Everybody's Hero

by Karen Templeton

  He laughed without humor. "Not sometimes. All the time."

  "And you're somehow blaming me for that?"

  "Of course not," he said on a ragged breath, then turned to her. "I'm blaming myself. Or whatever's inside me that's so much like my father, it scares the hell out of me. Yeah, I do what I have to do. But that doesn't mean I like it."

  Her eyes stung. "That doesn't make you some kind of monster, Joe. Just human."

  But he was shaking his head, back in rock mode. "I knew all along that Seth had to be my first priority. That I couldn't let myself be distracted. But I did anyway."

  "Joe, for heaven's sake—it's not irresponsible to take some time for yourself!"

  "That's like telling an alcoholic one beer every now and then's okay."

  "Oh, for crying out loud…!" She pushed herself off the steps, needing to distance herself from his craziness. Once down in the yard, however, she whirled back around. "Why does everything have to be about your father?"

  "Probably for much the same reason as everything's about yours!"

  She lost her breath. "That was a cheap shot."

  He got up and walked over to her. "I know it was. And I'm sorry. But…" His hands threaded through her hair, tenderly cradling her skull, and her insides roiled with his torment. "But don't you see? The only way for me to not be like my father is to become more like yours. And I…care far too much about you to put you through that again. I was beginning to think maybe, maybe, I could somehow balance all of this. That I could take Hank up on his offer and Seth and I could stay here, and you and I…" He dropped his hands, his breath rushing from his lungs. "I can't fix this, Taylor. No matter how much I want to, I can't make the pieces fit." He glanced down at the muddy ground, then back up into her eyes. "I'm accepting the job offer in Tulsa."

  Well. Didn't take a ton of bricks and all that.

  "Because that's what you really want?"

  A pained smile twisted his lips. "Because it's the most responsible choice."

  "Well, then," she said. "I wish you all the luck in the world."

  She heard him whisper her name as she walked away, but what was the freaking point?

  * * *

  Oakley probably thought she'd totally lost her marbles when she stormed back into the house. And with good reason.

  "Have you ever met a more hardheaded man?" she asked the dog, pacing her living room floor with her folded arms smashed against her ribs. Oakley groaned, then laid his head on his front paws, his eyes following Taylor as she paced. "Not that I'm any great shakes, goodness knows. I knew damn well what I was getting into, but did I stop myself? Noooo." She punched the air as she walked. "Just forged right ahead into a relationship I knew full well was doomed from the start." She dropped onto the edge of the sofa, shoving her hands through her hair. "What's wrong with me, Oak? Why do I keep doing this? Why?"

  The dog hauled his mangy butt off the floor and came over to her to give her a nudge of commiseration. At least, that's what she was going with. He probably just wanted food.

  With a huge sigh, she collapsed back into the sofa cushions, listening to her heart pound in her chest and thinking she needed to do something besides sit here and listen to her heart pound in her chest. To her surprise, that something turned out to be calling her mother. Because, dammit, right now she needed her mommy. Not to kiss it better, but just to talk to. To listen. Never mind that she'd never had that kind of relationship with her mother. Or at least, if she had, she couldn't remember. But she didn't want to dump on her friends, no matter how much they would have let her. She wanted to talk to someone with a real, bona fide, vested interest in her life.

  She wanted to talk to someone about her father and her mother was the only one who could fill that bill. Whether she wanted to or not.

  So when she got her mother's machine, she said, "Hi, Mom, it's Taylor. And I'm not fine, surprise, surprise." She swiped away a tear trickling down her cheek. "In fact, right now I'm pretty damn miserable, and I need you. I need to know you give a damn about me. I mean, if you don't, I guess there's nothing I can do about that. But if you do…well, I'd just kinda like to know that, okay?"

  Then she clicked off the phone and carried it into the bedroom with her, where she threw herself across the bed and promptly passed out.

  * * *

  The phone's muffled chirping awakened her out of what felt like a drugged sleep. Eventually locating it underneath Oakley's left hip, she was still groggy when she heard her mother's, "Taylor McIntyre, what the hell makes you think I don't give a damn about you?"

  Her fingers half tangled in her hair as she pushed it back from her face, Taylor stopped midyawn, instantly awake.

  "Maybe because you never return my calls?"

  "I never got the feeling you really wanted me to," Olivia McIntyre said, and once again, Taylor felt as if the air had been sucked from her lungs.

  "Why on earth would you think that?"

  "'Just calling to say hi,'" her mother mimicked. "'I'm fine, nothing new here'."

  "You're a mother," she said dryly. "You're supposed to read between the lines."

  "Maybe I was afraid to," her mother said quietly.

  "Why?"

  After a moment, her mother said, "Because screwing up is a bitch."

  "I hope you don't expect me to deny that."

  This time, a chuckle filled out the pause. "No, I don't." Then: "So why did you call?"

  So she majorly dumped on her mother about Joe, and all the complications attendant thereto, ending with, "And for some fool reason, I have the feeling a lot of this has something do with Daddy. I just don't know what. So that's why I'm calling, to talk about him. If you want to, that is."

  Yet another pause. Then: "And if you had any idea how long I'd waited for this moment, you wouldn't say that." Only before Taylor could say, "What?" her mother said. "Do you love him? Joe, I mean?"

  "Yeah," Taylor said on a sigh, figuring they'd deal with this now, the rest of it…later.

  "And you're worried about him?"

  "In spades."

  "Because he reminds you of your father?"

  "In some ways. But most especially because he's got it in his head that if he takes out two minutes for himself every once in a while, he's somehow in danger of morphing into a clone of his father. Who was a total sleazebag, from what I can tell."

  Her mother sighed into the phone. "Fear's a helluva motivator. Especially fear of failing."

  "Daddy was afraid of failing?"

  "Of failing again. Of letting us down. And like your Joe, he never seemed to be able to find a balance, as if a single slip would send him back to square one." She hesitated, then said, "Except it sounds to me as though Joe has something Hyatt didn't have."

  "And what's that?"

  "Someone with the guts to save him before it's too late."

  "Yeah, that seems to be the general consensus. Except that only works if he wants to be saved. And I'm not getting that feeling here."

  "But then, it's always easier to let things ride, isn't it? Which is what I did with your father."

  Olivia didn't add "and you girls," but Taylor could hear it in her voice. However, that was fodder for another time.

  "So why did you?" she asked.

  "I don't know. Because I was afraid he'd feel I was being pushy? Or unappreciative of everything he was doing for us?" A beat or two passed, and then she said, "I guess I forgot loving somebody was supposed to be about sharing the load, even if the other person is hell-bent on carrying it all by himself."

  "I've tried that approach. Didn't work."

  "Then you have to try again." She paused. "Or walk away."

  "Some help you are," Taylor said, but without rancor, and her mother said, "Hey. This ain't a science," and Taylor actually laughed.

  Then they promised to stay in touch more often, the way everyone always does, only Taylor thought maybe they just might. Especially when her mother said, "Let me know how it goes with Joe. He sounds like
a keeper."

  "He is," she said, her eyes burning. Then she hung up, flopped back on the bed and thought, Uh-boy.

  Chapter 18

  The screen door to Joe's cabin was propped open, as was the Blazer's hatch which was half filled with luggage and boxes. Taylor rapped lightly on the door frame, taking a deep breath and then another, in a futile attempt to dispel the shakes. Joe came out of the bedroom with another box, coming to a dead stop when he saw her.

  She'd never asked a man to stay before. Not since she used to beg her father to play with her instead of going into work on a Saturday. Or Sunday. And God knew she wasn't about to beg this time. But if Joe was determined to leave, then he was damn well going to leave knowing all the facts. As best Taylor could figure them out, at least.

  "Hey," he said softly, that single syllable telling her there was a chance. It might be slender as a new blade of grass, but she wasn't picky.

  "Is Seth here?" She held up the copy of Judy Blume's Double Fudge she'd bought for him. "He left this at my place."

  "Oh…no. He's up at the Fraziers'. Um…just toss it in that box of books over there."

  Taylor came inside, sticking one palm over her patterned sundress, one that brushed her ankles when she walked and camouflaged her big butt. And her hair was loose, too, because, not being a total fool, she knew he liked it that way. "Didn't realize you'd be leaving so soon," she said, taking in the stacked boxes still in the cabin's living room.

  "Mitch wants me to start immediately, so I need to get back, find a house right away." His eyes followed hers around the room. "How we managed to accumulate so much stuff in eight weeks, I have no idea."

  They exchanged brief smiles, their gazes skittering apart before she said, just to keep the conversation from falling into a deep hole, "You think it'll all fit in the Blazer?"

  "If it doesn't, I can always make a second trip, I suppose."

  She nodded again, her rope-soled shoes silent against the patterned rug as she walked over to an open box on the dining table and placed the book inside. "Seth can read this himself now, did you know?"

  "Yeah, he told me."

  She twisted to face him. "But you haven't heard him?"

  "When things settle down, it's right at the top of my list."

  Her stomach quaking, she backed up against the table, sweaty palms clamped to the edge on either side of her hips, all but melting at the expression in Joe's eyes. After so many years of being conditioned to let go and move on when something wasn't working, the idea of actually fighting for something—even something she believed in with all her heart—seemed almost unnatural. And definitely terrifying. But she'd come for a reason, dammit, and she was going to see it through.

  "Seth doesn't really want to leave Haven, Joe."

  "Taylor…"

  "And I don't think you really want to, either. I think you want more than anything to take Hank up on his offer." She swallowed, but she willed her voice steady, even as Joe's gaze darkened. "And I think you want to stay here with me. But you won't do that as long as you've got it in your head that doing what you want is somehow against the rules."

  She saw his jaw harden, his mouth thin. "Don't do this," he said, his voice raw. "You know I can't stay here. And you know why."

  Even though Taylor wasn't sure her legs would support her, she pushed herself away from the table and narrowed the gap between them. "Because you can't afford to take the risk?"

  "Yes."

  Their gazes locked, she took another step closer. "You're not your father, Joe. Wanting a life of your own won't turn you into him."

  A second passed, maybe two; then he yanked his gaze from hers, grabbing a roll of packing tape off the coffee table. He ripped off a strip, the sound echoing the mood in the room. "My life's not going to settle down, Taylor," he said through a tight jaw, then glanced at her. "Not in the foreseeable future, at least." He slammed the tape across the box of books. "Maybe not ever."

  "I know that," she said gently.

  He looked at her. "You deserve more."

  "That's a cop-out."

  His brows crashed together. "No, it's the truth. You deserve more than somebody who's already got a million other responsibilities. You deserve someone who's going to be there for you when you need him. Someone who's not going to make promises he can't keep. Someone not like your father."

  "It could have been worse. I always knew my father loved me."

  "And you've never forgiven him for abandoning you."

  Her heart twisted at the bitterness in Joe's words, the pain still obviously so fresh after so many years for what his own father did to him. But she wasn't leaving this house until he understood a few things she hadn't understood herself until a little while ago.

  "And it's taken me a long time to realize how hideously unfair I was being," she said, linking her arms over her middle so he wouldn't see how badly she was shaking. "He was only doing his best for his family, just like you for yours. But I was a child, Joe. A child who couldn't connect with her own family for reasons I'll probably never understand. Of course I wanted my father around more—he was the only person in the house who gave a damn about me. So, yeah, I resented his working so much. Every time he had to back out of spending time with me, it felt like a betrayal. And when he died, I was angry. Horribly angry. But it was the anger of a child who'd felt as if she'd been ditched by her only true friend.

  "But I'm not that child anymore. Whether or not I ever really connect with my own family again, I don't know. But I've got my work and wonderful friends and a life here I genuinely love. I don't need to cling to anyone. The only thing missing," she said, taking a deep breath, "is someone to be there for. Someone who needs me to be there for him. There's nothing more precious than knowing you're somebody's sanctuary."

  Silence hummed between them for several seconds before he whispered, "But I can't be that for you."

  Two more steps, and she was close enough to lay a hand against his rough cheek, to see tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. To see in those eyes a brutal determination not to let her change his mind.

  Tough.

  "You know what your problem is?" she asked.

  His mouth twitched. "What?"

  "For one thing, you seriously need to let go of this all-or-nothing mind-set. Not being able to fix everything doesn't make you a failure, Joe. Or in danger of becoming a bum." She tilted her head. "And for another, you've got to stop mixing me up with the desperate woman your mother was when your father walked out." She rasped her thumb over his cheek. "And mixing yourself up with the jerk that called himself your father."

  Taylor stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, then moved away while she still could. However, when she got to the door, she turned and said, "You're already everybody else's hero. You don't have to be mine."

  It took everything she had in her not to run back to her car. But when she got there, even though there was no denying the hot knot of pain lodged in her chest, she still felt as though a burden the size of Texas slid off her shoulders.

  Now there was nothing left to do but wait.

  And pray.

  * * *

  "So what do you think of this one?" Joe asked his mother, standing in the kitchen of what must have been the tenth house they'd looked at in four hours. The Realtor, thank God, was out front yakking on her cell phone. Nice lady, but a little intense.

  Danielle clanged shut the oven door, smoothing her hands over her denim jumper. "Nice yard, okay kitchen, small bedrooms."

  Joe frowned up at a water stain on the ceiling. Not exactly in the same league as the four-hundred-thousand dollar houses he'd be overseeing once he started work for Mitch. "Does that mean it's in contention or not?"

  He hadn't meant for the words to come out as sharply as they had, but he was tired and nursing a headache, in part because after two days Taylor's words were still ringing in his head. Why couldn't she understand that what he wanted had nothing to do with it? When he could finally breathe more or
less normally after she walked out of the cabin, however, it hit him just what kind of legacy his father had left him…that the bastard had robbed him not only of a father, but of any sort of real life, one where he could make his own choices.

  One that included a crazy, emotional, generous redhead to share that life and his bed and his dreams and his problems, whose life and bed and dreams and problems he wanted to share, too.

  Taylor wasn't the first thing he'd wanted in fifteen years, but she was the first thing he'd wanted in fifteen years that he'd spend the rest of his days regretting that he didn't get.

  "Joe?" his mother said softly beside him. He looked down into concerned brown eyes. "I said I think we should keep looking."

  Not what he wanted to hear.

  "But not today," she said, touching his arm. "I need to get Kristen home, I can tell this is wearing her out. You want me to take Seth, too?"

  "No, that's okay." Joe looked out the kitchen window, saw that the kids had found an old tennis ball or something and were playing catch. Kristen dropped the ball more than she caught it, but she was grinning and flushed and clearly having a great time. The yard wasn't much more than a plot of wilted grass bordered on three sides by a cinder block wall partially hidden by vines. Too small for a large dog, he thought absently, noticing that he could see roofs of half a dozen neighboring houses.

  "I got it!" Kristen cried, holding the ball aloft and launching herself into a victory dance Seth had apparently taught her. Letting out a roar of his own, Seth pumped the air right along with her, and Joe smiled despite the heaviness in his chest. His brother and sister were good together, each one giving the other a sense of belonging they'd never really had. At least this part of things seemed to be working out. If nothing else, watching Seth adapt to who Kirsten was, not who she could have been had nature not thrown them a curve ball, was teaching Joe something he'd never seemed to be able to figure out on his own.

  "He's a good kid," his mother said beside him.

  "Yeah," Joe said. "He is."

  "You know," Danielle said, crossing her arms, "there's no hurry about the house. We can stay in our own apartments for a while. Or you two can move in with Kristen and me, we can double up until we decide on a place—"