No Ordinary Hero

And on his back he could feel the eyes of two white women, forbidden territory.

Del watched Mike Windwalker stride away to his door, thinking he was an extremely attractive man, from his face to those narrow hips cased in worn denim. And she liked the coppery color of his skin, such a contrast to her own ghastly paleness. All her life she wished she could tan rather than freckle. Ah, well, she wasn’t in the market for a man, any man.

Then she looked down at her daughter. “You getting hungry?”

“Could be.” Colleen grinned.

“How hungry?”

“Um …” Colleen pretended to think it over. “Just teensy hungry right now. Big hungry comes later.”

“Fair enough.” She reached for the grips on the back of the wheelchair and heard an immediate protest.

“Mom! I can do it myself.”

Del had to smile. Colleen’s independence and upbeat attitude always made her smile … except when it made her cry for what her daughter had lost. “Okay, okay. I’ll just get the door.”

“I want chips!”

“Whole-grain pretzels.”

“Sheesh, Mom, I have a growing brain. I need the fat.”

“Smarty pants.”

“I learned it in biology.”

“You learn too much in biology.”

In the kitchen, which was still awaiting renovations, the dust layered everything. No way to avoid it at this stage of restoration, so Del grabbed a wet rag and wiped down just enough of it to feed her daughter some pretzels without all the plaster dust. In other parts of the house, near open windows, big fans tried to suck dust out of the house. They helped but not entirely. Just as the plastic she hung over the door to the kitchen didn’t completely prevent the dust from getting in.

As she was wiping around the sink, she noticed the window beside it was unlocked. She paused, wondering how that had happened. She never opened the windows in here because she didn’t want to create a draft that would suck the dust in around the edges of the plastic.

Damn, she couldn’t remember. For all she knew it had been unlocked for weeks or more. She might have done it in the way she did so many things, while thinking of something else. Except, she wouldn’t have closed it without locking it again, would she?

Hell. As forgetful as she seemed to be getting lately, it was silly even to wonder about it. Maybe one of the workmen or deliverymen had opened it briefly.

Sighing, she reached out to flip the lock closed.

“What do you want to drink?” she asked after she’d put a couple of large pretzels on a plate.

“Soda.”

Del faced her daughter. “You do this to drive me crazy, right?”

Colleen giggled. “No.” But the way she giggled had given lie to her denial.

Del laughed herself. “You know what’s in the fridge.”

“Yeah. Darn it. Wouldn’t you know I’d have a health freak for a mom?”

“Such a curse.” But Del couldn’t help feeling a pang. Her daughter wanted the same simple things every other kid her age wanted. Having to take extra care about her weight because her activities were limited only made it harder for both of them. “Okay,” she said. “Tell you what. I’ll get some diet soda at the store next time. Will that do?”

“I’ll love you forever.” An impish smile. “Can I have cranberry juice?”

“Always.” Del pulled a bottle of low-calorie juice from the fridge, rinsed a glass to remove any dust, filled it and handed it to Colleen. “Dr. Windwalker seems really nice.”

Before Colleen could answer, there was a buzz that sounded almost like laughter, and the girl pulled out her cell phone. “Yeah,” she answered absently as she scanned the screen then started rapidly texting a reply. The tap-tap of the keys was a counterpoint to every waking moment of the day. “Can I go over to Mary Jo’s for a sleepover tomorrow?”

“Sure, once I clear it with her mom.” Colleen had adapted amazingly well to her disability—so well that Del wondered if some of it weren’t just show to protect her mother—and the parents of her friends were more than ready to do the extra care Colleen required. Mary Jo’s mom had even installed handicap bars in her bathroom. But Del always felt she had to clear it.

“Mary Jo says her mom says to stop worrying about it.”

That sounded like Beth Andrews, for certain. “Okay, but tell Mary Jo to tell her mom to call me anyway.”

“Sheesh.” The word was accompanied by a small frown as the tapping resumed. “Okay, she’ll call.” Colleen looked up. “I guess I need to go back outside?”

“Just for a bit, sweetie. I’m done making dust for the day, but I want to get rid of some more of it and let the rest settle safely.”

Colleen had a little flip tray on her wheelchair and she had set the pretzels on it. The drink created a problem, however.

Del didn’t wait for the question. “Why don’t I carry your food out while you resume the neighborhood watch?”

That at least earned another laugh. Unfortunately, with all the dust, and later with the chemicals she would need to use for stripping and varnishing, it was best if Colleen remained outside as much as possible. Colleen didn’t seem to mind—texting seemed to be her major absorption, and sometimes friends came over to gather on the front porch with popcorn and beverages. Three days a week she went to physical therapy. School also occupied a good deal of her time except over the summers, and Del hoped to have the messiest of the work done on this house before school let out.

After she settled Colleen on the porch, she went back inside to get out her shop vacuum and start cleaning up as much as she could. Because it was still late spring, the afternoon would start getting chilly soon, and she wanted Colleen to come inside before it did.

Back inside with the inexplicable scratchings and bangings. Those concerned her. At first when Colleen had mentioned them, Del had assumed there were vermin in the attic and hadn’t been too troubled. But now, having checked everywhere she could and never having heard the sounds herself, she worried about more than vermin.

She worried about why Colleen might imagine such sounds. Worried about whether she needed to mention them to Colleen’s doctor or wait a little longer to see what developed.

At the back of her mind, she never quite escaped the feeling that another shoe was about to drop. Maybe it was just because once the worst happened to you, you never felt entirely safe again. And losing her husband and having her daughter paralyzed by an auto accident had been pretty much the worst she ever wanted to imagine.

But there was also the sense that Colleen had adapted too well and too quickly to losing the use of her legs. Oh, at first there had been plenty of tears and despair, many cries of “I wish I could have died, too.” But in a matter of just a month or so, those feelings seemed to have evaporated, leaving an unexpectedly cheerful and uncomplaining daughter.

Del kept thinking that at least once in a while Colleen ought to complain about something. But the child never did. At least not around her. Another concern. She didn’t want Colleen to feel as if she had to hide negative feelings from her, that she had to be strong for her mom. That would be an unfair and heavy burden for any child that age, including Colleen.

And then, sometimes she even worried about herself. Because while Colleen might be hearing sounds, Del herself seemed to be becoming a bit too forgetful, and maybe even imaginative. A couple of times in the past few weeks she’d come home after leaving the house empty to find things out of place. At least she thought they were out of place. And each time she had the distinct impression someone had been in the house.

Which was utterly insane, because she locked the place up tight every single time she and Colleen went out. There were simply too many valuable tools and construction supplies lying around to take any chance.

So she had to be forgetting where she left stuff. Not a good sign, but probably not all that abnormal either.

Del sighed heavily, pulled on her dust mask and picked up the hose to vacuum the living room she’d been working on. One room at a time to try to keep the mess under control. Damn dust still managed to seep everywhere.

Flipping houses had been a good idea overall after the accident that took Don and disabled Colleen. With the life insurance money, she’d been able to buy a fixer-upper, and with the skills learned growing up on a farm, studying architectural engineering in college, and some heavy-duty studying to fill the gaps, she’d learned most of the trades necessary to turn a mess into a desirable property. Things had gone well, mostly, although at the moment she still had one property she hadn’t been able to sell in this belt-tightening time, or even to rent to someone.

But her bank account was still healthy enough, and living in the houses she worked on made the expense easier to bear. This week, however, she’d need the electrician, as well as a plumber to help with the downstairs bath she intended to add. Those would be big bills, but necessary to ensure the house was up to code. At the moment it most certainly was not.