No Kind of Hero (Portland Devils Book 2) Read online

  She’d watched him come and go for two days before she got up the nerve to talk to him beyond “hello.” Before she’d asked him if wanted a glass of water, brought it back to him, and he’d said, “Sit down and keep me company, if you want,” and she had. Sitting and keeping him company had turned into painting trim for him on her hands and knees, into sharing her hopes and her dreams and her fears while Evan listened. It had also turned into sharp questions from her mother at dinner and evasive answers, a fierce desire to hold this precious, tender new thing close to her chest.

  “I need to do something,” she said when her mother brought it up yet again at Christmas dinner. “I can’t study all the time, and anyway, it’s snowing.”

  “You should go skiing,” her mother said. “You should be seeing friends. Or we could have a spa day.”

  “I have too much to do,” Beth answered. “I can go skiing from Seattle, and my friends are there now.”

  Her mother’s mouth compressed, her dad looked at them both and didn’t say a word, and her mom fell silent. If Beth was sure her mom was checking another day off the calendar every night, ready to push Beth physically onto that Seattle-bound plane? That wasn’t her problem. She was getting her work done. She was taking breaks, that was all.

  But when Evan came back to the house on the day after Christmas to paint the rest of it, when Beth walked into another dropcloth-covered room and he smiled at her after two long days without seeing each other? Her heart had been in brand-new territory. She was a white rosebud that had been furled tight and was finally starting to open, and damn it, she wanted that rose to bloom. She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything. So when everything went so wrong and then so right a couple days later, and he finally asked her out? There was no way she was saying no.

  And here was the man himself almost a decade later, pushing open the swinging door into the lobby and coming toward her holding his empty baby carrier. He shoved his notebook back into his jeans pocket and showed off some more bicep, as if she hadn’t seen enough of it. Which, of course, she hadn’t. When he’d been holding Gracie over his head? It had been sweet, and it had been hot, because Evan had some arms. Gracie started making some excited noises and pedaling her legs at the sight of him, and Beth knew how she felt.

  Evan reached out and took his baby, kissed the top of her head like he didn’t realize he was doing it, gave Beth another one of those slow almost-there smiles, and said, “If we’re going to be burning it down . . .” And then he put a hand on her cheek and brushed his lips over hers, waking her body all the way up and making her wish even more for that sundress.

  She wanted him to kiss her again, and he didn’t. He pulled back, left his hand on her cheek, and said, “Call it a down payment.” His thumb trailed all the way down the side of her jaw, he smiled at her for real, eyes and mouth and . . . everything, and she could swear her heart turned over.

  “Down payment works,” she said, finding her voice again. “Because I’ve had a thing for you since ninth grade, and you still make my knees weak.”

  She never said things like that. But she’d said this. It was effective, too. She could tell. All he said, though, was, “I’ll have to see what I can do about that,” with his best intense look. Which still worked just fine. He dropped his hand at last and jiggled Gracie. “We’re heading over to the paint store. Want to come and help me choose peacock colors? I realize that’s not quite burning-it-down territory, but I’ll do my best to talk dirty or something while we do it.”

  “Except there’s Gracie,” Beth reminded him, knowing she was smiling like a fool and unable to care.

  “Oh, yeah.” He sighed. “Maybe not, then. I’ll just think dirty thoughts.”

  “Works for me. Is that what your client wants? Whoever that was? Thor? Is he going for peacock colors? That’s going to be spectacular. What a good idea.” It wouldn’t be restoring the theater to its former glory. It would be even better.

  “Thanks,” Evan said.

  “Really? It was your idea?”

  “Yep.” He looked . . . delighted. He did. Still confident in his skin, like he knew who he was and he was good with it. But now he seemed happy, too, and she was glad.

  “Then I definitely want to come,” she said. “I can think dirty thoughts with the best of them, believe it or not.”

  “I believe it,” he said. “You always were good at thinking. Keep ’em coming, and I’ll do my best to deliver. That’s a promise.”

  Evan lay awake that night, too. Between Gracie and Beth, his sleep was definitely suffering.

  The problem was, when you had a baby, “spontaneous” went right out the window, and it stayed gone. If Beth had showed up and offered him that awkward, tentative proposition a couple years ago, he’d have had her clothes off in two minutes, and in another five max, he’d have been showing her what the stage was for. He’d had a flash of her naked on her back right smack in the center, the featured attraction, a teenage fantasy come to life, and you could say that he’d wanted to do it. Or you could say that he’d barely been able to hold himself back.

  Except that they hadn’t been alone, and he couldn’t do it. The second she’d walked out into the lobby with Gracie, though, he’d been pulling his phone from his back pocket and calling his mom. And hearing nothing but ringing until her voicemail came on. She was square dancing and then having a barbecue dinner with the group, and he was stuck. Done in by potluck.

  Dakota. His hand hovered over the button, and he didn’t dial. Blake was coming home this afternoon, and he wouldn’t be one bit happy to find a pint-sized interloper in the middle of his reunion. At least that was how Evan would have felt.

  He called her anyway. You could say he was desperate.

  “Oh,” she said, sounding distracted. “I wish I could, but Blake’s picking me up in the jet and taking me straight to Portland. I’m packing now. We’ll be gone until Wednesday night. And Russell . . . You know how much he loves Gracie, but he can’t right now.”

  “Yeah,” Evan said. “I know.” Dakota’s stepfather was living at Blake’s big house on the lake now too, recovering from major back surgery that didn’t allow for holding babies.

  Dakota asked, “Does Beth have anything to do with why you need a babysitter, by any chance? She called me today to ask if I knew where you were, and she didn’t seem to have a good reason why. Did she find you? If she did and that’s why you need a babysitter, I’m doing my happy dance.”

  Evan opened his mouth to say, “My business,” then thought better of it. What was he thinking? Wednesday was only three days away, and he devoutly hoped he’d be needing a babysitter more than a few more times in the coming weeks.

  “Maybe,” he said instead, which was putting it out there enough as far as he was concerned.

  “Oh, yeah,” Dakota said. “That’s what I’m talking about. Happy dance for sure.”

  “Don’t get excited. She’s only here for a little while.”

  “Uh-huh. That’s what they all say. I knew I was right to leave you guys alone. I wasn’t sure when Beth came back into the Yacht Club looking so upset, but I was still right, wasn’t I?”

  “Yeah, well, you can just put the brakes on,” Evan said. “Just because your love life worked out all perfect, that doesn’t mean mine’s going to. It hasn’t exactly done it so far.”

  “Because you picked the wrong woman.” Of course Dakota had to say that. “Remember how you warned me that Blake was no good for me, that he was going to dump me and leave? Ha. And ha again. I wouldn’t say you’re the best judge. Not exactly the Love Doctor. How about going with the flow? Or here’s a wild and crazy thought. How about going for it with everything you’ve got? If you want it, go get it. And you want Beth.”

  Dakota was getting carried away, as usual. He said, “Whoa. Guys don’t necessarily want what women want.” Which made him feel like a jerk, but the last thing he needed was Dakota asking him probing-yet-sensitive questions for the next month.
r />   “Yeah, right,” she said, not one bit quashed. “You’re just in it for a quick thrill and see you later. Are you forgetting that I actually know you?”

  He couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he didn’t say anything, and after a minute, she said, “If you want a babysitter after we come back, call me. You know nobody cheers Russ up like Gracie.”

  “I won’t ask for much,” he said. “You’re doing your glass.”

  “I can watch her at night,” she said. “All night long, in fact.”

  “Yeah, Blake will be signing up for that.” It sounded too tempting, and it was a whole lot to expect. “She still wakes up a couple times at night.”

  “Evan.” She sighed. “Do you realize how much I owe you?”

  “No.” The thought made him itchy. “You don’t owe me a thing. What did I do?”

  “How about just about everything, from age fifteen on up to now? It’s not a sin to need people, you know, or to ask a favor. I can watch Gracie overnight, and I’d love to do it. Now shut up and go get happy, and make Beth happy too, would you? I don’t think she likes her job. I don’t think she likes her life.”

  So Evan did it. He did his best, anyway. Beth climbed up into the old Ford van beside him, went with him to the paint store, listened to his vision, then did a little dancing in place and said, “Ooh. Ooh. Maxfield Parrish look. Oh, Evan. That’s so great. Here. I’ll show you.”

  She did, and he stood close to her, looked at the serene, romantic pictures she scrolled through, smelled the flower scent of her hair and that faint hint of vanilla, and fought to keep it together.

  “Pale blue and cream,” he said. “Overall background. And then all that peacock. Blue and gold. Like this, see?” He arranged his fan deck and the pictures he’d taken of the theater to show her.

  She smiled at him, forgetting to be careful or sexy or anything but herself, and said, “It’s going to be so beautiful, Evan. You’re going to be famous.”

  He had to laugh, which made Gracie smile and hide her face in his neck, which made Beth smile some more too. “I’m not going to be famous,” he said. “I’m a painter. And not the right kind.”

  “Famous in a small town,” she said. “That totally counts.”

  So no, he didn’t get to take her to bed, but it wasn’t a horrible day. He made a tentative date with her for Wednesday night, way too far away but as good as he could get, because his mother had a weekly calendar that would put a butterfly to shame. And then Beth said, when they were back in the van and he’d pulled up behind her car and had to say goodbye, “I could come help you paint tomorrow for a few hours. Like before. Have I ever told you how much I loved doing that?”

  He unfastened his seatbelt, reached over, and touched her cheek again, still smooth as porcelain, and said, “Have I ever told you how much I loved having you there?”

  “No,” she said. “You haven’t.” Her eyes had gone soft, and he could swear her breath was coming faster. Just from his hand on her face.

  “Well, I’m telling you now,” he said, looking into those blue eyes. And then he kissed her again, fell into that soft mouth, and wanted to stay. She put her hand at the back of his neck, and he fell a little bit deeper. He kept on kissing her until Gracie started yammering and his mouth had to leave Beth’s, when all he wanted to do was take off her clothes, lay her down, and love her right.

  When he left her mouth, though, he didn’t go far. He flat couldn’t. He rested his forehead against hers and smiled, and she smiled back, a little shakiness about it, and said, “We’re supposed to anticipate this, I guess, just like before. That’s probably better.”

  “Nope,” he said, giving her one last kiss and pulling back from her with a major effort. “It isn’t. But you’re right that it’s just like before. When you about killed me.”

  And if it ended up half as good as before, it was going to mess him up like crazy when she walked out again. Except that this time, he’d be prepared.

  The next morning, he was directing the scaffolding guys when José said, “Boss?” from behind him.

  When he turned around, there Beth was standing behind José, looking like exactly the painting partner he wanted most. Her hair was in its braid again and looked damp, like she’d gone swimming this morning in that purple bikini of hers. Or, of course, because she’d washed her hair. The purple bikini part might have been his imagination. Right now, she was wearing white overalls that he’d bet money she’d just bought, over a pink T-shirt, and she looked—well, she looked adorable.

  “Hi,” she said, shy and trying to hide it behind breeziness. “I dressed for the job. Put me to work. And thanks,” she told José, and he took off with a speaking look back at Evan. Like a guy who’d had his boss figured for a monk and was startled to see him suddenly stripping off his shirt, dancing on the bar, and belting out show tunes.

  “What?” Beth asked Evan when he didn’t say anything. “Too early? Change your mind?” She was still going for that casual thing, but he knew Beth didn’t do casual any better than he did.

  “No,” he said, the smile coming slowly, then spreading, because damn, it was good to see her, and he wanted to kiss her on her unpainted mouth right now. “That’s not going to happen. Give me a few minutes, though.”

  She took a seat a few rows up from the stage, and she didn’t play with her phone the way somebody else would have. She tucked one long leg up under her, curled up in the dusty rose velvet, and watched him work as if putting up scaffolding was fascinating. Beth had always been interested in everything, and he’d always been flattered. No news flash there.

  “OK,” he said half an hour later, heading over to her at last. “They can do without me for a while. Want to sneak into the ladies’ room with me?”

  She made a face, then laughed. “How appealing.”

  “Hey,” he said, the grin growing, “it could’ve been the men’s room. I had an idea, though, wanted to get your take. And then, you know, we could . . .” He wished there was a better verb to put in there. “Paint.”

  He led the way out of the auditorium and turned right at the lobby, avoiding the left side, where José and the others were using the spray to apply primer, their respirators and goggles making them look like giant bugs. He stopped at the staging area near the brass-handled outer doors, handed Beth a couple rollers and paint trays, grabbed dropcloths, tape, and a five-gallon bucket of primer, and took her through the door marked Women.

  “So,” he said, setting down his materials by the door, propping it open with a rubber doorstop, and draping a dropcloth over the black-and-white checkerboard floor, “here’s my idea.” He wanted to kiss her more than ever, but the atmosphere wasn’t exactly romantic. Years of dust, swinging stall doors, and old toilets. If he had visions of Beth on the counter, leaning back against the mirror, and his hands undoing those overall straps and sliding on down? He needed to rein them in. “You said Maxfield Parrish, so I looked it up, and I thought—do the ceiling like a sky, that blue glow. Twilight. Put in some pink around the edges, maybe a couple stars. Replace the light fixtures with chandeliers so it’s bright in here, paint the upper part of the walls where it isn’t tiled, make it look like marble. Make it a . . .” He waved his hand.

  “A fantasy,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Oh, that’s good. Here, let me tape.” He handed over a roll, and she climbed right up on that counter like she’d read his mind. And damn. If he wasn’t supposed to have ideas, that wasn’t helping. She was on her knees, smiling at him in the mirror as she taped around it, and saying, “Yes. Yes. How pretty would that be? So pretty. Did you ask him? The owner? What’s his name?”

  “Harlan Kristiansen. I left him a message, yeah.” He took his own roll of tape and started in on the baseboards. “But I don’t know how to explain it to him so he’ll get it. It’s just that I read a lot of . . .”

  “What?” she asked when he didn’t go on, stretching to finish taping over to the side, and he kept
an eye on her in case she toppled over and he had to grab her. Just in case. “Fashion magazines? Guns & Ammo? Furries porn? What?”

  He swung around and stared at her. “Furries porn?”

  She knelt on the counter between the sinks and waved a hand. “I read about it. People dress up in animal costumes like at Disneyland, except it’s sexual, which is weird no matter how much I try not to judge. Big animal heads and all. They have these conventions and get busy, I guess. Presumably not while they’re still inside the suits. Or the heads, because how bizarre would that be?”

  “No.” He didn’t know how he’d gotten into this conversation. “You know the strangest things. No. Bedtime stories. The kind I read to Gracie. And maybe I looked at bedroom decorating ideas online before she was born, too. Of course I did.”

  “That’s so sweet.” She swung around so she was sitting on the counter. “Because you were having a girl, and you wanted her room to be pretty. So did you paint her room like that?”

  “No,” he said, and when she kept looking at him, he admitted it. “Well, maybe a few clouds on the ceiling. And butterflies.”

  “Nice,” she said with a whole lot of satisfaction, like he’d just passed some test. “So—why don’t you just explain to this guy Harlan? Tell him your idea.” He didn’t say anything, and she asked, “What about this is making you nervous?”

  He wasn’t nervous. He was just . . . “Not my usual style.” He started to work on taping around the edges of the toilet cubicles. “Dakota chooses colors. I just paint. This isn’t my part. I’m getting carried away, probably.”

  She sat there exactly like that fantasy he’d had and studied him like he was fascinating. “But now Dakota’s stepping back, and you’re stepping up. And it’s fun, but it’s scary.”

  “It’s not scary. I’m not scared.”

  He could see the twitch of amusement, because Beth’s face was an open book. And why did women see so damn much? Some women, anyway. “All right,” she said. “It’s new, and you’re not sure how it’ll work out. But hey, if a guy buys a movie theater, a single-plex, which isn’t exactly a booming industry? I don’t know what the stats are, but they can’t be great, so he isn’t in it for the money. He’s doing it because it’s cool, and you’re helping him make it even cooler. And everyone in town will come, and they’ll all know you did this, which will be awesome. Which is why it’s making you . . .” She seemed to catch herself, then went on. “Twitchy. It’s got too much upside, so you don’t want to put too much faith in it. You don’t want to ask for too much in case it doesn’t work out.”