Everybody's Hero Read online

  No wonder Joe was worried about him. The kid's silence was about to drive her stark raving bonkers; she could only imagine how it was affecting Joe.

  Where at first Seth had hung back at camp, not wanting to join in, now he'd participate in or do anything that anybody suggested. But more out of a sense of obligation than any enthusiasm that Taylor could see. As if he were simply going through the motions so everybody would stay off his case. The thing was, if Seth had been obviously unhappy, or even acting out, that would have given Taylor something to work with. But this chronic close-mouthedness, his almost stoic cooperation with everybody…she had no clue what to do about that. As Joe said, it was kinda hard to help someone who wouldn't let anybody in.

  With a sigh, Taylor turned away from the door and picked up her cordless phone, punching in her mother's number. She dutifully called once a week, even though—

  "You've reached the McIntyre residence," came her mother's good-old-gal Texas accent. "Please leave a message after the tone."

  —Olivia McIntyre was rarely home.

  "Hi, Mom, it's Taylor. I'm fine, just calling to see how you were doing. I'll…talk to you later."

  Except she probably wouldn't, since her mother rarely returned her calls.

  Next on her list was Abby, her younger sister, a hotshot Realtor in Atlanta, married to an equally hotshot young corporate attorney. Abby had informed the family, shortly after her marriage three years before, not to expect any babies since neither she nor Bryce felt particularly driven to add to the world's population. Considering Abby's first word at ten months had been "Mine!", Taylor thought her sister had made the right decision.

  "Abby?" she said when her sister answered her cell. "Hey, it's Taylor!"

  "Taylor! Hi!" Lots of clinking china and silverware and loud conversation in the background. "Hold on a sec…" Taylor heard something mumbled about no, they'd rather sit in the window, then: "Bry and I are meeting his folks for dinner at this new place out in Buckhead, you should see it, it's unbelievable!"

  "Oh, I'm sorry, if you're busy—"

  "No, no, it's okay, I've got a couple seconds before they get here…what, honey? Oh, no, I don't care, that side is fine. Okay, hold on, let me just…get…seated…There, whew. Is it as hot there as it is here? I'm telling you, ten feet from car to door and I am just a puddle. So how are you? Oh, hold on, sorry…A daiquiri, please, thanks. Now. I'm all yours. Oh, wait, did I tell you? I closed on an absolutely outrageous deal involving an entire chain of restaurants. Fourteen of them, to be exact. The commission is huge. In fact, if I wanted to retire tomorrow, I could. What, honey?" Taylor heard her brother-in-law's voice, then her sister's light, ladylike laugh. "Bry said over his dead body. Oh, he says hi, by the way, wants to know how things are out in the boonies."

  "Actually—"

  "You know, with this commission, we're seriously thinking of looking for a farm or something out in the country, getting away from this wretched traffic. What was that, Bry? No, of course not that far out, silly. Bry says if there's no health club within a five-minute drive, he's not going. So did you hear Mom's on the Opera board? So that makes I think five boards, now. Maybe six. I do not know how she keeps them all straight. Oh, I see the folks now…" Her sister lowered her voice. "Phyllis is wearing this totally outrageous diamond pin. Wonder what she had to do to get that. Or, more likely—" Abby's voice dropped to a whisper "—what Lyndon did." Breathy giggle. "So look, I've got to run, but I'm so glad you called! I'll give you a ring next week, promise! Bye, honey!"

  Well. At least they knew each other was still alive. Taylor supposed that counted for something.

  One more call—Erika, her older sister—then her conscience would be clear.

  But Erika in Denver had just gotten in from work and had, like, two seconds to get Fleur to soccer practice and Kevin to Little League—thank God they were both in the same sports complex this time!—and why on earth wouldn't Taylor use e-mail like the rest of the world?

  Because, gee, maybe Taylor liked to actually talk to her family every once in a while? Not that she ever actually did, she thought as she hung up the phone. She supposed there was some small comfort in knowing that they weren't singling her out—nobody talked to anyone much, as far as she could see. And she couldn't even remember the last time they'd all been together. Erika hadn't even made it to Taylor's wedding—

  "Who were you talkin' to?" she heard as the screen door wheezed shut.

  Taylor turned to find Seth standing in front of her, cracker crumbs clinging to his T-shirt like insects, his empty plate and cup held out like a proffered gift. A mild curiosity in his eyes ratcheted his expression half a notch above indifferent. Taylor decided to take this as a positive sign.

  "I'm not sure I'd exactly call it talking. But I was calling my mom and sisters. And you know where your dishes go."

  "You got sisters?" the kid said, setting his plate and cup beside the sink.

  "Yep. Two. Did you get enough to eat? And what's the dog doing?"

  "Yeah, I guess," Seth said, sliding onto one of her kitchen chairs and hooking his feet behind the lower rung. "And I asked Oakley if he wanted to come in, but he said no." The boy's dark curls shivered from the overhead fan as he plunked his face down into his palms, scrunching up his cheeks. "How old are they? Your sisters?"

  Taylor held her breath, afraid to disturb the frail thread of trust shimmering between them. She went over to the sink to rinse off his dishes. "Erika's thirty-five and Abby's twenty-eight."

  "How old're you?"

  Okay, so maybe this interested she didn't need him to be. One eyebrow raised, she twisted around. Grinning. Teasing. "Hey, goof. Don't you know you're not supposed to ask a lady how old she is?"

  A fly landed on the table. Seth stacked his fists, then lowered his chin on top, watching it. "How come?"

  "Well, because some women are sensitive about their age."

  "That's dumb."

  Chuckling, she turned off the water and grabbed a towel to dry her hands. "Maybe so, but that's just the way it is."

  "So how old are you?"

  Oh, brother. "Thirty-two."

  "That's the same age as Joe," he said flatly, plugging in the fact without reacting to it. "So you're in between your sisters, huh?"

  "Yep."

  "That must be nice."

  Hmm. Had it ever been nice? "We fought a lot as kids," she said. "Then we ignored each other. Now we all have our own lives, in three different places." She shrugged. "We're not exactly close."

  Seth seemed to think about this for a minute. Either that, or he was fascinated by the fly, now slowly inching across the kitchen table. Taylor put her money on the fly. Who would be history the minute the kid wasn't looking. Then he said, "Joe read to me last night."

  "He did?"

  "Yeah. Only he fell asleep while he was doing it. So I felt bad."

  Her heart stumbled: Was it her imagination, or did the thread just get a little stronger? "Bad?" She went back to the table, sinking into the chair closest to him and asking softly, "How come?"

  That got a little wrinkle, right between his brows, as he stared hard at that fly, not looking at Taylor. Finally he said, "After Dad left—"

  After Dad left?

  "—and Mom had to work extra so we could stay in the apartment, Mom never wanted to do much of anything, anymore. She kept sayin' she was sorry and stuff, but…but she was so tired all the time."

  "Oh, sweetie…that must've been really hard on you."

  His chin still propped on his fists, Seth swung his eyes over to Taylor's. Then he just looked and looked at her, as if trying to decide if it was okay to say what he was thinking. Taylor stayed quiet, waiting. "There was this one time," he said at last, "when she fell asleep right in the middle of dinner. And I got real scared, 'cause I'd thought she'd, like, died or something." Then his eyes widened, as if his words has just caught up with his brain, and he sat straight up, his gaze darting to the clock over the refrigerator. "It's
after five-thirty, huh?"

  Taylor glanced over and nodded. "Not too much. Five thirty-five."

  "Joe said he'd come pick me up by now."

  It was the same thing, every day. The same longing, the same hope sagging into disappointment. And it broke her heart. Not just for Seth, but for Joe, who, she had to admit, was only trying to make the best of an impossible situation. The worst part, though, was that it was like finding yourself tricked into watching a movie you've already seen, one you know ends badly. Only with a movie, you could at least get up and walk out, or turn off the video or DVD. Because the story wasn't real, the characters on the screen were only pretend, they wouldn't know or care or be hurt if somebody walked away from them.

  Dammit.

  "Seth?" she said gently.

  The boy looked back at her, and this time she could see past the mask, through the silence, the politeness, the I'm-okay-ness, to the wordless, howling hurt churning inside him.

  She opened her arms. "Come here, baby," she whispered.

  For a split second, there was hesitation. Wariness. A flicker of fear, no doubt a reflection of her own, both consumed in an instant as the child catapulted himself off his chair and into Taylor's embrace.

  And even though he didn't cry, the poor little guy held on so tight Taylor could hardly breathe. Not that she cared, as she sat there rocking him, rubbing miniature vertebrae underneath slightly damp, sweet-sour smelling cotton, her cheek nestled in his thick curls. A tidal wave of tenderness plunged through flimsy barriers, flooding her parched soul…swamping her with the realization that maybe she wasn't doing this just for Seth.

  Emotion clogged the back of her throat, stung her eyes. When was the last time somebody had needed her? Really needed her?

  Really needed her?

  Not her sisters, certainly, or even her mother. Not Mason, who'd literally shrugged when she'd said she wanted a divorce. And you know something? That hurt. Oh, she was useful, and appreciated, she knew that—as a teacher, as a member of her community. She'd made some good friends here, and she was grateful. But, dammit, that wasn't the same as having somebody who couldn't wait to get home to tell you about their day, who missed you if you were gone too long, whose face lit up when you came into view. Who cared if you were unhappy or lonely, who got excited for you when you had good news.

  It wasn't the same as having somebody to miss, to care about, to get excited for.

  Without thinking, she placed a kiss in Seth's curls, then leaned back to smooth them off his forehead. Her heart was breaking, splintering into a thousand pieces. She'd done exactly what she'd sworn not to do—fall in love with this solemn-faced little kid. But she could no more keep her love out of his reach than she could stop the sun from coming up in the morning.

  And feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to do anybody a lick of good.

  "Feel better?" she said, feeling a half-baked smile tug at her lips.

  He nodded. "You smell nice."

  She laughed. "I do?"

  "Yeah. Like clothes when they first come out of the dryer—"

  They were interrupted by frantic whining and snuffling at the back door, followed by a single "Wroww!"

  Taylor gave the boy another quick hug, then said, "Might as well let him in, he'll drive us nuts until we do."

  Two seconds later, the dog burst proudly into the kitchen…and both humans clamped their hands over their noses.

  "Ohmigosh, Oak!" Through her hand, Taylor still caught a strong whiff of what she could only describe as a cross between a hundred ticked-off skunks and rotten broccoli. "What on earth did you get into?" With her free hand, she grabbed the dog's collar with the full intention of hauling his reeking hide outside, a plan with which Oakley was not entirely in agreement. Finally, with Taylor pulling and Seth shoving his full weight up against the miserable beast's butt, they got the dog back out, where he promptly trotted over to the far corner of the backyard and flung his body down onto the ground, writhing in unbridled canine bliss.

  "Stay here," Taylor said to Seth, then followed, steeling herself. The bad news was, whatever it was had passed over to the big woods in the sky quite some time ago. The good news—if one could find any in the situation—was that the animal was so far past identification stage that she couldn't really drum up a whole lot of sympathy for it at this point.

  It wasn't easy trying to talk without breathing, but she did manage to get out, "Oh, Oakley…" Except she decided Oakley was more the type to take advantage of a situation than initiate one. In any case, she once again grabbed hold of his collar, dug in her heels and dragged him away to shove him in his dog run while she decided what to do with…the remains.

  "What is it?" Seth called from across the yard.

  She turned. "Something dead. Not real sure what."

  "Is it gross?"

  "Oh, yeah."

  "Cool. C'n I see?"

  Well, shoot—if she'd known roadkill was all they needed to bring the kid out of his shell, they could've arranged for a breakthrough long before this.

  "Okay, I guess—"

  Kid was across the yard in three seconds flat. "Awesome," he said. "What are you going to do with it?"

  Good question. Burying it was pointless, since something would undoubtedly only exhume it later. So she trekked over to the shed the previous owners had left to get some rubber gloves and several garbage bags. Five minutes later, after the carcass had been duly shrouded and dispatched into her garbage can—while Oakley barked and bounced the whole time, protesting the loss of his prize—they both turned and regarded the heartbroken, stinky dog.

  "What now?" Seth asked.

  Taylor looked at the kid. "You got a problem with getting soaking wet?"

  The boy's great big grin said it all.

  Chapter 7

  "Joe! Guess what I did yes-terday?"

  Joe smiled at the exuberance in his sister's voice. Kristen had caught him on his cell just as he was getting into the Blazer to go pick up Seth. She didn't call often—although she'd phone him several times a day if Mom let her—so the last thing Joe wanted was to put her off.

  "What, cute stuff?"

  "I went swim-ming! It was fun! The water got up my nose, but I was o-kay!"

  Joe chuckled. "That's terrific! I bet you're a good swimmer."

  "I am." She laughed, a loud HA! HA! HA! that came from her belly. "And guess what?"

  "What?"

  "I pulled weeds from the garden. Gran gave me money."

  "How much?" he said, encouraging her.

  "Ten dollars. How much is ten dollars, Joe?"

  "You can rent three movies for ten dollars."

  "Wow. That's a lot!"

  Joe smiled, but it was a smile weighted down by reality. At her last evaluation, they'd been told Kristen's mental capacity was that of an average six-year-old. And like a six-year-old, Kristen tended to see things in black-and-white, tended to obsess about unimportant details like her stuffed animals being lined up on her bed the exact same way every single day. She could read very simple books and write her name and perform clearly delineated tasks, but at fifteen, it was clear there would be no miracles.

  His mother had made avail of every program, every provision, every type of stimulation out there. They could at least rest easy knowing that they'd done everything for her they could—including, perhaps most importantly, fostering an expectation that Kristen learn to do as many things for herself as possible…an expectation that had brought its share of temper tantrums over the years. But there was a difference between giving Kristen the opportunity to reach her full potential and having unrealistic hopes.

  Just as there was a difference between loving her for who she was and being able to accept that loving her wasn't enough to…

  To fix her.

  Joe shut his eyes against the guilt that had set up permanent residence in his gut from the day his mother had brought Kristen home from the hospital. If he loved her—and he did, with all his heart—why couldn't h
e simply accept her for who she was and be done with it?

  "Guess what we're having for dinner tonight?" Kristen said, breaking into his thoughts. "Pizza! With saus-age and mushrooms! Hey, Mom wants to talk to you, okay?"

  "Sure, cute stuff."

  "I miss you, Joe."

  His heart cramped. "I miss you, too, honey."

  His mother was slightly out of breath when she came on the phone. "Sorry, I didn't know she'd called, I hope it wasn't a bad time."

  "No, but I've got to go pick up Seth, and I'm already late."

  "How's he doing? Better?"

  Danielle Salazar had greeted the news that her rat-bastard ex-husband had fathered another child with an equanimity Joe doubted few other women could match. But then, taking out her frustrations on an innocent child wasn't his mother's style in any case. Mom loved kids—all kids—far too much for that. Like Taylor, he thought idly, then yanked his thought back to attention by reminding himself that he still had no intention of letting Seth become his mother's problem.

  "Yeah, I think. We're doing okay."

  "Except you sound exhausted."

  "It's the end of a long day, Mom," he said, smiling slightly as he shifted to lean against the front fender. Lacy shade from a nearby cottonwood flicked over him, shielding him from the brutal heat; in the distance, the Ozark foothills stretched across the landscape like a sleeping cat, serene and unperturbed. For the briefest of moments, he felt…not bad. "I think I'm entitled."

  "Still," she said on a rush of air. "It can't be easy, suddenly having a child to care for. Especially one you don't even know. It might not be so bad if you were married, but all by yourself…"

  So much for the okay moment. "Mom? Don't."

  She blew out another sigh, but she backed off. Sort of. "So define, 'Doing okay.'"

  "Just what I said—"

  "Jose Diego Salazar. Am I going to have to come over there and pop you one?"

  She'd only torment him until he cracked. "It's not like Seth is giving me any trouble or anything," he finally said. "It's just…he won't talk to me. In fact, instead of opening up, it's like he's withdrawing even further. Even Taylor noticed it."