A Real Live Hero

“Fine,” she said with a dark glower. “You’ve caught me. I need your help, and if there was anyone else on this planet I could ask I would. But of all the dumb bad luck, you’re the only one I can ask.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Is that all you’ve got for me after everything we’ve been through?” she countered, her eyes glazing a little. “At one time, you loved me.”

“A long time ago.” He stared, unable to believe she threw that card down. “A very long time ago.”

She held his stare and after a long moment said, “Listen, I suppose you have no reason to care any longer, but I’m on the verge of losing everything if I don’t succeed in convincing you to become the next star of the network I work for.” At his incredulous expression, she pushed forward in a rush. “You don’t understand. This could be good for both of us. I’m not asking you to do something for me without being compensated. Trust me, the money is good. And if the pilot gets picked up, it could mean even more money with endorsements and commercial deals, and I could help you navigate the tricky contract—”

“You mean you would help me negotiate a legal document?” he mocked, and she stopped her spiel. He gave her a patronizing look. “I wouldn’t trust you to negotiate my cell phone bill.”

“I could lose everything if I don’t land this deal,” she said, her eyes filling for real this time. “Please help me, Trace. All you have to do is agree to film the pilot, and anything after that we can renegotiate. I need this. My last three shows have tanked and no one wants to hear my pitches anymore. I’m like the black plague of Hollywood.”

Trace sipped his coffee, unable to believe her nerve and unwilling to believe her tears. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You’re a resourceful girl.”

“Damn you, Trace,” she muttered, wiping at the moisture leaking from her eyes. “I never realized how much of an unfeeling bastard you are.”

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Funny, I thought the same thing about you when you threw my offer of marriage in my face right about the time when my entire world was crumbling. I guess what they say about karma is true.”

“That’s not fair and not even the same,” she said hotly. “Are you such a weak individual that you’d dredge up the past to hurt me now?”

“I’m not dredging up anything. I’m stating facts. And I wasn’t the one who brought up the past first. You tried to guilt me into dancing to your tune by bringing up our history. But, honey, what you don’t realize is that for me, the past is simply that and I have no interest in revisiting it.” He walked away with a wave. “Sorry for the wasted trip. I hope your plane doesn’t drop into the ocean on your way back to California.”

He heard her gasp and then the front door slammed again as she bolted. He hoped that was the last time he saw Delainey Clarke ever again.

And he’d mistakenly thought his crippling hangover was the worst way to start his day....

* * *

RUDE. OBNOXIOUS. Petty. Selfish—a litany of unflattering words skipped across Delainey’s brain as she drove back into town. And after she’d exhausted all the mean words she could think of to describe the man she’d once fancied herself madly in love with, she tried feverishly to think of a way to salvage the situation.

Perhaps she could find another tracker who might be willing to step into the limelight.... But even as she entertained the idea, she discarded it. That curmudgeon Pilcher wanted Trace—no substitutes would suffice—and if she didn’t deliver the man, her tiny cubicle of an office was going to get a new resident and she’d be out on the street.

How could Trace be so cold to her after everything they’d been through? They’d been high school sweethearts and his sister, Miranda, had been her best friend. At one time, they’d been thick as thieves. And now? Well, she was surprised at how much it stung that he couldn’t stand the sight of her. For the briefest moment, she toyed with the memory of Trace, his dark blond hair a tousled mess, and his eyes warm with adoration as he stared down at her, his touch as gentle as a summer breeze. Trace had always been the quiet type, but with her he’d opened up. They’d spent hours, fingers twined together, planning an imaginary future that, now as she recalled the details, had been plainly impossible given her dreams and goals.

“We’ll have two kids—twins!—and they’ll be the cutest kids on the planet, of course,” she’d chattered happily one day their senior year while they were lying side by side on his parents’ roof, staring up at the summer sky. “And you’ll, of course, be the best dad in the world because you’re so patient and kind and super smart. I’ll work in California and come home on the weekends, or maybe you could do something in California and we could get a cute apartment together. I can’t wait to live someplace where you can wear shorts and a T-shirt nearly all year long. I’m tired of all the snow and freezing my tail off.”

Trace had laughed at her impassioned declaration and then had distracted her by sealing his mouth to hers, and his tactic had worked...for a time.

But in the end, Delainey had had no intentions of staying in Homer, no matter who was doing the asking. Sadness tugged at her heartstrings for the loss of something special, but she didn’t see the sense in crying for the past when there was nothing that could be done about changing it. Besides, her future wasn’t in Homer. She belonged in warm, sunny California, where the beaches were dotted with surfers and bikini-clad girls. Already she felt the Alaskan chill seeping into her bones, trying to take up permanent residence in her marrow. No, she may have been born in Alaska to a fisherman’s family, but Delainey was meant for bigger things, which is why Trace was going to help her get what she needed, whether he wanted to or not.

So how was she supposed to encourage Trace to do something he plainly didn’t want to do?

Hollywood was filled with difficult people; she’d just have to find a way to work around Trace. And if she couldn’t do that, she’d find a way to compel him to sign on the dotted line.

She detoured from her route and headed for the Search and Rescue office. Perhaps if she couldn’t get Trace to see things her way, his boss could.

There was more than one way to skin a cat—and she was desperate enough to try anything.

CHAPTER FOUR

DELAINEY HAD BRIEFLY considered going straight to Trace’s boss to plead her case to someone in actual authority, but after taking a critical look at her travel-wrinkled clothing and the dark circles under her eyes that no amount of expensive, high-end concealer could completely hide, she knew she had to freshen up first. For that matter, now that she gave it some more thought, she probably should’ve done that before attempting to persuade Trace to join Team Delainey after such a protracted hiatus, but she’d been running on pure adrenaline and hadn’t wanted to stop to think.

Sometimes thinking was bad. She needed action, not bouts of quiet pondering.

However, since her first plan had blown up in her face in spectacular fashion, she had to adjust her tactics.

She gripped her suitcase handle and blew out a determined breath as she stared at the small house where she grew up. If only she’d had it in the budget to spring for a hotel. The network usually paid for those things, but Hannah had to open her big fat mouth—that woman was the devil—and Pilcher hadn’t approved the hotel voucher. Delainey couldn’t help but worry that Pilcher was punishing her for the failure of Vertical Blind, which made her only all the more desperate to close this deal.

Which meant, for the time being, sucking up her aversion and distaste at the idea of going home and making the best of it.

Oh, God, if only she didn’t hate this place. Everything looked the same—same worn and faded shutters that never saw a fresh coat of paint ever, same stench of fish everywhere—same bleak sense of poverty clinging to every plank.

Panic overwhelmed her good sense, and she entertained the option of putting a hotel stay on her personal credit card. But she was already maxed out, and her savings account was, frankly, anemic at this point. So there was no option but the one staring at her.

Delainey purposefully lowered her shoulders and lifted her chin. She was stronger than this. One trip home was not going to derail her. She’d faced down bigger threats than her sad past. No problem.

She opened the door, wincing as it screeched on its hinges. The sound, to her ears, was a loud announcement to everyone in town that Delainey Clarke had returned with her tail between her legs. She jerked her hand away and nearly turned on her heel with a “Screw it” on her lips when she heard her brother’s surprised voice.

“Laney?”

“Thad?” She stared at her younger brother, unsure of her welcome. He looked different, older. Life as an Alaskan fisherman was a hard one, and it’d started taking its toll on her brother. There were faint crow’s-feet bracketing his gray eyes from squinting into the harsh sunlight reflecting from the water, and his arm was in a cast. “Surprise...” she said with a tremulous smile.

“Damn, girl, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Thad said, breaking into a grin and quickly folding her into a hug. She tried not to wrinkle her nose at the subtle scent of fish clinging to his clothing, but it brought back a wash of unpleasant memories and she had to stop herself from stiffening. Thankfully, Thad hadn’t noticed. “Man, I never thought I’d see the day...”

That made two of them. Delainey shrugged and smiled. “I had some business to do in the area and thought it was time for a visit.”

At that, his expression was mildly reproachful as he said, “Yeah, it’s been a long time. Too long. I know you and Pops didn’t exactly part on good terms, but eight years is a long time between visits.”

Guilt tugged at her. He was right but the idea of coming home before she’d achieved her goals had been an effective deterrent to visiting, even though at one time she and her brother had been close. She supposed it was her fault they’d drifted apart. “Did you get the Christmas card I sent?” she asked.

“Yeah. It was real sweet. That gas gift card was nice, too. Pretty extravagant, too, but I suppose when you’re pulling down the cash like you are...” Thad’s misplaced pride only made Delainey feel that much more like a fraud, but she had to shelve those feelings for now. Besides, if she managed to land Trace, her worries would be over. Finally.

“What happened to your arm?” she asked.

He lifted his arm to glance at it then answered with a shrug. “Slipped on fish guts and landed wrong. Pretty stupid way to break an arm. No glory at all,” he said. She smiled. Her brother hadn’t changed much. He was pretty much still the man-boy she’d left behind, and for that she was grateful. Thad reached for her suitcase and took it before she could protest. “I’ll put this in your room. How long are you staying?”

“Not long,” she answered, wandering the living room, wondering when her father and brother became better housecleaners. She’d expected an inch or so of dust on every surface, but everything was surprisingly clean. “If you’re not on the boat, who’s working with Pops?”

“He’s got a few guys he picked up for short-time work. My cast is supposed to come off within the next two weeks, and then I’ll be right as rain. It’s a good thing I was here when you arrived. Pops is sure gonna be shocked when he sees you.” The slight nervousness in Thad’s voice didn’t surprise Delainey. The homecoming wasn’t likely to be filled with a joyous hug and reminiscing. “Hey, Laney, there’s something I need to tell you.”

She nodded, half listening, and went to the kitchen. Again, the cleanliness shocked her. Her father had never been one to lift a finger when it came to domestic stuff and surely hadn’t expected Thad to pick up the slack, either. All of the household responsibilities had fallen on her shoulders, no matter that she’d been only nine when her mother had died. She couldn’t count the times she’d slaved in that kitchen, wishing and hoping for a different life. She hated fish, and when her father had put little store in her doing anything more than cooking, cleaning and eventually marrying a man from good fishermen stock and settling down, she’d burned with a desperate desire to bolt at the first chance. Delainey roused herself from her mental walkabout just in time to catch Thad’s awkward conversation.

“Laney...if you give her a chance you might really like her. She’s good for Pops, you know? I mean, she’s real sweet and Pops isn’t the easiest to get along with—”

“Wait... What are you talking about?”

“Brenda.”