Honor Redeemed

by Loree Lough

  Elton beat him to it. “Well now,” he said, winking as he drew her into a fatherly embrace. “It’s about time you got here.”

  Austin joined the hug. “I was beginning to think you’d be a no-show.”

  “How could I miss something as important as your engagement party?” she asked as Mercy walked up. “Congratulations,” she said, squeezing the bride-to-be’s hand.

  “It was a long time coming,” Mercy said, smiling up at her future husband, “but well worth the wait.”

  Matt remembered that it had been touch and go for Austin when Mercy turned him down flat. Remembered, too, how those closest to him worried that he might just lose his yearslong battle with the bottle. Thankfully, he proved them all wrong. Six months into Mercy’s highfalutin job with the Chicago Board of Ed, Austin hopped a plane to O’Hare and gave her two choices: come back to Baltimore with him, or help him find an apartment in the Windy City. If that wasn’t an example of absence making the heart grow fonder, he thought, I don’t know what is.

  It made him miss Faith, or, more accurately, made him miss the comfort that came with knowing someone loved him, warts and all. In the years since her death, he hadn’t given a serious thought to finding it again.

  Until now.

  “Good to see you again,” he said to Honor.

  One corner of her mouth lifted in a wry smile. For a minute there, it looked like she’d say “Good to see you, too.” Matt hoped his acting skills were better than hers because the last thing he wanted was for her to know how it disappointed him to hear “Yeah, right” instead.

  “I see you’ve met the Defender,” Austin said, giving Matt a good-natured shove.

  Her eyebrows disappeared under thick bangs. “The Defender?” she echoed.

  “You mean you don’t know?” Austin feigned shock. “This guy is like every superhero, all rolled into one.” He started counting on his fingers. “Saved an old lady from a purse snatcher and put an end to playground bullying even before he was ten.” He followed up another playful shove to Matt’s shoulder with “And how old were you when you got Mrs. Abernathy’s cat out of that tree? Eleven? Twelve?”

  Matt felt the beginnings of a blush coloring his face. “Knock it off, Finley. Nobody wants to hear any of that nonsense, least of all, me.”

  Austin looked to Honor for permission to continue. Her indifferent expression was a letdown, which surprised Matt, considering how much he hated it when anyone spoke of his past good deeds. Maybe the tough-girl routine wasn’t an act, after all. “Hey, isn’t that Ribaldi over there?” He pointed to the far end of the bar, where a cluster of firefighters were lambasting the Ravens’ coaching staff. Without waiting for confirmation, Matt left Austin and Mercy with Honor and joined the group. He barely heard their genial greetings, almost didn’t notice the affable backslapping and hand shaking, because his brain had focused on getting the cold shoulder from Honor … and why he gave a hoot what she thought of him.

  Ribaldi pulled him aside. “Saw you over there with Jezebel,” he said with a nod toward Honor. “A word to the wise: take what you can and move on, and keep your back to the wall.”

  Matt glanced over, too, just in time to see that she’d caught the two of them, gawking. She frowned a bit and shook her head, then faced the other direction. Gorgeous, even when she’s ticked off, he thought. “She looks pretty harmless to me.”

  “Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving.” He looked left and right, then leaned closer and said into his palm, “You’re a hotshot reporter now. I’m sure you’ve got connections.”

  In other words, use those connections to find out more about Honor. Every investigative cell in him was twitching to do just that. But from the looks of things, the guys were about to toast the happy couple.

  “Phillips,” Austin hollered, “get over here and say a few words.”

  “Why should I?” he hollered back.

  “Because as best man, it’s your job, that’s why.”

  He and Austin had been as close as brothers since long before 9/11, but lately, work had taken them in different directions. Matt chuckled to hide his surprise. “Guess that means I’m stuck throwing you a bachelor party, eh?”

  Austin laughed, too. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather have—”

  A cacophony of cell phones and fire and police department radios squawked and crackled with the droning hum of voices that dispatched cops, firefighters, and paramedics to a multicar pileup on the Beltway. Within seconds, the final slurps from coffee mugs and soda glasses was drowned out by the scrape of chairs across the floor. Regular patrons of T-Bonz understood the hasty departure and did their best to clear a path to the door.

  Seconds later, only non-emergency personnel remained in the subdued silence, among them, Honor and Matt. It made him regret letting his certifications lapse. But being the only parent his boys had, he couldn’t take the chance he might not return from a rescue. He’d been standing at the next table when the calls came in. Their eyes met, and he saw in hers the same spark of desire to lend a hand that rumbled in his own heart. Raising his frosty mug, he said, “That’s about the best example of organized chaos I’ve ever seen.”

  She grinned, but not enough to hide a trace of sadness. Then she turned to the bride-to-be. “Some engagement party, huh?”

  “Goes with the territory,” Mercy said, shrugging into her coat. And grabbing her purse, she gave Honor a sideways hug. “See you soon, I’m sure.”

  “Count on it.”

  She walked up to Matt and, hands resting on his shoulders, gave a slight shake. “Don’t be such a stranger, you hear? He misses you.”

  “Feeling’s mutual.” As she hugged him, Matt admitted to himself how lucky Austin was. That trip to Chicago could have destroyed him … if Mercy had held her ground on the issues that had separated them.

  “We haven’t seen the twins in ages. I’m gonna call you this week to set something up.”

  “Sounds good. They ask about Austin all the time.”

  Mercy laughed. “What am I, chopped liver?”

  “Hardly,” he said as she shoved through the door. Before it swung shut, it dawned on him that luck had nothing to do with getting Mercy and Austin back together. Faith set things in motion. Trust held them fast. Matt didn’t know if he could summon either to that degree, unless it involved his boys’ well-being.

  “You have twins?”

  Matt took that as an invitation to step up to her table. “Yeah. Boys. They’re ten.” He watched her process the information and wondered which question she’d ask first—if he and his wife shared custody since the divorce, or if he was an everyother-weekend dad.

  She pulled a twenty from her pocket and pressed it to the table. “That oughta cover some of the tab. Catch y’later.”

  Then she shouldered that oversized tote that passed for a purse and walked away without a backward glance. Matt lifted his mug again and toasted the space she’d vacated. “Yeah. Later. Have a good one. Nice seeing you again. Drive safely.”

  The elderly couple at the booth across the aisle exchanged a knowing glance. “I don’t see a ring on your left hand,” the woman said. And nodding toward the door, she added, “Hers, either.”

  Her husband shook his head and shrugged helplessly.

  Even if he had the time, Matt wouldn’t have told them why he couldn’t go after her. How could he explain something that he didn’t understand himself?

  5

  Honor leaned her forehead on the steering wheel and, jaws clenched, groaned. After giving the dash a sound thumping, she got out of the car and slammed the driver’s door. “Of all the days for you to poop out on me,” she muttered, pacing beside the car, “why today?”

  She kicked the left front tire, then kicked it again. “I’ve never been able to count on you, you stupid, stupid, stupid—”

  “Remind me to thank God I’m not your passenger.”

  Honor hung her head. Of all the people who could have witnessed her mini meltd
own, why him? Well, at least he’d given her a little slack, pretending he believed there was someone in the car, instead of taunting her for talking to herself.

  “Dead battery,” she said. “Again.”

  “I worked for Sears Automotive in high school. Doesn’t make me an expert, by a long shot, but I can have a look under the hood if you want. Maybe it’s just a loose wire or something.”

  Honor lifted both arms, let them fall against her sides with a feeble slap. “Oh, why not.”

  She got back into the car and popped the hood. “What could it hurt?”

  “Careful,” he said, putting the support arm into place.

  “Careful?”

  “All that gushing confidence is liable to give me a big head.” He laughed quietly and stuck his head into the space between the engine and the hood. “And if that happened, how could I poke this,” he said, tapping the distributor cap, then wiggling a hose, “and tug that?”

  She crossed her arms to fend off the biting wind, remembering her decision not to wear a coat today: it’s just a short trip from the garage to the car, she’d told herself, and from the car to the office. Bearing in mind the undependable nature of her car, it had been a foolhardy choice, at best. Foolhardy, but not surprising, considering the hundred rash decisions that had come before it.

  He slid a bright white handkerchief from his back pocket. “Sorry,” he said, wiping his hands, “but it looks like you’re right.”

  “Dead battery.”

  “Sorry.”

  “And me without a AAA card.”

  Matt chuckled. “Let me give you a jump.” He pointed. “My truck’s right over there.”

  She hesitated, torn between wanting help and not wanting it from Matt. But she was cold and tired, and by now, her dogs’ bladders would be at the bursting point. “Thanks,” she said, hoping she didn’t look or sound anywhere near as desperate as she felt.

  Matt jogged over to where he’d parked, giving her a moment to wonder why she’d lumped him in with every other creep who earned his living as a reporter. Because he earns his living as a reporter, she thought, summoning her resolve as he pulled up in front of her car. It took no time for him to attach the jumper cables, then he held out one hand and wiggled his fingers.

  Honor gave him her keys and watched as he slid in behind the wheel. If this is how fairy-tale damsels felt as their heroes rode up on big white steeds to rescue them, she didn’t know how all those happily-ever-after endings could have been written, because—although it didn’t make a bit of sense—half of her wanted to thank him, and the other half wanted to slug him.

  After four failed attempts to fire the ignition, he returned her keys. “Sorry,” he said again. “I was hoping I could pump enough juice into it to at least get you to a repair shop, but it looks like your battery’s shot.”

  “So’s my patience with this hunk of junk,” she blurted.

  “I’m happy to give you a lift home.”

  Now wouldn’t that just be the perfect end to the perfect day—twenty minutes trapped in a vehicle with a Baltimore Sun staff reporter. “Thanks,” she said, digging in her bag, “but I’d better just call a tow truck.” Just last week, she’d come this close to buying the zippered pouch she’d seen advertised on TV. The announcer guaranteed its pockets and compartments could organize even the biggest, sloppiest purse. If she hadn’t blown it off as yet another rip-off, she would have found her cell phone by now and wouldn’t look like a loony prospector, determined to find gold in a depleted mine.

  “Here,” he said, handing her his phone.

  He’d already scrolled to a highlighted number, and as she read it, he added, “The guy’s honest, and affordable, and has his own tow truck.”

  Here she stood, shivering in the late-November wind, trying to figure out which was the dumber judgment—trust a reporter’s word about anything, let alone a car mechanic, or trust the mechanic himself.

  And then he smiled, warming the space between them, prompting Honor to gentle her tone. “Might as well get this beast into a shop, aye-sap.” She pressed the tiny green handset icon on the face of his cell phone. “I oughta tell him to roll it into the landfill, save him the bother of hoisting it onto a lift, save me the cost of yet another repair.”

  “Free estimates.” He pointed at the phone. “Another reason I trust Buddy.”

  She was about to counter with “We’ll see about that” when a woman said, “Praise the Lord!”

  “I should’ve warned you,” Matt said, grinning at her reaction. “Manny and Bea are hard-core Christians. Never miss an opportunity to witness their faith.”

  Yeah, that definitely would have been good to know, though at the moment, Honor couldn’t come up with a reasonable why. She stammered out her location and handed Matt his cell phone.

  “Thanks. The tow truck’s already on the way.”

  “Good.” He opened his passenger door. “Anything you need from your car before Manny gets here?”

  She felt the inviting heat emanating from the interior of his truck. Honor weighed her options: wait inside and take the chance that Manny would arrive sooner than Bea’s promised half hour, or sit in her own car and freeze. Or, she could accept his invitation and pretend it didn’t come with an implied agreement to his earlier invitation to drive her home. A fierce blast of frigid air made the decision for her. Honor tossed her bag onto the backseat and slid onto the front, staring straight ahead as he slammed the door.

  “This is awfully nice of you,” she said when he joined her.

  “Happy to help.”

  “I’ll give Manny a few minutes, and then I’ll call a cab.”

  He backed into the space across from her car, then put the truck in park. “Why? I don’t mind driving you home.”

  “It’s ‘Put a Taxi Driver to Work’ week?” Honor braced herself for the “Save your money” or “Why not donate the cash to your favorite charity?” lecture. It surprised her when, instead, he shook his head and sighed.

  “So what’s with all these food places choosing T names?”

  “T names?”

  He started counting on his fingers. “T-Bonz, Double-T Diner, Terseguel’s, Timbuktu …”

  Small talk. Idle chitchat. It’s what people did when they were uncomfortable. Honor ought to know because she’d done more than her share of it, especially since—

  “So how many dogs do you have?”

  “Two.”

  “Goldens?”

  “Yeah.” But how’d he know that?

  Matt plucked a hair from her shoulder. “I have a German Shorthaired Pointer. His papers say Jaek von something-orother, but we call him Cash.”

  She turned slightly on the seat, waiting for the explanation.

  “Cost us a small fortune at the vet’s, ‘cause when we rescued him, he had Lyme disease, heartworm, broken bones that healed on their own, cracked teeth that had to be surgically remov—”

  “Good grief. Was he run over by a truck?”

  “Nope. Hunters will pay two to three thousand dollars for a good bird dog, but Cash is gun-shy.”

  “A breeder did all that? He must be even stupider than he is crazy, because even I know that ‘gun-shy’ is a genetic trait, handed down by the mother dog.”

  “It can be averted,” Matt said, “but it takes time. Lots of it. And incredible patience.”

  She pictured Rowdy and Rerun and shuddered involuntarily.

  “Still cold?” He reached for the heat controls.

  “No … no, I’m fine. I’m just trying to wrap my mind around everything your poor dog endured at the hands of that monster. They prosecuted him, I hope.”

  “Nope. Gave him a choice: hand over every pup from every litter, or pay a stiff fine.”

  “Meaning … he’s still breeding dogs?”

  “Not legally.” His jaw muscles bulged, and he said through clenched teeth, “Many’s the time I was tempted to go over there and tie the jerk to a chair and do to him everything he did to
Cash. After describing each thing and giving him time to think about what was coming.”

  Honor harrumphed. “If you ever change your mind, call me.”

  She spent the next five minutes telling him about the feral dog that had attacked her during a rescue a few years ago.

  He winced when she showed him the scars the wild shepherd had left on her right forearm and left hand. “I’d wager he was abused, too, before some idiot dumped him by the side of the road to fend for himself.”

  “Weird.”

  “What is?”

  “I’ve often thought the very same thing.”

  “And that’s weird because …”

  It didn’t feel right, telling him the truth. Besides, which truth would she tell? The stuff about her uncle? The Brady Shaw story and its aftermath? What had happened to her fiancé? Just because they’d spent the past half hour, talking like old pals in the warmth of his truck didn’t mean they were pals.

  “Does it bug you?”

  “Does what bug me?” she asked.

  “That you have something in common with …” He looked left and right, as if about to divulge a state secret, “with a reporter.”

  “No.” It surprised her a little to admit that she meant it.

  He flung an arm across the seatback, which put his fingers mere fractions of an inch from her shoulder. Honor resisted the urge to scoot closer to the door.

  “So how’d you get involved with search and rescue?”

  She told him about how her fiancé had gone to New York in the days after 9/11 to help find people buried in the rubble. Told him how an I-beam dislodged, crushing and killing him instantly, leading to her decision to walk in his footsteps, to honor his sacrifice. No doubt, Matt had heard the stories circulating about her. Thankfully, there was no way he could know about the Uncle Mike mess. So if Matt asked a straight question about the Brady debacle, she’d give him a straight answer. If he didn’t? Why put herself through the ugliness?

  “I read a book by a guy who trained SAR dogs,” she continued, “and that was all it took to hook me. Not just on the work, but on the dogs. I’ve been training them—and their handlers—for years now.”