Ridge: The Avenger. Leanne Banks
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in an athletic event for the purpose of promoting Mr. Montgomery’s campaign.”
Dara threw Clarence a long-suffering glance. “What Clarence means is that Drew promised the three major television networks and the rest of the free world that I would skate in a parade next week.” She pulled the pair of hot pink and black in-line skates from the bag and spun one of the wheels. “I’m surprised this wasn’t in my file, too,” she muttered darkly under her breath, then tossed Ridge a look of defiance. “I can’t skate, can’t ski, can barely dance. It took me a long time to get used to high heels.”
Her confession amused him, but he restrained himself from laughing. “And you can’t cancel,” he said, confirming her earlier statement.
“Drew doesn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘no,’” she said glumly.
“Quite true,” Clarence agreed. He paused, assessing Ridge. “I don’t suppose you know how to—”
“Absolutely not,” Dara said, rising from the sofa. “It’s not in Mr. Jackson’s job description to teach me how to skate. Besides, I’m sure he hasn’t spent the last few years whizzing around on in-line skates, so—”
“I could teach you,” Ridge casually intoned. “I’ve been on rollerblades a few times. And a fair portion of my misspent youth,” he added cynically, “was spent on skateboards.” There’d been so much darkness when he was a teenager, that sometimes all he could recall of that time was his mother and her addictions. He was surprised by the faint glimmer of his fond memory. “I even won a ribbon once.”
“That doesn’t mean—” Dara began.
“What size skates do you wear?” Clarence asked.
“Eleven.”
Clarence was already on his way out the door when Dara called after him. “Clarence!” She ran to the door. “Wait! I don’t want—” She groaned in exasperation when the door closed behind the campaign coordinator. “Oh, Lord, save me from controlling men.” She turned around to face Ridge. “You really don’t know what you’re getting into. You may carry a gun and know how to go hand-to-hand with the bad guys, but you are really out of your league on this one. This is going to take more than patience.”
Ridge had to confess that Dara was turning this into the most interesting job he’d had in years. “I’m a patient man,” he said in a mild voice.
She waved her hand dismissively. “This is going to take more than skill.”
“I have plenty of skill.”
“You don’t understand. This is going to take a miracle. We are talking about a woman who gets dizzy walking across the beginner’s balance beam. I never could balance a book on my head for my finishing school class. I’m not a balanced kind of person.”
Complete silence followed. Ridge cleared his throat to cover the chuckle he couldn’t contain.
Dara narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Ridge agreed, but couldn’t keep his amusement from his voice.
“I meant that I have a problem with keeping my balance.”
“Right.”
Dara gave him a withering glance. “If I hear you make one crack about my being unbalanced, I’ll—” Tossing her head, she glared at him, obviously trying to come up with a suitable threat. “I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll do something rash,” she promised, all heat and bluster.
Something rash. Ridge irreverently wondered what that would be. He’d love to see it. “I haven’t said a word.”
“Yes, you have,” she muttered. “You just didn’t say it out loud.”
Three hours later, in a quiet little park, Dara’s rear end came into intimate contact with concrete for the twentieth time. “That’s it!” She began tugging at the laces to her skates. “I won’t be able to sit down for a whole week.”
“You’re quitting.”
Dara heard the surprise in Ridge’s voice and glanced at him. “I wish. No. This is just a temporary retreat. I’ll try again in a couple of days.” She turned her attention back to the laces and felt her own jolt of surprise when Ridge’s strong, warm hand covered hers.
“One last try,” he said, leaning down beside her. “This time I’ll pull you.”
Dara had rejected this suggestion every time he’d made it. She could handle the instructions, and though he hadn’t made any jokes, she could have handled them, too. She just didn’t want him touching her. He made her feel flustered. “We’ve been over this. You won’t be able to pull me in the parade. I need to be able to do it myself.”
“And you will. This is just one of the steps m learning. C’mon.” He gently urged her to her feet.
Immediately feeling her feet roll in opposite directions, she grasped for Ridge. “I’m going to fall again,” she said, half warning, half plea. “I’m going to—”
Ridge pulled her flush against the front of him. “No, you’re not,” he growled, his voice full of determination, his body a wall of rock-solid strength.
Struggling for a sense of balance that was depressingly elusive, she looked up at him and shook her head. “You’re taking this personally and you really shouldn’t. I warned you it would take a miracle. I told you—”
Ridge’s hard gaze met hers and Dara bit her tongue. “You will learn to skate. I’ll make sure of it.”
She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Have you always been this strong-willed?”
Something flickered in his eyes, perhaps a memory, Dara thought, because his expression relaxed slightly.
“Yeah, I guess I have,” he said. “What about you?”
She was surprised by his assessment. Most people didn’t remark on her will. For the most part, Dara thought she kept that quality well hidden. She glanced down. “No. As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”
“Make your skates face forward,” he told her. “And hold on.”
“Don’t worry,” she murmured, concentrating on her feet.
“Look up. If you watch your feet, you’ll end up tripping. You have to watch where you’re going.”
He started skating backward, pulling her gently along. “So when did you develop your stubbornness?”
“I thought we used the term strong-willed.” Keeping her gaze trained over Ridge’s right shoulder, Dara tried not to think about the warm, bulging biceps she was clinging to, the way Ridge’s hands curled around her waist, and the brush of his spearmint-scented breath over her face as he chuckled.
“Okay,” he conceded. “Strong-willed.”
Their speed picked up the slightest bit and Dara tightened her grasp. “My mother raised me, and she was sick a lot when I was growing up. I guess you could say it was a case of what doesn’t destroy us makes us stronger.” She felt his gaze on her and looked up at him to find him regarding her intently. “What?”
He paused. “My mother was sick a lot, too.”
She felt a wave of understanding and saw the same emotion mirrored on his face. In that one moment there was a link between them, a shared experience that had shaped and hurt and left its imprint.
In some corner of her mind she heard a bird chirping and felt the October breeze brush over her, but her senses were dominated by the man who held her in his arms. As she clung to him, she sensed they’d both stepped onto a tiny piece of common ground, and for the first time in months she didn’t feel alone. “How long was she sick?”
Ridge