Montana Hero (6 page)

I should have thought of that,
Kat acknowledged. He might have been momentarily startled into inaction, but Flynn seemed to have recovered.

A moment later, three strangers hurried out of the cafe. Tourists. Kat could tell by their city clothes and high-end sunglasses.
Isn’t it too early in the season for tourists?

Kat had hoped the Lexus owner was an understanding local, even though she hadn’t recognized the car.

“What the f—?” a twenty-something man in a hip plaid shirt shouted. He must have left his coat in the cafe because it was barely forty degrees at the moment. “You wrecked my car, you dumb b—.”

The epithet was cut short when Flynn shot to his feet, like Nautilus rising from the sea. He pointed. “Disable the alarm,” he ordered. “Now.”

The kid, who’d clearly been ready to take on Kat and Molly, wisely backed down. He pulled a key fob from the pocket of his low-slung jeans and hit a button, silencing the horrific sound.

Everyone, including Molly, seemed to sigh with relief.

“What kind of dumb ass town is this? You let crazy old bats drive around on scooters?”

Kat put her arm around Molly’s thin, bent shoulders as if to block the man’s meanness. Molly gave the kid a dirty look but didn’t say anything. A first for Molly.

“Did you say you called this in? She’s starting to look a little pale. Shock, maybe.”

Just then the sound of a siren reached them.

Flynn returned to Molly’s side and gently reached for her wrist. Her mouth opened as if to protest, but his smile disarmed the old woman. Kat knew the feeling.

“Fast and thready. Could be whiplash,” he said, looking at Kat over his shoulder. “Grab a blanket from my bag in the backseat. On second thought—” He unzipped his heavy coat and shrugged out of it to fold it around the old woman’s shoulders.

His kindness melted Kat’s heart, but she raced to the passenger door of the truck and grabbed the blanket, anyway. Flynn wasn’t acclimated to this cold. He wouldn’t be able to stand it for long.

“That siren better be the cops,” the testy young man snarled. “Does this old lady even have insurance? Probably not. Just my f—stinking luck.”

The older man—the loudmouth’s father, possibly—circumnavigated the other parked cars in the street to get a view of the Lexus. “It’s not that bad, son.”

Molly’s head popped up. “Weanie,” she muttered, giving the driver the stink eye.

Kat bit down on her lip to keep from smiling. She agreed, but her job was to make sure Molly was safe. What happened after that was not her responsibility. A deputy would come to handle the accident report. The medics would take Molly to the ER to be checked out. Someone else would make sure the red scooter got back to her house…for now. Until someone in authority took away her driving privileges.

Kat handed the wool blanket to Flynn before leaning down to talk to Molly. “How do you feel, Molly?”

“Fine as fish feathers.” She pushed the start button several times, confusion clouding her face. “I have to find Peaches.”

“No, actually, you don’t,” Kat said. “We already found her. That’s what Flynn and I were coming to tell you.” Kat pointed to Flynn, hoping to divert Molly’s attention from the unresponsive start button. “Flynn’s new in town. He took over Ken’s job.”

“Kenny Morrison? Had him in Junior English. Nasty brat tried to get me fired because I gave him a D. I should have given him the F he deserved and let the buffalo chips fall where they may.”

Flynn gave Kat a supportive nod then stepped away to deal with the irate driver and his parents. Molly continued her rant about the political bias of the school board against women back in the day, but Kat tuned it out to watch Flynn.

“A deputy will be here soon to make a report,” he told the driver. “You’ve got a cell phone, right? Take some pictures to send to your insurance company.”

The driver immediately pulled out his phone while his mother used her tablet to record what was happening. Molly stopped talking to watch the action.

Kat spotted a hint of curiosity flicker to life in her eyes for a moment, but it faded quickly. “I need to find Peaches,” Molly repeated, trying to get off the scooter.

“Molly, wait. We already found him, remember? Peaches is safe.”

The old woman’s face wrinkled with suspicion. “Where? Show me.”

Kat shook her head, slowly, never breaking eye contact. She kept her tone moderate. “Peaches is home waiting for you. We took him there first but you were gone.” Kat knew the truth mattered not one whit. The most important thing at the moment was to keep Molly calm. “You promised me the last time this happened that you’d call 911 when you needed help.”

“I don’t need help. I’m not feeble-minded, you know.”

“Of course, you’re not, Molly. You were a teacher, weren’t you?”

Molly straightened her shoulders the best she could. Kat noticed she was wearing a dirty nightgown and robe under Flynn’s down parka. Fortunately, Molly had thought to don a pair of sweat pants before she left the house. Too bad she forgot socks. Her skinny ankles were reddish-purple from a combination of cold and poor circulation.

Kat was just about to suggest they walk Molly into the cafe when the ambulance pulled up. A deputy sheriff arrived a second later. Flynn moved his truck to an empty parking spot then hurried back, jogging easily. He looked right at home in the action.

The process of filling forms and checking Molly’s vitals before talking her on to the gurney for transport to the ER took an hour, easy. The disgruntled tourists left…with a bad taste in their mouths, no doubt.

Kermit volunteered to drive the scooter to Molly’s while Brenda drove Molly—who’s blood pressure spiked the moment someone mentioned the word: hospital—to the hospital.

“So, what’s next?” Flynn asked, finally pulling on his coat. “Do we zigzag around the neighborhood making good on your assertion that we already found the cat?”

“Yep. Then we take Kermit to the hospital. Did you give him the key?”

Flynn nodded. “Yes. Despite the rocky start, I’m not a complete amateur.”

She started tell him not to worry about it when she spotted a puffy pink bedroom slipper floating in the slush. “I’ll be right back.” She gingerly picked up the slipper and dashed to the back of the ambulance where she met Kermit, a look of mortification on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“The language. Whoa. Old people really know how to cuss.”

She laughed. “You’ll have to wash your ears out with soap when you get home.” She held up the slipper. “She might need this.”

He tossed it inside, gave his partner a heads up and then closed the door, pounding twice to give Brenda the all clear. They both watched the boxy vehicle leave.

On their way back to the scooter, Kermit asked, “So, how’s our new fearless leader working out?”

Fearless. Funny choice of word given the way Flynn froze. “He kept the young prince from going off on poor Molly, so that ranks pretty high in my book.”

Kermit nodded, as if that made sense to him. Then he hopped aboard the scooter. “Time to lay down some rubber while you guys go on a cat hunt. The fun never ends in this job, does it?”

She was still smiling when she climbed into the truck.

“What’s so funny?”

“Kermit pointed out how crazy our job can be. Seriously weird at times.”

Flynn didn’t comment.

They drove in silence circling the blocks leading to Molly’s house. Kat guessed something was bothering him. Having been married to a man who tended to fret and stew instead of tackling issues head-on, she knew nothing good came from waiting. “Did I do something wrong back there?”

He startled. “No. You were outstanding. I was very impressed by your compassion and how well you handled Molly. Did you say you learned from caring for your mother?”

“Mom started showing signs of forgetfulness in her early forties. Lloyd, my stepdad, was able to help her hide the symptoms for a long time. When Lloyd died in a car accident, Mom came to live with us. It was pretty stressful. Brady was a toddler, and Mom sometimes acted like one.” She shrugged. “It made for a couple of challenging years.”

“Were you married at the time?”

“Yes. And, while it would be easy to blame Mom for my divorce, the reality is I changed the playing field when I took over her care. Greg doesn’t do sickness. Or kids,” she added under her breath, hoping he wouldn’t hear it. She tried to remain upbeat about Greg for Brady’s sake. If anything happened to her, Greg would be Brady’s only family.

“He was okay with you moving to Montana?”

“He supported my decision. Yes.”

Outa sight, outa mind.
Outa billfold.

“So your mother suffered from Alzheimer’s?”

“Yes. Mom passed away suddenly from complications from pneumonia brought on by aspirating a sip of soup from a caregiver’s spoon,” she said, fastening her seatbelt. “She was only sixty-two, but the last few years were pretty tough on all of us.”

He shook his head. “Wow. My mom’s age. That’s harsh. Thanks for sharing. I thought maybe you were holding out on me.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way you took control of the situation made me think they should have given my job to you.”

She relaxed, afraid he was going to ask her why she didn’t file a complaint against Ken. “The timing wasn’t right. Brady is still adjusting to the move,” she said, repeating the excuse she’d given to the Sheriff when he asked her to apply for Ken’s job.

Eventually, she’d tell him about Brady’s issues, but not yet. She hated for people to meet her son with preconceived ideas of autism spectrum disorder because, as Kat learned early in her son’s diagnosis, each child with Asperger’s will display his or her own pattern. Brady was a unique individual with special gifts Kat preferred to focus on rather than dwelling on the problems that arose from his inability to interact with his peers on occasion.

Luckily, Flynn didn’t ask her to elaborate, and a second later, she spotted something black and white move near a house with a ramp leading to the front door.

“There. Peaches. Pull over.”

She took off running before the truck came to a complete stop. She’d always considered herself a dog lover, not a feline aficionado, but when Mom moved in with them, so did her two very spoiled cats. Kat had a few tricks up her sleeve when it came to herding escape artists of the feline variety.

Flynn was on his phone when she returned, Peaches purring contentedly in her arms. She stroked and nuzzled the plump animal as she waited. His one-sided conversation sounded serious.

“Got it. Keep your ankle elevated and put ice on it until I get there. Maybe it’s just a sprain.”

He pitched the phone into the open console between them then stepped on the gas. “That was my friend, Tucker.”

“The guy building the zip line?”

He nodded. “Where are we going?”

She motioned for him to continue on straight ahead. “What happened?”

“Stepped wrong. Twisted his ankle.” He glanced at the cat. “We’re done with this call once we deliver Peaches, right?”

She nodded. “Yep. After you drop Kermit at the ER and take me to the office so I can start filling out the incident report, you’re good to go. Turn left at the next corner.”

She felt good about today. She’d proven herself on the job and she’d survived being in close proximity to Flynn, who probably couldn’t help giving off a boatload of we-could-have-some-sexy-fun virility. She liked sex—or she had back when she had the time and opportunity to fool around. Unfortunately, her life was far too much of an emotional quagmire to get involved with another person.

Priorities,
she silently reminded herself. Take care of Brady. Take care of business. And take care of me. The last should have been the simplest, but, of course, it wasn’t.

*

Brady Robinson knew
things his teacher, Mrs. Miranda, didn’t have a clue about.

He knew there was going to be a fight at recess.

He knew who would start it, and he knew who would wind up in the principal’s office.

He looked at the bulletin board behind his teacher’s desk and let out a sigh. Some things couldn’t be avoided.

His dad—if he ever heard about this—would say schoolyard fights were part of growing up. His mother wouldn’t say much. She never did. She accepted him—even the crappy parts—because she loved him.

Brady assumed he loved her, too. He just didn’t know for sure because he didn’t feel things the way other people did. One of the many doctors Brady had seen over the years told Mom and Dad that people like Brady suffered from “emotional detachment.”

“When most people get excited, happy, or mad, they react with emotion,” the thin, rat-faced man said. Brady hadn’t liked him from the minute they met, so he’d pulled back completely, never looking the man in the eye—even once. “Brady doesn’t. He observes, curious some of the time, but mostly bored.”

The man got that part right. When Brady was bored, he tuned out the world around him, focusing instead on a jaw-dropping factoid he’d read earlier that day or some curious conundrum he’d encountered. This is where the problem came in. People were offended by his lack of interest in their boring, ordinary stories. Some of his classmates thought that meant Brady thought he was better than them. He was in some ways. Not that he told them that. He wasn’t stupid.