Show Me a Hero

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  “Unless you’re gonna come and join me.”

  She froze, feeling more than a little like a deer in the headlights when he angled his head so he could see her from his vantage point halfway up the stairs.

  “No?” His voice was easy as he straightened and continued up the steps. “Too bad,” he said over his shoulder. “Shower’s hot water doesn’t work. Might’ve made that a little more bearable.”

  He’d reached the top of the stairs and she could hear the creak of floorboards overhead as he walked.

  She exhaled and her head flopped back weakly against the yellow vinyl padded chair. Obviously, he hadn’t been serious, but that didn’t stop her imagination from going berserk.

  A moment later, she heard the rattle and squeal of water running in the pipes. They sounded even worse than the pipes at her place.

  It was too easy imagining him stripping off the blue jeans and the plaid shirt, which had two little buttons that had done nothing—absolutely nothing—to hide the magnificent torso beneath. He was obviously tall, and he’d struck her as maybe even a little skinny. And here it turned out he had more muscles and ridges running down his chest than Carter had pills.

  She exhaled and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. It was almost as hot in his house as it had been at their Victorian before Christmas, when the furnace had been running amok. Their father had finally dismantled the thing, and then they’d gone from wearing shorts and bikini tops to three layers of clothes just to keep warm.

  They had a new furnace now, though.

  Which was just one of the reasons why Ali still didn’t have the money to fix her pickup’s transmission.

  The pipes were still rattling but she stood and started up the stairs. At the top, there was a closet door in one direction and a short hallway in the other. She passed the first open door—a room that had nothing in it except a stack of yellowing newspapers—and stopped at the second door. She knocked. “Hey.”

  The running water stopped. “Yeah?”

  She smiled a little, inordinately pleased by the caution in his tone. Not so cocky after all, are you? “My father replaced our furnace for us last month. I could talk to him. He’s retired and he’s always looking for—”

  The door suddenly opened and Grant stood there, holding a threadbare white towel at his hip.

  The water was cold. She could see it in the gooseflesh rippling over his sinewy arms. In the tight nipples on his mind-blowing chest. Droplets were sliding down the dark line of hair, bisecting his ribs, collecting in the indent of his navel—

  She snapped her eyes back up where they belonged.

  But that meant seeing the devilish amusement in his aqua eyes. “Looking for something?”

  “Projects,” she blurted, feeling hotter than ever. “Sorry.” Didn’t matter that she was acting like a virginal schoolgirl. She turned on her heel to get the heck out of Dodge.

  His hand grabbed her arm from behind, pulling her to a standstill. “Hold on there.”

  She didn’t know what on earth possessed her. She caught him in a wristlock and the next thing she knew, she’d flipped him to the ground.

  “Jesus H. Christ!” He stared up at her, confounded.

  Horrified, she quickly let go of him and backed away, only to bump her head against the wall of the narrow hallway. The towel had entirely gone by the wayside and looking away seemed as impossible as jumping to the moon. Or pretending that she hadn’t just lost her marbles entirely.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, hurriedly crouching down to grab the towel and toss it at him. It did not hit the intended target area, but landed in a ball on his belly.

  He jackknifed up, clutching the towel in his big hand in front of him as he stood, but it was a case of way too little and way too late.

  She wasn’t going to be able to close her eyes anytime soon without seeing him in all his masculine glory on the back of her eyelids.

  “What the hell, Ali! I wasn’t gonna hurt you.”

  “I know, I know!” She dragged her fingers through her hair and half the pins in her bun scattered. She scrambled to pick them up, and that only brought her closer to the target she was trying to avoid.

  Him.

  She quickly decided the bobby pins simply weren’t that important. “I just, you just...make me jumpy, okay?”

  He muttered an oath, raking his fingers through the wet hair hanging in his face.

  He was standing in her path to the staircase and unless he turned himself sideways, there was no way she could slip past without brushing against him.

  And that wasn’t going to happen anymore than she was going to pick up those two pins right next to the big toe on his right foot.

  She backed up a step and hit the damn wall again, this time cracking her elbow. “This place is more treacherous than my house!” She rubbed her elbow.

  “Yeah, well, you shouldn’t go walking around in strange men’s—”

  “Hallways?”

  His eyes met hers. And they suddenly crinkled. He let out a laugh and shook his head. “Damn,” he muttered. “This is a first for me.”

  Her cheeks were on fire, but she felt a smile tug at her lips, too. “Yeah, well, me, too. I’ve never actually done that. You know. Outside of practice sparring.”

  “Yeah, well,” he returned. He wiggled his wrist. “Nice job. I think.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek and dragged her eyes upward again. “You, uh, need to, um, adjust your towel or something.”

  He cursed and she could have sworn his cheeks actually turned dusky.

  “I’m just gonna turn around.” She spun on her heel until she was no longer facing him.

  “Think that’s closing the barn door too late, but okay.” She felt more than heard him move. “All right,” he said a moment later. “You’re safe. All clear.”

  Her chest hurt from the way her heart was thumping so hard. She cautiously turned.

  He’d pulled on a terry-cloth robe.

  Not unusual, she supposed.

  Except this one was bright red. And it had big white hearts splashed all over it.

  “Well,” she said after the shock of it passed. “I guess you’re set for Valentine’s Day.”

  He spread his palms. The sleeves were at least six inches too short on his long arms. “Someone left it in the closet.”

  “Maybe your sister when she was squatting here without permission.” Ali felt confident it hadn’t been left behind by the weed-toking teenagers. “Aside from the fact that it’s a little short—” A little? She could see nearly every inch of his muscular thighs. “—it’s a good color on you.”

  He cupped the edge of fabric where it crossed over his chest. “You’re sure it’s not too much? I think it’s a little bright, but—”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He chuckled. Made a point of turning sideways and sweeping his arm out in invitation toward the stairs.

  She quickly scooted past him. And it was a wonder she didn’t fall over her feet, she skipped down the steps so fast.

  “I’m gonna wait in my truck,” she yelled over her shoulder as she grabbed her coat and kept right on going until she burst out the front door.

  She slammed it behind her and stood on the front porch, hauling in the cold morning air. She was so hot—from the furnace, from embarrassment, from oh, dear God, he had a perfect body, that she didn’t even bother pulling on her coat once she left the porch to climb up into the SUV.

  Then she thumped her head against the headrest. “Alicia, you big dummy.”

  She turned on the ignition and rolled down the window, because she was still too hot.

  Only a few minutes passed, though, before the front door opened and Grant came out. And she couldn’t help but laugh silently.

  He’d changed into jeans. And a brilliant red sweater. He
, too, didn’t seem to feel the need for a jacket. But he was carrying one bunched in his hand.

  He jogged across to the SUV. His hair was still wet and slicked away from his angular face. “I’ll follow you into town,” he said.

  “Are you sure?” She pulled her shoulder belt across her lap and fastened it. She grinned. “You can sit up here with me if being behind the grill is too unnerving.” The “grill” was a thick web of metal separating the front seat from the back.

  His eyes glinted. “I’ve ridden in the back of scarier cop cars than this,” he assured her. “But if I ride with you into town, you’re gonna have to bring me all the way back. No point in making a wasted trip.”

  She held her grin in place, even though it suddenly felt like it had deflated. “All right then,” she agreed, in what she hoped was a creditably easy tone. “I’ll see you at the department. I’m sure the mug shot will be there by now.” She’d radio ahead just to make sure of it.

  “Good enough.” He tapped the hood of the SUV as he headed toward the barn. He pushed open the door and disappeared inside and a moment later, the rusted pickup truck was coughing its way through the barn door opening.

  Once he was through, he got back out, closed the barn door, climbed back in the truck and sketched a wave toward her as he did.

  She pulled the SUV around to head back to Braden.

  As soon as she reached the highway, she thumbed the radio. “Timmy, did that fax come in from Seattle that I was waiting for?”

  Static greeted her. Then an eventual affirmative.

  “On my way.” She dropped the mic on the console. Grant’s pickup truck was in her rearview mirror.

  Nineteen-point-six miles to go, and they’d know whether or not Seattle’s Karen was their Karen.

  * * *

  She wasn’t.

  Dismayed, Ali looked from Grant’s face to the fax image. The quality of the picture wasn’t great, but it was full color. “Are you sure? I know she’s a green-eyed redhead, but ignore the brown hair. Contact lenses these days can make anyone’s eyes blue like that.” For all she knew his aqua beams were a result of contacts.

  “It’s not her,” he said again. “I’d know my own sister’s face, Ali.”

  She sighed. “Of course you would.” She dropped the fax onto her desk and led the way out the department’s security door.

  “See you tomorrow, Timmy,” she said as they passed the information desk.

  He was their newest recruit, and tended to blush anytime she addressed him. Today was no exception. He nodded, red-faced and Adam’s apple bobbing. “See ya, Ali.”

  “Gonna have a hard time as a police officer if he looks like a beet every time he speaks to a woman,” Grant commented once they’d left the building through the rear door.

  “He’s twenty years old. He’ll get over it,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “I used to be his babysitter. I think maybe he had a little crush on me back then.”

  “Back then?”

  “Well, don’t go saying anything too loud about it,” Ali said. “God knows that Gowler would blame me for that, too.”

  “Didn’t notice him strutting around today.”

  “He’s off.”

  “Will the mice play?”

  “Probably.” She grabbed her purse from the SUV and relocked the vehicle. “Mind giving me a ride home? I’m off for an entire twenty-four hours. Gowler’ll be back in twelve. He won’t like it if my ride is parked in front of my house instead of here at the department.”

  “You don’t have a car?”

  “Bad transmission. Still in the shop. And it’s a pickup.” They’d reached his pickup and she pulled open the passenger door. It squealed as if it hadn’t been opened in a decade. Considering the truck had to be at least twenty years old, she figured that was definitely possible.

  He got in beside her and the blanket-covered bench seat seemed to shrink. She started to roll down the window for fresh air, but the handle came right off in her hand. “Uh-oh.” She held it up for him to see.

  “Yeah, it doesn’t work.” His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her and tossed it over the back of the seat. Since there was no rear seat, it didn’t have far to go and she heard it clang against something when it landed. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She rested her bare knuckles against the window. For some reason the cold sensation seemed to make the interior feel a little less confining.

  You don’t feel confined. You just can’t stop thinking about him being naked.

  She chewed the inside of her cheek and trained her attention out the windshield.

  He drove out from behind the municipal building to the main street. “Which way?”

  She scrabbled her senses together. “Left. Then left again at the light. After that it’s just basically up the hill.”

  The street traffic was light. He turned left with ease and drove down the block. Past the central business district and the bus depot; past the Suds-n-Grill and China Palace. She pointed her thumb at the Chinese restaurant when they stopped at the red traffic signal. “If you like Chinese food, that place is really good.” Then she wished she hadn’t said anything, because the restaurant was actually a little pricey. “So’s the Weaver Town Buffet in Weaver, though. They don’t have real tablecloths, but you can get twice the food for half the price.” She knew she was babbling. “This is where you turn.”

  She felt pretty silly stating the obvious, so she clamped her teeth together, determined to just be quiet.

  The light changed.

  He turned and the truck engine growled a little as they started up Hill Street, not so imaginatively named since the street was, in fact, on a hill.

  She glanced over her shoulder, looking out the rear window. At least there was no sign of black exhaust spewing from the tailpipes. She sat forward again. “Got the exhaust fixed, I see. Where’d you take it?”

  “Nowhere. Fixed it myself.”

  “Nice. Wish I could have done the same myself with my transmission. Wouldn’t mind not owing money I don’t have just once in a while. We’re totally stalled right now on renovating the house until we can pool together more money.” She clamped her fingers under her thigh, as a reminder to stop it from bouncing so nervously. “It’s, uh, it’s the house at the end of the block.”

  He pulled up to the curb in front of what had once been a grand lady. Now, it was simply a three-story money pit.

  “That is an ambitious house,” he said.

  “Yep.” She eyed it fondly. The snow was piled around it, adding a touch of frost that helped take one’s eye away from the peeling paint and the other signs of aging. “Everyone thought we were crazy when we bought it. Particularly my dad. Said we would be throwing good money after bad for the foreseeable and unforeseeable future. I love it, though.” She grinned. “Even the ghosts who steal our tools. Greer insists that I’m just too scatterbrained when it comes to keeping track of them, and I know it’s not her or Maddie. So, unless it’s our neighbor, Mrs. Gunderson, it’s got to be—”

  “Ghosts.” He looked amused.

  “Right. Want to come in and see it?” It was the first Monday of the month, so Greer would be at work until that evening, when Ali, Greer and Maddie planned to get together for dinner. “I’ve got real coffee.”

  His gaze slid over her. “Temptress.” But he shook his head and she was more than a little alarmed by the lead balloon that sank in her stomach. “I’ll have to meet the ghosts later.”

  “Sure.” She hesitated before pushing open the squealing door. “I’ll let you know what I find out about that phone number.” She wondered just how involved he still was with his ex-wife. If, like with Jack, the relationship wasn’t as finished as the term divorced implied.

  “You can leave the message on my cell phone.”

  For some reason, she
’d assumed he didn’t have one. “Okay.” She pulled out her own phone. “What’s the number?”

  He recited it and she saved it in her phone, then stuck it back in her purse. “All right.” She briskly climbed out of the truck. “I’ll be in touch.” She started to close the door.

  “Ali.”

  He didn’t say her name very loudly, but she still heard it above the screech of metal hinges. She looked at him through the wedge of open space. “Yeah?”

  “Is it jumpy in a bad way? Or jumpy in a good way?”

  She instantly felt like they were back in his upstairs hallway and her mouth went dry. “Good.”

  His eyes were steady on her face. “All right then.”

  She swallowed and moistened her lips. “All right then.”

  He smiled slightly. Then he reached across the bench seat and pulled the door out of her lax fingers, shutting it the last few inches.

  She barely had the presence of mind to step back from the curb before he drove away.

  When the sound of his engine faded, she was still standing there, her heart pounding beneath her coat.

  “Good morning, Ali.” Mrs. Gunderson, bundled in a wool coat that was probably just as ancient as she was, paused on the opposite side of the street while her leashed miniature black poodle, Mignon, did his business in the snow. “Everything all right?”

  Ali dropped her hand. “Just fine, Mrs. Gunderson.”

  “Who was your friend?” Mignon had finished, and now jumped against his mistress’s legs until she picked him up. “Oh, you fat little thing. I don’t recall seeing that pickup before.”

  Rather than stand there yelling across the street, Ali crossed to the other side. “His name’s Grant,” she said when she reached the curb. “He’s from Oregon. Moved out to the old Carmody spread.”

  “I remember the Carmodys.” The elderly woman shook her head and the pink scarf tied around her neatly coiffed hair slipped down over her forehead. “That was a nasty business the way they lost their ranch to the bank.”