Page 6 of Her Only Hero

“June, could I possibly come in for a drink?”

“A drink? But you’re in uniform.”

“If you prefer me out of uniform, that can be arranged.”

“Ha. That won’t be necessary,” I said. “And I’m sorry, I don’t have any alcohol.”

“I don’t need any. A glass of water will do.” He looked at the bottle in my hand. “I’ve always been curious about the taste of aloe.”

I stretched out my arm and handed him the bottle. “Oh sure, help yourself. See you next week, at the daily grind.” I exited the car and scurried up the concrete porch steps. I pushed through the exterior door and entered the foyer. My apartment door was straight ahead, and the upstairs tenant’s door was on the right. I searched the depths of my handbag for my elusive keys.

“June, why are you rushing away? Are you angry?” Patrick hopped up the steps and held open the exterior door but didn’t cross the entrance threshold. “I know it’s late, but I want to make sure you’re all right and possibly get a description of the perp while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

I put the key in the lock and sighed. He wasn’t being unreasonable, but I was. I could be so erratic at times. “Yes, of course,” I mumbled. “Please, come in.”

Upon entering, hot, stifling air blanketed us. “Shoot. Sorry about the heat,” I said. “The thermostat must be out of whack again.” I turned on the living room lamps at both ends of the sofa. “I’ll open a window.”

The window latch held stiff, and Patrick lunged forward to help. Unfortunately, the sheer curtains remained motionless from the lack of a cross draft.

Seemingly unaffected by the temperature, Patrick caught sight of my wall unit with rows of music CDs, potted plants, and framed pictures.

“Are these your parents?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“That’s a great photo,” he said. “Are they still away?”

“Yes, still on their cruise.”

He kept nosing around my stuff, but oddly I didn’t mind.

“I like your diverse music collection.”

“Thanks.”

“Would you like me to put something on?”

“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” I said without explanation.

“You have a nice place, June. Neat and tasteful—like you.”

It surprised me how much I valued his compliment, yet my underwhelming response was a simple, “thank you.”

I went into the kitchen, and Patrick followed. I’d never had a man, other than my dad, in my kitchen, or my apartment, for that matter. Patrick’s presence unnerved me, and it took a second to remember where my nice drinking glasses were. I took two down from the cabinet beside the sink, and one of them slipped out of my bandaged hand.

“Whoops,” barely left my mouth when Patrick grabbed it midair. His arm brushed against mine, and something flutteredin my belly. His touch had been subtle, incidental, and completely unintentional, but my body had reacted.

“Do your hands hurt?” he said.

I glanced at the wrappings on my palms, but the bandages were only partially responsible for the glass slipping out of my hand. The other part was jitters from Patrick’s proximity. “My hands feel better. But these dressings are annoying.” In a swift motion, I pulled one bandage off and then the other. The scrapes were barely visible. He took my hands in his and had a look. His closeness turned my hot apartment into an oven. When he released my hands, I clasped them together and recoiled. I shouldn’t have invited him in. I didn’t trust my reactions to him.

“I’m relieved you escaped with minor injuries,” he said. “It could have been much worse.”

“But it wasn’t, thankfully.” I opened the freezer to get ice and poured the drinks. I handed him a glass and guzzled from mine until it was empty. With the back of my hand, I wiped my mouth.

“Aren’t you going to try it?” I asked abruptly.

He answered by putting the rim to his mouth. As he drank, I watched his Adam’s apple. Powerful neck. Athletic build. Earlier he had chased the criminal with such power and speed. He was not the average male. Warmth rose to my face, and I started to perspire.

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