Daredevil’s Run

by Kathleen Creighton

  There were general cries of approval and seconds to that motion, which got even more enthusiastic when Cory announced he was buying.

  Everyone shuffled and jostled their way out of the room and into the soft summer twilight. Nobody was inclined to drive, since The Corral was just across the park and the main road through town. As the group strolled along the roadway, taking the long way around instead of cutting through the park for Matt’s sake, Alex moved in alongside his chair. Making it seem a casual thing, as if it were only the natural ebb and flow of the crowd that had brought her there.

  They strolled along in silence for a while. Then Alex said in a low voice, “You do know this is insane.”

  He gave a short dry laugh. “Wouldn’t be the first time you and I did something wild and crazy.”

  “Yeah, and look where that got us.”

  Something in her voice-a slight catch, maybe-made him look up at her, wanting to see what was in her face…her eyes. But she was already moving away from him, into the dusk.

  The crowd at The Corral was rowdy; at least some things hadn’t changed-much. The place had gone smoke-free, along with the rest of California, but there was enough of the familiar smells of sweat, booze and charred meat to make up for it, still make it the place he remembered. That, and the noise-laughter and conversation and loud foot-stompin’ country music playing on the jukebox. Matt wondered whether they still had live music on weekends. And whether Alex went there to hear it, and who she danced with these days.

  There was a lot of calling out and waving back and forth as their group moved through the crowd to a table near the dance floor. Obviously, the river guides were still regulars here. Several people Matt knew came over to say hello, with varying degrees of awkwardness and constraint. Which he was used to, and had long ago stopped being bothered by. He figured he’d probably be the same way, if the situations had been reversed.

  They put in their orders for beer and The Corral’s famous black angus hamburgers, then settled back to watch the raggedy line dance in progress. It ended, to hoots and cheers and some sporadic applause, and a Garth Brooks classic-“The River”-came on. Linda and Sam started to sing along, and then Booker T got up and with old-fashioned courtesy, asked his wife to dance. A respectful silence fell over the table as they all watched Booker T guide his wife around the small dance floor, kind of bent over at the hips like the rump-spring cowboy he’d been in his youth. Then Sam jumped up and grabbed Cory’s arm and hauled him onto the dance floor.

  Among the four remaining at the table-Cheryl and Tahoe, Alex and Matt-an awkward silence fell. Tahoe sat sprawled in his chair, nursing his longneck beer and watching the dancers with his usual unreadable gaze. Cheryl tapped her fingers on the table and rocked her body in time to the music. Alex picked up her beer and took a sip.

  Matt said, “How ’bout you, Alex-you used to like to dance.” He spoke in an easy drawl, but he could feel his heart thumping, out of sync with the music.

  Above the rim of the beer bottle her eyes widened briefly, flared and then faded the way banked coals do when you blow on them. He could see she didn’t know what to say, that he’d surprised her, probably. Hell, for sure, he had. What had he expected her to say? He hadn’t even asked it out loud. Dance with me, Alex. Won’t be the way it used to be, but I’ll make sure you enjoy it. Maybe not quite, but almost as much.

  While Alex was hesitating, swallowing her mouthful of beer and evidently trying to think of a reply, Cheryl hopped up and stuck out her hand and said, “Hey, I’ll dance with you.”

  So, what could he do? He reached out and took the hand she offered, looked up at her and smiled. “Well, let’s go, then.”

  After that, he just concentrated on the music, Cheryl’s warm hand in his, and her pretty baby-blue eyes.

  Tried to, anyway. Trouble was, a different pair of eyes kept getting in the way. Hazel-gold eyes filled with fire and fringed with black, and a smart-alecky mouth that never lacked for something bossy to say. He kept remembering how that mouth felt, laughing up against his, how incredibly inventive it could be, exploring his body’s most sensitive places-back when his body had had senses. Kept remembering how her body felt-small, but round where it needed to be, and as she liked to say, “freakishly strong.” One little bitty package made up of muscle and fire-that was Alex. My Alex.

  He rotated his chair in time to the music, one hand guiding Cheryl as she sashayed in a circle around him. She looked down at him, eyes lit up and smiling, and he looked back at her and winked. And his mind followed its own steps…its own dance:

  Not your Alex anymore, you fool. What the hell do you think you’re doing here? She’s right-it’s insane, going on this run. What is it you hope to accomplish? What are you trying to prove?

  It came to him, finally, sometime out there on that dance floor as he was rocking and swaying to Garth Brooks’s anthem comparing life to the flow of a river. In a way, he’d staked everything on this run down the monster rapids known as the Forks of the Kern. This was it-his one chance to make it all right again. As far as his future happiness was concerned-and that meant his future with Alex Penny-to borrow a poker term (and he’d played a lot of poker during his months in rehab), he was All In.

  Alex watched the dancers from a great unbridgeable distance, while thoughts and feelings rocketed through her mind like an oarless boat on a river full of rapids.

  My God, he can dance. And who would have thought a man in a wheelchair could look so graceful? So sexy.

  So…beautiful.

  So virile? I wonder if he…

  No. I don’t want to wonder.

  Damn, but this hurts. I don’t want to watch him, but I can’t help it.

  How can he dance with someone else? To this song? Not that we were sentimental, either one of us, to have had “our song”-but if we had one this would have been it. We used to dance to it, me with my hands around his neck, and he’d have his hands on my butt, and we’d sing along while we danced. Sing about the river we both loved.

  How could you, Mattie? How could you have messed everything up so badly?

  “Hey, boss, leaving so soon?”

  She realized only then that she was standing, looking down at Tahoe, who was looking back at her with heavy-lidded eyes. And she was proud of the brisk and businesslike way she replied. “Hey, I’m runnin’ the Forks tomorrow. I don’t know about you, but I’m planning on getting a good night’s rest.”

  She walked out of the room without a backward glance, fully aware of the fact that she’d left before the hamburger she’d ordered had arrived. And that everyone there would know that. And probably guess why.

  In the foyer she almost bumped into Eve, who’d been lurking in the doorway, evidently watching the dancers, too.

  Oh, damn. Of all the people in the world she did not want to have to deal with just then, Eve topped the list. Not that Eve wasn’t a good friend, but she was just so darn needy. And at the moment…Dammit, right now I might be “needy” myself. Okay? When do I get to have somebody comfort me?

  The thought was so foreign to her nature, it shook her. Terrified it might show, she compensated by being overly jovial.

  “Eve-hey, where you been, girl?”

  Eve shrugged and looked away. Looked at the dancers, the empty coat rack, the beer signs on the wall. She mumbled something about having stuff to take care of. Paperwork to catch up on.

  Okay, so she was still miffed about Alex taking the Forks run? Tough. Covering her own inner turmoil, Alex gave a shoo-fly wave. “Forget that-it’s the weekend, right? You don’t have a run scheduled. Why don’t you go on in? Join the gang. They’ve got a regular party goin’ on.”

  She’d started out, bent on making her escape, when it occurred to her. She said to Eve without turning back, “Oh, hey-you can have my burger, too, if you want it.”

  Chapter 4

  It was the part he’d dreaded. He thought he’d gotten over feeling humiliated by the limitations of his physical body; f
alling on his face in public places and having to be lifted back into his chair by strangers had pretty well cured him of that. He was finding out it was much, much worse when it was friends doing the picking up. Especially friends who’d known him when he was able-bodied. Especially when one of those “friends” was Alex.

  They made it as easy on him as they could, he’d give them that. Tahoe, who could probably bench-press a Volkswagen, picked him up as effortlessly as he did the coolers full of food and set him down on the back of the mule-an old-timer named Mabel he remembered well-before he really had time to think much about it. Booker T strapped him into the saddle while Tahoe held him steady, and Alex supervised the whole operation with a frown of laserlike concentration and never once made eye contact with him.

  It probably shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. He endured it with what he hoped was expressionless stoicism, but inside he was seething with humiliation and anger, flashing back to his early days in rehab.

  Jeez, Alex, couldn’t you have the tiniest shred of sensitivity? Did you really have to watch? So how did it make you feel, seeing the man who used to share your bed picked up and plunked on the back of a mule like a baby in a stroller?

  The flare of anger passed and bleak realization came in its place.

  Hell, who am I kidding? She probably doesn’t feel anything at all. No more than she would for any other “physically challenged” customer, anyway. She’s responsible for my safety, so naturally she’s going to check everything out. It’s her job.

  He watched in grim silence while Tahoe strapped his chair onto the back of one of the other mules. Then Booker T mounted the lead horse and the train moved off onto the winding, switchbacking trail. Up ahead of Booker T, Matt caught a glimpse of Cory and Sam, top-heavy with their thirty-pound backpacks, and Alex trotting to catch up with them before they dropped out of sight into the canyon.

  He looked up at the sky, checking out of habit for the haze of forest fire. But the weekend with its invasion of crazy or careless flatlanders from L.A. and the San Joaquin Valley was still a day off, and all he saw was clear, cloudless blue, and a hawk circling lazily in it. He sniffed the air for the scent of smoke, then hauled in a chestful of air that smelled only of pine and dust and horse sweat. With it came a whole avalanche of memories. Good memories.

  Almost against his will, the anger and hurt faded, and he felt instead a fierce kind of joy. And that prickling, tingling ache that made him not know whether to laugh out loud or cry. Seemed like he’d been having that feeling a lot lately.

  He let go of the breath and settled in to enjoy the descent into the river gorge and the rocking gait of the mules beneath him, and the Sierra Nevada mountains spread out all around him like a great big welcome home.

  Alex walked away blindly, leaving the rest of the mule-packing to Tahoe and Booker T.

  Oh God, I shouldn’t have done that. Why did I do that? Stay and watch? It hurts. It hurts me to see him like this. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for him.

  She caught a quick breath to ease the pain inside her, and was grateful for the anger that helped even more. Why is he doing this? What is it, Mattie, the challenge of it? You always were a daredevil. Or are you trying to prove something? Who to? I wonder. Yourself, your big brother, or…me?

  Oh God, I hope it isn’t me.

  I wish I hadn’t watched.

  She closed her eyes for a moment…and saw her own hands checking over the saddle and the rigging. Then her mind flipped backward in time and she was seeing Matt’s hands, instead. Matt’s strong, sure hands, jerkily checking over his climbing gear. She heard his voice…

  “It’s no big secret how I feel about you, I tell you often enough. So, now I’m asking you. Do you love me?”

  What might have been, she wondered, if only I’d answered?

  If only I’d checked his rigging that day…

  She exhaled with a shudder, jerked off her sunglasses and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Then she put the glasses carefully back in place and broke into a downhill jog to catch up with Cory and Sam.

  “Okay, quit beatin’ yourself up, Pearse.”

  Cory gave his wife a rueful smile as she sank onto the granite boulder beside him. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Probably only to me.” She jerked her head toward the figure sitting alone a little way off, hunched in his chair and gazing intently at the river. “Right now you’re asking yourself, ‘Was I out of my mind, bringing him here? What was I thinking?’”

  He snorted, shook his head, then after a moment looked up at the sky as if the answers to the questions in his mind might be found written up there. “What have I done to him, Sam? Do you know what it must have been like for him, to have her see him-”

  “Pearse. You know I’d tell you if you were wrong. Okay, well, I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong. I’m not quite sure if you’re right, either, but I do know this. If anything is gonna happen between those two, they’re gonna have to face this sooner or later. I mean, he’s gonna have to let her see him bein’ weak and helpless and vulnerable and get over bein’ bothered by it. And she’s gonna have to see him that way and not have it affect how she feels about him. That’s the way it is with two people when they get to be a couple. You have to be okay with the other person bein’ the strong one now and then.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Cory said, “I’ve felt that way with you a time or two.”

  “A time or two?” Sam pretended to look shocked, then grinned and leaned over to give him an affectionate nudge.

  “The thing is,” he went on, after nudging her back, “I think there’s got to be some sort of balance-you know, offsetting measures of strengths and weaknesses.” He paused, and his gaze found his brother again before it moved on to where Alex was engaged in conference with Tahoe and Booker T down by the river’s edge. “I don’t think either of those two would be happy if it’s too one-sided.”

  “True…” She turned her head to look at him along one shoulder. “You don’t think Alex has any weaknesses? Vulnerabilities?”

  He gave a dry laugh. “Except for having some ambiguous feelings for my brother, I sure haven’t seen any so far.”

  Sam’s gaze drifted back to the trio by the water’s edge. “Everybody’s vulnerable about something. Some people just hide it better than others.”

  “That’s true.” Cory shaded his eyes with his hand. “What do you suppose is going on down there? Does that look right to you?”

  She shook her head, shading her eyes, now, too. “Huh-uh. Appears to be a problem of some kind.”

  “Well,” said Cory, getting to his feet, “I don’t know about you, but I’m for finding out what.” He offered his wife a hand up, grinning slyly.

  Sam grinned back as she took it. “Hey-I’m not too proud to show my weaknesses.”

  “How could this happen?” Alex had one hand clamped to the top of her head, as if doing that might help keep a lid on her temper. So far it wasn’t working. “The equipment was checked-thoroughly. I double-checked it myself. You know I did. How could the damn thing not be holding air?”

  Down on one knee beside the slowly deflating oar boat, Tahoe tilted his head to give her an inscrutable look. “Looks to me like the valve’s damaged, boss.”

  “What?” Alex added a second hand to the one already attempting to keep the top of her head from flying off. “How?”

  Tahoe shrugged and rose to his feet, dusting off his hands. “Pretty much had to be deliberate. Must have happened last night, after the equipment check.”

  She opened her mouth, but all that emerged was a wordless squeak of incredulity. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Sabotage? Why? Who?

  As if she’d uttered the words out loud, Booker T said mildly, “At a guess, I’d say somebody doesn’t want us to make this run.”

  Her mouth clamped shut as she realized both men were staring at her. She stared back at them in utter silence for a long moment. Then, “Good Lord, Booker T, you ca
n’t think I-”

  Booker T shrugged. “Honey, you’ve been throwing a hissy fit over this trip ever since you booked it.”

  She uttered another outraged squeak and looked at Tahoe, who was carefully not looking at either one of them. She closed her eyes for a quick three-count to get a grip on her temper, then said slowly and carefully, “Look. I was against it to begin with and I’m still not happy about it, but I’d never sabotage my own equipment just to get out of a run. Hell, I’d just cancel it, if it came to that. Booker T, you know me better than that.”

  “Yeah,” said Booker T, “I do know you.” He jerked his head toward the three people approaching. “I’m just not so sure they do. You know how this is gonna look to them.”

  Oh Lord, Alex thought. Matt. He’s going to think I did this. He knows what I think about making this run.

  “The other boat seems okay,” Tahoe offered. “And we’ve got the kayaks.”

  “Yeah…I guess. We’ll have to leave some of the gear behind, though. You guys-”

  “Is there a problem?” That was Cory. He’d reached them first, those inquisitive, see-everything eyes intent behind his glasses.

  Alex glanced at Tahoe, then Booker T. Carefully avoided looking at Matt, who was just now rolling up behind his brother, the going being a bit slow for his chair on the riverbank sand. She looked at Cory and Sam and offered them a bright gung ho smile. “Nothing we can’t deal with. Seems one of the boats doesn’t want to stay inflated.”

  “That can’t be good,” Sam muttered.

  Alex gave a chortle of laughter and tried not to think about the intent and curious stare Matt was giving her as he joined them. “Definitely not. Which is why we always bring backup. We have a couple of kayaks, just in case something like this happens. Sam, you think you can handle riding along with Tahoe?”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  No hesitation, no looking at her husband first. She had her chin up, fingers tucked in her back pockets, confident and ready for anything. Alex decided she liked this woman.