PAROLED!

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  Just as well, he thought. Being around Cait made him edgy in a way that no other woman ever had. Hell, it made him edgy even thinking about being with her.

  He shifted, trying to ease the tension that had been with him since he had seen her sitting across the bar in that dark booth.

  He hadn't been ready to handle the feelings she generated in him. Now he knew that he never would be. Just as he knew it didn't matter much. The lady and the ex-con, he thought. A hell of an impossible combination.

  Tired of the lights and garish decorations, he yanked on the cord that adjusted the binds, closing them tight. Behind him he heard Dante conclude his conversation and hang up. Tyler turned to face his friend.

  Dante cocked a black eyebrow over an impressive Roman nose and regarded him with the same laser-sharp intensity that had quelled many an unfriendly witness. Tyler was used to that look.

  "Damn, Ty!" the attorney exclaimed in a deep-throated baritone. "You look like you're ready to take someone apart. Shuffler give you a hard time?"

  "No more than usual."

  Tyler made his way to one of the chairs opposite the desk and sat down. He stretched out his legs until the soles of his boots were braced against the desk.

  "What's with the guy, anyway? You do something to tick him off?"

  "Yeah. I haven't given him any reason to send me back to prison to finish my sentence."

  Dante opened the bottom drawer of his big desk and pulled out a nearly empty quart bottle of Scotch. Tyler noted the distinctive label. It was the same expensive brand he once favored. In those days it had been important to have the best. Dante deftly unscrewed the cap with one hand and poured a triple into his coffee mug. This time he didn't ask Tyler if he wanted a drink.

  "Weatherman promises a white Christmas in the Sierra," Dante commented after taking a long, thirsty drink. "You got any snow yet?"

  "Not yet. Nights are cold as hell, though."

  Dante eyed Tyler over the rim of his glass. "You up for Mexican tonight?"

  Tyler grunted something noncommittal. Dante snorted.

  "Don't overwhelm me with excitement, old buddy." The big attorney leaned back and propped his feet on the desk. Over the toes of his scuffed boots, he studied Tyler without seeming to.

  Dante took another swallow of Scotch, then asked bluntly, "Tell me something, Ty. How long has it been since you've had a woman?"

  Tyler scowled. "That's a hell of a question."

  Dante continued to regard him impassively. "Take it from me, buddy. A man is vulnerable when he's horny."

  "Not this man."

  Dante took another drink. "So how long has it been?"

  Tyler looked at his hands. Washing bar glasses had made them almost as rough as roping and mending fences. He thought of Cait's soft skin. Had he hurt her when he'd touched her in his office? It made him sick inside to realize that he probably had. Slowly he clenched his hand.

  "I'm not interested in getting laid, if that's what you're asking."

  "Well, something's sure as hell changed. Last week I thought you were finally coming to terms with the way things have to be right now."

  "What things?"

  "Parole. Losing your license to practice medicine. Giving up Kelsey."

  Tyler shot his best friend a warning look. "I didn't give her up, damn it! The court took her."

  "You signed the paper allowing her aunt to adopt her after Crystal was killed. Against my advice, if you'll remember."

  "It was either that or let Kelsey grow up without really belonging to anyone." He rose abruptly and began to pace. The spacious office suddenly seemed confining and airless.

  Watching, Dante knocked back half his drink, then set the glass on his thigh and ran his fingers up and down the slick surface. He knew better than to push Ty too far. Under all that surface sophistication, the man had a volatile temper.

  "You still chewing on the things Caitlin Fielding laid on you Saturday?"

  "No." Tyler returned to his seat and worked on disciplining his anger.

  "You talk to her since then?"

  "No." Tyler thought about the bruises that had marred her perfect skin. Had they healed? he wondered.

  "I haven't seen her since the trial. How does she look?"

  Tyler shot him a wary look. "Fine."

  "Pretty lady, as I remember. Elegant, but damn sexy."

  "Is she?"

  "Hmm. Not that her type appeals to me, you understand. There's too much going on behind those big brown eyes that I don't understand. Still and all, you have to admit that she has one great body under those tailored suits she wears. And those legs…" Dante shook his head. "Be tough for a man to resist."

  Tyler narrowed his gaze. "Get to the point, Jess. If you have one."

  "I've talked with that bastard Lamont. About the possibility of a new trial."

  Tyler froze. "What did he say?"

  "Let's say he wasn't overjoyed to hear that the star witness against you is now claiming she lied."

  "I don't give a damn how he feels. Did he agree to reopen the case?"

  Dante shook his head. "It's going to take a hell of a lot more than a phone call from me to force his hand. Convicting you made his rep. Rumor has it he intends to ride it into the attorney general's office one of these years. The last thing he'll want to do is admit he convicted an innocent man."

  "Well, he did, damn it."

  "True, but let's not get ahead of ourselves here. I did get him to agree to talk with—" he glanced down at the notes in front of him "—with Dr. O'Connor as well as Dr. Fielding."

  "When?"

  "Within the week. But don't hold your breath. In the meantime, be nice to Caitlin Fielding if she comes to see you again, but for God's sake, stay away from her otherwise."

  "What's she got to do with it?"

  Dante drained his glass and poured himself another triple. He knocked back half before answering. "You need her on your side, that's what. At the moment she's your only link to Kelsey. With your wife—"

  "Ex-wife."

  "Ex-wife dead and therefore unavailable for cross-examination, Kelsey is your only hope. No doubt she's very attached to her aunt now. Which means Caitlin Fielding has a lot of say over what the kid does and doesn't do. Plus, we need her to testify to the kid's statements that she lied. Being a shrink, she'll have a great deal of credibility, not to mention the effect those big brown eyes will have on the jury, especially the males."

  "Go on," Tyler ordered in a cold voice.

  "To tell you the truth, she's the last person I want on the stand, especially after she let you twist in the wind four years ago. But … we need her. So that means we have to cover our butts. No personal contact with her. No phone calls, no visits, nothing that Lamont could remotely challenge as coercion."

  Tyler felt a flare of anger. "What about Kelsey? Cait says she needs my help."

  "Maybe. Maybe not."

  "That's damn cold-blooded, Dante."

  "So is a false charge of child molestation. I've said all along that Crystal was running a bluff on you. If it hadn't been for Caitlin Fielding, I think your ex wouldn't have had the guts to go through with it. But once Fielding bought in, everything went to hell. Or don't you remember what she was like?"

  Tyler looked down at his right hand. Once he had used it to heal. Now he poured drinks and mopped up spills.

  "I haven't forgotten," he said as his hand slowly made a fist.

  Dante finished his drink and stood. "Stay away from her, Ty. The lady is not your friend, no matter what she says."

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  It was close to five, and Cait's last patient had already left. Already she had kicked off her shoes and shed her suit jacket. Now she undid the top button of her silky blouse and tried to ignore the mess four-year-old Jason had made during play therapy.

  "This is ridiculous," she muttered into the phone clamped between her shoulder and her ear. Jackson Lamont's secretary had her o
n hold again—for the third time in five days.

  Annoyed and impatient, she let her shoulders slump against the chair and rubbed her tired eyes. She was running out of voice. And steam.

  That had been happening a lot lately. Her temper was shorter than usual, as well. Yesterday she had yelled at a woman in trendy exercise clothing who had beaten her to the last parking place at the supermarket. This afternoon she had nearly taken the head off a phone solicitor wanting to sell her a time-share in a condo.

  Hey, everybody, she thought. Step right up! Watch the serene, always-in-control shrink turn into a neurotic shrew, just because she can't get one particular man out of he mind.

  She closed he eyes and tried to shut out the elevator music playing in her ear. It had been three days since she had seen Tyler. And three nights. Restless, nearly sleepless nights.

  "I'm sorry, Dr. Fielding," a disembodied, slightly nasal female voice said in her ear. "Mr. Lamont is tied up in a meeting at the moment, but I'd be happy to take a message."

  "Ms. Putnam," Cait replied in a tight voice, "I have already left enough messages to fill the San Francisco phone book—as you well know."

  "I can assure you that Mr. Lamont does have all your messages, Dr. Fielding. But he's been very busy this week."

  "Did you explain that this is about new evidence in the case he once prosecuted against Dr. Tyler McClane?"

  "Your message was most explicit, Dr. Fielding." The woman hung up without saying goodbye.

  Cait gritted he teeth as she replaced the receiver. Disgust crossed her face as she snatched up a page of notes and crumpled it into an angry wad.

  "Arrogant ass," she muttered as she tossed the ball toward the wastebasket by her desk. It hit the rim instead and bounced onto the thick, rose-colored carpet.

  "You missed."

  "Tyler!"

  He was dressed much as she'd seen him in Sutter Creek, in jeans and boots. This time, however, he had added a fleece-lined denim jacket over a red flannel shirt and a buff-colored Stetson. The combination suited him, perhaps better than the conservative suit she remembered.

  "Hello, Cait. Do you have a minute?"

  "I … sure. Come in." Her voice was strangely scratchy. "My last patient left twenty minutes ago. I'm just sitting here decompressing before I have to face the holiday traffic."

  As he entered, he swept off the Stetson with one hand and finger-combed his hair with the other. It was long enough to cover his ears and curl over the collar of his shirt. In the artificial light it seemed more gun-metal gray than silver.

  "Rough day?" He was still remote, but the fury was gone from his eyes.

  "Patients I can handle. It's the idiots with a little taste of power I can't abide."

  "Any particular idiot?" he asked. "Or idiots in general?"

  "Jack Lamont."

  "Oh, yeah? I didn't realize the two of you were such close friends."

  Cait ignored the sarcasm. Arguing with Tyler wouldn't benefit either of them. "About as close as the two of you, I suspect."

  "I doubt it."

  Cait grinned, and for an instant she thought he might grin back. He didn't. Instead, he dropped his hat onto one of the two chairs opposite the desk and sank into the other. A hint of the up-country mountains came with him, as though he'd carried the wind in with him on his clothes and in his hair.

  "Nice office. Cheerful."

  His swift, assessing gaze noted every corner before coming back to her face. Even though he was sitting very still, there was a restless, exclusively masculine energy about him. It was there in the subtle narrowing of his eyes and in the confident stretch of his long, muscular legs.

  "My patients seem to like it."

  "Especially that pillow, I imagine." Cait glanced toward the red vinyl "pounding pillow" in one corner. Five or six plastic bats in various sizes were conveniently close at hand.

  "Actually, that's really there for me. If you'd come in a few minutes later, you would have found me walloping the heck out of it."

  "Sounds interesting."

  "Would you like to try it?"

  One corner of his mouth yielded to an involuntary half smile. "I just might—one of these days."

  "Anytime."

  His eyes were the color of storm clouds as he watched her. For a second Cait felt pulled into those eyes. There was so much she wanted to say.

  "Looks like you're healing."

  "Healing?"

  "The black eye."

  "Oh, that." Cait lifted her hand and touched the fading bruise under her eye. "It doesn't even hurt anymore."

  "Good."

  Tyler ran his hand over the arm of the chair. It annoyed him to realize that his palms were sweating and his respiration was faster than usual. It annoyed him even more to realize that his body was reacting involuntarily to Cait as though they'd just met. Dante was right. The lady could fire a man's blood with just a glance from those soft eyes.

  Suddenly tense, he leaned forward to shrug out of his jacket. "I'm here because of my daughter," he said as he folded his jacket over the arm of the chair. "It took me a few days to get permission from my parole officer to be in the same city with her."

  Cait felt a small shiver of relief. So she hadn't read him wrong. Under the hard-edged reserve, Tyler still cared about his little girl.

  "Hazel has begun therapy. We've decided on twice a week for the time being. Anything more than that might push Kelsey into a worse collapse."

  His eyes went blank with shock. "Collapse?"

  "I thought you understood. She's very close to a complete breakdown. Unrelieved guilt can do terrible things. In this case, it's exacerbated by the fact that she's convinced you hate her."

  "She's wrong. I love her. I always have."

  "Would you be willing to tell her that?"

  His eyebrows lifted. Whether in surprise or refusal she wasn't certain. "You were in court. You heard the sentence. I'm not allowed to have any contact whatsoever with her."

  "If I could clear it with the judge and your parole officer so that you could write her a letter, would you?"

  "Can you clear it?"

  "I can't promise, but, yes, I think I can."

  He noticed that there were faint shadows under her eyes and wondered if she'd been having trouble sleeping, too. He told himself he couldn't afford to care one way or the other. His concern was for Kelsey. Only Kelsey.

  "What do you want me to say in this letter?"

  Cait allowed herself a pleased smile. "She needs to know that you don't blame her for lying. Hazel will read it to her in a controlled atmosphere, and then they'll talk about it. Hopefully, it will serve as a catharsis."

  "If it doesn't?"

  "Then we'll try something else."

  A catharsis. Controlled atmosphere. Tyler glanced at the diplomas arrayed on the wall behind her. His own were packed away in a box in his closet. One of these days he would get around to throwing them out.

  "I'll do my best," he said, as much to himself as to Cait.

  "That's all anyone can do." She picked up a pen, then realized that she had no use for it and carefully replaced it on the polished desktop.

  Tyler saw the nervous gesture and remembered a younger, less confident Cait. A woman of emotion with a lusty passion for life. A prettier-than-she-knew woman who had laughed as often as she'd cried.

  He could still see her bustling down the corridor of the pediatric wing, he hair mussed from the absentminded twirling of her fingers as she agonized over a particularly heartbreaking case. She had worried about everything in those days. Her patients. Her friends. Even an insecure resident from the sticks.

  He'd worried about his patients and his future. Nothing else had mattered to the man he'd been then. He rose so abruptly that Cait blinked in almost comical surprise. He'd been indoors long enough. He needed space. Air.

  "Talk to the judge," he ordered. "Call me when you have his answer."

  He reached for his jacket and shrugged into it. Cait had a sudd
en image of hard-packed muscles moving against flannel. As his gaze came to her again, she was suddenly intensely conscious of her mussed hair and wilted makeup.

  It struck her that no one had ever made her more aware of her own femininity than Tyler. Perhaps because he was so intensely masculine.

  "Uh, I need your home number," she reminded him as she pushed back her chair and stood.

  "You can reach me at the Horseshoe. I have an extension upstairs." He took one of her cards from the small wooden holder and wrote his number on the back. He left both pen and card on the desk.

  "Anything else you need?"

  Yes, she thought. I need a glimpse of the man I used to idolize. "No, nothing. I'll call when I have news."

  She walked around the desk and extended her hand. Tyler hesitated, then touched his hand to hers. The contact was impersonal and withdrawn quickly.

  "Thank you for coming." She waited for the knot in her stomach to ease. Instead, it twisted tighter.

  "You knew I would."

  "No, I didn't," she said gently. "I only hoped."

  Barefoot, she was nearly a head shorter than Tyler. In order to keep her gaze on his, she was forced to tilt her head, exposing her throat to his view.

  The skin was paler there, especially in the fragile hollow where her pulse was beating abnormally fast. He felt his awareness quicken, followed almost immediately by a hot, swift shaft of desire. Easy to label, he thought. Not as easy to ignore.

  "Goodbye, Cait."

  He caught up his hat and tugged it over his forehead. He nodded once and turned to leave.

  "Wait!"

  "Something else?" he asked, half-turning her way.

  "I, um, just wondered…"

  "Wondered what?"

  Cait glanced toward the framed photograph of Kelsey on her desk. "I have something for you," she said as she reached for the photo. She freed the brass catches holding the picture in the frame and removed the photograph.

  "This was taken about two months ago," she said as she held it out to him. His gaze held hers for an instant before dropping to the face in the picture.

  "Thanks," he murmured as he took it from her. Cait saw that he swallowed hard and his hand shook.