Smolder

by Lacey Weatherford

  “You do. Your life is damn near perfect—great job, big inheritance, massive house, child on the way, and a hot wife that wants to do nothing but cook and clean for you all day and ride you all night.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  I grunted. “About what?”

  “Cami likes to ride me during the day, too.” He chuckled, winking at me.

  “Way to rub it in. You’re a mean son-of-a-bitch, you know that?” I shook my head, smiling at him as he lifted the pan and came toward me.

  “I’m not that mean. I did make you breakfast, after all.” He slapped a very large pancake on my plate and my eyes widened.

  “A smiley face pancake?” I asked, glancing up at him.

  “Yep. Heroes who make the front page of the newspaper get special breakfasts.”

  “Damn it all to hell,” I breathed out. “You saw the paper.”

  “Bro, everyone has seen the paper. One of the neighbor ladies has already been by with cupcakes for both of us this morning. She said she just wanted to thank us brave firefighters for our selfless service to the community. Apparently she recognized us from the video on the news.”

  “Great, just great,” I replied.

  “That’s not all,” he continued.

  “There’s more?” I asked incredulously.

  “The fire department has fielded nine phone calls, since yesterday, from women needing help to rescue their cats from trees. Each of them, personally, asked for you.”

  I stared at him slack jawed, unable to say anything.

  He patted me on the shoulder. “Better learn to deal with it, Russ. You’re a bona fide hero, now. I’ll take you out cape shopping after breakfast. Maybe Cami can whip you up a spandex suit– you know, something real tight to show off all those cut muscles of yours. Don’t worry, I’ll have her add some extra padding to your package area, so it looks adequate.”

  “There is no need for padding there,” I retorted. “It’s plenty big all by itself.”

  Dylan chuckled, dishing a pancake for himself before setting the pan back on the stove, grabbing the butter and syrup and then sitting down beside me.

  “So, now we only have one more problem,” he said, grinning.

  Immediately, I was wary. “And what’s that?”

  “We need to come up with your super hero name.”

  Rubbing a hand over my face, I realized this story was going to escalate far beyond my control, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  A vibration in my pocket alerted me to my phone and I quickly dug it out, happy for any excuse to escape this conversation. Glancing at the number, I was surprised to see it was from Dr. McKnight’s office.

  “Uh, I’ve got to take this,” I said to Dylan, standing up and walking out the kitchen door to the side porch. “Hello?” I answered, wondering why her office was calling me. I’d left a message canceling my previous request for an appointment.

  “Hello? May I please speak with Mr. Weston?” A light and airy female voice responded.

  “This is he.”

  “Hi, Mr. Weston. I’m Misty Larson, the receptionist for Dr. McKnight. I received your calls from over the weekend.”

  “Yeah, about that. I didn’t mean to be a bother. I actually called and made the appointment before I realized who Dr. McKnight was. After I found out, I figured it might be some kind of conflict of interest, so I called to cancel the appointment.”

  “No worries. I understand, completely,” Misty continued. “I was actually calling to see if you’d agree to an appointment, anyway. Dr. McKnight would really like to meet with you.”

  Pausing, I was unsure of what to say.

  “She said if you resisted to tell you she owes you one.”

  I laughed, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “Tell her she doesn’t owe me anything.”

  “Mr. Weston, if someone had saved your life, would you want to thank them in person?”

  My thoughts drifted back to Dylan’s policeman brother-in-law, Chris, and Wilson, my fire-fighting partner, in Tucson. Both had played important roles in our rescue and I would always feel deeply indebted to them.

  Sighing, I relented. “Yes, I would.”

  “Dr. McKnight would like to speak with you—in person—this afternoon, say around one? Does that work for you?”

  “That should be fine. My schedule is clear until my shift this evening.”

  “Wonderful! I’ll pencil you in. Also, she wanted me to tell you that she’d love to hear about the initial reason you called—if you feel comfortable with that—and to let you know that you won’t be billed for that hour.”

  “I can totally pay her. That’s not a problem.” I didn’t want to get special treatment because of this.

  “I’m sure you can, but since the doctor wishes to speak to you about her own personal matter regarding the service you provided, she’d feel more comfortable not charging you. So, we will see you at one?” she continued, not giving me time to protest.

  “One o’clock. I’ll be there.”

  “Do you need directions to the office?” she asked and I smiled. Misty was very thorough.

  “I’m familiar with the area. I’m sure I can find it okay.”

  “Wonderful. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. See you soon, Mr. Weston.”

  “Okay. Thank you,” I replied, ending the call and staring out toward The Battery and the sea wall that held back the water of Charleston Harbor, beyond. Today was shaping up to be an interesting day. I had no idea what this conversation with the lady doctor would be like, but it was definitely going to put me outside my comfort zone.

  Turning, I went back inside to finish eating.

  “Everything okay?” Dylan asked as I entered, and I tried not to wince. I hated not being straight with him, but I didn’t want to bring up anything that would remotely turn the conversation to the past events that had led the three of us to move here.

  “Yeah, just a surprise phone call.” Sitting down, I grabbed the butter and syrup and began slathering it on my pancake.

  “Good surprise, or bad surprise?” he asked, concerned.

  I shrugged. “Neither, really. I guess Dr. McKnight wants to meet me. That was her secretary. She asked me to come by her office later today.” I could at least tell him that much without it seeming odd.

  Dylan chuckled. “She must’ve seen the newspaper, too.” He slapped my shoulder. “Good for you, bro. She’s a hot little number from what I could tell. A few years older than you, according to the report, but that doesn’t matter. A hot cougar is still a hot cougar, am I right?”

  “Says the guy who robbed the cradle,” I reminded him wryly.

  He laughed, unfazed. “Maybe you can score a date with her and she can thank you properly.”

  I groaned. “Please tell me you did not just go there.”

  “What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “I’m just looking out for my boy’s best interest. But if things do progress in that direction, I suggest you let her take you to her house, or a hotel. The whole neighborhood would know what was going on if you bring her to that squeaky bed of yours.”

  “Hey, now. That bed is awesome. Think of the history those springs could tell. I figured as old as you are, you’d appreciate old things.” If he was going to dish it, I could give it back just as easily. “I’m surprised a grandpa like you can even father a child at this point.”

  He burst out laughing. “I’m like four years older than you, dude. Old jokes aren’t going to work on me.”

  “Almost four and a half,” I reminded. “Those few extra months really count.”

  “Spoken like a true twenty-two year old baby,” he retorted, grinning. “Speaking of robbing the cradle, if I remember correctly, the good doctor is twenty-six, so around my same ancient age.”

  “That seems awfully young for all the philanthropic work she’s supposedly done.”

  “According to the paper, she’s very smart—graduated high school early at sixteen and im
mediately enrolled in college and finished her undergraduate degree in four years. Then she enrolled in a graduate program and earned her Ph.D. by the tender age of twenty-four. Her humanitarian work with soldiers began as part of her graduate work and has continued over the last couple of years. She really is one of the top doctors in her field.”

  “Dang, you’ve done some research! Well, that answers your question then, doesn’t it? There’s no chance of her having any interest in me. She’s an overachiever. I’m a two-year college graduate with an Associate Degree in Applied Fire Science and Emergency Medical Technology. Shoot, someone like her would practically consider me a college drop-out.” I took a bite of my food, hoping desperately we could end this conversation.

  “There’s not a soul on this planet who would think that,” Dylan replied sincerely. “You have a good job, good skills, and you risk your life more in one shift than most people do in a lifetime. Don’t sell yourself short, Russ. Even without this rescue and all the newspapers and television reporters—you’re a hero.” He was dead serious, staring straight at me, and somehow the conversation had ended up exactly in the place I’d been trying so hard to avoid. “I’ll never be able to repay you for what you did for me and Cami.”

  Emotion suddenly clogged up in my throat and it was hard to swallow my food. “If anyone is a hero around here, it’s you. You’re the one who helped me straighten up my life. I’m who I am, today, because of you.”

  “You’re who you are because you have an honest heart that is full of good. You can’t learn that—it’s born inside you, Russ. It’s the kind of thing that makes you step in front of a gun and take the hit for a friend. You did that. You.” His eyes watered slightly.

  “I simply couldn’t stand by and let that bastard hurt you and Cami anymore. It’s called human decency, nothing more.”

  “Yet. I’d wager ninety-nine percent of the human population would’ve gone running in the other direction, screaming for help. You didn’t. And that’s what makes you a hero.” He paused for a moment, glancing down at his fork and picking at his pancake briefly before looking back up at me. “And I’ll love you forever because of it.”

  Chapter Four

  Russ

  Taking a deep breath, I entered the building and proceeded to the desk in the large lobby. “I’m here to see Dr. McKnight,” I said to the young woman sitting there.

  “Dr. McKnight’s offices are located on the third floor,” she replied with a smile. “If you take the hallway straight ahead you will see the elevators. When you reach the third floor, go to the right and you’ll see it. It’s well marked.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, nodding. Turning away, I headed toward the elevators. I waited for a few moments, grateful that it was empty when the doors swished open.

  Glancing down at my clothes, I wasn’t sure if jeans and a t-shirt were the appropriate attire for something like this, but it was what I went with.

  Why am I so nervous about this meeting? Probably because all the press surrounding this had been so uncomfortable. I didn’t like being in the spotlight. I was happy being the guy behind the scenes, living and enjoying life day-by-day. Average Joe—that described me perfectly, and I wanted to keep it that way. If I could just get rid of these damn nightmares, my life would be pretty much perfect. Well, okay, a hot girl might make it a little more perfect, but I wasn’t going to press that matter.

  Arriving on the third floor, I went to the right, as instructed, and saw a set of heavy looking, wood double doors marked with a plaque beside them.

  Dr. Evelyn McKnight, Ph.D.

  Stepping inside, I glanced around the comfortable looking space and made my way to the reception desk.

  A very pretty brunette, about my age, glanced at me. “Mr. Weston?” she asked, standing and coming around the desk before I could utter a word. “I’m Misty Larson, Dr. McKnight’s secretary. We spoke on the phone? It’s a pleasure to meet you!” She extended her hand and I shook it, smiling a bit awkwardly at how enthusiastically she greeted me. “Dr. McKnight said to show you right in. This way, please.” She gestured toward a door and I followed after her.

  Poking her head inside, she spoke briefly. “Dr. McKnight, Mr. Weston is here.”

  “Wonderful! Show him in, please,” a very sweet voice responded. Searching my memory, I realized I’d only heard her talk when she was coughing and sputtering up water. I hadn’t realized how melodic her voice was.

  Stepping aside, the receptionist, whose name eluded me although she had just told me, gestured me into the room. I halted just inside, my eyes widening as I took in the woman before me.

  She was gorgeous! My mind frantically tried to compare the image before me, against the woman I’d pulled from the lake. How could I have not recognized how pretty she was?

  “Mr. Weston,” she said. I barely noticed the sound of the door closing behind me as her thousand-watt smile captured me. “I’m so happy to meet you, officially.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” I replied, truly meaning it as my gaze traveled down her wavy, long blonde hair to where the ends rested against perfectly rounded breasts beneath her silky shirt.

  I remembered enough of her rescue to know those were real, soft and supple when I’d slipped my arm around her in the water. Feeling like a prick, I quickly focused my attention back to her other notable features, doing my best to keep from gawking at the slight flair of her hips and the long graceful legs that peeked out from beneath her short, tailored skirt.

  Her face didn’t leave me any less mesmerized—big, bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, straight nose, and plump lips—I suddenly felt like I’d been put under a spell of some sort. I didn’t want to stop staring at her. No wonder soldiers flocked to her for help, just looking at her made me feel really . . . really . . . shit—I needed to sit down. Quickly.

  “Please. Have a seat,” she continued, gesturing to two comfortable chairs sitting across from each other.

  Moving to the offered chair, I immediately sat, adjusting myself discreetly as she sat down—not sure if she’d noticed or not. Casually, I rested my hands in my lap, hoping to further obscure my rather obvious physical reaction to her. Thank goodness Dylan wasn’t here. He’d be having a field day with this.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked. “No lasting side effects?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied, still smiling as she stared at me, those big blue eyes looking right through me, instantly capturing all my secrets. She didn’t look older than me, either. If I’d passed her on the street, I’d have thought she was, maybe, nineteen. “I’ve had a slight cough here and there; but other than that, nothing too bad. The doctor gave me some antibiotics, just in case I swallowed something nasty in the lake water.”

  “That’s good. Better safe than sorry. I was surprised to hear you were back at work today, already.”

  She shrugged. “I feel fine, and it’s not like work is a physical strain on me. I sit here and talk to people all day.” A tinkling laugh escaped her and it made me smile even wider. I could listen to that sound all day. “It didn’t seem fair for me to take a day for myself when I had people waiting—who needed my help.”

  “I’m sure they would’ve understood. Besides, you, more than anyone, should be aware that there can be psychological repercussions from a near drowning. How are you, really? Have you been able to sleep okay? No nightmares?”

  Laughing again, she shook her head. “Are you offering to play therapist to me, Mr. Weston?”

  “Russ,” I corrected her. “Mr. Weston is my dad. And yes, if you need it, I’d be happy to help. I think, in my line of work, I have enough qualifications to be a good sounding board.”

  “I bet you’ve seen a lot of sad, terrible things with your job,” she stated, growing serious.

  I nodded. “I have. But it doesn’t make me love the job any less. I’m happy to be of help whenever possible.” I smiled at her. “And every once in a while, we get a really happy ending and someone survives a traged
y—like you. Those are always good days.”

  “Thank you for helping me. I’m glad I was able to be one of your ‘good days.’”

  “Me, too,” I replied. “But you evaded the question.”

  Smiling widely, she shook her finger at me. “You weren’t supposed to notice that.”

  “Evasion is my specialty.” I couldn’t seem to get rid of this damn grin on my face. “I’m the master of it, actually.”

  She studied me carefully. “A hero who’s a master at evasion? I’d love to get into that story.”

  “I’m not a hero, just a normal guy doing his job—and you’re still avoiding my question.” I raised an eyebrow at her.

  Sighing heavily, she leaned back into her chair. “Since this is simply an informal meeting of . . . friends, and not an official session, I suppose I can answer you.”

  “Let’s hear it.” I encouraged her.

  “Yes, I’ve had a couple of nightmares,” she answered honestly. “But then, just as I’m about to die, I feel these strong arms wrapping around me and they pull me up to the top of the water. I wake up gasping for air . . . and looking for you.”

  “Looking for me?” For some reason this pleased me to no end.

  “Well, you were the hero who rescued me. And, for the record, while you may not feel heroic, you are—to those people you save. Don’t play down what you’ve done for them, and don’t belittle their feelings toward you. To me, you will always be a hero.”

  Tapping my fingers against my leg, I allowed myself to relax a bit. She was easy to talk to and I liked it. “I never thought of it that way, I guess. To me, this is all stuff I’m trained to do. I go to work every day prepared to use that training, if needed. It’s normal daily life for me—well, as normal as one can get on a job that throws the unexpected at you. But that’s what I like about it. It’s never the same thing twice. Each case is new and different.”

  “The very fact that you even chose this line of work speaks to your character.”

  I chuckled. “That I’m an adrenaline junky?”

  Smiling, she shook her head. “You may be, but that wasn’t what I was referring to. Not everyone has the guts to do your job—to be able to stand in the middle of worst case scenarios and still have the presence of mind to try and fix things. That’s very commendable, Mr. Weston.”