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.

12. You, Me, and Him (1-2)

A/N: So here we are: the last episode, first half. I very much hope that I have justice not just to the characters, but also to the situations and emotional development that are the heartbeat of the show itself, Once again, I want to thank my wonderful readers for their comments, kudos, and bookmarks; they have made this story a thousand times more fun to write and post, so keep letting me know what you think because I love hearing from you guys!

So: I hope you enjoy this final arc, and thank you!

---

You, Me, and Him (1/2)

The silence after Linda finally went to Sam's was stifling.

And Cassie could not understand why.

The absence of tension — not to mention the lack of the other woman's apparently natural abrasiveness — should have had Cassie falling on the couch in a heap of exhausted relief from the adrenaline crash, but here she was, feeling like she was going to crawl out of her skin and wanting nothing so much as a long, hard run (or a fuck). Unfortunately, she couldn't indulge the former (and refused to acknowledge the latter) because it was well past dark and talking to or seeing Ryan simply didn't occur to her. Neither could she go see Sam, despite badly wanting to, so she decided to try grinding tea leaves instead. Hopefully, the repetitive motions would help her calm down a bit and the tea would do the rest.

Unfortunately, her body had decided that now was a good time to screw with her, so instead of being soothed by the ritual of preparing tea, she was only getting more agitated.

Oh, and here came Sam, boiling with angry frustration.

Well . . . now she knew why she was so on edge; it wasn't just her.

Yeah, that didn't help. She still wanted to jump out of her skin.

It was a measure of her discomfiture that she somehow, after watching him walk into the kitchen, came to the conclusion that if she kept working and didn't look at him, things wouldn't be quite so overwhelming.

Aaaand . . . no. No, that wasn't any help whatsoever.

It was a measure of Sam's emotional state that he didn't notice her turmoil for several minutes, though to be fair, he was trying to deal with both his obnoxious teenage son and the boy's mother, who was apparently also The Spawn of Satan (oh, sorry. She was Satan's ex-wife. Huh.). At the same time. That would drive the Pope to distraction.

But this was Sam, so he did see her, and in a heartbeat, she had his complete attention, coupled with gentle concern.

And then he had to be tender and understanding, damn him, which threatened to set her off in tears — and all he'd done was talk with her and tease her a little.

God help her if he t—

Oooh, he was touching her.

And she almost collapsed at how solid he was.

How real.

But most of all, she had to bite back tears because he didn't want anything from her. If she found the courage to step into his arms, he would hold her, but only as tightly as she did. He wouldn't murmur useless platitudes or smother her, or try to take her somewhere to 'cuddle'.

No. All Sam wanted was for her to feel better. He would give her anything she asked, but nothing more. And he would ask nothing for himself.

With him, she was safe.

And because of that, she allowed herself to accept his tender half-embrace for a few precious moments, though she made no acknowledgement of the deeper emotions that had prompted it. Then, once she was no longer afraid of collapsing where she stood, she moved from his arms back to the counter and wished him 'goodnight' as she resumed grinding tea leaves.

If her voice was a little hoarse, well . . . who could blame her?

She was surprised that she felt no guilt at being unable to be the sounding board he clearly needed, but she simply had nothing to give him right now — and he obviously understood, given that he made no protest at her not-particularly-subtle eviction; he didn't even seem to notice it (okay, this was Sam; he just pretended not to see), showing her yet again just how insightful he was.

And as he walked out into the night, not looking back because she had asked him not to, Cassie swallowed hard.

Sam was so much like Jake sometimes, it frightened her.

Not in terms of personality, though. No, it was his intelligence, his manners, his courtesy, his ability to read her . . . hell, even his ego and his arrogance about medical manners: everything about him appealed to her, just like Jake had.

Jake.

God, she missed him. It hurt less now, but sometimes she would be reminded so sharply of him that it was like being punched in the stomach — like just a few minutes ago.

And now she had no choice but to see how drastically different — no. She had to acknowledge what she was thinking about settling for.

Because Ryan wasn't Jake, and that was fine. No one could be. She didn't want him to be.

Only . . . she was beginning to understand that she didn't have to like — or accept — what he was offering. And maybe that wasn't fair to him, but . . . well . . .

She knew that most women would probably be thrilled to death to have a man who would do anything she asked, didn't disagree with her about things she thought, (said he) liked everything she did, never complained about any bad habits she had . . .

God, it was stultifying. Jake had never once, not the entire time they had known each other, placated or pacified her like Ryan did. He had never wanted to hurt her, but if he disagreed or thought she was wrong, he had no qualms about saying so. And if he was wrong, he would (grudgingly and with a great deal of whining) admit it.

Jake had respected her, had never asked or wanted her to change, and she had felt the same about him.

But she had forgotten . . . no, not quite forgotten. She could never forget. But those memories had faded in the years since he'd been taken from her, and she had slowly (and with a great deal of outside encouragement) accepted Ryan's slavish devotion as natural and something she should want.

Then Sam Radford blew into her well-ordered, grief-dulled life.

Sam, who argued with her and refuted her and would not let her run roughshod over him, but positively relished the fact that they had differing opinions and that would never change. And, somewhat to his own surprise, enjoyed it when her opinion dovetailed with his, making him learn something new without discarding what he already knew or thought.

Sam, who supported her and cared about her and wanted her happiness above all else — and was the exact same with everyone he knew.

And that, that was what she needed.

What she wanted.

It was what she and Jake had given to each other and because of that, their marriage had been happy, strong, and enduring. And having experienced that, the lack of those things was something she didn't think she could be okay with.

So if Ryan wasn't prepared to give that to her, then . . .

It was past time for them to talk.

{{**}}

Sam blew out a soft sigh as he trudged home; his visit with Cassie had helped calm some — okay, very little — of his agitation with Linda ('you're no fun, Sam'. Really?!GAH!), but her obvious disquiet had promptly stirred him back up. He hated it when she was unhappy, especially when there wasn't a damn thing he could do to help, other than listen.

And when she didn't feel like talking, he felt utterly useless, especially since he couldn't just pull her into his arms for a hug.

However, in this instance, he understood all-too-well where her turmoil was coming from, and so he wasn't particularly upset about being gently kicked out of her house. The situation with Eve and Brian had been beyond fraught and she doubtless had lingering feelings about it, but Sam knew damned good and well that it was the personal bond between the two of them that had her so shaken now. She hadn't been expecting it, and considering that she was dating someone else, she likely didn't want it, either, which — well, he had felt much the same way almost the entire time he'd known her, so he had no problem with that.

But.

Like Sam, Cassie preferred to be in complete control over every aspect of her life, so this surprisingly strong — and deepening — bond with him wasn't just unsettling her; it was grating on her nerves and he knew it. She had exactly as much say in its development as he did — you know, none — and that meant she was fighting it on general principle. Especially since, as he'd seen so clearly these last six months, no one else in the whole of Middleton actually challenged her. On anything.

So she was understandably . . . off-balance . . . at suddenly having to deal with Sam and his penchant for not just arguing with her, but frequently winning. She enjoyed it, sure, but it still unnerved her a little at times.

Now, ordinarily, this wouldn't be a problem. He understood completely (and had experienced the same unnerving sensation of being out-logicked by her more often than he would admit) and so was happy to just be her friend, and let things come as they would, with the occasional nudge here and there. That was still his preferred method of doing things, actually.

(he would remember this thought a little less than a year later and nearly kill himself laughing, though it would be a lot more rueful than he would like. Cassie Nightingale was many, many things, but a fast mover was NOT one of them. He'd seen frozen molasses with more impetus.)

But with Linda deciding to show up after all and screw everyone over (and without even giving them a day to just breathe, because she was considerate like that), Sam suddenly felt the need to put — ugh, he was gonna sound like a caveman, but he felt the need to publicly claim Cassie. Otherwise, Linda would consider her an open target for her little mind games, and even though he knew full well that Cassie could take care of herself, he was still . . . still . . . well, his protectiveness hadn't decreased in the slightest since the night of Jake's dedication ceremony.

Quite the contrary — and that had nothing at all to do with any romantic feelings he might or might not have. Cassie was his friend, so he would protect her to the best of his abilities, whether it was from getting a papercut or shielding her from Satan's (and his) ex-wife.

It was one of the main reasons he did his best to avoid being around her when she was with Ryan, because he despised the way the other man acted toward and around her, and seeing it only roused his protective nature and made him want to do serious — and permanent — damage to that little wormy bastard.

And God help everyone, because Linda was a thousand times worse than Ryan could ever dream of being and since Sam couldn't kill her because she was Nick's mother, that kind of limited his options.

Especially since, as he'd told Cassie, her manipulative abilities were second to none. It was entirely possible she'd set a world record somewhere with them.

Case in point: she was spending the night at his house because Nick wanted to see his mother — who had gone out of her way to make the point that she was leaving for the night — and Sam loved his son too much to deny him, because he did so rarely get to see her.

Even though they would both go to sleep and therefore wouldn't, in fact, see each other. Which meant there was no legitimate reason for Linda to spend the night at his house.

And yet.

You know, he was at the point of actually setting his head on fire if it would kill that thrice-damned brain-eating amoeba. Why hadn't he just said 'no' and made sure Linda dragged her sorry ass to his place for breakfast before Nick got up?

Well, because he — and Linda, honesty forced him to admit — were too used to this being the status quo. She had gotten accustomed to working him like a puppet and he had let her, because it was easier and less exhausting than fighting her. And even though he'd left after he found out about the affair, her (and his) base behavior had never changed. So he had succumbed to her maneuverings tonight out of habit and also because he didn't want to hurt Nick, and was now in the ignominious position of sneaking into his own house via the back door, shoes in hand so he didn't accidentally make one of the steps squeak as he inched his way to his bedroom and thus draw Linda's attention.

Okay, this was fucking ridiculous.

Maybe he should just sleep in his car. That would be a hell of a lot more restful than being in the same house with Linda, not to mention better for his blood pressure.

And his mental health.

And his overall quality of life, really.

He'd definitely slept in worse places while he was doing Doctors Without Borders, so one night in his Jeep wouldn't kill him.

Ah, crap. The simple fact that he was seriously entertaining the thought was enough for him to know he was in trouble. And to top that off, he was still feeling way too restless and edgy because — well, he hadn't gotten what he needed from Cassie. Oh, ugh, that sounded like he was blaming her, and he wasn't. Not even a little. He'd just gotten used to her being his sounding board and his . . . emotional stabilizer (for lack of a better word), but tonight, she hadn't been able to give him either of those things, and so he was . . . tetchy, though not at her.

(He wouldn't realize until Linda rode a giant wrecking ball back into his life again, wielding a sledgehammer (she was a very thorough person),that the rapport he and Cassie shared, along with their easy way of communicating (when they communicated, that is) was something he'd never had before. With anyone. And it only served to reinforce that Cassie could easily be the right person for him, because even when things with Linda had been good, they didn't talk. On having this thought, he would stare at the only family picture he had, one they'd taken when Nick was about six months old, and cringe at realizing how stupid he'd been as a boy. He would also harbor a dark suspicion that the brain-eating amoeba he was battling so ferociously now was a direct descendent of the one he had to have had when he made the decision to marry Linda. Even then, they had been utterly unsuited to each other, something they'd both ignored, though he was also beginning to grasp that neither he nor Linda could really understand what they were getting into. He was only just realizing now what his marriage should have been (not with Linda, because they were simply too different in too many ways), had he been wiser. But until now, he'd never experienced a genuinely compatible relationship.)

So he was destined to be . . . well, bitchy . . . for a while longer, it seemed.

On the other hand, he was pretty sure she'd gotten what she needed from him (she'd looked less 'flapped' when he'd left, at any rate, and the memory of her expression at his wry observation made him grin), so he decided, after a moment of reflection, to call it a 'win'.

All he had to do now was maintain the backbone he'd grown when he left New York and stop letting Linda pull his strings like a flipping marionette, and everything would be fine.

How hard could that be?

He was so distracted that he didn't hear karma's diabolical laughter.

Though after it was all said and done, he didn't think knowing would have made a damn bit of difference.

{{**}}

When Ryan arrived at her shop mid-morning, brandishing a bag of pastries and proclaiming that he'd brought breakfast, Cassie found herself irritated. She'd told him when he'd called her that morning that it was an early day for her because it was that joyous day of the year where she started the official inventory — and it was also the first day of her anniversary sale. It therefore followed that she had already eaten.

But that was typical Ryan: if it didn't suit the way he wanted things to be, he just ignored it (this was, in fact, one of the first items on her list of Things to Think About).

Which meant the conversation was going to be stilted and uncomfortable now, because Cassie was annoyed and Ryan was actually surprised by this.

"I already ate," she told him, watching with mixed emotions as his happy, eager expression fell into one of such rampant disappointment, she actually felt bad for causing it.

"Oh," was all he said as he put the bag down, and Cassie found herself giving him an apologetic look.

She hadn't talked to him yet about how she was feeling, and she needed to remember that. It wasn't fair to take her feelings out on him when he had no clue what they were . . . and she had also promised herself to actually, truly, let herself accept his affection and see if she returned any of it.

Oblivious to her thoughts, he glanced down and saw her anniversary signage.

"Thirteen years," he observed. "That's kind of an odd anniversary to celebrate, isn't it?"

Behind the curiosity, his tone was matter-of-fact, something that Cassie appreciated, because it seemed that no one could just let the unusual number go. No, everyone had to comment on it, with the usual 'clever' remarks that really weren't, and Cassie was getting a little tired of explaining it.

Seriously, what difference did it make if it was 13 years, or 30, or 357?

But people were people and she had known this for years, so she mentally sighed and let it go.

Ryan's acceptance of it was a relief and she gave him a smile as she said, "Not if thirteen is your lucky number."

He grinned in response and eased a little closer, to which Cassie swallowed. There was intent in his eyes now and his soft statement of "You are something else" sent butterflies rushing through her stomach, washing away the last of her annoyance. He really did try to make her happy, and she should appreciate that more. When he didn't look away and the intent she saw deepened into action, she acted on her own decision and lifted her head to accept his kiss, trying desperately to ignore the morass of uncertainty swirling through her so she could simply enjoy it.

When Abigail shattered the moment before their lips could touch, Cassie could have kissed her — and she knew.

Unless something massively unexpected happened when she and Ryan finally had a chance to talk about things, their romantic relationship was probably over. Her feelings now had nothing at all to do with being in public; she just . . . didn't want to kiss him. Or cuddle with him, or hold his hand . . . but much more importantly, she didn't think she wanted that to change. S—

"Hi, Mom."

Wha—oh, no.

Grace had — oh, no.

Cassie had worked so hard to keep Grace from realizing that she and Ryan were together, because she didn't want to get her hopes up unless and until Cassie knew that things were going to last. And Grace was extremely intuitive, but she was also fourteen and like most teenagers, her reality was that her mom didn't have romantic feelings about anyone who wasn't her dad (and even that was to be kept behind closed doors, thank you), and that she herself was a Cabbage Patch baby. So seeing her mother and Ryan nearly kissing was not going to go over well.

At all.

"Hi, honey," Cassie managed to reply weakly, feeling a touch ill all of a sudden.

An awkward silence ensued for several seconds, only to be broken by Abigail's refreshingly unambiguous sarcasm.

Not that it was necessary now, mind, but at least she made no pretense about things.

Cassie had no real answer for her and so she looked away, rubbing the back of her neck as she tried and failed to think of a response. When she couldn't, her cousin kept going, which — well, Abigail; what else could they expect?

"I left my purse here," she said with a strange smile, and it was so blatantly obnoxious Cassie finally found something to say.

"Did you?" she shot back sardonically, meeting the other woman's eyes with unmistakable challenge.

Unabashed, Abigail smiled again and said, "I did," in that tone that made Cassie just want to slap her.

And then she turned and walked away, leaving Cassie, Grace, and Ryan standing in an uncomfortable silence for a few seconds before Grace followed Abigail without saying a word, though her expression was not good. Complicated, sure, but none of the emotions Cassie could read were positive.

The sudden distance from her daughter made her wince and she took a half-step forward, only to stop when she recalled where she was.

The front room of the Bell, Book, & Candle wasn't the place to have any of the conversations she needed to have, so she let her daughter leave without protest, though her heart was aching.

"Did you see the way she looked at me?"

Ryan's soft question, filled with hurt, pulled her attention back to him.

"Ah, we surprised them," she replied in an effort to soothe him. She did not begrudge him for being unhappy at Grace and Abigail's reactions; neither of them had been subtle about their feelings, but they had no context for what they had seen, and so had no real cause to be judgmental (Abigail) or upset (Grace). Though she did understand her daughter being caught off-guard, and that was something she had never really handled well. And now that she thought about it, Abigail had flat-out told her that she was going to keep Cassie and Ryan apart.

Because fate.

She never noticed that she made no attempt to touch him for comfort or reassurance — and she didn't expect it from him.

"I don't think that was a look of surprise," he disagreed, turning to look at her.

"She likes you," Cassie objected, looking to the door, even though Grace was long gone, and then back to Ryan.

He said nothing for several long seconds, then took a deep breath and asked, "But does she like 'us'?"

To that, Cassie had no answer.

Surprisingly, Ryan took her lack of response with nothing but serene calm and simply kissed her on the cheek before grabbing his bag of pastries and heading off to work.

His complete lack of any kind of drama made her uneasy, though she couldn't quite say why. It was unusual for Ryan, sure, but she . . . it just felt like there was more going on 'uh-oh, my girlfriend's daughter just found out that her mom might be dating me' and whatever was going on wasn't . . . it . . . she could sense some of the coming turmoil, but never in a million years could she have predicted how drastically her life would change in the next 48 hours.

And her house of cards, which she had been holding together with hope, wishes, and her raw will, began to topple.

{{**}}

When Linda sauntered into her shop later that day, looking smugly self-satisfied, Cassie could only console herself with the knowledge that she wasn't surprised. Wary, certainly, and not really looking forward to whatever was about to happen, but unsurprised.

Which, given everything she'd experienced in the last three days, made her happier than one might think.

It meant that her senses hadn't completely deserted her.

When Linda said she wasn't sure she was in the right place, Cassie paused. That was a rather incongruous statement, especially when one considered how small Middleton was.

And gossipy.

"Well," she said cautiously, not taking her eyes off Sam's ex-wife. "That depends on what you're looking for."

And she had to give the other woman points: Linda actually managed to both look and sound bashful when she said she'd been looking for Cassie — oh, no, for her help.

Right.

Linda was anything but shy, of course, though she did an excellent impression of it. And she was telling the truth: she had been looking for Cassie.

But it wasn't to ask for help. Not at all. No, she was trying to figure out her relationship with Sam and Nick.

Cassie was positive that Linda didn't want Sam back (remembering this some six weeks later would almost make her cry, and not just from the irony), but it seemed that she was still very . . . territorial . . . about him.

And Cassie had to admit, this was a new challenge for her. Stephanie was possessive about men to the point of insanity (see: Sam and Abigail) but never with Cassie, and since she herself hadn't seriously dated anyone before Jake — and no one knew about Ryan — this 'how dare you encroach on my territory' attitude was new to her.

Which left her walking a bit of a tightrope.

Lovely.

Still, Cassie was neither naïve nor stupid, and she recovered her poise quickly.

"Then I guess you're in the right place," she replied with a serene smile that was almost sincere.

Almost.

Linda returned it with matching sincerity and then made her first volley, unsubtly probing about how close Cassie and Nick actually were.

And Cassie actually understood that; Linda was feeling threatened in her position as Nick's mother, and so was trying to ascertain how precarious her situation was.

Her immediate — and equally unsubtle — jab about Sam's friendship with Cassie was a touch startling, but she gamely went with along with it. Might as well get it over with, right?

(like Sam, Cassie found that she had to appreciate the woman's skill at treading the incredibly fine line between 'direct' and 'rude'. It was most definitely a skill very few people possessed, but it was sad to see it used for such underhanded purposes.)

Still, there was no reason to actually give the decidedly unpleasant woman what she wanted, especially when there wasn't anything to give her.

"Uh, neighbors," she said in response, looking suitably vague and (hopefully) a little confused, since the friendship that had developed between her and Sam would have happened with anyone who moved into that house, if only because of the close vicinity.

When Linda looked away, her facial expression screaming 'liar!', even though she didn't actually say it, Cassie blinked in mild consternation but let the silence stretch out and was rewarded quickly with a tale of Sam's antisocial tendencies (something she was well aware of, thank you), only for Linda to taper off once she'd made the point about how strange it was for her ex-husband to have made friends with Cassie.

Right.

Well, why not? She supposed it was a logical assumption to make for someone who only knew a pre-Middleton Sam and who knew nothing about her.

But Linda needed to learn that Cassie wasn't a pushover — and right now, she getting more irritated with every word the woman said.

"Well, that was New York," she replied calmly, though her point was unmistakable. "This is Middleton."

To her credit, Linda took the hit without a blink and then genuinely thanked her for supporting Nick.

Huh.

Well, look at that. She did care about her son.

Cassie was sincerely happy to see that, though she was also worried — for several reasons — about what it might mean for Sam and his relationship with Nick.

Because Linda Wallace wasn't the type of woman to just fade into the background unless it suited her goals and even then . . . well. Now, Cassie couldn't begin to fathom what her current goal was, but given Sam's luck, it was a sucker's bet that it wasn't going to be good for him.

But.

She couldn't do a thing about it until (and unless, fairness compelled her to admit) something happened, so she decided to go with the flow and work with things as they occurred . . . and then Linda flat-out said that Sam wasn't a good father and Cassie nearly fried her with a lightning bolt on the spot.

How dare she?!

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," she managed, after several seconds, to reply in a voice that was almost even, and Linda smirked.

"Oh, you couldn't say that," she said arrogantly and more than a little condescendingly. "You weren't married to him."

Before Cassie could absorb that, much less react to it, Linda changed directions so quickly it startled her.

"Either way, I want to let you know that I really appreciate all of your help."

Oh, that was a big fat lie.

Well, mostly. She was glad that Cassie had been there for Nick, but resented her for the same reason, and was now letting Cassie know that she was reclaiming her territory, so Cassie's presence and help were no longer needed.

Message received.

And ignored, but there was no reason to push the issue. She'd cross that bridge when she got there.

Also, she was done with this particular minefield for the moment, so . . . moving on.

"So," she said cheerfully, changing the subject so firmly that the other woman had no choice but to follow. "You looking for anything in particular?"

Linda blinked but readily replied that she was looking for a belated birthday present for Nick, but had no idea of what to get for him . . . which had Cassie internally frowning.

Nick's mother didn't have any ideas at all of things her son liked? At fourteen? That was not a good sign.

Well, at least it explained some of Sam's deep antipathy to her.

But it wasn't her business or her place to have an opinion, so she had no right to say anything. Instead, she let herself focus completely on Nick and smiled when she realized that she did have something he might like. Without a word, she made her way to the scroll she'd gotten in China and caressed it fondly before handing it to Linda.

The confused look she received almost made her actually smirk in satisfaction, but she had to concede the point. On the surface, it was a peculiar gift for a 14-year old boy.

"Wow," Linda said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "That's, uh, that's an . . . odd choice."

"Well, it spoke to me," Cassie replied truthfully.

"Yes? What did it say?"

Linda's confusion was understandable, though Cassie had to admire the fact that she was willing to listen.

But that didn't mean she had to make it easy for her.

So she read the phrase on the scroll in its original language and mentally enjoyed the bewilderment that spread across the other woman's face before she translated it to English.

"'Who wishes to fight must first count the cost'."

Oh, and that statement was so very true . . . and heartbreakingly poignant.

"I found this at the Shanghai night market the year I backpacked across China," she continued, answering the unspoken question.

This explanation earned her a headshake and the stunned question, "You've been to China?"

To be fair, this wasn't something the average person could say.

"I have," she confirmed. "And I loved it."

She had. It had been one of the best experiences of her life.

Somewhat to her surprise, Linda let it go and instead made the statement that she was about to go to battle herself.

Which . . . was odd, so Cassie gave her a questioning look, one that Linda answered before she could ask.

"I, uh, I have a big takeover in Hong Kong."

Takeover?

What exactly did she do for a living?

Cassie badly wanted to know, but wasn't remotely comfortable asking (which might have been a first for her, but Linda did not invite confidences), so she simply nodded wordlessly and watched as Linda's attitude about the scroll underwent an interesting shift.

"You know," she said quietly, staring at the hand-stitched words, ''this is . . . this is actually perfect."

She sounded entirely surprised by that, which bothered Cassie for reasons she couldn't put her finger on. So she simply crossed her arms and let Linda work out her thoughts, hoping she might get an answer to at least one of her many questions.

"It's special and unique, and considering my work in Hong Kong, it's really quite . . . appropriate."

A chill of foreboding ran down Cassie's spine.

But she still couldn't understand why.

"So it speaks to you as well," she observed carefully, hoping to glean a little more information.

All she got was an expression of dawning realization, which didn't help her one iota.

Damn.

"Yes, it does," Linda agreed, looking again at the scroll before giving Cassie the first genuine smile she'd seen from the woman. "Wrap it up."

Nonplussed, Cassie did and watched as Linda walked out the shop with her prize in hand, burdened by the knowledge that something was in the works and whatever it was, it was not going to be good.

For anyone.

And she couldn't warn anybody, because she didn't know who was going to be affected.

Or by what.

Other than Sam, obviously, but what could she say? 'Hey, Sam, I think your ex-wife is planning something. What? Well, something. And I don't think it's going to be good.'

Yeah, that would go over well. He would no doubt believe her, but since he already knew she was in Middleton for reasons that were unrelated to visiting Nick after an absence of at least six months, telling him about her feelings would accomplish nothing.

She was, in essence, flying blind.

And this was on top of her increasingly sticky situation with Ryan.

Cassie sighed.

Becoming Helga Ogleson from Reykjavík sounded more appealing by the moment.

{{**}}

Her interlude with Stephanie was . . . you know, Cassie couldn't actually quantify it. On the one hand, her friend's interest in Linda's interest in Sam (oh, ow, headache) was understandable because Stephanie really did like Sam.

On the other hand, she had broken up with him . . . wow, just yesterday, so her lack of bitterness or even anger was very unlike her.

Add to that the fact that she wasn't acting the least bit territorial, and Cassie was stymied. It was a plus for her, of course, but she was still a lot confused about this new Stephanie.

Because this calm, Zen attitude was shocking, but definitely a very, very good thing. It wasn't like Cassie had been remotely surprised to hear that the pair had broken up. Nor was she even a little upset, especially given how well both Sam and Stephanie were taking it.

Was she shocked into actual speechlessness that Stephanie had been the one to end things? Hell, yes. Thrilled to death because it was huge sign of growth for her friend? Also hell, yes.

And had she mentioned being stunned beyond belief that Stephanie had willingly given up a man she'd chased so relentlessly that the other women who'd tried to join that race had thrown a secret banquet in her honor just so they could wish her luck?

She remembered again that ancient Chinese proverb — may you live in interesting times — and twitched.

Right now, that thought was a little too close to the bone.

Stephanie's instant diagnosis of Sam's ex-wife — which, while catty, was both startlingly accurate (down to her clothes) as well as unnerving, especially given that she and Linda had yet to cross paths — had Cassie instinctively playing the part of Switzerland. She didn't like Linda herself, and Sam's feelings were . . . well. Duh. But it wasn't fair to the woman to be judged so harshly and vindictively when she had yet to do anything to deserve it.

Well, okay. She hadn't yet done anything to the people who were judging her. And as far as Cassie was aware, she was the only person in Middleton who had even passing knowledge of Sam and Linda's relationship. Therefore, and any all judging and inference from Middleton needed to be curbed as much as possible.

Well. This was going to suck for her, wasn't it?

"You might want to reserve judgment until you actually meet her," she gently chided Stephanie, who simply gave her a droll look and said, rather laconically, "Where's the fun in that?"

Since 'fun' wasn't a word Cassie found herself associating with Linda Wallace, she didn't have a good comeback for that, so she simply dispensed the age-old wisdom of there being two sides to every story — and was promptly (and with no small amount of disbelief, which was something, she supposed) accused of taking the ex-wife's side.

Really?

Well, why not? There didn't seem to be any kind of limit as to how surreal her day could get, so . . . yeah, why not?

Still.

One of Cassie's primary jobs in Middleton was to literally function as Switzerland. She rarely took sides, instead putting her energy toward getting both (or all, as it were) parties to come to a central understanding.

Therefore, she replied a touch snippily that she wasn't taking either side, and also, Sam and Linda's relationship was none of her business.

Which was almost true, but even so, she refused to get involved. Full stop.

She didn't want anything to do with that situation.

Not a single damn thing.

To the point that moving to another country had presented itself as a viable alternative.

This was an attitude that Stephanie simply didn't have the personality to understand, so her somewhat sarcastic repetition of, "Again, where's the fun in that?" had Cassie shaking her head with a smile. If nothing else, her friend was constant, and that was surprisingly soothing right now.

Stephanie herself wasn't, of course, but the consistency of her behavior was.

Wow. That was kind of sad.

Reassuring, but just a touch pitiful.

Moving on.

"I really think you should give Linda the benefit of the doubt," she said earnestly, because she did believe that. The woman in question was a stuck-up snob, but she did care about Nick, and was clearly trying to build a better relationship with him, something that Cassie could only encourage, so she needed to head off any unnecessary grief and/or interference from the town's resident peanut gallery (read: everyone in Middleton who wasn't Sam or Cassie).

And then she had the sudden, horrifying realization that Abigail had yet to meet Linda — and Cassie froze with fear at the very thought.

Oh, dear Lord. She would have to work some actual magic to keep that meeting from ever occurring, because should she fail, it was highly likely that Middleton would not be standing by the time they were done.

(as it happened, she was wrong about this, but only because by the time they met, Sam was so worn down — so defeated — that Abigail was more concerned about him than she was with turning Linda into a poisonous amphibian, and so the first meeting between the two women was almost completely civil)

"Well," Stephanie replied, doggedly pursuing her point. "She didn't come all the way to Middleton just to look at the snow. She's after something," she finished with a sigh, which — yeah, okay, fair point. And Stephanie wasn't wrong.

However —

"I don't think it's Sam," Cassie answered forthrightly, giving Stephanie her patented 'all-knowing' look and smiling a little when her friend huffed and took the proffered cash, moving away to make change.

It was then that Cassie discovered that she needed to kill Abigail and just get it over with. It would be a favor for the entire town. And forget arresting her; Derek might just give her a medal.

Stephanie's unsubtle probe into Cassie's love life was unwelcome, uncalled for, and completely inappropriate.

So why was she surprised?

No, seriously: why on earth was Cassie surprised that her cousin could not and had not kept her mouth shut?

Stephanie's nosiness required only half a brain to see coming, so Cassie really couldn't hold it against her.

"A little bird named Abigail?" she asked rhetorically, on the off-chance that Grace had been the one to spill the beans.

"I don't know how she does it, but she is so well-informed," Stephanie confirmed, sounding both gleeful and a little envious.

Cassie was not about to enlighten her that Abigail was only 'informed' because she'd happened to be present at the time. That was a headache she Did Not Need.

"And unlike some people," she continued with a good-natured smile while handing Cassie her change, "she's not stingy with the details."

Well, Abigail wouldn't be, now would she?

Still, Cassie could at least do a little damage control here.

"Well, your bird is misinformed," she said so smoothly and with so much conviction that Stephanie blinked as her certainty warred with Cassie's — and then her eyes narrowed.

"Mm-hmm," she hummed in obvious disbelief, only to decide let it go for the time being, much to Cassie's relief.

Her question about Java Shed coming to Middleton came completely out of nowhere and Cassie was unable to hide her surprise.

And Stephanie's worry was palpable.

But, since Cassie couldn't tell her anything because she didn't have any information, both women simply sighed and let it be, thinking that it was yet another bridge they would cross when they got there.

This was Cassie's first real inkling as to why Sam despised karma so much.

It would not be the last.

{{**}}

Talking with Brandon about how he felt now that Tara was finally coming home was a welcome distraction for Cassie, though she was a little worried about the undercurrents of uncertainty and fear she sensed from her stepson. And though she badly wished she could help him more, all she had to offer was hope and a few nuggets of wisdom that she could only pray would help him as much as they had her.

Being able to speak with him about his father, about the strength of their marriage, had helped purge a huge amount of the grief and guilt she still carried, and brought with it a much more solid realization that Brandon was no longer that sweet little boy she'd loved from the second she'd laid eyes on him. He was a man grown, a strong, ambitious man who was unafraid to forge his own path and walk it alone if that was what it took to achieve his own happiness — but he would also drop whatever he was doing to help her or Grace when they needed him.

So while she was concerned about how he and Tara were going to handle this rather serious issue in their relationship, she was also much calmer than she would have expected. Her baby boy had grown up so much and she was finally able to see and truly appreciate that.

Still: cardamom cookies made everything better.

And judging from the appreciative smile on Brandon's face, he agreed wholeheartedly. Her words of wisdom about why she and Jake had been so happy were also well-received and as she accepted his arm and they began the walk to Grey House, Brandon talking animatedly about his day, Cassie smiled as well.

She and Jake really had raised such beautiful, wonderful children.

He would be so proud.

{{**}}

Sam would forever wonder just what he had done to Linda that was so awful, so unthinkable, that she thought her blatant manipulation of not just himself, but their — his — son was not only permissible, but acceptable.

When Nick made the excited announcement that he was going to Hong Kong with Linda — without so much as a 'hey, Dad' to him — he honestly didn't know how to react. Disbelief was his first feeling, coupled with that old, familiar anger.

He wasn't even surprised. Not remotely. Hong Kong? Yeah, that was new, but the undermining of his authority as Nick's father was so par for the course that he almost didn't notice it. Using Nick as the conduit for her manipulation was less common, but far from unusual, sadly.

Using Nick as the means to put Sam on the spot and make him the bad guy?

That was what he was really pissed off about.

She knew damn good and well that he wasn't going to let Nick leave the country in the middle of the school year, which, among other things, had to be discussed with and approved by the school — and that wasn't even taking into account things like, oh, the vaccinations that were required in order to travel overseas. And, you know, the small matter of a passport.

Of course, Sam being a doctor, the vaccinations were easily doable, but a passport? They took a minimum of ten days to acquire, a fact that he knew perfectly well Linda was aware of, being the experienced international traveler that she was. But Nick, who was your typical oblivious teenager, was aware of none of this, and Linda sure as hell wouldn't say anything.

Which, yet again (for the fourth time since she'd gotten here less than 24 hours ago, by his count) would make Sam be the bad guy, because even had he been inclined to let Nick go, he couldn't. Not that fast and not now. His reaction to Sam pointing out why this couldn't happen only further proved his point.

And there was no way to explain that to Nick in a way that he would understand and accept. No, the only thing he'd hear was 'Dad being the mean, evil parent, keeping me away from Mom' yet again. Especially now, with her whispering it in his ear (literally, knowing Linda).

He was going to strangle her.

Slowly.

With his bare hands.

Derek wouldn't say a word; he liked Sam and adored Cassie, and Sam knew that Cassie would understand. Hell, with Linda staying at Grey House, she might even help him.

Or, well, he was fairly sure she wouldn't stop him.

And you know, he mused as he sent Nick to the car so he and Linda could have it out, it wasn't Hong Kong he was protesting, or even Nick spending some one-on-one time with his mother (okay, mostly; he knew Linda too well to completely trust her with Nick's well-being because she was a very careless person, at least when it came to dealing with people's emotions and feelings). And if she had just asked if he was okay with it and made sure that the timing was right (it would be summer break in less than two months, for heaven's sake!), then Sam would probably have been completely amenable to the idea, even knowing that Linda would likely not last the entire month. She was too self-absorbed and cold to be able to give Nick the kind of time and attention he needed (and demanded), and she had none of the patience necessary to put up with his bullshit, both the typical teenage kind as well as his own individual brand. Still, the idea wasn't bad, in and of itself, and he despised the fact that he wasn't getting the chance to work with her and Nick to make it happen.

But no, she had to swoop in to be Super Linda!, rescuer of sons from evil fathers everywhere, giver of awesome presents, and the promiser of fairy tales that could never come true . . . because she never had to deal with the consequences. And since that was exactly how she wanted it, she was happy as the proverbial clam to come in and wreak havoc.

"We wanted to surprise you."

Yeah. Surprise.

Did he really look that dumb?

Or did she really just have that low of an opinion of him?

Okay, that was a stupid question.

It was funny, he thought bitterly, that he had been trying so hard to work on forgiving her for the way she had destroyed so much of his life — not to mention his ability to trust, his mental well-being, and his desperate attempt to be the best father he could be without completely alienating his son — so for her to just swoop in like this and make a mockery of everything she had done to both Sam and Nick . . . yeah. Yeah, all of that hard-earned serenity and acceptance evaporated like a snowflake in hell.

The slamming of a car door caught his attention and he took a second to mentally scowl at the knowledge that he had just done one of the things he'd sworn he'd never do to his kids once they were old enough to understand: send them away so they could be talked about without having any say in it. However, now that he was on the other side of the fence, Sam finally understood: Nick's opinion was 'want to go with Mom'; he cared nothing for the logistics of making that happen and even less for what the reality of the situation would be if Hong Kong were to happen. Therefore, talking about it with him present and voicing an opinion would be both counterproductive and migraine-inducing. And since just arguing with Linda made Sam need to drink (heavily), he saw no reason whatsofuckingever to make an already-ugly situation worse.

But he still felt bad about it, dammit.

And as he met his former wife's smug expression, he felt rage surge up so strong and fast that he almost took an instinctive step back to make sure he didn't physically lash out . . . only to have it extinguished in a heartbeat when the bitch he'd been foolish enough to marry put one of his greatest fears into words.

"Then he is only going to resent you more than he already does."

And that was something Sam really was afraid of. Nick had made no secret of his anger at being forced into Middleton, a fact that his father could and did sympathize with, but in the last couple of months, he'd seen signs that Nick was settling in and starting to make friends.

But what if he was wrong?

Because he was the only parent, Sam had learned the hard way (through every iteration known to man) that as badly as he wished he could be Nick's friend, the kid just wasn't there yet. Unlike Grace, Nick possessed neither the maturity nor the self-discipline to be trustworthy, and without that, Sam simply couldn't let him be. He was doing his absolute best to give his son space to grow up, to make mistakes and learn from them, only . . . he wasn't learning. Or, well, he hadn't been. But now that that finally seemed to be changing, here came Typhoon Linda, and in the span of three minutes, Nick was a seven-year-old kid again, throwing a screaming tantrum and wanting his mommy, because she had never raised him, or disciplined him, or been anything to him (that he could clearly remember) other than Fun Mom. He thought that going with Linda would free him from Sam's rules and restrictions so he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted to do it.

And for about . . . oh, four, maybe five days — no more than a week — he would. And then Linda would get sick of it and since she was both woefully unprepared to be Nick's mother AND she was one of the most self-centered people on the planet, she would ship Nick home without anything more than some excuse about work, and Sam would be left with a son who was even more obnoxious and ungovernable than he was now, seething with rejection and resentment and blaming Sam because he had been too well-conditioned to trust and believe his mother over anything or anyone else.

Which meant they were back to Square 1 (no, actually, they were back to Negative Square 8), with Linda gleefully dropping stink bombs and landmines every time she opened her mouth.

But as she sauntered out of his office, Sam couldn't shake off the sudden chill of foreboding that was spreading through his entire body.

He badly wanted to talk to Cassie, but he wasn't sure he should. He didn't know what was going on with her because she apparently wasn't going to tell him, but it wasn't good (although, given the complete lack of Ryan's presence that he'd seen since that damn storm had abated, he could make an educated guess. Perversely, he wasn't quite sure how he felt about it, assuming he was right. Go figure.). And he respected that, he did, but . . . he refused to be that guy. You know, the one who took everything available but gave nothing back.

The male version of Linda, actually.

Which meant that he should try to keep some distance until she said otherwise.

Oh, and there was karma snickering at him.

He couldn't even muster up the energy to tell her to fuck off.

And he couldn't begin to fathom what he was going to do now.

Other than drink.

And pray.

And possibly sacrifice a goat (or Linda; he wasn't picky).

Though with his luck, Linda would give karma indigestion and NOBODY needed that.

A herd of goats it was.

And a bottle of scotch.

No glass needed.

{{**}}

His resolution to stay away from Cassie lasted until he saw her light was on as he was getting out of the car.

To be honest, he was impressed it had taken that long.

He badly needed to vent, and while he was in the kind of mood where Liam would have grabbed bats and balls and hauled him to the nearest baseball field, Sam figured that her calm serenity would at least temper his anger enough for him to start thinking clearly again.

So with that hope in mind, he trotted to her front door and opened it, noting with surprise that she was taking her coat off and absently wondering where she'd been. Oh, hey, look: another check in the 'Romantically Interested in Cassie' column.

You know what? Whatever.

Karma was determined to screw with him and he had too much else going on to fight that battle, too.

Maybe if he ignored it, the bitch would go away.

Oh, that was a thought. Would that work on Linda?

Nah. He wasn't that lucky.

Her cheerful acceptance of his desire to talk soothed him a bit even as it reminded him about why he was here, and his — not anger, really, but . . . frustration? No. Exhaustion, maybe? Oh, yeah, that was it — exhaustion at dealing with his ex and her machinations swelled back up.

"She wants to take him to Hong Kong," he told Cassie without preamble as he moved past her into the living room. Turning to face her as he braced his hands on the coffee table, he continued. "She didn't say a word to me. She conspired with Nick and now I have to say 'no' and then I look like the bad guy. Again."

And that was really the heart of his grievance. He wasn't stupid, or oblivious. Linda wanted to drive a wedge between Nick and Sam so that his son — who was legally old enough to decide which parent he wanted to live with — would choose her. She mistakenly assumed that because he was no longer a child, the hard part of raising him was over and she could be the Cool, Play, Fun Mom. Making Sam look bad was, he suspected, a bonus, though that would change when he started fighting back.

The problem was that he didn't know how to fight Linda without hurting Nick.

He didn't give a damn about her feelings and he wasn't afraid of facing her in court, but he couldn't—

"Looking like the bad guy fades," Cassie replied, jarring him out of his thoughts. "What's important is that you're not a bad guy. Nick will figure that out."

What?

WHAT?!

Had she met Nick?

"And you have full custody," she added, which put back on the train of thought he'd just been exploring.

"Oh, I can fight her," he assured Cassie, because he had . . . but the cost . . . the cost.

He didn't think he could ever forgive Linda for that.

"But—" he started to continue, only for Cassie to catch his thoughts and verbalize them.

"But you're protecting Nick."

Got it in one.

His son simply did not understand that everything Sam did was for him, and that frequently meant being the bad guy. And he didn't mind that when it was warranted. That was his job. It was the contrived scenarios where he had to enforce reality because he was the only one who was currently living there that stuck in his craw.

And Linda excelled at those.

This Hong Kong crap was a prime example of that.

Quietly, he told Cassie about Linda just abandoning Nick without even a token attempt at shared custody, and about his fear of Nick finding out. The knowledge that his mother didn't want him — had never wanted him — would destroy something in Nick that could never be fixed or replaced, and Sam refused to let that happen.

But that put him back in the Prisoners' Dilemma. If Linda would just work with him, all three of their lives would be so much better. But that required cooperation and considering another person's needs, and his ex-wife was simply incapable of those things. And in the Prisoners' Dilemma, working together was the only way everyone escaped. But if one prisoner acted selfishly, that person got out scot-free.

Which was typical so . . . well, at least he knew what to expect from her, scant comfort though it was.

"Hmm," Cassie said in response to his mini-soliloquy, and he sighed.

"I think I just have to weather the storm," he observed (the irony here was NOT appreciated; that damned ice storm had been more than enough trouble, thank you). "And she's going to do what she always does: blow through and leave a big mess for me to clean up."

God, he was exhausted. Brian and Eve's situation had been brutally demanding on every possible level (oh, that reminded him: he needed to call Eve's doctor first thing in the morning and tell her about the situation, so she could keep a closer eye on Eve; she was too close to term to weather such a traumatic experience with no effects, and he wanted to make sure she was taken care of) and with Linda blowing in without any of them getting so much as a day's reprieve, he was running on fumes.

"Is that right?" Cassie asked softly, and he gave her a tiny smile; at least she understood, even though it changed nothing. But he felt a little less alone, and that meant more than he'd realized it would.

"No," he replied just as quietly, shaking his head. "It's not right. It's just Linda."

He was unable to prevent the slightly-bitter laughter at the reminder, but said nothing else.

It wasn't like there was anything he could say — or do, for that matter — that would make a difference. Once again, Linda had smugly trapped him between what he could do and what he would do. She knew perfectly well that he would never tell Nick that she'd literally abandoned him, which meant he was effectively hobbled when it came to . . . well, it sure as hell wasn't 'co-parenting', but that was the only word he could think of . . . while she said (and did, damn her) anything she liked. And despite his throat actually hurting at times from him keeping the truth choked down, Sam refused to badmouth her in front of her son, which she also knew, and it was something that she took full advantage of.

And even if Sam were to tell Nick the truth, he'd never believe it, because the only part of his mother he ever saw was Cool, Awesome, SuperMom; he had no practical experience with her self-centeredness, or her utter lack of attention span for anything that wasn't related to her job. So if Sam did speak up, Nick would just think he was lying to keep him from doing something he wanted. It wasn't unusual behavior in teenagers, but it tended to be a fucking nightmare for their divorced parents. Particularly when said divorce was as bitter and acrimonious as Sam's had been.

So the end result was that he rarely talked about Linda in front of Nick, because he wasn't a masochist. But more importantly, he refused to put his son in that position. It left him in a very open, vulnerable place, but Sam would gladly take all the bullshit she could dish out as long as it protected Nick.

Sometimes, being the good guy really sucked.

But now he was feeling unexpectedly melancholy and found, somewhat to his surprise, that he wanted to be alone for a while, so he refused Cassie's offer of tea and headed home, veering off to the basketball stand in the back and losing himself in the simple pleasure of sinking baskets and pounding the ball against the concrete (and when he pictured the ball as Linda's head, well, he was only human). But it wasn't just the demon of Linda he was trying to exorcise; he was also working through the realization that Cassie likely wasn't going to be able to really help him with the demon ex-wife in question. She had never been cheated on, or divorced, and she certainly never had to deal with the reality that her child's father had literally abandoned their child after the aforementioned cheating and divorce.

So, while she would listen when he vented, asking for actual advice was probably not the best idea. Cassie simply had nothing to offer, because she had no experience with any of it. And that was fine; as long as he could vent to her, he should be able to keep most of his sanity . . . but dear Lord, he desperately hoped that she would keep any further 'insights' to herself if they were all like the one she'd blindsided him with tonight.

And he hadn't realized until just now how much her . . . he hated to say it, but it had come off as thoughtless. Well, no, maybe 'careless' was a better word. He really hadn't appreciated Cassie's careless, blasé dismissal of his pain and anger, especially because, if nothing else, she knew Nick better than that. It had . . . ugh. Sam had felt like a naughty puppy being patted on the head because he didn't understand why he was in trouble and no one wanted to explain it to him.

Wow, that was insulting.

On all sides.

But it was okay to feel that way, at least for a minute or two; she had hurt his feelings, and even though it was unintentional, she had still done it. He was allowed to feel hurt, and be upset by her words. But he wasn't going to wallow in it or punish her — especially since he knew she would be appalled if he told her how he was feeling and why. Not that he would; he still didn't know what was going on, but whatever was troubling her was serious and he refused to add something that was, in the grand scheme of things, miniscule.

So, while he was frustrated (with the entire miserable situation, of which Cassie was really a tiny part) and probably would be for a while, he wasn't angry and he wasn't going to hold it against her. He already knew that she had no real experience with this particular nasty side of life, so it only made sense that her natural optimism would rule the roost, as it were. He just needed to remember that and watch his words a little more carefully the next time he talked to her about it. And he could do that.

After maybe an hour, he'd worked out enough of his aggression and frustration to feel comfortable going inside. He wasn't particularly hungry and knew better than to pour a drink, so instead — since he had no desire to see his ex or his son — he silently made his way to his bedroom, wanting nothing so much now as a hot shower and at least a few hours of decent (or at least uninterrupted) sleep.

Karma was just going to have to entertain itself tonight.

He really, really should have known better.

{{**}}

When Ryan called and asked if they could do lunch, Cassie genuinely didn't know what she felt. On the one hand, she wasn't ready to see him, at least not emotionally. On the other, she did want to catch up with her friend . . . and, frankly, doing so during the privacy of a meal (relative privacy; they were still in Middleton) would hopefully give her some idea of how to start addressing the issues — okay, problems — in their romantic relationship. So she agreed with mostly-sincere enthusiasm to meet him at The Bistro at one.

Then she had to fight down the absurd desire to call Sam and ask him to give her a pep talk before she went. Yes, he knew she and Ryan were dating. But he didn't know anything about her doubts and she wanted to keep it that way as long as possible.

And it wasn't like he could help her find a way out of this without the emotional equivalent of bloodshed. His post-romantic relationship with Linda could, if one looked on the bright side, best be described as 'acrimonious', which she wanted to avoid at all costs.

So it was unlikely that Sam could help her. And he was going through so much right now, dealing with Nick and Linda, that she didn't want to burden him with even more, especially something he couldn't fix or at least put a cast on (hey, a medical pun; too bad he wasn't here to appreciate it).

Which meant, ultimately, she was on her own.

With that cheerful realization, she headed off to The Bistro, using the walk to help calm her mind and soothe some of her agitation, so by the time she and Ryan were seated, she felt mostly normal. And things stayed that way, normal and not awkward — they didn't even talk about the lack of any real communication between them after the storm — until they had taken the first few bites of a shared dessert.

And then.

"I hate to bring this up," Ryan began, staring so intently at her over their piece of berry cake that Cassie was unable to fathom what might be wrong and could only look at him blankly in response.

"What?" she asked, genuinely bewildered. It didn't sound like a bad thing, but then again . . .

He put his fork down, clasped his hands together, and leaned forward a little. "I'm sensing something," he announced, his eyes boring into hers.

Well, that told her exactly nothing, so she merely took a sip of tea and waited for him to go on.

She had to admit that in that regard, Ryan was usually very obliging. And true to form, he obliged her again.

"Which is kind of odd, considering that's your thing," he said, squinting a little as he clearly tried to work out where he wanted to go. Cassie could sympathize; it was rare that she got herself into a conversational quagmire (or it had been until she'd met Sam, at least), but it did happen and it was a pain to escape . . . not to mention frequently embarrassing. Before she could get lost on that train of thought, he continued with his . . . and for the first time in months, he captured her complete attention.

"Ever since the storm, it's like you're there but . . . you're not there."

Which was so accurate a description of her mental and emotional state that Cassie could only stare at him, wide-eyed with shock. And a little guilt. She kept forgetting that he didn't know she was having . . . thoughts . . . about their relationship, which was causing some serious cognitive dissonance when her brain caught up with itself.

And she had no idea how much attention she'd been paying to Grace when she talked about science.

Cognitive dissonance?

Well, at least it wasn't 'sucktastic'. She'd nearly choked on an olive when she'd heard that come out of Sam's mouth (though the look on his face when he heard himself was priceless. She would have given the world for a camera at that moment.).

Okay, her mind was wandering again. Not a good thing.

Ryan needed to be reassured, quickly, and then . . . well, even if Cassie had been prepared to have this conversation, it would not be here.

So . . . a gentle misdirection was in order.

"I'm all here," she said gently, leaning forward herself and letting him see the sincerity in her eyes.

Because she was all here, just not . . . just not all for him.

Oh, and she rightfully felt guilty for that thought, even though it was true.

It was clear he didn't believe her, but it was just as clear that he didn't want to fight about it, so with a dubious, "Okay," he went back to his dessert.

Cassie mentally frowned. There was something else going on with him, but he obviously didn't want to talk about it, which did hurt her feelings a little, though she respected his decision.

And yet again, the irony flew right by her. She had no real desire to share things with him, not the way she used to before they started dating, but she resented the fact that he didn't always want to talk to her.

Compounding this was her near-total openness with Sam, when she chose to share with him, and vice versa.

Irony, thy name today is Cassie Nightingale.

So she tried to distract them both from this distressing realization by inviting him to dinner the following night, because they needed to at least start talking about some of their issues. His eager expression, which fell immediately, gave her pause . . . until the parental visit was explained.

Ah.

Okay, the puzzle was coming together.

Ryan loved his parents, but they — well, his mother (his dad went along with it because . . . what else could he do?), was one of those parents who believe that they've failed at parenting — and that their child has failed at life — if said child isn't married by the age of twenty-two. Ryan was nearly forty. And given his descriptions of past encounters with them, subtlety wasn't a gift his mother been given.

So he loved his parents, but he generally didn't like to see them, especially when food was involved. It always ended up being a meal that no one enjoyed (for the same reason, though from opposite ends of the spectrum) and the end result was him eating later at The Bistro on the sly, with an amused (and sympathetic; she had her own 'mom' issues) Stephanie keeping watch.

Well, at least his tension made sense. That was good to know.

So she gratefully took the reprieve and was in the middle of saying 'next time' when he asked her and Grace to accompany him.

Wait.

Oh.

Oh, why?

This was bad.

No, it was worse than bad. This was serious.

Ryan knew they were dating, even if his parents didn't, so asking her — and her daughter — to meet his parents by going out to dinner with them was tantamount to a declaration.

Oh, damn him. How did manage to put her in these unwinnable situations time and time again?!

She obviously couldn't claim other obligations and should she flat-out refuse, he would be both hurt and upset, and rightfully so.

Still, for her own sake, never mind Grace's, she had to try.

"No," she demurred, looking down. "We wouldn't want to intrude."

He shook his head. "You can't intrude because I'm inviting you," he pointed out, neatly cutting off that escape route.

Argh!

"Come on, it'll be fun," he coaxed, giving a comical grimace. "Or at least as much fun as dinner with my parents can be."

What could she say?

No, seriously? What other answer could she give other than 'yes'?

His obvious happiness at her resigned, albeit slightly-resentful, agreement should have at least warmed her heart as his friend, but she couldn't even feel that right now.

Which, more than anything else, was a giant indicator of just how off-kilter things were between them, even if he didn't seem to realize it.

And as he continued to chatter about nonsensical things through the rest of dessert, Cassie was struck by the sober notion that he honestly had no idea there was anything wrong. Not with her, not with them . . . not even with himself.

Had she known what to listen for, Cassie would have heard karma cackling with sheer, malicious glee.

And another card fluttered free from the rapidly-disintegrating house she'd been shoring up for so long.

{{**}}

When she found Grace making supper that evening, she was caught off-guard. Grace was many things, but an enthusiastic cook wasn't one of them. She could, of course, but it wasn't something she particularly enjoyed.

Wonderful. Another mystery.

Or not. Right; Grace was probably still upset — or at least processing — that little interlude she'd seen between Ryan and her mother, and cooking allowed her to do so in segments.

But Cassie genuinely wasn't sure how to broach the subject, so instead they made slightly-awkward conversation about whatever it was Grace was making (which smelled amazing and Cassie regretted that she probably wasn't going to be hungry by the time this discussion was over), until even she couldn't stand the tension anymore and uncharacteristically spoke without thinking.

"So, Ryan's parents are in town," she blurted out, catching her daughter's instinctive recoil and turning away, biting her lip and mentally cursing. That hadn't remotely been how she wanted to address things, but it was out there now, so she just bulldozed through it; it wasn't like she could take it back. Though this time, she was a little more careful with her words. And tone. "And, well, we thought maybe — we could all go have dinner tomorrow night."

When Grace said nothing but gave a dark, unhappy look down at what she was making, her mother sighed. She felt the lie before her daughter even committed to it, but couldn't quite blame her for not wanting to go. Grace had been too young when Jake was killed, but paradoxically, not young enough. So while Cassie was irked that her daughter didn't seem willing to even give Ryan a chance, she completely understood the reasons why.

The fact that Cassie was very likely going to break up with Ryan was a moot point, because something about Grace's reaction told Cassie it would be the same for any man she became romantically involved with.

(she wouldn't remember until much later that Grace had been the one to encourage her put herself out there at that blasted Heritage Ball, though it seemed that, as in most things, it was easier to say than see)

So she was willing to let Grace off the hook for dinner (truthfully, she'd give a lot for an excuse that reasonable herself), but she did call her on the lie. THAT was a habit she had no intention of letting form, thank you.

But when Grace didn't leave the kitchen, instead giving a heavy sigh while futzing with some asparagus stalks, Cassie's concern was roused.

"Grace . . ." she said as she sidled over to her daughter, trying and failing to catch her eye.

"Yeah?" Grace replied, looking up for one quick second before going back to the vegetable in her hand. She loathed asparagus, yet was studying it like it was the 8th wonder of the world. Her mother's concern skyrocketed.

"Hey," Cassie coaxed. "I carried you for nine months. It took twenty hours of hard labor to give birth to you."

Poor Grace looked so uncomfortable, Cassie almost wanted to laugh. She hadn't been aiming for humor, but it was helping ease the tension, and that was good. But she didn't want to derail things by making her somewhat sheltered teenage daughter too uncomfortable, so she switched gears.

"I have been there for you and with you since the day you opened your eyes," she continued, catching those eyes now and refusing to let them go. From the wide-eyed look of near-panic she got in return, along with a tumult of emotions primarily comprised of 'abandonment', she suddenly understood what the real problem was and wanted to hit herself in the forehead, it was so blindingly obvious.

"I'm here, honey," she said soothingly, making sure Grace could feel it as strongly as she was hearing it. "I'm not going anywhere."

Unfortunately, it didn't work and all she got was a weak, "Okay."

And since it was obvious that pushing things right now would NOT help matters in the slightest, Cassie let it — and Grace — go with a soft 'okay' of her own.

It was ironic, she mused bitterly, that the very person who could help her with Grace was the reason she needed help with Grace.

She was so angry at Jake for dying, for leaving her — them — alone and lost.

Oh, God, she missed him.

She felt his loss more keenly tonight than she had in weeks and it was so unexpected and so sharp that for the first time since his dedication ceremony, she actually needed to cry.

Which was how Sam found her when he came over to get away from Linda and also to see if Cassie wanted to grab a bite. He didn't hesitate for a second to burst through the door, frantic with worry, and it took some time to convince him she wasn't hurt. Once he'd reassured himself that she was physically unharmed, he gathered her in the same tender half-embrace he'd given her when things with Brian and Eve had overwhelmed her, with those strong, capable surgeon's hands curved reassuringly around her upper arms. This time, he held her from behind, giving her the choice of whether or not she rested against him and swaying them both gently back and forth as he murmured soothing nonsense in her hair. And in the midst of her grief, Cassie realized that his protectiveness didn't alarm or overwhelm her, or smother her.

Far from it.

It reassured her and comforted her.

Made her feel safe.

But she was too overcome with everything else to really register that, much less process it. And when she had cried out this small storm of grief, she managed to give him a tiny smile as she stepped away from him, one he returned, though his eyes were still dark with concern. They were also full of questions he wouldn't voice, out of respect for her obvious desire not to talk about it, though his frustration at not knowing what was wrong was beginning to show. And while she was strongly tempted to accept when he offered to stay and keep her company, she knew she couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to any of them right now, even if she weren't running on fumes. Every nerve felt scraped raw and she just didn't have anything left. It was taking everything she had to stay on her feet.

He didn't like it, but because he was Sam, he simply nodded, accepted her unspoken 'thank you', gave her shoulders one last gentle squeeze, and vanished into the night.

She stared unseeingly into the sky for a long time, letting everything that happened in the last week spiral through her thoughts but making no effort to focus on anything in particular, before a sudden gust of wind rattled the windows and made her realize she was chilled. And completely, utterly exhausted. With a deep sigh, she started upstairs. A long, hot bubble bath would do the trick, and hopefully, that would lead to a restful night.

She would never know that Sam slipped back into Grey House after she was in bed, keeping watch in the living room because he was her protector and if this was the only way he could guard her tonight, by stopping her nightmares from getting past the front door, then so be it. Let them face Doctor Samuel Radford, Top Trauma Surgeon In The Country. He was armed with a scalpel and knew how to use it.

There was no guilt or hesitation in his decision. He still didn't understand what was going on — which was starting to make him a little crazy, because how could he help her if he didn't know what was wrong? — but that mattered not at all. Whatever it was had upset Cassie enough to make her cry, and that was reason enough for him to abandon common sense for the night (that being said, he fully intended to head home as the sun came up; Cassie would very likely understand his motivations, but given how close-mouthed she was being about the situation, he doubted she'd appreciate it. He couldn't say he'd feel any differently were their positions reversed.).

But Ryan had better pray he wasn't the reason for her tears. Because if he was, forget inflicting pain: Sam would kill him and tell God it was an accident.

And if it was karma, thinking to have some fun at Cassie's expense, then karma had another think coming.

She could fuck with him all she wanted; he could handle it. Hell, he'd been dealing with her for months; it was now a matter of pride for him, refusing to let the crazy, sadistic bitch win (karma, not Linda).

But Cassie was off-limits. And so was Grace.

And so Sam Radford stayed, a silent sentinel, to guard the sleep of two women who were becoming more precious to him by the day.

He could only hope it was enough, at least for tonight.

{{**}}

Her talk with Tara was—

Well, frankly, it was something she really didn't need right now. She had too many secrets (or rather, things she didn't want to share with other people) to take on another one.

This was one of the first times she had really felt the strain of being Everyone's Personal Counselor, and it was a feeling she did not care for all. She loved helping people and getting them what (or where) they needed, but with the ever-growing pile of her own problems (which was also new; she had never had so much wrong happen to her all at once), she found herself struggling to find the balance that was necessary to help others. Worse, she was unsure of how to correct this and find the right counterbalance.

And yes, she was able to tell Tara to face her fear so it would lose its power — which was true and something she had done many times herself — but she was just . . . drained. Exhausted. In desperate need of a vacation (but not Iceland; it would be too tempting to just stay).

But when she saw the envelope taped to the door of her shop, nothing on earth could have prepared her for that feeling of cold water rushing through her veins.

And when she read the first page and realized what it was, that water froze to solid ice.

She managed, somehow, to force enough semblance of normalcy to convince Tara that nothing was wrong, but that didn't last once she was inside the Bell, Book, & Candle.

She couldn't even begin to understand what seemed to be happening. Her existence was being threatened in a way she'd never experienced, or even seen from close up, and for one of the first times in her life, she was an utter loss about what to do next.

So she reached out for Ryan, because she needed practical help with something that he was very good at, so he would gladly provide it, especially if it was for her.

But he didn't answer.

She was in need and he didn't respond.

He'd never not answered when she called.

Never.

But he wasn't answering her now.

The ice that was choking her hardened a little more and she swallowed around a lump in her throat that she refused to acknowledge was unshed tears.

Ryan wasn't there for her.

Fine, then.

Sam would come.

And another card floated away in the brisk winter chill.

{{**}}

Sam couldn't come to Cassie until he'd closed his office for the day, something that irritated him to no end, because she had FINALLY decided to talk to him, and he had to make her wait.

Karma was going to die a slow, lingering death.

But then he had to wait for her to get home from work as well, and mentally rolled his eyes at himself. He wasn't, as a rule, prone to dramatics, but when he got in that mood, he did tend toward the Shakespearian side of things.

And not the comedies, either.

Although he had yet to hit the depths of Othello, which was something.

But when Cassie explained what had happened and gave him the envelope she'd found on her door, any and all humor fled the country. This was beyond serious: someone had bought the building she kept her shop in and was threatening her very livelihood. He was livid on general principle, something that was only exacerbated when he realized that she didn't quite understand how bad this had the potential to be. So he broke it down for her, and when she expressed disbelief that the building's current owner would do this, he did some quick research to confirm, praying she was right.

She wasn't.

Which was why, on realizing that he needed to ask why she wasn't using Ryan's knowledge and expertise in this area, him being in real estate and all, the taste on his tongue was so bitter, he actually grimaced.

Her admission that she'd called her boyfriend and received no answer or return call made his emotions do their usual double act when he knew that Ryan had failed at being a good boyfriend (or friend, or even person): black anger at his failure to be there for her and fierce pleasure at the same, because that meant she turned to Sam for help. She knew he would always come when she called, and he was too pleased by this to take offense that he wasn't always her first call.

Actually, though, a lot of the time, it seemed that he was her only call. He still remembered the night Grace had decided to try (and succeeded beyond her wildest nightmares) being your typical teenager, and how Cassie had reached out for him. Not once that entire night had she called Ryan. In fact, he still occasionally wondered if she'd even thought about her boyfriend (ugh) during those long, agonizing hours of waiting.

So no, Sam wasn't remotely bothered that she had reached out to the man who did real estate for a living before she called him, even setting aside the whole friend/boyfriend thing. He would have done the same (though not Ryan; he would have pulled someone out of the phone book before he asked Ryan Elliott for help now. But he digressed.), though his lack of anything more than very basic knowledge meant he would need to do a fair bit of research before he could give her any of the answers she needed. But as he ran her through the list of potential options that might help her, his heart ached at the mix of loss and confusion he saw so clearly in her eyes, especially when she finally realized just how precarious her position was. She had no protection whatsoever and it looked like whoever had bought the building apparently had no interest in keeping her business.

As he listened to her to explain how she had come to be the proverbial sitting duck, he suddenly wondered how it was that she could be so . . . so wise and yet still so naïve. Granted, he'd never been a small business owner, but even so, he would never simply take someone's word for something like this. A true friend wouldn't be remotely resentful at being asked to provide legal insurance (as it were) and a false one would screw you over the second it was profitable for them, so getting everything on paper and legally filed was really the only smart option.

But he could tell from her lost, miserable expression that this was Cassie's first exposure to the dark side of casual friendship (though he suspected that 'acquaintance' might be a better description). Her landlord might like her well enough, but monthly rent from a person he 'liked well enough' wouldn't be a drop in the bucket compared to the allure of the lump sum figure selling the entire building would be. And if he thought about Cassie at all, it wasn't unreasonable for him to assume that she and the new owner would work out their own arrangement.

But Cassie had clearly not thought about any of this, and so was caught utterly unprepared. And to be honest, that irked him a little. After all, her husband had been a cop and been killed in the line of duty, which . . . oh, this sounded cold, but Sam honestly would have expected that to wake her up to the fact that life didn't always oblige you when trouble came knocking at the door. Would she have any reason to suspect this scenario to arise? No, of course not . . . but it shouldn't have pulled the rug out from under her so completely. Not after losing her parents, being a foster child, having her beloved husband stolen from her . . . no. In this, Sam found that he had expected more from her.

And so he was little (okay, a lot) more brusque than he probably should have been. There might have been some bitchiness coming through as well; he'd had a long day and this was not helping, if only because he despised the fact that she was unhappy.

"Well, that doesn't leave you many options," he said bluntly in response to her explanation that all she had was a handshake and a verbal promise. "You either have to pay the increase in rent or the new owner can give you notice to move out."

She looked like he'd slapped her and guilt slammed hard into him, knocking the bitchiness aside and making him think. Yeah, sure, she'd been too unquestioning and too naïve about someone she thought she could trust, but it wasn't like Sam was any better.

Hello, Linda?

So he mentally punched himself in the nose, gave her a remorseful look that included both his words and his attitude, and leaned forward, setting his laptop to the side.

"Hey," he said quietly, his voice utterly sincere now. "We'll figure it out, I promise. You aren't going anywhere."

Her tremulous half-smile told him she didn't believe him, but she also didn't object, and he decided to take that as a win, small though it was.

And also an acknowledgement that he needed to become an expert in commercial real estate as soon as humanly possible.

There really wasn't anything to say after that — he sure as hell wasn't going to bring up Linda or Nick, never mind the other thing that was bothering her — but she still looked shell-shocked, so he decided to offer her something to drink and stood up. Unfortunately, she interpreted it as a desire for him to be alone and was gone before he could stutter a protest.

And as he stared helplessly after her, he heard karma cackle like she was the Wicked Witch of the West and scowled, his temper flaring so quickly that the lights flickered.

The fuck Cassie was being forced to shut down her store. He'd buy the building himself if he had to; it wasn't like he didn't have the assets to do it, as long as he was careful.

His sudden determination had little to do with his feelings for her, either romantically or platonically. He'd learned well in the months he and Nick had been in Middleton just how . . . how . . . integral . . . Cassie Nightingale was to Middleton. She was literally the central point of the town. People who absolutely despised each other in the normal course of events got along like George and Gracie when they were in her presence at the same time. Moving her shop would suck, though it was still a viable option, but shutting it down altogether?

Oh, hell, no.

And if stopping this travesty involved making nice with Ryan, even working with him if need be, then fine. That's why God had invented scotch.

And baseball bats.

And surgery without anesthesia.

Hell, for Cassie, Sam would get down on his knees and beg Linda for her help.

Oh.

Oh, hell's bells and fuck his life.

He would. He would ask Linda to help him help Cassie without so much as a second of hesitation.

And with that shocking realization, he could no longer deny the truth.

He wasn't 'possibly romantically interested in Cassie'.

He wanted her, full-stop.

Fuck. His. Life.

And karma was going to die.

No.

No, death wasn't enough.

He was going to obliterate karma from the fabric of the universe.

And that brain-eating amoeba was going with it.

But for now, he had work to do.

So with a heavy sigh and a full glass of scotch, Sam settled in for a crash course in commercial real estate. He would find something that would help Cassie, come hell or high water.

And karma could just sit there and watch it happen.

{{**}}

Meanwhile, karma took a step back and considered the situation.

And for the first time, she wondered if targeting Sam Radford was the wisest decision she could have made.

{{**}}

Had she known what Linda's visit — or territory reclamation, as it were — would bring, Cassie honestly thought that she would have refused to open the door. Not once in her entire life had she seen one person go to so much effort to cause trouble.

And Abigail Pershing was her cousin, which meant the bar was set pretty high.

She would admit to some amusement at Linda's continued efforts to prove that she knew Sam better than Cassie did, as though it was a contest. Her refusal to play, on the other hand . . . well, she couldn't quite tell if Linda was frustrated at being so subtly thwarted in her attempts to claim supremacy or smug, because she took Cassie's silence to mean that she was winning.

But more and more, she was beginning to understand why Sam held such a deep antipathy to this woman. And if she'd been anything like this when they were married (if? Please. People do not change their base personality at the drop of a hat, so of course she'd been like this. Less overt about it, maybe, but that was a matter of degree.), then Cassie would also admit to a reluctant understanding of his refusal to forgive her . . . or maybe it was the inability. She still didn't agree with it, and she never would. But if seeing the other woman's smug, condescending arrogance was making Cassie have to grit her teeth in order to remain pleasant, how much worse was it for Sam? Because from what she had seen, Linda had no remorse whatsoever about cheating on him, and she seemed blithely oblivious to the fact that she had abandoned her son completely.

Had anyone done that to Grace, Cassie would have turned them into a tree frog before frying them with a lightning bolt and serving frog legs for lunch.

But she couldn't do that to Linda, not even on Sam's behalf, and so she didn't. Instead, she clenched her teeth for the few seconds it took her to find her 'polite' voice, and then they were off.

She met Linda's volley about Sam drinking coffee instead of tea — which, really? The man was a medical doctor. Of course he drank coffee. Everyoneknew that. Newborn babies just delivered by said medical doctor knew that. It was hardly something to feel smug about knowing — even if Cassie liked to tease him for his caffeine tendencies.

Wow.

Cassie suddenly found herself wondering if Linda's opinion of her was that low, or if she honestly thought she was that much smarter than the rest of the world.

. . . okay, that was a dumb question.

Moving on.

To . . . a sales pitch in favor of Linda taking Nick to Hong Kong.

Sh—really?

Linda was trying to get Cassie to agree with her?

Okay, that settled it: Alice in Wonderland was coming out of her reading list — and so was Through the Looking Glass.

She kept falling into rabbit holes that were too convoluted and surreal, even for her.

When Linda started talking about the scroll and fighting and 'can't let Sam win', Cassie was suddenly beset with actual fear.

Especially when Linda credited her for helping her see . . . whatever it was she was seeing.

And all of Cassie's stubborn, fearful denials fell on deaf ears.

Linda was bound and determined to do this, but she was equally set on not claiming any responsibility for it.

As she sauntered out of Grey House, tea in hand, Cassie could only stare after her, disquieted in the extreme.

And nervous for reasons she couldn't begin to articulate.

Karma snickered.

{{**}}

Watching Abigail interact with Grace only exacerbated that nervousness, though why she thought asking her cousin about it was a good idea was anyone's guess. Talking to Abigail on a good day like was like trying to nail Jell-O to a tree.

Today?

Suffice to say, Linda wasn't the only person Cassie was tempted to turn into a frog.

Luckily for all of them, Abigail walked away before Cassie could make up her mind.

And her disquiet deepened.

{{**}}

As he stormed over to Grey House, fuming, Sam could only wonder what, exactly, he had done to make karma fixate on him. Had he had a drunken, one-night stand with her daughter?

(He would have sat down and cried had he known that the answer was 'nothing'. Literally, nothing. Karma had seen his ability to roll with the punches and been intrigued.)

Linda's constant hammering at his deepest insecurity as Nick's father wasn't even the issue now, as infuriating as it was.

But to find out that Cassie agreed?!

Oh, that was it. He was beyond furious and Sam Radford, jackass, was threatening to make an appearance.

(It would take months for him to see (and feel like the biggest moron on the planet when that penny dropped) that the reason Linda was so successful at manipulating him like this was because she had mastered the art of taking a few words out of context, resetting them to fit her narrative, and then make it sound normal when she said it out loud. None of her lies, half-truths, and misdirections ever sounded unnatural or false or even forced, and so people had no reason — at least on the surface, though you would have thought that Sam, of all people, would be more wary — to disbelieve her.)

The fact that he was spoiling for a fight with someone because he couldn't fight with Linda might have had something to do with it.

Being hampered by his refusal to tell his son the honest truth about his mother could also be playing a part.

And then there was his knowledge of what Ryan had done.

Suffice to say, Sam was already upset and frustrated, so it took no effort at all for Linda to wind him up like a fucking monkey and send him Cassie's way.

(He wouldn't realize for several weeks how deliberate that had been, and once he did, it made him smile; for all her skill at manipulating him, Linda still failed every single time to understand him, so it never occurred to her that Sam and Cassie would actuallyTALK, realize what she was trying to do, and work it out. It would, however, explain her decision to abandon subtlety altogether when it came to Cassie after she came back for another round of seeing who she could torment the most.)

Thus, he was pissed off, hurt by Cassie's apparent betrayal, and yet also worried about her (which pissed him off even more), so when he stormed into Grey House only to see Cassie looking like THAT, his anger, his libido, and his non-platonic feelings for her collided in an almighty crash that literally left him reeling (and possibly caused a small earthquake as well).

It said a lot about his state of mind that even with that going on, anger was still the overriding emotion.

Her startled look at his accusation didn't slow him down, though he would later wonder at his weak, somewhat pathetic rebuttal of, "She says you did."

Honestly, Nick had better comebacks and he seriously lacked imagination when it came to that.

Of course, by then he'd had a chance to actually absorb the sight in front of him and then had to forcibly shove down (and it took a lot of effort) the thought that if Cassie were his, he'd have taken her face-first against the door right then and already fucked her to a screaming orgasm.

It should at this point be mentioned that Sam Radford's libido and his anger had a very interesting connection to each other. He wasn't always angry when he was horny, or vice versa, but on those occasions when he was both?

Yeah.

The people who DID know this about him understood a lot better why he had gotten together with Linda.

Completely unaware of this (thank God), Cassie easily blew the wind from his sails by pointing out where he'd gotten his information.

Leaving Sam feeling sheepish, gullible, and all-around stupid, because of course.

"I know. I know!" he exclaimed with no little frustration once he'd seen the obvious. "This is what she does to me! She turns me inside out, makes me question all common sense!"

Mid-rant, he caught Cassie's expression, and it made him stop for a minute and give her a once-over that was concerned instead of sexual. She was fucking gorgeous, but her eyes were filled with . . . fear?

No, not . . . not fear. Nervousness, maybe, or trepidation, or—

Oh.

Well . . . oh.

She clearly wanted him to think she looked good, but just as clearly didn't want to want that, and God help him, but Sam understood completely.

He was past the point of caring, but he knew exactly what she was feeling.

And could make an educated guess as to why.

So he made a tremendous effort to rein himself in and said only, in a voice ringing with sincerity because she did deserve to hear it, "You look great, by the way."

When she gave him a weak smile and looked away, he understood something else.

And . . . oh, great. Now he felt queasy.

"I'm interrupting," he realized, looking away himself.

And Cassie's apologetic tone when she told him that she was meeting Ryan . . . and his parents . . . extinguished his anger completely, leaving only a hollow, empty place that had contained the hope that one day, she might return his feelings.

"Oh," was all he could say around a bitter almost-laugh. "I should go."

He should. He really, really should.

He even started to the door, though how he managed that was beyond his comprehension. Not when his body and mind were screaming that he kiss her until the only thing in her world was him, because he fucking despised Ryan Elliott, and it had nothing to do with what he'd found out today. The man was a shitty person, a sucky friend, and a worthless boyfriend.

And that last wasn't even Sam's desire to date Cassie talking, because her concerned expression had just sucked all the juice out of his libido (he was so upset, he couldn't even appreciate — or be flustered by — either the unintentional pun or the equally accidental double entendre). As her friend, her protector, he was — well — Ryan was someone she needed to be protected from. He did not have her best interests at heart, and was becoming more and more obvious about it.

But she was dressed to the nines to meet him and his parents, so Sam couldn't say anything. Not now. Later, definitely, but not — even he wasn't that much of a jerk.

Thus, Cassie refusing to let him leave because he was still furious, even if she didn't know about any of the reasons except Linda, caught him by surprise and he refused automatically.

She just gave him a knowing look and offered him tea.

He hated the stuff, but it would let him spend some time with her — something that, in his current mood, he both feared and craved — so he wavered.

"Your date?" he asked, hearing more than a little sarcasm in his voice and mentally wincing.

Cassie didn't seem to notice. She just arched an eyebrow at him, and he shook his head, his innate manners winning out.

Dammit.

"I can't do this to you," he said quietly, his anger draining away as he remembered, yet again, that just because he thought Ryan and Cassie were a bad match didn't mean that Cassie did. He really needed to staple that reminder to his forehead or something.

His attempt at being a gentleman got him a slightly-exasperated look, followed by, "Well, you're not doing it; I am. Sit."

Bemused, he started to obey, only to pause mid-step when she added that Ryan would understand.

And found himself wondering (and not for the first time) how it was that she was so in tune with people, so easily empathic with the most closed-off person (and yes, he meant himself), and yet was so blind to Ryan Elliott. He wasn't a bad person, really, but he was jealous, needy, clingy, and insecure. Sam had seen this after knowing the man less than a week, so how was it that Cassie didn't realize after . . . well, a couple of years, at least? There was no way on earth he'd understand or be okay with Cassie breaking their date to spend time with Sam.

But he wasn't fool enough to tell her that. Gullible he could be sometimes, especially when it came to Linda, and occasionally an idiot.

Stupid, however, Sam Radford was not.

So when Cassie forwent the tea entirely, instead seating herself at the small table and giving him an expectant look as he followed suit, Sam blew out a heavy sigh and bowed to the inevitable, turning the conversation to the original reason he'd come over: Linda, Nick, and Hong Kong.

Neither of them noticed that she forgot to text Ryan.

As he vented, he knew that he wasn't telling Cassie anything new. She'd heard him bitch before, in addition to having his ex stay at her B&B (he shuddered to think about how some of those conversations had to have gone), even if it was only for one night, and Middleton was a small town, so Linda's visit to the Bell, Book, & Candle had been seen and remarked on. Many times.

Sam wasn't entirely sure, but he thought there might even be some kind of a betting pool going on about the reason Linda had come to town.

(he was absolutely correct and Martin Campbell was having the time of his life running the odds)

When he made the irritated observation that Linda was winning their current fight, Cassie worked her usual miracle and knocked some sense into him from her standard 'if it was a snake, it would have bitten you' position, making him blink.

"Well, that's because you're playing her game," she told him forthrightly, earning a startled look even as comprehension dawned.

The worst part about it? They'd already had this conversation. About Nick.

Apparently, he'd learned nothing.

Like father, like son.

This was not reassuring.

"She strikes me as a person who always has a reason for everything she does," Cassie continued, dead on the mark as usual. "Find out the reason," she added with a shrug, "and you may find a solution to your problem."

Well, damn.

That was an excellent idea.

It was going to be a pain in the ass to do, because that would mean, among other things, talking to Linda.

And getting actual, truthful answers.

. . . or he could just strangle his ex and give Derek the innocent look he'd perfected as a med student.

But he couldn't (and wouldn't, because he still wasn't stupid) say that to Cassie, so instead, he made himself really think about the logistics of finding out what Linda was up to, unaware of the thoughtful expression on his face and the soft smile she gave him when she saw it.

Well, if nothing else, it was a starting point.

And if it didn't work, he could at least say he'd tried.

{{**}}

Nearly an hour later (and a cup of tea; Cassie hadn't been able to stand it after maybe ten minutes and so Sam had, yet again, gotten to pretend that he liked drinking the stuff. Honestly, the things he did for her . . .), he noticed the time and mentally sighed with regret. Just sitting and talking with her had been wonderful, and his mind felt clear for the first time since Linda's arrival, but he couldn't justify keeping her with him any longer. Yes, he'd badly needed to calm down and she was the only person in town (he really missed Liam sometimes) who could help him do that, but her . . . her boyfriend (ugh) and his parents (UGH) should rightfully have priority over a friend.

"Well, that's enough tea and enough sympathy," he said, setting the teacup back in its saucer. "You're late for Ryan," he added, glancing again at his watch.

She shook her head and said that she'd already called to explain and was meeting him later for dessert.

Really?

That was intriguing.

But Sam wouldn't let himself think any further on that, lest he actually become ill, though he did have to ask about the parents. That was an Important Thing and not something to taken, or missed, lightly.

"I'll meet them the next time they're in town," she replied easily, but something in her eyes made him wonder. She — it — could that possibly be relief that he was seeing at not meeting Ryan's parents?

Well, he could only hope, and so he did, but only after a firm reminder not to get too excited about it, assuming that he was right.

And that was a big 'if'.

Moving on.

Because he still hadn't told her about the ugly discovery he'd made today while he was researching her property and rent issues.

And he had to. Yeah, sure, he could wait a day or so, but he wasn't that kind of person, and she wouldn't thank him for it.

Oh, but he really, really didn't want to.

Rubbing his neck, he blew out a heavy sigh as he tried to find the words, and Cassie gently asked, "What?" as she sipped her tea.

"Well," he hedged, "speaking of Ryan and your shop . . ."

He trailed off here, because confirming what she already knew was just going to rub salt in the wound, and that went against the grain of who he was. He was meant to protect her, not hurt her, but he couldn't avoid it and he hated that.

Still, there was nothing for it, so with a deep breath, he yanked off the Band-Aid.

"I made some phone calls," he began abruptly, just wanting to get this over with, "and I found the corporation that bought your building."

She gave him a surprised look, which he supposed made sense. He hadn't known anything the last time they'd talked, so his newfound knowledge would be a little jarring.

Speaking of, he really didn't want to tell her this, but he had to, or the rest of it wouldn't make any sense.

"And . . . I . . . made an offer to buy it back," he rushed out, cringing a little in anticipation of her reaction (not that he knew how she'd feel, mind; he just assumed she'd be upset or annoyed at him trying to take over something that really wasn't his business).

Her disbelieving look didn't surprise him at all. The pleased, hopeful expression that followed it did.

"You did?" she breathed, sounding . . . well, hopeful and pleased, and he blinked.

Wait.

She wasn't upset?

Wow.

That was amazing.

Oh, crap, no, it wasn't. Because he had to tell her the rest of it, and it was going to crush her.

Biting his lip, he gave her an apologetic look and told her that the prick wouldn't budge.

And he had been a raging prick.

Sam had dealt with Doctor Greg House on more than one occasion and, given the choice between him and Ben Jones, he'd happily work with House every single day. The doctor did at least have reasons for being such a giant, insufferable ass.

(It never occurred to him to wonder why he'd actually spoken directly to Ben Jones, instead of his assistant. But the man was bound and determined to get what he wanted, which was both that building for his own and Cassie Nightingale gone, because she had resisted every effort and offer he'd made over the years, and his assistant would have been swayed by a reasonable offer to buy.)

Watching the hope drain from her eyes infuriated Sam, especially given what he knew about Ryan's involvement with it.

"Seems like he's got big plans for your shop that don't include you," he told her quietly, because she deserved to hear all of it, and also because he needed to know that she understood how bad things could . . . and likely would . . . get.

She just nodded, looking stunned, and murmured, "Oh."

Yeah.

'Oh'.

And what could he say? There was nothing he could do now to make things better, and he still hadn't told her the worst of it.

Well, he hadn't confirmed it, and he was NOT looking forward to that.

It occurred to him, now that he was being forced to think about it, that Liam would give him an alibi. And he had ways of his own. The world at large would be better off if he just took Ryan and Linda out of the equation.

But as he looked at Cassie and saw again her despondent face, he knew he wouldn't.

If only because she wouldn't approve.

Which . . . well, that really said it all, didn't it?

So he mentally braced himself, manned up, and said, "It's hard to believe Ryan's involved."

And froze when Cassie blinked, gave him a confused look, and said, "Ryan?"

Puzzled at her response, Sam nodded and said, "Yeah, Jones is the buyer. You didn't know?"

"Ryan's Jones?" she asked in tones of disbelief, and the truth slammed into him so hard, his heart stuttered and he couldn't breathe.

SHE DIDN'T KNOW?!

That arrogant, stupid, backstabbing bastard hadn't told her that he—

Well, no, of course he hadn't.

Why the fuck did Sam think otherwise?!

The man was a sniveling, whining coward who didn't deserve to know Cassie a—

STOP.

Breathe.

Calm down.

He was going to kill that motherfucker slowly and with great joy, but Cassie was about to lose it and Sam had to keep himself calm, because she needed him.

Astonishingly, that did it; his fury settled itself into a corner and let Sam be rational for now. Cassie needed him and that was all it took to bring him back to an even keel.

Wasn't that an interesting development?

And she'd asked him a question.

Giving a massive sigh of anger, disbelief, and no small amount of heartbreak on her behalf, Sam nodded and said, in a tone of genuine regret, "Yeah. One and the same."

Before she could react, he repeated, "He didn't tell you?" in an incredulous voice, because, truthfully, he could not fathom that. His brain literally could not process it.

Whether or not it had been intentional was still up in the air, but intentions didn't matter. Facts did. And Cassie Nightingale was a person to whom trust meant everything. By hiding it from her, Ryan had, in essence, told her that he not only didn't trust her, but he also didn't respect her.

And while at the back of his mind, Sam was overjoyed at this revelation, he didn't give it more than a passing thought. His entire being was focused on making sure Cassie was as okay as she could be right now, given that he'd just fucking devastated her in the worst possible way. Having assumed that she already knew, he had made no effort to soften his voice or gentle his approach. No, he'd been blunt and forthright, and now look where they were: Cassie was almost in tears and Sam was counting the ways he could kill Ryan and make it look natural.

When Cassie shook her head and looked away, stuttering her denial of Ryan's involvement, it jolted Sam out of his bloodlust and his entire demeanor softened.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Cassie," he said with genuine regret, mingled with hatred that wasn't for her, and shaking his head with the disbelief he still couldn't reconcile. "But you should know."

She nodded shortly, gave him a somewhat bitter smile, and looked away as she whispered, "Yeah, now I do."

When she covered her mouth with her hand and blinked back tears, Sam was again torn between rage and concern. As ever with Cassie, concern won out and he gently took the hand she was resting on the table, cradling it in his and stroking his thumb tenderly across the back.

They sat in silence for what felt like hours, but when Cassie finally stirred, it was back to the established routine: she thanked Sam for telling her (and if she sounded like she was dead inside, he could hardly blame her; it was going to take him days to kill that bastard) and then sent him home.

No questions, no attempts to talk to him, no letting him in even a little . . . in other words, exactly how she'd been acting since that fucking storm.

And Sam was hurt, he wouldn't deny it.

But he also thought he was finally beginning to understand.

Because while they had sat at her table in a companionable, albeit heavy, silence, Sam had had time to think, and he'd put a few things together.

Things like Ryan's conspicuous absence at Grey House since the storm in question.

Cassie's sudden refusal to say anything about him, at least to Sam.

The lack of true surprise once she understood what Sam was telling her.

So while her continued refusal to open up to him was infuriating, if he was right, then Sam understood.

And really couldn't say that he'd be any different.

Still, understanding did not make it easier or better, because he couldn't help her unless she let him, and since she didn't seem remotely inclined to do so . . .

He managed to hold back his aggrieved sigh until he was halfway home, and then it exploded out of him in a giant rush that actually rustled a few leaves on a low branch he was passing.

Fucking Ryan.

Seeing Linda's car in his driveway because reason only spiked his anger.

Fucking Linda.

Oh, fantastic. His fury had decided it had waited long enough and wanted to join the party.

All right, fine.

He was going to see Linda, anyway, so maybe telling her to her face to get the fuck out of his house and his life would work, if only for the novelty.

Seeing her so close to Nick made the hair on his neck stand on end, though he couldn't quite say why, and it was enough to make him realize he needed to at least sound rational when he told her to leave.

"Hey," he greeted them as neutrally as he could manage, and promptly had to work at keeping his expression even when Linda turned and gave him a fake smile and 'hey' of her own.

Oh, this was just going to massively suck.

And then she made it worse, because why not?

"Um, a Stephanie called," she told him with a startling amount of glee, and he just gave her a sharp look . . . which she ignored.

"How many women do you have in this town anyway?" she added, and despite his best effort, his temper started to rise.

He needed to get Nick out of the room, because this was going to get ugly.

When he asked his son to leave, the derisive scoff didn't surprise or upset him; he knew how it looked.

Linda assuring Nick that it was okay to leave her alone with Sam?

That pissed him off, and he gave a bitter scoff of his own when he realized that she really didn't have any scruples left. Not when it came to getting what she thought she wanted.

Then she decided she had the right to lecture him on his personal relationships — oh, because she was concerned for Nick, right — and Sam. Was. Done.

But he wasn't going to let this devolve into a screaming match. He'd done that too many times with her and it never worked, so why beat that horse again?

Besides, Nick was in the house.

"Friend," he told her evenly after her unsubtle jab at Stephanie, moving around the island so he could grab a bottle of water and try to cool down. "She's a friend."

Well, that was a wasted sentence. Friendship was something Linda did not understand. At all.

Besides, that wasn't the issue at hand.

"And you're not taking him to Hong Kong," he informed her a touch icily. "You're not taking him anywhere."

Aaaand here came the 'reasonable on the surface' argument that he kept letting himself be stymied by.

"Sam, doesn't he have a say in who he lives with and where he lives?"

But Sam had had enough. He had told Nick all those months ago that he wasn't going to keep playing his game; it was past time for Linda to get the same news.

"No!" he snapped back. "He's a kid! We're supposed to be the adults," he added, gesturing between himself and his ex-wife. "We're supposed to tell him what to do, not the other way around."

He was right, so Linda completely ignored that and instead informed him that Nick wanted to come with her.

No, really?!

This was news to Sam.

Oh, crap. His hold on his control was slipping.

"You need to leave," he informed her, his chest heaving a little with the force of his anger, and she actually leaned back in shock.

To be fair, this was highly unlike Sam in the normal course of events.

The reminder made him smile a little grimly.

That was exactly his point.

"Tonight," he added softly and just a touch menacingly. "Before you cause any more trouble."

No, he wasn't mincing words. Not any longer. The sooner she was gone, the better off everyone would be.

Starting with Nick, even though he wouldn't realize it.

She rallied quickly, which he had to give her points for.

"Nick doesn't want me leaving," was her objection . . . and that would have worked yesterday, he admitted to himself.

But now it was today.

And he had finally been pushed too far.

"It's not his house," he shot back, anger threaded through every syllable.

So of course, here came Nick, blundering face-first into a situation that he knew literally nothing about, because Sam hadn't told him.

And the reasons for not telling him were good.

They were.

But right this second?

They were bullshit, and this was going to be bad.

"It is," he said angrily, coming to Linda's side. "And she's my mom."

And yeah, that was true. But Sam didn't give a flying fuck any longer about either of their feelings.

Okay, no, that wasn't right. He cared completely about Nick, but he had to hurt the surface feelings now so he could protect his son from a truth that would destroy him if he found out.

So—

"Go back to your room," he quietly told his son, that same menace rising in his voice.

As usual, Nick ignored it.

And him.

"No, Dad," he replied, straightening up and moving a little closer to Linda.

Almost . . . protectively.

Why would h—

"You're not gonna bully Mom anymore."

Wait.

What?

Bully?

What the hell?

"Bully?" he repeated incredulously, giving Linda a dark look as he started to put the pieces together.

No, he was wrong. He had to be. She was a cold, selfish, hateful bitch, but surely she wouldn't flat-out lie to Nick.

Not even she would do that.

Right?

Oh, fuck his life.

She would.

She had.

"You're not gonna win this time, Sam. I'm not gonna let you win," she told him, sounding so self-righteous that it took entirely too much effort to keep from slapping her.

And as he straightened, finally realizing what even he had ignored for so long, Sam could only shake his head in appreciation of the bitter irony.

Utterly oblivious to the undercurrents in the room (somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam did wonder about that, because those undercurrents weren't all that 'under'), Nick blundered in again. "You've had me for long enough," he informed his father. "I want to be with her and she wants to be with me."

God help him, but he nearly rolled his eyes; that had sounded far too much like something from Romeo and Juliet to take seriously.

But then the kid kept talking.

"I know what you did, and you can't get away with it again," he said with angry, childish defiance, and Sam went still, watching as his ex-wife rubbed a comforting hand over Nick's shoulder before pinning her with a look so cold, it's a wonder she didn't drop dead from frostbite.

"What did you tell him?" he breathed, even though he knew.

And her smug, triumphant look threatened to obliterate the rest of his control when Nick answered.

"The truth," he said with such utter certainty, it hurt. "You don't get to steal me from her twice."

And then he just walked out, leaving his parents standing in an icy, bitter silence.

Sam literally did not know what to say, or do, or even think.

In truth, he was terrified that if he opened his mouth, he'd start screaming.

With the rage he was desperately trying to beat down before it consumed him, Sam would do a great deal of damage.

And as much as he'd fantasized about killing Linda since her unwelcome arrival, right now, that was an honest-to-God possibility.

So he stood there, staring at a woman he had once loved enough to pledge his life to, and realized that he would never hate anything as much as he despised her in this moment.

And then she pushed him just that little bit more, because Linda Wallace did not know when to stop — and she had never had any respect at all for his temper.

"You should have just let him come to Hong Kong with me," she told him in that condescending voice that just . . . just . . .

The only thing that saved her was Sam's bone-deep refusal to sink to her level.

He would NOT let her do that to him.

It took literally everything he had to stand still and just look at her, in deceptively calm silence, but he managed it.

God help him, but it was worth it just to see her certainty waver under his emotionless regard, before she decided that retreat was the better part of valor and disappeared out the front, leaving her son to fend for himself (when he could think rationally again, Sam would wonder in utter despair why Nick refused to see that).

Alone in his kitchen, Sam Radford took a deep, cleansing breath, then another, releasing more rage with each exhale. Then he put the water bottle back in the fridge, waited out the seven minutes it took him to stop shaking, and calmly went upstairs.

He paused by Nick's room, debated for a long minute, and then opened the door. The boy was slumped at his computer, stabbing viciously at the keyboard, and it was almost funny to watch him flail in the chair before he came fully upright. When he saw it was Sam, his expression darkened instantly into the petulant, childish defiance that he'd subjected everyone to for the last two days.

"I want to be with her," he said, his voice as petulant and childish as his face, though it wavered when Sam didn't respond. Instead, he simply stood there and watched his son, outwardly expressionless.

And Sam truly wished that he had a response, or a comeback, a bribe — anything that might salvage the situation.

But he didn't, and so after a long, silent moment of contemplation, he just turned and walked away.

Never had the soft click of a door being closed been so deafeningly loud.

Or so final.

{{**}}

Cassie stood at the window to her beloved shop for a long time, just letting the memories rush through her.

And when she could no longer maintain her equanimity with that, she made her way, slowly, to The Bistro. She couldn't be with Sam right now; it wasn't remotely his fault, and she knew it, but he had been the one to devastate her with the news, and so she just . . .

But she needed to talk to someone, and Stephanie would at least listen, even if she couldn't offer any advice, so that was where Cassie needed to go.

When she saw Ryan gathering up his things while giving Abigail an annoyed look, she didn't know how she felt.

A large part of her simply could not believe that Ryan, her good friend and the man who adored her so much, would do this to her.

It never occurred to her to think that Sam had lied to her . . . but maybe he'd misheard?

She was actually hopeful that was the case, and halfway believed it herself, until Ryan turned and saw her.

When his guilt hit her like a tidal wave, swamping her completely, Cassie's heart began to crumble.

{{**}}

Karma swallowed.

Hard.

This was not what she had intended.

Or wanted.

But she knew better than anyone that there was no going back.

For any of them.