SOMEBODY'S HERO Page 2

  "Look, Mom. Isn't it beautiful?"

  Jayne detoured to add another log to the fire, then removed the curtains from Lucy's hand and pushed them back. "Beautiful," she agreed, then realized that it really was. Everything was covered with pristine snow. Tree branches hung heavy with it, and mundane things like trucks were turned into graceful lumps of white. All signs of her trips between house and SUV had been obliterated in the night, as well as Lewis's bigger footprints.

  It was beautiful, peaceful and exactly what she needed. Just looking made her breathe a little deeper, a little slower, and eased the tightness in her chest. Maybe she hadn't made a mistake after all. Maybe this really was the change she'd needed.

  "Can we go out and play?"

  The idea of voluntarily going out into such wet and cold made Jayne cringe. She'd hated going out in the snow every winter of her adult life … but she'd loved it when she was a kid. Cleaning, unpacking, firewood and breakfast could wait.

  "Okay. Let's get dressed."

  Within fifteen minutes they were ready to go. Lucy was bundled in her favorite pink snowsuit. Lacking a snowsuit of her own, Jayne settled on jeans under sweatpants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, a sweatshirt, coat, hat and gloves. Neither of them was particularly mobile.

  Lucy didn't seem to notice that moving through the snow was more hassle than fun. Even when she slipped into drifts that were deeper than she was tall, she came up coated in white and laughing. More of the tension inside Jayne eased. As long as Lucy could laugh, life was good.

  Lucy was trying to start a snowman when the sound of a door closing echoed across the clearing. She popped to her feet, gazed at their neighbor's house as if noticing it for the first time, then broke into a broad grin. "Puppies!"

  The dogs who'd just been freed from their house saw her at the same time and immediately detoured toward them, bounding across the snow as if it was no more than a minor nuisance. Easy to do when they were both the size of small ponies.

  As Lucy moved to meet them, Jayne followed, struggling to catch up. Neither she nor Lucy had ever had any pet more rambunctious than a hamster, not even a blip on the landscape next to these creatures. The dogs were moving quickly, clearing the board fence that circled their yard in one leap, and they were so big that they could trample her little girl into the snow without even noticing it.

  Ten feet out, the dogs leaped. Jayne shrieked Lucy's name, certain the next sound she would hear was her daughter's screams. Instead it was a sharp whistle that split the air. The dogs landed a few feet away and stood stock-still except for the excited quivering of their tails.

  "Diaz, Cameron," Lewis called, but Jayne couldn't take her gaze from the animals to look in his direction. "Sit. Stay."

  Both animals obeyed, though the smaller didn't actually touch the ground. It hovered there, butt a few inches above the snow, as if it might leap for Lucy's throat any minute now, Jayne thought hysterically … or as if it knew that snow was too cold to be sitting on, common sense forced her to admit.

  "Are they your dogs?" Lucy asked as Lewis approached.

  "More or less." He shifted his gaze, no friendlier than last night, to Jayne. "They're just excited to see someone smaller than them. They won't hurt her."

  Maybe not on purpose, Jayne thought doubtfully.

  "Cameron Diaz is Princess Fiona in Shrek," Lucy pointed out. "Are they named after her?"

  Looking as if he had no clue what Shrek was, Lewis shrugged. "Maybe. I didn't name them."

  "Are they boy dogs or girl dogs?"

  "Boys."

  Lucy splayed one mittened hand on her hip. "But Cameron Diaz is a girl, or she couldn't be Princess Fiona. You can't name boy dogs after a girl."

  He shrugged again. "Like I said, I didn't name them."

  "Can I pet 'em?"

  "Yeah," he replied at the same time Jayne said, "I don't think—" She clamped her mouth shut at Lucy's chastising look. Greg had often accused her of being overly protective, a judgment she'd had difficulty accepting from a man who was the very personification of reckless. There was nothing overprotective about not letting her delicate little girl within snapping distance of animals who could take her whole head in their mouths.

  Well-behaved animals. Whose owner was standing between them. Who hadn't yet disobeyed his command to stay despite the obvious temptation to do so.

  Gritting her teeth to keep in her objections, Jayne shrugged and Lucy bounded forward. Lewis crouched, pulled off his glove and curled his fingers under. "Hold your hand like this and let them sniff you first."

  Lucy yanked off her mitten and did as he directed. Both dogs eagerly sniffed her hand from all angles, then worked their way up her arm, over her body and to her face, making her giggle. "Their noses is cold! You're good puppies, aren't you?"

  Jayne reluctantly agreed that they did seem to be good. Despite their excitement, they both remained seated—though the smaller one did scoot forward a few inches—and they didn't lick, show their teeth or make any threatening gestures. Though being twice Lucy's size was threatening enough, in her opinion.

  "I'm Lucy," her daughter announced, gently scratching each animal behind its ear. "And that's my mom. Mom, come meet Cameron and Diaz."

  "I can see them just fine from here."

  "She's afraid of dogs," Lucy confided in a confidential tone. "She doesn't like pets. She didn't even like my hamster just 'cause it got scared and bit her finger. A little blood, and she squealed."

  Jayne's cheeks heated as Lewis looked at her. "It was more than a little blood," she said defensively. "And I didn't squeal. I shrieked."

  "An important distinction." Was that sarcasm or amusement in his voice? It was hard to tell, so finely veiled was the tone, and his expression was totally blank.

  After scratching both dogs for a moment, Lucy looked up at their owner. "My name's Lucy," she announced again. Of course, her first introduction had been made to the dogs. "I live here now. What's yours?"

  "Tyler Lewis."

  Tyler fitted him every bit as much as Lewis hadn't, Jayne thought. A Tyler would be handsome, brooding and rugged—a loner … until he found the right woman to share his solitude. A Tyler was hero material—strong, with an equally strong code of honor. Champion of the downtrodden, protector of the weak, guardian of—

  Jayne gave herself a mental shake. This wasn't some character she was creating for her next book but a real, live individual with strengths and weaknesses, failings and flaws. Rule one—no romanticizing him. It would just lead to disappointment, and Greg had given her enough of that for a lifetime.

  He eased to his feet, his six-foot-plus frame towering over Lucy. A sharp crease ran the length of his jeans legs, and his shirt, visible through the open parka, was pressed, as well. When was the last time she'd seen a man in a pair of starched, creased jeans? Probably never. Whose wife had the time to do that for him?

  "Is there a Mrs. Lewis?" she asked without thinking.

  His dark eyes turned a shade darker. "No."

  She waited for more—I've never married or There used to be—but that was all. No with a scowl. "Any kids?"

  "God, no." That was said with another scowl that made her want to draw Lucy safely behind her, out of his sight. A neighbor who didn't like kids—wonderful.

  "Can me and the puppies play?" Lucy asked.

  Jayne was about to answer when she realized that the question was directed to Tyler instead. He might not like kids, but Lucy hadn't noticed yet.

  He touched the bigger of the dogs and said, "Go on." Both animals immediately sprang to their feet, and they ran after Lucy, leaving Jayne alone with Tyler.

  Unable to think of a thing to say, she turned for her first good look at the house. The snow did much to soften its dilapidated facade, even lending it an air of old-fashioned charm, but that wouldn't last long. Already she could see the drips of melt coming off the eaves. By the next day the snow would be gone, and so would the charm, but the dilapidation would remain.

  "
A great old house," she murmured disgustedly, still able to see the pleasure of fond memories in Greg's face as he'd talked about his grandmother's home. Great old lies was more like it.

  "Not quite what you were expecting?"

  She glanced hastily at Tyler. She hadn't meant for him to hear the words, hadn't even really meant to say them out loud. She shrugged. "Not quite. Was there ever an orchard around here?"

  He gestured across the road, to the neat rows of trees on the far side of his fence. "Apple trees. Edna used to own the whole mountaintop. I bought everything except the house and the acre it sits on."

  Score one for Greg. And the house did have hardwood floors—scarred, neglected, in dire need of refinishing, but wood all the same. Presumably there had been a garden twenty-five years ago, as well. So he hadn't made it all up.

  Tyler shifted uncomfortably, packing down the snow under size-twelve boots. "I made an offer on the rest of it before she died, but she turned me down. She wanted some part of the family land to leave to the family." His features quirked into a grimace that made clear what he thought of such sentimental nonsense. "I'll make you the same offer."

  Jayne looked back at the house. It was old, plain and needed money and a large dose of sweat equity. It made their house back in Chicago look luxurious in comparison. It was too cramped even for just the two of them, with no room for her office. Whatever money he offered could be a down payment on a more suitable place.

  Unfortunately for Tyler—and maybe for herself—she was a sucker for sentimental nonsense and she liked a challenge. Why else would she have stayed married to Greg for so long? Why else would she be trying to support herself and Lucy on a solidly midlist author's income? She wasn't a Miller by blood, but Lucy was, and if her great-grandmother had wanted the house to pass to someone in the family, it should. God knew, Greg hadn't given her anything else … besides those big brown eyes, that charming smile and that fearless approach to life.

  But, sentimentality aside, Jayne was also practical. It was one of the things Greg had liked the least about her. "Right now I have no plans to sell the place, but if I change my mind—" she looked again at the dangling shutters, the crooked porch, the paint flakes barely clinging to the wood "—you'll be the first to know."

  Her answer seemed to satisfy him, judging from the silent nod he gave. He probably thought she was naive and inexperienced—a city girl who didn't know what she'd gotten herself into, who wouldn't last into summer and most certainly not through winter. And he might be right. She had been naive. Even knowing Greg's penchant for exaggeration, she'd believed everything he'd told her about the house. But the place had potential, and she was a big believer in potential.

  "Well…" She stamped her feet to get her blood circulating.

  "I'm freezing here and I need to see about breakfast. Lucy, let's go in and warm up."

  "Aw, Mom—" Lucy broke off when her stomach gave a growl that would have done either of the dogs proud, then grinned. "Wanna have breakfast with us, Tyler?"

  Say no, say no, say no, Jayne silently chanted, and she swallowed a sigh of relief when he did.

  "No, thanks. I've got things to do."

  Lucy grinned again. "Can Cameron Diaz have breakfast with us?"

  "They've already eaten."

  "Yeah, but they look like they could eat again."

  "They look like they could eat you." Jayne swung her up into her arms, then brushed away some of the snow that covered her from hood to boots. In unison with her daughter she said, "Oh, Mom…" As Lucy rolled her eyes, Jayne took a few backward steps toward the house. "Thanks again for the firewood. We really appreciated it."

  As he'd done the night before, he simply nodded, then walked away. She watched him for a moment before turning and trudging toward the house.

  Her house. Her daughter's ancestral home.

  Their future.

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  By noon the snow was dripping so heavily that at times it sounded like rain, plopping off the roof and puddling on the ground underneath. Tyler stood at the front window, eating lunch—a sandwich in one hand, a Coke in the other—and gazing across the yard. Supposedly he was watching the dogs run. Instead, he was seeing another snowy scene, this one a hundred and fifty miles and eighteen years away.

  An unexpected snowstorm had crippled Nashville, blanketing everything in white and closing the schools early. The buses had been waiting at lunchtime, and the kids who walked to school had been lined up at the office to call for rides. Since they'd had neither a home phone nor a car for Carrie to come and get him, Tyler had hidden in the boys' room and waited until the school was quiet—the buses gone, the luckier kids picked up by a parent. Then he'd sneaked out of the building and had run all the way home, his jacket too thin and his shoes too worn to provide any protection from the snow.

  Despite the frigid temperatures, he'd removed his shoes and socks outside—Del didn't like the kids tracking in dirt or snow—then let himself into the house. His first clue that something was wrong was his mother. She'd sat at the kitchen table, Aaron in her lap and Rebecca clinging to her side. Carrie hadn't laughed at his hair, frozen in spikes, or offered him a towel or fussed over him at all. She hadn't done anything but give him a sorrowful look.

  Then Del had walked into the room.

  "Stupid little bastard, sneaking off from school," he'd muttered as he'd advanced. "You think they don't keep track of kids down at that school? You think they don't notice when some whiny-ass little bastard sneaks out like a damn thief? You're gonna be sorry, boy, damn sor—"

  Pain in Tyler's hand jerked his attention back to the present. He stared blankly at the pop can he held, crumpled almost flat, and the blood welling where a sharp corner had pierced his palm. Coke dripped from his fingers and puddled on the floor, each plop a reminder of the punishment such a spill had always brought.

  An instant of panic spurted through him—Got to get a rag, got to clean it and dry it so no one will notice. He pushed it back with a deep breath and forced his fingers to relax around the battered aluminum. He'd taken only a few steps from the window when the doorbell echoed through the house, accompanied by Diaz's excited barks and Cameron's howl from the porch.

  He would like to think the dogs were smart enough to ring the bell themselves, but a soft little-girl giggle told him he couldn't be so lucky. Grimly setting his jaw, he opened the door. The dogs shot in around him, racing through the living room and circling the kitchen island before leaping onto the couch and battling for space. Lucy would have followed them if her mother hadn't grabbed the hood to rein her in.

  Her cheeks pink, Jayne smiled uncertainly. "Hi. I'm sorry to bother you, but I saw your electricity was on, and it reminded me to call and see about getting mine turned on, too." She gestured toward the porch light that he always left on when he knew he would be home after dark. With no power, he'd forgotten to turn it off this morning, and now it glowed dimly in the bright day.

  More than anything he wanted to send her away. He didn't need her in his house, looking at his things, disturbing his day. But instead he flipped the switch to off, then stepped back to allow her entrance. "The phone's on the desk," he said gruffly. "The book's under it."

  Still holding on to Lucy's hood, Jayne came inside, steering her daughter toward the desk against one living room wall. She gave the wrestling dogs a wary look, and he spoke sharply. "Diaz. Cameron. Stop."

  Immediately the dogs separated, each taking one end of the couch and watching the three humans curiously.

  "Could you teach me how to do that with Lucy?" Jayne asked, wearing that uneasy smile again.

  Lucy seemed well enough behaved to him. Though her expression said she was itching to go exploring, she didn't try to slip out of her mother's hold. Instead she was satisfied to look at everything, her brown eyes wide with curiosity. When she looked at him, a broad grin spread across her face and she raised one hand and wiggled her index finger in g
reeting.

  With a brusque nod, he went to the kitchen, tossed the can in the trash, then held his hand under cold water, washing away the pop and fresh blood. The puncture wasn't deep, so instead of a bandage, he balled a napkin in his fist, then went to stare out the back windows. Immediately Diaz joined him, rubbing against his legs for attention. A moment later Lucy came over, as well. Glancing back, Tyler saw her coat hanging by its hood from her mother's hand.

  "I like your house," she announced.

  He grunted. It wasn't fancy—maybe fourteen hundred square feet, one big living room/dining room/kitchen, two bedrooms and one and a half baths, with a wide front porch and a deck across the back. He'd built it himself, with help from his brothers and sister and his boss, and he'd done everything exactly the way he wanted it. It was his and his alone.

  Lucy touched her reflection in the window, then giggled. "Look. I'm having a bad hair day. That's 'cause I've been helping Mom clean. See?" Her fine hair stood on end, and what looked like the remains of a cobweb spread across the wild strands. It was a good look with the smudges of dirt that marked one cheek and her chin before spreading down the front of her shirt.

  He couldn't think of anything to say to her comment, but she didn't seem to notice.

  "You have any kids?" When he shook his head, she frowned, then wistfully asked, "Are there any kids around here?"

  He knew everyone who lived along the road by sight, if not personally. He rarely had anything to do with them. He rarely had anything to do with anyone. He saw the Ryans—his boss Daniel, Sarah and their kids—every workday. He saw his own family on Sunday afternoons, and Zachary and Beth Adams and their kids maybe twice a month.

  He wasn't a real sociable person.

  "The Trumbulls have some kids, but I don't know how old they are," he said at last. "They live about halfway back to town. And Sassie Whitlaw's grandkids live with her part of the time. There's a girl about your size."