Holdin' On for a Hero

by Ciana Stone

  “What does a producer do?” Ben Hunter asked.

  “Well, we decide what stories we want to do then we have our research department get all the facts. Once that’s done we verify everything they’ve come up with. Next we send a camera crew and a reporter out to the site, do interviews and get some video footage. The next step is putting it all together and then ta-da—a news story. The producer’s job is to oversee all phases of the project, sort of like a supervisor but with a little more control. I get to decide the slant of the story. You know, sort of like who I want to be the good guy and the bad guy.”

  “That’s pretty interesting,” Ben said and stood. “Excuse me a minute. Nature calls.”

  Chance smiled and turned her attention back to Billy. He was tapping his foot in time with the music as he watched her. She looked down at his foot then up at his face. “You like to dance, don’t you?”

  He nodded as she finished her beer. “You want to dance with me, Billy Hawkes?” she asked with a smile.

  “You bet.” He grinned and stood, taking her hand.

  Chance thought he would go to the dance floor but instead he swung her around right there beside the table. The music was not particularly slow but Billy pulled her up against him anyway. She pushed against him gently and backed up. Billy didn’t seem to take offense. He grinned at her as they danced.

  He looked up at something over her shoulder and his grin disappeared. Before Chance could turn around she heard a voice behind her. “Well, Billy, what’ve you got here?”

  Chance broke free of Billy and whirled around. Time seemed to come to a standstill. The music and voices faded away and all she could hear was the pounding of her heart.

  Wyatt looked bigger, more muscular and powerful. His hair was longer than the last time she’d seen him. It brushed the back of his collar. But the biggest change was his face. Not that his features were different. Just that they appeared so hard, like he was made of stone instead of flesh and blood. His black eyes bored into hers and she felt an ache in her heart.

  “Wyatt!”

  Wyatt was so caught up in his own thoughts that he barely heard her speak. He never expected her to show up, but here she was. No longer under his conscious control, his eyes took in her appearance. She had changed. Her hair was still the color of summer wheat, but longer with a fringe of bangs framing her eyes. She was a startlingly beautiful woman, with high cheekbones and full lips. She was still slim, but the shirt she wore displayed her full firm breasts.

  He looked down into her eyes. Her eyes hadn’t changed. No one had eyes like her. Only a shade darker than her hair, they seemed more gold than brown, the inner portion of the iris dotted with gold flecks and the rims a deeper hue. Long dark lashes framed her eyes, seeming incongruous with the light hair. She wore no makeup to accent her features and he realized she didn’t need it. She was more beautiful without it than other women were with it.

  “Wyatt?” her voice cut into his scrutiny.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She looked up at him with hurt in her eyes. “I—” Casting a look at Billy who stood behind her and Joe sitting at the table staring, she paused and then stepped closer to Wyatt.

  “I had to see you,” she whispered.

  “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “I had to. Can we talk?”

  “No.”

  “Wyatt!” She grabbed his arm as he turned away from her. “Wait!”

  “I said no.” His voice was filled with bitterness. “Go home. Go back to your rich friends—your Mercedes and country clubs. Just get the hell away from me.”

  Chance dropped her hands and he walked away from her. She took a look at Billy Hawkes. He smiled in an embarrassed fashion and shrugged. “You wanna have another beer…dance or something?”

  “No, thanks, Billy.” She tried to smile. “How about a rain check?”

  “Sure, anytime.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you.”

  She returned to the motel and lay down across the bed. Wyatt’s behavior had both hurt and confused her. He acted like he hated her, like he couldn’t stand the sight of her. She thought about it and realized that he’d acted that way toward her ever since her highschool graduation. Which made her angry as well as hurt.

  “Where does he get off comparing me to Maurice and his cronies?” she said to the dark screen of the television set. “Just who the hell does he think he is acting like that? What did I ever do to him?”

  There were no answers to her questions. Only more questions.

  * * * * *

  Wyatt woke up to find himself on the couch. With a groan he sat up, threw the quilt aside and rubbed his eyes. Of all the people he would have expected to run into at Ralph’s, Chance was the last one.

  Seeing her was a shock, one he was not prepared for. Even now he could see her in his mind—her long blonde hair streaming down her back like a shining wave and her golden eyes turned up to him.

  “Stop it!” he scolded himself. “Just forget her.”

  But he couldn’t help himself. Images of Chance floated through even as he tried to stop them. With a curse he rose and went upstairs to change clothes. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, he went outside and stretched in preparation for a long run. Sometimes that was the only way to get rid of the tension—just exhaust himself.

  There’s not enough miles, he thought as he started running. Chance Davenport had haunted him for a long time, and not fighting, drinking, fucking or running could exorcise her from his mind.

  Chance stopped in front of John Wolfe’s house and sat looking at it for a few minutes. Coming to see Wyatt’s father might not be wise. But she had to find out what was going on with Wyatt and his father would know better than anyone.

  She got out of the Jeep and walked across the yard toward the front door. Just as she reached the steps, John Wolfe walked out. His eyes widened in surprise and he stopped. “Chance? What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see Wyatt.”

  “And did you?”

  “Sort of.” She looked down at her feet for a moment. “He wasn’t particularly happy to see me.”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Yes” She looked up at him. “It does.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me what’s going on with him. Why does he…why does he hate me so much?”

  John looked at her for a moment then pulled open the screen door. “Come on in.”

  Chance followed him inside and took a seat at the kitchen table. “Coffee?” he asked, as he picked up the pot.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He poured two cups and handed her one as he took a seat across from her. Neither one of them spoke for a few seconds. Finally John heaved a sigh. “Chance, you have to understand, Wyatt’s a complicated man. Things have happened in his life, things that would be hard for anyone to deal with.”

  “You mean your wife. I’m sorry, I don’t really know what else to say. I know it had to be horrible for both of you.”

  “Yes.” John nodded. “It was. Do you know what happened that day?”

  “I think so. Adeola, the lady who raised me, told me what she knew.”

  “What exactly did she say?”

  Chance repeated what Adeola had told her and John stood up to look out the back door with his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans. A minute or so passed then he turned to her. “There’s a little more to that story.”

  Her eyes widened as he reclaimed his seat and started to talk.

  * * * * *

  Chance stood in front of the mirror in the motel bathroom, combing out her hair with a distant expression on her face. The things John Wolfe had told her were disturbing, to say the least. She could not stop thinking about it.

  She put the comb down and went into the bedroom. She dressed in a long-sleeved knit shirt and jeans, pulled on a pair of sneakers and picked up a denim jacket from the chair. Hopefully she would
find Wyatt at Ralph’s. If not, then she didn’t know what she would do. She didn’t feel that she could go to his house. He would probably throw her out if she did, so her best bet was to camp out at Ralph’s and hoped he showed up.

  She found a place to park beside the bar and went inside. As soon as she walked in, Billy Hawkes came up to her. “Hey, you come back to collect on that beer and dance?”

  Chance smiled. Billy was cute in a childlike kind of way. “Well, actually, I was hoping to talk to Wyatt. Have you seen him?” Billy pointed across the bar to a table in the back. Wyatt sat alone with an almost empty bottle and a shot glass on the table in front of him.

  “Thanks, Billy.” She gave his arm a squeeze.

  “Hey!” He grabbed her hand as she started away from him. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea for you to talk to him right now. He’s kinda in one of his moods.”

  Chance pried her fingers from his. “He seems to always be in one of his moods around me. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

  She walked over to Wyatt’s table and sat down beside him. He looked at her without comment and refilled his glass, setting the empty bottle down.

  “Can we talk?”

  “Nothing to talk about,” he said and stood.

  Chance watched him go to the bar and get another bottle. She crossed the room and sat down at the table with Billy and Joe. Billy got her a beer and she took a sip, keeping her eye on Wyatt.

  After a half-hour of strained silence, Joe and Billy excused themselves to move to another table. Chance sat silently, watching Wyatt. For two hours she didn’t move. He never turned or looked in her direction as he drank and talked with the men at the bar. She saw him finish the bottle and get another, then he turned and walked over to her.

  “You wanna talk, let’s talk,” he said, his words slightly slurred.

  “Here?”

  “Good a place as any,” he said as he sat down.

  Chance didn’t know where to start. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence she spoke up. “How long have you been back?”

  “’Bout a week or so.”

  “Is Ashley here with you?”

  “We split up a year or so ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not,” he growled. “Found the bitch in bed with one of my friends. Glad to get rid of her.”

  Chance watched as he tilted the bottle up once more. “Wyatt, why didn’t you let me know? I mean, Adeola’s really missed you. It would’ve been nice to hear from you now and then.”

  “I was busy,” he replied and leveled his eyes at her. “Why’re you here?”

  She looked at him for a moment. “Because of your call. I was worried.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” he said and took another drink.

  “Wyatt, don’t you think you’ve had enough?” She reached for the bottle.

  “Don’t!” he barked loudly. “Don’t ever try to tell me what to do—you got it?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, embarrassed by his outburst and all the curious eyes that watched them. Afraid of angering him, she remained silent. Eventually he began to sink in his seat.

  She watched as his eyes began to close and slowly removed the bottle from his hand. She looked around, spotted Billy and motioned him over to the table.

  “Will you help me get him outside? I think I should take him home.”

  “Sure.” He nodded and motioned to Joe. Between the two, they got Wyatt loaded into his old Jeep.

  “Listen, I don’t know how to get to his house,” Chance said as she got behind the wheel. “Would one of you mind showing me the way? You can take my car. It’s that black Wrangler right over there. Here are the keys.”

  They both agreed to help. She waited as they started her Jeep and pulled out onto the road. She followed them to Wyatt’s house, glancing over at Wyatt every now and then. He never moved or opened his eyes.

  “You want us to help you get him inside?” Billy asked as she stopped and turned off the ignition.

  “No, thanks, I can manage, but I appreciate your help. Take my car. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sure thing.” Billy smiled. “See ya.”

  Chance watched the taillights disappear then turned to Wyatt who was slumped against the door. “Wyatt, Wyatt, wake up!”

  He pushed her hand away as she shook him and opened his eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I brought you home.” She inclined her head in the direction of his house.

  He rubbed his face and opened the door, almost falling out. Chance got out and ran around the Jeep to him but he pushed her away as she tried to steady him.

  “I’m just trying to help!”

  “I don’t need your help!” he barked and weaved his way to the front door.

  She followed him inside since he left the door standing open, and looked around at the small but cozy den. Wyatt staggered into the kitchen and emerged with another bottle. He snatched a spread from the back of the couch, walked past her and went outside. For a few moments Chance just stood there, not knowing what to do. Then she followed him outside. He wandered out of sight and she ran to catch up with him.

  She saw him sit down on a small rise overlooking the river in the distance. Without speaking she walked up and sat down beside him. He opened the bottle and took a drink then looked at her and extended the bottle. She took it and tilted it up, gasping as the fiery liquid burned down her throat.

  “Thanks,” she croaked and cleared her throat. “Wyatt, why do you hate me so much?”

  “Never said I did,” he replied without looking at her.

  “Then why do you act like you do?”

  He didn’t answer and she put her hand on his arm. “Will you please talk to me?”

  Wyatt turned and looked into her eyes. “What do you want me to say, Chance?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe that you’re glad to see me? I’m glad to see you. I’ve missed you, Wyatt.”

  He opened his mouth as if to reply then closed it, shook his head and turned away to look out over the water. When at last he started to sway as if he was going to topple over, Chance took the bottle and stood. “Come on.” She extended her hand to him.

  He looked up and after a moment took her hand. With his arm draped over her shoulder they made their way to the house. Chance thought she was going to collapse under his weight but she finally got him in the house and upstairs.

  Wyatt fell face first on the bed and was out cold before he hit the mattress. Chance took off his shoes and spread a blanket over him then went downstairs. She wrapped up in a thick quilt and lay down on the couch. After a very long time she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  The first rays of sun were streaking across the sky when Chance awoke. The room was chilly as the fire had long since died down. She took a couple of logs from the rack beside the fireplace, stirred the glowing embers and placed the wood on top of the coals.

  She quietly tiptoed upstairs. Wyatt was still asleep with one arm thrown across his face. Chance went back downstairs to the kitchen. She looked around and found the coffee. She prepared a pot then wandered around the house.

  It wasn’t a big place. Aside from the den and kitchen downstairs there was a bathroom beneath the loft area and a small sitting area piled with books.

  In the rear of the house on the opposite side of the kitchen were two doors. She opened the first one and saw the room was crammed with weights and exercise equipment. She closed that door and she walked down the short hall to the last room.

  Her eyes widened in surprise as she opened the door and looked around. One wall was dominated with a big picture window. Beneath the window sat a large drawing table on which a completed picture lay.

  Chance looked at the picture and realized it was an illustration for a book cover. She had known all her life that Wyatt liked to doodle and draw but she never imagined he was that good. She studied the illustration for a few minutes and realized that the style
was familiar.

  She turned from the drawing table and looked around at the pictures that were tacked on the opposite wall. They were all excellent, but some were disturbing—scenes of violence and darkness. As she admired his work, she sat down at the chair in front of the drawing table. After a little while she turned the chair and looked around the room.

  An old two-drawer file cabinet in the corner drew her attention. She went to it and knelt down, opening the top drawer. It was crammed full of sketchbooks. At first she was hesitant to look inside them. But with Wyatt asleep upstairs he would never know. And her curiosity was in control. She lifted out a stack, sat down on the floor and started looking through them.

  The first couple were of scenes he had apparently sketched while in the Navy. There were faces of people from Africa to Alaska. In each picture the eyes of the people seemed to be alive. Wyatt had the ability to capture the soul of his subject in his work. Chance could almost feel the hearts of the people she saw in the drawings.

  When she opened the next pad, a gasp of surprise escaped her lips. The book was filled with sketches and drawings of her. She flipped through the pages, marveling at what she saw. There were images of her at all ages. It was like seeing an album of her childhood.

  She reached the last page and stopped to stare in complete amazement. The face was hers but she didn’t think she could ever look that sensual. It showed the form of a woman lying on her back on a large, slightly curved rock. The woman’s hair cascaded down over the stone in a shining wave. Her face was turned forward and there was a look of such sensuality in the eyes they seemed to call like a siren, drawing the viewer inside the picture.

  The woman’s arms were crossed over her breasts, pushing the full mounds up together. Sunlight filtered down through the trees that towered overhead, dappling her body with sun and shadow. She seemed to be as much a part of nature as the trees and rocks. Chance stared at the picture, wondering why Wyatt would have drawn it.

  “What are you doing?” His angry voice behind her made her jump.