An Everyday Hero

by Laura Trentham

  Only then did she look away, but not out of pity and not because of his leg. While he was too lean for his six-two frame, the muscles of his chest were defined through the cling of his damp T-shirt.

  Her breathing picked up its cadence and her voice turned breathy. “How’s Bonnie?”

  “Peachy.” He patted the bulging cargo pocket. “Speaking of, I hope that’s the cobbler of the day.”

  “Keep her stashed. She’d probably violate the diner’s health code.” She backed into the door of the café.

  Emmett’s gaze darted across the row of booths against the window, his slight smile morphing into a look that could only be described as murderous.

  Chapter 11

  “Greer. Thank God, I’ve finally run into you.” Beau’s voice ripped the laws of time and gravity, leaving her reeling. She grabbed for the nearest stable object, which happened to be Emmett’s arm.

  “Do you want to leave?” Emmett whispered, his lips barely moving.

  What she wanted was for Emmett to put his army training to good use and teach Beau a lesson. “No. I can’t avoid him forever. Madison is too small.”

  “You got that right.” His forearm flexed within her grasp, reassuringly strong and solid. “I’m here if you need backup.”

  Thank you, she mouthed before reluctantly letting him go and turning to face her ex.

  Beau Williams was handsome in an “I’d rather not get my hair mussed” kind of way. Facing him now, especially in close proximity to Emmett, she couldn’t remember what had attracted her in the first place.

  A high-strung, workaholic real estate agent, he was the stark opposite of the easygoing, undependable musicians she’d hung out with in Nashville. As the music scene had lost its shine, Greer had bumped into Beau one night. She’d run toward someone familiar and safe. And boring.

  As if looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars, she felt like she was examining her life and loves from a great distance. Standing next to bigger-than-life Emmett, she realized her relationship with Beau seemed small and insignificant. A mere blip.

  “Did you want to talk to me about something in particular, Beau?” Bypassing the WAIT TO BE SEATED sign, she slipped into an unoccupied booth. Emmett scooched onto the opposite bench, his legs bumping hers. One flesh and blood, one hard and mechanical.

  Beau made a move to sit next to Emmett, but he spread his legs and propped his elbows on the table to block him. She’d never been so grateful for manspreading in her life.

  “Could we speak outside? In private?” If Beau had had a hat, it would be in hand. His earnestness had been another appealing trait, but it hadn’t translated into honesty or trustworthiness.

  “Sorry, but I’m hungry and Emmett owes me cobbler.”

  Beau started and stared. “Emmett Lawson. I didn’t even recognize you. You look … different.” His gaze dropped as if he could see through the table.

  Why did people have to make such a big deal about his leg? Neither his heart nor his brain had been damaged. He might have come home changed from his experiences, but he was still a man.

  “You look different too, Beau.” Emmett lounged in the booth, but his leg was like a strung bow against hers under the table. “Sorry about your hair.”

  Emmett hit a bull’s-eye. Beau’s hand flew to the back of his head where a bald spot was forming like the swirled eye of a hurricane. In another decade, he would look just like his daddy—potbellied with only a monk’s tonsure left.

  “I can wait until you’re done. Can we meet?”

  “What makes you think I’ll be done with Emmett anytime soon?” She sugared her voice with innuendo. Emmett’s brows flew up and his cheeks turned ruddy, but he didn’t disabuse Beau of the notion.

  “Because … well, you know.” Beau’s gaze darted between them. “I need to explain what happened.”

  “I got the birds and the bees talk from my mama years ago, but thanks.” She shot him a smile that qualified as more of a baring of her teeth. If he thought she was too polite to start a scene, he must not have heard about her drunken tantrum at Becky’s.

  Beau glanced around the restaurant. It was early yet for the dinner crowd, and the tables and booths within earshot were empty. He dropped his voice to a whisper anyway. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake. A huge one. Now that you’re back in Madison, things will be easier between us. I got lonely, is all.”

  “I trusted you.” She had no anger left for Beau, only disappointment. Not only in him, but in her own judgment.

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “It’s too late for that. I’m not interested.” She studied the menu—as if she needed to look at it, she always got the same thing—and ignored Beau.

  “But Greer—”

  “Dude, she’s not interested in getting back with you. Get out of here before I officially lose my temper.” Emmett made to get up, but he lost his balance on his rise and grabbed the corner of the table.

  “I’m not fighting you, Emmett. You’re … disabled. It wouldn’t be fair.” Although Beau said it kindly, a seismic shift occurred in Emmett.

  She shot out of the booth and notched herself into Emmett’s side. Pressing a hand into his chest, she maintained enough pressure to keep him from launching at Beau. The last thing any of them needed was Emmett to get in a fight with Beau and the police showing up. Her parents had endured enough talk about her already.

  “Don’t forget about Bonnie,” she whispered close to his ear.

  His hand went to his cargo pocket, and like a pressure cooker valve released, his body lost most of its tension.

  “Get out of here, Beau. We’re done.” Greer kept her voice low but firm.

  “But—”

  Emmett moved with reflexes honed on the battlefield. Beau’s shirt was in his hand, and he pulled the smaller man within inches of his face. “Quit arguing and get out before I ram my disabled foot up your ass.”

  Emmett shoved Beau away. Beau stumbled backward into the corner of a table. Both he and the table clattered to the floor. Silence blanketed the restaurant. A man in a white cook’s uniform and a waitress ran out of the kitchen. Two old men stood up from their booth in the corner and a family of four stared from a table in the middle.

  Beau clambered up and righted the table, seemingly as anxious as she was to avoid more gossip. Lord knows, their issues had provided the town with enough to keep it fed and watered until fall.

  With the fake smile still on her face, she tugged Emmett’s arm. “Let’s go. I’ve lost my appetite.”

  She was surprised when he followed her out the door without protest. The rain had stopped. Steam rose from the streets, negating the brief drop in humidity and temperature. They didn’t speak until she was driving, the AC working overtime to cut the heat.

  Emmett took Bonnie out of his pocket and plopped her on his shoulder. The kitten seemed to enjoy being high enough to see out the windows, her curiosity tempered with a need to remain close to him.

  “This is the opposite way as my place.” He crossed his arms and his voice reflected a general disgruntlement.

  “We’re going to the store.”

  “No, we aren’t.”

  “I’m the one behind the wheel, Mr. Tough Guy, and I say we are.”

  His lip twitch gave him away. “Mr. Tough Guy?”

  “All I need is for your little display of muscled aggression to get tongues wagging again.”

  “Trust me, I wasn’t nearly as aggressive as I wanted to be. Not my fault the man is clumsy. I barely shoved him.”

  She suspected he was looking out the passenger window to avoid eye contact. Emmett had lashed out physically because of Beau’s well-intentioned albeit tone-deaf observation.

  “He did kind of deserve it,” she said.

  “Hell yes, he did.” Emmett shifted, his profile hard, his cheekbones stark in his face. “Now that we’re in agreement, can you take me home?”

  “No. You need cat food and litter and a box for Bonnie,
and since Beau interrupted our meal, I’m going to grab something easy to cook for us. Do you like spaghetti?”

  His silence had her shoulders rolling inward and her hands tightening on the steering wheel. Was she overstepping? Which part of her announcement would he argue with—keeping the kitten or fixing him dinner?

  “Who in their right mind doesn’t like spaghetti?” he asked with a marked incredulity.

  His easy acquiescence drew a laugh born from relief out of her. The big-box store parking lot wasn’t packed, but the chances of running into someone one or both of them were acquainted with approached 100 percent.

  Sweat broke over his forehead before she’d even turned the car off. “I can’t go in there.”

  “Afraid of slashing prices?” Her joke fell flat. She cleared her throat. “The longer you stay away, the harder it will be to face people.”

  His glare held red shades of a rageful storm. “You’re one to talk.”

  “What do you mean? I’ve been to the store plenty since I’ve been home.”

  “When’s the last time you played the guitar or sang?”

  “That’s different.” Now it was her turn to stare out the window and avoid eye contract.

  “I remember a girl whose life’s blood was music.”

  “I call bullshit. You barely noticed me.”

  “You got up onstage at the talent show our sophomore year and shocked everyone. That song you sang. I don’t remember how it went, but I remember how I felt in that moment.”

  She had shocked him back then? His words in the here and now left her astounded, consternated, flabbergasted. There wasn’t a single word to sum up her surprise. “You remember my song?”

  “I remember how cute you looked in that denim skirt and tank top. You’d plaited your hair—it was longer then—and it hung over your shoulder while you played. You closed your eyes when you sang as if none of us were there. It—you—were amazing. Something I’ll never forget.”

  “But … I didn’t even win. Dan McGee won for playing ‘Stairway to Heaven.’” Her body felt tingly as if it had fallen asleep and was just now waking.

  “He won because he was on the football team and everyone knew the song.”

  The talent show had been her coming out. It had been the first time she’d played outside of her bedroom. Back then, the excitement vibrating her body as she stepped into the bright circle of light on the stage had outpaced the nerves.

  Restless teenagers had made up the crowd, but when the first note left her fingertips, she had closed her eyes and imagined herself onstage at the Grand Ole Opry. The song had been one of her first attempts at songwriting. Simple, perhaps, but written from a place of purity that had gotten tainted over the last decade.

  “Was I actually good back then?” The question was more immediate and one he couldn’t answer. She’d lost all confidence in herself, personally and professionally.

  “You were fantastic.” He cocked his head and snared her gaze with his. “Why did you give it up?”

  “Give it up? Nashville chewed me up and spit me out.”

  “Music exists outside of Nashville, Greer. You don’t need an adoring crowd or a record deal to write and perform.”

  She sighed and slumped in her seat. “The constant string of rejections from labels and crowds got too hard to handle. The people in bars were more interested in getting drunk or hooking up than listening to me play.”

  “I get that rejection can be tough, but you can’t give up.”

  “I ran out of money.”

  “I’ll give you a loan and you can—”

  “Stop it.” She barked the words and closed her eyes. “My last gig was at the Bluebird. Tough to get and a place where singers get discovered. I knew that. I was ready.”

  “What happened?”

  “I stepped up to the mic and panicked. It was like an evil witch had stolen my voice. My fingers forgot what to do on the strings. I bombed. It was a nightmare. I packed up and left Nashville that night.”

  He muffled a curse in his hand. “You drove home only to catch Beau in bed with Marcie.”

  “The universe kicked me while I was down, that’s for sure.” Greer hadn’t confessed the entire sorry tale to anyone. Not even her mother.

  People entering and exiting the store flashed in her rearview mirror. One young mother pushed a screaming toddler in a cart. An older couple walked hand in hand, laughing together. Life teemed around her and Emmett, yet it felt like just the two of them against a world that considered them damaged goods.

  “You’re better off without Beau. How did you end up with him anyway? He was uninteresting at best in high school and it doesn’t seem like much has changed.”

  “I guess he was my anchor to Madison. To home.” The older she got, the more she appreciated the uncomplicated safety of her hometown.

  “An anchor weighs you down. Keeps you in one place. Why would you want to be with someone like that? You should be with someone who encourages you to fly.” He gave her knee a brotherly pat and opened the door. “I’m starved and if you’re serious about the spaghetti, let’s get this ordeal over with.”

  Unaware of the crater his words had left in her chest, he maneuvered out of the car. The simple wisdom from a not-so-simple man jump-started her heart like a pacemaker. He stood outside the car, holding the kitten to his chest with one hand and petting her, before tucking her into his pocket.

  He turned and ducked his head to see her through the windshield. “You coming or are you afraid to be seen out in public with me?”

  Pasting on a smile, she joined him, and they weaved their way through cars and pickups to the entrance. “To be honest, I’m a little afraid of running into your dad.”

  “Why?” At her silence, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to a stop on the sidewalk, close enough to the sliding doors to feel a burst of cool air every time someone entered.

  “I find him more than a little intimidating.”

  “You must need volunteer hours bad to put up with me.”

  She looked up at him and grinned. “Maybe I’m the one who needs therapy since hanging out with you is a form of self-torture.”

  He searched her face but didn’t return her smile. In fact, he was as serious as she’d ever seen him, even when he’d fired his warning shot.

  She dropped her smile. “That was a joke, by the way. Self-torture would be to get back together with Beau. Don’t get a big head, but hanging out with you is easy. I don’t have to put on a face, if that makes sense.”

  His hand loosened and trailed over her hand. “Yeah. It does actually. I don’t put on a face with you either.”

  “I didn’t think you bothered to put on a face with anyone.”

  “I try with Mom and Dad. Especially Mom, so she won’t worry.”

  “News flash: she’s super-worried.”

  The ghost of a smile crossed his face and reminded her of the carefree, confident Emmett of the past. Yet, she liked the darker, more complicated Emmett of now even better.

  “Come on before Bonnie uses my pocket as a litter box.” He nudged his head toward the entrance.

  She grabbed a cart and wheeled it up and down the aisles, packing it full of simple dinner ingredients and healthy snacks.

  “I don’t need to stock up for the apocalypse,” Emmett grumbled, yet dropped in three boxes of macaroni and cheese.

  Once she was satisfied, they meandered to pet supplies and picked up a box, litter, and kitten food. Although he tried to be smooth, she noticed the cat toy he slipped under a bag of rice. Bonnie had never been in danger of being abandoned in a shelter.

  They pushed the cart side by side to the checkout, their elbows bumping. Only the slight hitch to his gait reminded her of his injury.

  “How’s little Bonnie Raitt doing?” she asked.

  He stuck his hand into his pocket. “Curled up into a ball. At least she hasn’t pooped in my pocket.”

  “My stars, if it isn’t the two lost souls of M
adison.” The female voice was only too familiar. And loud.

  Greer turned. Better to face her adversary than leave her back exposed. “Hello, Ms. Justine.”

  Look up “busybody” and Justine Danvers’s portrait would be printed in all its glory, toothy grin included at no extra charge. She’d been left a widow by her wealthy husband in her early thirties and had never remarried, but not for a lack of trying. Boredom, loneliness, and a natural affinity for gossip had combined in a perfect storm.

  While from a distance Greer felt sorry for her, getting up close and personal was dangerous. What kept Justine content was knowing everything good, bad, and salacious about the people of Madison.

  “Greer. I spoke with your dear mama at church last Sunday. Why haven’t you attended since you’ve been home? I assure you that no one blames you for what happened with poor old Beau.” Justine laid a hand over her heart and tutted.

  “Poor old Beau? He’s the one who—”

  “And Emmett Lawson as I live and breathe.” Justine had a bigger fish on the hook. Greer’s luck was Emmett’s misfortune.

  “Ms. Justine. You’re looking … healthy.”

  “My goodness, it’s good to see you out and about.” Justine cocked her head, her gaze lingering on his legs. “You look better than I expected. Bless your heart.”

  Greer would have thrown herself into the fray if Emmett had been a stranger to Justine, but he was as familiar with her backhanded sympathy as she was. Why not have a little fun? She shifted to stand shoulder to shoulder with Justine and set her hand on her chest like a mimic. “You don’t think he looks a little peaked, Ms. Justine?”

  “He’s a mite too skinny, perhaps. And goodness me, he needs a haircut.”

  “I agree. So shaggy and wild.” Greer bit the inside of her lip to stifle her laughter. Emmett’s expression was a thundercloud, his eyes electric.

  Ms. Justine looked over the cart. “Are you working on fattening him up, Greer?”

  “That’s the plan, ma’am. His mama has been taking too good care of him. He doesn’t know how to cook.” Greer winked at Emmett. Her tease didn’t lighten his expression.