"I … I just doubt I'm exactly what he has in mind for his little sister."
A very thoughtful expression came across her face. "I think you know Chase too well to think that he'd mind because you're in a wheelchair, so it must be something else you're convinced would bother him."
Dar couldn't hold that steady gaze. Why the hell were they talking like this, about an imaginary relationship that not only didn't now but never would exist? It was a fabrication, to fend off Sean, nothing more. So what did it matter what Chase might or might not think?
"This is pointless," he muttered.
"You're probably right," Cassie agreed easily. "Sean wouldn't mention anything to Chase until they get home, anyway."
"This'll be long over by then," Dar said.
"You think so?"
She was looking at him again, with an odd glint in her eyes that made him wonder if she was referring to the man stalking her or the fictitious relationship she was proposing. He spent the rest of the night convincing himself it was the first, and trying to forget about the second.
* * *
"Do you do this every day?" Cassie asked as she stood looking over Dar's shoulder.
"Do what?" Dar asked, intent on the rough sketch in front of him.
"Get up before dawn."
"I don't sleep much."
I can guess why, Cassie thought, remembering something her brother had once said about the night demons being easier to fight if you were awake. She remembered now he'd been quoting Dar, but she hadn't met him yet, and the name hadn't meant anything to her. Then.
"So you go out and exhaust yourself, then come back and go to work."
He glanced up at her. "Today was my easy day. Ten miles on the flat. Tomorrow's sprints. Next day, bill climbs. That's tough."
Cassie shook her head. "Do you ever take a day off?"
"Sure. Fridays. I'm a lazy bum on Fridays."
Cassie's mouth quirked. "Well, that's a relief. Otherwise I might think you're a workaholic."
He tapped the pencil he held against the frame of his chair. "I'm luckier than a lot who live in these. What's left of my body functions normally. I can work. And play."
Cassie held her breath as he turned his attention back to the sketch. He'd never done that, so casually referred to his life and the way he lived it. Sean had told her Dar had long ago adjusted to his body's limitations, usually by simply refusing to acknowledge them, or finding a way over or around them. Cassie believed it now; she was certain Dar's detached demeanor stemmed from something much more deeply ingrained than the response to the damage to his body.
She wanted to pursue it, to ask him more about his life and what he'd been through, but she was afraid if she did he'd clam up again. So she picked a safer subject.
"This one has four wheels," she said, looking down at the sketch he was working on. "It looks odd, after the three-wheelers."
"Uh-huh," he said absently, staring at the drawing. "Originally most racing chairs had four, because that's what people were used to. Some people still use them, but a lot have switched to three-wheelers."
"Why?"
"Speed," he answered succinctly.
Figures, she thought. Both that that would be the reason, and that Dar would sum it up in one short word.
"Are they that much faster?"
He nodded, still looking at the sketch, his dark brows furrowed. "They're lighter, minus the one wheel and the tie-rods for turning two front wheels in unison. Takes less energy to produce more forward motion and create rotation. And they have less frontal area, so less drag."
He was answering abstractedly, with the half-aware attention of a man who knew his subject so well he didn't have to devote much attention to talking about it.
"So why doesn't everybody use them?"
He looked up then. "There's a price for that speed. Three-wheelers are inherently less stable. Your base of support is a triangle instead of a square, narrower the farther forward you go. If you shift your center of gravity by leaning forward too far at the wrong moment, you can wind up eating asphalt."
Cassie winced at the image. "Ouch."
"Exactly." He gave her a sideways look. "And if it's wet out, you get wet. The front wheel is dead center and throws all the road water onto you."
She wrinkled her nose. But then, looking thoughtful, she glanced at the sketch again. "But on the four-wheeled one, the wheels are in line. Wouldn't that throw water onto the back wheels?"
He looked at her then in a way that made her feel as if she'd given the right answer to a tough question in school. "Yes. And your hands and the push rims get wet. You lose friction."
"And speed," she said, quick to realize what would be most important to him. He nodded. "So why does this one have four wheels?"
"It's for off-road. Needs stability more than speed."
"Off-road?"
"Yeah. Like a mountain bike."
Realization struck her. "That's what that was, the thing you had the day I got here, wasn't it? The one that look like a go-cart, with the knobby tires?" He nodded. Her brows furrowed. "What's this, then, if you've already built it?" she asked, gesturing at the drawing.
He gave her a look that made her wonder if she'd crossed the line with one question too many.
"Sorry," she said a little lamely. "I was just curious."
He let out a breath. "And I'm just touchy. Because the damn thing doesn't work."
"Doesn't work?"
"I can't seem to find the compromise between a ride that doesn't shake your teeth loose and gives enough control for safety. I know it's been done—there are a couple of chairs on the market—but…"
"They're not Cordell chairs?" she suggested when he trailed off.
He shrugged. "I just want to solve this myself."
Of course he did, Cassie thought. "Is there a demand for that kind of thing?"
"It's growing. They even started the National Off-Road Championships a while back. Cross-country, slalom, downhill. And we're matching able-bodied mountain bikers' times, on everything but the cross-country."
"On a downhill? I shudder to think," Cassie said. "They wear helmets, I hope."
"Sure. Have to, at fifty miles an hour," Dar said, a touch of pride slipping into his voice. "Up at Big Bear Mountain, they're doing just over four-minute miles, on what would be black-diamond courses, if you were skiing. And I've seen—"
"Hey, Cordell! You home?"
Dar broke off at the sound of Sean's cheerful call from outside. His gaze flicked to Cassie. They had agreed late last night to not say anything, let Sean think what he would and count on his innate good manners keeping him from asking embarrassing questions. Then they had said rather awkward good-nights, and Dar had adjourned to his room as Cassie had made herself at home on the sofa, which was, oddly, more comfortable for sleeping than for sitting.
But now that Sean was here, Dar looked decidedly uncertain. However, there was no time to debate it; they heard the rattle of the front door. After another second's hesitation, Dar backed away from the drawing table, wheeled swiftly over to the door and opened it.
"What's the deal?" Sean asked, looking back at the door as he stepped inside. "You never lock the door."
"I got smart. Crime rate's up."
Sean's gaze shifted back to Dar. Cassie hung back, postponing the moment when Sean would see her.
"Yeah, like you worry about that out here," Sean said. Then, jokingly, "Hey, what'd you do with Cassie? Rory's been trying to call her at Chase's, but she doesn't answer or call back. Did she say anything to you about going anywhere after—"
"I'm sorry, Sean," Cassie said, finally stepping ward. "I haven't been there."
The parade of expressions that crossed Sean's face—surprise, realization and speculation—as she came to a stop behind Dar's chair were about what she had expected, Sean's eyes flicked from her to Dar, then back again.
"I see," he said, not joking now, and obviously meaning much more than just understanding h
er explanation.
"How is Rory?" Cassie asked, not above toying for a diversion. Dar looked more than uncomfortable, he looked embarrassed.
"About the same. But the doctor finally gave her some anti-nausea medication, so we're hoping that works."
"That's good. She looked so tired when I saw her yesterday."
For an instant Sean looked as if he felt guilty, and she wondered wryly what exactly he'd been thinking about her when he'd first seen her here.
"Yeah. Well … thanks for stopping by to see her," he said, so sheepishly Cassie knew she'd been right about his thoughts. "That's what she's been calling for. She really enjoyed your visit. She's been cooped up for weeks now."
"Hopefully with that medicine she'll be able to get out now," Cassie said. She didn't mind Sean being protective of Dar; in fact, she thought it rather sweet.
Sean nodded. He looked at Dar, and then back at her once more. Cassie glanced down at Dar and saw the muscles of his shoulders were knotted tight, and she sensed he was very much aware of how close she was standing behind him. When she looked back at Sean, she could almost see the doubt in his eyes, so slowly, hesitantly, she placed her hands gently on Dar's shoulders.
She felt Dar jump slightly, a barely perceptible motion she was fairly sure Sean hadn't noticed, since he was looking at her so intently. Her fingers tightened nervously, pressing against the taut muscles. She tried to stop the motion, but then realized it would look to Sean like an even more intimate touch.
She couldn't see Dar's face, couldn't even begin to guess what he was thinking. But he didn't pull away, didn't even look at her, as if they had progressed naturally to this point instead of by force of circumstances. And in that moment, she wished it were true, that she had the right to touch him like this, without permission, without explanation. And that realization frightened her more than a little.
You're in for the fight of your life. You're going to be taking on one heck of a battle.
The words of both Sean and his wife echoed in her ears. And the more time she spent with Dar, the more she knew they hadn't been understatements.
"Shall I tell Rory to call you here?"
It was as close as Sean would come to prying, Cassie knew. "I'll call her," she said, avoiding the direct answer.
"All right," Sean said after a moment. "I'll tell her that."
His gaze fell to Dar's shoulders, and Cassie belatedly realized that she'd unconsciously kept massaging them all this time. A natural reaction to his knotted muscles, she told herself. She'd given her colleagues shoulder rubs, too, on occasion. Still, she stopped the motion this time.
"I guess I'll go now," Sean said, sounding the tiniest bit flustered. "Let Rory know I … found you."
"I'll go out with you," Dar said suddenly, the first time he'd spoken since Sean had seen Cassie. She felt his shoulders move and knew he was going to wheel away before his hands ever moved to the hand rims. "I want to get the off-road chair out of the garage, anyway."
"So you're working on it again?" Sean asked as Dar came up beside him.
Dar nodded. "Making some changes."
"Like what?"
"I'm going to try a self-aligning steering system. And more possible positions on the seat. I think it needs to be even lower, so you don't risk flipping over backward going uphill."
"You going to switch over to the off-road events next year?"
"I'm thinking about it." Dar turned his chair sideways and reached for the doorknob.
"Seems only fair, since you helped set them up." Sean smiled crookedly. "And here I thought you were kidding when you said you were going to start a slalom and downhill series."
"I never kid about racing."
"I should have known."
As he pulled the door open, Dar eyed Sean. "You could always come out and join us. Or are you too attached to that computerized leg of yours?"
Sean laughed. "Who was it who used to lecture me that a person was rehabilitated when he could do what he wanted to do, and feel good about himself?"
Dar's mouth twisted. "That was just my rebellion against a uniformity-fixated world talking. I got sick and tired people telling me I wasn't rehabilitated unless I put on my carbon-fiber feet and walked."
"I remember," Sean said. "I'll never forget that day you told Pete off."
Dar winced. "I didn't mean to yell at him. He's all right for a device-oriented guy."
"He's a prosthetic. He's supposed to be device oriented."
As Cassie listened to them talk about things she knew so little of, yet were so familiar to them, she had the sensation of being the odd one out, the one who didn't belong. A split second later, the irony of it hit her; this was how they must feel most of the time.
She watched them go outside, wondering what Sean was going to say to Dar, once free of her presence. She smothered a sigh. She and Sean had always gotten along, the few times they'd met, and he'd accepted her as Chase's sister, but she supposed that was a great deal different than thinking Cassandra was after his best friend. She could even, she admitted, understand his concern; on the surface it must look odd, perhaps as if the glamorous model had come home for an amusing diversion during her break from her hectic world. It was times like this that made her want to walk away, that made her rue the day she'd ever made this choice in life.
The minutes spun out until she began to think Sean was giving Dar a full-blown lecture on the idiocy of becoming involved with her. With a sigh she rejected the idea of going out to interrupt them, and instead started looking for a distraction. She walked over to the shelves that held the impressive-looking sound system, and began to look at the rack of compact discs. What she found surprised her, not so much the individual choices, but the range. Dar apparently listened to everything from classical to country, and Cassie found several of her own favorites.
She picked one, a disc somewhat heavy on melancholy ballads, thinking that it suited her mood at the moment. After a moment of inspection, she installed it in the player and started it. And still Dar hadn't come back. She stood listening, swaying gently with the music, fighting the tightness in her throat that she couldn't explain.
Dusk was setting in, and a slow, dreamy song of yearning had just begun, when she at last heard the door open, then close. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see in his eyes the result of whatever Sean had told him. So she stayed facing the speakers, letting the sound move her, silently telling the singer yes, she knew how he felt.
She heard the distinctive sound of Dar's wheels approaching, then he came to a halt a yard away. Smothering her misgivings at last, she turned to look at him.
She couldn't tell a thing by his expression. He was simply watching her. She saw his eyes flick to the player, then back to her. And suddenly, the words were out before she could stop them.
"Want to dance?"
He stiffened, drawing back in the chair. His eyes searched her face.
"Don't tell me you can't," she said, forestalling his words. "The way you toss that chair around, you could do a country line dance if you wanted to."
He leaned back then, looking at her steadily as the soft lament washed over them. "That's no Texas two-step you're playing."
"No," she agreed softly, holding out her hand to him.
He didn't move. She didn't, either, no matter that she felt more than a little foolish, holding out a hand that he was refusing to take.
"Cassie," he said, his voice so low and taut it sent a quiver down her spine. She felt it ripple through her, saw the hand she'd extended tremble. Embarrassed now, she began to draw it back. But before she could, he moved, catching her outstretched fingers in his.
Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled her to him. She'd started this, but she didn't quite know how to proceed from here. And then he'd done it for her, tugging her down and turning her with his hands to sit sideways across his lap.
She let out a little sigh and sagged against him, one arm going around his shoulders, the other b
ent so that her hand rested lightly on his chest. She had to be sure her legs and feet cleared the wheels, since there were no arms on the lightweight chair to rest them on, but beyond that it was easy, and he braced her so solidly with his left arm that she felt no strain at all. He was, she thought, as strong as she'd guessed.
It was a moment before she realized they were, in fact, moving to the music. A slow, gentle rocking, generated by his right arm, that was in perfect time with the tender refrain of the song. Heat grew wherever they touched, and Cassie could feel the steady, thudding beat of his heart beneath her fingers and the solid strength of his thighs beneath her. Her mohair sweater, which had seemed comfortable before, suddenly seemed too warm. But as Dar's fingers flexed, touching it as if he liked the feel of it, she was glad she'd worn it.
The rocking was lulling, soothing to nerves wound taut after all that had happened in the past few days. In the past few months for that matter. She felt safe here, protected, and it was as much because of Dar as the isolation of his home. She nestled closer, resting her head against his. The thick silk of his hair was soft against her cheek, and she could smell the clean, citrus smell of soap and shampoo from the shower he'd taken after his workout—no exotic scents for Dar Cordell.
He must have been tall before his accident, she thought vaguely; even sitting on his lap, she didn't tower over him, and she was, as were most models, a tall woman. This was, she realized, far more personal than even the closest of dancing between two partners on their feet. If she had realized how intimate it would actually be, she might have had second thoughts. But it was too late for that now. Much too late.
She became gradually aware of a lassitude stealing through her, a soft relaxation, a need to just stay here, so very close. As the rich tenor sang of love and longing, Cassie lifted her head with an effort and turned to meet Dar's eyes. In the instant before he masked it, she thought she saw something there, something that matched the emotion in the melody that was flowing to a soft, aching conclusion. But it was gone so quickly she couldn't be certain, and she told herself she'd be a fool to believe it had really been there.
Then I'm a fool, she thought.
THE MORNING SIDE OF DAWN Page 11