Her Only Hero

She felt for him—

a sudden empathy that startled and disturbed her. Laura didn’t want to feel for anyone but her daughter. She had far too much responsibility in her life right now to leave room for a handsome firefighter.

Luckily he didn’t seem to expect an answer from her. Ryan touched her arm lightly, and she felt the warmth of that touch right through the fabric of her sweater.

“Hey, I’ll work out my problems. But thanks for listening. I’ll be glad to return the favor anytime.”

She managed to smile, to nod. Ryan meant well, but she didn’t have any intention of sharing her inner thoughts with anyone, least of all him. He’d come too far into her life already.

MARTA PERRY

has written everything from Sunday school curriculum to travel articles to magazine stories in twenty years of writing, but she feels she’s found her home in the stories she writes for Love Inspired.

Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s probably visiting her children and her beautiful grandchildren, traveling or relaxing with a good book.

Marta loves hearing from readers and she’ll write back with a signed bookplate or bookmark. Write to her c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, e-mail her at marta@martaperry.com or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.

Her Only Hero
Marta Perry

MILLS & BOON

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Help carry one another’s burdens, and in this way you will obey the law of Christ.

—Galatians 6:2

This story is dedicated to Gary and Arddy Johnson,

with much love. And, as always, to Brian.

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

“I suppose you’d better come in.”

Laura McKay had a feeling that sounded ungracious. She tried to make amends by forcing a smile as she stood back to let the uniformed firefighter step into the foyer of her brick townhouse.

The man glanced through the archway to the bare, dusty area she hoped would eventually be a ground-floor shop. Searching for something to find unsafe, no doubt.

“Sorry to bother you.” He consulted the clipboard he carried. “Ms. McKay, is it? I’m Ryan Flanagan, from the Suffolk Fire Department.”

He didn’t recognize her, then. Funny, because she’d known Ryan Flanagan from the moment she opened the door.

Ryan hadn’t changed all that much from the tall, handsome football hero he’d been in high school. One of the popular Flanagan brothers, with those deep-blue eyes and that cleft in his strong chin, he’d had every girl at Suffolk High School longing to be the recipient of one of his teasing smiles, including her.

Well, that was a long time ago. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t remembered the shy underclassman who had admired him from afar.

“I don’t understand why you’re here.” She glanced up the stairs of the three-story townhouse, longing to get back to the work she’d set herself for the day. “I have all the necessary permits for the renovation, and the building has already been inspected by your department.”

He shrugged, smiling. The smile was, unfortunately, just as devastating as it had been in high school.

“Just one of those necessary things, I’m afraid. Someone called the department with a complaint, so we’re obligated to check it out.”

“Someone complained about me?” That jerked her mind away from the wallpaper she’d been removing.

“Who?”

“Anonymous.” He shrugged again. “It happens. If you’ll just let me take a walk-through and check things out, I’ll get out of your hair.”

He glanced at her head as he spoke, and she put up her hand to discover that the bandanna she’d tied on to protect her wiry mane was thoroughly covered with plaster dust. She swatted at it uselessly and then pulled the thing off. What difference did it make what she looked like, anyway? The important thing was to get back to work.

Her nerves tightened in a way that had become too familiar lately. Time was running out, and she had to finish the job. If she didn’t—

Well, if didn’t bear thinking about.

So the sooner she got rid of Ryan Flanagan the better. She waved a hand toward the staircase. “We might as well begin at the top. That’s where I’ve been working today.”

She started up the wooden stairwell, not touching the gritty railing. The wood was mahogany under all that dirt, and eventually it would shine. The whole place would.

His footsteps sounded behind her. “You’re actually rehabbing this place yourself?”

“What’s wrong with that?” She sounded tart, she supposed, but she’d heard that incredulous tone from enough people since she’d started this job.

“Nothing, I guess. But this place has been deteriorating for so long I figured eventually it would be torn down. Or fall down.”

Laura touched the intricate molding she’d uncovered when she’d renovated the second-floor landing. She loved the smooth, aged feel of it under her fingers, loved knowing she’d uncovered its beauty.

“You’d be surprised. The place has been standing since 1810, and they built to last then.”

The three-story brick townhouse on the edge of Suffolk’s historic district might look decrepit, but she wasn’t giving up on it. It had the potential to be a showpiece. Besides, it was all she and her daughter had between them and an uncertain future.

She glanced toward the apartment door as they passed it. She’d fixed the apartment up first, so she and Mandy would have a decent place to live. Mandy was occupied right now with a new coloring book, and she wouldn’t hear them.

Her heart cramped. No, Mandy wouldn’t hear them.

They emerged into the open space at the top of the stairs. Ryan looked around doubtfully, and she understood what he was seeing.

The top floor looked like a barren, dusty wreck. Shreds of faded floral wallpaper clung to old horsehair plaster, which had crumbled away to the underlying lath in places. The May sunshine filtering through high, cracked windows, lit up every flaw.

Ryan touched a dangling strip of wallpaper. “You think you can actually make something livable of this?”

She wasn’t used to explaining herself to people, but Ryan, with his uniform and that report sheet on his clipboard, wasn’t just anyone. That insignia he wore gave him the right to probe. Tension skittered along her nerves. He could shut her down.

“Yes, I do. Believe it or not, I have a degree in interior design.”

His dark eyebrows lifted. “This isn’t interior design. It’s construction. Or maybe demolition.”

“My father was a contractor,” she said quickly. “I learned from the best.”

He nodded, still looking doubtful, and started around the third floor. Holding her breath, she followed him. She ran a clean work site—her father had always insisted on that. He wouldn’t find any junk around to complain about.

Ryan’s attention to his inspection gave her ample time to take a look at the man he’d become. The seriousness with which he seemed to take his job was new. The Ryan she remembered had never taken anything seriously, but he’d always seemed able to charm his way out of the trouble his recklessness had gotten him into.

She wasn’t surprised by the neat blue uniform with the Suffolk Fire Department patch that fit his tall figure so well. All the Flanagans had been wedded to the fire department. There’d never been much doubt as to what Ryan would do with his life.

He turned toward her as they reached the stairwell again, smiling. She had to fight not to respond too warmly to that smile. Ryan had added some breadth and height since high school, and the sense of maturity combined with his uniform made a powerful package.

“Looks like you’ve got everything under control up here. Shall we check out the rest?”

She could breathe again. She nodded and started down the stairs, feeling him behind her.

“My apartment on the second floor is completely finished and we’re moved in. It’s not necessary for you to go through that, is it?” She paused, looking up at him.

“I don’t think—” His gaze fixed on something over her shoulder, interrupting the words.

She turned. Mandy stood there, hand on the door-knob, looking at them with a grave, questioning expression in her dark-brown eyes.

Laura reached her in a few steps and touched her daughter’s curly brown hair. “It’s okay,” she said, signing as she did so. “I’m showing the fireman around. There’s nothing to worry about.”

She looked toward Ryan. If she saw pity in his eyes, she’d let him know what she thought about that.

But Ryan was squatting to a five-year-old’s level, and she read only friendliness in his face.

“Hi. My name’s Ryan.” He finger-spelled the name carefully. “What’s yours?”

He spoke naturally, apparently copying what she’d done, and she appreciated that. With her two hearing aids, Mandy might be picking up something.

“My daughter’s name is Mandy.” She continued to sign as she spoke. Mandy should never feel left out.

“You know sign language.”

“You don’t need to sound quite so surprised.” He grinned. “Firefighters need to be able to communicate with people we run into on the job. Unfortunately you’ve seen almost my whole vocabulary.”

Ryan seemed to have turned into a responsible member of society. Maybe she should stop thinking of him as the reckless, laughing kid he’d been in high school.

She gave Mandy a little push toward the apartment. “You finish your picture. We’ll probably be done by then.”

Ryan waved to her. “Bye, Mandy.”

When the door closed behind her, the smile slid from his lips. “She’s a beautiful little girl. Has she been deaf since birth?”

“Yes.” She started down the steps, hoping he’d take the hint. Her personal life was off limits.

“Her father?”

Apparently Ryan wasn’t good at taking hints.

“My husband died a year ago.”

“I’m sorry.” He stopped next to her at the bottom of the stairs, and she was aware of how tall and solid he was. “It must be rough, trying to handle everything on your own.”

Her smile felt frozen. “Not at all. At least, not if we can finish this up so I can get back to work.”

He should have taken offense at that, but he just studied her for a moment, his deep-blue eyes intent but friendly. Then he nodded.

“Okay. Let’s take a quick look around the downstairs.”

“Fine.”

She followed him through the downstairs living room, mentally chastising herself. He’d just been expressing sympathy. She had to stop being so sensitive about her independence.

They pushed through the swinging door to the old kitchen, and she wrinkled her nose. She’d done nothing here yet, and the cracked linoleum and rusted sink rebuked her.

They reached the back door without speaking. Ryan pulled the door open, stepped onto the back porch, and frowned at the stack of wood and construction rubbish piled against the wall.

“I know,” she said quickly. “It shouldn’t be there.”

“It’s a hazard.” His tone was uncompromising.

“I ordered a Dumpster last week. I don’t know why they haven’t brought it yet.” It was yet another of a long string of things that had gone wrong recently.

“Do you want me to call them? They might move a little faster at a request from the fire department.”

“No.”

He was just being nice, she reminded herself. She didn’t need to bite his head off.

“I’ll take care of it,” she added more evenly. “They promised me it would be here days ago.”

He nodded, scribbling something on a sheet and then handing it to her. “This just confirms that we’ve spoken about it. If the situation isn’t remedied in a few days, we’ll have to cite you.”

“Don’t worry.” Her lips were stiff. “It will be.”

He studied her for a moment and then gave her that slightly lopsided smile she’d once yearned to see.

“Don’t look so worried. This is just a formality. I’m sure you’ll take care of the problem.”

She forced a return smile. “Thanks.”

He stepped off the porch. “My name and number are on the form. If you’d like me to get after the trash company, just give me a call.”

“I can manage.”

She could do whatever she had to do, despite the addition of Ryan Flanagan to the list of factors complicating her life since she’d taken on this project.

Her daughter’s future depended on her success with the building. She couldn’t count on anyone else for help—not her family, not her in-laws, not God.

A fierce wave of maternal love swept through her. That didn’t matter. For Mandy, she could do anything.

Ryan piled into the truck behind his older brother, Seth, heart pounding as it always did at the shrilling of the alarm. He glanced at his watch. Six-thirty. Fire could have caught people asleep at this hour of the morning.

Seth, taking his new rank of lieutenant very seriously, was listening to the info coming in on his radio.

“Three-fourteen Delaware Street. Isn’t that the place you inspected yesterday?”

“Yes.” Ryan’s nerves clenched. “Woman and a child in residence. A deaf child.”

He hadn’t gotten their images out of his mind yet. Laura McKay, with that mop of wiry dark hair springing out around her grave, determined face. Her daughter, Mandy—brown curls, her mother’s dark eyes, and those two hearing aids in her small ears.

“What did you find wrong?”

“Trash on the back porch that should have been in a Dumpster. That’s it.”

He should have called the company about that, even though Laura McKay had told him not to.

“That meshes with what the caller said—a blaze on the back porch.” The siren wailed as they took the corner. “We’ll attack from the alley. You and Dave can do the entry.”

He nodded. Seth was giving him the rescue. Nice to know his big brother had that much faith in him, even though their new relationship of lieutenant to firefighter sometimes rubbed both of them the wrong way.

Of course, if the posting to the arson squad he’d applied for came through, it would eliminate the problem. He’d have a different boss, a different job. He hadn’t told anyone about it yet, not sure himself how he felt about the change.

He pushed the whole business from his mind. There wasn’t room to think about anything else when he went into a fire scene.

They shrieked up the alley, the backs of the buildings a little seedy here compared to the polish of the historic district in the next block. Seth leaned forward, probably assessing what they had to deal with.

Seth’s caution was a good quality for a lieutenant. All Ryan wanted to do was get in there and make the grab. His body itched with the need to move.

A bystander in robe and slippers rushed up to the apparatus. “I’m the one called it in. There’s a woman and kid live there—they didn’t come out.”

Ryan pulled out his hand ax as his feet hit the ground. Dave Hanratty was right behind him, both of them fully geared up with masks. Flames licked at the wooden porch, but the building’s brick walls would slow the blaze down.

He nodded to Dave and together they charged toward the door. A couple of quick hits, a kick, and they were in.

Smoke billowed through the downstairs, and a smoke alarm wailed relentlessly. If Laura heard it, why hadn’t she gotten out by now?

“Stairs.” He pointed with the ax. “Apartment on the second floor.”

They hit the steps running, their footsteps thundering on the wooden treads. No flames had reached this area, but the smoke was the danger. Smoke could kill.

He reached the second-floor landing a step ahead of Dave and raised his ax. Before he could swing, the door opened.

Laura stumbled toward them. The little girl in her arms was partially covered with a blanket, but her small face was pinched with terror.

He reached for the child. The woman tried to hang on to her.

“I’ll take her—” Her words died in a fit of coughing.

He grabbed the little girl, ignoring her frightened wail and the mother’s protests. This was no time for politeness. He passed the child to Dave, who started back down the steps with her.

He grabbed Laura’s arm. “Is there anyone else in the building?”

“No.” She tried to pull away from him. “You scared Mandy. I could have carried her out.”

When it came to stubborn, this woman took the cake. He yanked her to the stairs. “Tell me about it later. Right now we’re getting out.”

Luckily she’d shoved her feet into shoes, so he didn’t have to worry about her getting cut up. He hustled her down the steps. The front door stood open now, and together they rushed out into the fresh morning air.

The paramedic unit had already pulled up to the curb, and the crew from the secondary tank truck was wetting down the adjoining buildings.

He took Laura straight to the paramedics—his sister Terry’s team, thank goodness. Terry was the best. She was already checking out the little girl.

Mandy struggled to get away from Terry’s hands, reaching toward her mother. Laura dropped to her knees on the wet pavement, coughing, and swept her child into her arms.

The lump in his throat might have been from the smoke, but he didn’t think so.

Thank You, Father.

He suspected Dave was saying the same prayer. Any day they got people out safely was a good day.

“You need to let us check you out.” Terry’s voice was gentle but authoritative as she peeled the little girl away from her mother.

Laura nodded, but Mandy took one look at him and began to wail again.

Quickly he stripped off the mask and helmet and squatted next to her. “Hey, Mandy, it’s me.” He pulled off his gloves so he could sign his name. “Ryan.”

The wailing stopped and the child’s dark eyes widened, some of the fear leaving them.

“This is just my mask.” He had to gesture to make up for the signs he didn’t know. “See, Terry is going to give you one, too.”

Mandy clutched her mother’s hand, but she let Terry fit the oxygen mask on her face.

Terry glanced up. “Thanks, Ry. We’re going to take them both to the hospital.”

“I’m all right—” Laura began, but the words were interrupted by a fit of coughing.

“Just to check you out,” Terry said gently. “Don’t worry.”

“Listen to my sister.” He gave Laura a reassuring smile. “Trust me, she knows best.”

She nodded, clasping the little girl close as he and Terry helped them into the rig. “Thank you,” she murmured, and the door closed.

He watched the unit out of sight. They’d be all right. He and Dave had gotten to them in time.

He turned back to the building. A sense of relief went through him. Thanks to their fast response, the crew nearly had the blaze out already. By the looks of things, the damage probably wasn’t going to be severe.

Still, thinking about the job Laura was trying to do, he felt a pang of sympathy. She’d already had her hands full. Now, it looked as if her life had just gotten a whole lot tougher.

Laura trudged up the stairs to the second-floor apartment, following the yellow beam of her flashlight in the darkness. The staircase looked like Mount Everest at the moment. Apparently the doctors had been right about the effects of smoke inhalation.

I’m fine. That’s what she’d kept repeating to the doctors all day so they’d let her go.

Mandy was spending the night at the hospital. Just to be on the safe side, they’d said. She’d stayed there, too, until her daughter fell asleep. She’d been tempted to go to sleep herself in the vinyl chair next to Mandy’s bed.

But she kept thinking about the building. How bad was it? She’d been told the fire department had doused the flames quickly, but no one had told her how severe the damage was. She hadn’t been able to sleep for thinking about it. Finally she’d known she had to see for herself.

So she’d come. She’d change her clothes and get Mandy’s favorite teddy bear to take back to the hospital, just in case her daughter wakened in the night. And she’d check out the damage to the only asset they had to their names.

Then she could go back to the hospital and try to sleep in that chair, once she knew the worst.

She pushed herself up the last few steps, feeling as if she carried an enormous weight on her shoulders. The apartment door was closed, but not locked. Had she closed it in the flurry of getting out, when Ryan had manhandled her down those stairs? She didn’t remember.

Inside, she swung the light around, half afraid of what she’d see. Her breath came out in a sigh of relief. The apartment was untouched. The acrid scent of smoke still hung in the air, but that was minor in comparison to what she’d been imagining.

Coughing a little, she crossed to the closest window and opened it a few inches at the top. Cool night air rushed in, fanning her face. She’d deal with airing out the rest of the apartment later.

She went through into the bedroom. The closet door was closed, and she pulled it open. Not too bad. The closed door had protected her clothing from the worst of the smoke.

She pulled out a pair of slacks and a shirt, changing quickly. She’d showered at the hospital, and a nurse had provided some cast-off clothing to replace the sooty, smoky pajamas she’d been wearing. She wouldn’t be likely ever to wear those again.

A shudder ran through her. If the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off, if someone hadn’t seen the blaze and called the fire department, if—

No. She couldn’t let herself keep reliving those terrifying moments when she’d struggled awake and run to Mandy’s room. The problem would be to stop doing it.

She crossed the hall to her daughter’s room, her stomach roiling. When she’d run in, terrified, Mandy had been awake, huddled under her quilt, clutching her teddy bear. Why hadn’t she come to her mother when she realized something was wrong?

The bear, Teddy, lay abandoned on the rag rug next to the single bed. She scooped him up and held him close, feeling tears sting her eyes. We’re all right. We’re safe.

She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. She had no time for crying. The clock was ticking.

In three weeks her prospective buyer would be here to check out the building. The specialist could call at any time to schedule Mandy’s cochlear implant. The two most important things in her life sped toward her.

She had to be ready. She suppressed a flicker of panic.

Okay. Carrying the bear, she started back downstairs. She’d take a quick look at the damage and then head back to the hospital. And tomorrow—

She frowned, swinging the beam of light around the front room of the downstairs. Water from the fire hoses hadn’t mixed very well with the dirt. Would she be able to bring Mandy back here tomorrow? Maybe, if the power company restored the electricity.

If not, that would mean a motel, and how she’d pay for that, she couldn’t imagine. The panic flickered again and was beaten down. She could do this. She’d find a way.

Little as she wanted to, she had to check the back of the building, where the worst damage was. She picked her way carefully across the littered floor, feet moving in the yellow circle cast by the flashlight.

A loud thud sounded at the back of the house. Her heart stopped for an instant and then started thumping wildly. She heard a scuffling sound, then the rumble of a masculine voice, followed by several loud bangs.

The sensible thing was to run out and call the police. She wasn’t feeling very sensible. Instead, rage surged through her. It wasn’t bad enough that she and her child had been forced out of their home by the fire. Now some lowlife was trying to get in and rob them. Well, he’d get more than he’d bargained for this time.

The flashlight beam touched a two-by-four about as long as a baseball bat. Perfect. She grabbed it and advanced on the door to the old kitchen.

Light gleamed from around the swinging door. Apparently her thief had come well-equipped.

Running on anger and adrenaline, she shoved the door open, raising her improvised weapon threateningly. A dark figure stood at the back door.

“What do you think you’re doing? Get out of here!”

He swung around, and her breath caught. Ryan. Ryan Flanagan stood there, a hammer in one hand.