The Heart of a Hero

by Janet Chapman

  “Don’t move,” her sister hissed.

  “W-what’s wrong?”

  “There’s a giant lynx or bobcat or something curled up against your leg,” Trisha continued softly. “And I really don’t think we should startle it.”

  Julia realized the girl was holding her clarinet like a baseball bat, apparently ready to sacrifice her beloved instrument to save her big sister. She also realized there was something warm and heavy pressing against the length of her thigh, and she slowly lifted her head and looked down.

  Yup, that sure looked like a lynx or bobcat to her, its huge eyes staring unblinking at her from a long-whiskered face, its hair-tufted ears also trained on her. “It . . .” Julia ran her tongue around her suddenly dry mouth, breaking her gaze with the eerily silent creature. “It has to be one of Nicholas’s cats,” she said, slowly trying to slide away—only to go perfectly still when it reached out one of its massive paws and snagged the blanket over her thigh.

  “How do you suppose they got in here?” Trisha said in a whisper, sounding a bit relieved at the prospect it might actually have an owner.

  “I don’t know, but judging by that paw, maybe it just turned the doorknob. Wait, what do you mean, they?”

  “I made sure both doors were locked when we went to bed. But you might be right about it belonging to Nicholas, because I woke up to a cat curled up in bed with me, too. Only it’s not nearly as big as this one.”

  Julia glanced toward the hall. “Where is it now?”

  “Still on my bed. I came in here to tell you about it and found him. Or her,” she said softly, gesturing slightly with the clarinet. “Do you think Nicholas raised it from a kitten, so it’s tame? It’s not purring. My cat was purring. That’s what woke me.”

  “Where’s your cell phone?” Julia asked.

  “I can’t find my house charger, so it’s plugged into the one in my truck.”

  That’s because Julia was pretty sure the house charger was still sitting on the counter back home. “Okay, I’m going to try to slide—” Julia barely stifled a shriek when Trisha’s nocturnal visitor suddenly jumped up on the bed as quiet as a . . . cat, walked across her belly, flopped down beside its buddy, and started purring.

  Big Cat started washing Small Cat’s face, even though Julia was pretty sure they weren’t related, as the black-and-gray big one was long-haired, stout-boned, and had an eerily humanlike face, while the smaller one was short-haired, sleek, and solid gray, with huge round eyes that appeared orange in the hall light.

  “What are we going to do?” Trisha whispered.

  Julia once more tried sliding away, but stilled again when Big Cat stopped in mid-lick and, without even looking at her, curled its paw resting on her thigh into the blanket deeply enough that she felt its claws snag her pajama pants. “Um, how about you go to the kitchen,” she softly suggested, “and take the meat out of what’s left of the sandwich in the fridge and bring it back here? Maybe we can coax them off the bed and then lure them outside.”

  Trisha slowly extended her clarinet toward Julia, causing Big Cat to stop licking again when she slowly pulled her hand from under the blanket, took the instrument, and held it lying across her chest. “Okay, go. Slowly.”

  Trisha backed out of the room and halfway down the hall before she turned and sprinted toward the kitchen. Julia looked back at the two cats and softly sighed as the big one resumed washing the smaller one’s face. She wasn’t normally afraid of cats, but there really wasn’t anything normal about either of these. Big Cat had to be at least part lynx or bobcat, because she didn’t believe house cats got that huge. And she’d actually seen a lynx once while out walking in the woods, and it had been just as silent and had had an equally spooky face. Heck, this one’s eyes appeared to be ringed with black eyeliner, and the tufts sticking out of its ears gave it a devilish look. As for its buddy; Julia hadn’t known cats could have orange eyes, and its fur was a ghostly shade of bluish-gray. But at least it purred like a normal cat.

  They had to belong to Nicholas, because now that she thought about it, he really wasn’t all that normal, either. Whoever heard of anyone not having a last name? Well, other than rock stars. And he didn’t appear to date; how did a man that maddeningly handsome not have women hanging all over him?

  He certainly kissed like he’d had plenty of practice.

  And the guy had a weird sense of humor, like calling her a walking disaster when she was right in the middle of an emotional breakdown. And what was up with that “size matters” comment, anyway? Did he have the staff locker room bugged or something?

  Where in heck was Trisha? Was she eating the sandwich?

  Big Cat suddenly stopped licking again, its whiskers twitching as it lifted its nose in the air not two seconds before Trisha came sprinting back into the room. “Slowly,” Julia hissed as both cats suddenly stood up—the big one straddling Julia’s body.

  Trisha skidded to a halt and started backing away when they both jumped off the bed and started toward her. “Jules,” she squeaked, speeding up. “Help me.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Julia growled, tossing back the blankets and getting out of bed. “They’re cats, not mountain lions.” She rushed past them and headed for the door—although she was still holding the clarinet. “It’s not like they’re going to eat us.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t see you shoving them off your bed,” Trisha muttered as she backed out the door Julia had opened. The girl immediately stepped to the side and lobbed the handful of meat halfway down the front path, watched the two cats pounce on their prize, then scurried back inside the apartment.

  Julia slammed the door closed, turned and leaned against it as she bent to rest her hands on her knees, and started laughing just as Trisha plopped down on the arm of the couch and also burst into laughter.

  “Aren’t we fearless women?” Julia said with a snicker. “Afraid of two cats.”

  “Did you see the size of that big one?” Trisha said, sobering. “I swear it must weigh twenty-five or thirty pounds.”

  Julia straightened, shaking her head. “It has to be all hair,” she said, despite remembering how heavy it had felt on her bed. “Considering I vacuumed up about three pounds of cat hair today—I mean yesterday. What time is it?”

  “I think it was almost five when I went into your bedroom. How do you suppose they got in here?”

  “There must be a cat door somewhere in the apartment.” Julia walked to the window, lifted the pleated shade, and looked outside. “They’re gone,” she said, turning and looking around the apartment. “But I didn’t see a cat door when I cleaned today. If Nicholas had one for them, wouldn’t he have fit it into a window rather than cut a hole in the wall or door of a rental?”

  Trisha walked to the kitchen. “I noticed a bottom cupboard was open when I came in to get the meat. Maybe he hid it inside a cupboard so no one would see it.”

  Julia followed just as Trisha snapped on the light, and saw the cupboard next to the back entrance was indeed ajar. Trisha got down on her knees, opened the cupboard all the way, then sat back on her heels as she pointed inside. “There it is.” She blew out a sigh. “That makes me feel better. I was starting to imagine all sorts of weird ways they might have gotten in here.”

  “Does it have a lock on it?”

  Trisha leaned inside the cupboard. “Yup,” came her muffled reply. She backed out and sat up again, brushing her hands together. “There; we won’t be waking up to find them in bed with us again.” She waved at the cupboard. “It’s a neat little door and looks professionally installed. But Nicholas really should have told us about it, before we found ourselves waking up to raccoons going through our frid—oh!” Trisha shrieked when a loud rattling came from inside the cupboard, making her scramble away and bump into the trash can.

  Julia slammed the cupboard door closed and held her leg against it. “You’re sure it’s locked?”

  Trisha took a deep breath and got back on her knees with a scow
l. “It has little metal pins on both sides that slide into eyelets on the door. I closed both of them,” she said, grabbing the cupboard handle. She nodded. “Okay, move away and I’ll check and make sure they’re both still in place.”

  Julia stepped away, then watched as Trisha slowly opened the cupboard and peeked inside just as the cat door rattled again. “Go home, you brats,” Trisha said into the cupboard, making the rattling stop. “You don’t live here anymore. You moved down the mountain.” She grinned up at Julia. “It was probably a mistake to feed them.”

  “A well-aimed bucket of water might change their minds,” Julia drawled.

  Trisha closed the cupboard and stood up. “They’ll eventually get bored and leave. But Nicholas really should have told us about the cat door, or at least thought to lock it, expecting they’d come back.”

  “He was too busy escaping from Ella to tell me,” Julia said on a laugh. She walked over and started looking through the boxes Trisha had brought back from the MacKeages’—that Peg had thoughtfully filled with food staples for their new apartment. She hoped her friend had included coffee for the coffeemaker Nicholas wisely hadn’t filched. “Apparently our big, strapping director of security is afraid of little girls,” she continued, sighing in relief when she found a can of coffee. She started digging through the boxes looking for filters. “Oh, by the way, Olivia said I can work off our rent by babysitting Ella, and you might as well sign up for a shift or two yourself.”

  “Sure,” Trisha said, grabbing the carafe and filling it at the sink. “Mrs. MacKeage can give me a reference if you think it’ll make Mrs. Oceanus feel better. And Sophie and Henry know me quite well, since they spend a lot of time at the MacKeages’.”

  Julia slid the drawer closed with her hip after pulling out the can opener and started opening the coffee—savoring the sound of the air rushing into the can when she pierced the lid. “Don’t you think it’s time you started calling people by their first names like Peg keeps suggesting?”

  Trisha spun toward her. “Mom would roll over in her grave.”

  “You’re an adult now, Trisha.” Julia gestured around the kitchen with the can opener. “You’re living almost on your own, you earn your own money, and now you’ll be able to deposit the social security checks you started getting when Mom died into your own checking account.”

  “Do . . . do you think Dad’s going to let me? Those checks are the biggest reason he dragged me home the last time we tried to move out.”

  “You’ll be a legal adult in a month, so he can’t force you to live with him anymore, and we’ll go online and have Social Security send them to your checking account the moment you turn eighteen.” Julia waved at the apartment again. “And even drunk, Dad wouldn’t have the courage to come up here and drag you home at two in the morning—assuming he could even get past the bottom guardhouse.” She touched Trisha’s shoulder. “You’re free now, little sister. Dad’s not going to start anything this close to your birthday.”

  A slow smile spread across Trisha’s face, her eyes filling with the knowledge it was finally over. “No more drunken tirades and sleeping on church pews, and no more embarrassing public scenes in town or at school.”

  Julia started spooning coffee into the filter. “Sorry, sis, but the embarrassment doesn’t end with emancipation; it just changes.” She started the coffee brewing, then turned with a smile. “But you’ll survive by holding your head high and thumbing your nose at anyone who tries to knock you down. Oh, and it helps to keep moving,” she added with a chuckle. “So you can stay one step ahead of the humiliation demons.” Julia pulled her sister into a hug. “And you begin as you intend to go on, and that includes calling people by their first names.”

  “Even . . . even Mrs. Richie?” Trisha whispered. She leaned away, her eyes now dancing with amusement. “I really don’t want to be responsible for sending an eighty-four-year-old woman into anaphylactic shock by calling her Christina.”

  “Have you ever heard me call her Christina?” Julia said on a laugh, giving her one last fierce hug before stepping away. “But everyone else by their first names, including Ezra at the Trading Post, okay?”

  “Um . . . Mr. Oceanus?” Trisha said, already shaking her head. “Duncan I can probably do, but not Olivia’s husband. He’s just . . . he’s too . . .”

  “Big and scary?” Julia finished for her. “Yes,” she said with a curt nod before heading down the hallway. “You put on your big girl panties and call him Mac.”

  Trisha followed with a heavy sigh. “Why is growing up so scary? I’m freaked out just thinking about riding a stupid bus to New York City with friends.”

  “You think calling people by their first names and visiting a big city are scary?” Julia asked, stepping into the bathroom and turning to arch a brow at her. “You just wait until the boys at UMO get a look at you next September and you find yourself having to beat them off with a stick.”

  “I’m not letting any stupid boys distract me from my studies. And I’ve decided I’m not trying out for band, either.”

  Julia stepped back into the hall, making Trisha step back in surprise. “Being distracted by college boys is part of your education,” she growled. “And so are extracurricular activities. You’ve been living like a nun all through high school,” she said softly, touching Trisha’s curls. “Please don’t hide in your books at college, too.”

  Trisha gave a sad smile, even as she lifted her chin. “I’ve only been following your example. When was the last time you went on a date?” She in turn tugged on a lock of Julia’s wild mess of hair. “I’ll start dating when you do.”

  “I don’t have a campus full of men to choose from.” Julia waved toward the living room. “And unless we suddenly have an explosion of frogs and I start running around kissing them, there’s not much chance of finding Prince Charming in Spellbound Falls.”

  “Then move to Orono with me.”

  Julia sighed and stepped back into the bathroom. “We’ve had this discussion before, and my answer is still no.” She leaned against the half-closed door. “I’m still holding out hope for Reggie, and Jerilynn’s pregnancy seems to be having a positive effect on Tom, especially the closer she gets to her due date. And besides—”

  “And besides,” Trisha said, cutting her off as the girl headed for her bedroom—that had its own bath, because Julia had figured a teenager needed more mirror time than a thirty-year-old who’d given up trying to impress men. “I need to experience being independent,” she mimicked. The girl then poked her head into the hall and grinned back at her. “My deal stands; I’ll start dating when you do,” she finished, just before wisely disappearing into her room and closing the door.

  “Okay, fine,” Julia growled. “I’ll start dating when it starts raining frogs.”

  * * *

  Soaking up the weak but still surprisingly warm November sun, Julia sauntered home from the housekeeping facilities behind the second hotel segment, having indeed fallen back into her routine of cleaning cottages, hunting for a new source of pinecones, and trying not to worry about Trisha. Oh, and battling some persistent felines that weren’t about to let two silly little lock pins keep them out of their old home.

  Big Cat must have simply leaned on the door, because when Julia had gotten home that same afternoon, she’d found an explosion of feathers in the living room, a live frog—that she hadn’t even been tempted to kiss—in the bathroom, and muddy paw prints on the counters. And Tuesday morning, she and Trisha had awakened to find they weren’t alone in their beds again, even though Julia had replaced the pins with heavy nails and shoved a chair up against the cupboard as added insurance. Only that morning Big Cat had brought along a fat white buddy—apparently Nicholas had three cats, not two—and Julia had managed to slide out of bed before it could snag her pajama pants. She’d met Trisha in the hallway just as the girl had been coming to tell her their nocturnal visitors were back, and they’d repeated the food-luring trick using leftover tuna cas
serole.

  There was now a piece of scrap plywood Julia had filched from the resort’s maintenance shed covering the outside of the cat door, being held in place by a couple of heavy pieces of firewood she’d filched from the woodshed, because she hadn’t quite dared to drive nails into the building’s siding. In retaliation, she’d arrived home that afternoon to find their front pathway littered with enough bird feathers to stuff a pillow.

  So other than her ongoing war with Nicholas’s cats, the only unanticipated addition to Julia’s plan to put her humiliating weekend behind her was that she had to actively avoid Nova Mare’s director of security now that she was living at the resort. It seemed that every morning as she walked from her apartment to housekeeping, she narrowly escaped Nicholas coming in or out of the registration pavilion that also housed the resort’s offices. Then, walking home yesterday afternoon, he’d been coming out of the barn leading a monstrous, scary-looking horse, and Julia had seen him just in time to scurry behind a tree before he saw her.

  But she hadn’t been quite so successful this morning, nearly running Nicholas over with her cart when she’d rounded a curve—she hadn’t been speeding, since her cart was about as fast as a turtle—as he’d been coming back from an obviously long run on the mountain trails with four of his big, strapping security guards. Julia had nearly driven into a tree at the sight of all that naked chest and leg muscle glistening with sweat despite it being only fifty degrees out with a crisp wind. For crying out loud, it had taken her heart half an hour to quit racing and her cheeks at least twice as long to cool down, the amusement in Nicholas’s sky-blue eyes as he’d given her a wink on his way by making Julia nearly wear out the wheels of her vacuum on her next cottage.

  For a second there, she’d seriously thought about becoming the town slut.

  That had actually lifted her spirits, though, when she’d realized Clay hadn’t completely killed her interest in men, since there seemed to be a few sparks of what she suspected might be passion left floating around inside her somewhere. Still, she wasn’t letting that welcome revelation override her common sense, and she sure as heck wasn’t going to start daydreaming about Nicholas kissing her again.