Hometown Hero

by Anders, Robyn

  Every hundred feet or so, he stopped, called Gomer’s name, and whistled.

  From behind fences and closed doors, other dogs barked at him, probably thinking he was a crazy guy for running around at five in the morning.

  Too many months in the hot desert, then in the overheated German hospital had lowered his resistance to the cold. The forty-something temperature felt frigid on the bare skin of his chest, skin made sweaty by fear that something could have happened to the puppy he’d made his responsibility.

  “I’ll look on the north side of town, away from the river.”

  Cynthia was behind the wheel of her Mini-Cooper. She had taken time to pull on a set of sweats from somewhere in his closet, so she didn’t look like she had never made it home last night--in case anyone else saw her. “Want to come with me?”

  “We’ll cover more ground if we stay separate,” he said.

  “I’m sure Gomer is fine.”

  “That makes one of us.”

  The funny thing was, she sounded like she meant it. Like she was more worried about him than about his dog.

  But that made sense, he conceded. After all, she hadn’t spent much time with Gomer, hadn’t gotten to know him. To her, Gomer was just someone else’s puppy.

  So, what was the dog to him?

  The Army psychologist would probably have told Russ that the animal was his attempt to compensate for whatever he’d done wrong in the Middle East, for his failure to protect the men who had been with him when they’d been hit by that roadside bomb.

  The Army psychologist might be full of it, but Russ couldn’t argue with one reality—it had been his job to keep Gomer safe and he’d failed.

  * * *

  “Heather? This is ridiculous. I can’t believe you snuck into his place last night.” Cynthia had driven around North Shermann for half an hour or so, but then she’d come back to Russ’s loft and gotten on the phone. She had a pretty good idea where Gomer was, and intended to get him back.

  “We agreed we’d give him the dog and then kidnap it.” Heather sounded a bit defensive.

  She should be defensive. She had to know she’d messed up. What had sounded like a clever plan when they’d had too much vodka had turned into simple cruelty in the bright light of day.

  “It was a stupid plan. You should have talked to me about it before you implemented it.”

  “So why else were you calling me last night if not to let me know that you’d have Russ distracted?” Heather demanded.

  Why had Cynthia called her?

  “You know that’s not it. I wanted to get your okay before I went out on a date with Russ.”

  “I thought it was part of the plan!" she objected. " You’re just hurting yourself, you know. His memory is going to come back, Cynthia. And when it does, he’ll be the old Russell again. He’ll come back to me.”

  Cynthia’s heart panged at Heather’s certainty. Losing Russ after finding him so briefly would hurt like the devil. Still, both Heather and Russ believed it was going to happen. She might as well face reality and enjoy the moment. If only the moment hadn’t been ruined by their drunken plan.

  “Maybe. But stealing his dog—“

  “We both agreed that stealing his dog was a good idea. That’s why we bought him the dog in the first place.”

  “I’m sorry I ever agreed to this idea. I was mad and hurt at the time, but if you’d seen his face when he was down near the river, looking in the eddies where dead things wash up, you would know as well as I do that the plan was a bad one.”

  “What plan?”

  She froze. That voice hadn’t come from the phone. It had come from the bottom of the stairs. The deep male rumble was completely unlike Heather’s sultry whisper. Russ had returned home, and he sounded angry.

  “Cynthia, what plan?”

  “Gotta go.” She hung up the phone and turned to face the man she’d spent the night making love to.

  He looked like a nightmare.

  The deep scars that had intrigued her when he’d been sleeping flushed red, looked like marks from a primitive warrior tribe. Muscles bulged in his arms, across his broad shoulders, through his naked chest. His eyes were narrowed, and he had drawn his mouth into a frown so stern, she could imagine Middle Eastern insurgents reeling away from him in terror.

  “What have you done to my dog?”

  “I’ll get him back for you, I swear it, Russ. It was a crazy plan. We were both hurt, had too much to drink.” Her excuses sounded feeble even to her. But they were all she had. That, plus the fact that Russ’s apology, his breakup with Heather, and the considerable force of his personality had simply washed away all memory of the crazy idea she and Heather had come up with in their anger and frustration.

  His hand hardly seemed to move, but suddenly he was holding the cell she had been gripping in her hand ever since ending the call with Heather.

  He glanced at it quickly, then pressed the redial button.

  Before Heather could pick up, Russ pushed the disconnect button and handed the phone back to Cynthia.

  "You and Heather had a plan? That's very interesting."

  "Russ, I didn't mean for it to work like this. When Heather and I first talked about stealing your dog we--"

  He held up a hand cutting her off. "You know, Cynthia, I just don’t think I need your explanation on why you did this right now. I'm angry and frustrated and I just found out that I have no judgment of people.

  “It wasn't like that, Russ. We just started talking about what we could--“

  “I understand," Russ interrupted again. "You've got to stay friends with business and social leaders like Heather. I’m sure she’ll be grateful that you distracted me to the point where she could steal my dog.”

  Her hand rocketed into his face, but Russ simply stood there, unmoving, as a red handprint printed itself onto his cheek.

  “Good-bye, Cynthia.”

  She whirled around and gathered up her dress and her handbag, then ran for the door. She didn’t want Russ to see her cry.

  * * *

  Russ tossed a ball to Gomer and let the little fellow chase it down.

  Heather hadn’t been torturing the dog, of course. She’d been playing with him, had created a run for him in the grounds at the back of the huge mansion she’d grown up in and that her parents still maintained despite their retirement to Florida.

  When he’d picked Gomer up, Heather had presented him with the dog’s AKC papers and the receipt.

  He was officially a dog owner, now.

  He was also officially girlfriendless. And he intended to keep things that way. Both women had proven more interested in their games than in forging a relationship.

  He supposed he should be grateful that they’d showed their hands as quickly as they had, that he would be allowed to build a new life. But he didn’t feel grateful. He felt angry and empty. The only thing he was certain about was that he didn’t plan on rushing into another relationship.

  For now, maybe forever, his dog would be enough.

  Gomer batted at the ball like a soccer-player, then ran it back to Russ and flopped at his feet, panting and exhausted. Overstimulation, exercise, and fresh air had finally caught up with him.

  Russ bent, scooped up the puppy, and carried him into his office.

  The market had turned down sharply, starting with the late night exchanges in Hong Kong and Singapore, then traveling with the sun across Europe. The Dow had already dropped two hundred points. As if the entire investing world shared his gloom.

  Once, the market crisis would have filled him with energy. Market movements, whether up or down, are opportunity. Now, though, he couldn’t find the emotional energy to care.

  Still, he forced himself to run the numbers. He was highly liquid, had pretty much decided the market had been overbought in the previous few days, selling everything but a few sure bets. The drop in the market could be a great buying opportunity.

  He covered his shorts and put a couple of hund
red thousand into stocks he felt had been oversold, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  When the phone rang, he let the answering machine pick it up. But when he heard the male voice, he grabbed it. Talking to someone just might let him ignore the empty feeling in his chest.

  “Lyons.”

  “Russell, I was going to Molly’s for lunch and I figured you needed to eat. I’ll pick you up in five.”

  Andrew hung up before Russ could reject the invitation.

  A couple of minutes later, Andrew pulled up in his ancient Ford pickup truck and honked.

  “You look like something the cat dragged home,” Andrew told Russ as he pulled away from the curb.

  “The market is having a rough day.”

  “Oh. So that means you lost a lot of money?”

  “Not exactly.” In fact, he was ahead for the day. But the market had nothing to do with his mood. Since he wasn’t about to go into his real problems with Andrew, the market was as good an excuse as any.

  Molly’s Café was mostly a convenience store with a couple of tables available for food.

  One of the tables was already occupied. A group of farmers had taken it over, was flirting with the middle-aged woman working the counter, and talking grimly about the weather. In Russ’s limited memory, farmers always talked grimly about the weather.

  They looked up when Andrew and Russ came in, gave nods of recognition, then turned back to their more immediate concerns.

  Andrew ordered a couple of barbecue sandwiches.

  “I happen to know that the meat truck was by earlier today,” Andrew volunteered. “So, today is definitely the day to eat at Molly’s.”

  Russ bit into the sandwich. The meat was good, spicy and tender. Russ hadn’t been hungry, but his body suddenly reminded him that he had skipped dinner the previous night, then had missed breakfast in his mad search for Gomer. Food could do little to fill the real emptiness inside of him, but his body demanded sustenance.

  “I’ll get a couple more.” Andrew waved two fingers at the peroxide-blond waitress who nodded, but didn’t step away from her flirty conversation with one of the farmers.

  “If you’re trying to persuade me to buy an ad in the Advertiser-Dispatch, I’d better warn you that I’m not interested,” Russ said. “In fact, I’m wondering if I should stay in Shermann at all. With no memories, I don’t have any particular reason to choose my old home over any other place in the country.”

  “I thought you were trying to get your memory back, to reclaim your life.”

  “For what?”

  Andrew shrugged his shoulders. “Just goes to figure that a man would want to know how he’d spent his youth, who his friends were, where he’d buried his childhood hoard of marbles and plastic soldiers.”

  “I’ve discovered who my friends are. And they’re not the people I thought they were.”

  Andrew laughed. “I’d say you were naïve, but that wouldn’t be much of a news flash, would it?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning people are never who you think they are. We’re all complex, Russ. I know you think your investments are complicated. What with traunches and derivatives and margin calls. But people are a million times worse. That’s one thing you learn quick in the newspaper business.”

  Russ sighed. If he hadn’t been willing to listen to his friend, he should have turned down the lunch invitation. “I have a sense you’re trying to tell me something.”

  “Hey Ron, got a sec?”

  One of the farmers pulled down on his cap and stomped over. “Hey Andrew. Russell.”

  “You know Russell can’t remember what happened before. You want to tell him that story you told me about the river and the U of M women?”

  The farmer grinned and elbowed Andrew in the ribs.

  Andrew managed a strained chuckle, but Russ noticed his friend rubbed his side once Ron looked away.

  Ron straddled a chair and pulled up close to Russ. “Heck, yeah, that’s one great story. Forget everything else, but you gotta remember this one.”

  His eyes closed briefly in fond memory. “We was freshmen in high school, you and me, Russell. The only frosh to make varsity football that year, and we’d just come from two-a-days when we heard there was a sorority outing from U. of M. down by the river. Being as how we were only fourteen, we figured we’d check it out." He paused. "You sure you don't remember this."

  Russ assured him.

  "Well then, I'll tell you. We thought college-aged girls were the ultimate in sin back then.” Ron pulled off his gimme cap, scratched thoughtfully, then nodded. “Might be we was right at that. Anyway, sure enough, by the time we got down there, there was a whole bunch of females and they were running around in these super-skimpy bikinis. A bunch of them had even taken off their tops to get the all-over suntan. I mean, man, there we were, two fourteen-year-old kids. It was a major dream.”

  Ron giggled to himself, his ears turning red as he remembered a teenaged moment that had vanished from Russ’s mind like everything else.

  “This coming back to you yet, Russell? Cause it’s one of the things I swear I’ll never forget.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry, Ron.”

  “Well, anyway, I wanted to get closer so I climbed down the levy, ignoring your warning. ‘Cept I tripped and fell in the river.”

  “Must have been scary.”

  Ron shook his head. “Nope. Scary wasn’t the word. Dead was the word. I didn't hardly know how to swim and I hit my head on a log. Got confused, ended up thrashing away from the shore. I was going to drown for sure.”

  Since Ron was telling him the story, Russ figured it had a happy ending.

  “Let me guess, one of the sorority sisters saw you and yanked you out? Gave you mouth to mouth.”

  Ron snickered. “Good guess, but not quite. You jumped in after me and pulled me out. ‘Cept, by the time you got me out, we’d washed down to among all the girls. Man, were they mad we’d been spying on them. But you saved my life. Every time I had to block for you, I figured I was just paying you back.”

  Maybe the lost Russell hadn't been a complete lost cause. “I’m sorry I can’t remember that, Ron.”

  “Shoot, that’s okay, Russell. It’s not like you got blown up on purpose or anything. Now that you’re back in Shermann, you’ll remember sooner or later. Or, if you don’t, at least you’re around the people who care about you and can remind you. That's what it means to be home. And that's what friends is for.”

  “Thanks for sharing that story.” Russ turned to Andrew. “You win. I was being a coward, not wanting to remember. And Shermann is home, whether I remember it or not.”

  “I can’t tell you how good the sun felt once you’d fished me out of ‘ole muddy,” Ron went on. He wrinkled his forehead in thought. “You want to know the funny thing? Those girls were mad as all get-out, but only a few of them pulled on any clothes. I’ll never forget that. All those girls, some of ‘em with no tops on at all, all yelling at us, but still in their tiny bikinis. Man, for a while there, I was sure I’d drowned and gone to heaven. Never seen so many pretty girls all half-naked or better. Never have again, neither. You think that’s what heaven is really like?”

  Something stirred at the back of Russ’s brain. Not a memory, exactly. More a sense of the warmth of a summer day mixed with the chill of the river and the adrenaline rush of a rescue, and the sensual tingle of awareness.

  “I hope heaven will be like that for you, Ron.”

  Chapter 10

  Cynthia was in no mood for a run.

  After Russ had thrown her out on her rear, she’d gone home, called in sick, and spent the day wallowing in misery and fudge ripple ice cream while watching shows about angry people who were in love with their best friend’s husbands.

  Andrew had stopped by after work with a can of store-brand chicken-noodle soup and some mock sympathy. Also some training advice. As in, quit with the fats and switch to carbohydrates.

  He’d also told her in no u
ncertain terms that he expected her to run, and to win.

  “If I lose the hundred bucks because you’re a no-show, I’m taking it out of your salary,” he’d promised her.

  She didn’t believe him, exactly, but she’d still shown up at seven in the morning bundled up in sweats and feeling about as ready to run as when she’d been a chubby high school kid.

  Because the 15K was a charity event, raising money for the Shermann Future Farmers of America chapter, there was a pretty good turnout of city dignitaries and watchers. She recognized the dozen or so teenaged runners stretching out near the start line as the boys and girls cross-country teams from Shermann High. Along with a good smattering of casual joggers and walkers, there was also an assortment of serious runners she recognized, men and women in from Jeff City and Sedalia. Even a couple each from St. Louis and Kansas City.

  With about two minutes left, though, it looked as if Russ would be a no-show. Perfect. She wasn’t ready to see him, to face his disapproval again.

  She headed for the start line, passing through bunches of runners gathered at each of the markers indicating expected minutes per mile. If she started too far back, she’d have to spend too much energy just weaving through the slower runners.

  “Russ, you made it.” Her boss’s voice penetrated Cynthia’s consciousness. “Guess you think you still have a chance to win my money.”

  “After yesterday, I couldn’t stay away.”

  Russ’s voice still gave her goose bumps. Until the import of his words hit her. Yesterday. Meaning the dognapping, meaning the end of what had started out as a wonderful relationship. Now he was planning on rubbing her face in it.

  She took a deep breath, then shed her sweats, leaving them in a bundle on the side of the road. She wasn’t going to roll over and let Russ beat her. She was a runner and she’d never seen him jog further than the length of a football field. She’d run him into the ground and watch him squirm.

  “Would you mind watching Gomer?” Even over the continuing mutter of the crowd, her ears picked up everything Russ said. And Heather’s answer.