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.

11. The A-Team (2-2)

Okay, folks, this is IT. The penultimate chapter, as it were. Now, I know that this is a lot of people's favorite episode (raises hand), so this is your head's up: I have taken a few . . . liberties . . . with a little (and it is a little, I promise) of the dialogue. And that is solely because some of the lines we got in this episode actually gave me hives, they were that bad. THEREFORE: a few of Sam's lines have been padded or reworded to keep him from sounding like - well, to be frank, like a douchebag. I have also completely rewritten a couple of Cassie's because they were so - I hesitate to say 'stupid' but it really is the best word that comes to mind. But lawand_disorder tells me the change is seamless and one she liked quite a bit, so . . . well, that's my litmus test. But other than those very, very few occurrences, dialogue is taken directly from the show.

Speaking of lawand_disorder, she has done her usual fantastic beta job on this chapter, so a huge shout-out goes to her. And if you haven't checked out her new fic 'Wanderlust', you should do so immediately.

And please let me know what you guys think of this chapter; hearing from you is the highlight of my day and I lovelovelove seeing what you think and are speculating about.

So . . . without further ado, enjoy The Storm: Conclusion

---

The A-Team (2/2)

After taking five minutes for themselves just to quietly calm down and re-center, Sam polled Cassie (and that was his life now: he was polling one person. Karma was Going To DIE.) about telling Eve that the ambulance was, in all likelihood, going to be massively delayed. To his surprise, she agreed that this was news they should keep in reserve, at least until they had a better understanding of just what was going on with Brian, and then set about making tea (okay, had they become British when he wasn't looking?).

With that minor issue settled and him flat-out refusing to drink tea, no matter how much like coffee it tasted, she relented — a lot faster than he'd anticipated, which would have made him suspicious at any other time. Right now? He could not give less of a damn about why she was so willing to stop trying to force tea down his throat. So, with a cup of actual coffee consumed (ha! He'd known damn good and well her kitchen contained some of the liquid nirvana of medical professionals the world over; she was just hiding it to torment him. Which — well, it had worked, so . . . point to Cassie.), Sam mentally girded his loins and led her back upstairs.

To a situation that had deteriorated a lot more than he'd expected, given he'd been gone no more than fifteen minutes.

Well, why not?

Mystery stomach issue, heavily pregnant woman, alone (well, no kids or boyfriend) in the house with a woman he . . . yeah. Why not?

Seriously: when the hell had his life become General Hospital? And, of somewhat more importance, was there some way he could change it to Scrubs?

You know, he might need to think about finding a new coping mechanism, because even for him, that was a touch over-the-top.

Then again . . . soap opera.

His dark humor fled in the wake of Brian's increasing confusion and pain, and Eve's worry, though she had it well-controlled, wasn't helping, especially since he couldn't answer a single damn one of her questions about her husband's mystery ailment. Cassie was doing her best to keep the wife calm and focused while he focused on Brian, and was doing quite well, all things considered, but it wasn't going to last. Luckily, Eve trusted them both enough to work with them, although he was afraid that would end quickly should his prediction about the lack of an ambulance came true.

Which . . . karma, so—

"Where is the ambulance?" she demanded, right on cue, and he sighed, draping his stethoscope around his neck and looking at Cassie for help. Normally, he wouldn't have done that in a million years, but she had a way with people and right now, Eve needed her serene assurance a hell of a lot more than Sam's pragmatism. Not that he had a bad bedside manner, it was just . . . due to the total clusterfuck that was Brian's situation, Sam's full attention had to be devoted to him. He simply didn't have anything left to keep the heavily-pregnant wife calm as well.

And Cassie, God bless her, didn't miss a beat. With complete understanding of the reason he was asking, she quietly told Eve that the ambulance was probably going to be delayed indefinitely due to the ice storm that had decided to make Middleton its bitch (okay, wow, he was a lot more on edge than even he had realized. And there was really nothing he could do, eat, or drink to ease that stress because of Massively Unwell Patient and his Pregnant Wife — which were the reason he was stressed. Ugh, he hated circular logic.). But he thanked God because Eve . . . took the news amazingly well; she swallowed hard and squeezed her husband's hand, but didn't panic, flail, or start screaming in anger (all of which Sam had seen happen, and one man had even done them simultaneously).

But he still saw the first crack in her calm façade and knew that his margin for error had just dropped again. The worse Brian got, the more pronounced Eve's reactions were going to be, and because they weren't anywhere near a hospital — or even Sam's office — her fear and worry were naturally going to compound exponentially. Truthfully, she should be away from Brian, at least for a little while, so she could get back some of her equilibrium, but that couldn't happen for obvious reasons.

So he watched with guilt-flavored gratitude as Cassie skillfully deflected Eve's growing concern into 'calm down because you're pregnant' and made a mental note to apologize for ever calling her people skills into question. And about the storm. And probably Linda, too.

Hell, he should just apologize to Cassie for his entire life; that way, he wouldn't miss anything.

And he was back to dark humor. Fantastic.

Brian moaning and scooting up the bed in an attempt to escape the pain caught his attention and Sam instantly turned to him, everything else forgotten as he examined his patient in ways both familiar and 'well, that didn't work so let me try this' in a desperate bid to figure out what was wrong.

Cassie came to stand behind his shoulder, her presence a soothing reminder that he wasn't alone.

And there was no one else he would rather have at his side.

{{**}}

Once Sam had somehow worked a minor miracle and gotten Brian to actually doze off for a few precious minutes, he tersely informed Cassie that he was going to see if his Jeep would at least make the trip to his office. As that hadn't even crossed her mind, Cassie only nodded and watched him leave, aching to go with him but knowing that she couldn't. Eve and Brian both had to keep calm and still, and right now, Cassie was the better choice for that.

Thankfully, she was able to wait outside of the room; Brian was still somehow mostly-asleep and Eve was holding his hand, which left Cassie free to watch the front door as well as their patients.

And worry about their kids, because she took those few minutes of quiet to check her phone only to discover that neither Grace nor Brandon had contacted her.

(at no time did she realize or care that she hadn't heard from Ryan)

Okay.

Okay.

Grace was safe at the library with Anthony and Nick, and at least one adult.

And Brandon was a grown man and a trained police officer.

They were fine.

They were.

But they should still have been here by now — or Brandon should have let her know he had them safe at the station.

No. No, they were fine. She wasn't picking anything up from Grace (or Abigail, now that she thought about it), so that was an unnecessary worry, at least for the time being. It was. They were okay.

She was able to stay calm and collected while waiting for Sam . . . right up until the point where he actually slid into the door before he was able to get it open and then amusement was the furthest thing from her mind. When he made it into the living room, wet and rattled, his eyes dark with concern, some of the worry she'd been keeping at bay finally forced its way out.

"It is treacherous out there," he said grimly, closing the door with angry emphasis.

"Oh," she said, nearly inaudibly, as the reality of the situation finally hit her. They were stranded, which meant their kids were stranded, and Brian wasn't miraculously going to heal.

"My car slid right down the driveway into the street," he added, not realizing that this was not the best time to go into detail.

Okay.

She could . . . she . . . she could not do this.

She had to tell him about the lack of contact from their kids, because now that she was aware of the issue, she couldn't ignore it. Maybe he'd have an idea to offer.

Or at least a hug.

"Still no word from Brandon," she replied, watching as he blinked in surprise before straightening, tilting his head in question. "Derek sent him out a while ago to get the kids," she added in explanation.

When he gave her a blank look before repeating, "The kids?" she had a nearly overwhelming urge to hit him.

But then she remembered his complete focus on Brian and mentally backtracked. She had, after all, told him that Brandon was going to get their children, and since he hadn't heard about any problems since then, he had simply assumed there wasn't a problem. And then Brian's situation had flared up, meaning it was understandable that his attention had been fully centered there.

Hers had as well, after all.

And things hadn't really slowed down until . . . well, now.

Also, he'd asked her a question.

Right.

Their kids.

"Yeah," she replied. "They're still at the library, waiting."

And fine. At the moment, they weren't in any danger.

Brian, on the other hand . . .

"So, we can't drive Brian to the hospital?" she checked.

Sam shook his head. "It's not going to do him or us any good to get stuck out there on the road," he said — which, really, was the understatement of the day. And quite possibly the week.

But then . . .

"And if we can't get out . . ." he continued somberly.

Oh, God.

". . . the ambulance can't get in," Cassie finished in a near-whisper, hating herself now for reining Martha in. Tom would have gotten her the tank she wanted had she asked, but noooo, Cassie just had to talk her out of it.

It was a very rare occurrence for Cassie Nightingale to doubt herself, but at this precise moment, she had to wonder what was wrong with her. How on earth did she NOT see this coming?!

The only thing that kept her from laughing at the irony was the knowledge that it would almost immediately hit hysteria and she could not afford that.

None of them could.

Oblivious to her slightly-bitter turmoil, Sam started pacing. His normally-smooth movements were rough with frustration and his mouth was twisted in clear displeasure.

Her concern promptly skyrocketed.

Something had happened.

"What?" she demanded, willing him to meet her eyes. "What's going on?"

He did meet her gaze then and her stomach plummeted to her toes when she saw the look on his face.

"His blood pressure is low," he began. "Really low. He's dizzy, light-headed, confused . . ."

He'd figured it out.

And it wasn't good.

"I think Brian's got a slow bleed in the abdomen. I think it's his spleen," he rushed out, and Cassie just . . . stopped.

Yeah, this was bad. And very, very serious.

Except — a person's spleen didn't just decide to bleed.

"But he would have had to have some trauma to the spleen to cause internal bleeding," she objected, desperately wanting him to be wrong.

Unnecessarily, as it turned out, because Sam was in complete agreement.

And just as confused.

"Right. And he hasn't, has he?" he asked, sounding almost bewildered. And, paradoxically, a little hopeful.

She hated to crush that hope, but she shook her head and explained that their days had consisted of sightseeing and shopping, unable to keep from smiling a little at his scoff on hearing this. Sam was one of those people for whom 'antique' will never be a verb.

But if they were both right about Brian not experiencing any abdominal trauma . . .

"But you think that's what it is?" she asked him directly, because if he was unsure, then they needed to do another round of 'consult'.

So naturally, he threw her for a loop (oddly, this helped calm her own fears somewhat, because point/counterpoint was their 'thing').

And in so doing, he also made her finally, truly understand why he had had such a major problem with her medicines, remedies, and treatments when he'd first moved to town (and wasn't too sanguine about them now, truth be told).

His instincts were well-honed and backed by both his extensive training and his equally extensive experience. However, that same experience told him that there was a better-than-average chance he was wrong, which meant that he was terrified of acting on his suspicions, because they were just that: suspicions. Guesses.

And in this situation, if he guessed wrong, he could very easily kill Brian. That possibility existed in a hospital, of course, but the odds were a lot lower for obvious reasons.

Regrettably, a hospital wasn't an option, and at the moment, neither was an ambulance, or even his office. And that . . . well, it left him without a safety net, and the lack of one was paralyzing him. Worse, he wasn't trying to fight it, because right now, for him, it was better to deal with the devil he knew.

Which he said, with none of his usual calm authority. "It's an educated guess at best."

And she understood where he was coming from, she did, but she trusted him completely and his skills were among the best in the country. He just needed to be reminded of that, because Brian wouldn't survive without intervention.

Sam's intervention.

And his 'educated guess' was a hell of a lot better than the 'nothing' they were working with now.

"No," she disagreed gently, giving him a look filled with her confidence in him. "It's more than that."

"I wish it were," he said on a sigh, and meant it. "But it's not."

Well, h—

"You can't feel your way into deciding if someone requires surgery," he added, which . . . wasn't that what exploratory surgery was?

Okay, no, bad example. This situation was unique and he had a point. Still—

"I'm not saying you could or should," she soothed him, trying to hold his gaze with hers so he could see her unswerving faith in him, but he looked away, unwilling to accept it, only to suddenly (and literally) turn on a dime.

"Then what are you saying?" he demanded in a harsh near-whisper, his eyes blazing with tormented indecision as he faced her directly for the first time.

Thank God. Now she could express her faith in him and he wouldn't be able to sidestep it.

Please let it be enough.

"I'm saying that just like your medical skills, your instincts have been honed over the years," she began, again catching his gaze and refusing to relinquish it this time. "They're there as a tool, something to guide you."

Her earnest words sparked a quick flare of gratitude, but it was just that: a flare.

"I need a lab or a hospital," he repeated, his entire being telegraphing his frustration. "An ambulance would be nice!"

Yes, it really would. But since wishes weren't fishes . . .

She smiled tenderly at him, letting him see that he wasn't alone, and said, "Trust yourself, Sam." A beat to let him absorb it. "I do."

He finally heard her unwavering confidence and some of the tension bled away under her anxious, watchful gaze.

Well, thank God for that.

Before she could say anything else, he sighed and made the obvious statement that husband and wife needed to stay calm.

And her first response was inappropriate humor, though she somehow managed to NOT say it out loud.

Keep their patients calm? Really? Did the sun rise in the east, too?

Oh, that deserved an equal response, if only to keep their spirits — and his confidence — up. So Cassie returned the favor with one of her own, and confirmed that the two of them also needed to keep their wits about them.

When he blinked in surprise and then laughed in genuine amusement, she felt like she'd won the lottery.

Unfortunately, it was the $1.50 scratch-off ticket.

{{**}}

Eve had finally felt it was safe to leave her husband alone for a few minutes and come downstairs, taking refuge in the bathroom for a short time before joining Sam and Cassie in the kitchen. As was expected, she asked about Brian's condition, and Sam . . . had to make a choice.

He wasn't remotely sure enough to tell her his suspicions about what was wrong with Brian, but he did have a few more questions whose answers might help him get there. He just needed to keep her from adding two and two and getting seven.

No, wait; that was Cassie's trick.

At any rate, Sam needed the information but he also needed her to not get suspicious, so he started carefully.

"Has he said something about stomach pains before?" he asked as casually as possible, lounging against the kitchen island and trying desperately to look like it was a random question.

And no, under normal circumstances, he would never do this, but Eve was at a point in her pregnancy where too much stress (or excitement, but he wasn't particularly worried about that happening just now) could quite easily push her into labor.

Which, to be brutally honest, NO ONE needed. Cassie was amazing but she wasn't a midwife and babies — especially the first one — rarely come quickly. Therefore, Eve had to be kept calm at all costs, and if that meant treating her like a Disney princess just waking up from a magically-induced coma, so be it.

Would it make him a bad person to say that right this minute, he hated his life?

"I don't understand," Eve replied in answer to the question he'd almost forgotten he'd asked, blinking at him in honest confusion.

He sighed in absolute exhaustion and Cassie instantly jumped in.

God, he was glad she was with him.

"Did Brian take a fall yesterday?" she asked, setting the refilled bowl of ice down.

"No," she replied immediately, looking over to Cassie.

Okay, getting somewhere. His turn.

"Was he in an accident before he came to Middleton?"

Still casual, but Eve wasn't stupid.

"No," she said almost sharply, one hand protectively resting on her stomach. "What's going on?" she added, her eyes darting from him to Cassie. "I'm getting really worried. Is-is Brian going to be okay?"

Damn.

He did not want to tell her, but he wouldn't lie to her, either.

And what the hell was wrong with him?!

He still didn't know for sure what was going on with Brian, but you know what? He was a fucking amazing doctor, and it was time he started acting like it. Just because he was currently lacking a hospital and everything that came with it didn't mean his brain had stopped working.

"Yes," he said with the full authority of New York General's Chief of Surgery as well as the gentleness of the trauma surgeon who had brought countless patients and their families safely through to the other side. "He is. But we need to keep an eye on him."

He took no offense when she looked at Cassie and didn't completely relax until she got a nod of agreement; the two women had bonded and it just made sense, especially in this slightly (okay, massively) crazy situation. But Cassie's approving smile as Eve headed back to her husband warmed him from the inside out and—

Oh. Umm.

Right. Well, he flat-out had neither the time nor the headspace for that kind of realization, so Sam firmly kicked it into his mental basement and sighed softly, only to feel his entire being clench when Cassie's expression darkened with actual, honest-to-God worry as she looked at her cell phone.

What—?

"No cell service," she sighed, and he swallowed, grabbing his own phone. "Me, either," he groaned; it had been foolish to hope, but then again: cell phone. One never knew when Company A would work while Company B crapped out. But maybe —

"Landline?" he asked hopefully, arching his eyebrows.

"Dead," she replied succinctly, killing that hope.

Of course it was.

"The storm," he muttered, hating it with every fiber of his being right now. And what was hilarious? This wasn't anywhere near close to the worse winter storm he'd experienced.

However, he'd never been trapped in a house with a heavily-pregnant woman, her probably-spleen-injured husband, and the woman he wa—

Okay, he had JUST kicked that thought to the basement, so why was it back?

Oh, right. Karma.

No.

No, karma could fuck off right now, because he was NOT going to indulge it. It just wasn't going to happen.

Thankfully, Cassie was oblivious to this trainwreck of thought and kept talking, which served as an excellent distraction.

God knew he needed it.

"Yeah, well, Derek knows we need help," she said in a voice that got his full attention, because it was completely lacking her usual optimism — and for that alone, Sam hated this thrice-damned storm.

Especially since Derek had no way whatsoever of knowing how much worse their situation had gotten. And it was only going to go down from here.

Which he said, because cabin fever is a thing, and so is panic-babbling. And he was in the middle of one and simultaneously trying to prevent the other, so it was no surprise that he failed and temporarily lost control of his mouth.

Cassie's silent stare at this did not help matters and he muttered a soft curse under his breath, because he was an idiot, only to go still when he heard her soft, hitched breath.

The stress had finally gotten to her and his heart broke as he realized it.

His Cassie. So strong . . . but even she had her limits.

And so did he.

Without a word or second of hesitation, Sam pushed off from the counter and went to her, pulling her to his chest and resting his hands at her waist instead of trying to hug her, because right now, she looked like the brush of a feather would shatter her . . . but he needed to touch her, ground her (and himself), so he compromised. She made a weak attempt at fighting his hold, but relaxed into him before he could even think to let her go, and simply rested her forehead against his shoulder while she took slow, deep, even breaths. He was thankful beyond words for her trust and let his breath match the rhythm of hers as they slowly found a center of balance. After maybe four minutes of nothing but quiet breathing, he released her even as she stepped back, and their eyes met to acknowledge this new understanding.

Not a word was spoken, but then, it didn't need to be.

And then Sam left her in the kitchen while he headed back upstairs, secure in the knowledge that if this was the situation God had decreed, he had the best possible partner at his side.

(Two years and some weeks later, he would remember this thought out of the clear blue nowhere and ask Liam, with all seriousness, to hit him. And Liam, who wasn't stupid and thus needed no explanation, gladly obliged.)

{{**}}

Cassie was still in the kitchen, making more tea and trying very hard not to think about anything for a few precious minutes, when Eve unexpectedly came back downstairs. Her relief as she announced that Brian was resting was palpable and Cassie felt something inside her unclench . . . though she had to wonder a little why Eve felt the need to tell her that Sam was with him.

Seriously, where else would he be if he wasn't with Cassie?

No, that wasn't fair. Eve was just as stressed and worried as they were, which . . .

"How are you holding up?" Cassie asked gently, carefully starting to pour a cup of tea.

Eve gave a soft, extremely rueful sigh and said, "I've had better vacations."

Okay, yes, that had been a slightly stupid question and Cassie could say nothing in response, because truthfully, what could anyone say that would make things better?

Unaware of this tangent, Eve continued to talk, clearly needing to rid herself of some of her negative feelings.

"You make plans," she said quietly, thoughtfully, "and then . . ."

"And then life happens," Cassie filled in for her, all-too-familiar with that pain.

"Exactly," Eve agreed succinctly, looking down for a few seconds before continuing. "Brian's been under so much stress at work that I insisted we get away from the city, from everything, and . . . and now look at us." She was almost crying as she whispered the last, and Cassie paused in reaching to comfort her as realization struck.

Oh.

Okay, that — right, that made so much sense. Cassie hadn't realized that Eve was feeling guilty, as irrational as that guilt was, so . . . okay. She could work with this.

"Lots of stress?" she asked gently, knowing it was a redundant question but also knowing that Eve needed to talk, to purge herself of some of this guilt. Irrational or not, she still felt it and it was causing her unwarranted anxiety, so Cassie didn't waste the time or energy in trying to convince her otherwise — particularly since it wouldn't work right now — and instead turned her attention to helping draw out the poison.

Eve nodded in response. "The only relief he gets is running," she explained, and Cassie stopped mid-swallow, looking at the other woman with wide eyes as a new possibility occurred to her.

"Brian went running yesterday?" she asked, hoping desperately that she was right, because if she was . . .

"Hmm," his wife confirmed with a nod. "In the afternoon. He came back early because it was getting cold already."

Oh, thank God!

Sam now had a solid reason to support his theory and Cassie needed to tell him. Now.

"Excuse me," she said, vaguely aware that she was being too abrupt but unable to focus on anything other than getting to Sam. Thankfully, Eve didn't follow her, though her surprise at Cassie's sudden exit was obvious. When she got to Brian's room, he was mostly-awake, so she caught Sam's eye and gestured to the hall. His forehead wrinkled in confusion for a moment before he got it and nodded, murmuring a soft reassurance to his patient before slipping out the door and giving her an expectant look.

"He went running yesterday afternoon," Cassie told him without preamble, and watched as comprehension washed over him.

"It was slick out even before the storm hit," Sam said, following her thoughts effortlessly.

"He fell," they said together, in one of those rare moments of perfect accord, and then Cassie concluded that he hadn't told Eve because he didn't want to worry her. Which . . . really wasn't unreasonable. However, given that he hadn't lost a limb, Brian also hadn't felt it was worth mentioning to anyone else, including Sam, which had just prolonged the situation and might have made things even worse.

Being a man, Sam confirmed this. "Stubborn, manly, ignored the pain," he groused, annoyed from a medical perspective, and flushed a little when she gave him a knowing look. "I'm familiar with the type," he added, now looking a touch sheepish.

Unfortunately, Cassie wasn't in the right frame of mind to deal with 'sheepish', so she kept him on target by point-blank asking what his instincts were saying now.

He needed no thought to answer her, which again told her just how good he was, though his answer of a slow bleed frightened her even as it reassured her.

Hold on. Before she went too far down that road, she needed more information.

"So he fell just hard enough to hurt his spleen," she said rather than asked, because that wasn't what she needed to know, and Sam knew it.

He sighed and nodded in response. "Brian needs emergency surgery," he said quietly, and her fear came rushing to the fore.

Eve might trust them, but this was her husband . . . and they weren't at a hospital and weren't going to get there anytime soon. On top of that, she was very, very pregnant and experiencing all of the hormonal mood swings that came with that, which — through no fault of her own — would make her emotionally volatile. Combine that with the fact that both Sam and Cassie had been telling her this entire time that Brian would be fine, and . . . well . . .

This wasn't going to go over well at all.

And she was really afraid there was nothing they could do to change that.

{{**}}

Sam had no trouble following Cassie's thought processes about Eve and her likely reaction to their news. But he was first and foremost a trauma surgeon, so he had a few tricks up his sleeve that would hopefully help alleviate the situation.

He also had, thanks to a mistake that had irritated him to no end at the time, a decent cache of supplies — including, miraculously, several bags of saline solution — that would allow him to see what medical magic he could work. Of course, getting to and from his house without falling and breaking his neck was a challenge of epic proportions (seriously; The Odyssey could have taken a few notes . . . and he was back to dark humor again. Wonderful.), especially since his trip back was made a thousand times more difficult by the fact that he was carrying a heavy box and his medical bag, meaning neither hand was free. Thankfully, Cassie was able to watch for him and had the doors open and ready so at least he didn't need to deal with that juggling act on top of staying, you know, upright.

Had he mentioned how much he despised winter storms?

"Thanks," he said as he skidded through the door, going to straight to business as soon as he was sure he wouldn't fall on his ass. "Well, I can start an IV and get some fluids in him," he told her as he set his burdens on the counter while Cassie emptied it of everything else. "That'll buy us — and him — some time."

And please God, let it be enough time for that damned ambulance to finally get here.

He caught her curious look at the box of supplies and internally grinned; it was a fair question and he was beyond grateful now for the screw-up.

"I'm still not used to ordering supplies myself," he explained. "Those came to the house by mistake."

"Ah," she said. "Lucky mistake."

And wasn't that God's honest truth?

"Well, we're due a little good luck," he answered a lot less playfully than he'd intended.

No, he wasn't remotely happy with this situation and despite this reprieve, he was terrified that it wasn't going to be enough.

"We've just gotta keep him stable until some help gets here," he said with emphasis, because he was still Not Remotely Okay with the thought of performing emergency surgery in one of Grey House's guest rooms.

Cassie got right in his personal space and captured his gaze with hers as she said, "Help is here," and actually smiled at him, her eyes radiating her faith and trust in him.

He hadn't experienced that kind of support in so long, it was nearly overwhelming. And he wasn't exaggerating, here; he literally did not know what to do with it, much less handle it with any kind of equanimity. And since he was male, he was already extremely uncomfortable with that kind of emotional display. Especially from Cassie, because he cared so deeply about her and—

No. No, he wasn't going there. Not right now. He couldn't afford to, not with Brian's steadily-worsening condition.

"More help," he said with a forced laugh as he looked down and started opening the box, desperately needing the distraction from — that. Even though it was just a throwaway thought — which he needed to throw away immediately — it was still . . . it was not something he needed to be thinking.

Or feeling.

"What's going on?" Eve suddenly asked out of nowhere, yanking their shocked attention to her and shattering the moment as neither of them had known she was there.

Sam could have kissed his patient's wife right then without a single ounce of regret.

A second later, the understanding that they could no longer keep her sheltered from the full truth hit him and he wordlessly opened and closed his mouth before looking helplessly at Cassie once he realized he couldn't think of a damn thing to day.

And Cassie — who had an answer for anything, usually accompanied by an irritatingly relevant quote — naturally had the same problem, so there they stood, utterly silent and gaping like a pair of idiots in a student film, while Eve got more and more upset.

"Well?" she demanded after a short but extremely awkward silence.

Right. And again, Radford, just because you aren'tIN a hospital doesn't mean you've forgotten how to be a doctor. So be a fucking doctor!

Also, Eve wasn't stupid. So he would tell her everything . . . except the fact that Sam might have to operate on Brian here, at Grey House. That he would keep to himself unless and until it became a certainty. Everything else could be taken with at least a little equanimity, but emergency surgery outside of a medical facility was something else entirely and no one would be able to keep from thinking — and worrying — about it. And the heavily-pregnant woman did not need any additional and unnecessary stress.

So. Time to be Doctor Sam Radford, one of the top trauma surgeons in the United States.

"His condition is starting to deteriorate," Sam said softly after he'd made her sit down at the kitchen table and gotten her a glass of water, quietly asking Cassie to stay in the background while he explained things. "He hasn't eaten or had anything to drink in nearly six hours, maybe more, and that is not a good sign."

Eve went pale but said nothing, merely waited patiently for him to continue.

Okay, he was seriously impressed by this woman's fortitude.

"We think . . . we think he fell yesterday while he was out for his run," he continued, seeing with relief the understanding in her eyes. "And when he did, he likely caused some damage to his spleen."

"His stomachache," Eve murmured, and Sam nodded.

"Exactly," he confirmed. "And since we still don't know when the ambulance will get here and I can't get him safely to my office, we're having to do the next best thing: home health care."

She looked up sharply at that, eyes wide, and said, "Meaning?"

He couldn't help the tiny smile that formed at her question; she just reminded him so much of Cassie right then.

"Meaning, I accidentally sent some medical supplies to my house instead of my office," he explained, "so I can get some fluids in him and see how much it helps. Once we know that, it'll be a lot easier to figure out what to do next."

His unwavering assurance and total calm worked and Eve slowly nodded, though she swallowed hard and blinked back tears as she did so.

"Hey," he murmured quietly, leaning over a little so he could meet her eyes. "We've got this, Eve. I promise."

She swallowed again but never looked away from him, and after an eternity of silence, she whispered, "Okay."

By a minor miracle, Sam managed to keep from blowing out a massively-relieved sigh and instead nodded back, squeezing her hand before turning to Cassie. The pride on her face nearly bowled him over and he was unable to keep from smiling in sheer relief, even if he also felt a bit fragile, because he knew too well just how precarious Brian's situation really was. It was a race against time, now, and there was no way for anyone to know who would win: the ambulance or the spleen.

Showing yet again how well she knew him, Cassie didn't say a word. Instead, she handed him a plate with a small sandwich on it and looked at the counter where a cup of actual coffee was waiting before turning back to him . . . but her defensive stance in front of said coffee, combined with the unambiguous nod to the sandwich, told Sam that he wasn't getting his liquid nirvana until he'd eaten the thing.

Which . . . was fair. And he did need to eat something and it wasn't like it was a three-course meal. However, what was sauce for the goose was also sauce for the gander, so he arched an eyebrow at her in obvious inquiry. She grinned and pulled two more plates from behind her, brushing past him to take one to Eve (though not without giving him a warning look as she went, and he obediently took a bite of his sandwich, though his eyes never left that mug of coffee).

Well.

If he had to be stuck in this nightmare, there was no one else he'd rather be stuck with.

Such was his life.

And even now, he wouldn't change a thing.

{{**}}

In retrospect, Eve's calm, albeit unhappy, acceptance of the fact that Sam had officially turned their bedroom into a hospital room should have been Cassie's third clue that there was a problem. Unfortunately, Brian's condition had deteriorated a lot more than she'd realized, which meant that her attention was mostly focused on making sure Sam had everything he needed — and he was becoming more dissatisfied by the minute, it seemed.

Therefore, when Eve walked in on the two of them changing out the saline solution and instantly went pale, Cassie saw her immediately but it took her a few seconds to really register the extreme spike of fear — and when she did, it took considerable control to keep from cursing. It wasn't anyone's fault, but this was just about the worst time for Eve to have a panic attack.

And from the look on her face as she turned on her heel and left the room, one was fast approaching.

Without a word to Sam, whose attention was completely (well, so she thought) on his patient, she hurried after the other woman, hoping that her abilities wouldn't fail her now.

By the time she found Eve, the other woman was already hyperventilating.

"Eve?" Cassie asked as she cautiously approached her, watching in ever-deepening concern as Eve tried and failed to get a handle on her panic.

"I—I can't—I can't breathe!" she nearly gasped, desperately attempting to take in enough air.

Damn.

Okay.

Okay, she could do this.

Eve didn't need to be coddled right now; she needed to be jolted back to her senses . . . gently, of course, but firmly.

Martha had had to do the same thing with her the night Jake was killed, and it had worked. So she would use it now and pray to God that she could break the hold that terror had on Eve.

All five of them were counting on her.

"Okay, all right, Eve," Cassie began, watching her carefully. "We're going to do some breathing."

She saw immediately that the other woman was too lost in her panic and wasn't able to hear her at all.

"Brian's gonna die!" she choked out, looking as terrified as she sounded.

Before Cassie could think of the best way to respond to that, she suddenly sensed and then saw Sam enter the room, his eyes locking on to hers the second she looked up, silently asking if she needed him to take over.

Cassie was beyond relieved at his arrival but she shook her head even as she chased down the idea his presence had sparked. Unfortunately, Eve was in no state of mind to trust Sam right now. Hell, she was barely listening to Cassie. But with a source of help and support now coming to stand beside her and a fairly cohesive plan at her fingertips, Cassie knew she could get the other woman through this.

"No," she told Eve firmly, looking at her partner as she spoke and seeing Eve flick a glance in that direction as well. "Sam's not going to let that happen. Are you?" she asked him directly, forcing Eve to step past her panic, if only for a minute . . . and it worked. Eve looked at Sam and actually saw him.

"No," he replied firmly, his eyes fixed on Eve's and his voice ringing with absolute truth.

Unfortunately, Eve's panic was stronger than Cassie's will, so she was unable to let herself believe Sam and turned back instead to Cassie. "He's bleeding," she gasped out, starting to hyperventilate again. "He's—"

Okay, gentle wasn't working.

Time for firm authority.

"Your baby needs you to stay calm and breathe," Cassie instructed her with no give at all in her voice, bending down a little so Eve had no choice but to meet her eyes.

"I don't want to lose my husband," she whimpered, her eyes blurring with tears.

And THAT she had an answer for.

"Sam's one of the best trauma surgeons in the country," she told Eve, holding her breath as she watched that sink in. "He just moved here and he's taking care of Brian, okay? How lucky is that? Brian's in very good hands."

Eve's breath hitched again, but the knowledge seemed to have helped because she didn't start panicking again — and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sam's assessing gaze flit to her, surprise competing with gratitude. Which, you know, made sense, given that he really didn't know just how much she respected his medical abilities because she'd never told him.

When Eve sniffled and then looked at Sam, her face beseeching, he met her eyes and nodded, leaning back on the island in a deliberately casual pose, which had Eve subconsciously relaxing a little as she saw it. Cassie could have kissed him for that, because it looked like Eve was finally calm enough for the deep breathing to work, which — God willing — meant they should be able to help her get out of this attack.

"All right," she told the other woman, demanding her attention again. "Now take a deep breath in."

Eve did so, but it was still choppy and unsteady, and didn't have nearly enough air. Damn, she was still too panicked. Better, yes, but not quite there.

"You can do better than that. Come on!" she cajoled gently, injecting the tiniest hint of teasing into her voice — and An Idea crossed her mind.

"Sam," she said, surprising both of them. "Why don't you show her how it's done?"

He was clearly confused as to why she was bringing him into this now, but just as clearly willing to follow her lead, so once Eve looked at him, he drew in and released a deep, but quick, breath — which was exactly what Cassie wanted. She needed something to distract Eve from her understandable worry for her husband and since humor seemed to be doing the trick, that's what she was gonna run with.

"Oh, look," she told Eve, her voice amused not just as a guidepost for the other woman but also because she knew he'd meant it seriously — which meant this was going to help distract him as well, at least for a few precious minutes, and give him a small reprieve that he desperately needed. "See, he's even worse than you are!"

Eve huffed out a laugh and Cassie joined her, her amusement rising at the 'really, Cassie?' look Sam gave her even as he smiled in approval and relief when Even laughed again and took a deeper breath on her own.

Thank God: it was working.

"Okay," she said, taking the other woman's hands and squeezing comfortingly. "All right, come on. Let's do this together, okay?"

Eve nodded and Cassie nearly cried in relief when the other woman was able to focus her attention on the repetitive motions of their joint breathing, which resulted in her slowly calming down, and they repeated the exercises for nearly ten minutes before Eve was finally able to shake off the last remnants of her panic attack. Sam said not a word the entire time, though his presence alone was soothing and reassuring (for both women) and it wasn't until after Eve excused herself to the bathroom that he gave made any kind of overt move. Straightening up, his eyes bright for the first time in several hours, he gave Cassie a brilliant smile, one full of pride and approval and other emotions she couldn't name, and she flushed a little before smiling back.

"Well done," he murmured softly, his eyes flicking for a second to the closed bathroom door before returning to hers . . . only now they were dark and intense. "Very well done."

"Thanks," Cassie managed to say in reply; his expression was making her feel a lot of things and this was neither the time nor the place.

It never was.

"Will you be all right with her down here for a bit?" he suddenly asked, startling her with the abruptness of the question as well as the subject change.

"I — yeah," she replied, giving him a puzzled look. "Why?"

"Because I need to do some serious probing and see if I can figure out where that tear is, and having Eve there means I can't," he explained succinctly, moving closer to her and lowering his voice to keep the woman in question from hearing him. His breath against her face was warm and sweet and she involuntarily shivered.

Completely caught off-guard by her reaction, she was able, barely, to nod at him and he smiled in relief-tinged approval and thanks, squeezing her shoulder before heading back upstairs. Someone else might have been upset or annoyed at the abruptness of his departure, but Cassie understood better than most people just how serious — and dangerous — the situation was. In all honesty, she was shocked that he had come down after her, though in hindsight it was logical: none of them could afford for Eve to go into labor, something a panic attack could easily induce, and Sam was the doctor, so it just made sense for him to help — or provide silent support — in the event of one (or the desperate attempt to ward one off, as it were). But Brian was his primary concern, so he could only be away for so long, and since Eve was no longer panicking, nor was she in imminent danger of doing so, then . . . no, Cassie wasn't remotely bothered by his hasty exit.

On an unrelated note, her shoulder was tingling from where he'd touched it and she realized to her bewilderment that she felt calmer too. After taking a moment to absorb that, she looked at the spot with more than a little disbelief before forcibly shoving everything that didn't have to do with Eve or Brian to the back of her mind.

While it was nice to know that Sam could help bring her back to an even keel with just a touch, well . . . at the moment, that was neither here nor there, and she didn't have time to think about it.

There were times when it was just plain bad to have unforeseen realizations. This was one of them.

So naturally, she had to realize.

But she couldn't, not right now, so she wasn't going to.

She wasn't.

But to her own surprise, she wished she could.

{{**}}

Sam paused for a second on the stairs, a fond smile coming to his lips as he recalled watching Cassie talking Eve out of a pretty serious panic attack. That had been amazing for a truckload of reasons and he was yet again beyond grateful that she was with him. He really wished he could have stayed with her for a bit, because God knew they both needed a break, but that just wasn't an option. He had to take this opportunity to really dig in (no pun intended and hey, dark humor was back) to Brian and try to figure out where the hell this bleed was.

He knew that Cassie would keep Eve distracted as long as she could but also knew that it was unlikely to be very long, so he got his ass in gear and trotted up the rest of the stairs and into Brian's room. Thankfully, he was still mostly out of it from the painkiller Sam had given him, which was the only reason he'd been able to go help Cassie. A quick brush of his fingers across the man's forehead told him that nothing had changed there, which was about as good as news could get right now, and then he turned his full attention to Brian's stomach, carefully prodding and nudging, trying to use the twitches and muffled cries of pain as a map to the source while ignoring the fact that he was their cause now.

When Cassie slipped into the room, he honestly didn't register her presence; every one of his senses was utterly focused on Brian. Even when she wordlessly offered him a glass of cool water, he accepted it absentmindedly and drained it in one swallow before immediately returning to his probing and mapping. He didn't even notice her taking the glass back.

Searching, listening, feeling . . . feeling . . .

Where WAS it?

Nothing, nothing, dammit, nothing!

WHERE IN THE HELL W—

Wait — there!

Was it? Was this it? Had he actually found it?

A gentle manipulation of his fingers in the same place resulted in the same slightly . . . well, squishy feeling he'd gotten a minute ago, and it was one that he hadn't felt anywhere else so far. A quiet sound of discovery left his lips as he contemplated this.

On one hand, it was good: he was pretty sure he'd found the source of the problem; that 'squish' felt like every other case of internal bleeding he'd seen.

It was also bad, because there was no chance the bleed was going to stop on its own.

When Cassie made a soft noise of inquiry, he glanced up and promptly did a double-take.

Why was Cassie here?

When had she gotten here?

And where the hell was Eve?

Before he could ask any of these rather important questions, Brian jolted awake with a soft, pained cry, and Sam cursed under his breath, moving his hand up to his patient's chest and firmly pressing down to keep him from sitting up. Cassie did the same at his shoulder and between them, they were able to keep him in a prone position.

"Aah!" Brian gasped in response, his face suddenly losing a lot of color and his head thrashing a little. Sam muttered a darker curse at this and lifted his hand, trusting Cassie to keep Brian down while he grabbed his blood pressure device, quickly checking the man's pulse as well and scowling when he felt how fast it was. Thankfully, his exertions had tired Brian out and he quickly went limp, groaning softly in pain but not moving; on realizing this, Cassie immediately came to Sam's shoulder and he absently tilted the blood pressure gauge so she could see what he was doing. Her breath audibly caught when she saw just how low his BP had dropped, while his brain was going a thousand miles an hour, trying to determine what he needed to do now.

Or rather, how to tell Eve what he needed to do now.

Because 'don't want to' had just become irrelevant: Brian needed surgery, or he was going to die.

Then Brian called his wife's name and promptly panicked when she didn't answer. Sam and Cassie looked at each other in horror when they realized the problem and Cassie instantly turned to the door, but she didn't manage to take a single step before they both heard Eve coming up the stairs.

"Eve, I'm cold," Brian moaned, shifting restlessly, and she swept into the room.

"I'm here," she said firmly, her voice instantly soothing him. "I'm here."

Sam glanced up at her, surprised and impressed anew at her fortitude, and willingly got up so she could take her place at her husband's side. Cassie met his eyes, hers dark with anxiety, and he sighed, jerking his head slightly to the wall across the room even as he headed that way. She followed immediately, though out of the corner of his eye he could see her casting concerned glances at the couple.

Out of respect for Eve, Sam faced away from her and Cassie matched him, turning her back to the wall and watching him with eyes that quickly filled with worry when he softly told her that Brian was getting worse and he could not just stand there and watch him bleed to death.

"Sam!" she gasped quietly in reply, worry immediately overshadowed by shock.

"I know," he replied just as intensely. "But for him to have any chance at all, I have to stop the bleeding."

Since Cassie knew this as well as he did — had, in fact, advocated for him to make this decision earlier — she swallowed but said nothing.

And then Sam identified the elephant in the room, which was the actual problem they were facing now.

Eve.

"And we need to get Eve's consent," he said gravely, and watched Cassie's face go perfectly still because she too realized how difficult that was going to be.

Before either of them could say another word, the woman in question suddenly cleared her throat.

Even under the circumstances, it was comical how they both jumped a foot in the air at this before Sam turned to face her, swallowing a sudden bout of nerves, and Cassie stepped to his side.

"What is it?" Eve asked calmly, but with an undercurrent of anger. "What's going on?"

Well, there was no more putting it off.

With a mental sigh, Sam held out his hand and asked, "Come downstairs, please." Before Eve could voice her refusal, he said, "Now, Eve," in a voice that brooked no objections. When Cassie wordlessly backed him up, she gave them a confused, unhappy frown but obeyed and gave Brian a soft kiss to the forehead before making her way to the kitchen. Sam silently gestured Cassie in front of him and after a quick glance to make sure Brian was as okay as he could be at the moment (he was dozing again, which was superb news at this precise moment), followed them both. Once they were all in the room, he gave Cassie a look that warned her not to say anything yet, took a deep breath, and met Eve's accusing glare head-on.

"Here's the situation, Eve," he said baldly, holding her eyes with his own unblinking stare; the time for deflection had truly passed. "Brian has a slow bleed in his abdomen and I'm pretty sure I've found where it is."

She sucked in a harsh breath at that but said nothing, for which Sam was eternally grateful; this was going to be difficult enough as it was.

"Now, the major issue is that bleeds like this don't just stop on their own; they have to have help."

"And what does that mean?" she demanded, one hand protectively cradling her stomach as her eyes bored into his. "What are you saying?"

Sam flicked the quickest of looks to Cassie, who was standing between them. She caught his glance and gave him a supportive smile and nod, something he badly needed, and he nodded his thanks before returning his attention to Eve.

"I have to operate," he told her quietly. "Now. And here."

"No!" she snapped back, her eyes blazing with shock, fear, and anger. "Absolutely not! How can you do surgery here?"

Cassie gave Eve a concerned look but said nothing, which Sam both appreciated and hated. He could do with some backup, but it wasn't her place . . . and despite her trust in Cassie, Eve knew she wasn't a doctor, so her opinion would have little bearing on this.

He really hated his life right now.

"I don't want to," he replied earnestly, because it was true and that was the only thing that would induce her to believe him. More importantly, it was the only way she would trust him. He needed her to trust him.

Brian needed her to trust him.

So he kept talking, hoping to God that the stark, unadulterated facts would somehow break through her fear.

"But if I can get in there and clamp off the leak, stop the bleeding—"

Eve cut him off with a quiet but implacable, "I don't want you to." Her expression was as firm as her voice and Sam mentally cursed.

Brian didn't have time for this . . . but he had no way of making Eve understand that because — and the irony was hysterical, here — he wasn't at a hospital or his office, where he could show her test results that would support him while also providing them with an environment she would trust for surgery.

Fuck. His. Life.

And Cassie, not being stupid, was probably all-too-aware of his thoughts — she certainly understood the situation — and thus chose that moment to step in.

"Eve," she said gently, her voice soft and full of understanding.

But Eve was having none of it.

"No," she said again. "You are not operating on my husband here."

And Sam got where she was coming from, he really did, but—

Well, frankly, he was already exhausted. And more than a little afraid himself. But now? Now he was also seriously pissed off. Did the woman really think he was suggesting emergency surgery at Grey House because he was bored?! No one in their right mind would suggest this as a first option! Especially him, which was why he had tried everything under the sun, moon, and stars first — because he didn't want to do this.

But what he wanted — what any of them wanted — was no longer a consideration. It was now a matter of necessity.

One look at her face told him that Eve would not accept that, though. Not yet.

Miraculously, he was able to keep his expression neutral, though he crossed his arms and refused to look away when she informed him that an ambulance would get there, her voice trembling a little with her own tumult of emotion.

Damn it.

Damn it all to hell.

Her stubborn fear was condemning her husband to more suffering, which would grow in intensity the longer this went on, because there was nothing else Sam could do for him. There were no treatments for this, no pills. He couldn't even be more generous with the painkiller he did have because . . . well, either Eve would relent and he'd need it for the operation, or — or he would have to use it to ease Brian's death.

Oh, God. He might have to — oh, God.

It was a very, very good thing that Eve stalked out of the kitchen before he could unload any of that on her, though he pivoted in place to watch her go, his hands clenching into fists as helpless frustration and dark anguish threatened to drown him. The raw violence of his emotions made bile rise in his throat and it took everything he had to beat back the almost unconquerable urge to throw up. His knees literally buckled from the effort and to his horror, he found himself losing the battle; in fact, he would have collapsed completely if the door hadn't been right there and only the knowledge that he could not afford to damage his hands prevented him from punching a hole straight through the glass as he was forced to accept that he could not stop what was about to happen.

Other than his harsh, ragged breathing, the room was deadly quiet.

It took several minutes before he could muster the strength to face Cassie, and he didn't have the slightest idea what to expect from her right now. Her expression was complicated: concern, sympathy, and resignation were battling it out, along with her own frustration. Worse, she made no effort to talk, much less try to approach him, and anger surged again when he realized that she was afraid to touch him right now. A deep sigh escaped his mouth as he tilted his head back, feeling yet another headache start to creep up on him while exhaustion decided to crash the party, because God knew his life wasn't difficult enough.

"What now?"

Her quiet question shattered the tense silence of the room and Sam couldn't stop his bitter laugh.

"Fuck if I know," he replied caustically, not feeling guilty at all for his language even when she softly chastised him.

They stood in an edgy silence for several minutes before he sighed again and said, "I really don't know, Cassie. Unless you know a good hypnotist who can work his magic and change her mind by using smoke signals, there isn't anything I can do. Not without her express permission."

She was quiet for a while before whispering his name, her voice shaking. He looked up at that and the sight of tears running down her cheeks nearly sent him into a rage. He somehow managed to swallow it down before he went to her, seeing instantly that she was too emotionally fragile to handle being hugged and instead settling his hands lightly on her waist, encouraging her to bury her face in his shoulder. When she did, wordlessly accepting his offer of refuge and what little comfort he could provide, he had to bite back his own tears at her instant, unconditional trust.

Because . . .

He knew, rationally, that Eve's fear was perfectly understandable. It was.

But it was a blind fear, and an unknowing one.

And right now, it was selfish.

It was wreaking havoc on Cassie's empathy.

It was going to force Sam to violate the oath he'd sworn to do no harm.

And it was ultimately going to kill the man she loved.

And there was no way out that Sam could see, no path he could find that would make her understand that. He might be one of the best surgeons in the United States, but even he couldn't get through denial so deeply rooted in fear. Especially when that fear was comprised of the unknown, her husband's life, and the possibility that their child would lose its father before they ever had a chance to meet.

There wasn't enough logic in the world to break through that. Nor would any outside emotion make a difference. The only thing that could change Eve's mind now was Brian.

And all he — they — could do was pray that it wouldn't be too late.

{{**}}

The tumult of emotion that both Sam and Eve were feeling was genuinely threatening to overwhelm Cassie, so she found herself uncharacteristically grateful when he gave her a terse nod and stalked to the downstairs bathroom. He didn't slam the door, although she rather wished he had; that ominously quiet 'click' was a lot more unnerving than outright anger would have been.

Still, with him making a serious effort to get his emotions under control and Eve a floor (and several rooms) away, Cassie was able to get a small reprieve from the sheer amount of 'negative' that was flooding her home.

Unfortunately, that was all she got.

An epiphany wasn't kind enough to strike her, so she still didn't have the faintest idea of how to get through to Eve.

And Eve had to be made to see reason, or Brian was going to die.

Cassie wandered aimlessly through her kitchen and living room for a few minutes, still at a loss as to go about achieving that goal, but when Sam left the bathroom only to immediately make his way to the back door, she paused in the kitchen doorway and watched him yank on his coat with short, angry movements before storming out (pun completely unintended but amazingly accurate and hey, look at that: Sam's tendency for dark humor appeared to be rubbing off on her. Just what she needed.) into the icy solitude of the night.

She hoped with all her heart that it would help soothe him, because right now, she couldn't even give him that.

Out of nowhere — and with spectacularly bad timing — her stomach growled. The mere thought of food had her feeling a little queasy but she made a simple sandwich anyway, mechanically consuming it and a cup of tea before suddenly realizing that Eve hadn't eaten anything since that small sandwich about . . . good grief, it had been nearly four hours!

So Cassie made another one, this one somewhat bigger than her own, and after a deep breath of fortification, headed upstairs.

The sight of Eve, sitting at her husband's sickbed, his hand clasped in hers and tears filling her anguished eyes, nearly bowled Cassie over.

She had done the same thing at Jake's bedside that night.

Only her husband would never wake up.

Would never smile at her again, or see his daughter grow up.

Would never again tell his wife he loved her.

Eve's husband still could . . . for now.

And Cassie wasn't resentful, she really wasn't.

No, she was . . . she wassuddenly furious.

She had to find a way to get through to Eve.

She had to.

So long as there was breath in her body, she would not let another woman suffer what she herself had, and she would be damned if she let it happen due to sheer stubborn denial of reality.

But she would have to be very, very careful in how she approached this.

Filled with this new resolve, she took another deep breath and cautiously entered the room, plated sandwich held out as a peace offering.

Eve accepted it with a . . . well, a non-hostile look, which Cassie supposed was better than nothing. She made no attempt to eat it, though, instead placing it on the nightstand to her right.

She also said not a single word.

Unsurprised by this, Cassie simply seated herself on the bed and futzed with the bag of saline for a few seconds before looking at Brian. She was unable to hold back her sharp sigh of dismay at how bad he looked, though mercifully, it wasn't loud enough for the other woman to hear.

And then, with no preamble, Eve said, "I'm not gonna change my mind," as she tenderly stroked her husband's hair.

No, she wasn't. Not yet.

This was a battle that could only be won in increments, and Cassie well knew it.

But she had to start somewhere.

"I know," she answered with a nod.

And said nothing else.

Because the thing was, she realized in a blinding flash of insight, she wasn't going to change Eve's mind. No one could.

All she could do was try to offer a perspective that outweighed the other woman's.

And that was not going to be easy or simple.

After a long moment of a rather fraught silence, Eve squeezed Brian's hand and, without looking at Cassie, asked in genuine curiosity what she would do if it were Jake.

Cassie almost broke down at that, because if Jake could have been saved, if anyone could have made sure he lived, it would have been Sam.

If.

But she couldn't afford those thoughts right now, so she shoved them aside with that too-practiced ease and focused her attention back on the here-and-now, where it belonged.

"I trust Sam," she told the other woman with complete sincerity, because she did. She trusted him with her life, had trusted him with Grace and Brandon . . . she would trust him with Jake's.

She trusted Sam Radford completely.

And this was really not the best time to have that realization, true though it was.

Eve's dubious look brought her back to the present and Cassie was more amused than she should have been at her equally dubious question of, "With your life?"

And she did understand where the other woman was coming from, she truly did, so she merely offered a serene smile and said, "Absolutely," but she said it so clearly and strongly that there could be no doubt of her conviction.

Eve took a shaky breath at that and then nearly whispered, "With my husband's life?", and Cassie swallowed. The answer was 'yes' though Eve obviously wasn't yet ready to hear it.

But it was a solid start, a step in the right direction, no matter how tentative it was, so Cassie's statement of 'yes' was even stronger and more assured.

The room was quiet after that and Cassie made no attempt to break it; she was heartened to see that Eve wasn't as defensive as she'd been when Cassie first walked in the room and was also clearly thinking, but the sudden, firm shake of her head told her that the other woman still wasn't ready to accept the truth of the whole unbearable situation and let Sam do what had to be done.

And Cassie had known that all along, so after two or three minutes of understandably tense silence and no further softening on Eve's part, she nodded to the sandwich on the table and said, "Please eat it; you need to keep your strength up. For all of you."

At the mention of not just Brian but their baby, Eve's eyes went teary again but she nodded and obediently reached for the plate, her hand shaking.

And Cassie respected her too much to sit there and watch, making her feel like she was under a microscope — or, worse, being judged — so without another word, she slipped silently from the room, leaving Eve to find what peace she could. And hopefully, to think and consider instead of grieve.

Sam still hadn't come back inside, so she abandoned the kitchen for the living room and inelegantly collapsed on the couch. As if that had been some kind of signal, her own barriers finally started to crumble and she was unable to prevent the escape of the soft sobs she'd been ignoring and suppressing all day.

The unsettling mix of past memory and present reality were threatening to drown her and she was so caught up in grappling with that tangled morass of emotions, trying to wrestle them back under control, that she nearly jackknifed off the cushion in sheer surprise when her shoulders were taken in a tender grip. Her heart was pounding like a jackrabbit's from the sheer unexpectedness of his touch, but she calmed quickly and sank back down when Sam whispered, "Shh," rubbing his thumbs across her shoulder blades once before he took his hands away and came to stand in front of her. And then all she could do right then was look up at him, reveling for just a minute in the fact that he had clearly gotten his own emotional whirlpool calmed and settled, which meant that that dark unhappiness was . . . well, not gone, but not nearly as vicious or as powerful as it had been.

When she said nothing (because she really couldn't think of anything to say), merely continued to look at him with a relieved expression, he quirked a tiny smile in return and dropped to a knee in front of her. He made no effort to touch her, at least not physically, but he captured and held her eyes with his own, letting them express his thanks, his relief, and his deep appreciation for her presence and support. She was still unable to speak, so she let her own eyes return his sentiments, and their smiles widened.

Neither of them spoke for a while; there was no need.

But when he winced as his position finally got too uncomfortable to ignore, Cassie laughed softly and stood up, pulling him to his feet as well and leading him to the kitchen. He followed with no hesitation and ate the sandwich she made for him without a word. He did balk at the cup of tea, but made no actual protest as he drank it (his grimace was comical, though, and it took considerable effort for her to not laugh, especially when she had the slightly-absurd thought that neither of them would be able to eat sandwiches for a month after this was over).

The odd thing about it?

This silence wasn't remotely awkward or uncomfortable. It was . . . easy, as strange as that sounded.

But they both knew the situation and they also knew that rehashing it — or getting worked up over it — wasn't going to make any difference, so they just — didn't.

Instead, they took this gift of time and used it to simply . . . be.

And when he finally asked how Eve was doing, she was able to truthfully tell him that she was contemplating things.

He closed his eyes in sheer gratitude at hearing this before opening them and giving her a wide, brilliant smile.

Then he broke the mood completely by saying, "All right, I've eaten AND I drank your tea, so I've earned this. I want coffee and I want it now."

Unable to stop herself this time, Cassie burst out laughing, in both humor and relief, and then couldn't stop. He quickly grew concerned when it failed to taper off after a minute or two, but she waved him away; she knew herself well and so understood that she wasn't anywhere near panicking or hysterical, she'd just had a massive amount of stress that had built up to the point where it could no longer be kept in check. She was astonished when he voiced his understanding after she managed to gasp out two actual, complete words — even Jake couldn't have done that! — but was grateful as well, because once he understood what was happening, he simply left her to it. Oh, he stayed close by in case she wanted him, but otherwise he just let her vent however she needed to.

And when her laughter abruptly ended with her choking back tears, he silently gave her a kitchen towel so she could wipe her face and then gently led her to the Bathroom of Refuge. Without so much as a sigh, never mind words — in fact, he gave her nothing but a tender smile as he left her alone, trusting that she would call if she needed him.

She took the gifts of time and space he had given her and used them well, processing everything that had happened — while also trying to prepare for might could well happen in their immediate future — and coming to terms with it as best she could, so that she could stand with Sam and face whatever came next with the strength and support he would need.

At no point did she realize that she didn't miss Ryan, nor did she wish for his presence. In truth, she didn't think of him at all.

When she finally emerged from her little cocoon of safety, her mind and heart were clear, and she went to Sam without hesitation.

Whatever happened now, she — they — were ready.

{{**}}

Because he was, above all else, a healer, Sam devoted himself completely to watching over Brian. There wasn't a damn thing he could do unless and until Eve consented to the operation, but as much as he might (occasionally) wish otherwise, as badly as he (sometimes) wanted to be the kind of man who could walk away from a hopeless situation, he was incapable of just letting the man suffer. So between he and Cassie (and he would never, under pain of death, tell her that her alternate remedies were a Godsend today), they were able to keep Brian's pain on a fairly even keel, all things considered. They couldn't stop it from increasing in both severity and frequency, but she had found a small bottle of some kind of lotion/oil-type concoction that, under his direction for application, managed to keep the pain on a shallow incline.

For a little while.

But Brian's injury eventually overcame their combined skills. It had been a guaranteed thing so neither of them was surprised, but watching him moan and writhe from an agony he could not escape nearly shattered Sam's hold on his control.

He was terrified that he was going to be forced to watch this man bleed to death in front of him when he could have (probably, even) prevented it.

And there wasn't a single fucking thing he could do to stop it.

Yes, he could operate without Eve's consent, and he had been giving that very idea serious consideration from the second he'd realized surgery was the only option, but . . .

But.

Eve would probably sue him on general principal and while he didn't give a damn about that in and of itself, especially given the circumstances, what if—

What if he killed Brian? If operating didn't help him — or made things worse — he would have committed medical manslaughter.

And if he did so against Eve's express wishes . . .

God help him: he was in a waking nightmare of The Prisoners' Dilemma.

And it was paralyzing him.

Cassie would support whatever decision he made, but ultimately, it had to be his decision and they all knew it.

So here he was, one of the top trauma surgeons in the United States, sitting at his patient's bedside and taking his pulse because there was literally nothing else he could do now, noting with a complete lack of clinical detachment just how fast the man's heart was racing. Cassie was beside him, quiet and grim, because she saw and understood the same thing he did: Brian was almost out of time.

One way or the other, he had to make a choice.

When Brian groaned with pain, frustration at his inability to do something, anything, pushed Sam to his feet and he turned to walk (well, actually, storm) to the hall so he could pace and pray that he found a rabbit to pull out of his empty hat. Or, failing that, at least decide which hell he was willing to live with: violate his oath to do no harm and allow his patient to die or violate the wishes of the only person who had the right to make that choice.

And he froze.

Because Eve was coming in the door, hand in its familiar position of resting on her belly and her expression twisting with grief and fear as she looked at the man in the bed.

Without taking her eyes off her husband, she came to stand between Sam and Cassie, and just watched him for a minute, sniffling softly.

When she asked in a steady voice if there was any other way, Sam stopped breathing.

He didn't dare hope.

He couldn't.

But he could answer her question, as shitty as that answer was.

"Yes," he replied, his voice a lot lighter than it should have been (going by the surprise on both women's faces, anyway). "An ambulance gets him to the hospital and we do the surgery there."

Oh. Umm.

He . . . hadn't meant to say that. He honestly hadn't.

Especially not with that much sarcasm.

Damn. He had not realized just how upset he still was at Eve's stubborn refusal to see reason — which made no sense, because of course he was fucking furious. But he was rarely this out of control and . . . well, yeah, that made perfect sense, too. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Okay, Radford. Dial it down. Being a bitchy, jackass doctor wasn't going to help anybody. Eve was terrified and for good reason.

So . . . be calm. Reasonable.

Now, take a deep breath.

He could do this.

He had to.

"But," he began, his tone gentle now, and understanding. "I'm afraid he's losing too much blood."

She cringed at that, but nodded and waited for him to keep going.

Once again, her sheer fortitude impressed him. He honestly couldn't think of a single other person who could have kept themselves together the way Eve had and he was beyond grateful for that, because truthfully (stubborn denial notwithstanding), her composure was one of the main reasons Brian was still alive.

Oh. She was waiting him for him to continue, but his instincts told him to stay quiet, so he reluctantly did. The decision had to be hers, freely made, and so he did not speak or make any other effort to persuade her.

And after several seconds, her composure cracked the tiniest bit.

"I don't . . . I don't want him to die," she quietly told the room, her voice hitching a little. His heart ached at hearing it, because he knew all too well where she was coming from. And so did Cassie, who was obviously feeling the same grief that Eve was trying so hard to control, even as she forced herself to stay silent. This was between Eve and Sam now, and he knew that she understood and respected that.

"I know," he replied just as quietly, folding his arms to keep from trying to touch Eve in comfort. She was barely holding herself together as it was, and any kind of gentleness would shatter that. All he could give her was the truth. "Me, either. And I'm sorry, Eve, I truly am," he added, knowing that she would see the truth in his eyes, scant comfort though it was. "If there were any other option, I would take it. But there isn't. And if we wait much longer, there is a point of no return for the body."

Damn. That had been more abrupt than he'd wanted, but it was too late to take it back and try again.

Just . . . please, God, don't let that last bit ruin everything.

She tore her eyes from his and looked back to her husband, nodding almost frantically for several seconds as she painfully warred with herself, before finally choking out, "Do what you have to."

Oh, thank God.

Thank you, God.

"Both of you," she added, and he looked up in surprise, having momentarily forgotten that Cassie was there was well. She met Eve's eyes in silent understanding before looking to Sam, who could do nothing but give her a single nod before removing his stethoscope and heading out the door at the quick, efficient speed that doctors the world over have perfected. He didn't look back because he knew that Cassie would be there, though it would take some time. She needed to comfort Eve and assure her that she'd made the right decision, and then coax her into another room to get her settled before joining Sam while he did his absolute best to save Brian's life.

He hit the kitchen on autopilot, his mind already cataloguing what he needed, and headed straight for his box of medical supplies to see what he had, what he was missing, and what would work in a pinch.

Scalpel, clamps, glue, sponge, gloves . . .

No scrubs?

Really?

Well, damn. He liked this shirt.

Aaand here came dark humor, back for yet another encore.

Eh.

Could be worse.

And where the hell were his forceps?

Oh, there they were.

In his hand.

Okay, he needed a minute.

But he needed to sterilize these first, so . . . ah. Giant pot, good.

Did he want to know why a giant pot was just sitting randomly on the stove?

No. No, he was okay with that being a mystery. It was there and that was all he cared about.

He filled it with water and set it back on the stove, turning the heat up as high as it would go (he gave serious thought to setting it on broil just to make sure, but then Cassie would kill him, which would be counterproductive at this point). Once that was done, he carefully placed his tools in the water and headed back to the box, rummaging through it to see what (if any) other goodies he could find.

Oh, hey, a set of surgical towels.

What, really?

Okay, that was just odd. He made a mental note to start actually looking at his orders before placing them; it was astonishing that he had all of this and he sure as well wasn't complaining, but the sheer eclectic nature of the items was . . . disconcerting.

So, was there anything else he needed for this?

Let's see . . . had it, had it, had it, Cassie would have it, had i-no, he didn't, but he had JU—oh, yeah, there it was. Awesome. Okay, moving on: had it, Cassie would have that, too, had it, had it . . . holy shit.

He actually had everything he needed to perform emergency surgery. The only three items he was missing Cassie could provide; she cooked, so there was a tray somewhere in this room. Also, they would need sheets to put on the bed and help protect it from, you know, fluids, and he knew perfectly well she had more aprons stashed in these drawers than a professional kitchen store carried. For the longest time, he'd assumed that Cassie was an apron hoarder, but Grace had heard him grumbling one day and informed him that no, her mother didn't 'hoard' aprons.

She collected them.

Which . . . well, he couldn't see the difference (she had a Beatles apron. And one with a Chinese proverb embroidered on it. In Chinese.), but hey, whatever made her happy.

And right now, that collection (or hoard) was a Godsend.

Seeing that he'd done everything he could for right now, Sam grabbed his jacket and headed outside, needing to take a few minutes for himself and just breathe.

As he turned to close the door (and cough; he'd somehow managed to forget how freaking cold it was), he saw Cassie enter the kitchen. Their eyes met as she gave him a tremulous smile and his lips twitched upward in response even as the sight of her soothed some of the agitation he'd been fighting with (and losing to) all day. As so often happened, her presence drew him like a lodestone, even as she vanished into the hall.

As always, he made no effort to resist the feeling, though he didn't reenter the house. Not yet. She still needed to get Eve settled and then take some time to settle herself as well.

And so did he.

They would join each other when they were both ready.

But seeing her just now and finally correlating the easing of his emotional agitation with her presence . . . well, it was eye-opening.

He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it, but he would no longer deny this truth.

He and Cassie . . . they balanced each other out, they complemented the other's skills and abilities, they . . . well, truthfully, when they worked in concert with each other, they were much, much greater than the sum of their parts.

With Cassie by his side, Sam finally let himself believe that he — that they — would do this.

They would save Brian's life. And when they did, they would also save Eve. And their child.

But just to be safe, he took a minute to ask God to be kind and give them this.

That done, he simply stood there, breathing in the cold, crisp air and allowing the peaceful silence to bolster him for what was to come.

And when he had once again found the trust in himself and his abilities that he rightfully possessed and felt only calm acceptance for what he needed to do, he turned back to the door and saw Cassie, standing at the kitchen island and watching him with the serenity that was her defense against uncertainty.

When he met her eyes, she gave him an easy, relaxed smile, one that he returned without hesitation, and then he opened the door and stepped inside.

It was time.

{{**}}

When Sam came back inside, Cassie was unable to prevent the rush of pure relief that swept over her. He was calm, collected, and assured, and she was so thankful to see it, she nearly cried.

"Let's do this," he said firmly, giving her a very slight smile, and she nodded, going to the pot of boiling water and picking up the tongs she'd just washed. While he'd been outside, she had found and cleaned a tray before covering it with one of the surgical towels he'd laid next to the stove. And now, while he rummaged in his medical bag, she began to remove the sterilized equipment he would need to operate.

"I don't know what I'm going to find when I open him up," he unexpectedly said, catching her by surprise, though she didn't stop what she was doing even as she listened. "But hopefully, I can cap off the bleeder with a clamp."

What on eart—

Oh.

Right, she'd never seen a surgery and certainly never assisted with one. It made sense that he was trying to prepare her for what might happen as well as what she was probably going to see.

Even in the middle of a somewhat major emergency, he was still the most considerate man she thought she'd ever met.

And one of the sharpest: who else would have the presence of mind to give her this warning now, only minutes away from operating?

Unaware of her increased regard, he kept talking. "And once I have, God willing, he'll have the time for an ambulance to get here so we can get him to the hospital."

Huh?

Okay, that was directed more at himself.

Oh, well, yeah, that only made sense, really. He trusted himself and his abilities, but this was still a highly unusual — and unfavorable — situation, so he was giving himself a pep talk, so to speak.

"It'll buy him some time, but not a lot," he added, and it took Cassie a second to realize that he was talking to her again. Before she could think of a response, he solemnly said, "I'm going to need you," and she went still as she looked at him. His eyes were dark and intent, and they fixed on hers with an unblinking stare as he let her see everything he was feeling right now.

And it was . . . he was feeling a lot.

She was genuinely impressed at how well he had held himself together today and even more impressed with the fact that serene calm was now his primary emotion. Worry, fear, concern . . . they were still there, naturally, but his focus was completely on his task and he had pushed everything that would detract from that into a sealed box. His decision had been made: he would save Brian's life. The end. In his world, there were no alternatives.

And that was why she no longer feared what was coming.

"I'm here," she assured him, her lips curving in a smile that matched his.

"You are, aren't you?" he mused softly, never looking away, and the moment suddenly got heavy.

Needing to break that moment, Cassie sighed softly as she looked down, and Sam took the hint.

"Well, he can't afford to lose any more blood," he said bluntly, grabbing the box of gloves and the tray. "So let's get this show on the road."

His unintentional pun made Cassie smile with honest-to-God humor as she made sure he saw her look at the stairs and he groaned softly when he realized what he'd said.

"Just . . . go," he grumbled, his lips twitching as he gestured to the aforementioned stairs, and she started to obey . . . only to pause when he suddenly murmured her name. Puzzled, she turned to him, her eyes asking the question.

"If I haven't said it yet, thanks," he almost whispered, his gaze intense and serious.

She hadn't expected that and tilted her head, trying to understand why he was telling her now. "Thanks? For what?"

His mouth curved in a smile that faded even as it formed. "For everything that you've done so far," he told her, pausing for a beat before continuing. "And for what you're about to do. I am so glad you're here."

Once again, she had no response for him, but his feelings and the truth behind them were so powerful, she could almost see it — which only served to render her even more speechless.

When she continued to say nothing, he just smiled again and started putting things in his medical bag in preparation for heading upstairs.

And she badly wanted t—wait.

What was that?

It felt like — oh, it was!

Oh, thank God!

"Sam," she said a touch breathlessly, as their desperate hope that they weren't going have to operate on Brian here and now suddenly became their glorious reality.

"Yeah?" he replied instantly, looking up.

"They're here," she told him, nearly overwhelmed by relief.

Lacking her additional senses, he frowned a little when he didn't hear anything, only to visibly stop breathing when the sound of a siren pierced the night, followed by those unmistakable blue-and-red lights, and then he sagged against the counter in a bone-melting relief of his own.

It was beyond surreal, the sight and sound of rescue, so Cassie (and Sam, she suspected) was more reassured than she probably should have been when Eve burst into the living room and confirmed the existence of the ambulance.

This was real. This was happening. Their desperate prayers had been answered.

"It's okay," she murmured, though whether it was to herself or Sam, even she couldn't say.

"Yeah," he agreed on a deep sigh of utter relief and soul-deep gratitude. "It is."

And as their eyes met, so did their hands, closing tenderly around each other's in acknowledgement, and support, and just absolute and total relief.

They had made it through.

All of them.

Everything after that passed in a blur, one that Cassie didn't fully emerge from until they'd been at the hospital for going on two hours (she could never quite decide if it was good or bad that she'd forgotten to grab her phone) and something the mayor of Blairsville said in his press conference snagged her attention.

What had he ju—ah, damn. He had the same tank that Martha had wanted to get. And was bragging about it on live TV, because of course he was.

Well. She was in for it now, wasn't she?

Yes, yes, she was. But on the whole? That was fine with her. Compared to what could have happened — and very nearly did — getting yelled at by Martha Tinsdale wasn't even a blip on the radar . . . although, Cassie being Cassie, An Idea started percolating in the back of her mind.

On that note, she got up and, after checking with Eve, headed off to get coffee — or, well, drinks (latte for her, decaf for Eve). Another hour had passed agonizingly slowly, small talk having long since been exhausted, before Sam finally emerged from surgery.

The first thing Cassie got from him was an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction, mixed with no small amount of relief.

Which meant that Brian was going to be okay.

Oh, thank God.

As he came around the corner, Eve saw him first and stood up, worry etched over her face and her body tense with nerves.

His reassurance that Brian would be okay nearly flattened the poor woman, and Cassie was sorely tempted to giggle when she saw Eve forcibly hold back an eyeroll at the subsequent medical explanation; right this moment, the woman didn't give a damn what had happened so long as her husband was going to be fine.

Which he was.

Cassie, on the other hand, was curious. Sam had been so skittish and unsure when he'd first proposed his diagnosis and she wanted to know if he'd been right.

"So he did injure his spleen?" she asked, belatedly realizing with a twinge of guilt that she had just stopped Eve from going to see her husband, because Sam immediately responded.

"No," he replied, his voice a touch droll. "Once I got in there, I was able to run some tests. Turns out, it was hemolytic anemia."

And no, the irony did not escape anyone. Cassie mentally promised never to give him grief (well, unwarranted grief, at least) over running tests again.

Eve's silent question was so loud the people on the next floor heard it, and Sam quickly scrambled to answer her. "That's, um, an abnormal breakdown of the red blood cells. It causes the spleen to bleed."

So . . . he'd been right about both the problem and the end result and wrong about the cause. But operating would have solved the immediate problem, so his instincts were clearly just as sharp and accurate as she'd thought.

While Cassie was ruminating, Eve and Sam were talking about getting Brian home, and Cassie just let her joy and his contentment wash over her and soothe the ragged edges of her own nerves.

"Do you have room?"

Eve's question startled her, but only for a second, and then she smiled. "Absolutely," she replied, overcome with her own deep feeling of contentment.

Eve laughed in response, then turned back to Sam.

"Can I see him?" she asked almost tentatively, and he grinned. "Yeah," he replied. "The nurse is waiting to take you back."

He turned his head and nodded, and a woman stepped forward to escort Eve to her husband. After giving them both another earnest 'thank you', she eagerly followed the nurse, leaving Sam and Cassie alone.

With a heartfelt sigh that she echoed, he leaned back against the wall and just looked at her for a minute before they both laughed a little with giddy (and slightly hysterical) relief.

It was over. And everyone was okay.

"Phew," he said on a deep exhale, rolling his head on his neck . . . which somehow led to Cassie finally taking in the sight of him, dressed in scrubs and looking—

Unfairly attractive. No, seriously. It should not be possible for medical scrubs to be that form-fitting. Nor should it be possible (or fair) for doctors to be that fit.

And she was just too damn tired to ignore that thought or feel guilty about it. He was gorgeous and she was a woman. It was okay to notice.

That was, however, as far as she got in her admittedly jumbled thoughts before her senses blasted another warning, nearly shredding what was left of her nerves. She turned sharply to the doors leading from the ambulance bay to the emergency room before making her way over, almost choking in fear when she recognized—

"Stephanie?" Sam asked, sounding as shocked as she felt.

And then—

"Brandon!" she gasped, terrified that he was hurt and looking frantically between them, trying to see where they were injured and at the same time, understand why they had come in together.

And with Abigail?

She was suddenly afraid to discover just what all she'd missed by being stranded at Grey House.

"I'm fine," Stephanie tried to assure them, bringing her attention back to the injured pair. "It's just my back. I slipped."

Sam gave her a smile and assured her that he had her covered, wordlessly instructing the men at the gurney where to go before turning his focus to Brandon. Cassie took a second to be impressed by that, but then Brandon decided to ease the worry about Grace and Nick that she hadn't been able to acknowledge in hours and nearly sent her to the floor with relief.

"Derek is on his way to the library," he said, wincing a little before confessing that he'd been in a car accident.

A car accident?

A car accident?!

You know . . . they were in a hospital, so she could kill him for scaring her and he'd probably be okay. Sam likely wouldn't even object.

Thankfully, the doctor in question broke that train of thought by asking if her stepson needed stitches. Brandon's refusal, accompanied by his praise of Abigail, startled everyone who wasn't Abigail.

And Cassie found it telling that Sam, after giving the woman in question a quizzical look — which deepened into outright disbelief when he heard the story of Brandon wrecking his car and then wandering around in a mini-blizzard before somehow ending up at the only inhabited building on Main Street — instantly took Brandon to a room so he could personally check him over.

She wouldn't know until some months later that he had done so not because of his opinion of Abigail's nursing skills (which he thought highly of, actually), but because Brandon was her stepson and so Sam was going to make damn sure he was fine.

And Cassie . . . she was exhausted, but she needed to understand why Abigail had done . . . this.

Or, well, she needed to try.

"So . . . you were at The Bistro?" she asked her cousin, still trying to fathom that. Even for her, that was odd.

"I told you, I forgot something," Abigail replied matter-of-factly, giving her the enigmatic smile that she was so good at.

Right.

But before Cassie could do anything with that, her cousin walked past her, and she . . . just . . . let her go.

All's well that ends well, after all.

Also, she was utterly exhausted and her last reserves were quickly fading. She needed to go home and get some actual rest before she literally collapsed.

But as she started to head back to the chair where she'd left her purse, she glanced over and saw Sam, deep in conversation with an orderly. The sight of him calmed her even as it disquieted her, and she paused, unable to turn away.

Then he looked up.

Their eyes met and maybe it was their lingering stress (or maybe it was just them) but the electricity that decided to spark between them could have powered Blairsville for a day.

Oh.

Oh, she was in So. Much. Trouble.

Because it couldn't mean anything.

It couldn't.

She di—no. It couldn't.

It took all of the strength she had left to turn around and walk away.

And he respected her enough to let her go.

{{**}}

Due to the sheer number of accidents engendered by this thrice-damned storm — and also because he'd been dumb enough to voluntarily walk in the door — Sam was stuck in the ER for almost four hours. By the time he was able to call a cab, he was pretty sure he'd broken a record for 'number of surgeries performed in one hour'. This was a feat he gave not a damn about at the moment because he was so exhausted he was literally seeing double (a fact he made sure to keep hidden from Dr. Maynard; the man's arrogance was off the charts (and not in a good way) and he would NOT have appreciated knowing that Sam thought there needed to be a second 'him' running around. Okay, wow, that was messed up. Screw exhausted; Sam was Officially Done With This Day.). He needed 24 hours of sleep, the entirety of a Golden Corral buffet, and a minimum of two industrial-sized vats of coffee before he would be in a fit state to so much as look at another human being.

It was therefore a good thing that Nick was firmly ensconced in his room when Sam cracked the door to check on him (after an extremely interesting trip up the stairs, which had resulted in a sudden urge to try out for the circus). He knew full well that his son wasn't asleep, but he also didn't give a rat's ass. They were both home and safe, and that was all the information his brain could process right now.

Then he face-planted on his bed while trying to take off his shoes and he was out like the proverbial light.

When he finally came completely back to himself (some sixteen hours later), it took him an embarrassing amount of time to regain his bearings. Once he had, he belatedly realized that someone had been in to check on him, because he was under the covers and not wearing shoes. Or his sweater. But, oddly, they'd left him in his jeans. Ew. And ouch; denim was not the most comfortable thing to sleep in, even if 'sleep' was actually 'unconscious'. He quickly stripped and headed for the shower, staying there until even the cold water had turned lukewarm while he did his best to let all of his negative emotions run down the drain too.

Then he shaved, put on fresh, clean clothes, and tossed everything he'd worn for the past two days into the trash (there was no way he would ever wear any of it again and no, he didn't give a damn if that sounded overdramatic) before his stomach informed him, loudly and with great emphasis, that it was feeling neglected — but if he so much as thought about giving it a sandwich, it would be rejected with immediate, vicious prejudice. So he trotted downstairs while trying desperately to remember what (if any) food he had in the house, only to be greeted by two giant steaming pans of lasagna, a basket of garlic bread, no leafy green vegetables in sight (hallelujah), and a note that promised him a fate worse than death if he so much as touched the coffee before he had two glasses of water.

And she would know if he did, damn it (and her warning, while vague, was enough to make even him wary), so with a single longing look at the silver thermos taunting him from the counter, he obediently filled and drank a glass of water, refilled it, and fell on the food like he had never eaten before.

Or like Nick on a Wednesday.

Speaking of, where was his son?

A note rather incongruously placed under the garlic bread informed him that Nick was at the school's computer lab, working on the assignment the storm had so thoughtfully derailed.

Okay, then. That was one less thing he needed to think about or handle.

Good.

When he was finally replete (and it took a while; the only thing left was a partial bread crust and one spatula-sized piece of lasagna. And frankly, he wasn't giving the pasta good odds for surviving the next hour.), he just collapsed on his couch and reveled in not having to get right back up to tend to one or more patients.

For about four minutes, and then cabin fever hit him with a vengeance and he bolted from the house like it was on fire, only just barely remembering to grab a jacket.

Okay. So, being in a building was a bad idea right now.

Good to know.

He was trying to decide what to do about this unexpected development when Cassie suddenly walked — no, she was hustling, and wow, that was weird — out of her front door; the obvious tenseness that left her frame once she was outside told him she was in the same boat he was: small rooms and/or being trapped by walls were not a good place for them be right now. She hadn't yet spotted him and an unnamed instinct made him duck behind his car (which some wonderful person had put back in his driveway), frowning thoughtfully as he considered everything that had happened the previous day (or, well, the day before).

And by 'everything', he meant the strengthening of the bond he and Cassie had formed.

The connection that had unexpectedly sparked so . . . uh . . . brightly between them at the hospital just before she left hadn't surprised him nearly as much as it had her, and he was finally past the point of trying to deny it. He still wasn't really sure how he felt about her — or, rather, he still wasn't sure if romance was something he truly wanted to pursue with her. It was entirely possible to like someone, or be attracted to them, and not want to be in an actual relationship. One needed to look no further than he and Stephanie for living proof of that.

So . . . he needed to actually sit down and really think about this. He wasn't a shallow person by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew himself well and so accepted the fact that there was a strong possibility his attraction to Cassie was due in large part to the challenge she always gave him, both personally and professionally.

He didn't believe that was the case, mind, but then again . . . Linda.

Hence the need to think.

And then, once he'd had a heart-to-heart with himself and come to a better understanding of what he actually wanted, he would need to talk to Cassie about Ryan. Just because he thought they were a poor match didn't mean she did, and he really needed to know her honest thoughts on that.

He had no intention of telling her that he might be interested in her, though, which would make that conversation . . . entertaining.

Kinda like walking through a minefield.

But he flat-out refused to be the other man, and he in no way wanted to break them up just so he could pursue her. If she did love Ryan and want to be with him, then so be it. He would hate it, but he would also accept it and do his damnedest to be happy for her. If she didn't want to be with Ryan, then that relationship would have to be well over and done with before Sam would think about initiating anything. As things stood, he couldn't yet allow himself to truly think of her as anything more than his best friend, though he was finally done with trying to deny that he might (okay, did) want more. But regardless of where things stood with Cassie and Ryan, acknowledgement of his feelings was all he could do right now.

And that was fine. It really, truly was.

But right now? This was way the hell too weighty and dark for either of them to be dealing with. They needed to celebrate and he'd just had a thought about that — not to mention a slightly wicked idea. With the patience of a lion stalking a gazelle (the cliché nearly killed him, apt though it might be) and what could only be termed an evil smile curling his lips, he watched carefully as he saw Cassie give her house a wary look before she slowly started back up the driveway, and then he pounced. Her startled scream when he jumped out and yelled 'boo!' made his YEAR and he doubled over with laughter, tears streaming from his eyes as she pointed an accusing finger at him, so outraged she couldn't even talk.

Which might have been the first time that had ever happened to her, so point to him!

By the time he quit laughing, her annoyance had lightened into amusement and she was giving him a fond smile, one that he returned in spades as he sauntered up to her. After just a second of indecision, he said nothing, merely offered her his arm, and though she gave him a quizzical look, she curved her fingers around the crook of his elbow and easily kept pace with him as he headed for the street.

It was a little strange, walking for so long without talking, but it was also surprisingly nice. He didn't feel like he needed to entertain her and he certainly wasn't bored, though he could sense her curious looks at the continued lack of conversation. She didn't say anything, of course, but he could tell that was unlikely to last too much longer, and the realization made him smile (internally; he wasn't going to be the one to make her crack).

Well. That was another Pro in the 'romantically interested in Cassie' column.

Irritatingly, it was also another Con, since he couldn't go there yet.

Okay, karma really needed to hurry up and die, because he was beyond sick of this crap.

But before he could get too worked up about karma's antics, they reached Main Street and Cassie finally couldn't take it anymore. She took a breath in preparation for speaking and he grinned again, putting a gentle finger over her lips and shaking his head. Her eyebrows beetled in confusion but she obeyed his unspoken request and continued to walk with him, though she was now radiating curiosity. The time they had spent outside, away from people and in open space, had done a great deal to relax Sam and calm the last of those hypersensitive nerves, and from her appreciative look at The Bistro, it had worked similar magic on her. He was fairly sure he could handle being indoors now, and he wanted coffee.

And possibly pie; it was a decent walk from his house to Main Street and lasagna, while filling at the time you ate it, was still pasta and therefore didn't give one a long-lasting kind of 'full'.

But mostly, he just wanted pie.

The soft jangle of the door opening caught the attention of the two women behind the counter and Sam nodded to them, asking for a table for two with his usual insouciance and inwardly cheering at Cassie's bright smile. It had been entirely too long since he'd her be so unreservedly happy.

"I'll see if I can squeeze you in," Stephanie playfully replied, and he went to the counter, giving her a professional once-over to reassure himself that she hadn't suffered any lasting harm — and also intending to ask just why she was there, since both he and her physician of record had ordered her to do as little physical work as possible. Before he could voice the question, Abigail interrupted with a completely unsubtle (and yet necessary, it seemed) reminder that Stephanie was, in fact, trying to overdo it. Her rueful acceptance of the glad-handing made Sam arch an eyebrow, though he was pleased to see it. Puzzled, but pleased.

He also wasn't going to touch this odd new dynamic between Abigail and Stephanie (or look a gift horse in the mouth), so he just looked at Stephanie and answered her slight shrug with one of his own. Behind him, he heard Cassie and Abigail start up a conversation, but his attention was on the woman in front of him.

This sucked. He needed to say something, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what. And he hadn't planned anything out, because it honestly hadn't occurred to him that she'd be working, so . . . now what?

"So I hear you and Cassie make a good team," Stephanie suddenly said, apropos of nothing, and he blinked.

Okay, that was . . . he hadn't remotely expected that.

Also, her voice was calm. And — accepting?

Well, but that wasn't fair. Stephanie Borden wasn't remotely stupid and she had doubtless seen the same things he had, about their compatibility (or rather, their lack thereof) as a couple. Now, in all truthfulness, he fully expected to be the one to point their issues out and actually end things, but he knew that she knew.

Still, he didn't want to break up with her here. Or now. That wouldn't be fair to her and she deserved better from him.

So his answer was deliberately self-deprecating and he made no mention at all of any of the reasons why that statement was so very accurate.

Apparently, Stephanie heard more in his reply than he'd intended, because she gave him a slightly-mournful (and unnervingly knowing) look before asking if Brian was going to be okay. Now, that was a 'yes' that Sam relished in being able to say. He still couldn't quite believe it and he was going to cherish this result as he did few others, for more reasons than the obvious.

Stephanie gave him another significant, doleful look and he sighed mentally, but before he could ask her to meet him to talk after he took Cassie home, Martha Tinsdale came through the door.

Oh, yes.

Karma was Going To Die.

But when she went straight to the table where Cassie was waiting, Sam realized that he'd been granted a brief reprieve and he seized it with both hands. He turned back to Stephanie but even as he opened his mouth to see if she would agree to meet, she utterly blindsided him.

"This isn't working, is it, Sam?" she asked quietly, holding his gaze. Stunned, he could only gape at her in pure shock, which . . . well, that was its own answer, wasn't it?

"Yeah," she murmured in response to his complete inability to talk. "We gave it a good try, but . . ."

"Stephanie," he interrupted, though he still didn't know what he was going to say.

"No," she cut him off firmly. "It's okay. It's not anyone's fault, we're just not . . ."

She trailed off for several seconds, clearly searching for the right words, while he just watched her, unable to believe that this was happening and yet pathetically grateful for it.

"We just don't go together," she finally said, meeting his eyes again. Hers were clear and dry, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to hug her. He didn't, and wouldn't, but she needed to know how he felt, so he did the next best thing: he brought her hand to his lips and once she stopped giggling, he leaned over the counter and said, "You are an amazing woman, Stephanie. And the next man you date had better realize that or he will find out just how creative I can get with a scalpel."

She burst out laughing at that and then leaned over to kiss his cheek, her manner so easy and relaxed that he actually relaxed himself.

"It was fun," she whispered in his ear. "And I'm glad we were able to try."

He drew back just a little and met her eyes again. "So am I," he said, and meant it, because now they both knew they were going to be amazing friends, and he was really looking forward to that. But right now? He was hungry. Also, it looked like Cassie needed to be rescued from Martha.

The things he did for her . . .

"So what can I make Abigail get for you?" she asked, her lips curving in a wicked smile, and he laughed in response.

"I want two pieces of whatever pie you have ready, a cup of coffee, and whatever Cassie usually drinks."

Her eyes darkened just for an instant at that, but before he could feel guilty, she blinked and it was gone. "You got it," she said. "And Cassie's usual is a skinny vanilla latte, extra whipped cream. But today? She wants tea."

He hadn't expected that and blinked in response, but managed to thank her before he headed to their table.

Wait. Didn't the whipped cream defeat the purpose of the skinny part?

Gah! He would never understand women.

But hey, whatever made her happy.

And why did he have the sudden suspicion that this was going to be a recurring theme in his life?

{{**}}

Cassie simultaneously did and didn't want to watch Sam and Stephanie's conversation, but between Abigail and Martha, her attention was fully engaged. As expected, Martha was upset about the Blairsville mayor's press conference (thankfully, no mention of the tank was made), but the idea Cassie had been toying with all day had finally come to fruition, and so she was able to redirect Martha's ire into a more productive venue. If having her own interview helped her friend get some of her own back from that stuck-up, obnoxious mayor, well . . . she could understand that — and that was by far the worst thing that could happen. And no one could deny that she had earned it. Martha herself might not have done much in the way of actual storm preparations, but because she had believed Cassie and insisted on those preparations being made, Middleton had ended up a lot better off than it would have otherwise.

And if heading off Hurricane Martha (or was it Blizzard Martha?) distracted her from her thoughts about Ryan (cell service had finally been restored and she had been bombarded with messages from him, all of which boiled down to 'I'm worried, call me'), well . . . yes. And she welcomed it with open arms. She needed the distraction, because she had, after clearing out the barrage of texts and voicemails, been forced to admit that things with Ryan weren't going well. She wasn't really happy with their situation, nor had she been for some time, and she was didn't think that her feelings would change. Realizing that she hadn't missed him at all while dealing with Brian and Eve had been something of a shock, which had had the added effect of calling to mind several other occasions when she'd been having an issue or problem and she should have wanted him, or at least missed him . . . but hadn't.

In fact, looking back at some of the more recent events, she was struck by the rather shocking truth that she hadn't thought of or considered him at all, not until long after everything was over and done with.

She hadn't even thought of him as a friend to call (because more and more, it was Sam she reached out to).

And she found herself utterly unable to push these thoughts and realizations aside again, especially since she had also just realized (which spoke volumes about so many things, and they were things she could no longer push aside, because her house of cards was starting to wobble) that she hadn't heard from Ryan since the roads had cleared, other than his last text informing her that he was heading back.

But that had been several hours ago and yet, he hadn't tried to get in touch with her — and she still wasn't worried about him. She knew he was unharmed, but nothing more . . . which disturbed her a lot, only not for the reasons it should have.

What she didn't know that he'd come to Grey House while she and Grace were both sleeping off their exhaustion and been stopped by George, who'd arrived a few hours earlier, and he hadn't left a note. And George didn't think to mention it, because Ryan was at the house so often, his visit was seen and treated as normal. But even had she known, it would have made no difference. Not anymore.

And when she factored in the cold truth that she hadn't tried — and had no real desire — to contact him, well . . . yeah. Well.

So it looked like she needed to sit down and really think things over, because if she truly didn't want to be with Ryan, it was unfair to both of them to keep this going.

But she had to be sure; breaking up with him purely because she was getting cold feet would be just as wrong.

(it was a good thing that she would never know about the conversation Ryan and Ben Jones had about her, and his relationship with her)

Sam's arrival at the table was a welcome distraction from her thoughts and she greeted him with a smile.

And surprise.

He'd gotten her pie. No, he'd gotten them both a piece.

How could the man possibly be hungry? She knew exactly how much food she'd left him, and if there were more than three bites left, she'd eat non-vegan ice cream for a week.

"Oh, you got me pie!" she exclaimed softly, unable to keep from stating the obvious. Nine hours of sleep hadn't quite eliminated her exhaustion, especially since Grace had been very needy and clingy (though, thankfully, Abigail had still been hibernating in her room), and thus had inadvertently kept her mother from getting the sleep she desperately needed — and that was before Eve and Brian had gotten in from the hospital. So, while the brisk walk had helped, it seemed that she still needed a bit more rest.

"I did," he confirmed happily, oblivious to her mental meanderings.

"And tea," she added in surprised pleasure, looking at the mug with an appreciative smile as it and Sam's coffee were set on the table.

"I did," he said again, his voice softening.

"Thank you," she told him, taking a sip and enjoying the warmth and flavor as it slid down her throat.

He paused at her words before catching her gaze, his eyes serious. "Thank you," he replied, and the feeling behind his words was so strong, Cassie was glad she was sitting down.

"That was an interesting evening together," he added, sounding . . . she wasn't entirely sure. He wasn't upset, thankfully, but — contemplative, maybe?

Which made sense. Even now, after it was all over, there was still a lot to take in.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Certainly not your average Saturday night."

And that just won Understatement of the Month.

He smiled at that but said only, "I'm glad I was here."

Okay, new best Understatement.

"Me, too," she replied, giving him a droll look that dared him to try getting the last word. Sam wasn't stupid, so he conceded this round and instead took a bite of his pie before adding that he was glad he'd been able to help Brian.

Yeah, this was going to stay with them for a very long time.

But his words reminded her of Martha and her dilemma (and probable fix, which Cassie had admittedly given her) and she had another Idea.

He would hate it, of course — no, he wouldn't. He'd grumble and grouse and whine, but he wouldn't have any real objections. After all, he'd done too many professional interviews and press conferences to not understand how Martha was feeling, and she knew that he did actually like their esteemed mayor, even though she frequently drove him up the wall.

And to be honest, he'd do it just because Cassie was the one asking.

"You may not be done helping people," she said mysteriously, and had to work very, very hard to keep from smiling at the look he was giving her.

Tweaking Sam Radford would never not be fun.

Sure enough, he grumbled and groused and whined all the way to City Hall, which amused her to no end, but he joined Martha on the podium (not without an impressive roll of his eyes, which she had to admit was fair) when she called him, and his handshake with Derek was a sweet touch.

The press conference served as an excellent distraction from her relationship with Ryan, and she kept that deflection in place by urging Sam to vent about the dog-and-pony show she had forced him to endure as they started the walk home. The fact that said venting was also helping him to purge the last of his unhappy feelings about Brian and Eve and the whole convoluted mess was another good reason she was encouraging him to let off steam.

But while he kvetched, she found herself — and not for the first, or even tenth, time — wanting to learn a bit more about his recent past, and reflected on the idea that he would probably tell her now. He'd been so . . . not bitter, really, but — resentful about whatever it was that had precipitated his move to Middleton, that she had not felt comfortable bringing it up, and so she had swallowed her curiosity. But they'd gotten a lot closer since then, so she would ask. After all, the worst he could say was 'no'.

Before she could even try to broach the subject, Sam preempted her out of nowhere, his complaining having finally wound down and resulting in a complete change of subject.

"Is it wrong that I enjoyed that?" he asked, sounding almost . . . giddy. "The rush of emergency surgery?"

And she suddenly wondered just how long it had been since he'd really been able to simply enjoy himself, even as she laughed at the question. Everything she knew about him said it been entirely too long.

"Mm. You miss it?" she asked, genuinely curious. He had been so adamant about not operating on Brian that she'd assumed he didn't like emergencies. But then they'd gotten in the ambulance and he'd taken immediate, masterful control of the situation, including his declaration of being the operating surgeon, so she had to wonder, especially since that attitude had continued in the hospital itself.

"I won't lie," he said forthrightly. "It's why I became a doctor."

Really?

Huh. She'd have to give that some consideration, because she would not have ever thought that. And hadn't, actually.

"You look very at home in a hospital," she told him, knowing he would understand and appreciate the comment for what it was.

You look at home in scrubs.

This she did NOT tell him.

His ego did not need further stroking, thank you.

"Well, I thrive in chaos," he said with a shrug, and she suddenly remembered the day after they'd met, when he had informed her that he loved stress.

She almost snorted at that. He'd actually told her the truth that morning, and she'd never once suspected it.

It was a little disconcerting to realize that he was still a mystery to her, in quite a number of ways, but it was nice, too. It meant that she still had a lot of him to explore and learn about.

She laughed at this thought, and when he jokingly said, "That can't be good," she laughed again, even as she told him with utter seriousness that it had been good for Brian.

"Well, you helped," he said, deflecting her praise with a little discomfort, and she suddenly understood. He had been prepared to do what was necessary, but he didn't — would never — like it, and so was more than ready to put the whole thing behind him.

"Our first medical co-production," he declared out of nowhere, and she blinked.

Oh.

He didn't want to forget it.

He wanted her to acknowledge and accept the role she had played.

But Cassie was even more uncomfortable than Sam when it came to accepting accolades, so she laughed again instead of answering him, and he took it as she had intended, looking heartened as he continued his train of thought. "The meeting of feelings and facts," he said, sounding remarkably like a gameshow host. Still, he was right and she wholeheartedly agreed with him, but he had left something important out.

Something vital.

"And trust," she replied seriously, pleased when he looked over at her and nodded, clearly remembering some of those instances.

"Lots of that," he agreed with a smile, his voice deepening a little.

Trust.

They had it now, so maybe she could finally discover . . .

Yeah, she would risk indulging her curiosity. The worst he could say was 'no'.

"So, I have to ask, why . . ." and she trailed off for a second at his inquisitive look as she decided on the best way to start without being too nosy. It was a fine line to walk. "Why not take a job in a town that has a hospital where you can do this work that you obviously love?"

That was something she'd only just figured out, actually. It took no great leap of logic to see that Nick had been a major part of Sam's decision to move, but coming from New York City to Middleton was . . . well, an odd choice, given Sam's profession — and professional background. But if he'd been burned out at the hospital, then becoming a general practitioner — and in a smaller place — made a lot of sense.

The problem there was that he wouldn't be content with that for long. It just wasn't who he was.

He shrugged and said, "Well, I'm a single dad. In New York, I had housekeepers and doormen, but it was just time to put my son first."

Wow. That was . . . wow.

She absently wondered if her opinion of this man would ever hit the ceiling, because every time she thought her esteem could go no higher, he proved her wrong.

She slowed to a stop and turned to face him, watching in pleased wonder as he bared a little more of his soul to her.

"Running an ER, working in a hospital," he explained, sounding a little pensive now. "It's not exactly family-friendly. Not Nick friendly," he clarified, shaking his head. "So something had to give. Turns out that something was me," he finished with a gentle smile. And Cassie's heart melted.

He was such a good man, and she was so lucky to have him in her life.

But she couldn't say that, so she fell back to their usual teasing.

"Tea?" she asked, her lips twitching when he gave an artistic shiver and declared, "I thought you'd never ask."

They both chuckled at that, and then he opened the door and gestured her inside, closing the door before helping her with her coat. When she asked if he wanted to join her for dinner, his eager reply of "Sure," had her laughing again.

It was a measure of how completely he had captured her attention that Cassie didn't sense anyone else's presence until she stepped into her foyer.

But as Sam hung her coat up, she froze as an icy premonition trickled down her spine.

The woman sitting at the table in her living room needed no introduction, even if Sam hadn't gone rigid behind her.

The supercilious attitude and arrogant assumption were unmistakable, even though Cassie had only spoken to her once, and over the phone at that (and oh, how she'd really, truly hoped she'd been wrong in her initial assessment).

Standing beside her now, Sam was nearly vibrating with tension, and anger came into play when the woman said, "This is Grey House, isn't it?" in a rather snotty tone, before almost asking about her canceled reservation.

"Linda," Cassie managed to say, somehow keeping her voice even, because Sam was beyond pissed off and his emotions were swamping her.

Oh, this was not good. At all.

"Linda Wallace," the woman confirmed with a sly smile, and Sam took in a sharp breath.

"My ex-wife," he said in a voice that was so sarcastic, Cassie actually flinched at hearing it.

Oh, yeah. This was going to be bad. Very bad.

The ex-wife in question looked over to him and an unpleasant smirk came to her lips.

"Hello, Sam," she purred, and Cassie winced when he just turned to stone, both physically and emotionally.

Even she couldn't see a way for this to go anything other than badly.