02_The Hero Next Door (9 page)

Brian grinned and swung his legs to the floor. “I eat fast.”

As he moved to the tray and plopped two muffins on a plate, Heather chewed the bite she’d taken.

And this time she had no difficulty swallowing it.

If all continued to go well, maybe there would be smoother sailing ahead.

J.C. yawned and stretched. He had an hour before he had to report for the night shift. A good opportunity to jot his weekly note to Nathan. Although Marci might be right, and Nathan might be pitching them, unopened, if nothing else their steady arrival would remind him that someone cared. And was thinking about him. That, and prayer, was about all he could do for his brother at this point.

A gust of wind rattled the shutters on his cottage, and rain hammered on the roof. It should be a quiet night crimewise, he reflected as he retrieved some notepaper. Even troublemakers wouldn’t be inclined to venture out into this storm.

Just as he sat down at the café table and picked up his pen, a flash of lightning strobed the sky. The lights flickered,
followed by a splintering noise. Moments later, the explosive sound of shattering glass ripped through the night.

And it was close.

Very close.

Springing to his feet, J.C. opened his door and peered outside. Edith’s house looked okay, from what he could see through the darkness and slashing rain. He leaned farther out and checked on The Devon Rose.

As he did so, another flash of lightning illuminated the sky.

The breath jammed in his throat.

A large piece of the towering maple tree in Heather’s garden had been sheared off and had fallen against the house. Her bedroom window had been obliterated. And obviously broken.

J.C. had no idea how the furniture in the room was arranged, but if her bed was anywhere near that window, the broken glass could have…

He cut off that line of thought. Speculation was useless. Instead, he shoved the door shut behind him and sprinted out of Edith’s yard, heading toward the entrance to The Devon Rose.

He covered the distance in record time, yet as he pounded on her door, every second felt like an eternity.

When at last it was thrown open by Brian, the teen’s pallor and panicked greeting sent his pulse skyrocketing.

“Aunt Heather’s bleeding.”

Without a word, he ran past Brian and took the steps two at a time, zeroing in on the only lighted room on the left side of the hall.

When he reached the doorway, the first thing he noted was that the bed wasn’t next to the window. That was the good news.

The bad news was that Heather was standing on one foot at the end of it, clutching the bedpost, while blood dripped past her bare toes and formed a growing red puddle on the hardwood floor.

A sudden gust of wind blew in the window, bringing with it a spray of rain—and galvanizing him into action.

“Brian, go get me a clean hand towel.” He issued the command over his shoulder as he strode into the room, shards of glass crunching beneath his shoes.

Heather blinked at him, her shell-shocked expression similar to ones he’d often seen on the faces of trauma victims. “J.C.…What are you doing here?”

“I heard the crash, and when I saw the tree against the house, I ran over.” He dropped to the balls of his feet beside her. “Bend your knee.”

She did as he instructed, and he cradled the top of her foot in his hand as he examined the sole.

“I was sleeping when the tree came through the window. I g-guess I wasn’t thinking straight when I got up. I should have realized there would be glass all over the floor. Pretty d-dumb, huh?” She tried to joke, but a telltale quiver ran through her voice.

“Is this okay?” Brian appeared at his shoulder and thrust a towel at him.

J.C. took it. “Yeah.”

There was too much blood to assess the cut on her heel, so he wrapped her foot in the towel, tucked the end under and stood. “I need to wash this off and get a look at it in better light. Where’s the bathroom?”

“At the end of the hall,” Brian offered.

Heather started to put her foot on the floor, but J.C. restrained her with a touch. “Not a good idea until we see how deep that is. I’ll carry you down there.”

A flicker of panic sparked in her eyes, and she eased back slightly, as she’d done in their early encounters. “I can walk.”

He gentled his tone and tried for a smile. “Be practical, Heather. I’d hate to have you bleeding all the way down the hall, and that’s what might happen if the cut’s deep.” He saw her resolve wavering. “Come on. It’s not every day I get to
rescue a damsel in distress.” He winked, trying to put her at ease as he moved closer. “Put your arm around my neck.”

She hesitated, then complied.

Bending, he tucked one arm under her knees and the other under her back as he swept her up against his chest.

Her eyes widened. “You’re wet.”

She was right. His black T-shirt was clinging to him like a second skin. “Sorry. It’s pouring outside, and I didn’t stop for a jacket.”

With her arms looped around his neck, and her face mere inches away, J.C. saw several things he’d never noticed before. She had a very faint but endearing sprinkling of freckles across her nose. There were little flecks of green in her hazel irises. And her lips looked full, soft—and eminently kissable.

Clearing his throat, he yanked his gaze away and strode down the hall. Needing a distraction, he turned his attention to Brian. There were headphones around the teen’s neck, the cord dangling down the front of the T-shirt he wore over his gym shorts. And he was still way too pale.

“Would you get the bathroom light for me, Brian? And find me a clean washcloth?”

The teen hurried ahead and flipped the light switch, moving out of the way as J.C. went through the door sideways and set Heather carefully on a small vanity chair. She was trembling now. From reaction? Shock? Cold?

It could be the latter, he speculated, taking in her attire for the first time. She wore some sort of knee-length peach-colored thing, with a modest neckline and skinny straps that bared her shoulders—and shimmered every time she breathed.

Yeah, that could make her cold.

But it was having the opposite effect on him.

Focus, J.C., focus,
he reminded himself sternly.

Brian reappeared with the washcloth, and J.C. moved to
the sink to rinse his hands. Toweling them dry, he cleaned the blood off Heather’s foot and assessed the cut on her heel.

“How bad is it?” She still sounded shaky.

“Long but not too deep. We can go to the E.R. if you want to, but I don’t think it will need stitches if I bandage it well. Do you have any first-aid supplies?”

“Yes. Downstairs, in the cabinet next to the kitchen sink. I’d rather try that. I’m not in the mood to spend hours in the E.R.”

“I’ll get them,” Brian offered.

“Thanks.” J.C. gave him a quick smile.

As the teen exited, J.C. raised an eyebrow at Heather and lowered his voice. “Do I detect a change in attitude? Or is it a temporary improvement due to the emergency?”

“We had a long talk this morning.” She glanced toward her foot, which remained cradled in his hand, and swallowed. “I shared how I felt when my parents broke up, and that seems to have opened the lines of communication.”

The sound of someone bounding up the stairs cut off their conversation, and seconds later Brian appeared, carrying a large plastic box with a red cross on the top.

“See if there’s some kind of antiseptic ointment in there,” J.C. instructed. He could do it himself, but he was enjoying the delicate feel of Heather’s foot in his hand. “We also need gauze and tape. And butterfly bandages, if you find any. They’ll be labeled.”

After rummaging around, the teen withdrew all the items J.C. had asked for, including several packets of the specialty bandages.

“Good,” J.C. praised. “Now wash your hands. I’ll need your help.”

As the teen complied, J.C. applied antiseptic to the cut and opened three of the bandages. When Brian was ready, J.C. eased the edges of the laceration together. “I need you to hold your aunt’s foot like this while I put the bandages on.”

Brian did as instructed while J.C. positioned the bandages. Afterward, he stepped aside to watch as J.C. covered the cut with a sterile pad and secured it in place with roller gauze.

“Is there any aspirin or pain reliever in there?” J.C. tipped his head toward the first-aid supplies.

“Yes.” Heather leaned over to rummage through the box, withdrawing a bottle.

“I’d advise taking some. This may begin to throb.” Without waiting for a reply, he pulled a paper cup out of the dispenser beside the sink, filled it with water and handed it to her. “Do you have any sheets of plastic? I’ll block that window off for you as best I can.”

Heather downed the aspirin. “Aren’t you on nights this week?”

“Yes.” He checked his watch. He was supposed to be on duty in half an hour. “I think I can get a thirty-minute reprieve. It shouldn’t take longer than that to get the window covered if Brian helps. You willing?” He turned toward the teen.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“There’s some plastic in the basement,” Heather said. “Near the furnace. I’m sorry to put you to all this trouble, J.C.”

“No problem. Is there another bedroom you can sleep in?”

“My mom’s room. It’s next to the bathroom, on the other side of the hall.”

“Let’s get you settled before we work on the window.” Leaning down, he once more swung her up into his arms. “No walking on this foot until tomorrow, okay? I’ll check it for you when I get off duty.”

He couldn’t help noticing that the bodice of her gown was shimmering like crazy, thanks to her shallow, rapid respiration. And a man could get lost in those tender, appealing eyes…

“J.C.?”

She must have asked him a question, he realized as warmth surged up his neck. “Sorry. I missed that.”

“I said you’d better put me down fast, or you’ll get a hernia.”

He attempted a smile as he eased her through the door. “No chance of that. You’re a lightweight.”

Who could nevertheless play havoc with his metabolism, he conceded.

After settling her in her mother’s room, he and Brian went to work on the window. They managed to cut off most of the branches sticking into the room, and J.C. was satisfied that the plastic they taped up to seal off the window would hold for a few hours.

While Brian swept the floor, J.C. did his best to clean up the blood. He had a pretty high tolerance for gore, but for some reason, his stomach was revolting tonight.

“I don’t think that’s gonna come off.”

At Brian’s comment, J.C. gave the spot one last scrub. Despite his best efforts, a slight dark stain remained. Perhaps it always would.

“You may be right. Blood is hard to clean up.”

“I bet you see a lot of it in your job.”

An image of the warehouse on the fateful day of the drug bust flitted through his mind. There had been plenty of blood that day. Jack and Scott had been lying in spreading pools of it while he had taken cover behind some crates as bullets whizzed around him. He’d been close enough to watch the life seep out of them. Close enough to reach out and touch them. But helpless to provide any assistance.

His stomach clenched, and he cleared his throat. “Some.”

“Aunt Heather says you’re a detective.”

“That’s right.”

“That must be pretty cool.”

He hated to disillusion the boy, but “cool” was hardly the way he’d describe his job. “Not always.” Rising, he wiped his hands on the rag. “I’m going to check on your aunt and then head to work. You can lock up after me.”

Detouring to the bathroom, J.C. added the bloody rag to the towel and washcloth in the tub before stepping into the darkened room where Heather lay.

“I’m still awake, J.C.”

That might be true, but the slight slur to her words suggested sleep was about to claim her.

“I’m heading out. We’ll deal with the tree and the window in the morning.”

“Okay. Thank you again.”

She extended her hand, and he moved forward to give it a slight squeeze.

But that wasn’t good enough.

On impulse, he leaned down and brushed his lips over her forehead. “Sleep well.”

Before she could respond, he left the room.

Brian was waiting for him by the front door, and a flash of lightning zigzagged outside the window as he approached.

“Is she gonna be okay?”

“Yes. It’s a bad cut, but it should heal without any problem. She might need a little more help than usual around here for a few days, though. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Thanks for pitching in tonight.”

The boy’s complexion reddened. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did. I couldn’t have handled this without another set of hands, and you were there when I needed you.” J.C. opened the door and stepped through. “See you tomorrow.”

As the lock clicked into place behind him, he once more sprinted through the driving rain toward his cottage, hoping the raging storm would wreak no more havoc this night.

But in truth he was more concerned about the storm now raging within. Thanks to the moments he’d held Heather in his arms.

She’d felt good there, nestled against his chest. And right. As if it was where she belonged.

And that kind of sentiment was dangerous with a capital
D,
he reminded himself as another bolt of lightning strafed the sky. He didn’t need—or want—any more complications in his life.

Meaning that kiss had been a big mistake.

So why had he done it?

Not liking the answer that popped to mind, J.C. did his best to quash it.

Nevertheless, its aftereffects reverberated in his heart much like the distant rumble of thunder, leaving him feeling as unsettled as the stormy Nantucket night.

S
omeone was watching her.

Through a haze of sleep, Heather sensed the scrutiny and struggled to push aside the dulling effects of slumber. But it wasn’t easy. It had taken her hours to drift off last night after all the excitement. Particularly those moments in J.C.’s arms…and that brush of his lips across her forehead. Throw in a foot that throbbed every time she moved, and she doubted she’d gotten more than four hours of restless sleep.

Forcing her eyes open at last, she blinked against the bright sunshine peeking in through the lace curtains. Edith stood in the doorway, Brian hovering behind her.

“You’re awake.” The older woman came into the room and planted herself beside the bed. Brian was right behind her.

“I am now.” She stifled a yawn. “What are you doing here?”

“She came to the back door when I went down to get a muffin, so I let her in,” Brian offered.

“J.C. called early this morning.” Edith picked up the narrative. “Chester and I were at that benefit for the Atheneum last night and didn’t even know about all your excitement until he called and woke us up. At
six-thirty.
Sounds like he came
to the rescue. A regular knight in shining armor.” She gave Heather a satisfied smile.

“He was awesome,” Brian verified.

Edith’s smile turned smug.

“He was very neighborly.” Heather emphasized the last word and changed the subject. “So what are you doing here?”

“Chester lined up a tree removal crew to get rid of that branch for you. The chain saw should kick in in five minutes, and I didn’t want you to be startled in case you were still sleeping. Also, I already called the glass company. They’ll be here later this morning. And since Kate still has a cold and canceled her charters for the day, I don’t have to watch the girls. That means I can help out with tea this afternoon. You need to favor that foot. J.C. said it was a bad cut.”

“I thought you had a tai chi class on Friday afternoons?”

Edith waved the comment aside. “I’m glad to have an excuse to skip it. I don’t know why I let Mary Lou Hawkins talk me into signing up for it. She says it’s supposed to reduce stress, but it’s way too slow-paced if you ask me.”

A smile twitched at Heather’s lips. “I think that’s the point.”

“Hmph. Give me jazzy step aerobics any day.”

The chain saw roared to life outside, and Edith consulted her watch. “Eight o’clock on the dot. Right on time. I better get out there and help Chester supervise. You take it easy this morning, and I’ll be back this afternoon.”

The older woman bustled out the door, energy crackling in her wake.

Brian turned to Heather. “Wow. Is she always like that?”

“You mean like a human tornado?”

“Yeah.”

“Pretty much. But she has a heart of gold, and I couldn’t get along without her. How about some breakfast?”

He gave her a skeptical look. “The cop said you weren’t supposed to move around a lot.”

Heather bristled. She was glad Brian respected J.C.’s opinion, but she wasn’t about to be coddled. “I’m not going to overdo it. But I don’t plan to stay in bed all day, either.”

“I just had a muffin.” Brian stuck his hands in his pockets. “Maybe we could have breakfast in an hour or two. You could rest until then.”

Was her nephew sincerely concerned? Heather wondered. Or buying time, hoping J.C. would show up in the interim and take charge of the situation again, as he had last night?

But she wasn’t in the mood to get up yet, anyway. Why fight the general consensus? “Okay. That sounds good. I’ll make waffles later.”

He grinned. “The ones I used to like, with the nuts?”

“I think that could be arranged.”

The chain saw started up again, and Heather cringed. She didn’t even want to know what kind of destruction the storm had inflicted on her house—or her garden. And for the next hour or two, she intended to do her best to put it out of her mind.

“Shut the door when you leave, okay?”

Brian complied, and Heather settled back against her pillow. She didn’t expect to sleep, but much to her surprise, her eyelids drifted closed despite the noise.

When she opened them again, an hour and a half had passed. And all was quiet. Meaning it was time to assess the damage.

Swinging her legs to the floor, she stood, gingerly putting her weight on the ball of her injured foot. Good. It didn’t hurt too much. She could maneuver like this for a couple of days without much problem.

As she limped toward her room, holding on to the wall for support, she tried to steel herself for the mess inside—and out.

But much to her surprise, her room was largely intact. Almost every trace of last night’s incident had been erased. Except for the clear plastic over the window, the room looked just as it had for the past twenty years. Same pale blue walls.
Same lace curtains. Same white wicker dresser, with a wicker-framed mirror centered above. The bed boasted the same polished brass headboard. The familiar blue-and-white floral chair occupied one corner, the skirt ruffled, the back tufted.

Heather hadn’t paid much attention to her room decor in years. Yet all at once it seemed stale. And juvenile. No surprise there, she supposed. The room had been designed for a fourteen-year-old. She was now thirty-four, and her tastes had matured. Where once she’d worn frilly clothes, she now favored sleek lines and classic looks. This room didn’t reflect that evolution. Why had she never noticed that?

But perhaps the more pertinent question was, why was she noticing it now?

Pushing that troubling puzzle aside, she limped over to the window. Her time could be put to better use evaluating the damage in her garden, she told herself.

Although the plastic distorted her view, she could tell the storm had taken a toll on her private haven. One side of a boxwood triangle bore deep indentations, and the begonias inside had been crushed. Leaves littered the walkway, and her birdbath was slightly askew.

What a mess.

And with her foot problem, it would be days before she could repair the damage.

Disheartened, she was about to turn away when a movement below caught her attention. Shifting position, she spotted J.C. He was wearing jeans and another chest-hugging black T-shirt, she noted. Similar to the one that had sent her pulse skittering and made her respiration go haywire last night.

Like it was doing again.

While she recognized that reaction as a pure physical response, what she saw next touched her at a deep emotional level.

He was carrying a flat of begonias and a trowel. And as she
watched, he stepped over the battered boxwood border, knelt and began to methodically repopulate the decimated patch with new plants.

After working a full night shift, J.C. was restoring her sanctuary instead of sleeping.

Wow.

As he dug into the fertile earth and gently mounded dirt around each new plant, tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Rubbing them away with the backs of her hands, Heather tried to attribute her emotional response to a delayed reaction to last night’s trauma.

Yet deep inside she knew better. J.C.’s thoughtful, unselfish gesture had touched a place deep inside her. And dislodged a huge chunk of the wall she’d built around her heart.

A few weeks ago, when Julie had told her there were still some good guys out there, Heather had blown her off.

But she was beginning to think that maybe…just maybe…the man in her garden might be one of them.

“Would you like some coffee?”

As Heather asked the question, J.C. shifted his weight from one knee to the other and looked over his shoulder. His slow smile was as warming as the Nantucket summer sun.

“Good morning.”

The deep, mellow timbre of his greeting did nothing to stabilize her unruly pulse.

“Good morning.” She ventured a few steps closer and perused her garden. In the ten minutes it had taken her to throw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, he’d managed to plant more than half of the begonias. “I saw you from the window. How did you know what to buy?”

“I swung by here at dawn, while I was on patrol, to look over the damage. I picked these up on my way home.” He
gestured to the flat of begonias. “I also checked the boxwood. None of them are broken to the ground, so I assume they’ll fill back out eventually. However, what I know about gardening would fit in a teacup.” He gave her that appealing half-hitch grin.

“Boxwoods are pretty hardy.” She folded her arms across her chest. “After all you’ve done for me over the past few days, I don’t even know how to begin to thank you.”

“I was glad to help. I’ve been in tough spots myself. How’s the foot?”

“Not too bad.”

“I’ll check it out as soon as I’m done here.”

“Is there anything you don’t know how to deal with?”

When a flash of pain echoed in the depths of his dark eyes, Heather cringed. Of all the stupid comments! She knew how he felt about his failures with his siblings.

“I’m sorry, J.C. I meant that as a compliment.”

“I know. It’s okay.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Did I hear you offer coffee? At The Devon Rose?”

His abrupt change of subject told Heather it wasn’t okay. But she didn’t know how to make amends.

Pasting on a smile of her own, she tucked her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “I make exceptions on rare occasions.”

“Then the answer is yes.”

“How do you take it?”

“Straight and strong.”

Sort of like the man, Heather reflected. “Coming right up.”

As she pivoted toward the back door, an idea occurred to her, and she paused. The gesture wouldn’t atone for her insensitive remark, but it would help salve her conscience.

Half turning toward him, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “I promised Brian I’d make whole-wheat pecan waffles for breakfast. Would you like to join us?”

The invitation seemed to surprise him, and when he hesi
tated, she backed off. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. You must be tired after working all night, and this—” she swept her hand over the garden “—has already eaten into your sleep time.”

He sat back on his heels and regarded her. She was certain he was going to refuse, but now it was his turn to surprise her. “I’d like that. I haven’t had homemade waffles in years.”

“Okay. Good. How long do you need out here?”

“Half an hour?”

“That works. I’ll have Brian bring your coffee out when it’s ready.”

As Heather limped back into the house, she was already regretting the impulsive invitation. Logic told her she should be backing away from J.C., not encouraging interaction.

All she had to do was add up the facts. He’d kissed her last night. The chemistry between them was potent. She was breaking her vow about keeping her distance from eligible men. He was leaving in a few weeks.

The sum of all that could be heartbreak.

Yet J.C. had tapped into a deep vein of loneliness she hadn’t even known existed. And he’d infused her life with new warmth, adding a spark to days that had become as predictable and stale as her bedroom furnishings.

The temptation to explore the mutual attraction was strong. And her heart told her to go for it. To trust her instincts.

But those instincts had misled her once, with Mark.

How could she be sure they wouldn’t do so again?

“These are great, Aunt Heather.” Brian stabbed his last piece of waffle with his fork and ran it around his plate, sopping up as much of the remaining syrup as possible.

“I second that.” J.C. smiled at Heather and leaned back in his chair, cradling his mug in his hands—and feeling more relaxed than he had in a very long time.

“I’m glad you both enjoyed them.” She rose from the small
table in the corner of the kitchen and moved to the stove, where she added more hot water to her mug.

“If you have some extra house paint, I’ll borrow Chester’s ladder and touch up the siding before I turn in,” J.C. offered, sipping his coffee.

“You don’t have to do that.” Heather slid back into her seat. “I’ve taken advantage of you too much already.”

“I don’t feel taken advantage of.” He gave her a steady look, catching an endearing blush of color on her cheeks as she dropped her chin to fiddle with her tea bag.

“I could help.”

At Brian’s comment, J.C. switched his attention to the teen. Heather’s nephew hadn’t said much during the meal, despite J.C.’s attempts to draw him out. At first he’d suspected the boy’s belligerent attitude was making a comeback. But as the meal progressed, Brian had seemed more shy than surly.

“Have you done much painting?”

“A little. My mom and I painted our porch in the spring.”

This would be an opportunity for Brian to interact with a police officer on a friendly basis, J.C. mused. To show the teen his negative attitude toward law enforcement was misplaced.

“I could use the help. That okay with you, Heather?”

After a brief hesitation, Heather seemed to come to the same conclusion. “Sure. It will get done a lot quicker with two sets of hands. Thank you.”

J.C. drained his mug. “Let’s take a look at that foot first. Brian, you want to get the first-aid kit?” Standing, he moved to the sink to wash his hands.

“It feels okay,” Heather protested.

“We still need to change the dressing. The last thing you want is an infection.” He spoke over his shoulder as he adjusted the faucet.

Silence greeted his comment. When he returned to the
table and scooted his chair closer to hers, however, Heather swiveled toward him, conceding his point by lifting her foot.

Positioning it on his jeans-clad knee, J.C. unwrapped the bandage as Brian watched over his shoulder.

“How does it look?” Heather asked.

“It bled a little more during the night, but there’s no inflammation. Brian, would you hand me a clean sterile pad and the roll of gauze?”

The teen complied, hovering close as J.C. rebandaged the wound.

“Where did you learn to do this kind of stuff?” There was a touch of awe in the boy’s tone.