Defensible Space: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Lane Martin

  He flashed me a knowing grin. "Asshole? Come on, you know you love me. It's impossible not to. I'm a Malone.” Bastard.

  "If you say so." I shrugged, my tone was impassive and my face stoic. Honestly, he wasn't wrong. The entire Malone family was great and everyone loved them. It was hard not to. I took another sip of my coffee while he feigned injury before asking, "Are you ready for today?" In a few hours, the project we had been hard at work on would be unveiled. Dylan's new home recording studio had been a labor of love, which means that it had been a royal pain in the ass. As a contractor's son, I'd been around construction all my life. Folks told me I swung a pretty mean hammer, but even for me, it had been no ordinary addition in the backyard. We’d been determined to get it right. When Dylan was only a songwriter, she could work from almost anywhere. Some of the hits from her last album had been written on the very patio we sat on. When the label needed her in the studio, she’d travel down to Los Angeles. But since she had crossed over to superstar recording artist, she had been required to spend a lot more time recording, and the last place my buddy wanted his bride to be was hours away from him. With Dylan's success, they could have afforded a bigger house on the fancy end of town, but they wanted to stay there for sentimental reasons, in the house where they fell in love. Hell, they could have hired a crew for the build, but Grady had wanted to do it for her, so we’d gone to Acoustics 101 class. We had talked to the best sound engineers in the business and learned everything we needed to know, and then we had gone to work. The newlyweds might have gotten calls from the neighbors about the racket they made in the house—that was me, I was the neighbor—but the same couldn’t be said about the studio.

  "Dyl is chomping at the bit." She hadn’t been allowed inside since we’d finished framing. We’d pounded in the last nail the night before, right in time to unveil our hard work at the party to be held that night. The party had started out small as a thank you to the family and the guys from the station who had helped. Somehow it had turned into the party of the year. I think I’d seen a banner about it hanging over Main Street like it was the Fourth of July.

  "I'll bet," I teased my friend. I think it was Grady who couldn't wait to get her inside the new space. He planned on testing the soundproofing by making his wife scream on every surface inside. He hadn't said those words to me; that wouldn't be cool. I just knew it was what I'd have been planning if I had a hot wife and a room with perfect acoustics. I placed my empty cup down and stretched my arms above my head. "We better get things set-up before the boss gets out here."

  "Dylan doesn't care about the tables and chairs. She can’t wait to be in her room." Grady motioned at the new building and I couldn't help but guffaw. It was more than a room; it was state of the art.

  "Ha! I was talking about your mom." Nobody messed with Betsy Malone.

  As expected, it felt like the entire town was there. Kids were playing and adults were mingling while enjoying the perfect weather and a massive spread of food. Not surprisingly, our hostess cried when she saw her recording studio. She blamed it on the hormones.

  As content as I was for my friends, I could admit sometimes they were hard to watch. I didn’t like feeling sorry for myself, since I had so many things in my life to be grateful for. I decided to take Rascal for a walk to clear my head. It didn't work. I thought about what should have been, the entire time, which only pissed me off. Then my dang dog decided to roll around in a massive puddle of mud. No doubt, he was trying to impress his girlfriend, Petunia the pig.

  "Rascal!" I yelled. I called his name repeatedly and whistled for him after he took off in the direction of the party. Just perfect. It wasn't like him to run off, yet there he was doing it for the second time in a week. I started to sprint when I heard screaming and multiple people yelling his name. Several guys from the house were pulling him off someone when I rounded the corner.

  It was her, the woman he had tangled me up with outside Better Buzz last weekend. She did not look glad to see me or my mutt. Unlike everyone else at the party, who wore Sunnyville formal—consisting of at least a shirt and clean underwear for the men—she was wearing a black pencil skirt that hugged her luscious hips and a crisp white blouse. Okay, it wasn't white anymore. Nope. It was covered in muddy paw prints. She looked fit to be tied. I looked at my naughty dog, who now sat at her side wagging his tail. He seemed awfully proud of himself.

  "You!" She pointed an accusatory finger at me and I raised my hands in surrender. Everyone on the patio stood frozen in place, watching the exchange between us. Dylan stood beside her with Grady’s brother, Grayson, behind her.

  “Look, I apologize. I don't know what got into him." Rascal had earned his name, but since the fire, he had changed. He was glued to my hip whenever we were together, and from what I’d been told, he typically spent any time while I was away waiting for me to get home. He never took off running and now he had done it twice in a week, and both times the busty brunette was front and center. I glanced at her shirt. Pawprints marked her rack and I couldn't help but smirk. My dog had excellent taste in tits.

  "Are you staring at my boobs again?" She harrumphed in displeasure as I called Rascal over to me. One of the guys from the station whispered "oh shit" under his breath as I continued to check out the damage. I was trying to be a responsible dog owner and my intention was to see if my pet had caused any other harm. Yeah, right. "Unbelievable," she barked at me before redirecting her attention to the crowd of onlookers. I followed her gaze. Who was she looking for? A pang of jealousy hit me at the thought of her being here with someone else. It made no sense. For one thing, I wasn't interested. And for another, she looked at me like I was gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

  “Saint." Dylan didn't typically use my firehouse nickname, so I knew she was mad when she did. She placed her hands on her hips while shooting a glare at me and then bent down to tell Rascal he was a bad dog.

  Having spotted whatever she was looking for, the muddy beauty straightened and said, "I'm sorry, Dylan, but I'm going to have to cut my visit short. Thank you for inviting me and making me feel so welcome." Okay, so she was a newcomer. No wonder I didn't know who she was and hadn't seen her around before. Yes, I was relatively new to town myself, but just like back home, it didn't take long to know everyone around here. "I'll see you over at the school on Monday."

  Shit. That could only mean she was the music teacher Dylan had brought in to teach at the elementary school. Yes, all the kids would benefit, but the hope was that one very important little guy would get the most out of it. I hadn’t known Drew personally, but I did know Shelby and their son, Brody. He spent a lot of time hanging out in the "man cave" Grady built for him and helped us with the studio. Okay, helping was a bit of a stretch, but he was a good kid and he was struggling with his dad being gone. I was an adult and I couldn't imagine not having mine only a phone call away. All the guys at the firehouse, including me, took helping raise Brody seriously. No, he would never remember Drew, and we could never replace him, but we were all committed to being there for him. Drew died a hero and Brody would always know that.

  “You can't leave,” Dylan replied to her. “I want you to meet Brody and Luke, our nephew. Shelby is on her way with them now."

  Once again, Dylan turned and glared at me. I knew I would never hear the end of it if Miss Prim and Proper left now. Truth be told, I didn't want her to go anywhere.

  I stepped forward. "Look, I'm sorry. Will you please stay?" For as much as Brody liked the foosball table and the video games in the cave, he loved Dylan's guitar more. That's why we were so hopeful about starting the music program at the school. No kid should ever lose a parent. Brody loved music and it made him happy, plus Dylan believed he had a gift.

  "Well, I can't stay like this." She held up her hands as if I needed a reminder about the state of her clothes.

  “I would offer you something to wear, but..." Dylan shook her head in apology.

  "But we aren't the same size," the woman fini
shed with a shrug. In comparison to Dylan, she was a giant. I wasn't about to point the fact out. Women were so weird about their bodies. There wasn’t anything wrong with the music teacher; her body shape was just different than Dylan's. In fact, she was gorgeous. She was tall and had curves for days. I'd say she had more than a handful up top, but unlike some men, I didn't think it was a waste. I found myself looking at them again. Both women caught my stare. Smooth.

  "You're such a man," Dylan chastised me, and I was a bit embarrassed by being caught.

  "What's going on—? Oh shit." Grady came to a screeching halt next to his wife. People were still watching the scene play out. At that rate, we were going to be featured in the next edition of the local paper. I had to do something quickly. It was a good thing I was trained to run into fires instead of taking off in the other direction when things got hot.

  "I'll take care of it.” I reached out and grabbed Prim and Proper's hand. She dug in her heels.

  "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded while she seethed at me. We were already making a scene, so I did the only thing I could think of. I bent down and hauled her over my shoulder before making a beeline for my trailer. Catcalls from the men and gasps from the women followed us as she tried to squirm out of my hold. It took everything in me not to bring my hand down on her plump juicy ass. What the hell were you thinking St. James? You weren’t. I could see the headline in the Sunnyville Gazette now.

  Chapter Three

  PENNY

  T hat dog came out of nowhere. Again! He’d been followed by the man I’d assumed was his owner, the same guy who had run into me outside of the coffee shop. This time he was too late; the damage had already been done. My shirt was covered in mud, and there I was, already feeling out of place. I’d realized I was overdressed the moment I pulled up to the address I had been given. I should have asked Dylan more questions about the party when she’d called to invite me. I should have remembered I was in Sunnyville, not Los Angeles. But after the week I’d had, I was so excited to be back there.

  I’d practiced my speech the entire drive home the weekend before. It was ridiculous. I was an adult. I didn't need anyone's permission to do what I wanted to do, but I wanted it anyway. Financially, I had the means. I was qualified to do the job and, after making a few calls, I had the time. In the grand scheme of things, it would be a short period of my life. My life. Surely my parents wouldn't deny me, not when they had already had the first twenty-five years. Growing up, my father had taught me everyone wanted something. I had been willing to give them what they wanted if they would do the same for me. All I was asking for was six months to teach children music. Six months to live on my own for the first time in my life, to have a kitchen I could cook anything I wanted in, and walls I could paint Flamingo's Dream if I was so inclined. Okay, so maybe I needed to spend a little less time looking at paint swatches.

  My family had been waiting for me in the formal living room the second I had arrived. Even my sister, Nicole, and her husband, who usually couldn't be bothered to come over, were front and center. I half expected them to ask my mother's cook to pop them a giant bowl of popcorn. Instead, they opted for olives in their extra dirty martinis. My father held a recently emptied tumbler in his hand as my mother had tipped her champagne flute back.

  My father seethed, "Do you think you can just make unexpected overnight trips without clearing it with us first?" Jesus, I was an adult, and it wasn't like I hadn't let them know I wouldn't be back until today. I had texted both my parents after checking into the bed and breakfast. Sure, I’d turned off my phone right after I had done it because I knew the information wouldn't be well received, but I hadn't exactly fallen off the face of the Earth for twenty-four hours. Dad poured himself a double while I tried to remember my speech. Stomping my foot and reminding them I was a fully grown woman who paid taxes and everything wouldn't have gotten me anywhere. Nicole smiled. She loved it when I got in trouble, probably because it happened so rarely. Of the two of us, she was the one who had challenged our parents growing up.

  Nickel, as I called her, was five years older than me and we'd always had a strained relationship. I never understood how we’d turned out so different. My sister was exactly like our mother—unhappily married but liked to pretend she was so much better off than everyone else. As much as I would love to be an auntie, I'm glad Dick—her husband had the perfect name—and Nickel hadn’t procreated yet. I wouldn't wish them as parents on anyone. I felt sorry for them, and I refused to end up just like them and my parents. I had known that was only the first step—a baby step. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt like I was taking a stride in a different direction—the right path for me.

  I poured myself some liquid courage from my mother's bottle and took a sip before starting my speech. It seemed to work for them. "I'm glad you're all here. I have some news I'd like to share with all of you." My mother really did have excellent taste in champagne.

  “Would it have anything to do with your call to San Francisco to turn their offer down?" My father wasn't happy. As my business manager, he knew it was a lucrative proposal for both of us. It won't be the last one. I reminded myself that both our bank accounts would survive. When I talked to Henry, he had been disappointed but understood why I had to say no. He even promised to come and help me with my students. I could guarantee the call to my father hadn’t come from him, since Henry had been encouraging me to get out from underneath my father's thumb for years.

  “Actually, yes, it does. I've taken a temporary job as a music teacher in a small town I happened upon on my drive home. I made an offer on a house I'll be living in while I remodel it. I'm leaving at the end of the week." There, I’d said it.

  I called a Sunnyville realtor during my drive. She’d thought I was crazy when I told her I wanted to buy a house for cash if I could close in a week or less, sight unseen. The inventory in Sunnyville wasn't high. I wanted at least a three-bedroom, two-bath house with the same view of the rolling hills of vineyards I had fallen in love with at the B&B cottages. The view was all I really cared about, the rest I could change. Only one house in the area met my criteria, so I made a full price offer without hesitating. Bonus: it had a pool. The owner accepted, which meant it was only a matter of transferring some funds and signing some papers and it would be all mine. It hadn’t been lost on me that paying cash for a house was a big deal. I had been blessed with grandparents who had set up a very generous trust fund for me when I was born, but I had also worked my fingers to the bone—literally—for as long as I could remember.

  I guess a person could say I had my sister to thank for my career. Nicole had been eight when she’d brought home a violin from school. Our mother had called it a "torture device" until I picked it up and played “Twinkle, Twinkle,” the song my sister had been butchering for at least an hour, with ease. Mom couldn't believe it, so, as the story goes, she put a Concerto by Mozart video on the television. We watched it once and she’d asked me to play it. And I did. I quickly became my mother's favorite party trick. They’d called me a prodigy, but to me, the violin just felt like an extension of me. I’d made my first paid appearance at the ripe old age of four. I guess, as they say, the rest was history.

  "You can't be serious. I worked my ass off on the San Francisco deal." My father's voice had almost been drowned out by the noise of the breaking glass from his once-again empty glass being hurled across the room and shattering when it hit the wall. The sound had been followed by my mother's shriek. This is going exactly like I thought it would. We might need more champagne. Nicole looked delighted; Dick could not have cared less.

  "Completely. I signed a contract for the position and have already put an offer in on a house." Okay, that had been a bit of a white lie. The employment contract had still been sitting in my inbox. I planned on waiving the salary if they agreed to use the funds to continue the music program once my contract was over. I also planned on talking to Dylan about making the program so
mething permanent, possibly expanding it. Music and art needed to be in schools. I firmly believed the value they brought far exceeded any costs. In my privileged life, I hadn't realized until I’d checked the statistics how often art and music programs were sacrificed to balance budgets. It was an injustice, not only for the programs, but for the children they served. I couldn’t have imagined my life without music.

  "Our lawyers can get you out of the contract and you can put the house back on the market. If you're lucky, you'll break even on it." Dad pulled his phone out of his pocket. He probably had the lawyers on speed dial.

  "No." I stood my ground, lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders like I had witnessed him do hundreds of times. I was going to Sunnyville with or without their support. I had no intention of getting out of my contract with the school district or selling my house.

  "No?" My father's tone had been more severe than usual, and I had sworn I could see the vein in his neck pulsing. I hope he took his blood pressure medication today.

  "That's what I said." The room whirled around me as my heart threatened to beat out of my chest. I wrapped my arms around myself. They gave me both comfort and protection, things I should have received from my family as I chose to step out on my own.

  "I think it's a wonderful idea, Penny." My sister was up to no good. She never called me Penny. Nickel hated the nicknames our grandfather had given us as children. She felt they were beneath her. I much preferred being called Penny over Penelope. The same couldn't be said for Nicole. I was the only one who still called her Nickel, and she usually rolled her eyes at me before ultimately ignoring me and whatever comment I had made to her. As much as I wanted her support to be genuine, it felt fabricated. My sister always had a plan and serving herself was always at the top of the list. I felt sorry for her. For us. I wanted to be close to her—she was the only sibling I had—but Nicole made a point of avoiding me, and when she couldn't, she was anything but cordial to me. Her comments were always clipped and catty.