My Hero

by Kelly, Sahara

  “Is he...is he mine?” Max stuttered the words.

  “He could be.” The answer was noncommittal and Max frowned.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “What’s to understand? You’re dreaming, right? None of this is real,” said the man. He waved his hand towards the window. “You’ve never seen anything like this, have you? So how can any of it exist?”

  Max closed his eyes for a moment as he wondered if too much tea induced hallucinations.

  “Max, this child could be yours,” said the man quietly. “If you set aside your instincts and learn to trust.”

  “To trust? Trust who?”

  “Trust your heart for a start. You’ve never listened to it before. You’ve been too busy listening to another portion of your body.”

  Max felt himself blushing. Well, hell. Of course he had. His dick seldom failed him. His trust, however...well—that had let him down on more than one occasion. He had learned from his mistakes. He’d started trusting his parents, and right there had discovered a problem. They were little more than the biological creators of his person. They hadn’t been there when he’d needed them. So who the hell else would be?

  He glanced down at the child in his arms, which had quietly fallen asleep. Christ, if this was his kid, what kind of a father would he be? The kind who barely acknowledged his son’s existence? The kind that sent a check and thought that was sufficient for birthdays, Christmases and whatever else came along?

  He felt his lips tighten. No. This kid deserved more. He held the soft bundle more closely, wondering at the waves of warmth that seemed to be flowing from his body to surround his precious little cargo.

  “That’s it, Max. Let those feelings out. You’re going to need them very soon.”

  “I am?” He frowned. “Who are you? Where am I?”

  “That doesn’t matter. None of it matters. He...” The man nodded at the child. “He is what matters. He’s going to be important to your world, Max. And you have to learn to trust in order for him to be born.”

  “Uhh...I do?”

  “Yep.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  The man sighed. “You will. Just remember one thing.” His voice grew even quieter. “Trust your heart. Trust what it tells you. Trust her...”

  Even as the last word was spoken, Max felt the world fade away.

  He woke, his head snuggled into his pillow, and his arms cradling emptiness.

  Max Wolfe began to sweat.

  *~*~*~*

  Peta’s ears were ringing. She sighed and turned over, finding warmth next to her. A living warmth.

  She smiled as she realized that Max was sleeping soundly, sprawled over a good three-quarters of the bed. God, great sex sure rang those bells.

  An insistent sound pulled her into consciousness. It wasn’t the sex, it was the phone.

  Bollocks.

  She picked it up and before she’d had chance to say anything, Phoebe’s voice was yelling loudly from the receiver.

  Well, probably not yelling, but it just sounded like it.

  “Peta? Peta? I didn’t wake you, dear, did I? I’m so glad you’re up...”

  Yes right. Up. Up implied a state of alertness. Perhaps even clothes. Neither of which applied to Peta at this particular moment.

  “What’s the matter, Phoebe? Everything all right?” She stifled a yawn, and noted that Max hadn’t moved. God, he was sleeping like a log this morning. Of course, given their activities last night, she wasn’t too surprised.

  She grinned and pulled her attention back to the conversation Phoebe was busily having with no one in particular. “Sorry, Phoebe, say that again?”

  “I said...I’m coming over. Struthers and I have just had breakfast, and he’s offered to help me unload some of that junk from your place. Is that all right? Did you hear me?”

  Peta struggled with this. Obviously it was now morning. And she was going to have to get up and get dressed. Probably shower too, since she was still all sticky. “Uh, well, certainly, Phoebe. Can you give me half an hour?”

  A laugh echoed from the phone. “Half an hour. No more. Get Max to put coffee on, will you? And wake up, Peta. It’s a lovely day. Time’s wasting, you know.” She hung up.

  She sighed.

  Carefully, so as not to disturb the sleeping man next to her, Phoebe eased from the bed, shivering a little as the cool air met her naked skin. She peeked out the window.

  Phoebe had been right. The sun was shining so brightly, Peta had to squint to handle the brilliance as it reflected off the snow. She could hear the sound of snowplows, so the town must be pulling itself out from the depths of yet another spring snowstorm.

  She shivered again. Definitely not the best day to hang around the house stark naked.

  One quiet shower later, she discovered the bed empty, and the scent of coffee drifting up the stairs through the open bedroom door. Apparently Rip Van Winkle had arisen from his slumber.

  She grinned and dressed quickly, slipping into jeans and a sweatshirt. Daringly, she left off her undies, surprised at herself, but accepting that there might be a chance she could lure Max back to bed after Phoebe left. And hell, if there was the slightest chance, she was damn well going to take it.

  Make hay while the sun shines, her mother had always said. So this might not have been exactly what her mother had in mind when voicing that sentiment, but the heck with semantics. The sun was shining, and Peta was ready to make more hay.

  Stepping in to the kitchen, she allowed herself a moment to appreciate the picture she found awaiting her.

  Max was chatting with Mr. Peebles. Quite intently, apparently, since a small frown wrinkled that handsome forehead of his, and Mr. Peebles’s tail was twitching.

  She wondered if they were arguing. If they were, then Max was clearly unused to dealing with cats. One simply could not win an argument with a cat.

  “Good morning, you two,” she said.

  Max glanced briefly at her and then turned back to the coffee pot. “Hi,” he answered.

  Peta blinked. “You look rather intense. Mr. Peebles giving you a hard time?”

  Mr. Peebles lifted his nose in response, swept her with an indignant gaze, and then decided that he might as well investigate his food bowl to see if anything decent had appeared to replace his cat food.

  Apparently it hadn’t, since after several disdainful sniffs, he thought better of if and stalked off to his favorite patch of morning sunshine. He tucked his paws beneath him and settled down, presenting a large furry backside to the world.

  It seemed Max was doing the human equivalent. “Coffee or tea?” he asked.

  “Um, coffee, I think. Thanks. Phoebe and Struthers will be here in a minute. They’re going to take all those boxes of junk out of here.”

  “That’ll be good.”

  She frowned as a little chill of concern traipsed up her spine. “Max, is everything all right?”

  He turned and met her gaze. She nearly gasped at the expression in his eyes. They were heated as they looked at her, but somewhere deep down in their hazel depths was a sort of anguish. Maybe even—pain.

  “Look...” she began, taking a step forward.

  The doorbell interrupted her.

  Smothering a curse, she turned and left the kitchen to open the door to Phoebe and Struthers.

  Neither seemed aware of any undercurrents as they settled themselves around the kitchen table, accepting coffee and chatting away as if it was just another morning.

  Peta was almost glad of it. Taking part in the normalcy of conversation helped her keep her mind off the fact that Max hadn’t touched her this morning. Hadn’t kissed her. Hadn’t...well, hadn’t done anything. Had barely looked at her.

  With an inner pang, she considered the possibility that this might be “it”. The end of the affair. The time when he would pack and walk out of her life, leaving it dark and cold.

  The time she’d expected would come, but not this soon. Her heart ached.r />
  The discussion turned naturally to the horrible murder of Mike Dean, and Peta’s brain swam with guilt. She found she couldn’t bring herself to join in, since Mike Dean was beyond her help. It was a tragedy, of course, but it didn’t touch her nearly as much as the thought of Max leaving.

  “So anyway, we decided it would be a good idea,” said Phoebe. “Don’t you think so, Peta?”

  “Umm...yes. Of course.”

  Phoebe chuckled. “You didn’t hear a word I said, dear. Do try and concentrate.”

  “Sorry. I’m not quite awake yet, and with all the goings-on last night...”

  Max’s smile was horribly impersonal, polite, and superficial. She found herself waking up much too fast, and she didn’t like what she was waking up to.

  “Well, goodness me, it’s past nine o’clock,” laughed Phoebe. “So, as I was saying, Struthers is going to help me with these boxes of stuff. The books will go over to the library, and the rest to the dump. Or somewhere. I simply have to stop cluttering up your house with it all.”

  “No problem,” said Peta. “You know I don’t mind.”

  “Well, as Struthers pointed out, you do have a houseguest now.” Phoebe grinned.

  Silence fell.

  Phoebe cleared her throat. “Anyway, if you don’t mind, we’ll throw it all into the car. Along with that other box full too.”

  Peta frowned. “Other box?”

  “Yes, don’t you remember? I dumped the last box in the dining room the other day. It should be under the table somewhere.”

  “Uh, no, I never noticed.” Damn. One of these days she really was going to pull out the vacuum cleaner and do some housework. It was looking more and more as if she’d have plenty of time for it too.

  Max still hadn’t said a word.

  Phoebe pushed back her chair and stood. “It should still be in there. Want to go check it out?”

  Struthers grinned. “Can’t stop Phoebe when junk is involved,” he said.

  Max smiled politely and Peta clenched her teeth. She just wished his arse was between them, because she’d like to take a chunk of him right about now. What the hell was going on with him?

  They trooped into the dining room, and within moments Phoebe had dragged a crate from beneath the table, spreading the contents over the surface and digging amongst them with all the glee of a child on Christmas morning.

  Peta noticed one large package at the bottom of the crate, and pulled it out. It was heavy and wrapped in what looked like vintage 1950’s wallpaper. Musty, smelly wallpaper.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, Phoebe. What on earth did you buy this for?”

  Phoebe glanced over. “Oh that. I have no idea. Except that I had a room with that stuff on the wall when I was younger. Sentimental reasons I suppose. I only paid fifty cents for it.”

  Peta gently peeled away the discolored roses.

  She gasped. “Phoebe...”

  Her voice trailed off as she uncovered the contents. Staring at her was the ancient leather cover of a very old book. A very old book indeed.

  “Oh my God.”

  The others leaned in. “What the hell is it?” asked Max.

  Right. Now he was talking to her. Now, when she could barely catch her breath, let alone her thoughts.

  For lying amidst the remains of its wrapping was a Bible. The leather binding was dark with age, and the ornamentation almost obscured. But even so, Phoebe’s hand trembled as she carefully reached out and opened it.

  “Oh my word,” breathed Struthers. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “It could be,” said Phoebe. “You’d know better than I. What do you think?” She moved aside and gave him room to sit down next to her.

  Struthers’s eyes were wide as he took her seat and reverently ran his fingers across the binding and the leaves.

  The text was small, very ornate, and a few pages were browned with damp stains.

  “My God. I think it is.”

  “It is what, Struthers? What the heck is it? A first edition? Tell me before I burst here,” demanded Phoebe.

  He raised his head. “Much more than a first edition, Phoebe. You’ve managed to get the buy of the century, I’d say.”

  Phoebe ground her teeth with frustration. “What is it?”

  “Well,” said Struthers, carefully turning the pages with the tips of his fingers. “As near as I can tell, this is a 1611 King James Bible.”

  Max’s eyes met Peta’s, as they both recalled their research in the library. “You mean the one Edward was looking for?” asked Max.

  Struthers’s head shot up with a frown. “How did you know that?”

  “My fault, I’m sorry. When we were in the library, we happened to notice his book requests.” Peta felt rather guilty, like she’d been caught prying.

  Struthers’s brow cleared. “Oh, yes. Of course. The computer.” He bent over the book again. “Never mind. It’s just that I never thought I’d see one, let alone touch it.”

  “So is it male or female?” asked Max.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” sputtered Phoebe. “It’s a book, for heaven’s sake.”

  Struthers chuckled. “These two have done their research, too, Phoebe. Max is right. Let me check here.” He riffled the pages cautiously, reaching the Book of Ruth at last and staring intently at the page.

  “My God. I can’t believe it.” He raised his eyes and stared at the three faces looking back at him. “It’s a He Bible.”

  Peta swallowed. “Is it real? A copy? Can you tell?”

  Phoebe frowned. “I don’t understand any of this,” she moaned. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  Max took pity on her.

  He needed something to distract him from Peta anyway. The look in her eyes had damn near knocked him off his feet this morning. So bright and full of love. And him terrified all the way to his toes, for the first time in his life.

  With half his mind, he filled Phoebe in on the Bible and its significance, while the other half screamed at him to run. Run like hell, as fast and as far as he could.

  The woman now leaning over the rare book was a threat to his very sanity. She represented everything he’d grown up avoiding. Security, warmth, love, a home, family—all the things that used to make his flesh creep. The sex between them was different, and that frightened him too.

  When he’d woken up and found her place empty, his heart had damn near stopped until he heard the shower running.

  Then the memories of his dream returned, and his terror began.

  He had no idea what to do, except follow his usual course of action. Move on. Get as far away from her as possible and find his way back to his usual pursuits. Empty apartments and empty sex.

  No longings, no urges to buy houses and minivans, and above all, no babies.

  His heart lurched. And an odd pain started, spreading through him like a hangover. But this one wasn’t in his head. It was in his soul.

  He dragged his mind back to what he was saying. “So you see, Phoebe, this one, if it’s genuine, is incredibly rare. And incredibly valuable.”

  Struthers nodded. “That it is. Very valuable indeed.”

  “God,” said Phoebe, looking flabbergasted. “And it cost me fifty cents.”

  Peta chuckled. “A good buy, I’d say.”

  Struthers sighed and closed the volume. “It should be kept safe until we can get it appraised, you know. I could keep it in the library if you want?”

  Peta thought for a moment. “Look,” she said to everyone. “It’s been here under my table for a while, and we’re the only ones who know about it. Why don’t we just leave it here? I’ll...um...” Her gaze wandered around. “Here. In my bookshelf with my other hard covers.”

  She gently picked up the Bible and opened one glass door, laying it gingerly inside. “There. All safe. No one could tell at a glance that it’s anything more than just another book. And you should call someone today, Phoebe,” she said firmly.


  Phoebe, for once, seemed at a loss for speech. She simply nodded.

  Struthers stood up. “Well, well. This has been one surprising morning. Come on, Phoebe. We’ll stop by the library and I’ll pull up some phone numbers of a few antiquarians I know in Boston. I’ll just guarantee they’ll be out her in next to no time.” He looked over at Peta. “You keep that safe now, young lady. That’s quite a treasure there, you know.”

  Phoebe stood as Max pulled out her chair for her. “This is all a bit much to take in, isn’t it?” she said.

  Her face was pale, and Max took pity on her, giving her a quick hug. “Look at it this way, Phoebe. You could sell it and become a disgustingly rich woman. Or you could donate it, and become a disgustingly famous one.” He grinned at her as he watched her eyes narrow.

  “Hmm. Famous, huh? Well, there’s a thought.” She chuckled and let Struthers lead her out into the hall.

  “Oh, by the way,” said Max casually. “Is Cole’s open this morning?”

  Silence fell. He knew everyone was familiar with the name. It was, after all, the only realtor in town. He swallowed. “Now that Peta is back on her feet, it’s time I was thinking of finding someplace permanent to live.”

  Phoebe raised an eyebrow, and even Struthers looked oddly at him.

  “Um, I should suppose so,” muttered Phoebe. She flashed a look of concern at him. “I really wouldn’t know for sure, though.”

  Max just nodded. “Thanks. You be careful on the steps. Frank cleaned them up pretty good, but they may still be icy.”

  He closed the door behind them, leaving him alone with Peta. And his fears.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The departure of Phoebe and Struthers left a silent void in the front hall.

  Peta couldn’t meet Max’s eyes. She turned away from him and went back into the kitchen, finding comfort in the small chores she created for herself as she collected coffee cups.

  “Peta, I...” He stood in the doorway.

  “No, Max, please. Don’t say anything. I understand.”

  “You do?” His voice was odd, strained somehow. “I wish to hell I did.”

  “Look.” She wiped her hands on her dishtowel. “It’s quite simple. We’ve had fun, made a lot of noise, and enjoyed each other, right? Now, it’s time to move on.”