Cait glanced down at the tube of paper now crushed between her fingers. "He said he wasn't coming," she whispered.
"Well, he's most definitely here now," Hazel whispered back.
Cait drew a shaky breath. To the accompaniment of trumpets the curtains rose on Santa's workshop. Santa and some of his elves were staring helplessly at an empty corner where the sleigh should have been but wasn't. After hours of helping Kelsey with her lines, Cait knew the play by heart. Kelsey would soon make her entrance.
Cait handed Hazel her program and stood. Moving quietly, she went to him.
"I didn't think you were coming," she whispered when she reached his side.
"Changed my mind."
The music changed, and Cait recognized Kelsey's entrance cue. Her heart raced, and her throat threatened to close as she touched Tyler's arm.
"There she is," she whispered softly. "In the front row, with the green hat and purple doublet." A smile hovered softly at the corners of her mouth. "She's afraid she'll forget her line. I told her to improvise."
He tried to smile at that. Failing, he shifted his gaze to the stage. Each breath he took seemed squeezed from him. He was afraid to move. Feelings he hadn't acknowledged in a long time whipped through him. Feelings he was helpless to withstand.
"Here it comes," Cait murmured. Her hand groped for his elbow, and she held on. "Keep your fingers crossed that she doesn't forget."
Tyler experienced a moment of panic. What would happen if she did? Her mother would have burst into tears. As for him, he just got calmer under stress—until the problem was solved. That was when his temper usually exploded.
He held his breath. Santa was speaking. And then it was Kelsey's turn.
"But Santa? How … uh…" Her high, clear voice stuttered into silence. Kelsey ducked her head, causing the bell on her cap to tinkle loudly. Tyler and Cait shared an agonized look.
Hang in there, baby, he thought. You can do it.
Onstage, Kelsey's face was getting pinker and pinker. The other elves exchanged anxious looks. Santa looked toward the wings. And then Kelsey straightened her little shoulders and said with great drama, "But, Santa, how can we have Christmas without the sleigh?"
Kelsey's fellow elves looked relieved. Eyes sparkling, she grinned toward the footlights as though to say "I did it." Santa picked up his cue, and the dialogue continued.
"Proud of herself, isn't she?" Tyler whispered in a gruff tone.
Cait managed a shaky nod as she whispered back, "She's got this … this tough little center that won't let her give up." Because it seemed right, she raised her gaze to his and added softly, "Like her daddy."
Tyler found his throat blocked by a thickness that he couldn't swallow away. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him with approval.
Suddenly he felt as though the walls were pushing against him. The dark was smothering. He needed air.
He turned, only to realize that Cait blocked his escape. He pulled his hands from his pockets. With his left, he captured hers. With the other he took an envelope from the inside pocket of his blazer and slapped it into her palm.
"What's this?" Her voice was barely audible over the sudden burst of applause swelling over them.
"The letter you wanted. Use it as you think best." He dropped her hand and turned away.
"Tyler, wait," she called after him. He didn't stop.
Cait shot a quick glance toward the stage, where Kelsey and the others were taking their bows. Kelsey's eyes were shining like Christmas stars. She was fine. Tyler wasn't. Cait turned to follow him into the cold night.
As soon as she left the building, she felt the cold wind buffeting her. The parking lot was full. Even with the bright lights overhead, it took several seconds before she saw him.
He had both hands on his truck's right front fender as though he were determined to rip it free from the chassis. His head was bent, and his broad back faced her.
She was less than a dozen yards from him when he spun around quickly, as though to fend off another attack. The cold glitter in his eyes stopped her in midstride. As soon as he recognized her, his body relaxed. His eyes, however, remained coldly guarded.
"You left before I could thank you," she said, indicating the letter still in her hand. His shoulders moved in the barest suggestion of a shrug.
"I hope it's what you wanted."
"Are you sure you should give this to me without permission? Because of your parole, I mean. What I mean is, didn't you take an awfully big risk?"
There was a pause before he said tersely, "Not much."
"But Dante said—"
"Forget Dante. He's gotten paternal in his old age."
Cait laughed at the thought of the virile, dynamic attorney getting old. "Whatever you do, Tyler, don't let him hear you saying that."
His face relaxed for an instant, as though he were smiling inside. "If you don't tell, I won't."
"It's a deal." She moved closer.
His face tightened again. "If I could do more, I would."
"I know. I just wish it were possible. For your sake as well as Kelsey's."
There was a measured silence during which his eyes searched her face intently. "You really mean that, don't you?" he said at last.
"I never say anything I don't mean. I thought you knew that."
"Did you mean it when you said you believed I was innocent?"
"Yes. I believe it. Unequivocally. I made a mistake four years ago. I realize that now."
His big shoulders flexed as though they had wearied of carrying a great weight. "I made mistakes, too. Too damn many," he said slowly, deliberately, as though measuring each word. "I wasn't home when I should have been. I saw my daughter when it was convenient for me. Sometimes I went days without seeing her. No wonder it was so easy for Crys to convince her I'd take her away. Furious as I was with Crys at the time, I just might have. I thought about it enough."
He passed his hand through his wind-whipped hair before raising his gaze to the sky. "God, I'd give anything for another chance."
"Don't, Tyler." Cait moved closer until only a few inches separated them. "That's all in the past."
"No. Some mistakes take a long time to erase." His voice broke, and his chest heaved as he struggled for control. "I would have killed anyone who did what they accused me of doing, Cait," he said in a harsh whisper. "I swear it."
The wind snatched at her hair, leaving tendrils clinging to her neck. He lifted a hand to brush them away. His fingers lingered, but there was no hint of seduction in his touch. Only an abiding need for human contact.
"It's cold. You'd better get back inside."
She covered his hand with hers and leaned into his touch. Surprise flickered in his eyes.
"Do you remember that night on the hospital roof when you found me crying because I'd lost a patient to suicide?"
"No." But she saw by the quick flash in his eyes that he did.
"First you dried my tears, and then you held me. You were so gentle. So tender."
"Don't." His voice was ragged, his fists clenched.
"I needed a friend that night, and you were there," she continued softly. "Tonight I think you need a friend."
Very gently she threaded her arms around his waist and rested her head on his shoulder.
As soon as she touched him, Tyler felt a surge of longing so great it stunned him. But it wasn't physical need that threatened to drive him to his knees. It was a deep hunger to belong. To matter to someone. To make a difference in someone's life.
He resisted for as long as he could, and then he was dragging her against him. His need to feel her warmth was savage His arms strained to withstand the need to hold her even tighter.
Her scent swirled on the breeze. Her breath warmed his neck. Her soft breasts cushioned his chest. The quiet came gradually. Little by little he felt himself relaxing.
It was habit that had his hand beginning a slow movement against the small of her back. Even the lightest f
riction of skin on soft wool, however, was more than he could take. Stifling a groan, he closed his fingers into a hard fist.
Cait was returning a favor tonight. He had no right to want more. Slowly he lifted his head and released her.
"Consider us even," he said with a slow smile that felt stiff on his face.
Cait surfaced slowly. "I really am sorry, Tyler."
"So am I. More than you know."
The night grew very quiet. Overhead, stars gathered strength. The breeze blew fiercely, but Tyler's big body protected her from its bite. Nevertheless, she shivered.
"You should be inside. And I should be on my way." He touched the curve of her jaw.
"I'm glad you came." The warmth inside her was suddenly slipping away.
"Thanks for being my friend tonight," he said in a voice so low and deep that she felt as well as heard the vibration. "You were right. I needed one."
It was the gentlest of kisses, a warm sweet pressure of his mouth against hers before he took a determined step away. The warmth of his mouth lingered.
"Good night, Caitie."
She managed a smile. "Good night."
He watched her until she was safely inside, and then he let his shoulders slump. It was going to be a long, lonely drive home.
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
The phone rang just as Cait and Kelsey were sitting down to dinner on Wednesday. It was six o'clock on the dot.
"I'll get it," Kelsey cried.
"That's okay. It's for me." Cait was already out of he chair and heading for the den. She closed the door carefully before reaching for the phone.
"Hello?" She found she was slightly breathless. From running, she told herself.
"Cait? It's Tyler. I assume you kept your appointment with the judge today." She heard music playing in the background. "Jingle Bells" with a western beat.
"We did indeed." She took a deep breath.
"Well?" His impatience fairly sizzled down the line. She imagined him scowling as he spoke, but his big hand would now be white around the phone. He guarded his heart well. Sometimes, however, the intensity of his feelings spilled over those walls he'd erected. Something warm uncurled inside her.
"We won," she said with a pleased grin. "Big time."
"We?"
"You and Kelsey, Hazel and me."
"Cait—"
She shifted the phone from one ear to the other and grinned at her reflection in the window. "Actually, Hazel was the one who did most of the talking," she went on, as though she hadn't heard his frustrated growl. "I was mainly there for moral support. I wish you could have seen her, Tyler. She went in there like a little redheaded bulldog. Judge Alexander didn't have a chance, although he was thorough, I'll give him that. He asked just about every question I expected and a few more. Bless her heart, Hazel had answers for them all. She could have been a politician, although for heaven's sake don't tell her I said so. She would kill me."
There was a pause. "Is there a bottom line to this?" He sounded annoyed, but there was a definite thread of indulgent humor mixed in with the masculine rumble.
"Sure. Bottom line, the judge agreed that Kelsey's emotional stability depends on believing that you don't hate her. So he's going to allow limited contact. By letter only, at the moment. But what the heck, it's a start. Right?"
In the sudden silence she imagined him sitting rigidly, staring straight ahead the way he'd done when the bailiff had read the verdict.
"What's the next step then?"
"Next we wait for the right moment, when Kelsey seems especially receptive, and then I'll read your letter to her."
"You? I thought you said Dr. O'Connor was going to read it."
"Hazel thinks it would be better if I did. Actually, she ordered me to read it. She can be very bossy sometimes, although to tell you the truth, I usually ignore her and do what I want anyway. Maybe that's why we're still friends."
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Was that husky note in his voice the beginning of laughter?
"Beats me."
Even over the din of the early-evening crowd, Tyler caught the slight lilt of a smile in her voice. It wasn't a big deal. Except to a man who'd never forgotten how special one of her smiles could make him feel.
"So are you?" he asked as the silence lengthened.
"Am I what?"
When she was annoyed, he remembered, two tiny vees formed above the bridge of her nose. In his mind he saw them now. There were freckles on that little nose. Usually she'd covered them with makeup. He had always meant to tell her not to bother. Sooner or later they peeked through, tempting a man to count them with his tongue.
His mind took hold of that thought and refused to let go. Across the bar, Ben Hadley gave him a strange look.
Tyler turned his back and stared down at the scuffed toes of his boots. Ten years had passed, and she still had the power to beguile him.
"Are you going to read the damn letter?"
"Well, sure. I thought I just said that."
"No, you didn't."
There was a pause before she asked softly, "Tyler, are you gritting your teeth?"
Tyler relaxed his jaw. "No."
"Yes, you are! I can hear that sound you make when you're getting impatient."
Old memories tugged at him. Old longings stirred. His mood took on a stark edge of loneliness. "I'd better get back to work."
She burst out laughing. "You never could stand it when I was right, could you?"
He felt a loosening at the back of his neck. It took him a moment to realize he was relaxing. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, simply unfamiliar, which was why he didn't trust it.
"That's because you thought you were always right," he said.
"So?"
"Sometimes you're wrong. And sometimes you're not the one who pays when you are."
There was a pause before she said slowly, "That's true. I guess I'd forgotten. But then, I don't have the same reason to remember, do I? As you say, you're the one who paid."
The lilt was gone from her voice. It occurred to him that perhaps that had been his intention.
"That was out of line. Forget I said anything."
"Why do people always say that?" she mused in a low tone tinged with an emotion he couldn't identify. "Once something's been said, it can never be called back, can it?"
She hung up without waiting for his reply.
Tyler stood with the phone in his hand. The dial tone buzzed angrily in his ear, but it was the long string of curses slicing through his head that he heard.
* * *
During Cait's childhood, the Christmas tree was never decorated until Christmas Eve. That was one of the things she had resolved to change when she had her own family. It was a full week until Christmas, but the den blazed with lights and smelled deliciously of pine needles.
The tree was a specially ordered noble fir tall enough to touch the ceiling. Cait was in charge of the lights and the tinsel, while Kelsey took care of the ornaments.
She'd been hoping that a tree-decorating party would put sparkle in Kelsey's eyes. Instead, it seemed to have made her more withdrawn.
"What do you think, sweetie?" Cait asked as she stepped back to inspect her handiwork. "More tinsel?"
Kelsey shrugged. "Mommy always had a silver tree, with lots of red balls."
Cait heard the forlorn note in the child's voice and knew that she was remembering last Christmas. The three of them had spent it together at Crystal's home in Hillsborough. A week later, on New Year's Eve, Crystal had been dead.
"Are you disappointed that our tree isn't like Mommy's?" Cait asked softly.
Kelsey stared fixedly at the carpet. "Not exactly," she mumbled. "It's just … different."
Her brow was still furrowed. Kelsey was a lot like her father. She couldn't be pushed into anything, not even conversation.
"I understand. Different can be scary sometimes." Cait dropped an arm over Kelsey's thin shoulders and le
d her to the chair by the fire.
"I need a hug," she said as she drew the little girl close to her. As Kelsey's arms immediately wound around her neck, Cait thought of Tyler. How terrible it must be for him to know that he could be sent to prison for hugging his own child.
"Mmm, that was just what I needed," she murmured as Kelsey released her. "Thank you."
Kelsey snuggled closer. "Welcome."
"The fire feels good, doesn't it?"
Kelsey didn't answer. Instead, her gaze trailed upward to the photograph of Crystal and Caitlin on the mantelpiece. It had been taken when Cait had graduated from college and Crystal was just beginning.
"Mama Cait, was my mommy pretty?"
Mixed emotions stabbed at Cait, just as they always did now when she thought of her sister. "Yes, darling. Very pretty."
Kelsey's eyes grew very solemn and dark. "Sarah says that her mommy is the prettiest mommy in California and her daddy is the handsomest."
"Does she?" Cait's voice was calm.
"Uh-huh. She asked me if my daddy was handsome."
Cait realized that her throat was suddenly tight. "And what did you say?"
"I didn't say anything."
"Why not, sweetie?"
"’Cause I don't remember what he looks like." As though she were ashamed, Kelsey dropped her gaze and hunched her shoulders. "Sometimes I think I remember, but I'm not sure."
Cait glanced toward her desk. "Would you like to see a picture of your daddy?"
Kelsey nodded again, but apprehension pinched her mouth and darkened her eyes.
"Let me up for a minute, so I can get to my desk."
The yellowed newspaper clipping was in the bottom drawer, under a stack of personal papers. Kelsey watched intently as Cait returned to her seat and unfolded the clipping.
The article was a laudatory one, praising Dr. Tyler McClane for reattaching an eleven-year-old Little League pitcher's right arm after it had been severed in an accident. The grainy photo accompanying the article showed a gangly half-grown kid in a hospital bed grinning at the camera while Tyler was standing next to him. He wasn't smiling. Nor did he look particularly pleased at having his picture taken.
Kelsey stared. "Did he really sew that boy's arm back on?"
PAROLED! Page 9
