PAROLED!

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  "What time is it, anyway?"

  "Almost noon. Time for all good boys to be up and at 'em."

  "The hell it is. This is my day off."

  Dante's laughter rolled down the line. "You have a wild night or something?"

  "Or something."

  "Anything you want to talk about?"

  "No."

  Dante was silent for a moment. When he resumed speaking, Tyler heard a subtle shift in his voice—from teasing to serious.

  "I got an answer from Lamont."

  Tyler sat up abruptly. The blanket cut into his groin. He flinched and jerked the thick material free. "And?"

  "He's amenable to a new trial."

  Tyler closed his eyes, giving in to raw emotion. But when he spoke his voice was flat. "When?"

  "Couple of months. Depends on his calendar." Dante cleared his throat. "There's a condition, though."

  "Name it."

  "Kelsey has to testify."

  Tyler slumped against the cheap headboard and stared at the ceiling. The crack in the dingy plaster had gotten longer. "Did you hit him with the idea of a sworn deposition?"

  "Yeah, as hard as I could. He wants a chance to cross-examine."

  "What about O'Connor? Can't she just paraphrase Kelsey's words?"

  "She says she can't. Professional ethics again. Even if she could, Lamont wants more. The courts are really sensitive about cases like this right now. He's covering his ass. In a way, I don't blame him."

  Tyler glanced at his only photograph of his little girl. If Kelsey testified in open court, the press and TV reporters would have her picture on the front page and the nightly news until her face was as obscenely familiar as a rock star's. A feeding frenzy at its worst, the kind that could destroy a sensitive child like Kelsey.

  Tyler ran his hand over his morning beard. News like this he didn't need. "Putting my daughter on the stand again wasn't in the plan, Jess."

  There was a pause, them Dante sighed. "You should have let me go after her at the trial."

  "She was five years old. You would have destroyed her."

  "Now she's nine. You're still protecting her," Dante shot back.

  "Isn't that what a father's supposed to do?"

  "C'mon, Ty!" Dante's voice took on an impatient edge. "I know she's your daughter and you love her. But she lied about you. Because of her and her mother, you now have about as much chance of being a doctor again as I have of growing another arm."

  "There's got to be a way to make Lamont accept a deposition. Find it."

  "And if I can't? Are you willing to give up your only chance to protect a child you hardly know?"

  "That's enough, Dante."

  "Think about it, Ty, when you're downstairs pouring drinks and lighting tourists' cigarettes."

  He hung up without waiting for an answer.

  * * *

  Nurse Pamela Strickland pulled the syringe from Tyler's arm and removed the tube of dark red blood before tossing the used needle into the special trash receptacle.

  The parole board frowned on a convicted felon working in a saloon. Abuse of alcohol and street drugs was one of the prime causes of recidivism. Because tending bar was the only job Tyler could find, however, Shuffler had reluctantly agreed to his taking it—providing Tyler submitted to random tests.

  Tyler hated every minute he spent in Dr. Delgado's office. The smells, the sounds, even the row of diplomas and licenses on the wall, aroused painful memories of the things be had lost.

  Sometimes just hearing the murmur of voices in the next room, knowing that it was Dr. Delgado and one of his patients, had him drenched in sweat and missing medicine so much it took all his control to keep from bolting.

  At first Mrs. Strickland had treated him coolly, the way most folks did when they discovered where he'd been and why. Over the months, however, he and the feisty nurse had become friends of a sort.

  "Got all your shopping done?" she asked as she wrote his name on the paper taped around the vial.

  "Haven't even started." Tyler rolled down the sleeve of his flannel shirt and buttoned the cuff.

  "Me neither. It seems to get harder and harder every year, doesn't it?"

  "That's what they tell me."

  Mrs. Strickland slipped the vial into a padded envelope and added it to the bin for the lab in Sacramento. From there the results would be sent to Harvey Shuffler.

  "Know of any good sales?" she asked as she secured the flap of the envelope with tape.

  "Sorry. The guys at the Horseshoe mostly talk about cattle and feed prices."

  "And women, too, I suspect," she added with a twinkle in her eyes.

  "That, too," he acknowledged as he got to his feet and slipped into his jacket.

  "Mrs. Turner over at the drugstore said that Randolph's Mercantile is having a good sale. Fancy toys and expensive books, mostly, but some clothes. Maybe I'll stop on my way home tonight." She wrote Out his bill and handed it to him. "Doesn't seem right that you have to come here and let me practice my technique on you, and then have to pay for it, too."

  Tyler folded the bill and shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. "It's better than the alternative."

  Sympathy softened the nurse's blunt features. "That's true enough."

  They exchanged goodbyes and he left.

  The morning was raw. Ice glistened in the puddles along the street. The weatherman was still predicting a white Christmas for the skiers. So far, with one week to go before the Christmas Eve crush, the resorts were anxiously watching the sky and making their own.

  Tyler tugged his Stetson low over his forehead before heading south along the main drag. He walked swiftly, with long strides. He was the only one who seemed to be in a hurry. The other pedestrians he encountered seemed content to saunter along the streets. Some window-shopped. Others chatted. A few strolled hand in hand, so close their breath mingled.

  "Mommy, Mommy! Look at the dolly. Isn't she wonderful?" The child's happy cry was like a hot lash across Tyler's back. Someday, perhaps, it wouldn't hurt so much.

  He slowed his steps. A dozen yards ahead of him a little girl dressed in pink from the fluffy topknot of her stocking cap to the toes of her tiny boots was gesturing excitedly with a pink mitten toward the window of the Mercantile. Her parents exchanged indulgent smiles and let her lead them to the glass.

  Inside was a charmingly arranged tea party. Three stuffed bears were being served tea by a china doll with golden curls and a perfect porcelain complexion.

  "Can I have her, Daddy? Can I, please?"

  "You have to ask Santa about that," her father said as he glanced at his wife with eyebrows raised.

  The mother gave a quick shake of her head before she smiled down at the child between them. "Santa already has your list, remember?"

  The little girl's expression drooped, then brightened. "I know! I'll send him a fax."

  The young couple laughed and shared a loving look. The father hoisted the excited little girl onto his shoulders before linking hands with his wife. Still laughing and talking, the three of them moved on.

  Tyler watched for a moment, then averted his gaze. When he reached the window, however, he stopped and studied the old-fashioned scene. He didn't need a collector's eye to know that everything was old and extremely valuable. The toys were antique, and so were the furniture and china.

  A quick glance at the price tags told him that the dolly so admired by the little girl in pink cost more than he made in a week.

  He started to walk away but found himself held by the small pine tree behind the table. Hanging by golden ribbons from the thick branches were a dozen or so ornaments of blown glass. They were simple in design and winked in the light like fragile ice crystals. Easily destroyed, like trust. He turned away and headed for his truck.

  * * *

  In less than an hour it would be Christmas Day.

  The house was quiet. Kelsey was asleep. Cait was in the den, curled up in front of a dying fire.

  The l
ogs in the grate had burned to embers. Her wine-glass was nearly empty. She had just finished playing Santa. Mounds of gaily wrapped presents were piled under the tree, waiting for Kelsey to tear into them in about seven hours or so.

  Cait drew her knees to her chest and circled them with her arms. It had taken patience, but Kelsey was finally excited about Christmas. Tyler's letter had helped tremendously. Kelsey kept it under her pillow.

  The week before Christmas had gone quickly. They'd hung pine-bough bunting on every available surface and placed dozens of bayberry candles around the house. This afternoon they had baked dozens of sugar cookies. Everything was perfect.

  Wasn't it?

  Not daring to answer that question, Cait roused herself and slowly got to her feet. She stood for a moment, stretching out the kinks. Then, after checking that the fire screen was in place, she moved toward the tree. The dozens of tiny white bulbs on the tree cast a lovely glow throughout the room, and she hated to turn them off. To be safe, however…

  The doorbell startled her into a sharp gasp. Her hand went to her throat as she spun around. It was far too late for a casual caller.

  The bell rang again, a shrill summons in the silent house. Heart pounding, she hurried to answer it.

  "Tyler."

  She had to angle her gaze a few inches higher to find his eyes. They seemed very dark in the glow from the porch light.

  "Merry Christmas."

  He was bareheaded, and his hair was tousled, as though combed frequently by his fingers. The collar of his jacket was pulled up. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold.

  She glanced toward the street. His truck was parked a half block away, on the other side of Citrus Avenue. She cleared her throat.

  "Merry Christmas. You're out late."

  She saw the present in his hand then. It was wrapped in plain green paper and red ribbon. The bow was huge but slightly askew. Tyler saw the direction of her gaze and held the box forward. "From Santa for Kelsey," he explained with a brief smile.

  Murmuring her thanks, she took it from him and discovered that it was lighter than it looked.

  "I love the bow," she murmured, flashing him a grin. "Did you tie it yourself?"

  He nodded. "Took me a couple of tries, though. It's not exactly the same as a surgical knot." She heard no self-pity in his tone, only dry humor.

  "I doubt that Kelsey will notice."

  "If she does, blame it on Santa."

  "Good idea."

  Silence fell. Tyler noticed that she was wearing her hair down again. In the glow of the light, the soft dark strands had a subtle shimmer, as though the summer sun had been captured there. He shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced toward his truck.

  "Well, I'd better go. Like you said, it's late."

  The lonely look around his eyes told her that he wasn't quite as nonchalant about this as he wanted her to believe. His wounds went deep, and he had borne them alone for a long time.

  She glanced down at the package in her arms. "Santa usually puts the presents under the tree himself, you know."

  Wariness, especially of unexpected kindness, ran deep in him. Harsh experience had taught him to distrust the motives of those offering it.

  "Does he?"

  "Of course, silly. Everyone over the age of six months knows that."

  Something flashed in his eyes like a sliver of light in the darkest dark. Before she could change her mind, she stepped back. At the same time, she pushed the door wider.

  "Come in and have a cup of coffee to warm you before you make that long drive home." His hesitation was slight, but she noticed.

  "Please," she said with her most coaxing smile. "I'd enjoy the company. It can get awfully lonesome talking to kids day after day."

  His eyes lost some of their guarded strain. That he could understand. It was the same with talking to cowboys and bikers night after night.

  "Thanks," he said as he stepped over the threshold and walked past her.

  His first impression was serenity, the kind that settles in a house where people love each other. He'd never felt it in any of the places where he'd lived. He'd given up expecting it.

  Cait juggled the present in one hand as she turned to close the door. He reached out to take it from her. As he did, he smelled the warm, feminine fragrance that seemed to cling to her skin.

  His reaction was immediate and insistent: an urgent resurgence of the need he'd worked day and night to banish. He made himself ignore it, just as he had to ignore the rest of the frustrations in his life.

  "Nice," he said, glancing at the ivory walls and burnished wood of the massive staircase and hand-carved doors. None of the furnishings he could see in the living room and dining room looked coordinated or even planned. Somehow the eclectic mixture of valuable antiques, vibrant colors and whimsical memorabilia seemed to work.

  "It is now," Cait said with a pleased glance around. "When I moved in, it was a wreck. Hazel helped me with the hard stuff, like paint and wallpapering and stripping that darn staircase. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to chuck it all and just paint the darn thing over and forget it."

  He frowned. "Why didn't you?"

  "Because something told me that I would find a real treasure under all those protective layers. And I did." She grinned. "Solid oak. The kind you can't find anymore. I knew it was there all along."

  Her eyes smiled into his, pleased as a kid with her first A-plus. She was either a naive fool or a hopeless romantic. Not that it mattered which. The world was a dangerous, cruel place for either. Sooner or later, even the strongest broke. Someday Cait was going to find that out. He hoped she would survive the knowing. Irritation moved through him, coupled with another emotion he didn't understand.

  "What if you were wrong? What if you'd done all that hard work and found nothing salvageable under all those layers? Then what?"

  Cait knew exactly what he was saying and why. "Ah, but I didn't, did I?" she said with a swift, telling glance toward the rich, gleaming hardwood. "Besides, a shrink comes to hate words like what if and should have and but. I prefer absolutely, positively and anything's possible."

  His eyes narrowed. "Anything's possible? As in miracles?"

  "Absolutely!" Her laughter was soft and full of fun. "Know something else, Dr. McClane? Under all that cynicism you cultivate so carefully, you believe in miracles, too. Otherwise you never would have become a healer."

  She touched his cheek lightly. "Mmm, you feel cold. Come on into the den. The tree's there, and there might be a few coals left of the terrific fire Kelsey and I made while we had eggnog and cookies."

  She swept past him and headed down the wide hallway to the last room on the right. He glanced at the door she'd just closed and knew that was the direction he should take. Little by little she was drawing him into a way of life he had longed for for so long. Deliberately or not, it was working.

  "Yo, Santa?" she whispered from the end of the hall. "In here."

  Tyler glanced at the package he'd tucked under one arm.

  Hell, he couldn't very well stand there with the damn thing all night.

  Cait waited until she was certain he was on his way to the den, then ducked into the room to wait. She thought she looked too much like a guard standing in the doorway, watching him. He'd had enough of that, she knew.

  She expected them now—the swift assessing glance, the rapid attention to potential danger, the deeply ingrained caution in every new situation. She waited patiently until his gaze found hers, and then she waved a casual hand toward the tree.

  "I was just about to turn off the lights, even though I really didn't want to. I'm glad you rang when you did, so I can enjoy them a bit longer."

  It was huge, her tree. Big enough to fill one corner of the room. The branches sagged under ornaments of all sizes and shapes. Some were definitely handmade. Others looked as though they belonged in earlier times. Everywhere he looked he saw something that roused his curiosity or made him want to laugh.

&
nbsp; Studying the huge tree and the room that held it, Tyler realized that the tug of some deeply buried longing was strongest in him here. Perhaps because the room was so like her—cozy, welcoming, with just a few startling touches of eccentricity to keep him intrigued.

  The smell of some spice lingering like a warm mist was like her as well, filling his senses with a seductive feeling of well-being.

  "Very nice."

  Cait heard the clipped tone he used when he was keeping his emotions under tight rein, and smiled. "Did you ever get a tree for the Horseshoe?"

  "A small one." He shifted the present from one arm to the other. "We decorated it with beer cans and bottle caps."

  "I love it," she murmured. "It sounds perfect." She gestured toward the pile of presents under the lowest branches. "Just put Santa's present anywhere."

  His eyebrows lifted, and he whistled softly. "Looks like Aunt Cait bought out at least one toy store."

  "At least."

  They shared a smile. Cait felt herself drawn to the slow warmth that seemed to kindle in his eyes whenever his control relaxed even slightly.

  "Make yourself at home. I'll make some coffee."

  "Need any help?"

  "No thanks." Her throat took on a sudden tension that was reflected in her voice.

  Tyler watched her leave before he put the package in an unobtrusive spot toward the rear. He was coming close to feeling like a fool. What difference could one present possibly make to a little girl with such a haul?

  None, that was what.

  After shucking his jacket, he threw it onto the nearest chair and walked to the fireplace. Resting one forearm on the mantel, he stood looking into the nearly dead embers. No warmth came from the grate. No cheery light.

  Loneliness settled hard and sharp inside him. He was an intruder here. A man with sense would have sent the damn present instead of bringing it. Hell, maybe he shouldn't even have bought the damn thing. Crystal had always accused him of being too sentimental.

  "Build it up again if you'd like," Cait said from the doorway. She walked toward him, two steaming mugs in her hands.