The Damaged Heroes Collection [Box Set #1: The Damaged Heroes Collection] (BookStrand Publishing Mainstream)

by James, Sandy

  “You’re being selfish, Sarah,” Hannah replied before edging back to the table and picking up another donut. “We have expenses. We have bills.”

  Sarah shook her head. “The trust fund—”

  “Won’t last forever,” Doug interrupted. “Look around. This place is falling apart.”

  Well, how about that. The pudgy little man could have an original thought.

  “If we really need money that badly, I’ll get a job,” Sarah insisted, knowing that would be impossible before she even got all the words out of her mouth. Some mornings she barely had the energy to haul herself out of bed. Recovering from each healing was getting to be more and more difficult. Fatigue followed her like a shadow. A constant, silent companion.

  Hannah’s lips drew into a thin line. “You’re exhausted as it is. You really should be more selective in who you see. You’ll burn your gift out.”

  “It’ll leave as quickly as it came,” Doug added with a decisive nod.

  Staring down at her left hand, Sarah considered her scars. The latent burns were nothing more than pink and white puckered lines covering the back of her hand, not horribly noticeable if one wasn’t looking too closely. But the pain they represented remained so intensely branded on her mind that she couldn’t ever completely forget. She could still feel the jolt and the trembling of her body as the electricity blazed through her. With a shake of her head, Sarah tried to push the agonizing memories aside. They refused to leave. “Good riddance. I hope it’s kinder to me leaving than it was arriving.”

  “Your gift won’t leave the way it came,” Doug said. “People don’t get struck by lightning twice.”

  “Your mouth to God’s ears,” Sarah said with an acerbic chuckle. “No money, Hannah. You hear me?”

  Hannah nodded, but Sarah wasn’t convinced her sister was being honest. Unfortunately, after a healing, Sarah found herself so physically spent she needed to sleep for a good six hours. Sometimes that wasn’t even enough to restore her. She had to trust Hannah to escort the people from their family’s rundown home.

  When she’d first found out Hannah took payment from a family, Sarah had been livid. And that damned reporter had crucified her for it. She wasn’t about to go through that again. “I mean it, Hannah. No money.”

  Hannah gave her a curt nod and scowled.

  This gift is not what I bargained for.

  Sarah breathed a heavy sigh. She’d never been particularly religious. Like most people, she had only turned to God in a time of need, offering prayers to get a good grade on some exam or to help her find some extra funds when a particularly high Visa bill arrived. When she was a little girl, she had prayed for her father to stop drinking. She had prayed for her mother to notice her. She’d prayed for someone to love her. But all of those petitions had gone unanswered, and Sarah had turned her back on God in more ways that she really cared to remember.

  God obviously had other ideas about the nature of their relationship.

  “Sarah? Are you okay?” Hannah stared down at her and frowned.

  “Hmm? Oh, yeah. Just really tired.” And lost in my own melancholy thoughts. “I should probably go back to bed for a while.”

  “No, you can’t. We have a visitor scheduled at eight,” Doug replied as he leafed through his small calendar. “And the reporter will be here later this afternoon.”

  “I’ll be too tired to talk to him.” Sarah knew she probably should be more active in setting her own schedule, but she honestly didn’t have the energy. Besides, Doug and Hannah usually did a good job in weeding out the people who didn’t really need Sarah’s help. She selfishly allowed them to choose the people she would heal because, if given free hand, Sarah would heal them all. No, she’d have to pace herself to help as many as she could for as long as she had left. Better to let Doug and Hannah be the ones to turn away those who weren’t looking Death in the eye.

  With a resigned nod, Sarah got up, put her now empty cup in the sink, and went to work.

  Chapter 2

  “That reporter is here,” Hannah said as she gently shook Sarah’s shoulder, waking her from her nap.

  Sarah swatted at her sister’s hand and rolled to face the wall. “So?”

  “C’mon,” Hannah pleaded, sounding a bit frantic. “You want people who need you to know about you, don’t you? You need to get up.” She pulled the blanket down, sending a wave of unwelcome chilly air flowing over Sarah. “Besides, he’s really cute.”

  “I don’t care.” Sarah could barely force her eyes open. She groaned, grabbed the blanket, and pulled it back over her shoulders. “He can just go away.”

  The pregnant woman she’d healed of a malignant brain tumor had left Sarah with a pounding headache that her typical post-healing sleep had done little to remedy. Even the periodic dripping from the faucet of her attached bathroom sounded like a jackhammer. Sarah decided she needed something to dull the pain and threw the blanket aside. Holding up a hand to shield her eyes against the piercing light, she said, “I need some aspirin, Hannah. Please.”

  Hannah nodded and disappeared into Sarah’s bathroom before she returned with four aspirin and a glass of water. Sarah downed the pills, throwing them back in her throat and following them with a quick drink.

  “Just saying, he’s easy on the eyes.” Hannah took the glass from her sister. “Might be worth the effort to get up and talk to him.”

  Orienting herself to the time of day by glancing at the clock on the wall, Sarah accepted the loss of another six hours of her life with a weary sigh. Pieces of her life to save others. Her ongoing penance. “He could look like George Clooney, and I still wouldn’t care.” She threw off the cover and turned to sit on the side of her saggy mattress. All she really wanted was to go right back to sleep. Six more hours might do the trick.

  “Actually, he looks a lot like George Clooney. Dark hair with just a kiss of gray. And nice eyes. Blue, I think. He’s been waiting for a little while. Showed up early. I thought you’d be in a better mood if I gave you a few more minutes of sleep.”

  “Thank you, but it wouldn’t matter how long I slept. I don’t want to talk to this guy.” Sarah stood up on shaky legs, walked to the mirror, and judged her appearance.

  The drastic changes over the last few years still took her by surprise. She wasn’t “Sexy Sarah” any longer. Her hair had slowly turned back to its natural blond, the red highlights having grown out long ago. And she hadn’t cut it in just about forever. She found it easier to simply gather her straight, long hair into a ponytail and be done with it.

  She didn’t bother with make-up anymore. None of her lip gloss or her blush or the overdone eye shadow and mascara that used to make her feel so glamorous. Her eyes, in her estimation, had always been her best feature. But not any longer. The deep hazel was so surrounded by dark circles, she looked like one of those children who used to work coal mines and never saw the sun.

  Her skin had grown waxen and pale. She had collapsed after the healing, not even having the energy to change her clothes. Now her long, brown skirt was wrinkled, her tan blouse the same. “You’re quite a sight,” she whispered to her reflection. “Definitely not homecoming queen any more.”

  That life seemed a million years ago. The dates. The parties. The drinking. Were those really her memories? Where had her teens gone? Her twenties? Those years played like scenes of a movie of someone else’s life. Someone young. Someone fun. Someone selfish. At that moment, Sarah felt like an old woman who surrendered a little more of the life she had left every day.

  The reporter could be George Clooney, and it wouldn’t matter one lick. No man gave her a second look now. Not unless there was a huge dose of pity in his eyes. Or if he needed healing.

  Smoothing a few stray wisps of hair behind her ear, Sarah rubbed her forehead for a moment to try and work out the pounding in her head, hoping the aspirin would kick in. “Hannah, could you please get me some coffee? Strong coffee?”

  Hannah shot her a sympathetic glance
then nodded. “He’s in the sunroom waiting for you. I’ll bring it out there.”

  “Thank you.”

  When Sarah approached the sunroom, she saw him from behind first. He sat in one of the big wicker chairs, his right leg crossed over his left. Using his thigh as a writing desk, he propped his notebook against his leg as he furiously scribbled away. She noticed the cap of his pen was green. What kind of reporter used a green pen?

  Then she saw the aura.

  It was so strong Sarah was surprised she’d missed it when she first glimpsed him. An aura usually got all of her attention, drawing her like a lighthouse lures a ship lost in the fog. She chalked up her carelessness to her fatigue and headache.

  The man was in pain. Not physically. She saw no sign of disease in the faint light that surrounded him. No, the reporter’s pain was in his own mind.

  That type of hurt, Sarah couldn’t heal.

  She took a step into the sunroom, and he suddenly turned to glance over his shoulder. The breath caught in her throat.

  He was handsome, just as Hannah had said. Dark, thick hair with a sprinkling of gray. A round face with a straight nose. Eyes the color of the sky before a summer storm—more gray than blue. His looks destroyed all of her tenuous concentration.

  It had been a long, long time since a man affected her in such a way. Downright visceral. Primitive. She wanted him. Sarah tried to shake the unwelcome feeling, the unwanted desire. But it clung like the ivy on the brick façade of her ancient home. She quickly decided she wanted him to leave. The sooner, the better. An attraction would only be a distraction, one she couldn’t afford.

  The man got to his feet and stretched out his right hand in greeting. “Miss Reid? I’m Joshua Miller. I’m here to ask you a few questions.”

  Sarah nodded, not wanting to touch him, afraid it would only increase the draw to him. He awkwardly withdrew his hand. She didn’t care if he saw her as impolite. Whether she desired him or not, she didn’t care what he thought of her at all, having no doubt this would be the one and only time she would ever see him. “Have a seat, Mr. Miller.”

  “Please call me Josh,” he said with a sweet smile that, despite her need to keep him at arm’s length, made her want to smile in return.

  But she wouldn’t give him any niceties, refusing to let him feel too at home. He was, after all, just another ridiculous reporter trying to make a name for himself by destroying her and all the good she could do. Her head hurt too much to think let alone parry his questions. Despite her misgivings, she hadn’t been raised to be rude, so she tried to summon some manners. “All right. Joshua it is. I’m Sarah.” She gestured to the wicker chair. “Please have a seat.”

  Hannah came into the sunroom and handed over an enormous ceramic mug that Sarah fervently hoped held some of the strongest coffee imaginable. She blew across the liquid’s surface and then took a cautious sip. It was a thick as mud and tasted just about as appetizing, but it would surely do the trick, providing caffeine in high doses. “Thank you, Hannah.”

  Standing there gawking at the reporter, Hannah didn’t catch the words. Sarah cleared her throat a little louder than necessary. Hannah must have realized she was gaping at Josh because her face flushed crimson and she turned on her heel, leaving Sarah alone with the man.

  She watched as Josh crossed his legs again and flipped his notebook to a blank page. “Now, to begin with, how long have you known you had the ability to heal the sick?”

  Sarah decided to answer him truthfully but evasively, hoping the tactic would deter him. “Only a short while.”

  “How long?”

  “A short while.”

  “How long is a short while?”

  “A little shorter than a long while.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. She couldn’t help smiling in response, suddenly wondering if this exchange could be an amusing way to pass some time.

  “Your sister assured me you wouldn’t mind talking to me.” He obviously didn’t like her evasiveness, doing little to hold back the annoyance in his voice.

  “My sister was mistaken,” Sarah said before she sipped some more of her coffee, wishing Hannah had put another teaspoon of sugar in it.

  Scribbling a few things in his notebook, Josh finally stopped to stare at her. She returned the favor. Those eyes of his were hypnotic, but they also told her exactly what she needed to know. She’d seen that condescension more times in the past few years than she could remember. “You don’t believe I can help people.”

  He still stared at her, but there was something in his eyes that gave Sarah pause. This man might not believe she could heal, but he wanted to. Desperately. Wondering if his need for the truth would keep his mind open, she almost decided to tell him everything. She thought about trusting him. The liberating notion left as quickly as it had arrived.

  “Did you hear the voice of God? Is that how you suddenly knew you could heal people?” Josh asked in an almost patronizing tone she’d heard many times before.

  “No.”

  He looked properly surprised. Most people did. “You mean God didn’t tell you to do this?”

  “That’s not what you asked, Joshua. You asked me if I heard the voice of God, not if He led me to healing.”

  She caught the frustrated sigh he tried to smother. “That’s semantics. I want to know what set you on this path.”

  The incredulous laugh slipped out before she could smother it. “Why are you here? What do you hope to gain from writing a story about me? Didn’t you know someone already beat you to the punch?”

  He curled his lip in clear derision. “I read the Tribune article. That guy’s a hack. I want to do an honest story. I want to know the truth.”

  It took every ounce of her strength not to respond with a really bad impression of Jack Nicholson, but Sarah held her tongue.

  “Why are you afraid of telling me about what you do?”

  “Because whatever I say, you’ll twist it. I don’t need another story that brings the squirrels out of their trees.” She shuddered, remembering the crazies who had suddenly appeared right after the last article was printed. The threatening mail from religious fanatics had made her afraid for her life.

  They called her a witch, a heretic, a false prophet. Hannah had begged her to listen to several talk shows hosts, including Jerry Springer, who had phoned repeatedly. One person she refused to heal because he wasn’t really sick had picked up a vase and shattered a window. And someone had hung a dead cat from her porch with a note saying she would be next if she didn’t stop pretending to be holy. Hannah had evidently chosen to forget what had happened in the name of drumming up more clients. Sarah already had more than enough.

  Grabbing the cardigan sweater draped over the back of her chair, Sarah slipped it on to banish the chill that came from more than the upsetting memories. It seemed like she was always cold. If this ridiculous interview had been earlier in the day, at least she could have caught some sunshine. She longed to feel the warmth of the sun on her face, to have time to do nothing more than pack a picnic lunch and spend the day in a park with trees and grass and fresh air.

  “You don’t intend to answer my questions, do you?” Josh asked as if he already knew the answer. She tried not to take exception to his scolding.

  “I don’t need any publicity. People who need me can find me just fine. I don’t have anything to say,” she answered in all honesty, hoping he would take the hint.

  He didn’t. “Then I’ll do the talking. How about I tell you what I know about Sarah Reid?”

  She snorted a small laugh, knowing exactly what was coming next. “Oh, this should be enlightening.”

  “Trust me, it was.” Josh flipped to one of the first pages in his notebook. “You were born in Indianapolis thirty years ago. You’ve spent most of your life here, living off the trust fund your grandparents left you. Went to Central High School.”

  Sarah gave him a sardonic smile. “My, my. Isn’t it amazing what sorts of information someone
can find on the Internet nowadays?”

  “You were homecoming queen. I downloaded the pictures on my laptop, but I didn’t bring it today. Sorry,” he said with a crooked smile she found entirely too attractive, knowing what terrible things he thought about her.

  “That’s quite all right. I’ve already seen them.”

  “I have no doubt.” He turned the page, his smile fading. “Then you went to the University of Indianapolis but never graduated. Why?”

  “You’re the reporter. I figured you’d tell me.”

  “Your parents died in a car accident when you were twenty-four. Your dad was at the wheel, but for once he hadn’t been drinking. What did he have? Six DWI convictions?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Between their life insurance and your trust fund, you had almost a quarter-mill at your fingertips. But you had to sell their house to pay debts. What happened to the money?”

  Like she would actually tell him that. “Gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Poof. Gone. Are we done now?” Sarah asked, hoping to discourage him from airing more of her ugly past. Then her eyes caught his. She realized she hadn’t discouraged him. Not in the least. Curiosity radiated from the man like the summer heat off a blacktop road. Even knowing he was probably writing this story to bring her down, she actually caught herself grinning at his tenacity.

  Josh was entirely surprised by his reaction to her spontaneous smile. For a moment, he forgot what she was. For a moment, he forgot who he was and the job he’d come there to do. For a moment, he just enjoyed the smile of a pretty woman.

  Despite being painfully thin, obviously exhausted, and dressed in drab clothing and a sweater easily two sizes too large, Sarah Reid was very pretty. He took in everything about her appearance, filed it away for future reference and then dismissed the notion that he might be attracted to her. Not to someone like her.