The Reluctant Hero

Lazarus grunted, thinking that was his cue to get ready for their run.

The morning was calm and sweet with the scent of emerging wisteria and honeysuckle blossoms from the nearby woods. Out in the pines and oaks, splashes of stark white flowering trees could be seen here and there.

Dogwoods.

Derek knew the legend of the dogwood, how their blossoms represented Christ dying on the cross. Even now, from this distance he could see the white, cross-shaped flowers waving to him, comforting him. Derek needed the gentle reminder. He wasn’t alone in this struggle.

Lazarus whined again, bringing Derek’s attention back from the forest.

“I know, I know, Laz. I’m imagining things. I’m getting all worked up about nothing. She could have told the world my name. But she didn’t.”

That one act, whether intentional or out of kindness, made Derek think that maybe he was wrong about Stephanie Maguire. Maybe she wasn’t like other reporters.

Too many maybes. Too much on his mind.

“Let’s get going, boy.” Hopping down off the deck, Derek did a few stretches, then jogged in place.

Lazarus, however, was more than ready for their run. The dog started barking and twirling in circles, anxious for his master to issue a command.

“What ails you?” Derek said, his eyes following the direction of the dog’s nose. Lazarus was alert and sniffing at something.

And that’s when Derek saw her.

Stephanie Maguire. In the flesh. Walking up the winding dirt drive to his lake house. She was wearing jeans, a lightweight tailored blazer and dark sunglasses.

She looked great for seven o’clock in the morning.

Lazarus apparently thought so, too. The big dog barked loudly, then turned back to Derek with beseeching eyes. Derek quickly issued a command, then watched as the dog took off running down the lane toward his lovely quarry.

Stephanie looked up just in time to see the huge dog flying toward her. She’d heard him barking, but it was too late to run now. The big animal was coming for her.

Big dog. Big teeth. Her life flashed before her eyes as she wondered why she hadn’t done the sensible thing and tried calling first.

“Okay. I can handle this,” she told herself as the animal galloped down the dirt lane. A German shepherd. Was he trained to kill on sight? Could she remember how to protect herself—she’d done a story on how to avoid dog bites just last year.

“Avoid eye contact,” she told herself as she braced for the animal’s attack. “Roll into a ball and cover your head.”

Even as she went over the list of protection tips, Stephanie knew this animal could maul her permanently with one bite.

And then she saw Derek, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, walking casually toward her.

Surely he would call off his attack dog.

Too late, Stephanie realized he wouldn’t. She could only stand there, frozen to the spot, waiting and wondering why this man would be so mean-spirited as to sic a dog on her. She didn’t make eye contact with the dog, but she sure gave the man a good, long stare.

And then, because she was so distracted by the look in Derek’s eyes, the big dog was on her, knocking her down to the ground before she could even manage to roll away. Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes tightly, Stephanie heard her own scream.

Her heart pounding as the animal’s giant paws held her down, she waited for the sure pain of teeth sinking into her skin.

And got a wet tongue in her face instead.

“Ugh!” Opening one eye, Stephanie faced wet black-and-tan fur and another slap of wet tongue across her cheek. And a beautiful set of the darkest dog eyes she’d ever seen.

“Why, you’re just a big old baby,” she said, laughing from the sheer relief of not being eaten alive. Bringing a hand up, she rubbed the big animal’s silky fur and heard his grunt of pleasure. “Ah, that’s so sweet. So sweet. But, hey, fellow, could you let me up? This ground’s cold on my backside.”

Then she heard feet crunching on the rocks. Human feet.

“Some watchdog you are,” Derek said to the animal, his eyes on Stephanie, his expression just short of highly amused. With something next to a grunt, he told the dog to sit.

Reluctantly, the big animal did just that.

While his master stood there with his hands crossed over his chest, his whole expression a mixture of aggravation and satisfaction.

He did have the good grace to reach a hand down to her, at least. The dog moved out of the way and, after Derek gave him another command, danced around them while Derek pulled her up as if she were nothing more than a broken branch.

Stephanie accepted his hand and felt secure in that able-bodied, strong grip. In the light of day, she also became very much aware of Derek as a man. She hadn’t imagined his good looks; they were very much a reality. His craggy face was a study in mystery, an interesting stony countenance that didn’t invite attention. But she imagined women gave him a second look whether he liked it or not.

Annoyed by her wayward feelings, she let go, then fussed with straightening her clothes and shaking dirt out of her hair.

“Hello,” she said, a lopsided smile covering her embarrassment. “Nice doggy.”

Derek folded his big arms across his chest again, then gave her a long, measuring look. “A total disappointment. He always did fall for a pretty face and perfume.”

Even as he said it with such sarcasm and disdain, he reached down and patted the dog on the neck, as if he were protecting the animal, a small fraction of pride measuring his wry smile.

Stephanie continued to brush twigs and dirt from her hair and clothes, then remembered she really should be mad at Derek for letting her think his dog was going to attack her. “I thought… You could have called him down, you know. He scared the daylights out of me.”

“I could have,” he replied, turning to head back toward the house. “But then, you could have minded your own business and stayed in the city.” Tossing her a hard look over his shoulder, he asked, “So, Miss Maguire, how’d you find me, anyway?”

“I work at a television station, remember,” she told him, hurrying up the sloping hill to keep pace with him. “We do research when we go after a story.”

Derek whirled around then, all traces of a smile, wry or otherwise, gone from his lips. “I told you—I don’t want to be a story. But since you went on the air with this anyway, I guess there’s no stopping you now.”