The Morning Side Of Dawn
Justine Davis

Holt Series Book #3

Silhouette Intimate Moments #674
November 1995
ISBN 0-373-07674-6

She wanted to hug him.

But she knew if she gave in to the urge to throw her arms around Dar, he would react like an annoyed grizzly. So she settled on the next best thing.

"Thank you," she said quietly. 

He looked puzzled. "For what?" 

"Understanding."

For an instant he looked as if she'd accused him of something distasteful, and she wanted to laugh. Then she wanted to hug him again, but once more smothered the urge.

Suddenly Dar smiled, and Cassie felt an odd little flutter in her chest. She suddenly suspected her urge to hug him had been born of something much deeper than a surface attraction.

Something that made her just a little bit nervous.

 
Prologue

She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She always had been. And they treated her so badly, made her stand there in the hot sun for hours while they took photographs that would be seen by millions. It just wasn't right. She should be pampered, treasured, kept safe, away from those millions of leering eyes. For he knew they all leered at her; they didn't feel as he did, didn't really rare, didn't want only to protect her, take care of her. They wanted to ogle her, to touch her, to display her like a pagan prize. And she hated it, he knew she did. She had always hated it. Despite her beauty, she'd been a shy child, so quiet, trusting only him....

They shifted the pose, the flowing white gown she wore whipping in the stiffening breeze. It suited her, that white dress, for it was as pure as her beauty. Her dark hair was a dramatic contrast to the sheer fabric; her eyes were wide and innocent. She needed him, he could see it there in the green depths. Every time she glanced his way, he could see it there, the worry, the tiny crease that furrowed her brow. She needed him to rescue her, to save her from the staring eyes, the touching hands. She needed him to help her, and this time he wouldn't let her down. He would save her. He would save her.

Chapter 1

"This is impossible, Cassandra."

"It's Cassie." Her voice had taken on an edge she didn't like the sound of, but Cassie Cameron was mightily tired of being Cassandra, Cassandra was an invention, a creation of the High Profile Agency and the advertising people who used her image. It wasn't her. But she was finding it harder and harder to hang on to the distinction between the two.

"Whatever." Charlie Tucker waved a hand dismissively. "You simply can't cancel all those bookings."

There had been a time when she would have acquiesced without argument. There had been a time when she would never have dreamed of even suggesting canceling the string of lucrative assignments that loomed before her. There had been a time when she would have been delighted to be merely a sidelight to the circus, let alone the sole performer in the center ring. But no more.

"If it's that Willis character who has you spooked—"

"It's not him," she said, interrupting Charlie, also something she once would never have dreamed of. "Not entirely."

And it wasn't. The man bothered her, but he wasn't the reason for this. She'd been on the verge long before the pale, thin figure had shown up at her last shoot in the Rockies outside of Denver. He was merely the impetus that had sped up her decision.

"Then what? You can't just—"

"I can," she corrected, keeping the edge out of her voice this time with a conscious effort. "And I have."

Charlie stared at her across the expanse of his rosewood desk. "I never thought I'd see the day when you became temperamental."

Cassie's mouth curved into a wry smile. "I have been a good little girl, haven't I?"

Charlie's graying brows furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Cassie said with a sigh, "that I've always done everything you asked. I've let you call the shots, and I've never argued. I even do the unthinkable—I show up on time at shoots, and I never walk off a set. No attitude here, right, Charlie?"

"Yes, and look where you are because of it! There isn't a top-twenty magazine on the stands you haven't been on the cover of at one time or another, most of them several times."

"I know that. And I appreciate all you've done. But it's been too long since I've had a break. I'm tired, Charlie."

"You took that vacation just a few weeks ago."

"That was three months ago. And for two days, to go to a wedding. Out of how many years?"

Charlie had the grace to look chagrined. "Well, all right, maybe you have been working a little too hard, but to cancel all those bookings? That's absurd. You're hotter than hot right now. You can't just stop for that long and not expect it to affect your career."

"I do expect it to affect my career." She shrugged, knowing Charlie would never understand. "I'm just not sure that I care anymore."

For the first time since she'd hit him with her news, Charlie stayed silent, and for the first time he looked at her as if he just might be taking her seriously.

"You're tired," he pronounced after a moment's silent consideration, as if she hadn't just said it herself.

"No kidding," Cassie agreed dryly.

"All right, look. We can cancel the Parkside shoot. They're not that big an account, anyway. That'll give you a week before you have to be in Morocco—"

"Not good enough, Charlie. A week is not going to do it."

Charlie sighed, sounding pained. "All right. I'll call Creative Visions and see if the shoot can be postponed for a week— Why are you shaking your head?"

"Because you're not listening. I don't want a week off, or two weeks. I don't even want a vacation. I want... a sabbatical. A long one."

Maybe a permanent one, she thought, but didn't voice the words; she didn't want to send Charlie into cardiac arrest.

To his credit, the agency head didn't yell, or even sputter. He merely glowered. Cassie hid a rueful smile, remembering the days not so long ago when she would have been reduced to meek compliance at the sight of that expression.

"This is not a wise choice, Cassandra."

"No," she agreed. "For Cassandra, it's not. But for Cassie, it's the only choice."

Her mild tone seemed to give him hope. "Listen. We'll cancel Parkside, postpone Morocco, and then reassess, all right?"

"Reassessing is exactly what this is all about, Charlie. And I need time to do it. I have some... decisions to make. Long-term decisions."

Charlie, she thought as she walked out to her car, had been nothing less than stunned, but she'd expected that. She'd thought about this long and hard, and had known that explaining herself wasn't going to be easy. But she hadn't expected it to affect her so much. Hadn't realized that it would bother her so much to let down the people who had come to depend on her.

"You've become an industry of your own," she muttered as she shifted the little red convertible into first gear and waited for a break in the morning traffic. "Cassandra," she added, drawling her full name out with the exaggerated emphasis virtually everyone seemed to give it.

She'd hated the name as a child, and her opinion hadn't changed much. But now she couldn't get away from it; she wished she had never listened to the agent who'd suggested she use it. The fact that he'd been proven right, that the name Cassandra had become synonymous with glamour, sophistication and a kind of beauty aspired to—sometimes unhealthily—by far too many women, only made her more determined to stick with her decision. She had to get away, she told herself, before she lost Cassie forever.

She stopped before she hit the freeway, and after reminding herself to have the annoying tapping noise the engine had recently developed checked out, she put the top down on the little car. She luxuriated in the freedom of letting her hair blow wildly, with no thought given to how it would look when she arrived.

Maybe I'll get it cut, she mused, envisioning a short, gamine style that she could wash and forget, instead of her famed heavy mane of thick tresses. Charlie would truly keel over then, she thought, not without a modicum of amusement she tried hard to be ashamed for. She wasn't particularly successful, a fact that she put down to the sheer delirium she was beginning to feel at the thought of actually being free for an indefinite period. She would go home to her apartment and pack, and first thing tomorrow, she'd head south.

She laughed aloud and reached for the radio buttons. She stopped at the first lively, upbeat song she came to and cranked up the volume. She felt nearly weightless, in a way she couldn't remember having felt since the day she'd found out her brother was alive, after they'd thought him long dead.

She smiled widely at the memory of Chase's laughter when she'd told him what she was going to do.

"I wondered how long you'd last, little sister," he'd said with a chuckle. "And of course you can use the house while we're gone. We're leaving a key with Sean, so you can get it from him. I'll tell him to expect you."

"Thanks, Dad," she drawled, knowing her brother was still feeling a bit harried under the strain of two children, Katie being an eight-year-old hurricane, and Jason a baby of only six months.

"Cute," Chase said dryly. "If this wasn't the first vacation for Stevie and me in two years, I'd stick around and teach you to respect your elders."

Cassie hooted loudly. "Elders? This from the guy who still stops traffic? If it's female, that is."

"Look who's talking."

She'd giggled then, even though the teasing routine was an old, familiar one. Despite the difference in their ages, they looked enough alike to be thought twins. The same thick, dark hair, soft, full mouth and thickly lashed, vivid green eyes that had been her road to fortune were—to his embarrassment—just as startlingly beautiful in her brother's handsome face.

But whenever he got self-conscious about his dramatic looks, she quietly reminded him that were it not for the resemblance between them, Stevie might never have realized who he was, and they might have gone on believing him dead long after it had been safe for him to come home.

Dramatic looks. The thought led her, inevitably of late, to the very man she'd been trying so hard not to think about. Dar Cordell had been taking up too much of her mind since she'd first seen him at Stevie's brother Sean's wedding. Entirely too much, she told herself firmly. Especially since that had been the only time she'd ever seen him.

Once again she promised herself she would stop thinking about the man with the astoundingly perfect looks. Dark-eyed, dark-haired looks that made nearly every woman who saw him gape. Looks that could have made him a fortune in her world. Could have, had it not been for the little detail of the wheelchair he lived in. Another reason, she thought with a touch of acidity, to leave her picture-perfect world behind; she didn't like the fact that there was little room for people like Dar in it.

She wasn't going to start that again. She wasn't even going to ask Sean about his friend when she picked up the key to Chase's house. She wasn't.

* * * * *

The trophy he'd flung with all of his considerable strength hit the concrete wall of his workshop with a resounding, clanking, satisfying thud. Dar watched as it bounced back a couple of feet and hit the floor, then rammed his fingers through the thick tangle of his dark hair. Irrelevantly he thought yet again that he needed a haircut, then shoved the thought aside. His hair was the least of his worries. As was one now slightly bent marathon trophy.

He looked away from the chunk of golden metal, a winged wheel on a heavy wood base. It only reminded him of what he should be doing. He should be working out, trying to shave a few more precious seconds off his race time. He should be working on production; he was behind on his finish work, and his customers would be grumbling soon. He should be doing any one of a dozen things, not sitting here moping, throwing things like a sulky kid.

"Damn," he swore softly, knowing full well that a sulky kid was exactly what he felt like. And he didn't like it.

He so much didn't like the feeling that the sound of an approaching car driving along the gravel part of the drive was a welcome distraction instead of an annoyance. The realization made his mouth quirk in rueful self-knowledge as he wheeled his way to the door; that few people bothered to track him down all the way out here was the thing he liked best about this place, and here he was uncharacteristically welcoming a visitor.

The isolated building that still looked like what it had once been—a warehouse—-didn't draw casual visitors or salesmen, so that narrowed it down to people he knew who would bother to make the trip. Which, he thought wryly, narrowed whoever was coming down to people whose number he could just about count on one hand. And most of them were on their way out of town, so that left either Sean, or Sean's wife, Rory.

"Right," he muttered. As if Rory would show up here. She was far too wary of him. He suspected she thought he still blamed her for hurting Sean so badly, literally jilting him at the altar five years ago. He'd tried to tell her that if Sean could put it behind him, so could he; but judging from the way she looked at him, like a tiny kitten eyeing a testy Doberman, he obviously hadn't succeeded. He wasn't surprised—he wasn't much good at talking to women anymore. If he ever had been.

He looked out the window, which was situated low down beside the door so that he could easily see out. It had been his second modification to the place after he'd bought it, right after the ramp that ran from the rather high porch that had once been a loading dock, down to the almost level area in front of the building. When he saw Sean's car—a new, bright blue coupe to replace the one that had taken a nearly fatal dip in the lagoon out front when Rory's vicious former boyfriend had caught up with them—he relaxed a little. Sean he could deal with. He didn't have to be sociable, didn't have to pretend to be glad to see whoever was invading his privacy.

But it would have been easier if Sean didn't look so damned happy. He fairly glowed with it. It wasn't that Dar begrudged him; Lord knows Sean had paid his dues and then some. It was just that—

It's just your stinking mood, he told himself sternly as he wheeled over and swung open the door.

"Uh-oh," Sean said after taking one look at his face. "Maybe I'd better come back some other time."

"Sorry," Dar said, making a conscious effort to lighten the expression he was afraid matched his mood.

"Problem?" Sean asked as he came in, shutting the door behind him.

"Bad mood," Dar returned succinctly.

At the sudden seriousness of Sean's expression, in such contrast to the cheerful look he'd been wearing when he'd first come up the steps, Dar felt an inner tug of guilt. He had no right to inflict his rotten disposition on Sean. The guy's finally found some happiness, jackass, he muttered inwardly, don't rain on it.

"Sorry," he said again. "I'll get over it. I'm just..." He shrugged, not sure what he was.

"I know what you are." Sean grinned suddenly. "You're bored."

Dar blinked. "What?"

"You're bored, buddy. At the ripe old age of thirty-one, you've won every major wheeled marathon in the country. You've got a successful business building racing chairs that people are clamoring for. You've got enough money to live on for the rest of your life. You're settled in—" Sean gestured around the airy, spacious warehouse "—in a great place that you love. You even harassed that wheelchair basketball team into a state championship last year. You've accomplished everything you ever said you were going to, and more." His grin widened. "You're bored."

Bored. Dar turned the word over in his mind. Was that the reason for his restlessness? Simple boredom? It made sense, he supposed. Everything Sean had said was true. And that uneasy feeling he'd been having in his gut lately, that feeling that there was much more to his state of mind than that, didn't necessarily have to be right.

Sean walked over to the couch with an easy stride that disguised the fact of his missing left leg from any but the most aware and knowledgeable observers. He sat down, leaned back and looked at Dar.

"You need a new project, that's all. You've got the racing chairs down to where they're routine, even though you build each one yourself."

"Yeah," Dar admitted. He'd refined the basic Cordell Racing Chair until it was at the limits of its performance for the strength of the components he had to use. He could go further, no doubt, with more exotic materials, but that would put it out of the price range of most of his customers, which seemed self-defeating to him.

"Maybe you should have hung on to that kids' motorized-cart idea," Sean said.

Dar shrugged. "Selling that design is the reason I've got, as you put it, enough money for the rest of my life."

He'd sold his design for a motorized, child-size car, with controls adaptable to a variety of disabilities, to a manufacturer who had been ready to gear up and go into production far sooner than Dar could have lined up backing to get it done. He'd gotten a healthy amount of money for the design and was glad not to have had to hassle with too many corporate minds in the process. And kids would have the car, which would help them learn to control motorized chairs later on, a lot sooner. He'd been happy with the deal, until he'd realized too late how much time he'd been spending on it, how much it had occupied his mind. The gap the cessation of his work on it had left had been the start of his restlessness.

"Maybe you're right," he mused aloud, looking at Sean thoughtfully.

"What about that off-road idea of yours? That four-wheeled thing?"

Dar assumed an injured air. "That 'four-wheeled thing' is a brilliant design, thank you. If I can just figure out the right suspension system—"

"You mean so it doesn't toss you out on your brilliant head whenever you hit anything bigger than a golf ball or harder than a frog?"

Sean was grinning so widely Dar couldn't help but grin back. "Yeah, something like that."

"So work on it."

"I do have that prototype out in the garage," he said slowly, warming to the idea. He'd begun it as a lark, after watching a group of mountain bikers on the hillside across the lagoon one day, but a new set of orders for his racing chairs had come in, and with that on top of his rigorous training schedule, he'd had to put it aside. Others had now come out with what was called an all-terrain chair, or ATC, but that didn't stop him from wanting to design his own.

"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 fiancee 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?"

Damn, 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.

Instinctively she followed as he started up the long ramp that ran sideways across the front of the warehouse from ground level up to the front door. She felt the pull of the incline in the muscles of her legs, but Dar wheeled up the slope as if it were level ground. She wondered suddenly if anyone less fit than he could make it up this ramp, and had a sudden vision of all the wheelchair ramps that had been added to buildings as afterthoughts being useless to the average person who needed them, no doubt designed by someone who had never had to use one.

She watched the flex and play of his muscles in quiet admiration. She'd seen male models who worked out hours a day who didn't have muscles like this; the man was an athlete, no matter that he happened to be on wheels. How could anybody look at him and not see that? Was this why he chose the chair over the prostheses that made it possible for him to better blend with the rest of the world? She thought she could see the appeal. In the chair he moved swiftly and easily; on his feet, he had to concentrate to maintain a semblance of a normal gait. She wondered if that was the only reason he chose the chair.

It's none of your business, she told herself sternly, trying to quash her too-active curiosity. And you're not going to ask, either.

When he reached the level section of the porch, he looked back over his shoulder at her.

"There are steps, you know."

God, the man was prickly. "I know," she said in very polite tones. "But I didn't want to be rude."

Something flickered in his eyes then, the faintest bit of brightness in the dark depths.

"Touche," he said, so softly she knew she hadn't been meant to hear it. Then he turned back and rolled up to the door, shoved it open and disappeared inside. She hesitated, then stepped in after him.

The inside of the warehouse was cool and airy, with high ceilings and an open spaciousness emphasized by the lack of walls and the oddly wide spacing of what little furniture there was. Cassie looked around with interest. At the far end of the large room was what looked like a workshop; there was a tall, complicated-looking piece of machinery whose purpose she couldn't even guess at. She could see what appeared to be designs tacked up on the wall, along with a photograph that appeared to be a duplicate of one Sean had of Dar and Katie. Scattered about were several mysterious parts and pieces she could only assume had something to do with the racing wheelchairs he designed. She'd heard Sean say once that a Cordell chair was the Indy car of the wheelchair racing world, the heaviest model topping out at an amazing fifteen total pounds in weight, and that he had more orders than he could keep up with. And she had to admit, the three-wheeled designs she could see looked more like drag racers, low and sleek and rakish, than wheelchairs.

Off to one side stood a set of weights on a rack, a padded bench and a cross-country ski machine that looked oddly out of proportion until she realized it had been modified, with the upright shortened and the ski bindings adapted for his use with what was left of his legs. Beyond it, what looked like a retractable partition came out of one side wall, shutting off one corner of the main room. In the opposite corner was a compact kitchen, looking like a ship's galley, with counters set unusually low atop recessed cabinets.

A sound drew her attention, and she turned to see Dar shuffling through a small pile of papers on a low table in front of the couch, which sat across from a big-screen TV and a powerful-looking stereo. And in that moment she realized the reason for the spacing of the furniture; it was to allow him to wheel his chair freely between the pieces she now wondered if he ever used himself. And the kitchen was adapted, too, she realized, with its counters and cabinets set up for wheelchair access.

"This is a really nice place," she said.

His head came up sharply when she spoke, and she saw his eyes narrow as if he were examining her words for some hidden meaning. Then, with an effort that was visible, she saw him force himself to relax. Still, his voice sounded slightly stiff when he spoke.

"I like it."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Three years." It was just as stiff as before, and the effort again visible as he added, "Almost."

"It must be quiet out here most of the time."

"Yes."

Cassie sighed. "Are you always this talkative, or is it just me?" Her mouth quirked. "I almost think I prefer you laughing at me."

"Laughing at you?" The dark brows lifted; she'd startled him with that.

"Like you did at Sean's wedding."

"Lady," he said, in unmistakably wry tones, "no man in his right mind would ever laugh at you."

Well, she'd gotten a full dozen words out of him that time; that was worth something, she supposed.

"Especially in that dress," he added.

She was the one startled then. And, she admitted to herself, flattered. He'd remembered. She'd known she looked good that day, but it hadn't seemed to get her anywhere with this man.

But recalling that day, and her behavior, still embarrassed her. "Look who's talking," she muttered. "You're prettier than I am."

His mouth twisted in wry amusement. "Hardly."

She just looked at him, thinking that what she'd said was more than true.

"Then what were you laughing at?" she asked finally.

His amused expression faded abruptly. "Me," he said shortly, and went back to the papers on the table.

He'd been laughing at himself? When every unattached woman—and some of the attached ones—had been buzzing about him, speculating madly? She wanted to ask what he meant, but something in his tone told her she wouldn't get an answer.

She slowly walked over to him, watching as he found the page he'd been looking for, tore off a corner and copied a phone number down. He held out the piece of paper. She took it, conscious of having to lean down slightly; her five-foot-nine height had never seemed so tall before. He made no effort to make it easier, in fact looked up at her with that hooded expression, as if daring her to even notice.

She took the piece of paper, glanced at the number written there in a bold scrawl, nodded, then threw caution to the winds and asked what she'd been wondering.

"So tell me," she said casually, "why do you prefer the chair?"

She wouldn't have thought he could have gotten stiffer, but he did.

"I know," she said, "it's none of my business, it's a rude question, and probably politically incorrect, to boot. But I figured you already hate me, so what did I have to lose? And I was curious."

For an instant he looked taken aback, although she couldn't begin to guess if it was at the words themselves or her breezy tone. But when he spoke there was no sign of surprise in his voice, just an edge that told her his defenses were up in full force.

"Curiosity," he said slowly, "can be lethal."

"I've been warned before," she said with a shrug.

"But coming from me it doesn't scare you?"

She looked at him consideringly. "No. Chase wouldn't trust you if you were really a bully."

Again he looked taken aback, and this time she was sure of it; her answer hadn't been what he'd been expecting. She wondered if he'd really thought she wouldn't feel threatened because he was in a wheelchair. He couldn't be that touchy, could he? She met his gaze and hastily amended that assessment. He certainly could. Around her, anyway.

"I'm in this chair for a lot of reasons," he said, after she'd given up expecting an answer, "but mainly because I have no desire to help the world pretend I'm not what I am. Or that people like me don't exist."

His voice was sharp, his words abrupt. Cassie had a gut-level feeling that there was much, much more to it than that, but she also knew this was all he would admit to, a reason born in pride and anger, a thumbing of his nose at a world that too often did just that—pretended that people like him didn't exist.

"I just wondered," she said quietly, knowing he'd expected her to be hurt by his tone or embarrassed by his words, "how you dealt with a world that judges people so much by what they look like.''

He blinked, and for the second time color tinged his cheeks.

"Thanks for the number," she said, weary of doing battle with this too-contrary man. "I'll go find a phone somewhere else and... leave you to yourself.''

"I..." His voice trailed off and he lowered his gaze. Cassie found herself staring at the thick, dark sweep of his lashes. That and his mouth were the only signs of softness in him, although she supposed he had every right to be as hard as he was, as hard as the world—and fate—had made him.

"Use mine," he said after a moment, gesturing toward the phone on the coffee table.

Cassie shook her head. "I think I've worn out what little welcome there was."

His head came up then. "I... didn't mean to make you feel that way. I just... I don't get company here very often."

"And you like it that way?" she suggested softly.

His gaze narrowed. "Yes," he said flatly.

He was looking at her almost challengingly, as if daring her to comment on his unsociable attitude. She merely shrugged.

"People can be awful, whether they stare at you or through you. I don't blame you for not wanting most of them around." She held up the piece of paper. "Thanks for the number."

She headed for the door, refusing to let herself look back. He never said another word, and she pulled the door quietly shut behind her. Dar Cordell, she thought as she headed for her car, using the steps this time, could give temperament lessons to a junkyard dog. Except the dog would probably be, unlike her, smart enough to keep his distance.

Chapter 3

People can be awful, whether they stare at you or through you.

"Stare at you or through you," Dar muttered under his breath as he watched the little red convertible drive away along the road beside the lagoon. He never would have expected her to understand something like that. Not her. What did she know about being gaped at as if you were a sideshow, or about being looked through as if you were invisible, not even there? When people looked at her, they saw the perfect woman, the ideal of feminine beauty. Didn't they? 

And if they did? His thoughts continued to tumble as he stared at the faint stirring of dust on the now-empty road. How was that to live with, knowing the world looked at you and saw perfection? Was it really any different than when they looked at him and saw only what wasn't there? Was she ever allowed to be anything less than as perfect as her looks? To be human?

He felt a little shell-shocked. As she had the day of Sean's wedding, Cassie Cameron—Cassandra, he amended wryly— seemed to throw him at every turn. Every time he thought he had her figured out, thought that he could predict her reactions, she danced off in some totally unexpected direction that somehow managed to thoroughly rattle his hard-won calm.

She should have stormed out of here in a snit. Most people would have; he'd learned early on how to drive people away, and he didn't think he'd lost his knack, especially with women. Even Sean, with whom he'd felt an unexpected and immediate kinship when he'd first met him at their mutual prosthetist, had had to batter down walls he'd once laughingly called the Cordell Fortress.

So why had she stayed, when he'd been at his obnoxious best? Why hadn't she been hurt, or at least embarrassed by his blunt words? Instead she had accepted them calmly, with an insight he would never have expected.

I just wondered how you dealt with a world that judges people so much by what they look like.

His eyes widened as the slight emphasis on the pronoun suddenly made sense to him. Cassie knew exactly how it felt, he thought in stunned realization. She lived in a world that judged people by appearance more than almost any other. She made her living in a business that valued looks above all else, where if you had the right kind of looks at the right time, you could become a superstar. You could become the darling of millions. You could stop being Cassie and become Cassandra.

Just like you could get hit by a train and go from being the darling of the sports media, that new young baseball phenom who'd been signed straight into AAA ball, to just a guy in a wheelchair, missing a couple of parts. A guy who didn't look right anymore, who didn't have what was necessary to become that superstar anymore.

He wheeled abruptly away from the window, but the image of Cassie, and the look on her face when she'd said that about people staring through you, stayed in his mind. As did the realization that she, too, dealt with the world's perceptions—and its misperceptions—in a very personal way. He didn't like the thought. It made him vaguely uncomfortable, and he didn't know why.

But he wasn't about to sit here trying to figure it out, he told himself. He had work to do. Maybe Sean was right, and he was bored. If so, work was the answer, not idle and useless speculation about the likes of Cassie Cameron.

"That Mr. Willis called again. And he sent more roses."

Cassie's stomach knotted, and her hands tightened around the telephone receiver. "What did he say?"

"Just asked where your next shoot was going to be, like always. Of course I didn't tell him anything. You'd think he'd learn by now it's our policy not to give out information like that."

Cassie heard the undertone of concern in Bonnie's voice; Charlie's young assistant knew she was worried about the man, even though he seemed innocuous enough.

"Yes, you'd think he would. That's part of what bothers me."

"Do you really think he's...dangerous?" Bonnie asked. "He seems harmless. Even kind of sweet sometimes. Almost... fatherly."

Cassie let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I know. He looks that way, too. But his showing up in Denver made me nervous."

"But he didn't do anything, did he?"

"You sound like Charlie," Cassie said wryly. "No, he hasn't done anything, except send me sweet notes and flowers. He hasn't threatened me, and that was the first time he'd actually followed me on a shoot."

"Maybe he's just a real fan. He even says he worries about you working too hard." Bonnie gave an audible sigh. "But I guess you can't take a chance, can you?"

Cassie found herself echoing Bonnie's sigh. "I don't like living that way," she said, "but..." Her voice trailed off.

"I know. It's scary out there. And you're a prime target."

For now, Cassie muttered inwardly. But I don't have to stay that way.

"If he calls again, tell him you don't know where I am."

"Well, that's true enough. Where are you?"

"If you don't know, you don't have to lie, do you?"

Bonnie chuckled. "No, I guess not. What do you want me to do with the roses?"

"You keep them. Tell Ron you got them from a secret admirer," Cassie said, wondering if Bonnie and her on-again, off-again boyfriend were on or off at the moment. "Maybe it will do him good."

"Maybe it will," Bonnie said, laughing now. "You take care. And check in, will you? Charlie's already going crazy."

"Maybe that will do him good," Cassie retorted.

She hung up with Bonnie's laughter echoing in her ear. But her own smile rapidly faded. Was she being silly, to be worried about this man? Was he just a well-intentioned fan?

A grim memory of another model, and photographs of her face, brutally slashed with a razor, which had been splashed across newspapers and the nightly news for days, sent a shiver down her spine.

Trying to shake it off, she got to her feet. As she had been doing before she'd called the office, she paced across the floor, aware of how unsettled she was, because even the bright, sunny airiness of her brother's house couldn't seem to ease her restlessness. Chase had designed the house years before he'd built it. And years before he'd met Stevie, the woman who had made him want to build it. Yet even the feeling of love and safety that usually wrapped around her when she visited here wasn't enough today.

Cassie stopped in the shaft of sunlight streaming through the skylight in the entry, hoping its warmth would rid her of the chill that had her rubbing at her arms.

This was silly, she told herself. It wasn't like some wild man was going to suddenly appear on the doorstep, looking for her.

Maybe she needed to get out into that sunlight, she thought. She'd promised Chase she'd check the office for mail and messages now and then while he was gone, so Sean could have more time with Rory. Maybe she'd do that now. Then she'd take a drive, maybe along the coast, watch all the people enjoying the beautiful day, and try to forget that some of the most normal looking of them were probably hiding twisted, sick minds.

Before she could change her mind and go back to simply wearing a groove in the tile floor, she borrowed one of Stevie's caps from the rack near the door, tugged her hair through the back into a ponytail and grabbed her purse and keys. Glad to be doing something, anything, she yanked open the front door.

And stifled a startled shriek when she nearly collided with Dar Cordell.

"I was about to knock," he said, looking up at her. His mouth quirked oddly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I... You didn't."

"Then you always scream when you open the door? Or is it just me?"

"No, it's not you," she said hastily. She glanced out to where his van stood in the driveway, wondering uneasily why she hadn't even heard him drive up. "I didn't expect anyone, and... I'm just a little edgy."

One dark brow rose. "Something wrong?"

"I—" She broke off, catching herself on the verge of blurting out exactly why she was nervous. Dar Cordell didn't care, and she'd only embarrass herself more than she already had with this man if she were to confide in him. "Nothing."

He looked as if he didn't believe her. She tried to think of something to distract him, and—as usual around him, it seemed—the first thing that occurred to her popped out.

"What are you doing here?"

His expression changed abruptly, and she realized what her question had sounded like.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound sharp. I…I'm...more on edge than I thought. I only meant that Chase and Stevie and the kids are gone, and I know you didn't come here to see me—"

"Actually," he said, cutting off her spate of words, "I did."

She blinked. "You did?"

"I wanted to apologize."

She blinked again, truly startled now. "To me?"

He nodded, not looking very happy about it.

"You already did," she said. "And it was me who intruded on you—-"

"Not that." He cut her off, then stopped. He ran a hand over the push rim on the right wheel of his chair. Cassie's eyes followed the motion, seeing the strength in his muscled forearms and wrists, and the well-defined tendons of his hands. She only realized she was staring when at last he spoke again. Her gaze shot back to his face.

"I...made some assumptions about you. Because of what you look like. I shouldn't have."

This was the last thing she'd expected. She didn't know what to say. Finally she managed a stumbling reply. "I...it's all right. I understand."

"I doubt that," he muttered.

His tone jarred on nerves already taut, and she couldn't help her reaction. "So that's how it works? I can't possibly understand because I'm not sitting where you are?"

To her surprise, he flushed. "No. I didn't mean that."

"Then what did you mean?"

He made a dismissive gesture with his hands. "It was just...a knee-jerk reaction, okay?" She considered that for a moment, and when she didn't speak, one corner of his mouth quirked wryly. "I don't know what it would be if I'd lost both knees."

Her eyes widened. She barely managed to keep her gaze from shifting to his legs. Then the humor of it struck her, and she grinned.

"Just a jerk reaction?" she suggested.

He looked startled. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. What a wonderful sound, Cassie thought. Deep and rich, with a timbre that sent a shiver down her spine.

"Probably," he agreed without any trace of annoyance. Then, with no warning, he shot a question at her. "What's wrong? Why are you so edgy?"

Caught off guard, she started to answer. "Some guy has been bothering me..." She trailed off, realizing she'd just done what she'd sworn not to do.

"What guy?"

"Nobody."

"'Nobody' makes you jump like a scared rabbit?"

"It's nothing, really."

Something in his expression, in the way his eyes became shuttered, made her wish she hadn't said that, made wish that the man who had just grinned with her, the man whose dark eyes had lit up with what she sensed was rare laughter, hadn't disappeared.

"All right, Cassandra, if you say so."

"Don't call me that!"

He stiffened. "Fine. Ms. Cameron, then. I'll be getting out of your way now."

He spun the chair around and hurled it down the single, low porch step so fast and with such exquisite balance she was stunned for a moment.

"Dar, wait." He seemed to wince at the sound of his name; she stepped down after him. "That's not what I meant. It's just that I... hate that name. Cassandra is.. somebody else. An image. Not me."

She'd spoken the words to his retreating back, but he stopped now. When he didn't turn around, she tried again.

"It was just a knee-jerk reaction."

She heard him let out a compressed breath, then saw his shoulders bunch; in an instant the chair was spinning again and he was facing her, wearing an expression she couldn't read.

"Guess we're even, then."

She smiled tentatively. "Maybe we should quit keeping score."

"Maybe." He looked at her steadily for a long, silent moment. "So who is this guy who's bothering you?"

With a sigh, she gave in, not really certain why. "I don't know, not really. His name is Willis, but I don't know much more. And he hasn't really done anything, except send me notes and flowers..."

"But?"

"He showed up in Denver a couple of weeks ago. I was there on a shoot."

Dar's brows furrowed. "He followed you? Did he do anything?"

"No. He was just... there. But he made me nervous. So I decided to take a break, and come here."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Six months, maybe." She sighed again. "Look, I know it's probably nothing, but—"

"You're a public figure. You can't assume that."

She suppressed a different kind of shiver. "A public figure. God, I hate that."

"Then you picked a hell of a career," Dar said, the wryness of his tone unmistakable.

"I know. But when I picked it, I never expected it to... mushroom like it did."

"You're a beautiful woman. Why were you surprised?"

Cassie knew she was gaping at him, but she couldn't help it. There had been nothing of flattery in his tone, nothing of fawning, merely a flat acknowledgment, as if of an incontrovertible fact. Yet somehow it had more impact than any fatuous compliment she had ever gotten.

"I... thank you."

Dar shrugged impatiently. "You've got to know what you look like. You shouldn't be surprised."

"I didn't know it would be like this," she said after a moment. "I was very naive, I suppose. I thought it would be great fun to wear the latest clothes and just have my picture taken all the time." Her mouth twisted. "A kid's view of modeling. The reality, on the other hand, is a lot of hard work, of getting up before dawn and working until dark, of having people poking and prodding at you constantly, ordering you around..." Her voice trailed off as she shook her head ruefully.

"And strange men following you."

She shivered again despite herself. "Yes."

"Does Chase know about this?"

"No. I didn't want to tell him. You know how he is, he worries."

"He loves you."

"I know." She smiled. "It's that double dose of feeling responsible he was born with."

"He does tend to... worry. About everybody."

Even me.

He didn't say the words, but Cassie heard it in the wonder in his voice. She wondered if Dar had ever had anybody to really worry about him before. But she knew better than to ask.

"If Chase knew, he'd probably feel he needed to be here, to watch out for me. And this is the first chance he and Stevie have had to get away since Jason was born."

"What about Sean?"

Cassie shook her head. "No. I don't want to bother him, either. Rory's having a tough time, and he's got enough to worry about." He lowered his eyes, and she gave him a sideways look. "He told me you knew."

"That Rory's pregnant? Yes."

"You didn't say anything the other day, when I got here."

"Not my place," he said simply.

She smiled. "Rory told me when I started teasing her about keeping Sean on such a short leash with that cellular phone."

Dar looked up then. "I finally figured out that's why he bought it." Then, brows lowering, he added, "You've seen her? Is she having a really tough time?"

"Only if you call throwing up a dozen times a day a tough time."

He grimaced and Cassie grinned; he looked like any single man confronted with the more unpleasant aspects of pregnancy.

"She'll be all right, as long as she doesn't get too dehydrated, and Sean's making sure of that. He's been threatening to have his mother move in if Rory doesn't keep drinking liquids."

Dar's eyes widened, then he suddenly mirrored her grin. "I've met Sean's mother. That'd convince me."

"Me, too," Cassie said. "She'd drive me crazy with all that fussing. But I guess it's just her way. You know how mothers are."

He looked away, and Cassie suddenly remembered that Sean had told her Dar's mother had died when he was a child. She hastened to get past the awkward moment.

"I'm glad my mom isn't like that. She just tells Rory to eat Popsicles."

Dar's head came up at that, and he gaped at her. "What?"

She grinned again. "You heard me. She said Popsicles were the only thing that got her through carrying me. The only thing she could keep down, and the only way she could get enough liquids. Dad says he was buying them by the case. To this day he can't look at a grape Popsicle."

Dar shook his head. "Amazing," was all he said, but he said it so wistfully Cassie got the feeling it was about much more than a rather amusing solution to the chronic morning-sickness problem. Was he missing his own mother? she wondered. Or perhaps just a simple thing like oft-repeated, familiar family tales, things that she took for granted but he had probably never known?

But she knew better than to ask about that, too. Based on what Sean had told her over the past couple of days, Dar showing up here at all was surprising; that it had apparently been to apologize for something like this was astonishing. Prying into the reasons behind that wistful tone would get her nowhere.

"So you're not going to tell them?"

So much for diverting him. She shook her head. "No. They'd just worry, and I'm not sure there's anything to worry about."

"Yet," Dar said, a little sourly.

Cassie gave him a surprised look. Everyone had spent so much time assuring her she was feeling nervous for nothing, it was a little startling to find support coming from this unexpected quarter.

"You think there is?"

"I think there are a damn lot of crazies out there."

"He doesn't look like a crazy."

"Are you perfect?"

She blinked, disconcerted. "Perfect? Of course not."

Dar shrugged. "You look it."

Cassie felt color flood her face. But it faded quickly when she realized that again he hadn't been flattering her, he'd merely been stating what he saw as a fact. What far too much of the world saw as a fact. And belatedly she got his point.

"You're right," she said, chagrined. "You can't judge someone by what they look like, and I should know that better than anyone."

To her surprise, he gave her an understanding look. "So should I, but I did it to you. If everybody does that, no wonder you needed a break."

She wanted to hug him. As unlikely as it seemed, this man, this taciturn, detached man understood. Where people who were supposedly her friends scoffed, Dar understood. Where her boss saw only the loss of a lot of revenue, Dar understood. Where even her family reminded her this was what she'd always dreamed of, Dar understood.

She also knew if she gave in to the urge to throw her arms around him, he'd react like an annoyed grizzly; she'd never met anyone who so visibly cordoned off his own space. And it had nothing to do with the chair and everything to do with the cool aloofness of his gaze.

So she settled on the next best thing.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He looked puzzled. "For what?"

“Understanding.''

For an instant he looked as if she'd accused him of something distasteful, and she wanted to laugh. Then she again wanted to hug him; she once more smothered the urge. She didn't quite understand why it was so hard to check the impulse; outside her family, she'd learned quickly to restrain her natural inclination to touch. Too often it was misinterpreted.

"Most of the world thinks I'm crazy for walking away," she said after a moment.

He looked at her consideringly. "You sound like you mean you're walking away for good."

"I..." She hesitated; this was something she hadn't admitted out loud to anyone. Then, before she could stop them, the words came tumbling out. "I'm thinking about it."

She waited, breathless, half-convinced something awful would happen now that she'd voiced the words for the first time.

"Waiting for lightning to strike?" Dar asked, his mouth lifting at one corner.

Realizing what she must have looked like, Cassie laughed. "Something like that."

Dar smiled. Cassie felt an odd little flutter in her chest; he might not smile often, but when he did, it was powerful stuff. Too powerful. So powerful she suddenly suspected her urge to hug him had been born of something much deeper than just her natural tendency to be a touchy person. And something deeper than the surface attraction that had lured her into that uncharacteristic flirtation at Sean's wedding.

Something that made her just a little bit nervous.

"I..." She tightened her grip on her purse. "I need to go to my brother's office, I promised him I'd check for messages and pick up the mail."

For a moment Dar didn't react. Then, rather shortly, he nodded.

"I'll get my van out of your way."

He spun the chair around with that ease she was getting used to, and rolled up to the driver's side of the blue panel van. It was old, she noticed, but immaculate. She watched as he opened the door and levered himself out of the chair and into the van with an ease that belied the effort she knew it must take. He reached down and folded the chair, the two sides coming together neatly despite the angled wheels. Although she guessed this regular chair was heavier than the racing chairs he built, he lifted it easily, and stowed it in what looked like a rack made for it behind the driver's seat, readily accessible from where he sat. The entire process took less than a minute.

"How do people in wheelchairs who aren't as strong as you manage?"

His head snapped around sharply, and she felt as if she were a specimen under a microscope as his dark eyes searched her face. She wondered what he was looking for, and for a moment she wished she hadn't spoken. Then she realized she'd been feeling that a lot around this man, and her mouth quirked wryly.

"Sorry if that was a wrong question," she said. "I'm not much good at walking on eggshells around people."

"Most people," he said after a moment, "probably find that more irritating than being asked the wrong questions. Which that wasn't, if you genuinely wanted to know."

"It just struck me that not everyone could do that as easily as you did."

He nodded, gesturing toward the chair now stowed behind his seat. "Some people in chairs use lifts, then switch to the driver's seat once they're inside. For powered chairs there's a setup you can bolt to the frame, which locks the wheels in place and lets people use their chairs as driver's seats. But most people who can, drive regular cars. They're not as hard to get into. I need the van for my race chairs. I always take spares."

"In case something breaks?"

"Or if it's a new course, and I get there and find out I need something different."

She lifted a brow. "They're that specialized?"

"Mine are." He sounded slightly defensive, and must have realized it, because he added, "I'm kind of picky."

"Sean says you've won every road race there is. I'd say that's just darn good, not picky."

"Sean talks too much."

It was almost a growl, but Cassie noticed that for a third time, color had tinged his cheeks. His goodbye was rather abrupt, and she watched with a wry expression as the van drove away.

You can certainly pick'em, Cassandra, she muttered to herself as, after he'd gone, she pulled her car out of the drive. Why can't you be fascinated by someone simple, like the paperboy, or that brainless, overmuscled jeans model you met last month? But no, the first guy to interest you in ages has to be a cool, uncommunicative master of detachment, with walls a mile high and more than that thick.

And with every right to have those walls, she thought. Who wouldn't, after what he'd been through? But somehow she knew it wasn't that simple. Dar wasn't that simple. There was more to his temperament than the maiming of his body. She wasn't sure why she was so certain of that, but she was.

She was still mulling it over when she arrived at her brother's office and let herself in with the key he'd left her. And still wondering about the enigma that was Dar Cordell when she picked up the few pieces of mail and began automatically to sort them by size before taking them back to the house so that, when he called, Chase could tell her if anything was important enough that she should open it for him.

Only the completely unexpected appearance of her own name, written on a plain white envelope addressed in care of Cameron and Associates, startled her out of her preoccupation. She stared down, aware that her hand had begun to shake, but unable to stop it for a moment. There was no return address on the envelope, but she didn't need one. She recognized the looping scrawl all too well.

Willis.

Chapter 4

The ridiculously triumphant, chirping tune of the timer sounded as he hit the end of his workout on the crosscountry ski machine, and Dar slumped over the belly pad, breathing hard. Someday he was going to get rid of that sound, he promised himself. If he could modify the thing so he could use it with what was left of his legs, surely he could figure out how to dump that stupid fanfare.

He freed himself from the altered bindings of the wooden skis and levered himself back into his chair, still puffing a bit. He'd upped the time and the tension, and his body wasn't happy with the extra work. But he'd long ago learned to ignore those silent protests, as he'd learned to ignore the aches, pains and itches in legs that were years gone.

He'd increased the work load simply to upgrade his physical condition, not because he needed the distraction. Or because he wanted to be too exhausted to think. Or to remember the encounter with Cassie at Chase's house this morning. She had nothing to do with anything, he told himself, trying to ignore the fact that he'd told himself that at least ten times a day for three days now. Ever since Cassie Cameron had driven back into his life.

Cassandra, he corrected himself silently. She was Cassandra, darling of millions, the face that launched a thousand magazines.

Don't call me that! Cassandra is... somebody else. An image. Not me.

Her words echoed in his mind as he wiped a towel over his face and chest, mopping up the sweat. Her voice had rung with denial. He knew how that felt. How long after he'd lost his legs had he stared at himself in the mirror and denied what he saw? How many times had he cried out, "That's not me!" and turned away, sickened by the sight?

Did she ever do that? Could the world's ideal woman ever really regret her own beauty? Did she ever look in a mirror and curse the chance arrangement of her features that had brought her such distress, in addition to the fame and fortune she'd thought she wanted?

Remembering her concern about the man who'd been bothering her made him wonder what the hell had gotten into him this morning. He'd intended to apologize to her— she was Katie's aunt, after all—and then leave. Leave as fast as he could without insulting her all over again. And instead he'd wound up prodding her into talking about a problem she hadn't wanted to talk about and he hadn't wanted to hear.

He tossed the towel around his neck, then grabbed the loose ends with his hands. Maybe he'd still felt guilty for making those assumptions about her, he thought. But he'd apologized for that, and she'd accepted. So why had he stayed? Why had he probed until she'd told him what she hadn't even told Chase?

Chase. That was it. It had to be. Next to Sean, Chase was the closest thing Dar had to a brother. The closest thing to any family at all. And Cassie was Chase's sister. With Chase gone, and Sean rightfully preoccupied, the only one left here to deal with Cassie's problem was him.

An odd wariness filled him. He'd never felt this way before, never had anyone to feel this way about. Never had a connection with anyone before, not one that made him feel somehow...responsible. Was this what a family was? He didn't know; the feeling was utterly foreign to him. Was this what it meant when they said families should stick together? If so, he wasn't sure he liked it. In fact, he was fairly sure he didn't. He didn't want to be responsible for anyone. Especially Cassie.

But he had to admit he admired her determination to deal with this herself. He knew she was right, that Chase would probably cut his vacation short and come home if he felt his sister was in any kind of danger. And Sean would feel he had to take care of her, when right now Rory needed him. Cassie was like her brother—and himself—in that, it seemed; she didn't ask for help easily. And not at all if she thought it would cost someone too much.

He lifted one hand to shove the sweat-dampened hair back from his face. And froze midmotion at the sound of a car on the gravel part of the drive. His mouth twisting into a grimace, he began to wheel toward the door; he'd had more company in the past three days than he'd had in the past month.

When he got close enough to look out the window and saw the little red convertible pulling to a stop, he felt an odd rash of apprehension. He glanced down at himself. He wore only a pair of nylon shorts; the altered bindings of the ski machine were padded and lined for use with bare skin. And while the surgeon who had tidied up the mangled mess left by a speeding freight train had done a very nice job, there was no denying that it wasn't the most pleasant of sights to the inexperienced eye. It didn't bother him anymore, but he'd had a lot of years to get used to it. He glanced at the car again in time to see Cassie opening the door, and wondered if he had enough time to change into more concealing sweats.

Anger suddenly flooded through him, anger at himself. What the hell was he thinking of? He'd given up protecting the sensibilities of the world long ago. This was what he was, and if anyone didn't like it, they could just get the hell out. And that included Ms. Supermodel. He spun around and yanked the door open and wheeled out onto the porch just as Cassie came running up the steps.

With one look at her face, his anger drained away.

She stopped dead in her tracks on the porch. She stared at him. Not at his legs, but at his bare chest and belly. Then she swiftly shifted her gaze to his face, the faintest wash of color in her cheeks the only sign of any disconcertedness.

It was that rise of color that proved to him he hadn't been wrong in his assessment after that first glimpse of her. She'd been pale, much paler than he remembered this morning.

"What's wrong?" he asked abruptly, forgoing the small talk he knew he wasn't any good at anyway.

"I... I'm sorry to bother you again, but..."

Her voice trailed away, and she looked as if she wished herself anywhere but there. He tended to have that effect on women, he acknowledged to himself ruefully. His looks might attract them initially, but they soon realized he wasn't worth the effort.

"It's all right." It came out a little gruffly, and he tried again. "What's wrong?" he repeated.

It was a measure of her upset, he supposed, that she stayed instead of taking to her heels at his tone. And that she sank down to sit on the top step of the porch, so that, for once, he was looking down at her. He was used to having to look up at people, especially since the lightweight everyday chair he used was much lower than the typical hospital-type chair, but Cassie was also taller than most women and a lot of men he knew. He wondered if she'd done it intentionally.

"I... got a letter," she said at last. "At Chase's office."

"A letter?" His brow furrowed for a moment. Then it hit him. "From Willis?"

She nodded, looking almost grateful that he'd remembered.

"At Chase's office?"

She nodded again. "It was in with his mail. Addressed to me, in care of Cameron and Associates."

His forehead creased again. "How does he know Chase's office address?"

She sighed. "I spent most of the afternoon trying to figure that out for the police. The only thing I can think of is an article they did on me in one of the fashion magazines a couple of years ago. It mentioned Chase, and that he was an in-demand architect in San Diego."

Dar considered that, then nodded. "It wouldn't be that hard to find an architect named Cameron in San Diego."

He saw her let out a breath. Then he sucked in a breath of his own as she caught her lower lip between her teeth and gently worried it. Heat cascaded through him, catching him completely off guard. It had been longer than he could remember since he'd felt anything like this. Hell, he wasn't sure he'd ever felt anything like this. He was glad she wasn't looking at him; he knew he must be wearing a completely stunned expression. But even his shock wasn't enough to cool the sudden heat; if he didn't get a handle on this, these thin nylon shorts weren't going to be much help in disguising his response.

It was only the absurdity of his reacting this way to a woman millions of men lusted after—and the fact that she was so troubled—that enabled him to finally rein in his unexpected response. Still, it was a moment before he trusted himself to speak.

"What was in the letter?"

She sighed, a quiet, breathy little sound that did nothing to help him forget the heat that had just swamped him.

"Just the same stuff. That he thinks I'm wonderful. Precious. That he worries about me working too hard. Will I please just talk to him. That kind of thing."

She stopped, but her forehead creased as if she were considering saying more. After a moment, he spoke again.

"And?"

She hesitated.

"You've told me this much, you might as well finish it.'

"That's just it. I don't know if there's anything more. It's just that this time..."

When she trailed off again, Dar suppressed an exasperated sigh of his own. "This time what?" he prodded.

Cassie's gaze shot to his face. Her mouth quirked. "Now you know how people feel trying to talk to you."

He drew back slightly, instinctively starting to stiffen up. But he couldn't deny the truth of what she'd said. So he ignored it.

"We're not talking about me. What did he say in this letter that's different?"

She hesitated again, then the words came out in a rush. "That he wants to take care of me. Forever.''

Dar's brows lowered. "Take care of you?"

She nodded. "I know it doesn't sound like much, but that's the first time he's ever said anything like that."

"It could be innocent. Or it could be a sign that he's taken another step. Headed for crossing the line."

Cassie's relief was evident as she looked at him. "Yes! That's exactly how I felt."

"'Take care of you' could mean a lot of things. So could 'forever.' What did the sheriff say?"

She sighed. "The deputy was very nice. He read me the California stalking law. It says there has to be a pattern, 'continuity of purpose,' I think it said, and that it has to be threatening." Her mouth twisted into a rueful smile. "I guess I'm not afraid enough yet."

"So they didn't do anything?"

"It's not their fault," Cassie said. "He hasn't threatened me, or really done anything to scare me. He just makes me nervous."

"The fact that he found you here is enough to make anybody nervous."

She gave him a sideways look. "The deputy agreed with that. So he took a report, and booked the letter as evidence. Then he told me about restraining orders."

Dar let out a disgusted snort. "Even if you got one, he'd have to be served with it and then violate it before they could do anything. They can't station somebody on your door-step just in case he decides to break it."

To his amazement, she suddenly smiled, a smile that first took his breath away, then sent an echo of that earlier heat rushing through him.

"Thank you," she said.

He barely managed to speak. "For what?"

"I knew you wouldn't give me that sweet but condescending 'Don't worry about it' pitch that everyone else does. I think that's why I came here."

His mouth quirked. "People don't come to me for sweetness and light, you're right about that."

"Sometimes sweetness and light aren't what people need."

"Maybe I should rephrase that. People don't generally come to me at all."

She paused before suggesting, "And that's how you prefer it?"

Something about the way she was looking at him made him uneasy. And all too aware that her gaze had occasionally shifted, drifting over his bare chest. He'd be flattered, were it not for the fact that he knew she worked with some of the best-looking men in the world, and he couldn't help wondering if she was comparing.

"I work damn hard at keeping it that way," he said, more abruptly than he'd meant to.

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

Her gaze lowered to his legs. For the first time in a very long time, he truly wanted to hide them. As it had when she'd arrived, the urge disturbed him, and he fought it as he watched her face, searching for some clue about what she was thinking as she studied what remained of his legs.

At last she lifted her head and met his eyes. Steadily, unwaveringly. With no trace of pity or distaste, two emotions he had learned to read even in those who hid it well.

"I know what you'd like me to think," she said slowly. "You'd like me to believe it's because of this." She made a gesture that included him and his chair. "But I don't think it really is."

"Maybe you should think again," he said with a hint of anger; she was probing too close to the bone, and he didn't like it.

"Maybe," she admitted easily. "After all, what do I know about what it's been like for you?"

His gaze narrowed as she spoke, using what was a bottom-line defense for many—the reminder that no one who hadn't been through it really knew what it was like to wake up one day to find a quarter of your body gone. He wondered if she'd said it intentionally, thinking she'd beat him to it. It should have blunted his irritation, he supposed, but it seemed to feed it instead.

"I do know a little about what Sean went through," she said. "I can only imagine how much worse it was for you."

"Feeling sorry for me?" The caustic question was out before he could stop it.

Cassie leaned back a little. She looked him over again, slowly, assessingly, from his face to his chest, then to his arms, and down to his belly. He felt her gaze as if she were brushing him with a feather, and his skin tingled in response.

"Hardly," she said, with a throaty undertone to her voice that only intensified the odd sensation. She looked startled for a moment, as if surprised to hear what her voice had sounded like. When she spoke again, it was almost hastily. "Besides, you're a hero."

Dar let out a disgusted breath. "Hardly," he muttered, aware only after he'd said it that he'd echoed what she had said.

"Sean told me what happened."

"Like I said, Sean talks too much."

"He also said you hate it when people call you that."

"He's right."

"Why? It's true. You saved those boys who fell right in front of that train—"

He swore under his breath, low and harsh, cutting her off. He grabbed the right push run, ready to spin and wheel away, but swore again when his still-sweaty hand slipped.

"I think Sean understated it," Cassie said mildly, not reacting at all to his cursing.

Dar stopped in the act of tightening his grip on the push rim, and stared at her.

"What does it take to drive you away?"

Cassie met his gaze evenly. "Was that what you were trying to do?"

She said it so innocently, as if she were merely curious, that he couldn't help the sound of disbelief that escaped him. When she unexpectedly laughed, for the second time since she'd arrived he felt his anger drain away. His mouth twisted ruefully.

"You're as tough as your brother, aren't you?"

"Let's just say I've dealt with some of the most temperamental people on the planet," she said. "But I admit, I didn't realize I needed to treat you like you were one of them."

Abashed, he let out a compressed breath. "I..." He stopped, not sure what, if anything, there was left to say. How could he deny it, when deep in his gut he knew it was true? Knew that he'd purposely cultivated that prickly demeanor to keep the world at a distance?

He couldn't deny it, so he didn't try. But he couldn't quite do what he'd intended, either—couldn't quite turn his back on her and wheel away. He lifted his hand from the push rim and searched for something conciliatory to say.

"What are you going to do now?" he finally asked. "About the letter, I mean."

She didn't answer for a moment, and he wondered if she was deciding whether to accept the abrupt change of subject.

"Nothing, I suppose," she said at last, as if they were simply continuing the discussion. "I've reported it to the police and they've done all they can. I don't see any point in going through the hassle of getting a restraining order in this county when I don't know how long I'll be here. And like you said, I'd have to serve him, and even if I did, they can't station somebody on my doorstep twenty-four hours a day just in case." She sighed. "I'm just glad he hasn't discovered where I live, not yet, anyway."

She turned her head to look out at the lagoon, sparkling in the late-afternoon sun. It gave Dar a chance to look at her in a way he never had. The first time he'd seen her, he'd been too shocked by the realization that the supermodel of the past three years was Chase's sister, and that she was, incredibly, flirting with him, to really look at her. Besides, he hadn't needed to look; just about everybody in the entire country—if not the world—knew what she looked like, recognized that thick mane of dark hair and those vivid green eyes. And the single name, because she needed no other.

But then she had been only Cassandra to him, the image she'd been so quick to repudiate. Somehow she seemed different now. Or maybe he was just beginning to see her differently. Not as Cassandra, not even just as Chase's sister, but as Cassie, who was not only beautiful but had a quick mind, was far too observant for his comfort and who had a laugh that could drive a saint to distraction.

And Dar Cordell knew damn well he was no saint.

"It's lovely here," she murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear. He forced himself to stop staring at that perfect profile, at the soft curve of her lips, the delicate yet determined chin, the barely tilted line of her nose, the soft, thick sweep of her lashes.

"Yes," he agreed, grateful that his voice sounded only a bit thick, considering the turn his thoughts had suddenly taken.

"No wonder you don't invite visitors."

"I seem to be getting them anyway," he said before he thought how it would sound. She turned to look at him again, and he put his hands up, palms outward. "I didn't mean anything by it. Just that it's been a little... busy lately."

"Relatively speaking?"

"Relatively speaking," he said dryly, "it's been Grand Central Station around here."

She laughed, and to his own amazement he found himself smiling back at her. She stopped, looking startled, and his smile became a rather sheepish one. He really must have become a pain if a simple smile from him was so astonishing.

"I'm sorry, Dar," she said.

The sound of her saying his name sent an odd little ripple through him, and for a moment he couldn't find the words to ask her what she was sorry about. Then she told him.

"I shouldn't have intruded on you, but this was the only place I could think of to come. You already knew, and—"

He found his voice then, and interrupted her gently. "It's all right."

He found he meant it, and that surprised him more than anything else had today...except for that moment when his long-dormant libido had sprung unexpectedly to life. That and the fact that he'd spent the entire afternoon talking with her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked to anybody, outside of Sean, for that long. That it was this woman made it even more unbelievable.

She studied him for a moment before saying, "Well, at least let me pay you back for listening to my tale of woe. How about I go get a pizza or something?"

He raised a brow. "Supermodels eat pizza?"

"I'm not a supermodel. Not this week, anyway." One corner of her mouth twisted. "I'll make it a large pizza. Pepperoni?"

He meant to say no. He had his mouth open to do it. But somehow "okay" came out instead. And when she grinned at him, he couldn't bring himself to change it.

"Got beer?" she asked cheerfully. "Gotta have beer with pizza."

"You really are living dangerously," he said, responding to her mood without really realizing it. "Yes, I've got beer."

And the next thing he knew he was wheeling into his bathroom to flip on the shower, to clean up before sharing a pizza with a woman half the men in the world would kill to get close to. The celebrated, perfect Cassandra, and a guy a lot of people couldn't even bear to look at. It was so preposterous he nearly laughed out loud.

"Keep laughing, Cordell," he muttered to himself as he stripped off his shorts and levered himself out of the wheel-locked chair and onto the small plastic seat built into the wall of the shower enclosure. He grabbed the handheld shower and directed the blast of warm water down over his shoulders. "Just keep laughing, and don't get any stupid ideas."

"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 question. "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 him 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 want 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 fiancee ..."

"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—"

"He loves you. I'm sure he doesn't feel there is anything to forgive."

"Maybe now," Rory agreed, "but it took a while to get there." She looked at Cassie consideringly. "You know if you...pursue this, you're going to be taking on one heck of a battle."

"I know. Your husband already warned me off.''

Rory blinked. "Sean?" 

Cassie nodded, and related yesterday's encounter with Sean.

"Don't mind him," Rory said soothingly. "He's just overly protective."

"I know. I have a brother just like him."

Rory laughed. "Yes, I guess you do, don't you?" Then, seriously, "Dar's tough, admittedly because he's had to be. But I'm more worried about you."

"Frankly, so am I. I tried to put him out of my mind, after your wedding, but I couldn't. I keep telling myself I should just walk away, but there's something about him..." 

She shrugged helplessly.

"Well, in that case, I won't try to talk you out of it. I remember too well how that feels. And who knows? Stranger things have happened." She laughed again, patting her abdomen, which as yet showed little sign of her pregnancy. "Look at me."

Cassie smiled. "You look awfully radiant for someone who's having such a hard time.''

"Well, after I throw up, I feel fine. For a while, anyway. And I'm so happy about this baby, I can put up with anything."

"That's wonderful," Cassie said, feeling a little wistful. Sean and Rory were so happy; since they were newlyweds still, she supposed it was to be expected. But Stevie and Chase were as much in love now as they had been when they were married nine years ago. She couldn't doubt that—she'd too often seen them exchange a look that fairly crackled, usually followed by their mutual disappearance for a while. And the expressions they usually wore when they appeared again left little doubt as to what they'd been doing.

It must be wonderful to love and be loved that much. She wondered if she would ever know. The world that looked at her and thought she had it all would be astonished to know how little all those trappings were really worth, she thought. Especially when stacked up against that kind of love. She didn't begrudge Sean or Rory, and certainly not her brother and Stevie, but still—

The clamor of the phone interrupted her melancholy thoughts. When Rory automatically began to move to answer it, Cassie stopped her with a warning waggle of her finger.

"Uh-uh, you just stay still. I'll hand it to you."

As it rang again Rory rolled her eyes, but stayed put. Cassie rose and picked the phone up from the table at Rory's feet and handed it to her on the third ring. To give Rory some privacy, Cassie picked up the empty cups and carried them into the kitchen. She quickly washed them—and was reaching for a towel to dry when she heard Rory call her. She set the cups to drain instead and went back into the living room.

"That was the sheriff's office," Rory said. "They were looking for Sean."

Cassie's pulse accelerated, then slowed as she assessed Rory's expression; she seemed concerned, but not frightened or panicked.

"What did they want him for?"

"They said there may have been a break-in at Chase's office."

"May have been?"

"They're not sure. That's what they wanted Sean for. They found a broken window, but they don't know if anything's missing. I'll have to call his cellular phone, since he's still out at the second Laurel Tree project."

Cassie nodded, thinking quickly. "You try to reach Sean, and I'll go over to the office now. Maybe I can help."

"I'll call the sheriff back, too, and tell them you're coming," Rory said gratefully, and Cassie left her dialing the number to the now seemingly indispensable cellular phone.

She saw the marked sheriff's car parked in front of Chase's office as soon as she turned the corner. Cameron and Associates took up both floors of this corner of the Spanish-style, tile-roofed building; Chase had had to expand last year after the first Laurel Tree Independent Living project, designed for occupants with varied handicaps, had won him notice—and business—statewide. She saw no sign of a broken window, but knew there was a small window around in the back, a much more likely place for a break-in, since it was less visible than the windows on the fairly busy front street.

She pulled in behind the sheriff's black-and-white, got out and locked the little convertible and walked cautiously up to the door; she didn't want to startle the deputy. She had the key Chase had left her, but somehow she didn't think just walking in was a wise idea, so she knocked on the door instead. Immediately a blond young man in a green county sheriff's uniform leaned around a corner to peer at her. She waved, hoping she appeared harmless.

He came to the door and opened it from the inside.

"Hi. I'm Cassie Cameron. This is my brother's office, and I thought maybe—''

The deputy let out a long, low whistle, cutting her off. "You're Cassandra!" he exclaimed. "Holy—" He broke off, and Cassie smothered a sigh as she saw his cheeks redden; he suddenly looked very, very young.

"Please," she said, "can I come in? I was just here yesterday—maybe I can tell what's been disturbed."

Still flustered, the deputy stepped aside to let her pass. Amazing, she thought, how quickly she'd forgotten about this, how quickly she'd put this kind of stunned, gushing reaction out of her mind. This young man was nice looking, probably charming and bright and suitably heroic. But she knew immediately she preferred Dar's somewhat acerbic view of life to this awed adulation, no matter how flattering it might be. She'd had her fill of it, and more, and she knew how little it really meant.

"This guy is really your brother?" the deputy asked, gesturing at the office.

"Yes," she said briefly, glancing around the outer office, where everything seemed much as it had yesterday.

"Wow. I didn't know you were from around here."

"I'm not. My brother and I both grew up in Seattle," she said, checking Mrs. Stewart's desk; it appeared undisturbed. "I was here yesterday to pick up the mail, and nothing seems to have changed. Out here, anyway."

"Cassandra. The guys are never going to believe this," the deputy said. Cassie stifled a grimace.

"Deputy—" she paused to glance at the name tag above his left chest pocket "—Barker, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but can we get on with this? Where's the window that was broken?"

Somewhat belatedly, the man's training kicked in. "Oh. Sorry. It's back here."

He ushered her down the hall to where she could see the rear door that opened into the small parking area out back. There was a hole in the door's frosted-glass window, low and close to the edge, where it would be easy to reach in and turn the knob.

"This looks like the only place he got into," Barker said, leading her into Chase's office, where several file-cabinet drawers stood open and folders were strewn across the desk. "That's how I found it. Looks like your brother's a sloppy filer, or somebody's been in his office."

"Chase may have his moments, but his secretary, Mrs. Stewart, is a one-woman army. She would never leave the office like this, not when they were going to be gone for a full two weeks."

She walked around the desk to take a closer look.

"Don't touch anything," Deputy Barker cautioned. "If this is really a burglary, we might have to dust for prints."

Cassie nodded. "I just wanted to see what's out of the cabinets—"

She broke off at a sound at the front door. Deputy Barker again leaned over to look out, and Cassie leaned over with him.

"That's Sean Holt," she said quickly. "He works with my brother. He's the one your office tried to call first."

Barker nodded. "Okay. I'll let him in, then."

As he walked off, Cassie turned back to look at the files tossed seemingly at random across the desk. It was an odd conglomeration—a couple of client files, which appeared to have been closed and tossed aside, then several others with different colored labels left open on top of each other. With a vague image from several movies in her mind, she reached out and nudged the top folder around to where she could read the tab, using only her fingernail to do it.

Her brows lowered. Still using only her nail, she moved the top file a bare quarter of an inch, just enough so she could read the tab of the next file. She stared down at the papers she'd revealed for a long, puzzled moment. Then, as a possibility occurred to her, she felt a sudden chill. She sank down into Chase's desk chair, shaken.

"Cassie?"

At the sound of Sean's voice, she quickly composed herself and her expression, with the ease of long years of practice before a camera. By the time she looked up to see him in the office doorway, she was reasonably certain Sean wouldn't guess there was anything more wrong than the break-in itself. But her composure wavered a bit when she saw Dar wheel up behind Sean. She managed to nod at both of them.

"Rory told me you were headed over here," Sean said,

"I thought maybe I could tell if anything was missing, since I was just here," she said. "But you'd know better than I would."

She got up and walked out from behind the desk, letting Sean go past her. He looked at the files on the desk, then back at Cassie.

"The deputy says that's how he found things," she explained.

Sean frowned, looked from the desk to the open file drawers, then back at Cassie.

"I wonder if they were looking for cash?"

She thought she knew exactly what the object of the search had been, but she merely shrugged. "I'll let you look," she said.

She turned to leave the office and found Dar still there, in the doorway, watching her intently. As she approached, he backed up and turned his chair, letting her through. Deputy Barker walked past them into the office with yet another appreciative look at Cassie, and an almost furtive glance at Dar.

The moment the deputy was out of earshot, Dar touched her arm. She nearly jumped at the unexpected contact.

"Sit down," he said, indicating Mrs. Stewart's chair. She did so, not realizing until she had how much she had needed to. He spun his chair around to face her, putting his back to the office door.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She gestured back toward the office. "That's obvious, isn't it?"

Dar gave a disbelieving shake of his head. "Knock it off, Cassie. Something shook you in there. Badly. What was it?"

She stared at him. She'd spent years hiding her emotions, years perfecting an exterior that projected to the camera only what the photographer or ad director wanted. People rarely saw past it. Sean hadn't. But somehow this man had.

"I... It's probably nothing."

"Cassie," he said, almost warningly, leaning toward her. Sitting down, she was level with his eyes, and saw the impatience spark there. The irony of that made her mouth curve wryly.

"For somebody who's about as communicative as a brick wall, you certainly get testy when somebody else claims the same right."

He had the grace to look chagrined, but obviously he wasn't going to let her divert him. "Can we discuss that later? What did you see in there?"

Resigned, she answered. "The only things that look like they've been touched are those files on Chase's desk."

"Maybe Sean's right, and somebody was looking for cash,"

"Maybe."

"But you don't think so," he said.

Only the fact that there wasn't a trace of inflection in his voice, of either doubt or belief, enabled her to go on with what was probably a harebrained theory.

"They were Chase's personnel and insurance files."

Dar drew back, looking puzzled.

"Since it's Chase's company, there's no real personnel file on him, just a folder with some tax identification numbers and copies of his diplomas and licenses. But the top folder was his insurance file."

"Why would anybody want that?" Dar asked, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully with one finger. Cassie found herself watching the motion, and how the tendons in his hand flexed with it, and had to drag herself back to the subject.

"I'm not sure. Except..."

"Except?" he prompted when she stopped.

"It's one of the few places where Chase's home address is written down." When he just looked at her, she went on. "He and Stevie aren't listed in the phone book, and he's always careful to use the business address for any public listings. It's a habit he got into when he was on the run from that racketeer, and he never broke it."

"But that's over, and the guy's been dead for years. Who couldn't get his address now, and would want it badly enough to break in here to get it?"

She just looked at him. And after a moment she saw his dark eyes widen, saw understanding dawn there.

"Damn. Willis."

He said it under his breath, but it was no less heartfelt, and for some reason the intensity of it soothed her ruffled nerves. That he had gotten it, and so quickly, made her think that perhaps she wasn't so far afield after all. And that thought made her quail inside. She tried to suppress it, and Dar reached out to put a hand over hers. The action, one she was certain wasn't typical for him, made her search his face for some sign of why he'd done it. She found only puzzlement, as if he wasn't sure why he'd done it himself.

"Nothing else touched, that I can see," Sean said as he came out of the office, the deputy behind him, holding a report form.

Cassie turned her head in the same moment she felt Dar jerk his hand back, as if he'd been caught doing something illicit rather than simply offering comfort. She looked in time to see the deputy's gaze flick from her to Dar and back again, and the tinge of disbelief in his eyes was evident enough to be insulting. Fortunately it was gone before Dar turned his chair around.

"So nothing's missing?" Dar asked.

Sean shook his head. "Nothing. Not even the laptop computer that was right out in the open."

"Something must have scared the guy off before he could finish the job," the deputy said.

Or he found what he was after, Cassie thought. She glanced at Dar and saw the same thought evident in his expression.

"I suppose I should call Chase," Sean began.

"No, don't," Cassie said quickly. "There's no point. It would just mess up their vacation, and there's nothing he can do anyway."

She felt Dar watching her, but didn't look at him as Sean considered her words and then slowly nodded. "You're probably right. It wouldn't do any good."

"I'd get that window boarded up as soon as you can," Barker advised.

Sean nodded. "I'll pick up some plywood and do it right away."

Dar looked at Sean. "Want me to stay here until you get it done?"

"Uh, that might not be a good idea," Deputy Barker said to Sean.

"Why not?" Dar asked.

Barker gave Dar an uncomfortable glance, then looked back at Sean. "That guy might come back."

"Don't tell me," Sean said, an edge in his voice Cassie had never heard before as he gestured at Dar. "He's the one who's staying."

Barker looked at Dar again. "That's what I mean."

"Maybe you'd better explain it to me," Dar said icily.

"But you—I mean, if he did, what would—you're—"

The young deputy stammered to a halt under Dar's fierce gaze. Cassie felt a stab of anger, but knew anything she would say would not be welcomed by Dar. She stayed silent.

"I'm what?" Dar asked ominously.

"I just meant...what are you going to do if he does come back?"

"Probably cripple him for life," Dar said, an unmistakable edge in his voice.

The deputy backed up a step, obviously startled by Dar's choice of words, and not at all sure how he was supposed to react to this. Cassie held her breath, watching; there were undercurrents flowing here she couldn't begin to understand, some sort of silent communication going on between Sean and Dar that only they understood.

"Believe him," Sean said. "He fights as well—and if necessary, as dirty—as anybody you'll ever meet."

"Shut up, Sean. I don't need you bragging for me."

Sean shrugged. "I wasn't bragging. Just stating a fact. Don't forget, I saw that purse snatcher after you got done with him."

"Okay, okay," Barker said, backing up again, this time taking a closer look at the breadth of Dar's shoulders and chest, and the size of his arms, stretching the sleeves of his black T-shirt. "I believe you."

"I'll go get that wood," Sean said, turning his back on the somewhat chastened deputy. He looked at Cassie. "Thanks for coming over."

She nodded, then lowered her gaze to her hands, where she could swear she still felt the heat of Dar's touch. Sean said something to Dar that she didn't really hear, then left. She heard the deputy walk back to Chase's office, leaving her alone with Dar. She wanted to ask him what all that had been about, but not while Deputy Barker was still there.

"Are you going to tell him?"

Her head came up in time to see him gesturing toward the deputy. If he had an opinion on what she should do, there was no trace of it in his face. But then she doubted Dar was the kind of man who told anyone what to do, any more than he let others tell him. If she wanted his opinion, she'd have to ask for it.

"Do you think I should?"

He shrugged. "It's up to you. What I think doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

Dar drew back a little, looking at her in that assessing way that was so unsettling. She didn't speak; she wouldn't beg him to believe she meant what she said. He leaned back in his chair, lifting an elbow to rest on the backrest as he at last spoke.

"If we're right, they should know now."

If we're right. At that we, Cassie felt a loosening of the lightness in her chest that had gripped her since she'd seen the file on Chase's desk, open to one of Stevie's medical forms from Jason's birth, their home address plainly visible. She wasn't alone in this, not entirely.

"You're right," she said. She got to her feet and went to tell the deputy about Willis, and her suspicions. He seemed doubtful, until she told him about the letter she'd received there.

"At this address?" he asked. She nodded. "You reported it?"

"Yesterday, right after I found it. To a Deputy Thorne." 

"All right. I'll find it and cross-reference that case number to this one." He pulled a card out of his pocket, scribbled something on the back and handed it to her. "That's the report number for this one."

"Thank you."

"I've called our crime scene unit out. She should be here in a few minutes. She'll check for prints on that door and the file cabinets."

Cassie nodded. She liked the brusque professional he'd become much better than the awestruck fan.

"And let me get that address, so we can keep an eye on the house."

"I'd appreciate that. I'd hate to have anything happen at my brother's house because of this."

"I'll put in for a patrol check on it," he said, writing down the address she gave him as they walked back into the outer office. "You're staying there?"

"Yes."

He glanced back at the office. "If this really was this man, and he was after that address, you might want to think about finding someplace else for a while. Just in case."

Cassie sucked in a breath; she didn't want to think about that, but she knew he was right. As Barker mumbled a polite goodbye, gave Dar a wary glance and left, Cassie sank down once more on Mrs. Stewart's chair. She avoided looking at Dar. She was afraid if she did he would see the fear in her eyes; somehow, having Deputy Barker take the threat seriously made it even more real. She was afraid. She had admitted that. But now there was more—now she was afraid that she had somehow brought this threat down on the people she loved most.

And that thought made her colder than anything else.

Chapter 6

Dar said nothing as they waited for Sean to return, although Cassie could feel his gaze on her. Her tension grew as the silence spun out. Finally she grasped at the most innocuous thing she could think of to ask.

"A purse snatcher?''

Dar let out a short breath that was almost a chuckle. "A would-be one, anyway."

She looked up at him then. "What happened?"

"Cassie," he began, shaking his head, clearly seeing her question as merely the distraction it was from what she had yet to deal with. But then, as if he understood her need for even a small respite, he answered her.

"Sean and I were outside a convenience store when this guy ran out. We heard a woman screaming inside, and the guy was carrying a purse." He gave her a crooked smile. "Didn't go with his outfit at all, so I figured it wasn't his."

Cassie smiled back, and that aching pressure eased a little more. "Maybe he just had no style sense."

Dar's smile became a grin, and she felt that shiver trace its way down her spine again.

"What he had was a severe lack of foot-eye coordination. He about ran into me, trying to look back and run at the same time. So I... sort of threw him over my shoulder."

Cassie blinked. "You what?"

"He was already moving pretty fast. It didn't take much, And there just happened to be a brick wall behind me."

She laughed. She couldn't help it; the image of Dar casually grabbing the fleeing thief and using that finely honed strength to send him flying was far too enjoyable.

"Deputy Barker shouldn't have worried," she said. And then wished she hadn't, when Dar went very still.

"No. He shouldn't have."

There wasn't a trace of inflection in the words, and the very absence of emotion chilled her. And suddenly there was something she dreaded even more than talking about her fears. But it was something even more important.

''Dar, he didn't even talk to you. He kept looking at Sean, or me. Does that happen... ?" 

"All the time." His voice was still flat, toneless. He gestured at his chair. "You want to become invisible? Sit in one of these."

"But Sean is—"

"Sean looks normal, in the eyes of the world. I don't."

Cassie felt a roiling nausea building in the pit of her stomach at the thought of what Dar confronted on a day-to-day basis.

"But how can they... be like that?"

He looked at her for a long moment, with that intensity that made her uncomfortable.

"Tell me, Cassie," he said softly, yet still flatly, "what did you think, after Sean's wedding, when you found out about me? I know Stevie told you."

She found it hard to meet his steady, assessing gaze, but knew she couldn't look away. Just as she knew she couldn't lie to him.

"I was... shocked." She paused, then steeled her nerve and went on. "No, that's not quite right. I was appalled. I felt awful, for what had happened to you."

"And it turned you off in a big hurry."

Her chin came up. She wasn't proud of this, but she wasn't going to deny it, either.

"Not exactly," she said. "But the...attraction I felt was—" she paused, searching for the right word "—overwhelmed, when Stevie told me about your legs. I got over it, but at first I found myself reassessing, retreating, because of it. I didn't think about it—it was an instinctive, gut-level response. And I didn't like it. Or myself, when I realized what I was doing."

She'd gotten some emotion out of him now. Surprise, then, amazingly, appreciation flickered in his eyes.

"Well, at least you're honest," he said.

"Honest? To be honest, I wanted to belt dear Deputy Barker."

Dar grimaced. "He's just typical. Most of the world thinks you haven't adjusted unless you look as much like them as possible. So they can at least pretend I'm not different than they are."

"Is that why you came to Sean's wedding...on your feet?"

His mouth twisted wryly. "I'm not sure why I did that. Sean never asked me to."

"Sean wouldn't."

"No, he wouldn't." Dar let out a long breath. "I guess I just didn't want to draw any attention away from them."

Cassie smiled then. "Trust me, Dar Cordell. You attract attention wherever you are. Standing or sitting."

He raised a brow at her. "Look who's talking. Speaking of which, what are you going to do now?"

Cassie felt the tension rush back. She knew she'd dodged the subject as long as she could. "Willis may be harmless, and this—" she gestured toward her brother's office "—might not even have been him, but I don't think I can take that chance."

"No," he agreed, then asked again, "so what are you going to do?"

She knew what she had to do; she'd known from the minute she'd seen what that file had been open to. She just hadn't wanted to admit it. She got to her feet, trying to hide the shaking that had again come over her by pacing.

"The deputy was right about that. I can't stay at Chase's house."

She turned at the front door and started back. She suddenly realized her left hand had curled into a fist, and she was pounding it against her thigh rather fervently. She made herself stop. When she looked again at Dar, he was watching her carefully.

"It's not just because I'm scared for me," she explained.

"I didn't think it was."

She began another crossing of the room. "I don't want my brother or his family, or Sean and Rory, caught up in this. They've all been through too much already."

"Yes. They have."

There wasn't a hint of blame in his voice, but she found herself reacting as if there had been. "I didn't mean for you to get involved, either. I just... I needed to talk to somebody, and you already knew, and you seemed to understand, and you didn't just pat me on the head and say everything would be all right— "

"Cassie."

She stopped pacing, hating the way she was trembling, but unable to stop it. She lifted her hands, staring at them, watching them shake.

"God, look at me. Some phone calls and a couple of letters, and I'm a basket case."

"And a burglary," Dar reminded her.

She tried to pull herself together, but her words still came out in a rush. "I'll have to go pack my things, and then decide where to go, and think up a reason to tell Chase I won't be there, and Sean, too. I just have to find my keys and then—"

"You shouldn't be driving anywhere right now."

She curled both hands up into tight little fists. "I have to. I can't not do anything. I can't just sit and wait for him to find me, or my family."

Dar was silent for a moment, then let out a long, weary-sounding breath. "I'll drive you over to Chase's."

She looked up at him. He didn't look very happy about it, and she wondered if she'd misunderstood. "What?"

"I'll drive you over. You can pick up what you need and decide what you're going to do."

It was reluctant at best, and Cassie had to stop herself from making a biting retort. "I'll be fine," she said shortly.

"You shouldn't be driving, and you shouldn't be alone right now."

So much for Dar not telling people how to live their lives, she thought sourly. "That's a good one," she said. "You telling someone they shouldn't be alone. I thought you figured that was the cure for just about everything.''

His jaw tightened, but his voice was level enough when he answered. "It's what I'm used to. You're not. I'll drive you."

"My car is here."

"We'll come back for it. After you've been away from this—" he indicated the broken window "—for a while. You'll be able to think more clearly."

She looked at him intently. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?"

Dar lowered his gaze. She waited, silently, willing him to answer, even if she wasn't certain she would like what she'd hear. At last he did, without looking at her.

"You're right. Your family's been through enough. They don't need to deal with this if it's not necessary."

"So caring is a two-way street, after all, Dar?" His head came up sharply, and Cassie held up a hand before he could deny it. "Never mind," she said with a sigh. "I know, you don't need anybody worrying about you."

"Right now, you're the one who needs—"

He broke off as a sound at the front door made her jump. Cassie let out a relieved breath when she saw it was Sean and a woman carrying what looked like an oddly shaped tool kit. The crime scene officer Deputy Barker had mentioned, she realized as Sean used his key to let them both in. She drew in a deep breath, trying yet again to steady herself.

The officer was blithely cheerful as she greeted them and then went about her business, saying that she was grateful to be starting her week with a simple burglary instead of the rather grim murder scene she'd had last week. Sean followed her in, carrying a quarter sheet of plywood, a hammer and a handful of nails. Dar wheeled out behind him and balanced the wood over the broken window as Sean began to nail it down. Cassie noticed he seemed to be rushing, and Dar apparently saw it, as well, for he gave him a questioning look.

"I need to get home," Sean explained. "Rory's really sick again, and I think she's starting to get scared about it." 

"Go, then," Dar said. "I'll finish this." Sean looked at the height of the door, then at Dar. "I'll figure something out," Dar said wryly.

"It's not that. I know you will. But we came in your van, remember?"

"Take my car," Cassie said as she came up beside them.

Sean turned his head to look at her. "Your car? How will you get home?"

Cassie's gaze flicked to Dar.

"I'll take her when we're done here," he said.

Sean looked from Dar to Cassie and back. Cassie didn't miss the glint of warning in Sean's eyes, and knew he was reminding her of his admonition.

"Go on home to Rory," Dar said, reaching for the hammer Sean held. After a second's hesitation, Sean surrendered it.

"Thanks," he said.

"If you need anything later..." Cassie began, then stopped as she realized she'd been about to tell Sean to call, when she wasn't at all sure where she'd be. But Sean thankfully just nodded as he took the keys she offered. She watched him go, envying Rory even as she worried about her. 

Dar hammered home the final nail, then tested the sturdiness of the makeshift repair; it held solidly.

"It won't hold up to a crowbar, but it won't fall off, either," he said as he levered himself off the step stool Cassie had found in a storage closet and back into his chair. She'd steadied it for him without a word as he'd worked, balanced by a hand on the door and his remaining knee on the top step, and handed him the nails one by one as he needed them, again silently. She hadn't offered to do the job herself, although she couldn't help but have seen that she could have reached the top of the door with less effort than he.

In fact, Dar realized, she hadn't said a word since Sean had gone; even the crime scene investigator had received only a nod as she'd finished up and left. But she seemed calmer, and Dar wondered if she'd reached a decision.

She was, he had to admit, tougher than she looked. She was so beautiful, it was tempting to assume that there was nothing more to her than that, nothing beneath the perfect exterior. But he knew better than that now. And, he told himself ruefully, he should have known it all along. For she was also Chase's sister, and Chase was as solid as they came.

He gave her a quick, sideways glance. She was looking at Chase's office, but her gaze was unfocused, as if she weren't seeing anything at all. She didn't even turn when he wheeled over and shut the back door and locked it.

He knew she was shaken by what had happened. It made him admire even more her determination to handle it herself, her resolve to keep her family—all of it, even Sean and Rory, related only by marriage—safe from the threat he knew she felt was closing in on her.

He'd always envied Sean his family, and the power of the bonds between them, bonds that had begun between Sean and his sister Stevie and their parents—even their fussy, judgmental mother—and had expanded to include first Chase, then his family, and been strengthened extraordinarily by the birth of Katie and Jason, Now it included Rory, as well, and would expand yet again with the birth of their child. Expand, but not weaken; it was a family tried by fire, and a family that was all the stronger for it. Strong enough to—to a certain extent—include even him. On the fringes, anyway. Which was about all he could deal with.

Yes, he'd envied Sean the connection with his family, but he'd been wary of it, as well. It was unlike anything he'd ever known, and it had taken him a long time of watching Sean before he'd believed it was real.

And Cassie was a part of that family, too, had grown up knowing what it was like to be sure that no matter what happened, her family's love would always be there.

"Dar?"

Cassie's quiet inquiry jolted him out of his uncharacteristic introspection.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No," he said, thankful she had no way of knowing the crazy path his thoughts had wandered down. "Are you ready to go?"

"I want to put those files away now that she's done," Cassie said. "If I can do it without getting that black dust all over everything."

"I'll help you,"

Together they managed it in just a few minutes, but Cassie's preoccupation was still evident. Even when he handed her back a file folder with the wry explanation that it went in the top cabinet drawer, she had merely taken it, murmured "sorry" and filed it herself without further comment.

I don't know what to say not to offend you.

Well, apparently she wasn't worried about that now, wasn't even thinking about it, and in the process had inadvertently found the best way to do exactly that—not offend him. He found he liked her slightly offhand manner; it felt good to know that she wasn't treading so carefully around him.

Why it felt good, when he'd up to now been working so hard to drive her away, was something he didn't care to analyze right now. He had other things to worry about. Like dealing with what to do next. And he told himself it was little enough to repay for all the Holts and Camerons had done for him, to look out for one of them for a while, when there was no one else to do it. There would be time enough later to go back to his preferred isolation; for the moment Cassie needed him, because there was no one else.

And that was the strangest feeling of all. True, she'd told him about Willis only because he'd prodded her into it, and she'd come to him afterward only because she didn't want to burden her family, but the end result was that now she needed him, simply because he already knew, if nothing else. And it had been a very, very long time since he'd been needed by anyone. In fact, he wasn't sure he ever had been, really. At least not for any reason other than once he'd been able to run, field and hit a ball so hard it had a tendency to wind up in stadium parking lots.

When they had finished, she unlocked the front door so they could get out, then locked it again with the key Chase had given her. She had lapsed into silence once more, and it lasted until they got to his van and she suddenly seemed to realize where she was.

"You don't have to do that," she said when he went with her to the passenger side and unlocked and opened the door for her.

"Sean's been trying to teach me manners," he said dryly. "Maybe some of it took, after all."

"Oh. Thank you."

He shrugged. "It takes me a minute to get in, anyway."

It was a measure of her new seeming ease with him that she didn't react to that beyond a nod. By the time he was in and had the chair stowed away, Cassie was herself inside, had her seat belt fastened and was looking curiously into the back of the van.

"You've got a nice setup back there. Are those for your racing chairs?" she asked, indicating the racks festooned with tie downs at the back end of the van.

He nodded as he fastened his own seat belt. He did it automatically now, although there had been a time when he hadn't, not really caring if he survived any potential accident, in fact hoping that he wouldn't. He'd come a long way from those days, but he remembered them as if they were just last week.

"Is that a refrigerator?" Cassie asked.

He nodded. "And a camp stove. And a few other necessities of life."

Including the marine head he'd installed to save himself from the problem of finding a wheelchair-accessible rest room he could use when he was traveling during the race season, but he didn't point that out to her.

"You could practically live back there."

"I frequently do, when I'm racing," he said, then turned the key. The van's motor roared to life; that last tune-up he'd done had made a world of difference, he thought.

"I didn't realize."

"It saves on the hotel bills. And the hassle."

"Hassle?"

"Of finding a place where accessible really means accessible, instead of some token, half-assed modifications."

"You sound like Chase," Cassie said. "Stevie says he's always checking places that say they're accessible to see if they really are."

"That's because he understands what the word really means. That's why the buildings he's doing are making news all over the country."

"He and Sean are getting quite a reputation, aren't they?"

Dar grinned suddenly. "Especially Sean. He even hit the local papers last month, after he chewed out that motel chain that started advertising themselves as wheelchair accessible because they widened the front doors on a few of their rooms."

Cassie frowned. "Is that wrong?"

"No. But they hadn't bothered to do the same with the bathroom doors, so they were useless to anyone in a chair any bigger than child-size. And it didn't seem to trouble them in the least, until Sean splashed their name across the news."

"Maybe they just never thought. I didn't know."

She sounded a little defensive, so Dar was perhaps gentler than he normally might have been; she didn't need him jumping on her about this, not after what had happened today.

"Then they should have called in somebody who did," he said quietly. "Like your brother did."

Cassie sighed. "Yes, I suppose they should have."

He checked the mirrors, then released the brake and pushed down on the accelerator. He eased out into the traffic lane, gave it a little more gas and they were rolling.

He drove a few blocks in silence before he looked over at the again-silent Cassie, only to find her watching him with every evidence of great curiosity. As if she'd felt his gaze, she looked up at his face.

"How does it work?" she asked, pointing at the hand controller that jutted out from the left side of the steering column like a much larger, heavier version of a gear selector.

He turned his attention back to the road as he explained. "You push down toward the floor to accelerate, and toward the dash for the brakes. Simple.''

"So you can still slam on the brakes, huh?"

He flicked a startled glance at her. She was smiling, and he felt a grin start before he even realized it was coming.

"Yeah," he said. "I still can."

"There must have been so much to learn," she said, shaking her head as if in awe. "Like being thrown into a whole new world, or a foreign country."

"It had its moments," he said as he slowed for a turn. "It still does."

She lapsed into silence again as they headed toward the Pacific and the house Chase had built for the woman who had given him back his life. Dar had heard that story, too, of how Chase's drawing of his dream house had led Stevie to the truth about his past, of how his testimony against a vicious racketeer had nearly cost them both their lives. And then Sean and Rory, who themselves had had to deal with a vicious thug and a painful legacy of deceit from her father before they could truly be together.

The kind of love the Camerons and Holts shared did not come cheap, it seemed, and sometimes Dar couldn't help wondering if it was worth it. But then, sometimes, he would look at them, or would hear little Katie's gleeful laugh as she sat on his lap, dark hair flying, exhorting him to spin his chair faster and faster, and he had to smother a dreadful longing that rose up in him. A longing for that kind of feeling no matter the cost.

But smother it he did; that kind of love wasn't for him. It never had been. And it was better that way. He preferred his solitude. And it had nothing to do with—as Stevie had once suggested—being afraid of anything else. Nothing, he repeated to himself as he made the turn onto the bluff-top street where the Camerons lived. He wasn't afraid; he just wasn't meant for that kind of feeling.

"Do you want to come in?" Cassie asked as he pulled the van to a halt in the driveway and shut off the engine. "I won't be long."

He looked at her quizzically. "I thought you were going to pack."

"I am. It won't take long."

"I thought all women took everything, and forever to pack it," he said, trying to tease her out of her nerves.

"Sexist," Cassie retorted lightly, responding to his effort if not his words. "I've gotten used to traveling light when I'm not working. Trying to compensate for all the stuff the crew brings when I am, I suppose." She gestured with her thumb at the back of his van. "I could live out of your van with a duffel no bigger than your sleeping bag for a week. Maybe two."

Dar sucked in a quick breath in defense against the sudden clenching of his body at her casual, joking words. The images that flashed through his mind, of Cassie sharing that tiny living space—and that sleeping bag—with him had left him instantly breathless.

"So, are you coming in?"

He barely managed to shake his head. "I'll wait here."

She looked at him a little oddly, and he supposed he must have sounded as tight as he felt. He waved her off, and after a moment she opened the van's door and slid out.

Dar watched her walk up the curving sidewalk until she went out of sight around the corner of the garage, heading for the front door, all the while furiously calling himself every derisive name he could think of. He'd spent years crushing his libido into submission, facing the grim fact that the momentary relief of sexual release he might find in a casual encounter wasn't worth the emptiness it left behind.

Women, he'd decided some time ago, generally fell into three categories when it came to men like him and sex. Well, four, if you counted the ones who would overlook his missing parts for a price, who specialized in ministering to those the world saw as handicapped. But he'd given that up long ago, when that kind of encounter became far too dangerous. He'd even had a blood test done, to make sure he hadn't caught on too late; it would be too ironic to survive a speeding train and then fall victim to a vicious disease.

The rest of the women he met were often the mothering types, the nurses, as Sean called them, who wanted to baby him and take care of him and generally treat him like a helpless child. Then there were the sincere ones who genuinely tried, but simply couldn't face the reality of what he was, couldn't deal with the facts of his life. Valerie had been one of those. He shook his head; until Cassie had turned up, he hadn't thought of his former fiancee in months, since the night he and Sean had spent crying in their beer when Rory had reappeared and turned Sean's life upside down yet again.

All in all, Dar thought ruefully, he wasn't sure he didn't prefer the third type, the ones who were quite simply repelled by him. At least that was an honest reaction.

And Cassie? Where did she fit into this neat set of categories?

She didn't, he told himself firmly. Linking himself, sex and Cassandra in any way in the same thought was worse than foolish, it was stupid. And he might be a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. At least, up until now.

He leaned back in the driver's seat. It was a bright, clear day, and the warmth of the sun beating down through the van's windshield was both comforting and lulling. His eyes started to drift closed; he never slept much, but the last few nights had been particularly restless. He yawned and then shifted position, trying to stay awake. His eyes drifted closed again.

And then Cassie screamed.

Chapter 7

Cassie heard the man who had been lurking in the bushes near the front door call out to her, but she never stopped. He had startled her so when he'd popped out at her that she had screamed, dropping her duffel bag, and it had taken her a moment to remember how to run. But when he'd taken a step toward her, one hand reaching for her, she had suddenly recalled how to use her feet, and use them she did.

She raced down the curving walkway toward the driveway where Dar's van sat. God, the man was coming after her, she thought, risking a glance back as she rounded the corner of the garage. He was yelling something she couldn't hear, didn't want to hear. She tried to run faster. He was older than she, surely she could beat him....

She saw the van, saw the driver's door was open, saw Dar reaching for his chair. He looked up then, and she saw him focus first on her, then on the man behind her. He shoved the chair back.

"Get in," he yelled at her, and she heard the van start up.

She didn't waste the breath to answer, but covered the last few feet in a rush and scrambled through the still-open driver's door. She heard Dar grunt slightly as she half sprawled, half climbed over him. But still he managed to release the brake, and even as she struggled to right herself, the van began to roll back out of the drive. A man's voice called out, high-pitched and urgent.

"Wait! You don't understand!"

The shout came from far too close, and Cassie stifled a whimper of panic as the van stopped. Then she felt Dar move, sharply, in a surging lunge to his left. She heard a heavy thud. An exclamation of pain. She twisted, pinned between Dar and the steering wheel. Dar swore, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders and try to free her. She was only vaguely aware that the van was again moving, thankfully away from where the man had nearly caught up with her.

"Damn, he's running," Dar exclaimed.

"Let...let him go," Cassie stammered out. Shivers reaction were rippling through her, and she couldn't them.

"Let him go?" Dar echoed, sounding astonished.

Cassie met his eyes and despite her fear was startled by fury she saw there. She twisted around to look out the w: dow and saw the man moving somewhat gingerly toward a small white sedan.

"Cassie, move, we can follow him—"

"No," she said.

"What?"

"No," she repeated. The white car began to pull away, "Please. I just want him gone." Dar stared at her. "Please," she repeated. "I just want him as far away from Chase's house as possible. Let's just call the police."

He finally seemed to realize just how frightened she was, and she felt the rigid tension in his body begin to ease. He moved his left hand, and the van stopped again. He turned his head to watch the car drive off. "Was it Willis?" 

"I... think so. I didn't get that good a look, and he had that big jacket on, and sunglasses, but I think it was him."

"What happened?"

She shivered again. She realized that she was still half on his lap, but she was loath to move; she liked the sensation of his steady strength, the rock-solid feel of him, the light but strong touch of his hands on her shoulders as he half supported her. At five-nine, she wasn't a small woman by any means, yet he was more than able to brace her weight.

"He was waiting outside the front door when I came out," she finally said. "He must have been around the other side of the house when we got here, because I never saw him."

"Neither did I until it was too late," Dar said grimly.

He reached behind him into the pocket on his chair for the cell phone Cassie had once teased him about. She stayed still, trying to control her quivering, not even offering to move off him as he made the call and explained the situation in a few brief, flat sentences, giving a description so detailed she was amazed, including a partial license plate on the white car, something she'd never even thought to look for.

"They're on the way."

"What did you do to him?" she asked. "I heard him call out—that's when I knew he'd almost caught up with me. Then you moved, and he screamed, but I couldn't see—"

"He got too close, so I shoved the door open. Hard. It knocked him over."

So he'd used the only weapon he had, Cassie thought. And it had worked. She had the feeling that with Dar, it usually did. She let out a long breath. "God, I was so scared when he popped out at me like that."

"Damn." It was low and harsh and heartfelt, and Cassie felt a tiny kernel of warmth kindle inside her. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "I should have gone in with you. I never should have—"

"It's all right. It's over now."

"It's not over while he's still running around loose," Dar said grimly. "I should have gone after him. If I'd caught him, this really would be over.''

"He was gone too quickly—"

"Hell, I should have just grabbed him while he was close enough. I could have throttled him right here—"

"But what if he'd had a weapon, a gun or something?" Cassie said, Wondering what on earth he thought he should have done differently. She was safe, the man was gone from her brother's house—what more could he have done?

"I still should have caught him," Dar said stubbornly.

"He could have killed you. Or both of us."

"He was so close—"

"Stop it!"

It burst from her in a shout as the tension of the day finally made her erupt. She wanted to shake him, to make him see he was being a stubborn idiot. She even reached out to do it, realized she had no chance at all of even budging that muscular body, and smacked his chest with her open hand instead, as if that would make him see he was being stupid.

Dar drew back, staring at her, looking more than a little startled. She hit him again, even knowing her tiny blows were having little effect on the solid wall of his chest.

"Just stop it," she said again. "You couldn't have caught him and shouldn't have tried." Her voice rose again, until she was yelling, but she couldn't help it. "He could have had a gun for all we know, and we'd both be dead now. And besides, if you'd gone and left me here alone after that man scared me half to death, I swear, I'd kill you myself!"

She felt the burning behind her eyelids, and knew the anger, which was only masking her fear, was on the verge of making her dissolve into tears. She lowered her head, fighting it fiercely; she was not going to break down and start sobbing like the worst kind of helpless female over this. She blinked, bit the inside of her lip and forced herself to meet his eyes.

He was grinning.

She gaped at him, momentarily stunned out of both anger and fear. What was he doing? She was falling apart, and he was grinning at her. Cassie blinked again, but somehow the tears were no longer threatening. She wasn't sure how she felt, but she had a sneaking suspicion her feelings were hurt.

"What's so darn funny?"

"You're yelling at me."

"You're damn right I'm yetting at you! You deserve to be yelled at, you idiot! You would have taken off after that guy and just left me—"

"The only other woman who's ever yelled at me like that is Katie."

Cassie stopped the tirade she was about to continue, diverted. "Katie?"

"She's the only one who says what she means, who doesn't tiptoe around me."

Cassie sniffed audibly. "Well, maybe she's the only one you've never given reason to tiptoe. Did you ever think of that?"

"Maybe," he agreed, far too easily for Cassie's comfort. And she was suddenly very much aware that she was still sitting half atop him, his heavily muscled thighs beneath hers, strong and warm and alive. And he was still grinning at her. She'd seen him grin before, albeit rarely, but for the first time it truly reached his eyes, and the effect was devastating.

"Dar," she said, her voice breaking oddly.

The moment she said it, his expression changed. The grin faded, from his mouth and his eyes, to be replaced by something much more serious, more intense, and much, much hotter. Involuntarily her gaze fastened on his mouth, and she heard him take in a quick breath.

His hands slipped to the back of her head, his long, strong fingers tangling in her hair. She never thought of resisting the slight pressure he exerted as he pulled her down to him. Her arms slipped around his neck. And then he was kissing her, lightly, tentatively, the touch of his mouth feather-light on hers. Heat sparked through her in a sudden jolt, and she heard a tiny sound that she barely realized she'd made.

At that sound the kiss became a hot, fierce thing as his lips caressed hers. His mouth was warm and coaxing, and she felt a shiver go through her, a rippling little shock of pleasure that seemed to banish all the fear that had rocked her, all the anger that had raged. He nibbled at her lower lip, and the spark he'd kindled caught and flared. When his tongue flicked lightly over her lips, she parted them for him without question, in fact eagerly.

She felt the tension in him as he probed gently forward, his tongue finding and teasing hers. Fire leapt along her nerves, and she moaned, soft and low and deep in her throat. She tightened her hold on him, urging him to deepen the kiss even more, shocked at her own reaction even as she savored it. This, she thought in that tiny part of her mind that was still functioning, this was what had been missing in her life, this was what she'd never found, this madness, this fire, this joy.

Suddenly he wrenched his mouth away, and a bereft little sound she couldn't stop escaped her. She heard his breathing, rapid and deep, but it took a moment for her mind to abandon the pleasurable haze and focus on him. He was staring at her, his expression unreadable. She was sure hers wasn't; she knew the astonishment she was feeling must be evident. She'd never felt anything like this, and she didn't quite know what to think.

Then, as if it were a perceptible thing, and although he didn't move, she felt him retreat. And knew before he spoke that she wasn't going to like what he said.

"Well, well. Amazing what a little excitement will do, isn't it? Wait'll I tell the boys at the next race that I kissed the celebrated Cassandra. And it was hot."

Even knowing it was coming hadn't softened the blow. But Cassie managed to keep her voice steady. "Is that what that was? A 'celebrity' kiss?"

"Better than a charity kiss."

She stiffened. "I ought to slap you for that."

"As I recall, you already hit me a time or two. But feel free. The kiss was worth it."

The flippancy bit deep, but Cassie answered him in deadly earnest. "Yes. It was."

For an instant he looked uncomfortable, but he hid it quickly behind that banter she was now certain was a mask of sorts.

"Got to you, huh? I'm flattered. I'm sure you've been kissed by better men than I. Or taller ones, anyway."

For a moment she wavered, wondering if perhaps he meant it, if she'd been alone in that unexpected flare-up of heat and sensation. She studied him silently, searching for some clue in his expression, some chink in that acerbic armor. Oddly, it was the fact that she didn't find it that decided her; if he had really felt nothing, he wouldn't be working so hard to convince her of it.

"Maybe," she answered at last. "But I've certainly never been kissed by one with a bigger chip on his shoulder." She scrambled off his lap with as much grace as she could manage. "Try it again if you ever decide to get rid of it."

Something flashed in his eyes that she couldn't name, something deep and pained. But it disappeared quickly, as every trace of genuine emotion seemed to with Dar, except perhaps anger. There was plenty of that evident in him, and Cassie was more convinced than ever now that it had very little to do with his legs.

"Cassie," he began, and for a moment she dared to hope he was going to let that mask down. But he stopped as something caught his eye, and she sighed in frustration at the sight of the sheriff's patrol car pulling in behind them.

"We'll keep an eye on the house, but we can't be here all the time," the deputy said.

Dar watched Cassie nod. "I understand that," she said. "You'll watch Sean's house, too? But not let them know?"

She was so determined, Dar thought, to not only keep her family safe, but to save them even the slightest bit of worry. Admiration sparked through him again, along with a sense of wonder about what it must be like to take such feelings for granted.

The deputy nodded. "I've got the address right here." Cassie had told Dar that this Deputy Thorne—an older, world-weary-looking veteran whose dark hair was cut severely short—was the same man who had taken her report on the letter. He had been professional but not very encouraging then, she'd said. He seemed to be convinced now.

"You're sure you can't positively ID him as this Willis character?" Thorne asked.

Cassie shook her head. "I was too startled to get a really good look. And with that bulky jacket and those sunglasses ... I just couldn't be positive."

"Who else would it be?" Dar said, a bit testily; it seemed obvious to him.

The deputy looked at him and nodded. "I'm sure you're right, and that it is him, Mr. Cordell. The progression from the letter at Mr. Cameron's office, then the break-in there, apparently for this address, and then a man who generally matches the description showing up here is pretty apparent. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean much to a judge. Not without a positive ID from the victim."

"I'm sorry," Cassie said. "He was the right height and his hair was the right color, but..."

"I know it's difficult when it happens so fast," Thorne said kindly. Then he turned to Dar again. "Do you think he was hurt when you clobbered him with the door?"

Dar shifted in his chair, for the first time since the deputy had arrived feeling a bit uncomfortable. Was he going to get in trouble over this? Sometimes the world seemed screwy enough for something like that to happen.

"I don't know," he said at last.

"We can but hope," Thorne said wryly. He gave Dar an appreciative glance. "Nice move, by the way."

Dar relaxed at the words. He'd liked Thome's approach, in more ways than one. After he'd checked the house thoroughly and coordinated a search by other deputies in the area, he'd gestured both Dar and Cassie over to the walkway outside the front door, where a two-foot-high planter ran along the edge of the path, and suggested Cassie sit down and stop pacing. He then sat down himself and took out his small notebook. Dar wasn't sure if he'd intentionally arranged it so that they were all seated; if he had, he'd done it so smoothly it didn't matter.

"I just wondered," Thorne continued, "if perhaps he might be injured enough to have to seek treatment. I could have a call put in to the local emergency rooms, in case he shows up."

"I don't know," Dar repeated. "He was hobbling a bit when he left, but not that badly."

"I'll have them call, anyway." Thorne looked at Cassie then. "If it is this man, then I think you need to consider that his actions are escalating."

"I know," she said, sounding so bleak Dar felt a strangling tightness knot up in his chest.

"I'd suggest you not stay here," the deputy said.

"I'd already decided that."

"Good. You need to find someplace safe, while we try to find this guy."

Cassie laughed, a short, rueful and decidedly humorless sound. "He found me in Denver. He found me here—"

"A hotel, maybe," Thorne suggested. "Use a false name."

"And a damn good disguise," Dar put in dryly. "There's no way she wouldn't be recognized otherwise."

Thorne gave Dar a considering look, then nodded. "Good point. And people talk, when they've seen somebody famous. It's human nature."

"So I'm supposed to...what?" Cassie asked sharply. "Go into hiding? Move into a hotel and stay in my room alone, living on room service or something?"

"It was merely a suggestion, Ms. Cameron."

She leapt to her feet and began to pace again. "All because some... some irrational fan has developed this fixation on me? I'm supposed to let him run my life? I'm supposed to grant him that kind of power over me, just because my work puts me in the public eye?"

Her voice was rising, and Dar saw the tension rising with it as she turned and paced back toward them. "Cassie," he said softly.

She whirled, and he braced himself for a sharp retort. It never came. She simply looked at him, then slowly sank back down to sit on the edge of the planter.

"I'm sorry. I just..."

"I understand," Thorne said sympathetically. "It's not only frightening, it's infuriating."

"Yes. I don't want to live like that."

"No one does. Is there anywhere else you could go? Someone you could stay with, so you wouldn't be alone? Someone no one else would know about, with no traceable connection to your family?"

The moment Thorne had begun to speak, Dar had known he was in trouble. Big trouble. And as the man went on, it only got bigger. Because there was only one obvious choice; that met the criteria Thorne was so carefully laying out. Him.

There was no paper trail that would lead from Cassie or Chase, or even from Sean to him, not like the article that had mentioned her brother, or the files in the office that also contained information on Sean. He'd maintained that distance between himself and the world so well that very few knew—or cared—that he had any contact at all with the Camerons or the Holts. He wished now that he'd hung on to that distance a little harder, a little more thoroughly; this emotional turmoil was too damn unsettling.

But it was academic now. He hadn't hung on to that distance; he'd let Sean and his family batter down his walls, had let them into his guarded life. And now look what it had gotten him: smack in the middle of the biggest threat to his hard-won equanimity that he'd ever faced.

He risked a glance at Cassie, who was staring down at the walkway. "I could go to New York," she said slowly, "and stay with Dana—" She broke off, shaking her head. "No, that wouldn't work. She's my closest friend, and she was mentioned in the same article that mentioned Chase. He'd know that. I couldn't risk anything happening to her."

"There must be—"

"She can stay with me," Dar said abruptly, cutting Thorne off in his desire to get the inevitable over with.

Cassie's head came up sharply, surprise evident in her face. Thorne looked at him speculatively.

"I got the impression you're connected to the Camerons," he said.

"Friends," Dar admitted. "But that's not...general knowledge. Sean, too, but..." Damn, this was hard to explain. "I don't...deal with people much. Not many people know who my friends are. And there's no traceable connection, like you said."

"Hmm."

It was carefully noncommittal. And nonjudgmental, as well. Dar felt his respect for the man go up another notch, and that made it easier to go on.

“My place is pretty isolated. North of town, by one of the lagoons. It's a converted warehouse. Doesn't look like anybody would live there. And the road is partly graveled, and noisy. You can't get there without me knowing it."

"You wouldn't be talking about the old marine-hardware warehouse off the Coast Highway, would you?" Thorne asked. "I heard somebody bought that three or four years back."

Dar nodded. Thorne's gaze shifted back to Cassie.

"Sounds ideal, Ms. Cameron. And you wouldn't be alone. I think you should consider it."

Cassie looked a little stunned. "But he...I..." She shook her head. "He doesn't mean it."

Thorne drew back slightly, his gaze flicking from Cassie to Dar, then back. "He sounded like he meant it to me. He's obviously thought it out—"

"I meant it, Cassie," Dar added, a little embarrassed.

She looked at him. "You don't want me there, you know you don't. You don't want anyone there."

He couldn't deny that, so he didn't try. "Normally, no. But these aren't normal circumstances."

"It sounds like the perfect compromise," Thorne said. "For your own safety, and that of your family, Ms. Cameron, I urge you to think about it. But whatever you decide, be sure and let us know where you are."

Cassie merely nodded, and Dar knew instinctively that she was agreeing only to let them know where she ended up. His guess was confirmed the moment Thorne left, and Cassie lifted her head to look at him.

"Thank you for the offer," she said. "I know it wasn't... easy for you to do."

He didn't see any point in denying that, either. "No. It wasn't." For reasons I hope you never know, he thought, fighting a rush of heat once again as he remembered the feel of her mouth on his. "But I meant it."

She held his gaze. "Why?"

"Like he said. It's the perfect compromise. You can have the bed, or the couch isn't too bad to sleep on."

"That's not what I meant," she said, in a tone that told him she knew perfectly well that he had known that. "Why are you helping me?"

There was no way he could explain it. He wasn't even certain he knew all the reasons himself. So he fell back on the easiest, the most obvious.

"You're Katie's—"

"Aunt. Yes, you've said that before."

"And Chase's sister."

She continued to look at him, assessingly, eyes narrowed. Chase's eyes, Dar thought suddenly, as they must have looked before life had given him that hard edge that made people think twice before they crossed him. Not that Dar thought Cassie was naive—she was too smart for that— but she looked softer somehow. Like someone who led with her heart, and whose lessons had been learned because of that trait.

"That's the only reason?" she asked at last.

Her eyes were also much more readable than her brother's, Dar thought wryly as he saw in them the same memory he had just battled down, of that unexpectedly hot kiss in his van. No wonder she was hesitating.

"If you're worried about what happened in the van a while ago, don't," he said, sounding a little grim but unable to help it. "It won't happen again."

She looked away then. "No, I suppose it won't."

She sounded almost...regretful about it. Which convinced Dar he wasn't so adept at reading her, after all; that was hardly likely.

"We can pick up your car on the way. And put it in my garage, out of sight."

She shook her head. "He's seen your van. He's never seen my car, that I know of."

Was she agreeing to stay? Dar wondered. Or just considering? "Okay," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "We'll leave your car out, then, and keep the van hidden."

She looked up at him then. "Dar, are you sure about this?"

No, he thought. The only thing he was sure of was that he was probably making one of the bigger mistakes of his life.

"Yes," he said. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

Still she hesitated. "I don't want to impose—"

"Just don't gripe about sharing the bathroom. I've only got one."

Her mouth quirked. "I've shared a bathroom with three other models, all of whom needed at least two hours to prepare to set foot outside. Don't worry about it."

Dar's brows rose. "Two hours?"

"Minimum."

"For what?"

"Shower, hair, makeup, nails—" she waved a hand "—girl stuff."

Dar shook his head in amazement. He'd never shared space with a woman before, not for any length of time, and it was foreign ground to him.

"Guess I'd better make sure I get in first," he said wryly.

"Oh, I don't take that long," Cassie said. "Half an hour when I'm not working. Even when I'm working, I only take an hour, and half of that is drying this mop." She grabbed a wad of her hair, giving it a disgusted look.

"So cut it."

"What? Cut the Cassandra mane, my trademark?" she said, sounding so exaggeratedly aghast that he knew it was mockery."Why, the world would grind to a halt."

It was so good-natured, and so obviously directed at herself, that he found himself smiling. She smiled back at him, and he had to look away.

"Let's get your stuff," he said.

She hesitated, and he knew she hadn't decided yet. He made himself look at her again.

"It's all right. It'll only be until they find this guy, or he goes away. Or until you decide you can't put up with me and go to that hotel."

"Or you do," she said. "It's only fair to warn you that I tend to leave empty glasses all over."

"I leave towels around."

"I take my shoes off and leave them wherever."

"I don't."

She went very still. Her eyes searched his face. Then, after a moment, she nodded. "Well, that would be silly. Why bother to take the shoes off when you're going to take the feet off, anyway?"

"Exactly," he said solemnly.

At the same moment they both laughed. And as he watched her eyes twinkle with it, Dar knew that he had underestimated the size of this mistake. And wondered just how much he was going to pay for making it.

Chapter 8

"We're going to have to tell Sean."

Cassie, her feet curled up under her on the sofa, looked at Dar over the rim of her glass. "What?"

He grimaced; when he'd made the offer, he'd forgotten about this little detail. "He tends to drop in now and then."

Cassie turned her attention to the soda remaining in her half-full glass as if it were suddenly the most fascinating sight she'd ever seen, "Unannounced?"

Dar shifted in his chair, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "Well...yes. There's never been a reason..." His voice trailed off as he realized how much he'd revealed by that answer. Hastily he went on. "But now that you're already here, maybe he won't feel like he has to—"

"Why do we have to tell him anything?" Cassie said, swirling her drink as she interrupted his words.

"If he comes over and you're here, he's going to wonder why."

"Not necessarily," she said, her expression unchanging.

Dar gave her a perplexed look. "What's that mean?"

She shrugged. "He won't be surprised. He thinks I have the hots for you, anyway."

Dar stared at her. "He what?"

"You heard me. He even warned me off."

"He what?"

She gave him a sideways look. "'Leave him the hell alone,' I believe were the exact words."

Dar felt himself flush. But before he could think of anything at all to say to that, Cassie was speaking again.

"But he didn't say you were dating anyone. I wouldn't want anyone to be hurt, thinking you and I were...an item."

Dar's stomach knotted, but Cassie didn't seem to notice his sudden tension. Although she had seemed before to be perfectly able to read him, she was acting suddenly blind now. Or else she didn't care.

"So," she went on, "he won't be surprised to find me here. He'll just think I ignored him and moved right in with you."

Moved in with him? Dar felt his jaw tighten, then realized that virtually every muscle in his body—every muscle—had already been tight since the moment she'd said Sean thought she had the hots for him. He stared at her, sitting there on his couch, her impossibly long legs clad in tight white jeans. She wore a soft, fuzzily touchable-looking sweater in a pale green that made her hair look almost black, her eyes vividly emerald. The insanity of it all was the only thing that enabled him to croak out a response.

"And you mean to... let him believe that?"

She stared down at her glass. "I don't want to tell him about Willis," she said determinedly. "But if it bothers you to have him think we're... involved, I'll think of something else to tell him."

"Bothers me?"

He knew he sounded incredulous, but couldn't seem to help it. He was feeling more than a little stunned, and he didn't know if it was from her willingness to let it be believed, even by Sean, that they were intimately involved, or by the very idea itself.

"Yes. If you're worried about what people would think..."

People would think, he said to himself bleakly, that she had lost her mind.

He wanted to ask where Sean had gotten such an idea. His friend knew that Dar had seen Cassie only that once, at his wedding. Dar wanted even more to ask if there was any truth to it. He didn't have the nerve to do either. Even if she said it was true, he doubted he would believe her. She made her living being perfect, and she dealt with perfect people, perfect men in particular. He was far, far from that, in many more ways than the obvious one. So he settled for a question that seemed safe enough.

"Do you really think he'll believe it?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

There were so many reasons why, he couldn't begin to enumerate them all.

"What if he tells your brother?"

Cassie lifted her gaze from her glass then and gave him a quizzical look. "Afraid he'll come beat you up?"

Dar flushed again. "No. But..."

He let his voice fade away. How could he tell her that he'd do just about anything to avoid Chase being mad at him? He admired Chase—and respected him—more than anyone he knew. He knew Chase at least respected him in turn, and he didn't ever want to jeopardize that.

As if she'd read his mind, she asked softly, "Do you really think he'd mind, if it were true?"

"I...I just doubt I'm exactly what he has in mind for his little sister."

A very thoughtful expression came aross 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, hill 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 her 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 antinausea 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 prosthetist. 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 bent 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.

And she leaned down to kiss him.

She felt him go rigid, as if with shock. She thought of pulling back, of making this merely a brief brushing of lips that could be casually dismissed. But she couldn't seem to make herself do it, couldn't give up the sweet, erotic flood of sensations. She'd rarely been the aggressor in her few relationships, but she knew she would have to be with Dar, or he would simply withdraw. And she couldn't bear that thought, not now, not with his mouth so warm and sensuous against hers. Her lips moved over his coaxingly, asking, not demanding, yet with a firmness that spoke volumes about her need for this.

And then she felt him change, felt the shift to acquiescence as the final notes of the song faded away. Felt the heat spark, then grow as it became mutual instead of one-sided. Felt him give in to it, and rejoiced in the knowledge that this fire leapt both ways. Rejoiced in the fact that he was kissing her back. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensations.

They weren't moving now, although another slow ballad had begun. His arms had come up and encircled her, pulling her even closer. She went willingly, and parted her lips for him at the first slight brush of his tongue across them. He probed her mouth gently, tentatively, and Cassie trembled at the contact when her tongue met his.

When he drew back, she instinctively followed, tasting his lips, then tracing the even ridge of his teeth before she explored further. A low sound that was almost a groan rose from him as her tongue teased his, and Cassie savored the husky reverberation of it as much as she did the hot, sweet taste of him and the feel of his heartbeat suddenly hammering in his chest beneath her fingertips.

And then the kiss became something more than a tentative discovering. It turned into something hotter, fiercer and much more intense. His hands came up to cup the back of her head, and her fingers threaded through the thick, dark silk of his hair and curled and held there, each of them seeming to want assurance that this suddenly flaring pleasure wouldn't end. He deepened the kiss until Cassie felt as if she were enveloped by the honeyed, luscious heat. She felt her muscles go slack, her mind fog, until there was nothing she was certain of except the taste and feel of him.

She felt a chill, heard a gasping sound, and only then dazedly realized that he had broken the kiss. Her eyes slowly drifted open.

Dar was staring at her, lips still wet from her mouth, and parted for his rapid breathing. She smiled lazily, dreamily, content to know that he'd been affected as much as she had.

"Damn."

The low, harsh oath startled her. She shifted on his lap, and became suddenly aware of something her dazed mind had been telling her for some time now—the meaning of that hot, insistent pressure against her right thigh. Dar was thoroughly aroused. The realization made her catch her breath, and she felt color flood her cheeks.

"Get up, Cassie."

It was an order, and when she hesitated he gave her a look that made her slip slowly to her feet. She stared at him, trying not to look at his obvious arousal. He spun his chair around, turning his back to her.

"Dar—"

"What the hell did you expect?" he ground out. "I lost my legs, not my—"

She cut him off, moving swiftly to crouch beside him and hush him with a gentle finger to his lips. "I know that. I just didn't think... I was afraid it was just... me."

"Just... what?"

She nodded. "That this was... one way."

"Don't go making this more than it is," he said gruffly, not meeting her eyes. He was, Cassie realized suddenly, embarrassed. Whether it was at what had happened between them, or his body's unmistakable response, she wasn't sure. He started to wheel away from her, and she tried for a teasing tone.

"You sound like Sean, telling me to leave you alone. Did he give you a lecture out in the garage?"

"He warned me to be careful." He stopped then and looked back over his shoulder at her. "But then I got warned about an oncoming train once, too."

He disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Cassie staring after him, wondering if he'd meant he planned to ignore this warning, too, or if he'd been trying to tell her he'd learned his lesson about heeding warnings. The hard way.

Chapter 9

Three days later Cassie was reasonably certain she had her answer. Dar had no intention of ignoring this warning. While she'd tried to be the perfect guest, quiet and unobtrusive, she hadn't expected to be virtually ignored.

This morning, as he had every morning, he had been up and gone before she rose, somehow managing not to wake her even though she knew he had to go right past where she slept on the sofa to leave. She wondered what it was today, a tortuous uphill course or simply hours of grinding, pushing exertion; she'd lost track. He stuck to a training schedule that seemed staggering to her, leaving at dawn, well before the summer heat rose to prohibitive levels, and returning hours later drenched in sweat, and obviously drained.

But after a shower and some food he was at work, in his workshop, sometimes outside with the four-wheeled off-road chair, sometimes at the drawing table, sometimes at his workbench, or at that intimidating-looking piece of machinery be called the mill, shaping metal and tubing into the curves and angles that became his custom product. And he was always so intent on his work that she didn't dare interrupt him. Or, at least, he appeared that way.

But no matter what he was doing, he paid her little attention and seemed determined to forget that that slow, sensual dance had ever occurred.

That thought gave rise to memories that threatened to swamp her anew with that heat only Dar had ever generated in her. She abruptly rose from the sofa, needing action of some kind to divert her thoughts. The first couple of days she'd gone wandering outside, finding the effort of walking along the trails in the hills behind the warehouse distracting, if not completely successful in putting what had happened between them out of her mind.

But today she could feel a tightness in her legs that told her she'd overdone it. Her exercise routine ran more to aerobics and the occasional lengthy walk. She nearly laughed; she was the supposedly able-bodied one, but she was feeling the pain after a couple of days of what Dar would no doubt term merely mild exertion.

She headed for the bathroom; a hot shower would loosen her up, she thought, and that way she'd be done well before Dar came back and needed the shower.

It was this room, more than any, that pounded home to her what Dar had to live with. The lowered mirror and sink, the drain off center to the rear so the pipe was out of the way of his chair, the support arms on each side of the commode. The shower was in the corner, with a fold-up seat on one wall, the hand held showerhead on the other, and only a plastic curtain covering the open two sides, with pull-up bars in strategic places.

Every time she stepped in there, she was torn between the painful reminder of what had happened to him and the knowledge of how he'd survived and made peace with it. That knowledge filled her with an odd feeling she didn't at first recognize. She pondered it as she worked shampoo into her hair. When she realized it was pride, she nearly groaned aloud at this proof of how far she'd come in her feelings for this man.

Maybe she had come a long way, but Dar hadn't, she thought as she reached for the movable showerhead, which really made rinsing her hair much easier than in a regular shower. He was as distant and aloof as ever. More so, ever since the night she'd asked him to dance. That he'd participated in that sensuous dance was amazing; she should have expected that he'd bolt like a singed rabbit afterward.

But she hadn't expected it. Not after he'd kissed her back so fiercely, his very touch seeming to be full of the same aching longing that had seized her in those intense minutes she'd spent on his lap. Not when she had such vivid proof that he'd responded as passionately as she had. Not when she'd wanted nothing more than for it to go on endlessly, bathing her in that sweet, enticing warmth forever.

She pushed the images away, forcing herself to concentrate on stepping out of the shower and drying off as if it were the most difficult of tasks. She wrapped the big bath sheet she always carried with her around her, then gave her hair a cursory rubbing with a regular-size towel. She dragged her big-toothed comb through her tangled locks until they were smooth, then stood for a moment, pondering whether to bother with her hair dryer. It seemed far too much trouble at the moment, so she merely tugged the unwieldy length of her hair back and began to braid it, still wet. If she later tried to brush it out, she would have a voluminous mass of flyaway waves, but she didn't have the patience or the desire to deal with the usual chore it was to dry it into some semblance of order. This was what she usually did when not working; on a job, there was always the shoot's hairstylist to do it for her.

"Spoiled, that's what you are, Cassandra. Spoiled rotten."

She muttered it aloud, as she tended to do when she was alone; it had always seemed to have more effect spoken aloud, this constant effort to keep her head from swelling under the barrage of unctuous flattery and adulation.

"You said it, I didn't."

She smothered a shriek as she spun around to see Dar in the doorway, sweat glistening on his skin, his hair clinging to his head in damp strands.

"Must you do that?" she yelped, grabbing at the towel that suddenly seemed much smaller than it had. She felt her cheeks begin to heat.

He shrugged, his face as unreadable as if she'd been fully dressed. "Didn't hear you in here. Until you started talking to yourself."

Her cheeks went from merely warm to flaming. "I...have that habit."

"I thought you hated to be called Cassandra."

"I do," she said wryly. "That's why I use it whenever I catch myself missing one of those perks I sometimes take for granted. To remind me I'm slipping into fantasyland. It helps me regain some semblance of balance." She knew she was chattering, and ended with a shrug. "Chase calls it a check-in with real life."

His mouth twitched at that, as if he wanted to smile but was fighting it. He tugged off the fingerless gloves he always wore when training. Blisters, he'd told her, were the bane of any road racer's existence.

"Perks?" he said after a moment.

She decided to trust the towel for a moment and grabbed the awkwardly long and now-unraveling wet braid. "Yes. Like somebody to deal with this for me."

"Oh."

It suddenly became too much, to stand here half-naked, Dar looking at her with no more interest than if she'd been one of the fixtures. If she hadn't had the vivid memory of that rigid column of aroused male flesh to reassure her, she would have sworn he barely realized she was female. She gave up on the braid and clung to the towel.

"You're back early," she said, rather inanely. "I would have been done—"

"Hill climbs," he said, cutting her off and making her wonder if perhaps he wasn't as indifferent as he appeared.

"Oh. Makes for a shorter workout, I imagine." But no less strenuous, Cassie thought. When he didn't answer, she grabbed her comb, knowing she would have to start over on her braid, and started to edge around his chair toward the door. "I'll just go wrestle with this mess somewhere else, so you can have the shower," she murmured.

She was almost past him when he spoke, and she sensed by his tone that he'd been trying to hold back the words.

"You want some help?"

She stared at him. "I... you mean... my hair?"

He nodded, a short, sharp movement of his head that robbed the offer of any gallantry and made her wonder why on earth he'd made it when he so obviously didn't want to be taken up on it.

"I do Katie's, sometimes," he said, sounding grudging.

It was that very grudgingness that inspired a perverse need in her to take him up on it.

"Thank you," she said sweetly. "That would be a big help."

She caught one quick glimpse of the alarm that flashed in his eyes before she handed him the comb, casually folded the towel she'd used on her hair, dropped it on the tile floor and knelt on it with her back to him. She heard an odd, strangled sound that sounded as if he'd bitten back a groan, but she didn't look at him, merely settled herself on her heels, placing her knees primly together and discreetly tightening the towel firmly around her.

Completely composed, she thought. Except for the fact that she had to jam her hands between her thighs to keep him from seeing they were trembling.

For a long, silent moment she sat there, wondering if he would do anything at all, even retreat. And then she sensed movement, and out of the corner of her eye saw the front wheels of his chair edge forward until her feet were between them.

Still she waited. At last she felt a gentle tug as he began to run the comb through her hair. She tilted her head back slightly to make it easier and let her eyes drift closed; it was : wonderful, feeling the long, steady strokes and knowing it was Dar. Funny how she'd never felt like this when anyone else did this for her. It seemed to go on forever, that long, sensuous stroking of the comb through her hair. Yet she wished it would never end.

When he had the nearly waist-length mass of her hair smooth, he dropped the comb on the towel beside her leg. Thus warned, she knew what was coming, but still couldn't stop the shiver that went through her when his fingers brushed the back of her neck as he gathered up the wet strands. He froze for a moment, but when she didn't speak, began to move again.

She shouldn't, she supposed, be surprised that he braided the unruly length swiftly and easily; Katie had her father's hair, which meant it was Cassie's, as well. The very characteristics that made it her—or rather Cassandra's—personal trademark, its length, silkiness and glimmering sheen, also made it her curse; it was nearly impossible to handle easily.

But Dar did it very well, with a gentleness that tugged at her heart as she thought of him doing this for Katie. And, someday, perhaps for a little girl of his own. She trembled, and told herself it was at the idea of Dar's little girl, not at the brush of his fingers down her back as he worked on her hair. She grasped at the idea and hung on, desperate for the diversion.

Did he ever think about that little girl? she wondered. Did he long for it, to perhaps build for himself the family he'd never had? To have children who would never know the pain he'd been through, because he would see to it that they didn't? Or was it part of his detachment, part of his separation from the world, that he had decided it would never be? Was that, besides her innate charm, part of the reason he was so devoted to Katie? Or was it simply that she loved him, as he was, no questions asked?

There had to have been people, women, who could have loved him that way. She refused to believe that the world was full only of women who couldn't see anything but what wasn't there, who couldn't look past the fact that he wasn't whole, in the world's eyes. She looked at him and saw so much more, and she wasn't, contrary to what some people—and her agent—trumpeted, anything special.

So what had happened with those women? Had he shut them out, as he shut her out? Somewhere out there, was there a woman who still longed for him? A woman he hadn't been able to believe in, for whatever combination of reasons that kept him so apart from the world?

It hit her then, with gut-deep certainty. Of course he couldn't believe. How many times could you be rejected, and keep coming back for more? It wasn't just strangers, who turned away for their own reasons, repulsion or pity or simple ignorance of what to say; for Dar it had been the very people he should have been able to trust, the people who should have been there for him no matter what. Not just his fiancee, but his own father.... No wonder he held back from the world. How could a father turn his back on his own son at such a time?

The thought was too painful, and she recoiled from it, coming out of her musing reverie with a start. She realized he was done, and had been for some time, while she had been lost in thoughts that would embarrass her and no doubt infuriate him were he to find them out.

"I... You do that very well," she blurted out.

"You sit still better than Katie."

"She is a live wire, isn't she?" She scrambled to her feet. "Thank you."

He merely nodded, but Cassie knew she wasn't imagining the tightness of his jaw. And she wondered, when he quickly leaned over and picked up the towel she'd been kneeling on and dropped it in his lap, if perhaps it was more than innate tidiness that had prompted the action.

She scurried out of the bathroom, wondering what had possessed her to do that, to continue playing with a fire Dar Cordell would obviously just as soon deny existed.

She heard water start to run, and swiftly dressed in comfortably worn jeans and an equally worn old college sweatshirt with the sleeves cut out. She tried not to think of Dar in the shower; she'd spent far too much time doing that already. And thinking erotic, intimate thoughts about him, not wondering about the logistics of how he managed it; that had been evident enough once she'd seen the bathroom. Not wondering about how his legs must look; she'd seen them the day he'd confronted her in his workout shorts. The surgeon, who had saved his life after the heroic act that had almost ended it, had done a very neat job. The sight of his stumps had been disturbing, yes, and a painful reminder of what he'd gone through, but hardly repellent.

Her brother had told her once, after she'd gasped in shock when she'd first seen the brutal scar that marked him—a souvenir of his part in sending the racketeer known as the Spider to jail—that one of the reasons he'd fallen so hard for Stevie was that she had made him look at that scar as a mark of honor, not a disfigurement. And that Rory had done the same thing for Sean.

She hadn't met Dar then, so Cassie hadn't asked if anyone had ever been able to do that for him. But she didn't really need to ask now. She knew the answer was no. The defiant acceptance of himself and his body that Dar had arrived at, he had fought his way to alone, with no help from anyone. As he did everything.

Not, she thought with a sigh, that he would have accepted such help had it been offered. She wondered just how hard his fiancee had really tried. Or had she at all? Perhaps she'd intended to leave all the time, but hadn't been able to just walk away, as Dar's father apparently had.

She heard the bathroom door open, but determinedly didn't look up. True, in what she was sure was a concession to her presence, Dar usually exited the shower covered with a towel, but somehow that didn't make the sight of the broad, muscled expanse of his chest and shoulders any less unsettling. Nor, she thought wryly as she heard the bedroom door close, did the fact that she'd seen that bare chest and those shoulders fairly regularly since she'd been here make it any less unsettling.

So much for the familiarity-breeds-contempt theory, she muttered silently. The only thing her familiarity with his body was breeding was a serious desire to know more.

It was only a few minutes later when he wheeled out of his bedroom and silently past her to his workshop. Cassie sighed inwardly. One step forward, three steps back, she thought. Every time they made any progress, he retreated. Of course, perhaps he didn't see it as progress, she admitted ruefully. Perhaps he simply saw any increased closeness between them as a further invasion into his carefully maintained privacy.

Already he was engrossed in making adjustments to the off-road chair that he'd brought inside yesterday. She'd read a bit about this kind of chair in several magazines she'd found on a low shelf beside the television, enough to amaze her with the complexity of the machine. The titanium frames and knobby mountain-bike tires—small in front, bigger ones in the rear—were simple enough, but when you added to that brakes, shocks, two-speed hand rims, sealed bearings and a host of other refinements she couldn't even begin to understand, these tough, durable vehicles were truly remarkable.

And it told her a great deal about Dar that, as good as these chairs were, he was determined to make his better, determined to make them as special and in demand as Cordell road-race and track chairs were.

She picked up her book, a lengthy thriller she'd bought in an airport months ago but had never been able to take time to read. She'd found it yesterday while digging in her bag for her old University of Washington sweatshirt, and had felt like a child who'd discovered a treat she'd forgotten she had hidden away. She'd spent the afternoon luxuriating in being able to just sit and read, and was looking forward to finishing the last few chapters today. And fortunately, the book was sufficiently intriguing to keep her mind occupied rather than dwelling fruitlessly on the enigma of Dar Cordell. 

She put her feet up and leaned back, then remembered how stiff she'd ended up yesterday after a long stint on this couch that seemed more designed for lolling than sitting. She sat up once more, opened the big drawer in the base of the low table in front of the sofa and pulled out the pillow she'd been using to sleep and propped it behind her back.

She didn't know how long she'd been reading when a movement made her look up in time to see that Dar had shifted over to the off-road chair and was headed for the door.

"Another test run?" she asked.

He glanced at her, then away, silently, but did finally answer. "I've only got a couple of hours before full dark."

This time of year in California, that gave him until well after eight o'clock, Cassie thought as he left. Which made for a long day of work when you started at dawn. But she wasn't about to say anything, not when she'd spent the last three days lazing around in wonderful idleness. Beyond her walks, reading and a brief and somewhat constrained conversation with Rory, who was feeling a little better but still not right, Cassie hadn't done much of anything.

And to his credit, Dar hadn't said a word about her lack of activity, even in the face of his own industry. That first day she'd offered to help around the warehouse, to clean or whatever he wanted, but he'd just grimaced at her and said the only house rule was to pick up after herself.

"You said you took a break to rest," he reminded her. "So rest."

They hadn't talked at all about the reason she was here, and it took Cassie a while to realize that they wouldn't unless she opened the subject. She was used to dealing with people who had a tendency to pry into every comer of a person's life, and it was a novelty of sorts to be around someone who would no more pry than he would allow himself to be pried into.

And while the silence on the subject allowed her to put it from her mind, that very thing also freed her mind to think entirely too much about her unwilling host. Her mouth twisted ruefully at one corner; she wondered if Dar had talked to Sean lately. Her almost brother-in-law hadn't shown up again since that first day, and she had no idea if it was because he was angry or disgusted or what. Although she hadn't had that much contact with him, he didn't seem the type to truly bear a grudge, so she supposed it was possible he was staying away to give what he supposed was a newly involved couple time alone. But she'd feel better if she knew that for sure. Maybe she'd ask Dar when he came back if he'd talked to Sean.

Maybe, she added gloomily, he might even answer her.

Aware she was sliding into that futile habit of trying to predict what Dar would do, she picked up her book. In moments she was absorbed as the fast-paced thriller rocketed toward its conclusion. She grimaced as the sole female character, inevitably it seemed, was killed off, but she'd half expected it and kept going despite her irritation; women, it seemed, still had a long way to go in certain areas of literature. But after a lot of excitement and a rather neat twist, the hero won out, the world was saved and she closed the book with a generally satisfied snap.

She sat up, leaning forward to set the book on the table.. She noticed that something, probably the blanket she'd also been using, had kept the drawer in the table from closing all the way, and pulled it open again to adjust it. She found she had somehow shifted a videocassette that had been in the drawer, obviously far enough to the back that she hadn't noticed it while taking out or putting back the blanket and pillow. She reached in and turned it on its edge, then moved to rearrange the blanket. But something on the cassette's label caught her eye, and she turned her head to read it.

The moment she did, she wished she hadn't. It said simply, Final Game, College World Series, and was dated twelve years ago, but she knew how much more than that it was. She picked it up, staring at it bleakly. She knew she had no business even thinking about watching it. Knew she didn't want to watch it, knew she didn't want to see him as he'd been, because it would only drive home just how much he'd lost.

She sat there for a long time. And finally, unable to help herself, she walked over, turned on the TV and VCR and slid the tape into the slot. Her fingers were shaking, but she pushed the play button, anyway.

Oddly, it started in the middle of the game. Only then did she realize the tape had been wound beyond the beginning when she'd taken it out of the box. Did he watch it, a little bit at a time? Or had he begun to play it and been able to look only for a while before having to turn it off, unable to watch the past?

She backed up and sat down on the edge of the table, facing the big screen. She didn't have to wait long. It seemed all the announcers could talk about was the brilliant young left fielder who had it all—talent, speed, power. Though he was barely a sophomore, it was rumored that after this series he was headed to the big leagues, already signed straight into AAA ball at nineteen. They talked about a great running catch he'd made in the second inning, and the towering home run he'd hit in the third. They raved about his speed on the base paths, and his uncanny instinct for the game. They compared him to Gwynn, Clemente, Mantle, and some names she'd never heard before but that were spoken in awed tones of respect. She sat still, listening, watching, waiting.

She thought she was braced. She thought she was ready. But when the side was out and the other team took the field, she knew nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Dar, young and strong and whole, running in long, graceful strides to his position in left field. She'd been right, she thought, he had been tall. Over six feet, easy. The camera zeroed in on him as he pulled off his cap, shoved his long-ish hair off his forehead and put the cap back on, tugging it down to shade his eyes. Those incredible dark eyes, alive with the joy of playing the game he loved.

She wanted to turn it off, didn't think she could bear any more, but she couldn't make herself do it. She felt like one of those people who gaped at the scenes of accidents, or like some sick voyeur who knew the grim outcome but couldn't resist watching the innocence that would soon be destroyed.

So she watched, watched until the picture went oddly out of focus with some malfunction. She waited for them to realize it and fix it, but it only got worse. She blinked, and knew then that the problem was not with the camera at all. She didn't try to stop the tears as they began to spill over; she knew it would do no good. There was no way she could control this, no way to ease the pain of what she was seeing. This was no movie where she could reassure herself that the actor would get up and walk away after the disaster to come, no newscast of tragedy where she could console herself that at least it hadn't been anyone she knew or cared about.

This was Dar, and his world as he knew it would come to an end a few short hours after this moment caught forever on film.

The sense of no longer being alone made her turn her head. Dar sat there, looking from her face to the images on the screen, then back.

"Damn you."

He spat it out through clenched teeth, and Cassie knew in that moment that she had never seen anyone so coldly furious in her life.

Chapter 10

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Dar barely managed to keep his voice from shaking, he was so incensed.

"I think that's obvious."

She didn't dissemble or try to apologize, and he supposed he should give her credit for that, but right now he didn't feel like giving her anything, except a one-way ticket out of his life. And the fact that she'd been crying only made it worse; he'd had more than enough pity in his life, and he was sick to death of it.

"You may be the celebrated Cassandra," he said furiously, "but that doesn't give you the right to pry into things that aren't any of your business."

"I'm not the celebrated anyone," she said, her voice quiet. "Not here. I'm just someone who'd like to be a friend. Someone who's trying to understand."

He looked pointedly at her still-wet cheeks. "Well, I've had a bellyful of that kind of understanding. Take your tears somewhere else, Ms. Cameron. I don't need or want your pity." 

"Pity?" She leapt to her feet with the exclamation. "Is that what you think?"

He gestured at the television screen. "What else? I've heard it all before. Such a tragedy, he would have been a great player. He had the world in his pocket, and now he's just a helpless cripple."

"Stop it."

She said it flatly, but he saw her hands curl into fists at her sides. He ignored it and rolled past her to grab at the remote control and shut off the images. It was tricky; the off-road chair was much bigger and more awkward than his everyday chair, but he needed that tape to stop. He'd watched it once. Or tried to. He'd only gotten through three innings, and had had to turn it off. He should have burned the damn thing a long time ago.

"That bothers you?" He twisted around to look at her. "It's only the truth, isn't it? It's what you were thinking—"

"Don't you dare presume you know what I was thinking," she snapped.

"I know," he said wearily, "because it's what every TAB thinks."

He wheeled past her to where his regular chair sat in the workshop area. He sensed rather than saw her follow him until he came to a stop beside the chair.

Her eyebrows lowered. "And just what does TAB mean?"

"Temporarily able-bodied. It's what all of you are cause it can happen anytime, to anybody."

"All of 'you'? Is that what this is? An 'us and them' thing?"

He levered himself out of the off-road chair and into the blue one. With the off-road chair's sturdier and higher frame, it wasn't the easiest of deeds, and it took him a moment. When he was settled, he finally looked up at her.

"Isn't it?"

For a long, silent moment she stared at him. "Well," she said, her voice so calm he was immediately suspicious. "As long as we're making assumptions and generalizations, I've got a few for you, Mr. Cordell. The first being that you are the most arrogant, presumptuous human being I've ever met, and I've met some prizes in the last few years."

Dar simply shrugged again; he had no answer to those charges, because he was reasonably sure they were true. He released the brakes on his chair and started to roll away from her.

"But I've learned to deal with that," she said. "What I can't deal with is selfishness. And you are a prime example of that."

He stopped abruptly, spinning back to stare at her. Selfish? How could you be selfish if there was no one around to be selfish to? "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What else would you call it? You refuse to share anything of yourself. You isolate yourself here, and tell the rest of the world to go to hell. What friends you have have to fight you every step of the way. You don't allow anything or anyone to get too close, because it might interfere with your precious privacy."

"You're here," he said, beginning to feel a bit beleaguered; he'd never thought of selfishness quite like that before, as a stinginess with yourself as much as with things. He'd never figured anybody would miss him much if he wasn't around, except for maybe Sean, Stevie and Chase, and, of course, Katie.

"Only because you feel some sort of misguided obligation to me because of my brother, and you don't want Sean to be bothered with me right now."

Dar felt himself flush; he hadn't realized he'd been so transparent. But then, no one had ever been able to read him the way this woman seemed to.

"Look," he said, wondering how he'd been maneuvered into having to defend himself. "It took me a damn long time to get here, and I like my life the way it is."

"Oh, I don't doubt that. It must be very simple, to just hide away and keep the world at arm's length, never having to really deal with people. I mean, people are sometimes presumptuous enough to care, which would mess up the tidiness of your neat little world—"

"Damn it, this isn't about me," he snapped. "This is about you, sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"Isn't it about you? My God, Dar, what happened to you was a tragedy. Of course people feel something about it! It's only natural. But you don't want to allow even that, do you? Is no one allowed to feel anything for what happened to you?"

"I don't care what you think is 'only natural'—"

"Come on, Dar!" she exclaimed, cutting him off. "How could anyone look at him—" she gestured at the now-dark screen "—and not feel something, knowing his dreams were going to come crashing down around him, just hours after that game ended?"

He expelled a compressed breath. "Listen to yourself. 'Him'. Like he's somebody else."

"Isn't he?" she said, her voice suddenly soft. "Is there really anything of that boy left, Dar?"

"That boy," he said sourly, "was a fool. He thought he finally had life by the tail."

"But life turned on him."

"Life turns on everybody, sooner or later." He looked at her steadily. "You should know that."

"It can also turn beautiful, Dar. My family is living proof of that. Do you know how long we spent thinking Chase was dead? How long we cried over him, loving him and hating him for the same reason, that he'd done what he thought was right and it had cost him his life? Can you even imagine how we felt that day that Stevie brought him home to us?"

"No," he said flatly. And meant it. He couldn't. He couldn't begin to imagine what it had been like for a loving family to have a son and brother returned to it.

He spun his chair around once more and wheeled away from her. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He didn't usually do this, especially after downing a couple with that pizza the other night, but he wanted one now. Actually, he wanted a shot of something a hell of a lot stronger, but he didn't even own a bottle of hard liquor.

"I'm sorry if my watching that upset you," she said. She'd followed him across the warehouse to the edge of the kitchen area.

He took a long swallow of beer, not looking at her. "Nobody asked you to apologize."

"I know that. But it was wrong of me to watch that video without asking you first. But if I had asked, what would you have said?"

One beer might not be enough, he thought, taking another long swig before he said, "I think you know the answer to that."

He heard her let out a long breath. "Yes. I do. That's why I'm apologizing for doing it." She paused, and when she went on there was a militant sound to her voice. "But I won't apologize for feeling something about it. I won't apologize for feeling sick inside because of what you lost. I won't apologize for getting furious at the unfairness of it. And I won't apologize for crying.''

He whirled on her then. "I don't want you crying over me. I don't want anybody crying over me."

"I wasn't crying over you. I was crying for you."

"What the hell is the difference?"

"The difference is that it has nothing to do with pity or charity or anything that gets your back up so instantly. Look at you—how on earth could anybody feel sorry for you? You've got brains, looks, and you've accomplished more than most people do in a lifetime. And you think I pity you? Because of that?" she exclaimed, gesturing at his chair.

She turned on her heel and started away from him, and for a moment he dared to hope that she was going to let this end. But then she spun back, and he knew he was in for more. God, he hated this. He couldn't deal with this. He was too damned tired to deal with this kind of upheaval.

"How many people have you thrown out of your life, Dar?"

"I'm considering another right now," he said grimly.

"I'm sure you are," she said. She was pacing, her every movement agitated, a far cry from her usual graceful movements. Whatever else he might think, he couldn't doubt that the feelings that were driving her were genuine; they radiated from every inch of her. Every luscious inch.

And how he could be thinking that way about a woman who was chewing him out like this was beyond him. Why he was even letting it happen was beyond him. And his irritation with himself put an edge in his voice.

"You just can't accept that I like things the way they are, can you?"

She stopped suddenly, a few feet away, and turned back to face him once more.

"Oh, yes, I can. I know you like it. What's not to like? You don't have to take any chances. Oh, sure, you'll risk breaking your neck on some crazy downhill run, or God knows what other kind of injury, but that's just physical. You've been through worse, right?"

Dar shifted uncomfortably; he didn't like the turn this was taking. "Look, just drop it, will you? We'll forget about the damned tape, and—"

"That's it, isn't it? You can't even talk about it." She shook her head slowly as she stared at him. "How many people have you rejected before they could reject you? Do you plan on staying alone forever, just because it's easier? Because it's safer?"

"I plan," he said tightly, "on living my life as I damn well please."

"Alone," she retorted. "Because having friends, or family, or loving someone means you have to risk something. Something more than your body. You have to risk yourself. Your emotions. Your heart. And you can't do that."

"That's it." Dar slammed his can down on the counter. Beer sloshed out and ran over his hand; he ignored it. "I'm out of here."

"Yeah, run away, Cordell. You may have all the guts in the world when it comes to physical pain, but you haven't got the courage of a marshmallow when it comes to anything else."

"What the hell do you know about it?" His hand, still wet with the beer, slipped on the push rim, spoiling his planned quick exit.

"I know that it's not 'us and them.' It's not the world you're fighting, Dar. It's yourself."

He didn't answer her, because he didn't know what the answer was. And because somewhere deep inside him, he was very much afraid she was right. He wiped his hand on his shirt and wheeled away into his bedroom without a word.

Cassie pulled the blanket up closer around her, but knew nothing material could ward off the chill she was feeling, because it was inside her, someplace low and deep. The place that had leapt to fiery life the first time Dar had kissed her. The place that had continued to glow every time she looked at him. The place that had flared anew when he'd held her on his lap, and had blazed into a near inferno when they had kissed again, that long, searching kiss that she had initiated, but he had ended.

But that place was cold now, and she'd doused the fire herself, because she hadn't been able to stop herself from feeling, and from letting it show. And that kind of genuine feeling was probably more guaranteed to drive Dar Cordell away than anything else.

She drew her knees up further, as if curling up into the tightest ball she could would somehow warm her. Right now she doubted if she'd ever be really warm again. She'd been trying to sleep for hours, it seemed, but all she could do was think about what she'd said. She'd had no right to criticize him. No right to tell him how to run his life, or what was wrong with the way he was living it. He was right—she had no idea what he'd been through, or what it had been like. She'd been incredibly arrogant. She'd been more Cassandra than Cassie, and the realization made her more than a little ill.

She would leave, first thing in the morning. It was the best I thing she could do, and the only kind of apology she could think of that he might believe. She would thank him for his help, then leave him to his hard-won peace.

She froze at the whisper of sound, the now-familiar swish of wheels across the floor. She knew she'd been lying awake for some time, but it was hours before dawn, and far too early even for the driven Dar to go out for his morning's training.

Then the direction of the sound changed, and she realized he was coming toward the couch, toward her. She held her breath. Perhaps he was going to beat her to the punch and ask her to leave. She wouldn't blame him.

"Cassie?"

It was soft, barely audible, and wouldn't have awakened her if she had been asleep. She debated for an instant about whether to feign sleep, to avoid this confrontation, but it wasn't in her to do it. She lifted her head, peering at him but unable to see much in the dim light. She could only make out his shape, and the slight sheen of light on his bare shoulders.

"I'm awake."

"Me, too," he said, unnecessarily. She sensed him moving closer, until he was right next to the sofa. Then, in those same soft tones that seemed incongruous after the heated-ness of their last conversation, he asked, "You're all curled up. Are you cold?"

"Yes."

"But it's not—"

"Cold in here. I know." She hesitated, then took the plunge; if she didn't get it said now, she might not ever do it. "I was out of line tonight, Dar. I'm sorry."

"No, Cassie—"

"I'll leave in the morning. I think—"

"I don't want you to leave.''

"You don't?" 

"No."

"You're sure?" 

"Yes."

There was a moment of silence, then she heard him take a very deep breath. Then silence for a long moment, as if he were steeling himself for something. She heard a metallic sound she knew she'd heard before but didn't immediately recognize, then heard the rustle of movement. He'd set the brakes on his chair, she realized. That's what that familiar sound had been.

Then all thought—and her breath—halted as she realized he had left his chair and maneuvered himself onto the couch beside her. She knew she had stiffened in shock that he had left his chair, and she made herself loosen her tensed muscles. She could feel his heat, feel it radiating from his body, and thought that she just might be warm again after all. She untangled herself from the blanket and sat up, curling her legs up under her; she'd lain down in her jeans and sweatshirt, but her feet were bare.

"I was wondering if you ever used this furniture for anything but an obstacle course," she quipped, trying to cover her reaction to his closeness, to the decision he'd made to risk this with her.

"I use it sometimes," he said, still sounding oddly quiet. "When I'm really stiff after a workout, or after a race when I'm too tired to move much. But never... when someone is here."

He was making her nervous, with this quiet talk and this unexpected openness, and it drove her to tease lightly. "That leaves you a lot of time to use it, then."

"Yes."

She'd been expecting a reaction, a groan, some comment about not returning to the argument they'd had, anything except that quiet acknowledgment. It took her a moment to recognize what he was doing for what it was: an apology. An apology he couldn't find words for.

She didn't know what to say. And somehow she knew that this was not a time to fill the silence with just any inane thing that came to her, or to blurt out the first thing that popped into her head, that lamentable tendency she seemed to have developed around him. So she kept silent. It seemed easier to do in the darkness.

After a moment she was rewarded. His words were halting, and very, very tentative, but they were coming, and she bit her lip in fear that they would stop.

"I... I know I don't... deal with people very well. I've been...cut off for a long time. I don't...remember how to just... talk. If I ever knew."

"Ever?" she asked softly when he didn't go on.

He let out a long, sighing breath. "I don't... My dad was never much of a talker. Except when he was telling you what he expected of you. I don't think he ever just.. talked to me. There was always something else, some schedule to be set, or something to be analyzed."

"Analyzed?"

"He called it critiquing."

Cassie's brows furrowed. "Critiquing what?"

She couldn't see him, other than a faint outline in the dark, but she felt him shrug.

"How I'd played that day. My grades. How well I'd washed the car or stacked the storage boxes in the garage."

Cassie felt suddenly cold again, but it was an entirely different kind of feeling. "Your father...critiqued how you stacked boxes?"

"It was just the way he was. He liked everything in order.

"Did he make you alphabetize your toys?" she asked wryly.

He made an odd sound that told her what she'd meant as a joke, wasn't.

"Oh, God, he did, didn't he?"

"It was just his way. I think he felt out of control when my mother died and left him with an eight-year-old kid to raise. So he controlled what he could."

"There's a name for people like that," Cassie said. "And currently a lot of debate over whether it's hyphenated or not." 

She heard another sound come from him, which could have been a sigh or a smothered chuckle.

"He was tough," Dar finally said. "But he was as hard on himself as on anyone else."

"Except you?" she guessed.

"I was his son," Dar said simply, as if that explained everything. "He had the right to expect more from me."

Cassie smothered a shiver. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like to live with a father like that. But Dar's words made something else painfully clear to her—the answer to her question of what kind of man could turn his back on his gravely injured son. The kind of man who could make that son believe he had to be more, be better, be perfect, simply because he was his father.

"Don't get me wrong. He was tough, but he was fair. And when I earned it, he loved me."

When I earned it.

Cassie was amazed she couldn't hear the sound of her heart breaking. So this was why Dar was so driven, why everything he did had to be done superlatively. Coming from her own loving family, she couldn't fathom that kind of relationship. She and her parents had had their normal moments of strain, and they had often disagreed, or seemed bewildered at some of the choices she had made, but she had always known she could go to them, especially when things went wrong. She had always known that they loved her, and would always love her, even if she failed. What would it be like to have to earn that love that she'd always taken for granted?

She wanted to cry out her rage at the man who had done this to him, who had made him believe that a father's love had to be earned. She wanted to shake him, to tell him to listen to what he was saying, to see how wrong it was. But she'd done enough damage today, enough telling him what was wrong with his life. She'd better find another way.

"Do you think Chase is making Katie earn his love?" she asked carefully.

"Of course not," he said, so instantly she was relieved; he did realize not everyone was like his father. "My father was... different, that's all. He had a different way of doing things. He was always...sort of distant. Look, I'm not saying he was right. He was just... different. A perfectionist."

"And he expected you to live up to his standards?"

"Well... yeah."

She knew she shouldn't say it, but she couldn't help it. It was so wrong, so absolutely reprehensible to her, that the words were out before she could stop them.

"And when you weren't...perfect anymore, he abandoned you?"

He went very still. She waited. She wasn't sure what she was waiting for, an explosion or a simple freezing out. Or fury that someone had told her. What she hadn't expected was the answer she got.

"Yes."

It came so hard, and his voice was so low, so shaky, she wondered if he'd ever admitted it aloud before.

"Oh, God, Dar," she whispered.

Instinctively she reached for him, drawing him into the hug she'd been wanting to give him since he'd first started talking about his father. At first he resisted, but then he gave in, letting her pull him close, enveloping him in what poor comfort her arms could give. She felt a little frisson of heat ripple through her at the feel of his naked chest, but nothing was more important than just hanging on right now. She felt him shiver, and tightened her embrace. And to her amazement, he let her. And after a long, silent moment, he began to talk again.

"After the accident, I kept thinking he'd come, that he was just... busy. Or even scared to see me, to look at me. I understood that. I didn't like it myself. Made me sick."

Too busy to see a son who had nearly died, saving two young lives. Cassie shook with suppressed rage. It took every bit of restraint she had not to shout out her wrath, blasting William Cordell's memory to hell where it belonged. She clenched her arms tighter yet, and held on.

"I never saw him again. I went through some...pretty down times. When I didn't care if I lived, and a couple of times when I tried... to stop living.''

Cassie shivered; she didn't want to think about that, about a young man driven to such an edge that he tried to take his own life in sheer despair. She could understand it, but she didn't want to think about it. Not when it was Dar.

"Sometimes... I'd lie awake in the dark, right before dawn, and wonder if I'd ever be glad to see morning again. If I'd ever really come out on the other side."

She whispered his name again, but nothing else; there was nothing to say in the face of such pain.

"My father died three years later. At the funeral I met his old business partner. He was shocked to see me. My father had told him I was dead."

Cassie moaned, beyond hiding her pain now. That she'd known much of this before did nothing to lessen the brutal impact. "I hate him," she said. "I'm sorry. I know he was your father, but I hate him. I wish he weren't dead. I'd like to kill him."

She felt him chuckle that time, felt it in his chest before she heard it. "You sound awfully fierce, Ms. Cameron."

"I'm feeling a little fierce right now," she admitted, hiding her relief that he could laugh at all about this. "But I'm sorry I made you... remember.''

"I made my peace with what my father did a long time ago, Cassie. I know it must not seem like it to you, but I did. It's just that... I've never talked about it much. That's what's hard. Not the remembering.''

"I just don't understand. How could a father not be proud of what you did? My God, you saved two lives. You were a he—"

She stopped when he put a finger to her lips, as she had to him the other day. "Don't, Cassie."

"But it's true."

"No. I'm no hero."

"But—"

"Heroes don't wonder if it was worth it," he said flatly.

She sat up then, still holding him, but trying to see his face in the darkness. She could still make out only the darkness of his hair, the shape of his head and the broadness of his shoulders gleaming in the faint light.

"Don't they?" she asked after a moment.

He let out an audible breath, but didn't answer.

"If you had it to do again," she began slowly, "knowing what would happen—"

"Do you think I haven't thought about that?"

It burst from him in a rush, and Cassie knew intuitively that she had tapped some deeply hidden part of him. She felt him try to pull out of her arms, but refused to let go. After a moment he went slack against her, his head lolling half on the sofa back, half on her shoulder.

"Do you think I haven't spent a hundred, hell, a thousand nights since, wondering what I'd do?" he said, such pain echoing in his voice that it sounded as if he'd had to pull each word out of a vat of acid. "I hated that hero tag. Because I knew better. What I did wasn't heroics, it was just a simple, gut reaction. I acted on instinct, not courage. If I'd had time to think about it, I probably wouldn't have done it at all."

"Of course you wouldn't. Who would?"

He went so very still she couldn't even feel him breathing.

"What?" he whispered at last.

"Who would, if they had time to think about it? Who would think about it, and then go ahead and give up his own legs for two kids, total strangers, who had gotten themselves into that predicament on their own? A few candidates for sainthood, perhaps, but nobody I know."

He didn't speak, but she heard him swallow, as if his throat were tight.

"Do you really think that wondering if it was worth it lessens what you did? Do you think those kids haven't wondered themselves, wondered why you saved them at such cost, when they didn't even know you? Do you think they feel they owe you any less?"

"I...no. I know they don't. They came to see me, once."

More than your own father did, Cassie thought, but didn't say it.

"Their parents brought them. They started crying. Calling me a hero. God, I hated that. So I was..."

He trailed off, but Cassie could just imagine. "Rude?" she suggested lightly. "Abrasive? Exasperating?"

For a moment he was silent, and she was afraid she'd gone too far. But then she felt him move and heard a sound that was undeniably a chuckle.

"Yeah. All of those, probably."

He sounded so much calmer now, and that rigid tension had left his muscles, so Cassie leaned back once more. Her long legs were protesting, so she straightened them out. At the same moment Dar moved back, as if to give her room, and she wound up with her legs stretched across his thighs, which were clad in a pair of his usual altered sweats. She hesitated, then settled herself comfortably; if he didn't like the contact, then he could move, she told herself.

"Your feet are going to get cold," was all he said.

"I'm not that cold anymore."

She heard what sounded like a sigh. "Neither am I."

Cassie felt her throat tighten and her eyes sting. And if she was being a fool to read a world of meaning into those simple words, she thought, then so be it.

Chapter 11

Cassie moved against him again, slowly, caressing his achingly hard flesh with the soft curves of her own. Dar's hand slid down to the indentation of her waist, to pull her to him. She gave a little sigh and nestled closer, her back against his bare chest, her head pillowed on his arm, the sweet-smelling silk of her hair teasing his skin, the taut swell of her buttocks pressing warmly against him. She felt so good. So damn good he wanted to— He woke up with a start. For an instant he thought it had just been a dream; he'd had more than one vividly erotic one since Cassie had appeared. But that perception lasted only a second; the warm, soft reality of Cassie cuddled against him wiped everything else out of his mind.

The sofa, he realized. They'd fallen asleep on the sofa. And somehow he'd wound up behind her, the back cushions behind him, her long, slender and painfully alluring body pressed tight to his. He'd also wound up more aroused than he could ever remember being. Except perhaps for those painful moments when he'd braided her hair for her, as she sat before him wrapped in nothing but a skimpy towel.

It certainly didn't seem to be bothering her a bit. She was snuggled up to him as if they'd been sleeping this close for years. Even as he thought it, she made a tiny little sound and wiggled closer. He nearly groaned aloud as her taut backside pressed harder against his erect flesh. He did groan aloud at the thought of what it would feel like to make some of the imaginings of those fevered dreams come true.

Then he froze as Cassie stirred again, this time making a sleepy sound that made him want to hold her close and soothe her back into slumber. He even moved to do it, tightening his arm around her waist again. But then she moved once more, and he could tell by the lessening of slackness in her body that she was waking up.

He pulled his arm back, not at all certain of how she was going to react to waking up like this. Especially when she realized he was as hard as a piece of titanium tubing. He lifted himself up on his elbow, watching her warily.

She rolled over as far as she could until her shoulder jammed against his chest. Her thick, dark lashes fluttered, then lifted. In the pale light of morning she looked up at him, her green eyes wide and drowsy looking. Then, slowly, and so sweetly it made something deep inside him ache, she smiled.

"Hi," she said, her voice deep and husky, and as sleepy as her eyes.

He had to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat before he could answer. "Hi," he finally managed.

"I guess we fell asleep."

His mouth twisted. "So it seems."

"Mmm," she murmured, her eyes drifting closed once more.

He wasn't sure what that had meant, but she looked as if she had every intention of going right back to sleep. While that had been his intention before, just the thought of more time spent like this was more than he could handle now. His body was fiercely ready, and wasn't listening to any of his silent explanations that this wasn't the time, the place or the woman to relieve his lengthy bout of celibacy.

Besides, he imagined Cassie might have something to say about that; she might have held him in the dark, but he was still the guy she'd been so furious at last night. But that did little to relieve his current condition, or to ease a body that was screaming out for this particular woman.

"Cassie."

"Hmm?" She didn't open her eyes.

"Cassie, move."

One thick fringe of lashes rose. "Hmm?"

"Either move over or get up."

The other eye opened. "What?"

She was not, it seemed, a morning person. "I can't move until you do." 

She smiled for a second time, but this time it was a slow, sexy smile that made his already rigid body nearly cramp with need.

"That sounds promising," she said, lifting a hand to trail a slender finger over his chest, sending a shiver through him.

Then he saw awareness steal across her face, and knew she had awakened enough to notice his physical state. And then something else came into that smile, something that made him wonder just what she'd do if he—

He broke off the thought before he went any more out of his mind than he already was. "Don't make promises you don't intend to keep," he warned. "Even veiled ones."

"What makes you think I don't—"

"Damn it, Cassie, move!" he ordered, his frustration at a peak and his patience at an end.

The sleepy look vanished, as did the smile. "All right, all right."

Slowly she rolled over, then stood up. The moment she had moved enough, he levered himself into his chair. She rubbed at her eyes, then gave him a sour look.

"Are you always this cranky in the morning?"

He'd started to turn away from her, but at her question he looked back at her. "Only when I'm horny," he snapped.

To his amazement, she didn't recoil at his blunt statement. Instead she smiled, a smile even more loaded with blatant sexiness than the first one had been.

"Well," she said, "that gives me hope."

Without another word she walked toward the kitchen and his coffeepot, leaving him to wonder what the hell that had meant. And telling himself sternly that the only answer that made sense was impossible.

"Pro-what?"

Dar sighed. Cassie seemed determined to drive him crazy. Up until today, she'd left him alone when he was working. But ever since he'd come back from his workout this morning—a workout that had been punishing, even for him, yet had done little to ease the frustration that lingered from the night spent on the couch with her—she'd been hanging over him, asking question after question.

He supposed he'd brought it on himself, with that uncharacteristic outpouring last night, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with today. He shouldn't have gone to her last night. He'd fought against doing it, but hadn't been able to quash the feeling that he needed to mend some fences. He hadn't really been able to find the right words, but she seemed to have understood, anyway.

She also seemed to have come to the conclusion that last night meant anything was now fair game.

He'd tried to ignore her, but she refused to be ignored or hurt. He'd tried short, almost curt answers, but she just kept at it. He'd tried to look busy, but she'd ignored that. He'd actually become busy, but she just changed her line of questions to what he was working on. When he told her to go away and let him work, she just pointed out, with a logic he couldn't quite figure out how to argue with, that if they were talking about what he was doing, then she wasn't really distracting him.

Cassie Cameron, he was discovering, could be as stubborn as her niece, who had a way of simply wearing down opposition until she got what she wanted. The question was, what exactly did Cassie want?

"What was that word again?" she asked.

"Proprioception," he repeated, reaching for a small wrench as he bent over one of the front forks of the off-road chair. "It means the body's ability to be aware of where it is spatially."

"You mean what lets you pick up that tool without looking, right?" she said.

"Right. Because I knew where my hand was."

She was, amazingly, quiet for a moment. "And that's something a prosthesis can't do."

He made an adjustment, then tested the tension of the suspension with a shove of his hand. "No. But they're working on substitutes," he said. "There are some university guys who've developed a feedback sort of system that lets you feel when your artificial foot touches something. People have even been able to drive with them, because they can feel the pedals."

"You sound impressed."

"I am."

"I thought you didn't care for... all that."

His head came up. "Just because I don't use prostheses much doesn't mean I'm not glad to see advances like that. They help a lot of people."

"Why don't you use them?"

He turned back to the chair. "We've had this discussion, haven't we?"

"You said there were a lot of reasons why you prefer your chair. You only told me one."

His fingers tightened around the wrench. "You think I should wear legs all the time, is that it?'' He turned to look at her then. "You want me to wear them for me, or for everybody else?"

"I didn't say you should. I just asked why you didn't."

He let out an exasperated breath. He wasn't used to defending his choices, and he wasn't sure why he didn't just tell her to go to hell.

"I'm not asking you to justify it," Cassie said, nearly making him jump with the unexpected accuracy of her words. "I just want to know."

"Because I hate being clumsy," he said abruptly. "And I am, if I don't practice with the legs. And I don't have time to practice, not when I'm in training or racing." He gestured at the piles of parts and pieces scattered around his workshop. "I cut out the track season altogether, and cut back to only ten road races this year, and I'm still behind."

"Just as well," Cassie said brightly. "Not much room left in that closet."

He glanced at the jammed closet where he habitually stowed away the trophies he'd won over the years, dragging one out only when his stacks of designs reached critical mass and he had to weigh them down with something. When he looked back at Cassie she was grinning at him, and he found himself chuckling.

"This season I'm only entering races that give medals," he said. "I've got too much junk hardware already."

Cassie nodded solemnly. "Good idea. Medals take up so much less room."

He chuckled again and went back to work on the off-road chair. He'd installed shocks on the dual front suspension forks, but finding the precise adjustment he wanted was proving trickier than he'd expected. He'd take it out for another run soon, up that hill with the deceptively gentle slope that turned into a careening joyride on the other side.

"You know, if it weren't for the fact that her eyes look exactly like Chase's, she could be yours."

His head came up swiftly. Cassie was looking at the photograph pinned to the wall beside some of his drawings, a photo of himself holding a two-years-younger Katie. He remembered that day, the day she had started first grade, so clearly. She'd insisted that her family send-off would not be complete without him, and threatened to refuse to go at all if he didn't come. So he had gone, feeling a little foolish as he followed her instructions to "look nice" by digging out a tie—and his legs. 

She'd been surprised to see him standing, then teased about his artificial legs being stuck in his dress-up pants, because the only time she'd ever seen him standing was when he was wearing them. Her simple innocence had made him laugh and hug her. And when she'd trotted off into the big school building, he'd felt a moment of terror as this tiny child he loved so much began her journey through the huge and often ugly and unfair world.

"No," he said. "She's her father's daughter, all right. . . Stubborn." He gave her a sideways look. "I think it runs in the family."

"No doubt," Cassie agreed cheerfully, still, apparently, determined to take no offense at anything he said today, "Well, someday you'll have one of your own."

He snorted in disbelief. "Not likely."

"Why not? You're so good with Katie—"

"Katie's... different. Special."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to argue that, but someday—"

"No."

"Why so certain?"

"It's just not for me."

She looked at him consideringly, "You're afraid of the idea, aren't you?"

He gave her a sour look. "Who wouldn't be? It's a crazy world out there, especially for kids." He nodded toward the photograph. "Just watching Katie walk into that big school all alone that day was enough for me." 

"Katie's tough. She'll be fine."

"Like her aunt?"

Cassie grinned. "Yep."

"Maybe she'll grow up and follow in your footsteps."

"Lord, I hope not," Cassie said fervently.

He leaned back in his chair. "Why?"

"There are better things to do with your life than live in a world where you're only as good as you looked on your last shoot."

"But you make a lot of money."

"Sure. If you do well, and really hit, you can bring down well into six figures a year. More if you become the flavor of the month."

Dar let out a low whistle. He knew from Chase that Cassie had been doing well, but he hadn't realized just how well.

"Yeah," she said, "it sounds great. And for once, it's double what most men make. But don't forget that for women, the career span is ten or fifteen years, max. Twenty if you're exceptionally lucky. Besides," she added, looking at the photograph once more, "I wouldn't want to see Katie get sucked into that world. You have no idea what it's like to live like that, to have to be obsessed with, and have everyone else judge you, by your looks."

"Oh, no?" Dar said softly.

Her head came around sharply. After a moment a look of quiet chagrin came over her face. "I suppose you do know, don't you? In fact," she added thoughtfully, "I'll bet you know better than anyone."

"I know how little looks are really worth."

"Even when sometimes that's all people seem to see?"

"It's all they want to see. Watch how fast they take off when those looks aren't there anymore."

She nodded slowly. "And how many women threw themselves at the handsome, sexy, rising young baseball star?"

He let out a compressed breath as his mouth twisted ruefully. "A few."

"I'll bet it was more than that."

He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "Well, I only caught a few."

She laughed, then hit him with a blow he'd never expected. "Including your fiancee?"

He drew back a little, staring at her. Then he shook his head in disgust. "Sean has a damn big mouth."

"It wasn't Sean," she said quickly. "Don't be angry at him."

“Sean's the only one who knows about Valerie."

"Valerie? That was her name?"

He glared at her. "Nice try. Who told you?" She avoided his eyes and shook her head. "Cassie," he said warningly. She shook her head again.

He knew Sean was the only one who knew about Valerie. He'd never told anyone else. So Cassie had to be lying. Or...

"Damn. Rory. He told Rory."

Cassie looked at him then, and he saw the truth of his guess in her troubled eyes. His jaw tightened.

"Don't," Cassie begged softly. "He told her only because she was so afraid of you."

"I know she's afraid of me. She's got some crazy idea I still haven't forgiven her. I've told her, I've tried to—" He broke off, shaking his head. "What's that got to do with it? How does telling her my fiancee walked out on me make her less afraid of me?"

Cassie shrugged. "It does make you seem a bit less intimidating. Less perfect."

"Perfect?" He gaped at her. "Me?"

"Yes, you," she said, her tone dry. "Look at you. You're a star athlete. Twice over. You've saved lives, and you've made them easier for others. You have a successful business. You're stronger, tougher, smarter and better looking than most of the world. You—" 

"Whoa," he said, throwing up his hands. He could feel himself flushing, but when she'd begun to rattle off that string of compliments, uttered in the cool, offhand way of someone merely reading a list of facts, he'd felt an embarrassed pleasure he hadn't experienced in a very long time, if ever.

"What?" Cassie asked. "I'm just pointing out—"

"You've got me headed for sainthood, and I ain't ready yet," he said, trying to stop himself from asking her if she had really meant all that.

"I think Rory has something a little fiercer in mind when she thinks of you," Cassie said.

He sighed. "So Sean tells her my miserable life story."

"She's his wife, Dar. Of course he told her."

"Yeah. Of course."

He snatched up the wrench again and went back to work. It slipped, and he had to try again. He was tired. Not just physically tired, although he'd pushed harder than ever this morning. He felt mentally exhausted, as well; he wasn't used to all this... intense conversation. It was worse than doing hill climbs and sprints on the same day.

"That's what's really bothering you, isn't it?"

Oh, God. Here we go again, he thought. Maybe if I ignore her...

"It's not Rory at all, is it? It's everything. Sean getting married. Stevie and Chase's new baby. And now Rory getting pregnant."

The wrench slipped, and he skinned his knuckles. He swore, switched the wrench to his left hand and shook his right until the stinging began to ease. "I don't," he said, determinedly not looking at her, "know what you're talking about."

"You're envious."

Sean's words and his own inner reaction, the day Sean had told him about Rory, echoed in his mind.

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

Except get what you've got.

Thank God he hadn't said it; it had remained an unspoken and guilty thought that Sean never knew about.

"It's perfectly normal, you know," Cassie said.

"Thank you, Dr. Cameron," he said through gritted teeth. Her guessing, which was yet again probing far too close to the bone, was stinging much more than his hand was.

Cassie laughed. "Actually, a doctor told me that. My folks sent me to a therapist, after my brother was— Well, after we thought he'd been killed. I was feeling awful, hating everything, even my friends. Especially when something good happened to them."

So she wasn't guessing, he admitted silently. He kept forgetting she'd been through some hell of her own, kept seeing the glossy exterior that masked the toughness of the woman beneath.

"Dar, don't you see?" she asked. "Stevie, and Chase, and Sean, they're your closest friends. And their lives are changing every day. They've married, they're having babies and they're deliriously happy. If you don't have all that yourself, it's darn near depressing just to look at them. Of course you're envious. I'm envious. Who wouldn't be?"

He looked at her then, the pain in his hand forgotten. "You're envious?"

"Of course I am. It doesn't mean I begrudge them—God knows they've earned their happiness. It just means... I can't help wondering if I'll ever be that happy." She shrugged. "I'd like a Katie of my own, someday."

Oh, and she'd have one, too, Dar thought. A fiery little miniature of herself, dark silky hair, vivid green eyes and too much sass for her own good. Not exactly Katie—no, Cassie's daughter would be her own person, just as Cassie was. The image took his breath away.

Slowly, he felt the tension that had built in him ebb away. He leaned back in his chair. As she had with his quandary about his supposed heroics the day of his accident, she had taken one of his most guilty, darkest secrets, his selfish reaction to his friend's happiness, and dragged it out into the light. And shown him it wasn't so bad after all.

"Maybe," he said tentatively. "Maybe I am...envious. Or maybe I'm just... Hell, I don't know. I'm glad they're so happy, and I would never want that to change, but things are changing, so damn fast. New lives, new babies..."

"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 wind 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."

"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 thinking 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 his 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.

One problem solved, he thought as he massaged his twisted knee. The rest, he thought as he looked at the probably reparable but currently useless chair, were going to take a little more doing. He glanced up to the top of the slope, gauging the distance. He was damned lucky, he thought. If he'd gone over ten yards sooner, he'd probably be counting broken bones; the drop there was straight down and a good fifteen feet. As it was, all he had to worry about was getting out of here. As he'd once told Cassie, he couldn't exactly hike home. But if he had to, he supposed wearily, he could crawl.

"Cassie?"

She buried her head deeper into the pillow, trying to change what she was sure was just another dream come to haunt her sleep—Dar, calling her name in pleading tones.

"Cassie, it's me."

She opened one eye.

"Come on, Cassie, I know you're there."

It was Dar. Or his voice, anyway. She opened the other eye and lifted her head, surprised at the fading light, and even more surprised when she glanced at her watch and saw it was late afternoon. She'd fallen asleep reading, on the couch where she'd spent most of the night lying awake thinking about the man who was talking to her now. But he wasn't here, she thought sleepily. He'd gone out with the off-road chair. How could he be talking to her?

"Cassie, pick up the phone."

The phone. She sat up, the explanation finally dawning. His voice was coming from the answering machine.

"Cassie, pick up the phone, please?"

Please? From Dar Cordell? She scrambled over and grabbed the receiver.

"Dar?"

A moment of silence, then what she could have sworn was a sigh of relief. "Hi."

It was probably the shortest thing he could have said, just a brief syllable, hardly enough to hear any kind of undertone, but she was suddenly wide-awake.

"What's wrong?"

"I... uh, need a little help."

Her fingers tightened around the receiver. Dar saying please, asking for help? "Are you all right?"

"Pretty much."

"What does that mean?" she said, an edge creeping into her voice.

"It means I'm not missing anything. That wasn't already missing, I mean."

She leapt to her feet. "Oh, God. What happened?"

"I sort of... crashed."

She tried to fight down the panic that was trying to knot her stomach. She hadn't heard the van start, but she'd been so sound asleep...

"The chair or your van?" she asked.

"The chair."

That was probably worse, she thought. She'd seen some of the trails he took that thing on; there was no way he could crash it and not get hurt.

"How bad?"

"Only one thing broken, more bent."

"Oh, God, Dar! Where are you?"

"About a quarter mile from the warehouse."

"What?"

"First trail to the right as you start up the big hill."

"You're still out there?" she yelped.

"Well, yeah. I told you the chair's broken."

"The chair. The chair's broken." She sank down on the sofa once more. "I ought to kill you, Dar Cordell. You scared me to death."

"I...what?"

"Who gives a damn about your stupid chair?" she shouted. "I thought you were broken!"

Silence stretched out for a long moment. "Dar?" she said at last. "Are you still there?"

"I... yes."

"I'm sorry I yelled. But I thought you were hurt."

"I'm fine. A little banged up, but fine."

He sounded so strange, she thought. So quiet. Not the way he sounded when he was being aloof and distant, but more...puzzled. Maybe he was hurt worse than he realized, she thought suddenly. Maybe he was in shock and didn't realize it. Thank God he always took that blessed phone with him.

"I'll come for you. What should I bring?"

"Just my chair."

"You're sure? You don't need the paramedics or something?"

"God, no."

It was so fervent she took heart. "I'll be right there."

"Wait," he said suddenly. "There's some nylon cord in that metal cabinet in the workshop. Bring that, too, will you?"

"Okay."

Several minutes later, as she trekked up the trail, she was filled with a new admiration for the shape Dar was in. She knew his blue chair was lightweight as daily-use chairs went, but she'd given up trying to carry it about halfway up this hill. She'd always considered herself fairly fit, but the thought of what it would take for her to sit in a chair and propel her own weight over terrain like this was overwhelming; just pushing along his chair was difficult enough. He'd told her most off-road competitors used compatriots with ATVs or the like to pull them up the steepest of practice runs, but for these "little hills," as he called them, he relied on his own power. She couldn't imagine what land of strength propelling the heavier off-road chair, plus his own body weight, would take.

When she reached the crest of the hill, she guessed she'd come almost a quarter mile. And then, as she looked at the steep, treacherous-looking path that spilled down the other side, she had to suppress a shiver. The rolling look of these hills was deceptive; she would never have guessed this steep drop-off was on the other side. Leave it to Dar to pick the worst, most dangerous path available to do his silly tests on.

When she realized her hands were shaking, she stopped for a few precious seconds to regain control. She knew the last thing Dar was going to want was someone fussing over him. It must have been hard enough for him to have to ask for help; to have to ask it of her no doubt only made it worse. She took several deep breaths until she felt steadier, then went on.

She slowed her pace, afraid she might miss him in the lengthening shadows. Maybe she should have brought a flashlight, in case she didn't find him right away. She hadn't thought of that, and she'd just been anxious to get to him, to reassure herself that he was okay. But it was getting dark fast, and—

She stopped abruptly, almost slipping on the steep trail. And then she was laughing, her panic washed away by the sound of a rather pleasant baritone on the thirty-eighth of "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer." She ran the last few steps around a curve, stopping dead when she saw him sitting by the edge of the path.

Her eyes went over him hurriedly; he was filthy, looking as if he'd been dragged through the dirt. He had a bruise on one cheek, his shirt was torn and she could see some bloody patches of skin that looked painful, but he obviously wasn't seriously hurt. She let out a relieved breath. The evidence of the crashing ride he'd taken—broken scrub brush and skidding tire tracks down the hillside—gave her a pang, but it was impossible to worry as she listened to him work his way through bottle thirty-nine and head for forty.

He saw her then, and the singing stopped. She walked toward him, tugging his chair along, then came to a halt and set the brake as she had seen him do so many times. He watched her silently as she crouched in front of him. He didn't move, but she saw the tension in his jaw, saw the wariness in his eyes. She'd been right about how hard this had been for him, in much more than a physical way; Dar Cordell was a proud man.

"I'm glad I got here before you ran out of beer," she quipped.

He didn't retort, but she thought she saw him relax slightly. She looked down the slope to where the off-road chair sat at a crazy angle. He'd climbed up to the edge of the trail, she thought, realizing now why his clothes looked so dirty. She took a moment to control the automatic alarm that had gripped her at the thought of what easily could have happened, how badly he could have been hurt. Finally, when she was certain she could keep her voice light, she turned back to him.

"Boy, when you say downhill, you mean downhill, don't you? You keep this up, you're going to have to build a parachute into these things."

"Or at least a bungee cord," he muttered. But his mouth was twitching as he said it.

"A whole new sport," Cassie said, grinning. "Chair bungee jumping."

And then he was smiling at her. "Makes it off-off-road, I guess."

She laughed. Then she glanced down at the chair again. It looked almost intact to her, until she saw the bent handlebar and wheel.

"We need a tow truck or something?"

His smile quirked up at one corner. "Nah. Just me. If you brought that rope."

She nodded and got the length of line she'd stowed in the pocket on the backrest of his chair. He took it, but when she realized he meant to go back down the hill, she grabbed back.

"Let me." He stiffened. Cassie's chin came up. "Don't be stupid, Cordell."

His eyes narrowed. She could almost see his resistance as she knelt down in front of him.

"Dar, you've had one trip down this mountain already. That's enough. Pride stops being useful when you trip over it."

Slowly, she saw the stiffness drain out of him. He lowered his eyes, as if staring at his worse-for-wear clothes. She saw him take a deep breath.

"Sorry," he muttered. Then he looked up at her from beneath still-lowered lashes. "Knee-jerk reaction again."

Cassie managed to smile despite the fact that he had knocked the wind out of her as surely as if she had been the one who had taken the fall down that rocky hillside. She didn't know if it was the intimacy of the private joke, or simply the angle of his head, the thick, dark sweep of his lashes and the smile that was playing around the corners of his mouth. But whatever it was, it filled her with a longing both emotional and physical, and stronger than anything she'd ever known before.

And for once, she didn't try to hide it. She just looked at him, knowing it must show in her face like a beacon in the dark. His head came up, and he was looking at her directly, staring, and she could almost see him recognize the look for what it was.

"God, Cassie," he said hoarsely.

She didn't blush, didn't lower her gaze. She just looked at him. He knew now, knew how she felt. She should probably be afraid of that, but she couldn't find it in her. Her only fear was that he would retreat from her forever, now that he knew. She'd done a lot of chipping away at Dar Cordell's walls, but she didn't know if she'd done enough, didn't know if he would let her in. The most disheartening thing to her was that, if he wouldn't—or couldn't—she couldn't blame him. And she didn't know where that left her.

Except walking out of his life, if that was what he wanted.

It was he who finally looked away, as if recoiling from the intensity of her gaze. She prayed silently that that wasn't to be her final answer. She handed him one end of the line, turned and without another word started to scrabble down the hillside; there really wasn't anything to say.

She tied the other end of the cord in a neat square knot around the frame of the off-road chair, paused to pick up the padded pouch that had thankfully saved the cellular phone from damage, then waved an okay at him.

He had turned himself to face the drop and, as soon as she signaled him, he began to pull. Despite its weight, damage and the steepness of the hillside, the off-road chair seemed to come up easily, but Cassie suspected Dar was only making it look that way. All she had to do was guide the chair, and occasionally free the contorted front wheel when it hit some loose dirt and dug in.

When she got to the top, she noticed that he had wedged the stump of his right leg against a large rock, and realized that he had needed to be able to brace himself against something to compensate for the missing counterbalance of the weight and length of his lower legs. She had never realized that that was one of the problems he faced until he'd once explained—after she'd nagged him with so many questions that he'd finally given up and just started answering them—that his personal chairs had a slightly longer wheelbase than a paraplegic chair, to adjust for the change in the center of gravity caused by his missing legs. She suspected that was also why he was so adamant about maintaining muscle in his residual limbs; it wasn't just fitness for its own sake, but also because muscle meant mass and weight.

"I'm damn lucky," he'd said for a second time, and without a trace of sarcasm in his voice. "There are a lot of people who don't have the options I do. They can't work out, or build any strength. For them, chairs can be a prison, not a convenience. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

She hadn't realized until that day that he felt so keenly the differences, not between himself and the able-bodied world, but between himself and others the world seemed to want to lump together into one huge category labeled neatly as disabled.

As a rather odd caravan they made their way back to the warehouse. His regular chair was hardly designed for this kind of use, which made the going necessarily slow; only the sunbaked summer hardness of the ground made it possible at all. On the uphill section he towed the battered chair behind him; on the downhill side he reversed the order, putting the off-road chair in front, with Cassie to guide it while he controlled the speed with his grip on his own wheels. She knew it had to be a strain, and guessed he was more than a little grateful for the fingerless gloves that had not only saved his hands from some damage in his crash, but were probably saving them now from some serious blistering.

She wondered if the steady heat of his gaze between her shoulder blades was doing some blistering of its own.

The chair was fixable, he thought as he looked it over. The frame wasn't hurt at all; he'd only have to replace the one handlebar, and the mounting for that front wheel—

"Dar."

He didn't look up at her. He wasn't sure he could ever meet her gaze again, not after what he'd seen—or thought he'd seen—in her face out there on the hill. "What?" he finally said when she just stood there.

"That can wait,'' she said.

"I can do it now. I have the parts handy." He'd have to flip on the high-intensity workshop lights, he thought as he tugged off his gloves. It was full dark now and—

"Dar, you're bleeding."

He glanced at his left elbow, which had lost one layer of skin too many and was, indeed, bleeding slightly. Then shrugged.

"That's just one," Cassie said. "How about your back? Your shirt's all bloody. And your cheek. And—"

"It'll stop."

"The infection won't, if you don't get those cuts cleaned up. You look like you brought half that hillside in with you."

Well, she was right about that, he thought, glancing down at himself. And he could feel air coming through a tear in the back of his T-shirt, right over the spot that was sending him painful signals he'd been trying to ignore.

"Come on. I raided your medicine cabinet and the doctor is in. Let's go."

She started to walk away, toward the bathroom. He watched her, rememberiag that trip down the hill, when he'd spent most of his time reminding himself to concentrate on controlling his descent instead of the gentle sway of her hips as she moved.

She stopped now, turning halfway back to look at him. "Move it, Cordell."

He didn't know when it had begun, or how it had happened, but he seemed to have reached a point where it was impossible to say no to her, not when she turned that bantering tone and teasing look on him. It seemed to have happened at about the time she'd whacked off her hair, he thought, as if the new, sassy shortness of it had changed her attitude, as well as her looks. He liked both, he decided. Not that he believed for a minute that she'd done it to get his attention, or change his perception of her, as she'd said.

"Yes, ma'am," he said with exaggerated meekness, and began to wheel toward her. The moment she was assured he was coming, she started off again, and once more he had to quash a memory of that moment on the hill, when she had looked at him as he'd never expected to be looked at again by any woman. When she'd looked at him in a way he was desperately trying to convince himself he'd misunderstood.

When he got to the bathroom, he saw that she had indeed raided his medicine cabinet. Since he worked as well as lived here, he had a fairly comprehensive first-aid kit, and she'd plundered it for antiseptic, cotton pads, scissors and adhesive bandages, all of which lay spread out on the small counter.

And only when he saw her standing next to that counter did he realize for the first time how awkward this room must be for her, as tall as she was. Everything was geared to him and his chair. But she'd never even mentioned it.

He came to a halt beside her, and she reached out and plucked gingerly at the back of his T-shirt. He felt the tug, then a dart of pain, and realized the cloth had adhered to that protesting spot on his back.

"You want to risk peeling that off, or shall I cut it, since it's already ripped beyond saving?"

"There's only a couple of holes," he protested.

She gave him a look that made him grimace ruefully.

"Okay, okay, cut it. I can always use another cleanup rag."

She did it neatly and efficiently, but the shirt still didn't want to release its hold on what he realized now must be bloodily raw skin. Even her gentle tugs hurt, and he tried not to wince.

"Just yank it," he said.

"No, thanks," she said. "I know you're tough enough, but I don't think I am. We can do better than that."

She went to the sink and turned on the tap, setting it for warm. It was quick—he hated waiting for hot water, and one of the things he'd done when he'd converted the warehouse was make sure the water heater was close to the bathroom—and she soaked a washcloth and walked back to him. She applied the cloth over the spot, and while it stung, it was much better than the dry pull of the painfully attached cloth. After a moment she was able to pull the bloody shirt free and he barely felt a thing. There was, he had to admit, something to having somebody to help at times like this; he would have just yanked the shirt off and no doubt started the bleeding all over again.

He almost protested when she began to wash away the dirt that streaked his torso, but the soft warmth and the soothing touch felt too good. He'd never had anyone take care of him like this, except once in his life, at a time he didn't care to dwell on. Crazy, he thought, letting his eyes drift closed, that what had been a humiliation during long months in the hospital could ever be so... pleasant.

She turned to his cuts and scrapes next, tending to him with fingers that were exquisitely gentle and a running commentary that was anything but, but distracted him from the pain of what she was doing. Which, he thought as the smell of the antiseptic made him open his eyes, was no doubt what she had intended.

"I'd say that chair needs a little more work," she said.

"Or I do," he corrected dryly. "I haven't quite got the hang of this yet." Not to mention that my concentration seems shot lately, he added silently.

"No kidding." She applied an antiseptic-soaked pad to his back and he sucked in a breath at the sudden fierce sting. "If you're really going to change over to this off-road stuff, you'd better start practicing now."

"Yeah." He shook his head. "It's tougher than I thought it was going to be."

She soaked a new pad and began on several other, smaller cuts he'd apparently acquired in that wild plunge. "Figured you'd just switch right over, huh?"

He gave her a sideways look. He had thought that, but it hadn't taken long for him to realize what an arrogant assumption that had been. But she didn't sound as if she was accusing him of being arrogant. She sounded as if she was, quite simply, teasing him.

"Something like that," he finally said.

"Pride goeth before, and all that," Cassie quipped as she cleaned up another, smaller raw spot on his right shoulder blade.

He chuckled ruefully then. "Well, mine sure did. Right before."

"Didn't make the landing any softer, either, did it? A lesson we all seem to need repeated."

She walked around his chair, looked him up and down, then knelt down with her bottle of antiseptic and another clean pad. He knew there was another scrape on his belly, just to the right of his navel, but other than that he'd escaped pretty easily on this side.

"Looks like your back took most of the hits, Crash," she said.

He gave her a baleful look. "If you have any idea of hanging that on me as a nickname, forget it."

"Would I do that?" she said, feigning wide-eyed innocence.

"Not unless you want to be Cassandra from now on."

She laughed, a light, cheerful sound that made him feel rather absurdly pleased that he'd caused it. She knelt down and moistened the pad with the antiseptic.

"Okay, okay, you win. No Crash."

"Wise woman," he said with mock gruffness.

"Only sometimes," she said, her voice suddenly quiet.

He had a brief moment to wonder what she'd meant before she applied the pad to the scrape on his belly and a sudden sharp jab of pain distracted him. This one must be worse than it looked, he thought, and couldn't help jerking away as his stomach muscles instinctively retreated from the sting. Cassie was leaning over him, and put out her other hand as if losing her balance. There was no place for her to brace herself except against him, and her hand came down on his chest, her fingers brushing over his right nipple.

He sucked in a harsh breath at the rush of heat that swiftly vanquished the pain. He didn't dare look at her, didn't dare glance even at her hand, afraid of what the sight of it caressing his chest—even accidentally—might do to him. Hell, he was afraid of what it was already doing to him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, lifting away the pad.

But she didn't move her hand from his chest. She left it there as she tossed the pad away with her other hand, her fingers unmoving now, but still resting over that circle of flesh that was sending urgent signals to parts of his body that were more than ready to respond.

And respond they did, to the simple presence of her hand on him. Heat grew, his breathing quickened and blood pooled low and deep, until he knew she couldn't help but notice what was happening to him. He quickly lifted one hand to move hers away, before he did or said something very, very stupid.

At least, he meant to move her hand away. But for a moment, just for a moment, he yielded to the sweet warmth and pressed her fingers against his skin once more.

He felt her fingers flex beneath his, tentatively at first, then more assuredly, sending little darts of heat racing along nerves that were rapidly awakening to a kind of message they hadn't carried in a very long time. And then she moved her fingers again, stroking them over his nipple in a movement that was unmistakably a caress, and clearly in no way accidental.

He smothered a groan. He couldn't believe the signals she was sending him. He didn't dare believe them. It had been far too long since he'd trusted a woman with the kind of intimacy she seemed to be asking for.

But his body didn't care whether he believed or not.

"Cassie," he said; it came out in a low, hoarse whisper. He tried again. "Cassie, don't. Please, don't. You don't... mean this."

"Who says I don't?" she asked huskily.

She lifted her eyes to his then, and he saw it again, that look from the hill, full of feminine warmth and need and wanting, and something else he didn't dare name.

And it was for him. At the thought a throttled groan broke from him. Cassie settled back on her heels and looked at him.

"I mean it, Dar. More than I've ever meant anything in my life."

Then she moved once more, leaned forward and pressed her lips to where her fingers had been. Then flicked at him with her tongue. Fire shot through him, and he knew it didn't matter anymore if she meant it or not.

Chapter 14

He couldn't believe he'd made it this far, actually into his bedroom. Every ounce of common sense he had was screaming at him to call a halt to this before he made a fool of himself. But it wasn't enough to overcome the raging of a body long denied, a body that had been suppressing the need this woman sparked in him for days now.

Months, really, he admitted; she'd been in his mind far too often since he'd first set eyes on her in that damn green dress. And now he was so hard he could barely move, so close to eruption at just the thought of Cassie being in his arms that he doubted if he'd last five minutes.

He was crazy. That was all there was to it. He was crazy to even be thinking about this, let alone having actually begun it. It had seemed almost possible, even romantic when he'd swept her onto his lap and wheeled in here. And she had looked at him as if it were, as if he'd done something wonderful. He wondered how she'd look at him if he actually climbed into that bed with her. Naked, with nothing to hide the reality of his body he wasn't sure she was ready to accept, no matter how matter-of-fact she seemed to be about it.

His jaw clenched as he looked at her. How could a woman look so damned sexy in a pair of faded jeans and a raggedy old sweatshirt that was as ready for the rag bin as his T-shirt had been?

Of course she looks sexy, he told himself sharply, trying to shake himself out of this haze he seemed to have drifted into. You've done without for a damned long time. Any woman would look sexy to you, stretched out on your bed like that.

Even as he thought it he knew it wasn't true. He'd learned how to pound his libido into submission long ago, and he rarely dared the murky waters of intimate relationships. And in submission was where his libido had peacefully stayed until Cassie Cameron had shown up. Not that he hadn't had chances before; it was simply that the risk always seemed to outweigh the attraction. Until now. Now, taking what she was offering seemed worth any hazard, any amount of risk.

"This is going to be hard to do with you still over there," Cassie said, indicating where he sat in his chair beside the bed. Her tone was light, but he saw a hint of doubt in her eyes. And knew he had to ask.

"Cassie...I don't..." He suppressed a shiver as his body clenched at the very idea of stopping. "Are you sure you want this? With... me?"

Cassie sat up very slowly. "I know what some people assume about me, because of what I look like, and what I do," she said quietly. "But no matter what they think, I don't...I haven't done this very often." She lowered her gaze to the plainly functional cotton spread on his bed. "Because it never felt right. I never met anyone who made it seem right. I never thought I'd meet someone who made it seem... imperative."

Dar swallowed under the impact of her simple but incredibly powerful words. "Imperative?"

She raised her eyes to meet his then. "As much as breathing. I can't help it. You look at me and I..." She gave a helpless little shrug. 

Urgency exploded through him in a burst of fire so fierce it almost doubled him over.

"Cassie," he breathed.

Then she held out a hand to him and—all his internal warnings forgotten, his common sense finally vanquished—he left his chair and went into her arms.

The moment she touched him, her arms slipping around him to pull him closer, he knew five minutes was an optimistic estimate. But then she was kissing him, deeply, hotly, and he couldn't think of anything except how sweet she tasted and how badly he wanted her.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, then held fast, as if she feared he might leave her if she didn't hold him there. He was far beyond that now, he knew. As he delved in turn into the honeyed depths of her mouth, savoring the welcoming eagerness of her, he doubted if he could leave her right now if he was promised his legs back.

As if she were reassured now, she let her hands run down his bare back, carefully avoiding the injured spot near his spine. Her fingertips slid under his waistband and curled against skin so sensitive to her touch that a fiery sensation swept through him, and crested into a burst of heat that made his stomach muscles ripple as he swelled to full hardness with a suddenness that made him groan.

His hands went to her waist, then behind her, to pull her against him in a convulsive movement. The mere feel of her body against his erect flesh was almost enough to send him over the edge, and when she moved sinuously, as if to caress him with the softness of her belly, he nearly lost control. He moved his hands down to the taut curves of her buttocks, meaning just to hold her still until he could regain some modicum of restraint. But the feel of that tempting flesh against his hands nearly defeated his purpose.

He wrenched his mouth away from hers, gasping. "Cassie—" he panted "—I...I'm not... We've got to slow down. It's been too damn long."

"Yes," she said, her voice a husky, breathy little sound that made it even harder for him to remember why he'd ever stopped kissing her, even for a moment. "It's been far too long. Too long to go slow now."

As if he'd agreed, she began to wriggle out of her clothes. Dar's breath caught in his throat as she pulled off her sweatshirt to reveal high, lovely breasts filling a simple cotton bra, its pale green color her only concession to the fashion trends he would have expected.

I know what some people assume about me, because of what I look like, and what I do.

Her words echoed in his mind. In a way, she'd been as much a victim of people's assumptions as he had. And he knew what she was telling him. He bit the inside of his lip, knowing she hadn't lied about her limited experience, and knowing, as well, that he was far too aroused and, if he was honest, too desperate at the moment to be the kind of lover she needed. If he even knew how, under the best of circumstances.

But then she was wriggling out of her jeans, revealing an equally simple matching pair of cotton panties, cut high on the sides to make legs that were already impossibly long— and beautiful—seem longer yet. He had a sudden vision of them wrapped around his hips, and his body cramped with need yet again.

But another thought cooled him a little, the thought that she would soon expect him to do what she had just done, shed the rest of his clothes. And knowing that she'd already seen his legs didn't quite ease his qualms; seeing the tidy but still jarring stumps under those conditions was quite different than going to bed with them.

And ironically he knew on some gut-deep level that this would be a hell of a lot easier if it wasn't Cassie. And that fact scared him almost as much as revealing his damaged body to her did.

She rolled over on her side, facing him, reaching for him. Her hand slid over his ribs to his waist, under the side of his workout pants, beneath the waistband of his shorts, then around to his back. He froze at the feel of her fingers on the skin just above his buttocks. He couldn't help it; panic seized him for a moment.

"Dar?" She was looking at him, that hint of doubt back in her eyes, as if she sensed him withdrawing. "Dar, please, don't. I... It doesn't... I don't mind."

"My fiancee thought she didn't, either," he said, unable to stop himself, "until one of my stumps touched her."

"Dar, stop." She bit her lip, and shook her head as if in pain. "Oh, please, I don't know what to say. How to tell you... not that it doesn't matter, of course it does, but... Dar, I don't care! Can't you see that?"

Now, he thought. Right now, for whatever her reasons, she didn't care. Whether it would last past the moment was another question, and one he had neither the heart nor the desire to pursue right now. All he could see was that at this moment she wanted him, all he could feel was her hands on him. And he knew there was no turning back.

"Cassie." It came out on a long exhalation as he pulled her hard against him. Her skin was soft and as smooth as anything he'd ever touched. And warm. So very, very warm.

He shuddered despite himself. He'd longed, in the rare moments when he allowed himself to think about it at all, to have someone just hold him, no expectations, no questions asked. He'd never realized the need to hold someone was just as strong, until now, when Cassie lay warm and tempting in his arms. And once more he resisted the idea that if it were anyone but Cassie, the need wouldn't be there at all.

He slid his hand up her back, tracing the straight, strong line of her spine. He stopped at the band of her bra, fumbling with the long-unfamiliar task of undoing it one-handed, wryly remembering his college days when he'd been much more practiced. When it gave at last, she shifted away from him long enough to shed the bra, and he caught a brief glimpse of surprisingly full breasts tipped with coral nipples already drawn tight, before she shocked the breath out of him by moving to rub them against his chest as she pushed her panties down her legs and kicked them away.

"Cassie," he said again, only this time it was a groan wrenched from him at the feel of her naked body against his.

He pulled back slightly, bringing his hands up to gently, reverently, cup her breasts. She fit his hands perfectly, the tender flesh rounding into his palms so sweetly he almost forgot to breathe. He heard a tiny sigh of pleasure rise from her, saw her eyes close and her head loll back. Watching her, he slid his thumbs upward and rubbed them over her nipples.

Her eyes shot open as she gasped, her body going taut. The already tightly drawn peaks went pebble hard at his touch, and she moaned low and soft. Dar bit back a harsh groan, then lowered his head to nuzzle her breasts, marveling at the softness of them beneath his lips as he kissed her again and again. 

He lifted his head and moved upward, needing more than anything to taste that rigid nub of flesh. But he paused, looking at her, wondering if she wanted this, trying to ask without asking. She read him easily, it seemed, because she arched her back sharply, thrusting her breasts upward, as if offering them to him.

"Please," she whispered.

He moved then, urgently, capturing one nipple between his lips and flicking it with his tongue while his fingers continued to caress the other. She cried out, a tiny little sound of surprise and pleasure that made his own rigid flesh expand even more, until he thought he couldn't stand it another instant. But he held on, moving his mouth to her other breast and giving it the same teasing caress.

"Dar. Oh, Dar." It broke from her on a moan, and he lifted his head. She looked at him then, her eyes vividly green and hot with a need that he knew must be echoed in his own. "I thought you were in a hurry," she said, her voice again taking on that husky note that made him shiver.

"Too much of a hurry," he admitted. "I don't think I can... wait long."

"Did someone ask you to?"

"But—"

"We have plenty of time." She lifted a finger and stroked it down the center of his chest, over his belly, stopping just past his navel with a teasing flick that made every muscle in his body knot. "And if we don't get it right the first time, then I guess we'll just have to try again. And again."

On her last words, her hand flattened out against his belly and slipped slowly downward, downward until her fingers slid beneath his waistband again, downward until her fingertips were a scant fraction of an inch from taut male flesh that was straining for her touch. And Dar knew then he had to have her hands on him, no matter the risk. He sucked in a breath, then shoved the rest of his clothes off.

She didn't move. Her hand stayed motionless, pressing slightly against his lower belly. He steeled himself to look at her, afraid of what he might see. And nearly gasped with relief when he saw her watching him steadily, the obvious question clear in her eyes; she was, as he had, silently asking permission to touch.

"Dar?" she whispered when he didn't respond.

"Yes," he hissed. "Yes."

Her hand moved then, that last crucial inch, her fingers curling around him in a caress that was tentative, but no less sweet for it. A harsh cry ripped from him, and he couldn't stop the convulsive jerk of his hips as he pushed himself against her hand. She tightened her grasp slightly, and began to stroke him, slowly at first, and then, as he responded helplessly, faster, until he thought he was going to explode out of his skin.

"Cassie," he groaned. "Cassie, I can't wait."

She lifted herself up on one elbow. "Tell me," she said urgently. "Tell me what to do."

It took him a moment to realize, through the fog of pleasure she'd caused, what she meant.

"I can't... I don't think I..."

He couldn't find the words to tell her he didn't trust his very rusty technique; normally he'd rely on the body that had always had an excellent sense of balance and had learned to adjust to the changes in its own dimensions, but somehow balancing on his remaining knee with Cassie naked beneath him seemed far too much to concentrate on.

He gave up on talking and grasped her slender waist, then rolled to his back, urging her on top of him. He felt her long legs drag over the stumps of both his legs, but she never even reacted; her eyes were fastened on his face, her hands stroking over his shoulders, chest and belly as if she were trying to learn him by touch. She straddled him; he could feel the heat of her, and his aching flesh pulsed with the need to be inside her. He watched her, seeing the slight sway of her breasts, tiny arrows of heat rocketing through him at the sight of her nipples still rigid and wet from his mouth.

She moaned his name, her head lolling back as her eyes closed. He stared at her, thinking he'd never seen anything so beautiful, and not quite able to believe she was here, hot and wanting, for him. Then she moved, lowering herself until soft, hot feminine flesh touched and caressed him into a hardness he'd never thought possible. He groaned at the contact; he could no longer doubt that she wanted him, for whatever reason. The aroused slickness of her body made it impossible to deny.

"Dar," she whispered, in a tone of awe that struck him so deeply he wondered if he would ever be the same.

And then she began to move, to stroke herself against his taut flesh in a hot erotic caress that nearly drove him out of his mind. She moved slowly, hesitantly, as if she couldn't help herself, and that evidence of pure need did as much to him as the touch itself. He forgot everything, forgot all the reasons this was crazy, forgot all his misgivings, his doubts. Nothing mattered except that this was Cassie, and right now she wanted him.

He groaned, low and deep in his chest, and his eyes closed as his head dug back into the pillow. Bracing himself with his longer leg, he pushed upward, increasing the friction between them, and he heard Cassie moan.

"Dar," she panted out, "please, I want—"

"Ah, Cassie, so do I."

Did he want! He'd never, ever wanted like this. He hadn't known he was capable of wanting like this, even before, when youthful hormones had been running high and the handsome sports star had been able to pick and choose the lucky recipient of his attentions.

The moment she reached for him, the moment she began to guide his eager flesh into that searing, slick heat, he knew he was lost. He could already feel it boiling up inside him, hot and fierce and unstoppable. The sound she made, a shocked little cry of pleasure as she took him deep and hard and home, put the seal on it; the thought that she found such pleasure just from taking him inside her ripped away the last shreds of his control.

She began to move, to rock on him, her body squeezing him in the sweetest of caresses, and he couldn't help the guttural moan that broke from him. Sweat beaded up on his body, and he could hear himself breathing, in rapid, gulping pants. Once, twice, three times she moved, until his entire world narrowed to the beauty of her as she loomed above him and the exquisite feel of being deep inside her.

"Ahhh!" he cried out sharply. "Cassie...Cassieee... I can't... stop!"

His body bowed, his hands tightened on her hips, grinding her tightly against him as he gave up the battle to wait. The suppressed longings and needs of years erupted through him, and he poured himself into her welcoming body with such shuddering force he could have sworn he felt it all the way to his missing toes.

Gasping for breath, he sagged beneath her. Everything seemed to be spinning, and he closed his eyes against the light-headed feeling. He felt more than drained, he felt hollow, scoured out, empty.

And then Cassie moved, lowering herself to lie atop him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging him fiercely. She didn't speak, simply held him. And when her left leg tangled with the stump of his right, she simply bent it until their knees were interlaced. And suddenly he didn't feel empty anymore.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. "I couldn't... hold back."

He didn't open his eyes; he couldn't look at her, knowing she'd gotten little out of this coupling, not when he doubted that he'd lasted three minutes, let alone five.

"I'm glad," she said.

At that he opened his eyes. "Glad? That I couldn't even wait long enough for you to get anything out of this?"

"Oh, I got something," she said, her voice low and deliciously throaty. She was smiling at him, a smile unlike any he'd ever seen before. "More than you would probably believe. Besides... now we get to try again."

He blinked. "We do?"

"You promised."

"I did?"

"Well, you didn't disagree, anyway," she said with a teasing look.

She crossed her arms over his chest and lifted herself up. The movement rubbed her breasts over his skin, and he felt a quiver in flesh he thought exhausted, flesh still buried inside her. She smiled again, and shifted her hips just slightly, as if to let him know she'd felt that little response, too.

"That's what I thought," she murmured. "We've both been saving up for a long time. With any luck at all, this could be a very long night."

Dar smothered a groan at her words and the images they had evoked, images culled from long hours of sleepless nights and erotic dreams of the woman sprawled across him, the woman who seemed to have no intention of leaving.

She moved her right hand then, trailing it over his chest and down his side to rest at his hip.

"Good thing you're in such great shape, Cordell," she said, sliding that hand beneath him to cup and massage the muscled curve of his buttock. At the same moment she moved her head, flicking her tongue over his left nipple.

Heat flared anew, racing along pathways long ignored, rousing flesh that was proving much quicker to recover than he would have expected. There was something, he thought, to her theory about saving up. Already he was feeling it, that urgency, the building of that pulsing ache.

Then she duplicated her action with her left hand, sliding it down his body and then beneath him, and he found himself shifting his hips to ease her way, until both her hands were beneath his buttocks and holding him tightly to her in a way he would never have thought could be so arousing. She moved her teasing mouth to his right nipple, this time flicking the disk of flesh with her tongue, then nipping it ever so gently with her teeth.

His body was responding as if those explosive moments had never happened. He was helpless beneath the onslaught of sensations she was causing, and he didn't care. He who thought helplessness the worst form of hell was lying here open and vulnerable to what she was doing to him, and he didn't care. In fact he was savoring it, wishing she would never stop, that it could go on forever, this eager yet tender loving that was so different from anything he'd ever experienced.

She raised herself up then, the movement driving his renewed arousal deeper into her. She shivered and shifted her knees farther apart, to come down on him even harder. Her nipples were still taut, and bright coral now, and he couldn't resist raising his hands to cup and lift her breasts. The soft curves nestled into his palms as if made for him, and the realization that at even this slight touch her nipples had tightened even more completed the job her hands and tongue had begun; he swelled to full hardness inside her once more.

The moment she felt it she began to move, to rock on him once more, each flex of her body a deep, hot caress of his. This time he savored it, all of it. The sight of her, her eyes closed as her head lolled back, the long slender line of her neck, bared now by the tousled short hair. The incredibly arousing sight of her breasts in his hands, her nipples between his fingers now, drawing up into even harder nubs as he gently plucked them, drawing tiny cries of pleasure from her.

He lowered his gaze, for the first time really seeing her body joined to his, the tangling of dark curls with dark curls as she rode him so sweetly. Reaction, swift and rippling, rolled through him. He felt the muscles of his belly cramp, heard himself groan, this time a low, primitive sound he couldn't halt.

He was too close, again, he thought. But this time he swore he wouldn't go flying alone. He slid his hands down her body, one stopping on her hip, to hold her even tighter against him. With the other he probed, fingers parting that thicket of dark curls until he reached the slick, wet smoothness he sought. He shuddered when his fingers brushed his own distended flesh where it entered her body, and he could feel her incredible heat enveloping him. He fought back the scorching tide that threatened to erupt anew, and continued to search, to probe, to stroke.

He found the tiny little knot of nerves, and Cassie gasped and suddenly went still. He caressed it slowly, and she moaned. He moved a little faster, and she cried out, arching herself to him, spreading her legs wider, as if begging him not to stop; he didn't, he couldn't.

His heart began to slam in his chest, and he had a brief moment to wonder at the fierceness of his reaction to her passionate response. But then she began to move on him again, and it was all he could do to think enough to maintain the stroking caress of her body, while reveling in what her body was in turn doing to his. It had been a very long time, and yes, he was very, very rusty, but he was also determined; he increased the pressure of his fingers slightly, circling now, until she cried out again. 

"Dar! Oh,yes..."

His name had never sounded like that, never echoed in his ears like a benediction, not in a woman's voice, never in a voice that meant as much as Cassie's.

And then, incredibly, he felt it, a surging convulsion of her deep inner muscles, tightening around him. He heard her cry out, heard the wonder in her voice. It was no less than what he was feeling. The fierce clenching of her body around his made him doubt everything he'd ever thought he knew, made him wonder if anything that had gone before had ever been real. He'd never known it was possible to feel so intensely, to be so unutterably certain of a woman's response. Whatever lingering doubts he might have had, Cassie's sweet giving wiped away now; she'd proven the genuineness of her need. No matter what might happen tomorrow, for now, for tonight, she was his.

And with that thought he surrendered to the demand of her coaxing flesh and exploded into the depths of her, a harsh cry of his own blending with her lingering moans of pleasure.

Cassie snuggled up to the warmth, drawn to it even though she wasn't particularly cold. It just felt good, that heat, that sense of closeness, that—

Closeness. Her eyes snapped open. The room was light, light enough to tell her it was well after dawn and into morning. And to show her that the heat she was snuggled up to was Dar.

Images came flooding back, memories of a night filled with a kind of passion she'd only dreamed existed. They had gotten little sleep—just the fact that Dar was still asleep, long after his usual rising time, was proof of that—and had gone a long way toward expending the desires they'd been saving up for years. And whatever doubts Dar might have had about her attraction to him, or about his ability in bed, by the time they had sleepily taken each other one last time, she was confident they had been vanquished.

Slowly, she sat up and looked at him. He was sprawled on his stomach, the sheet pulled to his waist, baring the powerfully muscled back that would no doubt soon be shifting from patches of raw redness to some rather colorful bruises. His dark hair was tousled—mostly from her fingers, she remembered with a little thrill—and fell over his forehead. The dark semicircles of his lowered lashes lay soft against his upper cheek, one set almost brushing the scrape that would also bruise soon, she feared. He was so beautiful to her it seemed almost immaterial that the legs beneath the sheet stopped a little short of most people's. In relaxed sleep even his mouth was a little softer, minus the tension that so often shaped it when he was awake.

She shivered at the memory of things that mouth had done to her last night. That mouth, and his hands, and, strangely, most of all his eyes, eyes that had heated with wonder and need and passion as he had gone from a tentative touching to passionate, heated lovemaking, taking charge of her pleasure and his own in a way that had left her drained and more pleasantly exhausted than she'd ever been in her life.

But despite all those vivid, erotic memories, of her responses and his own to this wondrous thing they'd discovered existed between them, the most precious of all was the simple fact that he had trusted her. She sensed she could only begin to guess what a tremendous step that had been for him, to bare his damaged body to her and trust her not to recoil, as others had.

Not that her heart hadn't ached for him. She'd felt him tense the first time she'd inadvertently brushed the stump of his right leg, and she'd redoubled her efforts to make certain he sensed no hesitancy or doubt in her. And he'd responded to her every kiss, her every caress, with more fervency than she'd ever dared hope for. Even that first moment of climax, though she'd been left aroused and yearning, had been extraordinary. Simply watching his face go taut with pleasure, hearing him cry out as she felt him explode within her, had been nothing short of miraculous. And later, when he showed her just how much he had learned from her responses by driving her to a fever pitch, until she screamed his name as he buried himself in her body, she had gotten her own miracle, exploding herself the moment he was fully inside her.

She sat there in his bed, watching him sleep, savoring the memories, reveling in the wonder of it. She'd known there was a man like this behind that cool, aloof exterior; she'd just known it. It must have been what had drawn her to him at Sean's wedding. Even little Katie had sensed there was a gentle man capable of love inside the gruff shell Dar Cordell presented to the world. He'd just never learned how, never had the chance to show it. But she'd make sure he—

He stirred, murmuring something unintelligible, interrupting her thoughts. He stirred again, then rolled over onto his back. His lashes fluttered, then lifted. She saw the surprise in his dark eyes as he focused on her; and then, as she saw his eyes widen, she could sense the memories flooding back to him as they had to her. She couldn't help smiling.

"Good morning," she said softly.

For a moment, he smiled back, a soft, sleepy, sexy smile that made her stomach turn over. But then, with wrenching suddenness, the smile faded. After a moment he propped himself up with his elbows behind him and looked at her warily.

"Hi," he finally muttered. A faint wash of color tinged his cheekbones as he looked at her. "You're...not dressed."

She glanced downward over her nakedness, then, pointedly, to where the sheet had slipped halfway down his hips, revealing his lower belly and the edge of the dark tangle of curls that she'd become so familiar with last night.

"Neither are you," she quipped. She'd expected this to be a little awkward, but something about the way he grabbed at the sheet to cover himself and then looked at her was making her nervous.

"You're still here," he said, rather unnecessarily.

"Where else would I be?" she asked, her brows furrowing.

He shrugged, nodding in the general direction of the main room of the warehouse. "Out there, having second thoughts. Packing. Or already on the road, wondering what the hell you did this for."

Cassie drew back a little, stung. Was he having second thoughts himself? Was that what had made him say that?

"Why do you think I did it? Although, as I recall, both of us did our share of doing."

He looked away, but not before Cassie saw memory spark in his eyes again. He remembered as vividly as she did exactly what both of them had done last night. So what was this? she wondered. The worst kind of morning after? Was he now afraid of what had happened between them? Afraid and wishing he'd never let her past his defenses?

"Why?" he muttered, still not meeting her eyes. "I don't know. Charity, maybe?"

Cassie's breath caught in her throat at the insult. She barely resisted the urge to slap him. Only her last thought, that he was afraid and falling back on offense as the best defense, stopped her. For a long, silent moment she studied him, wondering what had ever possessed her to think anything with Dar Cordell would ever be easy.

At last she slid to the edge of the bed and stood up. She saw his eyes flick over her, and for once in her life was truly grateful for the body the world accepted as beautiful; if he was going to throw her away, then she wanted him to do it knowing full well what he was doing.

She let him look for a moment, despite the knot that was growing in her stomach. Then, with a quick sweep of her arm, she grabbed the sheet from the bed and yanked it up to wrap around her body, leaving him naked and exposed on the bed. He jumped at her sudden movement, but once it was done he didn't cringe away or try to hide himself; she had to give him that.

"You know, Cordell," she said, "your problem has nothing to do with your body. It's your head that s all screwed up. Your attitude. I thought you'd gotten rid of that chip on your shoulder, but you haven't. You've taken something beautiful and turned it ugly because you're afraid. Because you never have known how to care, have you? No one ever taught you, and you never bothered to learn yourself. So you just lock yourself away, inside yourself as much as inside this warehouse, never letting the world in."

He just stared at her, taking it, not reacting. She bent to scoop up her clothes, which had wound up on the floor at the foot of the bed. She straightened, folding them over one arm. He was still staring at her. She returned the favor, looking his naked body up and down once more. Then she gestured at his stumps.

"And you know what? You would have done the same thing if you were whole. You still would have messed this up." She turned to go, then stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him. "I was wrong. You are still the same guy who was in that video. Because I'll bet you were just as big a jerk before you lost your legs as you are now."

She walked out of the room then, the sheet wrapped tightly around her. She made it to the bathroom before she started to cry.

Chapter 15

"Where's Cassie?"

The wrench slipped and took a layer of skin off the knuckles of Dar's left hand. He swore, sharply and colorfully; he'd lost enough skin in the past two days. Including the wide strip Cassie had flayed off him this morning.

"I don't know," he said, not looking at Sean.

There was a pause before Sean said, his tone carefully neutral, "She's hiding out here because some guy is stalking her, but you don't know where she is?"

"She went for a walk, all right?" Dar snapped. "She's not a prisoner."

He looked up, startled, as Sean reached over and snatched the wrench out of his hand.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I don't think I want you armed in your present mood," Sean said dryly, hefting the heavy wrench. "You're already biting my head off, God knows what you'd do with this.''

Dar expelled a compressed breath through clenched teeth. He was in a savage mood, he knew that; he'd been that way ever since Cassie had walked out of his bedroom. He'd spent all morning trying to force what she'd said out of his mind, but even the repairs on the off-road chair weren't enough of a distraction, not when every time his guard was down, sweet, hot memories of last night swept over him like some primal, unstoppable tide.

"Look," Sean said, "if it's that tough, her being here, she can come stay with us. I know you're not used to having anybody around—"

"No."

"No to her staying with us, or no, you're not used to having anybody around?"

"Both.”

Sean studied him for a moment, his warm brown eyes troubled. "You want to explain that little contradiction, my friend?"

"No."

"Hmm." Sean tapped the wrench against his palm. "You know, right now you remind me of somebody."

"I don't want to know who," Dar said flatly.

"You're going to, anyway."

"Somehow I figured that."

"You remind me of me." Dar's head came up at that. "Me, when Rory showed up after five years. She knocked me for a loop, and I didn't know what the hell to do. I felt the way you're acting."

Dar gave Sean a sideways look. "As I recall, our initial solution to that was to get drunk."

Sean nodded. "Yep. Didn't help, though. So, you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Dar said warily.

"The fact that you lied through your teeth to me the other day."

"I did?"

"You did. When you said there was nothing to that stuff about you and Cassie being involved, that it was just a cover to keep from worrying me and Rory."

"It was."

"Maybe it started out that way, but hell, Dar, anybody can see there's more going on between you and Cassie than that." 

He started to deny it, but this was Sean, and he didn't want to lie to him. "Not anymore," he finally said.

Sean's gaze narrowed. "Anymore? Is that what's got you acting like a junkyard dog? You two have a fight?"

"Not exactly."

"What does 'not exactly' mean?"

"It means we didn't fight. I never said a word."

"Well, isn't that unusual," Sean drawled. "So what did Cassie say?"

"Enough."

"Such as?"

Dar looked at his friend in disgust. "What do you want, a word-for-word account?"

Sean grinned. "Nah. Just hit the high points."

"At least before you got married you knew when to let something drop," Dar growled.

Sean's grin widened. "Rory taught me that things like this don't go away, they just hide, grow and come back to haunt you later."

"Save me from armchair psychologists."

"So that's it, huh? Cassie do a little off-the-cuff analysis on you?"

Dar grimaced.

"So come on, what was the diagnosis?"

"My head's screwed up. And my attitude." His mouth twisted. "Oh, yeah, and I'm a jerk, too, and always have been."

Sean nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds pretty close to me. Smart lady."

Dar glared at him. "Thanks, pal."

"Pal, you've been walled up in that fortress of yours so long you don't even know how to come out anymore. Somebody has to batter down a door and come in after you. You're lucky she cares enough to try.''

Cares enough. Dar looked away sharply. The rest of Cassie's words echoed in his mind, the words he'd been trying so hard not to think of all day. You've taken something beautiful and turned it ugly because you're afraid. Because you never have known how to care, have you? So you just lock yourself away, inside yourself as much as inside this warehouse, never letting the world in.

And suddenly he was very much afraid that she had been right about the rest of it, too, that he would have messed this up with or without his legs.

"Dar? You okay?"

He shook his head, trying to clear away the bittersweet vision of Cassie standing beside his bed, her slender, naked body making his ache all over again, and the look on her face telling him what he'd just thrown away.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced up into Sean's worried eyes.

"Hell, buddy, I didn't mean to... You look like..."

"Yeah," Dar said hoarsely. "I feel that way, too."

Sean went down on his artificial knee with a swiftness and smoothness that belied its construction, so that he and Dar were almost at equal eye level.

"I'm sorry, man. If I'd known it was that bad, I never would have joked about it."

"She's right, you know," Dar said, staring at the bloody patches on his knuckles. "I... don't know how... to care. About anybody, not really. I never did. I've always...felt alone. My old man, he..."

His voice trailed off. Until Cassie, he'd talked more to Sean than anybody in his life. But it was still hard. Every word felt as if it had edges like shards of glass, slicing him to ribbons as it came out. But at last, because it hurt more to hold it in than to let it out, he went on.

"He was always... apart. He never let anyone close. Not even my mother. About the only thing I remember about her was...she was always begging him to just...talk to her. But he never would. You had to earn his attention. I did everything I could to do that, and when that scout signed me, I thought I'd done it but then—" he gestured at his legs "—this happened, and I knew I'd never be good enough. Not for him."

"God, Dar—"

He held up a hand, cutting off Sean's words. "Don't. My father is ancient history."

"Is he? Seems to me he's still here, still dogging you."

Dar shot him a sideways glance. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You said he was always apart. That he never let anyone close." Sean paused before saying very quietly, "Remind you of anyone?"

Dar shuddered. It was true. God help him, it was true. He'd become that man, that cold, distant man whose approval he'd been so desperate to win. Whose approval lunged on performance, and nothing else. Who said love had to be earned, and then made it impossible for a mere human to do it. The man who couldn't accept anything less than perfection, especially in his own son.

And he knew Cassie had been right about that, too. His legs weren't the problem; he'd become an expert at holding off the world long before his accident. His father had made sure of that. If his own father couldn't love him, even whole, who could? Losing his legs had just made it easier to stay apart, had given him an excuse the whole world understood.

"She was right," he whispered, his voice sounding as shaken as he felt. "God, she was right."

"I think," Sean said, "you need to tell her that, not me."

"She won't listen."

Sean lifted a brow. "Why not?"

Charity, maybe? His own words rang painfully in his ears.

"I... insulted her. Badly."

Sean's gaze narrowed, as if he were speculating on exactly when and how that might have happened. But then he shrugged. "So did I, when I practically accused her of just playing with you. But she forgave me."

Dar looked at his friend sharply. "When you what?"

"Never mind. But I don't think Cassie's the type to hold a grudge. Especially not if she cares about someone. And I think she really cares about you."

"God knows why," Dar muttered.

"You said it, not me," Sean retorted, sounding suddenly quite cheerful. "Good luck, buddy. She may not hold a grudge, but that doesn't mean she's going to make it easy on you."

Sean stood up, and although his real leg did all the work, it was so smooth Dar doubted if anyone who didn't already know would ever guess there was anything different about him.

"I've got to get back. Rory has a doctor's appointment in an hour."

Dar shook himself out of his absorption with what the hell be was going to say to Cassie. Just because he'd become his father didn't mean he had to stay that way.

"Is she okay? Or still getting sick all the time?"

"It's not getting any worse," Sean said. "Small confort. Being pregnant is hell." He sighed. "I think she's doing better than I am."

Dar managed a smile as Sean left, but his stomach had gone into a gut-wrenching free-fall.

Pregnant.

They had done nothing last night, taken no precautions. He hadn't even asked her about it. It had been so long since he'd even had to consider the possibility that it had never even occurred to him. But Cassie hadn't said anything, either. Surely she would have, would have stopped him, if there was a chance she could get pregnant. Wouldn't she?

Cassie, pregnant. With his baby. The image that leapt to his mind terrified him. And, he realized with growing panic, awed him a little, too.

What the hell would we do?

That automatic linking in his mind, the assumption that there was a "we," only added to his panic; after this morning, he doubted very much that Cassie would want to be linked to him in any way, despite what Sean thought.

No, she couldn't be pregnant, he assured himself. She was a sophisticated woman, for God's sake, a supermodel who roamed the world—surely she was on the Pill or something.

I know what some people assume about me, because of what I look like, and what I do.

For a second time her words came back to him. And he told himself yet again that making assumptions about Cassie Cameron was a very foolish thing to do.

He glanced at the clock on the wall in the workshop area. It was nearly noon. Cassie had left just before nine, after taking a shower so long Dar had wondered if she'd meant to make sure he had no hot water left. But the moment the thought had come to him he'd discarded it; that wasn't Cassie's style. She'd skin him alive face-to-face, but she wouldn't resort to that kind of petty action. It was much more likely, he'd realized with grim honesty, that it had taken her that long to feel that she'd washed him away, to feel clean again after what he'd said to her.

He'd wondered if she was leaving altogether, but he'd seen her duffel bag was still on the floor, and he hadn't heard her car start. He knew she'd gone rambling across the hills outside before, when he'd been gone for his workout, and assumed that was where she'd gone.

He didn't go out at all. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he skipped a scheduled workout day. This morning he had come face-to-face with the knowledge that somehow this woman had gotten through all the barriers, that she had burrowed her way in until she was closer than he'd ever let anyone get in his life. She'd dug her way into his heart, and all he'd been able to think was that when she left—and she would, he knew she would, everybody left— she'd take it with her. And he'd panicked. And in his panic, he'd done the instinctive thing, he'd struck out, gone on the offensive, hurt before he could be hurt.

As he'd always done. He could see the pattern now, and it went back to long ago, to the child who had insisted he didn't miss his mother at all, to the young teenager who had left his girlfriend before she could leave him, to the college baseball star who chose only women who required nothing more of him than his larger-than-life presence, as if it somehow made them more important to be seen with him.

And it had culminated in the man who had left his father's funeral swearing that he would never fight for anyone else's approval ever again. Needing anything from other people was a fool's game, it put you at their mercy. And he was out of that game. Forever.

He'd let Sean in only because he understood. Their missing limbs had been a bond that had made the connection safe. And Stevie and Chase were safe, too; they understood, because of Sean and what they themselves had been through.

And Katie. Little Katie, with a world of charm, and that innate and sometimes brutal honesty...

The honesty that seemed to run in the family. Whatever gene combination had given it to Chase, and through him to Katie, had also given it to Cassie. She'd never been less than honest with him, even when it cost her embarrassment. And her guileless and sometimes sideways way of looking at things had been a breath of fresh air in a life be hadn't realized had become so stale.

Sean was right. He needed to talk to Cassie. To say he was sorry for that uncalled-for insult. To tell her she was right about him. Always had been right. He didn't expect it to make any difference, but he owed it to her. She'd given him the sweetest, most incredible night of his life, and in return he'd verbally slapped her in the face.

He wheeled over to the window by the front door and looked out. The lagoon sparkled, the road was empty and there was no sign of Cassie anywhere.

Knowing Cassie, she'd come back when she was good and ready. He'd just have to wait her out. He went back to the workshop, and back to work on the off-road chair. He'd replaced the tire on the front wheel, and its mountings; the wheel itself had been undamaged. The handlebar was next, and that took only a matter of a half hour to replace and double-check that nothing else had been damaged. He replaced the seat with one he'd been wanting to try, anyway, one that rode even lower and made it less likely that he'd go over backward on an uphill slope. He'd already moved the rear wheels back a couple of inches for the same reason, but figured a little more help wouldn't hurt. He didn't want any more tumbles like yesterday's; he might not be so lucky next time.

Cassie might not be here to bail you out, you mean, he thought gloomily.

He glanced at the clock again. After one. His brows furrowed. How long was she going to wander around out there? Why didn't she just come back and chew him out some more? She had to be hungry by now, if nothing else. No breakfast, and now lunch, she—Damn. What if she'd taken a tumble herself? It was easily possible. Some of those trails were barely more than animal tracks, and there were places on the edge of some fairly sharp drops where the ground was unstable. He'd been reminded of that the hard way, yesterday.

Worry spiked through him, sharp and unfamiliar. He fought it; she'd made it more than clear what she thought of him. She would come back on her own; he wasn't about to go out looking for her.

Pride stops being useful when you trip over it.

"Damn," he swore under his breath. What was this penchant he'd developed for remembering every word she'd ever said to him? He went back to work on the chair, fussing with the suspension, telling himself it was silly to worry about her, when she was no doubt within yelling distance. But Sean's reminder of why she was here dug at him, and by the time he finished with the chair, it was gnawing at him too strongly to be ignored.

He shoved his tools away and wheeled over toward the door. He looked out the window again; nothing had changed. He sat there for a moment, considering. Then he pulled open the door and rolled out onto the porch.

He sat there silently for several minutes, listening. It sounded a bit quiet; the raucous cries of the waterfowl that frequented the lagoon were usually softened by the lighter chirping of the land birds of the hills, but today the mud hens seemed to be all he could hear. Of course, there were many possible reasons for that—a marauding coyote, the return of that red-tailed hawk he'd seen a couple of weeks ago, or even Cassie herself, hushing the birds with her passing.

An odd tightness in his fingers made him realize he'd been sitting there with his hands clenched around the push rims of his chair. He consciously relaxed them, flexing his fingers as he looked out over the lagoon.

He hated this. He'd never felt like this before, but he knew without a doubt he hated it. If this was what it felt like to love somebody, then you could just keep it, be thought. He yanked on the right rim and shifted his weight, spinning around to go back inside. And just as suddenly stopped.

For a split second he thought it was the shock of what he'd just admitted to himself, that he loved Cassie, that had stopped him. But then he jerked back around, peering down the road. Then he wheeled slightly to his left and looked again.

It was there. A sliver of white, barely visible around the curve of the road, just beyond the gravel portion that served as a natural alarm. As if someone wanted to be sure he wasn't heard.

His pulse leapt. He propelled himself as far to the left as he could go on the porch, until he could see a little more of the car. Enough to be sure that what he'd been afraid of was true—it was the same kind of car Willis had driven away from Chase's house in. He couldn't see the license plate, but it didn't matter. He didn't believe in that much coincidence. The man must have followed Sean, or made the connection with the address in Stevie's book, somehow. It didn't matter. He was here.

Cassie. God, Cassie.

He spun around and wheeled through the door again. He nearly knocked over a lamp in his haste, but didn't spare it a glance. He hated wasting the time, but his regular chair might not be tough enough, if she was still up in the hills, and he wouldn't do her any good if he wound up in the dirt again.

Assuming he was in time to do her any good at all.

The image of Willis chasing her, of him almost catching her before she'd scrambled into his van, replayed with vicious clarity in Dar's mind. In the glimpse he'd gotten of the man, he hadn't seemed very intimidating, but his intent had been unmistakable: he had wanted Cassie. Dar knew the memory of the man reaching out, almost catching her, would stay with him for a long, long time.

He shifted into the off-road chair, sparing a half second to be thankful that he'd gone ahead and finished the repairs. He left the door open this time as he went through, and sent the chair sailing down the ramp. He took the turn at the bottom sharply, but the tough tires grabbed and held. He considered heading for the car, on the chance that Willis might be sitting in it, but quickly discarded the idea. Finding Cassie was more important.

He propelled himself at full speed toward the base of the hills behind the warehouse, thinking quickly. There were three main trails that started there, two that wound back into the hills, and one that started back toward the main road, paralleling the drive that led to the warehouse. This was the path that led to the steep trail where he'd taken his header yesterday, and he doubted if she'd want to revisit that place.

Or would she? he thought suddenly, remembering yet again, as he had so many times since she'd walked out, the way she had looked at him there on the trail, that heart-stopping moment he'd been afraid to believe in, hadn't believed in until she had looked at him the same way again back at the warehouse.

Would she really go back there? After what had happened between them this morning?

Maybe because of what had happened.

He didn't know exactly what made him decide, but when he reached the split, he took the trail that had led to disaster yesterday. For some reason the long, slow uphill slope seemed easier today, and he took it faster than he ever had before. It wasn't until he reached the top and realized his heart was hammering far out of proportion to his exertion that he realized it was adrenaline that had driven him, more adrenaline than he'd ever produced in the toughest races of his life.

Because this could be the most important race of his life.

It hit him with a force that made it hard to breathe for a moment. And right now he didn't have time to deny it, to fight off the crazy feeling inside him, that feeling his mind was having so much trouble dealing with, because he'd never felt it before. But be knew what it was. But he couldn't think about it now.

He started down the hill, trying to balance the speed his gut was screaming for with the knowledge that, this time, he didn't dare crash. He cut it loose when he could, praying the brakes would hold when he had to hit them hard. In some small, normally functioning part of his mind, he was aware his last adjustments on the suspension and steering seemed to have worked; the chair was responding like the Corvette he'd once had, the steering tight, the suspension perfect.

He started into the curve that had been his downfall yesterday, passed the spot where his crash could have been fatal. And then he saw her, walking slowly along the narrow track, head down, looking as if the weight of the world had somehow descended on her slender shoulders.

She was safe. He was so relieved he almost forgot to put on the brakes. When he did, she heard the sound and turned around. She started to look quickly away, as if she didn't want to face him, but something stopped her. He had a feeling it was his expression; he was finding it hard to hide his relief. And the knowledge of what he'd realized about his feelings for her.

"You're all right," he said, as much to assure himself as anything else.

His voice, he realized, sounded about like he must look— a little shaken and on the edge of a rather sappy grin at the sight of her.

"Yes," she said softly, starting to walk toward him.

And suddenly he didn't care what was showing on his face, didn't care if she could read every minute of the hell he'd been through today. He owed it to her.

"Cassie, I—"

He broke off as she stopped suddenly, and he knew she'd heard the same sound he had, in the bushes just below the trail.

"It's Willis," he shouted to her. "Get up here."

She paled, and started to walk quickly toward him. Willis burst out of the brush, heading toward her in a run made awkward by the terrain. The instant Dar saw him, he released his brakes and shoved off powerfully. Cassie stifled a tiny scream and broke into a run toward Dar.

"No!" Willis cried out. "Don't run!"

Cassie stumbled over a rut, and Willis grabbed for her. He called out something else Dar couldn't understand. She dodged away, but he was still too close. Willis gave Dar a quick look, as if assessing if he was any real threat.

Write me off, Dar urged silently. I'm just a crip in a wheelchair, that's all.

Dar was picking up speed, but it was going to be close. Willis grabbed for Cassie once more. Again she dodged to one side. Her movement gave Dar a clear path, and he shot past her. He cut left, toward Willis, praying the trail wouldn't give out under his wheels.

Still rolling fast, steering with his left hand, Dar clothes-lined the man at the waist with an outstretched right arm. Willis yelled and clawed at Dar's arm as he went down into the dirt. The chair skidded, yanked around sharply by the impact. Dar felt a sharp drop as one of the front wheels suddenly had nothing to grab but the air over the precipice.

"Dar!" Cassie screamed, starting toward him as the chair teetered dangerously.

"Get back!" he yelled at her, knowing the ground she was running over was unstable.

He let go of Willis and rammed hard on the right-side handlebar, then grabbed for both push rims and shoved hard. The knobby tire bit, then dug in. He heard Cassie scream again, but didn't dare look. Another hard push, then another, and he was back on solid ground. He skidded to a halt, facing back the way he'd come, just as Willis was sitting up, looking around dazedly.

"You don't understand," Willis said, sounding bewildered.

"What I understand is you're damn lucky I didn't just throw you over that cliff," Dar growled at him.

"But I only want to—"

"I don't care what you want. Neither does Cassie. And neither, I suspect, will the police."

He turned then, ready to hand Cassie the phone to call them, while he kept an eye on the oddly demoralized Willis.

She was gone.

Dar stared blankly at the empty trail for a moment. She couldn't have gotten out of sight that fast, and he couldn't believe she would have just left, anyway. That wasn't Cassie's style; she might be looking for a rock to brain Willis with, but she wouldn't run.

But she had screamed. And suddenly that freshly crumbled spot on the side of the trail made horrible sense.

Terror shot through him like a runaway train. She had screamed. He'd thought she was reacting to his tackle of Willis. But he should have known better; Cassie Cameron was made of sterner stuff than that.

"Cassie."

It came out as barely a whisper. He wheeled as close as he could to the edge. It wasn't hard to see where to look. Darker earth showed where the trail side had given way. A small piece of scrub brush was upside down, roots pointing skyward.

And fifteen feet below, ominously still, lay Cassie's crumpled body.

Chapter 16

She was going to die.

It was all a stupid mistake, and she was going to die for it. Dar sat staring out the window of the kind of building he'd once sworn never to be caught inside again: a hospital.

"Nice work, Mr. Cordell."

Dar heard Deputy Thome's words but didn't look up.

"That guy was no match for somebody who could bench press two of him and not even break a sweat," Sean said.

Dar sensed rather than saw Thorne nod. "I imagine he's not the first person to make the mistake of underestimating Mr. Cordell."

"Right," Dar said sharply.

He jerked his right wheel sharply and spun away from them. He couldn't stand it. This was the second time in his life people had lauded him as a hero. The first time he'd wished he hadn't done anything; this time he wished he'd done it a hell of a lot sooner. Some hero he was. A hero with a lousy sense of timing. Because he'd wasted too much time, because he'd been too wrapped up in his own needs, Cassie lay unconscious in that room over there. Unconscious, broken, and maybe dying. The doctors hadn't said anything yet, not even to Sean, who at least had a claim by marriage. And the longer that went on, the more worried Dar got.

All for nothing.

He would never forget Willis's reaction when the man had realized what had happened. He had gone stark white, moaning a name over and over. But not Cassis's.

"Audra," he'd moaned, crouching on his knees at the edge of the drop while Dar had finally recovered enough to grab the cell phone and call for help; he knew he'd never be able to get her out of there alone, and could hurt her even more if he tried.

"Audra," Willis moaned again while Dar tried to explain to the paramedic dispatcher exactly where they were.

"Shut up," he finally shouted at the man, "or I will shove you over!"

"You don't understand," Willis said, nearly weeping now. "I never meant to hurt her. I only wanted to help, to save her. Not like before. I was too late before—"

Dar had barely suppressed the need to quiet the man's whining permanently. Whatever Willis had been, he was in a state of emotional collapse now, and no danger to Cassie anymore. So Dar had done what he'd wanted to do since the heart-stopping moment he'd seen her lying so still at the bottom of that drop; he went to her.

He was no climber—he didn't do it with any kind of grace, half falling, half sliding, more out of control than not—and he battered himself a bit on the way down, but his upper-body strength stood him in good stead and he managed it. He hadn't dared to move her, even though she was twisted at an awkward angle. The fleeting thought came to him that this was how many people he knew had wound up in chairs like his, from falls like this.

He recoiled from the idea of Cassie in a chair, even though he knew some would say it would remove a sizable barrier from between them. And now, faced with that very real possibility, he had to admit that Cassie hadn't ever seen it as a barrier; if anyone had, it had been him.

And some tiny part of his mind that wasn't shuddering at the sight of her, so pale and unmoving, knew that it was a measure of how deep his feelings for this woman ran that he would give anything to see her simply get up right now, even if it meant she would walk out of his life. He could stand that, as long as she was alive to do it.

So here he sat now, in a hated hospital, wondering if he was ever going to have the chance to talk to her again, to tell her how sorry he was for what he'd said, to tell her she'd been right, so very right, about him. About everything.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, staring blankly at nothing, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He didn't jump; he was too numb to react that sharply. He just looked up, half expecting it to be some anonymous hospital person wearing that grim look they must practice for when they had to break bad news.

It was Chase.

Dar blinked. He'd always known Cassie looked like her brother, but the resemblance struck him now harder than ever. And he found he couldn't look at the man who had become his friend, the man who should have been able to trust him to do a simple thing like take care of his little sister.

"I...when did you get here?" he asked, avoiding Chase's gaze, brushing at the dirt that was embedded in his pants after his scramble down the cliff.

"A while ago. We flew back after Sean called us."

"Oh."

"They're still doing the CAT scan, and Sean told me you were here, so I wanted to come and thank you."

Dar's head shot up. "Thank me?" he asked, astonished.

"For taking care of Cassie."

"Yeah," Dar said, his tone acid. "I took care of her so well she's lying in there maybe dying."

"She's not going to die," Chase said firmly. "My little sister is more stubborn than anyone I know. Except maybe you." He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then went on. "Sean told me about how you and Cassie kept Willis a secret, so we wouldn't worry."

"Yeah? Did he also tell you it was all for nothing? That Willis was just a poor, bereaved father who fixated on Cassie because she looked like his murdered daughter?"

Chase nodded. "I saw the picture. There's definitely a resemblance."

Dar had seen it, too, that tattered snapshot Thorne had taken from Willis. Until he'd seen that, he was working hard on hating the man. Afterward, and after Thorne had told him how the girl had died in a brutal rape, he couldn't find it in him; he could only empathize with the grief-stricken man. He knew all too well how it felt to be too late.

"The deputy told me what you did—''

"You mean how I fixated on Willis, because I screwed up last time and let him get away? How I was so determined to catch him this time that I wasn't watching Cassie like I should have? That she wouldn't be here at all if I hadn't—"

Chase cut him off. "Look, if you want to beat yourself up about something you had no control over, then I can't stop you. But you can't stop me from thanking you. I think I know you well enough to know that you would rather not have gotten involved. But you did."

"And look where it got her.''

For a long moment Chase just looked at him. "You know," he said at last, "I thought maybe you'd done it for me, or for Sean's sake, with Rory so sick, because you knew he'd feel obligated to watch out for my little sister. But Sean seems to think there's more to it."

Dar froze. This was something he wasn't ready to deal with, hadn't even let himself think about, not when all his concentration was centered on Cassie, willing her to live, to open those green eyes and look at him again, talk to him again, even if it was to chide him about that chip on his shoulder. He hadn't even allowed himself to wonder how Chase would feel about any kind of relationship between him and Cassie.

"Dar!"

The bright, eager voice for once made him wince. He heard the sound of small, running feet, and barely had time to brace himself before Katie launched herself into his arms. The little girl had learned to expertly avoid entanglement with his wheels, and she landed with a solid thud against his chest that made him wince as his bruises protested. She threw her arms around his neck.

"We came home early," she explained earnestly. "Because of Aunt Cassie. But she's gonna be okay, huh, Daddy?"

Chase nodded. "Sure she is."

Katie might run to him gladly, but her father was still the mediator of the most important things. Which was as it should be, Dar thought, suddenly hugging the little girl fiercely, remembering the brief image, frightening and tempting in equal measure, that he had allowed himself of Cassie pregnant.

Katie leaned back on his lap and looked at him with glowing eyes, eyes so much like her father's, so much like Cassie's. "Uncle Sean says you saved her from a bad man."

There wasn't a hint of doubt in the child's eyes, just pride in this further proof that she had chosen her hero well. Little did she know, Dar thought.

"No," he said, unable to stop himself.

"Huh?" Katie asked, her delicate little brows furrowing.

"What he means," Chase said, kneeling down beside them and forestalling Dar from going on, "is that it wasn't really a bad man, honey. He was just confused. He thought your aunt was somebody else. But he really scared her, and Dar helped her get away from him."

Katie considered this, then nodded. "Then she had a accident, huh?"

Dar opened his mouth, but Chase silenced him with a look that brooked no denial. "Yes. It was an accident. While Dar was catching the man who was chasing her."

Katie hugged Dar again, fiercely, putting all the strength of her lean little body into it. Then she sat back on his thighs and looked at him again. "Uncle Sean said Aunt Cassie was staying with you, when that man was looking for her. Does she live at the warehouse now?"

Dar gave Chase a panicked glance, but could read nothing in his expression. What the hell else had Sean said? Had Sean guessed how far things had gone? Had he—

"I hope so," Katie said nonchalantly, drawing Dar's startled gaze back to her.

"You do?"

"Sure," Katie said with a shrug. "You should be gether."

"I..." Dar swallowed, now not daring to look at Chase. "Why?"

"'Cause you're both so pretty," the little girl said simply, as if that explained it all.

Dar stared at her for a long moment. Then he had to turn away, blinking rapidly at the sudden stinging behind his eyelids. To Katie he wasn't a man without legs, or even a man in a wheelchair—he was simply Dar and, she'd often said, the handsomest man in the world not related to her.

You're prettier than I am. Cassie's words echoed in his head. They were alike, aunt and niece.

"She has a knack for honesty," Chase drawled. Dar closed his eyes then, unable once more to meet Chase's steady, too-perceptive gaze. "And her aunt is just like her," Chase added softly, as if he'd known what Dar had been thinking.

Dar felt those words as if Chase had struck him physically with each one of them.

"Mr. Cameron?" Dar still didn't look up, but heard Chase move at the sound of a young male voice. "You can see your sister now. She's awake."

Dar did look up then, quickly. "Told you she'd be all right," Chase said, grinning.

"Yep, told ya," Katie echoed.

Dar glanced at the young man in hospital whites, who smiled. "Yes, it appears she will be. She has a minor concussion, and a lot of bruises, but she'll be fine."

She was going to be all right. She wasn't going to die, he hadn't killed her with his stupid pride. Dar felt a wave or relief so powerful it was dizzying.

"You coming?" Chase asked as he scooped Katie up off Dar's lap. 

Dar shook his head.

"Yes, Dar," Katie said imperiously. "You have to. We're all here, 'cept for baby Jason. He's with Grandma."

"I... No. This is...for family."

"You're family," Katie protested instantly.

"Only if he wants to be, honey," Chase said, and carried her away in the wake of the nurse who led them down the hall.

Wants to be. As if what he wanted had anything to do with it. He'd learned long ago not to want; it led only to frustration. And he figured he'd about run through his quota of wishes answered for one day: Cassie was alive.

He shivered, and couldn't explain why. He felt an odd sort of quivering inside, making him want to tense all of his muscles, just to be sure he could. He moved then, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. He couldn't explain that, either. He just knew he had to be alone to deal with this. As he'd always dealt with everything.

He propelled himself through the double doors of the emergency waiting room, out into the balmy early-evening air. There was a small alcove with a bench seat to one side, and he wheeled over there, out of the way of the ambulance entrance. His van was parked near the ramp, one of the few times he'd ever actually used a blue-marked handicap spot, preferring to leave them for people less mobile than himself.

He should just get in the damn van and get the hell out of here. She had her family around her now; they would take care of her, and he could just bow out. He hadn't done a great job in the first place; they'd probably be glad to see him go, for all Chase's insistence that what had happened was an accident. And they'd be especially glad to see him go if Sean was planting the idea that there was something going on between him and Cassie.

Yes, he could bail out now and go back to the warehouse, retreat from all this emotional turmoil. He wasn't any good at it; he'd proven that time and again, and only Cassie's stubborn determination had kept her around, putting up with his stumbling efforts. He could just take himself out of her life, a course of action that would no doubt be better for both of them. He should wheel over there right now and—

"Dar?" Sean's voice made him freeze in the act of actually reaching for the push rims to shove off toward the van. "Come back in. Cassie's asking for you."

He heard the swish of the automatic doors as Sean went back inside. His fingers tightened around the rims of his chair as his brain ordered his arms to move, to get him the hell out of here, before his entire life changed irrevocably. The idea scared him more than anything had since the day he'd awakened in another hospital twelve years ago and realized his life as he'd known it was over forever.

He couldn't deal with a change like that again, he told himself. He'd had his life upended once before; that was enough. He'd just get in his van and get out of here. Cassie would understand. He wouldn't have to face her, wouldn't have to tell her what she already knew, that he was... He was...

Afraid.

You've taken something beautiful and turned it ugly because you 're afraid. So you just lock yourself away, inside yourself as much as inside this warehouse, never letting the world in.

He hated the sound of it, but could he really deny it? Hadn't he wanted to do exactly that, just now? Climb in his van and escape back to the warehouse, his cocoon of safety?

What if he did? What if he followed his churning gut and ran? Would it really make any difference?

It hit him then, with as much force as he had once been hit by a speeding train. No matter what he did, he would never be the same again. Cassie had gotten past his defenses, had wormed her way into his heart, his life, into his battered soul. He wasn't the same man he'd been before she'd dropped back into his life, and he never would be again. If he left right now and never came back, never saw her again, it wouldn't matter.

Except that he couldn't imagine doing that. He couldn't imagine never seeing her again. The only thing that was harder to imagine was wheeling into that hospital room and facing her now.

He heard the swish of the automatic doors again, and braced himself for Sean asking why the heck he was stalling.

"Dar! Dar!"

Damn, he thought. They'd sent in the big gun. Katie's bright voice was restored now to its usual cheer. In fact, Dar thought as the child ran toward him, she sounded even more bouncy than usual. Once again she threw herself into his arms, this time planting a noisy and somewhat wet kiss on his cheek.

"I asked Aunt Cassie, and she said I had to ask you, but I know you'll say okay, won't you?"

"Ask me what?" he said warily.

"If I get to be in your wedding, like I was in Uncle Sean's! I wanna wear a green dress, like Aunt Cassie wore, an' a pair of green shoes, an'—"

"Katie," he said, very quietly, but with an undertone that got even the lively eight-year-old's attention, "what are you talking about? What wedding?"

"Yours and Aunt Cassie's, of course," the little girl answered matter-of-factly.

"Mine and—" His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't even finish the sentence.

"You'll be my uncle then, really," Katie said. "And after the wedding, we can—"

"What makes you think there's going to be a wedding?"

For the first time Katie's excited flow of chatter ceased as she gave him a puzzled look. "Because that's what happens when people love each other," she explained kindly. "Like Mommy and Daddy, and Uncle Sean and Aunt Rory."

He took a long, deep breath, and had to swallow again before he managed to say carefully, "I suppose that's right. But what makes you think..." he had to pause and steady his voice before he could get it out "...that Cassie and I... love each other?"

"She said so, silly."

His breath caught. "She did?"

The little girl nodded. "So can I? Please? I did good at Uncle Sean's wedding.''

"Katie, what exactly did she say?"

"I told you," she said impatiently.

"Honey, please," he said, not sure why he so urgently needed to know, only sure that he did. "What did she say?"

Something in his tone got through to the child, because her forehead creased in thought. Then it cleared as she apparently remembered. "She said, 'I love him, so get used to the idea.'"

His stomach clenched, and he couldn't have said whether it was because of the words, or that they were so... so Cassie. Then the implications of what Katie was saying hit him.

"Just who did she say this to?"

Katie looked puzzled once more. "All of us," she answered. "Mommy, Daddy, Uncle Sean—"

"Great," he muttered. She'd announced this to her entire family? He supposed it would be too much to ask that she might just mention it to him, first. And now Katie was expecting to be in a wedding. His wedding.

He felt an odd sensation, as if something inside him had snapped. Then a fierce, hot tension filled him, and he told himself it had to be anger. What the hell did Cassie think she was doing? What the hell was her family going to think? And most of all, what the hell was he supposed to do now?

"Damn," he swore under his breath.

"Are you mad?" Katie asked with great interest.

"Darn right I am," he muttered, barely managing to keep from repeating the fiercer oath in front of the child. He spun his chair around and started through the automatic double doors. Katie trotted alongside, still looking at him curiously.

By the time he reached the room he'd seen the family go into, Katie was running to keep up, giggling at the forbidden fun of racing down a hospital corridor. He yanked hard on the door to make it swing wide enough to let him wheel through before it closed on him.

Four heads swiveled around, Sean and Rory on the closest side of the bed, Chase and Stevie on the other. They took one look at his face, glanced at one another, then Sean and Rory slowly began to back away to make room for him.

The bed was raised at the head, and Cassie was propped up by a pillow. His first glimpse of her gave him a qualm; she was still noticeably pale, and there was a bandage at the back of her head. But the way she looked at him helped him rein in the crazy tension that was rocketing around inside him, the thing he was certain was fury, and when he spoke he managed to sound merely angry.

"Was there something you wanted to tell me before you announce it to the world at large? Maybe take out an ad in the paper?"

She smiled at him then, a wide, joyous smile that made his heart take a little leap and his stomach knot.

"I thought I already had told you," she said. "Quite explicitly."

There was no mistaking the husky undertone in her voice, or the heat that glowed in her eyes, and vivid, erotic memories of last night sent a flush rising through him that he knew had to be visible to everyone.

"Damn, Cassie," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

But Cassie was clearly in no mood to cut him any slack. She raised one hand and gestured at the Holts and Camerons.

"But I'll tell you just like I told them, if you like," she said, her solemn tone laced with a determination he'd come to realize was as strong as his own when she wanted it to be. "I love you, Dar Cordell. Get used to it."

He stared at her. She'd said it. She'd really said it. It hadn't been some mix-up, some misunderstanding. Not only had she said it, but she'd said it in front of her family. And if there was one thing he'd learned, it was that Cassie Cameron was honest to the bone. If she said it, she meant it.

She meant it. She loved him.

Something sharp and small dug into his ribs, and he jumped. An elbow, Katie's elbow.

"You're supposed to say it back now," she hissed, in a whisper that was anything but quiet, and caused more than one furtive grin on the other faces in the room.

He remembered how he'd felt, at the top of that cliff, looking down at her too-still body. He remembered his fear as he'd followed the ambulance here to the hospital. He remembered what had seemed like hours of waiting, terrified that she was going to die. And he remembered the bleak images that had come to him, of a life going on without her, devoid of the color and fire she'd brought, empty of the joy and laughter. A life he'd once thought enough. A life he'd once thought himself content with. A life he knew now was only a shell, a carefully constructed and maintained cage that had kept him in as well as it had kept the world out.

I love you.

Three little words. They shouldn't be so hard to say. Especially since he knew, deep in his gut, that they were true.

"Dar!" Katie exclaimed, elbowing him again.

"Shh, Katie," Cassie said gently. "It's all right. He'll get around to it when he can."

At her gentle understanding, that odd tension that had been whirling around in him settled into a hot, hard knot deep in his chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. God, she was amazing. She had a kind of courage he'd never had, the courage to risk herself, to hand him her heart even knowing he would probably break it.

Because she loved him. Dear God, she loved him. Cassie Cameron loved him.

"Cassie, I—"

"It's all right, Dar. I know you're not ready, that you don't trust me—"

"Don't trust you?" he exclaimed, astonished. Was that what she thought? Then he lowered his eyes. Of course it was, he realized. What reason had he ever given her to think otherwise? "You were right, you know," he said suddenly, staring at the railing of the bed, nearly at eye level for him because of the hospital bed's height. "Everything you said was right."

"Dar—"

She stopped as he at last made himself meet her gaze. He wondered what was showing in his face. He wondered what Sean and the others were thinking. He wondered, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Even though he knew he was going to sound like a plaintive child.

"You... love me?"

She looked at him as if she knew exactly the feelings that drove him to ask.

"I love you," she repeated softly. "And it doesn't matter if you don't love me back yet—"

"But I do."

It came out in a rush, and in the same instant that tension, that unbearable pressure in his chest released its grip.

"I love you," he said, slowly, testing the words, realizing that not only were they the key to that release of pressure, but they were also the only way to prove to her that he trusted her enough to risk himself. The one thing she'd always said he was afraid to do. And now he'd done it, and found it hadn't really been that hard after all. Not when it was for Cassie.

"I love you," he repeated, the sense of wonder he was feeling echoing in his voice.

"Oh, Dar," Cassie said, a suspicious moistness building in her eyes. But no tears could dim the joy glowing in the vivid green eyes he'd once feared never to see again.

As the Holts and Camerons gathered around once more, Dar realized that for a second time, the life he'd known had ended in a hospital. But this time the prospect was joyous, a gift he'd never expected to receive. A gift forged out of loneliness and isolation, turned into something beautiful and precious by the heart of an incredible woman.

"Now do I get to be a flower girl again?" Katie asked insistently.

"I think that we might be able to arrange something," Dar said, looking only at Cassie. "I'll even put my feet on for that."

Cassie shook her head. "Oh, no, you don't. I've got my heart set on riding down the aisle with you, Cordell."

He couldn't answer her; his throat was too tight.

"Are you cryin', Dar?"

It was Katie's last question as her mother hustled her— and the rest of the family—out of the room. And pulled the door shut behind them.

Epilogue 

"You're sure about this?"

"Umm-hmm," Cassie murmured, running her hands down Dar's back. "Don't you think it's a good idea?"

"Running an agency is a lot of work," he said, "but if it's what you want, if you really want to quit..."

"It's really what I want. I think I've known it for a long time."

He shifted as if to move off her, but she held him with her legs. She heard him stifle a sigh rife with pleasure as he gave up and settled into the cradle of her hips, bracing himself on his elbows above her.

"Since about the day you cut your hair?" he suggested, reaching to tousle the silky hair that she'd had trimmed into a wispy short cut that he'd told her made her eyes look huge and her nose impossibly sassy. While the shearing had been in many ways symbolic, she'd come to like it. And Dar loved it, was constantly running his fingers through it, and nibbling at her ears and the bare nape of her neck; that was enough recommendation for her.

"Probably," she admitted. "If not before. It's been a long time coming."

"Then go for it."

She smiled up at him. "I can do it from here, at first, until we get going. Or maybe set up a permanent office here, if you don't mind."

"I told you I don't mind. It's easy to make a separate room with those movable walls. We can partition off that whole back corner, if you want. Or back it up to the bedroom."

Cassie looked at him consideringly, wondering if she dared bring up the subject she had been wanting to for some time. He had confessed that he'd wondered if their lack of caution that first night might have left her pregnant. She'd been a little startled at the leap her spirit took at the thought, and a little chagrined at her own carelessness, although she hadn't thought the timing right. But she hadn't been able to read his feelings about it at all, other than a natural relief a few days after she was released from the hospital and they'd found she wasn't. Since then, they'd been very careful.

But she'd never asked if he planned on being careful forever. It wouldn't change her feelings, but she wanted to know. Deciding it was past time to find out, she took the plunge.

"I kind of had that space next to the bedroom in mind for a nursery, someday."

Dar went very still. "You did?"

"If you don't mind," she repeated.

"I..." He stopped, and swallowed visibly. "God, Cassie, I don't—"

"I know, it's scary. And it's way too much too fast. But at least think about it? For someday?"

He looked doubtful, and more than a little scared. He shook his head. "I'd make a lousy father."

"How can you say that, when you had such a perfect example? You probably know more about what not to do than anyone."

He looked startled, then thoughtful. Seizing the moment, she reached up to cup his face. "I would very much like to have your baby, Dar Cordell."

She saw him swallow again, and he lowered his eyes, but she saw the flutter of his thick lashes as he blinked rapidly. And she knew that yet another door had opened in the Cordell Fortress.

Someday, she promised herself, those walls would be nothing but a memory.

She looked at him for a long moment, free to study him while he was avoiding her eyes, trying to regain his control. She looked at the dark silk of his hair, the perfect features, the incredible eyes, made all the more amazing now by the lively flash of emotions he let show. He was, she thought, quite simply beautiful.

"You sure you won't model for me?" she asked, knowing the answer; they'd been over this ground before. Dar, as usual, snorted in answer. With him lying atop her, Cassie felt it, as well as heard it, and grinned at him. "Just as well. I don't think I'd like half the women in the world panting after my husband."

He gave her a wry look. "Is this where I admit I'm glad my wife isn't going to be plastered on the cover of every magazine in sight anymore?"

She smiled at him. "I'm glad, too."

"You're sure?"

Cassie knew he'd had doubts when she announced her plans to make her vacation a permanent one, knew he'd wondered if she was giving it up for his sake. Only her enthusiasm for her plan of beginning an agency of her own had convinced him.

"I'm sure," she said. "I want to do this. That old world of mine needs its cage rattled. They need a reality check. And reality includes people in chairs, people with guide dogs, with gray hair, people who don't conform to some marketer's concept of perfect. And," she added before he could speak, "I'm not doing it for you. I thought about this long ago, when I first realized how superficial looks are. When I realized far too many people in my business knew nothing about what really matters, like what's inside a person."

He was quiet for a moment, and she sensed he was fighting some inner battle to believe her.

"I mean it, Dar. I'd want to do this anyway. Maybe I can't change things, maybe they can't be changed, but I want to try."

"Well," he said finally, "I'm just glad you won't be attracting the Willises of the world anymore."

Cassie smiled sadly. "So am I. But do you know, I feel sorry for him?"

Willis's story, when it had come out, had been heart wrenching, how he'd arrived home just minutes too late to save his daughter, his only child. It had happened only a few months before, and when he'd seen a Cassandra cover, and the amazing resemblance to his murdered daughter, he had, in his grief, become convinced she was his Audra come back to him, and that this time he had to save her. He had truly never meant to hurt anyone, and had been horrified that Cassie had been injured. So horrified that she hadn't had the heart to blame him.

"He loved his daughter so much," Cassie said sadly. "And what happened to her was so awful... I'm glad he's getting help."

"Because you wouldn't press charges," Dar noted. "You know he could have just as easily been the worst kind of stalker."

"I know," she said with a sigh.

She didn't think she could explain that, in a strange way, she felt as if she'd owed at least that much to the confused man; if not for Willis, she and Dar might never have truly found each other.

Then, giving Dar a sideways look, she added, "I was lucky you were here." His mouth twisted into a grimace. Before he could make the disclaimer she knew was coming, she batted her lashes at him outrageously, and said with dramatic flair, "My hero!"

"Oh, please," he groaned, but he was laughing as he said it. Cassie felt the rumble of it even before she heard it, and couldn't help smiling up at him. She resumed her stroking caress of his back, her fingertips tracing the strong planes and curves of fit muscle, her hands curling to cup the taut swell of his buttocks. She continued until he made a sound low in his throat, a sound she'd come to know, a sound that made her start to tingle in places that were already preparing for the eagerly awaited joining of their bodies.

"So," she said when she was sure he was sufficiently distracted, "what do you think I should call my agency?"

"What?" he asked, as if he'd been so deeply into savoring her touch that he hadn't even heard her. The thought made her smile inwardly.

"I asked what you thought."

"I think," Dar said as she shifted her hips and pulled him closer, "you're trying to kill me, but I'm not sure I care. You can— Oh, yeah, like that."

Cassie began to move rhythmically, savoring the look of sheer pleasure on Dar's face as her body caressed the rapidly hardening flesh caught between them. Only minutes ago, their passion had crested in an explosive climax that had left them both drained. Dar was still sprawled atop her, yet she was as hungry for him now as always. And for the moment, the discussion they'd been having was forgotten.

She let one hand slide around his hip, then between them. Dar lifted himself slightly, in response to her movement; it hadn't taken her long to convince him that she loved touching him, and he was more than willing to oblige her.

"You know," Cassie said casually as her hand closed around him, "I read somewhere that some researchers think phantom pains aren't really that at all."

Dar looked at her, clearly startled at her words, or perhaps at the moment she'd chosen to say them. "Wha-at?" It came out in two syllables as she began to gently stroke the expanding length of him.

"I read that they now think the pains are the result of the brain adjusting, that the cells next to the ones that used to control the amputated part see that they don't have anything to do now, and take them over to help do their own job."

"Cassie," Dar said, his jaw tight as he shifted his body sideways to make it easier for her to continue her tender stroking, "is this something we really have to talk about right now?"

"It's very relevant," she admonished him with mock severity. She accompanied the words with a long downward caress that ended with her cupping rounded male flesh that was quickly drawing high and tight with need. She massaged him gently, in the way she'd learned made him groan with pleasure. He did groan, his hips moving as he arched, rubbing himself against her palm.

"Anyway," she said casually, as though she hadn't even noticed his reaction to her touch, "they say that the phantom pains happen because the supposedly superior part of the brain doesn't understand that those cells are doing something else now, that they're helping the neighboring cells."

"Cassie!"

It burst from him through gritted teeth as she gently squeezed, then slid her hand up his erect length to rub her thumb over the tip of flesh now rigid beneath her fingers, and moist with his own urgent response to her caresses.

"So," she continued calmly, "don't you think that whatever part of the body that's getting that extra help from the brain would work that much better?"

"I can't think at all when you do that," he complained.

"Dar, this is important," she said, inwardly thrilling at how much trouble he was having concentrating while her hands were on him.

"Right now, nothing's more important than this," he muttered, and levered himself over her.

"Exactly my point," Cassie said as she parted her thighs and caught him between them in an intimate embrace.

Dar groaned as, braced on his remaining knee, he began to move, stroking himself across that moist, heated, most feminine part of her. "If there is a point, I wish you'd get to it."

"The point is what part of the brain those cells that used to control your lower legs and feet are next to."

He went still for a moment, looking down at her. "What?" 

"And why when we make love, you say you can feel it down to your toes, even if they're not there anymore,"

His eyes widened. "Are you saying...what are you saying?"

"That maybe you really do feel it... to your toes.''

"You mean that that neighbor part of the brain you were talking about controls...?"

Cassie nodded, clasping him tighter with her thighs. "Exactly. Some people experience pain, but others..."

"Feel it down to their missing toes?" he asked softly.

She nodded. Then, with her most solemn expression, she said seriously, "Therefore, I think it only fair to warn you that I'll be expecting a great deal from you, husband mine. I mean with all those extra brain cells working on the endeavor, I should think you'd be able to... er, rise to the occasion rather easily. And often."

He stared at her for a moment, and she wondered if she'd gone too far with her teasing. But then she saw the twinkle of amusement begin in his dark eyes.

"I hadn't noticed any problem in that area," he said, pointedly shifting his hips to nudge her with his proof.

"Oh, I haven't, either," she said breezily. "But I just thought you should know I'll expect this pace to be maintained."

He laughed then, loud and joyously, and Cassie drank it in as thirsty sand absorbed precious water. Then she hugged him, long and hard.

"I'll see to that," Dar said. Then he moved, swiftly, sheathing himself in her to the hilt and driving a gasp of swift, pure pleasure from her. 

"Oh, yes," she whispered when she caught her breath, "I'm sure you will."

And much later, when they lay in complete, rapturous exhaustion, she asked, "Well?"

Dar chuckled. "I think they were right," he said as he shifted to his side and pulled her close against him, her back to his chest, her bottom tucked into the bend of his hips. "I definitely felt that all the way to my nonexistent toes."

Cassie sighed happily. "Me, too," she said, snuggling closer, tangling her legs with his in the way that had become her habit.

The first time she had done it, she had felt him stiffen when she had captured his abbreviated leg between hers. She had thought about it all day, and that night had set about convincing him once and for all that she found every inch of him beautiful, under any conditions. She had begun by joining him in his after-workout shower, and they had discovered the fold-down seat was indeed strong enough to hold two. They eventually made it to bed, where she used first her hands, then her mouth, to burn a path over every inch of his body, including his stumps, where he had once told her the flesh was very sensitive. She lingered over every caress, until he was begging her to end the sweet torture. And when she finally did, when she let her eagerness overcome her shyness and took him in her mouth, he cried out her name in a voice she would never forget for the rest of her life.

And the next time she had entwined their legs, he had merely sighed and tightened his arm around her.

"Cassie?" he murmured now, his breath as he spoke stirring her hair.

"Mmm?"

"I love you."

She smiled. He said it every now and then, out of the blue, for no apparent reason. But she thought she understood. It wasn't out of any desire to hear the words returned by her. And although she knew he meant it, and wanted her to know it, she had the feeling he said it as much for himself, as if he were still reveling in the newness of it. Still reveling in the miracle he'd once told her it was.

She easily gave him the answer she'd learned he wanted, since it was the truth. "I know," she said softly. And as always, his arms tightened around her, as if to reassure himself she was there, so he could safely go to sleep.

And as his breathing slowed into steady regularity, she smiled into the darkness, remembering what he'd said.

I'd lie awake in the dark, right before dawn, and wonder if I'd ever be glad to see morning again. If I'd ever really come out on the other side.

He had. He'd come out into the morning light. He had changed so much already, and the process continued. Dar was blooming, and every day Cassie whispered a litany of thanks to the fates that had driven them together.

Miracle, she thought as she snuggled against him, was an understatement. 

* * * * *