The Parent Plan

by Paula Detmer Riggs

The sudden blazing of hope in Vicki’s soft brown eyes tore through her. “Then we can go back to being a family again, right? Me and you and Daddy and Rags?”

  Karen took a moment to reply. “Daddy and I can’t live together anymore, sweetie,” she said with a sad finality. “We disagree on too many important things.”

  “Like you being a doctor ‘stead of just a mommy like he thinks you should?”

  “No, Daddy admits that he was wrong about that.” Once she might have felt a great satisfaction in that. Now the validation he’d offered paled in comparison to the other things he’d said. Or hadn’t said.

  “Then we can go home, right?”

  “It’s not that simple, sweetheart,” she hedged, wishing her head wasn’t buzzing with tiredness and her mind wasn’t sluggish.

  “Why not?”

  Karen rubbed her aching temple and tried to focus her thoughts. “Remember when you dropped Grandma’s favorite piggy bank and broke it?”

  “I was just a baby,” Vicki said defensively.

  “Yes, and Grandma wasn’t angry with you because you didn’t mean to drop it. But that didn’t mean anyone could put it back together, either, because the pieces were too small.”

  She could see Vicki struggling to understand, and the little girl’s efforts were painful to watch. “Well, Mommy and Daddy’s marriage is like that piggy bank, sweetie. Somehow it got broken, and now it can’t be fixed.”

  Vicki’s chin trembled. “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “What about Daddy? He’s real good at fixing the tractor when it breaks down.”

  Karen cleared her throat. “In this case, not even Daddy can fix what’s broken.” But he could, a little voice reminded her. If only he wanted to do the hard work it would take to repair the damage done to him when he was scarcely any bigger than Vicki. “Do you understand what I’m saying, sweetheart?”

  Though she still looked sad, Vicki nodded. “I guess so. But I still wish we could be a family.”

  Karen smoothed a dark curl from her daughter’s cheek. “Oh, honey, I know you do, and I wish with all my heart that I could make that happen. But I can’t.”

  “Is that why I hear you crying sometimes in your room at night, and Daddy gets this awful sad look on his face whenever I talk about you?”

  Karen nodded, her eyes burning with tears she refused to shed in front of her daughter. “Daddy and I tried hard to make our marriage work. And when we didn’t succeed, it made us both sad.” She reached out to straighten Vicki’s thick bangs. “Most of all it makes us sad to know that you wish things could be the way they were. But they…can’t.”

  Vicki looked crestfallen. “Not ever?” she asked plaintively.

  Karen shifted her gaze to the night table and the framed photo of the three of them taken in happier times. A family on a picnic, snapped by her mother. Karen was wearing a halter top, shorts and a bemused smile. Cassidy had his shirt off and had just leaned down to give her a possessive kiss on her bare shoulder while Vicki looked on, radiant with good health and a child’s innocent joy.

  A shiver had run through her then. A shiver ran through her now. A man who truly loved her would have fought for her and the life they might had together.

  “No, sweetie,” she whispered sadly, “things will never be the same again.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The snow on the lower peaks was mostly gone by the end of April, and the sun was riding higher and higher in the sky with every day that passed. Like the land itself, the ranch was coming alive. The winter’s ravages had to be evaluated and tended. Fences needed mending, and hay hauled to the high pasture.

  Day after day, Cassidy worked himself into a state of blind, dumb exhaustion, coming home only when he finally figured he was numb enough to enter the empty house without wanting to put his fist through a wall. But even as he hung up his hat and shouldered out of his down vest in the mudroom, he was listening for the sound of Karen’s voice calling his name.

  When he showered, he let the hot water massage his tired muscles and longed to feel her small, capable hands running over his body just one more time. When he turned over in bed, he swore he could smell her scent on his pillow. But when he woke, he was alone, just as he’d always been.

  Not even the satisfaction of delivering three healthy foals on three successive nights could lift the hard weight of depression that had settled over him since Karen had left.

  He didn’t want to miss her. He didn’t want to desire her. To do both would weaken him. But in the quiet hours of the night when his resistance was low, he felt the old loneliness seeping into him, tearing at his willpower.

  It was then that the weight of his past mistakes pressed hardest. It had been years since he’d had the old nightmare, the one that had come to him every night for years after Johnny’s death, but suddenly it was on him again, wrenching him from sleep and sending him outside to pace for hours until the sick guilt eased its hold on his gut.

  Like a man possessed he took on more and more of the workload. He was in the saddle so much he’d been forced to buy another horse to add to his personal string. Named Lucifer by a breeder who’d given up on him, the beast was a mean sucker, black as original sin except for a white lightning bolt blaze. The hands had a fine old time watching the boss pit two-hundred-and-five pounds of muscle and will against a thousand pounds of pure cussedness.

  Cassidy had gone through two bottles of liniment, his entire lexicon of swear words and a year’s supply of patience, but the horse refused to break. He would, though, or one of them would end up with a broken neck. Sometimes, when the loneliness settled in with a fierce vengeance, he didn’t care which of them came out the winner.

  The papers from Karen’s attorney came to him on a gray Friday, served by a pasty-faced kid with a smirk. His first inclination had been to shove the papers down the little bastard’s throat. Instead, he threw them on the dining room table, grabbed his hat and headed for the barn.

  On the way, he stopped by the holding corral to check on the Brahma who pawed the ground at his approach, his straggly tail jerking back and forth in a purely mean challenge. One male to another.

  Whitehorse was there, along with two of the other men Billy had set to shoring up the corral’s north section where the bull had tried to kick his way to the larger pasture where his “ladies” were waiting.

  Cassidy rested one booted foot on the corral’s lower rail and stared back at his twelve-hundred-pound gamble. Whitehorse looked up and grinned around the nails clamped in his teeth. “Can’t rightly blame the bastard for trying, considerin’ all those pretty little heifers sashaying back and forth in front of him all hours of the day and night.”

  “Yeah, Toro’s got all the equipment and the yen to use it, all right. All he needs now is the chance.”

  The third man, a recent hire that Cassidy had put on at the request of his ramrod, stood up to stretch out his back. Pushing fifty, Rex Simon was a Gulf War vet who’d tried to medicate himself into oblivion for so many years he had trouble communicating with humans, though he had a real way with horses.

  “Spanish, is he?” Simon asked, jerking off his hat to scratch his shaggy gray hair.

  “Nah,” Whitehorse said, pounding another nail in place. “Boss’s little girl named him that after a story she read about the feller who homesteaded this place back in the 1880s. Had him a Texas longhorn by the same name.”

  Cassidy frowned. “Wanda hasn’t been letting Vick hang around here, has she?”

  Whitehorse ducked his head, but not before Cassidy saw the dull blush on his high cheekbones. “Not much, and me and her made real sure Miss Vicki doesn’t climb on the fence.”

  Cassidy narrowed his gaze. “Get this straight, Whitehorse. I don’t want her within a dozen yards of this corral.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young hand drew another nail from his mouth and drove it home with three hard blows. Simon shot Whitehorse a speculative glance before reaching for anot
her length of board.

  “Wanda June, either,” Cassidy added when he figured he had Whitehorse’s undivided attention.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cassidy felt his temper stir and kicked the fence post with the toe of his boot. “Guess you know Wanda’s like another daughter to Karen…to me. I would take it real bad if she got hurt, physically or otherwise.” He waited. When the kid didn’t answer, he prodded, “Understood?”

  “Understood” came the mumbled reply.

  Cassidy didn’t like the defensive edge on the young hand’s voice and made a mental note to talk to Wanda when he had a spare minute or two.

  “Stockwell’s comin’ out sometime this afternoon to check out the bull. Let me know when he gets here.” With one final look at the bull, who had gone back to grazing, he turned and headed for the barn.

  “You fixin’ to go a few more rounds with that black devil?” Billy asked when he glanced up from the tack he was mending to see Cassidy bearing down on him.

  Skirting the pile of leather lying at Billy’s feet in the center aisle, Cassidy spit out, “Something like that.”

  Because of the dreary weather, most of the interior lights had been turned on, even though it was still daylight outside. A soft glow bathed the aged gray of the planks with amber and made the bits of hay strewn over the packed earth floor shimmer like gold.

  The familiar and much-loved scents of horses, alfalfa and grain filled Cassidy’s senses, but they no longer soothed him as they once had. Just as seeing all the horses, every last one of which he owned free and clear, no longer filled him with a sense of accomplishment.

  Irritated at the direction of his thoughts, he ran his gaze over the stalls, then headed for the one on the end where Lucifer stood watching him with the equine equivalent of pure hatred.

  “Spoiling for a fight, aren’t you, you stubborn son of a bitch?”

  The horse bared his teeth and whuffed out air. Hell, why not? Cassidy thought as he reached for his favorite bridle. Wrestling with Lucifer for a few hours might be a darn sight more satisfying than fighting with his conscience.

  “You gonna give Vicki her new mare when she comes this afternoon or wait till tomorrow?” Billy asked, his head bent over his task once more.

  Cassidy spared his ramrod a sour look before throwing the blanket and saddle onto Lucifer’s muscular back. Every extra hour with his daughter was precious to him, and he had rented a couple of her favorite DVDs for the occasion.

  “I figure she’ll head for the barn first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll show her the mare then.” Cassidy brought up a knee to nudge the horse over. “Easy boy,” he said, gentling his tone and shifting the saddle. Then, to Billy, he remarked, “It’s too wet to let her ride tonight.”

  “Hell, boss, she ain’t no sissy.” Billy scoffed. “I seen her comin’ home lots of times looking like a drowned puppy. Her ‘n’ Miss Karen both. Right feisty ladies, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  Cassidy took another jerk on the cinch, then waited. As soon as Lucifer was forced to let out the air he’d trapped in his belly, Cassidy gave the cinch another hard jerk. Lucifer tossed his head, jostling Cassidy until he regained his balance. Automatically, he reached back to stroke the animal’s velvety muzzle, the only soft part on the ornery animal.

  “Too bad you ‘n’ Miss Karen broke up the way you done. Woulda been comforting to know she was close by when that sorry excuse for horseflesh tosses you on your keister again. Lord, but she’s a cool hand in a crisis.” Billy chuckled. “Remember the time you sliced your leg open muscling a steer into that old chute we shoulda torn down before then? Lordy, but that little woman did order us around.”

  She’d also sutured the gash with a rock-steady hand and gleam in her eyes as she offered to trade him the prettiest scar in two counties in exchange for a kiss. She’d gotten her kiss, all right. And more. He’d ended up with a neat row of tiny stitches bisecting his hamstring—and a satisfied smile on his face.

  Bracing himself for the inevitable nudge of Lucifer’s nose against his shoulder, Cassidy stopped in front of his ramrod and narrowed his gaze. “Is there a point to this walk down memory lane, Russell? Or are you angling for unemployment?”

  Billy’s mouth twitched. “Just recollectin’ some, that’s all.”

  Pulling a bandanna from his back pocket, Cassidy shot the younger man a hard look. “Take my advice, Billy. Don’t push your luck.”

  “Guess this is the wrong time to ask you to put on a new hand for a few months?”

  “What, another one of your reclamation projects?”

  Russell shook his head. In his spare time he volunteered at the Rescue Mission in town. As a sort of a payback, he’d told Cassidy once. “Not this time. It’s Dora’s nephew. He got into some trouble in Denver and her brother figures a couple of months on a ranch might just open his eyes some.”

  Cassidy tested the square knot he’d tied in the blindfold before muscling it over the horse’s eyes. Lucifer jerked his head back trying to dislodge the bandanna. Cassidy tightened the grip on the reins and murmured to the animal until he calmed. Only then did he return his attention to his ramrod. “What kind of trouble?”

  “Same as me. Drugs.”

  Cassidy frowned. “How old is this kid?”

  “Twelve.”

  Cassidy offered his opinion in one crude, explosive word that had Russell nodding. “Hell of a note, Cass. According to Dora’s brother, Ryan—that’s the kid’s name—has been using since he was Vicki’s age.”

  “You know my policy on drugs and alcohol,” Cassidy said, rubbing the gelding’s taut neck. “I give one chance, that’s all. But with a kid—” He shook his head. “Maybe Vick’s not here every day, but—”

  “You have my word, Cass,” Russell hastened to reassure him. “He won’t be using. As for working, I know you can’t really hire him. I was thinkin’ more of odd jobs for an hour or so after school.”

  Cassidy took a moment to think it through. He knew he should refuse, but he kept remembering himself at twelve. “Anyone ever tell you what a soft touch you are, Russell?”

  “‘Bout as many as say the same about you, Cass.”

  Cassidy used another word—equally foul and succinct—before leading Lucifer toward the door.

  Russell just laughed and stood up. “Guess if you’re contemplatin’ another suicide attempt at tamin’ that so-and-so, the least I can do is stand by to pick up the pieces.

  * * *

  Karen downshifted for the last hill before the top, grateful that Cassidy had graded the access road since last Friday. The worst of the winter ruts had been smoothed to more manageable grooves that were easier on the Rover’s shocks.

  Behind her, Rags had suddenly come to life, standing in the back well with his nose pressed to the window and his plume of a tail beating the air eagerly.

  “Mommy, do we really have to leave Rags?”

  Karen heard the plaintive note in her daughter’s voice and reached over to smooth Vicki’s perpetually tumbled bangs. “You know we do,” she said quietly. “Otherwise, Grandma will have to pay a lot of money in fines to the noise abatement people.”

  “Maybe we could try keeping him inside again,” Vicki proposed with a hopeful glance at her mother. “I could keep him in my room at night, so he wouldn’t hurt Grandma’s things.”

  Karen thought about her mother’s prized china collection which had been smashed beyond repair when the exuberant shepherd had skidded across the priceless Oriental rug to smash into the cabinet at full speed.

  “We tried that, Vicki. Rags hates being shut in.”

  She sensed rather than saw her daughter slide her a look. “But he could get used to it.”

  “Honey, be fair. Rags isn’t happy in town.” Karen tightened her grip on the wheel and braced for the rush of sadness that always greeted her when the old white house came into view.

  After an initial confusion with scheduling, the weeks had fallen into a r
outine of sorts. Vicki spent alternate Wednesday nights with her father and three out of four weekends. Though she could take the bus to the ranch on Wednesdays, Karen drove her on Fridays so that Rags could go, too.

  Now that Rags was to be in permanent residence at the ranch again, she supposed that her own trips to the ranch would be far less frequent. For Vicki’s birthday, of course, which was coming up in just two weeks, and other special occasions, though what those would be, she didn’t have a clue.

  The ranch seemed busier than usual, she noted as she drove between the ‘dozer and Billy’s truck. Instead of pulling into her old spot in the shed, she had taken to parking in the visitor’s spot under the massive oak tree where Vicki’s rope swing still hung, looking oddly forlorn as it swayed in the sporadic wind gusts. After all, that’s what she was now, wasn’t she? A visitor?

  “Hurry and park, Mommy,” Vicki exclaimed, straining to see over the dashboard. “Daddy’s trying to break Lucifer again.”

  “Lucifer?”

  “His new mount. Billy says Daddy’s already been bucked off twice.”

  Karen frowned as she caught sight of the group of cowboys gathered in front of the main corral. Beyond the wall of denim shirts and worn jeans, she spotted Cassidy leading a huge black gelding around the perimeter of the corral.

  Dressed in chaps and a buckskin vest over his usual working clothes and his battered workaday Stetson, he seemed to be talking quietly to the nervous horse, as though reassuring him. Presently blindfolded with a bright red bandanna, the animal was at least sixteen hands high, with only a lightning bolt blaze to soften the inky coat.

  “Are you sure he’s not just training the animal, sweetie? Daddy doesn’t usually have to break the horses he raises.”

  “This is a new one he bought from Wanda’s daddy. A real son-of-a-bitch hellion.”

  “Vicki,” she chided softly, sparing her daughter a look.

  Vicki immediately stuck out her lower lip and frowned. “Well, that’s what Billy calls him.”

  “When you’re Billy’s age you can use words like that. Until then, watch your language, young lady.” Karen braked and shifted into neutral. “Don’t forget your things. I’ll see you when Daddy brings you home on Sunday.”