An Accidental Hero. Loree Lough

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СКАЧАТЬ they seemed happier, more content—despite Billy’s terminal illness—than anyone he’d ever known. Maybe he should at least give her advice a try.

      He stood in front of the bookcase and slid the Bible halfway out from where it stood among paperback novels, Billy’s comics collection and Martina’s photo albums. A moment, then two, ticked silently by….

      “Nah,” Reid grumbled, shoving the book back into place. He remembered, as he slid between the bedcovers, how often he’d overheard Martina’s heartfelt prayers for Billy’s healing.

      But the healing never came. Instead, Billy’s condition worsened, almost by the hour. If God could turn a deaf ear to Martina, who believed with a heart as big as her head, why would He listen to a no-account like Reid!

      Staring up at the ceiling again, he shook his head. There was no denying that Martina believed God had been the glue that held the decades-long marriage together. Once, during a visit to the Rockin’ C a few years back, Reid had encountered a deep-in-prayer Martina in the living room. Glowing like a schoolgirl, she’d sung the Almighty’s praises. “You talk as if He hung the moon,” Reid had said, incredulous. She’d affectionately cuffed the back of his head. “He did, you silly goose!”

      Something otherworldly was certainly responsible for their contentment and happiness. Scalp still tingling from Martina’s smack, Reid had wondered if he’d live long enough to find a love like that.

      “You’re only twenty-seven, son. Give the Father time to lead you to the one He intends you to share your life with.” As Reid opened his mouth to object, she’d added, “Think about it, you stubborn boy! If He could hang the moon, surely He can help you find your soul mate!”

      Soul mate, Reid thought now. Did such a thing even exist anywhere other than in romance novels?

      Romance. The word made him think of Cammi. Pretty, petite, sweet as cotton candy. When his gaze was drawn again to the gilded script on the Bible’s spine, he stubbornly turned away, closed his eyes.

      As he drifted off to sleep, it was Cammi’s smiling face he focused on.

      A few hours earlier…

      “Wow, lady,” the cabbie said. “This is some place you’ve got here.”

      “Isn’t mine,” Cammi corrected. “River Valley is my dad’s.”

      He nodded. “Still, mighty impressive all the same.”

      She couldn’t deny it. Anyone who’d ever seen the ranch had been impressed, if not by the three-story stone house, then by the two-lane wooden bridge leading to the circular drive, or the waterfall, hissing and gurgling beneath it. Everything had been the result of her father’s design…and his own hardworking hands.

      The tall double doors swung wide even before Cammi stepped out of the cab. Bright golden light spilled from the enormous foyer, painting the wraparound porch and curved flagstone walkway with a butter-yellow glow and casting her father’s burly form in silhouette. A booming “Camelia, you’re home!” floated to her on the damp Texas breeze. Then, his deep voice suddenly laced with concern, Lamont added, “What’s with the taxi? Did you have car trouble?”

      Cammi grinned at the understatement. “You could say that.”

      “You should’ve called,” he said. “I’d have come for you.”

      Could have, should have, would have. How many times had she heard that before leaving home?

      Lamont held out his arms and Cammi melted into them. Plenty of time to tell him about the accident—and everything else—later. For the moment, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, she put aside the reasons she’d left home. Forgot his “you’ll be sorry” speech. Forgot how determined she’d been to prove him wrong, for no reason other than that for once in her life, she’d wanted to make him proud.

      Proud? So much for that! Cammi thought.

      “Good to have you home, sweetie.”

      My, but that sounded good. Sounded right. This was where she wanted…no, where she needed to be. And if the length or strength of Lamont’s embrace was any indicator, her father felt the same way. At least, for now. “Good to be home,” Cammi admitted.

      He released her and went for his wallet.

      “Dad,” she started, “I can pay the—”

      But Lamont had already peeled off a fifty. “That’ll cover it, right, son?” he asked, shoving the bill into the driver’s hand.

      “Yessir, it sure will!” Eyes wide, he waited for permission to pocket the bill.

      “Keep the change,” Lamont said, grabbing Cammi’s bag.

      The man beamed. “Sayin’ ‘thanks’ seems lame after a tip like this!”

      Grinning, Lamont saluted, then slung his arm over Cammi’s shoulder. “Drive safely, m’boy,” he said, guiding her toward the house. He hadn’t closed the front door behind them before asking, “Where’s the rest of your gear?”

      “I shipped some boxes a couple of days ago. They’ll be delivered tomorrow, Monday at the latest.” She tugged the strap of her oversized purse, now resting firmly against his rock-hard shoulder. “Meanwhile, I have the essentials right here.”

      “Meanwhile,” he echoed, frowning as he assessed her rain-dampened hair and still-wet clothes, “you’re soaked to the skin.” He nudged her closer to the wide, mahogany staircase. “Get on upstairs and take a hot shower. After you’ve changed into something warm and dry, meet me in the kitchen. Meantime, I’ll put on a pot of decaf.”

      In other words, Cammi deducted, despite the late hour, he expected her to fill in the blanks—some of them, anyway—left by her long absence; she hadn’t been particularly communicative by phone or letter while she’d been gone, with good reason, and she was thankful Lamont hadn’t pressed her for details. Now the time had come to pay the proverbial piper. “Warm and dry sounds wonderful,” she said, more because it was true than to erase the past two years from her mind.

      “Everything is exactly as you left it.”

      How like him to keep things as they were. Though her mother had been gone thirteen years when Cammi headed west, the only things Lamont had replaced were the linens, and even those were duplicates of the originals. Something told her it was love of the purest possible kind that kept him so stubbornly attached to his beloved Rose. The fact that her dad had held on to memories about her, too, inspired a flood of loving warmth. “I’ll just be a few minutes,” Cammi said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Love you, Dad.”

      “Love you, too.”

      At least for now you do, Cammi thought.

      Suddenly, the prospect of being in her old room, surrounded by familiar things, rejuvenated her, and she took the steps two at a time, half listening for his oh-so-familiar warning:

      “You’re liable to fall flat on your face and chip a tooth, bolting up those stairs like a runaway year-ling.”

      He’d said the same thing, dozens of times, when Cammi and her sisters СКАЧАТЬ