Cassie's Hope (Riders Up) (25 page)

Traci waited
patiently.

“Traci, he sent the
kids back home without letting them say good-bye to me.” Cassie sobbed. “Why
couldn’t he at least let me say good-bye?”

“Cass, listen to
me,” Traci said emphatically. “I’m coming right out to pick you up. Change into
a loose fitting blouse, shorts, and tennis shoes. Make sure you have your bathing
suit on underneath it.

“Pampered decadence
is what I’m aiming for. We’ll spend the rest of the day on Dad’s sailboat. We
were out over the week-end and everything is shipshape. I’ll arrange for
catered food so we won’t have to bother much with lunch or dinner. If you want
to talk, that’s great. If you just want to sit back and feel the movement of
the boat that will be fine too.”

“I can’t…”

“Nonsense, you’re
not going to get much done there moping around. You don’t have to go through
this alone. I insist.”

Cassie recognized
the determination in the other woman’s voice. She knew she’d be doing the same
thing if the tables were turned.

“I thought I was
the social worker,” she protested. “You’re supposed to be an uncaring lawyer.”

“Right. Go get
showered and I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

“What about your
appointments? Your work?”

“You’re my only
appointment. See you.”

Cassie held the
phone in her hand. Again she wept. She cried for Clint and herself, for the
kids, and for friendship.

Nearing the harbor,
Cassie decided there were at least a number of good reasons for having a rich
friend. Traci had been her pal since college days. Her father was a well known
and well-heeled lawyer with offices in the loop. He specialized in corporate
law.

Glancing over at
her tall, dark haired friend, Cassie wondered when Traci would finally take the
initiative to break away from her father and do what she wanted to do. Traci
wanted to practice criminal law, and one of the best ways to begin would be
working in the county prosecutor’s office.

Strangely, her
friend was often more stubborn than she herself, yet Traci found it extremely
difficult to challenge the wishes of her father. He’d wanted a son, but got a
daughter. He wanted an heir to his practice, but she wanted something
different. Cassie knew Traci loved her father a lot, perhaps too much. Someday
there would be a reckoning between the two of them. That would be a good day
for everyone else to duck.

“Here we are,”
Traci announced, smiling confidently. “What great weather for sailing. A gentle
breeze, but no strong wind and plenty of sunshine. Though it’ll be a lot cooler
out on the water than here.”

Conversation was
sparse as the two women prepared for their sail. Cassie appreciated that.

Traci maneuvered
the thirty foot sailboat through the harbor toward the open lake. Cassie,
sitting to one side of the boom and feeling rather unneeded, smiled at her
friend’s efficient movements. There was no wasted effort. It was as if her
legal mind had
to do
lists for sailing, and each task was being checked
off in order.

At last they were
under sail. They skimmed across the water with very little resistance. There
wasn’t much for Cassie to do but breathe deeply and watch the Chicago skyline
recede. “Watch your head,” Traci commanded, “we’re going to change direction.”

Cassie ducked as
the boom came across overhead.

“All right, we’ll
tack this line for awhile,” Traci said. “Once we’re out a ways, we can drift,
and I’ll go below to get the food out.”

“Won’t you let me
do something?”

Traci gave her a
whimsical smile. “You just sit here and take in the sunshine and the lake
breeze. I’ll take care of the rest. Do you need more sunscreen?”

“Thanks.” Cassie
opened the offered bottle and rubbed more oil into her skin. Leaning back, she closed
her eyes and let the sun bake the lotion into her heated pores. She felt like
she was sizzling. Relaxed for the first time in hours, she dozed off as Traci
puttered below.

“Bet you could use
some nourishment,” Traci said half an hour later.

Soft sounds of
Celtic music drifted into Cassie’s awareness and she labored to open her
eyelids. When she did, she saw that Traci had deposited a platter of food on a
deck table. Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten anything since last night’s
half-eaten dinner.

With the corners of
her mouth turned up, Cassie said, “You really did things up royally, didn’t
you?”

“Well,” her friend
admitted, “I never can remember if one feeds a cold and starves a fever or vice
versa, but I do know you feed with care a broken heart.”

Cassie nodded
agreement and reached for the boiled jumbo shrimp. There were apple slices,
carrots, cauliflower, mushrooms and a variety of dips. If this was lunch, she
wondered what the catered dinner would be. “I see you’re going to feed me
healthy.”

“Of course,”
replied Traci. “No man is worth getting fat over.”

Cassie looked
blankly at her friend and then laughed. It felt good to laugh. Laughter could
cure most anything.

“So. Do you want to
talk about it? It might help.”

“I know. And I
really appreciate all that you’re doing, Traci. You’re a treasure.”

Before she drowned
again in her own tears, Cassie provided a blow by blow description of her
midnight encounter with Clint Travers. Oddly, hearing herself recount the event
provided some emotional distance. To her surprise, she had no tears until she
spoke about him sending the kids home without letting them say good-bye.

“Sounds like you’ve
been to hell and back!” Traci said.

Cassie nodded,
fighting back the tears. She hugged herself. Traci moved to put an arm around
her.

Sobbing, Cassie
keened, “What must they think of me? Lester and Sammy. They don’t deserve to be
hurt by our pride and stupidity.”

“Kids are more resilient
than we think. Look at me. Look at you. I’m sorry they might be sad and not
understand, but it seems to me that the pivotal piece here is you and your
rancher friend. Do you see any hope?”

“None. His honor, his
pride is much bigger than us.”

“Hmm. Keep in mind,”
Traci chided gently, “that you’re seldom in short supply when it comes to honor
and pride.”

Cassie gave her
friend a half smile and a nod. “I know. But this is different. He won’t come
back. That’s for sure.”

“Then how are you
going to put him behind you and move on?”

“I don’t know.” Cassie
became sharply aware of the agonizing frustration in her voice. Numbness
paralyzed her body and mind. She hated not knowing which way to turn. She’d had
no warning—it all happened just when everything seemed so full of promise and
hope.

“I know I’ll move
on in time,” she continued. “I always do. The timing was all wrong. First he
wanted to get closer, and I ran away from him and from thinking about being a
mother. I can’t believe it fell apart just when I decided I take on being a
mother. He never gave me time to tell him that when he stormed into my
apartment.”

Traci handed her
friend a tissue.

Cassie blew her
nose loudly. Damn, she wished she’d never met the man. That she’d never gone to
Wyoming. That she’d never agreed to train Hope.

She shook her head
vigorously. She couldn’t lie to herself. Even though it wasn’t going anywhere
now, meeting Clint Travers and working with Hope had been exciting, and she
wouldn’t want to have missed either. Even with all the pain.

Wincing with a new
realization, Cassie resumed, “The problem is, it isn’t over. He’s going to stay
around until we catch whoever is drugging Hope. He’ll be scathing to be around.
I should just pull Hope from the race, but I can’t do that. That would be the
end of Dad’s dream.”

Stretching her long
legs out, Traci ventured, “I expect you deserve that shot as much as anyone,
Cass. You’ve put your heart and soul into that horse. I don’t pretend to
understand why, but I know it’s important to you, and I’ll support you any way
I can.”

“I know you will. There’s
not much anyone can do. All the cards are on the table. The game just has to be
played out to its conclusion.”

“I wonder about
that. In my work, just as in yours I assume, when two parties have a blow up
usually each person thinks they’ve been crystal clear in communicating while
they have not completely heard the other. You may think all the cards were on
the table, but if Clint was here, he’d probably say some were face down.”

Cassie shrugged
offhandedly, somewhat annoyed that her friend probably had her finger on
something. Maybe she should have been quicker when she saw him climbing the
stairs. Quicker to declare her love. And to say how much she wanted to mother
his children.

But she’d been
surprised by his coming to her in the middle of the night, and she’d hesitated
and played sultry instead. And then it was too late. He assumed she was using
him. She hadn’t been able to penetrate his anger and hurt. Oh well, it didn’t
matter now.

“How about a nap? We
can swim later in the afternoon, if you like,” Traci suggested.

Welcoming Traci’s
effort to provide her with more down time, Cassie readily agreed.

In only minutes,
Cassie put on more lotion, rolled over on to her stomach, and luxuriated in the
warm caress of the sun. It wasn’t the caress she remembered best, but it would
have to do.

She lay there
thankful for the skipper of this little excursion. Traci had done exactly what
was needed. She’d plied her with ample sunshine, food, and silence. She’d also
gotten her to tell her story. And while Traci seldom gave direct advice, she
was usually quite insightful.

The lawyer
typically shied away from examining feelings, keeping her own under tight
restraint. Although they knew each other well, Cassie remained curious about
what must smolder beneath Traci’s often icy exterior. But today she’d provided
just the right balm for Cassie’s wounds.

The sun was
disappearing in the west before they began to sail back to the harbor. Still
hurting but refreshed, Cassie knew she could deal with whatever came her way. The
next few days wouldn’t be easy, but she would make it through them.

“The blood red sun
setting behind the skyline makes the city look like it’s on fire,” Traci said,
redirecting Cassie’s attention. “It’s a sight I’ve seen over and over again,
but I’m awed by it each time.”

Amused, Cassie
allowed herself to remember with gentleness the bent old woman who had named
her Fire Woman. What would Clint’s grandmother make of this debacle?

- o -

Meanwhile, Clint
had been busy. He’d moved out of the Palmer house early in the morning. There
was no need for such spaciousness or luxury since the kids were gone. And he
wouldn’t be bringing any woman there.

He’d moved into an
economy hotel near the track. The place offered horsemen’s specials.

By noon he’d
returned the rental car and picked up his truck from the track. When he left
this time, and he hoped to God it would be soon, he would transport his horses
back to Utah. There was no reason to leave them in Chicago. He wasn’t coming
back.

Numb, he drove his
pickup north on I-94. He wasn’t headed anywhere in particular. He just needed
to get out of Chicago…away from her and everything that reminded him of her.

Even with the pedal
pressed to the floor, his pickup had a hard time doing eighty. Fence posts
blurred. He wished memories could blur as readily.

Crossing the
Wisconsin border, Clint slowed down to seventy. The state patrol was famous for
nabbing out of state speeders. Even in his dazed sense of reality, he knew he
didn’t want to be pulled over.

It wasn’t the fine
he was worried about. He might not be able to maintain a civil attitude with a
cop. That could only spell trouble, and his cup overflowed with enough trouble
already.

When he saw signs
indicating Milwaukee was only twenty miles ahead, he muttered aloud, “Damn, I
don’t need another city.”

He took the first
exit west and found himself shortly driving through rolling green hills.

He’d really
believed she was the one. She’d given him new life. And then she’d snuffed it
out like it hadn’t mattered a whit. He wished to hell he hadn’t exposed his
kids to the red-haired devil.

The worst part was
that he’d have to be around her until they found the bastard who was drugging
the horse.  

Glancing at the gas
gauge, Clint saw the needle hovering near empty. He pulled into the next small
town gas station and got out and stretched. In addition to filling the tank, he
picked up a ham and cheese sandwich and a Sprite.

The middle aged
buxom woman at the cash register smiled warmly and accepted his credit card,
ignoring his glower.

“My, you’ve come a
long ways,” she said, waiting for his card to clear. “We don’t get many folks
here from Utah.”