THE MORNING SIDE OF DAWN Page 17

  "Is he really so sure … I would hurt Dar?"

  Rory looked thoughtful as she combed out another strand and trimmed it off evenly. "I don't think he thinks that at all. He knows you would never intentionally hurt anyone."

  "But he thinks I might … unintentionally?"

  "I think he's worried because Dar and any woman would be a volatile combination. That man comes with a lot of baggage, Cassie, and his disability is only a small part of it."

  "I know," Cassie said. "He told me about his father. Some, anyway."

  "Coldhearted bastard," Rory said, her level tone somehow not robbing the description of any heat. Then she gave Cassie an assessing look. "He doesn't talk much about that, from what Sean has said. If you got him to talk, you must be doing better than I thought."

  "It was … sort of an apology, I think."

  "For?"

  "We sort of had an argument."

  Rory's brows rose. "Dar doesn't usually bother to argue with anyone. You are making progress."

  "Strange sort of progress."

  "Dar is not your average man."

  "No. No, he's not."

  "And he seems to have gotten worse lately. Even more withdrawn. I don't know why. Sean's been worried, and Dar just denies that anything is wrong."

  Cassie opened her mouth to answer, then hesitated, wondering if what she'd been about to say would be betraying a confidence. But if Sean was really worried… And she owed Rory, for helping her understand why Dar was so closed off.

  "I think it's partly because your lives are all changing so much, and you're so happy, and so are Stevie and Chase, and even Katie's growing and changing…"

  She trailed off, not sure if she was making any sense. But Rory was nodding slowly. "You mean he's feeling … left behind?"

  "Yes. Like he's afraid of being abandoned all over again, this time by the people he finally trusted enough to let into his life. There's only so many times a person can survive that."

  "First his real family, then his adopted family," Rory said. "Yes, it makes sense." Cassie nodded. Rory gave her that assessing look again. "Did he tell you this?"

  "You mean volunteer it?" Cassie asked wryly. "Of course not. But he admitted it might be true once I told him … I felt the same way."

  Rory's eyes widened. "My, you two have been talking, haven't you?"

  One corner of Cassie's mouth twisted upward. "Let's just say I've been talking, and he's been a captive audience."

  "Do you really feel that way, too?" Rory asked, looking at Cassie with concern.

  Cassie smiled at her. "It's only because you and Sean and my brother and Stevie are so darn happy. If I didn't love you all, I'd be really jealous."

  Rory blushed. "We are happy. It's almost scary sometimes. I keep thinking something's going to go wrong."

  Cassie reached out and patted Rory's hand. "I'd say you've already paid the price for this."

  Rory clasped Cassie's hand in return, then released it and went back to her trimming. Cassie folded her hands neatly in her lap, staring at them as Rory snipped. She turned the question she wanted to ask over and over in her mind, but couldn't come up with any subtler approach. So finally she just came out with it.

  "Rory?"

  "Hmm?"

  "How did you convince Sean that … it didn't matter to you?"

  Rory paused in her snipping. "I presume by 'it' you mean the fact that he's an amputee?"

  "Yes." Cassie sighed. "It's so hard to know what to say. Or what not to say. Some people don't like to be called disabled. Some don't like handicapped. Some feel 'amputee' is a demeaning label."

  "I think," Rory said as she ran a comb through Cassie's shorn locks, "that people would rather be called any of those than be ignored."

  "Now that," Cassie said, smiling into the mirror at Rory, "makes sense."

  "So, you're having a problem convincing Dar you don't care that he's in a chair?"

  Cassie twisted around to look at Rory directly. "Was that a trick question? Of course I care. I'd much rather he wasn't, but he is."

  "Just checking," Rory said mildly. "I was afraid you might be kidding yourself."

  "Did you?"

  "I don't think so. I love Sean more than I've ever loved anyone in my life, and I'm so proud of him and what he's accomplished that I could trumpet it to the skies. I admit, at first I used to wish every day that it hadn't ever happened, wish he still had his leg. Not for my sake, but for his. But then one day I woke up."

  "Woke up?"

  "I realized that if he hadn't lost his leg, if he hadn't had to go through what he went through, he wouldn't be the man he is today. And since that's the man I love, how could I truly wish it hadn't happened?"

  Cassie stared at Rory. "You mean he might have turned out differently?"

  Rory shrugged. "I love this Sean. I don't know if I could have loved what he might have been, if he'd gone on to be that football star everyone said he would have been. If he'd never had to face what he faced."

  Cassie was still thinking about what Rory had said as they drove back to the warehouse. Deputy Thorne, although assuring her they were actively searching for Willis, had suggested she now seriously consider getting that restraining order. Dar agreed, and she knew they were right, but it was Friday and the court was already closed. Thorne had mentioned the possibility of an emergency order that could be issued via telephone, but Cassie was hesitant to do that; she hadn't been hurt, or even threatened directly, and besides, the order would do no good until Willis was served, which put her back to square one. The police had to find him first. No, she would wait until Monday and do it then.

  She gave Dar a quick glance as they pulled up to a stoplight. "Is Sean still angry?"

  "No." He didn't look at her.

  "Did he understand why we didn't tell him the truth?"

  "Yes."

  "So did Rory, eventually."

  "Good."

  She looked at him again, this time steadily. He stared steadfastly forward, as if avoiding looking at her.

  "It's green."

  She turned her eyes hastily forward again. "Sorry," she muttered as she accelerated, "I was trying to think of something that would require more than a one-word answer."

  "What?"

  She gave him another quick sideways glance; he looked genuinely puzzled. She made the turn onto the Coast Highway

  before she answered.

  "I thought we'd progressed beyond 'yes,' 'no' and all those other single-syllable responses."

  His expression cleared. "I was just listening to your car. How long has it been tapping like that?"

  "Oh." She felt a little foolish and turned her attention back to the road, where it probably should have stayed in the first place. "It started about three weeks ago."

  "Sounds like a lifter. You may need a valve adjusted. I'll look at it when we get home."

  When we get home. Did he have any idea what that sounded like to her? Before he realized and took it back, she spoke quickly.

  "Thank you. I've been meaning to have it checked out." Then, tentatively, "So, has Sean decided you're not crazy, after all?"

  This time she kept her eyes on the road, but she could feel him looking at her.

  "Actually," Dar drawled, "he said he'd had second thoughts."

  "Second thoughts?"

  "Yeah. Said he'd had time to get used to the idea. I think he was almost sorry it wasn't true, after all."

  Cassie wanted to look at him, to see if she could read him, wanted to know if he felt the same way, or if he was glad the pretense was over. But she didn't look, and deep down she knew the reason why she stifled the urge; she was afraid that if she looked at him she would know for certain that it had been just that, pretense.

  But he'd kissed her. Passionately. And he'd responded himself; she knew that much, at least, was real. And those slow, sensuous moments when they'd danced, and the hotter, fiercer moments afterward, those had been real. Very, very real. Real enough that just thinki
ng about them left her breathless.

  Feeling a little reckless under the battering heat of those memories, she spoke. "He and Rory seem to have traded opinions, then. I think she thinks I'm crazy."

  "For what? Cutting your hair?"

  She told herself not to say it. She told herself that the fact that they had reached the turnoff for the warehouse and there wasn't a single bit of cross traffic was a sign that she should shut up and let well enough alone. She told herself that her tendency to blurt out her thoughts to him had gotten her in enough trouble already. And as they made the turn and headed down the gravel part of the road, she told herself it would be pointless to say it, anyway. It was no use; she seemed to lose any semblance of restraint or common sense when she was with him.

  "No," she said. She pulled her car to a halt, shut off the motor and turned to face him. "For trying to batter down the Cordell Fortress."

  She looked at him only long enough to see that too-familiar shuttered look slam down in his dark eyes. She got out of the car and ran up the steps of the warehouse, feeling his gaze on her back every step of the way.

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  «^»

  "Why'd you cut your hair?" Dar asked a few hours later.

  "I told you why."

  "You expect me to believe you did it so I would look at you differently?"

  "I don't expect you to do anything."

  She heard a muttering, and a metallic sound from under the hood before he said, "Do you really think Willis won't recognize you now?"

  She leaned back in the driver's seat, staring up into the fading light of day. She'd been out here since she'd heard her car start up again and she'd looked outside to see Dar balanced somewhat precariously on the left front fender, his head under the raised hood and his hands buried deep in the engine compartment. He'd never come inside after her foolish parting shot, but he'd clearly remembered his promise and made good on it; the annoying tapping had vanished.

  "This sounds suspiciously like you're trying to start a conversation."

  They'd spoken very little since she'd come outside. Since he was working on her car, she had felt compelled to stay around and had wound up pressed into service by starting and stopping the engine a few times. He'd said nothing about what she'd said when they'd arrived, and she certainly wasn't going to bring it up herself; she'd embarrassed herself enough around this man.

  "I was trying," Dar said, sounding harassed, "to get a question answered."

  "Why?"

  She heard him swear then. "Forget it."

  He tossed whatever tool he'd been using back into the big tool chest he'd lugged out from the garage. Then she heard him start to wrestle with something else under the hood.

  "Not worth the effort, huh?" she said brightly.

  The noises from under the hood stopped. When he spoke at last, she couldn't tell if he was perturbed or amused.

  "Was that one of your object lessons?"

  She decided to go with amused, despite its unlikeliness. "Why, whatever makes you say that?"

  "Because you're damn good at them," he said, and there was enough wry acknowledgment in his tone to fill her with relief.

  "The question is," she dared to say, "are they doing any good?"

  "They're making me damn tired, is what they're doing."

  "That's because they're exercising parts you haven't used in a while."

  She heard a thud, then a low curse, as if he'd forgotten where he was and lifted his head too sharply. And only then did she realize how what she'd said had sounded. She felt heat flood her cheeks and was immensely grateful that he couldn't see her face. That was the only thing that enabled her to say, coolly enough, "I meant your mind, Cordell, your mind."

  "Right."

  He moved quickly then, a final flurry of motion under the hood, then a quick tossing of more tools back into the chest.

  He twisted sideways on the fender, then leaned forward so he could sit up clear of the hood. She noticed then that he'd left his chair wedged against the front bumper, and he simply slid down the side of the car and into the seat.

  "Slick," she said. "I wondered how you were going to do that."

  His head came around in a hurry. She simply smiled at him. "Rory suggested I give up worrying about offending you. I think she suspects it's not possible."

  After a moment, Dar shook his head. "What the hell did I ever do to that woman?"

  "Why don't you ask her?"

  "Ask her? I can barely get her to look me in the eye."

  "That's because she's terrified of you. Or rather, the Mr. Perfect she thinks you are."

  He went very still, and even in the fading light of dusk she could see his eyes go distant. But it was different this time; it wasn't the cold shroud that masked Ms emotions, it was the unfocused look of memory.

  "Mr. Perfect," he murmured. "That's what I used to call my father."

  "I'm not surprised. It must be strange to know that somebody thinks of you in the same way."

  The distant look vanished. "You're serious about that, aren't you? You really think that's how she feels? That that's why she … avoids me?"

  "She told me she did. What did you think?" Cassie asked.

  He grimaced. "Simple. I thought she hated me."

  "Then perhaps it would surprise you to know that she worries about you almost as much as Sean does."

  He gaped at her. "Rory?"

  Cassie knew Rory's concern was partly for Sean's sake, but she didn't think this was the time to point that out.

  "You have a lot to learn about people and caring, Cordell," she said. "Oh," she hastened to add when she saw him stiffen, "it's not your fault. You had a lousy teacher, as a kid. The kind of garbage he shoved on you is hard to unlearn. But you can do it, if you want to." She grinned suddenly. "But then you know that. Dar Cordell can do anything, if he wants to." And again she left him staring after her.

  * * *

  He was going to lose it. He knew it the instant he clipped the rock and the handlebars of the off-road chair jammed his wrists, telling him the suspension on the front forks was too stiff for that extra fraction of an inch of give that might have saved it.

  It was his own fault. Neither he nor the chair had been ready for this hill. He because he was exhausted after a night when what little sleep he'd gotten had been haunted by erotic, far too vivid images of Cassie, and the chair because he'd refused to give up any bit of speed for a cushier ride.

  And he was going to reconsider the idea of a seat belt. But fat lot of good that common sense was going to do him now.

  He barely had time to form the thought before the folly of his actions caught up with him. The chair flipped. He went airborne, and had a split second to only half-jokingly wish he'd added a roll bar as well as a seat belt. He tried to tuck and roll, but the thirty-pound, fast-moving chair was headed in the same direction, and one of the knobby tires caught him on the shoulder, sending him sprawling to one side. The best he could do was curl his hands into fists to protect his fingers, and draw his arms up against his chest, praying he didn't break an arm; that would seriously incapacitate him.

  Rocks battered him, and scrub brush flicked at him like stinging insects with the smaller, softer branches, and dug into him like swords with the bigger, unyielding ones. With an odd sense of detachment he heard himself grunt as his body rolled over the rough ground, heard the snaps as branches broke off, and wondered how much skin he was going to lose this time.

  Both he and the chair came up in a tangled mess against a sizable boulder halfway down the rocky slope. In that same oddly detached way, he heard his breath blast out of his lungs. The sensation of quiet after the noise of his tumbling fall was almost surreal. The detachment, he knew, wouldn't last; in a moment all the sensations his body had suspended would come rushing back, and he wasn't going to like it one bit.

  And it happened; his body suddenly realized it was not getting any air and went into a paroxysm of panic. He tried
to steady it, to take slow, shallow breaths, but it was hard to concentrate amid the myriad of both stabbing pains and jabbing twinges he was starting to feel.

  He didn't know how long it took, how long he spent lying there in the dust, before he could breathe well enough to assess his situation. He raised his head to take a look. First, he thought, proud that his mind was functioning so logically, he had to get the chair off him; the titanium frame was digging into his chest and belly and making it even harder to breathe.

  He did a quick inward assessment; he could see, could move his head, his shoulders, his arms, his fingers. He didn't feel the sharp, stabbing pain he associated with broken ribs. The only pain he felt below the pressure of the frame on his belly was the tender spot on his hip from the tumble he and Cassie had taken yesterday. He thought he could even sit up, if he could just get this thing off him.

  He reached up and grabbed the nearest section of the frame, trying to judge which way to push so the thing didn't dig a permanent hole in his belly. Not that it would do him much good, he realized glumly as he noticed the decided bend in the aluminum handlebar on the right side, and the ominously out-of-line look of the right front wheel. The titanium frame had held beautifully, as it had been designed to do, but the more fragile parts of the chair hadn't held up quite as well on that somersaulting descent.

  And right now he was including himself on that list of fragile parts; he wasn't feeling real well at the moment. His right leg was entangled with the now-tweaked seat assembly, caught just above the stump. He didn't think the leg was injured, but that ultrasensitive flesh was being gripped hard enough to make him feel a little anxious to get free.

  He pushed on the frame until he could twist out from under it, wincing as the movement bent his leg at precisely the wrong angle. Swearing, his jaw set against the pain, he sat up quickly and yanked at the broken seat assembly. The small pack fastened to the back of the seat came loose and fell to the ground, but he barely noticed in his effort to get free. Finally he shoved the seat with one hand, grabbed his knee with the other and pulled. His leg slid clear, the pain eased immediately and he let out a long breath of relief.