Marilyn Pappano - Somebody's Hero

“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.