The Rescue (12 page)

With early morning sunlight slanting through the windows, Kyle padded through the bedroom and crawled into bed with Denise, ready to start the day. He whispered, "Wake up, Money, wake up," and when she rolled over with a groan, he climbed over her and used his little fingers to try to lift her eyelids. Though he wasn't successful, he thought it was hilarious, and his laugh was contagious. "Open your eyes, Money," he kept saying, and despite the ungodly hour, she couldn't help but laugh as well.

To make the morning even better, Judy called a little after nine to see if they were still on for their visit. After gabbing a little while-Judy would be coming over the following afternoon, hurray!-Denise hung up the phone, thinking about her mood from the night before and the difference a good night's sleep could make.

She chalked it up to PMS.

A little later, after breakfast, Denise got the bikes ready. Kyle's was ready to go; hers was draped with cobwebs she had to wipe off. The tires on both bikes, she noticed, were low but had enough air to get into town.

After she'd helped Kyle put on his helmet, they started toward town under a blue and cloudless sky, Kyle riding out in front. Last December she'd spent a day running through the apartment complex parking lot in Atlanta, holding on to his bicycle seat until he'd gotten the hang of it. It had taken him a few hours and half a dozen falls, but overall he had a natural instinct for it. Kyle had always had above average motor skills, a fact that always surprised the doctors when they tested him. He was, she'd come to learn, a child of many contradictions.

Of course, like any four-year-old, he wasn't able to focus on much more than keeping his balance and trying to have fun. To him, riding his bike was an adventure (especially when Mom was doing it, too), and he rode with reckless abandon. Even though traffic was light, Denise found herself shouting instructions every few seconds.

"Stay close to Mommy. . . ."

"Stop!"

"Don't go in the road. . . ."

"Stop!"

"Pull over, honey, a car's coming. . . ."

"Stop!"

"Watch out for the hole. . . ."

"Stop!"

"Don't go so fast. . . ."

"Stop!"

"Stop" was the only command he really understood, and whenever she said it, he'd hit the brakes, put his feet on the ground, then turn around with a big toothy grin, as if to say, This is so much fun. Why're you so upset?

Denise was a nervous wreck by the time they reached the post office.

She knew then and there that riding a bicycle just wasn't going to cut it, and she decided to ask Ray for two extra shifts a week for the time being. Pay off the hospital deductible, save every penny, and maybe she'd be able to afford another car in a couple of months.

A couple of months?

She'd probably go nuts by then.

Standing in line-there was always a line at the post office-Denise wiped the perspiration from her forehead and hoped her deodorant was working. That was another thing she hadn't exactly expected when she'd started out from the house this morning. Riding a bike wasn't simply an inconvenience, it was work, especially for someone who hadn't ridden in a while. Her legs were tired, she knew her butt would be sore tomorrow, and she could feel the sweat dripping between her breasts and down her back. She tried to maintain a little distance between herself and the others in line so as not to offend them. Fortunately, no one seemed to notice.

A minute later she stood in front of the counter and received her stamps. After writing a check, she slipped her checkbook and stamps into her purse and walked back outside. She and Kyle hopped on their bikes and headed toward the market.

Edenton had a small downtown, but from a historic perspective the town was a gem. Homes dated back to the early 1800s, and nearly all had been restored to their former glory over the past thirty years. Giant oak trees lined both sides of the street and shaded the roads, providing pleasant cover from the heat of the sun.

Though Edenton had a supermarket, it was on the other side of town, and Denise decided to drop into Merchants instead, a store that had graced the town since the 1940s. It was old-fashioned in every way imaginable and a marvel of supply. The store sold everything from food to bait to automotive supplies, offered videos for rent, and had a small grill off to one side where they could cook up something on the spot. Adding to the atmosphere were four rocking chairs and a bench out front, where a regular group of locals dropped by for coffee in the mornings.

The store itself was small-maybe a few thousand square feet-and it always amazed Denise when she saw how many different items they could squeeze onto the shelves. Denise filled a small plastic basket with the few things she needed-milk, oatmeal, cheese, eggs, bread, bananas, Cheerios, macaroni and cheese, Ritz crackers, and candy (for working with Kyle)-then went to the register. Her total came to less than she expected, which was good, but unlike the supermarket, the store didn't offer plastic bags to pack them in. Instead the owner-a man with neatly combed white hair and thick bushy eyebrows-packed everything into two brown paper bags.

And that, of course, was a problem she'd overlooked.

She would have preferred plastic so she could have slipped the loops over her handlebars-but bags? How was she going to get all this home? Two arms, two bags, two handles on the bike-it just didn't add up. Especially when she had to watch out for Kyle.

She glanced at her son, still pondering the problem, and noticed he was staring through the glass entrance door, toward the street, an unfamiliar expression on his face.

"What is it, honey?"

He answered, though she didn't understand what he was trying to say. It sounded like fowman. Leaving her groceries on the counter, she bent down so she could watch him as he said it again. Watching his lips sometimes made understanding him easier.

"What did you say? 'Fowman'?"

Kyle nodded and said it again. "Fowman." This time he pointed through the door, and Denise looked in that direction. As she did so, Kyle started toward the door, and all at once she knew what he'd meant.

Not fowman, though it was close. Fireman.

Taylor McAden was standing outside the store, holding the door partially open while talking to someone off to the side, someone she couldn't see. She watched as he nodded and waved, laughed again, then opened the door a little more. While Taylor ended his conversation, Kyle ran up to him and Taylor stepped inside without really paying attention to where he was going. He almost bowled Kyle over before catching his balance.

"Whoa, sorry-didn't see you," he said instinctively. "Excuse me." He took an involuntary step backward before blinking in confusion. Then-sudden recognition crossing his face-he broke into a wide smile, squatting so he could be at eye level. "Oh, hey, little man. How are you?"

"Hello, Taylor," Kyle said happily. (Hewwo, Tayer)

Without saying anything else, Kyle wrapped his arms around Taylor as he had that night in the duck blind. Taylor-unsure at first-relented and hugged him back, looking content and surprised at exactly the same time.

Denise watched in stunned silence, her hand over her mouth. After a long moment Kyle finally loosened his grip, allowing Taylor to pull back. Kyle's eyes were dancing, as if he'd recognized a long-lost friend.

"Fowman," Kyle said again excitedly. "He's found you." (Eez foun you)

Taylor cocked his head to one side. "What's that?"

Denise finally snapped to attention and moved toward the two of them, still having trouble believing what she'd seen. Even after spending a year with his speech therapist, Kyle had hugged her only when prodded by his mother. Unlike this, it had never been voluntary, and she wasn't exactly sure how she felt about Kyle's extraordinary new attachment. Watching her child hug a stranger-even a good one-aroused somewhat contradictory feelings. Nice, but dangerous. Sweet, but something that shouldn't become a habit. At the same time, there was something about the comfortable way that Taylor had reacted to Kyle-and vice versa-that made it seem anything but threatening. All of this was going through her head as she drew near and answered for her son.

"He's trying to say that you found him," she said. Taylor glanced up and saw Denise for the first time since the accident, and for a moment he couldn't turn away. Despite the fact he'd seen her before, she looked . . . well, more attractive than he'd remembered. Granted, she was a mess that night, but still, the way she might look under normal circumstances hadn't crossed his mind. It wasn't that she looked glamorous or elegant; it was more that she radiated a natural beauty, a woman who knew she was attractive but didn't spend all day thinking about it.

"Yes. He's found you," Kyle said again, breaking into Taylor's thoughts. Kyle nodded for emphasis, and Taylor was thankful for a reason to face him again. He wondered if Denise could tell what he was thinking.

"That's right, I did," he said with a friendly hand still on Kyle's shoulder, "but you, little man, were the brave one."

Denise watched as he spoke to Kyle. Despite the heat, Taylor was wearing jeans and Red Wing workboots. The boots were covered with a thin layer of dried mud and well worn, as if he'd used them every day for months. The thick leather was scarred and chaffed. His white shirt was short-sleeved, revealing tight muscles in his sun-darkened arms-the arms of someone who worked with his hands all day. When he stood he seemed taller than she'd remembered.

"Sorry about almost knocking him over back there," he said, "I didn't see him when I came in." He stopped, as if not knowing what else to say, and Denise sensed a shyness she hadn't expected.

"I saw what happened. It wasn't your fault. He kind of snuck up on you." She smiled. "I'm Denise Holton, by the way. I know we met before, but a lot of that night's fairly foggy."

She held out her hand and Taylor took it. She could feel the calluses on his palm.

"Taylor McAden," he said. "I got your note. Thanks."

"Fowman," Kyle said again, this time louder than before. He wrung his hands together, twisting and turning them almost compulsively. It was something he always did when excited.

"Big fowman." He put the emphasis on big.

Taylor furrowed his brow and reached out, grabbing Kyle on the helmet in a friendly, almost brotherly way. Kyle's head moved in unison with his hand. "You think so, huh?"

Kyle nodded. "Big."

Denise laughed. "I think it's a case of hero worship."

"Well, the feeling's mutual, little man. It was more you than me."

Kyle's eyes were wide. "Big."

If Taylor noticed that Kyle didn't understand what he'd just said, he didn't show it. Instead Taylor winked at him. Nice.

Denise cleared her throat. "I haven't had the chance to thank you in person for what you did that night."

Taylor shrugged. With some people it would have come across as arrogant, as if they knew they'd done something wonderful. With Taylor, though, it came across differently, as if he hadn't given it a second thought since that night.

"Ah, that's all right," he said. "Your note was plenty."

For a moment neither of them spoke. Kyle, meanwhile-as if already bored by the conversation-wandered toward the candy aisle. Both of them watched as he stopped halfway down, focusing intently on the brightly covered wrappers.

"He looks good," Taylor finally said into the silence. "Kyle, I mean. After all that happened, I was sort of wondering how he was doing."

Denise's eyes followed his. "He seems to be okay. Time will tell, I guess, but right now I'm not too worried about him. The doctor gave him a clean bill of health."

"How 'bout you?" he asked.

She answered automatically, without really thinking. "The same as always."

"No . . . I mean with your injuries. You were pretty banged up when I last saw you."

"Oh . . . well, I guess I'm doing okay, too," she said.

"Just okay?"

Her expression softened. "Better than okay. Still a little sore here and there, but otherwise I'm fine. It could have been worse."

"Good, I'm glad. I was worried about you, too."

There was something in the quiet way he spoke that made Denise take a closer look at him. Though he wasn't the most handsome man she'd ever seen, there was something about him that caught her attention-a gentleness, perhaps, despite his size; an acute but unthreatening perceptiveness in his steady gaze. Though she knew it was impossible, it was almost as if he knew how difficult her life had been during the past few years. Glancing at his left hand, she noticed he wasn't wearing a ring.

At that, she quickly turned away, wondering where the thought had come from and what had brought it on. Why would that matter? Kyle was still immersed in the candy aisle and was about to open a bag of Skittles when Denise saw what he was doing.

"Kyle-no!" She took a quick step toward him, then turned back to Taylor. "Excuse me. He's getting into something he shouldn't."

He took a small step backward. "No problem."

As she moved away, Taylor couldn't help but watch her. The lovely, almost mysterious face accented by high cheekbones and exotic eyes, long dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail that reached past her shoulder blades, a shapely figure accented by the shorts and blouse she was wearing-