No Kind of Hero (Portland Devils Book 2) Page 2

  Beth looked at herself in the pier glass in the corner of the room. She wasn’t going to be featuring on any calendars, but she was fine. Too skinny, and she’d moved from training bra to 34B and never gone any further, but . . . fine. If a guy wasn’t too picky and went for the quiet type. “He said he’d enjoyed the evening.”

  “Oh, no,” Michelle Schaefer said in the tone of voice normally associated with war zones and mass movements of refugees. “You didn’t take it seriously. I can tell.”

  “Well, no, Mother. I did not. Look. I came home to visit. I came to get over the . . .” Her throat closed up despite her attempt to stay breezy, to be normal. To be somebody who didn’t always care too much. “The case.” More like “the near collapse,” but that was what happened when you put in eight months of fourteen-hour days on the biggest case you’d ever had, and you lost. At least it was what had happened to her. “I appreciate you and Dad offering me your support and your guesthouse,” she went on, desperately clinging to the tattered remnants of her adulthood. “I’m grateful. But I’m not in a spot to look for a husband even if I wanted one. I don’t need to marry a doctor or a lawyer. I am a lawyer. I can be my own hero.” That sounded good. She should put it on a refrigerator magnet.

  “Now you’re just being ridiculous. Every woman wants a husband. Did you get that article I left on the table for you yesterday?”

  “The one about declining fertility rates for women over thirty?” If Beth’s tone was dry as dust, that was better than tears, or than expressing what she’d felt when she’d looked at the neatly stapled printout with its damning graphs. “Yes, I did see that. But if I haven’t found a suitable husband in six years of working with a hundred fifty Portland lawyers, what are the chances that I’m going to pick him up in Wild Horse during the next three weeks?” And I’m not moving back home, so you can forget it. Another thing she didn’t say.

  “There he was, though,” her mother said. “Interested. A doctor. If you’d only try. It’s like you don’t even care. Darling, I just want you to be happy. It’s fine now, when you’re young and beautiful. How are you going to feel in ten years, when you’re forty and still single and your best chances have passed you by?”

  Maybe about as lousy as I feel right now? Another sentiment best kept to herself. “Thanks. I’ll keep that dismal prospect in mind while I’m working to make partner. It’ll definitely help.”

  She heard the sigh at the other end. “All right. I’ll stop. I love you, that’s all.”

  Boom. Right under Beth’s defenses. “I know, Mom. Love you, too. What are you doing today?”

  “Going to the gym, and then the hairdresser’s. Do you want to come? You could get your nails done, or I could ask Arlene to squeeze you in and give you a little more blonde. When you look pretty, you feel pretty.”

  “No, thanks. I’m going to do some reading out in the hammock, and then maybe go for a swim.”

  “You won’t meet anybody in the hammock,” her mother said, and when Beth didn’t answer, went on, “Make sure you eat. I put some sliced turkey and cheese into your fridge yesterday, and some cut-up fruit, too. It’ll take you five minutes to make a sandwich. There’s plenty of bread and eggs for this morning. If you want, I’ll come down and fix you breakfast. It won’t take me ten minutes. I can fit it in before the gym.”

  Beth was smothering, suffocated in the folds of the world’s softest down comforter. With a four-hundred-thread-count cover, of course. “Mom. Please stop. I love you, but please.”

  A deeper voice in the background, and Michelle said, “Your father says I’m nagging.”

  “Just concerned. I get it. I’m fine, all right? Being here is what I need. I just need some quiet.”

  Her mom didn’t answer. Instead, her dad, as commanding and reassuring as always, was saying, “You do what you want, princess. I’ll handle your mother.”

  This time, her mother’s voice was the one quacking in the background, and Beth laughed despite herself and said, “Thanks, Dad. But I have to go to the bathroom. Don’t tell Mom I said that, though. I’m sure ladies never mention it.”

  “Hanging up,” he said, and did.

  It had taken a little effort, but she finally had what she’d needed. A day alone.

  All alone.

  Evan O’Donnell was trimming the bushes around the house, thinking that it was time to put in a gate—the way Gracie was going, she’d be walking in no time—when his mom finally showed up with his baby girl.

  It was almost noon, and it was August, but he’d been working out here since ten o’clock despite the heat. First, though, he’d cleaned the house. Gracie was putting everything into her mouth, and getting ready to crawl, too. It was important to keep things clean. When your house was two bedrooms and twelve hundred square feet, though, cleaning it didn’t take long, and he’d wondered what he was supposed to do next. He’d taken on the lawn, edging as well as mowing. Now, in desperation, he’d started on the bushes.

  When his mom’s old Chevy pulled into the drive, he didn’t make a dash for it. He fastened the clippers shut, set them cutting-edge-down in the bucket, and walked over to the car. But when he got the door open, and Gracie started beating on her car seat and chanting, “Da da da” . . . he might have unfastened her extra-quickly. And then he might have had to cuddle her some, because she put her hand on his cheek and cooed at him like she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her. Not that it was possible. Babies didn’t grasp concepts like “first night away from Dad.”

  He gave her a kiss on her duck-down blonde hair, which was starting to show a tendency to curl, and asked his mom, “How’d you do with her?” while he pulled the diaper bag from the back of the car.

  “Well,” his mom said, jumping out and grabbing the portable crib from the trunk, “I remembered there’s a reason God doesn’t let sixty-year-old women have babies, but Allison was sure happy to see her. We had a whole family dinner, and Gracie got to meet some of her cousins. You’ll have to come down to Paradise with me next time. Gracie was an angel, a total hit. She did real good until bedtime.”

  “Oh. Didn’t sleep that well, huh? Yeah, she can do that. Monster,” he told his daughter, who gave him the angelic, gummy smile of a baby who didn’t care a bit and pedaled her legs like she wanted to go for a walk right now.

  “Of course, she slept just fine once we started driving home,” Angela O’Donnell said. “I guess it was just the new place and all. Did you have a good time up here by yourself? Go out dancing or anything fun like that, maybe even meet somebody good enough for you?”

  Evan smiled and gently released Gracie’s hand from his ear. “Nah, worked late instead. But thanks for the vote of confidence. Go on and finish your weekend. Thanks for taking Gracie.”

  His mother’s sharp blue eyes softened. “Not so great being alone? I remember when your brother was born, I’d think—boy howdy, heaven would be a weekend with no baby. And then when I finally got one, I spent half of it looking around to see where the baby was. Right now, though, I’m going home and taking a nap.”

  “Thanks, Mom. See you Monday morning.”

  She gave Gracie a kiss. “Bye, angel face.” And then she pulled Evan’s head down and gave him one, too. “Bye, sweetie. Love you bunches.”

  That was why you had a mom, he guessed. Gracie didn’t, of course. But she had him.

  It got hotter in the afternoon. He had Gracie stripped down to a diaper and a T-shirt, but she woke up early and fussy from her nap all the same. Finally, he told her, “Know what we’re doing? We’re going to the beach like all the rest of the cool kids.”

  Half an hour later, he was getting them set up on a vacant spot at City Beach, crowded on this baking Saturday afternoon with families and teenagers. Kids balanced on the floating logs marking the boundary of the swimming area, then pushed each other off with shrieks and laughter. And then there was the occasional couple lying close to each other on beach towels, heads turned in secret conversation.

>   As Evan spread out his own towels and adjusted Gracie’s sun hat, he saw a couple just like that to his right, lying in a patch of shade. The woman was blonde and petite. Not as pretty as April, he saw when she sat up and began to rub sunscreen into her partner’s back. But she was laughing and talking to her boyfriend, tugging him to his feet and pulling him toward the water, focusing on him like he was the best thing in the world.

  Not as pretty, no. But a better girlfriend.

  Shake it off. “Want to go in the water, princess?” he asked Gracie, and she smiled and babbled at him like he was . . . yeah. The best thing in the world. Her daddy. So he picked her up and took her, and she shrieked and laughed and clung to him as he waded out and dipped her gently into the cool water of the lake.

  He was submerged all the way to his shoulders, crouching down in the water, when he heard the voice from behind him. He didn’t even have to turn to know who it was.

  “Hi, Evan,” she said.

  He did turn then, of course. He couldn’t actually be that rude. “Hello.”

  Beth Schaefer wasn’t crouching down. The Schaefers didn’t do that. She just stood there in water to her waist.

  She was thinner than she’d been in the past in both face and body, and with no tan at all, like she’d been stuck in a library for the past year. A little shadowed around her blue eyes, too, a little tired. But then, he was a little tired at times himself. Right now, for example, he felt about a hundred years old.

  He stood up, tucking Gracie into his arm, and Beth’s gaze went right to her, maybe because she didn’t want to look at him. He probably wasn’t smiling. He probably had what his partner Dakota called his “wooden” look, in fact.

  Gracie shivered, a theatrical movement, like the diva she was. He headed to shore, and Beth came along with him.

  “Your baby’s adorable,” she said. “What’s her name?”

  “Grace. Gracie.”

  “It’s a beautiful name.”

  He didn’t answer that. What did you say? He knew it was a beautiful name. That’s why he’d picked it.

  He reached his spot on the beach, sat down with Gracie in his lap, put her bear-hooded towel on her, and started to rub her down. Beth laughed when she saw the ears and said, “Oh, that’s cute.”

  “So you’re back in town again,” he said when he had to say something. “Sit down,” he added, because she looked so tentative, standing there. Like she cared that he’d talk to her.

  She sank down on the towel beside him, wrapping her arms around her knees, and he ignored how good that purple paisley bikini looked on her. “I’m just here for a month or so. Taking a break. A leave of absence.”

  He pulled Gracie’s stacking cups out of the bag and set them in front of her, and she dove right in. “That big job not everything you wanted after all, huh?”

  “No, it’s good. Of course it’s good. It’s just been a rough year.”

  He didn’t answer that one, either, and after a moment, she said with an awkward laugh, “It’s been a rough year for a lot of people, probably. Rougher than for me. I mean, there you are with a new baby. That’s got to be rough.”

  He had to breathe for a minute. “You’re wrong. I’ve had a great year. A great decade. I’ve got a business. I’ve got a daughter. I’ve even got a house. You don’t have to be a lawyer to have a good life.”

  “Evan . . .” she said, and he looked at her. She looked so sad, like he’d kicked her, and it made him . . . it made him furious.

  “What?” he asked when she didn’t go on.

  “Couldn’t we be . . . couldn’t we be friends?” she asked. “It was a long time ago.”

  He didn’t know how to answer that. Or rather, he did know how to answer it, and he couldn’t say it. Am I rich enough and successful enough to be friends with you now? Oh, wait. No. I’m still a house painter. So would this be the kind of “friend” you sneak around to see, and then dump when the truth comes out and the going gets tough?

  But he didn’t. The moment stretched out until somebody else walked up. Dakota Savage, his business partner, butting in once again. Either because she was curious, or because she thought she was riding to the rescue. Damn it, he didn’t need rescuing. He didn’t need anything. He had everything he needed.

  “Hey, guys,” Dakota said breezily. “It’s like Old Home Week here. How’re you doing, Beth? I didn’t know you were back in town.”

  “Oh,” Beth said. “Yes. Hi.” She’d flushed more than pink now. She was nearly scarlet. Evan remembered how she’d used to do that, and how he’d teased her for it. How pink her skin would be when he’d finished loving her enough, except that he’d never had enough. How she’d always seemed so surprised at how good he could made her feel, how she’d say “Thank you” afterwards like he’d done her a favor. How she’d cried after her first time, and how terrified he’d been until she’d told him, “No. It’s just . . . I love you so much.” And how none of that had mattered one bit.

  “I was just going,” he said. You’ve made your choice, he wanted to tell Beth and didn’t. You made it a long time ago. You don’t get to be my friend now.

  Dakota looked between him and Beth, but he was already stuffing towels back into the bag and picking up Gracie. “Will you be around for a little while, Beth?” she finally said. “Maybe we could have dinner.” Chatting, like this was normal, like they were pals. Well, they probably were pals. It wasn’t like he kept tabs on what Beth did.

  “Sure,” Beth said. “That’d be great. I’ll be here a few weeks. I can’t afford the time off, but you know . . . it beats a breakdown.”

  Evan didn’t look at her, but he thought, Wait, what? She’d said that before. That she’d be here a month. Why? And then he could have kicked himself for even thinking it. What did he care?

  He’d been a sucker for women for thirty-four years. He’d been a protector and a hero and a savior. He was done.

  Well, he’d do it for Gracie. He’d do it for her until they put him in his grave. And for Dakota, of course. And his mom. But other than that, he was done.

  It was Friday morning, and Evan had the luxury of a day off, because he wasn’t starting the next job until Monday morning. Although “day off,” he’d found, meant something different when you were a parent.

  In the past, it would’ve meant sleeping in with April, maybe waking up to some slow, sweet, sleepy morning sex, then fixing coffee for him and herbal tea for her and bringing them back to bed. They’d pull up the pillows behind them and laze another half hour away before he’d start on some house project for the baby. Painting Gracie’s bedroom and putting up the butterfly wallpaper border, sanding down the dresser he’d found at a yard sale and repainting it, with April sitting in the rocking chair, pushing off with a bare foot, keeping him company and rocking their baby.

  Those had been good days. Except that they hadn’t been real.

  Then had come those last couple months, when all April had wanted to do was lie in bed and watch TV, or call her girlfriends or her mom and hold endless whispered conversations. When she’d burst into tears too often, and he hadn’t known what to do about it. When he’d told himself that it was because she was pregnant, and she was still working at Round Table, on her feet all evening long because they couldn’t afford for her to quit. That it would get better once she had the baby. That surely, once the baby was actually here . . .

  Meanwhile, he’d kept doing those projects, like that would make things work out, or because he hadn’t known anything else to do. Replacing the carpet with wood flooring and clean area rugs, reinsulating the attic, taking out the sliding doors in the bathtub and replacing them with a shower curtain so April would be able to sit on the edge and give their baby a bath. Planning how, in the spring, he’d lay a brick patio in back. How he’d come home and find April out there, holding their baby in the place he’d made for them.

  He’d told himself he was a happy man. He’d almost believed it.

  When Gracie had bee
n born, he’d really believed it. For a little while.

  Well, now he actually was a happy man, because his happiness was built on something real. It was built around a baby girl who loved him with all her heart instead of a woman who’d run home to her parents when life had gotten too real and scary.

  “Sleeping in” might be a thing of the past, though. This morning, Gracie had decided that a father who’d gone to bed at eleven the night before after a twelve-hour workday of physical labor was a father who ought to wake up at five-thirty.

  He’d actually been having a good dream, too. That was the killer. He’d been on a deserted beach with a beautiful blonde. As he recalled—and, man, did he ever recall—he’d been lying half over her, kissing her long and slow and deep. She’d had a hand around his head, pulling him closer, his hand had just slid inside her bikini top, and his palm was . . .

  “Da da da da da.”

  He blinked awake, disoriented, in the gray light of almost-dawn. Maybe if he waited, she’d go back to . . .

  “DAAAA!”

  So much for that. Even in his dreams, he couldn’t get any action. He threw the covers back, went into that cloud-painted nursery with the butterfly border and the white crib . . . and found his baby girl sitting up in her sheep-print blue sleeper, shaking her crib bars like a prisoner looking to break out.

  When she saw him coming, her whole face bloomed into happiness. She laughed up at him and held out her arms, and what could a father do but pick her up, give her a kiss on her dandelion fluff hair, and start his morning?

  “We get a day off,” he told her when he had her in her bouncy chair in the bathroom and was beginning to shave, after a cup of coffee he’d needed fairly desperately. “No Grandma today, just you and me. What should we do, huh? Have a party? Go dancing? Buy a pony?”

  He spread the lather over his face, and she gave one of those baby belly laughs that killed you. She always thought the shaving cream was funny. He said, “Yeah, you’re right. Yard’s too small for a pony. The hay bill alone . . . Tell you what. We’ll take a run to town instead and stop at the park. Way cheaper.”