appalled, her attention glued to Casey. Her big dark eyes were accusing, her mouth pinched.

  Casey got his first look at Dell and realized that he looked like death. His face was white, his eyes red-rimmed and vague from medication, one more open than the other. His mouth was a grim line, drooping on one side, and his graying hair stuck out around an oxygen tube that hooked over his ears and ran across his cheeks to his nostrils. More tubes fed into his arm through an IV. Machinery hummed around him.

  Aw hell. Casey watched Emma for a moment, hoping to make her understand that everything would be okay now, that it didn’t matter what he’d heard or what had happened in the past. But she turned away from him.

  “The family’s fine,” Casey said without looking away from her. “I’m here with Emma.”

  The doc apparently sensed the heavy unease in the room and glanced from one person to the next. “I take it you two know each other then?”

  “Yeah.” Accepting that everything had c
hanged—the past, his feelings, his motivations—Casey moved toward her. “Emma and I go way back.” His attention shifted to Dell. Damn it, the man was too sick to deal with Casey’s anger right now. He drew a breath and collected himself. “Hello, Mr. Clark.”

  Dell gripped the sheet with one gnarled hand while the other flailed before resting at his side. “Sneakin’ ’round.”

  “Of course I wasn’t.” He reached Emma and looped his arm around her stiff shoulders. She didn’t look at him and, if anything, her expression was more shuttered now that he touched her. “I just stepped in to check on Emma.”

  Emma ducked away from him. “Dr. Wagner, I’d like to speak to you privately.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” The good doctor looked stymied.

  Casey nodded to him. “We’ll wait outside until you finish your checkup with Dell.”

  “Use the waiting room. I’ll come for you there.”

  Emma shoved the door open and strode out. She’d only made it three steps when Casey caught her. His long fingers wrapped around her upper arm in a secure yet gentle hold. “Oh, no you don’t.”

  She whirled on him, equal parts furious, indignant and, if Casey didn’t miss his bet, afraid. “You had no right.”

  Still holding her with one hand, Casey brushed the backs of his knuckles over her cheek with the other. “Now there’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart. You gave me the right eight years ago when you came to me. And this time, it won’t be so easy for you to run off. This time you’re going to tell me the truth.” He touched the corner of her mouth. “You can count on it.”

  * * *

  EMMA STRUGGLED TO get enough air into her starved lungs, but the panic set in quickly. Nothing had really changed, she knew that now. Her reaction to Casey, his protective instincts, her smothering fear…it was all still there. It had only taken one day back in Buckhorn to make it all resurface.

  Just like his father and uncles, Casey had a soft spot for anyone in need. She hadn’t wanted him to see her that way. Not this time. Not now. But given what he’d just overheard, she knew damn well he’d be doling out the pity again. God, she couldn’t bear it.

  She licked dry lips and cautiously tried to free her arm. He didn’t let go.

  “Why are you doing this, Casey?”

  All his attention remained on her mouth, unnerving her further. “Doing what?”

  She rolled her shoulder to indicate his hold. “This…overwhelming bombardment. You insist on coffee, insist on giving me a ride, insist you have to know everything even though it’s none of your business. Why nose in where I don’t want you?”

  “Where is it you don’t want me, sweetheart?”

  Oh, that soft, coaxing voice. She couldn’t let him do this to her. She’d come home because she had to, and all along she’d expected to see Casey again. This time, however, she’d wanted his respect. “What’s between me and my father doesn’t concern you.”

  Filled with conviction, Casey started to lead her into the waiting room.

  “Casey!”

  They both looked up to see the young nurse who’d accompanied the doctor into her father’s room. She’d slipped out the door and she had her sights set on Casey. As she bore down on them with a proprietary air, Emma tried to retreat.

  She heard Casey’s annoyed sigh as he tugged her closer and draped his arm over her shoulders. Emma didn’t know if he did it as a sign of support, or to make damn sure she couldn’t slip away. Whatever his purpose, it didn’t matter. She couldn’t let it matter.

  But being tucked that close to him shook her on every level. He was so hard, so tall and strong and masculine. Heat and a wonderful deep scent seemed a part of him, encompassing her and filling her up in places she’d forgotten were empty. With every pore of her being, she was aware of him. He was her living, breathing fantasy, and he kept touching her in that man/woman way, just as she used to dream of him doing.

  Only the timing was all wrong now. Or she wasn’t right for him—and never would be.

  She had to get away.

  The nurse halted in front of them, her smile bold, her posturing plain. Unlike Ann, who had been cordial, not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did this woman acknowledge Emma. “Casey, I had such a nice time last weekend.” She spoke with a heavy dose of suggestion. “I sort of expected you to call.”

  While Emma went stiff enough to crackle, Casey was loose and casual and relaxed, as if he didn’t hold Emma prisoner at his side, forcing her through this awkward come-on.

  “I’ve been busy.” And then to Emma, “Lois and I were both at the same party last weekend.”

  Lois? Forgetting her own discomfort for a moment, Emma took in the bouncing brown hair and heavy hazel eyes. Recognition dawned. “Lois Banker?”

  With an effort, Lois pulled her gaze from Casey. She lifted perfectly plucked eyebrows. “That’s right. And you are…?”

  Unbelievable, Emma thought in wonder. At least the maturity had shown on Ann. Her dark hair was shorter now, and there’d been a few laugh lines around her eyes. But Lois…she looked just as she had in high school. She was still pretty, perky, stacked.

  She still had a thing for Casey.

  Emma dredged up a smile even as she lifted her chin, preparing for the worst. “You don’t remember me, but we went to school together.” She held out a hand. “Emma Clark.”

  Lois scowled as she scrutinized Emma, and then slowly, with the jogging of her memory, her lip curled. “Emma Clark. Yes, I remember you.” She shifted away from Emma’s hand as if fearing contamination.

  Emma found the petty attitude ridiculous, but not unexpected. Lois had never hid her dislike of her. But Casey pulled Emma a little closer and his fingers on her shoulder contracted, gently massaging her in a manner far too familiar. Of course, Lois made note of it, and her expression darkened even more.

  Casey said, “Emma is back for a visit.”

  “A brief visit?”

  You wish, Emma thought, and then was appalled at herself. Good God, she had no claim on Casey, and Lois certainly had no reason to be jealous of her. “Until my father is well.”

  Lois’s eyes narrowed. “I hadn’t made the connection.” She glanced at Casey’s hand on Emma. “Mr. Clark… He’s the one who was drunk when he had a stroke, isn’t he?”

  Emma took the well-planned words like a punch on the chin. They dazed her. And they hurt.

  “My father doesn’t drink.” Defensive and a little numb, Emma retreated. “Excuse me, please.”

  Casey released her as she pushed away. “Emma?”

  On wobbly legs, Emma wandered into the waiting room and headed for a plastic padded seat, praying she wouldn’t embarrass herself by tearing up.

  Why would Lois say her father had been drinking? Emma knew for a fact that he never touched alcohol. Like her, he’d made other choices.

  In order to find answers, would she have to go see her mother, after all? Memories fell over her in a suffocating wave.

  Then Lois’s voice reached her, offering a much-needed distraction.

  “Casey, what in the world are you doing with that nasty girl?”

  In response to the slur, Casey became terse. “Nasty girl, Lois? Just what the hell does that mean?”

  “Oh come on, Case.” Lois’s laugh of disbelief grated along Emma’s nerves until she shivered. “She was the biggest slut around and everyone knows it. Besides, from what I’ve heard, you certainly had firsthand knowledge
about—”

  “Shut up.”

  Lois gasped, but otherwise remained silent. Emma squeezed her eyes shut. Firsthand knowledge? Is that what people thought, that Casey had given in to her relentless pursuit? What a laugh.

  Then a worse theory occurred to Emma and she curled her arms around her stomach. Oh, no. Surely no one had heard her outrageous claims of being pregnant. Her father wouldn’t have told a soul, and Casey’s family wasn’t the type to gossip. Yet Lois had inferred something…

  “You need to grow up, Lois, and learn some manners.”

  “I need to learn manners?” Her outrage was clear. “I’m not the one who slept with every guy in Buckhorn.”

  Casey snorted. “As I recall, not that many guys were asking.”

  “Casey!”

  “See ya around, Lois.”

  The sound of Lois’s angry, retreating footfalls couldn’t be missed. Emma sighed, aware of Casey’s approach but unsure what she should say to him. Already she’d caused him problems, but he didn’t want to hear her apologies, he’d been plain about that.

  She felt steadier now, but still swamped in confusion. Her father didn’t drink—never had—and she knew in her heart he never would. What had Lois meant by her comment?

  Emma expected Casey to seat himself. Instead, he crouched down beside her. “Em?”

  Startled, Emma stared at him.

  With concern darkening his brown eyes, he said, “Hey. You okay?”

  Casey came from a long line of caregivers. As a doctor, his father tended everyone from infants to the elderly. Being the town sheriff, Morgan set out to protect the innocent, and Jordan was the perfect vet with a voice that soothed and a manner that reassured. Even Gabe, the resident handyman, made a point of lending a helping hand to anyone who needed it.

  She understood Casey’s nature, but did he think she was made of fluff? “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Lois is a bitch.”