Phantom Waltz, Page 2

  “I used to enjoy dancing very much.” She tapped a pen on the work surface beside her computer, her small hand clenched so tightly over its length that her dainty knuckles went white.

  Ryan shoved up the brim of his hat. He did his best convincing with his eyes. “Come on, sweetheart, take a chance on me. We’ll have fun. I give you my solemn oath to be a perfect gentleman.”

  “It isn’t that.”

  “What, then?”

  To his dismay, he saw that all the laughter and mischief in her eyes had been eclipsed by shadows. He sensed he’d said or done something to cause that, but for the life of him he couldn’t think what.

  “If you’re worried that you’re too rusty to get on a dance floor, I’m easy to follow. Give me ten minutes, and you’ll think you’ve got wings on your feet.”

  She rolled her chair back from the computer station and folded her hands in her lap, gazing up at him with a prideful lift of her small chin. “Somehow I rather doubt that.” Her strained, overbright smile was foiled by the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. “Don’t you?”

  It took Ryan a full second to register what she meant. Then he saw that she was sitting in a wheelchair.

  He felt as if a horse had kicked him in the gut—an awful, suddenly breathless feeling that made his legs threaten to buckle. It had to be a joke. She was so beautiful and perfect in every other way, the girl of his dreams. There was no way—absolutely no way.

  But then his gaze dropped to her legs. The hem of her gathered black skirt came to just below the knees, revealing flesh toned support hose, finely turned ankles, and small feet encased in black slippers. The way her feet were positioned on the rests, one turned inward, was typical of a paraplegic’s, and as shapely as her calves were, he could see that her muscles had begun to atrophy.

  Sweet Christ. He felt like a worm. His first knee-jerk reaction was to make a polite excuse and get the hell out of there. To run.

  The thought made him feel ashamed. Judging by those shadows in her eyes, she’d been down this path before and gotten badly hurt, undoubtedly by a long line of jackasses just like him who’d run when they saw her wheelchair.

  He’d be damned if he’d do that to her. It was only one date.

  Bethany fully expected Ryan Kendrick to make fast tracks or start stammering. That was usually the way it went. Watching his dark face, she had to give him credit; he looked stunned for a moment, but he quickly recovered. Flashing a wickedly attractive grin, he said, “Well, hell, I guess dancing’s out. Unless, of course, I can come up with a set of wheels so we can do the wheelchair tango.”

  Usually men avoided mentioning her wheelchair, and while they groped for something to say, their eyes reflected a frantic need to escape. She always wanted to crawl in a hole when that happened, but Ryan Kendrick’s reaction was even worse. If he felt an urge to run, he was a great loss to the stage.

  “There are a number of things besides dancing that we can go do.” He rested loosely folded fists at his lean waist, frowned, and then started naming off ideas, ending with, “How’s dinner followed by a good movie strike you?”

  It struck her as alarming. Terrifying. He was supposed to be heading for the closest exit. She flirted all the time. A girl had to have some fun, after all. But no man had ever taken her up on it. She didn’t know what to say. Every time she looked into his gun-metal blue eyes, her mind went blank. He was so handsome, the epitome of tall, dark, and gorgeous. Chiseled features, a strong jaw, jet hair, and oodles of muscle. A dangerous mix. Crystal Falls was a large town, and Bethany had attended different schools than Ryan had. She’d also been a few years younger, so they’d never moved in the same social circles. But as a teenager, she’d seen him a few times at a distance, usually out at the fairgrounds during rodeos, and she’d thought he was handsome even then. He was even more attractive now. Little wonder his name was almost legend and half the women in town fancied themselves in love with him.

  “I, um …” She shrugged, for once in her life at a total loss for words. If one of her brothers had been present, he would have marked the moment.

  Her gaze fell to his mouth. His lips were long and narrow, mere slashes in the granite hardness of his face, yet beautifully sculpted with the muted shimmer of satin. At present, one corner of that hard mouth was twitching, as if he were suppressing a smile.

  “Dinner and a movie isn’t very imaginative, I know,” he said apologetically. “I’ll think of something more exciting next time around.”

  Next time? She wasn’t sure how to deal with this. Why was he wasting his time with her? Because he felt sorry for her, maybe? She didn’t want his pity.

  She should have made certain he saw the wheelchair right away. Then this never would have happened. She couldn’t go out with him. Her legs might not work, but her heart was in fine working order, and Ryan Kendrick was a little too charming. With those twinkling eyes and that sexy grin chipping away at her defenses, it would be all too easy to get in over her head.

  She smoothed her hands over her skirt to make sure it covered her knees. There had to be a graceful way out of this. “Actually, Mr. Kendrick, the reason I hesitate is because I think I may be busy Saturday night.”

  He never missed a beat. “How about Friday, then?” He no sooner spoke than he snapped his fingers. “No, Friday won’t work. I’m sponsoring a tractor in the mud pulls that night, and I really should be at the fairgrounds.”

  “Mud pulls?” Bethany immediately wanted to bite her tongue.

  His gaze sharpened on her face. “Are you a mud-pull enthusiast?”

  She pushed at her hair, then rolled closer to the counter to straighten the work area. “I used to enjoy them very much.”

  “I’m surprised. Mostly only men like the mud pulls.”

  She shrugged. “I had strange tastes for a girl, I guess.”

  “Why past tense? If you really enjoy the mud pulls, I’d love to take you.”

  He’d obviously never been around a paraplegic. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly.”

  “Why not?”

  “Between the parking lot and track, there’s an acre of dirt and gravel.”

  “What’s a little dirt and gravel?”

  Her pulse started to pound. She swallowed, drew a deep breath, and tried to calm down. He wasn’t interested in her that way; he was only being kind. She needed to focus on that, keep her sense of humor, and laugh this off. A little stark reality was called for, apparently. Who better to give him a dose?

  “To a walking person, a little dirt and gravel is no big thing,” she said slowly. “But my wheelchair tends to bog down on uneven ground, and getting it across deep gravel is difficult.”

  He gave her a measuring look. “Does it hurt you to be carried?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Does it cause you any pain when someone carries you?”

  “You’re kidding. Right? You can’t mean to carry me.”

  “Why not?”

  Why not? He really didn’t have a clue. “The question isn’t if it might hurt me, but whether or not your back can take the abuse.” She shook her head. “It’s very nice of you to offer. Really it is, Mr. Kendrick, but—”

  “Ryan,” he corrected. “Or Rye, if you prefer. I answer to both. And I’m not being ‘nice.’ I really want to take you.”

  “Ryan, then.” Searching his gaze, which made her feel as if she’d just swallowed live goldfish, she said, “You’re sweet to offer, but you’ve no idea what you’d be getting into. There are no walkways or bleachers down at that track.”

  “So? You have a chair, and I’ll take a camp stool along for myself.”

  “No, you don’t understand. It’s not the seating arrangements that worry me, but that you’d have to carry my chair down there. It’s very heavy and awkward to handle, and then you’d have to haul me down there as well.” She shook her head again. “No. About the time you got me settled, it’d be my luck I’d need to use the ladies’ room, which is clear up at the stadium
. That’s at least a quarter mile. There you’d be, carrying me and my chair all the way up there, then all the way back. By evening’s end, you’d be wishing you never asked me.”

  “You can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds. My back can handle it.”

  “A hundred and eleven,” she corrected, thinking as she spoke that nearly half of that was dead-weight, which was heavier and more awkward to handle.

  “All of that?” He chuckled, his steel-blue eyes dancing with amusement. “Honey, I lift twice your weight dozens of times a day.”

  “No, I—”

  “It’s a date,” he insisted. Stepping to the counter, he reached over to push a notepad toward her. “I’ll be on your doorstep to pick you up at precisely six o’clock on Friday night. Just jot down your address and phone number.”

  “I really—”

  “Come on,” he cajoled. “We’ll have fun. It isn’t often I meet a lady who enjoys the mud pulls. Where have you been all my life?”

  She laughed and tried one more time to discourage him. “I’m really not much on dating. You don’t have to do this. Honestly. You’re off the hook.”

  In response to that, he narrowed an eye and shoved the notepad closer. “Full name, address, and phone number. If you won’t give them to me, I’ll play dirty and get them from Harv Coulter. The Rocking K is his largest account.”

  Imagining her father’s reaction, Bethany smiled. “I should let you go ask him. It might prove interesting. I don’t suppose you’re a betting man?”

  “Sometimes. What’s the wager?”

  “That my boss not only won’t give you my address but may run you out of here with a shotgun. Daddy tends to be overprotective of his baby girl.”

  “You’re Harv’s daughter?”

  “His one and only.” With a sigh of resignation, she bent her head and wrote the information he’d requested on the slip of paper. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. By evening’s end, when you’re popping ibuprofen and wishing you had a back brace, I don’t want to hear any complaints.”

  “You won’t.”

  As she tore the top sheet from the notepad and handed it to him, she added, “If something comes up and you need to cancel, Ryan, you can reach me here at the store during the day. I really would appreciate a call. For someone like me, getting ready to go somewhere is no easy thing.”

  He folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket. “I’ll show. Count on it.”

  She shrugged, hoping to convey that she didn’t care one way or the other. “I’ll accept any excuse. Even ‘my dog ate my homework’ will work.” She forced a bright smile.

  “Friday,” he said huskily. “Six o’clock sharp. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

  As he walked away, Bethany heard footsteps behind her. She glanced over her shoulder to see her brother Jake approaching. Dressed in the same ranch-issue faded denim and blue chambray as Ryan, he looked enough like the other man to be related. Tall and lean, yet muscular, her brother had the tough look of a man who’d pitted himself against the elements most of his life.

  Jake also had beautiful eyes—a deep, clear blue that was almost startling in contrast to his sun-dark skin and sable hair. At the moment, those eyes were fixed with glaring intensity on Ryan Kendrick’s departing back. “What was that all about?”

  “What was what all about?” she asked innocently.

  Jake gave her a long, questioning look. “As I was coming downstairs, I saw the two of you talking, and it looked like he was flirting with you.”

  Bethany raised her eyebrows. “Flirting with me? How long’s it been since you had your eyes checked?”

  His jaw muscle started to tic. “You’re paralyzed, Bethie, not dead. And you’re a very pretty lady. I know men must flirt with you occasionally.”

  “So why the scowl?”

  “Because that particular man is bad news. You steer clear of Ryan Kendrick, honey. The guy’s got a reputation.”

  Still single at thirty-one, Jake had a bit of a reputation himself. Bethany refrained from pointing that out. “A reputation for what?”

  “Loving them and leaving them.” Jake stepped over to the counter, opened a parts catalog, and pulled a pen from his shirt pocket. “Don’t do any toe-dipping in that particular pond. It’s inhabited by a shark, and I don’t want my little sister to be his next victim.”

  Chapter Two

  By Friday evening, Bethany was laughing at herself. Ryan hadn’t called to cancel, which meant their date for tonight was still on. Against her better judgment and despite all the lectures she’d given herself, she was excited about it—so excited she could barely stand it. For the first time in eight years, she was going out on a date. A real date. Not with a relative, not with some friend of her brothers’, but with Ryan Kendrick, the most sought-after bachelor in town.

  It was absurd to feel excited. It was only a onetime thing, and he had only insisted on taking her to be kind. But, hey. He was taking her someplace really fun, and she intended to enjoy every second of the evening.

  Did her hair look all right?

  She raced to her bedroom for a final inspection in the vanity mirror. Despite the extreme difficulty of stuffing her limp legs into tight jeans with only her dressing sling to assist her, she had decided to go with the cowgirl look tonight, which had been a little hard to pull off in a wheelchair, especially without a hat or riding boots. Hers were in her parents’ attic, buried under a layer of dust.

  She turned this way, then that, critical of her reflection. Did the red plaid and denim look silly? In Crystal Falls, most women wore snug Wranglers and western-style tops to events like mud pulls, but they weren’t in wheelchairs.

  Somewhere in the house, her cat knocked into some-thing. The clattering sound nearly made Bethany part company with her skin. She flattened a hand over her chest and closed her eyes. Enough. She had to stop this.

  She wasn’t so foolish as to hope that Ryan was actually attracted to her. Just the thought frightened her. An evening out, simply to have fun, was one thing, an attraction quite another. That was a can of worms better left unopened.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and stared hard at her reflection, determined to see herself as others must. She supposed she was pretty, in an ordinary sort of way. Nothing about her was exceptional, though.

  The one thing about her that was glaringly apparent was her wheelchair—the bane of her existence and always a part of her life. When Ryan looked at her, that wheelchair was what he would see, not the woman in it. She needed to remember that. She had believed in someone once, putting stock in dreams and thinking her paralysis didn’t matter, but in the end, it had been all that mattered.

  She would pretend he was one of her brothers. No big deal. She’d never see him again after tonight. She would thoroughly enjoy attending a mud pull again, and that’s what she should be concentrating on. She rarely got to do things like this anymore because it was more trouble than it was worth, the hardship falling to friends or family members who volunteered to take her.

  She returned to the living room, acutely conscious of the whirring sound her chair made as it rolled over the polished hardwood floors. Once parked, she glanced at the case clock on the mantel. Six o’clock. An achy feeling filled her throat. She straightened her shoulders, listening as the pendulum ticked away the seconds. He was just late. If he wasn’t coming, he would have called.

  And, hey … if he didn’t show, no skin off her nose. She had a fantastic family, a great job, and interesting activities that kept her on the move from morning until night. She depended on no one for fulfillment or happiness.

  Tick-tock—tick-tock. The pendulum mercilessly measured off the passing minutes, and each one seemed to last a small eternity. She leafed through a tole painting magazine, then tossed it back on the coffee table. Twenty after.

  Oh, well. Like this came as a big surprise? Deep down, she hadn’t really expected him to come. It would have been cold at the fairgrounds, anyway. Who wa
nted to freeze her buns off to watch tractors slide around in the mud?

  She moved to a window and gazed out at the side yard where the deepening dusk and an icy chill hovered low over the nude deciduous trees. No buds had sprouted on the branches yet. Because of the high elevation, spring came late for the people in Crystal Falls.

  And for some, it never came at all …

  Bethany knotted her hands into fists and closed her eyes against a rush of scalding tears, hating Ryan for getting her hopes up and hating herself for giving him the power to dash them.

  Never again. Maybe it was good that this had happened, serving as a reminder. No wishing on rainbows for her. Better to keep her feet—or in this case, her wheels—firmly rooted in reality.

  Ryan glanced at his watch and cursed. Another red light. Why was it that everything slowed him down when he was in a hurry? Damn. That old lady in the Chrysler drove at one speed, slow. He smacked the heel of his hand on the steering wheel. Then he grabbed the cell phone out of the flip-down console beside him and punched redial again. No answer. Since they had a date, she was surely at home. Why the hell didn’t she pick up? Maybe she had call waiting and was on the other line.

  The light finally changed. Ryan rode the back bumper of the Chrysler through the intersection. Then he gunned the accelerator, changed lanes, and swept past the car as if it were sitting still. The engine of the new Dodge hummed as Ryan opened it up on the straightaway.

  He’d probably get a speeding ticket, but he didn’t give a damn. Bethany. He kept remembering those dark, shifting shadows in her eyes when she’d told him she would accept any excuse to cancel. She had expected him to back out, and now he was running thirty minutes late. She would think he’d stood her up.

  The doorbell pealed. Bethany wiped her wet cheeks. Oh, God. Her face was probably a mess. She considered not answering the door, but that was silly. Besides, it was probably only one of her brothers dropping in to check on her.

  She rubbed hard under her lower lashes to make sure there were no mascara drips. Then she finger-combed her hair, giving it a fluff to fall around her shoulders. Not that she cared at this point if she looked nice, but she did have her pride. If, by chance, it was Ryan at the door, she didn’t want him to know he’d made her cry.