Daredevil’s Run

Jeez, it’s four in the morning, Callahan, you really expect me to think?”

“Hey, you called me, Alex.” He tightened his fingers on the handset, half expecting her to hang up. When she didn’t, he eased himself back onto the pillows and said softly, “So. How are you? Doin’ okay?”

“I am. I’m good.” A caught breath…a pause. “How are you?”

“I’m doing just fine. I guess you heard…my brother-”

“Yeah, he stopped by here. That’s so amazing. How’s it been? The two of you…”

“Oh, it’s been-” he gave a short laugh “-a little unreal, actually. I find out I not only have a brother, but a couple of little sisters, too. I’m still trying to get my head around it. But, yeah, it’s amazing.” Lots to tell you, Alex. I’d like to tell you all about it, the way we used to tell each other everything. We used to be friends-best friends, remember? When we weren’t being lovers…or mad at each other and yelling-or not speaking.

God, I miss you, Alex.

Had he said that out loud? He didn’t think he had. But he could have. The nearness of that disaster made his scalp crawl.

“So…I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days, then.” Was it his imagination, or did her voice still sound strange? Sort of muffled.

The handset had grown slippery in his grasp. He put his free hand over his eyes and pressed on his closed lids, and was surprised to discover there was moisture there, too. “Okay-yeah. Guess you will.”

“Well…bye, then.”

“Yeah. Take care now.”

“You, too.”

The phone went dead in his hand, and for a while he sat with his eyes closed and held it. His chest had a hard lump of emotion in it he didn’t know what to do with, a little like that moment right after he’d met Cory for the first time, in the hallway outside the locker room. Like he’d done then, he tried laughing and swearing and whooshing out a breath, but none of those things helped. Not this time.

It hurt too much. And he was too damn big and strong to cry.

“Dieter’s gone? He’s the only other Class V guide we’ve got, besides Tahoe. What do you mean, he’s gone? Since when? Ah, jeez, Booker T-”

“Hey, don’t kill the messenger.” Booker T held up his hands and tried-unsuccessfully-to look innocent. “You know how these guides are-come and go as they please, especially those Class V guys. Bunch of adrenaline junkies. I guess the season’s about getting started up there in Idaho, on the Salmon, and Dieter told me he wanted to get there for the spring runoff-said that’s the best water. Who am I to tell him he can’t?”

“You told him he could go? You told him? You knew I needed two fives for this Forks run. I don’t have anybody else available.”

“Sure you do. Tahoe and you. That makes your two.”

“Yeah, but I’m not going. How can I? Somebody’s got to stay here and run this place.”

Booker T was in the process of shouldering a pair of oars. He paused to snort. “You know good and well if you don’t go you’re not gonna be worth a nickel around here anyway. All you’re gonna do is sit here and worry the whole time they’re gone.”

“Dammit, Booker T, who’s the boss of this outfit, anyhow?”

“Well, you are, sweet pea.” He got the oars balanced and started for the bus, but not before he threw her a wink.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know very many employees get to call their boss ‘sweet pea,’” she yelled after him. “Tell me why I don’t fire your ass!”

Booker T’s cackle drifted back to her. “Because if you fire my ass, the rest of me’d have to go along with it. Then you wouldn’t have anybody to tell you when you’re full of-”

“Booker T-”

A shadow blotted out her sun. She whirled to face the man-mountain who had cast it-her one remaining Class V river guide, whom she knew only by the unlikely name he’d given her when she’d first hired him five years before: Tahoe Jones. His wild auburn hair, backlit by the sun, formed a fiery halo around his deeply tanned face, and his full, dark brown beard failed to hide his grin.

“Looks like it’s you and me, boss.” Tahoe jerked his head toward the blue SUV with handicapped plates that was just then pulling through the open gate. “Can’t very well cancel now.”

Alex opened her mouth to offer a retort, but found it had gone dust dry. Keep it together, Alex. Don’t give him the satisfaction. Don’t you dare. She stood stock-still and watched the SUV roll across the yard and into a parking place beside the half-loaded bus. Like it belonged there.

The hell it does! Anger blew through her. Blessed anger. Cold fury.

She started across the yard toward the SUV, all set to inform the person driving the damn thing that he was going to have to park down at the Rafting Center, like any other client. But Booker T and Tahoe were already converging on the driver’s side of the vehicle with grins and gestures of joyous welcome. The tinted window rolled slowly down, but from where she stood, Alex couldn’t see who was inside. A wave of dizziness washed over her, a reminder that it had been some time since she’d taken a breath. She hissed one in, whooshed it out, put her hands on her hips and elected-wisely-to stay where she was.

As she watched, the world around her seemed to shrink; her focus narrowed down until it was like watching the scene through a telescope turned the wrong way around. From far, far away Alex saw the SUV’s side door slide back, saw the wheelchair lift emerge, then slowly descend.

Oh God, this hurts.

A hard, painful knot formed beneath her breastbone. Once again she reminded herself to breathe as her mind flashed back to those awful days and weeks and months of visiting Matt at the rehab hospital.

Oh God, he looks just the same.

Same brown hair, maybe a little longer, maybe a little more wavy. Same finely honed features that were in no way effeminate, and he’d shaved off the beard he’d worn the last time she’d seen him. Same poet’s mouth curved in a Huck Finn grin. Mattie’s grin. Mattie’s smile.

How dare he look just the same!

From a vast unbridgeable distance she watched the wheelchair disengage from the lift, and Booker T move in for some macho hand-gripping, backslapping, and yeah, some male-bonding-type hugging. Then Tahoe and Matt did the cool hand thing all guys seem to understand and know how to do. Nobody appeared the slightest bit constrained by the fact that one of them was in a wheelchair. To them, obviously, he was just…Matt.

Why can’t I feel like that?

I wish I could, but I can’t!

Because he’s not the same, dammit. Matt-my Matt-is strong and graceful and full of life and mischief and laughter. His body is beautiful. He moves like a thoroughbred racehorse. It’s a pleasure just to watch him. And his hands…he has the hands of a sculptor. And when he touches me-

“Alex?”

She jerked around to face Cory, letting go of another forgotten breath that told her one thing: plainly, the pain in her chest had nothing to do with breathing. Thrusting the pain ruthlessly aside, she pasted on a brilliant smile and said, “Well, I see you guys made it.”

“Alex, this is my wife, Samantha.”

The woman standing beside Cory was tall, athletic-looking and blond, her hair cut short and worn casually tousled, styled by natural influences rather than expensive hairdressers. She wore light tan cargo pants, a khaki T- shirt, aviator shades, and judging from the part of her face Alex could see, a pleasant though neutral expression. Which didn’t change as she thrust out her hand and said, “Hi, Alex. And it’s Sam.”

Her grip was strong, Alex noted. Firm, no-nonsense. She’d do okay with the paddles. “Sam,” she repeated, still automatically smiling. “Nice to meet you. And welcome to Penny Tours.”

She tried not to, but from the corner of her eye she could see Matt wheeling himself across the yard flanked by Tahoe and Booker T. The three were making their way toward the warehouse, making slow progress as other members of the crew, loaded down with supplies for the trip, paused to extend greetings or be introduced, depending on how long they’d been with the company.