Phantom Waltz

by Catherine Anderson

  “They’re overprotective,” she said by way of explanation. “No cure for it, so I just let them go.”

  “I am not overprotective,” Rafe informed her. “It’s damned cold out there.”

  “Jaimie isn’t very big, Maggie,” Ryan put in. “Not much meat on him. And Rafe’s right. It’s colder than a well digger’s ass out there tonight.”

  Keefe nudged his sons aside. “I swear, it’s simple enough to dress a kid.”

  Everyone gathered around to watch Keefe struggle to dress the limp child. After managing to get one glove on, he rocked back on the heel of his boot, rubbed his jaw, and said, “How’s about we just wrap him in a quilt?”

  That suggestion was met with enthusiasm, and soon Ryan was seeing his family out. Before leaving, Keefe leaned over to give Bethany a hug. “Good night, little darlin’. You make a mean loaf of garlic bread. I think we’ll keep you.”

  Bethany stared sightlessly at the blank television screen while Ryan was gone. She prayed he kept his distance now that they were going to be alone. If he didn’t, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to resist him.

  When Ryan returned to the great room, he knew the instant he saw Bethany’s face that she was tense. He stood near the fire, feet spread, arms folded over his chest. The way he saw it, she’d endured about all the sensual circling and feinting that she could handle. If he was smart, he’d back off. There would be all the time in the world to work on her later if he handled this situation right and made her feel comfortable about returning for future visits.

  “You look exhausted,” he observed. “I think I’d better get you headed in the direction of bed. Out this far from town, I never know when I’ll have unexpected overnight guests, so I keep spare toothbrushes and stuff on hand.”

  “That’s good. I’ll be glad for a toothbrush.”

  He suddenly remembered that she was without her medication. “Damn. I don’t remember you drinking much wine at dinner.”

  “I was afraid I’d get tipsy and embarrass myself in front of your family.”

  Ryan headed toward the kitchen. “Well, they’re gone now. If you get tipsy around me, it’s no big deal.”

  He quickly collected the half-full bottle of wine and two goblets from a cupboard. “You hungry for a bedtime snack?”

  He heard the whir of her chair and glanced up to see her coming around the counter to join him. As he set himself to the task of forking pickles from a jar and slicing cheese on the cutting board, he asked, “How’s that chair powered?”

  “A rechargeable battery. I’ll need to plug it into a wall socket overnight.”

  “Not a problem.” He smiled as he popped a piece of cheese into her mouth and then handed her a full glass of wine. He’d happily charge this girl’s batteries anytime. “Bottom’s up. Two full glasses.”

  “You needn’t tell me twice. I don’t want to get any leg cramps.”

  For some reason, it had never occurred to Ryan that paraplegics might experience pain in their legs. In fact, he had assumed exactly the opposite, that they never felt anything at all, which made him question how many other of his assumptions were wrong. Searching her sweet face, which was smiling ninety-five percent of the time, he realized he was beginning to wonder about a lot of things now that he was coming to know Bethany better, namely how often she smiled when she really wanted to cry.

  He remembered watching a movie called Passion Fish about a paraplegic woman. The scene that stuck in his mind was of the woman sitting in the kitchen, frustrated beyond bearing by her disability, and suddenly starting to scream. Pulling her hair and screaming at the top of her lungs, with only the walls to hear. Had there been a time when Bethany had wanted to pull her hair and scream? Probably. There were undoubtedly still times when she wanted to.

  “Does massage help with the cramps?” he asked.

  “I’d have to twist and strain so much to massage out a cramp that I’d end up with back spasms, which are even worse,” she informed him with a laugh.

  Ryan wouldn’t have minded getting his hands on those pretty legs again to give her a massage, paying special attention to that live spot on the inside of her left thigh. That thought had him circling to another even more frustrating consideration, that Bethany might have at least partial sensation in her female parts. Maybe he was all washed up, but it seemed to him that her chances of being able to enjoy sex were good, possibly even excellent, if there were places where she had some feeling.

  Thinking of the logistics had him reaching for his goblet. If he hoped to sleep tonight, he needed a good dose of wine himself. Sitting on the love seat with her for nearly two hours had cranked his libido up on high.

  He focused his attention on the food and wine, determined not to let his gaze stray to her soft curves. After filling a plate for her, he began eating. Bethany picked up a dill pickle. Instead of biting into it, she touched the tip of her tongue to the end and sucked the juice. Ryan stared, a slice of forgotten cheese caught between his teeth. Holy hell. He was in trouble here. Watching her suck on that pickle was enough to send him running for an ice-cold dunk in the lake.

  Pocketing the cheese in his cheek, he asked in a froggy voice, “You like pickles?”

  “Mmm.” She sucked and nipped at it, driving him insane every time she flicked the firm flesh with the tip of her tongue. “Do you?”

  Ryan doubted he could taste a pickle. His pulse was slamming in his temples like shod hooves on concrete. “I sure enjoy seeing you eat one.”

  She went still, her eyes crossing slightly as she looked down her nose. Her cheeks turned a pretty pink, and she plucked the dill from her mouth.

  Ryan grinned, experiencing a purely male sense of satisfaction that he’d managed to make her blush. She wasn’t as unaffected by him as she tried to let on, and he made her just a little nervous, which was always an encouraging sign. “Don’t stop. I find it refreshing to watch a woman enjoy her food.” One of his pet peeves was females whose obsession with being thin ruled every aspect of their lives. “So many women are always on diets these days. Why is beyond me, but they act like eating is a cardinal sin. When I spring for filet mignon, I like a woman to dig in and enjoy eating it.”

  She met his gaze and took a huge bite out of the pickle. It was all Ryan could do not to flinch. He nearly laughed out loud, for he knew very well she’d done it on purpose, expressly to make him cringe. Her eyes danced with mischief. She was such a fascinating blend, he thought warmly, greatly lacking in actual experience with men, yet sharp as a tack and quick to read between the lines. He enjoyed sparring with her.

  “I’m your lady, then,” she informed him as she chewed, pickle puffing out one cheek. “I enjoy my food. Buy me filet mignon, and I’ll devour every morsel.”

  He laughed at the impish twinkle that lingered in her eyes. “You’re on. With what for dessert?”

  She raised her finely drawn brows. “I’m surprised you have to ask.”

  “Chocolate?”

  She got a dreamy look on her face. “The richer and more fattening, the better. I crave it like you wouldn’t believe.”

  Ryan wondered if she knew that the ingredients in chocolate supposedly mimicked the feelings a woman had when she was in love. The question no sooner skittered through his mind than she said, “It’s a great substitute for sex, you know. Scientifically proven fact.”

  This time, he did laugh. “You’re doing your damnedest to shock me, aren’t you?”

  She smiled beatifically. “Just testing your mettle. With five brothers, I learned early that it’s better to keep a guy on his toes than the other way around. Why? Does it worry you, having a sexually frustrated houseguest? You can always whip up a double batch of fudge.”

  Ryan Kendrick had a fail-proof cure for what ailed her, and it sure as hell wasn’t chocolate.

  Chapter Twelve

  With two full glasses of wine to relax her, Bethany slept deeply and awoke the next morning well-rested but out of sorts. Some people sang in the sh
ower and threw their arms wide to embrace the day. When she woke up, all she wanted was caffeine, solitude, and absolute silence until the grumpiness wore off. It had been that way ever since the accident, an awful trapped feeling coming over her the instant she opened her eyes and realized her lovely dreams would never again be possible. Dreams of walking and running … riding and dancing … of being released from the prison that her body had become.

  Morning sunlight shafted through the windows, its brilliance nearly blinding because it reflected off snow. The ecru drapes did little to diffuse the glare. Bethany cracked open one eye, groaned, and angled an arm over her face. Even the crackle of the pillowcase linen seemed loud.

  Hoping to adjust to the brightness slowly, she inched her arm down. The white walls were whiter than white. There was nothing to break up the monotony, no photos, pictures, or anything. The dresser and bureau were nearly bare, no knickknacks, no scarves or doilies. Motel rooms had more personality.

  Men. How could they live like this? Her brothers were the same. Their idea of decorating was to hang a calendar on the wall the first part of January.

  Bethany groaned and flopped her arms out from her body like a child about to make a snow angel. Staring at the ceiling, she tried to recall coming to bed. Blurry images circled through her mind. She remembered Ryan sitting beside her after she was settled in, but she couldn’t recall what they had talked about. Her only sharp memory was of how his eyes had shimmered in the dim light, a gentle, silvery blue that had given her shivers each time he met her gaze.

  Sprawled on her back, she silently cursed her leaden legs, wishing she could turn onto her side to ease the crick between her shoulders. No way. Rolling over required more work than it was worth, tugging and lifting and twisting. Better to just lie there like a beached whale and be content.

  Drowsily she studied the patterns in the ceiling plaster, which was also painted a relentless white. How in heaven’s name was she going to get out of bed? The door to her room was closed, and though she listened, she heard no sounds to indicate Ryan was up. First thing of a morning, she always needed to use the bathroom. Small problem. Without her bed sling, she was trapped here.

  She hated to yell for help and wake him up. Pushing onto her elbows, she glared at her chair, which he’d placed against the wall near an electrical outlet to recharge the battery. It was only about six feet from her, but it may as well have been in the northern reaches of Canada for all the good it did her.

  “Rats!” she said. “I hate this. Hate it, hate it, hate it!”

  Seconds later a sharp rap came on her door. “You decent?”

  Bethany jerked with a start and blinked. “Yeah. Come on in.”

  The door cracked open, and Ryan poked his head into the room. Still damp from the shower, his wavy jet-black hair glistened like polished obsidian, and his burnished jaw gleamed in the brilliant morning light, hinting that he’d just shaved. He looked wide awake and nauseatingly cheerful. She detested people who smiled this early in the morning. It made her want to smack them.

  “Hi,” he said, strong white teeth flashing in a grin. He pushed the door open more widely.

  “How did you know I was awake?” she asked crossly.

  He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at a white plastic box mounted on the wall near the door. Was everything in his house above floor level white? “Intercom. I’ve been having my morning coffee and waiting for you to stir.” His teeth flashed at her again. “Sounds to me like you’re a little grumpy.”

  Grumpy didn’t say it by half. Getting out of bed took bloody forever. Then the drawn-out process of going to the bathroom followed. Like most people, she wanted a cup of coffee as soon as she opened her eyes, and it was generally a half hour before she even saw the kitchen.

  He came to stand by the bed. Bethany gazed up at him, detesting the fact that she couldn’t get up by herself and had to lie there, waiting for him to help her. “You have bare walls. Don’t you get tired of looking at all this white plaster?”

  He flicked a glance at the room. “I don’t actually look at the walls much.”

  Like that was a news flash? “Well, you need to decorate. Your house says who you are.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Uh-oh is right. If your walls are an indication, you have no personality.”

  He laughed and said, “I’m working on getting a decorator.”

  “You don’t need a decorator. You need—things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “I don’t know. Things. You know, stuff that reflects who you are.”

  “I’ve got mirrors in the bathrooms. They reflect who I am.”

  “Very funny. Don’t you have things that mean a lot to you?” She jerked at the sheet, the corner of which had gotten stuck under her rump. “You need to hang things on your walls to make a statement.”

  “What do I want to say?”

  “That you’re someone. That you’ve lived and had life experiences. Snapshots of your horses, maybe. Pictures of the people you love, at least.”

  “I got a pair of old boots I’m real fond of.”

  She glared at him, which made him chuckle.

  “Are you like this every morning?” he asked pleasantly.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, boy.” He bent over to tug back the covers, then lifted her into his arms.

  She clutched his shirt, still not entirely at ease when he picked her up. “I don’t accept any grievances before noon.”

  He settled her in her chair. “I’ll be in the kitchen, sunshine. Coffee will be waiting.”

  When Bethany joined him at the front of the house a few minutes later, he gave her a wary look. “You cheered up any since I saw you last?”

  She rolled to a stop near the counter and rubbed her eyes. Her hair was all tangled, her armpits smelled, and as near as she could tell, the man didn’t own a brush, only combs that jerked her long hair out by the roots. She was a creature of habit, with morning rituals that began her day. Here, she didn’t even have clean clothes to put on.

  “Can I have some coffee?”

  He hurried to the coffeemaker and filled a waiting mug. “How do you take it, honey?”

  “Strong.”

  “No cream or sugar?”

  “No. Black and straight into the vein will suit me fine.”

  He chuckled, which earned him another glare. “You want a nail to chew on?”

  She ignored the jibe, took the cup of coffee, and went to sit by the kitchen hearth to stare mindlessly at the fire while she tried to wake up. After downing a mug of coffee, she started to feel a bit more human and a whole lot guilty for snapping at him.

  “I’m sorry for being so cranky.”

  Ryan pushed up from the table and joined her at the hearth, resting a boot on the brick as he regarded her. “You weren’t so bad that you need to apologize for it. Just a little bristly around the edges.”

  She struggled to suppress a smile. “You’re being polite. Jake says he’s seen badgers with sweeter dispositions than I have when I first wake up.”

  “Yeah?” He shrugged and sighed. “That’s a brother for you. Always ready to tell you the unvarnished truth, whether you want to hear it or not.”

  Bethany burst out laughing.

  Jake arrived thirty minutes later. Bethany had performed her morning ablutions as best she could and was enjoying a second mug of coffee when Ryan and her brother came striding into the house, talking and joking as if they were best friends.

  Bethany was in no mood for a male bonding ritual. She gave her brother a narrow-eyed look and smiled sweetly. “My goodness, aren’t you Johnny-on-the-spot? I’m surprised you found Ryan’s house so easily.”

  Jake flicked a glance at Ryan. His gaze meandered around the room, coming to a halt on the ceiling. “I’ve had business out this way before.”

  Ryan cleared his throat and tried to signal Jake with a sidelong glance, which Jake totally missed because he was busy counting ceiling cracks
and trying to look innocent.

  “Really?” Bethany mused. “What kind of business?”

  Jake scratched in front of his ear, glanced her way, and then abandoned his perusal of the ceiling to study Ryan’s floor tile. “The Rocking K is always ordering stuff from the store. You know that.”

  “And that’s why you were here before, to deliver an order?”

  Jake looked relieved. “Yeah, exactly that. I came out here recently to give Ryan an order. Right, Ryan?”

  Ryan shrugged and gave Bethany a wary look. “He gave me an order, all right.”

  Jake’s brow pleated. He looked at Ryan, then at her. His mouth pursed, and a thoughtful expression entered his eyes. “You ratted on me,” he said softly.

  Ryan held up his hands. “It was an accident, partner. We were talking, and she picked up on something I said. When she asked me point-blank, I didn’t want to lie to her.”

  Jake settled an apologetic gaze on Bethany. “It wasn’t any big deal, Bethie. I just wanted to get a few things straight with Ryan. That’s all.”

  “It is a big deal. You’re always butting into my business. It has to stop.”

  He shrugged. “It has. I won’t be doing it again.”

  “Why the sudden change of heart? Have I missed something?”

  Jake smiled at her. “Nope. I’ve just realized you probably won’t be needing me to watch out for you anymore.”

  Ryan suddenly leaped into motion. “How’s about some coffee before you head back, Jake?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Ryan grabbed a mug from the cupboard. “Nothing like a good cup of java on a snowy morning.”

  “Nope. Nothing to beat it.” Jake joined Bethany at the table. “Am I allowed to ask if you’re all right? Or will that be met with resentment, too?”

  Bethany had a feeling both men were eager to change the subject, and since she felt she’d made her point, she relaxed. “No, it won’t be met with resentment, and in answer to the question, I’m fine. Not even a bruise, and Ryan was the soul of hospitality last night.” She filled Jake in on the evening. “He has a really nice family. They all went out of their way to make me feel welcome.”