One Lucky Hero (15 page)

V
IOLET CURLED DEEPER
into her comforter on Saturday, willing the obnoxious sound of a lawn mower to go away, but the persistent roar continued. It was too bad, too, because she had been having the most amazing dream. She'd been lying in a bed of marshmallows as Dean Sparks poured melted chocolate over her, licking it off along the way. And despite her conscious decision to keep away from him, enjoying his attention in her subconscious was permissible.

The lawn mower was joined by something that sounded like a weed whacker, and the overwhelming urge to destroy whoever was ruining her day off fired up her blood.

“Mother of God,” she growled. Peeking out from underneath the blanket at her clock, she groaned aloud, “It is six thirty in the fucking morning.”

The engine's buzz grew louder, and she could have sworn it was coming from outside her window. Climbing clumsily to her feet, she wobbled toward the window and lifted the curtain.

And stared dumbly out at the group of men surrounding her house.

“What the fuck?” she yelled, but none of them could hear her above the noise. Dropping the curtains, she grabbed her zombie slippers from the end of her bed. Slipping them on as she hopped out of her bedroom and into the living room, she almost collided with Daisy, who looked ready to rip someone's head off.

“What the fuck is going on?” Daisy asked.

“That's exactly what I said.”

Violet unlocked the front door and threw it open so hard it would have punched a hole through the wall without the doorstop. On the porch, she bumped into a young guy carrying a bucket of paint and a brush.

“Sorry, ma'am,” he said.

“Who are you, and what do you think you're doing?” Violet asked.

“Um, we're doing community service, ma'am. Sergeant Sparks brought us to clean up your yard and house,” he said.

Why that sneaky, conniving son of a bitch.

Hadn't she told him she was fine and she could take care of her family? She definitely didn't need his charity.

Violet's eyes narrowed to slits as she sought out Dean, who was standing with his back to her. She'd recognize those broad shoulders anywhere. A tool belt rested over his jean-clad hips, and as he turned, she noticed that he looked good in a faded New York Yankees ball cap.

Damn him. Why couldn't he have just stayed in her dreams instead of stepping all over her reality?

“Hey, isn't that your fuck buddy?” Daisy asked.

“Don't call him that,” Violet barked just as the kid with the lawn mower killed the engine. All male eyes turned their way. Dean's dark gaze slid over her from top to bottom, and her nipples hardened against the cotton of her tank top.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she ignored the quivering of her knees as he approached with another man right behind him.

“Did we wake you?” Dean asked.

“No, the sweet sound of bluebirds chirping on our windowsill did,” Daisy said.

The man behind Dean laughed then looked sheepish. “Sorry about that, but we wanted to get an early start before it got too hot.”

“What are you doing?” Violet asked.

Ignoring her question, Dean introduced the man at his side. “This is Sergeant Blake Kline. This is Violet Douglas and her sister, Daisy.”

Blake held out his hand to her, his smile a flash of white on his tan face. “Nice to meet you.”

Violet took his hand politely. It wasn't his fault that she wanted to kill his friend with her bare hands. Blake held his hand out to Daisy, who walked back into the house with a huff.

Violet gave Blake an apologetic smile as the guy dropped his hand. “She's not a morning person.”

“I got that,” Blake said. “I'm going to unload the lumber.”

Blake walked away before she even got out her, “What lumber?” But that was fine, as the man she wanted hadn't moved off her steps.

Wanted
to talk to,
you mean.

“Of course,” she muttered to herself.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Nothing. Are you going to tell me what the hell you're doing?”

“Well, I've got a couple of guys cleaning up the yard and several more painting the house. Blake and I are going to work on the rotten boards on the porch, and—”

“Maybe I need to be clearer. Why . . . the hell . . . are . . . you . . . here?”

He gave her that knock-her-on-her-ass grin. “Because once a week, we do some form of outreach service in the community. Sometimes we take the kids and their dogs to local senior centers or we pick up trash in the park. Today, we're going around to random houses in need of repairs.”

“Random?” Violet seethed with humiliation.
Random my ass.
“And how did my house become random?”

The jerk had the nerve to look exasperated, as if
she
was insulting
him.
“You ever been told not to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“Except I don't need your horse or your charity.” As she glanced around the yard, a hopeful thought struck her through every other emotion boiling up inside her. “Is Casey here?”

“No. Work detail goes by seniority; it's a way for kids with longer sentences to earn privileges.” His tone held a touch of apology as he added, “If it were up to me, I would have brought him, but it would have looked like favoritism. And I know you're worried about people talking.”

His reasoning made sense, even if she was disappointed. Although, if he was really worried about people talking, then he wouldn't have picked her house for this field trip.

Especially since she'd been perfectly clear about not needing his help.

“As much as I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I really must decline your work detail. My house is fine just the way it is.”

“Really? Because this porch is on the verge of becoming a death trap. How are you going to pay for someone's medical bills, let alone a lawsuit if someone falls through the planks?”

His bluntness raised Violet's hackles, and she ground her teeth together painfully. “You're an ass.”

“I've been called worse, usually when I'm right.” As if he didn't give a damn either way, he shrugged. “I guess if you really don't want us here, you could always call the cops. You might manage to get us shut down, and then all the kids we help would go back to juvie, including your brother, and all the dogs would be euthanized, but if you feel that strongly about it . . . ”

Violet battled the urge to scream at him. For ten years she'd been handling everything for her family and doing her best. And now Dean swooped in with his hero complex and proved that she wasn't good enough.

That all her fears about failing her siblings were spot on.

God, if she didn't escape back inside she was going to break down and bawl again. Which was exactly why she should avoid the man, even in her dreams; every time they had a run-in, she ended up an emotional wreck.

“Do whatever you want. It's not like I can stop you.”

She turned on her heels and headed back inside, slamming the door behind her so hard it shook the whole house.

Climbing back into her bed, she pulled the covers over her head and sucked in several shaking breaths.

Stop behaving like a child hiding out in her room. Piece your pride back together and tell them to get the fuck off your property or pitch in and help. You cannot stay in here all day.

Violet didn't agree. Staying in her room sounded like an excellent idea.

D
EAN STARED AT
the closed door, the eyes of his charges and Blake burning holes in his back. If they hadn't heard the exchange, Violet's dramatic exit would have been clue enough that they weren't wanted there.

Damn it, why did she have to be so stubborn? His olive branch definitely hadn't worked out the way he'd hoped. He'd expected a little resistance at first, but ultimately, he'd figured she'd see it was all in good faith.

Why the hell had she flown off the handle?

Just let it go, man. Just go about fixing the place and let her cool down.

But no one had ever accused Dean of being smart.

“I'll be right back,” Dean called to Kline as he opened the front door and walked inside. He headed through the living room and knocked on the closed door by the stairs, taking a chance that it was Violet's room and not Daisy's.

“Go away.” Violet's voice was muffled, and he ignored her.

Walking into her room, he saw her shape under the comforter and stood over the bed. “I'm not trying to get one up on you or anything. This is my way of apologizing for the other day—”

Violet threw the blanket off her head as she sat up. Long, tangled red strands stood on end, and Dean had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

And then he met her red-rimmed, furious gaze, and his amusement melted away.

“Apologize? If you want to apologize, then you pick up a phone, dial my number, and if I answer, say, ‘I am sorry.' You don't bring a bunch of guys to my home because it's such a run-down hellhole that someone has to fix it.”

Dean sat on the edge of her bed, his hand raised slightly in case she took a swing. “I never said your house was a hellhole.”

“You used my house for a community service project. You don't have to say it.”

Dean realized too late why Violet was so angry with him, and he felt like the world's biggest tool. “Everyone needs someone in their corner, Violet. That's all I was trying to do with all of this. I get that you don't like asking for help, and maybe you don't think you need it, but this wasn't anything more than a gesture of friendship.”

“Friends? That is really all this is to you?”

Smoothing down her static-charged hair with one hand, he hesitated. His answer was more complicated than yes or no. Did he want her trust? Yes. Did he want to be friends with her? Absolutely.

Was that all he wanted? No, but he couldn't have everything he wanted. Not unless he chose to derail all of the plans he'd made for his career and future. If he gave up on going back to being a soldier, then he would always be the guy who choked. Who failed his unit when they needed him the most.

And he wasn't ready to do that yet, not for anyone.

“Yes, I came here as a friend. To do something nice for you. I wasn't trying to make you feel like shit about your house; I get that you have had to deal with a lot.” Dean stared into her face as his fingers played with a soft lock of her hair. “Let us do this for you.”

The tension in Violet's body seemed to drain from her, yet she caught his hand and pulled it from her hair. Her expression was earnest and intense. “I can't.”

Dean sighed in defeat. There was only so much he could do, and he wasn't going to force this on her, despite his initial intentions. “I'll let the guys know.”

“No.” She tugged his hand as he started to rise. “I just meant that I can't let you do it
for
me. If you are going to work on my house, then I want to help.”

Dean's thumb trailed over the soft skin of her palm, but he didn't argue. “I'd never say no to an extra set of hands.”

“I wouldn't have let you even if you'd tried.”

V
IOLET
'
S SKIN HUMMED
where Dean had touched her, and she was loath to pull away from the sensation. Just moments before she had been ready to deck him for sticking his nose in her business, but his sincerity had put a chink in her armor. If he wanted to be her friend, then helping was okay. Tracy helped her all the time and vice versa.

And truth be told, she didn't have a lot of friends to call on. And he'd already seen her at her worst, so what would be the harm in letting him be there for her?

Because the way he makes you feel is very unfriend-like.

As evidenced by the somersault her stomach did when he squeezed her hand and stood up.

“Well, I'll get back out there and let you change.”

Violet climbed out of bed and stood with him, struggling to find something to say. “I am sorry that I nearly took your head off, but next time you decide to do something nice for a friend, you might want to wait until eight a.m. Maybe nine.”

“I'll remember that, for next time.” Pointing at her feet, he added, “By the way, what are those supposed to be?”

Violet glanced down at the slippers he was staring at. The plush gray faces had red felt sores and a dangling eyeball. “They're zombies.”

“You have a thing for zombies?”

“No, they scare me, always have.”

“Then why do you have them?” he asked.

“Because I have a fourteen-year-old brother with a wicked sense of humor,” she said, smiling. Casey had gotten into zombies when he was ten, but she never let him watch any movies because she was afraid he'd get nightmares. She'd finally given in when he was almost twelve but insisted on sitting with him in case it was too scary. Turned out she was the big sissy, and it had been a constant joke in their house.

The slippers were her favorite birthday gift ever, especially because it tickled Casey so much for her to wear them. Apparently he had collected recycling and taken a few odd jobs to pay for them so they would be a surprise.

Dean chuckled. “I'd have done the same thing to my sister. It's a sign of affection, believe me.”

“I know,” she said.

“Well, off to go crack the whip. I want to get the kids back in time for afternoon visitation. Plus, all their dogs are being handled by Best, who wasn't happy about it.”

Violet wasn't sympathetic, not after Best had been so tactless at Alpha Dog. “Somehow, I don't think I'll feel bad about that.”

“Me neither. Believe me, I've covered for him enough, he can take this one.”

As Dean left her room, Violet wasn't sure she hadn't lost her mind. Dean's close proximity seemed to send her into turbulent mood swings; one minute she was beyond livid, the next she was a simpering pile of goo.