by Marta Perry
“I’m sure you’ve heard of Gabriel Flanagan, our city’s firefighter hero.”
Nolie looked. Well over six feet of glowering firefighter glared back at her. Gabriel Flanagan didn’t seem to be any more enthusiastic about this than she was.
“We have to set a deadline. Suppose we say one month from today. You can report back to us, and we’ll make a final decision about the grant.” The director beamed. “I’m sure we’ll all be pleased with the results.”
The expensive office shimmered in front of her eyes. One month. One month to successfully pair a service dog with a man who looked as if he’d rather do just about anything than come anywhere near her and her program.
Look for all these titles in Marta Perry’s new series, THE FLANAGANS:
Gabriel’s story—
Hero in Her Heart (LI #249, 04/04)
Brendan’s story—
Unlikely Hero (LI #287, 02/05)
Seth’s story—
Hero Dad (LI #296, 04/05)
Books by Marta Perry
Love Inspired
A Father’s Promise #41
Since You’ve Been Gone #75
*Desperately Seeking Dad #91
*The Doctor Next Door #104
*Father Most Blessed #128
A Father’s Place #153
†Hunter’s Bride #172
†A Mother’s Wish #185
†A Time To Forgive #193
†Promise Forever #209
Always in Her Heart #220
The Doctor’s Christmas #232
True Devotion #241
**Hero in Her Heart #249
MARTA PERRY
has written everything from Sunday school curriculum to travel articles to magazine stories in twenty years of writing, but she feels she’s found her writing home in the stories she writes for Love Inspired.
Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s probably visiting her children and her beautiful grandchildren, traveling or relaxing with a good book.
Marta loves hearing from readers and she’ll write back with a signed bookplate or bookmark. Write to her c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279, e-mail her at [email protected] or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.
HERO IN HER HEART
MARTA PERRY
Therefore let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in times of need.
—Hebrews 4:16
This story is dedicated to my dear brother, William Perry, his wife, Molly, and their loving family, with much love.
Dear Reader,
I’m so glad you decided to pick up this book, and I hope my story touched your heart. Helping Nolie and Gabe surmount the obstacles that separated them was a wonderful writing experience for me.
It was also exciting to learn more about the wonderful work done by service animals and those devoted individuals who train them, and to remind myself again of the heroism and self-sacrifice of firefighters.
I hope you’ll write and let me know how you liked this story. Address your letter to me at Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279, and I’ll be happy to send you a signed bookplate or bookmark. You can visit me on the Web at www.martaperry.com or e-mail me at [email protected].
Blessings,
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter One
Therefore let us draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in times of need.
Hebrews 4:16
Nolie Lang stared at the elderly philanthropist who’d just offered her her heart’s desire with some unexpected conditions attached.
“I’m sorry.” She probably sounded like an idiot, but that was how she’d felt since the moment she’d stepped into the plush offices of the Henley Foundation. “What did you say?”
Samuel Henley, beaming all over his rosy, wrinkled face, looked like one of Santa’s elves. Unfortunately, he didn’t sound like one. “I said we have the perfect test case to determine if your project is worth our foundation’s funding.” He gestured toward one of the two men sitting opposite her. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Gabriel Flanagan, our city’s firefighter hero.”
Nolie looked. Well over six feet of glowering firefighter glared back at her. Gabriel Flanagan didn’t seem to be any more enthusiastic about this than she was.
“Yes, of course I have.” Flanagan’s picture had been in all the newspapers a month or two ago, when he’d been injured while rescuing several people from a burning warehouse. “But I didn’t realize Mr. Flanagan’s injuries required the services of a seizure dog.”
She couldn’t miss Flanagan’s reaction to that comment, even though she was usually better at reading animals than people. Without saying a word, he rejected what she’d said completely.
He resembled nothing so much as a dog with its hackles raised. Flanagan was an Irish name, but Gabriel wasn’t remotely like an Irish setter. He was more of a bull mastiff—big, guarded, wary and vaguely threatening.
The silence was stretching too long. She, Henley and the man who’d been introduced as Suffolk’s fire chief all seemed to wait for a response from Flanagan. It didn’t come.
The fire chief planted beefy hands on equally beefy knees and leaned forward. “Gabe got a head injury in the accident.” He slid a sideways glance toward the man. “We’re sure he’ll recover and be back on the job in no time, but he has had a couple of—” He hesitated, searching for the word. “—episodes.”
“Seizures.” Flanagan’s voice was a ferocious bass rumble, like a threatening growl. “Call it what it is. I had three seizures.”
Seizures weren’t that unusual after a head injury. “When was the most recent one?” She ventured the question and was rewarded with a flash of barely controlled fury in eyes so deep a blue that they were almost black.
“Two weeks ago.” He spat the words out. “That doesn’t mean anything. I’m getting better all the time. I don’t need some kind of a guide dog to help me.”
“Seizure alert dog. Or service dog.” She made the correction automatically and then wished she hadn’t. Flanagan looked as if it would give him great pleasure to rip her head off.
She couldn’t really blame the man. He was obviously in complete denial, which hardly made him a good candidate to convince the Henley Foundation that they should sink a ton of money into saving her service-animal program.
She planted her feet more firmly in plush carpeting that seemed to reach to her ankles. The navy blazer and white shirt that had seemed appropriate when she’d left the farm now felt like rummage-sale leftovers. She inhaled. The office even smelled like money.
I don’t belong here, Father, but you know I’ll do whatever it takes to help Your little ones.
You can’t. Aunt Mariah’s voice had rarely echoed in her head in recent years, and now was certainly not a good time for it to start. You’re worthless. Always were, always will be.
She’d found her own way of dealing with that bitter voice over the years. I am a child of God, valuable in His sight.
The words gave her the assurance to face anyone, including eccentric milliona
ires and angry firefighters.
She cleared her throat. “If Mr. Flanagan is opposed to this, perhaps we could find another client to prove the worth of my program to the foundation.”
Henley’s rosy face crumpled, as if he were a toddler whose promised ice cream cone had been snatched away.
“Nonsense.” The chief’s voice boomed. “Of course Flanagan wants to do this. He can’t wait to get started.” He shot Gabe a look that demanded agreement.
Obviously Chief Donovan had no intention of offending the man whose generosity to the city of Suffolk, Pennsylvania, was legendary. Well, she didn’t want to offend Henley, either. She wanted him to come forth with the grant for Nolie’s Ark that would give many more people service dogs to make their lives easier.
She suppressed a flicker of panic. With the rising taxes on farmland, how much longer could she keep going if the foundation didn’t help?
“Yes.” Flanagan ground out the word. If his square jaw got any tighter, it might break. “I’m willing to cooperate.”
They were the appropriate words, but every line of his tense body said cooperation was out of the question.
Nolie’s heart sank. She couldn’t hope to convince the foundation that her program worked if her test case were determined to reject everything she had to offer.
“That’s good.” She tried to pretend she believed him. She focused on Henley across the barricade of the desk. He was the one she had to convince, not Flanagan. “But as you know, my work is primarily with children. I’m not sure that Mr. Flanagan is the best candidate.”
“You do work with adults, too.” Henley put a manicured hand on the navy folder in which she’d submitted her proposal. The cheap folder looked out of place on the expanse of polished mahogany. “You mentioned that in your application.”
She was going to have some fierce words for Claire. Her best friend had been supremely confident that convincing Henley she deserved the grant would be a snap. Maybe it would be, for someone as polished and savvy as Claire.
Unfortunately plain old country girl Nolie Lang was the one who had to do the convincing.
“Pairing a seizure dog with a client depends on the rapport between client and animal. That’s easier to achieve with a young client.”
Was she beginning to sound desperate? That was how she felt, but desperation probably wasn’t the best feeling to convey if she expected the man to fund her work.
“Gabriel Flanagan is the foundation’s choice.”
She caught the glimpse of steel in Henley’s rosy face. The implication was clear. This would be done his way or not at all.
For a moment she didn’t seem to see the elegant office with its wide windows looking out on the centuries-old city square. Instead she saw her farm, her animals and the people she could help with this money. Especially the children she could help.
She forced a smile. “If that’s how you feel about it, I’d be happy to work with Mr. Flanagan.”
She couldn’t help but glance in the firefighter’s direction. He glared back at her, as if furious that she’d agreed.
Her own anger sparked. If Flanagan didn’t want to do this, he was the one who should speak up.
“Excellent,” Henley said, rubbing his palms together in pleasure. “I’m delighted you both see it my way.”
As if either of them had a choice in the matter. Well, she’d certainly try this, but she had a bad feeling about what Flanagan was bringing to the situation.
“Now tell me,” Henley went on. “How do you usually begin work?”
Maybe it would be better not to let her gaze stray toward Gabe Flanagan. “Ordinarily I visit the client’s home first, but—”
“Good.” Chief Donovan planted his hands on the arms of his chair, as if ready to have this meeting over. “Gabe needs a ride, so you can drive him home now. That way you can meet all of the Flanagans at once.”
His tone made it sound as if that should be a real treat for her. Her apprehension grew. She wasn’t much good with families, and she didn’t suppose the Flanagans would be any different.
“Fine.” Henley got to his feet, seeming to take her agreement for granted. The rest of them followed suit. Apparently the audience was over. She turned toward the door, not looking forward to the moment when she’d be alone with Gabe Flanagan.
“One last thing,” Henley said.
She swung back around, apprehension a hard ball in her stomach.
A ray of afternoon sunlight made Henley’s white hair glisten. “We have to set a deadline, of course. Suppose we say one month from today. You can report back to us, and we’ll make a final decision about the grant.” He beamed. “I’m sure we’ll all be pleased with the results.”
The expensive office shimmered in front of her eyes. One month. One month to successfully pair a service dog with a man who looked as if he’d rather do just about anything than come anywhere near her and her program.
She squared her shoulders, reaching deep for confidence. Her work deserved the support of the Henley grant. She had to believe that if she were to make a difference.
Like it or not, Gabe Flanagan was essential to her success. That meant she had to make the man cooperate, whether he wanted to or not.
Gabe followed the Lang woman out into the tiled hallway, feeling as if he’d been kicked in the gut. He’d expected this little soirée to be bad. He just hadn’t expected it to be that bad.
Anger and resentment roiled through him. This wasn’t fair. The chief had no right to subject him to this humiliation.
Nolie Lang punched the elevator button. He stood behind her, seething. He would not favor his bad leg when he moved. He could control the limp. He couldn’t control the seizures.
A chill went down his spine. What if he had one right here, right now, falling down in front of her on the polished tile floor?
No. That wasn’t going to happen. He’d had his last seizure, he was sure of it.
He shook his head, feeling like a bull shaking off a swarm of angry bees. People had been shooting darts into his hide since the accident. First it was the doctor, saying he couldn’t predict if or when the lesion on his brain would heal. Then his mother, fussing over him endlessly and insisting he move back home to recuperate.
A fat lot of good that had done. He’d given up trying to feel human again while watching his father and brothers kid him about taking a vacation from work as they tried to hide the fear in their eyes that he’d never be back to normal.
The elevator came. Nolie Lang stepped in, and he followed her. At least she was quiet. He’d expected her to be on him the moment they left the office, trying to convince him that this program of hers would work.
Apparently she’d nearly persuaded Samuel Henley. So Henley had leaned on the chief, and the chief had leaned on him. The pecking order at work…and he was caught in it. Either he volunteered for the Lang woman’s project or he wouldn’t be returning to active duty any time soon.
Nolie Lang didn’t look like a very formidable barrier. She was almost plain, with her tanned face free of makeup and her pale blond hair held back with a tie at the nape of her neck. Repressed, maybe that was the word. The only time he’d seen passion in those light blue eyes had been when she’d talked about her work.
Her work. She didn’t want Gabe Flanagan. She wanted a guinea pig on which to try out her theories.
Well, it wasn’t going to be him. He almost said so, but the elevator reached the garage level, and the few minutes it took to evade several people getting on while they got off was long enough to make him think before he spoke.
He wanted out of this business, but he couldn’t get out. So he had to convince the woman to let him off the hook. Nolie Lang was just another obstacle to his getting back to the work he was born to do. He’d go through her if he had to, but first he’d try getting her to cooperate with him.
Their feet echoed on the concrete floor of the parking level. She glanced at him.
“Is your leg bothering
you?”
A flame of anger went through him that he’d let his guard slip, made hotter that she’d noticed.
“No.” That came out almost like a snarl, which was not the way to gain the woman’s cooperation. “It’s healing.”
“That’s good.” She walked briskly toward a dusty station wagon, apparently not concerned enough about his leg to slow down. Or maybe she took him at his word that he was all right.
“Look.” His voice halted her as she unlocked the wagon, her square, competent hand freezing on the handle. “Maybe we ought to talk. We both know Henley’s idea is a bad one.”
She surveyed him, her eyes expressionless. “I generally find that’s not a good thing to say to the man with the money.”
He hunched his shoulders. “That’s what the chief thinks, too. But that doesn’t mean this is going to work.”
“Maybe.” She swung the passenger door open and held it for him.
Resentment bubbled again as he swung himself inside. He didn’t like depending on other people to haul him around. The first thing that had happened after he’d had a seizure was the doctor pulling his driver’s license.
She rounded the car and got in. He swallowed the urge to rant at her. Think, don’t react, he commanded himself.
“What’s this for?” He tapped the mesh screen behind the front seat as she turned the ignition.
“Keeps the dogs from jumping in front.”
“I thought your animals were well-trained enough to help people. Surely they don’t misbehave in the car.”
If the jab bothered her, she didn’t show it. She just backed out and started down the winding concrete ramp.
“Sometimes I pick up strays.” She slowed as they reached the garage exit. “Which way?”
“Go right.” Okay, maybe annoying her wasn’t the best way of getting her on his side. “Look, you said it yourself. I’m not a good candidate for this project.”
