Serendipity

by xfphile

The night that Sam and Nick Radford officially moved to Middleton was normal. Uneventful. Completely and totally unremarkable. Just a man and his son, moving to small-town America for a fresh start. It changed everything. Only . . . it didn't change anything.

10. The A-Team (1-2)

A/N: Well. We have arrived at The Storm. I know this is a fan-favorite pair of episodes, so please let me know if I did (or didn't) do them justice. As always, a massive shout-out goes to lawand_disorder for her fantastic job of beta reading. I also cannot express my appreciation for your reviews and insights; they are what ultimately give a story life and I cherish each and every one of them So! On with the show. I hope you guys enjoy it.

---

The A-Team (1/2)

It took flirti—bantering with Sam about the oncoming ice storm (oh, she hoped he was a Doctor Who fan, because that unintentional pun was good) for Cassie to actually register that her conversation with Ryan about de-icing his driveway had been very . . . platonic, to the point that she hadn't been annoyed at all at his refusal to believe her about the coming storm. He hadn't tried to coax her into a date or flirt with her, and she had been comfortable and relaxed throughout it.

Oh.

Well, n—

Wait.

The weatherman, Sam? Really?

Everyone knows that meteorologists the world over are lying liars who lie, even those on the National Weather Service. So why would a man as intelligent as Sam Radford believe one?

Especially over her?

Well. It looked like it was time to puncture his ego again (something that well was past time, she realized; they hadn't bantered in entirely too long), so who had the most apt quote . . .

Oh, yes.

Perfect.

"Well, luck favors the prepared," she intoned, making no attempt to hide her amusement.

Or her anticipation at winning this round.

She could not say the same about her slightly-flustered response to his appreciative murmur of, "Louis Pasteur."

Luckily, she'd gotten quite a bit of practice at locking down unexpected (but not always unwanted) thoughts in the last few months, so she easily ignored her own reaction — which wasn't nearly as unwelcome as it had been two months ago and was therefore a lot harder to hide — and said, "Father of microbiology."

"You do have an eclectic reading list, don't you?" he asked somewhat rhetorically, those vivid blue eyes dancing with humor.

"I do," she chirped, smiling as she felt herself start to relax a bit. And if she was looking forward to the mini-lecture she was about to hit Sam with, well . . . of course she was.

"Yeah, he felt that something he couldn't see was making people sick," she told him, enjoying his good-natured acceptance; after all, he knew this just as well as she did. "He couldn't see the germs, but he knew that they were there."

Not missing a beat, Sam shot back, "Are you saying you're the Louis Pasteur of weather?"

It took a great deal of effort not to laugh, but Cassie managed and replied, "No, I'm saying there's a storm on the way. A big one."

He scoffed and stood up as he told her, "A storm I can handle. My ex-wife, I'm not so sure."

Wow. This was the first thing she'd heard about the other woman since the call she'd witnessed, because Sam had completely clammed up about Linda. He hadn't so much as alluded to her after that call and had in fact shut Cassie down immediately the one time she had asked. It was something he did not want to discuss, even with her, and Cassie respected that. She hated it, but it was his right and his decision.

But he could no longer avoid the issue and her heart ached anew at the tumult of emotion he was feeling, because not a single one of them was positive.

Ooh. And Linda was going to be staying at Grey House, right next door to him.

This was not going to end well.

He shook her out of her musings by adding, with only mild bitterness and more than a little frustration, "And, unfortunately, unlike the storm, there is a one hundred percent chance of Linda hitting town tonight and causing complete chaos."

His fake upbeat acceptance (as it were) was as jarring as the emotions he was actually feeling, and Cassie winced a little as he left. The juxtaposition was giving her a headache, so she couldn't begin to imagine how Sam was dealing with everything. And this was something she could not help him with, other than the silent support they always gave each other.

Compounding the entire mess was her strong suspicion that something was 'off', for lack of a better word, between Sam and Stephanie, but Cassie had sworn the night of the infamous 'home-cooked meal' that she was NOT going to ask either of them a single question about their relationship.

Ever.

(not even during the cooking lessons she'd given him, which had, all told, been a moderate success; he was no longer in danger of setting the house on fire if left unattended and they had learned a great deal about each other — but neither of them so much as hinted about their romantic relationships)

But if her suspicions were right . . .

Well.

They would all have to cross that bridge when they came to it.

But until then, she had a storm to prepare for.

And apparently, The Abominable Snowman was coming with it.

That last thought caught Cassie off-guard and she paused, considering it.

It was highly unlike her to — actually, Cassie made it a point to never judge someone she hadn't met herself. And she adored Sam, truly, but he wasn't perfect and his emotions would naturally be colored by his own experiences with the woman.

And yet . . .

Cassie found herself wary and not at all looking forward to meeting Linda in person, which was . . . disturbing.

Because until now, she had not grasped just how much Sam had begun to influence her.

Even more disturbing was the knowledge that it was completely and totally unintentional on his part.

But the terrifying aspect was Cassie's sudden understanding that she wasn't . . . unhappy with this new discovery. Disquieted, certainly, but not really upset. After all, she knew Sam pretty well now and not only did she know the kindness that lay at the heart of him, she had also been witness to multiple examples of his ability to give people the benefit of the doubt (Ryan, Martha . . . Cassie herself, honesty compelled her to admit). He was also able and willing to be civil and work with people he didn't particularly like (again, Ryan . . . and Martha, God love her). So his complete lack of 'positive' with regards to Linda told Cassie a lot about the woman, and while she would form her own opinion, of course, she . . . well, Sam was causing her, for one of the first times in her life, to prejudge someone.

And Cassie wasn't nearly as bothered by that as she should have been.

Especially since it would never occur to her to do that with Ryan.

(because she didn't know or trust Ryan the way she did Sam)

And that realization finally, finally, caused a tiny tear that she couldn't glue back together on the central piece of the house of cards Cassie had been building for months — unlike the dozens she had spent the last six months forcing shut.

Unfortunately for the people involved, that tear would remain hidden even as it spread and weakened the already-wobbly foundation that was comprised of her feelings for Jake, Sam, and Ryan.

And none of them could have imagined the havoc that house would wreak when it finally tumbled down.

{{**}}

Bantering with Cassie about the ice storm that Middleton wasn't going to get hit by was an all-too-welcome distraction from Sam's increasing certainty that he and Stephanie were not going to be 'Sam and Stephanie' for much longer. He liked her a lot, yes, but he didn't find himself randomly thinking about her, or calling or texting her 'just because', or sliding by The Bistro just to say 'hi'. In fact, if they weren't on a date, they didn't really talk at all.

And he had yet to kiss her.

More importantly — and very tellingly — he had no desire to.

None.

And that, obviously, was an issue.

As was the fact that she hadn't tried to force things, which — given her single-minded pursuit of him — was more than a little strange; he, however, was too relieved by the lack to look deeper into it.

Which was another Giant Clue.

Although, given that he'd been more than a little unsure about pursuing this ever since the night he'd nearly burned down his house, in retrospect, this wasn't a surprise at all. A disappointment? Yeah, a little. But not surprising.

His feelings about Cassie Nightingale notwithstanding (whatever the hell they were, which was something he really needed to figure out), Sam wasn't so self-deluded as to keep trying to force blood from a turnip. His immediate reaction to Stephanie's request to come by his home after work had been . . . well, it wasn't the reaction a man should have at the thought of an unexpected evening with the woman he was dating. On top of that, the fact that he had yet to tell Stephanie about Linda coming to town was proof enough that they simply weren't a good match, if only because he still couldn't trust that she'd behave like a reasonable, grown adult (he had a brief moment of dark humor when he realized that this description could be applied to both women).

That being said, Stephanie's silent acceptance at the amount of time he'd spent at Grey House the last two weeks, tending to poor Grace, had surprised him. A lot. And pleased him, yes, but . . . even with that, he simply had no urge to open up to her.

Somewhat to his shame, he also wasn't particularly interested in having her share too much with him.

Which . . . well, yeah.

The problem was, with Linda (damn her to eternity) coming to town, he couldn't break up with Stephanie. The timing was simply atrocious, something his ex-wife excelled at, and Stephanie would, not unreasonably, assume he was either a) ashamed of her or b) still hung up on Linda (ugh; the very thought made his stomach heave).

Neither of those things was remotely true, but appearances did matter in this case, and so here he was: stuck between a hard place and a freaking boulder. The irony of this did not escape him and he mentally huffed out a bitter laugh; he couldn't do what was best for them both and end things because she simply didn't know him well enough to understand the actual truth of the situation, and he was going to break up with her because he didn't want her to know him well enough to understand.

God, he hated karma.

And that brain-eating amoeba could die in a fire, too.

With absolutely nothing resolved in his increasingly messy personal life, Sam declared a draw with Cassie and stood up, grabbing his and Nick's breakfasts and wishing everyone a good day before heading to his office.

And as he moodily drove off, he had the absent thought that the ice storm hitting town wouldn't be the worst thing, if only because it would postpone Linda from pulling a Godzilla on his life (well, actually, it might well stop her; Linda was not what one would call 'reliable' if wasn't business-related, and wouldn't THAT be wonderful, if an Act of God kept her the hell away from him and his family?)

Had he known what that storm would cause . . .

Even then, he wouldn't have changed a thing.

{{**}}

Watching Eve and Brian lovingly poke at each other over their cleaning skills (or lack thereof) made Cassie's heart ache with a fierceness that caught her off-guard. She missed that, missed Jake, so much that she teared up a little. This was exacerbated by the irritating reminder that she couldn't do it with Ryan, because he was so afraid of offending her or hurting her feelings that he simply would not really relax and play.

Unless it was something he wanted, and then he ignored how she felt.

Unlike Sam, who positively relished teasing her and poking her 'sensibilities' with a stick — and parrying her own ripostes with clear enjoyment and well-honed skill.

Oh, she didn't need this right now!

Or ever, really.

Luckily, her bone-deep certainty that the coming storm would hit Middleton provided an excellent distraction.

As did the obvious physical pain that Brian was in.

Her less-than-happy thoughts kept her from being as amused as she normally would have been at Brian's response to her diagnosis and suggested remedy . . . though, given his stomach pain and Eve's advanced pregnancy, she quite readily suggested that a visit to Sam would be a good idea.

Ugh.

God save her from Macho Men.

Even for Cassie, refusing to see a doctor when you know you have damaged ribs was a foolish move.

Eve's easy acceptance of this trait didn't reassure her like it should have, though she couldn't say why. Just . . . something was off.

With a sigh, Cassie resolved to keep an eye on them until they left, and went back to work.

And tried very, very hard to downplay the sudden frisson of foreboding that ran icy fingers down her spine.

It was just a stomachache, after all; how bad could it really get?

{{**}}

His utter failure to remember to make lunch for himself and his son sent Sam back to The Bistro, much to his chagrin. Thankfully, Abigail was at the counter instead of Stephanie, so at least he was spared that awkwardness.

He would confess to being surprised (and more than a little dismayed) when Abigail told him she was quitting his office to work for Stephanie, but he needed only a moment of thought to understand why.

And shake his head.

This was one of the biggest reasons he and Stephanie weren't going to make it as a couple; she was entirely too territorial and while he might have been able to come to terms with that, she still showed no signs of learning how to control it (he completely failed to notice that her behavior closely resembled Ryan's when it came to him being around other women). Thus, her hiring Abigail despite her ardent dislike of the woman was nothing more than a last-ditch effort to 'keep the competition away from her man'.

What Abigail was getting out of it was anyone's guess, but Sam knew full well she could take care of herself, and so he teased her just enough to show that he was fine with her decision, and after that, made the executive decision to mind his own business.

As far as Abigail and Stephanie were concerned, he knew nothing, he saw nothing, and he heard nothing.

Her recitation of his order before he could give it sparked a mental eyeroll; she was definitely related to Cassie.

"Neat trick," he drawled.

Oh, and it was already bagged up.

How had this become his life, again?

Abigail's sudden (and random) announcement of Stephanie's absence startled him.

Her offer to take a message scared him, because he couldn't go there yet, and even if he could, he wasn't prepared to do so.

Then she mentioned his wife coming to town and he got annoyed.

Hold on. Wife?

Oh, hell, no.

"Ex," he corrected sharply. "And how did you — oh, Cassie," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. Women! Would it kill them to not gossip every once in a blue moon?

Her reply of, "Yeah, sure. Cassie," sounded almost . . . mocking, which puzzled him a bit, but not enough to ask questions. He just wanted to get back to the office and eat his heart-attack-on-a-plate before he and Nick headed to the hospital.

Oh, yeah. Speaking of—

"Oh, and Nick wants, uh . . ."

"Fries. Chili cheese," she filled in, giving him a smug grin and pushing the bag forward.

Sam couldn't help his own wry smile as he pulled out his wallet and paid.

And to think, he'd been worried about being bored in Middleton.

{{**}}

It took Sam entirely too long to correlate Nick's sudden downturn in attitude with Linda, yet again, flaking out on him.

And by 'correlate' he meant 'getting his own text from The She-Devil of Brooklyn'.

Egads, he was out of practice in dealing with his ex and her breathtaking level of selfishness.

So, instead of getting to enjoy the knowledge that he and his family weren't going to have Linda inflicted on them, Sam was equally pissed off at both himself and her. He should have known better.

Hell, he did know better.

And yet here he was, drinking alone and in the dark.

He hadn't been able to tell Nick.

With a heavy sigh and a mournful look upstairs, where Nick was blissfully unaware of his mother's cancellation and doubtlessly blowing up some evil alien overlord, Sam tossed back the two fingers of scotch he was allowing himself and settled more firmly into his couch, tipping his head back onto the cushion and vainly trying to massage away his now-pounding headache.

He didn't know what to do.

Literally.

He couldn't make Linda love Nick, or pay attention to him. Which . . . honestly — and it sounded horrible, he knew, but — if she had just disappeared completely from Nick's life, Sam could have dealt with that. He really could, and so would Nick, because you can't get your hopes up when there is literally nothing there to work with.

But no.

No, that would be considerate and Sam was positive that the world would end if Linda Wallace actually gave a damn about anyone other than herself. Instead, she gave Nick enough crumbs to keep him hungry but nothing more, which enraged his father, especially given how deliberate he knew it was; she didn't want Nick, not even part-time (for lack of a better description), but she craved the ego boost that came from being the hero, the cool parent. That it completely lacked any substance was lost on Nick. And this was compounded by Sam's refusal to lie to his son, as well as his refusal to speak badly of his mother where he could hear it.

Something that was a hell of a lot more than Linda had ever given Sam, because she was a spiteful, vindictive witch.

. . . okay.

He hadn't realized how bitter he still was.

Crap.

He needed to talk to Cassie.

He didn't want to, not with all the turmoil he was feeling not just about Linda and Nick, but also Stephanie (and yes, he was completely ignoring whatever the hell he was feeling for Cassie, because he had no clue what that was and now was NOT the time to start unraveling that mystery, as enjoyable as he suspected it might be).

But she had somehow become his touchstone and his safe harbor and he was just too tired to swim against the tide simply to prove a point.

Well, that and it would be hypocritical in the extreme for him to refuse to ask her for help when he needed it and then chide her for the same.

And also because she would very likely have some good advice for him.

So, you know, going to see her was perfectly logical.

His unspoken desire to just be in her company didn't come into play at all.

And if you believe that, there's a bridge in Brooklyn he would like to show you.

Ugh. He was entirely too sober for this, but needs must and all that.

Besides, if he was drunk when he went to her, she would give him a lecture on the evils of consuming too much alcohol (while reminding him that 'you are well-aware of this, Sam, you are a doctor and also not an idiot, at least the last time I checked') and then force-feed (drink?) him tea, and there was no way THAT would end well.

With another deep sigh, Sam heaved himself to his feet and grabbed his jacket before heading to Grey House.

Once more unto the breach . . .

{{**}}

Cassie felt Sam approaching the minute he left the house and frowned in concern. The seething anger and resentment had . . . not calmed down at all, but it seemed to be overlaid with an almost fatalistic resignation.

And since 'surrender' was not in Sam's vocabulary, Cassie was very concerned.

Especially given her conversation with Linda, who had called (because apparently, e-mailing again was too easy) earlier to cancel her booking and — even over the phone, which Cassie had to admire in a clinical sort of way — had been so unpleasant that she would rather revisit her conversation with Abigail (literally with Abigail, as in 'talking to her') about her meddling than speak to Sam's ex-wife again. Weirdly, it wasn't so much that she had been rude, but instead had been rather . . . obnoxious, stuck-up, condescending, and — okay, yeah, rude as well. Or maybe 'hateful' was a better description; she had pretty much said that Cassie needed to regret the loss of such an esteemed guest, especially since Linda had chosen her less-than-adequate accommodation to grace with her presence.

It was a very good thing she had gotten Cassie on the phone and not Abigail, though she conceded that the resultant conversation would have been entertaining. And educational.

She refused to acknowledge her unspoken desire for that to have happened.

But it seemed that her notion of The Abominable Snowman was more accurate than she'd expected, which meant . . . well, now she had even more proof about Sam's judgement.

And that knowledge made his mental and emotional state all the more disquieting.

This was on top of her concern for Eve and Brian, who had left a couple of hours earlier; she still didn't know why, but her intuition was chiming a very insistent alarm about the couple.

And Cassie was generally very, very good at sussing out exactly what any given issue was once she was aware of it, but right now, she could really do without the 'enigmatic mystery' stage of things. A straight answer would be much appreciated, thank you.

Yes, the irony escaped her.

And Sam was at her door, so she pushed everything to the side and turned her full focus to him. The man looked utterly flat with exhaustion, and she found herself having nothing to say but a soft, "Hey."

He sighed as he came in, casting a quick look around the room before meeting her eyes.

And didn't say a word.

Ah. He was in that mood.

Okay; she could work with that.

"You want to talk about it?" she gently challenged, her lips curving in a soft smile.

"About what?" he retorted, giving a very bad impression of surprise.

Ooh.

Okay, he was in that other mood.

This did not bode well.

Well, at least she knew how to handle this particular attitude, which meant she had an excellent chance of heading any explosions off at the pass.

"Whatever it is you came over to talk about," she replied blandly, not letting him look away until he capitulated.

"All right, all right," he grumped, rolling his eyes. "I'll tell you what's wrong; stop badgering me."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Cassie nearly giggled. He was such a . . . a man sometimes.

But he was also in a better mood now, so point to her!

The look on his face made her laugh in genuine amusement, though it was tinged with concern, and as she headed back to the living room, she heard his admission of wanting to talk with relief, because that meant he wanted to open up to her. He was also much more likely to heed what she had to say, which was another good thing.

But she still respected his — not his ego, really, but his self-sufficiency, and so she readily acknowledged his dislike of talking about personal things (neither of them thought anything about how many 'personal things' they shared with each other, because in their minds, that was different).

(some fourteen months later, the entire population of Middleton (minus Abigail) would look back at that first year after Sam's arrival and wonder what the hell was wrong with them. How did NOBODY see that Cassie and Sam were destined to become Cassie-and-Sam? Honestly, it was embarrassing.)

"I'm not big on sharing," he confirmed as he dropped heavily into a chair, the irony escaping both of them this time. "Just ask my ex-wife's therapist."

Her therapist?

Not his?

Ooh.

Yeah, Cassie wasn't touching that. Not tonight.

Not as bitter as he sounded.

Which . . . hold on. Did he not know that Linda wasn't coming?

Well, that would be some good news for him.

Hopefully.

"Oh, um, Linda's not coming to town," she told him as she settled herself on her couch, watching with interest (and more than a little amusement) as the exhaustion changed to mild disbelief.

"Oh, come on," he almost moaned. "How do you do that?"

She grinned but said nothing; his reaction to her knowledge was always fun.

"You always know something that you have no way of knowing," he added, sounding disgruntled as he flexed his fingers, clearly still tense and unhappy despite his momentary distraction.

But before she could reply, he apparently registered the entirety of what she'd said.

"And you're calling her Linda?" he asked incredulously, giving her a dubious look.

Oh, yeah; this was going to be good for him.

And fun for her.

Win-win for everyone.

"She asked me to," Cassie replied nonchalantly, settling herself more comfortably.

"When?" he demanded, eyes wide with . . . well, she wasn't sure what, but he wasn't giving off any negative vibes, so she judged it safe to continue.

"When she canceled," she explained, suddenly wondering just what he'd known about Linda's plans.

Nothing, it seemed.

Well.

It was truly sad that Cassie wasn't remotely surprised. Even without taking Sam's opinion into account, Linda Wallace had presented herself as a very . . . self-absorbed person (or, you know, a bitch). Cassie was trying to give her the benefit of the doubt by assuming that she was disappointed about not seeing Nick, but . . .

"Canceled what?" he asked with some frustration, making her wonder how much of that assumption she needed to rethink.

"Her reservation," she replied carefully, suddenly worried that she was about to stumble into a patch of unexpected quicksand.

Or a minefield.

"She made a reservation here?" Sam repeated, his tone full of astonishment, and for some stupid reason, that pricked her ego.

"I run a bed and breakfast," she defended herself even as she wondered why she was suddenly feeling defensive.

He laughed a touch derisively and explained that Linda was too stuck-up to stay somewhere like Grey House.

Linda was too snobby, huh?

And yes, she was more than aware of that now, but his complete lack of tact rubbed her the wrong way, although she sympathized with his situation. Also, his words reminded her of Linda's, which . . . explained her defensiveness, even though he had no way of knowing what she'd said.

Still. Not okay, Sam.

Her silence and arched eyebrow served their purpose by slapping him in the face with how bad that had sounded and he gave her a chagrined look. "No offense," he apologized sincerely.

"Mm-hmm," she hummed noncommittally, unwilling to let him off the hook just yet.

Time to yank his chain — and hopefully bring him out of the dark mood he was still firmly ensconced in.

"She was looking forward to it," she said, leaning forward a little.

"Was she?" he asked, clearly not believing her. "You two chatted?"

"We did," Cassie confirmed, her voice light even in the face of his continued animosity toward his ex. "She has a really good sense of humor."

She had to take a moment to be impressed with her self-control, given that she had said that with a straight face.

Sam took a few seconds to fully register the implications of that before refuting it with a firm, "No, she doesn't."

And Cassie nearly lost it; she had just about reached the limit of her ability to keep this act going.

Almost.

"No, she doesn't," she agreed with a near-giggle, only to pause before innocently adding, "Does she?"

His genuinely amused laugh was a balm to her slightly-raw nerves and she basked in it for a few seconds.

"Wait," he suddenly said. "So you didn't talk to her?"

Wow.

His ex-wife really had thrown him off-balance, because now he wasn't sure where the joke was and that wasn't like Sam at all.

It was good to know, because it would help her shape and navigate the coming conversation, but she hated to see it (for more reasons than she would acknowledge). So, she decided to keep things light and humorous as long as she could.

"You know, just for a moment," she replied, shifting a little to get comfortable. "When she called to cancel the reservation and long enough for me to notice that she does not have a good sense of humor."

This earned her a narrow-eyed look before he gave in with a sigh, clearly deciding that it didn't matter whether or not Cassie had talked to Linda; she obviously knew the other woman wasn't coming and right now, that seemed to be his primary issue.

But she didn't want him to sink any further down into anger or depression, so she carefully, gently, teased him with a laugh and a playful, "But I had you there for a minute, didn't I?"

He simply shook his head, his smile fading even as it formed, and then just . . . dived right in.

Wow.

Yeah, he was a lot more bothered by this than she'd realized.

"And Nick's gonna think it's because of me," he said matter-of-factly (which disturbed her, because it was still more proof of the fractured relationship between father and son). "When it's really because his mother values her business more than spending time with her son."

Her son? Not his? Or theirs?

Even had she not already known the quality of Sam Radford's character, that statement told her clear as day just how good a man he was, because he was willing to acknowledge Linda's place in Nick's life.

See, Cassie knew very well how difficult it was for fathers across the United States to get primary custody of their children. Sole custody was almost unheard of.

And in New York?

Well.

For him to have sole custody meant that Linda had been declared an unfit mother (unlikely, given her decision to just show up for a visit) . . . or she hadn't wanted it.

And if that was the case, then Sam had been stuck squarely between the proverbial rock and hard place.

Unaware of her thoughts, he kept talking out the impossible situation he now found himself in, finally able to vent to someone who might not understand, but would still listen. And even more importantly, someone who wouldn't judge him.

Oh, she wasn't going to think about that, because it cut a little too close to the bone.

"And again, I am left to tell Nick something he doesn't want to hear, which makes me the bad guy. Again."

Cassie kept her expression smooth, though mentally, she was wincing.

Sam sounded so . . . so resigned.

Which wasn't right, or fair, but since it was obvious that he would not badmouth Nick's mother in front of him, it was eminently understandable.

She said nothing, because she could not think of a thing to say, and he scoffed before unexpectedly turning back to their prior conversation.

"But she made a reservation?" he double-checked, apparently still unable to reconcile that with the woman he knew.

Cassie went with it with nary a blink; it was far from the strangest conversational change she'd ever experienced.

"She did," she confirmed gently. "I have a lovely room ready for her."

And then a thought occurred to her, one that was a bit frightening (especially taking Abigail's stated desire to keep Sam and Stephanie apart into consideration) and her mouth expressed it before her brain had a chance to weigh in, because with Sam's current streak of luck . . .

"I still do."

Oh, wow, that eyeroll was impressive. Truly it was; Nick should take notes.

"Hmm," was all he said in reply, though he was far from stupid — and knew her well enough to extrapolate her meaning — and so his emotions were roiling with a heavy mix of anger, frustration, exhaustion, and something that felt a lot like panic at the thought of Linda coming in regardless of what she'd told Cassie.

Okay, Ryan was just going to have to deal with it; Sam needed comfort and Cassie needed to comfort him.

So naturally, a horn blared, tearing them out of the moment, and he gave the door a suspicious look before turning it on her.

She was too busy cursing fate (had he heard this thought, Sam would have laughed bitterly before emphatically informing her that karma had taken it upon herself to make his life a living hell, fate had dick-all to do with it) to take offense at this.

"Linda?" he asked, confirming her thought he would not even be a little surprised at the notion that the woman had lied to everyone and come anyway.

Cassie shook her head, everything else forgotten because she could feel the panic emanating from the couple pulling into the driveway.

"No, it's not her," she said, quickly walking to the door with Sam on her heels, and absently noting that his protectiveness warmed her rather than chafed her.

How odd.

The sight of Eve and Brian confirmed her guess about some kind of medical problem even as everyone's concern for the heavily-pregnant woman coalesced, fed by his statement of something being wrong and her sentiment of being scared.

None of them could have guessed just how right Brian was. Or how wrong.

And no one could have foreseen the effect that this assumption would have on the unstable house of cards that Cassie, Sam, and Ryan were so precariously balanced on.

Or the cost.

{{**}}

Why was he still surprised at Cassie's medical knowledge?

And why, for the love of all that was holy, hadn't the woman just become a doctor, since she had apparently memorized, among other things, the entirety of the Oxford medical textbooks?

Sam took a minute to reflect on that last thought and then shuddered; that was just wrong. He literally could not see Cassie Nightingale as anything other than the 'natural remedy guru' who drove him to drink almost as often as she challenged him to expand his horizons.

And while there was still that tiny stab of irritation that he always felt when someone who wasn't a medical doctor proffered medical knowledge (Ben Panaka sprang immediately to mind, damn him), he nonetheless had to be grateful for it because it was helping Eve stay calm, which in turn helped Brian do the same.

And if that man didn't end up experiencing a sympathetic pregnancy, Sam would eat his stethoscope.

He said as much to Cassie, who . . . did not respond like he was expecting.

Instead, she looked — apprehensive?

"What?" he asked, concerned himself because 'worry' wasn't an emotion Cassie usually expressed.

"Well, I wonder if we shouldn't get them to a hospital just to be safe?" she said almost hesitantly, which . . . well, given that he had literally just pronounced Eve as fine, annoyed him a little. It also shocked him, because Cassie Nightingale had never, to his knowledge, advised a hospital as her first recommendation, which in and of itself was almost enough to sway him.

However, he could not admit someone to the hospital just because he 'had a feeling'. Not without at least one legitimate medical concern backing said feeling up . . . which he did not have.

"I have learned to respect your intuition," he told her, because it was true, "but when it comes to this, I have to act on fact. Tangible facts."

Here came the disappointment.

"Look," he said a touch defensively. "There is nothing going on with Eve that warrants a trip to the ER or a hospital stay."

Now he was getting the sideways glace.

"I think you're off this time," he insisted (and was simultaneously right and wrong, though none of them would realize it for several hours). "Happens to the best of us," he added, trying to appease her, because he didn't want to dismiss her feelings. He just . . . disagreed with her assertion.

Oh, and now she was hitting him with that beseeching expression that made him cave Every Damn Time.

And she still hadn't said a word.

Argh! Damn stubborn woman!

(he somehow managed to completely miss the fact that when Stephanie did this, it irritated him beyond belief, but with Cassie, he was mostly amused)

But he trusted her, so . . .

"Fine," he huffed. "I'll check back in tomorrow morning."

A nod but no verbal answer . . . but he could see the worry clouding those expressive eyes.

Okay; he could ease off on the attitude. And if something did go wrong before he came back, he'd be there in less than five minutes, medical bag in hand and an apology on his lips.

"Good night," he murmured, smiling inside when she finally responded in kind.

And if he shivered a little as he headed home, well . . . it was winter in Illinois.

No other reason.

{{**}}

Seeing Nick raiding the fridge was a welcome sight and Sam brightened a little, hoping that they could actually enjoy the evening before he had to tell his son that Linda wasn't coming.

Oh, look. It was karma, flipping him off.

Nick had clearly known about the cancellation but his resigned acceptance of his mother's selfishness enraged his father, though it was tempered with a bone-deep sadness his son would never know. His comment about it being Mom, he really didn't expect her to come, only made the anger flare even higher, but Sam firmly pushed it down. He couldn't rage to or in front of Nick, so instead, he turned his attention to trying to salvage the situation.

And when that crashed and burned, he found himself right back where he started: sitting in the dark and drinking (coffee this time, but the sentiment was the same).

He had no idea of how to fix this, especially after the failure of the only thing he could think to try. And his offer had been sincere; if the kid had wanted him to play videogames the entire day, he would have ordered pizza and settled right in. However, Nick was a teenager and thus predisposed to drama. And being unreasonable. So, while he understood the snide 'move back to New York' comment, it had also pissed him off, because that had been deliberate and well-calculated; he wouldn't even if he could and Nick knew that, but his refusal gave the kid an excuse to be a brat.

On the other hand, he knew Nick was hurt but unsurprised — for which Sam would joyfully have punched Linda in the face and not given a damn that she was a woman — at yet another occurrence of his mother failing utterly to put him first (or even second) and, in a completely expected and not wholly unreasonable move, was taking it out on his father because his mother wasn't there.

Of course, if she had been, he wouldn't have any frustration to take out on her.

He had to take a moment to despise circular logic.

And he wouldn't go back to Cassie; not only had he just left, but he simply was not in any sort of mood to deal with her 'intuition' again tonight. Not after everything he'd been hit with today.

So he'd let the kid brood (and do some himself, honesty compelled him to admit) and talk to Cassie in the morning, after he'd examined Eve.

And for whatever reason, that last thought triggered a new and extremely unpleasant realization about the current state of affairs in his life.

* Teenage son
* Girlfriend.
* Best friend who was a woman
* Her teenage daughter
* Pregnant houseguest (by close proximity, but still: pregnant)
* Ex-wife (at some point soon, because karma)

Oh, for fuck's sake!

He'd thought things were bad when his life was a cosmic joke.

How the hell had that turned into a soap opera?

And of course it was General Hospital; see the aforementioned cosmic joke.

With that terrifying thought circling his brain, Sam scrambled to his feet and made for the liquor cabinet, pouring and tossing back one full glass of scotch before giving up for the night and heading to bed.

And if he was desperately praying that this was just a horrible dream, or a drug-induced hallucination, or anything that meant it wasn't his life, well . . .

Hell, yes, he was!

And if a goat sacrifice was required, so be it.

If he was lucky, he could finally get rid of that damned brain-eating amoeba while he was at it.

{{**}}

Sam's arrival in her kitchen the next morning, complete with newspaper and an Official Notice that it was Freaking Cold outside, settled something in Cassie that she hadn't realized was uneasy.

She really wished she knew why he was one of her calm centers, particularly since they'd only known each other for six months and had only been true friends for maybe four of those.

To distract herself from the thought, she turned her full attention to breakfast and headed back to the oven, only to inwardly smile when he made a very pointed declaration about the weather people confirming that the storm was going to miss Middleton.

She still couldn't fathom why he would believe them, especially since he'd lived in New York and so knew full well how . . . fickle . . . winter weather in the north could be.

Before she could call him out on it, however, he added that Linda had already made a direct hit.

On Sam just as much as on Nick.

And, you know, Cassie wasn't a violent person, but much like she felt about Annie Markowitz, she had a strong desire to knock Linda upside the head with a rolled-up newspaper.

Or a rolling pin, whichever was closer.

"Nick's really upset," Sam continued, looking down and frowning. "And since he can't take it out on her . . ."

"He takes it out on you," Cassie finished, her voice full of sympathy. Sam clearly understood why Nick was doing it and so he wasn't angry, but it was equally clear that it still hurt him.

Yeah, forget the newspaper; Linda needed a good rolling pin.

Or a frying pan.

And Cassie had a really nice one — cast iron at that.

But that wouldn't help Sam right now; it wouldn't even make him laugh, because she was actually serious about it and he knew her too well to accept with any kind of equanimity her sudden desire to hurt a woman she hadn't met (or hurt someone at all, actually). And there was no way on earth she would let him drag her to his office for a checkup, because he would naturally (and not without cause, honesty compelled her concede) assume that the reason she was acting out-of-character was due to illness. Serious illness. And she refused to do that to him simply for the sake of trying (and very likely failing) to cheer him up.

So . . . what to say?

Hmm.

Well, just because something was cliché didn't make it untrue. Or unhelpful.

"We always hurt the ones we love," she tried to soothe him, hoping that her confirmation of what he already knew would help.

"He must really love me," Sam murmured in response, but he sounded . . . bad.

And Cassie suddenly needed to know just what it would take for life to give him a break from the constant pile of crap it kept unloading on him, because she would do it in a heartbeat, up to and including turning Linda Wallace into a frog.

Or maybe a cockroach.

Naturally, life did not oblige her with an answer, so she had no choice but to wing it.

Well, at least she'd had practice with that.

"He does," she assured him, hoping that it would help ease the sting. His dubious look made her sigh mentally, but she went with it and changed the subject. "So, is he going to the office with you today?"

A shake of the head was her answer as he tossed back a grape. "He's at the library working on his paper."

The libr—

Hold on.

Nick Radford was at the library?

Nick Radford?

And working on a homework assignment?

She liked Nick, truly, but she had few illusions about his character, and was unable to hold back her disbelieving look. "Really?" she asked, her voice as skeptical as her face.

He laughed in response, readily admitting that he was just as surprised, before revealing yet another hurt his son had dealt him . . . though Cassie figured just from his recitation that this time it had been unintentional. Teenagers were rarely interested in their parents' work, and so much of what Sam did was on the messy side that she completely understood Nick's distaste for it.

Still.

She really, really hoped that Nick grew up soon and acquired some manners. Or at least a working brain-to-mouth filter.

But before she could think of a good response, he changed subjects again and asked about Eve.

Ooh. This probably wasn't to go over well.

Then again, he'd had the chance to take her to the hospital for observation and turned it down, so he could just deal with her 'alternative remedy'.

"Oh, she, uh, she had trouble sleeping last night, so I gave her some warm milk with cherries and fermented chamomile," she replied more easily than she felt.

A nod was his only response, chased with a curious look.

"Always worked for me," she said in answer to his unspoken question.

You know, one of these days, he was going to stop setting himself up for her mini-lectures on things he already knew.

But since today was not that day . . .

"Fermentation allows for quicker absorption," she explained, giving him a coy look.

He tried to hold back a smile, but gave up immediately. "You don't say," he replied.

"I do say. But you don't believe," she sassed back, relieved that he was in a better mood now and also enjoying their exchange. It had been a while since they'd really had the opportunity to spar.

He said nothing to this, instead stating his intention to examine Eve at his office with official tests and see if there was medically anything to worry about.

"If there's something wrong with her, I'll find it," he said, his voice steady and reassuring — which she already knew, but that was part of what made Sam so good at what he did. "Scout's honor," he added as he headed for the door. "I was, by the way. Eagle Scout," he tossed over his shoulder, as though Cassie had disputed this (which she hadn't, because of course Sam had been a Boy Scout).

She laughed as he left the house, feeling a thousand times better, though part of her was still full of worry for Eve.

Sam wouldn't believe her until he saw it with his own eyes, but something was wrong there, something big.

She just hoped they found it in time.

And that Sam wouldn't blame himself.

{{**}}

When she met Ryan for tea later that morning, her mood was much the same: cautious optimism. Eve was in Sam's office and all anyone could do now was wait.

It was making her antsy, which was unusual, but then again, this was an unusual situation. Between her feeling that something was wrong with Eve and her bone-deep certainty that the storm was going hit Middleton, she was a little (okay, a lot) off-balance and that was spreading to everything else.

Hence, tea.

She said none of this to Ryan, because he hadn't met the couple and so wouldn't really understand her concern.

Or why she was so involved in Sam's side of things.

And that . . . she was going to have sit down with herself soon and really look at that. She understood that he was protective of her and their relationship, but she couldn't keep letting him dictate her friendships the way she was. And sh—wait. Could it be that . . . that he didn't trust her to be around other men?

The thought was so ludicrous that she rejected it even as it formed. Ryan Elliott was a lot of things, but lacking in trust wasn't one of them, at least in her.

Which meant . . . which meant that he was still uncertain about her feelings for him.

And she couldn't really blame him for that, given her continued hesitance about openly being a couple. And that wasn't taking into account Annie and Mark . . . well, being Annie and Mark.

But. She had never once promised him anything and his persistent (and not remotely subtle) hovering when another man was in her vicinity had been chafing at her for a while now. She had ignored it because he had never actually said or done anything, but now that she was paying attention (and had a reason to care), she saw that he had gotten more and more clingy over the last several weeks.

Yeah. Yeah, she needed to take a good, long look at her life and then see about making some changes or adjustments, because she was beginning to (let herself) realize that the near-constant walking on eggshells was draining, even for her.

But not now. Not until the storm had passed and Eve was okay.

Ryan, utterly oblivious to any of this, caught her attention with the beginning of new story and she willingly went with it, relaxing quite a bit as he talked and enjoying being in his undemanding company (it was unsettling to realize just how long it had been since she'd been so at ease with him). He had just finished his story about his most recent client getting locked out of her new house by the cat (which was hysterical and only justified her reasons for deciding not to get a house cat) when Abigail sashayed by, causing him to twist around as he followed her progress.

Before Cassie could ask, he spun back with a puzzled look.

"Last week she's working for Sam, this week she's working for Stephanie?" he asked in obvious surprise.

What?

Oh, right.

He hadn't been in town much this week, so he had no way of knowing and she hadn't thought to mention it to him. She nodded but he kept talking before she could actually answer.

"I thought Stephanie wasn't exactly crazy for Abigail because Abigail was a bit crazy for Sam," he said, stating the obvious (seriously: the entire state knew that Stephanie Borden Did Not Like Abigail Pershing).

Poor Ryan. Like most men, he had no clue how to decipher or understand the way women as a whole tend to think.

"Well, if she's working for her . . ." she began, trailing off to see how quickly he would catch on.

To his credit, it only took a few seconds, but she thought the finger snap was unnecessary (although she could see Sam doing it as well. And Jake had done it too, actually. It seemed to be a 'guy' thing.).

"Yeah," she said in reply. "I think Abigail feels like she's needed here in Middleton."

Even after a month, that thought was still disquieting, if for no other reason than there was no predicting what her cousin would do.

All anyone could do was live with the aftermath.

Apparently, her true opinion about this was present in her voice, because Ryan asked with utter seriousness how she felt about it.

To which Cassie could only shrug. "In her own unique way, she means well," she said, choosing her words with caution. It was true in the strictest sense but not . . . it wasn't the whole truth.

"She's trouble," he extrapolated correctly.

And damned if that didn't make her defensive — seriously, she had no idea why, because she agreed wholeheartedly with him, and yet, she gently chastised him by correcting 'trouble' to 'family'.

Again to his credit, he took it without a blink and said, "Yes, but sometimes, family can be trouble."

And even Cassie couldn't dispute that, so she shrugged in agreement and gave him a quick, easy smile.

And saw him flinch. It was minute and if she hadn't been looking right at him, she never would have seen it.

Oh, wonderful.

What stupid — pardon her, genius — idea had he come up with now?

"Ryan?" she prodded, leaning forward and refusing to let him look away.

"Yes?" he answered, looking almost innocent.

"Just tell me the thing you don't want me to know," she instructed, holding back a sigh.

She was so not in the mood for this, not with Eve's condition and the coming ice storm.

Had she mentioned how much she did not like either situation? Combined, they were going to drive her to drink (and she was truly afraid it would be coffee, that's how bad this was getting).

He sucked in a sharp breath but didn't try to deny it, which she had to admit was new. It was too bad she couldn't trust that this was a permanent development, but it was a nice change of pace for him.

Then he leaned over the table, looked her straight in the eye, and gave her the news that would cause Martha Tinsdale to have a stroke on the spot.

Blairsville was getting a mall.

And the developer wanted Ryan to be a part of that.

"What do you think?" he asked with genuine curiosity, grinning ear to ear because this was another big step up professionally for him.

"Well," she replied, unsure about what he really wanted. A mall in Blairsville wouldn't affect her at all, so her opinion made no difference as to whether or not this was good for him. "I'm not a fan of malls," she started carefully.

"I know," he cut her off. "But can you imagine the kind of business that another Bell, Book, & Candle could do in a location like that?"

Well.

She'd spoken too soon. It did have to do with her.

How was it that after three years, Ryan still did not know her at all?

"You can't franchise what I do," she told him with no little exasperation.

Which, naturally, he didn't hear (or ignored; with him, it could be either one and oh, she was suddenly irritated by that. Gah! Now was NOT the time for her to realize this.).

"You don't want to share that with other people?" he asked with what sounded like honest surprise.

No, he really didn't know her at all, it seemed. Not the businesswoman, at least.

But for the sake of their relationship, she would try to explain.

"No, what makes Bell, Book, & Candle special is that I get to personally deal with everyone who comes in. I get to know them, I . . . I find out about their problems, and their needs . . ."

She trailed off when he gave her a tender look, unsure of how to interpret it, before continuing to explain in a slightly-less upset tone, "Middleton's my little corner of the world and I like it like that." She paused for a moment to let him absorb that before adding, "Bigger isn't always better, it's just bigger."

He made no reply or acknowledgement (just like always, she noticed with annoyance, and this was still not the time), but took her fingers and held them while he went straight to his primary concern.

"If I take this project, it's going to mean spending a lot more time away from Middleton," he . . . warned her?

Ah.

Of course.

If she agreed to open a shop in this new mall, she would be with him for a lot of that time. Gotcha.

It wasn't going to happen, but she finally understood what he wanted.

Time to burst that bubble . . . gently, because there was no reason to be cruel, but firmly, because no, this wasn't happening.

"Well, I always think what's important is not where we spend our time but how we intend on spending it."

The other connotation of her words didn't hit her until she'd already said them and Cassie mentally cringed, hoping that Ryan wouldn't go there.

Yeah, no such luck.

"I think I've been pretty clear on how and with whom I would like to spend my time," he told her in a low voice.

And he had, no one could deny that.

But she had no answer for him, because she wasn't going to open another Bell, Book, & Candle, nor was she going to marry him. She was perfectly happy with their relationship as it was and had no desire to change things.

Wait.

That wasn't — well, it was, but it wasn't . . .

Okay, she needed to change the subject. This wasn't — she didn't — yeah, subject change. Now.

Being the intelligent woman that she was, Cassie went for one of Ryan's biggest weak spots.

"So, um, have you broken the news yet to Martha that you are helping build a mall in Blairsville?" she asked, knowing perfectly well the answer was 'no'.

If he had, the entire town would have heard the resultant shriek of outrage.

He cringed and said more than a little pitifully, "Do I have to?"

And you know, she didn't blame him one iota for that. Cassie adored Martha, but she would also be the first to admit that the woman was the living embodiment of Drama Queen — or, well, Drama Mayor (Jake had once said more than a little tartly that he knew damn good and well her full name was Martha Woe-is-Me Tinsdale, and she had nearly choked with laughter on her scone, because she would not be surprised in the least to find that he was right).

But.

Right now, her primary concern was using this to further distract him from his unsubtle statement about his desires.

And he deserved it for procrastinating. Martha should always be told first, because then you could get things done while she stewed and fumed and threw a . . . well, a tantrum. See: Drama Mayor.

"We often ask a question we already know the answer to when we don't like the answer," she almost whispered to him in — okay, it was a non-answer. But she drew him in by acting as though it was The Secret to Life.

His face went blank for a few seconds as he let her words sink in before he repeated, "Do I have to?" and she couldn't help but laugh.

He was most definitely in an unenviable situation, but it could be worse. Not a lot worse, mind, but it wasn't the end of the world (Martha Woe-is-Me Tinsdale's opinion notwithstanding).

Still, she was glad she wouldn't be present for that particular conversation.

Besides, there was no need for her to be there. The entire town would hear it live and if Jared or Derek was quick (and subtle) enough, there might even be a replay and a blooper reel at The Bistro later that night.

So, that was something to look forward to.

Which, given the current state of her life, was a pleasant change.

God willing, it would last.

{{**}}

When she ran into Sam at the mailbox later that afternoon, it was actually by accident.

Go figure.

"Hello there, neighbor," she greeted him with mostly-sincere cheerfulness; she was glad to see him, but her realizations about Ryan and their relationship had combined with worry for Eve and this blasted storm to put a pretty big damper on her mood.

"Hey," he replied, shivering a little from the cold. "How's Eve?"

He didn't know?

Umm . . . hadn't he examined her earlier today?

"Ah," she replied from inside the mailbox, where she was fighting to remove an envelope that had been well and truly jammed in there. "You tell me."

And yes, that was a challenge.

One he rose to meet admirably.

"Well," he began. "I just got off the phone with the lab and the bloodwork looks good."

She would never know if it had been his own idea or if he'd simply anticipated her reaction, but either way, him suggesting that the couple stay one more night just to be safe warmed her through and through.

She tried hard not to think it too often, because that kind of thought was dangerous, but Sam Radford was one of the most considerate and well-mannered people she'd ever met.

But his statement about Eve's tests coming back fine did exactly nothing to alleviate Cassie's ever-growing certainty that SOMETHING was wrong, and she was unable to keep this off her face. As he was wont to do — and had gotten increasingly good at over the last several weeks — Sam read her expression and gave her a serious, but still reassuring, look.

"She's okay," he said firmly.

But Eve WASN'T okay and his refusal to accept that was driving her nuts.

In all fairness — and had she been in a better frame of mind — Cassie would have easily conceded that he had done and looked for everything he could think of to make sure Eve was okay. Even a doctor as good as he was couldn't find something he didn't know he was looking for.

But she wasn't in a better frame of mind, and so instead, she . . . well, she poked the bear.

"Yeah," she said on a sigh. "Just because we don't see it doesn't mean it's not there."

This garnered an eyeroll, accompanied with a droll, "And sometimes we don't see it because it's not there."

She couldn't answer that, because he was right.

Just, in this case, he was also wrong.

And he knew her well enough now to interpret her silence, and answered it.

"You really think there's something I can't see?" he asked with genuine curiosity. "Something a test can't detect, that an exam can't uncover?"

"Yes," she replied bluntly, meeting his eyes.

"What?" he demanded gently, willing to work with her but — and she, again, had to concede his point — she had to give him something to work with.

And she couldn't. All she knew was that something was off, so that's what she said.

He studied her face for a few more seconds and then sighed, moving a step closer to her.

"Look, Cassie," he said quietly, but implacably. "I told you that I've come to respect your intuition and I do — I do — but you have to respect mine in return. I have done what you've asked and looked Eve over. Hell, the exam I gave her was so thorough, her OB-GYN is feeling threatened, and she is fine. If you want me to look again, you're gonna have to give me something other than 'something is off', because I can't look for 'off' and if I can't tell where or even what I'm looking for, then all the tests and treatments in the world aren't going to help. And that's a fact."

And damn him, he was right, so Cassie swallowed her objections and nodded.

"Okay," she whispered. "You're right. I'll — I'll keep an eye on her and if something changes that I can point to, you will be my first call."

"I damn well better be," he shot back, relaxing enough to give her a small smile.

But the tension was still there, so he said nothing else and simply headed home; Cassie watched him walk away and sighed, hating the fact that the danger they were all facing was still so nebulous. And she didn't have a clue how to force it into the open, so all they could do was wait.

Oh, joy.

{{**}}

Her encounter with Martha at the Bell, Book, & Candle was . . . interesting. Exhausting. Terrifying.

While it was nice that someone believed her about the storm, Cassie couldn't help but wish it wasn't Martha.

Because as part of her duties as 'Drama Mayor', overreacting was usually the first thing on her list and she held true to that today.

Thankfully, Cassie had gotten considerable experience in dealing with the woman when she got in this mood, so it took very little effort to scupper her plans to get Middleton their very own tank (and no, it did not matter that the thing had doors. It was still a tank).

She would come to regret this in the not-too-distant future, and once again, the irony did not escape her (hell, at this point, it needed its own room at Grey House).

But for now, they all remained blissfully unaware of just how bad things were going to get.

And whoever said 'ignorance is bliss' needed to be turned into a frog.

Cassie would be first in line to volunteer to do it.

{{**}}

Less than an hour after Martha left her shop, Stephanie swirled in to warn her about Abigail trying to steal Ryan away from Cassie.

Of course, they had to do the 'but it's clear, Cassie, the storm can't be heading this way' dance first, because heaven forbid people believe something they can't see.

So Cassie patiently explained for the — how many times was it now? — that there was a big shift coming in the weather.

"Yeah," her friend replied dismissively. "So, uh, speaking of shifts, um, or 'shifty' . . . Abigail."

Right. Well, why not?

"Something wrong at the store?" she asked with genuine concern, because what else could it be?

Oh, that was a frightening thought, because there were actually a lot of things it could be.

"No," Stephanie replied immediately.

. . . okay.

"So what is it?" she asked again, now a little worried.

And annoyed.

Mostly annoyed.

Stephanie gave her a look so full of sympathy that Cassie almost took a step back.

"Ryan," she said quietly, before rushing to explain that Abigail was trying to steal Ryan the way she had Sam.

And Cassie suddenly felt very sorry for Stephanie. The woman was so afraid of being alone that she saw sabotage everywhere she looked and trusted no one. And yes, Cassie was well-aware of her cousin's attempts to break Sam and Stephanie up . . . but she was also fully cognizant of the fact that Abigail had not made a single 'romantic' gesture to Sam in order to accomplish this (not that it would have worked, but still. He was a good-looking man and Abigail was an attractive woman, so making at least one attempt at 'romance' would have made sense.).

Was Abigail flirting with Ryan in order to get him to stray (for lack of a better word) from Cassie?

Well . . . maybe. Cassie wouldn't put it past her.

But it wasn't going to work; whatever else one could say about Ryan Elliott, he was utterly devoted to Cassie. The thought of cheating on her would literally never cross his mind, not even as an abstract notion.

Okay, time to nip this in the bud, for everyone's sake.

"But you asked her to work for you, right?" she prompted, attempting to gain control of the conversation.

"Well, I couldn't keep letting her work for Sam, now, could I?" Stephanie asked with a complete lack of guile, but also in that singsong tone of voice used by teenagers the world over, and Cassie was back to feeling sorry for her.

But also a little annoyed on Sam's behalf. If Stephanie trusted him so little that she actually thought he would fall prey to Abigail's machinations (okay, her romantic machinations; Cassie had, after all, seen firsthand his susceptibility to her 'I'm afraid and need reassurance' wiles), then why didn't she either talk to HIM about it or just break up with him? One cannot have any kind of close relationship if there isn't trust between both people.

And Cassie suddenly realized how very . . . childlike . . . Stephanie could be, especially about men. She didn't know everything in her friend's past, but it was patently clear that at least one romantic relationship she'd been in had NOT been healthy — or monogamous — and given her current attitude and behavior, Cassie would bet ten bucks that it had been one of the first ones she'd had.

Wow. This explained so much about Stephanie that she'd wondered about sometimes.

Of course, it did nothing to help her now, but the knowledge was good to have just the same.

"She's driving me crazy, by the way," Stephanie added, unaware of Cassie's train of thought. "She keeps trying to change everything at The Bistro: the menu, the food, the room . . . just, everything."

Yeah, Cassie could see how that would be annoying, especially given Stephanie's dislike of Abigail.

On the other hand, change wasn't necessarily a bad thing — and how many of those ideas would she have considered if anyone other than Abigail had suggested them?

But again, she wasn't going there. It would do no good.

Maybe . . . maybe she could coax Stephanie into getting Abigail to quit (or rather, plant the idea in her head). It would be a massive relief for everyone, and since Sam had finally found a receptionist, that couldn't be used as an excuse now.

"Well, if it isn't the right fit . . ." she began carefully, only to promptly be interrupted.

"You know, she keeps saying she's only at The Bistro for me."

This was said with justifiable sarcasm, and Cassie did sympathize. Still, the woman was her cousin.

"I'm sure she has her reasons," she placated Stephanie, hating that she couldn't say anything else. She refused to badmouth Abigail, but in so doing, she blocked herself from being able to truly explain her cousin's motives.

Rock, meet hard place.

"That's what worries me," Stephanie replied seriously before just . . . leaving.

Well.

Her day just kept getting better and better, didn't it?

Was it too late to change her name to Helga and move to Iceland?

Or, considering the coming winter storm, an island in the Pacific was a lot more palatable.

Please?

{{**}}

When she finally remembered her short conversation with Brian about fatherhood, taking care of oneself, and stomach pains, Cassie would literally kick herself for not realizing.

But at the time, her focus was still on 'pregnant woman'. On top of that, she was dealing with the revelations that Stephanie and Ryan had hit her with, plus Sam's (understandable, damn him) refusal to heed her worries about Eve, and Martha . . . well, being Martha.

It was no wonder she missed the very thing she was trying so hard to find.

{{**}}

When Brandon and Abigail dripped their way into the foyer of Grey House, Cassie couldn't find it in herself to be vindicated, though she was grateful that both Lori and George were gone (Lori was in New York and George was on a fishing trip in Wisconsin) and so were safe from this storm. She was just too exhausted to feel triumph, though she did smile a little at Abigail's exchange with Brandon.

Him getting called back out in this wretched storm jarred her awake, though she managed to keep her misgivings to herself this time. This was what he had chosen and Grace was entirely correct when she reminded everyone that it was his life to live and his choice to make.

Grace!

"Um, Grace," Cassie managed to get out, suddenly worried. "She's at the library."

Brandon froze as realization washed over him. "Right," he breathed. "With Nick."

A moment of quick thought visibly occurred before he offered to pick them up and get them somewhere safe, which eased Cassie's mind considerably.

Him remembering Sam just made her adore her stepson even more; she and Jake truly had raised wonderful children.

Abigail's request — no, her insistence — to go back to The Bistro was startling enough that Cassie actually said something.

"You just got here," she objected, feeling the fury of the storm as it began to build in earnest.

"I left something at The Bistro," was her cousin's calm, unruffled reply, and Cassie was thankful when Brandon asked the question before she could.

"Is it that important?"

He sounded . . . resigned . . . and his stepmother couldn't help a small surge of amusement; he'd finally acclimated to the Merriwick Oddity.

"Yes," Abigail calmly replied. "Yes, it is."

He accepted this with good grace and simply warned her she'd be there for a while — while Cassie, for one of the first times her life, found herself watching from the sidelines.

It wasn't a fun feeling.

As if he'd heard her thought, Brandon looked back at her and said, "Stay inside. And tell your guests, too."

His eyes were warm with affection and sincerity, and she nodded even as she choked up a little. Her and Jake's little boy was so grown up, and he was a man to be proud of.

"Yeah," she almost whispered. "Be careful."

And as they left, she was unable to shake the dark foreboding that was getting heavier by the minute.

Too many possibilities were swirling around Middleton now and they all seemed to be at or related to Grey House.

Which meant that more than one storm was coming.

Lovely.

She made tea in the hopes it would help settle her down and took a quick moment while it was brewing to text Sam and let him know that Brandon was going to pick up their kids, and then she . . . stared blindly at her kitchen. She had no idea what to do now, and that was — scary. And very unnerving.

So when Ryan knocked on her door, she greeted him with somewhat disproportionate relief. He was in high spirits, which did a great deal to keep her from starting to brood (brood! That's how bad things had gotten.) about the events of the day.

They were settled at her counter, her chopping vegetables and him watching with his usual admiration, when he not-so-casually informed her that he'd gotten a really nice job offer from Jones.

Okay?

It was a measure of how distracted she was that she honestly had no idea what he wanted to hear, but he was clearly waiting for a response and she was trying to come up with one when her back door suddenly opened to admit Sam.

And Ryan . . . did NOT like that.

He did not like that At All.

He'd known her for three years; hell, they were dating.

But he still knocked before he came in the house.

Sam knew he didn't need to . . . and didn't try to hide it.

Oh.

Fantastic.

Here came the Macho Posturing.

She really, really didn't need this right now.

Would a small tornado be too much to ask?

{{**}}

Had Sam known that Ryan was there when he went to see Cassie, he would have . . . no, yeah, he'd have still gone.

He and Cassie weren't doing anything wrong and if she was okay with him just — well, all right, barging in, then Ryan needed to be fine with it, too.

Also, he took an admittedly unrepentant glee in yanking the man's chain, so that was a plus.

"Hey," he greeted the room at large, though he only gave Ryan a cursory glance before turning his focus to Cassie, who looked . . . off.

You know, he was really starting to loathe that word.

Ryan greeted him first, followed quickly by Cassie, but then the tension in the room hit him and Sam frowned a little.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked Cassie directly.

When she didn't hesitate for a second to tell him 'no', he saw Ryan's face freeze and his frown deepened (albeit mentally this time).

When she repeated her 'no' and then invited him in, Ryan actually gave her an incredulous look that made Sam clench his teeth.

Just because he understood why Ryan acted the way he did around Cassie didn't mean he liked it. The fact that he couldn't say anything just made it worse, like nails on a chalkboard.

Unfortunately, this did not do a damn thing to ease the sudden awkwardness, so he fumbled a little for what he wanted to say.

Smooth, Radford.

"Ah, thanks for the message about Nick," he told her, doing the lame 'point in that general direction' that everyone does when they need something to do with their hands.

Her reply of, "Oh, yeah," sounded just as unnatural as he felt and he twitched.

Boy, he was getting an up-close and personal taste of why being the third wheel sucked.

Ryan sucked in a deep breath, yanking their attention to him, and announced that he should go.

Yes!

Right now.

And don't come back.

Okay, seriously: what in the name of God was wrong with him?!

Yes, Ryan was a bad romantic partner for Cassie.

Yes, Cassie had become one of his best friends.

But this deep-seeded animosity he had for the other man was unusual. And very, very disquieting, because it was making him want to be violent. And vindictive.

More concerning was the fact that he wasn't nearly as bothered by this as he should be.

Not anymore.

"It's getting really bad out there and . . ." Ryan added in explanation, dragging his attention back to the room.

Which it was.

Oh, crap. He was gonna have to apologize for that, because she had warned him. More than once.

"Um, you should stay," she objected . . . half-heartedly?

Okay, that was odd.

Very odd.

Ryan shrugged and grabbed his jacket. "All the bad weather is south of Blairsville," he said, "and I got to meet Jones so I got a hotel room." He stopped in front of her as he slid his coat on, then added, "I'm gonna drive home tomorrow morning when the roads are clear."

Sam did NOT like the look on her face, and he despised Ryan for putting it there, because it was obvious to a blind man just how concerned she was about him being out in this weather.

And as a doctor and fellow human being, he should feel the same, but dammit, he wanted this selfish, self-centered brat away from her.

Now.

"And you look worried," the jackass observed, sounding — oh, seriously? He was HAPPY that he was making her worry about him?!

What a dickweed.

Okay, he had to stop listening to Nick complain; the corresponding downward shift in his vocabulary was not good.

"Of course I'm worried," she replied with a sigh, giving him another pleading look.

Which was lost on Ryan, because the man was also an idiot.

"I like that," he murmured appreciatively, leaning down to kiss her.

Sam turned to stone.

When Cassie moved her head so his lips got her cheek instead of her mouth, he nearly sagged back against the door in utter relief.

Well, that was . . . something that wasn't as new as it should be.

If Ryan was fazed by her deflection, he didn't show it; he merely added, "A lot," and then headed out the door, giving Sam an easy farewell and — with his head turned so Cassie couldn't see it — a smug smile.

Okay, seriously: how bad would it really be if he punched the bastard? Just once.

But when he turned back to Cassie and saw her obvious displeasure with what looked to be the world at large, accompanied by a Great Heaving Sigh, he was hit with a small stab of guilt.

"I did interrupt," he said apologetically as he walked over to her, hating that it was true.

He watched with interest as she clearly debated with herself for a minute before she decided against going there and quite firmly changed the subject.

"What can I do for you?" she asked in a determinedly-light voice, and he mentally sighed but went with it. Nobody wanted to hash out relationship issues right now.

"How's Eve today?" he asked, fully expecting the answer to be 'fine.'

And sure enough, Cassie confirmed this . . . and then threw him for a loop, giving him an expectant look that — well, he had no idea why.

"But . . ." he prompted after a few seconds, internally rolling his eyes even as a wave of affection washed over him; she couldn't help being enigmatic, and it did make talking to her fun (aggravating at times, sure, but fun nonetheless).

"Uh . . . did Brian come to see you?" she abruptly asked, and he blinked.

Brian?

"About Eve?" he clarified, a little surprised.

"No, about him," she replied with a headshake.

Umm . . .

Right. Twitchy expectant dad.

"I don't have a lot to cure what ails him," he replied with a small laugh. "Nervous father-to-be is kind of like a fever. You just have to let it run its course."

"Hmm," she murmured in response, and he rolled his eyes again (still mentally, because he wasn't a jerk).

"But you don't think so."

It was a rather flat statement, but he didn't feel bad about that; he adored Cassie, truly, but she'd had a bee in her bonnet for two days about Eve and now that she finally had to accept that there was no reason for the aforementioned bee, she was determined to find something else.

And she knew him too well, dammit, because she didn't make any attempt to convince him to examine Brian, instead announcing that it was time for dinner.

It was barely five, so he gave her a dubious look, because food was obviously not what she'd originally intended to say.

With practiced ease, she ignored the look and clarified that it was an early dinner, and then offered to feed him.

Now, he could always eat, especially her food, but then she told him the name, which sounded like something his surgical assistant would put in a Petrie dish, and he couldn't help his instinctive recoil.

"Ugh," he said with a grimace, and she laughed, not taking offense.

"It's a classic Vietnamese dish," she explained.

Yeah, that didn't make it better.

"Ah," he stalled, biting his lip to keep anything else from coming out of his mouth.

"Pork and noodles," she coaxed, clearly enjoying this now.

Okay, that sounded — wait.

"Real pork or some vegan pork-like substitute?" he demanded, because he knew her.

Her eyes dancing with humor, she promised it was real pork, which made his taste buds perk up.

And she was happy again, so he gladly took the fall and dryly observed that he should have accepted from the start.

"Yeah," she agreed. "You should have said yes. Are you saying yes?"

Was she kidding?

Dinner with her, alone, without the worry of Ryan or their kids randomly showing up?

Hell, yeah!

"Yes!" he almost exclaimed. "Bring on the—"

What had she called it?

"Cao lau!"

Oh, wow, he actually said it correctly. Go, him!

He grinned in response to her laughter and turned to help her, chopping vegetables and marveling anew at this amazing woman and the friendship they had built.

Hopefully, they'd actually get to enjoy a nice, relaxed evening. God knew they'd both earned it.

Unfortunately, he'd forgotten karma.

And it did not appreciate that.

{{**}}

When Eve came to get them, terrified, Cassie was so relieved she could have hugged the woman, because it managed to distract her from both her serene enjoyment in having dinner with Sam as well as from the somewhat uncharitable thoughts about Ryan that she was trying very, very hard to ignore. She also cursed herself for being a fool because she remembered in an instant her earlier conversation with Brian and that 'off' feeling finally made complete and total sense.

Thank God Sam was right there with her, cursing and all. He followed her up the stairs, his hand on her back in support, and took charge the second they got to the room, examining Brian so efficiently and professionally that Cassie was truly impressed (which said a lot, given how much she admired his medical skills on general principal).

She kept most of her attention on their patient, with the rest watching Eve out of the corner of her eye, and noticed that he was sweating . . . which was concerning when Sam told her that he was cold.

That was not a good sign.

"How's his pulse?" she asked then, knowing it was likely a rhetorical question.

"Thready," Sam replied, confirming her fears. "Fast."

No, not good at all.

Sam hummed thoughtfully, then asked about Brian's pain level on a scale of 1 to 5.

And Cassie couldn't keep from rolling her eyes when the man said 'two or three' and then promptly declared that it really hurt.

Men and their egos . . . it was aggravating on a good day but right now? It was downright stupid. Sam couldn't help Brian if he wasn't going to be honest.

Well-used to this, Sam simply asked where it hurt, and frowned at the answer of the stomach.

Watching him gently palpitate the area increased Cassie's appreciation of his skill, because his touch was light but also sure and knowing.

Brian's instinctive flinch away from that gentle touch made Sam and Cassie both unhappy, because that was also not a good thing.

Her attention had become so focused on Brian that she'd almost forgotten that Eve was there as well, so when the other woman asked what was wrong, Cassie nearly jumped in sheer surprise.

Luckily, Sam was more grounded (and could see her from where he was). "Oh, we need to get him out of here to figure that out. Okay?" he said with calm, easy authority, not giving her the chance to panic.

"Okay," Eve agreed, a little shaken but otherwise composed. Still, Cassie decided to back Sam up, just in case.

"We'll go and check on getting an ambulance," she told the other woman, holding her eyes to make sure she stayed in the moment.

Sam picked up her cue and told her to stay with her husband and keep him calm, a charge she accepted somewhat nervously, but with no panic. "I can do that," she assured them.

He smiled approvingly, then added, "You stay calm, too," and Cassie smiled herself. He was very good at this, she was realizing — which wasn't anything against Sam; she'd just never really seen him be Doctor Radford before, not even with Grace, and it was . . . impressive.

Eve still looked more apprehensive than she liked, so Cassie assured her again that everything was going to be okay and, once she finally settled at Brian's side with a bowl of ice, left the room with Sam.

His demeanor changed completely once they were well out of earshot and he got very serious very fast, pulling out his cell to dial 911 and demanding an ambulance with none of his usual manners or courtesy.

When he barked, "Now!" she almost jumped, only to follow that up by nearly tripping when he abruptly turned conciliatory and said, "No, okay. No, I get it." There was a beat of silence, and then he said, "Yeah, thanks, just hurry," and hung up without another word.

Well, that wasn't good, and she gave him a questioning look.

"It's the weather," he said heavily. "They don't know how soon they can get out here."

It was already that bad?

Oh, this was really not good.

"What do you think it is?" she asked, because she didn't have a clue.

"Ah, blockage," he said with a shrug. "Appendix?" he added, and it was almost a question. "Or some kind of internal bleeding."

Oh.

No, this was not good at all.

"I know I need a hospital and a lab to be sure," he said, sounding frustrated. "I need to get a look inside him to really see what's going on!" he added, worry joining the frustration and alarming Cassie.

Maybe . . . maybe a consult would help? Throw symptoms back and forth until they found the right cause?

Well, it couldn't hurt.

"Could he be going into shock?" she asked, catching his eyes. "He's cold but sweaty, rapid heartbeat . . . I'm guessing he had low blood pressure."

The tender smile he gave her warmed her through and through, as did his soft, approving laugh — even as she found it odd, because he hated it with a passion when she offered medical advice or knowledge about serious issues.

Oh, he was a lot more rattled than he was letting on.

Put another check in the 'Not Good' column. That made it . . . seven 'not good' and zero 'good.'

Which explained his instant acceptance of her non-medically-trained assistance. Brian's situation was a lot worse than she'd thought.

Thankfully, Sam was oblivious to her shocked understanding and frantic mental scrambling to reorganize her thoughts.

"Yeah, he could," he agreed. "But it's what's causing the shock that we need to worry about," he continued, his voice tinged with concern. "Everything I listed requires surgery, and delaying that is just gonna mean more complications for Brian."

Oh. She hadn't thought of that and was unable to keep her expression smooth.

He saw it and nodded. "We don't have much time," he told her. "We have to keep him stable. And we have to get him to the hospital."

Oh, God.

"This is bad," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself in a vain attempt at self-comfort as the grim reality of things became even clearer.

"Yeah, it is," he whispered back, reaching for her hands to pull them away from her torso, cradling them tenderly and holding her eyes with an unwavering certainty. "But it will be okay. We'll make sure of it. I promise."

And in that moment, at the worst possible time, that tiny tear she'd been ignoring for so long even as it grew finally tore the entire foundation of her house of cards in half.

But it would be some time before anyone realized this.

And the fallout . . .

Well.

It appeared that karma had taken an interest in Cassie, too.