THE MORNING SIDE OF DAWN

by Justine Davis

  "It's hard, isn't it?" Cassie said quietly. "Sometimes I wonder if, with all the changes going on in my family, there's going to be any room left for me."

  Dar sucked in a deep, quick breath. She'd done it again, struck so deep he wanted to cringe away from the pain. And she'd done it so easily, stripped away the facade, all the camouflage, all the subterfuge he'd been using to hide his real fear. His fear that, after he'd finally lowered his walls enough to let the Holts and Camerons in, there now wasn't going to be any room for him in their rapidly filling lives.

  And somewhere, at the very core of that fear, was the grim, gut-level knowledge that if he lost them, he would lose himself, because he would never again risk letting anyone get close to him. He couldn't risk it. If there was one thing he'd learned in his life, it was his own limits, and he knew he couldn't survive that kind of abandonment again.

  It was as if Cassie knew that, sensed it somehow, as she had seemed to know so much else about him, things he'd never told her, never told anyone. Was it some genetic quirk, some insight carried in the Cameron genes, that enabled them to read others so easily? Chase had the same knack, he knew; Sean had told him about the first time he'd met his future brother-in-law, and the man had proceeded to talk to him as if he'd been inside Sean's mind walking around for years.

  The sudden shrill of the telephone made them both jump; apparently he wasn't the only one these too-deep-for-comfort conversations made edgy, he thought. He wheeled around his workbench and picked up the receiver of the phone that was fastened to the side of his drawing table.

  "Yeah."

  "It's Sean."

  Dar went still. He hadn't talked to Sean since the day he'd come here and found Cassie had virtually moved in. Contrary to what Cassie seemed to think, Sean's only warning had been a heartfelt "I hope you know what you're doing," but Dar couldn't help seeing his friend had serious doubts. He couldn't blame him; if it was real instead of a purposeful masquerade, he'd have severe doubts, too.

  "Hi," he said neutrally.

  "I think we need to talk."

  "That sounds ominous," he said warily; he'd had quite enough talking of late.

  "Chase's house was broken into last night."

  Dar swore to himself. "Anything missing?"

  "No. But I had an interesting talk with a Deputy Thorne."

  Uh-oh, Dar thought.

  "I'd appreciate it, my friend, if you'd get your butt over here and tell me what the hell is going on."

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  «^»

  "You're not going," Dar said.

  "Yes, I am."

  "I'll handle it. I promise I won't tell Sean any more than I absolutely have to."

  "I'm going with you."

  "Cassie, the whole point of your being here is that you're not seen. If you go charging over there—"

  "It's my brother's house," she said stubbornly.

  "I know that," Dar said. "But I also know he wouldn't want you to put yourself in danger over it."

  "It happened because of me."

  "We don't know that."

  She gave him a scathing look he supposed he deserved. "Oh, please. Spare me. You know as well as I do it's Willis."

  "All the more reason for you to stay here."

  "The sheriff is still there, right? So Willis will be long gone."

  "What makes you think this isn't a setup? That he didn't do it just in the hopes you'd show up, so he could get to you?"

  She paled, and he almost wished he hadn't said it. But she needed to see that she couldn't just—

  "He won't get to me. You'll be there."

  He stared at her. "Me? I'm the guy who let him get away, remember?"

  "What I remember," she said, her delicate jaw set, "is that you're the guy who stopped him from grabbing me."

  "Cassie—"

  "If you leave without me, I'll just follow you."

  He looked at her for a moment. Then, slowly, as if he were thinking it over, he wheeled into the living area. And grabbed her keys from where they sat on a shelf near her purse.

  "No, you won't."

  Cassie covered the space between them in three leggy strides. "Give me those!"

  "Nope."

  She made a grab for them; he curled his fingers around the keys and pulled his hand out of her reach. She grabbed again, and he yanked on the right-wheel rim of his chair and spun out of her reach again. Then she tried to get behind him, but always he moved before she could. She had to dodge his chair, and that let him always be a half turn ahead of her.

  "Dar, give me my keys!"

  He shook his head. "You're going to sit right here and behave while I go meet Sean."

  "Behave?" she yelped. "I'm not a puppy you can scold."

  "Cassie, be reasonable—"

  "Reasonable?" She tried for the keys once again, this time grabbing his left arm and holding on. "I am being reasonable. I simply want my keys."

  "Stop it," he said as she tried to yank his hand up so she could reach the keys he had in his fist.

  "Great," she muttered as she failed to even budge him. "Held prisoner by the Incredible Hulk."

  He laughed; he couldn't help it. He knew it was a mistake the moment the sound escaped. She began to struggle, straining to make him release his grip on her keys.

  "Cassie." He tried to twist out of her grasp but she hung on, nearly stumbling in the process. "Cassie, don't, you're going to hurt yourself."

  "Hurt myself?" She clawed at his left arm, still trying for the keys. "You're the one who's playing … whatever it is you're playing."

  "Guardian angel?" he suggested.

  She made a disgusted exclamation and freed one hand to take a swing at him in the general vicinity of his shoulder, as if she could knock the keys loose. He took advantage of the movement and spun around until he could reach her with his right arm. He grabbed her legs above her knees and lifted. Cassie yelped as her feet left the floor.

  "Put me down!"

  She struggled, landing a knee in his ribs and an elbow in his ear. "Ouch! Cassie, stop it!"

  She was flailing now but, unable to get any purchase on anything but him or the wheels of his chair, she wasn't accomplishing much except jerking his chair around. He had to lean hard to the other side to balance her weight and keep from going over, and it made it harder to hold on to her. He tightened his grasp.

  "Let go!"

  "I will, when you see reason."

  That earned him another elbow, this time on top of his head. "Fight fair, Cordell," she ordered.

  He gave her a suitably incredulous look, then pointedly glanced down at himself. "Fight fair?"

  "Oh, puh-lease," she said again, this time rolling her eyes.

  He couldn't stop the grin that spread over his face as she refused to grant him quarter he didn't want—or hopefully need—anyway.

  "You think this is funny? You think I'm kidding around?"

  He thought it was the funniest thing that had happened to him in a lifetime, but he could hardly tell her that. She wouldn't understand that he meant funny in the best possible way.

  She squirmed fiercely in his hold again, and he had to pull her practically on top of him to keep from going over. He yelped in turn as her knee connected with his ribs again.

  "Just give me the keys!"

  She wriggled, as if trying to get back to one side so she could get her feet back on the floor. She put her hands on his chest and shoved, leaning away from him. He tightened his hold once more.

  "Hey," he exclaimed when she took another swipe at him, "I'm just trying to stay upright!"

  As if his words had upset the very balance he was trying to maintain, he felt it start. He could release her and save it, but the way she was tangled up with him and the chair, she would go down awkwardly, and maybe be hurt. So instead he pulled her hard against him, dropping the contested keys so he could grab her arms and pin them to her sides, to keep her from instinctively trying to break their fall and wi
nd up breaking a wrist instead under their combined weight.

  He twisted his body to one side, keeping himself on the bottom as the chair toppled over. It was an instinctive move, based on knowledge gained in race spills, designed to keep any bruises on his back, where they could be better ignored than a broken wrist or hand or finger. He grunted as he came down hard on his back with Cassie's full weight on his chest, shoving the breath out of him. The wheel dug into his hip, and he knew he'd be wearing a bruise for days.

  To her credit she didn't scream when they landed, but rolled off him the minute he released her and she heard his gasp for breath. He pushed himself off the capsized chair to lie on his side. Eyes closed, he sucked in air. He took another deep breath, then another before he was convinced his lungs would continue to work.

  "Are you all right?"

  He opened his eyes to see her crouched on her knees beside him. His mouth twisted. "Fight fair, huh? Try for those keys again and I'll show you fair."

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed as he sat up. Finally her lips began to quiver at the corners. And then she was laughing, and so was he, as much as he could manage with what breath he had. And more than he could remember laughing in a long time.

  And somehow, in a way he didn't begin to understand, this was more intimate than even the night they'd spent on the couch together, the night they'd spent sleeping as close as two people could be.

  As close as they could be and still be dressed, he amended silently. The thought of being undressed with Cassie gave rise to more heat—and qualms—than he could deal with right now. He twisted around to right his chair and make sure it hadn't been damaged in the tumble.

  "I'm still going with you."

  She said it with a quiet determination that made him sigh. "I was right," he said gloomily. "Stubborn runs in the family."

  "Look who's talking," she countered. "You're stubborn in ways I haven't even thought of."

  "Yet," he amended.

  And then they were laughing again—until, after he'd set the brakes and clambered back into his chair, which appeared undamaged, Cassie announced they should take her car.

  "Your chair'll fit in the back," she said, "and since Willis has never seen my car, he won't know it's me."

  "Do you really think he—or half the known world—wouldn't recognize you? With your face, and that hair? Hell, Cassie, I go to the grocery store maybe once a month, and even I've spent hours in line staring at you on magazine covers."

  She looked suddenly thoughtful as she sat cross-legged, still on the floor. He went on, coaxing. It felt awkward; he'd never had much practice at trying to cajole anyone. He usually just left the rest of the world to go about their business, as long as they left him alone to do the same.

  "Please, just wait here—"

  "I can't. This is my responsibility. I brought this down on them—"

  "It's not your fault! The guy's crazy. You can't help that."

  "But he wouldn't be here at all if not for me." Her chin came up. "Besides, if we're going to tell Sean the truth, I should be the one to do it."

  Dar couldn't argue with that, didn't want to argue with it. "At least he'll quit thinking I've lost my mind," he muttered.

  Cassie went very still, looking up at him. "Is that what he told you? That you've lost your mind, to get involved with me?"

  "No. But I know that's what he's thinking."

  She studied him for a moment. "Maybe it's what you're thinking."

  He wasn't sure he could argue with that, either. "Maybe."

  Her lips tightened for a moment, and he saw her swallow. "I'm sorry the idea is so … distasteful to you."

  His brows lowered. "That's not what I meant. It's just—"

  "Let me guess. It's too laughable, is that it? The supermodel and the guy in a wheelchair?"

  "Cassie—"

  "Or is it that I'm too … what? I know I'm nothing more than my looks, so that means I must be too small, too narrow-minded, too shallow to be able to look beyond your handicap? Oh, I'm sorry, that isn't the PC word these days, is it? I guess that means you're right."

  "Damn it, that's not it at all."

  "Isn't it? Either way, it's pretty darned insulting." She got to her feet. "If you'll give me a couple of minutes, I think I can take care of that recognition problem. Then we can go."

  She grabbed up a small flower-print bag from inside her battered leather duffel, and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Dar stared after her, rubbing absently at the spot on his hip that now bore the arced imprint of his right wheel. Everything she'd said was echoing in his mind, mocking him. He felt as if he'd spent the past few days in an emotional wringer, and he didn't much like it. He'd passed his limit long ago, and every additional confrontation like this one exhausted him. So he shoved the thoughts aside. And wrestled with the only one that he could handle at this point.

  When the hell had he agreed to let her come along?

  * * *

  "I just can't get used to it," Rory said, staring at Cassie.

  "Neither can I," Cassie agreed, a little ruefully, rubbing the back of her neck, which felt very, very bare.

  "What does Dar think?"

  "I think he's still in shock."

  She meant it. When she'd come out of the bathroom, her trademark hair shorn and wadded up in a towel, Dar's jaw had dropped. She'd taken great pleasure in his dumbfounded look.

  "Maybe you can look past the surface now," she'd said pointedly, and dropped the towel on the table, to be disposed of later.

  She would get the cut evened out and tidied up later, she thought, since she'd hardly done a professional job herself, but for now it served its purpose—purposes—nicely. Dar was still staring at her as if he'd never seen her before, and she barely recognized herself, so she was fairly confident Willis wouldn't be able to identify her right off, either, especially at a distance. So she'd felt confident enough to come to Sean and Rory's apartment after they'd finished with Deputy Thorne, who had taken her radical change in appearance with the aplomb of a man who'd seen it all, and more than once.

  She hadn't been surprised that nothing had been taken from Chase's house. The point of entry, Thorne had shown them, had been a window near where he had been the day he'd nearly gotten his hands on her. The only areas disturbed that she could see had been the logical places where one might look for information. Desk drawers, a small oak file cabinet and a personal phone book in the kitchen. She wondered if she should call the police in L.A., to keep an eye on her apartment, which was listed in Stevie's neat handwriting toward the front of the book.

  As Dar had been listed, directly below her on the page of C listings.

  She knew he knew that, but he hadn't seemed too concerned. And she supposed he was right; there wasn't much reason to think Willis might make a connection simply because they were on the same page in somebody's personal phone book.

  Cassie rubbed the back of her neck again, still finding the bareness of it very odd. She felt decidedly light, as if she'd been freed from much more than just the considerable weight of her hair.

  "You really did that yourself?" Rory asked.

  Cassie chuckled. "Can't you tell?"

  "Actually it looks very nice. A little lopsided, but nice."

  "I'm surprised it's only a little lopsided. I kind of did it in a hurry."

  "Any particular reason why?" Rory asked, her steady gaze belying the casualness of her tone.

  "Several," Cassie admitted.

  "Would one of them be over there arguing with my husband?"

  Cassie glanced across the living room to where Dar and Sean were talking, Sean looking more than a little perturbed. When they'd arrived at Chase's they had discovered that Deputy Thorne had merely mentioned that this was his second trip out here in a week. It had been Sean who had put that together with the break-in at the office and come up with the guess that there was more going on than he knew, and that somehow Cassie was at the center of it.

  She
had explained to Sean why they hadn't wanted to tell him, with Rory having such a hard time, and he had seemed to understand, but he and Dar were still carrying on a rather animated conversation. She hoped their friendship hadn't been damaged by the subterfuge. That would be yet another debt added to her account.

  She sighed, wondering if Sean was relieved that the relationship between her and Dar had only been pretense.

  "That was a pretty heavy sigh," Rory said.

  "I'm … feeling that way, at the moment," Cassie admitted.

  "Hmm," Rory murmured, setting down the tea she had jokingly said had become her beverage of choice by virtue of being the only thing—besides the Popsicles Cassie's mother had recommended—that she could keep down. "Why don't we go into the bathroom, and I'll trim the ragged edges for you."

  For a moment Cassie wasn't certain exactly what ragged edges Rory was talking about. Then she caught a glimpse of the honey-blonde's hazel-green eyes, and realized she probably meant all of them.

  And once Cassie was seated at the vanity and Rory was working with a pair of scissors to neaten the haphazard shearing job Cassie had done, Rory wasted no time in getting right to the point.

  "So Dar thinks it was all for show?"

  Cassie didn't dissemble; she liked Rory too much to pretend ignorance. And besides, she wanted, needed to talk to someone, and Rory was the perfect choice. She'd been there.

  "Yes. So Sean wouldn't ask why I was there."

  They'd discussed why she and Dar had felt it best to keep their secret, and although Rory had bristled a bit at their protectiveness, she had grudgingly said she understood. She would have worried, she admitted, and she didn't need that right now.

  Rory shook her head, her mouth quirking. "Men. They can be so blind."

  "Yes." She hesitated, then said quietly, "I know Sean didn't like the idea of … Dar and me."

  "It's not you at all. What he doesn't like is the idea of Dar being hurt. He tends to be very protective." Rory gave Cassie a sideways look. "It seems to be a trait I'm running into a lot lately."

  "We love you," Cassie said simply.

  "And Sean loves Dar, although, being male, I doubt he's ever said it in so many words."