Love Me Tender (21 page)

The thought of Gramps brought moisture to her eyes. “I do live a full life. I take care of myself.” Tears swam in her eyes, blurring her vision. “I don't have MS.” But the last words came out as a plea, rather than a statement.

The tears spilled over and she wailed, “Oh, fuck. I do, don't I?”

Hating her weakness, her disease, hating Dave for making her acknowledge it, she dropped her bag and thumped her fists against his chest. “Damn you, D-Dave, you shouldn't have come. I was f-fine!” The words came out between hiccupy sobs. “I d-didn't want to know. It's not fair!”

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her tight, capturing her arms between their bodies and stilling her flailing fists. “I know. It sucks, Cassidy.”

She raised her head and gazed at him through tear-soaked eyes, furious at him and the world in general. “My l-life will never be the same again!”

Maybe she hoped he'd deny it, but instead he shook his head. “No, it won't.”

She struggled to free her hands to thump him again, but he held her too tightly. “I d-don't want to be sick.”

“I know.”

“I don't want to be stuck in a wheelchair, l-lose my ability to talk coherently. Be in-incontinent.” Visiting GG as a little kid had been scary, not just because of her great-grandmother's physical symptoms but because Cassidy could see that her brain was active and she was frustrated with her body's inadequacies.

“That may well not happen. This is why you need to get all the information and start on treatment. Early diagnosis and treatment can make a huge difference.”

“Suddenly you're some k-kind of expert,” she scoffed.

“Right now I know more than you do. But you can change that.”

Cassidy hardly ever cried. It never solved anything. Now, crying all over Dave, she felt like a powerless child. Fighting back the tears, she said, “Let me go. I need a tissue.”

Cautiously, he released her and she bent to retrieve her bag and hunt inside. She wiped her face, blew her nose, then said shakily, “That wasn't fair. Playing the Gramps card.”

“I'm right, though, about what he'd have wanted.”

She nodded, keeping her head down, feeling vulnerable. “Gramps was the one person who always looked out for me.”

“Now you're going to need others. You'll have them back in Caribou Crossing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come back with me. You need to discuss treatment options and develop a plan.”

“Plan,” she echoed ruefully. “Not my favorite thing.”

“You'll learn. Dr. Young says you also need a support team. You may not have your gramps, but you won't be alone. You'll have me, Ms. Haldenby, Robin, my parents—”

“What? Stop, wait!” The ache in her temples pulsed harder. “You
told
all of them? How dare you discuss my health with—”

“I didn't. Stop jumping to conclusions. But I know that, when you do tell them, they'll be there for you.”

She frowned, again not understanding. “Why?” she queried softly.

He touched her cheek gently. “Because we care about you, Cassidy Esperanza. No one will want you to go through this alone.”

Alone. It was the only way that she knew how to be. The only person she could count on was herself. How could she believe in what Dave seemed to be offering? And even if she did, how could she let herself rely on others?

“You need to think about your options,” he said quietly. “You could go down to Acapulco and—”

“To my parents? You must be kidding.” When had they ever been there for her?

“Your brother in Victoria?”

She shook her head. “We love each other, but we're not all that close. Besides, he's starting his new life with Mags. I can't dump my issues on them.”

“He and his fiancée might want you to.”

Whether that was true or not, she couldn't ask. She'd walked out on JJ when she was seventeen, leaving her fifteen-year-old brother alone with Luis while she ran off to Europe. She'd always felt guilty about that, but at the time she'd been desperate. Because of that guilt, she'd let the distance between them grow until they were little more than casual acquaintances.

Nor could she impose on her friends in Caribou Crossing. Especially Dave, after what he'd gone through with Anita. She gazed at his handsome face, so strained now. She'd taught this man to smile again, and now she'd reduced him to this. She tried to think. Dave had made the offer because of his compulsion to fix things, not because he truly wanted to support another woman with a serious illness. He'd be relieved if she decided to go to Victoria.

Really, Victoria was her only reasonable option. How depressing. Since she'd taken off on her own in Europe after her eighteenth birthday, her life had been all about freedom of choice. Now life had narrowed, a funnel directing her to one outcome: living with MS, in Victoria. “Okay,” she said resignedly. “I'll go to Victoria, find a doctor, talk about treatment, and, and . . .”

“Tell your brother about your diagnosis and start building that support team?”

If she could bring herself to tell JJ, he'd try to be there for her. Her brother was a good guy. Mags seemed like a nice person. She'd probably be supportive. Victoria didn't have a lot of good memories for Cassidy, but she could learn to like it. It'd be easy to find work. And yet . . .

She'd felt comfortable in Caribou Crossing. She loved the spectacular countryside and the picturesque town, loved riding and even mowing Ms. H's lawn. And yes, the people there were nice. Ms. H, the staff at the Wild Rose, Maribeth, not to mention Dave's whole network of family and friends. And Dave himself . . .

“Is that what you want to do?” he asked.

If she was absolutely honest with herself, what she wanted was to go back to Caribou Crossing. But she couldn't do that to Dave. She gazed up at him through damp lashes. “You ask what I want. I want not to be sick. It's hard to see past that. To envision a future that's . . . well, I don't even know what it would be.”

“You hate planning ahead, so don't worry about the distant future. I know you likely won't want to stay in one place forever, and you won't have to. But Dr. Young says that for a year at least, you should work with one medical team and one support team until you get a better handle on your disease. You can do that in Victoria or in Caribou Crossing.”

A year. That was scary, but nowhere near as scary as thinking about the rest of her life—whatever that life might turn out to be, now that she had this stupid disease.

She could handle Victoria for a year. “Dave, your offer is amazing, but I couldn't do that to you. To you, or Robin or Ms. H or anyone else in Caribou Crossing, but especially to you. I'm the one who's sick, and I'm stuck with the consequences.” Whatever the hell they'd turn out to be. “You shouldn't be stuck with them too.”

His hazel eyes were dark and shadowed on this sunny day. “You're saying that where you want to be is Caribou Crossing.”

She should have phrased it differently. “No, I'm not.”

He swallowed. “The easy thing would be to say that I believe you, and let you go to Victoria.” Another swallow. “The easy thing would have been to not have come here. To have let myself believe you'd seek treatment on your own. The easy thing would have been to never have phoned Dr. Young.” He studied her face for a long time, and she didn't know what to say.

Finally, his expression lightened and he smoothed tear-dampened hair back from her cheek. “Guess I've never been a big one for easy. Especially not when a friend's in trouble.”

“Friends don't want their friends to feel obligated.”

“I don't feel obligated. And I agree with you. If anyone offers to help because they feel obligated, we don't need them on your team. We only want the folks who truly want to be there.”

“We?” Damn it, the tears were starting again.

One thing Dave had learned from the women he loved was that even though instinct told him to do anything to stop a woman from crying, sometimes they needed to do it. So, standing on Cannon Beach and gazing at the stunning scenery, he hugged Cassidy to him and stroked her back. “Yeah. We. We're in this together now.”

The immensity of that prospect almost brought tears to his own eyes.

“I h-hate crying,” she muttered against his chest.

“I'm not so crazy about it myself.”

“It makes everything hurt,” she complained. “My eyes, my throat. I even have a headache. To add to my aching hands and back.”

Shit, was she having another attack already? “What's wrong with your hands and back? Is it that tingly thing?”

She pulled back in the circle of his arms and stared up, tears on her cheeks but no longer overflowing. “What? Oh jeez, no, it's not MS. It's a hard day of chambermaiding when I'm out of practice.” She frowned. “You can't keep seeing symptoms where they don't exist.”

“You can't ignore them when they do.”

She brushed at her wet cheeks and the tiniest hint of a smile softened her lips. “Neither of us is going to be great at this, are we?”

He studied her blotchy face and bloodshot eyes. “Probably not. But I guess we'll learn.” He sensed that that part would be harder than with Anita. His fiancée had welcomed his help and had shared the decision making—and almost always their minds were on the same track. He and Cassidy were going to butt heads. He stifled a sigh. “So you'll fly home with me tomorrow—”

She cut him off. “I just started a new job. I can't skip out on another boss.”

He snorted, irked yet amused. “You pick now to develop a conscience? How about we tell her that your old boss stole you back? I'll pay the manager whatever she needs to hire someone on a temp basis until she can fill the position.”

“You can't spend your money on me.” She grimaced. “Speaking of which, it's not fair that you should pay to fly down here.”

The head butting had begun.

Before he could say anything, she raced on. “I have enough saved for the trip back, and if you really do give me my job back, then I can pay you back in a—”

“Shut up,” he said calmly. “We already established that none of this is fair, and that we're in it together. If I ever feel that you're taking advantage of me, I'll let you know. And yes, you can have your job back, with the proviso that we may need to adjust your duties and hours if—”

“Now you shut up.” She held up her hand. “Don't assume I won't be able to do the work.”

He considered that and admitted, “You're right. But if there's ever a problem, let me know and we'll work things out. Like with Roy and his migraines.” His main bartender, Roy, the serious boyfriend of chef Mitch, occasionally got debilitating migraines and someone else had to fill in for him. “We all have issues, Cassidy. You've had to cover for me when something unexpected came up with Robin.”

“I guess.”

An almost concession. He should count himself lucky. “Okay. Let's go talk to your new boss, and I'll book a room at the hotel. Unless . . .” Should he stay with her? Make sure she was okay? Make sure she didn't run again? Honestly, he'd rather be alone because he felt pretty raw.

“It's best if you stay at the hotel. It'd be awkward with my roommate. I feel bad enough about telling her I'm bailing on her after I just moved in.”

He nodded, hoping he could trust her not to vanish again. “After we book flights home, why don't we have a nice dinner at a restaurant on the beach and make it an early night?”

“If we have dinner, can we . . . not talk about it?”

“Sure.” Until Cassidy had all the information from Dr. Young, more talking wouldn't serve much purpose. “I'll tell you about Sam.” The night manager had started revising his book and was tearing his hair out—and the nearly bald man sure didn't have any to spare.

“Sam?”

“That's dinner conversation.”

“I need to shower first and try to do something with my face. Why don't I do that, and you go to the hotel, then I'll meet you in an hour?”

He gazed deep into her red-rimmed eyes, trying to read her intention.

“I promise,” she said softly. She blinked, and again her eyes were damp. “I won't run, Dave. I . . . surrender. To the truth. To a year in one place, getting my treatment organized.”

She looked so defeated, this woman who'd always been so perky, fun, tough-minded. It almost broke his heart. He gripped her chin in his fingers. “Accept the truth, Cassidy, but never surrender to the disease. Promise me.”

A chill shuddered through him as he remembered saying virtually identical words to Anita. No, she had never surrendered to her brain cancer. It was inoperable, but, with him at her side she'd undergone radiation, chemo, and laser treatment in hopes of beating the tiny odds, or at least surviving longer, maybe until a cure was discovered. In the end she lost, but she went down fighting. Fighting for her life and their lives together.

“I promise,” Cassidy said.

The echo of Anita's words filled him with determination. This time, they would succeed.

 

 

Sunday afternoon, at the end of the hour and a half drive from Williams Lake airport, Dave heaved a tired, grateful sigh at the sight of the familiar
WELCOME TO CARIBOU CROSSING
sign. He glanced over. Cassidy had dozed for most of the trip, but now she was awake, staring out the window, her profile expressionless as she toyed with the Canada goose pendant around her neck. “Where to?” he asked.

“Ms. H's. I hope she hasn't rented out my room.”

“You could stay at the Wild Rose. We could make a guest room into an apartment.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think Ms. H can keep a close enough eye on me,” she said dryly.

Okay, maybe he did want to keep her under his own eagle eye. But if he had to pick someone else to trust, it would be Ms. Haldenby. He turned the Jeep toward the green rancher.

Once there, he insisted on carrying Cassidy's backpack as they walked to the front door.

When Ms. Haldenby answered the doorbell, she smiled. “Good. You're back. Come on in, you two. Let's have a cup of tea.” She led the way not to the kitchen, but to the living room. “Sit and relax,” she commanded.

Dave sat on the blue-and-white-striped sofa, wondering if he would ever truly relax again.

Cassidy strolled to the window and looked out, wandered over to a painting and studied it, then finally settled in an armchair that was upholstered in the same fabric as the couch. Her fingers drummed on the arm.

It wasn't long before Ms. Haldenby returned with a tray, which Dave quickly took from her and lowered to the dark-wood coffee table. Tea and a plate of oatmeal cookies.

While their hostess poured with a steady hand, Cassidy said, “I came to see if you'd rented out your suite.”

“It's yours.” She handed a cup and saucer to Cassidy. “Spic and span, just the way you left it. Now, tell me why you're back.”

The cup rattled in the saucer as Cassidy took it, her hand trembling. “You know why. You figured it out.”

“I need you to tell me.”

She put the cup and saucer down on the coffee table and stared at the older woman. Finally, she said, slowly and painfully, “I have MS.”

Dave felt for her, and knew this was only the first of many times she'd have to say those words. It was good that Ms. Haldenby had forced her to do it here, in friendly company.

The elderly woman nodded. “I'm very sorry, Cassidy. I'll do anything I can to help you.”

“I hate to ask for help.”

“Refusing to ask for help has become a habit for you,” she said. “Some habits are unproductive, even a hindrance, and one should break them.” Peering intently at Cassidy through her thick lenses, she said, “I found Irene and contacted her.”

Irene? Dave remembered the “P.S.” to Cassidy's note.

Cassidy's face brightened and she looked like her old self, not the pale, downcast version he'd seen for the past day. “You did? What did she say?”

“We'll discuss it later. But I thought you should know.” She busied herself pouring two more cups of tea, handed one to Dave, then sat beside him on the couch. To him, she said, “Irene was very close to me when I was much younger. For reasons that made sense at the time, we lost touch. Because of one of my own bad habits—cowardice—I never tracked her down.”

Until Cassidy had prompted her to. “Ms. Haldenby,” he said, “I think you and Cassidy are going to be very good for each other.”

“Dave, I am no longer your teacher. Please call me Daphne.”

Daphne. He tasted it on his tongue. A nice name, but . . . “I don't think I can,” he confessed. “Maybe we could settle on Ms. H? It has a nice ring.”

“I can live with that.” She sipped her tea. “Now, what's the plan?”

“We'll call Dr. Young and make an appointment as soon as possible,” he said. “And then—”

“Actually,” she broke in, “I was asking Cassidy.”

“Sorry. Of course.”

Cassidy sighed, the animation gone from her face. “Yes, we'll see the doctor. Before that, I have pamphlets to read. Dave brought them for me, but I haven't . . . well, I'll read them tonight.”

“I found two or three websites that appear useful, too,” Ms. H said. “The more informed you are before you see the doctor, the more you'll be able to take in what she says.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Cassidy's tone was reluctant.

“Avoidance won't make the problem go away,” the older woman said.

Cassidy shot her a glance of wry humor. “You're not going to let me curl up in a fetal ball and just feel sorry for myself, are you?”

Dave smiled, encouraged by that flash of humor and spirit.

“No, I certainly am not,” Ms. H retorted.

He drained the rest of his tea. “I think this is my cue to bow out. I need to get back to the Wild Rose and find out what's been happening in my absence.” He'd left Sam in charge. “And I know you two are dying to talk about Irene.” He rose and held out his hand to Ms. Haldenby. “Thank you for everything.”

“And you, Dave.” Her grip was firm.

Then he walked over to Cassidy and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to come to work tomorrow, or take the day off?”

“Come to work. It'll keep my mind off . . . things. Though I don't know what I'm going to say to people about why I left and why I came back. I don't want to spread the news about . . . you know. Not until . . .”

Until what? Until she felt ready, or until physical symptoms forced her to do it? He wondered how long she would—or could—cling to her secret.

“Keep it simple,” Ms. H advised. “You missed Caribou Crossing so you came back.”

“Simple is good.” She gave the other woman a forced smile, then turned back to Dave. “We can call Dr. Young in the morning and arrange a time that works for you.”

“Any time works.”

She put her hand on top of his and squeezed. “Thank you. For being you.”

Being someone else might be easier, but it wasn't like he got to choose. And the warmth of her hand, the appreciation in her voice, were a very nice reward.

Late Monday afternoon, Dave held Cassidy's hand as they walked from Dr. Young's office in silence. She had been quiet for most of the appointment, not asking many questions as the doctor went through a lot of the same information he'd heard a few days ago.

A police car slowed and Karen waved. Dave waved back, trying to smile. Cassidy didn't even notice. Her gaze was on the sidewalk in front of her. When she was feeling good, she had a bounce to her step, rather like Merlin, but today the tooled cinnamon-colored cowboy boots she wore for work barely lifted from the ground.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“Fine.”

He bumped his shoulder against hers, which was clad in a Western shirt, black with turquoise embroidery. “No, you don't. This won't work if you lie to me.”

She heaved a sigh. “Okay. I feel overwhelmed, exhausted, and depressed.”

“Yeah, I bet.” What was the best way to help her? “Let's take it one step at a time.” Organization was his forté. “How about we buy that notebook, and start with a list of things to do?” Carlene Young had advised Cassidy to start a notebook where she could record information, questions, and her thoughts and feelings. The doctor recommended daily journaling.