Montana Hero (9 page)

The reminder sent a shiver down her spine. She was tempted to grab her things from his hands and close the door, but the old-fashioned ringtone emanating from his pocket made her hesitate. She took her jacket to free up his hand to answer the call.

He turned slightly and held out her bag, which she knew from lugging the stupid thing around every day wasn’t that light.
Talk about a brick you-know-what,
she thought. She was used to being around cops and SAR volunteers, but very few took physical training as seriously as this guy.

Flynn was solid muscle. A very nice sort of big.

“Flynn here. Yes. Sorry I missed your call earlier. Are we still on? Great. Ten minutes, then. I have the address.”

He pocketed the phone. Only a few inches separated them. His fresh, outdoorsy scent mixed with that certain man smell sent her olfactory senses on high alert. It had been a long time since she’d been held in a man-woman way. Too long. But he wasn’t the right man and she definitely wasn’t the right woman.

She stepped back and nearly tripped when the sole of her sloppy boot caught on the entry rug. “Damn. I took these from my mom’s stuff, and she was half a size bigger than me. If I break my neck, feel free to remind me that I tend to go cheap at the wrong times.”

His smile did that light-up-the-hallway thing. She refused to credit him with lighting up the whole room. And now that she knew he had another appointment she didn’t have to worry about whether or not to invite him in.

“Thanks for delivering these. I appreciate it. I’m sorry I had to ask for time off your first week on the job, but I plan to use the time to work on grant applications. Does that sound okay?” Since Flynn hadn’t returned to the office when Kat called to request the rest of the week off, she’d needed to ask Rebecca to convey the message or have him call her back if he had any questions.

He nodded. “It’s a great idea. Rebecca said you needed to be home with your son. Is he ill? You don’t have to work if he needs you.”

She weighed the balance of TMI and honesty. For some reason, the latter felt like the right choice with him. She’d never spoken of Brady in front of Ken. Never. “Brady got in a fight at school today. They have a zero tolerance policy…as they should. He was given a two-day suspension, but Friday is a teacher in-service day, so my week is pretty well shot. Sorry.”

“Not a problem. We can video conference if anything comes up or you have questions about the application process.” He looked over her shoulder as if checking out her apartment. “Nice place. I’m meeting with a realtor who has a house she wants to show me.” He made a waffling motion with his hand. “I’m on the fence about buying. Ryker’s thinking house; I’m leaning toward a condo. A house means yard work, right?”

She tried not to react, but she knew by the look on his face that she’d failed. “This place is good, but I miss my house so much. Even the yard work. Brady and I had a big garden in San Antonio. He learned about nature and the cycles of life and science…” She sighed. “I’d be looking for houses, too, if I knew for sure we were going to stay here.”

Did I just say that?

“You might move?”

“No. I mean. I’m not planning on it, but…I rented my house when I left to move up here. I’ll have to go back to sell it before I can afford to buy another.”

Before he could answer, his phone jingled again. He glanced at the screen. “Tucker. I left him at the Graff knocked out on pain killers.”

“He broke his ankle?”

“Jury’s still out on that. Possibly a bad sprain.”

It rang again.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?”

“I’ll call him back from the car.” He hesitated. “Listen, if this is inappropriate, feel free to say so. But, Tucker is being a big baby about this sore foot. I told him I’d pick up pizza and beer and deliver it to his room at the Graff Hotel. I don’t suppose you and your son would consider joining us, would you? Maybe play some cards or a quick board game or something? Tucker will drive me crazy if I’m there with him alone. He’s used to entertaining crowds.”

She didn’t know what that meant but before she could say no, a small body wiggled past her and answered, “I want to go. I like pizza better than chili.”

As if that was reason enough.

Maybe it was.

*

Flynn jogged to
the guest parking lot of the apartment complex ahead of his two guests to make room in the back seat of his truck for a third passenger. He hadn’t completely unloaded his belongings into the storage unit he’d rented upon arrival in Marietta because he still wasn’t sure what he needed with him at work.

He moved his backpack to a sitting position and used the seatbelt to hold it upright. Everything else he crammed into the floor area and under the seat: extra boots, snowshoes, a water jug and his winter survival kit. Then he hurried to the driver’s side to get in and turn on the engine. Vehicles cooled off fast in this climate.

He called Tucker to give him an ETA.

“Hey, sorry I couldn’t take your call a minute ago. What’s up?”

“Bring beer. Preferably a microbrew. Not the kind in the red or blue cans.”

Flynn shook his head. Arguing about beer meant his pal was in less pain. “Are you supposed to drink alcohol with the pain killers they gave you?”

“Codeine with aspirin is like baby aspirin on steroids. No big deal.”

“I think you’re wrong. But since I don’t want you to break the bank by depleting the minibar, we’ll bring some.”

“You’re a good friend, Flynn. A bossy one, but…wait. Did you say
we
?”

“I was dropping off something for a member of my team when you called. Since she’s taking a couple of personal days this week and we have a few more things to discuss—including how to find the money to fund a program that lets me take at-risk kids to your adventure course and zip line—I invited her and her son to join us.”

“She’s a her?”

“Yes.”

Tucker was silent for so long, Flynn checked his phone. When he put it back to his ear, he heard his friend say, “…about damn time, Flynnster. We were starting to worry about you. If you wait too long to get back on the horse, you’re freaking doomed to walk, man.”

Flynnster.
The name Tucker used when he was drunk.

Maybe I’ll forget the beer.

He didn’t need to ask what Tucker was talking about—the guys never shut up about Flynn’s divorce, his lack of social prowess with the ladies, and the fact he needed to get laid in the worst way.

The passenger door opened and Kat Robinson looked in. Her bright blue and white stocking cap had earflaps and puffy tassels that made her look like a teenager. A stab of hunger hit like a skewer from his balls to his libido. His tongue got stuck on the roof of his mouth and his greeting turned into a garbled mumble.

The voice on the other end of the phone shouted, “Flynn? Are you there? Did I lose you?”

Flynn hit the End button and tossed the phone into the big, never-been-used ashtray. “Hi,” he said, grateful his vocal chords were working again. “Ready?” He looked over his shoulder to see her son fastening his seat belt without being told. Most of the kids in his last program thought it wasn’t macho to use seat belts. He’d sit with the truck in park until they groaned and gave in.

Kat removed her hat and gloves once she realized the truck was warm. “Nice. Thanks. Where’s the house you’re looking at?”

“East River Road for two miles, then follow the signs.”

He shifted into reverse and maneuvered past several piles of dirty snow to get to the exit. According to his brother, they had a big blizzard on Christmas Eve that took them a couple of days to dig out from. Since then they’d had a couple of smaller storms but more cold temperatures than snow to clean things up.

“Is this the fastest way to the highway?” he asked, trying to picture his still fuzzy mental map. Ryker and Mia had driven him around when he first got here, but Flynn was a hands-on learner. He needed to experience something to be able to recall it clearly.

Like divorce. Now that he knew what that looked like he didn’t plan to ever go near it again. Being married wasn’t bad, but being married to the wrong person was the worst kind of torment. Every day, he’d asked himself why he’d thought he loved her in the first place. The self-doubt nearly drove him crazy.

“Actually, I have a quicker route. Turn right at the next intersection and take the second left—”

“Or…we trade places.” He looked over his shoulder. “Is she always like this?”

“Yes. She micromanages. My dad always let her drive.”

“I beg your pardon,” Kat said, huffily. “Micromanage? Me? He asked. I know a shorter route. If you don’t like the answer…”

Flynn hopped out of the car, grinning as they passed each other by the front grill. He liked the answer. He liked her.

He didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad, but he knew better than to act on it. The last thing his department needed was another scandal.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled to a stop beside a late model sedan not unlike the Lexus that had been involved in the altercation that morning. “How’s Molly doing?” Flynn asked. “So much has happened today I forgot to ask.”

She turned off the ignition and handed him the key. “As far as I know, okay. They put in an IV to deliver the antibiotics. Getting Alzheimer patients to take meds can be challenging if they’re convinced you’re trying to hurt them.” She turned to look at her son. “Coming in?”

“After I finish this level.”

She didn’t comment but got out.

“Do you want to leave the engine running so he doesn’t get cold?” Flynn asked.

She shook her head. “I’m all about cause and effect. If Brady can’t bring himself to be social, then he will get cold.”

She took a few steps and looked around. “This is nice. How many acres?”

“Fifteen. Go ahead and say what you’re thinking. A single man in a single family home—a self-indulgent folly, right?”

“I was thinking fifteen acres is just enough to get in trouble,” she corrected. “My stepdad was a realtor in San Antonio after he got out of the Air Force.”

“What kind of trouble?” he asked, looking at the large metal building off to one side. He pulled up the description his realtor had sent of the property on his phone. “Fifteen acres, twelve are in irrigated pasture.”

“Pasture. Horses or cows. The kind of work you have to do when you get off work.”

“Good point.”

They started toward the house, which was a single-story, stick-built ranch with a front bay and attached garage. The realtor he’d been working with opened the front door and waved them in. “The renters moved out last week. They were supposed to leave the heat set at sixty-five, but they didn’t. We’re lucky the pipes didn’t freeze.”

Three medium-size bedrooms. Two uninspiring bathrooms. The kitchen needed a complete redo. Kat made a stab at finding the home’s best features, but Flynn knew it wasn’t the right place for him. He decided to be frank. “It’s an okay house and the land is nice, but it’s not what I’m looking for. I’m in Marietta to stay. I want a place that invites me to put down roots. This doesn’t do it for me.”

The realtor admitted she’d known this was a long shot. “I have another place in mind. It’s not on the market yet, but from what I heard this morning, it won’t be long. It’s on an oversize lot in an established neighborhood with a two-bedroom guest house on the property.”

Kat touched the woman’s arm. “You’re not talking about Molly O’Neal’s house, are you?”

“Yes. Do you know her? My friend said she was in an accident this morning and her family’s decided it’s time to put her in a home. They live back east, I think. I’ve got a call into them.”

Kat turned abruptly and walked to the truck. She got into the passenger side and shut the door firmly. Very firmly.

The realtor gave Flynn a look of concern. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Kat and I responded to the call about Molly. She’s a feisty lady. The kind you hate to see have to go into a facility.”

The woman locked the door behind them and returned the key to the coded box hanging from the handle. “It’s a shame, but time marches on, as they say. At least, she won’t get run over on Main Street, right?”

His rational mind agreed, but the part that watched Kat interact with Molly so poignantly this morning fought the bitter taste of that harsh reality. It left a residue he hoped beer and pizza would erase.

Two hours later, he surveyed the mess they’d made in Tucker’s high-end hotel room with a sense of satisfaction. Mission accomplished. Tucker wasn’t complaining about the pain in his ankle any more. And Brady seemed at ease and engaged in the board game they were playing.

Flynn honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so much. His cheeks ached from the constant grin on his face. He could tell Kat had kicked a few of her worries to the curb, as well.

An hour ago, the front desk delivered Clue, the board game. With Kat’s kid-friendly instructions, the four of them managed to stumble through the basics to arrive at the make or break point.

Tucker cleared his throat with theatrical overkill.

“I know who dunnit.”