Montana Hero (10 page)

He pulled the pillow from behind his back to his lap so he could use it to make a muffled drum roll.

Kat groaned, covering her face with one hand, fingers spread wide enough for her smile to slice through Flynn’s few remaining reservations like a hot knife through warm butter.

“Is he always this theatrical?” she asked, widening the gap between two fingers to look at Flynn.

“Always,” Flynn confirmed. “You should see him on stage.”

Tucker nodded. “You should. I’m great.”

“And humble,” Flynn added.

Tucker pointed at him. “That, too. He knows me well.”

“Who do you think did it?” Brady asked, bringing them back to the semi-serious business at hand.

“I don’t need to think,” Tucker said. “I know. My gut tells me…Miss Scarlet did it in the kitchen with the rope.” His impassioned delivery missed the mark a tiny bit when he slurred a few words.

Brady burst out laughing. “Nu-uh. You’re wrong.” He pulled a card from his hand and flashed it around. “I’m Scarlet. See?” He toppled sideways, nearly rolling off the king-size bed.

Flynn reached out automatically to keep the little boy from falling backwards onto his head. Flynn didn’t know there were rules about touch until Brady set him straight.

“Never break a person’s personal space,” Brady said, shoving Flynn’s hands away.

Flynn held his hands up like a suspect under arrest. “Never?”

“It’s rude,” Brady stated firmly.

Flynn cocked his head, curious, and more than a little intrigued. He’d worked with older kids, mostly. Brady sounded like a professor or a social worker. Or a lawyer.

“What if my action saved your life? If you’d fallen four feet and landed on the top of your head, you might have broken your C-1 or C-2 vertebrae. Isn’t that worth breaking someone’s personal space?”

Brady stared at Flynn unblinking, obviously processing this new information. Flynn thought he might have gotten through to the boy, but he couldn’t know for sure because Tucker chose that moment to let out a loud belch.

“Oops. Did that invade your space?”

Flynn groaned.

Brady scrambled off the bed to run to his mother’s side.

“Way to go, Montgomery. You grossed out Brady.”

“I did? Really. Are you grossed out, kid?”

Brady nodded.

Tucker shrugged. “Sorry. But you gotta tell me. Who did it?”

“Mrs. White in the kitchen with the rope.”

“Mrs. White?” all three adults cried.

Brady nodded.

All eyes focused on the middle of the board where a little envelope with the three cards rested. Kat picked it up and removed the cards. She spread them out so everyone could see.

Flynn laughed. “He got you, Tucker. Bested by a ten-year-old.”

“Ten-and-a-half,” Brady corrected.

Flynn looked at Kat. The light in her eyes sparkled in a way he hadn’t seen before. Happy. Carefree. Beyond beautiful. And he knew his heart was never going to be the same.

Damn you, Mrs. White.

*

Tucker kept his
text short for two reasons: his damn ankle throbbed like a son of a gun and his pain pills did not agree with the pizza and beer he’d insisted on ingesting, despite the tsk-tsk look he got from Flynn.

Tucker hated it when Flynn played the know-it-all older brother…and was proven right. He let out a long, satisfying belch then typed:
Breaking news: Flynn in love.

He put the phone on the bedside table and let his head fall back against the tufted headboard. High-end furnishings. The Graff rivaled a few of the places he’d frequented in Europe when he split from the troupe to do a little sightseeing—usually in the company of some lovely lady who discreetly pursued his attention after seeing him dance.

Elegance and decadence had a place. But not here and not now. He had too much on the line. Frustration added to the twisting and turning in his gut. He tried to modulate his breathing and will his brain to quiet—a pre-performance ritual of his, but, a loud braying sound—the closest ringtone he could find to goat—interrupted his meditation a few seconds later.

“No shit. Who is she?”

Tucker grinned. “Her name is Kat. Single mom with a ten-year-old son. Unfortunately, she works under Flynn. Nothing dirty intended. She’s nice. I like her.”

“If she works for him, that means they just met. Flynn isn’t the love-at-first-glance type. You’re full of shit.”

Tucker agreed with Justin’s observation, which was why he’d watched Flynn’s interaction with Kat and her son with such voyeuristic attentiveness. “They brought me pizza then stuck around to play a game of Clue.”

“Clue? The board game?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“The kid suggested it. Apparently, they play old-fashioned board games at his after school program. And he’s good, man. Don’t let his innocent face suck you in. The kid’s good.”

“You lost?”

“Went down in flames.”

Justin’s chuckle made him smile. Everyone agreed Justin didn’t laugh enough.

“Anyway, before Mrs. White started killing people, Kat and Flynn were talking SAR outreach programs and, get this, Kat told him about a program in California where schools grow seedlings to repopulate forests in a fire zone. She went online and showed him a charter school in California doing this for the Rim fire.”

The pause told him Justin got the significance of the name. The three of them had been working the Rim fire when Flynn tried to rescue the old woman and her horses. The end result haunted them all—especially Flynn. “That’s a strange coincidence.”

“I prefer the term: heavenly intervention.”

“Because of your Catholic upbringing.”

Justin was the least religious person Tucker knew. Spiritual? Different story. But the guy had no time for the kind of faith Tucker’s grandmother had introduced him to at a very young age. But Justin was a good friend, and his tone showed concern when he asked, “How bad is your ankle?”

They talked medical crap and the stupid regulations that were holding up the forward momentum on the zip line until Tucker felt his eyelids start to droop. “I gotta go. Pain pills are kicking in. How’s life in South America?”

“No idea. I’m in New Zealand, doper.” Justin gave one of his rare laughs. Tucker would have smiled if he’d had the energy. “I’ll want a full report after I crest.”

Tucker turned off his phone, pulled the thick, puffy spread over his body while leaving his foot, which Kat had gently positioned on a mound of pillows, exposed. His thick sock would have to do.

Hopefully the swelling would be less tomorrow and he could get back to the job of building a new life for himself. Because the old one, despite the glamour and thrills, was killing him.

‡

K
at took a
sip of hibiscus herbal tea before opening her laptop. Her second day of working from home. There was something to be said for working in pajamas, she thought, wiggling her toes in the cozy warmth of her wrong-size slippers.

The quiet was nice, but she already missed the buzz and catching up with her co-workers. Brady would sleep another couple of hours after last night’s break in their routine. House-hunting with Flynn, pizza and a game of Clue at the Graff. She shook her head.
I sure didn’t see that coming.

Somewhere in the building, someone slammed a door. Outside, she heard a car engine start. Her apartment had grown on her, but, if she were honest, she missed her house. She and Greg bought their first place shortly after they got married because her realtor stepfather pushed them to “buy dirt.” The money from the sale of that starter home helped them buy a place with a big backyard when Brady was two.

They’d created a lot of great memories there as a family—and had the photo albums to prove it…in storage. After their divorce, Greg had given her the time she’d needed to secure financing to buy him out. Thankfully, her insurance paid for all the repairs after the fire.

She wondered if her renters were taking good care of the place.

“What made you choose Marietta?” Flynn’s friend, Tucker Montgomery, had asked last night.

“My mother lived here before I was born. The stories she told me about Montana when I was a little girl made it sound like paradise.” True. “After she passed away, I had a yearning to see the place for myself.” Half-truth.

“The last couple of years of Mom’s life were tough. Brady and I needed a change, didn’t we, kiddo?”

Brady hadn’t been listening, of course. He’d become completely engrossed in the topo map app on Flynn’s phone. Seeing those two together, heads nearly touching, as they took turns plotting possible hikes for Flynn’s future youth outreach program had been bittersweet. She tried her best to make up for not having a strong male figure in Brady’s life, but the weekends disappeared in a blink and things like hiking and camping were beyond her skillset.

“Mommy?”

Kat looked up from the beautiful screenshot she’d taken of Copper Mountain the day she and Brady arrived in town. “Good morning, sweetheart. Want some breakfast?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

She noticed some papers in his hand. “Are you ready to start your assignments?”

“Math is done.” He stepped closer and handed her two sheets of equations with the answers neatly filled in.

She groaned. “Brady. Come on, dude. Why make things so difficult for yourself? Your teacher will assume you used a calculator if you don’t show the step-by-step process you used to arrive at the answer on the page.”

He threw up his hands. “But that’s so boring, Mom. It’s a waste of time. And my brain skips steps sometimes, but I still get the right answer. What’s wrong with that?”

She held out her arms even knowing he wasn’t interested in a cuddle. “It’s not wrong. You have a very special brain. I love your brain.”

That produced a reluctant smile.

“Pretend I know nothing about complex multiplication and division. Teach me how to do it.”

His narrow brows squirmed and wiggled as if looking for the best way to dodge the task, but, finally, he let out a sigh. “Okay,” he said with a groan. “I’ll explain while you write it down.”

She wasn’t sure his teacher would go for that. “Let’s use the iPad to film it, so your teacher can see I didn’t help you.”

“I don’t want to be on camera. I’ll do it if you keep your phone on the problem. She’ll recognize my voice.”

Kat wondered about this sudden camera shyness. “Are you embarrassed about yesterday? Your lip looks fine.”

“No. I just don’t want to be filmed.”

She knew when not to push him. “Let’s do this then…after breakfast.”

Half an hour later, she did her best to keep up with his dictation. The workings of his brain were truly complex and a little scary. She’d figured out in Brady’s first week of preschool that her role was advocate/liaison. If she didn’t stand up for her little guy, he’d wind up shuffled into an educational no man’s land.

So far, he’d been able to hold his own in mainstream education. But, sometimes, the effort to keep him on track felt overwhelming. And Brady always came first—even if the effort took time away from her job. She hoped her new boss—a single man with no kids—would understand that.

He’d been pretty tolerant so far, but…time would tell.

“Okay,” she said when they reached the bottom of the paper. “Take a ten-minute break before you start on your reading homework. How are you coming with your historical figure monologue?”

His face flushed a guilty shade of red.

“What?”

“I want to change my person.”

“Why? You’ve been researching George Washington for weeks.”

“I know but…it’s just…” She waited, baffled by this sudden change. Kids like Brady hated change—even with a really good reason.

“Somebody else is doing Martha Washington. A girl. And people are joking about us being married.”

Kat sucked in her bottom lip to keep from grinning. Girl problems were a good thing. Awareness of members of the opposite sex meant he was growing up. Like a normal kid.

Brady’s frown seemed more bemused than put out. He probably didn’t understand why it bothered him that this girl had entered his orb of awareness or what was happening inside him on a hormonal level.