A Certain Kind of Hero (5 page)

“Neither am I.”

 

That was all it took with Gideon Defender. “Please don't.” The words seemed to drive him back into the woods.

They had run into each other at a party a few weeks later, and he had introduced her to his brother. Then he'd stepped aside and quietly watched, as though he were testing for her reaction. It was a move she'd resented, and she'd told him so, the same night she'd told him that Jared had asked her out and she'd accepted. He'd expressed no surprise, offered no objections, mentioned no regrets. Not that it would have mattered, since she'd made up her mind. But it had hurt. Just a little.

Jared had never asked her how she'd felt about his brother. Other than a certain physical resemblance, the two brothers had little in common. Jared had a different brand of charm. More practiced, perhaps. More polished. He had gone to the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis, while Gideon had, for the most part, preferred to stay in the north country among the people he'd grown up with, in touch with the life he knew. In the end, Jared had chosen Raina's world. And Raina had chosen Jared.

They'd both wanted children, and when a pregnancy hadn't occurred soon enough to suit Jared, they had adopted Peter. Raina hadn't questioned the decision when Jared announced that the opportunity for a baby had unexpectedly presented itself. His low sperm count was an issue he neither wanted to discuss nor fret about. He'd had some childhood health problems that he didn't care to discuss, either. They had been blessed with a perfectly beautiful son, and all was well.

For a time after that they had been a fairly typical suburban family. Raina had quit her job to stay home with Peter until he started school, and then she'd only worked outside their home part-time, while Jared had worked too hard. He'd found less and less time to be at home as his time, unbeknownst to him, slipped away quickly. Eventually there had been no chance for visits to Pine Lake, and then suddenly, irrevocably, the time was gone. At least,
his
time was gone. At first Raina had had to remind herself that hers was not. But not lately. Ever since adolescence had overtaken her son and transformed him like some kind of fairy-tale curse, she had no trouble remembering that she had miles to go and challenges to meet.

Like another fishing trip with Gideon.

“Are you ready, Peter?” He'd been in the bathroom forever. A year ago, sixty seconds in the shower and he was out. “You
know, your hair doesn't have to be perfect. We're going out
fishing.
Uncle Gideon said he'd pick us up at the dock in—”

The door finally opened, and her son deigned to emerge. His beautiful black hair was still wet, so she assumed that the new pimple on his chin was the reason for the stormy look in his eyes. He was hoping for
hair
on his chin, he'd informed her a few weeks ago when she'd tried to tell him that the occasional pimple was not the end of the world. A man's beard, he'd said. Not a wimpy zit.

Raina was not ready for either development. Not quite yet.

“Why don't you just call him Gideon?” Peter's scowl was ominous. “He's not your uncle.”

“He's
your
uncle. He's your father's brother.”

“Yeah, well…where did you hide the damn hair dryer?”

“Peter, please don't talk like that.” She handed him the blow-dryer, and he mumbled his thanks. “You told me that this was where you wanted to come. We're here. The next step is to venture beyond this room.”

“It's been a long time since I've been up this way.” Barefoot and so far dressed only in his favorite ripped-knee jeans, he plopped on the rumpled bed he'd claimed as his, then fell back as though he'd just run a marathon. “I mean, I was just a kid. I don't know
him.
I don't know anybody here, and I feel like I'm supposed to. It's weird.”

“I know.” She sat down beside him and patted one knobby knee. “You miss your dad.”

“You always wanna blame everything on that.” He pushed up on his elbows and looked her in the eye. “It's
not
that.”

“Tell me what's wrong, then.”

“Nothing's wrong. Why does something always have to be wrong? I just—” Dramatically he flopped back down again. “It isn't like what I thought it was gonna be.”

“You haven't been out of the room yet.” She knew it was no use to ask what he was looking for. He didn't know. “Let's go see what it's going to be like. Give it a chance. If it's no good, we'll go home.”

He sat up. “Is there a damn plug around here?”

There went her chance to use the bathroom. “Try—”

“Following the lamp cord, I know.” He dived for the head of the bed and tossed pillows over his shoulder like an overgrown pup burying a bone.

She laughed and shook her head when he announced, “Pay dirt.” Then he flopped on his belly and hung his head over the side of the bed, brushing his hair forward. “You know what, though?” He tucked his chin and turned to look at her upside down. “He seems pretty cool.”

“Who?”

She held out her hand for the dryer, making an offer she hoped would hurry things along. It was the kind of thing he might have asked her to do for him a year or so ago. Now he might be offended. Then again, he might take her up on it. She never knew which way he was going to jump next.

“Uncle Gideon.” He plunked the dryer in her hand. “
Gideon.
You know what Dad told me once? That his brother got all the looks, and he got the brains.”

“Your father said that?” She turned the machine on low and directed it at his nape, gently finger-combing his hair and feeling favored by his willingness to confide a remembrance, and to still let her coddle him once in a while.

So Gideon had all the looks, huh? He was the younger of the two, but physically, Gideon was the big brother. He'd certainly never shared Jared's taste for expensive clothes, and she remembered Jared teasing Gideon about his need for a barber once. His hair wasn't as long as it used to be, but it was still shoulder-length, still an attractive expression of his
own personality. But nothing, surely, that Jared would covet in any way.

“That was a strange thing for him to say. Your dad was very handsome, and Gideon is…” She shrugged. “Gideon is Gideon.”

Peter peeked up at her. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means it's been a long time since I've been up this way, too.” She smiled and turned the dryer on full blast.

 

Gideon was waiting, as promised. He was sitting at the end of one of the lodge's boat docks, basking in the sun and chatting with a boy about Peter's age. Below their dangling tennis shoes was a fishing boat with cushioned chairs and two outboard motors—one for trolling.

Gideon turned when he heard footfalls treading the planks. They were late, and Raina half expected him to check his watch and ask where they'd been. But he smiled as he hopped to his feet and tapped the boy on the shoulder, coaxing him to follow suit. Raina liked the way the spokes at the corners of his eyes made his smile seem even brighter, and the easy way he handled himself put everyone else at ease, too. From the look of him, it appeared that the years had been kinder to Gideon than they had been to his brother. But then, maybe it was true, Raina thought. Maybe Gideon had all the looks.

“This is Oscar Thompson. He's been camped out in my office ever since I told him I was thinking about going fishing pretty soon.” The two boys shook hands. “That was last May, wasn't it, Oscar?”

Oscar shrugged. “Before school was out.”

“See there? And here we're going fishing already. Fishing lesson number one—” Gideon squinted into the sun and brandished a finger “—patience. Everyone wants to go fishing with me, because everyone knows…”

“He's got a good boat,” Oscar put in.

“…that ol' Gideon knows exactly where to go lookin' for Mr. Walleye. Plus, I've got some extra tackle.”

He took a pair of aviator-style sunglasses from his pocket, put them on as though he were preparing to read a sign and made a production of surveying Raina from head to toe. “So, I see Mom's wearing the proper fishing attire, all nicely coordinated. Matching shoes and hat.”

Raina compared his cutoffs and T-shirt with her neatly pressed yellow blouse and khaki slacks. “Heck, I'm casual,” she said. “Don't you like my fishing hat?”

“It's very…yellow. But I think we can fix that in a real hurry. Right, boys?”

The round of male chuckles would have bothered her if it hadn't been exactly what she'd come looking for. For Peter's sake, of course.

“What about a license?” Gideon asked.

“License?”

“Fishing license. See, the three of us are okay because we have tribal ID.” He arched an eyebrow in Peter's direction. “You brought yours along, I hope?”

Peter cast an accusatory glance at the person he considered responsible for the boring technical details of his adolescent life—his mother—as he reported, “I didn't know I had one.”

“You do,” she said. “I brought it.”

“You've got yourself a good assistant there, kid. If you're smart, you'll pay her well.” He turned to Raina. “But no fishing license, huh?”

She shook her head.

He shook his, too. “And you look just all heartbroken about it. We can get you one over at the tackle shop.”

“I'll just go along for the ride this time.”

“Good woman.” Gideon clapped a hand on each boy's shoulder. “Then we're set.”

Raina let the
good woman
comment go unchallenged. She didn't want to question anything, justify anything or fish for anything. Just going along for the ride was exactly what the doctor had ordered. It was early evening, the best time of a summer's day. The sun's slanted rays became bright flashes in the water. When the boat was moving, she could close her eyes and catch the wind in her face while her hand trailed in the cool wake. When they anchored in the shallows, she could simply enjoy her son's growing excitement for the relaxing sport as Gideon patiently tutored his casting arm.

“Good catch.” Gideon gave Peter a shoulder slap of approval. “Now take him off the hook and throw him back.”

Peter looked up in near horror. “Throw him
back?
”

“We're fishing for supper for the four of us.” Gideon appraised the small wriggling crappie that Peter had just pulled proudly from the water. “That's guy's not worth bothering with. We want nice, pan-sized—”

“Gideon, I think that's a wonderful fish!” Raina sharpened her bright tone with a defensive edge. “A beautiful fish. I think we should have it stuffed and mounted.”

“This isn't like bronzing his baby shoes, Raina. We're looking for food.” He nodded toward the cooler containing the fish Oscar had already caught. “Right, Pete?”

“I guess so.” Peter looked at his catch again. “He's too small, huh?”

Those motherly instincts would not rest. A quick justification tingled on the tip of Raina's tongue.

But Gideon headed her off with a warning glance. “Put him down in the water and see if he's gonna make it. We don't return dead fish to the lake.”

Peter complied, his face brightening when, revived by the
water, the little fish flipped its tail and swam away. “There, see?” Gideon watched the boy's first catch in six years head out to the middle of the lake. He promised himself it wouldn't be the last one for this season. Not by a long shot. “He's a survivor, like us. If we catch you next year, brother fish, you'll make a fine meal.”

They dropped their lines again. Once Peter had caught a pan-worthy fish, Gideon put in at the public boat landing, where he would take his boat out of the water. There was no one else waiting to use the boat ramp, and his pickup and trailer were parked in the public parking lot. Soon he would be cooking up a meal for Raina and the boys. Soon he would be able to show her that he had a little place of his own now. He'd been looking forward to this day for a long time.

Gideon cut the motor, while Oscar took up his assigned post in the bow and prepared to catch a mooring. As the boat drifted toward the dock, Gideon smelled trouble. The odor came from the four young men who were hanging out right where Gideon planned to step ashore. The signs were all there—the four accusatory stares, the folded arms, the set of the jaws. The gist of the quick comments passed among them was easily interpreted visually—Gideon didn't need to hear those words. He had heard it all before.

“I'll tie her up, Oscar,” Gideon said quietly.

But it was too late to switch places. “I've got it,” Oscar muttered, reaching for a piling as the boat drifted in to the dock.

They could have been ordinary boaters or fishermen—and most days they probably were. They sure didn't look like anybody's idea of a gang, but the tough-kid posturing was there—the insolence, the confidence in bully power.

The first man to speak wore a Redskins T-shirt. “You got any illegal nets in there, chief?”

“Do you know who you're talking to?” Oscar looked up, scowling as he slipped the nylon rope around the post. “He
is
the chief.”

“I don't give a damn if he's Tonto himself,” the man said as he adjusted the bill of his Twins cap. “You guys out spearing fish today?”

“Nobody's spearing any fish.” Gideon grabbed the piling, planted one foot on the dock and rose to tower over the gang's spokesman.

“Oh, yeah? So you claim.” The man stepped back, his friends covering his flanks as he jabbed a finger at Gideon. “You guys better drop this little plan to get special privileges for yourselves. There's no way you're gonna start netting and spearing in these waters. The sports fishermen in this state won't stand for it.”