An Accidental Hero

Reid was on his feet and beside her in a heartbeat. “What’s the matter?”

Try as she might, Cammi couldn’t find her voice. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped her stomach and prayed. Not the baby, Lord. Please don’t let it be the baby….

“Georgia,” Reid bellowed to the diner owner as he scooped Cammi up in his powerful arms, “call the emergency room. Tell them we’re on the way.”

“Don’t look so scared, pretty lady,” he said after he gently deposited her inside his truck and buckled the seat belt. “Everything will be all right.”

Leaning against the headrest, she closed her eyes. Stay calm, she told herself. The Father is with you.

Reid reached across the seat to squeeze her hand. “Keep a good thought, okay?”

“Pray, Reid,” she managed to say. “Please…pray for me….”

LOREE LOUGH

A full-time writer for many years, Loree Lough has produced more than 2,000 articles, dozens of short stories and novels for the young (and young at heart), and all have been published here and abroad. The award-winning author of more than thirty-five romances, Loree also writes as Cara McCormack and Aleesha Carter.

A comedic teacher and conference speaker, Loree loves sharing in classrooms what she’s learned the hard way. The mother of two grown daughters, she lives in Maryland with her husband and an old-as-dirt cat named Mouser (who, until recently—when she caught and killed her first mouse—had no idea what a rodent was).

An Accidental Hero

Loree Lough

…wait on the Lord, and He shall save thee.

—Proverbs 20:22

To my family,

whose loving support gives me courage, and to the

heroes who save us from all manner of danger

without a second thought for themselves,

for that is true courage.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

Cammi Carlisle had been heading east on Route 40 since dawn, doing her level best to keep her mind on the road rather than the reasons she’d left Los Angeles. It would take Herculean strength and the courage of Job, too, to tell her father everything she’d done since moving away from Texas….

Sighing, she looked away from the rain-streaked windshield long enough to glance at the blue-green numerals on her dashboard clock. Fifteen minutes, tops, and she’d be home. Dread settled over her like an itchy blanket.

Her dad would never come right out and voice his disapproval of her decisions. Instead, he’d shake his head and say, “It’s your life…but I think you’ll be sorry….”

He’d said it when she signed up for Art instead of Bookkeeping in high school, when she traded her scholarship to Texas U. for acting lessons at the community college, when she announced her plans to move to Hollywood and try her hand at acting.

Cammi sighed, wondering how old she’d have to be before her dad no longer made her feel like a knobby-kneed, silly little—

From out of nowhere, came the angry blare of a car horn, the whoosh-hiss of tires skidding on rain-slicked pavement, the deafening impact of metal smashing into metal…. Then came an instant of utter stillness, punctuated by the soft tinkling of broken glass peppering the blacktop.

Cammi loosened her grip on the steering wheel and took stock. She’d been traveling north, but her fifteen-year-old coupe now faced south in the intersection of Amarillo’s Western Avenue and Plains Boulevard—the very corner where, thirteen years earlier, on a rainy night much like this one, her mother had died in a fiery car wreck.

Still reeling from the shock of the impact, Cammi stepped shakily onto the pavement. She didn’t seem to be hurt, and prayed whoever was in the other car had been as fortunate. Not much hope of that, though—the vehicle reminded her more of a modern-art sculpture than a pickup.

The truck’s side window had shattered on impact, making it impossible to see the driver. Gently, she rapped on the crystallized glass. “Hello…hello? Are you all right in there?”

“I’m fine, no thanks to you,” came the gruff reply.

The door slowly opened with a loud, protesting groan. One pointy-toed cowboy boot thumped to the ground, immediately followed by the other.

“Are you crazy?” the driver demanded as he stood and faced her.

Pedestrians had gathered on the street corners as the drivers of other vehicles leaned out of their car windows: “Anyone hurt?” one woman asked.

“Doesn’t appear so,” a male voice answered, “but I’m gonna be late, thanks to these idiots….”

Good grief, Cammi thought. As if her reasons for coming home weren’t bad enough, now she’d have to add “caused a car crash, smack-dab in the middle of town” to the already too-long list. Suddenly, she felt light-headed and grabbed the gnarled fender of the cowboy’s pickup for support. He waved back the small crowd that had gathered, and steadied her, two strong hands gripping her upper arms. Crouching slightly, he squinted and stared into her eyes.

“You okay? Should I call 911?”

The dizziness passed as quickly as it had descended. Cammi shook her head. “No. I’m okay.” And to prove it, she stepped away from his truck and smiled.

He thumbed his Stetson to the back of his head and looked her over from head to toe. Satisfied Cammi was indeed all right, he nodded and crossed both arms over his chest. “Did you even see that red light?”

Blinking as the cold October rain sheeted down her cheeks, she stared, slack-jawed and silent, as her gaze slid from his dark, frowning eyebrows to his full-lipped, scolding mouth. Not a bump or bruise, Cammi noted, not so much as a split lip. Thank God for that! “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what was…”

He ignored her just as surely as he ignored the quickly thinning crowd. Muttering under his breath, he began pacing circles around what was left of their vehicles. “Is she blind?” he said, throwing both hands into the air. “Where’d she get her driver’s license, in a bubble gum machine?”

Unlike her sisters and so many of her friends, Cammi had earned her license on the first try, and hadn’t been involved in so much as a fender bender since. “I can see perfectly well, thank you,” she snapped, “and there isn’t a thing wrong with my hearing, either.”

He looked up suddenly. Scrubbing both hands over his face, he expelled a deep sigh, then slid a cell phone from his jacket pocket. “Well,” he said, flipping it open and punching the keys with his forefinger, “at least you’re not hurt.” Frowning, he gave her a second once-over.

If Cammi didn’t know better, she’d have to say he looked downright concerned.

“You are all right, right?”

Except for that brief dizzy spell.—and Cammi thought she knew what was to blame for that—she’d come through the accident unharmed. A quick nod was her answer.

Facing the intersection, he spoke quietly into the phone, shaking his head. He reminded her a bit of her father, what with his frustrated gestures and matter-of-fact reporting of the facts. He probably outweighed her dad by twenty pounds, all of it muscle, she decided, remembering the way his strong hands had steadied her moments earlier. The similarities made Cammi swallow, hard, knowing that the reprimand this cowboy gave her would pale when compared to the look of disapproval she’d see in her father’s eyes once she got home. It would’ve been tough enough, bringing him up to speed on the reasons she’d left L.A.—without this mess. Especially one so similar to the wreck that killed her mother. Especially considering that in his mind, this too, like so many other things, had been her fault.

Stubborn determination, she knew, was the only thing that stood between her and tears. But there’d be plenty of time for self-pity later, after she’d told her father about Rusty, about the—

“Tow trucks are on the way,” he said, interrupting her reverie. He snapped his phone shut, dropped it back into his pocket. “You look a little green around the gills,” he added, wrapping those big fingers around her upper arm yet again. “Soakin’ wet, too,” he continued, leading her toward Georgia’s Diner. And in a voice she couldn’t describe as anything but tender, he added, “What-say you wait inside, where it’s warm and dry, while I take care of things out here.”

She hated to admit it, but she did feel a bit dazed and confused. Why else would she have so quickly and willingly followed his instructions?

As he reached for the door handle, Cammi considered the possibility that he was one of those multiple personality types…raging mad one minute, sweet as honey the next. What if he’d just robbed a bank, and the accident had interfered with his getaway?

He held the door open and smiled. “Order me a cup of coffee, will ya?” He nodded toward the intersection. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need it once that mess is cleaned up.”

Like a windup doll, Cammi went where he’d aimed her, wondering yet again why she was being so agreeable. It wasn’t like her to let others tell her what to do. She chalked it up to the welcoming comfort of being in the restaurant where, as a teenager, she’d spent hundreds of hours, earning spending money for movies and mascara and the myriad of other things high school girls need.

“Hey, Georgia,” Cammi said, stepping behind the counter to grab the coffeepot. “Mind if I help myself?”

“Well, as I live and breathe!” Cammi’s former boss tossed her cleaning rag aside to add, “Look what the wind blew in!” Georgia wrapped Cammi in a warm hug, then held her at arm’s length. “You sure are a sight for sore eyes, honey. Are y’home for a little visit? I’ll bet your dad is just thrilled outta his socks. Every time that man comes in here, it’s ‘Cammi this’ and ‘Cammi that.”’

It stunned her a bit, hearing her father had spoken well of her. But Lamont London had never been one to air his dirty laundry in public. She waited for Georgia to take a breath. “I’m home to stay,” she managed to say between hugs. “Had a little accident out there in the intersection, and that’s why I’m—”

“Accident? You okay, honey?” Georgia pressed chubby palms to Cammi’s cheeks. “Let’s have a look at you….”

Cammi gave Georgia a one-armed hug, mindful of the hot coffee sloshing in the egg-shaped pot she held in her other hand. “I’m fine, but my car isn’t. And neither is that cowboy’s pickup truck.” She took a step back and pointed toward the intersection. “I was told to wait in here while he ‘took care of business.”’

“Well, now, will wonders never cease. A real-live gentleman, in this day and age!” Georgia walked toward the customer who’d just seated himself at the counter. “Glad to have you home, honey,” she said, winking at Cammi. “You know where ever’thing is, so go right ahead and help yourself.”

Cammi filled two mugs with coffee and carried them to a booth near the window wall. The overhead lights glinted from the narrow gold band on the third finger of her left hand. Sighing, she stared through the diner’s window, watching the cowboy “taking care of things” out there. For all she knew, he could be arranging to steal her car and everything in it. Why had she so casually handed over control of the situation, when usually, she demanded to be in charge of her life?

Cammi groaned softly, knowing that wasn’t even remotely true. No one in charge of her own life could have messed things up as badly as she had this time!

Maybe his soothing DJ-deep voice was the reason she’d obeyed like a well-programmed robot, or was it those greener-than-emeralds eyes? Or that slanted half smile? Or his soft Texas drawl…?

Fingernails drumming quietly on the tabletop, she sipped black coffee, watching as he talked with yellow-slickered police officers, as he scribbled on the tow truck drivers’ clipboards, as he collected business cards. He pointed and gestured, nodded in a way she could only term efficient. No, she corrected, the better word was definitely manly.

Once both tow trucks drove off with their loads, he headed for the diner, big shoulders hunched and hands pocketed as he plowed through wind and driving rain. It suddenly dawned on her that the coffee she’d poured for him would be cold by now. Cammi hurried to the counter for a hot refill, and was just settling back into the booth when he walked through the door.

He shook rain from his hat and denim jacket and hung them on the pole attached to the seat back, then slid onto the bench across from her. “I, uh, owe you an apology.”

Not a word about the trouble he’d gone to out there, about being drenched by the cold rain, about being without his truck for who knows how long…thanks to her. Cammi blinked and, smiling a bit, held up one hand. “Wait, let me get this straight…I ran the red light, totaled your truck, and you’re apologizing?”

His cheeks reddened and his brow furrowed. “Yeah, well, I went overboard. Way overboard.” He wrapped both hands around his mug, then met her eyes. “Wasn’t any need for me to get that hot under the collar.”

She’d had plenty of time, sitting there alone, to toss a few ideas around in her head. His truck hadn’t been a new model, and his clothes, though clean and neatly pressed, had a timeworn look to them. Which told her that, without his pickup he’d likely be hard-pressed for a way to get to work. No wonder he’d given her such a dressing-down! Now his quiet, grating voice and the haunted look in his eyes made her believe something far more serious than property damage had inspired his former grumpy mood.

“Let’s make a deal,” she suggested. “If the mechanic can get your truck back on the road in a day or two, then you can apologize for blowing things out of proportion.” She grinned. “But I have a feeling that apology isn’t going to be necessary, don’t you?”

His smile never quite made it to his eyes, Cammi noted.

For an instant, she considered asking about that. Instead, she slid a paper napkin toward him. Earlier, she’d jotted her insurance agent’s name and number and her own cell phone number on it. “Better drink up while it’s hot,” she said, pointing to his mug. Before he could agree or object, she tacked on, “I want to assure you the accident won’t cost you a dime. It was my fault, completely, so if you need a rental car until your pickup is repaired, or if—”

His mouth formed a thin line when he interrupted. “Thanks, but I’ll manage.” He held out one hand and cleared his throat. “Name’s Reid, by the way. Reid Alexander.”

She wondered if his skin was naturally this warm, or had the hot coffee cup heated it? “Cammi Carlisle,” she said. It still seemed strange, saying “Carlisle” instead of “London.” Deep down, she admitted her new last name wouldn’t upset her dad half as much as the rest of what she would have to tell—

“If you have a pen,” Reid was saying, “I’ll give you my phone number, too, in case your insurance agent needs it.”

Cammi fished the felt-tip pen from her purse and watched as he plucked a napkin from the chrome stand-up holder on the windowsill. She liked the strong, sure lines of his handwriting, the firm way he gripped the pen. He had a nice face, too, open and honest, with look-straight-at-you green eyes that told her he was a good, decent man.

But then, she’d believed that about Rusty Carlisle, too…at first.

“Hungry?” he asked as she tucked his phone number into her purse.

She didn’t think she’d ever seen thicker, darker lashes on a man. “As a matter of fact, I haven’t had a bite all day.”

He raised an arm and waved. “Hey, Georgia,” he called, grinning. “How ’bout a couple menus over here.”

The husky redhead shot a “you’ve gotta be kidding” look his way, and propped a fist on an ample hip. “I don’t remember seeing you come in here on crutches, honey, so unless your leg is broken, come get ’em yourself.” To Cammi, she mouthed Men! and went back stacking clean plates behind the counter.

Reid chuckled. “Be right back,” he whispered. “Wouldn’t want to rile the cook.”

“Right,” Cammi agreed, “’cause y’never know what might end up on your plate.”

She liked the way he walked…like a man who knew who he was and where he was going in life. He leaned over the counter and grabbed two plastic-coated menus and exchanged a few words with Georgia. The good-natured tone of their banter told Cammi they knew one another well. Funny that Cammi didn’t know him, too; she’d only been away from Amarillo two years, after all.

Only. A silent, bitter laugh echoed in her head. The past twenty-four months seemed like a lifetime now….

When he returned, Reid slid into the booth, handed her one menu, flattened the other on the table in front of him. “So, what can I order you?”

Georgia made the best burgers in Texas and Cammi had been craving one of her specialties for weeks. “I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger and fries, on one condition.”

He met her gaze. “Condition?”

There was no mistaking the suspicion and mistrust written on his handsome face. Cammi wondered what—or who—had caused it. “I’m buying,” she announced, holding up a hand to forestall his argument. “You’d be home now, safe and sound and chowing down something home-cooked, no doubt, if I hadn’t plowed through that red light. Buying your supper is the least I can do, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

That teasing look on his face made Cammi’s stomach lurch. Was he flirting with her? Under normal circumstances, she might have been flattered. But these were hardly normal circumstances.

“There isn’t a nickel’s worth of fight left in me. So okay, you’ll buy, this time.”

This time?

Cammi got to her feet. What better way to hide from her reaction than to put on her “efficient waitress” face? “A lifetime ago,” she explained, “I worked here at Georgia’s. Maybe I can pull a few strings, get you some extra fries or a free slice of pie.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Georgia bakes it herself, you know.”

Laughing, Reid said, “Yeah, I know.” Then he added, “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Cammi hurried to the counter, and came back carrying silverware in one hand and a pitcher of ice water in the other. She was about to leave again, to get glasses and straws, when he grabbed her wrist.

“Thanks,” he said, giving it a little squeeze. “This is right nice of you, especially after the way I behaved out there.”

The bright fluorescent light had turned his eyes greener still. “You behaved like any normal person would under those conditions.” She eased free of his grasp. “This is the least I can do.”

She puttered behind the counter and caught up with Georgia as the diner owner slapped burgers onto the grill and dumped frozen fries into the deep fryer. She couldn’t help wondering as she watched her former boss poke the meat patties with a corner of a metal spatula, why she hadn’t experienced any of these heart-stopping, stomach lurching “first meeting” feelings with Rusty. Cammi shook her head.

But honestly! What business did she have feeling anything! Cammi blamed the long drive, the accident, the reasons she’d been forced to leave L.A. for her strong reaction to Reid. Finding out she was going to be a mother on the very day she’d become a widow would make any woman behave strangely, right?

When Cammi finally slid the food-laden tray onto their table, Reid gave an admiring nod. “It’s like riding a bike,” she said, dismissing his unspoken compliment, “you never forget how to balance.” If only balancing my life were as easy as balancing this tray, she thought.

He waited until she was seated to say, “I owe you more than an apology, I owe you an explanation. All that bellowing and…” He shook his head. “Well, it was just plain uncalled for. This is a flimsy excuse, I know, but I had a similar experience some years back, and that accident…” He took a deep breath, exhaled. “Let’s just say I’m downright sorry for behaving like a mule-headed fool.”

His admission conjured a memory, one so strong Cammi didn’t trust her voice. The boy who’d been driving the truck the night her mother died…his name had been Reid. One and the same? Or a queer coincidence?

She didn’t realize how intently she’d been staring until he shifted uncomfortably in the seat. If he was that Reid….

“Did you know that cold fries cause indigestion?” she asked.

His expression said, Huh?

Using a French fry as a pointer, Cammi explained: “It has something to do with the way cooking oils mix with stomach acids. I think. Something like that.” She was rambling and knew it, but better to have him think she was a babbling idiot than to press him for details…and find out she might be sitting face to face with the guy who’d killed her mother.

She’d been horrified to learn how her danger-hungry stuntman husband had died, but his death only served to underscore what she’d realized on their wedding night—they hadn’t married for love. The cold hard fact was, they’d been friends with one thing in common: a tendency to act on impulse.

So jumping to conclusions about Reid didn’t seem the smartest thing to do at the moment. Besides, she recognized Reid’s far-off expression as an attempt to hide from the miseries of his past. She recognized it because she felt exactly the same way. Cammi wanted to comfort him, if only for this brief moment in time, and gave in to the urge to blanket his fidgeting hands with hers.

Then, suddenly, for a reason she couldn’t explain, Cammi found herself biting back tears, found herself feeling guilty for harboring so much anger toward Rusty. It would be hard, very hard, getting past the way her husband had died…and with whom. Still, on the day he’d been buried, Cammi had promised herself that Rusty’s child would never know those awful details.

Reid eased his hands from beneath hers and broke the uneasy silence. “So, you live ’round these parts?”

She hadn’t realized until that moment exactly how much she’d missed hearing a good old-fashioned Texas drawl, how much she’d missed Amarillo, how good it felt to be on familiar turf. “Actually,” she said, shrugging, “my dad lives not too far from here.” She sipped her soda. “And you?”

It seemed as if a shadow crossed his face, darkening his features.

Reid cleared his throat. “Once, I was a…” He took a deep breath and started over. “Well, I’m a ranch hand now.”

He said “now” as if it were “the end,” and she wondered for a moment why. But Cammi wouldn’t ask that question, either, because crashing into his life had already caused enough damage, without rousing bad memories as well. From now on, she’d keep the conversation light, carefree, noncommittal.

Cammi looked out the window, gestured toward the bustling street. “I grew up in Amarillo, but I’ve been away a few years.”

He smiled. “Lemme guess…you’re married with kids, and your husband’s job took you away from home.”

“No.” She stared into her mug, saw the overhead lights glimmering on the surface of the glossy black coffee. She could tell him about Rusty, about the rush wedding, but then she’d have to admit what an addle-brained twit she’d been, running off without a thought or a prayer to marry a man for no reason other than that he’d asked her to. “No husband, no kids.” She pressed a palm to her stomach. At least, no kids yet, she thought. “I’ve been in California, trying to become an actress,” she finished in a singsong voice.

Usually when she said that, people chuckled at her admission, rolled their eyes, smiled condescendingly. Cammi waited for one of the typical responses. It surprised her when instead, Reid said in a soft, raspy drawl, “Well, you’re sure pretty enough to be a movie star.”