THE MORNING SIDE OF DAWN Read online

  "I could wind up these last three chairs in a couple of days if I put my mind to it," Dar began, stopping to lift a brow at Sean when he chuckled.

  "You could do anything in a couple of days if you set your mind to it," Sean said.

  Except get what you've got, Dar thought instantly. And almost as instantly regretted it. Sean was his best friend, darn near his only friend, and one of the very few people he gave a damn about. With a silent apology he hastened to atone for the envious thought.

  "Speaking of minds, where was yours when you got here? You looked like a hungry cat who just found a flock of pigeons too fat to fly."

  Sean's grin expanded, until Dar felt a qualm he couldn't explain. Whatever it was, Sean was deliriously happy about it. And as hard as Dar tried to quash the feeling, he couldn't quite make it go away.

  "Rory's pregnant."

  Reaction hit Dar low and hard and fast. If he'd had feet to stand on, this would have taken him off them. He fought it, biting down on the inside of his lip until the pain there beat out the crazy sensation in his gut. He prayed silently it didn't show; Sean deserved better than this from him. Sean had been there for him; he'd lured him out of isolation back into life, had refused to take no for an answer and had made him open the door for the closest thing to a real family he'd ever had.

  At last he managed to speak. "That's great, Sean. Congratulations."

  His voice was a little thick, but he thought he'd sounded normal enough. But all his fine theorizing that it was plain and simple boredom that had him so unsettled had just gone out the window.

  "Yeah," Sean shook his head as if in wonder. "It is great. Scary, but great."

  Dar felt steadier now, "I … didn't know you were going to start a family this soon."

  Red tinged Sean's cheeks. "Well, we didn't exactly plan to."

  Dar managed a crooked grin. "I've seen you two all over each other. I'm surprised it took this long."

  "Yeah, well." Sean shifted embarrassedly on the couch. "It just happened. But we're happy about it."

  "How's Rory?"

  Sean's brow furrowed. "Sick. And a little green most of the time."

  Dar gave his friend a wry smile. "Kind of like she looks around me all the time?"

  Sean lowered his gaze, and Dar knew then that he'd noticed his wife's anxiety whenever Dar was around.

  "It's okay. I'm used to it." His tone must have been drier than he thought; Sean's gaze shot back to his face.

  "Used to what? Intimidating women with your looks?"

  "No. Having them turn green around me."

  It had come out before he could stop the words, and Sean's brows lifted in surprise.

  "Yeah, I know," Dar said, heading off the inevitable comment with a wave of his hand. "I told you I'm in a stinking mood today. Sorry."

  "Did … something bring this on?"

  After a look at his friend's expression, Dar spoke quickly. "Not you." His mouth twisted. "I was in this mood long before you got here."

  Sean looked doubtful.

  "Really," Dar said. "I'm happy for you. Both of you. I mean it. You'll be a great father, Sean."

  Sean rolled his eyes upward. "I don't know about that. But I'm going to give it a try."

  "Take lessons from Chase. He's gotten to be pretty darn good at it."

  "He has, hasn't he? After everything they went through, it's nice to see them so happy. They deserve it."

  "So do you," Dar said quietly, able at last to put some sincerity in the words. "Be happy, Sean."

  Sean looked at him with a curiosity that seemed to border on worry. "You say that like you're saying goodbye."

  With an effort, Dar grinned. "I am. Goodbye to ol' carefree Sean Holt, who's going to be saying hello to crying, diapers and three a.m. feedings."

  Sean laughed, albeit a bit warily, and they turned to other subjects, including the departure this morning of Chase, Stevie, the baby and "Hurricane Katie," as Sean laughingly called the live-wire little girl. By the time he left a half hour later, Dar was fairly sure he'd dispelled his friend's unease.

  His own was another matter.

  You're a selfish bastard, he told himself. You should be happy for him.

  But he was, he insisted. Really. There were just so many other feelings tangled up with it. He was glad for Sean, but knew he was also saying goodbye to the friend he'd become so close to; things would never be the same. He couldn't be sorry he'd let Sean into his life, or Stevie and Chase, and God knows Katie had him wrapped around her little finger. But at the same time, it hurt so damned much when things changed, he almost wished he'd kept that wall between himself and the rest of the world intact.

  He felt like he was being tugged in too many different directions; he wanted to pull away and retreat to someplace safe, someplace that didn't demand he deal with this kind of thing. That didn't demand he lay his emotions out like this. He didn't know how to do it, and he didn't want to learn.

  He wanted to hide. Like he'd wanted to as a kid, when his mother had died. Or as a teenager, when his father turned that icy-cold anger on him. Or when he'd awakened in a hospital bed to find that his legs, and his baseball career, were gone. Like he'd wanted to when he'd realized he'd lost the entire life he'd known, that he had a father who couldn't bear the sight of his disfigured son, and a fiancée who couldn't bear to touch him.

  It doesn't matter, he told himself, a little fiercely. The old man was dead, and Valerie was long since married, no doubt with a passel of the kids she'd wanted. Kids she hadn't wanted to have with him. With the rising young baseball star, yes. But with the double amputee in a wheelchair … not a chance.

  Not much had changed in the years since, he reminded himself coldly. And you'd damned well better remember that. You're a fool if you don't. He might just as well dream about playing baseball again. Or that the celebrated and gorgeous Cassandra had been serious with her flirting at Sean's wedding, when he knew perfectly well that if he'd been in his chair as usual, instead of on his prosthetic feet, it never would have happened.

  His mouth quirked into a rueful, self-deprecating smile. What would be better is for you to get your sorry butt moving and get out of this vat of self-pity you're wallowing in today.

  He managed to chivy himself into heading for the garage, a separate building that housed his van and several of his less-successful experiments. He was going to have to pave a path out there sometime soon, he thought; it became an adventure to traverse it in his chair in wet weather.

  Behind the van was the prototype off-road chair that could give a rodeo bull a run for its money in a bucking contest. He'd been trying to design a suspension system that could take the rough trails without jarring loose any teeth and yet still give the rider enough control. But after his last mishap had cost him too much skin and far too many bruises, he'd retired the idea for the moment. Still, maybe Sean was right—maybe he needed to get into something, to become absorbed again. Maybe he'd just had too damned much time to think lately.

  The sound of another approaching car on the gravel road stopped him just as he was about to roll out the low-slung, four-wheeled chair. Two visitors in a day? He supposed to most people that wouldn't seem odd, but to him it was definitely a rare occurrence. Especially lately. He'd done a damn fine job of closing himself off from the world again, until only Sean, Chase and Stevie—and of course little Katie—would put up with him. He told himself he liked it that way, and spun his chair around to go chase off the intruder, whoever it was.

  He stopped dead in the shadows of the garage when he saw the driver getting out of a racy little red convertible. The celebrated and gorgeous Cassandra. Tall and slender with legs that made the most of a pair of pristine white jeans, and that fabled mane of dark hair whipping in the stiff sea breeze.

  Dar had the sudden feeling that there was more than one hurricane in the Cameron family. And he wondered how much damage this one would do before she moved on.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

>   «^»

  Cassie had told herself she was prepared, but still it was a shock to her when the darkly handsome, perfect-featured man with the incredible shoulders rolled out of the small garage in a low, bright blue wheelchair, pulling an odd-looking wheeled contraption behind him. When she'd met him at Sean's wedding, he'd been walking, albeit a little awkwardly and with a cane, and it was disconcerting to look down at him now.

  It had been Stevie who had told her Dar didn't spend much time on his purchased feet; he much preferred the swift agility of his chairs. She had told herself he'd probably be in the chair today, but somehow in her mind she had still carried that image of him upright, looking tall and strong and whole, if perhaps slightly impaired. Now, the uncompromising sight of his legs, clad in a pair of altered sweats that ended where his legs did, the left one above and the right one below the knee, caught her off guard.

  He'd looked surprised, but nothing more, when he'd first come out to face her. But then, as she hunted for something clever to say to hide her disconcertedness, his dark eyes went chilly. It took her a moment to realize that he'd undoubtedly seen her reaction countless times before. Enough times to read her expression perfectly. She abandoned any pretense at cleverness and went with the gut-level honesty that had gotten her into trouble more than once in a world that tended to skate comfortably on the surface.

  "I'm sorry. I … I didn't forget, but I didn't really realize, either. I apologize for … gaping at you."

  He looked surprised, then wary. Then he shrugged dismissively, and whether it was directed at her unintentional rudeness or her apology, she couldn't tell.

  "What brings you out here, Ms. Cameron?"

  His voice was as low and rumbling as she remembered, she thought. And it still sent shivers down her spine. But was there a note of disparagement there? Perhaps she had really offended him, beyond what a simple apology would atone for.

  "I was looking for Sean," she said quickly. "Chase's office said he was out here."

  "Oh."

  He looks relieved, Cassie thought. I wonder what he thought I was here for?

  A sudden memory came to her, of herself flirting rather shamelessly, in a manner so unlike her that it almost made her blush at the recollection. She'd been looking her best, in a dress she'd bought on a shoot in Rio just for Sean's wedding, a deep green print that brought out the emerald tone of her eyes. But she'd felt positively outclassed by the sheer masculine beauty of the man who was Sean's best man. And fascinated—she'd never seen a pair of eyes like his. Yes, they were beautiful, so dark they were nearly black, and thickly, softly lashed. But more than that, they went from readable to impenetrable more quickly—and more often—than any she'd ever seen. And he'd seemed so … amused that day, laughing at some private joke only he understood. He had fascinated her in a way no man ever had before.

  And she'd wondered about his obvious limp that day, wondered if it was a temporary injury or permanent. She'd been stunned at the answer when she'd finally asked Stevie. Her sister-in-law had hesitated, then told her the truth behind Dar's awkward walk. Not, Stevie had said pointedly, for her sake, but for Dar's. Stevie, Cassie had learned early on, was fiercely protective of those she loved. And she loved the taciturn, detached and aloof Dar Cordell.

  And he had every right to be all of those things, Cassie reminded herself.

  "I'm supposed to pick up a key from him," she explained, uneasy with the continued silence. "I'm staying at Chase's while they're gone."

  Dar nodded as if he'd known that. "He left ten minutes ago."

  "Oh. Do you know where he was going?"

  "He didn't say."

  Taciturn, Cassie thought, wasn't the word for it. She mustered up her sweetest, most cajoling voice. "Perhaps I could use your phone?" He didn't react, to either her tone or her question. Again she dropped any effort at tactics with this man, and went for the truth. "It's been a long drive, and I'd rather not chase him all over the county if I don't have to."

  Without a word, Dar reached into a pouch that hung from the back of his chair. He pulled out a small cellular phone and handed it to her. Cassie took it, staring, then grinned. She couldn't help it.

  "Now that's what I call fully equipped!"

  He was genuinely startled then; she saw it for an instant in the usually inscrutable dark eyes. And although it was gone before she could be sure, she could have sworn she'd seen the glint of amusement, as well.

  "If I get stuck out here—" he gestured rather widely at the relatively empty surroundings "—I can't exactly hike home."

  It was her turn to be startled; she hadn't expected him to joke at all, let alone about his limitations. Of course, she thought as she looked at the compact phone she held, she supposed it wasn't a limitation at all if he'd solved the problem so neatly.

  She dialed Chase's office, but was told Sean hadn't returned yet. She disconnected and turned off the little phone.

  "He's not back yet. They don't expect him until later," she said, looking at Dar speculatively.

  Something in his dark eyes flickered for an instant, something wary and feral, as if he was some edgy wild creature who had just scented danger. It was gone almost instantly, and she told herself she was imagining things. When he spoke at last, his voice sounded normal enough, at least no brusquer than before.

  "Try his cellular phone."

  Cassie's brows rose. "I didn't know he had one."

  "He just … bought it."

  He answered as if a realization had come to him mid-sentence, but he didn't elaborate. Dar Cordell, she was rapidly learning, was a man of less than a few words when he chose to be. She wondered if he ever chose not to be. She switched the phone back on.

  "What's the number?"

  It was there again, that edgy look, this time long enough for her to be sure. She didn't understand it. It was almost as if he were wary of her, which didn't seem to fit with what she knew of him. He wasn't like most people she met. She was used to them being a little nervous when they met her for the first time, unnecessarily awed by her fame. Either that or they were rudely familiar, feeling that since they'd seen her photograph so many times, she had somehow become their close, personal friend. With some men, it went even beyond that.

  She fought off a memory of the pale, thin man who had, she realized, probably made her look as guarded and wary as Dar looked now. She didn't have to worry about him, not here. He'd have no way of finding her here. Now all she had to do was find a way to get through to this man.

  With the nervous ones she met, she usually went out of her way to put them at ease. But somehow that didn't seem to be the thing to do with Dar; he was far too … prickly, she supposed, his defenses far too solid to be breached by any effort at charm on her part. She'd learned that a few minutes ago.

  Besides, he had no reason to be nervous because she'd asked for something as simple as a phone number. The absurdity of it struck her as funny.

  "I'm not going to start making harassing phone calls to him on his cellular phone," she said, holding her hands palms outward in a gesture of innocence. "Honest. I mean, he's practically my brother-in-law, after all."

  To her amazement, a slight flush of color tinged Dar's cheeks. She heard him expel a compressed breath, then, in a tone that made him sound as if he were being forced to it, he finally spoke.

  "It's written down inside."

  He spun the chair around and wheeled away with a swiftness that took her a little aback. For a moment she just watched the powerful movements of the shoulders that had so astounded her the first time she'd seen him. He was moving as if she'd fired the starting pistol for one of his damned road races. Irritation sparked through her.

  "If that was an invitation to come in, it definitely lacked sincerity, Cordell," she called after him.

  He stopped, his strong hands freezing the chair's wheels so suddenly a tiny spurt of dust rose up. He didn't look at her, but she had no trouble hearing him.

  "And if it wasn't?"

>   "Then your manners could use some work," she said, staring at his back, figuring she could hardly make him any more unwelcoming than he already was.

  "Manners," he said, his voice taut, "are for invited guests."

  "While rudeness, it appears, is for everyone else," Cassie retorted. "I don't know why Katie adores you so much."

  She'd said it in exasperation, but he reacted as if she'd stabbed him. Those powerful shoulders tensed, then slumped. Then his right hand moved on the push rim of the wheel and the chair spun around with an agility that startled her. When he was facing her again, his eyes met hers, and his words were choppy and abrupt.

  "All right. I was rude. I apologize."

  Her eyes widened. She could tell by the difficulty with which the words had come that he rarely apologized, and wondered if she should be flattered. Or if it was perhaps even a sign that the wariness she'd sensed was ebbing.

  "What brought that on?"

  Darn, she thought as soon as the words were out. Why couldn't she leave well enough alone? The man had unbent enough to apologize; that should be enough, without her questioning his motivation.

  "You're Katie's aunt," he said, voice still stiff.

  So much for him unbending, she thought wryly. It was her connection to his beloved Katie that had pressured him into being almost civil. She smothered a sigh, wondering what had possessed her at Sean's wedding to think that she could connect with this aloof, detached man.

  But he'd been different then. And it wasn't just that he hadn't been in his chair. He'd acted differently, even laughing at her admittedly blatant attempts to flirt with him. She'd thought then it was because she was so bad at it, but now she wondered if perhaps his laughter had had a grimmer source: the idea that she wouldn't have been flirting with him at all if she had known about his legs.

  "Come in. I'll get you the number."

  As invitations went, she'd had more gracious ones, but none she'd worked for quite this hard. And none, she realized as he spun the chair around again, that had been so hard for the giver to extend. Wisely keeping that observation to herself, she started after him.