SOMEBODY'S HERO

by Marilyn Pappano

  "Why do you have two sanders?"

  "Because they do different types of sanding." He picked up the lumber he'd gotten in town the day before, marked the measurements and took it to the saw. He was about to flip the power switch when her face popped up on the opposite side of the table.

  "What're you doing?"

  "Come here."

  She ran around the table, her boots clomping on the cement, and he swung her up onto the workbench behind him. She didn't weigh as much as an armload of good oak boards. "Sit here."

  "But I wanna help." Her bottom lip poked out as she pointed to the saw. "I want to do that."

  "Maybe some other time." When she was twice as old and half as curious. If she and her mother stayed around that long.

  He cut the board to size, measured it again, rounded off the sharp edges, then started toward the door. He was almost outside when Lucy spoke again. "Hey. You forgot me."

  She was sitting there, boots swinging way above the floor, arms outstretched. He switched the board to his other arm, caught her around the waist and swung her to the floor. It had been a lot of years since he'd held a kid, but for just a moment the sensation was so familiar. How many times had he picked up Rebecca, Aaron, Josh or Alex? Dozens. Hundreds. When they'd been scared, when they'd been tired, when they'd needed to feel safe… He'd been their safe place, according to the court-ordered psychologist they'd seen.

  And this mountaintop was his safe place. Alone.

  "Look, there's a squirrel. If you had a horse, I'd take care of him for you. I'm gonna be a cowboy when I grow up. Our TV doesn't work up here. Does yours? What's in those woods? Mama doesn't have any sisters. Or brothers. Rebecca brought us breakfast yesterday and helped us clean the yard. Is she really your sister?"

  That caught his attention. He laid the board next to the tools he'd left earlier and picked up his hammer. Delivering breakfast seven miles from town sounded like Rebecca. So did pitching in on hard work. She would have done it for anyone who needed the help … though he was pretty sure he knew her motive for doing it for Jayne.

  "Yeah," he said at last. "She's my sister. Don't you think we look alike?"

  Lucy crouched beside him and screwed up her face as she studied him. "No. She's real pretty. And her hair's blond and yours is brown, and her eyes are blue and yours are brown."

  He didn't share even the faintest resemblance with Rebecca and their brothers. They took after their mother's side of the family, while everyone agreed that he was the spittin' image of his father.

  He'd rather look like dirt.

  Using the hammer, he tapped the cracked board loose, then handed it to Lucy. "Why don't you put that on the rubbish heap around back? Watch out for those nails."

  Holding it with exaggerated care, she headed around back.

  The new board was a perfect fit. He made sure the wood underneath was in good shape, then positioned it and had just driven in the first nail when the screen door swung open.

  "Lucy, what in heaven's name—"

  Squatting put him at eye level with Jayne's feet, which were bare, the nails painted pale pink. His gaze naturally moved up over her ankles, calves, knees and thighs before reaching the hem of her T-shirt. It was red, barely long enough to be modest, and across the chest were white letters proclaiming Smart women read romance *** I write it.

  One foot moved to rest on top of the other, and a slender hand tugged at the shirt, pulling it from the curves it naturally wanted to cling to. "Oh. I thought… I didn't realize … excuse me." Quickly she backed up and disappeared inside the house.

  And his gaze had never made it higher than the words emblazoned across her breasts.

  Shaking his head to clear it, he positioned another nail and gave it a sharp rap, missing his thumb by a hair. By the time he refocused and hammered in the next few nails, she was back, this time wearing jeans, unlaced running shoes and another T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her brown eyes were uncommonly alert, as if she'd received a rude awakening.

  "I'm sorry. I forgot you were coming by this morning. I overslept."

  "So Lucy said." Accustomed to solitude, he worked when he wanted without worrying about disturbing anyone. He hadn't given any thought to the fact that a little hammering on her front porch might wake her. "I can come back later."

  "No, of course not. I'm up. I should have been up hours ago. When I had another job, I always got up around five so I could get a few hours' writing in before I had to take Lucy to day care, then go to work myself. It's just that then I worked in an office and never did anything more physical than housework and running after Lucy in the evening. After working in the backyard yesterday, I was…" Apparently running out of air, she drew an audible breath.

  "Pooped?"

  With a smile that was more grimace, she eased herself onto the top step, carefully rested her ankle on the opposite knee and tied her shoe. "Lucy again, huh?"

  He nodded and went back to hammering.

  Moving as if it pained her, she lowered that foot, raised the other and tied that lace, then stretched her arms over her head, though not too high. "Your sister was a huge help yesterday."

  She could be. She could be a huge pain, too. She was so determined to fix Tyler's life—meaning find him a woman—while she kept guys around only long enough to break their hearts. She wasn't interested in marriage, she told him. He did her the courtesy of believing her, but she refused to return it. All he needed, in her opinion, was a woman—and not of the one-night variety.

  When all he really needed was to be left alone to live his life the way he thought best.

  "I can't believe how warm it turned after that snow."

  He glanced at her and saw that her face was tilted to the morning sun, eyes closed, a smile on her lips. Her skin was clear, tinged with the faintest of gold, and her upper lip curved into a cupid's bow. With her hair pulled back, she seemed youthful, while he felt every one of his twenty-eight years and then some.

  She looked as if she didn't have a care in the world … but no one knew better than he that looks could be deceiving. Her husband had run out on her and taken just about everything. He'd lied to her about the house and left her with a daughter to be both mother and father to. Those were cares. Even the mere mention of divorce had been enough to send his mother into a state of panic. She couldn't have handled being a single mother without a lot of help. Even then, he'd been the real parent figure.

  Jayne opened her eyes, looked around, then frowned. "Where is Lucy?"

  "She went to throw the old step away."

  She stood cautiously and walked to the end of the porch, leaning over the rail. It shifted beneath her weight. "Lucy!"

  A solid thudding signaled the kid's approach a moment before she came into sight. "Hey, Mom. I was watching the ants. They're cool."

  "Well, leave them outside where they belong. What are you wearing?"

  With a grin, Lucy stuck her foot out. "The boots Grandma gave me last Christmas."

  "Those are snow boots, stinker. And I was referring to your nightgown. We don't go running around outside in our night-clothes."

  Yes, you do, Tyler thought, and at the same time her cheeks flushed pink.

  "Go in and get dressed. And brush your teeth. And comb your hair. And put on shoes."

  "Oh, Mom." Resting one hand on Tyler's shoulder, Lucy hopped over the bottom step, then stomped to the top. "You are not fun." An instant later the screen door slammed behind her, then the stomps faded into the distance.

  "Of course, her father is always fun," Jayne muttered, turning to lean back against the rail, arms folded across her middle.

  "I wouldn't do—"

  The screech of nails pulling from wood interrupted Tyler's warning. Her eyes widened and her arms flapped as she tried to regain her balance, but it was a losing battle. The entire section of railing fell to the ground, and an instant later she landed on top of it.

  Dropping the hammer, Tyler bolted to the end of the p
orch. The color was drained from her face, making her eyes appear darker in contrast, and her mouth was moving, but no words were coming out—just short, gasping breaths. He knelt beside her but didn't touch her. The back of her head had connected with the ground, and the railing had broken her fall across the middle of her back. At best, she was going to have some nasty bruises. At worst…

  She took a breath, long and quavering, and tears gathered in her eyes. If she started crying, he was outta there. He would go home, call Rebecca, then disappear into the woods with Diaz and Cameron. He'd comforted all the weepy females any man should have to face by the time he was ten; he was out of the business. He didn't even remember how. Hell, he'd never even known how to comfort a stranger.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, his tone more curt than he'd intended.

  She took a steadier breath and slowly sat up. It was awkward lying half on the ground, half on the railing. Touching her was even more awkward, but he did it, lifting her to her feet, holding her until she was steady enough to stand on her own. The instant he let go, she sank down on the porch and scooted back with a wince. There was color in her face again, bright red to match the shirt she'd worn earlier.

  "I was thinking I'd rather park at the side of the house than out front," she remarked in a shaky voice. "Now all I need is some steps here, and I can do that. Easiest bit of demolition I've ever done."

  "Yeah. Well, next time, ask and I'll show you a less painful way to do it."

  She smiled thinly as she moved experimentally, then quickly became still again. "That's a good idea. But let's pretend there won't be a next time. Hell, let's pretend there wasn't a this time. Okay?"

  Pretend that she hadn't fallen. That he hadn't helped her up. Hadn't held her hand in his. "Okay," he agreed.

  Yeah. Sure. Like he was going to forget it.

  * * *

  Jayne hurt—from the bump on her head all the way down to her little toes. Small-town living wasn't supposed to be hazardous to her health. She was going to be black-and-blue tomorrow, to go along with all the muscle aches from yesterday. She'd be lucky if she could sit at the computer long enough to do anything besides check her e-mail.

  She shifted position, and a tiny moan escaped her, enough to make Tyler, finishing up with the step, look her way. His expression was mixed—some concern but mostly discomfort. "Do you need to see a doctor?" he asked after hammering in the last nail.

  "No, I'm fine. Just a little sore."

  "You hit your head."

  She raised her hand to the lump there and winced. "Yeah, but I didn't lose consciousness. I'm fine." It was true, too, except for the headache that was starting to throb. And the tender place right across her middle in back where the rail cap had broken her fall. She was convinced she could feel it swelling and purpling even as she sat there.

  "There's one of those twenty-four-hour clinics about thirty miles from here."

  She smiled and stood up. "Really, I'm all right." It was nothing a few aspirin tablets and a hot bath wouldn't cure.

  He was watching her, gaze narrowed, as if he didn't quite believe her. Of course, distrust went with the tortured past of a dark, brooding hero. Fortunately, before he could pursue the subject further, Lucy came bursting out of the house.

  Stopping at the top of the steps, she planted her hands on her hips. "You finished without me! I was gonna hold the nails for you!"

  Jayne took a few cautious steps away from the porch. When she didn't trip, sway or feel even the slightest dizziness, she bent to pick up the railing section. Long nails protruded from one end, top and bottom, curving outward in an oddly graceful way. Only one nail remained at the other end, rusted and bent only near the tip, while the wood where the top nail should have been was gone.

  "Do you really want steps here?"

  She looked up to find Tyler standing a few feet away. Her daughter stood behind him, feet planted as his were, hand on her hip, other hand resting on the porch floor, as his were, even though the porch floor was level with her nose. Jayne smiled faintly at the sight. Lucy liked role models. For two years she'd pounded away on a toy computer while Jayne wrote, and whenever she visited her grandparents, she wore an apron around the house and said things like "Mercy me" and "Goodness gracious." The one person she'd never mimicked was Greg. But then, she'd always copied adults.

  "Well?" Tyler prompted.

  With a blink, Jayne refocused on the section of railing in her hands. "Can I just stick this railing back up there?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "This is rotted and it's split here and here. You'd have to replace both these pieces. You can buy a pre-made section and put that up or…" He gazed away, his jaw tight, before finishing. "Or we can do new steps if it's what you really want. It's not a big job."

  She hesitantly said, "I can pay you for your time."

  Something crossed his face, then disappeared. "No, you can't," he said shortly. "Do you want the steps or not?"

  "Yes, please." Her voice was small. She took a breath to strengthen it. "I can help you."

  A muscle twitched in his jaw an instant before he said, "Lucy will help. Won't you, Lucy?"

  Her daughter's head bobbed.

  Tyler glanced at his watch. "I'll get my truck and load those rugs, drop them off, then stop by the feed store—they sell lumber, too. They should be finished by this evening."

  Jayne nodded, but he was already walking back to the front steps to gather his tools. Lucy matched him stride for stride, then stood on the new step and watched as he left. As Jayne climbed the steps, she caught her daughter's hand and pulled her, backward, into the house with her. "Did you do everything I asked you to?"

  "I got dressed. And I put on shoes." Lucy stuck one foot into the air to show a pink sneaker with elastic laces. "And I brushed my hair." Grabbing handfuls of it, she lifted it into the air, then let go. Some of it stayed up.

  "And did you brush your teeth?"

  Clamping her lips together, Lucy garbled an answer.

  "Go brush your teeth." Jayne gave her a push toward the bathroom, then went into the kitchen to take some aspirin. The muscle aches were getting better the more she moved. She hoped the headache would improve, as well. Otherwise, she was in for a fun day with Tyler hammering and Lucy helping. Not that she would complain even if her head exploded.

  Tyler was the most responsible man she would come across, according to Rebecca. That was proving to be true, and it was such a novelty that Jayne wasn't quite sure what to think. Greg had broken plenty of stuff, but he'd never fixed a thing. He'd never offered his time or his help without the expectation of something substantial in return. He'd never put in a full day at work, which explained why he'd been fired from as many jobs as he'd quit. He'd never accepted responsibility for anything.

  A responsible man in her life other than her father … quite a novelty indeed.

  By the time Tyler returned in his truck, Jayne had pulled on a pair of work gloves and walked out to meet him. He glanced at her as he slid his hands into his own pair of well-worn gloves. "I can handle this."

  "I can help."

  Instead of arguing, he shrugged and picked up one end of the nearest rug. She bent, too, with a quiet intake of breath as the movement pulled the bruised skin on her back, and gathered the other end in her hands. Immediately moisture soaked through her cotton gloves. "Eww, it's wet."

  The snowmelt had turned the dirt that permeated the fibers into mud, as well as given life to a smell words couldn't do justice to. It was enough to make her shudder all over.

  They heaved the rug into the bed of the truck, then picked up the others. As soon as the last rug left her hands, Jayne stripped off the gloves. She was tempted to toss them into the truck bed, too, but why waste them? They could go into the laundry with all the filthy towels and cloths she'd used in cleaning.

  Tyler held his gloves in one hand. "I'll be back in a few hours—"

  "Could we go with you?"

  The question surprised her as m
uch as him. There was still plenty for her to do here. Laundry, last night's dinner dishes, a little research for the next scene she would be writing.

  "I'd like to see where the dump is," she went on when he didn't speak. "My furniture's arriving next week, and I'll be getting rid of some of Edna's stuff. That way I'll know where to take it."

  He still didn't say anything.

  "I can pay for the stuff for the steps, too. And I'd like to get some paint samples. I really want to paint the house, both inside and out. I'm guessing they sell paint there, too. I mean, what's the use of lumber without paint to put on it? Well, that's a dumb question. We're living in a pile of lumber with very little paint. But anyway—"

  He raised one hand, and she gratefully stopped talking. "Okay." That was all he said, then he walked around the truck and climbed behind the wheel.

  Jayne stood there a moment, surprised by his easy concession, before turning and hurrying into the house. Lucy was still in the bathroom, the water running in the sink, so she washed her hands at the kitchen sink, then went into her bedroom. "Luce! Hurry up in there! We're going into town with Tyler!"

  There was nothing she could do with her hair, but she did a quick makeup job—foundation, eye shadow, eyeliner and lipstick. She met Lucy in the hall outside the bathroom, her hair damp where she'd combed it down. Lucy puckered up for a kiss, and Jayne bent, but instead her daughter blew minty-fresh breath full-force in her face. "Better?"

  "Much. Let's go."

  Lucy raced across the yard while Jayne locked up. By the time she'd reached the truck, Lucy was already buckled into the center section of the bench seat and swinging her feet, chattering about her very first ever pickup ride.

  Compulsively neat, responsible and endlessly patient. Jayne was learning more about her neighbor every day.

  And appreciating it.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  Every soul Tyler knew in the county was in Sweetwater that day. Saturday was a time for running errands. What had possessed him to let Jayne and Lucy come along? He could blame Jayne and her nervous rambling. It had seemed easier to say okay than to listen to her.