No Kind of Hero (Portland Devils Book 2)

by Rosalind James

  All the same, he might have thought about what he’d say when she came to see him at the theater. She’d end up there again today. She didn’t have that much else to do, and she liked painting with him. When she got there, he’d show her the sample bit of the woodwork he’d painted yesterday, a trial run that he needed to photograph and send to Kristiansen for approval before he really went to town. She might even be impressed.

  Except that she didn’t come. Not in the morning, and not by the time he was packing up for the night, sending off his crew. When he wasn’t going to get Gracie, because his mom was keeping her until nine-thirty.

  It wasn’t a lot of time. Not even three hours. Just enough time to take a woman out, and then to take her home and end the evening right. Not enough time for any real romance, but they weren’t doing romance.

  He thought that while he was in the shower, scrubbing the paint off his skin and from under his nails. He thought it while he shaved for the second time that day, because his beard was always heavy and Beth’s skin was so soft. But by the time he was buttoning the sleeves of his white button-down, slipping his wallet into the back pocket of his good jeans, and putting on his boots, he’d forgotten to think it.

  He did have a moment when he left the house. When he turned back with a slicing pang of fear, because he’d forgotten Gracie.

  Who was with his mom. Focus.

  By the time he pulled up in front of Russell’s familiar white frame house with that shiny gray Lexus in the driveway, his heart might have been putting in some overtime. And when he rang the doorbell, he might actually have had to blow out a breath.

  And then she opened the door.

  Well, hell.

  “You got your hair cut,” he managed to say.

  She raised a hand and shoved it out of her face. “That the right response?” she asked. “Or . . .”

  He laughed. “Nah. You’re beautiful. You just don’t look . . . it was always in a braid. Or up in that . . .”

  “Yeah,” she said, a distinct dryness in her tone. “The French twist. A classic. Or just call it old school. This,” she said, shaking her head again as if she wanted to feel the blond mass that fell to her shoulders in all its golden, honey, and caramel glory, “is a blunt cut. And it’s in style. So you know.”

  “Well, it’s not just that.” His smile started slow, and then it spread. “It’s all of you.”

  She shut the door, came out onto the porch with a smile that was nothing but radiant, like she’d just found out she was a pretty girl. And then she twirled in the gauzy yellow sleeveless dress and he got a wonderful flash of thigh, because she hadn’t buttoned that thing all the way down.

  Her toenails were painted copper today, and her fingernails were, too. And her copper-toned high-heeled sandals tied with fabric bows around the ankles he loved.

  “Aw, baby,” he said helplessly, like no sort of casual redneck good time. “You’re so pretty.”

  She laughed, and it sounded reckless to him. “Well, I had a date with this really hot guy, you see. So first I was a very good girl. I took Henry for a run, and I cleaned Dakota’s house like I promised. But after that, I went a little . . .” That secret smile. “Wild.”

  “Guess I’d better take you someplace nice, then,” he said over the thundering in his head. “Show you off.” He swept an arm toward the van, dumb as it was. Classy he was not. But she took his arm and headed down the stairs on those heels, clutching her lacy sweater like she was Cinderella going to the ball, as if getting into a painter’s van looking like a million bucks was her big treat.

  “You look pretty delicious yourself,” she told him with another little smile. She had a fine gold chain around her neck that gleamed against all that soft skin above the V of her dress. She looked delicate, and sweet, and so damn sexy. “Maybe I want to show you off. But you know I don’t care where we go. It was just so much fun to shop and get ready.”

  There it was—the switch from play-vixen back to Beth. The trouble was, he liked them both. He said, “You say that like you don’t do it,” and opened the door for her, and she climbed inside with another of those flashes of thigh that gave him heart palpitations.

  When he’d climbed in himself, she said, “Well, I don’t do it that much. Not much at all. I work a lot.”

  He shot a look across at her, then pulled out into the street and headed toward the lake. “How much, exactly?”

  “Let’s say that eighty hours a week is not unknown. And sixty is a not-really-acceptable slowdown.”

  “You’re kidding. Why don’t they just hire more people?”

  “What, and let all that potential sweatshop labor go to waste? That’s the life of an associate at a big firm. That’s how you sort the men from the boys. So to speak. How you grow a partner.”

  He swung into the parking lot at the marina and pulled into a spot near the water. “If I worked my guys like that, even with overtime . . . well, I wouldn’t. They’d start having problems. Marriage problems. Injuries. Fights. Wouldn’t work out.”

  “Hence,” she said, “the breakdown.”

  It was breezy, but it wasn’t. “Come on,” he said. “No, wait.” He jumped down, ran around, and opened her door. “Least I can do,” he told her, giving her his hand and watching the wonderful art that was a beautiful woman getting out of a high vehicle. Pointed toe, delicate wedge heel, those copper ribbons around her ankles. Slim calves, flutter of fabric, the scent of roses mingling with her vanilla tonight, and her hand in his.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I thought . . .” He cleared his throat. There they were, right next to the Yacht Club, and what was he thinking? “That I’d take you to dinner in the boat. Head across the lake, eat outside. It’s going to be a pretty night. Hot today means warm tonight. We could see some stars.”

  “Oh.” Her smile bloomed. “Yes. Please. I always loved the boat.”

  He scratched his jaw, felt like a fool, and felt like a hero. “I do a little better now than I used to. Come on.”

  He held her hand across the lot and down the dock, because those heels might not be the most suited to the wooden boards. I thought you weren’t going to take her on the boat, dude, one part of his mind tried to say. Dangerous waters. That part got shut down fast.

  “Oh,” she said when they got to his slip. “I thought . . .”

  He stopped walking. “What? That I’d have a yacht?”

  “No! No. Of course not. I just remembered . . .” She shook her head and laughed, and yeah, she looked good with all that new bouncy hair falling free. But she was still Beth. “I was remembering you taking me out in the rowboat. I loved that.”

  “Ha. Only you would say that.” He had to smile. “Nobody else would think that old rowboat was romantic. Man, I barely had two nickels to rub together back then, did I? That old truck, an even older motorcycle that took everything I had to keep it going, and a rowboat. I was some prize. But come on.” He climbed aboard and handed her carefully down, got her settled in the passenger seat of the little white bowrider. Which might just be his pride and joy.

  “It’s so pretty,” she said, picking up on that, maybe. “This is nice. I didn’t know you had this. The boat’s more important than the truck, huh? You must be a lake guy. Do you still have the motorcycle?”

  “Nope.” He cast off, then started the engine and backed his pretty white boat carefully out of its slip. “Dads don’t ride motorcycles, at least I don’t. I got worried when Apr—when Gracie was on the way and got rid of it.”

  She paused a second, and he glanced at her. He was waiting for her to ask about April, but all she said was, “I can see that. But I’ll admit I’m a little sorry. You were so . . . well, you were. When I came back from school that summer and saw you that first time, when you rode into the parking lot at the beach to meet me. It was just about to get dark. Remember that?”

  “I might.” Only perfectly. The sun had been setting in a glory of pink and crimson, the bea
ch nearly deserted after the heat of the day. Beth had looked so tentative standing there, shifting from foot to foot like he might not show up. And when she’d swung up behind him on the bike and wrapped her arms around his waist that first time? When he’d realized that she’d looked forward to this almost as much as he had? Yeah, he might have felt like a king that night. Like a winner.

  She said, “So now you have a van, and a house, and a boat. A great boat.”

  “Yeah, she’s pretty sweet. I didn’t buy her new, but I’ve got her running good now. But you know, if I’d really done it right, I’d have brought wine for this part. You should be drinking a glass of white wine on the boat like the lady you are.”

  She leaned back, stretched her legs out, and said as he spun the boat around and the engine picked up speed, “I don’t need wine. I’m happy. How’s Gracie doing today?”

  “Still got the cold. I bought her a humidifier, though, and I’ve got my mom giving her water with a little apple juice in it so she wants it and doesn’t get dehydrated. That’s the big one, especially when it’s hot.”

  “Babies can’t tell you,” she said, “so you have to watch for their cues, I suppose. That’s a lot of responsibility. Do you worry?”

  “You kidding? Yeah, I worry.” He was headed straight over to Busano’s, and then somehow he wasn’t. He was easing the boat over and ducking into that secret spot instead, the cove where the hidden creek ran down into the lake. Beth didn’t say anything at all, and he turned the boat to face toward the entrance, eased off on the throttle, and drifted.

  Wild Horse Lake, an hour before sunset. A few clouds hanging like silver against the blue of the sky, the water glowing like a sapphire in the slanting rays of a late-afternoon sun. Cicadas buzzing in the trees, the occasional bit of white fluff drifting past on the breeze as the cottonwoods released their seeds. Near shore, a willow dipped its branches in the water, and out on the lake, an osprey soared overhead, then dove. It came up flapping hard, which meant it must have caught that fish, and headed off to its nest.

  Everything in the world mating, spreading its seeds, fulfilling that need to create the next generation.

  And the zip-zip-zip of dragonflies. Fire-engine red, neon green. An electric-blue pair flying, darting, diving and rising, one pursuing the other in the most ancient of dances, the one all living things would be dancing forever.

  “Oh,” Beth said, and it was a sigh. “Beautiful. Thank you. Why do you have to be so sweet? You just . . .” Her hand was at her chest. “Thank you.”

  “Dragonflies,” he said, wondering how she could do that to his heart. “I come here to fish sometimes. And sometimes, I . . .” He may have had to clear his throat. “I’ve thought of you.” Because, of course, this was the spot, the one he’d brought her to in that rowboat. On one especially hot day, he’d remembered a few hundred times since, she’d given him a sassy smile and tipped herself straight out of the boat, and he’d gone in after her. Their own chase and dance had ended with them making love standing up, waist-deep in the cool water and Beth wrapped around him, gasping, calling his name. And he’d known he was happy.

  “A dragonfly,” she said after a long moment during which he was fairly sure she was remembering the same thing, “can fly up to forty-five miles an hour. Did you know that?”

  “No. I just knew they were pretty, and that you liked them.”

  “They can hover like a helicopter,” she said absently as she watched the shining insects swoop and dive and, yes, hover. “They can fly backwards like a hummingbird, but they only flap their wings thirty times a minute. A mosquito flaps its wings six hundred times.”

  He didn’t ask her how she knew. He knew she knew. “Powerful but graceful, I guess you’d say. Well engineered.”

  “And beautiful. I’ve always loved them best. Better than butterflies, because they try so hard. You gave me dragonfly earrings, remember?”

  “They weren’t worth much.”

  “You’re wrong. They were worth a lot. I still have them. I don’t wear them, though, because they make me sad. A dragonfly is about change. I looked that up too, a long time ago. So that’s a fail.”

  She said it like it was funny, but he knew it wasn’t. He said, “I’d say you’ve done change. Law school. Moving to the big city. That tough job, and doing it all on your own.”

  She turned to look at him, and she wasn’t vixen or innocent or anything else. She was a woman who saw all the way inside him and was letting him see her. No doubt, and no fear. She looked at him, she talked to him, like she was sure. “No. Not that kind. The kind you’ve done. A dragonfly’s about the change you make when you find out what’s important. It’s not just about flying over the water, it’s looking under the surface. Growing up. Growing strong.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But that sounds like a choice. I’ve changed because I had to. Every time.”

  “When you had Gracie, and your girlfriend left. And before. When you lost football, and you came home. But there was choice there, too. You graduated from the University of Washington. Exactly like me.”

  This wasn’t what this night was supposed to be about. This was fantasy and fun. This was butterflies, not dragonflies. Not Beth’s eyes shining blue as the lake in the twilight, asking him to lay his heart bare.

  He didn’t dive into strange waters anymore. He didn’t drive too fast or jump too quick or speak too soon. He couldn’t afford to. And all the same, he said, “I didn’t like the big city.”

  “But if football had worked out . . . Every team’s in a big city, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Well. It didn’t. I wanted the Devils, and Portland’s not so bad. And I thought if I got drafted by another team, which is probably what would have happened . . . Well, with that salary I thought I could, you know, have a place. Some land. Buy my mom a house, too. All of that. It didn’t happen. I couldn’t make it happen. That’s life. Like I said. No choice. ”

  The words were hard stones, dropping into the lake and sinking down deep. Just like they’d been when the doctor had said, in that hospital room, “A year,” and Evan had thought, No. It’s not possible. I’ve worked so hard.

  His mind had wanted to panic, but he hadn’t let it. He’d thought, This can’t be it. This won’t be it. I’m coming back.

  So long ago, and it was still all right there. How hard he’d trained, because all sorts of athletes had recovered faster than the doctors had said, had recovered when everybody said they couldn’t. They’d come back through strength of will and bodies that could take more punishment and heal faster than anybody else’s, and because they were willing to make more effort than anybody else would. And that was him. It had always been him.

  He’d put a picture of Seabiscuit over his bed in the dorm that spring, and hadn’t cared who saw it. The racehorse who’d come back from a broken leg to race, and to win. Because that horse wanted to win. It had to win. It had to end up in front. Not being in front wasn’t an option.

  And when it hadn’t happened on time, when he’d seen it wasn’t going to be possible? He’d pushed even harder. He was going to make it possible anyway. This was his ticket, and it wasn’t going to be over.

  Except that it had been.

  “It didn’t happen,” he said again. “Sometimes your best isn’t enough.”

  Beth didn’t start talking right away. She knew how to be quiet, knew everything you could say with your eyes and your body, and how much more it meant than words. She waited a minute, then asked, “But you finished, right? What was your degree in?”

  She’d never asked, not any of this, and he’d sure never felt like bringing it up. But it was all such a long time ago. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Civil engineering.”

  “That doesn’t sound easy.”

  “It was for me. I can fix most things. I see the patterns. Most things have patterns. Most things make sense if you shut up and look close and think it through.”

  “Ah. Did you ever do it? That job?”


  He shifted in his seat, looked away, across the lake. “Yeah. I worked in Seattle for almost two years. The job was all right. But it was too many cars. Too much noise. Too many people talking. I stopped being able to hear.”

  “You shut down.” Quiet, still. Barely there, her touch on his arm light as the cottonwood snow drifting on the breeze.

  “Yeah. I guess I did. Anyway, Russell needed the help. He wasn’t doing so hot once Riley joined the service and Dakota left, and then my brother fell down that rabbit hole over in Montana. Got sent to prison the first time for cooking meth. I didn’t want to leave my mom alone. Your mom shouldn’t be alone. It was supposed to be a break. Help them both out for six months, a year, get the quiet back in my head and get right again.”

  “What happened?”

  He smiled. “Look around. Or don’t look. Listen.”

  She did, and so did he. The cicadas. The wind in the pines. The faint, peaceful lap of tiny waves against the boat’s hull. The music his heart could dance to.

  “You got your quiet back,” she said. “And you didn’t want to let it go.”

  “Yeah. And then that summer, you know. Riley died.”

  Dakota’s older brother and Evan’s best friend, lying dead in his desert camos on a dusty street halfway around the world. A hero, and a son. “Russell’s been a lot to me,” he said.

  “A dad?”

  “No. Not really. A friend.”

  “You thought he needed help.”

  “No. He did need help. He’s an alcoholic who’s stopped drinking, but you never stop wanting that crutch. My brother never could hold that off. Russell had done it, but losing your son? Dakota wasn’t there. So I stayed. And then you left.”

  He put it out there, and she took it. “When you needed me. Even though you didn’t say so. You never seemed like you needed anybody.”

  “I didn’t want to.”

  “But I should have known. Of course I should have. I didn’t.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. Well, it woke me up. Made me think about what I was doing, what I wanted my life to be. I realized I could buy a house here if I got one in bad enough shape. I could buy it, and I could fix it up. I knew how to do a lot of things, and what I didn’t know, I could learn. When would I have been able to buy a house in Seattle? I even got a real boat, eventually.”