02_The Hero Next Door (5 page)

“Thanks.”

Marching toward the back porch, she mounted the steps and called through the open door. “Edith?”

“In the dining room, dear. Come right in. And help yourself to a muffin.”

Heather pulled open the screen door, ignored the fresh-baked treat on the counter in the homey kitchen—an appeasement offering…or Edith’s standard prelude to a good gab session? Heather wondered—and strode into the dining room.

Her neighbor sent her a rueful grimace from her seat at the table. “I don’t know how I got roped into assembling the buzz book for the Women’s Club at church.” She gestured to the stacks of paper in front of her. Selecting a sheet from each pile, she tapped them into a stack and positioned the long-armed stapler. “You didn’t take a muffin.”

Folding her arms across her chest, Heather sent Edith a pointed look. “I already had an almond macaroon from Bartlett’s Farm.”

Heather caught the flash of smug satisfaction on Edith’s face.

“Did you go there today?”

Planting both palms flat on the table, Heather leaned closer. “Don’t play innocent with me, Edith Shaw. J.C. told me you sent him to Ladies Beach.”

With a determined push on the stapler, Edith linked together the individual pages she’d assembled. “What can I say? The poor man asked me to recommend a quiet beach to do some reading. Can you think of a better spot?”

“You know that’s my special place on Mondays.” Heather straightened up and propped her hands on her hips. “I love you dearly, Edith. But back off on this. I’m not in the market.”

“Too bad.” Edith tapped the next set of pages into an even line. “You couldn’t do any better in the looks department. And Burke has high regard for him. Said he had to overcome a lot to get where he is on the Chicago force.”

Despite herself, Heather’s interest was piqued. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Burke didn’t offer anything else. You could always ask J.C. himself if you’re interested. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to the man once in a while, you being neighbors and all.”

Engaging J.C. in conversation was the last thing Heather intended to do. Every encounter with him left her on edge—and yearning for things she’d told herself she didn’t need.

“We’re both too busy for idle chatter. Besides, our paths don’t cross very often.”

“That could be remedied.”

Heather sighed. “Look, could you just try to restrain yourself with the matchmaking? I don’t have the time or the interest. And I’m sure it will annoy J.C., too.”

“Did he seem annoyed when you showed up?”

Far from it, Heather thought. But she didn’t share that with Edith. “I have scones to bake. I’ll talk to you later.”

Heading to The Devon Rose, Heather resolved to forget about the Chicago cop who’d taken up residence next door.

Unfortunately, he’d taken up residence in her mind as well,
she realized. Every time she stepped into the foyer or passed table four, an image of him flashed through her mind. Thoughts of him even invaded her kitchen. Distracted, she found herself adding baking soda instead of baking powder to the scone recipe she’d made thousands of times.

Angry at her mistake—and at herself—Heather dumped the ruined batch of dough in the trash. If she was the praying type, she’d be calling on the Lord about now, asking Him to give her something else to think about. Anything but the cop with the dark, appealing eyes and the potent magnetism.

But maybe—if she was lucky—He’d hear her silent plea anyway.

T
hree days later, as Heather reached across the precision-trimmed row of miniature boxwoods for one of the weeds that had dared to invade her manicured garden, her cell phone began to ring.

Snagging the offending sprout from among the hot-pink begonias, she deposited it in a bucket by her side, sat back on her heels and stripped off her gardening gloves before retrieving the phone from the brick path beside her.

“The Devon Rose.”

“Hi, Heather. Do you have a minute?”

At the underlying thread of tension in her sister’s question, Heather’s grip on the phone tightened. “Sure. Is everything okay?”

“No.” Susan’s voice wavered. “Brian’s in trouble again.”

Since her sister had separated from her philandering husband several months ago, Heather knew thirteen-year-old Brian had been getting into minor scrapes. This one sounded major.

“What happened?”

“He and some of the kids he’s been hanging around with spray painted a vulgar message on a garage door. A neighbor spotted them and called the police.”

“Did the owners press charges?”

“Not after the parents chipped in to pay for the damage. But now I’m really worried about leaving Brian at home alone all summer. When I decided to get a job after Peter and I split, I felt comfortable about him being on his own. He’s always been a responsible, levelheaded kid. But last week, I found a squashed beer can by the picnic table in back. Brian says he didn’t drink anything, but his buddies obviously did. I just don’t trust him at this point.”

“What does Peter think?”

“To quote him, ‘Boys will be boys.’”

“Why am I not surprised?” Disgust laced Heather’s reply. She’d never thought much of Susan’s husband. Even less after he began cheating on his wife.

“Here’s the thing, Heather. I need to get him away from his so-called friends before he finds himself in real trouble. I know this is a huge imposition, but…could I send him to Nantucket for three weeks? I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.”

The shakiness in her sister’s voice told Heather that Susan wasn’t exaggerating her worry. But the notion of taking in a nephew she hadn’t seen since her mother’s funeral two years ago—one with delinquent tendencies, no less—freaked her out.

“Why don’t you just ask his grandfather to keep an eye on him while you’re at work?”

Heather wasn’t surprised when her suggestion was greeted with shocked silence. If she hadn’t been desperate herself to find an alternate solution to Susan’s dilemma, she would never have mentioned their father. Talking about him had been off-limits ever since the divorce that had ripped her family apart two decades ago. Heather had never understood why Susan had kept in touch with the man who had destroyed their family, and Susan had never understood how Heather could shut out the father she’d once idolized. To protect their own relationship, they’d agreed to table any discussion about him.

“You mentioned Dad.” Susan sounded stunned.

“Sorry about that.” Heather took a long, slow breath, hoping the quiet of her garden would soothe her as it usually did. But today the perfect little world of tranquility and beauty she’d created didn’t have its typical calming effect. Instead, she had a feeling that her predictable, orderly life was about to change. “It’s just that I don’t have a clue how to deal with a thirteen-year-old boy.”

“You can’t do any worse than I have.” Her sister sniffled. “And I did think about asking Dad to teen-sit this summer, but he hasn’t been feeling well lately.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what was wrong with him, but Heather bit back the question. She didn’t want to discuss their father. He’d been out of her life for twenty years. Why should she care if he had health problems?

Reaching out, Heather plucked a tiny, insidious weed from from among the begonias. She liked nurturing the plants in her garden. Liked watching them flourish and grow under her care. And she’d learned a lot through the years. Including the fact that sometimes a plant needed to be moved to a different location in order to thrive.

She had a feeling the same might be true for Brian.

“Heather?”

Closing her eyes, Heather made the only choice her conscience would allow. “Okay, Susan. I’ll give it a shot.”

Her sister’s effusive gratitude was heartwarming, but as Susan ended the call with a promise to get back in touch as soon as she had all the travel details hammered out, panic began to gnaw at the edges of Heather’s composure. She was getting in over her head, and she knew it. But how could she turn down her sister, who was doing her best to adjust to a separation, settle into a new job and deal with a troubled teen?

At the same time, how in the world was she going to cope
with a rebellious thirteen-year-old boy, who would no doubt be making this trip against his will?

As Heather gathered up her gardening tools, she caught a glimpse of the roof of the guest cottage in Edith’s backyard. And was suddenly reminded of the silent prayer she’d offered three days ago, asking God to give her something to think about besides the handsome cop.

She’d made a few other such prayers over the years. None had ever been answered, leaving her to conclude that the Almighty wasn’t on her wavelength.

Too bad He’d chosen now to tune her in, she thought with a sigh.

Forty-eight hours later, seated at a table in the noisy high-school gym, Heather was still having serious misgivings about agreeing to take her nephew. And after tossing and turning for the past two nights, she was in no mood to spend the next few hours answering stupid trivia questions, even if it was a fund-raiser for a student who needed a bone marrow transplant.

On the bright side, though, maybe the game would distract her.

Grabbing a handful of popcorn from the tub in the center of the table, she popped several kernels in her mouth, did a quick survey of the gym—and almost choked when she saw a familiar jeans-clad figure standing in the doorway.

What on earth was J.C. doing here?

Coughing, she reached for a glass of water.

“Are you all right?” Red-haired Kate MacDonald, sitting beside her, touched her shoulder in concern.

Instead of answering, Heather took another swallow of water, gulped in some air and glared at Edith across the table. The men had gone to get some soft drinks and more substantial snacks, leaving Kate, Edith, Julie and Heather spaced around the table for eight.

“Edith…” Somehow Heather managed to choke out the accusatory word.

The woman gave her a blank look. “What?”

Heather tipped her head toward the door, and all three women turned.

“My goodness!” Delight suffused Edith’s face, and she started to rise.

“Edith!” This time Heather said her name with more force. After one look at her, the older woman sat back down. “What’s going on? This event has been sold out for weeks.”

“I have no idea.”

Julie squirmed in her chair, and Heather transferred her attention to the dark-haired woman. “Julie? What do you know about this?”

A flush tinted her assistant’s cheeks bright pink. “Rose in Dispatch canceled yesterday. Todd invited J.C. to take her place.”

Shock rippled through Heather. “You mean he’s sitting
here?
At
this
table?”

“Yes.”

“We worked together all afternoon, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think you’d show up if you knew.”

“She wouldn’t have, either,” Edith chimed in.

“Do I detect a bit of matchmaking here?” Kate gave the trio an amused scan.

“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” Heather muttered, trying to come up with an escape plan.

Chuckling, Kate gave her arm an empathetic pat while casting an affectionate smile at Edith. “I’ve been there. But, hey, it worked for me.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Heather warned. “She already…”

“Hi, ladies. I think this is my table.”

At the mellow baritone voice behind Heather, three pairs of eyes switched focus, while she kept her gaze fixed on the tub of popcorn. She’d expected to spend the next few hours
sitting next to a middle-aged widow, not a handsome cop. The change in plans did not bode well for her peace of mind, which was already shaky.

“Well, sit right down and make yourself at home.” Edith gestured toward the chair beside Heather’s. “The men will be back in a minute. They went to the concession stand.”

Pulling out the chair, J.C. settled in. A faint whiff of rugged aftershave wafted her way, and Heather squeezed the napkin in her hand into a tight ball as her heart skipped a beat. This was weird. Even Mark had never had this kind of effect on her. And J.C. wasn’t even trying.

Now there was a scary thought!

“You know everyone here, don’t you, J.C.?” Edith asked, every inch the proper hostess.

“Yes. Julie served me my first tea, Kate gives me a great weather report whenever we meet, and Heather—” he directed one of those pulse-disrupting, half-hitch smiles her way “—taught me a few things about cats.”

“Cats?” Julie gave her employer a puzzled look. “I didn’t know you were into cats.”

“It’s a long story.” Heather was saved from further explanation by the return of the men.

Todd set a pitcher in front of J.C., and the dark-haired cop picked it up. “Would you like some soda, Heather?”

Grasping her plastic cup, she edged it toward the pitcher. “Thanks.”

Once her cup was full, J.C. reached past her to fill Craig’s, his sun-browned hand brushing hers. She jerked back as if she’d been burned, watching in horror as the soda in her cup sloshed out and headed toward her across the table.

Acting on instinct, she scooted her chair back—and collided with the man passing behind her, who was juggling a large tub of popcorn and a pitcher of lemonade. The popcorn rained down on her like a sudden summer shower.

Mortified, Heather closed her eyes, wishing she could melt into the floor like the wicked witch in
The Wizard of Oz.
How much worse could this night get?

A giggle erupted to her right. Kate. Another followed on the left. Julie. She identified the deeper chuckle across the table as Chester’s.

Forcing herself to open her eyes, she risked a peek at the man beside her. The suspicious twitch at the corners of his lips told her he was struggling to contain his own laughter, and heat radiated across her cheeks.

All she could do was try to make the best of an embarrassing situation, Heather decided, accepting that she’d never live this down. Pasting on a smile, she gave a vigorous shake of her head, sending kernels flying in all directions. “Popcorn, anyone?”

J.C. released the chuckle he’d been holding back and plucked a kernel from her hair. “Interesting serving method. But I don’t think it would go over at your teas.”

She liked the way the skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, Heather thought, giving him a good look for the first time. And at this proximity, she couldn’t help noticing the faint glint of gold in his dark irises. His strong, clean-shaven jaw also fascinated her. A faint shadow suggested he had a heavy beard. Would his skin feel smooth or textured against the tips of her fingers? she wondered.

Startled by a sudden urge to find the answer to that question, she shifted abruptly away from him, sifting through her hair with her fingers to remove the remaining popcorn. The subtle change in his eyes gave her the uncomfortable feeling he might have sensed her impulse—but that was impossible. The man might be a detective, but he wasn’t a mind reader.

When she discovered Edith watching her from across the table, however, Heather had a sinking feeling her neighbor
had
guessed her thoughts.

Meaning that while she’d unjustly accused Edith of setting
her up tonight, there was a very good possibility the Lighthouse Lane matchmaker would be hard at work again in the not-too-distant future.

“David Niven, Cary Grant and Loretta Young.”

Every head at the table swiveled toward him as J.C. responded to the emcee’s question in the old movies category.

“How do you know that?” Heather gave him a skeptical look.

“I like vintage films.”

“I’ve never heard of
The Bishop’s Wife.
”

“It’s a classic Christmas movie. You should rent it sometime.”

“Unless one of you knows more than J.C. on this one, I’m going with his answer,” Edith declared, surveying the table. When no one responded, she jotted down the names of the three stars.

As J.C. reached out to pick up his cup of soda, Heather shifted slightly away from him. She’d been doing that all night, every time he got a little too close, sending a clear message.

Keep your distance.

It wasn’t because she found him unappealing, J.C. had concluded. Her hazel eyes told him she felt the electricity between them as much as he did. She just didn’t want any part of it. The question was why? While his temporary stay on the island might account for some of her caution, he sensed her skittishness had a far deeper source.

And the detective in him wanted to solve that mystery.

As did the man.

That was one of the reasons he’d agreed to attend tonight. If Todd hadn’t told him Heather would be at the table, he’d have opted for a good book or a video in the quiet of his cottage. But he hadn’t been able to pass up the opportunity to share his evening with the lovely tearoom owner. Even if she was currently giving him the cold shoulder.

“You should know that one, Heather.”

At Julie’s comment, Heather gave the woman a blank look. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “I missed the question.”

“What’s the official name of the park where the Arch in St. Louis is located?” Kate repeated.

“The Jefferson National Expansion Memorial.”

“Woo-hoo! We are going to win this sucker!” Edith chortled, jotting down the final answer of the night.

“How come Julie said you’d know that?” J.C. directed his question to Heather as the game sheets were collected and the tabulations began.