Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  Just as she was turning to gather her things, the two McKenna sisters pushed through the kitchen door.

  “Whoa.” The blonde stopped short and glanced about the kitchen. “I was sure this place was a disaster area.”

  The other sister, the one with the long brunette hair, did a double take. “Me, too. What the hell?”

  Their gazes both landed on Reba. She slowed her swiping, tossed the dishrag in the sink, and then wiped her hands on her borrowed apron. “Well,” she said, approaching the two, “I’m sorry we have to meet like this, but I’m your new neighbor, Reba Morris.”

  The sisters looked at each other.

  “I’m Mercer,” the blonde one said and pushed out her hand.

  Reba shook it and then looked to the brunette. “So you must be Callie.”

  Callie dropped her head in a quick nod. “I am. And I can’t believe that you cleaned all of this up!”

  Reba shrugged. “It was the least I could do. You all have enough on your hands right now. We’re neighbors, and that’s what we do. I’m happy to help.”

  With that, Mercer moved to the table and sat in a chair with a huge sigh. “I could kiss you. I am so tired.”

  Reba figured they both were. Smiling, she said, “Why don’t you both sit and let me tell you what I have done. Can I get you a drink?”

  Callie joined Mercer at the table. They both shook their heads.

  “I’ve drank so much tea this afternoon I think I could float away.” Mercer grimaced.

  Reba glanced out the window and continued, “It looks like the last of the visitors are leaving and I should be too.” She stepped to the refrigerator. “There’s more iced tea in the refrigerator in the pantry. I made some fresh so it would be good through tomorrow. There were a lot of eggs in the fridge close to expiration, so I made a breakfast casserole for in the morning. Not that you needed any more food, but I hate to waste…. ” She opened the refrigerator door and pointed. “Anyway, it’s right there with the foil on top. Just bake at 375 degrees for approximately 45 minutes. I actually wrote the directions on the foil with a marker. If the cheese starts to brown too much, take it out.

  “Let’s see.” She glanced up. “Someone brought a fruit tray that hasn’t been touched—I would eat that soon before it spoils. These plastic containers are full of food left from what was out this afternoon. Probably should eat that stuff soon, too. And anything that could be frozen,” she shut the refrigerator door and opened the freezer side, “I packaged up and put it here. Everything is labeled. Wow, you have food for weeks.”

  She turned and faced the women, both with looks of disbelief on their faces.

  “Wow,” Mercer echoed, “is right. You’re as good as Bekah from Bekah’s Cottage!”

  “Ditto.” Callie blinked. “Can we keep you?”

  Reba laughed. “Oh girls, you flatter me. Although I wish I was Bekah. That woman is amazing!” She turned and bit her lip, glancing about to see if there was any way to change the subject. Then curious, she turned back. “So, do you all follow her blog?”

  “Oh yes. She’s so fun and practical,” Callie said. “I love her blog posts. And she does great social media work. Marketing was my major in college.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful! I follow her on Facebook and Twitter.”

  Mercer added, “Reba, you are so cool. Bekah is just so appealing to everyone. So down to earth. I love her recipes. Mom and I have tried a few. Especially the Creamy Butter Crust Pound Cake recipe….”

  “With all of the variations?”

  “Of course!”

  “Yes, that’s a favorite,” Reba added. And it truly was one of her all-time favorite cake recipes.

  “Well,” Callie continued, “I’m impressed with everything you have done here today. Bekah has nothing over on you. Obviously, Parker is going to be happy as a clam.”

  Bekah’s Cottage dismissed now, Reba balked at the mention of Parker. Their brief encounter earlier had left her wondering about him. A lot of people had been in and out while she organized and kept things rolling. He’d not been back in, she was pretty much certain, although a number of people had filtered in and out, looking for drinks or flatware or a napkin. At times it was a bit chaotic.

  He was a handsome man. Make no mistake about that. And she’d heard he was single.

  Of course, she wasn’t interested.

  “Then my work here is done. I’m all about making people happy with a good meal.”

  She watched the young women exchange a glance. Mercer rose and said then, “You are so wonderful to do all of this, Reba. How can we thank you?”

  Grinning inwardly, Reba shook her head and rotated toward the back door, where she plucked her purse and a sweater off a hook. After laying a hand on the doorknob, she turned back to face the two with a big smile. “Just eat and enjoy. That’s thanks enough. You all have had an emotional and trying week. I’m sure you are tired as all get out. People need to eat during these times, so make sure that you do.” She opened the door and then jerked back. “Oh, and the big salad bowl is mine. I’ll come back for it in a couple of days.”

  “Never mind about that.” The male voice came from the other side of the room.

  The girls turned, and Reba lifted her gaze. Parker McKenna had entered the kitchen. Larger than life, he commanded such a presence she almost gasped. He was more than handsome, strikingly so, with his short dark-brown hair, broad shoulders, and cocky cowboy stance. Mercy. And those dark, piercing eyes, and the way he used them almost as a weapon—a seductive weapon—caught her totally off guard this time, more so than earlier.

  He strolled forward.

  Well, hello, tall, dark and cowboy, said the wench in her head.

  Stop it! ordered her inner good girl. You’ve made a promise to yourself. Remember?

  Reba opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted.

  “No worries about the salad bowl,” he said, “I’ll bring it by when we’re finished. That is, if it’s not an imposition.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind coming by,” she told him.

  “And your place is on my way into town, so it’s not a bother.”

  Reba smiled politely. “I surely do not want to inconvenience you, Parker.”

  He took another step closer, one that seemed to suck the air right out of the room. Was it hot in here? Did she forget to turn off an oven? Were her cheeks red?

  “I insist, Reba. Of course, like I said, if it’s not an imposition.”

  Imposition? Of course it is an imposition! Couldn’t he tell that she didn’t want him at her place?

  It was all Reba could do not to stammer her reply. But she fortified herself with every charm-school-etiquette-class scenario she’d ever experienced. “Why no,” she said, smiling sweetly on the outside and quaking on the inside. “It’s not an imposition, Mr. McKenna. Not at all. I look forward to your visit.”

  “Parker,” he reminded her.

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  The hell it wasn’t an imposition, but she did have her manners.

  ****

  Parker stepped through the back door and onto the porch. He watched the dirt trail billow up behind the older model Suburban as his new neighbor drove away from the house and toward the main road.

  Where she had come from, he had no clue. He supposed everyone was too caught up in his or her own lives to gossip right now—including himself. Not that he was into gossip, but word did get around quickly when someone new moved into the area.

  Reba was pretty. And pleasant. Nice. Her smile was welcoming, and those flashing green eyes were wickedly sinful. With each blink of her black lashes, she’d touched a place inside of him that hadn’t been touched in a long time.

  Been too long without a woman.

  Yes, it had been too long, and his crotch was growing tight just thinking about it.

  Not the time.

  No, it wasn’t. Too many other things on his agenda now.

  He was thankfully alone, the sun
setting and leaving an orange-pink halo glow to the west, reminding him of just how long this day had been. He’d been up before sunrise, sitting right here on the porch, contemplating what it was going to be like to put his father in a grave today. He’d needed those long moments of quiet reflection, and he was glad he’d taken them. The remainder of the day had been one difficult moment after another.

  But he made it through. The sun was about to set on the day. He’d be damned if he’d let it set on his father’s memory.

  Shaking his head, he stepped forward and leaned into a post, relieved to have escaped the kitchen in time to avoid Liz as she’d bustled in. She’d called his name as he closed the door behind him, but he simply moved on, pretending he didn’t hear.

  It was a difficult day for everyone. Liz had lost her husband, the girls their father, and Brody his stepdad. Of course, he’d lost his dad, too. Hell, every single person who lived or worked on this ranch had their own significant relationship with his father. It was a loss any way you looked at it.

  Parker only wanted to deal with his own emotions right now. He also wanted a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked in six months. Dammit. He couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands, so he shoved them into his pockets and stared over the landscape leveling out in front of him.

  Reba Morris’s taillights blinked in the distance as she neared the main road, her vehicle dipping into and over small hills and gullies as she drove. He froze as he watched her brake lights flash and spin and, then finally, roll.

  He pushed off the porch post and yelled, “Brody! Murphy! Get your asses out here now!”

  He ran for his truck.

  Chapter Two

  The deer came from out of nowhere.

  With dusk falling and the setting sun streaming through the windshield, Reba saw the animal too late. It came from the right, and for a fleeting moment, hooves pounded against the glass and the windshield crackled and popped as it shattered. It scared the hell out of her.

  She was used to deer darting into the road in Kentucky, and knew the times of day to watch for them, but never had she actually tangled with one. This deer had taken her totally off guard.

  Instinct, rather than any kind of driving skill, made her jerk the steering wheel in the opposite direction. It could have been the wrong thing to do—her worn tires slipped and spun on the soft dirt road.

  Then she hit the ditch—and rolled the truck.

  It all happened in a nanosecond. A blur. Fast forward and slow motion at the same time. Thank God she always wore her seatbelt.

  The truck came to a rapid, jarring halt on the passenger side, rocked a bit, and then she was hanging from her seat. Sort of. Sideways. For a moment, she stayed still, trying to get her bearings straight. The windshield had cracked significantly.

  She brought her right hand to her forehead. Good God, she had a goose egg already, right above her left eye. She pulled her hand away. Sticky. Blood. She’d hit her head on the steering wheel. Had she cracked her head open?

  Glancing around her inside the cab, she attempted to orient herself. How to get out? Could she unlatch the seatbelt and drop to the other side of the truck or somehow wiggle up and out of the driver’s side door?

  She didn’t know if she could do either. Her head hurt, darn it, and she was more than a little stunned. Probably not thinking straight.

  She tried the power window beside her. Pain shot through her left forearm toward her elbow. She gasped and cursed. The window didn’t budge.

  She tried lifting the door handle to open the door. Nada.

  Finally, she felt for the seatbelt latch and tried to push it with a forefinger. Stuck.

  Dammit. She was stuck.

  She sighed, deep, and let her head fall against the seat. Dammit, dammit! It would soon be dark, and she certainly didn’t want to spend the night hanging here inside the vehicle until someone discovered her in the morning. Certainly, she could maneuver herself out of this belt, but no amount of twisting and squirming in her awkward position seemed to help. Besides, the strain made her head hurt more.

  That scenario of her hanging there all night might indeed play out, and she resigned herself to that fact.

  Then she jerked. Cell phone? Where was it? She always kept it on the charger. Was it still attached to the cigarette lighter? There. Jammed between the console and passenger seat. She stretched to snag it, but it was too far down, out of reach. And the more she tried to poke at it, the farther it slid down in that narrow crack.

  Hell’s bells. Reba closed her eyes and tried to think. If only the pounding in her head would stop. “Just think, Reba. You’re a smart girl. Just think.”

  When she opened her eyes again, the headlights of another vehicle cutting through the night blinded her.

  Thank God.

  ****

  Parker’s heart raced. The last thing he needed right now was another night of drama—but he would never refuse help to anyone in trouble.

  And especially not a new neighbor.

  There was something about Reba Morris. He wasn’t certain what. She was different, that was for sure. A little softer around the edges than many women he knew. She appeared smart and well put together, and not in an off-putting way. She was friendly and open.

  Perhaps a little guarded. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

  And she was probably in trouble right now, if what he thought just happened, had.

  Murphy had jumped in with him as he turned the truck around, and Parker yelled to Brody to follow in his own truck. You never know when you’ll need two vehicles. Perhaps someone to run and fetch more help.

  They raced down the bumpy, washboard road, and his gut clutched as he saw the SUV sitting on its side. He didn’t see anything else, which could be good and bad. At least she wasn’t thrown from the vehicle.

  He parked and then jumped out, grabbed a flashlight from under the seat, and slammed the door behind him. “Reba!”

  “Over here. Oh, thank God!”

  Her voice was high-pitched and laced with panic. He rushed to the truck and could see her as he aimed the flashlight beam down through the driver’s side window. “We’re going to get you out. Are you hurt?”

  “Just my pride!” she shouted back.

  It was more than that. Her face was streaked with blood. He jerked on the door handle.

  “It’s jammed. And I can’t unlatch my seatbelt.”

  “Okay,” he said. “We’ll figure this out. Stay calm.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Yeah, and so would he. For some reason, his insides were nothing but calm.

  Good thing was, he couldn’t smell fuel, so he didn’t think there was imminent danger of explosion or fire. But when he rounded the front of the truck, he immediately jumped back and yelled.

  A deer leaped forward, startled at Parker’s approach. The deer’s back hooves pummeled the windshield, and it cracked even more. Reba shrieked. Parker aimed the flashlight beam toward the animal’s direction and watched it buckle to the ground again.

  Broken leg, likely. “Brody!”

  His younger stepbrother joined him. “Ah, dammit. I hate that.”

  “I know. But she’s suffering. Your gun in the cab?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”

  Parker turned his attention back to the truck and Reba, intent now on getting her out of there as quickly as possible. He gripped the flashlight firmly in his hand and shouted out, “Reba, cover your face best as you can. I’m coming in through the windshield to get you out of there.”

  “Okay.” Her voice quavered a bit, and it only spurred him on.

  The deer was nearly forgotten until he heard the single gunshot crack the night. Murphy and Brody were behind him, and he realized they were taking the deer to Brody’s truck. Someone would benefit from the meat. One good thing…

  “Here we go,” he said, and with the flashlight started knocking out the rest of the crackled glass in the windshield. Luckily, it was coming out in large pi
eces and pellets, and not jagged shards of glass. Thank God for safety glass and modern technology. “You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He wasn’t sure she was. With most of the glass out of the way now, he edged into the cab, crouching a bit and facing Reba who had to be extremely uncomfortable hanging there. It was a wonder the airbags hadn’t deployed.

  She looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. He could still see the emerald twinkle of them in the moonlight. His heart melted a little, and he reached up to brush long strands of hair out of her face and then saw the swelling over her forehead and a cut. “You’re not okay,” he said softly.

  She nodded and then said, “No. I’m not.”

  “Tell me where it hurts,” he asked.

  “My head. My left arm.”

  “Anywhere else?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Not your neck? Back?”

  “No. No. I’m okay there.”

  Good. “All right.” He pulled a knife out of his pocket and looked straight into her eyes. “I’m going to cut the seatbelt, and you are going to fall, but I’m going to do my darnedest to keep you from going down hard. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  “Hold onto my shoulders if you can and just watch my face. Don’t look at the knife.”

  Her stare was fixed on him as he grabbed a section of the seatbelt at her hip and started cutting away from her body. It was like cutting through steel, but he wasn’t about to give up.

  “Almost there. Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “There.”

  Reba’s weight shifted, and Parker caught her. He tossed the knife to the side. She fell into his arms, and with his awkward crouch in the cab, they both pitched forward onto the ground.

  Reba landing on top of him.

  She raised her head up and looked at him through a fringe of falling hair. “Well, this is awkward,” she said.

  Parker grinned and chuckled. He liked a woman with a sense of humor. “Why don’t you roll away from the truck and let’s get out of here,” he told her.