No Ordinary Hero Page 7

  Just before she reached the front door, she heard him call her name. Part of her wanted to just keep walking. She had seldom in her life felt so offended. But another part of her insisted she hear him out. He had, after all, been kind and helpful. He was still the man who had invited her into his home and spread a blanket over her as she slept.

  Slowly, reluctantly, she turned to face him. He stood on the far side of the living room, his hands knotting and unknotting as if he didn’t know quite what to do with them.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Sometimes I overreact.”

  “Maybe you have reason,” she acknowledged. “I don’t know. How would I? But I can tell you this—I’ve felt your reluctance since I found you talking with Colleen the other day. I don’t know why you keep offering to help if it’s not what you want to do. But I know one thing for certain—I don’t want grudging help from anyone.”

  With that, she turned, grabbed her purse and marched out into the storm.

  She hardly noticed the raging elements, even though it was unusual to have a storm go on for so long. The air was so full of electricity that she could almost feel it, and the raindrops were huge, striking her like a pelting of pebbles.

  She didn’t care. Whatever Mike’s problems were, she wasn’t going to let him treat her that way, accusing her of a bigotry she didn’t feel even in the remotest parts of her brain or heart. Tarring her because his reluctance and hesitation kept making her wonder if his offers of assistance were genuine or forced.

  She had quite enough trouble in her life, though she seldom allowed her to think of things that way. But Colleen required her all, and making a life for them, one that would guarantee that at some future time Colleen would have the care she needed, would be able to go to college and live as a reasonably independent adult, took every bit of energy she had.

  She certainly didn’t have much left over to tiptoe through Mike Windwalker’s personal booby traps.

  But then she reached the door of her house. And as she stood there, sheltered by the porch roof from the storm, she felt her shoulders sag a little. Maybe she should just dump this house for whatever she could get out of it. Maybe she shouldn’t try to rescue it. After all, it scared Colleen and had even managed to scare her.

  And what was this stuff about the house being sad? Mike had said that twice. What the hell did he mean?

  All she knew was that where a few days ago she had loved the place, had seen it full of possibilities, now she felt an urge to just get rid of it, ditch it and move on.

  And that was so unlike her as to be unnerving in itself.

  She gave herself a shake and pawed through her purse for her keys. Damn it, where were they? The thought that she might have left them at Mike’s made her want to beat her head on the closed door in front of her.

  Good God, what was going on with her? She never reacted this way to minor frustrations. Never.

  “Here.”

  She jumped and found Mike beside her, holding out her keys. So she had left them there. She snatched them. “Thanks.” She jammed the key in the lock, twisting it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Probably,” she agreed shortly. She twisted the key again, wondering why the bolt wasn’t moving. “Damn it!”

  A strong, warm hand reached out, covering hers. She yanked her hand back and Mike turned the key. This time the bolt clicked.

  He threw the door open and she hurried inside, hoping he’d just go home, at least until she sorted through the internal storm that had come out of nowhere. Even as she was going off like a rocket, she wondered why. This was so unlike her.

  She was stable. She had to be stable. How else had she gotten through losing Don, seeing Colleen paralyzed, all the work and stress and worry…?

  She put her hand to her mouth, as if it would hold this mess of feelings inside, and tried to tell herself she hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night, she’d been scared by a noise, silly or not, then insulted. Of course something had snapped.

  And of course, it hardly helped that she was doubting her own sanity this past week because of the way she kept losing track of things.

  But then strong arms closed around her and drew her comfortingly against a hard chest, and a hand rubbed her shoulder as a voice murmured, “I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry. Don’t cry.”

  Lord, she couldn’t be crying. She never cried.

  But she also hadn’t realized just how damn tired she’d grown of being strong, independent, cheerful and so very, very alone.

  She resisted the comfort he offered, but only for a few seconds. God help her, she needed to be held, even if only for a few minutes. She needed another pair of shoulders besides her own. Just for a few minutes. Just for a teeny slice of time.

  Just for now.

  She let herself weaken, let herself lean on his physical strength, gave in to the amazing feeling of arms around her, holding her. But the tears dried quickly, and in their wake came shame at her own weakness. She was stronger than this. She’d been proving it for a few years now. Surely she couldn’t break over nothing. Because really, it was nothing. Nothing at all compared with what she’d been through.

  She sniffled and pulled away, hating the loss of his embrace almost as much as she hated her moments of weakness. “Sorry,” she said, turning away as she scrubbed her eyes. “I don’t usually do this.”

  “Somehow I suspect you never do this.”

  She was afraid to look at him, afraid that if she did she’d fly right back toward the illusion of comfort his arms gave her. Because it was only an illusion. Mike Windwalker had barely set foot in her life, and everything about him suggested he was unlikely to remain.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t.”

  Silence. She drew a deep breath, grasping for her inner strength. She looked around the foyer, trying to remind herself of all she needed to do, all she wanted to do to this house, and that she really didn’t hate it, and everything would be fine because it had to be.

  But her usual mantras failed her.

  “I’m just tired,” she said, as much to herself as him.

  “It was a disturbed night,” he agreed.

  And finally she felt able to face him. He stood just inside the open doorway, as if waiting for an invitation to enter.

  “Why don’t you come in,” she said, her voice sounding a bit thick, “and then maybe you can explain what we were fighting about?”

  “Not exactly a fight.” But he stepped inside and closed the door.

  And at once she noticed the way the storm-created darkness seemed to close in. She didn’t like it.

  “Let’s go to the kitchen,” she suggested. “At least there’s plenty of light in there.”

  He followed her and sat facing her at the table. She put her purse down beside her and pulled out her cell phone, setting it where she could reach it if Colleen called. If she knew anything about her and Mary Jo, though, the girls had probably spent most of the night giggling and watching movies, and they probably wouldn’t even stir before noon.

  With the overhead fluorescent fixtures on, the room was bright, although not yet cheerful. But at least the light held the shadows at bay.

  Automatically she glanced around to make sure nothing had been disturbed. It bothered her at some level that she felt the need to do that. But right now there seemed to be more important things to contend with.

  “What happened,” he said, “was that I was reacting to a lifetime of experience. Perhaps unfairly.”

  “Definitely unfairly,” she told him. “I already said I wasn’t a bigot, yesterday.”

  “Saying it and feeling it can be two different things.”

  She studied his face, feeling truly curious about this man. But she didn’t know how to ask, wasn’t sure questions would be welcome. “I guess you would know about that better than I would.”

  A mirthless smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I would. In these parts anyway.”

  “I’ve h
eard the comments all my life,” she admitted. “I was raised to consider them wrong. We’re all human beings.”

  He nodded. “So when you seemed reluctant to let Colleen and your aunt stay at my place today, I interpreted it through a lifelong lens.”

  She nodded. “Okay. But I wasn’t objecting. My problem is the way you seem so reluctant and hesitant even when you’re being helpful. I feel like you don’t want to be.”

  “Part of me doesn’t.”

  “Then why offer?”

  “Sometimes my better angels take control.” He sighed, giving a little shake of his head. “I don’t know if I can get you to understand. But I’ve been reluctant because of the possibility of people talking about you and Colleen. I’m used to what they say about me. I just don’t want the two of you to get any of that crap.”

  “I’m tempted to say that this whole discussion sounds like something that belongs in the Dark Ages, but I guess for you it’s much more recent than that.”

  “Very much so. Most people don’t say it to my face anymore. At least not around here, although the closer you get to a reservation, the more likely you are to have the stuff right in your face. But it’s here, too.”

  “I know. I probably just don’t hear most of it because on a few occasions I’ve told people to stop it.”

  He nodded. “Thanks. But it’s still there. And I’m hesitant because it could bounce back on you and Colleen if you hang around with me too much.”

  “Well, too bad. If people want to treat us differently because we like you and spend time with you, then I don’t want to know them.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  She heard the tinge of bitterness in his tone, and she longed to ask what had happened. But she hardly knew this man. How could she tread into what was clearly a serious sore spot? Finally she asked the question in a way he could misinterpret if he chose. “Mike?”

  He sighed and put a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger. It was almost a gesture of denial. But at last he dropped his hand. “You remember the vet I told you about? The one who mentored me?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, he had a daughter.”

  And suddenly she could see it coming. Her stomach seemed to flip over. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “Maybe I do. Young love is foolish. I should have known better when she started flirting with me. I’d heard most of the insults by then, and I’d learned I wasn’t welcome in a lot of places. I’d even been in a few fights with others my age who objected to me wandering off the rez. But maybe, in a way, I’d been sheltered, too, because I lived on the rez and went to school on the rez. God knows what I was thinking. Anyway, she finally asked me to take her to a movie. I was already getting teenaged crazy about her, if you know what I mean.”

  She nodded. “I remember that age well.”

  “I warned her people would talk. She said she didn’t care. And maybe she thought she wouldn’t.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I don’t know how to explain it all. We were both eighteen, young, subject to peer pressure, I guess. We went out a couple of times, and her dad didn’t seem to mind, although in retrospect I wonder if he didn’t just keep silent because he figured she’d come to her senses pretty quick.”

  “That’s awful!”

  “I don’t know what he thought. Or why he didn’t tell her to stay away from me until later. Anyway, one night we were coming out of the movies and a group of guys attacked me. They made it pretty clear what they thought of me dating a white girl. I tried to fight back. I’m a fairly good scrapper, but there were more of them than me. And when they finally got me down on the ground, she joined them in kicking me and calling me names.”

  “Oh, my God!” Del’s stomach cramped. “Oh, Mike!”

  He shook his head. “It’s done. But after that I don’t find it easy to trust what people say about not caring what others think. And after that I wasn’t welcomed at the vet’s either. He told Livvie to stay clear of me. As if I wanted any more to do with her after that. As for her kicking me, too…well, maybe she was scared. I don’t know. I never asked.”

  “And maybe the vet was protecting both of you by insisting she stay away.”

  “Maybe. I’ll never know. But anyway, the point is…” He stopped.

  “The point is you’ve got plenty of reasons to hesitate and be suspicious.” She looked down at her hands. They were toughened hands, not exactly feminine with all the nicks, calluses and very short nails. But they were hands she was proud of and had no desire to conceal. She’d earned them. And as she looked at them she knew something else about herself all the way to the core. She lifted her eyes to Mike.

  “I meant what I said,” she told him. “This whole damn county can shun me, but I’m not going to shun you. And I’m old enough to be sure that I mean what I say.”

  His expression lightened, although it didn’t fully become a smile. He didn’t answer directly though. “When are we going to start tearing out walls?”

  She almost put her head in her hand. “You know…”

  “Yes?”

  “That was an easy thing to threaten last night. This morning it’s more complicated.”

  “How so?”

  “Judging by the fact that noises seem to be in Colleen’s room, I’d need to rip out the walls in there. Which means making a safe place somewhere else for her in the meantime.”

  “Ah. Okay, so we start by moving her. The dining room?”

  It was a lot farther from the single downstairs bathroom, but it was also the only other room on the lower floor that she hadn’t started tearing the walls out of. And it had the advantage of being on the other side of the house from where the noises were.

  “That’ll have to be it. I don’t have any other options.”

  “So let’s get to it.”

  Moving Colleen’s belongings into the dining room proved to be the easy part of the job, and Mike’s help was more than welcome. Not only was he strong, but he had a good eye. Before she had to tell him, he had already figured out exactly where to hang the bar over Colleen’s bed so that she could maneuver in and out. In an hour, they had everything moved.

  Del called a halt at the posters, though. They removed them from the bedroom, but she didn’t want to rehang them. “I’ll let Colleen tell me where she wants them now.”

  Mike nodded and laid them carefully on the bed.

  They took a coffee break while Del called Beth to find out how the girls were doing. “Out like lights,” Beth responded cheerfully. “Relax, Del. I’ll let you know when she’s ready to come home.”

  A call to her aunt ensured that Sally was able to come over at any time to keep an eye on Colleen.

  Then she gave Mike a mask and goggles, and they went into Colleen’s now-empty bedroom. First she sealed off the bathroom with plastic sheeting, then they picked up hammers and began to knock plaster loose. Before long, even with windows open and fans blowing, the plaster dust built into a nearly blinding cloud. Outside the storm continued to dump rain, which seemed only to hinder the escape of the dust.

  Except every now and then a contrary gust would blow by, the dust would seem to freeze midair for an instant and then would change direction, being sucked out by the wind.

  With two people it didn’t take all that long. Finally they were able to stop, exhausted, and look at the heaps of cracked plaster on the floor. Only a few small pieces still clung to the lath.

  Mike looked at her from behind his goggles as dust slowly settled. “That lath is so pretty I’d be tempted to sand it, varnish it and leave it.”

  “I’ve thought about it a time or two,” Del admitted. “Those old-timers sure had a passion for covering up wood.” Reaching out with a gloved hand, she tested some of it and found it sturdy. “The only problem is, I’m now looking at a wood wall instead of a plaster one. Admittedly it has more chinks, but still, I can’t see through it.” And wires were now exposed.


  She crouched to look at them. “Well, it’s what I expected. This whole house was apparently wired at the same time.”

  “Not up to code?”

  “Far from it. I wondered when I bought it. In most of these old houses the wiring is outside the walls, but not this one.”

  “Money,” he said, referring to his earlier remark about the house. “You know, it would be really interesting to look into the history of this place.”

  “Yeah, it would.” She worked her fingers into the chink between two strips of horizontal lath and pulled plaster out. The spaces were essential so that the plaster would seep through and hold in place until it dried. The seepage she now pulled at was called a key. At the very least sixty or seventy years old, it crumbled.

  She straightened, blowing a long breath. “Okay. Since it’s raining so hard, I guess we leave the plaster on the floor. In the meantime I need to remove some of the lath so I can see what’s going on back there.”

  Mike, too, touched the wall. “This seems like awfully high-quality wood to use as a backing for plaster.”

  “Yeah. Who knows? Maybe it was all they could get in a timely fashion. Or maybe someone had money to burn. Obviously, it wasn’t built to be a bare wall, or it wouldn’t have so much space between the laths.”

  He pulled down his mask, revealing a nose and mouth that were unsullied by the pale dust, and grinned. “I didn’t realize tearing apart a house could feel like a treasure hunt.”

  She laughed. The hard work had eased the last of the tension from her mind and body. “It can be interesting.”

  Then he looked down at the oak floor. “Tell me you don’t have to rip this up.” He tapped it with his foot.

  “No, you can see the floor joists directly under it from the basement. The ceiling will have to go, though, if we don’t find the problem.”

  He looked up. “Well, it doesn’t look as nice as the walls did. Has it been papered over?”

  “At least a couple of times. Something else I’ll never understand.” She reached up, pointing to a seam. “Whoever did the job didn’t match the seams. You can see them everywhere in the house. Lengths of paper overlay others. And then somebody painted on top of that.”