Hero in Disguise

by Wilkins, Gina

  “Yep,” Summer replied cheerfully, picturing Autumn’s exasperation upon opening the gift. “I like to remind her occasionally that she is a woman.”

  “Maybe you should try it on so we can get an idea of how it would look on,” Derek suggested with an exaggerated leer.

  Summer firmly declined, though she had to turn her face to hide the flush that accompanied several unbidden fantasies of herself wearing such a garment for Derek.

  While she was in the mall, Summer made several other purchases, items she’d waited until the weekend to stock up on. She blithely loaded Derek down with her packages.

  “Is there anything else you’d like to buy before we leave the mall?” he asked her politely, his arms full. “Like a couple of dozen pairs of shoes?”

  “No, thanks,” Summer replied airily. “Come along, Derek.”

  Her charming attempt at imperiousness delighted him so much that he stopped right in the middle of the crowded mall to kiss her, earning himself a glare and another one of her rosy blushes.

  “I’m hungry,” she told him when they were back in the car. “Why don’t we have some lunch somewhere?”

  He agreed very cooperatively and took her to Fisherman’s Wharf, spending the quiet time during the meal learning more about her childhood years in Arkansas. She answered his questions stiffly at first, but Derek’s genuine interest in her words put her quickly at ease. Soon she was chattering away, making him smile and once even laugh with her stories of her boisterous childhood.

  Summer even managed to draw Derek out enough to talk a bit about his own childhood. He admitted that he had been quite a handful, always tumbling into trouble and making frequent visits to the emergency room.

  “When did you turn into such a respectable citizen?” Summer asked him with gentle mockery.

  He grimaced at her but answered semiseriously. “Probably about the time Connie was born. My father told me that I had to set a proper example for my baby sister, since I was so much older.”

  “How did you feel about having a little sister after being an only child for so long?” Summer asked curiously.

  Derek lifted one shoulder, his expression almost wistful. “I thought it was nice. She was cute, as babies go, and I used to enjoy playing with her. But then I ended up in Nam and drifted into the government job, and before I knew it, she was grown-up and practically a stranger. I don’t know what happened, exactly.”

  Her heart twisting at the sadness in his eyes, Summer reached across the table to touch his hand. “You made a good start at repairing the damage last night, Derek. The two of you were a little more relaxed together this morning.”

  “Yeah, I think so, too,” he answered, looking faintly pleased.

  Summer released his hand, aware of her reluctance to do so. “How do you really feel about Connie dating Joel?” she asked Derek, forcing herself to keep her mind on their conversation.

  To Summer’s surprise Derek broke into a broad grin. “I find it very amusing,” he informed her cryptically.

  Summer frowned in confusion. “Why?”

  But Derek only shook his head. “I’ll tell you another time,” he told her, refusing to say another word about it.

  When the meal was over, Derek asked again, “Where to?”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “I hope you’re feeling rested and refreshed. Our next stop is Halloran House.”

  He frowned. “Halloran House?”

  “It’s a home for children with emotional or behavioral problems. It’s Clay McEntire’s pet project—he spent some time in a similar home when he was growing up, and he doesn’t mind telling people that he would have ended up in prison by now if he hadn’t received excellent counseling and guidance at the youth home. Anyway, the kids at Halloran House are putting on a talent show. Clay volunteered my services to them when he found out that I’d been a theater arts major. They’ve been rehearsing on Wednesday evenings and Saturday mornings, but they’re putting on the show this coming Friday and they wanted to work in one extra rehearsal today. You can just drop me off if you don’t want to stay.”

  “I’ll stay.” The words were spoken decisively. Derek was vaguely aware that he was enjoying himself more than he could have imagined. The more time he spent with Summer Reed, the more she fascinated him. And the more he wanted her. “What’s the address?”

  8

  HALLORAN HOUSE HAD been established in a large, renovated Victorian home by a wealthy industrialist who had lost a son to a drug overdose, Summer explained as Derek drove. It relied on donations for its continued existence, many of which were obtained from wealthy families whose children had been in trouble with drugs or other serious adolescent problems. Though most of the children in residence at Halloran House were from low-income families, there were some there from the middle and upper classes. Mostly between the ages of eleven and sixteen, these were kids who, either because of neglect at home or the influence of their peers, had gotten beyond the control of their parents and teachers, though they had not yet been convicted of any real crimes.

  Summer was greeted warmly by the Halloran House residents, though Derek was not welcomed with open arms. The troubled young people there did not trust adult strangers, and they looked him over thoroughly when Summer introduced him. Derek was grateful that he’d chosen to dress in leather jacket and jeans that morning. His short, almost military haircut earned him enough suspicious looks. His usual crisp white shirts and dark, creased slacks would have put him in contempt with these defiantly ragged youths with their too old eyes.

  In the cavernous, one-time ballroom, which now served as a recreation room, a stage had been erected and a stereo, with huge blaring speakers, set up. Young people were practicing all over the room, oblivious to the chaos around them. At least half a dozen different pop songs were being mangled simultaneously, dancers were leaping like demented deer, a teenage girl dressed like Cyndi Lauper was swaying sinuously, another was twirling a baton and a group in one corner seemed to be loudly practicing a comedy skit. Summer had told Derek that there were only twenty full-time residents. Ten more attended counseling sessions there after school while living at home. Not all of those would be involved in the show, but to Derek there seemed to be hundreds of noisy adolescents in the room.

  Through the confusion they heard a male voice yell “Summer!” and the rugged blond that Derek remembered from Connie and Summer’s party broke away from the crowd and came quickly across the room. He greeted Summer with an enthusiastic kiss on the mouth, which brought a murderous scowl to Derek’s tanned face.

  “Derek, do you remember Clay McEntire?” Summer asked. “Clay, this is Connie’s brother, Derek. He was at our party last weekend.”

  The two men shook hands—Derek with some reluctance—but before they could do more than murmur appropriate greetings, another man approached. A prematurely balding fellow of about thirty with thick glasses and a seemingly permanent grin, he was introduced by Summer as Frank Rivers, the director of Halloran House.” ‘Bout time you got here, Summer. We’ve got a madhouse on our hands.”

  “No problem,” Summer assured him airily, then cupped her hands and shouted, “All right, you animals, the director’s here. Let’s show a little respect.”

  Magically the chaos subsided. Laughing, the kids gathered around Summer, who ordered them to sit on the floor in front of the stage. Derek was rather astonished when they obeyed her without question. Summer dispatched him to a straight-backed chair in one corner of the room to watch the proceedings. Like the kids, he did as she told him without protest.

  For the next two hours Derek watched in fascination as Summer turned the eighteen insolent delinquents attending the rehearsal into surprisingly adequate performers. Laughing, teasing and cheerfully insulting, she had the kids eating out of her hand, even as she managed to maintain control of the rehearsal with very little help from Frank and Clay. She applauded each performance, offered suggestions when needed, even walked through the Cyndi Lauper routin
e with the girl, smoothing out the rough edges of the lip-synched pantomime. Despite the enforced awkwardness of her movements, Summer maintained a graceful fluidity that Derek knew had been developed through long grueling hours of therapy and practice. The talent that had won her the role of Eliza Doolittle was very much in evidence.

  Later he was given a sample of her singing talent when a shy, pretty teen with chocolaty eyes and a smooth mocha complexion requested assistance with a song she planned to sing, particularly with one measure that was giving her problems. Summer glanced at the music, murmured a few words to the woman who had been recruited to play the piano and sang the song in a key that was much easier for the young person to carry.

  As the rehearsal concluded, Summer again walked through the closing number with the entire cast, a simply choreographed version of the title song from the movie Fame. Derek frowned as he noticed that Summer’s limp was growing more and more pronounced. Searching her face, he thought she looked tired. He was considering dragging her off the stage and making her take a rest when she called an end to the rehearsal.

  Summer sincerely complimented the performers as they left her, promising to see them Wednesday night for their final rehearsal before the show on Friday evening. As she said her goodbyes and made her last-minute remarks, Clay approached Derek. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

  “Yeah,” Derek answered simply. “She’s good.”

  “I knew this would be good for her, but I had a hell of a time talking her into it.”

  “Oh?” Derek studied the pleasure on Summer’s tired face as she looked into the young faces turned to her. “I’d have thought she’d jump at the chance to do something like this.”

  “I think she was afraid she couldn’t do it,” Clay explained in a low voice. “You might not have realized it, but our Summer’s not quite as carefree as she lets on. We all know that she’s a little sensitive about her limp, but she’s brave about it, isn’t she?”

  Resenting Clay’s thinking he might know more about Summer—Derek’s Summer, not our Summer, he added to himself—Derek only nodded. He was a little deflated to realize that he wasn’t the only one who understood the complex young woman who had come to mean so much to him in such a short time. He was also jealous as hell of anyone who had known her longer than he had. He glared at Clay as Summer approached them.

  “Sorry it took so long, Derek. Are you bored out of your mind?”

  He slipped a supportive and unmistakably possessive arm around her waist. “Not a bit,” he assured her, his voice husky and intimate. “Tired, Summer-love?”

  “Mmm. A little,” she agreed, not protesting the supportive arm.

  “Then let’s go.” He gave her little chance to say goodbye to Frank or the avidly curious Clay as he hustled her out the door and into his car.

  Summer sank gratefully into the plush seat of the Lincoln, resting her head against the high back. “Weren’t they wonderful?” she asked Derek huskily.

  “I felt like I was watching one of those old Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland movies,” he confessed. “The ones where they’re always saying ‘Let’s have a show!’“

  Summer laughed softly. “Kids haven’t changed all that much over the years. They still love attention, and they need to know they have special talents that make them worthy of praise. Even the ones who can’t sing or dance were able to participate in the skits or operate the lights or sound system, so they feel like an important part of the show. Basically, these kids are the ones who crave attention so desperately that they got into trouble to impress their friends or get their parents to notice them.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Derek watched as Summer kneaded her right leg almost absently. He frowned. But rather than commenting on her action, he asked only, “Who will attend the show?”

  “The parents and some of the home’s benefactors. Not that many people—there’s not an abundance of room.” Pulling her thoughts away from the rehearsal, she turned her attention to the route Derek was taking. “Where are you going?”

  “My place.”

  She turned to look at him. “I never said I was finished for the day. I might have other plans.”

  “Tough,” he answered succinctly. “You need to rest. We’re going to my place, and I’m going to make dinner for you.”

  Summer considered her options. She could berate him for his arrogance and order him to take her home, or she could go along with his autocratic and typically domineering decree. Judging from the hard set of his jaw, she had little chance of success with the first option. He’d do what he wanted to do, anyway.

  A little smile played on her tired features as she settled back more comfortably into the seat, realizing that she wanted the same thing.

  SUMMER STRETCHED and opened her eyes, then gasped as she looked frantically at her watch. Sitting up on the bed in Derek’s guest room, she realized that she’d been asleep for just over an hour. She had protested heatedly when he’d ordered her to lie down and rest as soon as they were in the house, but he’d stubbornly insisted that she would either lie down alone or he would join her.

  She had hastily agreed to lie down alone.

  She hadn’t expected to be able to relax, much less sleep. A near sleepless night followed by an unusually strenuous day had caught up with her, however. Now she was a little embarrassed.

  She wondered what Derek had done during the time she’d been asleep. Had he looked in on her? She didn’t like the idea of being so vulnerable to his knowing eyes twice in one day.

  Combing her hair with her fingers, she thought back over the past few hours. It had been wonderful having Derek by her side all day, she mused wistfully. She could easily get used to having him around all the time. She thought of his willingness to stay on the sidelines during the rehearsal, his cheerful acquiescence at the mall, his stubborn protectiveness when he’d seen that she was tired.

  Oh, yes, she sighed, pushing her feet into her Loafers, she could definitely grow accustomed to his company. She’d known him only a little more than a week, and already she was dreading the idea of a weekend without him. For a woman who’d placed so much value on her independence in the past few years, the realization of how easily she could become emotionally dependent on Derek was quite daunting.

  She hadn’t relied on anyone but herself for her happiness in a long time. Now she was starting to shift toward Derek. She didn’t care for that one bit. But it was too late to do anything about it now except to hang on fiercely to whatever willpower she had left. Which wasn’t much.

  Sighing, she straightened her clothes and went in search of Derek.

  She found him reading a newspaper in the den. He didn’t hear her at first, and she had the chance to study him for a moment. Her heart sank as her eyes hungrily devoured the sight of him, so relaxed and sexy. She could feel her shaky willpower growing weaker by the moment.

  Derek looked up and smiled at her, his eyes heart-wrenchingly tender behind his glasses. “Hi. Feel better?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, moistening her lips. She tried to strengthen her fading voice. “I’m sorry I went to sleep for so long.”

  “You needed the rest. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, I am, but—”

  “Good. I’ve got dinner ready to go under the broiler. Nothing fancy, just ham, cheese and tomato open-faced sandwiches. Sound okay?”

  “Definitely okay,” she agreed with a touch of shyness. Her eyes seemed to have become fixed on the open collar of his close-fitting knit shirt, fascinated by the silky dark curls nestling there. She knew how hard his body felt through his clothes. Would he feel as hard without them? she wondered dreamily. She should make every effort not to find out. But already her fingers were twitching to test him.

  Dinner was consumed in near silence, though Summer could have sworn she could hear her own heartbeat booming through the room. A new note of intimacy had been introduced into their relationship that day, and now she was aware, as she had not been before, of bein
g truly alone with him. She sensed every movement he made, found herself incredibly attuned to his breathing and deep voice. Though the sandwiches were good, she found she could barely taste her food. Instead, she found herself avidly watching him eating his, finding the experience amazingly erotic. She’d never really thought eating was sexy, despite the books she’d read, but now she was beginning to understand. Each time Derek’s mouth closed around his sandwich, she shivered, imagining those lips on her skin.

  Dammit, stop this! she told herself desperately. Say something! Anything!

  “This is the second time you’ve made dinner for me, Derek,” she said at last, as if he couldn’t remember that vitally important fact for himself. “I’ll have to return the favor sometime.”

  Really dumb, Reed, she scolded herself. Why didn’t you just ask the guy for a date?

  “I’m not much of a chef,” Derek admitted. “I’ve served you my entire repertoire of dishes now. Steaks and sandwiches.”

  “Both of which have been excellent.”

  “Thank you. Do you like to cook, Summer?”

  “Sometimes. Nothing fancy, though. Connie says that I cook with an Arkansas accent.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Just that I cook like a rural Southern housewife—the way my mother cooks, to be precise. Plain meats, potatoes and gravy, vegetables boiled with pork seasoning. California nutritionists would be appalled at the amount of calories and carbohydrates and cholesterol, or whatever, but the food tastes good, and that kind of cooking has raised generations of healthy Reeds and Welches.”

  “Welch was your mother’s maiden name?”

  “Yes. Amazing what little tidbits you’re finding out about me, isn’t it?”

  “There are still a lot of things I want to know,” he replied.

  Summer shook her head. “No more of my life history. I’m bored with the subject. I’d rather talk about you tonight.”

  “Now that’s a boring subject.” Derek gathered his supper dishes and carried them into the kitchen, leaving Summer to assume that the conversation had been brought to an abrupt end. She sighed in exasperation and reached for her own plate.