Falling for the Hometown Hero

by Mindy Obenhaus

  “Yes, baby.” Leaning her hip against the island, she gave Grace her full attention.

  Grace pushed the drawer closed. “Did you know Kaleb was injured in the army?” His revelation had stunned, if not shamed, her. Sure she’d noticed that something was a little off in his gait on occasion, but she thought maybe he had a bad knee. Boy, was she wrong.

  “Oh, yes. He doesn’t hide it. In fact, he’s an inspiration to everyone here, sharing his story at area schools and churches. He’s our own real-life hero.”

  A hero whose title had come at a great price. Yet he didn’t seem bitter or angry, and she wondered how that could be.

  “Good evening, ladies.”

  Both Grace and her mother turned at the sound of Kaleb’s deep voice.

  “Hello there, Kaleb.” Mama tossed her potholders on the island. “We’re so happy you could join us.”

  “Are you kidding? After hearing Grace talk about her grandmother’s lasagna all afternoon, I was thrilled when Roger extended the invitation.”

  His attention shifted to Grace then, his smile reaching across the room, wrapping around her heart like a warm blanket on a cold night.

  She couldn’t help noticing that while she’d come directly from work, he’d changed into a pair of dark wash jeans and a tailored red-and-white button-down that hugged his muscular torso. His hair was also damp, indicating he’d likely showered.

  Nothing like being shown up by a guy. Especially one who’d suddenly garnered a great deal of her respect.

  Making dinner with Mama and Roger seem like a cakewalk compared to spending the evening with a guy whose character and outlook on life had her taking a long, hard look at herself...and not liking what she saw.

  * * *

  Kaleb had hoped for a relaxing evening and, so far, it had been just that. While there was no question that he wanted to support Roger by being here for him, he feared things could be a little tense. After the way he shut Grace down today... And even though they’d patched things up, one never knew how well that patch might hold.

  Sitting in Roger and Donna’s dining room, next to Grace, no less, Kaleb finished his last bite of lasagna. “Donna, your grandmother’s lasagna has a new fan.” He set his fork atop his empty plate. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.” It was the perfect balance of meat, cheese and pasta. And those seasonings. Just the right kick, without overpowering the other flavors.

  Grace’s mother dabbed the corners of her mouth with her cloth napkin. “That’s the response this recipe usually gets.”

  “I only wish she’d make it more often.” Roger nudged his wife’s elbow with his own, sending her a playful grin.

  Donna blushed, returning her napkin to her lap. “Kaleb, I can’t tell you how excited I am about the Hometown Heroes exhibit at the museum.”

  His chest tightened. The way it always did when his name and the word hero were used in the same sentence. He was no hero.

  “Hometown heroes? Museum?” Grace spooned another small portion of lasagna onto her plate. Her third helping, if he wasn’t mistaken. Where did she put it?

  Donna addressed her daughter. “I volunteer at the historical museum here in town. We’re planning to have a whole room dedicated to those men and women from Ouray who have served our country. We’ve received a few items—everything from photos to uniforms to ration cards—dating back to the First and Second World Wars, the Korean War and Vietnam.” She smiled at Kaleb. “However, our most recent hero is going to round things out for us. Make the exhibit more personal and real by bringing it into the twenty-first century.”

  Eager to deflect the unwanted attention, Kaleb motioned toward Roger. “What about Roger? I’m sure he’s got lots of items.”

  “Are you kidding?” Roger draped an arm across the back of his wife’s chair. “Donna had me pulling boxes from my Vietnam days out of the attic weeks ago.”

  “We’ll have the ribbon cutting on June twenty-third, a day we’re calling Hometown Heroes Day, and Kaleb here has volunteered to give a short speech, along with our other donors.”

  Volunteered? More like coerced. A bunch of women ganging up on him like that, plying him with all kinds of baked goods. A fellow didn’t stand a chance.

  Now he was committed.

  “When do you think you’ll have your items ready for us?” Donna smiled sweetly.

  “I need to finish sorting through everything.” Of course, before he could finish, he needed to actually start the process. For now, the untouched boxes were still stacked in one of his spare bedrooms, right where his parents had left them a month ago. He knew he needed to move a lever. Yet every time he thought about it, a sense of dread seemed to settle over him. “It’s a little overwhelming.”

  “I can imagine.” Leaning back, Donna folded her hands in her lap. “You were in the army how many years?”

  “Eight.”

  Grace rested her elbow on the table, perched her chin on her palm and stared at him. “How many tours of duty?”

  “Three. All in the Middle East.”

  Donna gasped. “I just had an idea.”

  Kaleb and Grace collectively turned to her mother.

  “Grace, why don’t you help Kaleb sort through his things?”

  A look of horror flashed across Grace’s face. She straightened, lowering her arm. “Mama, I don’t think that’s really appropriate. There may be some things that Kaleb doesn’t want anyone else to see.”

  Donna laid a hand at the base of her neck. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She met Kaleb’s gaze. “I apologize if I was out of line, Kaleb.”

  “No worries, Donna.”

  “Well, so long as we have everything by June ninth, we should be okay.” Donna pushed away from the table. “Who’s interested in dessert?”

  Despite his stomach being twisted in knots with guilt, Kaleb managed to down a slice of chocolate cake, another of Grace’s purported favorites, before bidding Roger and Donna farewell.

  “I’m going to say good-night, too.” Grace grabbed her jacket and pack from the closet near the front door. “Thank you for dinner, Mama.” She hugged her mother, the gesture appearing more heartfelt than the one they’d shared earlier that day. “The lasagna was even better than I remembered.”

  Outside, the last vestiges of daylight faded in the western sky. The night air was cool, something he was used to, but he was glad Grace had a jacket.

  They strolled along Fifth Street, silent. Was she feeling as sheepish in the wake of this afternoon’s events as he was? He struggled to think of something to say, but couldn’t.

  Finally, “I, uh—” Grace stepped into the void. “I’m sorry for what my mother said. About me helping you. Obviously she’s a little out of touch.”

  “Ah, she’s harmless. I know there was no ill intent.”

  After another pause, Grace continued. “You haven’t begun to sort through your stuff, have you?”

  Wow. He wasn’t expecting that. “You figured that out, huh?”

  “Yep.” Her gaze remained straight ahead.

  For some odd reason, he felt relieved. As if his secret was finally out in the open. “I have every intention of meeting that deadline, you know.”

  “I know.” Hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, she forged on. “But delving into your past makes you uneasy.”

  “How did you know?” He’d known this woman barely twenty-four hours and yet she was able to read him so well.

  She shrugged. “We all have pasts.”

  He followed her around the corner at Seventh Avenue. “It’s not like I’m hiding anything.”

  “I understand. You’d just prefer the past remain in the past.”

  “Sort of. It’s just—”

  She stopped in the middle of the street. Looked at him with eyes tha
t seemed to cut right through him. “Just what?”

  “Um— My prosthetic. Challenges. You know.” Now it was his turn to shrug.

  “Memories.”

  One innocuous word but, boy, did it pack a punch. “Yeah.”

  Her weak smile said she understood. “They have a way of sneaking up on us, don’t they?”

  Us? What memories did Grace not want to unearth?

  “I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, Kaleb. But your sacrifice deserves to be honored. People want to honor it. Why not let them?”

  Because they might see that I’m a fraud. That I’m not worthy of their honor.

  They crossed Main Street, the sound of the river growing louder as they approached. Much like the turmoil cutting a swath through him. Why couldn’t he go through those boxes? What was he so afraid of?

  Perhaps Grace’s mother was right. Maybe he did need help. Someone to give him direction and keep him on task. After all, he had a deadline and he was a man of his word.

  But who would he ask? His mother would want him to donate everything. His father was too close to the situation, too. Maybe Roger. He was military and knew how to cut to the chase. Though Kaleb hated to take him away from Donna.

  Why his gaze drifted to the woman walking beside him was beyond comprehension. He barely knew her. Still, she was military. So, in a practical sense, she would know what might be best for the museum. And, now that he thought about it, not having any personal attachment to him or anyone else might actually make her the best person for the job.

  But there was a lot of stuff in those boxes. Stuff that spanned his life from boyhood to manhood. Did he really want her sifting through every photo and newspaper article? From basic training to the IED that ended his career.

  They rounded onto Oak Street and Kaleb realized they were almost to the RV park. He’d been so lost in thought that he not only lost track of time, but location, as well. He hadn’t intended to walk Grace home, though he supposed it was the gentlemanly thing to do.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t believe in accidents. God wanted him to walk Grace home for a reason. And as he continued to ponder the boxes in his spare room, he had a pretty good idea what that reason was.

  “Grace?” He stopped in front of the empty campsite just down from hers and turned to look at her. “Would you be interested in helping me dig through my military memorabilia? I realize I’m asking a lot—I mean, you barely even know me—but I need help.”

  She watched him, seemingly intrigued. “How much stuff are we talking about?”

  “At least a dozen boxes.”

  Her eyes widened. “No wonder you’re overwhelmed.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “My mom insisted I share everything with her, and since I didn’t know what was important and what wasn’t, I had an ongoing box that I’d toss stuff into. When one got full, I’d send it to her and start on another.”

  Grace smiled then. “That’s actually pretty sweet. Not many guys would be that considerate.”

  “You obviously haven’t met my mother.”

  Grace snickered.

  “So what do you say, Grace? Would you be willing to forfeit your free time to help a poor soul?”

  “Give up my free time? Boy, you really know how to sell this.”

  “What if I throw in dinner?”

  “Okay, now you’re speaking my language.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze narrowing. “So why do you want me to help you?”

  He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t know. I guess for the same reasons I hired you as my office manager. Military background, attention to detail...”

  She nodded, yet remained silent for a moment. “Okay, I’ll do it.” Lowering her arms, she turned and took two steps toward her campsite before twisting back around. “And just so you’ll know, steak is my favorite meal.”

  Chapter Five

  Grace wandered up Seventh Avenue three days later, surprised at how quickly Ouray had begun to take up residence in her heart, granting her a measure of tranquillity she hadn’t known in a long time. She never would have thought the fabric of small-town life would feel so good. Yet here she was, savoring every cozy thread.

  The laid-back lifestyle was a pleasant change. Much different from the navy. And the cruise ship would likely keep her hopping, too. Day and night. She’d better enjoy this while she had the chance.

  Diet Dr Pepper in hand, she eased onto Fourth Street as the sun drifted farther below the town’s western slope. After work, she’d gone back to her campsite and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a baggy sweater. If she was going to spend her evening weeding through a bunch of dusty boxes, she was going to be comfortable doing it.

  She still wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to help Kaleb sort through his army stuff. Didn’t they spend enough time together at work? Or was Kaleb one of the reasons she was enjoying her time in Ouray?

  Her steps slowed. That had to be the most ludicrous thought she’d ever had. She was about to embark on a high-seas adventure. See places she’d only dreamed of. The last thing she needed was a man in her life.

  So why was her stomach fluttering at the sight of Kaleb’s single-story bungalow?

  Yellow with white trim and lots of gingerbread millwork, the house beckoned passersby to pull up a rocking chair and enjoy life on its wraparound porch. Yet for as inviting as the house was, Grace found herself with a sudden case of nerves.

  What was she? Sixteen again? She was there only to help him make a dent in those boxes.

  With a bolstering breath, she downed the last of her drink, nudged her anxiety out of the way and continued up the walk onto the porch and rang the bell.

  A few moments later, Kaleb appeared behind the screen door wearing the same medium wash jeans and work shirt she’d grown accustomed to seeing him in.

  “You’re just in time.” He pushed the door open, inviting her inside.

  “For what?” She slipped past him.

  “I was just about to throw a couple of rib eyes on the grill.”

  Her mouth watered at the mention of steak. “But I thought we were going to—”

  “You haven’t eaten, have you?”

  Following him toward the kitchen, she dared a few peeks at the rest of his house.

  For as classic and feminine as the outside of Kaleb’s house was, the inside was classically male. The living room had dark brown furniture positioned in front of a large flat-screen television and the dark wood coffee table was littered with game controllers and a laptop.

  The next room had likely once been a dining room. Sadly, it was now a gym, complete with a treadmill, weight bench and chin-up bar.

  This lovely old home, victimized by a bachelor.

  “No. But—”

  “I figured, why settle for sandwiches when we could have steak.”

  But steak was an official meal. Like a— She gulped. A date.

  That’s what you get for telling him you like steak.

  She had done that, hadn’t she?

  She cringed.

  “How do you like yours cooked?” He tossed the words over his shoulder as they entered the kitchen.

  “M-medium rare.”

  He snagged a plate with two thick slabs of meat from the kitchen counter and continued on to the back door. “Care to join me?”

  “Sure.” Tossing her empty can into the wastebasket as she passed, she followed him outside, admiring the small, though well maintained, backyard. “Anything I can do?”

  The meat sizzled as he laid it atop the hot grates.

  “Nope.” He adjusted the steaks with a pair of tongs. “Baked potatoes are in the oven. Should be ready by the time the steaks are. I’ve got butter, sour cream, shredded cheese and bacon bits for those. Sal
ad has already been tossed and is in the fridge.”

  Holy cow. In her world, that was a three-course dinner. “Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

  “Not really.” He sent her a sheepish grin. “I used bagged salad.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “That’s my favorite way to prepare it.”

  “I’m curious,” he said as they delved into their meal twenty minutes later. “What are you planning to do come September? When you’re finished at Mountain View Tours?”

  Sitting at a tiny round table tucked in the corner of the living room, she used her knife to slice off another bite of perfectly seasoned meat. “I’ll be working as an excursions manager with Crowned Prince Cruise Lines.”

  He paused, his knife and fork in midair. “Seriously?”

  She nodded, attacking her food. “The ship is in dry dock, undergoing renovations. My contract starts September fifteenth.” She shrugged. “Hence the reason for temporary employment.”

  “You’re not making this up, are you?” He watched her across the table.

  “No.” She paused her eating. “Why would I?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve just never known anyone who’s wanted to do that before.”

  “It’s the same reason I joined the navy. The open seas. Exotic ports of call.”

  “But what about a home? Don’t you want to settle somewhere?”

  Her shoulders sagged. She’d tried that. It didn’t work out.

  Setting her utensils on her plate, she reached for her water, hoping to convey an air of confidence. “I prefer a more nomadic lifestyle. I mean, growing up, my parents were always moving here and there. It suits me.”

  He watched her curiously as she took a sip, but didn’t say a word.

  Uncomfortable with the sudden silence, she picked up her plate. “I think it’s time we get started on those boxes.”

  After putting their dishes in the dishwasher, he led her down a short hallway to a small bedroom filled with boxes.

  “This is my storage room.”

  “I can see that.” Kaleb had more stuff in one room than she even owned. “Please tell me this isn’t all memorabilia.”