Heroes Are My Weakness

  “Can you—” She hiccuped. “Can you bring me in the morning?” Annie hesitated too long, and Livia started to cry. “I want to see the fairy house!”

  Annie glanced at Jaycie, who looked as exhausted as her daughter. “If the fire is out and it’s safe,” Annie said, “I’ll bring you in the morning.”

  That satisfied her until her mother started making plans to spend the night in town. The wailing began again. “Annie said she’d take me to see the fairy house in the morning! I want to stay here!”

  A hoarse male voice spoke from behind them. “Why don’t the three of you spend the night in the cottage?”

  Annie swung around. Theo looked as though he’d emerged from hell, blue eyes blazing from a soot-blackened face, cat cradled in his hands. He held Hannibal out to her. “Take him with you, will you?”

  Before she could say anything, he was gone again.

  BARBARA DROVE ANNIE, JAYCIE, AND Livia to the cottage. Annie deposited Hannibal inside, then went to retrieve the two red suitcases from the truck bed. Everything else that she’d stored at the house was gone: her clothes, Mariah’s scarves, and her Dreambook. But she had her puppets. And, pressed between heavy cardboard in the bottom of each of her suitcases, she had the Niven Garr drawings. Far more important, Theo was alive and safe.

  An explosion of sparks lit up the night like the devil’s sideshow.

  Harp House had fallen.

  ANNIE GAVE UP HER BED at the cottage to Jaycie and Livia and slept on the couch herself, leaving the studio for Theo, but by early morning, he hadn’t returned. She went to the front window. Where Harp House had once lorded it over all of them, only plumes of smoke rose from the ruins.

  Livia appeared in the pajamas she’d had on the night before and rubbed her eyes. “Let’s go see the fairy house.”

  Annie had hoped the four-year-old would sleep in after last night, but the only person still in bed was Jaycie. She’d also hoped Livia would forget about the fairy house. She should have known better.

  She gently explained that someone might have accidentally stepped on the house during the fire, but Livia wasn’t having it. “The fairies wouldn’t let that happen. Can we go see it now, Annie? Please!”

  “Livia, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”

  Livia screwed up her face. “I want to see!”

  By evening, Annie would be back on the mainland, and instead of leaving behind a child with happy memories of her, she’d be leaving behind a disappointed one. “All right,” she said reluctantly. “Get your coat.”

  Annie had already dressed in a pair of Mariah’s too short pipe-stem trousers and a black pullover. She added the foul weather jacket that smelled of smoke and scribbled a note to Jaycie. As she herded Livia outside in her coat and pajamas, she remembered she hadn’t given her breakfast—not that much was left in the kitchen. But when she suggested they eat first, Livia refused, and Annie didn’t have the heart to argue.

  Someone had parked Jaycie’s Suburban by the cottage. Annie fastened Livia in her car seat and drove off. Theo’s car was parked near the top of the cliff where it had been last night. She parked behind it and helped Livia out. Keeping a tight grip on the four-year-old’s hand, she walked with her the rest of the way to the top.

  The gargoyles and the stone turret had survived, along with the stables and garage. But nothing was left of the house except four brick chimneys and a section of staircase. Beyond the ruins, she could see the ocean. The house no longer blocked the view.

  It was ironic that Livia spotted Theo first, since Annie hadn’t been able to think of anyone else. Livia broke away and ran to him, the cuffs of her pajamas dragging. “Theo!”

  He was filthy. Unshaven. He wore a too-small navy jacket one of the men must have lent him, and his jeans were ripped at the calf. Annie’s heart constricted. After all he’d been through—all he had to do—there he was, crouched in the mud, rebuilding Livia’s fairy house.

  He gave the little girl a smile so weary it drooped. “The fire made the fairies mad. Look what they did.”

  “Oh, no.” Livia planted her hands on her hips like a miniature adult. “They were very, very bad.”

  Theo gazed at Annie. Dirt had settled into the creases around his eyes, and one of his ears was completely black. He’d risked his life to save her puppets. So like him. “You’ve been here all night,” she said softly. “Bearing witness to the fall of the House of Harp?”

  “And trying to keep the sparks from the stable.”

  Now that he was safe, her compulsion to reveal her feelings for him gave way to reality. Nothing had changed. She wouldn’t sacrifice his well-being simply to unburden herself. “Is Dancer all right?” she asked.

  He nodded. “He’s back in his stall. How’s our cat?”

  Her throat caught. “Our cat is just fine. Better than you.”

  Livia studied what he’d done. “You’re making a path. The fairies are gonna like that.”

  He’d made the new house lower and wider, and instead of the stone pathway, he’d been pressing pieces of the smoothed beach glass in a half-moon around the entrance. He handed some of the glass to Livia. “See what you can do while I talk to Annie.”

  Livia hunkered down. Annie had to clench her hands to keep from brushing them over Theo’s face. “You’re an idiot,” she said with a tenderness she couldn’t hide. “Puppets are replaceable. You’re not.”

  “I know what they mean to you,” he said.

  “Not as much as you do.”

  His head cocked.

  “I’ll watch Livia,” she said quickly. “Go to the cottage and get some sleep.”

  “I’ll sleep later.” He gazed at the ruins of the house and then back at her. “You’re really leaving today?”

  She nodded.

  “Now who’s the idiot?” he said.

  “There’s a difference between running into a burning house and leaving for the mainland,” she pointed out.

  “Both have a big downside.”

  “I don’t think leaving has a downside for me.”

  “Maybe not for you. But it sure has one for me.”

  He was exhausted. Of course he cared about her leaving. But caring wasn’t the same as loving, and she wouldn’t mistake his fatigue for a sudden unlocking of his heart. “Unless you start hooking up with more crazy women, you’ll be fine,” she said.

  His smile, weary but genuine, took her aback. “It should bother me hearing you talk about them that way.”

  “But it doesn’t?”

  “Truth is truth. Time for me to man up.”

  “It has nothing to do with manning up,” she said. “It has to do with accepting the fact that you can’t save everybody you care about.”

  “Fortunately for me, you don’t need saving.”

  “Darned right I don’t.”

  He rubbed the back of his hand over his jaw. “I have a job for you. A paying job.”

  She didn’t like where this was headed, so she tried to deflect him. “I knew I was good in bed, but I didn’t know I was that good.”

  He sighed. “Have some compassion, Antoinette. I’m too tired to keep up with you right now.”

  She managed to roll her eyes. “Like you ever could.”

  “This is work you can do from the city.”

  He was going to offer her a pity job, and she couldn’t bear it. “I’ve heard about Skype sex, but it doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “I want you to illustrate a book I’m working on.”

  “Sorry. Even if I were an illustrator, which I’m not, I don’t have any practice drawing disemboweled humans.” Oh, she was on a roll, all right. Rolling right over her heart.

  He sighed. “I’ve barely slept in a week, and I can’t remember the last time I ate. My chest hurts. My eyes feel like sandpaper. I have a blistered hand. And all you want to do is make jokes.”

  “Your hand? Let me see it.” She reached for it only to have him slip it behind his back.

  ?
??I’ll take care of my hand, but first, I want you to listen to me.”

  He wasn’t going to let it go. “No need. I already have more work than I can take on.”

  “Annie, just once could you not give me a hard time?”

  “Maybe someday, but not today.”

  “Annie, you’re making Theo sad.” Neither of them realized Livia had been paying attention to them. She peered around Theo’s legs. “I think you should tell him your free secret.”

  “I don’t!” She gave Livia a death glare. “And you’d better not, either.”

  Livia peered up at Theo. “Then you better tell her your free secret.”

  He stiffened. “Annie doesn’t want to hear my free secret.”

  “You have a free secret?” Annie asked.

  “Yes, he does.” Livia puffed up with four-year-old self-importance. “And I know it.”

  Now Theo was the one giving Livia the death glare. “Find some pinecones. A lot of them.” He jabbed his hand toward the trees behind the gazebo. “Over there.”

  Annie could only stand so much. “Later,” she said. “We need to get back to the cottage and see if your mom’s awake.”

  Livia’s face turned into a thundercloud. “I don’t want to go!”

  “Don’t give Annie a hard time,” he said. “I’ll finish the fairy house. You can see it later.”

  The fire had disrupted Livia’s world. She hadn’t had enough sleep, and she was as cranky as only an overstimulated four-year-old could be. “I’m not going!” she cried. “And if you don’t let me stay, I’ll tell your free secrets!”

  Annie grabbed her arm. “You can’t tell a free secret!”

  “You absolutely can’t!” Theo exclaimed.

  “I can!” Livia retorted. “If they’re both the same!”

  Chapter Twenty-five

  THEO COULDN’T GET HIS BRAIN to work. He stood there like one of the Harp House gargoyles, his feet frozen to the ground, as Annie somehow managed to get the recalcitrant four-year-old to the car. He watched dumbly as she drove away.

  “I can! If they’re both the same!”

  Annie had been crystal clear when she’d said he had too much baggage. But he didn’t feel that way now. The smoldering ruins of the house represented everything he was leaving behind. Everything that kept him from seeing into his own heart and being the man he wanted to be. He loved Annie Hewitt from the depths of his soul.

  Annie had told Livia she loved him? What exactly had she said? Because he had a sinking feeling she didn’t mean the same thing he meant.

  Reality had slapped him in the face the same day he’d found Regan’s beach glass. When Livia had demanded he tell her what she called a “free secret,” the words had slipped out of him as freely as his breath. He felt as if he’d loved Annie since he was sixteen—and maybe he had.

  “You have too much baggage.”

  Annie’s words had turned him into a coward. He had a dismal track record with women, and for all her cracks about his money, she didn’t want any of it. If she ever found out he was the one who’d bought that damned mermaid chair, she’d never forgive him. All he could give her was his heart—something she’d made clear she didn’t want.

  But he wasn’t such a coward that he wouldn’t put up a fight. He’d planned to give her until the last day to cool off from their argument at the wharf. He’d intended to make the best breakfast of his life and take it to her on the Lucky Charm this morning. Somehow, he’d figured out he could convince her his baggage was a thing of the past—that he was free to love her, whether or not she could love him in return. But the fire had screwed everything up.

  He needed a clear brain. A few hours’ sleep. Definitely a shower. But he didn’t have time for any of that. Annie had to feel his urgency as powerfully as he did. It was the only way he could convince her not to give up on him.

  Good luck with that. You’ve already blown it.

  His lack of sleep had gotten the best of him. Now he was hearing her puppet Scamp. He turned his back on the ruins of Harp House, headed for his car, and raced down to the cottage.

  She was already gone. She’d handed Livia over and sped toward town as if her life depended on getting away from him. Anxiety gnawed at the pit of his stomach as he took off after her.

  The Suburban was no match for his Range Rover, and he caught up with her quickly. He honked, but she didn’t stop. He kept honking. She had to hear, but—not only didn’t she stop—she sped up.

  I told you, the damned puppet said. You’re too late.

  Like hell I am! They were on an island, and she’d reach town soon. All he had to do was be patient and follow her. But he didn’t want to be patient. He wanted her now, and if she couldn’t understand how serious he was, he’d show her.

  He bumped the rear end of the Suburban. Not hard enough to make her swerve. Just enough so she knew he meant business. Apparently so did she because she kept driving. The Suburban was a piece of crap with so many dents another couple wouldn’t matter, but the same couldn’t be said for his Range Rover. He didn’t care. He bumped her again. And again. Finally, the Suburban’s only surviving brake light flared on.

  The car lurched to a stop, the door flew open, and she threw herself out. He jumped out, too, only to hear her scream, “I don’t want to talk about it!”

  “Fine!” he shouted back. “I’ll do the talking. I love you, and by damn I’m not ashamed of it, and you may not have as much baggage as I do, but don’t pretend you don’t have some with all those losers you attached yourself to.”

  “Only two!”

  “And only two for me, so we’re even!”

  “Not even close!” They were fifteen feet apart and she was still screaming. “My two were self-centered assholes! Yours were homicidal nutcases!”

  “Kenley wasn’t homicidal!”

  “Close enough. And all I did after my breakups was watch Big Bang reruns and gain five pounds! That’s not the same as doing penance for the rest of your life.”

  “Not anymore!” He was shouting as loud as she, and he hadn’t moved, either. His brain was jumbled. His throat raw. Every part of his body ached. She, on the other hand—with her electrified hair and blazing eyes—looked like a vengeful goddess at the height of her powers.

  He stalked toward her. “I want a life with you, Annie. I want to make love with you until you can’t walk. And have kids with you. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure out, but I’m not exactly used to having love feel good.” He poked his finger in the rough direction of her face. “You talked about being a romantic. Romance is nothing! It’s a tiny word that doesn’t come close to what I feel for you. And I know sooner or later you’re going to find out about that damned chair, but that’s the way I do things! And from now on—”

  “Chair?”

  Shit. Now he was looking into both flaring nostrils and flaming hazel demon eyes.

  “You’re the one who bought the chair!” she exclaimed.

  He couldn’t show any weakness. “Who the hell else loves you enough to buy that ugly piece of crap?”

  Her mouth was open again, and he was so wrung out that even his hair hurt, but he kept at her. “The job offer I have for you is real. I started a new book—one you’ll actually like—but I don’t want to talk about that now. I want to talk about us making a life together, and my getting a chance to show you that what I feel is bright and strong without any shadows hanging around. That’s what I want to show you.”

  He yearned to tell her about Diggity. And tell her again that he wanted kids with her, in case she’d missed it the first time. He wanted to kiss her until she was dizzy. Make love with her until she couldn’t think straight. He would have done all that by now except she sat down. Right in the middle of the muddy road. As if her legs were useless. That put an end to his tirade as nothing else could have.

  He went to her. Knelt next to her. A watery beam of sunlight found its way through the trees and played hide-and-seek with her cheekbones. The hone
y brown snarl of curls he loved so much had launched a full-out skirmish around her face—the most beautiful face he’d ever seen, brimming with life, animated with all the emotions that made up who she was.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She didn’t respond, and Annie without words scared him, so he plunged back in. “I want a life with you. I can’t imagine a life with anyone else. Will you at least think about it?”

  She nodded, but it was a wobbly nod, and she didn’t look certain about it. If he backed off, he might lose her forever, so he told her about Diggity and how he wanted her to illustrate the book he was writing for kids instead of adults, and how much his new readers would love her quirky sketches. He sat with her in the middle of the muddy road and told her love had always meant catastrophe to him and that was why it had taken him so long to label what he felt for her—the ease, the connection, the tenderness. He’d almost choked on that last word, not because he didn’t mean every syllable, but because—even for a writer—saying a word like tenderness out loud made him feel like he should turn in his man card. But she had her eyes glued to his face, so he said it again and then followed up by telling her how beautiful she looked when he was inside her.

  That definitely got her attention, so he introduced a little smut. Lowered his voice. Whispered in her ear. Told her what he wanted to do to her. What he wanted her to do to him. Her curls tickled his lips, her skin flushed, and his jeans got way too tight, but he felt like a guy again, a guy hopelessly at the mercy of this woman who played with puppets and helped mute little girls talk again and rescued him from his own hopelessness. This quirky, sexy, utterly sane woman.

  He touched her face. “I think I’ve loved you since I was sixteen.”

  She cocked her head, as if she were waiting for something.

  “I’m sure of it,” he said more firmly, even though he wasn’t sure at all. Who could look back on their teenage years and be clear about anything? But she wanted something more from him, and he had to give it to her, even if he had no idea what it was.

  Out of nowhere, he heard a puppet’s voice. Kiss her, you dumbass.