Lucy And The Loner

He could see that she had been watching for him to emerge from the house, and when she saw him, she catapulted forward. Her face was still streaked with black from the smoke, her short hair was matted to her forehead with perspiration and the water from the firehoses, her clothes were wet and filthy and clung to her like a second skin. But those eyes...

He had to force himself to look away. He’d never seen anyone with eyes that blue. And the soot on her face only made them appear that much more vivid. Her gaze penetrated him to his soul when he approached her. This was a woman who would never be able to hide her feelings, he thought. Her eyes, huge and round and thickly lashed, were the kind of eyes that a man would lose sleep over. Some men, anyway, he amended. Not him. He never lost sleep over anyone. Not anymore, anyway.

He was overcome with a sense of guilt and failure at having come from the house without her son, and could only watch helplessly as she kept moving forward, her gaze never leaving his, her pace never slowing. Her lips parted, but no words emerged. Which was just as well. He could already hear her accusing, panicked voice demanding to know why he’d come out of the house without her child. As she drew near enough to reach out and touch him, Boone withdrew the still-unconscious cat from his coat, to hand the animal off to one of his colleagues before returning for the boy.

But at the sight of the motionless animal, the woman halted in her tracks and fell to her knees. Then she buried her head in her hands and began to weep as if her heart were broken.

“Mack,” she sobbed without looking up, as if she couldn’t bear the sight of the unconscious beast. “Oh, Mack. You were too late to save him.”

Boone gazed at her for a moment, completely dumfounded. Then, finally, he realized what he had done. He held up the caL “This is Mack?” he asked incredulously.

The woman nodded and finally looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. Her gaze dropped briefly to the motionless animal in his arms before returning to fix it on Boone’s face. Then she began to cry freely again.

Boone could only stare back at her for a moment, so entranced was he by the piercing intensity of her gaze. Finally, he shook the hypnotic sensation off and managed to ask, “Mack is your cat? I went back into that inferno to save your cat?”

She nodded mutely as she lifted a hand to gingerly stroke one of the cat’s dangling paws. “Oh, God, he’s dead. You couldn’t get him out. Oh, it’s all my fault.” She buried her face in her hands again, and began to cry even more helplessly.

She was terrified that she had lost her cat, Boone realized, the same way a mother feared the loss of her child. Her whole body shuddered with every sob that erupted from inside her, and her dark head moved helplessly back and forth. Before he could stop himself, he threaded his fingers through her short hair, stroking the damp tresses until she looked up at him again. Gently he urged her head backward and pushed her bangs back from her forehead.

“No, lady, don’t cry,” he said softly, swiping at a fat tear that tumbled down her cheek. The cat twitched in his arms when he did so. “It’s okay. Your cat’s still alive. He’s even starting to come around. He just needs oxygen.”

She gazed at him levelly, those blue, blue eyes incredulous. “He’s alive?” she cried. “You got him out okay? He’s not dead?”

Boone shook his head and turned to make his way quickly to the oxygen he had used earlier, with the woman following only inches behind him, scrambling three steps for every one of his. “He was unconscious, but he’s starting to rouse,” he called over his shoulder as he went. “And he does need oxygen.”

He settled the animal gently on the grass beside the teddy bear the woman had left there, picked up the same plastic mask she had worn, and dropped it over the animal’s muzzle. Then he shed his gloves and began to slowly stroke his hand over the cat’s thick, wet fur, rubbing it lightly under the chin and cupping a hand over its rib cage to feel for its heartbeat.

Okay, he conceded as he watched the helpless creature lay still and half-conscious. Maybe cats weren’t so awful after all. This one, at least, had shown some spirit and had a strong will to survive. Boone had to respect that. It was something he identified with greatly. Survival was his reason for living, after all.

“His pulse is strong,” Boone told the woman. “Just give him a minute.”

Stooped down on his haunches, he was more than a little aware of her hovering over him. She stood close behind him, her knees pressing against his back and her hands settled on his shoulders. Obviously, she had no qualms about getting familiar with strangers. Boone had to force himself not to physically shake her off. He did have qualms about getting familiar with strangers. And not just ones with huge, haunting blue eyes, either.

But now that the immediacy and danger of the situation had passed, he was able to consider her a little more fully. Still holding the mask over the cat’s muzzle, he turned around to look at her.

Man, she was a mess. Soot-covered, water-damaged, shivering from the cold and damp, she was bedraggled enough to qualify for urchin status. In spite of her appearance, however, there was something compelling about her. Boone wasn’t sure what, but something in her struck him as being just as spirited, just as much a survivor as her cat was. Had he not gone in after the animal, he was quite certain she would have done so herself, barefoot and unprotected as she was. Even at the risk of killing herself, she would have gone back to retrieve that cat.

He wasn’t sure he could say the same thing about himself. He was a loner, and he couldn’t imagine caring so much for someone that he would place that someone’s well-being above his own. Sure, part of what he did for a living was save lives. But hey, that was his job.

He was still thinking about that when the animal beneath his fingers began to twitch again. Then the cat began to thrash. Then it began to scratch. Before he could stop it from happening, the big black beast bared its claws again and tore a thin red line down the entire length of Boone’s thumb.

“Ow, dammit,” he growled.

Now he remembered why he hated cats. One of the reasons, anyway. He stuck his thumb into his mouth and sucked hard before pulling it out again to inspect the damage. While he was contemplating his wound, the cat disappeared from his grasp.

“Mack!” the woman behind him cried, bending over Boone so quickly and powerfully that she nearly knocked him sprawling to the ground. She yanked the cat up into her arms and buried her face in its fur, then started making kissy noises against its neck and ears. She glanced down at Boone, her expression concerned. “Is it okay to take the mask off now?”

He nodded, still sucking on the side of his thumb. Bastard cat, he thought.

The woman carefully removed the oxygen mask and held her pet aloft. “Oh, Mack,” she said, lowering the cat again to rub her nose playfully against his, the kissy noises becoming more pronounced.

Boone tried not to gag.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” she went on, cuddling the animal in her arms exactly the way one would a newborn baby. She turned to gaze anxiously at Boone again. “He is going to be okay, isn’t he?”

At his nod, she expelled a shaky breath, her eyes filling with tears again. “You’re sure?” she asked anxiously. “I mean, he’s not going to have brain damage or anything, is he?”

“He’ll be fine,” Boone assured the woman, inspecting the damage to his hand again, wondering if he could say the same about himself. He hoped the beast’s shots were all up-to-date.

The woman dropped to her knees beside Boone and threw her free arm around him, to hug him close. Her next word was muffled against his neck, but it seemed to be, “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.”

Boone peeled her arm from around his neck, more than a little uncomfortable with her gesture. He wasn’t a hugger and never had been. He didn’t like huggers and never would. Hugs were just so...so... An involuntary shudder wound through him. He just wasn’t into that touchy-feely stuff. As quickly and discreetly as he could, he pushed himself away from the hug and moved out of range of any further public displays of affection.

Seemingly oblivious to his rebuff, the woman stood and began to nuzzle and hug the cat again as if it were a child. And oddly, the cat seemed to tolerate her gestures with no problem at all. Boone could only shake his head in wonder at them both. In spite of the cool morning, he was wringing wet with perspiration, thanks to the heat from the flames and the heaviness of his protective gear. So he unsnapped his helmet and removed it for a moment, to wipe the sweat off his face and out of his eyes before returning to fight the fire.

He was still running his hands briskly through his damp, dark blond curls when he heard the woman say, “Everything’s going to be okay, Mack. Just you wait and see.”

Boone was about to replace his helmet on his head when, as if cued by her comment, what was left of the house behind them came crashing in on top of itself. They spun around in shock and surprise to find flames thoroughly consuming her home. Boone eyed the woman warily, uncertain how she was going to take this new development.

Although she’d cried freely when she’d thought her cat was dead, her eyes were dry as she watched her house burn, her expression completely impassive. It was almost as if she didn’t care, he thought, wondering why not. Almost as if—

Her legs buckled beneath her then, and she fell hard onto her bottom beside Boone. She snuggled the cat close to her chest, nuzzling his head with her cheek. Then, still staring at her burning house, and almost as if she wasn’t even thinking about what she was doing, she felt around on the grass with her free hand until she located the teddy bear she’d been carrying with her. And she clutched that to her heart, too.

All Boone could think was that he hoped she had some heavy-duty fire insurance. Because the only thing she was going to have left in the world was the truck parked in her driveway and literally the clothes on her back.

And a recalcitrant tomcat.

And a ragged teddy bear.

“Sorry, lady,” he said softly. “But it looks like you’ve lost everything.”

She shook her head, squeezing the cat and the teddy bear close to her heart. “No, I haven’t,” she told him with a sad smile. “Everything I need, everything that matters most, is right here with me. Thanks to you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said with a negligent shake of his head. “Just doing my job.”

“You have no idea what you just did.”

Her words were cryptic, but he decided that was a result of her shock at seeing her possessions go up in smoke. He shrugged off the comment and replaced his helmet, ready to rejoin the battle. Of course, he conceded, the battle now was essentially lost—her house was toast. There was nothing more he or his colleagues could do except make sure the fire was confined to the one building until they finally extinguished it.

“What’s your name?” he heard the woman ask as he turned to leave her.

“Boone,” he replied automatically. “Boone Cagney.”

“I owe you, Boone Cagney,” she told him. “I owe you big. And I always pay my debts. Always.”

He turned to look at her and shook his head, shoving his hand into a heavy glove. “You don’t owe me jack, lady. Like I said. Just doing my job.”

“Lucy,” she murmured softly.

He turned to look at her and nearly lost himself in those spectacular blue eyes. “What?”

She was still holding the cat and the bear, and for some reason, Boone was overcome by a massive wave of protectiveness. Which was really crazy. Protecting people was his job. It wasn’t something he wanted to do in his personal life, too.

“My name isn’t ‘Lady,’ ” she told him, her gaze steady and dry-eyed. “It’s Lucy. Lucy Dolan.”

“Well, Lucy Dolan,” he said, forcing himself to look away from her amazing eyes, “you need to get on that ambulance and go to the hospital, just to be on the safe side. And you might want to get your cat to a vet, just to be sure. But you don’t owe me anything.”

“Oh, yes I do,” she countered. “And you can’t imagine how huge the debt is. I don’t know how I’m going to repay you, but I will. Somehow, some way, I’ll settle the debt.” When he turned to look at her again, she nodded sagely and vowed further, “I promise you that, Boone Cagney. I promise you that.”

Two

Lucy nudged a black, sodden, still-smoldering lump with the toe of her borrowed sneaker, and wondered what the sooty blob had been before succumbing to the fire. The teapot her mother had ordered from England and loved so much? The box that had held her father’s fishing lures? The piggy bank full of quarters her grandmother had given her for her twelfth birthday? It was impossible to tell.

She tilted her head to the right to contemplate the object once more, squeezed her eyes shut to fight back the tears that threatened, and inevitably replayed in her mind the events of the night once more.

So much of what had happened was just a blur of unrecalled chaos now, and she guessed there were some things she would never quite fully remember. She supposed she was lucky neither she nor Mack had been hurt beyond a little smoke inhalation and the jerky handling necessary to save their lives. Ultimately, confident she was perfectly all right, Lucy had declined the complementary ride to the hospital that was evidently the consolation prize when one’s house burned to the ground. But she’d made an appointment with the vet for Mack this afternoon.

Perfectly all right, she repeated to herself. Oh, sure. She was perfectly all right. Just fine and dandy. Hey, she wasn’t going to let a little something like losing all her worldly possessions spoil her day. No way. She shivered and tried not to think about how badly this whole episode could have turned out if it hadn’t been for the big blond firefighter.

What was his name again? she wondered. Oh, yeah, Boone Cagney. Boone Cagney who had emerged from smoke and fire to carry her and Mack to safety, then hopped back up on his big red truck to disappear into the night. Without a word, without a trace, without even realizing the magnitude of what he had done.

Lucy sighed deeply and stared at the sparse remains of her house. Gone. Everything. Just like that. The track and field hockey trophies from high school that had lined her bedroom windowsills like soldiers. The airplane models she had built so passionately as a child. Her favorite pair of blue jeans—the ones it had taken four full years to get faded just the way she liked them.

Odd, the things people felt wistful about once those things were gone. And now Lucy had nothing.

Actually, that wasn’t true, she reminded herself. As she had told Boone Cagney, she did still possess the two things that were most important to her in the world—Mack and Stevie. And, of course, there was the truck she’d just bought a few months before and that she’d never been able to fit in the cluttered, cramped garage. But her house, her furniture, her clothes, and everything else she had ever owned—all the physical trappings that made Lucy Dolan Lucy Dolan—all that was gone forever.

She hugged the teddy bear tighter to her, rubbing her chin over the worn spot on top of his head that had become worn by that same gesture for thirty-four years, and wondered how she was going to take care of Mack—not to mention herself—now that she had nothing else left.

“Lucy?”

She turned at the sound of her name to find her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Palatka, wringing her arthritic hands in worry. It was she who had made Lucy put on the sneakers some time ago, but the older woman had been unable to get her young neighbor to do much more in the way of self-preservation. Lucy was still wearing the clothes she’d managed to throw on before making her escape, but she was only now beginning to realize that the T-shirt and boxer shorts were damp and cold and offered no protection from the chill morning air. In spite of that, she scarcely noted the goose bumps mottling her flesh.

“Come to the house and have some breakfast, dear,” Mrs. Palatka said. “You need something to warm you up.”

The white-haired, warm-hearted woman looped a surprisingly sturdy arm around Lucy’s waist and squeezed hard. Mrs. Palatka hadn’t changed out of her night clothes yet, either, and beneath her winter coat fluttered a red flowered muumuu emblazoned here and there with big purple letters that spelled out, Aloha from Waikiki! Coupled with her huge, purple, fuzzy bedroom slippers, limp from the morning dew, she looked almost as much the part of a refugee as Lucy did.

“Come on,” she said again. “You’re going to catch your death out here. You need a hot shower and some hot food. And you can borrow some of my clothes until you get settled.”

Recalling that Mrs. Palatka’s wardrobe consisted almost exclusively of synthetic Capri pants and fluorescent halter tops for the full-figured gal, Lucy battled a smile. “That’s okay, Mrs. P.,” she told her neighbor. “I keep my work clothes in the truck. They’ll do for now.”

Wordlessly, she collected a few things from the cab of her pickup, then allowed herself to be led to the house next door. She listened passively to the soothing words her neighbor offered about thank God no one had been hurt and it was a good thing Lucy had insurance and tomorrow was another day and everything would work out fine, just wait and see.

She put herself on automatic pilot and let Mrs. Palatka ply her with hotcakes and sausages and coffee. Then she mechanically showered, letting the hot cascade pelt her back, watching with an odd melancholy as the black, sooty water swirled down the drain. She pulled a faded green, hooded sweatshirt over her head and stepped into a pair of equally faded, baggy denim overalls, donned her work boots, and felt a little better. Only when Lucy was seated on her neighbor’s couch with nothing more demanding to do than stare out into space did the enormity of her situation finally register.

She had no place to go. No one to turn to.

Except for Mack, Lucy was completely alone in the world. She was an only child, having been adopted as a toddler, and her parents had died within a few years of each other by the time she was thirty-one. With only a handful of cousins she’d met maybe two or three times in her life scattered on the other side of the country, Lucy essentially had no family left. And the Arlington, Virginia, house where she’d grown up, the only house she’d ever really known, was nothing now but a pile of ash.

All she had left was Mack, who had pretty much been her only family for more than three years—ever since he’d shown up as a shivering, soggy handful of skin and bones at her back door, following a monstrous thunderstorm the morning after her mother’s funeral.

Lucy had taken his timely appearance to be a sign. As silly as it might sound to others, she’d always had the feeling that Providence had given her Mack to love and care for, because she’d had no one else left for that after her mother’s death.

That was why she owed such a huge debt to the firefighter who had rescued him. By running back into a blazing house, Boone Cagney had saved the only living creature in the world Lucy needed and loved, the only living creature in the world who needed her and loved her in return. Without Mack, her life would be hollow, joyless and lonely. Boone Cagney had saved Lucy’s family. He had saved her life.

She inhaled a broken, battered sigh and released it in a shudder of breath. From nowhere Mack jumped up onto the couch and bumped his head against her elbow, then nuzzled close before curling up in her lap. Lucy smiled and rubbed her hand along his back and under his throat, and the thrumming of his steady purr reassured her some.

As long as she had Mack, she told herself, everything would be okay. Somehow, some way, she’d put her life back together again. She’d just have to force herself to focus on the future and not dwell on the past. Piece of cake, right?

She sighed furtively and decided not to think about it for now. What consumed her thoughts instead was the huge debt she owed to Boone Cagney. And although Lucy prided herself in the fact that she always paid her debts, the settlement of this one eluded her. Everything she owned was gone. Her financial savings were meager at best. Whatever she received for her house from the insurance settlement was going to have to buy and outfit a new place for her to live.

All she had was a tattered teddy bear whose inherent value would be useless to anyone but her, and Mack, with whom she would never part, no matter how grave the debt. She simply had nothing to offer the big, blond firefighter who’d saved Mack’s life, she realized morosely. Unless, of course, she wanted to give him herself. But why would he want something like that? No one else ever had.

The hand stroking Mack’s back gradually slowed, then stilled altogether as a hazy idea rooted itself in her brain. Actually, she thought, that just might work. There was a way Lucy could repay Boone for everything he had done for her. There was something she could give him that would settle the debt in some small way.

She could give him herself. Sort of.

Now all she had to do was figure out how to wrap herself up all nice and neat and make him accept her small token of gratitude. Unfortunately, Boone Cagney didn’t seem like the kind of man who was open to receiving gifts, whether they were owed him or not.

“So what do you think, Mack?” she asked the cat who had moved into her lap, tucked his legs up under himself, and curled his tail around his body quite contentedly.

Mack opened one eye, clearly disinterested, then closed it again, sighed with much satisfaction and purred louder.

Lucy thought some more as she rubbed Mack behind the ear. “I guess if he’s not the kind of guy who accepts things easily,” she murmured, “then I’ll just have to be a bit more persuasive than usual.”

Mack grunted in his sleep, though whether the sound was one of agreement or dissension, Lucy couldn’t tell.

“That’s okay, Mack,” she said softly to the slumbering animal. “I’ll take care of everything. You just be yourself.”

Boone had finally managed to slip into a restless slumber when a rapid knocking at his front door awakened him with a start. Jerking his head up from the pillow, he squinted at the blurry green numbers on his clock, then swore viciously when he realized he’d only been in bed for a little over an hour. With another muffled curse, he collapsed back onto the mattress and mentally willed the intrepid intruder to go away.

But the pounding only reverberated through his house again—louder this time. So he sighed his resignation and rolled out of bed, then stretched lethargically before scrubbing two hands through his hair. Because he was expecting to send his uninvited caller on their way right quick, he didn’t bother to put on a shirt, and instead padded barefoot across the bedroom, wearing only a pair of faded navy blue sweatpants.

Man, it had been a bitch of a night, he thought, rubbing a knot at the base of his neck. It was a terrible thing to watch a person’s house—a person’s home—go up in flames along with all their worldly possessions. He supposed he’d never get used to that part of the job. The only thing worse than seeing something like that happen was seeing something like that happen to someone you cared about personalty.

The thought stopped him dead in his tracks. Whoa, he instructed himself carefully, rewind. Cared about personally? He couldn’t even remember the name of the woman whose house had burned last night. How the hell could he care about her?

The pounding erupted again, so he shook the thought off and returned to his slow progress down the hall. Prepared for an unwanted solicitation or an unexpected delivery, he jerked the front door open with a growl, only to find that the woman he had been thinking about only seconds ago had materialized from his ruminations and stood on the other side.