The Parent Plan. Paula Riggs Detmer

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СКАЧАТЬ her head in what she hoped was a reassuring denial. “I’m just tired, that’s all. One of the other residents is off sick, and I’m working part of his hours as well as my own.”

      Sylvia Moore pleated her patrician brow in a troubled look Karen knew foreshadowed a bout of maternal probing. “Winter’s officially over in three days. Perhaps you’ve a touch of spring fever,” Sylvia suggested with just a hint of a smile, her cup clinking softly as she returned it to the saucer on the piecrust table at her elbow.

      “Could be. I admit I’ve just about had it with fighting my way from the house to my car in knee-high snow more mornings than not.”

      She gave a dramatic shiver before turning back to continue her study of the framed photos. Since she’d been old enough to climb on a chair in front of the fireplace, she’d been fascinated by the people in those pictures, many of whom had faces very much like hers. Her father’s, especially. Karen always felt a tingle of recognition when she studied his likeness, which reminded her so much of her own.

      She’d been only three when he’d kissed her goodbye that fateful morning and driven off to work. Ten minutes later, his life had ended in a car crash. A broken neck, according to the reports she’d read. Just like that, and her mother had been a widow with a child to raise by herself.

      Kari and I raised each other, Sylvia invariably declared when anyone remarked on the unusually close relationship between mother and daughter.

      Smiling to herself, Karen let her gaze move farther along the display of photographs. Her mother was there, too, as well as a steady progression of photos of Karen. As a bald baby in a flowery headband. As a Brownie and then a Girl Scout, her sash covered with merit badges. As an honor student and valedictorian of her class at Colorado State.

      There were other pictures, too. Silly ones. Special ones. Her first day of medical school with her arms full of bedding and her roommate mugging in the background. Posing in her brand-new uniform as an LPN at Vanderbilt Memorial, where she’d worked double shifts in order to earn the money for the next term. Sunbathing in the backyard with her first boyfriend, Squirrely Miller Greavy. Her entire life, captured on glossy paper and framed with her mother’s impeccable taste.

      Her breath hitched as she finally allowed herself to look at the large, formal photo in a priceless antique frame that sat all alone on one end of the crowded mantelpiece. Her wedding picture.

      Her very own fairy-tale fantasy done in the colors of the sun and swirls of pixie dust.

      It had been Indian summer, and the sun had bathed the small chapel in gold. Cassidy had worn the rented tux with an authority that had taken her breath away. Not even her mother’s friend and long-time beau, Frank Bidwell, in custom-tailored Armani had been as impressive.

      Smiling, she traced the majestic line of those wide, wide shoulders with her blunt, unpainted nail. Clark Gable shoulders, she used to tease, just to watch him scowl. He’d been scowling when they’d met, too, between colorful curses that had questioned the paternity of the two ranch hands who had hauled him into the ER on a hot day in July.

      “He’s all yours, ma’am,” one of the crusty hands had declared prophetically before hurrying to the safety of the waiting room.

      “Best not try to take his pants,” the younger cowpuncher had counseled, before he, too, had abandoned her.

      A wild stallion Cassidy had been set on breaking had tried to return the favor, and Cassidy had ended up at the receiving end of the horse’s flashing, steel-shod hooves. Still wearing his chaps over frayed jeans and dusty boots, he’d been all but out of his mind with pain from a gash in his forehead, a severe concussion and four broken ribs, one of which had been dangerously close to puncturing a lung.

      While Karen helped the nurse with his vitals, he’d told them in no uncertain terms what they could do with their pain medication, threatened Karen with unspeakable horror if she so much as reached for the buttons on his fly and worked hard on turning the air blue in the small treatment cubicle, earning him a severe rebuke from a tough ex-army nurse by the name of Helga Tutt. He’d also gone down in history at Vanderbilt Memorial as holding the unofficial record for consecutive curses without a single repetition.

      It had been love at first sight—on her part, at least. But when they’d started dating, Cassidy’s motivation had been far more direct—he’d wanted to take her to bed. While she’d been weaving romantic dreams, he’d been skillfully knocking down her virginal defenses one by one. And yet, when she’d told him about the baby, he’d kissed her with great tenderness before informing her in his usual brusque manner that they would be getting married as soon as the law allowed.

      “You were beautiful that day, Kari,” her mother remarked quietly, drawing Karen’s gaze. “Truly radiant.”

      “I was scared to death!”

      “So was Cassidy. I’ve never quite seen that shade of white in a man’s face before.”

      Karen felt a lump forming in her throat as she recalled the possessive note in his voice as he’d repeated the vows. Her own voice had been barely audible and more than a little shaky. At one point, she’d stumbled over the words, and Cassidy had given her icy hand a reassuring squeeze that had calmed her.

      She’d been giddy with happiness for a long time after that. Cassidy had made no secret of his determination to grant her every wish, and he had, she reminded herself as she settled in the chair opposite her mother’s—until she’d made the decision when Vicki was nearly three to return to medical school for her final two years.

      He’d changed after that. Each day he’d seemed to draw more tightly into himself until she’d come to feel as though she were living with a taciturn, polite—and terribly remote—roommate instead of the man she adored.

      After taking a sip of the now tepid coffee, she asked brightly, “So what did you decide to wear to the reception tomorrow night?”

      Her mother tossed her a saucy grin that took years from her face. “What else? My little black dress and pearls.”

      “Of course.” Karen recalled with fondness the hours of her youth that she and her mother had spent discussing fashion and style.

      “I wish Olivia was going to be at the party,” Sylvia murmured after a long moment of silence. “She and I used to tease each other about who wore pearls most often.” Sylvia drew a sad breath. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

      Karen toyed with her coffee cup, centering it on her knee, tracing the handle, then repositioning it on the chair arm. Olivia Stuart and her mother had been friends for years—since the days when their girls had been in grade school together and almost as close as sisters.

      Now pictures of Eve’s mom flitted gently though her mind. For all her grace and innate charm, Grand Springs’ mayor had been a strong advocate for the underdog. She’d also been a wonderful role model, especially for young women and girls, like Vicki and Olivia’s own beloved granddaughter, Molly.

      “It doesn’t seem possible that a wonderful person like her should have been murdered.”

      Her eyes dulled by sadness, Sylvia shook her head. “I talked to Rio the other afternoon when he came in to make a payment on his truck loan. He said that the police have pretty much exhausted the leads in the case.”

      Karen heaved a weary sigh. As a doctor, she dealt with death nearly every day, in one way or another, СКАЧАТЬ