A Real Live Hero

by Kimberly Van Meter

  He did not want to answer that. He couldn’t rightly say, Well, we really enjoyed each other’s company in the bedroom, but we really haven’t worked out anything otherwise. “It’s complicated,” he finally said. Miranda laughed and he cast her a sharp look. “What? It’s true. There are no easy answers and neither one of us has figured out anything, so I guess it’s status quo.”

  “I’d hardly say it’s status quo,” Miranda said with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Before she came back no one could even mention her name without you snapping like a wounded bear. And now you’re practically dating again. Oh, don’t give me that look. You know word spreads really fast in this town. You can’t hang out at the Rusty Anchor dancing and acting all snuggly without people watching and catching on. No judgment on my part, I think it’s great, but I’m just saying people have noticed.”

  “When will people stop being interested in our business?” he growled. “Yeah, well, it’s still complicated.”

  Miranda laughed. “Jeremiah and I had a complicated relationship, too. And now look at us. Happy as two bugs in a rug.”

  “Don’t start buying towel sets for us yet. She’s going back to L.A. and I’m staying here. Essentially nothing is going to change,” he said, his mood rapidly souring. He hated being faced with the reality of his situation with Delainey because he hated how he knew it was going to end. He didn’t want to talk about Delainey anymore and steered the conversation back to their parents. “So when do we expect all hell to break loose?”

  “Well, I made the report today and they probably won’t send anyone out there until the end of the week, so probably Friday or Monday at the latest.” She gestured meaningfully to his cell phone hanging from his hip. “Take the ringer off Silent. I’ll definitely need backup when it happens.”

  “All right,” he agreed. Delainey started walking toward them and Miranda took that as a cue to leave.

  Delainey frowned as Miranda drove away. “Where’d she go? I was about to invite her to dinner. I was thinking of taking the crew over to Harpies for burgers and fries. I thought maybe she could join us. I haven’t had a chance to meet her new guy, Jeremiah. Her son, Talen, is adorable though. It must be fun having a nephew.”

  “He’s a great kid. I don’t get to see him that much though because of my schedule. I always try to take him out for a little man-to-man time when I’m home, but like I said, my schedule wasn’t very accommodating until now. In fact, this is the longest stint I’ve been home in years. Usually, I’m gone for months at a stretch on assignment or training.”

  “That’s too bad. I’ll bet he loves playing with his Uncle Trace. You’re probably the coolest uncle a kid could ever ask for,” she said, giving him a little wink. He didn’t want to let on how much her praise affected him, but his cheeks may have pinked because suddenly she smoothed her fingers over them and grinned. “Can you get any cuter? I love it.”

  He watched as she returned to her crew as they packed up the location, and he withheld a sigh. Things were about to get ugly in the Sinclair world just as Delainey’s life was about to fall apart.

  If he thought things were complicated before...he had a feeling they were about to get screwed in the near future.

  * * *

  TRACE DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING but Delainey could tell that he was preoccupied. After burgers and fries at Harpies, the crew dispersed for the night, leaving Delainey and Trace behind. She no longer cared if people saw them hanging out. Somehow it didn’t seem to matter anymore. It was no one’s business how she and Trace spent their time, and that was that.

  Trace had barely touched his fries and had only eaten half of his burger, which told Delainey that something was really bothering him because Trace loved his food. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do I have to guess?” she asked. Trace looked up and smiled, caught. “Out with it, Sinclair. I know when something’s on your mind.”

  “It’s my parents. Miranda called Social Services and she also alerted the police to my father’s garden.” He sighed and dropped the French fry he’d been pushing around his plate. “It’s not going to end well.”

  “Do you think they’re going to arrest your dad?” she asked, worried. Her first thought went to the production. Reporters would find something like this and delight in splashing the news all over the media. The old adage “There is no such thing as bad publicity” wasn’t always true. And she wasn’t willing to take any chances. “What did she tell them? Do you know anyone over at the police department who could pull some strings?”

  He looked at her sharply. “For what purpose? My father is breaking the law. There’s nothing any of my connections can do about that. Besides, I’m more concerned about my mom. And if it takes my dad getting busted for his marijuana, then so be it.”

  Delainey knew she needed to tread carefully and so phrased her next comment with caution. “Absolutely,” she agreed. “Your dad needs to stop doing what he’s doing, and, of course, your mom’s safety is paramount. But it’s not a good idea to have a police investigation going on when we’re trying to put together this pilot. We really can’t take any bad publicity hits. It could damage the production. If there’s anything you can do to lessen the impact, then I think you should do that.”

  He stared hard, and she tried not to fidget. He was mad but she had to do what she could to protect the production. “Delainey,” he warned, “do not tell me that you are more concerned about the production than the safety of my mother.”

  “Of course not,” she rushed to say. “I want your mom to be safe, and I agree she is in a bad situation. But maybe we could work together to help your mom instead of bringing in the police. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “And what do you propose to do? She won’t listen to her own children. What makes you think she’s going to listen to you?”

  “I don’t know that she’ll listen to me either, but I have resources that you might not have. Maybe I could have a professional organizer come in and help her—”

  “Miranda already tried that and my mom kicked her off the property. Next idea?”

  “We could have a professional cleaning crew come in—” Trace shook his head at her suggestion, and she bit her lip with true consternation. She didn’t have the answers but she had to avoid bad publicity at all costs. Panic colored her voice as she said, “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to think of a solution that will help us both. I know it’s coming off as if I only care about the production, but that’s not the case. I do have to think of it, though.”

  “Damn it, Delainey,” he said, anger rippling from his tone. “This is a new low. Don’t try to sell me that you’re trying to protect my parents when in fact your only concern is the production. Remember when you said that you value the wrong things and that your priorities were screwed up—well, this is a great example. The production should take a backseat to what is happening in my parents’ personal life, what is happening in my personal life and for that matter what is actually happening in your own personal life. The fact that you’re sitting here eating a burger, chatting with friends and joking with your crew when your dad is dying is further proof that you don’t have your shit straight.” He stood abruptly and his chair toppled to the ground. He jerked it upright, pulled a few bucks from his wallet and tossed the money to the table before muttering, “I need some air,” and leaving.

  “Trace—” She tried calling after him, but she knew better and stopped. She’d screwed up. She shouldn’t have brought the production into the conversation and should’ve found a way around it herself. Why was she always caught between two impossible situations? She just wanted everything to work for once in her life.

  She dropped her head into her hands and fought the tears. She felt sick inside. Seeing the judgment in Trace’s eyes hurt, and she hated that he was right. Once again, she’d shown in vivid color that her priorities were screwed up. How
was she supposed to fix that, without sacrificing everything that she’d ever worked for? It didn’t seem fair. Why was she the one always asked to sacrifice? Well, one thing was for sure—the answers weren’t going to be found here at Harpies.

  She covered the rest of the bill and let herself out, but when she didn’t see Trace anywhere, she didn’t know what to do. They both came in his truck and she couldn’t very well leave him without transportation. She stomped her foot in frustration. “Damn you, Trace.” She fished her cell phone from her purse and dialed Miranda. “Can you come pick me up?” she asked, embarrassed. “I’m at Harpies. I’m fine, but I don’t know where Trace is. We had a fight and he took off, but I don’t want to take his truck and leave him without a ride.”

  “No problem. I’ll be there in a minute.” Miranda clicked off and Delainey had no choice but to wait. Within five minutes Miranda was there to pick her up. Delaine took one final look around the area, not having a clue where Trace had gone, and reluctantly climbed into the car. As they drove back to Miranda’s place, Miranda asked, “What happened? Trace just up and left you there? Did you try calling him?”

  “He doesn’t want to talk to me right now,” Delainey answered sullenly. “He probably walked over to the Rusty Anchor to cool off, and I figured I ought to give him the space.”

  “Sounds serious. Was it about my parents?” Miranda guessed. Delainey nodded and Miranda sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s bad timing with your production, isn’t it? I couldn’t hold off any longer. Delainey, if you could see how my mom is living, you would agree with me. She’s sleeping in the bathtub, for crying out loud—that’s how bad it is. She’s going to die in that house and my dad, well, all I can say is, he’s not doing anything to help her.”

  “It’s okay, I understand.”

  “I didn’t mean to cause problems for you and Trace, especially when things seemed to be going so well.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Well, just that you two seemed to have been catching up on lost time.”

  “It’s not like that,” Delainey hedged, uncomfortable with what Miranda was implying. It was one thing not to care what strangers thought of her and Trace hanging out with each other, but she didn’t want Miranda to get hurt by hoping something was building when it wasn’t. “We’re not dating again and I don’t want to give off that impression. I mean, not to be crass, but we’re just enjoying a sexual convenience.”

  “Oh.” Miranda drew back in surprise. “Does...Trace know this?” she asked.

  “Of course. We both know this is temporary.” But the fact that Miranda seemed unsure made Delainey extremely worried. What if Trace wanted more? What if he thought they were going to work things out and she was going to become his little woman, just as he’d wanted eight years ago? The truth was, she didn’t find the idea of being Trace’s woman distasteful—not in the least—but he’d already shot down her invitation to return with her to Los Angeles, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to stay in Alaska. So a future together...just wasn’t in the cards.

  Just as it wasn’t in the cards eight years ago.

  But a secret part of her had hoped, that maybe, this time would be different.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  TRACE RECEIVED A TEXT from his sister saying Delainey was at her place, and he realized he couldn’t avoid the conversation with Delainey for much longer. He’d stormed out of Harpies like a petulant child and he was ashamed of his knee-jerk reaction, but he’d be a liar if he didn’t admit that he was still a bit angry.

  She could dress up the facts as much as she’d like, but the glaring truth was that her first priority had been the production and nothing else. That hurt. He supposed he’d been hoping that she’d changed and maybe they had a future together, but it was plain naive of him to hold on to that hope now.

  He texted his sister, “On my way,” and climbed into his truck.

  Trace arrived at Miranda’s and, after a short knock, walked into her house. Immediately, Talen ran to him and tackled him. The boy’s open glee warmed his heart, and he knew he needed to start spending more time with him before it was too late to be of influence. Talen’s father had been a no-good piece of crap, but at least Johnny had had the decency to die in prison before Talen was born. Miranda had done an admirable job of being a single mother, but Trace was glad that she had Jeremiah now to help out because there were some things that women simply did not understand, no matter how cool they were.

  Such as armpit farts.

  “Have you been practicing?” he asked his nephew solemnly, and Talen broke into a delighted grin before proceeding to make all sorts of disgusting noises with his cupped hand and armpit. He laughed and high-fived the boy. “Excellent. Your mom never could master that skill,” he said conspiratorially with a sideways glance at Miranda, who rolled her eyes.

  “That’s because I never wanted to,” she retorted, ruffling Talen’s hair and sending him off to bathe before bed. “It’s way past his bedtime, but he wanted to see Uncle Trace. So if he has a hard time getting up in the morning, I will squarely blame you.”

  Trace made a mock salute to Miranda and then realized Jeremiah wasn’t home. “Where’s the squeeze?” he asked, teasing his sister because of her former staunch refusal to date in any way. She changed her tune when Jeremiah came around—thank God. He was tired of bloodying people’s noses for making unkind remarks about her, ahem, activities.

  “Jeremiah had to go to Anchorage for a training summit. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Good. Doesn’t he know you’re not trustworthy on your own for too long?”

  Miranda swatted at Trace but otherwise let the snarky comment slide. That was the thing with brothers and sisters—they knew too much about each other’s lives and never failed to tease you with the information later. Delainey came around the corner and leaned against the wall, regarding him with a wariness that he mirrored. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. He wasn’t going to waste time asking if she wanted to stay with him because they both knew she would.

  “I’ll get my purse,” she murmured and disappeared.

  He exhaled a short breath and Miranda chuckled. “It’s not actually funny,” he said, scowling.

  “From this side of the argument it is.”

  “Yeah, well, keep your chuckles to yourself,” he said.

  “Such a grouch. Don’t be so hard on her. She’s trying to make something you both can be proud of.”

  He shook his head, not wanting to get into it. He didn’t agree that Delainey’s motivation was purely grounded in such magnanimous soil, but he wasn’t about to defend his feelings to his sister, particularly when she regarded the whole thing as one big chuckle-fest. “Thanks for picking her up,” he said.

  “Sure. You’re lucky Delainey isn’t more like me,” she said.

  Trace frowned. “Why’s that?”

  “Because I’d have taken the truck and left your sorry ass walking home.” She grinned. Funny thing was, Trace believed her. He supposed he was lucky. Delainey reappeared and she hugged Miranda briefly. “Don’t let this big lug get under your skin. You do what you think is right. You always have, and you know what? Who’s to say you were wrong?”

  Trace glowered at his sister for her asinine advice and ushered Delainey into the truck. Delainey had plenty of sidewise thoughts in her head. He didn’t need Miranda adding more.

  “I’m sorry I stormed off,” he said, once they’d returned to the house. The ride home had been excruciatingly silent, and by the time they’d arrived at the house, Trace had realized the conversation needed to start on his end with an apology. “I don’t know what came over me, but I reacted badly. I just want you to know I’m sorry.”

  She nodded and folded her clothes before climbing into bed. He waited but she flipped on her side and gave him her back. He frowned. “
Don’t you feel compelled to add something of your own?” he asked.

  She turned. “Did you offer a legitimate apology or did you make a strategic apology in the hopes that I would offer one, as well?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess I hoped you would feel sorry, too.”

  “I don’t.” She returned to her side, adding over her shoulder, “Good night.”

  He stared at her slim back and fought the urge to start yelling all over again. Delainey Clarke, you are the most aggravating, singularly stubborn woman I’ve ever known. He grabbed his pillow and muttered, “I’m taking the couch.”

  She muttered, “Good idea.”

  And he realized that’s exactly what she’d wanted all along. He shook his head, realizing he’d just been manipulated. He sighed and got settled, preparing for a long and restless night. Well played, you little vixen. Well played.

  * * *

  DELAINEY WAS LIVID. And hurt. But mostly livid. How dare he try to manipulate her into some half-baked apology when he was the one who’d stormed off like a teenage boy who’d been scolded. Miranda was right—she didn’t need Trace chastising her for chasing her dreams and being protective of her ambition.

  The fact that he never—not once—had ever supported her ambition was something that stuck in her side like a thorn. She didn’t need his approval for anything she did in her life. He was bananas if he thought just because she enjoyed sex with him she would be willing to sacrifice everything she’d ever wanted.

  If he had any idea how hard she’d worked for this opportunity to shine, he’d never dream of asking her to put it on the back burner for anything or anyone. Had she ever asked him to walk away from his dream just because it didn’t gel with her idea of what a boyfriend or partner should be? His job took him away for weeks at a time. How was that conducive to a stable relationship by his standards? Simply put, because he expected her to stay in the home and tend the hearth like a good little woman should.