The Reluctant Hero

“Investments?” Miss Nadine’s tiny head came up. “Mr. Hamilton, rest his soul, would have been thrilled to help you out there. He was one of Atlanta’s top brokers in his day, you know. Did I ever tell you that?”

Relieved that she’d found something other than his own personal life to focus on, Derek encouraged her with a smile. “You’ve mentioned it a time or two. I guess he was pretty successful, huh?”

“Successful enough to leave me quite comfortable in my old age,” she stated with all the dignity and discretion that befitted her stature in life. “That is, if my yardman doesn’t rob me blind buying fertilizer and landscaping timbers.”

Derek saw the smile curving her feathery lips, then grinned over at her. “Can’t take it with us, can we now, Miss Nadine?”

“I reckon we can’t,” she replied, chuckling. Reaching over to pat him on the arm, she added, “You sure do fine work, Mr. Kane. I can’t fault you there.”

“Thank you.” Derek couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride. Miss Nadine rarely gave out compliments. “It’s coming along just fine. We’ll have it in tip-top shape for the reception to kick off the Azalea Pilgrimage, I promise.”

Miss Nadine turned to head back to the house. “I know I can count on you. About a week—the azaleas will peak in early April, according to my calculations.” She waved over her shoulder. “I’ve got committee work to attend to. Come by the kitchen before you leave. Cook will have you a bite to eat prepared, and a treat for that mutt.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Derek watched as the old lady walked with straight-backed precision across the wide veranda. She really was a sweetheart, always feeding him and fussing at him and telling him he needed “to settle down with a good Christian woman and have a passel of babies.”

Derek appreciated Miss Nadine’s well-meaning intentions, but he’d long ago given up on being a family man. What woman would want to get involved with the likes of him, anyway?

That thought brought him back to Stephanie Maguire. Of all the women in the world, why did she have to be the one he’d run into last night? And why had he stopped to get involved in the first place?

“I should have kept on walking,” he mumbled to himself as he picked up his shovel and started slinging dirt with a fast, furious pace. “I knew better. I knew.”

But Derek also knew that he couldn’t have just walked away from the scene spread out before him on the shadowed street last night.

He’d left his lawyer’s office, discouraged but still determined to get his life back in order, only to discover two kids—teenagers at that—attacking a helpless old man. And…a beautiful, slender woman, with nothing to protect her but a cell phone and a purse, screaming at them to let the man alone.

Anyone else would have done the same thing, Derek reminded himself.

Or would they?

He’d seen the darker side of life; he’d seen the worst the world had to offer. For the most part, there was good in the world. But when the evil crept in, it devoured everything in its path.

Derek had seen that kind of evil, that kind of despair. He’d witnessed it down to his very soul, and, soul weary, he’d walked away and found a safe haven amid trees, flowers and earth. He’d needed to find his soul again, to find his faith again, to find God again, and becoming a landscaper had helped him with that.

It had been a natural transition. He’d grown up on a farm in south Georgia, had worked the land before he’d headed off to greener pastures, before he’d taken on a job that had almost brought him to the brink of madness.

Derek stopped shoveling and looked out over the vista of Miss Nadine’s tranquil garden. The azaleas stood in thick clusters underneath the tall pines, some of the bushes reaching six or seven feet in the air, their satiny green leaves bowing gently in the morning breeze, their colorful fuchsia-and salmon-tipped buds just beginning to crest open.

The grass, polished and clipped, spread like a velvet blanket out over the rolling terrain. The sun played across an ancient rose garden where bees hummed greedily over the feathery red and yellow blossoms. Way down a sloping hillside, a stark white gazebo filled with wicker furniture fat with floral cushions stood covered by dainty trailing purple wisteria vines and delicate white-tipped Cherokee roses.

The air was filled with the sweetness of hundreds of blossoming flowers, mixed with the rich smell of fresh earth and the softer, more subtle scent of still-moist dew.

Such a peaceful, gentle spot. Such a beautiful retreat. And Derek was its caretaker.

He couldn’t, wouldn’t lose any of this. Not the fragile peace he’d found, not the respect of his clients, not the contentment of a good day’s work—he wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to take that from him.

And that included Stephanie Maguire.

Derek looked up at the billowing white clouds floating by like puffs of cotton. “Lord, I’ve tried so hard to make a new life for myself. I’ve prayed and I’ve asked for forgiveness and I believe You have heard my prayers. Don’t let it end now, Lord. Don’t let them find me.” Thinking of Stephanie Maguire again, he added, “Don’t let her find me.”

He didn’t need a reporter snooping around, nosing into his life. Even if that reporter was lovely to look at, intriguing and definitely a woman who could make him come out of his self-imposed exile.

He was safe here, in this world of earth and sky.

He didn’t want to be found, because Derek Kane knew in his heart he was nobody’s hero.

And he surely didn’t want the whole world to come to that same conclusion. But if Stephanie Maguire pursued her story, if she tracked him down and insisted on putting him on the evening news, that’s exactly what would happen.

And his life would be destroyed all over again.

“We’ll just have to start all over again, from the bottom up.”

A long, low moan followed Stephanie Maguire’s statement.

“Alonzo, are you complaining?” Stephanie asked, her hand pulling through her mushed hair as she leaned forward on her cluttered desk. “You know how I feel about whining, now, don’t you, Alonzo? And especially from a Georgia Tech journalism student.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Alonzo Sullivan scratched his nose, then tossed back his short dreadlocks, his brown eyes opening wide at the woman who sat staring over at him. “I’m not complaining, Stef. Not one bit.”

Stephanie sent the intern a bleary-eyed stare. “Funny, I sure thought I heard a loud moan coming from your direction.”

“Just stretching my throat muscles,” Alonzo replied, a huge grin cresting on his face. “But…do we really have to do all this research again? We’ve checked on every Derek Kane in Atlanta, haven’t we? And…it is almost midnight.”

Stephanie nodded her head slowly, exercising tired shoulder muscles in the process. “Do you have early classes tomorrow?”

Alonzo lifted a brow, as if debating whether to tell her the truth or not. “No, I don’t have any classes in the morning, but—”

“So, you can stay and help me go back over all these printouts from the DMV and compare them to the names we’ve gathered, right?”

Alonzo slowly nodded. “Yeah, sure. Who needs sleep.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times,” Stephanie replied, playfully slapping the twenty-year-old on the shoulder, “reporters never sleep.”

“Why did I have to major in journalism, anyway?” Alonzo mumbled. Reaching for the phone book, he shot her a steady brown gaze. “And why is it so important that you find this man? You already did the main story—without him.”

“I want to interview him,” Stephanie told her confused helper. “I was involved in this…mugging and Derek Kane…well, he saved a man’s life. He’s a hero, and I think he should be recognized as such. I think people need to know that there are still some heroes left in the world.”

Stephanie watched as Alonzo started organizing all the Derek Kanes, Derek Canes and Derek Cains they’d found on the Internet and in the phone book. After comparing those to the records they’d found through the Department of Motor Vehicles, they’d called most of them, but so far, no one fit the bill of the Derek Stephanie remembered from two nights ago. But she wasn’t ready to give up yet.

“This isn’t your usual type of story,” Alonzo pointed out as he once again went down the list. “You usually go for the more hard-hitting news.”

Stephanie scanned her own list. “Yeah, well, I guess I want to interview Mr. Kane because he…he seemed so reluctant. Here’s a man who risked his own life to come to the aid of someone else, yet he doesn’t want anyone to know about his good deed.”

“That is strange.”

“Yes, and it got me curious. Plus, I just think it would make a good human interest piece.”

Alonzo rolled his eyes, then pointed a finger at her. “You think there’s more to this, right?”

Stephanie had to laugh. “Alonzo, you’re getting too good at this job. Yes, I certainly think there’s more to this. I can’t get this man out of my mind.”

“How about the police?” Alonzo suggested. “The officer who arrested the youths? Have you talked to him?”

“Several times,” Stephanie replied. “For some reason, the arresting officer is staying mum on the subject of Mr. Kane—which makes me even more suspicious. Of course, if we have to testify as witnesses, I’ll see Kane at the hearing, I’m sure. But I don’t want to wait that long. This story is fresh and I want to interview him now. But the police haven’t really been any help.” She grinned then. “Although I do have a copy of the police report, of course. The teenagers are being held as juveniles, so they’ll be arraigned in a couple of days. I don’t want to wait until then, because I have a feeling our Mr. Kane might not even show up for the hearing.”

“So we have to dig through all these names again?”

“Yes, we do. And call them.”

“Now?”

Stephanie glanced at the clock. “It is late. Okay, we’ll go back over the list and eliminate the ones we know are definitely not our man.”

“Like the seventy-year-old Derek Cain who proposed to you over the phone?”

“Yes. Nice, sweet man, but not my type.”

“Well, out of the twenty-two we’ve called, seven have asked for your hand in marriage, and about three wanted to know if you’d live in sin with them.”

“None of them would be our man,” Stephanie replied, ignoring the sometimes flattering, sometimes disturbing adulation she received from a lot of her male viewers. “This particular Derek Kane acted as if he loathed the ground I walked upon.”

“So naturally he’s the one you’re going after, right?”

Stephanie grinned again as Alonzo fell back into his assigned task with no more complaints. He was a good kid, and a hard worker. He’d make a good reporter one day. Right now, Alonzo and the other interns got stuck with the grunt work, but then, reporting was ninety percent grunt work, anyway.

And she should know. She’d taken some pretty big risks just to get to a story. So going after a man who didn’t want to be found was nothing new for her. Only, this man was different.

She was attracted to this man. Which was silly. She didn’t know him, had barely seen his face. Yet…it was there, staring her in the face, keeping her edgy and impatient. She wanted to know more about Derek Kane, because she was interested in him.

Putting that thought out of her mind, Stephanie helped Alonzo reorganize the list, then sent him home.

Sitting there in the almost empty press room, Stephanie once again went down the list. They’d called all the Kanes in the metro Atlanta area, and several in the outlying areas. He had to be out there, somewhere.

Thinking back over that night, she tried to remember everything Derek Kane had said or done. The clues were there. She had to put them together.

“Where are you?” she asked now, her gaze moving down the list. “Maybe that’s not even your real name.”

She was about to call it a night when her gaze hit on one address in particular. They’d called that number earlier, but no one had answered, and there hadn’t been an answering machine either, so she hadn’t been able to listen to the voice. Call it a hunch, call it woman’s intuition, but this address stood out in Stephanie’s mind for some reason.

“Flowery Branch, GA.”

Flowers? Flowers. Then she remembered—he’d said something about landscaping. Was he a landscaper?

“Think, Stephanie.” Then it hit her. She’d been eavesdropping when Derek had given personal information to the officer. Now two details of that conversation stood out in her mind. Landscaper…and lake.

“Would a reclusive man who claims he’s a landscaper live at a place called Flowery Branch?”

He possibly could, if that place happened to be near a lake.

Flowery Branch was a little town near Lake Lanier, about forty miles northeast of Atlanta.

“The landscaper who lives on the lake.”

As she sat there, her heart picked up its tempo. One of the DMV printouts matched this address. And the physical description matched perfectly, too. “This could be him.”

But she needed to be sure.

Picking up the phone, Stephanie called the Atlanta Police Department and waited as the operator connected her to one of her most reliable sources on the night shift. If the arresting officer didn’t want to divulge anything about Derek Kane, she’d just have to resort to other tactics.

“I need a favor,” she explained, then after giving her friend the details, she said, “just verify this for me. Just verify that his occupation is landscaper and that his address is Flowery Branch, Georgia. That’s all I need.”

Stephanie hung up, then waited. If this hunch panned out, she’d save herself and Alonzo a whole lot of trouble in the morning.

The phone rang five minutes later, jarring Stephanie out of her erratic musings.

“Derek Kane—that’s K-a-n-e. Thirty-two years old, owns his own landscaping business in Flowery Branch. Gave a complete statement at scene and then again at headquarters, and has requested to remain anonymous.” There was a pause, then the voice said, “So you never heard this from me.”

“Of course,” Stephanie replied. “Thanks.”

She ignored the little twinge of guilt she felt at having forced her friend to delve into police files.

“I only asked for verification,” she reminded herself as she grabbed her suit jacket and headed to the elevator.

“And now I have it.”

And now, why bother calling ahead? The element of surprise always worked best in these situations.

First thing in the morning, Stephanie intended to take a little road trip up to Lake Lanier.

To a place called Flowery Branch.

Where she hoped she’d come face-to-face with a man named Derek Kane.

Chapter Four

Derek couldn’t believe it. She’d gone and told the entire story on the evening news, complete with an interview of Walter Griffin from his hospital bed. Thankfully, Walter didn’t know that Derek had sat outside his room most of the night. Thankfully, the hospital staff had not divulged that someone had taken care of the man’s medical bills.

So all she had was her own eyewitness account and Walter Griffin’s undying gratitude for her and “the other angel” who’d saved his life, according to him.

Great. Now Derek was being billed as an angel, too.

This morning, as he stood on the deck watching the sun come up, Derek couldn’t seem to find that sense of peace waking up here had always brought him. Maybe because last night he hadn’t been able to find a peaceful sleep. He’d tossed and turned, reliving Stephanie Maguire’s vivid account of the mugging she’d witnessed in downtown Atlanta.

Her words, spoken from a voice that was half innocent, half calculating, still remained as fresh in Derek’s overworked mind as the strong brew at the bottom of his cup.

“And so, a happy ending to what could have been a tragedy. All because one man dared to step out of the shadows and help a fellow human being. Wherever that stranger, that Good Samaritan, is tonight, we thank him.”

She hadn’t told the world his name, at least.

Derek didn’t know if that omission made him glad or mad. Women like Stephanie Maguire always had good reasons for doing the things they did. Now Derek was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe it was the way she’d said it, as if she were sending out a challenge, or maybe it was the way she’d stared straight into the camera, as if she were staring straight at him, straight into his wounded heart.

“You’re getting downright morose,” he mumbled to himself.

Lazarus grunted, thinking that was his cue to get ready for their run.

The morning was calm and sweet with the scent of emerging wisteria and honeysuckle blossoms from the nearby woods. Out in the pines and oaks, splashes of stark white flowering trees could be seen here and there.

Dogwoods.

Derek knew the legend of the dogwood, how their blossoms represented Christ dying on the cross. Even now, from this distance he could see the white, cross-shaped flowers waving to him, comforting him. Derek needed the gentle reminder. He wasn’t alone in this struggle.

Lazarus whined again, bringing Derek’s attention back from the forest.

“I know, I know, Laz. I’m imagining things. I’m getting all worked up about nothing. She could have told the world my name. But she didn’t.”

That one act, whether intentional or out of kindness, made Derek think that maybe he was wrong about Stephanie Maguire. Maybe she wasn’t like other reporters.

Too many maybes. Too much on his mind.

“Let’s get going, boy.” Hopping down off the deck, Derek did a few stretches, then jogged in place.

Lazarus, however, was more than ready for their run. The dog started barking and twirling in circles, anxious for his master to issue a command.

“What ails you?” Derek said, his eyes following the direction of the dog’s nose. Lazarus was alert and sniffing at something.

And that’s when Derek saw her.

Stephanie Maguire. In the flesh. Walking up the winding dirt drive to his lake house. She was wearing jeans, a lightweight tailored blazer and dark sunglasses.

She looked great for seven o’clock in the morning.

Lazarus apparently thought so, too. The big dog barked loudly, then turned back to Derek with beseeching eyes. Derek quickly issued a command, then watched as the dog took off running down the lane toward his lovely quarry.

Stephanie looked up just in time to see the huge dog flying toward her. She’d heard him barking, but it was too late to run now. The big animal was coming for her.

Big dog. Big teeth. Her life flashed before her eyes as she wondered why she hadn’t done the sensible thing and tried calling first.

“Okay. I can handle this,” she told herself as the animal galloped down the dirt lane. A German shepherd. Was he trained to kill on sight? Could she remember how to protect herself—she’d done a story on how to avoid dog bites just last year.

“Avoid eye contact,” she told herself as she braced for the animal’s attack. “Roll into a ball and cover your head.”

Even as she went over the list of protection tips, Stephanie knew this animal could maul her permanently with one bite.

And then she saw Derek, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, walking casually toward her.

Surely he would call off his attack dog.

Too late, Stephanie realized he wouldn’t. She could only stand there, frozen to the spot, waiting and wondering why this man would be so mean-spirited as to sic a dog on her. She didn’t make eye contact with the dog, but she sure gave the man a good, long stare.

And then, because she was so distracted by the look in Derek’s eyes, the big dog was on her, knocking her down to the ground before she could even manage to roll away. Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes tightly, Stephanie heard her own scream.

Her heart pounding as the animal’s giant paws held her down, she waited for the sure pain of teeth sinking into her skin.

And got a wet tongue in her face instead.

“Ugh!” Opening one eye, Stephanie faced wet black-and-tan fur and another slap of wet tongue across her cheek. And a beautiful set of the darkest dog eyes she’d ever seen.

“Why, you’re just a big old baby,” she said, laughing from the sheer relief of not being eaten alive. Bringing a hand up, she rubbed the big animal’s silky fur and heard his grunt of pleasure. “Ah, that’s so sweet. So sweet. But, hey, fellow, could you let me up? This ground’s cold on my backside.”

Then she heard feet crunching on the rocks. Human feet.

“Some watchdog you are,” Derek said to the animal, his eyes on Stephanie, his expression just short of highly amused. With something next to a grunt, he told the dog to sit.

Reluctantly, the big animal did just that.

While his master stood there with his hands crossed over his chest, his whole expression a mixture of aggravation and satisfaction.

He did have the good grace to reach a hand down to her, at least. The dog moved out of the way and, after Derek gave him another command, danced around them while Derek pulled her up as if she were nothing more than a broken branch.

Stephanie accepted his hand and felt secure in that able-bodied, strong grip. In the light of day, she also became very much aware of Derek as a man. She hadn’t imagined his good looks; they were very much a reality. His craggy face was a study in mystery, an interesting stony countenance that didn’t invite attention. But she imagined women gave him a second look whether he liked it or not.

Annoyed by her wayward feelings, she let go, then fussed with straightening her clothes and shaking dirt out of her hair.

“Hello,” she said, a lopsided smile covering her embarrassment. “Nice doggy.”

Derek folded his big arms across his chest again, then gave her a long, measuring look. “A total disappointment. He always did fall for a pretty face and perfume.”

Even as he said it with such sarcasm and disdain, he reached down and patted the dog on the neck, as if he were protecting the animal, a small fraction of pride measuring his wry smile.

Stephanie continued to brush twigs and dirt from her hair and clothes, then remembered she really should be mad at Derek for letting her think his dog was going to attack her. “I thought… You could have called him down, you know. He scared the daylights out of me.”

“I could have,” he replied, turning to head back toward the house. “But then, you could have minded your own business and stayed in the city.” Tossing her a hard look over his shoulder, he asked, “So, Miss Maguire, how’d you find me, anyway?”

“I work at a television station, remember,” she told him, hurrying up the sloping hill to keep pace with him. “We do research when we go after a story.”

Derek whirled around then, all traces of a smile, wry or otherwise, gone from his lips. “I told you—I don’t want to be a story. But since you went on the air with this anyway, I guess there’s no stopping you now.”

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