THE MORNING SIDE OF DAWN Read online

  * * *

  "How can they be so light?" Cassie asked, catching a long strand of cheese and flipping it up on top of her slice of mushroom-and-pepperoni pizza. She watched Dar finish chewing and swallow before he answered. At least he had stopped staring at her every time she asked him something, she thought, had stopped making her feel as if he was gauging her every question, looking for some meaning other than the obvious. He seemed to be talking easily now. For him, anyway.

  "The parts. I use mostly carbon fiber. Titanium. Aluminum. Really lightweight stuff."

  "Why are the wheels that way? Tilted, I mean."

  He took a sip of beer. "It's called camber."

  "What is?"

  "The angle and distance between the bottom of the wheels in comparison to the top."

  "Okay, but why?"

  For an instant that assessing look was back, but it vanished so quickly it didn't bother her; he had apparently decided she was genuinely interested.

  "It increases turning ability," he said. "And lateral stability."

  "Oh." She grabbed another slice of pizza. "Okay. That makes sense."

  "It also puts the top of the wheel closer to the chair, so it's easier to handle."

  She gestured toward his workshop area. "Those look more like drag racers than chairs."

  He grinned. "Yeah, they do."

  Cassie sucked in as audible breath; that rare, flashing grin did incredible things to her insides. She covered the sound with a cough, and reached for her can of beer; Dar had offered a glass, but she'd refused with a wry grimace and a mocking "What, no crystal?" that had taken him aback for a moment before he'd realized she was being facetious and had shrugged. Sometimes people got the strangest ideas about her, she'd thought then.

  Now all she could think of was the effect this man had on her. She'd been ambivalent about coming here in the first place, but she'd had more than enough of placating platitudes from everyone else, and she'd known that would be the last thing she'd get from Dar Cordell. When she'd come up the steps and he had suddenly appeared, clad only in those clinging nylon shorts, she'd been ready to bolt. Instead she'd just stood there, gaping at the broad expanse of his naked chest, at the ridged flatness of his abdomen and the muscled strength of his arms. She'd stared for so long that she'd forfeited all chance at a graceful exit.

  Not that she hadn't noticed his legs, too. It was impossible not to. And she'd been somewhat prepared; after she'd met Dar at Sean's wedding, she'd done a little checking. Mere curiosity, she'd told herself as she found herself reading articles and watching documentaries on television. She'd even, while watching televised coverage of a marathon that included a wheelchair division, heard his name mentioned as a leading road racer and one of the best race-chair designers in the country. Her curiosity had netted her perhaps a better than average knowledge of what Dar had to deal with … and what residual limbs looked like.

  So she hadn't been shocked. It had been more of an inward assessing of her own reaction, an acknowledgment that while it gave her a certain kind of pain to look at him, it wasn't pity or repulsion, and she could handle it. The stumps weren't ugly, or twisted, or even particularly scarred. They were neat, mostly smooth, and in Dar's case, rather muscular.

  Of course, she thought wryly now, the fact that her reaction had been overwhelmed by the sight of that muscled chest, belly and those incredible shoulders might have something to do with that. When—if—she went back to work, she was going to tell some of those guys who spent hours in the gym to spend some time powering a wheelchair around. In fact, she'd like to take him back with her and show Charlie what a real man looked like. With those perfect looks, with his dark hair and eyes, and that equally dark edge life had given him, Dar would be a sensation in no time.

  Except that, despite his looks, it would be virtually impossible for him to attain the kind of success she had. And, she thought, it had nothing to do with the fact that—unlike most professions—even the most-in-demand male models generally made only about half what their female counterparts did. Instead, it had everything to do with the false perfection her world touted so widely. True, there was the occasional model in a wheelchair used, and every once in a while some wonderful ad spot where it all clicked and became much more than a token, or a sop to disabled activists, but they were rare. Far too rare.

  "That's quite a frown."

  Startled, she suddenly realized that Dar was looking at her suspiciously, and that she'd been silent, watching him, for a rather long time.

  "I … was just thinking."

  "About Willis?"

  "No. About you." Darn, she thought, she hadn't meant to say that, but she'd been a little flustered when he'd caught her staring at him.

  He drew back, eyeing her warily. "What about me?"

  "Just that … you'd photograph amazingly."

  He blinked. "What?"

  "You'd be a great model," she said.

  His eyes widened, and he gaped at her. Then he laughed, not the sound that had sent that shiver down her spine, but a derisive, grating laugh.

  "Right."

  "I'm serious. You've got the looks, the eyes. I've seen a picture of you at Sean's, you're obviously photogenic—"

  "Yeah," he interrupted, "me and my chair."

  "Well, I didn't say it would be easy, but there are more opportunities now than—"

  "Save it," he said, cutting her off. "I'm not interested in being the token gimp to make some advertiser look politically correct."

  At first Cassie felt as if she'd been slapped. But then anger hit her in a rush.

  "Then how about to open doors for others who might not be lucky enough to have your looks? Or your strength? Or your financial resources? Or—"

  She stopped when he held up his hands. "Okay, okay, I get the message. Sorry, but I'm not playing the noble cripple this week."

  "No, you're too busy just being a … a—"

  "Jerk?" he suggested, much as she had.

  She opened her mouth to agree, then stopped. Had he been setting her up? She thought over what she'd said, then let out a long, slow breath.

  "I'm sorry if I sounded condescending. I didn't mean to."

  "Most people don't mean to."

  "What can I say, Dar? Should I plead ignorance? I don't know what to say not to offend you."

  He looked at her for a long, silent moment. Then he said, "Forget it. I'm just touchy today."

  Because she was here? Cassie wondered. Was having company really so difficult for him? If he was used to being as isolated as it seemed, it was possible, she supposed. Or was it more specific than that? Was it she herself who put him on edge?

  For a while they ate in silence, Dar seeming to concentrate on not looking at her, while Cassie found her gaze alternating between him and the industrious clutter of the workshop end of the warehouse. At last she risked another question.

  "What is that thing?" she asked, gesturing at the piece of equipment that looked almost like something medical, an adjustable head with what looked like dozens of wheels and levers, over a worktable adorned with a vise.

  "A mill. It shapes metal parts."

  "You do that here?" she asked, surprised.

  "It's easier. And that thing's accurate to within a hundred thousandths of an inch."

  "You build each chair yourself?" she asked. "Start to finish?" He nodded. "Sean says the demand is really high. If you had help—"

  "No."

  It was short, flat and uncompromising. "Why?"

  "Did you ever stop to think that the demand is high because I do it all myself? They're my designs. My name goes on them. I'm responsible. It's my business, and I'm damn good at it. I don't need anybody else in here, messing things up."

  His words were coming rather vehemently at the end, and she had the feeling he'd had this talk with someone before. Perhaps often. For a moment she just looked at him.

  "And you don't want anybody, either, do you," she finally said; it was a statement, not a questio
n. "You go it alone or not at all. Sean said you don't even let him watch you race, and he's your best friend."

  "Not for long, if he doesn't learn to keep his mouth shut," Dar muttered. He took a swig of beer, then put the can down on the table in front of him. He picked up another slice of pizza, but didn't take a bite, just fiddled with a string of cheese.

  "He worries about you," Cassie said.

  "I don't need anybody worrying about me, either."

  "Sean can't help that. That's the way he is. The way friends are. Or," she amended, "the way they're supposed to be."

  Dar made a sound accompanied by a vague gesture that gave an overall impression of denial.

  "Are you saying you weren't worried about Sean when Rory came back into his life?"

  Dar looked startled. "Sure I was. After she jilted him on their wedding day, and then reappeared out of nowhere with that crazy story about her father being blackmailed…"

  Cassie nodded when he trailed off. "We were all worried, until we found out she was telling the truth, that she'd had no choice. Friends worry about each other. It's a two-way street, Dar. So why are you surprised that Sean worries about you?"

  "That's … different."

  She could tell by the way he said it that he knew it sounded absurd, so she let it hang there, echoing between them, making her point without words. Dar stared at his slice of pizza as if the answer to world peace was encoded there.

  She didn't know how much time had passed when they both looked up at the sound of a car approaching outside. Cassie smiled wryly at his expression.

  "The traffic jam continues?"

  "So it seems," he muttered, and set down his barely touched pizza.

  "You weren't expecting anyone?"

  He gave her a sideways look. "No."

  The implication that he hadn't been expecting her, either, was unmistakable. She sighed. It seemed her speculation was right; Dar had reached his tolerance limit of visitors today.

  "I think I've worn out my welcome yet again," she said, and stood up. "I'll leave you to your latest intruder."

  He was silent while she carried her still-half-full can and used napkins to the trash. And while she came back and picked up her purse. She was a few steps toward the door before he spoke.

  "Cassie…"

  She stopped in her tracks. It was the first time he'd ever called her Cassie. Even at Sean's wedding she had been Cassandra. The sound of it sent a strange sensation through her. She looked back over her shoulder at him.

  "I…" He trailed off, and looked so shyly awkward she felt something knot up inside her. "Thanks for the pizza," he finished, and she knew that wasn't what he'd been going to say. But she sensed this was not the time to push him; his solitude had been disrupted enough for one day.

  "Thanks for listening," she returned.

  He only nodded. He didn't offer to see her to the door, but Cassie guessed it was more strain than lack of manners. She forced herself not to look back at him again before she stepped outside.

  And nearly ran into Sean, who was coming up the steps while looking back at her car.

  "Hi," he said, speculation rife in his tone as his gaze flicked from her car to her face.

  "Hi. I was just leaving," she said, rather unnecessarily, she realized, considering the purse and keys in her hands. But she wanted to be gone before he could ask anything that would make her lie to him; she was still certain she didn't want to bother him with what might be nothing.

  "I can see that." He stopped, making it difficult for her to just keep walking, although that's what she felt like doing. Something about the way Sean was looking at her made her very nervous. "The question is, what were you doing here in the first place?"

  She hesitated. "Uh, eating pizza."

  Sean's brows shot upward. His gaze flicked to Dar's front door, then back to her. "With Dar?"

  "Even he has to eat," she said.

  Sean looked at her for a long, silent moment, and Cassie felt as if she were under a microscope.

  "Stevie told me you two were … together a lot at the wedding," he said at last.

  Cassie sighed. As a distraction from the subject of Willis, this wasn't what she'd have chosen. But she liked and respected Sean too much to lie to him.

  "I flirted with him, you mean."

  His jaw tightened slightly. "Yes."

  "Me and every other woman there, except for Rory and Stevie," she pointed out.

  "I know. He has that effect. On his feet."

  Cassie felt herself draw up defensively. "Is that what this is about? You think that makes a difference?"

  "Dar thinks it does. He thinks you'd never have looked at him twice if he'd been in his chair."

  Cassie's eyes widened. "He told you that?"

  "Not in so many words, but yes." She looked away, blinking at a sudden moisture in her eyes, feeling a sick tightness in her chest. Did everyone assume that she was so shallow? She looked back at Sean.

  "Is that what you think?"

  He considered that for a moment before he said, "I think you're Chase's sister, and that says a lot. But I also know Dar's been through enough in his life, and his legs are only a small part of it. Don't play with him, Cassie. If you're not serious, leave him the hell alone."

  "And if I am serious?"

  Sean smiled ruefully. "Then you're in for the fight of your life."

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  «^»

  "Dar Cordell," Rory said frankly, "scares the daylights out of me."

  Cassie sipped at her tea—she'd forgone Rory's offer of coffee in deference to the pregnant woman's touchy stomach—and considered that. Rory was ensconced on the sofa, her feet up, the comfortable contour pillow Cassie had brought as a gift behind her back. Her position was a compromise between her boredom and the doctor's orders for her to stay as still as possible. Cassie leaned back in her chair, looking at the woman who had quickly become a friend.

  "Why?" she finally asked, curious about Rory's reaction to her husband's best friend.

  "Because he still hasn't forgiven me for leaving Sean at the altar the first time."

  Cassie's forehead creased. "Oh, I'm sure he has."

  Rory shook her head. "He makes me feel like I'm a mosquito he'd like to swat."

  Cassie laughed. "I think he makes everybody feel like that, like you're a nuisance he has to tolerate but doesn't have to like."

  Rory lifted a delicately arched brow. "Oh, really? I noticed that wasn't the case at our wedding."

  Cassie blushed. "Oh, God, don't remind me. I flirted shamelessly. I don't know what got into me."

  Rory laughed. "I know exactly what got into you. Just because he scares me doesn't mean I can't see that he's one gorgeous man."

  Cassie lowered her gaze to her cup, staring at the warm amber liquid. "Yes, he is," she said quietly.

  "You know," Rory said, sounding thoughtful, "Sean told me Dar was engaged once."

  Cassie's head came up. "He was?"

  Rory nodded. "Before the accident. But it ended shortly after he got out of the hospital. She couldn't deal with his situation."

  Cassie's eyes widened. "She left him? Because of his legs?"

  Rory nodded again. "Dar says she tried, and he won't say anything against her, but it must have hurt him. Sean said he'd known Dar for four years before he ever even told about her. The man's as tight-lipped as a clam."

  Cassie's mouth twisted. "I noticed."

  "I guess he has a right to be. Do you know his father never once came to see him after he was hurt?"

  Cassie gasped. "What?"

  Rory sipped at her own tea, seeming hesitant now. "Sean told me all this, I suppose, to convince me not to be so wary of Dar. I doubt he would appreciate my telling anyone."

  "Rory, please. I … need to know."

  Rory studied Cassie for a moment, then sighed. "That's what I was afraid of. Are you sure you want to do this?"

  Cassie knew Rory meant much more than did she w
ant to hear what was obviously going to be a painful story. Common sense told her the answer should be no; this was not the time in her life to get involved with a man who'd built walls around himself higher than she could see. But it wasn't her common sense that answered.

  "I need to know," she repeated. "What about his father?"

  Rory hesitated a moment longer, then nodded and set down her cup. "He came to a baseball game to talk to the scouts that were panting after Dar. The next day was when Dar got hit by that train, pulling those kids out of the way. For a while they didn't think he was going to make it. William came to the hospital, but when he found out Dar had lost both legs, he turned around and walked out, without even seeing him. Never came back. Dar never saw him again. He died three years later. That, on top of his fiancée…"

  "My God." Cassie barely managed to speak. My God, she repeated silently, no wonder Dar was so closed off. No wonder he didn't want to deal with people, wanted to simply be left alone. He'd been betrayed by two of the people he should have been able to trust the most. Three, she supposed, if you counted his mother's death; it had been an abandonment of sorts, if not actually a betrayal.

  "It's a miracle he let Sean in at all," Cassie murmured, still stunned.

  "Yes. I think he did only because he knew Sean understood, really understood. And Chase, too, because of what he and Stevie had been through."

  "Dar knows about Chase being a protected witness?"

  Rory nodded. "And that he was almost murdered twice by that mob boss. He knows Chase and Sean have both been through their own kinds of hell. So he trusts them to understand his." Rory gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. "At least that's my considered, nonprofessional analysis."

  "It makes sense, though."

  "Believe me, I've had a lot of time to do nothing but think lately. Bed rest is not the treat you might think."

  Cassie reached out and patted Rory's hand. "But it will be worth it, seven months from now."

  Rory smiled, a glowing, joyous smile. "Yes. Yes it will."

  "I'm happy for you, Rory. You and Sean. You deserve this joy."

  "I confess," Rory said with a rueful chuckle, "that I feel the same way. We fought so hard to get where we are. Sean had to forgive so much—"