CHAPTER 3

Dallas slept through most of the first two days, waking only to eat whatever Logan put in front of him and take his medications. He was a very quiet, docile patient, never complaining even when he was in pain. His air of remote detachment at the intimate handling of his body made it much easier for Logan to change bandages, apply ointment and insert the necessary suppositories.

To Logan's chagrin, Hinx - formerly a one-man cat - spent much of his time with Dallas, curled up on or near him, keeping a watchful eye on him while he slept. Dallas appeared to appreciate the near constant company. Logan could often hear the man quietly talking to Hinx and he seemed to have one hand buried in the thick gray fur whenever Logan entered the room.

On the third day, he submitted to the ointment and bandages as usual but when Logan peeled open the suppositories he wordlessly held out his hand.

"Are you sure you can do it on your own?" Logan asked. Dallas nodded mutely and Logan handed him the foil packets. "All right. Call me if you need me." He started to leave the room and then turned back with a snap of his fingers. "Oh, I almost forgot. I'm going over to your apartment this afternoon, to pick up some clothes for you. Is there anything else you would like me to get while I'm there?"

"Uh-- I left the book I was reading on the nightstand," Dallas offered tentatively. "It's the one by Michael Taggert. But you don't have to go get anything for me. I'm feeling a lot better. I can go home now, if you want me to. You can just drop me off instead of bringing anything back."

Logan shook his head. The man still needed a nap after he walked to the bathroom and back. He wasn't ready to stay alone yet. "The doctor said a week or two," he said, ending the argument before it got off the ground. "Clothes and the book on the nightstand. Anything else?"

Dallas hesitated, as if he were going to argue, then said, "I guess you could bring my math and science books. They should be on the table next to the computer."

"Textbooks?" Logan raised an eyebrow. "You're taking college courses?"

Dallas flushed and picked at the corner of the foil pack in his hand. "No, high school. Online."

"All right, I'll get those books, too." Logan tactfully ignored the flush. "Call me if you need any help. Otherwise, lunch will be ready in about twenty minutes."

The week passed and Dallas remained at the loft. He was an easy houseguest. He slept late every morning, which enabled Logan to maintain his normal routine. The sound of the shower became his signal to start winding up his work, making the need for the old alarm clock unnecessary. Afterwards, Dallas would flip through the paper while Logan made lunch for both of them. The younger man seemed adept at gauging Logan’s mood and adapting to it. Somehow he was never intrusive, content with his books or the tv if Logan wanted to be alone but always there and willing to talk when Logan was ready for company. Logan found himself enjoying the company more and more.

Dallas folded the paper down the center then crosswise, having finished the first page of the comics. Logan spread mayo on a couple of slices of bread, lost in thought as he worked on lunch. He heard a chuckle and looked across the island to where Dallas sat reading the comics.

"What’s funny?" Logan asked with a smile.

"Zits," he said. "I love it." He recounted what he had read, then went back to the paper while Logan finished making their sandwiches.

Yes, it was nice to have a roommate again. Logan missed having someone to cook for and someone who was a better conversationalist than Hinx. He really needed to start dating again. Meanwhile, it didn't hurt for Dallas to recuperate a little longer before he returned to his apartment.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dallas cautiously opened his bedroom door and listened quietly for a moment. Then, careful not to make any noise that would wake Logan, he slipped into the hallway of the darkened loft, side-stepping the spot that creaked. The nightlight in the bathroom provided a dim glow, enough for him to get into Logan's office without tripping over anything and turn on the desk lamp before closing the door.

Something soft and furry twined about his ankles and he instinctively gasped before scolding, "Hinx! What are you doing in here? You're supposed to be upstairs with Logan." Hinx jumped up on the desk next to the laptop and waited expectantly and Dallas laughed softly. "All right, give me a minute."

He sat down in the desk chair and opened the laptop and Hinx immediately lay down on the keyboard. As Dallas moved the cat to his lap and idly petted the soft sleek back, he thought again of the man sleeping upstairs. Logan was a mystery to him. He knew the man hadn't wanted him here, that the doctor had bullied him into it. Yet Logan's care had been gentle and compassionate and he seemed to be in no hurry to send Dallas home. He had been a gracious host.

He sighed as Hinx angled his head, begging to be scratched around the ears. He should go home, he thought. He should be trying to get his life back together, not lazing around here being waited on.

But what was the point? He couldn't go back to work yet, not until the worst of the bruises had faded and the lacerations had healed. He still didn't know how he was going to replace his toybag. Worse, he didn't know how he was going to live until he had an income again. It was so much easier to avoid thinking about it, to stay here and let Logan take care of him and buy the food, medicines and essentials he needed. He frowned.

That was another mystery. Where did Logan get his money? The loft was a nice one, with high-dollar items scattered throughout. The leather chair he sat in for one thing, not to mention the state of the art laptop with about four times the memory of the one in his apartment. Logan didn't have a job but he didn't seem worried about it. He was well-educated and they talked on an infinite variety of topics but he never mentioned a career. He wasn't independently wealthy because he searched the employment ads in the newspapers every morning.

Dallas looked around the office for insight into Logan’s personal life but found few, if any, clues. There was no sign of a boyfriend - or a girlfriend, for that matter. Logan had an almost obsessive interest in prostitutes but he had never had sex with any of them; Dallas had asked around after their first meeting.

He knew Logan was attracted to him, had been attracted since that first meeting, but he had never acted on those feelings, not even when Dallas was under his care and owed him. Had he taken a vow of celibacy or something?

He sighed again as he shook his hair out of his eyes. He was coming up with more questions and absolutely no answers. He tapped the touchpad with his finger, then reached for the game CD he had placed on the desk while the laptop hummed back to life. It didn't really matter. A few more days and he would be back home, out of Logan's life except for the occasional meetings at the park.

Glancing at the screen, Dallas realized that Logan had accidentally left a document open when he had set the laptop to hibernate earlier. He hesitated for a moment, uncertain whether to save and close the file or to minimize it. As he debated, his eyes automatically scanned the first line on the screen and he was caught, entranced, and unable to stop reading until he reached the end.

/The sound of his footsteps was deafening as they echoed against the empty sidewalk, and his heartbeat quickened as he hurried along, moving deeper into the darkness. With everything that had happened lately… Don’t think about it, he told himself. He dug a hand into his pocket, wrapping it protectively around the wad of cash there. It had been a good night’s work. Focus on good thoughts, he reassured himself./

/His breath caught in his throat when he heard footsteps pacing his own. He whipped around quickly, but no one was there, at least no one he could see. He scanned the shadows for a body, but saw no one. He questioned whether he had heard anything at all then told himself it was just his imagination./

/A scream died on his lips as he felt a hand reach out and touch him in the darkness./

"What, that's it??" Dallas exclaimed in frustration. "That's not fair! What happens next?" With a guilty glance toward the door, he scrolled to the beginning of the file and began to read it again.

Hinx stretched and stood up, then pricked Dallas' thighs with his claws, as if in admonition. "Stop that," Dallas told him irritably. "You’d read it, too, if you could."

When he had finished a second time he sat, eyes narrowed, and stared at it for a few moments while he processed what he had read. Then he pushed Hinx to the floor and went to search the bookshelves near the door. He pulled a book from the shelf and read a few lines, then shook his head and put it back. Several books later, he found what he was looking for. He ran his finger along a few lines, then snapped the book closed and replaced it on the shelf.

He sat back down and absorbed the file one more time, then leaned back with his hands folded behind his head. Well, well... His lips curved in a cocky smile. He was almost sure he knew Logan's secret now. Who would have guessed? Resolutely denying the temptation to search for more files, his game long forgotten, he closed the laptop, picked up Hinx and went back to bed.

"Dallas!" Logan rapped on the bedroom door. "Are you still in bed? Lunch will be ready in a few minutes."

"Yeah, all right. Give me a minute, ok?"

Logan frowned as he went on to the kitchen. Dallas sounded tired this morning. Knowing that the young man was used to staying up much later than he did, Logan had given him the laptop password and a couple of games to keep himself amused. He hoped that hadn't been a mistake. The young man needed plenty of rest during his convalescence.

"Logan, can I ask you something?" Dallas asked as he sat down on the bar side of the kitchen island a few minutes later.

"Sure," Logan replied distractedly while he mashed his palm against the cap of a bottle of pills and twisted, then twisted again. "I hate these child-proof tops," he said, trying to ignore the annoying click, click, click of the cap as it turned futilely. He pressed hard enough to imprint the embossed words into his palm telling him it was a childproof cap. Adult-proof was more like it. He bet a three-year-old could open it in a heartbeat.

Dallas laughed, enjoying the situation way too much in Logan's opinion.

"What are you laughing at?" he asked with a mock frown.

"You." Dallas' eyes danced as he held out his hand for the bottle. He easily popped the cap off and shook out two pills before handing the bottle and cap back to Logan with a cocky grin. "You must have loosened it for me."

"Smart ass," Logan muttered as he capped the bottle and put it back in the cupboard. "Take your pills." He set a bottle of water on the island between them. Once Dallas had washed them down, he asked, "What's your question?"

"Are you Michael Taggert?" Dallas asked.

Logan’s jaw dropped in surprise. He finally found his tongue and asked, "How did you know-- You used the laptop last night." He sighed, shaking his head. "And I forgot to close the chapter I'm working on. Damn it!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snoop," Dallas apologized with a troubled frown. "I was going to close it but I accidentally read a couple of lines and then I was hooked. I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Logan assured him. "I guess it isn't that much of a secret. If it was, I would have made sure everything was closed before I left."

"Is that why didn't you say anything when we were talking about books all those times?" Dallas asked. "You're one of my favorite authors, you know. I've read both of your books about twenty times each."

"My publisher will be happy to hear that," Logan teased.

"I bought them used. Sorry." The ready smile curved his lips again.

"Don't tell my publisher that," Logan advised with a grin.

"I won’t. Cross my heart," Dallas said, marking the spot with an "x". "You should be proud."

"I don't know why I didn't say anything," Logan said seriously as he opened the refrigerator and took out two containers of yogurt. "Maybe it felt like it would be bragging? It never really felt like the right time? Or maybe it's because I don't really see myself as an author. I keep waiting for someone to tell me it's all a mistake, go back to my day job now."

"Is that why you pretend to look for a job every day?"

"I *do* look for a job every day!" Logan snapped irritably.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it." Dallas immediately apologized. "It's just--" he mumbled.

"It's just what?" Logan prompted when he didn't continue.

"Nothing. I'm sorry. Never mind, I shouldn't have said anything."

"Stop apologizing and tell me what you were going to say," Logan ordered.

Dallas shook his head. "Nothing. It wasn't important," he muttered as he picked up his water bottle.

"Please tell me, Dallas," Logan said in a more moderate tone. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"Stop apologizing, Logan," Dallas mimicked with a tentative smile before turning serious again. "If you're really looking for a job," he took a deep breath, "why do you only circle ads in the paper? Why don't you go to an agency or headhunter or something? And why don't you ever follow up on the ads you've circled?"

Logan leaned back against the counter. "I'll be damned," he muttered at the revelation. Dallas certainly had a way of cutting straight to the point. In only a few days, he saw through a delusion that Logan had maintained for years. "You’re right."

Dallas gave him a satisfied grin. "Just an observation."

"A good one," Logan said, then changed the subject. "Do you feel up to a walk? We could take lunch to the park."

"Sure," Dallas agreed eagerly, happy at the thought of getting outside a bit. He glanced down at the loose, drawstring pants he was wearing. "Is this all right? My jeans aren't that comfortable yet."

"You look fine." Real fine, Logan thought as he took in the slender hips outlined in the soft cotton draped over them. He drew his eyes up the length of Dallas’ body, past the plain white t-shirt hugging his lean torso and settled on his face, outlined by unruly tendrils of wheat-blond hair. The casual presentation was both appealing and severely distracting. Logan cleared his throat and went to the closet to pull out two jackets.

Dallas squinted against the full sun and soft breeze as he breathed in the fresh air. "God, it’s nice to be outside," he said.

"I’m sure. A short walk should do you good," Logan said as they walked down the street.

"I don't know why you're worried about a day job." Dallas returned to the subject as they neared the park. "You're a really popular author. There's even an online mailing list devoted to your books."

"I know," Logan replied with a smug grin. "I belong to it. Anonymously, of course."

"So do I." Dallas returned the grin. "Anonymously, of course."

They walked on in silence for a few moments, each struck by the coincidence and wondering which of his list sibs he was currently living with.

"LB 80215," Logan said at the end of the block.

"MT Lover," Dallas returned the favor, then asked hesitantly, "Can I ask what this book is about? I couldn't really tell from half a chapter."

"Sure," Logan replied. "It would be nice to hear your opinion. Do you want me to tell you about it or do you want to read the whole thing when we get home?"

"Both?" Dallas requested, trying to ignore the warm feeling that the word 'home' gave him. It was just a common phrase, not to be taken literally. "Can you give me a synopsis now and I'll read it later?"

"All right. The main character is still Richard Townsend. He has a new partner--"

"Are you going to kill this one off as violently as the last two?" Dallas asked suspiciously.

"Maybe," Logan replied with a provoking smile. "Do you think I should?"

"If you do, I think you should start putting red shirts on them or change Richard's last name to Cartwright," Dallas replied tartly. "Sorry. Go on, please."

"This one is about a serial killer who is imitating Jack the Ripper. He kills in the same way at the same times and mutilates the bodies in the same way. The original Jack the Ripper supposedly announced each kill to the chief of police. This one sends his letters to Richard. Logan explained. "The twist is that he's killing male prostitutes, not female."

Dallas laughed.

"What?" Logan asked, not sure whether to be hurt or affronted.

"The first day we met, you were reading a book about Jack the Ripper and I asked if I should be worried. I was closer to the truth than I guessed." He laughed again and Logan joined in.

"It was research, I swear." Logan raised his hand with a laugh.

"Sure it was," Dallas teased. "How did you become an author? Can I ask questions like that?"

"Sure, I don’t mind," Logan replied. "I always wanted to be a writer. I loved English and Lit classes in school. I grew up in a traditional blue-collar household, though, and my father didn't have much use for my 'fantasies’. He wanted me to do something practical with my life, so I majored in Economics instead of Literature and became an investment broker. I managed to stick with it for about six years."

"That sucks," Dallas said sympathetically. "So how did you become a writer?"

"About four years ago there was a big merger and most of the people in our company lost their jobs in the downsizing. I had already had a few short stories published in anthologies and my first Townsend novel was almost finished, so I took a chance and sent it off to an agent. It didn't make me rich but I made some good investments while I was working and I'm comfortable." He gave a short laugh and Dallas looked at him inquiringly. "Most people see me as a highly-successful author. Whenever I talk to my father, the first thing he asks if is I have a real job yet. I guess looking for one has become a habit."

"What about your mother?"

Logan laughed affectionately. "She doesn't care what I do for a living. She just wants to know if I'm ever going to get married."

"And are you going to?" Dallas asked daringly.

"No, I don't think so. I've dated my share of women but my interests, as I'm sure you know, lie elsewhere." They had arrived at the park while they were talking and Logan looked at the concrete picnic table doubtfully. "I didn't think about the benches. Are you going to be able to--?"

"Can we just sit in the grass?" Dallas asked. "It looks dry enough."

"Sure." They set out their lunch and and Logan took a bite of his sandwich before asking, "What about you? Can I ask about your family?"

"Yeah, sure, but there isn't much to say. I come from a traditional family, too - a fundamentalist Christian family. They were really strict about everything. My father read the Bible to us every day and we had family prayer every night and went to church and prayer meeting three times a week. I think my father's basic philosophy was, 'If it's fun, it's a sin.' And I wanted to have fun."

He pinched a tiny ant between his fingers that found its way to his pant leg and tossed it away. "It was hell. I knew I couldn't measure up, no matter how hard I tried, so I didn't try very hard. I liked to go to movies and watch TV and play cards. My father blamed my non-church friends for corrupting me so I wasn't allowed to see them anymore."

"Your mom was the same way?"

"Oh, yeah. She always backed him up, being a mere woman and not allowed to have an opinion of her own." He grimaced. "I finally got enough of it, left home, and haven't been back. I haven't talked to them in about 5 years."

"Since you turned 18?" Logan hazarded a guess at Dallas' current age.

Dallas gave a wry smile. "Try 14."

"*Fourteen*?" Logan was unable to hide his shock.

"Yeah. I turned 15 in a one-bedroom tenement apartment that I shared with nine other people, all drug addicts and/or hookers. Great improvement, huh?" Refusing to meet Logan's eyes, he crumpled a piece of bread into a small ball and threw it at the squirrel frisking nearby.

"You shouldn't feed the squirrels, you know," Logan told him, hoping to lighten the tension. "It makes them dependent on humans."

"I heard that somewhere." The trace of a smile told Logan that the young man knew what he was doing and was grateful.

"Dallas-"

"Nathaniel."

"What?" Logan asked in confusion.

"Dallas is my working name. My real name is Nathaniel." He added, with a flash of his usual good humor, "I got it out of a book. I liked Ponyboy better but it sounded too much like a job description, so I thought I'd better go with Dallas."

Logan laughed. "Wise decision." He stood up and dusted off his jeans, then held out his hand. "Let's go home, Nathaniel."