An Accidental Hero

“Meanwhile,” he echoed, frowning as he assessed her rain-dampened hair and still-wet clothes, “you’re soaked to the skin.” He nudged her closer to the wide, mahogany staircase. “Get on upstairs and take a hot shower. After you’ve changed into something warm and dry, meet me in the kitchen. Meantime, I’ll put on a pot of decaf.”

In other words, Cammi deducted, despite the late hour, he expected her to fill in the blanks—some of them, anyway—left by her long absence; she hadn’t been particularly communicative by phone or letter while she’d been gone, with good reason, and she was thankful Lamont hadn’t pressed her for details. Now the time had come to pay the proverbial piper. “Warm and dry sounds wonderful,” she said, more because it was true than to erase the past two years from her mind.

“Everything is exactly as you left it.”

How like him to keep things as they were. Though her mother had been gone thirteen years when Cammi headed west, the only things Lamont had replaced were the linens, and even those were duplicates of the originals. Something told her it was love of the purest possible kind that kept him so stubbornly attached to his beloved Rose. The fact that her dad had held on to memories about her, too, inspired a flood of loving warmth. “I’ll just be a few minutes,” Cammi said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too.”

At least for now you do, Cammi thought.

Suddenly, the prospect of being in her old room, surrounded by familiar things, rejuvenated her, and she took the steps two at a time, half listening for his oh-so-familiar warning:

“You’re liable to fall flat on your face and chip a tooth, bolting up those stairs like a runaway year-ling.”

He’d said the same thing, dozens of times, when Cammi and her sisters were children. She stopped on the landing and smiled. “I’ll be careful, Dad,” she said, pressing a hand to her stomach, “I promise.” He had no way of knowing she had a new and very important reason to keep that promise.

Cammi blew him a kiss and hurried to her room. The sooner she got back downstairs, the sooner she’d know if this amiable welcome was the real deal…or a temporary truce.

Real, she hoped, because she would need his emotional support these next few months, even if it might come at the price of seeing his disappointment yet again. How would she tell him that, in yet another characteristically impulsive move, she’d exchanged “I do’s” with a movie stuntman in a gaudy Vegas wedding chapel? And it wouldn’t just be the non- Christian ceremony he’d disapprove of.

When Reid had asked earlier if she had a husband and children, her heart had skipped a beat. For a reason she couldn’t explain, it mattered what Reid thought of her. Mattered very much. So much so, in fact, that though she’d enjoyed his company, she’d rather never see him again than risk having him discover the truth about her. And if a stranger’s opinion mattered that greatly, how much more difficult would it be to live with her dad’s reaction!

For the past four months, since learning of Rusty’s death and the baby’s existence, Cammi had spent hours thinking up ways to break the news to her father. She’d hoped an idea would come to her during the long, quiet drive from California to Texas. Sadly, she still didn’t have a clue how to tell him that in just five short months, his first grandchild would be born.

Lamont would be a terrific grandfather, what with his natural storytelling ability and his gentle demeanor. If only he could learn he was about to become a grandpa in the traditional way, instead of being clubbed over the head with the news.

What Cammi needed was a buffer, someone who’d distract him, temporarily, anyway, from asking questions that had no good answers. “Hey, Dad,” she called from the top step, “where’s Lily? I sort of expected she’d be the one bounding down the front walk when I got home…with some critter wrapped around her neck.”

“Matter of fact, she’s in the barn, nursing one of those critters right now.”

Lily was the only London daughter who’d never left home. A math whiz and avid animal lover, the twenty-four-year-old more or less ran River Valley Ranch. “As much time as she spends with her animals,” Cammi said, “I’ll never understand how she manages to keep your ledger books straight.”

“That makes two of us,” Lamont said, laughing.

She ducked into her room, telling herself that if she survived coffee with her dad, she’d pay Lily and her critter a little visit. Maybe her kid sister would drop a hint or two that would help Cammi find a good way to tell them…everything.

A shiver snaked up her spine when she admitted there was no good way.

Lamont’s back was to her when she rounded the corner a short while later, reminding Cammi of that night so many years ago, when she’d padded downstairs in pajamas and fuzzy slippers. “Dad,” she’d whimpered, rubbing her eyes toddlerlike despite being twelve years old, “I can’t sleep.”

When he’d turned from the kitchen sink, his redrimmed eyes were proof that he hadn’t been able to sleep, either, that he’d been crying, too. “C’mere, sweetie,” he’d said, arms extended as he settled onto the caned seat of a ladder-back chair.

She’d ignored the self-imposed rule that said a soon-to-be teenager was too old to climb into her daddy’s lap, and snuggled close, cheek resting on the soft, warm flannel of his blue plaid shirt, and closed her eyes, inhaling the crisp spicy scent of his manly aftershave.

Even now, all grown up and carrying a child of her own, she remembered how safe she’d always felt when those big arms wrapped around her, how soothing it was when his thick, clumsy fingers combed through her curls. Her unborn baby deserved to feel safe and protected that way, too; had her impulsive lifestyle made that impossible? Could Lamont accept what she’d done, at least enough not to hold it against his grandchild?

It hadn’t been hard to read his mind that night, the eve of Rose’s funeral. What was going through his mind now? Cammi wondered. Had looking through the rain-streaked window at his long-deceased wife’s autumn-yellowed hydrangeas conjured a painful memory? Had the moon, which painted a shimmering silver border around each slate-gray cloud, reminded him how much the mother of his children had always enjoyed thunderstorms?

She wouldn’t tell him about Rusty and the baby tonight. Tomorrow or the next day would be more than soon enough to add to his sadness. There’s a time and a place for everything, she told herself. And sensing he’d be embarrassed if she walked in and caught him woolgathering, Cammi backed up a few steps, cleared her throat and made a noisy entrance.

“Hey, Dad,” she said brightly, shuffling into the kitchen on white-socked feet. “Coffee ready?”

He masked his melancholy well, she thought as he turned and smiled.

“Sure is,” Lamont said. “Still drink it straight-n-plain?”

“Yessir.”

“We Londons are tough, so save the milk and sugar for kindergarten kids!” they said in unison.

Laughing, father and daughter sat across from one another at the table. A moment passed, then two, before Cammi said, “So how’ve you been, Dad?”

“Fine, fine.” He nodded, then reached across the table, blanketed her hand with his. “Question is, how’re you?”

She looked into gray eyes that glittered with fatherly love and concern. There were a few more lines around them than she remembered, but then, worrying about her had probably put every one of them there. Cammi felt overwhelmed by guilt. He’d worked so hard to provide for his girls, all while doing his level best to be both mother and father to them. He deserved far better than what she’d always given him.

“I’d hoped to accomplish something out there—” she blurted. “Something that would make you really proud of—”

“You’ve always made me proud,” Lamont interrupted, “just being you. You know that.”

She didn’t know anything of the kind, especially since her mother’s accident, but it still felt good, real good, to hear him say it. Suddenly, she found herself fighting tears.

Lamont gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. “I told you before you left home that those Tinsel Town phonies didn’t have enough accumulated brain matter to power a lightbulb.”

He’d said that and then some!

“So how’d you expect dunderheads like that to have enough sense to see what a great li’l gal you are!” He patted her hand, then added, “I know you gave it your all, sweetie. If your best wasn’t good enough for ’em, well…” He lifted his chin a notch. “Well, that’s their loss.”

So he thought her failure to land any decent roles in L.A. was responsible for her dour mood. Cammi was about to set the record straight when Lamont said, “You did the right thing, coming home. You have any idea what you’ll do now that you’re back?”

Lamont’s question implied she was home to stay, and he was right. This baby growing steadily inside her deserved a stable home, deserved to be raised in a house where it would be treasured, and protected and nurtured by a big loving family. It didn’t matter one whit what was good for her; from the moment she’d learned of its existence, Cammi had put the baby first, always, and that meant giving up her crazy ideas of stardom. She’d earned a degree in Childhood Development, had spent nearly three years teaching four-and five-year-olds before heading for L.A.

She ran a fingertip around the rim of her mug. “I made arrangements to meet with the Board of Ed first thing tomorrow. There are some openings in the Amarillo School District.”

“Good plan.” He slid his chair back and got to his feet. “Baked an apple pie today….”

“Baked a pie? You?” Cammi laughed. “What’s this world coming to!”

“If you call following directions on the box ‘baking,’ then I baked a pie.” He chuckled. “It was Patti’s day off, see, and I got a hankering for something sweet.” Unceremoniously, he plopped the dessert on the table. “Care for a slice?”

Cammi went around to his side of the table, gently shoved him back into his chair. “You tore open the package and put it in the oven, all without your housekeeper’s help, I might add. Least I can do is serve it up.”

She wasn’t surprised, as she rummaged in the cupboards for plates, silverware and napkins, to find everything right where her mother had kept them. “More coffee?”

Lamont held out his mug, and, smiling, she topped it off.

“Did I tell you it’s good to have you home?”

She folded a paper napkin and laid it beside his mug. “Yes, you did.” Bending at the waist, Cammi kissed his cheek. “Did I tell you it’s good to be home?”

Cammi didn’t miss the slight hitch in his voice when he echoed her response. “Yes, you did.” She slid a wedge of pie onto a plate. As he speared an apple with one tine of his fork, he added, “I sure have missed you.”

She looked at him, smiling nervously, blinking. What was going on here? Her stoic, keep-your-feelings-to-yourself dad, admitting a thing like that? “Heard from Ivy or Vi lately?” she asked carefully.

“Your sisters will be here for a welcome-home celebration as soon as we can arrange it. Patti will be whipping up a special dinner for us.

Cammi had been fairly sure that, like most everything else in her life these days, her homecoming would be a fiasco. In fact, she’d been dreading the whole miserable scene so much that she’d been distracted and run the red light in Amarillo.

Memory of the accident brought Reid Alexander to mind yet again. Cammi pictured the handsome, tortured face. She knew precisely what event from her past haunted her, but what had painted the edgy, troubled look on his—

“So, what happened to your car?”

Cammi gave a dismissive little wave. “Little fender bender in town is all. No big deal.”

Thanking God yet again that no one had been hurt, she remembered the napkin, tucked into the front pocket of her purse, that Reid had given to her in the diner. “The mechanic will call you with an estimate,” he’d said, looking as if he’d been the one responsible for the damage.

Cammi braced herself, waiting for her dad to ask whose fault the accident had been, waiting for the safety lecture that would surely follow once she admitted she’d been one hundred percent to blame.

Instead, Lamont said, “Important thing is, you’re home now, safe and sound.”

And so is your grandchild, she thought, thanking the Almighty again.

He shoved his empty pie plate to the center of the table. “Not bad for store-bought and frozen, eh?”

Not bad at all, Cammi thought, looking into his loving face. Not bad at all.

And pie had nothing to do with the sentiment.

As she made her way up to bed around 2:00 a.m. after having a heart-to-heart with her sister Lily in the barn, Cammi’s mind drifted back to Reid. His voice and manly stance, and the bright green of his eyes set her heart to pounding, as if she were a teenage girl in the throes of a first crush.

She dreaded going to bed because she knew she wouldn’t be having a peaceful night’s sleep.

More than likely, she’d have nightmares induced by worries about her condition—and how Lamont would react to the same news.

Chapter Three

Reid stood beside his rumpled bed, staring at the napkin bearing Cammi’s name and phone number. Thinking about her had kept him up most of the night. Shaking his head, he slapped the napkin onto the nightstand, because there didn’t seem to be a single legitimate reason to call her.

Couldn’t use the car repairs as an excuse, because he’d already told her the mechanic wouldn’t have time to assess the damage until Monday, at the earliest. Couldn’t say the tow truck driver needed information, because she already knew their vehicles had been delivered to Wilson’s Garage.

What was wrong with honesty? he wondered. Why not just tell her he enjoyed her company and wanted to see her again. He could suggest a movie, or a quiet dinner, someplace where he could get to know her better.

Reid held the receiver in one hand, the napkin in the other, then noticed that his alarm clock said five-thirty. Groaning, he blew a stream of air through his teeth. What was he thinking? Not everyone got up with the cock’s crow! She’d driven all the way from L.A. to Amarillo and had had a car wreck, all in one day. Surely she’d be sawing logs at this hour.

Still, he thought, palming the napkin once more, hadn’t she said this was her cell phone number? More than likely, it was turned off and recharging. He could leave a message, and if she didn’t return the call, he could tell himself it had somehow been lost in cyberspace….

Holding his breath, Reid punched in the digits. After three interminably long rings, her lyrical voice said, “Hi. This is Cammi.”

He could almost see her, smiling, bobbing her head, big eyes flashing as she recorded the message. The mental picture distracted him so much that he didn’t hear the beep. “Uh, hey, Cammi. It’s Reid. Reid Alexander. From last night, and, uh, y’know, the accident?” He looked at his watch. “It’s just past five-thirty, Saturday morning and, well, I was just wondering if…”

What if he suggested a date and she rejected him? “…if there’s anything I forgot. Y’know, phone numbers, or…whatever. So, call if you need anything.” He rattled off his cell phone number, even though he had seen her tuck the napkin he’d written it on into the front pocket of her purse. Reid glanced at his watch again. “I hope you’re okay, ’cause, well, I’ve heard that sometimes a person doesn’t feel the after-affects of an accident till the next day, or even the day after that.” He rubbed his face and winced. “I hear-tell aspirin is good for what ails you.” Shut up, you idiot! he told himself. “Anyway, I hope you’re all right. Thanks and—”

“You’re welcome. And I’m fine. How’re you?”

He felt like a colossal birdbrain, a jerk, a sappy blockheaded schoolboy. He could only hope Cammi didn’t agree. “I, uh, thought I was leaving a message.” No wonder he hadn’t heard a beep!

“I got into the habit of answering the phone that way, so I’d sound in demand in case a producer ever called.”

When she giggled, Reid’s heart beat double time.

“I guess since I’m no longer in demand, I can start saying a simple ‘hello’ like everybody else, huh?”

Another merry giggle tickled his ear. He wanted to say, First of all, you’re not like everybody else. Instead, Reid said, “You’re very much in demand, at least by one beat-up cowboy.”

Her tiny gasp made him grin. Would she be sitting there, wide-eyed, one hand over her mouth? he wondered.

“You’re up awfully early.”

“Early? Should’ve been up and out half an hour ago,” he said, glad she hadn’t hung up despite his long-winded “message” and his blatant flirtation. “But what’re you doing up at this hour, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Her sigh filtered through the wires, kissing his eardrum. Reid shivered involuntarily.

“No specific reason,” Cammi said. “I just have… There’s a lot to be done today.”

Was that sadness he heard in her voice? Reid hoped not, because something told him that if anybody had earned the right to be happy, it was Cammi. “Well, I won’t keep you, then. Just wanted you to know you can call, any time, if I forgot anything.”

“You didn’t forget anything, but if I remember something you might have forgotten, I’ll be sure and call.” After a long pause, she added, “And I hope you know you can do the same.”

He nodded, then shook his head and chuckled under his breath, because of course she couldn’t see him nodding. “Sure. Right. I’ll do that.” Reid cleared his throat. “Well, you take it easy, y’hear?”

“I will. You, too.”

“Catch you later, then.”

“Have a good one!”

If one of them didn’t put a stop to this, they’d go on “ending” the conversation till sundown. Much as he’d enjoy spending the day with her, even by phone, he took the bull by the horns: “Bye, Cammi. Glad to hear you’re still feeling fine.”

“Thanks. Glad you’re all right, too. I’ll call if I hear anything from the insurance company or the mechanic.”

“I’ll do the same.”

He put the phone back into its cradle, wondering why the room felt colder and darker.

Reid remembered that earlier, he’d pocketed Billy’s note, the one with Amanda’s hotel and room number. Grimacing, he fished it out. The sooner he got things cleaned up, the better. She answered on the first ring.

“Hey,” he said, “I got your message and—”

“Reid, darling!” she shrieked. “How are you! Why haven’t you called! I’ve been so worried about you!”

He sighed. “Will you be free in about an hour? I know it’s early, but—”

“Oh, Reid,” she cooed. “I’m never too busy for you.”

He stifled a sigh of frustration. Amanda’s tendency to overemphasize even the simplest words was but one in a long list of reasons that it could never work out between them.

“When did you get into town?”

“Why, yesterday, of course. I called the minute I settled in, so we could get together and talk about us.”

He could tell her, here and now, that there never had been and never would be an us, but Reid didn’t believe in taking the easy way out. The night he’d won the Silver Buckle award, Amanda had tearfully admitted she didn’t have a ride home. And because Martina and Billy had drummed into his head that gentlemen treated women like ladies whether or not they deserved it, he agreed to drive her. He should have immediately put the brakes on her intense thank-you kiss in the hall outside her apartment. If he had, he wouldn’t have paid for his thoughtfulness every day since.

“I didn’t leave my room once,” Amanda was saying. “I’d just die if you called while I was out!”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said distractedly. He had tried, over and over since that first night, to explain that one kiss doesn’t seal any deal, least of all of the relationship kind. Her sobs had made him decide to explain things another day, when she wasn’t so…emotional. And today’s that day.

“I can hardly wait to see you, Reid! Did you miss me as much as I missed you?”

In place of a response, he said, “How ’bout I pick you up at eight, buy you some breakfa—?”

“Oh, Reid! I’d just love that!”

“See you at eight.”

Reid felt strangely guilty after hanging up, not for severing the connection with Amanda, not for what he was about to tell her, but because it seemed this meeting with Amanda was tantamount to cheating on Cammi. He couldn’t help but chuckle at that, because wouldn’t it be a bitter irony if Cammi was home right now, rehearsing the same speech for him that he was about to make to Amanda!

Amusement faded fast as he imagined her, hemming and hawing as she sought a compassionate way to deliver her message. It would hurt worse than a fall from a saddle bronc, no matter what words she chose or how kindly she spoke them.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered. “Face it, man…you barely know the woman!”

Still, admitting how it would sting if Cammi rejected him started a ‘what goes around, comes around’ mantra swirling in his head. It made him decide to set Amanda straight gently. Very gently…just in case. He half ran down the stairs, anxious to get it over with, once and for all. If he didn’t waste any time, he could get the new ranch hands squared away before heading into town….

The moment he stepped into Martina’s big sunny kitchen, he saw that she’d set the table. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee permeated the air, and pots and pans promising a full country breakfast were steaming on the stove.

“Good grief,” he said, looking around. “What time did you get up?”

Martina handed him a glass of juice. “Never you mind. Just sit down and eat before everything gets cold.”

Billy only shrugged, so Reid did as he was told; might be a lot easier for Amanda to take his “I’m not good for you” speech if he wasn’t wolfing down bacon and eggs while he made it.

“I want you to have a healthy meal in your belly,” Martina told her husband, “before we start out for Fort Worth.”

It wasn’t like Billy to comply so quickly, without so much as a teasing retort or a sly wink. Reid blamed it on nerves; Billy had never liked long drives or sleeping in hotel beds, and liked doctors’ exams even less. This trip to the latest in a long list of specialists would require both.

Martina handed each man a plate piled high with link sausages, over-easy eggs, crisp golden hash browns, and buttered toast. She filled their coffee cups, then joined them at the table. Spreading homemade raspberry jam on her bread, she asked, “You okay this morning, Reid?”

He looked up, more than a little surprised at the question. Later today, she’d drive her husband all the way to Fort Worth for who-knows-what kind of prognosis. “I’m fine. How ’bout you?”

From the day Reid’s mom brought him and his beat-up cardboard suitcase into this house, Martina had taken Reid under her wing, treated him like the son she’d never had. He couldn’t love her more if she were his mother. A guilty thought rapped at the edges of his mind: Reid did love her more than his own mother. But then, Martina had earned that love.

“Never mind about me.”

“I’m fine,” he said again.

Her left brow rose, the way it always did when she thought he was holding something back. “You’re not all stiff and sore? After that collision last night?”

He reached past the Eiffel Tower saltshaker and the Big Ben pepper mill to grab her hand. “Nope.”

She still didn’t believe him, and the proof was that in addition to raising her brow, Martina had tucked in one corner of her mouth.

God knows the poor woman had enough on her slender shoulders, what with all she did around the house and helping Billy with Rockin’ C business. And now this mind-numbing death sentence…. “Honest,” he added in a voice much too bright for his mood, “I’m right as rain. Fit as a fiddle. Sound as a dollar.”

Billy chuckled as Martina sighed and shook her head. “Well, all right. If you say so. But there’s a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet, just in case.”