I’d expected.” Her enthusiasm for the pet therapy project she and Phyllis had discussed infused Cassie’s voice. “She gave me some great insights that I’m going to incorporate into my next article. And an idea for a case I worked on back east this winter. A woman who’d lost several babies and was suffering from acute depression. Phyllis thinks a puppy might satisfy her mothering instinct to some extent, perhaps helping her accept adoption as another choice.”
Randi scoffed, though Cassie knew full well that during the past months, working with Zack on his nursing-home project, Randi had been won over to the miracles that happened regularly through pet therapy. “You think a puppy who pees everywhere in the house, chews up her shoes and bites at her ankles is going to help the poor woman?”
“Brat’s giving you problems, eh?” Cassie grinned. Zack had adopted the dalmatian puppy the week before, when the owner of its mother had despaired of finding the runt of the litter a home. Randi, though, had been the one to name him— Miserable Little Brat, or Brat for short.
“It’s Zack’s dog,” Randi said, rubbing at the leather on her pristine white tennis shoe.
Cassie knew better. She’d been over at Randi and Zack’s for pizza a few days earlier and had seen Montford University’s seemingly tough women’s athletic director cuddling that puppy.
Until Randi had noticed Zack and Cassie looking. Then she’d shooed him away, pretending to scold, while passing him a pepperoni slice under the table by way of apology.
“I don’t know why he thought we needed another dog,” she muttered. “As if Sammie and Bear aren’t trouble enough.”
Two of their trained pet therapy dogs, Sammie and Bear weren’t any trouble at all. In fact, Zack had told Cassie that on a couple of occasions Randi had made excuses to take Sammie to work with her. Apparently, the dog was quickly becoming the mascot of the women’s athletic department.
Cassie had Randi’s number. The woman was strong when she needed to be and maintained an effective façade of toughness. But in reality, she was indeed the princess her family had always thought her. Tender, loving, frequently indulged. And kinder than anyone Cassie had ever known. With Zack’s encouragement, she’d gotten over her lifelong fear of dogs, and a latent love of animals had begun to emerge.
Although she and Cassie had graduated from Shelter Valley High School the same year, had grown up together in Shelter Valley—population two thousand when the university wasn’t in session—the two women had hardly known each other. Cassie had been completely besotted with her one true love, Samuel Montford the fourth, the town’s esteemed future mayor and savior of the world. And Randi had been absent a lot of the time, training for her career in professional women’s golf.
Neither woman’s life had turned out the way she’d planned. They were both back in Shelter Valley, Cassie without Sam, and Randi with a bum rotator cuff that had ruined her swing.
“You’d better get back to your husband, or he’s going to be in here looking for you,” Cassie told her friend. Cassie knew her partner. Zack had all the patience in the world; he just didn’t like to wait.
Randi shook her head. “No, he won’t. He said you were going to be pissed if we kept hounding you, so he refused to come in. As a matter of fact, he went to get some gas and wash the Explorer.”
Glancing at her watch, Cassie said, “Which means he should be pulling in right about now.”
Randi didn’t budge. “Other than the few times Zack and I’ve been able to coerce you over to our place, you’ve been hiding out in this clinic ever since you heard Sam was coming home,” she said bluntly. “You can’t keep hiding.”
Retrieving another subscription form from a sample issue of the journal, Cassie started to fill it in. “I’m not hiding out. And I can do whatever I damn well please. That’s the great thing about being single and living alone.”
At least, she told herself that often enough. And it was true. Sort of. She enjoyed living alone. She had to. Or live her life without enjoyment.
“It’s been three weeks,” Randi said. “He’s probably not coming back, after all.”
“It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other,” Cassie lied.
“Uh-huh.”
“Isn’t your family going to be getting mighty hungry?” Cassie asked, still concentrating on the form in front of her.
“Dinner’s not until five.”
Oh. Great.
“Look,” Cassie said, putting down her pen as she met her friend’s gaze. “My life with Sam was a long time ago. I’m a different person now, and I’m sure he is, too.”
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“He killed any feelings I had for him when he went to another woman’s bed,” Cassie interrupted, before Randi could say anything she might have a hard time denying.
It was taking everything she had to keep her mind on the right track. And her heart from splintering into a million pieces with the force of bitterness and regret.
Randi stood up, headed for the door. “You need to learn how to lie better before you go trying it again,” she said, getting the last word. “We’ll bring some barbecue by your place later tonight. You’d better be there, or I’ll make Zack come here and drag you out.”
No question, Randi had won that round.
But Cassie would have her turn. She wasn’t going to let anyone get the better of her again. Not her partner’s new wife. And not the ex-husband she hadn’t heard from in ten long years.
After three weeks of waiting, of constantly looking over her shoulder, of hiding out to avoid the chance of inadvertently running into Sam, Cassie’s nerves were a little raw.
But maybe Randi was right. Maybe he wasn’t coming, after all. His cryptic note had come three weeks ago. Surely it didn’t take that long to get to Shelter Valley, no matter where he’d been.
It was time to get on with her life. She wouldn’t give Sam the opportunity to rob her of it again.
Sam. Where had his letter come from, anyway? The postmark had been someplace back east. But the letter had been sitting on James Montford’s desk for a day or two before his wife had happened upon it in the middle of a party—a celebration to welcome their long lost nephew into the fold. She’d gone to the library to check on her guests’ sleeping babies, had come through James’s office on her way back to the party, and had been reaching for a tissue on his desk, when she’d knocked a pile of unopened mail onto the floor.
She’d recognized her son’s handwriting on the envelope with no return address. After ten years, she still recognized Sam’s handwriting.
Cassie knew she’d have recognized it, too.
What else about Sam would be recognizable?
No. She shook her head, pulled the stack of files toward her. She wasn’t going to spend another minute of her life thinking about something that hadn’t been real for a very long time.
He wasn’t coming, anyway.
