Page 20 of Her Only Hero

“We looked around, snapped some shots, and lifted a few prints and a partial shoe tread.”

Patrick scanned the streets as he drove. We talked a little more. He reached over and put a reassuring hand on my knee. No touch of his was lost on me. Its warmth helped dissipate my anxiousness.

We drove down a country road. Perhaps ten miles out, Patrick turned onto a driveway and parked in front of a ranch farmhouse. He guided me out of the car and carried my bag up the walkway.

“Watch your footing. I’ve been meaning to fix some loose flagstones.”

“Patrick, I appreciate everything you’re doing for me,” I said and noticed how weary my voice sounded.

He stopped. “Of course. I’m here for you, babe.” The country night sky was like a black abyss dotted with countless stars, and I realized I heard chirping crickets for the first time in a long time. A subtle tranquility flowed through me as I inhaled clean air and earthen smells.

Patrick let me into the house and flicked on the light.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said and placed my bag on the bench.

“Thank you for having me.” I admired the wood interior, high ceilings, and overhead beams. I took off my shoes and put them on the weaved mat.

We walked on weathered pine flooring into the living area with a tan sectional sofa. A folded afghan was draped on the backrest. My toes sunk into the soft jute area rug as I waited for Patrick to turn on brass floor lamps. A rich wooden staircase and railing spiraled up to a loft.

He followed the direction of my gaze. “My bedroom is up there, in the loft.”

“It’s lovely here, Patrick.”

“Thank you. Please, make yourself at home.”

I sat and tucked my feet under me and put an elbow on the armrest. I watched Patrick with captivation. He crouched at a natural stone fireplace with masonry up to the high ceiling. A sheet at a time, he crumpled newspaper and crammed them under the grate. He added kindling and a couple of logs and struck a long match, igniting several areas of the paper. Almost immediately, flames were ablaze. Patrick continued pushing scrunched paper under the grate with a wrought iron poker until all the wood burned.

“Would you like some wine? Or some brandy to warm you?”

His attentiveness had already warmed me.

“I wouldn’t mind a splash of brandy.” I didn’t understand why I had asked for something I’d never drunk before.

“I’ll be right back.”

The flames mesmerized and lulled. I gravitated to the stone hearth. The heat soothed my soul, and stressful thoughts faded. Patrick joined me with two glasses of amber fluid. He held one out for me and the reflection of the fire danced in the liquid.

“I’d been saving this Remy Martin. Won it at a stag after a fierce coin toss competition.” He chuckled.

I carefully took the glass from him, feeling a little tipsy already. He sat beside me and rested his forearms on his knees. He swirled his drink. Unexplainably, his mere presence calmed me, grounded me, assured me. “Thank you for bringing me here,” I said.

“I won’t rest until we figure out what is happening. I don’t want you to be afraid.”

I shook my head. “I’m not afraid. Not now.” I believed every word he said, because I knew he meant them. And I realized I believed everything he said because I trusted him.

“You’re brave, June. And you’ve remained composed after everything you’ve been through this past week.”

“Well, I sure fooled you.” I smiled and took a drink of the Remy. Liquid fire ran from my mouth to my belly. I watched Patrick’s profile. Without effort, he could overpower me, but all he’d shown was concern, support, and passion. He embodied everything I’d longed for, so why was I still so fearful of letting my guard down?

“As you can see, my place is more or less an open concept. Would you like a tour of the rest of the house?” It took a couple of seconds for my thoughts to recede and Patrick’s words to register.

“Hmm. I’d love that,” I said.

We placed the empty glasses into the double basin sink. “This is the kitchen and eating area. Obviously.”

“That’s a lovely table,” I said.

“Thank you. It was my grandmother’s.” He moved the curtain aside. “It’s too dark out, but this window has a view of the rear yard and woods.”

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