THE MORNING SIDE OF DAWN

by Justine Davis

  "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 fiancée 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 the fury she saw there. She twisted around to look out the window 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 yelling 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.