Clash of the Titans (2/2)
That arrogant, egotistical, self-righteous, conceited MAN!
All her life, Cassie had been calm, cool, and collected. Even — even when Jake had died, she had kept her emotions under control, feeling them but not succumbing to them. But right now, she wanted nothing more than to storm next door, tell Doctor Sam 'I know everything and no one can tell me differently' Radford exactly what she thought of him, and slap him so hard his head actually spun all the way around.
Since she couldn't, beating a defenseless pie crust into crumby submission would have to suffice. Three pumpkin-cranberry pies later, she was still ticked off and starting to reconsider the merits of smacking her neighbor with a heavy — and possibly sharp — baking utensil. And Cassie Nightingale was a woman who didn't resort to violence (the pie crust would have respectfully disagreed, had it been asked). She had never needed to, so her sudden desire to pound the unwarranted arrogance out of her neighbor was extremely unnerving. Thankfully, Grace came in and managed to distract her from her anger at Doctor Sam Radford, jackass, before she succumbed to the unfamiliar urge.
Not that going from anger at Sam to worry for her stepson was any better, though at least Brandon wasn't going to make her inadvertently destroy their kitchen island with a rolling pin. But it was a situation she still didn't know how to really handle and between Brandon and Sam, she felt like she was on an out-of-control emotional roller coaster.
And she had no idea of how to deal with that, because out-of-control was something Cassie had little experience with. So she baked and raged and cried a little, and tried to keep herself from drowning in this unfamiliar emotional riptide.
It never occurred to her to reach out to Ryan.
{{**}}
Pasta.
Pasta was simple. Pasta was uncomplicated. Pasta didn't look at you with accusing eyes because you might have been a jackass — with no real cause — to a woman who had done nothing but help you.
Sam heaved a sigh and glowered at the pot on the stove. He had been right to confront her but he could have — no, he should have — been less abrasive and rude about it. When Nick came in, he was thankful for the distraction from his maudlin thoughts, and — to his eternal surprise — his son was actually pleasant to him. Well, for two whole sentences. Sam knew that teenagers were obnoxious and held grudges, but Nick could definitely win awards for both. But when his 14-year-old, troublemaking son asked if he was going to apologize to their neighbor, he couldn't stop himself and went on the defensive, stiffly pointing out that he hadn't done anything wrong. And he hadn't. Could he have been more polite? Well . . . yes. But he wasn't wrong. What Cassie Nightingale was doing was dangerous and it needed to be stopped, if for no other reason than the fact that she could hurt someone . . . because if she did, it would kill her.
And Sam did not ever want her to have to experience that.
Still, when Nick rather snidely told him that he was never wrong, was he, Dad, it struck a nerve.
Because his son was right.
Dammit.
Sam sighed again and leaned back against the counter, running a hand through his hair in sheer aggravation and trying to figure out when the hell his life had gotten so out of control.
And, more importantly, how to get it calmed back down, because he couldn't live like this.
And he suddenly, insanely, had the urge to go see Cassie. Not to apologize, although he would, because he shouldn't have talked to her the way he had (and he should take an icepack with him, because she would likely slap him and yeah, he had it coming). But just to . . . sit . . . and not have to talk, to explain. Not have to do anything but just be Sam.
Whoa! Where had that come from?
With a quick shake of his head, Sam turned back to the stove. He'd go see Cassie in the morning; that would give her some time to cool down and him the chance to work out what he wanted to say.
And then maybe they could start over, work on getting to know each other as Sam and Cassie instead of 'jackass doctor' and 'nutcase guru'. Yeah. Yeah, a fresh start would be nice.
Just Sam and Cassie.
Huh. That . . . had a nice ring to it.
Sam shook his head again. Clearly, he needed to get some sleep; he'd sworn off women and even if he hadn't, Cassie Nightingale would not be good for him. They'd kill each other in two hours.
It was true, and yet that tiny spark of anticipation at seeing her the next morning gleamed softly all night long.
{{**}}
When Sam somewhat hesitantly entered her kitchen that morning, Cassie was ready for him. It had taken six pies for her to finally calm down enough to think rationally, but after the last one went into the oven, she had come to better understand his position. He'd still been a jerk, mind you, and she wasn't quite ready to forgive him for that, but she could see why he was angry. If nothing else, he'd be concerned with the thought of someone she treated becoming seriously ill or even dying, and because she wasn't a licensed doctor or affiliated with a hospital or clinic, there was no oversight. He had no way of knowing about her gifts and her ability to sense things, nor could he realize that she refused to treat anyone with conditions that were that serious and, in fact, always referred them to Hillcrest. And now, she would refer them to him.
But she felt she had a decent read on his character, so she prepared another peace offering in the form of coffee-flavored tea and greeted him cheerfully when he stepped through the door. His only half-joking question about her poisoning him was actually reassuring, because it confirmed her guess that he was genuinely remorseful about what he had done. She almost — almost — hated to burst his bubble about the tea he was so enthusiastically praising, but while she was prepared to admit he had a valid point, given his perspective, he needed to understand that she wasn't a quack or doing this for kicks. She had studied long and hard to learn her craft, and a lot of her studies had taken place in the country of origin from long-time practitioners of those treatments and remedies.
She had also known that he would react poorly to the knowledge of what he was drinking, but it still stung, which puzzled her. Why did his opinion matter so much to her? Ryan had never made her feel this way.
(It would take weeks of slow realization before she understood that Ryan never showed any hint of dislike when she gave him something, regardless of how he actually felt about it. In fact, she rarely knew what he truly thought because he almost always ended up agreeing with her. It would be a very uncomfortable insight.)
Still, when he refused to drink more of her tea, she used it as a learning tool, turning his own prejudices back against him and watching with slightly-mean amusement while he floundered. Then, just to keep him off-balance (okay, so she might have understood his position; he'd still been a jackass), she accepted his apology before he could offer it. And yes, she did take considerable glee in seeing him try to work her apparent precognition out in his mind, as it never occurred to him that she had gotten a good read of his character. Yes, he'd acted like a jerk, but that wasn't who he was at his core, and he'd had the same amount of time to think that she had. It took no effort at all to discern that he would realize he'd behaved poorly.
What she didn't anticipate was his refusal to apologize for his insinuation that what she did for her customers was dangerous. And it was halting and stumbling and still a little arrogant, but him flat-out not backing down from what he thought was right was . . . strangely appealing. It was something that Cassie had never — well, it had been a long time since she'd experienced that and it threw her for a bit of a loop. The people of Middleton tended to just accept that she was right and even her children seldom disagreed with her. Well, about medical matters.
It was refreshing to have someone actually stand up to her with a valid point of view that refuted hers without necessarily nullifying it. And he didn't put her down or denigrate her, which was more of a relief than she would have thought. He hadn't intended to do so yesterday, she knew, and she was confident now that he wouldn't do it again.
But that didn't mean she had to make it easy for him.
Plus, he was cute when he was flustered.
And, wow, that was a random observation.
But when he came back to George and whatever was wrong with him, they both went straight to the mat. He still believed that the treatments she was providing her father-in-law were hurting him and refused to listen to anything that contradicted that, while she took genuine offense that Sam thought for a second that she would do anything that would hurt George. If she truly believed that something she was giving him was harming him, she would drag him kicking and screaming directly to Sam. His acknowledgement that she wasn't the enemy soothed her ire, but only a little, so despite his genuine plea for her help in getting George in for a thorough, results-proven checkup, she refused to give him the easy answer (which, given that she didn't have the answer for what was wrong with George, added a certain irony to things). He had to start thinking outside the box or his professional life in Middleton was going to be very unpleasant. And truthfully, the ability would do wonders for his overall outlook on life as well.
"Well, um, don't apologize to him," she advised, proud of herself for keeping the sarcasm mostly at bay. He didn't call her on it, which further raised her estimation of him; he just continued his quest to help her father-in-law get better. That really was his primary concern, which softened her a bit more, and when he informed her that he was serious, she was unable to keep from teasing him just a little. "Yeah, I get that about you."
He didn't smile or try to tease her back; he just gave her an imploring look, so she gave him the last clue she was willing to provide and waited to see what he would do.
"Present opportunities are not to be neglected; they rarely visit us twice."
The appreciative look she got in return was . . . gratifying.
And confusing.
Why would she care about the way he looked at her?
"Voltaire," he said softly. Surprise was in his voice, while Cassie found herself impressed. Ryan would not have known that.
Actually, she couldn't think of anyone off the top of her head who would have known that.
Well, well, well. Sam Radford was even more interesting than she'd thought.
But now wasn't the time. He needed to go off and become a medical Sherlock Holmes, while she needed George to take her pies to The Bistro.
"You're not going to tell me what to do, are you?" he asked in plaintive disbelief. It was endearing, actually, to see him so focused on finding a way to help George. And very reassuring. But she couldn't do it for him; this was a lesson he had to learn from personal experience. So, with a touch of regret, she said, "I just did."
He simply looked at her for a long minute, then turned and left without another word.
And Cassie Nightingale blew out a deep breath and used a hand towel to fan herself. She was strangely — no. She was fine. But that had been a strangely invigorating experience. And, again, just a little fun.
It was startling to realize that she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt that way.
With anyone.
Then her cell rang and she tugged it out of her pocket, blinking when she saw Ryan's name. She didn't really want to talk to him but — well, he was her boyfriend. She just . . . wouldn't tell him about this. After all, she and Sam had resolved their differences, so there wasn't a reason for him to know.
"Hey, Ryan," she greeted cheerfully, pushing all thought of Sam Radford into a box that she promptly tucked away in a corner. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," he replied with a smile. "I just wanted to see if you'd like to try that new Thai place tonight."
New Thai place? Oh! The one Stephanie had ranted about for two solid days before realizing it wouldn't affect her customer base at all because, you know, Thai food vs. diner food.
"Sure," she agreed. "What time should I meet you?"
"Nah, I'll come pick you up," he said, shoving something on his desk away and making her smile a little at the corresponding 'no!' when it went too far and he had to fumble the phone to catch it.
"Umm . . . sure," she answered slowly as his words registered. She was trying to let him in more, she was, but she still preferred to have her own car on their dates. Or, if nothing else, she liked to leave her car at his house and ride with him from there. But there was no way to say that without hurting his feelings, so she just let it go. After all, he was her boyfriend. At some point, she'd have to get comfortable with letting him be her sole option for transportation when they went out. And this way, he'd have to bring her home, which was always a safe place for her. "What time?"
"Uhh . . . I should be free by six, so . . . 6:45?" he offered, sniffing softly as he waited for her answer.
"Sure," she said with a nod that he couldn't see. "I'll see you tonight, then."
"Yeah," he murmured. "Have a good day. I'll be thinking of you."
"Me, too," she replied softly and hung up before he could say anything else.
Then she spent the next ten minutes trying and failing to understand why that conversation had made her feel so uncomfortable.
And suddenly, insanely, and with no basis whatsoever, she wished that she could talk to Sam about it.
Then she spent the five minutes after that trying and failing to understand (and feeling guilty about) why that thought didn't make her uncomfortable at all.
But Cassie Nightingale was nothing if not determined, so she firmly shoved all thoughts of Sam Radford back in his designated box and kicked it firmly into a dark corner.
She had a date to start looking forward to.
(and if she was ignoring the fact that she should already be looking forward to it, well . . . she did have other things on her mind.)
{{**}}
Sam had just discovered one of the biggest downsides of moving to a small town: apparently, a newly-arrived single man emitted some kind of bat signal to every woman in — he had to double-check his notes to make sure he hadn't read that wrong — a 72-mile radius to come and . . . well . . . check him out. To add to that discomfort, Stephanie was not remotely subtle about her interest, which, while flattering, was also not something he wanted to deal with right now. But he'd already made enough of an ass of himself for the week, so when she refused to accept his correction of 'date' to 'appointment,' he just shrugged and let it be, though he was intrigued by her dogged persistence. Despite that, their next encounter was not going to end in hot, sweaty anything, regardless of what she wanted. He'd tried to tell her that and her failure to listen wasn't on him. She was a grown woman and her actions were her own.
And if he had the stray thought that Cassie would never have been so presumptuous, well, he was right.
But he wasn't thinking that, so why was he thinking about it?
{{**}}
They had already made plans for that evening, so Cassie was understandably startled when Ryan showed up at her shop with — a plate of muffins?
Vegan rum pudding muffin cakes, to be precise. Even her adventurous, exotically-trained palette cringed at the thought of subjecting itself to that combination.
Her soft-hearted boyfriend had bought them just to make a baker (who really should have known better) feel less discouraged about her creations. It was sweet and nice and should have tugged at her heartstrings.
. . . but it didn't.
Not wanting to dwell on that thought, Cassie sought to distract them both by giving him one of the pies she'd baked last night. And wow, that pie crust had definitely been ill-treated. Badly enough that even Ryan had noticed. That was not good. Making a split-second decision, Cassie decided to use a little of her Merriwick magic to distract him from asking why she had felt the need to beat a mixture of flour and water to a pulp, because she didn't want to lie to him, but she also knew that telling him about her little set-to with Sam would be an abysmally bad idea.
When he attributed her mood to the upcoming dedication ceremony for Jake, she just . . . paused. In the ensuing chaos that Sam Radford had brought to her life, that entire event had slipped her mind. Guilt rose up, strong and fast, but now wasn't the time, so she simply nodded and was relieved beyond words when he accepted that and made no further comment.
"So . . . what's up?" she asked in a not-at-all-subtle attempt to change the subject. "Are we still on for tonight?"
"Yeah," he said quickly before biting his lip and looking away.
Concern welled up and Cassie frowned. "Ryan?"
He took a deep breath and met her eyes.
"Annie's back."
Oh.
Cassie was a calm, understanding, accepting person 99% of the time.
Annie? She fell into that one percent. The only reason Cassie hadn't turned her into a frog was because it would raise too many questions. But she and Mark had hurt Ryan deeply and two years later, it was still a festering wound. And his refusal to forgive them only made it worse.
But he didn't need to hear that right now, so she simply offered him some quiet sympathy while battling a mounting feeling of dread when he brought up the real estate function this weekend and made a quietly-impassioned plea for her help and her presence. He had originally intended to skip it, but the company he worked for had made his attendance mandatory, much to his annoyance. He hadn't yet broached the subject with her, knowing how she felt about outings as public as this one would be, but Annie's presence . . . well, it changed things for him and Cassie understood that.
She did.
But she really didn't want to do it.
Still, he was her boyfriend and it would be churlish to refuse to accompany him just because she wasn't comfortable with them being openly known as a couple. Although this might be a good place to start easing into that transition. They wouldn't make a public announcement, of course, but . . . maybe not deny it if someone asked?
His relief at her agreeing to accompany him was palpable and Cassie was abruptly grateful for Stephanie's presence, because it was the only thing that kept him from kissing her and they both knew it. He reined himself in and thanked her profusely, joking his way outside while silently promising they would discuss it more tonight at dinner.
And Stephanie, who was like a bloodhound when it came to other people's relationships, honed in on the 'ooh, someone asked someone out' that had kinda-sorta just happened, flustering and irritating Cassie in equal measure. This? This was exactly why she wanted to keep her relationship with Ryan a secret. She hated being poked and prodded at, particularly when she made it clear that she wasn't open to further questioning. But the other woman's parting shot about Ryan's obvious happiness at her acceptance gave her pause.
After all, they were dating, so why would her escorting him on a business function be that exciting for him? Sam would have just smiled and said 'okay.'
Wait.
Where had that come from?
{{**}}
Sam really didn't understand just how badly he'd messed up with the way he'd treated Cassie until he ran into George at The Bistro and was immediately made to understand that the only reason he, Sam, wasn't currently sporting a broken nose was because George had better manners than he did.
Which was . . . no, he had that coming.
It was a little comical how flustered George got when Sam agreed that he'd been wrong and acted very badly, though attempting to turn that into enough of a camaraderie to get the stubborn man into his office so he could figure out just what in the hell was wrong with him was like pulling teeth, only less fun.
Sam's frustration finally spilled over to the point that he begged George to let him apologize, trying to get the other man to understand that he knew he'd been wrong. But he also needed him to accept the fact that whatever Cassie was giving him might not be hurting him (though he wasn't betting on that), but it sure as hell wasn't helping him, either.
And her infuriating 'advice' from this morning suddenly sprang to his mind and then fell out of his mouth without even trying to get permission from his brain first.
"Present opportunities are not to be neglected; they rarely visit us twice."
Thank God, it was different enough from the way he'd been acting (and that made shame flare up in his throat, hot and bitter) that George finally agreed to let him buy the damn pie and get him to sit down. Once they'd reached that milestone, Sam slowly and carefully began the process of coaxing George into his office so he could finally figure out what was wrong and help him start to heal.
And somewhere in the middle of that, he had the passing thought that if Cassie Nightingale affected him this much now — to the point that he was actively fighting to . . . well, help someone who so clearly didn't want his help — how much worse would it be if they became actual friends?
What wouldn't he do for her?
{{**}}
Ryan had texted her shortly before five to let her know he'd have to meet her at the restaurant, much to Cassie's relief, so she was surprised to see him waiting for her. But she had been worrying over her realizations and concerns about Ryan's reaction to her accepting a date with him all day — to the point she nearly tracked him down earlier that afternoon to demand an explanation — and she wanted to hash it out and get it over with, because she was starting to go just a little crazy.
Which, again, made her wonder what was wrong with her. She and Ryan were dating, so why was his happiness at her company so unnerving?
And why did Sam Radford keep coming up as a comparison?
She didn't even really know the man, for heaven's sake!
Well, it didn't matter. She was here with Ryan, now, and they needed to talk about this.
"Hey," he said cheerfully as she dropped into the seat across from him, shrugging off her coat (and refusing to acknowledge that Sam would have stood and pulled out her chair. How could she know that? And why did it suddenly bother her that Ryan didn't have a similar chivalry?).
"Hi," she replied, debated for a split second, and then decided to just dive right in.
"Don't take this the wrong way," she started, watching as his eyes widened in surprise and some worry at that dreaded phrase. "But why are you so happy that I'm going with you this weekend?"
"I—" he floundered, visibly caught off-guard. "What?"
"This weekend," she repeated, leaning forward. "When I said I'd go with you, you acted like — well, like I'd just agreed to go with you to prom."
"Well, you did," he finally answered, after several slow blinks and a visible look back at his visit to her shop earlier. "I mean, Annie is THE evilest of evil witches in every fairy tale but I will have the most beautiful woman in the state on my arm, so for once, she can't say anything."
This . . . was true (at least the evil witch theory; turning her into a frog wasn't off the table yet, and no, she wasn't insulted by the 'witch' comparison. Good and bad people existed everywhere.), but his answer still didn't satisfy her.
She just refused to think about the reason why.
Instead, she nodded and chose to feel flattered that he thought so highly of her, resolving again to make this outing their first step into 'official' status.
They would make this work, she and Ryan.
They had to.
Didn't they?
{{**}}
Sam heaved a sigh of exhausted disbelief as he glared at the last of his results. Every single test he'd run on George had come back negative, a fact that nearly had him punching his office wall out of sheer frustration. According to every piece of training and experience he'd gained over the last eleven years, the man was perfectly healthy.
Just prone to fainting for no discernable reason.
With no other options readily available to him, he finally decided to surrender to the inevitable and made his way to the Bell, Book, & Candle. Once inside the door, he paused to take everything in and couldn't help a small smile; the place was literally the physical embodiment of Cassie Nightingale: oddly soothing yet still unnerving.
Like her.
He didn't even blink at this thought, having resigned himself some hours ago to the fact that the infuriating, engaging woman was well on her way to taking up permanent residence in his mind. It could definitely be worse, after all. Now, having said that, he still wasn't sanguine about taking one of her 'alternate remedies,' but when she schooled him yet again, this time about both aspirin and Hippocrates — and in the same sentence, because why not? — he gave in and tossed the drink back.
Damn stubborn woman.
Damn stubborn man.
Well, they were well-matched there, no doubt about it.
Of course, she promptly blew his headache right back up by refusing yet again to give him any real answers — or even spell out her actual thoughts — when he tried to talk about George.
"Maybe when your head clears, your vision will clear, too."
What the hell was that supposed to mean?!
"What are you saying?" he asked sharply, frustrated at both his inability to figure out what was wrong with his patient and her refusal to give him a straight answer that might help him achieve that goal.
And did she tell him? No, because if she actually gave him a straight answer, his blood pressure would drop to a normal level and he'd take away all her fun.
Tired and worn out, he just looked at her and scoffed softly at her last non-reply before silently leaving. In probably any other circumstance, he would appreciate the chance to exchange witty banter with her, but right now, with him floundering and George getting worse . . . he just couldn't believe that she was taking it so lightly, especially given how much she cared for the man.
Okay, that wasn't fair. He knew perfectly well she wasn't taking it lightly. But her insistence on being mysterious and throwing out strange riddles seemed very out of place for someone who was so passionate about what she did, never mind a woman who obviously loved George so much.
And he just didn't have the mental energy to waste trying to untangle that dichotomy. Not until he worked out what was making George sick. And he would find out, if it was the last thing he did. Sam Radford did not give up and he refused to be stymied by a medical diagnosis — or an exasperating, uncooperative woman. Not even one as enticing and erudite as Cassie Nightingale.
Oh, hey. His headache was gone.
{{**}}
Sam's chagrin at realizing what was wrong with George was matched only by the depths of his relief at finally figuring out what was wrong with George.
Had he been the kind of man who indulged in public displays of — well, public displays, Sam would have danced a jig down the street. He had solved the mystery. And, thankfully, it was just an allergic reaction, so it was quickly and easily treatable. It had taken him some time to persuade the man in question of the diagnosis, though empirical evidence was on his side now, and George was eventually convinced. After that, it just a matter of heading over to see Cassie and give her the good news. It never even occurred to him not to, because George would definitely tell her. No, going to talk to Cassie was what he needed (wanted) to do.
And if he was a little excited about the satisfaction of finding the hidden issue and bringing it to light, well . . . he WAS a doctor. Medical mysteries were his bread and butter. And this particular kind of mystery wasn't one the average person would know anything about. Or the non-average person, really. This was a mystery reserved for the medical professionals of the world.
So naturally, giving Cassie the good news entailed her knocking him off his pedestal by revealing that not only did she know the medical slang that, truthfully, she shouldn't (how? How did she know?!), but she also had a solid understanding of what it meant. However, decimated ego aside, he was able to take a certain satisfaction in still having to explain the specifics of George's issue; it was good to have actual proof that she didn't know everything, belief in her own omniscience notwithstanding.
Damn stubborn woman.
And she was, though he thought it fondly this time.
But his eyes had been opened to his own, rather insulated, blindness (no pun intended) and he knew that he needed to acknowledge that. She deserved the consideration and he needed to give it to her. After all, despite his ongoing belief that her concoctions had been the thing that was harming George, he had been spectacularly mistaken. Saying it out loud, especially to a woman he'd wronged in so many ways, wouldn't kill him.
His ego might never recover, but . . .
Oh, who was he kidding? Of course it would.
But in the meantime, he had an apology to give.
With a rueful sigh, he met her eyes and was surprised to find them warm and friendly.
"So it — it wasn't your herbs or powders or whatever," he began, slowly pacing around the couch.
"Mm," she said, watching him with a bland expression that unnerved him just a little. "I never thought it was."
Ouch.
Deserved, yes. But still. Ouch.
Time to man up, Radford.
"I did," he confessed, willing her to see his genuine remorse for that, and for the resultant accusations. "And for that, I'm sorry."
She gave him no reply, though her expression got a little less bland, and he made a soft sound of resigned amusement; it looked like he was still in the doghouse, which was fair. He wasn't going to grovel, but he understood that it would take some time for her to completely forgive him.
However, he hated the kind of awkward silence that was trying its best to spring up, so he found himself . . . oh, God, he was babbling in an effort to keep the aforementioned awkwardness at bay. And strangely, that seemed to do the trick, because Cassie started bantering with him and trying to tease him. Relieved beyond words that he had managed to fix things, Sam decided he should leave while he was still ahead, though he couldn't resist having the last word.
"I still don't believe in Eastern medicine," he said as he pulled on his jacket, his back to her so she didn't see the amused affection on his face.
And she nailed him again.
"Yet."
He was unable to prevent a fond smile at her final volley but said nothing as he left, readily conceding this round to her. She had definitely earned it.
Oh, she was going to cause him no end of trouble.
And it was a little frightening to realize just how much he was looking forward to it.
{{**}}
Finding out that his son had vandalized the school and now had an official police report on his record destroyed every last remnant of his good mood and he scowled, spiking the basketball and hating that he had no idea what to do with Nick. He'd tried tough love, he'd tried fun dad, he'd tried friend . . . hell, he'd even taken 'cool uncle' for a spin once. But nothing he did got through and he was genuinely afraid that his son was going to destroy his life in an effort to punish Sam for . . . well, everything. The divorce, his mother abandoning him (he didn't know that was what had happened, so naturally, Sam got the blame for it), moving so suddenly to Middleton . . .
And he was abruptly, brutally, hit upside the head with the awareness that he owed Nick an apology for that. Worse, and to his shame, it had taken him far too long to come to that realization. His refusal to admit to any wrongdoing was an aspect of his personality that Sam badly needed to get under control, and soon, before it cost him more than he was willing to pay.
So he would apologize to Nick for the way he'd handled leaving New York and moving here, because he really had done it in the worst possible way, and then he'd ground him because the kid had to be punished (vandalizing?! He couldn't even wrap his head around how, never mind why, and he'd never know, because Nick sure as hell wasn't going to tell him). And then . . . well, he'd just have to wait and see. Hopefully, this would be a wake-up call for both of them.
He took Nick out to dinner because he would have an easier time keeping his temper in check if they were in public and made one attempt at small-talk that crashed and burned on the second word. So Sam, with a mental sigh of rueful acknowledgement of his own fear, decided to just man up. He owed his son an apology and putting it off was unfair to both of them. The words themselves were surprisingly easy to say, probably because the sentiment behind them was completely and utterly sincere, but the unshielded shock in Nick's eyes when Sam expressed his genuine regret for his poor handling of the situation was a punch in the gut. Had their relationship really deteriorated that much?
Then he saw the triumph behind the surprise and felt his heart sink; they were still locked in a power struggle and it was a vicious cycle he could not find a way out of. But if Nick thought his father was just going to meekly give in and let him do whatever he wanted, he was in for a rude awakening.
"And now you're angry and you're acting out," he told his son, acknowledging his feelings and his pain because they were legitimate and deserved his consideration. "But hear me," he continued in a soft, serious voice, leaning forward and refusing to let the boy look away. "We're staying." Nick flinched, but Sam didn't let it sway him and continued to explain the law of this new land they were in. "And you can either accept it or you can keep doing what you're doing . . . and risk messing up the rest of your life."
Silence.
"You're not a little kid anymore," he stated, desperate to get through to his impossibly stubborn child. "And it's time you took some responsibility for your life. And your actions," he finished, imploring Nick to finally listen to him and understand just how serious Sam was. How serious his own life was.
More silence, and then —
"Sooo . . . that's it?"
And he hadn't heard a word.
Dammit. Dammit all to hell.
Fine. They'd play it Nick's way for now.
Maybe he'd go over to Grey House later and talk to Cassie, see if she had any more riddles for him that would somehow prove relevant to his current situation.
And he was thinking about her again. Wasn't that interesting?
"Oh, you're grounded," he assured Nick, firmly bringing his mind back to the present and grabbing his coffee mug. "For a really long time."
Stephanie came over before his son could say anything and hit on him yet again. She wasn't even pretending to be subtle now. He still wasn't particularly interested, but her persistence was flattering, so he decided to flirt back a little and see what happened.
"Ah, away from the office, call me Sam," he offered, giving her a rueful, yet charming, smile. Nick rolled his eyes and Sam had to fight down a laugh; that reaction alone was worth it.
"Sam it is," she said with a small laugh of her own, looking pleased, while he really took in her outfit. It was awfully . . . dressy . . . for a night working behind the counter.
"Where's the party?" he asked, genuinely curious. It might be good for him to get out of the house.
"No, no party," she replied, looking puzzled, and Sam arched an eyebrow in question.
"It's for the dedication ceremony for Chief Russell," she explained, looking as though that should answer his question. It didn't and he slowly shook his head. "Jake. Cassie Nightingale's husband?"
Husb — she was married?
No, wait. Dedication ceremony
Oh.
Oh, Cassie.
"Where?" he asked softly, making Stephanie stop and look back as he pushed his plate away while he stood up. Nick followed suit, having caught the undertones of the conversation and realizing that this wasn't a good thing. Sam spared a quick moment of gratefulness at seeing this unexpected maturity, but his attention was focused on getting as much information as he could so he could be there physically, and offer his support if that was something she wanted.
He would never have guessed she had this tragedy in her life, especially since she seemed so — innocent. And she also had three children. Two of them were adults, sure, but still. He could not even begin to imagine how was she was dealing with it, though something told him it had happened a while ago. And she was widowed, which made sense out of so many things; he'd assumed divorce because — well, because.
But — that meant that this ceremony would only bring up memories and reopen old wounds . . . for mother as well as daughter. He sucked in a sharp breath at that thought. This would even more heart-wrenching for Grace than Cassie. God, she was so young and vulnerable that this could very easily shatter her heart. Both of their hearts. And that knowledge roused his protective instincts, something that should have surprised him, given how little they knew each other. Only . . . it didn't surprise him, and that did concern him.
But he ignored all of that for the moment. Cassie and Grace were what mattered right now.
And once the ceremony was over and Cassie had gotten home and had a chance to soothe some of Grace's pain, strengthen their bond with this new experience, he made an educated guess that she would want to be alone to . . . absorb . . . the feelings this evening would dredge up. So when it looked like she was able to handle having someone there, he would go to her. Anything she needed or wanted tonight, she would get.
Anything.
That's what friends did.
Even when they weren't friends.
{{**}}
When Ryan showed up at Grey House with a limo to take her family to Jake's dedication ceremony, Cassie nearly lost herself in tears. Never once had Ryan held any anger or resentment for Jake or her feelings for him, and Cassie adored him for that. She honestly did.
And with this ritual finally getting its time, maybe she could truly lay Jake to rest in peace in her heart and allow someone else to start to take root. It was time. And Ryan had been so patient and understanding about her feelings, her confusion, that she thought it — she — would be okay with finally letting him in.
And Jake would want her to be happy.
Ryan offered his hand on the drive over and she clutched it tightly, drawing strength for what she knew was coming and trying to find comfort in his presence. It didn't come, but considering what she was facing, Cassie couldn't spare any thought to it; he was there, supporting her however he could. She would take comfort in that.
Her heart warmed when she saw Sam and Nick slip in the back as Martha got started, but she couldn't give them any acknowledgement. It was going to take everything she had to get through this and her eyes flicked to Ryan, sitting in the front row and smiling tenderly at her. His support was tangible and she drew on it again, but just before she rose to give her speech, her eyes met Sam's. The compassion and steadfast strength she saw took her breath away, because it was all for her. And that knowledge — unexpected but so very welcome — was enough to allow her to summon the full measure of her determination and she stepped up to honor the man her husband had been, each and every iteration of him. And all the while, she could feel the grief of their children, and their support, along with Derek, Martha . . . so many people who had known and loved Jake and were there for her — for them — now, letting her know that she wasn't alone.
And below all of that, providing a strong rock that she could lean against and rest on, was Ryan. Her Ryan.
But under him was a solid, seemingly impenetrable foundation and its presence shocked her to her core because when she looked up, searching for the source of that outpouring of strength, her heart stopped when she realized it was from Sam, and he wasn't holding anything back. If she needed to drain him dry to get through this, he would gladly let her and find more if what he had wasn't enough.
And Cassie . . . she simply could not handle that. Not now. So she turned away from the unknown foundation and sought refuge against the rock, taking what comfort she could find in Ryan's familiar presence and cherishing his support and encouragement.
Her heart cried out plaintively when she rejected Sam's strength, but Cassie couldn't hear it. She had splintered into so many pieces this night that she had nothing left to listen with.
When they finally got back to Grey House, Brandon and Lori folded Grace into their arms and the three of them cried out the loss of their father while George watched over them, his own grief tangible, though he had refused to allow anyone to comfort him. But he had always managed his feelings by helping others, so Cassie let it go for tonight.
Once it was obvious that her children were taking care of each other, Ryan led her outside and around the corner of the house, out of sight of any windows, and just held her while she sobbed. Finally, Cassie was able to purge the last of her devastating grief at not just Jake's death but the cruel unfairness of the destruction it had wrought, leaving his two elder children orphaned, his youngest daughter deprived of her father, best friend, and protector in one fell swoop, and his wife devastated and floundering from the sudden, brutal severing of her strongest source of emotional strength.
She never saw Sam, coming to offer whatever she might need or want from him, because she had, without either of them realizing it, already laid a foothold in his heart. It was miniscule, yes, but very much there.
She never saw the sledgehammer that hit him when he realized what her relationship with Ryan had to be. Not because he was seeking to romance her, but because he truly wanted what was best for her and from what he'd observed, he just . . . didn't see that from Ryan.
And it would be months before she realized that he had absorbed that blow and then shaken it off, accepting reality for what it was and vowing to protect her anyway, because that was who Sam Radford was.
Healer. Protector. Friend.
And Cassie Nightingale's new shelter from whatever storm came her way.
Unfortunately, she was completely unaware of any of this.
Even more unfortunately, Ryan was not.