Local Hero

by Nora Roberts

  before with the new neighbor.

  Even hours later, remembering it, her cheeks warmed. She hadn’t meant to insult the man’s—even now she couldn’t bring herself to call it a profession—his work, then, Hester decided. She certainly hadn’t meant to make any personal observations. The problem had been that she hadn’t been as much on her guard as usual. The man had thrown her off by inviting himself in and joining them for dinner and charming Radley, all in a matter of minutes. She wasn’t used to people popping into her life. And she didn’t like it.

  Radley loved it. Hester picked up a sharpened pencil with the bank’s logo on the side. He’d practically glowed with excitement and hadn’t been able to speak of anything else even after Mitch Dempsey had left.

  She could be grateful for one thing. The visit had taken Radley’s mind off the new school. Radley had always made friends easily, and if this Mitch was willing to give her son some pleasure, she shouldn’t criticize. In any case, the man seemed harmless enough. Hester refused to admit to the uncomfortable thrill she’d experienced when his hand had closed over hers. What possible trouble could come from a man who wrote comic books for a living? She caught herself chewing at her lipstick at the question.

  The knock on the door was brief and cheerful. Before she could call out, it was pushed open.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Wallace. I’m Kay Lorimar, your assistant. Remember, we met for a few minutes a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Yes, good morning, Kay.” Her assistant was everything Hester had always wanted to be herself: petite, well-rounded, blond, with small delicate features. She folded her hands on the fresh blotter and tried to look authoritative.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Kay smiled and didn’t look the least bit sorry. “Everything takes longer than you think it does on Monday. Even if I pretend it’s Tuesday, it doesn’t seem to help. I don’t know why. Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thank you, I’ve an appointment in a few minutes.”

  “Just ring if you change your mind.” Kay paused at the door. “This place could sure use some cheering up, it’s dark as a dungeon. Mr. Blowfield, that’s who you’re replacing, he liked things dull—matched him, you know.” Her smile was ingenuous, but Hester hesitated to answer it. It would hardly do for her to get a reputation as a gossip the first day on the job. “Anyway, if you decide to do any redecorating, let me know. My roommate’s into interior design. He’s a real artist.”

  “Thank you.” How was she supposed to run an office with a pert little cheerleader in tow? Hester wondered. One day at a time. “Just send Mr. and Mrs. Browning in when they arrive, Kay.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She sure was more pleasant to look at than old Blowfield, Kay thought. But it looked as if she had the same soul. “Loan application forms are in the bottom left drawer of the desk, arranged according to type. Legal pads in the right. Bank stationery, top right. The list of current interest rates are in the middle drawer. The Brownings are looking for a loan to remodel their loft as they’re expecting a child. He’s in electronics; she works part-time at Bloomingdale’s. They’ve been advised what papers to bring with them. I can make copies while they’re here.”

  Hester lifted her brow. “Thank you, Kay,” she said, not certain whether to be amused or impressed.

  When the door closed again, Hester sat back and smiled. The office might be dull, but if the morning was any indication, nothing else at National Trust was going to be.

  * * *

  Mitch liked having a window that faced the front of the building. That way, whenever he took a break, he could watch the comings and goings. After five years, he figured he knew every tenant by sight and half of them by name. When things were slow or, better, when he was ahead of the game, he whiled away time by sketching the more interesting of them. If his time stretched further, he made a story line to go with the faces.

  He considered it the best of practice because it amused him. Occasionally there was a face interesting enough to warrant special attention. Sometimes it was a cabdriver or a delivery boy. Mitch had learned to look close and quick, then sketch from lingering impressions. Years before, he had sketched faces for a living, if a pitiful one. Now he sketched them for entertainment and was a great deal more satisfied.

  He spotted Hester and her son when they were still half a block away. The red coat she wore stood out like a beacon. It certainly made a statement, Mitch mused as he picked up his pencil. He wondered if the coolly distant Mrs. Wallace realized what signals she was sending out. He doubted it.

  He didn’t need to see her face to draw it. Already there were a half-a-dozen rough sketches of her tossed on the table in his workroom. Interesting features, he told himself as his pencil began to fly across the pad. Any artist would be compelled to capture them.

  The boy was walking along beside her, his face all but obscured by a woolen scarf and hat. Even from this distance, Mitch could see the boy was chattering earnestly. His head was angled up toward his mother. Every now and again she would glance down as if to comment; then the boy would take over again. A few steps away from the building, she stopped. Mitch saw the wind catch at her hair as she tossed her head back and laughed. His fingers went limp on the pencil as he leaned closer to the window. He wanted to be nearer, near enough to hear the laugh, to see if her eyes lit up with it. He imagined they did, but how? Would that subtle, calm gray go silvery or smoky?

  She continued to walk, and in seconds was in the building and out of sight.

  Mitch stared down at his sketch pad. He had no more than a few lines and contours. He couldn’t finish it, he thought as he set the pencil down. He could only see her laughing now, and to capture that on paper he’d need a closer look.

  Picking up his keys, he jangled them in his hand. He’d given her the better part of a week. The aloof Mrs. Wallace might consider another neighborly visit out of line, but he didn’t. Besides, he liked the kid. Mitch would have gone upstairs to see him before, but he’d been busy fleshing out his story. He owed the kid for that, too, Mitch considered. The little weekend visit had not only crumbled the block, but had given Mitch enough fuel for three issues. Yeah, he owed the kid.

  He pushed the keys into his pocket and walked into his workroom. Taz was there, a bone clamped between his paws as he snoozed. “Don’t get up,” Mitch said mildly. “I’m going out for a while.” As he spoke, he ruffled through papers. Taz opened his eyes to half-mast and grumbled. “I don’t know how long I’ll be.” After wracking through his excuse for a filing system, Mitch found the sketch. Commander Zark in full military regalia, sober faced, sad eyed, his gleaming ship at his back. Beneath it was the caption: “THE MISSION: Capture Princess Leilah—or DESTROY her!!”

  Mitch wished briefly that he had the time to ink and color it, but figured the kid would like it as is. With a careless stroke he signed it, then rolled it into a tube.

  “Don’t wait dinner for me,” he instructed Taz.

  ***

  “I’ll get it!” Radley danced to the door. It was Friday, and school was light-years away.

  “Ask who it is.”

  Radley put his hand on the knob and shook his head. He’d been going to ask. Probably. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Mitch.”

  “It’s Mitch!” Radley shouted, delighted. In the bedroom, Hester scowled and pulled the sweatshirt over her head.

  “Hi.” Breathless with excitement, Radley opened the door to his latest hero.

  “Hi, Rad, how’s it going?”

  “Fine. I don’t have any homework all weekend.” He reached out a hand to draw Mitch inside. “I wanted to come down and see you, but Mom said no ’cause you’d be working or something.”

  “Or something,” Mitch muttered. “Look, it’s okay with me if you come over. Anytime.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” The kid was irresistible, Mitch thought as he ruffled the boy’s hair. Too bad his mother wasn’t as friendly. “I thought you might like this.” Mitch
handed him the rolled sketch.

  “Oh, wow.” Awestruck, reverent, Radley stared at the drawing. “Jeez, Commander Zark and the Second Millennium. Can I have it, really? To keep?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I gotta show Mom.” Radley turned and dashed toward the bedroom as Hester came out. “Look what Mitch gave me. Isn’t it great? He said I could keep it and everything.”

  “It’s terrific.” She put a hand on Radley’s shoulder as she studied the sketch. The man was certainly talented, Hester decided. Even if he had chosen such an odd way to show it. Her hand remained on Radley’s shoulder as she looked over at Mitch. “That was very nice of you.”

  He liked the way she looked in the pastel sweats, casual, approachable, if not completely relaxed. Her hair was down too, with the ends just sweeping short of her shoulders. Parted softly on the side and unpinned, it gave her a completely different look.

  “I wanted to thank Rad.” Mitch forced himself to look away from her face, then smiled at the boy. “You helped me through a block last weekend.”

  “I did?” Radley’s eyes widened. “Honest?”

  “Honest. I was stuck, spinning wheels. After I talked to you that night, I went down and everything fell into place. I appreciate it.”

  “Wow, you’re welcome. You could stay for dinner again. We’re just having Chinese chicken, and maybe I could help you some more. It’s okay, isn’t it, Mom? Isn’t it?”

  Trapped again. And again she caught the gleam of amusement in Mitch’s eyes. “Of course.”

  “Great. I want to go hang this up right away. Can I call Josh, too, and tell him about it? He won’t believe it.”

  “Sure.” She barely had time to run a hand over his hair before he was off and running.

  “Thanks, Mitch.” Radley paused at the turn of the hallway. “Thanks a lot.”

  Hester found the deep side pockets in her sweats and slipped her hands inside. There was absolutely no reason for the man to make her nervous. So why did he? “That was really very kind of you.”

  “Maybe, but I haven’t done anything that’s made me feel that good in a long time.” He wasn’t completely at ease himself, Mitch discovered, and he tucked his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans. “You work fast,” he commented as he glanced around the living room.

  The boxes were gone. Bright, vivid prints hung on the walls and a vase of flowers, fresh as morning, sat near the window, where sheer curtains filtered the light. Pillows were plumped, furniture gleamed. The only signs of confusion were a miniature car wreck and a few plastic men scattered on the carpet. He was glad to see them. It meant she wasn’t the type who expected the boy to play only in his room.

  “Dali?” He walked over to a lithograph hung over the sofa.

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as Mitch studied one of her rare extravagances. “I bought that in a little shop on Fifth that’s always going out of business.”

  “Yeah, I know the one. It didn’t take you long to put things together here.”

  “I wanted everything back to normal as soon as possible. The move wasn’t easy for Radley.”

  “And you?” He turned then, catching her off guard with the sudden sharp look.

  “Me? I—ah . . .”

  “You know,” he began as he crossed over to her, attracted by her simple bafflement. “You’re a lot more articulate when you talk about Rad than you are when you talk about Hester.”

  She stepped back quickly, aware that he would have touched her and totally unsure what her reaction might have been. “I should start dinner.”

  “Want some help?”

  “With what?”

  This time she didn’t move quickly enough. He cupped her chin in his hand and smiled. “With dinner.”

  It had been a long time since a man had touched her that way. He had a strong hand with gentle fingers. That had to be the reason her heart leaped up to her throat and pounded there. “Can you cook?”

  What incredible eyes she had. So clear, so pale a gray they were almost translucent. For the first time in years he felt the urge to paint, just to see if he could bring those eyes to life on canvas. “I make a hell of a peanut butter sandwich.”

  She lifted a hand to his wrist, to move his away, she thought. But her fingers lay there lightly a moment, experimenting. “How are you at chopping vegetables?”

  “I think I can handle it.”

  “All right, then.” She backed up, amazed that she had allowed the contact to go for so long. “I still don’t have any beer, but I do have some wine this time.”

  “Fine.” What the hell were they talking about? Why were they talking at all, when she had a mouth that was made to fit on a man’s? A little baffled by his own train of thought, he followed her into the kitchen.

  “It’s really a simple meal,” she began. “But when it’s all mixed up, Radley hardly notices he’s eating something nutritious. A Twinkie’s the true way to his heart.”

  “My kind of kid.”

  She smiled a little, more relaxed now that she had her hands full. She set celery and mushrooms on the chopping block. “The trick’s in moderation.” Hester took the chicken out, then remembered the wine. “I’m willing to concede to Rad’s sweet tooth in small doses. He’s willing to accept broccoli on the same terms.”

  “Sounds like a wise arrangement.” She opened the wine. Inexpensive, he thought with a glance at the label, but palatable. She filled two glasses, then handed him one. It was silly, but her hands were damp again. It had been some time since she’d shared a bottle of wine or fixed a simple dinner with a man. “To neighbors,” he said, and thought she relaxed fractionally as he touched his glass to hers.

  “Why don’t you sit down while I bone the chicken? Then you can deal with the vegetables.”

  He didn’t sit, but did lean back against the counter. He wasn’t willing to give her the distance he was sure she wanted. Not when she smelled so good. She handled the knife like an expert, he noted as he sipped his wine. Impressive. Most of the career women he knew were more experienced in takeouts. “So, how’s the new job?”

  Hester moved her shoulders. “It’s working out well. The manager’s a stickler for efficiency, and that trickles down. Rad and I have been having conferences all week so we can compare notes.”

  Was that what they’d been talking about when they’d walked home today? he wondered. Was that why she’d laughed? “How’s Radley taking the new school?”

  “Amazingly well.” Her lips softened and curved again. He was tempted to touch a fingertip to them to feel the movement. “Whatever happens in Rad’s life, he rolls with. He’s incredible.”

  There was a shadow there, a slight one, but he could see it in her eyes. “Divorce is tough,” he said, and watched Hester freeze up.

  “Yes.” She put the boned and cubed chicken in a bowl. “You can chop this while I start the rice.”

  “Sure.” No trespassing, he thought, and let it drop. For now. He’d gone with the law of averages when he’d mentioned divorce, and realized he’d been on the mark. But the mark was still raw. Unless he missed his guess, the divorce had been a lot tougher on her than on Radley. He was also sure that if he wanted to draw her out, it would have to be through the boy. “Rad mentioned that he wanted to come down and visit, but you’d put him off.”

  Hester handed Mitch an onion before she put a pan on the stove. “I didn’t want him disturbing your work.”

  “We both know what you think of my work.”

  “I had no intention of offending you the other night,” she said stiffly. “It was only that—”

  “You can’t conceive of a grown man making a living writing comic books.”

  Hester remained silent as she measured out water. “It’s none of my business how you make your living.”

  “That’s right.” Mitch took a long sip of wine before he attacked the celery. “In any case, I want you to know that Rad can come see me whenever he likes.”

  “Th
at’s very nice of you, but—”

  “No buts, Hester. I like him. And since I’m in the position of calling my own hours, he won’t bother me. What do I do with the mushrooms?”

  “Slice.” She put the lid on the rice before crossing over to show him. “Not too thin. Just make sure . . .” Her words trailed off when he closed his hand over hers on the knife.

  “Like this?” The move was easy. He didn’t even have to think about it, but simply shifted until she was trapped between his arms, her back pressed against him. Giving in to the urge, he bent down so that his mouth was close to her ear.

  “Yes, that’s fine.” She stared down at their joined hands and tried to keep her voice even. “It really doesn’t matter.”

  “We aim to please.”

  “I have to put on the chicken.” She turned and found herself in deeper water. It was a mistake to look up at him, to see that slight smile on his lips and that calm, confident look in his eyes. Instinctively she lifted a hand to his chest. Even that was a mistake. She could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart. She couldn’t back up, because there was no place to go, and stepping forward was tempting, dangerously so. “Mitch, you’re in my way.”

  He’d seen it. Though it had been free briefly and suppressed quickly, he’d seen the passion come into her eyes. So she could feel and want and wonder. Maybe it was best if they both wondered a little while longer. “I think you’re going to find that happening a lot.” But he shifted aside and let her pass. “You smell good,