Brenda Harlen - Some Kind of Hero

“I don’t know if my mother knew him,” he said dryly.

Her brow furrowed; Joel laughed.

“Not everyone has had the life you’ve had,” he said.

Riane felt her back go up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You were raised in a perfect little family, in a cozy mansion on the hill. Between your private school education and ballet lessons and horseback riding, you probably never imagined that there were kids who went to bed hungry at night—or kids who had no bed to go to.”

Riane’s eyes narrowed on him. “Do you think I don’t realize how lucky I’ve been? I may gave grown up in a home of wealth and privilege, and I’m grateful that I’ve never had to worry about my next meal, but I’m not oblivious to what goes on in the rest of the world.

“My parents were in the Foreign Service when I was born. We lived in various places in Central America, Eastern Europe, Africa. It was an incredible opportunity, and it was incredibly disheartening at times. I saw things most people don’t want to hear about.

“I went to visit orphanages with my mother—dirty, overcrowded, unsanitary buildings where most of the children weren’t just orphans but were sick or dying. There was one little girl—” Even after so many years, her throat tightened at the memory. “She was about three years old, but she weighed no more than fifteen pounds. She wasn’t just malnourished, she had AIDS. Both of her parents had died of AIDS a few months earlier, her older sister only days before I met her.

“There was something about her, this child more so than any other I’d seen, that tore at my heart. Maybe it was the way she so simply and quietly accepted her fate. Knowing it was only a matter of time before she died.

“For almost three weeks, I went to that orphanage every day—to see her, to read stories to her. She loved fairy tales. As she listened, she’d smile and get this faraway look in her eyes, as if she was imagining herself inside the story—a life so much better than the one she was living.

“So don’t you dare compare my life to yours and say I don’t understand. Why don’t you stop feeling sorry for yourself for five minutes and compare your life to hers?”

Riane was out of breath by the time she finished, and a little ashamed by her impassioned outburst. It wasn’t like her to go off so easily. She was used to people making judgments about her, treating her commitment to the underprivileged like a hobby or, worse, a stage she would outgrow.

Even Stuart had once suggested that she was too involved with the kids, that she needed to detach herself from their problems. He’d only said it once.

Still, Joel couldn’t have known the depth of her feelings, and she shouldn’t have taken her annoyance out on him.

“You’re right,” he said at last. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” She was more embarrassed than angry now.

“I guess I’ve spent so much time being bitter and resentful about my childhood that I never considered the others who were less fortunate. My grandmother might have bitched and grumbled every time she put a plate in front of me, but she never let me starve.”

She felt his hand on her arm, his touch gentle but firm, forcing her attention back to him. “The little girl in the orphanage, is she the reason you have the camp?”

Riane nodded. “She died just a few weeks after we got there. That was when I resolved to do something to help children like her.”

“How old were you?” he asked.

She looked away again. “Twelve.”

“That’s a hell of a commitment for a twelve-year-old to make.”

“It’s a hell of a way for a three-year-old child to die,” she replied sadly. Then she shook her head, shook off the melancholy mood that had stolen over the moment.

“We were talking about your childhood,” Riane reminded him.

“I think you got the gist of it.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

He shook his head. “I had a sister. She was a few years older than me, took off on her own when she was fifteen and died on the street of a drug overdose less than a year later.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. As an only child, she couldn’t imagine what it was like to grow up with someone, to lose that someone, to be left alone to remember. For so many years she’d wished for a sister—would willingly have settled for a brother—but her parents hadn’t been able to have any more children. Riane knew it had to be easier to have never had a sibling than to have shared such a connection and have it ripped away.

He shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“You were close,” she guessed.

“At one time.” Then, in a not-so-subtle effort to change the topic, “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

Riane shook her head. She’d agreed to play tour guide for him to prove that she was her own person—and to prove to herself that she was immune to whatever chemistry she thought existed between them. Her reaction to his unexpected appearance at the camp today proved otherwise. She wasn’t immune at all.

She’d never believed in chemistry or destiny or any other such nonsense. But the more time she spent with Joel, the more she found herself questioning her beliefs. Rational or not—and she was pretty sure it was not—she was attracted to Joel Logan. Which was why she was determined to keep her distance from him as much as possible. She may have already committed herself to showing him around the following day, but that was going to be the extent of her involvement.

“Do you have other plans for dinner?” Joel’s question interrupted her meandering thoughts.

“Yes.”

“With the fiancé?” Joel prompted.

“No.”

Joel didn’t take the hint. “What are you doing?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Riane said, “but I told Sophie I’d be home to eat.”

“What’s she making?”

“Pot roast.”

“Sounds better than anything room service has to offer,” Joel said hopefully.

“I’m not inviting you to my house for dinner.” Although there was a part of her that wanted to do just that. She was intrigued by this man who’d appeared in her life seemingly from nowhere. She wanted to spend time with him, to get to know him. All she really knew was that he was a former cop who lived in Fairweather, Pennsylvania. These sparse details didn’t begin to satisfy her curiosity.

Despite her curiosity, though, she was afraid. Not of Joel, but of her own responses to him. And it was this fear that held her back.

“Please.”

She sighed again. Although she knew it could be dangerous to spend more time with him, they wouldn’t be alone together. Sophie would be there.

So she relented, not entirely unwillingly, to his request. “Dinner will be on the table at seven o’clock.”

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