Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set

by James, Maddie

  “Did this happen in the fire?” She whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, Scott, how did you possibly make it out alive?”

  “Dumb luck.”

  Her fingers moved southward and her arms tightened around my waist. “I’m so glad. I’m so glad to know you, Scott Thomas McIntyre.”

  “I’m nothing special.”

  “Everything about you is special.” She tugged at the towel, and it fell.

  Not that I wanted it to. I didn’t want her pity or her compassion or her damned admiration. I didn’t want making love to her to be about what I had done in the line of duty. I didn’t want it to be about anything, but because she wanted me as a woman wants a man, because she cared about this guy who was standing in front of her now, because she felt a small piece of what I felt for her.

  I gripped her arms to move her away from me so I could tell her all of those things, but the words stuck like a big cotton ball in my throat. Her eyes stared into me, and it wasn’t admiration or pity I saw. It was a feeling I recognized.

  Hunger.

  Yes.

  Instead of pushing her away, I pulled her closer, my mouth closing around hers and tasting that sweetness. I picked her up and carried her into my room. Setting her on the bed, I lay down next to her, tugged at her shirt, and lifted it over her head.

  The hall light came on. We froze.

  “Who’s here?” she whispered, gripping my arm.

  I growled and pulled the covers over us. Footsteps.

  “Who’s here?” my mom’s voice called down the hall.

  Abigail’s eyes met mine, and she bit her lip stifling a giggle I’m sure.

  “It’s me, Mom,” I called back still watching Abigail in the light coming in from the hall. She covered her mouth with her hands, but not before one of those giggles escaped.

  The footsteps came closer.

  “Scotty?”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  She appeared in the doorway. “Hi, son.” She spotted Abigail. “Oh. Hello.”

  “Hi.” Abigail waved. She sat up, but held the covers to her. “I’m Abigail. Sorry if we woke you.”

  I sat up. Man. I was reliving a scene from the eleventh grade. Different girl. Same bed. Same predicament. Hopefully, Mom had mellowed since then. Fourteen years ago she had called my girlfriend’s mom and dad.

  “That’s okay, dear. Do you all need anything?”

  “No.” Privacy. That would be nice.

  “Okay. See you in the morning. Glad to have you home.”

  “It’s good to be home.” I surprised myself by realizing I meant it.

  Mom walked back toward the stairs leading to the main floor. I listened as her feet climbed the stairs, the light went out, and the door closed.

  I lay back and sighed. Abigail laughed. I waited for the laughter to subside. It didn’t.

  “It’s not that funny.”

  She lay down and sidled up to me. “Oh, yes it is, Scotty.” Her foot stroked my calf. One hand moved over my chest, finger tips tracing patterns in the hair. I captured her hand and held it against my heart. She moved closer so that her chin was resting on me, close to my face.

  “When’s the last time you were home?”

  “It’s been a long time. Maybe three years.”

  “Why?”

  I didn’t answer because I didn’t really know. I got along with everyone. Mom always made me feel like I still had a place here. I enjoyed seeing Mary Elizabeth, my other sister, and her kids. They lived next door, if you can believe it. I was the problem. Not any of them.

  “Don’t you like your family?” Her fingers intertwined with mine.

  “Of course, I do. I’m the one who’s screwed up.”

  “Everybody’s screwed up. Everybody has problems. Look at me. I’m like Calamity Jane.”

  As dark as it was in the room, we couldn’t see each other. I reached forward with my other hand and stroked her hair.

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  “Because I knew you’d be safe, and I could be close by.”

  “Always riding to the rescue to save the world.”

  “No. This isn’t about my job or being the hero.”

  “What is it about?”

  I sighed deeply. “Instinct. Something about you makes me act on instinct. I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe you like me.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe we should get some sleep. Let you figure it out.”

  I must be nuts. I was naked with a nearly naked woman, and the idea of sleep sounded great.

  “You’re tired. I know you are. Why don’t I go in the other room and let you sleep in here?”

  “No. Please. Will you stay here with me?”

  “Okay, but I’m putting my shirt back on.” She sat up, felt around on the bed, and found it. “I don’t sleep well without clothes.” The rustling told me she had pulled on the shirt. I wasn’t concerned. I took it off once. It would be no problem to get it off again.

  “Turn on your side.”

  Obediently, I did so, liking this arrangement already.

  “No, other side.”

  Away from her? “Why?”

  “Because you’re naked, and we’re going to sleep.”

  “You’re the one who pulled the towel off, babe.” I turned and faced the wall. I hadn’t slept longer than an hour and a half stretch in two years. I’d take a short nap then do what I’d been fantasizing about since we had been closed up in the pantry. “I’ll give you an hour to rest. Then get ready to finish what we started in the bathroom.” I yawned which probably took the punch out of my promise.

  Abigail yawned in response. “I’ll hold you to it, big boy.” Her sarcastic tone belied her words but she patted my arm to soften the comment.

  I closed my eyes and grinned. I liked sleeping with Abigail even when it was just sleeping.

  Chapter Twelve

  I woke up alone. Light from the window slanted high along the wall. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked at my watch. Two o’clock? Two o’clock. My stomach rumbled. No wonder. I hadn’t eaten since supper last night. I dressed and went upstairs wondering how Abigail was getting along with Mom.

  When I entered the great room, Mom, Mary Elizabeth who we all called MeMe, her daughter Amanda, and Abigail were gathered in the sitting area chattering and laughing. When they noticed me, the conversation ceased.

  “Well, look who decided to wake up.” MeMe crossed the room and hugged me.

  “Hi, Sis.”

  Mom was right behind her. She hugged both of us. “I am so glad to see you.”

  “Mom. Good to see you, although it’s not a good idea for you to come investigate noises in the basement by yourself. What if we had been a burglar?”

  “See? What did I tell you? A lecture about security.” Mom wrinkled her nose at me and pinched my arm. “Come on. I’ll bet you’re hungry. You missed breakfast and lunch.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?” I watched Abigail. Her feet were tucked underneath her in a comfortable pose.

  “Abigail said you drove most of the night. We thought you should sleep.”

  A screech came from Amanda. I’d never met her, only seen pictures on MeMe’s Facebook. Amanda sat on the floor eyeing me.

  MeMe strode over and picked her up. “This is your Uncle Scotty, baby. Can you say, ‘Hello’?” She brought her over.

  Amanda turned her face away from me.

  “Oh, Amanda. Don’t be shy. Uncle Scotty is my big brother, just like Daniel is your big brother.”

  “Give her a break. She doesn’t know who I am.”

  “Maybe she will, though.”

  I looked from daughter to mother who gazed at me with hopeful eyes.

  “What do you know?” I groused.

  “I know I can get to Stone Rand in twenty minutes.”

  Abigail grinned from her place on the couch. What else did she tell?

  “Scotty? Come on,” Mom called fro
m the kitchen. “I’ve got you a plate on the table.”

  ****

  Being back at Mom’s was surreal. It was homey and comfortable, but unease settled on my spine. I used my nervous energy changing light bulbs and cleaning out the rain gutters on the roof.

  Tank, MeMe’s husband, and their older kid Daniel came over that evening and ate supper. So much family togetherness began to stifle me, so I went outside and walked the property line. Abigail found me in the backyard. A street light on a pole in MeMe and Tank’s yard provided enough light to see. Under the big oak tree, Abigail paused at the swing hanging from one of its branches.

  Sitting down, she commanded, “Push me.”

  “You’re going to swing?” I asked in disbelief.

  “Yeah. It’s fun. Come on.”

  I did, and soon she was moving higher than my head.

  I watched her, loving her zest for life, her ability to see the lighter side of any situation. She stopped pumping her legs and put her feet down to stop her motion. Standing up, she held the chain.

  “Now you.”

  “No way.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m too old. I’m too big.”

  “Oh, you are not. The branch didn’t even move when I sat on it.”

  “Yeah, well, I probably weigh a good hundred pounds more than you.”

  “You’re not chicken, are you?”

  “No. I’m not chicken. I just don’t want to do it.”

  “Who doesn’t love to swing? I bet you loved it when you were a kid.”

  “Sure, I did. I spent hours out here. But I’m a grown up now.”

  “Sit down. Let’s see if the branch creaks.”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “If you do it, I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Like what?”

  “Name it, Scott Thomas,” she purred.

  “Your bra. Take it off, and give it to me. I’ll sit in the swing.”

  She grinned this beautifully wicked smile and reached her arms behind her back. The movement thrust her breasts forward. There was a soft snap and she reached into one sleeve, took off one strap, then reached into the other sleeve, and pulled the bra out.

  Impressive.

  She threw the garment at me, and I caught it with one hand. Grasping it in my fist, I sat down and moved slightly with my heels. No creaks.

  She folded her arms across her chest inhibiting my view of her breasts against the shirt.

  “Okay. Now, swing.”

  “You said sit. That’s all I agreed to.” I rubbed my fingers back and forth over the material. It was still warm from being next to her skin. Her eyes flicked to my hand on her bra.

  “Fine. What else do you want?”

  “Shirt.”

  “No way! Your mom could see us if she looked out the back window.”

  “You’ll be in the shade of the tree. No one can see you. Except me. You’re not chicken, are you?”

  “I’m not chicken, but it’s kind of chilly out here.”

  “Panties, then.”

  She made a sound of disbelief. “How am I going to get my panties off? I’m wearing pants.”

  “Oh, I bet you can do it. That bra trick was incredible.”

  Abigail looked around trying to decide how exposed she would be. The lot was a large one, two acres with woods on the back part of it. She moved behind the massive oak, and I had a brief flash of a bent knee. I jumped up and stepped around the tree in enough time to see the ivory skin of a nicely rounded ass.

  “You’re supposed to stay in the swing,” she hissed as she shoved one leg into her pants, then the other.

  “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

  Too quickly the pants were back on. And I’d only had the one glimpse. Damn her long shirt.

  She held the panties up. “See? Now do it.”

  “In my hand.” I held it out to her.

  “Geez. What I have to do to get you to loosen up.”

  She tossed me the panties. Without ever breaking eye contact with her, I caught them. With deliberate slowness, I brought them to my face, and inhaled her scent watching her as I did so. Her eyes widened.

  I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her shocked. I smiled, turned on my heel, and sat on the swing. I leaned back and straightened my legs out, pumping back and forth, and listening to any creaking signs that the branch wouldn’t hold my weight.

  Sturdy.

  Good.

  Yes. I liked what she had to do to get me to loosen up. I liked it very much.

  ****

  We came back inside a little while later. Abigail was still without underwear. When she had asked for it back, I had thrown it into the branches of the oak tree where it hung beyond reach. I thought it a good indicator that I was getting loosened up. Mom had gone next door so we were alone in the house.

  “Is this your sister, Sarah?” Abigail asked looking at a framed photograph of us as toddlers.

  I stiffened. “What do you know about her?”

  “Your mom told me you had a twin sister and that she died your senior year in high school.”

  I didn’t reply.

  “It must have been very hard on the whole family. Especially you.”

  “Harder on my parents.”

  “You shared a womb with her. You had to be close.”

  I strode to the stairs leading to the basement. I heard her set the picture down and follow me. Ignoring her, I went into the room where my suitcase was and looked around for anything to pack.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting my stuff together. Tomorrow I’m going to work and finding a place to stay.”

  “That makes no sense. You have a place to stay here.”

  “I’ll be working in Stone Rand.”

  “Which is, what, twenty minutes away?”

  I zipped up my bag. “Do you mind if I take your car tomorrow?”

  “Why do you hate it here so much? Is it because of what happened to Sarah?”

  “What did Mom tell you?”

  “She said you took Sarah’s death very hard. Blamed yourself. Why?”

  I picked up my bag and left the room. I set it next to the back door so it would be ready to go tomorrow. Abigail’s arms reached around me and closed around my waist, her body warm against my back. “Tell me about it, Scott. I want to know. I want to help.”

  A wave of regret and shame hoisted a deep-lung sigh from me. “You can’t help. It happened too long ago. Sarah got in with the wrong crowd. She killed herself while driving under the influence a week before graduation.”

  “How was that your fault?”

  “I had told her she needed to choose between her family and her druggie friends. It was the last thing I said to her.”

  Abigail’s arms tightened.

  “My dad died of a heart attack that summer. It was a terrible year for all of us.”

  Her hands tugged at my shirt, untucking it, and moving underneath. “It wasn’t your fault. Sarah made some really dumb decisions. You’re not to blame.”

  I knew that, but I didn’t believe it. Abigail removed her arms and tugged me away from the door and into my old room.

  “Sit.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed and gazed up at her standing in front of me.

  “You need to let go of Sarah and what happened. You’ve still got family here. Not everyone died that year. You’re missing out, Scott. Don’t you see?”

  “It isn’t that easy,” I admitted.

  “Of course it isn’t. But working in Stone Rand is an opportunity to rebuild a relationship with your family. It’ll take some time, but you’ve got to try. Staying at a hotel isn’t the way to do that.”

  I reached forward, pulled her to me, and buried my face into her shirt. “You know what they called you at the ATF office?”

  “What?”

  “Joan of Arc. You grab a hold of a cause, and you never let it go.”

  She snickered. “Joan of Arc.
I like that.”

  “How far is Joan willing to go to save the day?” I moved one hand under her shirt and gazed up at her.

  She smirked down at me. “You got me all wrong, Scott Thomas. You’re not one of my causes.” She slid one knee across my leg propping herself on my lap.

  “What am I?” I pulled until she straddled me. Oh, yes. I liked this, and yet I waited for her answer.

  “You’re someone who has saved my life more than once. You’re someone who came back when you knew I needed you.”

  I pushed her off me and onto the bed.

  “Why does that bother you for me to say that?”

  “Because I don’t want your gratitude.”

  “What do you want?”

  I sighed because I couldn’t express it. Abigail leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. Without another word, she patted my shoulder, stood up and left the room. I heard her go in the bathroom. Water ran in the sink for a few minutes and the shower turned on. I stood up and poked my head out of the room. The door was open.

  Hmm.

  Was it an invitation?

  The door upstairs opened. “Scotty?”

  Shit.

  “Yeah, mom?”

  “You all aren’t in bed yet, are you?”

  “No, Mom.”

  “I need a hand up here. Want to come upstairs?”

  No, Mom. But of course I would. Dammit. I could have showered with Abigail.

  I bounded up the stairs before I could change my mind. Mom stood on the landing going up to the second floor. “Can I get you to go up in the attic for me? There’s a box I’ve been meaning to get up there.”

  I walked up the next flight of stairs and pulled on the cord hanging from the ceiling which let the attic ladder down. Unfolding it, I asked her what the box looked like, and she described it and its location. With no problem I found the box and brought it down for her, setting it on the floor in the hall. “Where do you want it?”

  “There is fine. I’ll do something with it later. Is Abigail asleep?”

  “No. She’s taking a shower.”

  “Oh. Let me fix you some coffee.”

  “No, Mom. I think I’m about ready to—”

  “You used to love half coffee and half milk before bed. You said it helped you sleep hard and wake up refreshed. You don’t like coffee anymore?” She watched me with a wary expression. I remembered what Abigail had said about building relationships. Didn’t this woman deserve more than what I was giving her?