An Accidental Hero

Everything, from his smile to his tone to the sparkle in his eyes told her Reid was interested in her. If they’d met him at another time, under different circumstances…

But even if Cammi trusted her judgment—and considering the gravity and multitude of her mistakes, she most definitely did not—what man in his right mind would consciously get involved with a pregnant widow?

“So, what happened?” Reid asked.

“Happened?”

“To your acting career.”

Thankfully, he hadn’t asked about the rest of her life.

While she’d inherited her mother’s dark eyes and hair, the acting-talent gene hadn’t been passed down. Cammi had given it her all out there in L.A., but she’d had less luck pleasing directors than she’d had pleasing her dad. “Guess I just wasn’t cut out for Hollywood,” she said.

It was true, after all, in more ways than one. And when this pleasant little meal and friendly conversation ended, she’d have to go home and admit that fact—and a few more—to her father and sisters.

Home.

She glanced at her watch. “I’d better see about getting a taxi. My dad was expecting me over an hour ago. Don’t want to worry him.”

“I’d drive you, but…” He extended his hands in helpless supplication.

Cammi took no offense at the reference to his destroyed pickup because there hadn’t been a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “You oughta smile more often.” One brow lifted in response to her compliment, making him look even more handsome. Cammi felt the heat of a blush color her cheeks. “I like your smile, is all,” she said, and started digging in her purse.

Reid leaned forward. “What’re you looking for?”

The rummaging had been a good excuse to avert her gaze. “Change, for the pay phone.” A half-truth was better than an outright lie, right? “My cell phone’s dead.” Cammi glanced toward the booth on the far wall and made a move to get up, but Reid held up a hand to stop her.

“Here,” he said, passing her his cell phone. “I never use up all the minutes on my plan, anyway.”

He sent her a lopsided grin that made her heart beat double time. She had no business reacting to this man. For one thing, he might well be partly responsible for her mother’s death. For another, she was newly widowed…and with child.

“While you’re at it, ask the dispatcher to send two cabs.”

She flipped the phone open. “You wouldn’t happen to have the number of the taxi company programmed into this thing, would you?”

“Never had any use for cabs, myself.” On his feet, he added, “But I can duck into the phone booth over there and look one up.” He grabbed the cell phone. “Might as well call ’em myself, long as I’m in there, anyway.”

She watched him walk away. Reid was different from just about every man she’d met in California. Oh, he was good-looking enough to join the parade of those pounding the pavement in search of leading man roles—more than attractive enough to land a few, too. Which is why it seemed so strange that everything about him, from the leather of his cowboy boots to the top of his dark-haired head screamed “genuine.”

Careful, Cammi, she warned. The man doesn’t need any more trouble in his life.

And neither did she, for that matter.

Chapter Two

If he’d had the sense God gave a goose, Reid would have ordered Georgia’s pie for dessert, or another cup of strong, diner coffee. He would have pretended that a ravenous appetite required yet another burger. Something, anything to keep Cammi with him a little while longer. But once he’d called for the taxis, there was no stopping time, and Reid had to satisfy himself with hanging around as they waited for their drivers. For several minutes after hers drove off, he found himself staring as the taillights turned into glowing red pinpricks before disappearing into the rainy black night.

“Where’s your truck?” Billy asked half an hour later, nodding toward the taxi that had delivered Reid to the Rockin’ C Ranch.

He flung his jacket onto the hall tree. “Had a crack-up in town.”

His friend’s face crinkled with concern. “You okay?” he asked, one hand on Reid’s shoulder.

“Yeah.” Physically, he was fine. But something had happened to his head, to his heart, sitting with Cammi at Georgia’s. She looked awfully familiar, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember where, or if, they’d ever met. Something he’d have to think about long and hard before he saw her again.

“Whose fault was it?”

Reid heard the caution in Billy’s question; his friend didn’t want to wake any sleeping ghosts, and Reid appreciated that. “Hers.”

Nodding, Billy headed down the hall toward the kitchen. “Put on a pot of decaf couple minutes ago. Martina made apple pie for dessert tonight. Join me?”

Though he’d wolfed down his burger and fries before downing two cups of coffee at Georgia’s Diner, Reid said, “Hard to say no to anything Martina whips up.”

While Billy sliced pie, Reid filled a mug for each of them. “Li’l gal ran a red light,” he explained, grabbing two forks from the silverware drawer, “and I broadsided her.”

Wincing, Billy whistled. He didn’t say more. Didn’t have to. He’d been there that night, too.

“Really, son, you okay?”

Reid nodded. “Yeah.” Okay as the likes of him deserved to be, anyway.

“Just remember, this one wasn’t your fault, either.”

Billy had talked “fault” after meeting then fourteen-year-old Reid at the E.R. “I talked to the cops,” he’d said on the drive back to the Rockin’ C, “and they told me three eyewitnesses stated for the record that Rose London ran the red light.” Then he’d reached across the front seat and grabbed Reid’s sleeve. “Quit fiddlin’ with the bandage, son, or you’ll wear a scar on your forehead the rest of your days.”

Reid half smiled at the memory, because ironically, the scar he wore now, in almost exactly the same spot, had been inflicted by a raging Brahma bull, not a car accident.

“Stop lookin’ so glum,” Billy was saying. “Just remember, the accident wasn’t your fault.”

He’d said pretty much the same thing all those years ago: “You’re not to blame for what happened to the London woman.”

True enough—Mrs. Lamont London had run a red light, same as Cammi Carlisle, and he’d plowed into the side of her car, too. However, assigning fault did nothing to ease Reid’s guilt. Not then, not now. And Billy had bigger problems to worry about than traffic accidents, present or past, since his doctor’s prognosis.

“Georgia says ‘hey,”’ Reid said, changing the subject. “Said she misses seeing you and Martina.”

The fork hung loose in Billy’s big hand. Absent-mindedly, he shoved an apple slice around on his plate. “Gettin’ harder and harder to drag my weary bones into town,” he said on a heavy sigh. “Gettin’ hard to drag ’em anywhere.”

Reid knew Billy had never been one to wallow in self-pity, so it didn’t surprise him when his longtime friend sat up straighter, as if regretting the admission, and cleared his throat.

“That list I gave you this morning was longer’n my forearm,” Billy said. “When did you have time to stop at Georgia’s?”

So much for changing the subject, Reid thought. “Accident happened in front of her diner.” Cammi’s pretty, smiling face flashed in Reid’s mind. “We, uh, the other driver and I got all the particulars out of the way over burgers and fries.”

Billy chuckled. “Ain’t that just like you, to buy the kid a meal after she cracks up your only means of transportation.”

Kid? He nearly laughed out loud, because Cammi Carlisle was more woman than any he’d seen since returning to Amarillo. More woman, in fact, than the dozens who routinely followed him around the rodeo circuit. Right now, she was the one sunny spot in his otherwise gloomy life. He was about to admit she’d insisted on paying for the food when Billy spoke.

“Amanda called.” Using his chin as a pointer, he added, “I wrote her number over there, on the pad beside the phone.”

Reid groaned inwardly at being forced to recall his last day with the tall willowy blonde who, despite his arm’s-length interest in her, seemed determined to change his mind about “the two of them.”

He thought of the afternoon, more than six months ago, when the surgeon gave Reid permission to leave the Albuquerque hospital. Amanda had been there…again. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, so he blamed his sour mood on the months of physical therapy that lay ahead of him. “Isn’t fair to string you along while I recuperate,” he’d said. “I need time, to make some hard choices about the future.”

He realized now that his evasiveness had given her hope that, at the end of his “alone time,” she’d be part of that future.

Reid strode across the room, saw from the area code that Amanda had been near Amarillo when she’d called. Shaking his head, he groaned again, this time aloud. First thing in the morning, he’d call her, invite her to breakfast, and set things straight.

“Well,” Billy interrupted, getting to his feet with obvious difficulty. “Guess I’ll drag my ol’ bones up to bed.” He started clearing the table.

“I’ll take care of these.”

Chuckling, Billy winked. “I was hopin’ you’d say that.” He limped toward the door, stopping in the hallway. “Don’t be up all night, now, frettin’ about that accident, y’hear? I know it roused some ugly memories, but thinkin’ it to death won’t change anything.”

True enough. Still… “I’ll turn in soon.”

The look on Billy’s face said he knew a fib when he heard one. “Don’t forget, the new ranch hands start at first light.”

Reid only nodded.

“G’night, son.”

Billy had been the closest thing to a father Reid would ever know. Watching him suffer, watching him die, as he was now doing, was about the hardest thing Reid had ever done in his life. A tight knot of regret formed in Reid’s throat, all but choking off his gruff “’Night.”

He listened as Billy shuffled slowly up the steps. If he could trade his own robust health to get Billy’s back, he’d do it in a heartbeat, because what did he have to live for, to look forward to? Sadly, life wasn’t like that. Reid would have to be satisfied with doing everything humanly possible to make Billy as comfortable as possible during the time he had left.

Standing woodenly, Reid gathered up the dishes and added them to the already full dishwasher. The fact that Martina hadn’t turned it on told him that she’d known her husband and “adopted” son would share a late-night snack. The thought made him smile a bit, despite the dark thoughts pricking at his memory.

The drone of the dishwasher’s motor harmonized with the ticking clock and the pinging of water in the baseboard heaters. It wasn’t really furnace weather just yet, but because of Billy’s steadily declining condition, Martina had set the thermostat at seventy degrees and left it there. The mere thought made Reid wince. When his hot-tempered stepfather was diagnosed with cancer, it hadn’t hurt like this—hearing the news about Billy’s condition had been painful and terrifying. It didn’t take a membership in Mensa to figure out why; almost from the moment Reid set foot on Rockin’ C soil, Billy had scolded him for not doing his all-out best on chores, helped with homework, convinced Reid he was good enough to ask the prettiest girl on the cheerleading squad to the homecoming dance.

One palm resting on either side of the sink, Reid stared out the kitchen window, watching raindrops snake down the glass as wind buffeted Martina’s butterfly bushes. She often stood here, overlooking the wildlife that visited her gardens. She’d probably been standing on this spot when she’d called him a couple months back to tell him about Billy’s prognosis.

After they hung up, Reid threw everything he owned into his duffle bag and drove straight through, arriving in Amarillo the very next day. He’d moved into the same room he’d occupied when his mom was the Rockin’ C housekeeper and his stepdad the foreman.

Hanging his head, Reid wondered if he would’ve been so quick to come back and help out if his injuries hadn’t already ended his rodeo career.

Just one more thing to feel guilty about.

Well, he was here now. Determined to do everything in his power to help Billy and Martina, in any way he could, for as long as they needed him.

The grandfather clock in the hall struck one, reminding him that Billy was right: The rooster crowed mighty early at the Rockin’ C. If Reid knew what was good for him, he’d try to catch some shut-eye, starting now. He flicked off the kitchen’s overhead light and quietly climbed the wide, wooden stairs, skipping the third and the tenth so the predictable squeak wouldn’t wake Billy or Martina.

Two hours later, he lay on his back, fingers linked beneath his head, still staring at the darkened ceiling. The rain had stopped, but the wind blew harder than ever, rattling the panes in his French doors.

He wondered if Cammi had made it home safely, if her homecoming had been warm and welcoming. She hadn’t seemed at all that enthused about being back in Amarillo. Brokenhearted because she hadn’t “made it” in Hollywood? Reid didn’t think so. Cammi seemed too down-to-earth, too levelheaded for pie-in-the-sky dreams of stardom. No, her reluctance, he believed, was more likely due to a falling-out with some wanna-be actor in L.A. Or maybe she’d come home for the same reason he had…to help an ailing sibling or parent.

It got Reid to thinking about his own father, who’d taken off for parts unknown the moment his mom said “We’re going to have a baby.” And his mother? Well, for all her good intentions, she had a talent for choosing no-account men. The promise of a leak-proof roof and a steady supply of whiskey was enough for her. In exchange, she promised forty hours’ worth of work each week…from her young son.

She had already put four ex-husbands behind her when she said “I do” to Boots Randolph. Grudgingly, Reid had to admit that Boots had taught him plenty about ranching. And while he’d been the best provider, he also had a hair-trigger temper, and Reid still bore the scars to prove it.

Had Cammi run off to California to escape a father like Boots?

The very thought made Reid clench his jaw so hard that his teeth ached, because it wouldn’t take much of a blow to break someone that fragile.

No, not fragile. Cammi’s demeanor—right down to that model-runway walk of hers—made it clear she was anything but delicate. He liked her “tell it like it is” way of talking, admired how she looked him dead in the eye and admitted the accident had been her fault—no excuses, no explanations.

She was agile, as evidenced by the way she’d balanced that tray of diner food on one tiny palm. Quick-witted, too, so he couldn’t imagine what had distracted her enough to run that red light.

Picturing their vehicles again, gnarled and bent, made Reid cringe. It could have been worse. So much worse, as he knew all too well. Miraculously, they’d both walked away from the wreck without so much as a hangnail. “Thank God,” he whispered, though even as he said it, he knew God had nothing to do with their good fortune. If the so-called Almighty had any control over things like that, Rose London wouldn’t be dead, her husband wouldn’t be a widower and her four daughters wouldn’t have grown up without a mama.

He forced his mind away from that night. Far easier to picture Cammi, smiling, laughing, gesturing with dainty hands. Once she’d locked onto him with those mesmerizing eyes of hers, he’d been a goner. She’d looked so familiar that he’d thought at first he’d met her somewhere before. But Reid quickly dismissed the idea, because he’d never seen bigger, browner eyes. If he met a girl who looked like that, it wasn’t likely he’d forget!

Reid sensed Cammi was nothing like the women who’d dogged his heels from rodeo town to rodeo town. How he could be so sure of that after spending forty-five minutes in her presence, Reid didn’t know. Still, it was a good thing, in and of itself, because it had been a long time since he’d felt anything but guilt.

Guilt at being born out of wedlock. Guilt that taking care of him had made life a constant struggle for his mother. Guilt that though he’d turned himself inside-out to please his parade of stepdads, he’d never measured up. Guilt that, while rodeoing was by its nature a business for the wreckless, his devil-may-care attitude had cost him his career. And the biggest, naggin’est guilt of all…that one rainy night a decade and a half ago, he’d been behind the wheel of the pickup that killed a young wife and mother.

He tossed the covers aside, threw his legs over the edge of the bed and leaned forward, elbows balanced on knees. Head down, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, Reid stared through the French doors, deep into the quiet night. Self-pity, he believed, was one of the ugliest of human emotions. He had no business feeling sorry for himself; he’d been given a lot more than some he could name. He had his health back, for starters, a good home and a steady job, thanks to Martina and Billy. If not for this confounded disease of Billy’s, he’d have the pair of them, too, for decades to come.

He’d taught himself to dwell on the positives at times like this, to get a handle on his feelings—remorse, shame, regret, whatever—because to do otherwise was like a slow, painful death. Billy and Martina needed him, and he owed it to them to get a grip.

A well-worn Bible sat on the top shelf of the bookcase across the room. Martina had put it there, years ago, when he’d come back to Amarillo for his mother’s funeral. “Whether you realize it or not,” she’d said, “Boots did you a favor, beating you until you’d memorized it, cover to cover.”

“How do you figure that?” he’d griped.

She had smiled, hands folded over her flowered apron. “Anything you need is in those pages. That’s why folks call it ‘The Good Book’!”

She’d been so sure of herself that Reid had almost been tempted to believe her. But blind faith had been the reason his mother had married badly…five times. If she hadn’t taught him anything else, she’d shown him by example what a mind-set like that could cost a person!

Three or four steps, and he’d have Martina’s Good Book in his hands. Two or three minutes, thanks to Boots’s cruel and relentless lessons, and he’d locate a verse that promised solace, peace, forgiveness. A grating chuckle escaped him. Just ’cause it’s in there don’t make it so, he thought bitterly.

In all his life, he’d known just two people who were as good as their word, and both of them were fast asleep down the hall. He loved Billy and Martina more than if they’d been his flesh-and-bone parents, because they’d chosen to take a confused, resentful boy into their home and love him, guide him, nurture him as if he were their own. Though he’d given them plenty of reason to, they’d never thrown up their hands in exasperation.

And he wouldn’t give up on them now.

Suddenly, he felt a flicker of hope. Again, Reid considered crossing the room, taking the Bible from its shelf. Maybe Martina had a point. She and Billy had made God the center of their lives for decades, and they seemed happier, more content—despite Billy’s terminal illness—than anyone he’d ever known. Maybe he should at least give her advice a try.

He stood in front of the bookcase and slid the Bible halfway out from where it stood among paperback novels, Billy’s comics collection and Martina’s photo albums. A moment, then two, ticked silently by….

“Nah,” Reid grumbled, shoving the book back into place. He remembered, as he slid between the bedcovers, how often he’d overheard Martina’s heartfelt prayers for Billy’s healing.

But the healing never came. Instead, Billy’s condition worsened, almost by the hour. If God could turn a deaf ear to Martina, who believed with a heart as big as her head, why would He listen to a no-account like Reid!

Staring up at the ceiling again, he shook his head. There was no denying that Martina believed God had been the glue that held the decades-long marriage together. Once, during a visit to the Rockin’ C a few years back, Reid had encountered a deep-in-prayer Martina in the living room. Glowing like a schoolgirl, she’d sung the Almighty’s praises. “You talk as if He hung the moon,” Reid had said, incredulous. She’d affectionately cuffed the back of his head. “He did, you silly goose!”

Something otherworldly was certainly responsible for their contentment and happiness. Scalp still tingling from Martina’s smack, Reid had wondered if he’d live long enough to find a love like that.

“You’re only twenty-seven, son. Give the Father time to lead you to the one He intends you to share your life with.” As Reid opened his mouth to object, she’d added, “Think about it, you stubborn boy! If He could hang the moon, surely He can help you find your soul mate!”

Soul mate, Reid thought now. Did such a thing even exist anywhere other than in romance novels?

Romance. The word made him think of Cammi. Pretty, petite, sweet as cotton candy. When his gaze was drawn again to the gilded script on the Bible’s spine, he stubbornly turned away, closed his eyes.

As he drifted off to sleep, it was Cammi’s smiling face he focused on.

A few hours earlier…

“Wow, lady,” the cabbie said. “This is some place you’ve got here.”

“Isn’t mine,” Cammi corrected. “River Valley is my dad’s.”

He nodded. “Still, mighty impressive all the same.”

She couldn’t deny it. Anyone who’d ever seen the ranch had been impressed, if not by the three-story stone house, then by the two-lane wooden bridge leading to the circular drive, or the waterfall, hissing and gurgling beneath it. Everything had been the result of her father’s design…and his own hardworking hands.

The tall double doors swung wide even before Cammi stepped out of the cab. Bright golden light spilled from the enormous foyer, painting the wraparound porch and curved flagstone walkway with a butter-yellow glow and casting her father’s burly form in silhouette. A booming “Camelia, you’re home!” floated to her on the damp Texas breeze. Then, his deep voice suddenly laced with concern, Lamont added, “What’s with the taxi? Did you have car trouble?”

Cammi grinned at the understatement. “You could say that.”

“You should’ve called,” he said. “I’d have come for you.”

Could have, should have, would have. How many times had she heard that before leaving home?

Lamont held out his arms and Cammi melted into them. Plenty of time to tell him about the accident—and everything else—later. For the moment, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, she put aside the reasons she’d left home. Forgot his “you’ll be sorry” speech. Forgot how determined she’d been to prove him wrong, for no reason other than that for once in her life, she’d wanted to make him proud.

Proud? So much for that! Cammi thought.

“Good to have you home, sweetie.”

My, but that sounded good. Sounded right. This was where she wanted…no, where she needed to be. And if the length or strength of Lamont’s embrace was any indicator, her father felt the same way. At least, for now. “Good to be home,” Cammi admitted.

He released her and went for his wallet.

“Dad,” she started, “I can pay the—”

But Lamont had already peeled off a fifty. “That’ll cover it, right, son?” he asked, shoving the bill into the driver’s hand.

“Yessir, it sure will!” Eyes wide, he waited for permission to pocket the bill.

“Keep the change,” Lamont said, grabbing Cammi’s bag.

The man beamed. “Sayin’ ‘thanks’ seems lame after a tip like this!”

Grinning, Lamont saluted, then slung his arm over Cammi’s shoulder. “Drive safely, m’boy,” he said, guiding her toward the house. He hadn’t closed the front door behind them before asking, “Where’s the rest of your gear?”

“I shipped some boxes a couple of days ago. They’ll be delivered tomorrow, Monday at the latest.” She tugged the strap of her oversized purse, now resting firmly against his rock-hard shoulder. “Meanwhile, I have the essentials right here.”