SOMEBODY'S HERO

by Marilyn Pappano

  "Can we go? Please?"

  "It's going to be dark before long."

  Lucy cupped her hands to Jayne's cheeks. "That's the point, Mom. You can't starlook if it's not dark."

  "Stargaze, babe," she absentmindedly corrected her. She had to admit, stargazing in the woods at night with Tyler held a certain appeal. As long as she was being honest, she might as well admit that anything with Tyler—especially anything that might result in a kiss—held the same appeal. "Okay. I don't know what I've got to fix—"

  "Tyler's already got the food. He says all we need is us. Come on. Let's go. And wear real shoes this time."

  Jayne paused long enough to save her file to a flash drive, then let Lucy pull her to her feet and across the room to the hall. She changed from sandals into running shoes, tied a light jacket around her waist, then returned to the living room. "Are we going anyplace in particular?"

  "Into the woods," Lucy replied. "Where Cameron Diaz always go."

  They stopped by Tyler's house to pick up the basket and quilt that waited on the porch, then Lucy led the way into the woods. A faint trail was clearly visible in the early-evening light, though Jayne worried how visible it would be when the sun started to set. "We aren't going far, are we?"

  "Don't worry, city girl," Lucy called from ahead, obviously parroting words she'd heard from Tyler. "He knows these woods like the back of his hand."

  "Is that true?"

  He almost smiled. "Part of them. I tend to stay out of them most of the time."

  "Gee, that's reassuring."

  When the trail widened, Jayne slowed until Tyler came even with her. "I can't believe my own daughter's calling me 'city girl.' As if she hasn't lived her entire life in Chicago."

  "You can't tell it by looking at her."

  He was right. Lucy was charging ahead as if she'd been born following trails, climbing over rocks and skirting downed trees. The flutter of wings or the rustle of nearby brush didn't distract her; one would think she was accustomed to wild creatures gathering around her.

  "Does she get that sense of adventure from her father?" Tyler asked, reaching over Jayne's head to pull back a low-hanging branch.

  Ignoring the implication—that it certainly didn't come from her—she snorted. "His only legacy to his daughter—his eyes, his smile and his recklessness."

  "Do you worry she'll turn out like him when she's older?"

  She glanced his way, but his attention was on the trail. "No, not at all. When it comes to nature versus nurture, I vote for nurture almost every time. He may have given her an adventurous spirit, but I can balance it by teaching her to be responsible and reliable."

  "But if she's genetically programmed to be irresponsible…"

  "I don't believe any behaviors are genetically programmed. We do what we're taught or what we can get away with. Greg's parents never held him or his brother to any standards. If they misbehaved, if they talked back, if they stayed out past curfew, there were no consequences. They never had to accept responsibility for their actions and so they never have. Lucy is held responsible. She knows that if she does this, then that happens. She won't forget."

  He remained quiet, thoughtful, until Lucy suddenly stopped. "Is this it, Tyler? Is that the rock?"

  They were at the edge of a clearing where the path split in opposite directions. Straight ahead was a huge boulder, several feet high and relatively flat across the top.

  "That's it, Lucky girl. Good job." Tyler set the basket on the ground, then shook out the quilt over the top of the rock. After moving the basket there, he lifted Lucy up, who was beaming with pride at her accomplishment in recognizing the spot he'd described for her.

  Greg had never done a thing to make Lucy or anybody else feel good about themselves.

  Tyler climbed to the top of the rock in two steps. Jayne was preparing to look for an easier way up when he extended his hand. Surprised, she grasped it and scrambled up with his help.

  He was slow to let go.

  She was sorry when he did.

  Fingers tingling, she looked around. "Pretty place. How much land do you own?"

  "Forty-two acres, more or less."

  "Building furniture must pay well."

  "I saved every penny I made from the time I was fifteen. I lived at home, never did anything, never had any expenses beyond what I gave my grandparents."

  She smiled teasingly. "Didn't have any girlfriends?"

  He didn't smile back but looked … it was a combination of pained and stony, she decided. "Just one. But it's not easy to spend a lot of money on a woman in Sweetwater."

  "Then you weren't trying hard enough." She wanted to ask other questions—who was she, what happened with her, had he loved her, did he still love her. But they were in a pretty place, she was hungry, he was talking and she didn't want to bring up anything that would put a stop to that.

  She sat cross-legged on the quilt and watched Lucy unpack the basket. Each sandwich was labeled turkey or ham. Lucy chose a turkey sandwich, filled her paper plate with chips, pickles and potato salad, then slid to the ground. "I'm goin' explorin'," she announced as she took a huge bite of the sandwich before heading to the edge of the clearing.

  "Don't go far." Jayne offered Tyler his choice of the remaining sandwiches. "How is Rebecca?"

  He chose a ham sandwich and unwrapped it, then scooped potato salad onto his plate. "I imagine she's fine. I haven't seen her since you did."

  "Oh. So you made all this yourself?"

  His glance was sidelong and measuring. "I can put together sandwiches … but no, Sarah made it. They were having a picnic tonight, too, so she made extra for us."

  Was that why he'd invited them? Because his boss's wife had told him to? Jayne considered that while she chewed a bite of turkey, tomato and creamy mayonnaise. Did it matter? Not really. She would prefer to think that it had been his own idea, but the bottom line was he had invited them. He was spending time with them. That was all that counted.

  "Is Sarah looking for you to settle down, too?"

  His gaze narrowed into a scowl, but it wasn't very convincing. "Every woman I know seems to think marriage is the answer to everything."

  "Except Rebecca. The runaway bride of Sweetwater."

  He shrugged. "She thinks marriage is the answer for me. Not her."

  "And am I the only single woman in the appropriate age range in the county?"

  "There are others."

  "So I'm … handy?"

  He gave her a wry look that wavered on the edge of becoming a smile before disappearing. "Yeah. Sure."

  "That's okay," she said with a grin, and it really was. It would have been nicer if he'd said I like you best or You're the prettiest or I keep thinking about almost kissing you. But she could settle for that. "I've been handy before."

  "Was that how Gr—" He glanced at Lucy, wandering back for chips and bites of potato salad, and broke off.

  Jayne nodded. "Being married wouldn't be so bad, he decided. Instead of having to find someone to go out with, he would have me at home waiting." Actually, he'd been more blunt about it. A ready date and a ready sex partner—that was what wife had meant to him.

  "So how do you two work it out so that you get some writing done and you—" Tyler nodded to Lucy "—don't get bored?"

  "We co-op-'rate," Lucy said with a grin. "She works one hour and we play one hour. And then she works another hour and another hour and another…"

  "We played at cleaning the house and we played at clearing out more of the backyard," Jayne added. "One of these nights when it's cool, we're going to have a bonfire out there, aren't we, Luce?"

  "Yep. And we're gonna roast some weenies, too, and some marshmallows. We've never done that. You can come, too, Tyler. You have to, to show us how."

  "Sounds like fun," he said.

  And he actually seemed to mean it.

  They talked little through the rest of the meal, but it was a pleasant time. Though the night was far from quiet, it was peac
eful as dusk fell. Tension Jayne hadn't even been aware drained from her shoulders and her spirit felt lighter. She was as relaxed as she'd ever been—warm and satisfied and amazingly contented.

  Once the last of the food was gone, Lucy packed the trash in the basket, set it on the ground, scrambled onto the rock and stretched out on her back on the quilt. "Look, Tyler, a star."

  He glanced up at the sky, following her pointing finger, and said, "Actually, Lucky girl, I think that's a plane. See? It's moving."

  "Stars move, don't they?"

  "Yeah, but not to Nashville."

  "Depends on the kind of star," Jayne murmured.

  He gave her a dry look, then he turned to lie down, too, one arm bent to pillow his head. Immediately Lucy mimicked his position. "Do you know it never gets dark in Chicago?" she asked incredulously. "Even in the middlest part of the night, it's always light. Can you imagine?"

  "Yeah. I used to live in Nashville."

  "Was it ever dark there?"

  "Not really. Not like it gets here." But there was something in his voice—just a hint—that suggested his time there had been dark enough.

  He shifted his attention to Jayne. She could feel it—intensity vibrating the very air, as physical as a touch, as warming as a caress. "You're sitting there all huddled. Does it bother you being out here in the dark?"

  "No." She wouldn't choose to be alone in the dark or even with Lucy anywhere, but with him there, what was there to worry about? "I'm just a little cold."

  "Isn't that why that jacket's tied around your waist?"

  She glanced down and warmth colored her face. "I forgot." Unknotting it, she started to pull it on, then asked, "Luce, are you warm enough?"

  "Not really." To demonstrate, Lucy rubbed her bare arms vigorously. "If I can have your coat, you can have my half of the quilt."

  Hmm. And Tyler occupied the other half of that quilt.

  "We can go back," he suggested, but Lucy vigorously shook her head.

  "I wanna see the stars! Please."

  So did she, Jayne admitted privately. And she wanted to share that quilt. "Here, babe. Put this on." She held the jacket while Lucy wiggled into it, then zipped it up to her chin. The cuffs fell closer to Lucy's calves than her wrists, and when she sat down and drew up her knees, the hem slid over her legs and settled around her ankles.

  Jayne lay down on the quilt, several feet separating her from Tyler. The rock still held some heat from the day's sun, and the quilt smelled of fabric softener and—she wrinkled her nose—pickle juice that had leaked from the plastic bag.

  "Do you stargaze much?" she asked as she shifted into a more comfortable position.

  "Occasionally. Mostly from the front porch."

  "The front porch?" she echoed in mock surprise. "You mean we could be doing this from the comfort of the rockers on your porch?"

  "It's not the same, Mom," Lucy patiently explained.

  "I know, sweetie." There was something adventurous about lying out in the woods in the middle of the night—well, evening. Never in her life had she spent any time in the woods. Never had she listened to wild animals unseen nearby or watched the stars slowly appear in a night-dark sky—a twinkle here, a sparkle there.

  Never had she done anything as innocent as stargazing with such anticipation. Who knew what might happen before the evening was over?

  When she shivered again, Lucy nudged her. "Scoot, Mom." Working her hands free of the sleeves, she wrapped the edge of the quilt over Jayne, then nudged her again. "Scoot. I'll make you warm."

  Scooting closed half the distance between her and Tyler. For a moment she actually felt the tension ratchet up in his body, as if he might move back double that distance. He didn't, though, and gradually the tension eased back to a more normal level. Lucy's plan was working—Jayne's temperature had climbed at least a few degrees—and the child wasn't even settled in against her side yet.

  Resting her head on Jayne's shoulder, Lucy asked, "What's that star, Tyler?"

  "I don't know. I don't know anything about them except that I like to look at them."

  "Did you ever wish on 'em when you was little?"

  "A time or two." He shifted, and Jayne swore that when he resettled, he was a few inches closer to her—enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

  "What'd you wish for?"

  His expression took on a bleak air in the dim light. Hastily Jayne said, "You can't ask people what they wish for, Lucy. You know that."

  "Or it won't come true," she recited. "But that's for wishes now. Tyler made his wishes a long time ago. Did they ever come true?"

  "Yeah," he murmured. "But not the way I expected."

  There were so many questions Jayne wanted to ask. What had his childhood years been like? Had he wished for escape? For security? Had he wanted to bring his father back from death? Had he wanted his family made whole again?

  But she couldn't ask them and so instead she pointed low on the horizon. "I know that. It's the Big Dipper."

  "Where?" Lucy asked, twisting to duplicate Jayne's point of view.

  It took forever for her to locate it, but it was worth the time. She talked excitedly about learning astronomy, flying into space and, after that, maybe even becoming an astronaut.

  "How does she reckon she's going to fly into space before becoming an astronaut?" Tyler asked, sounding amused, as they finally folded the quilt for the trek home.

  "On a wish and a dream," Jayne answered promptly. "Imagination's a wonderful thing. You can go anywhere, do anything, be anyone."

  "And what happens when she finds out it's all make-believe? That she can't go anywhere, do anything or be anyone besides who she is?"

  Jayne undid one fold in the quilt and wrapped it, shawl-like, around her shoulders. Holding the ends together beneath her folded arms, she studied him. "Sounds like you lost your illusions at an early age."

  "I never had any illusions." Crouching, he opened the basket, removed three flashlights and offered one to Lucy. "Lucky girl, watch where you're going. I don't want to have to carry you back after you fall and break something."

  Lucy turned the light on and flashed it all around before holding it beneath her chin to highlight her grin. "You watch where you're going, too. I don't want to have to carry you back, neither. I'll lead the way."

  "Don't get too far ahead," Jayne called.

  Tyler jumped to the ground, landing lightly, then turned back to settle his hands at her waist. He lifted her down as if she weighed nothing, set her in front of him and stood there, breathing heavily, unsteadily. She couldn't breathe at all.

  There wasn't a smidgen of chill left anywhere in her body. She wanted to throw off the quilt, but her hands were too unsteady. Wanted to take the step or two that separated them, but couldn't make her feet move. Wanted to ask him to please kiss her, just once, but couldn't find her voice.

  And then he did it anyway.

  It wasn't the hottest kiss she'd ever been given or the most erotic or the most intimate. His fingers tightened at her waist, he took that step she couldn't and he bent until his mouth was no more than a breath from hers. He brushed his lips across hers, just barely caught her upper lip, touched his tongue to it briefly, and then he was done.

  It might have been the sweetest kiss she'd ever shared.

  "We'd better catch up with Lucy," he murmured, turning away to pick up the basket, then gesturing toward the path.

  Bemused, she flipped on her flashlight and followed the dim light ahead that was Lucy. As she walked, listening to birdsong and tree frogs, to Lucy singing "Star light, star bright" and to the solid thuds of Tyler's footsteps behind her, a smile slowly spread across her face.

  She'd told Rebecca that she was convinced coming to Sweetwater had been the right thing to do. Does my brother have anything to do with that? Rebecca had asked.

  Oh, yeah. More every day.

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  The fresh, cle
an smell of rain filled the Miller house Thursday evening. While Jayne got Lucy settled into bed, Tyler closed the living room windows on the north side, where drops were blowing in, then went to the screen door to gaze out. Clouds obscured the moon and the stars, leaving his house the only other light in sight. A person might think it looked lonely over there all by itself in the dark.

  Then he smiled faintly. Another person might think it looked peaceful. Like home. It was starting to feel more like home lately. Jayne and Lucy had come over the night before to share a pizza from Rebecca's freezer to his. With the television tuned to Lucy's favorite kids' channel—Oh, I've missed this! she'd exclaimed—her chatter and laughter as she'd played with the dogs, Jayne's help in the kitchen both before and after dinner… So this is what a family should be like, he'd caught himself thinking. It was so different from his own experiences that he couldn't relate the two.

  Not that he, Jayne and Lucy were a family, by any means. But … they could be.

  If the idea didn't scare him too damn much.

  "Tell me a story," came Lucy's wheedling voice from down the hall.

  He stepped outside onto the porch, closing the screen door quietly. The north end was wet, the south dry. Picking a spot in the middle of the dry area, he sat down, back against the house, knees bent, forearms resting on them.

  The rain made the cool night even chillier, but he didn't return inside for his jacket. Once he put it on, it would be time to go home, and he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

  A moment later the screen door creaked as Jayne came out. He'd offered earlier to oil it, but she'd laughed and told him no thanks. An old house should creak.

  Tonight she was wearing a thin tank top that fitted snugly and a long narrow skirt that reached to midcalf. With her hair down and beaded bracelets around her wrist and one ankle, she looked amazingly feminine. Amazingly pretty.

  And he still couldn't call Angela's image to mind.

  She'd pulled on a sweater that was too big for her. Without hesitation, she lowered herself to the floor near him, hugged the sweater tighter and sighed contentedly.

  "That was a quick story."