No Ordinary Hero

He almost took it as a dismissal, which he was used to getting often enough in life. But her expression gave him pause. No, she hadn’t lost her uneasiness, but she was feeling silly for it. He tried to think of a way to continue to accompany her while taking her concerns seriously. She was obviously a quite independent woman, and there was a good chance she didn’t like leaning on a man, especially over an inexplicable feeling. And there was still something about this damn house.

“I’d actually like to see where Colleen’s hearing the noises.” He shrugged. “You never know. I might hear them and be able to identify them.”

“I wish you could,” she admitted. “I haven’t heard them myself, at least not yet.”

“So let’s go hunting.”

At that she chuckled and led the way.

The downstairs was quite spacious and nicely laid out. Kitchen and dining room on one side of the unusually large hallway, living room and an extra room on the other side. They skipped the extra room initially, though Mike could see color through the door that was slightly ajar.

Upstairs there were another three spacious bedrooms with walk-in closets and an unusually large bathroom that boasted an iron tub with clawed feet. A real antique, and a tub that a full-grown man could actually fit into.

“I wish this house had been available when I bought mine,” he remarked. “I’d have snapped it up.”

She flashed a smile. “You can always buy it once I get it fixed up.”

“I may take you up on that.”

The bedrooms, as yet, had clearly not been worked on, but even so their condition wasn’t bad. Her room held an ordinary double bed and a dresser, and not one personal item was in view. He found that a little odd. The two others were empty.

When they returned downstairs, she led him to the room at the back end of the hall, the one they had skipped the first time through.

It proved to be Colleen’s room and was a riot of color, with posters and a shiny mobile, and a bed nearly filled with pillows and stuffed animals. A lovely old table was obviously being used for a desk, high enough that the child’s wheelchair could slide up to it comfortably, and it sported a good laptop computer along with books, papers and doodads. Over the bed was a bar hanging from a chain, probably to help Colleen maneuver into and out of her chair. He squashed a natural sympathetic reaction, because he sensed it would not be welcome either by Colleen or her mother. That child showed every sign of becoming just as independent as her mom.

“Does Colleen only hear the sounds in here?”

“So far. I’ve checked the attic and upstairs, but I haven’t found any spoor, or anything else for that matter. I put in some traps but they haven’t been sprung.”

“Can we just stay here for a little bit?”

Del shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” She sat on the edge of the bed, leaving him to sit on a wooden chair in the corner, which meant moving an oversize stuffed rabbit.

“Does she only hear the sounds at night?”

“Mostly, but sometimes in the evening when she’s in here doing homework. They’ve always stopped by the time I get in here when she calls me.”

“That’s … strange.” Something warned him to be very careful here. There might be some emotional land mines he didn’t want to trip by blundering around. “I like your daughter. She’s so friendly for someone her age. I’m used to kids kind of glancing my way and dismissing me unless I’m caring for one of their pets.”

“Kids that age are so awkward about things. Some of them anyway. Colleen has had so many adults in her life, in one capacity or another, since her accident that I think she’s more comfortable with older people.”

“That could be part of it. And she’s certainly outgoing.”

They sat a few minutes in silence and Mike realized that Del seemed to be growing uneasier, rather than less so. He wanted to ask what troubled her, but he didn’t feel he knew her well enough.

“You know,” Del said finally, “maybe I should sleep in here tonight. Colleen is spending the night with a friend, and it might be the perfect time to do a little more detective work.”

He nodded. “Might be a good idea.”

Suddenly her blue eyes, as sharp as lasers, met his. “Why did you say this house makes you feel sad?”

Crap. He’d kind of hoped she would let that go, because he never should have said it, even out of natural sympathy. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “It was just a feeling.”

She nodded slowly. “I’m Irish enough to be superstitious. Or maybe I should say my mother raised me to be superstitious. Don’t open an umbrella in the house, knock on wood, don’t tempt fate, all those things. I rebelled against all of that, of course. Sometimes I even open an umbrella in the house just to prove I don’t buy it.”

Her lips curved almost impishly, and he had to smile back. “I hear you.”

Her small smile faded. “But there’s a definite atmosphere in this house I didn’t notice before. I thought maybe I was imagining it because I couldn’t find a source for the noises Colleen complains about. But then you said the house felt sad.”

He wished he could take those words back. But he couldn’t, and by saying them he’d not only revealed something about himself that he ordinarily kept private, but he’d apparently also increased Del’s concern.

He ought to kick his own butt. “Sorry,” he said. But he couldn’t deny that he felt something in this house, because that would mean lying.

“It’s okay. At least I know I’m not riding the crazy train alone.” She sighed, then smiled. “Let me make us some coffee or something. We could probably sit here for hours and never hear the sound.”

Long experience warned him to leave, that he’d been in her house long enough to stir talk if people had noticed. But another part of him, the real person who’d been tucked away inside out of necessity, told him to stick around. If she wanted him gone, she wouldn’t have made the offer, and her suggestion that he stay intimated that she didn’t want to be alone here. Nor could he blame her.

But she caught his hesitation, and he saw her fair cheeks color faintly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You just got home and I’ve already taken too much of your time.”

This time he didn’t hear a dismissal. Far from it: this was genuine courtesy. And it warmed him.

“I’d love that coffee if it’s not too much trouble.”

She hopped up from the bed, clearly pleased. “No trouble at all. In fact, I need to make dinner for myself, so why don’t I just make it for both of us.”

She hurried from the room, apparently intent on doing just that. He remained a moment longer, wondering if he’d just put his foot in it for both of them.

But the sadness in the house called to him, and he couldn’t help thinking that, in her own way, Del was probably as lonely a soul as he was.

And that called to him, too.

In the big scheme of things, impulsively inviting a neighbor to stay for a cobbled-together dinner probably didn’t amount to much. But for Del it was a big step. She liked to know her neighbors, yes, but rarely socialized beyond the most casual conversations. Not since the accident.

Once she’d been quite engaged with friends and a social life, but since Don’s death she had begun to note how she had narrowed her world and limited the people she allowed to become close. In fact, she had even let close friends go, slowly, simply by not keeping up with them.

Afraid to make new connections because she was afraid of more pain? Yeah, and she knew it. But it didn’t bother her. She had more than enough to occupy herself, and she could justify narrowing the scope of her life by the need to take care of Colleen.

So in the big scheme of things, asking Mike Windwalker to join her for dinner was nothing. In her scheme of things it seemed like a huge step. But, she assured herself as she began to pull things from the fridge and cupboards, it really was a minor thing. He’d offered to help her get an appropriate kitten for Colleen. Asking him to stay for a run-of-the-mill dinner hardly seemed out of line.

And maybe it was time for her to pull at least one foot out of her self-imposed rut. She wasn’t opposed to healing—she just didn’t seem to have time for it. Maybe she needed to make time, for the sakes of both her daughter and herself.

“What can I do to help?” Mike asked as he entered the kitchen.

“Have a seat and keep me company.” She looked over her shoulder at him and said frankly, “I’ve turned myself into a hermit. It would be good for me to start practicing my social skills again.”

He smiled as he pulled out a chair at the small table and sat. “I probably could use some of the same myself.”

“I doubt it. You deal with people all day long. I deal with wood, plaster, paint and noxious chemicals. They don’t talk back.”