Read Online Heart-strong by Bonnie McCune - Free Book Online Page A

warned Rachel that the individual was
neither a familiar figure nor one who might be of assistance. She immediately
called, “No, thanks. He’s fine. We’re fine.”
    The figure bent over Scott and proffered a mittened hand.
“Here ya go. Upsa-daisy.” Without waiting for Scott to respond, he grabbed Scott’s
arm and hauled up. Scott popped out of his burrow and flew across the sidewalk
to land in the bushes by the stoop.
    “Now just a minute!” said Rachel as she scurried down the
stairs to her son’s side. “I told you he didn’t need help.”
    The figure turned toward Rachel, and she stepped back in an
anxious yet protective mode. She now saw the individual topped over six feet
and carried hefty poundage in proportion to his height. His layers of clothing
added to his bulk, but strangely his coat was unbuttoned all the way down,
exposing throat and chest to frigid air. Evidently he was impervious to the
weather, protected, as it seemed, by fumes of alcohol that swirled around him.
    “Lady, I said I’d
hep, hep, helllp him, and I will. Get the hell away from us.”
    Rachel screwed up her courage. “I’m his mother, and I say he
doesn’t need or want your help.”
    “Ain’t this a blizzard?” the man asked, swaying back and
forth, like an upside-down pendulum. “Ain’t we all neighbors?”
    “Now just a minute,” Jim called as he galumphed down the
stairs, flapping scarf nearly tripping him. “The lady said she doesn’t need
your help. Just be on your way.”
    “I inshist,” responded the man. “I absolute-ally inshist.”
    Jim plowed to a stop next to Rachel. “And I insist you move
it. Go home or back to the bar or wherever. Just not here.” He crossed his arms
over his chest, making himself look even more muscular than he really was, and
assumed that expression donned by men down the centuries when they were
protecting their territory, whether geographic or familial. Unfortunately the
interloper mimicked the stance, albeit with a distinct tilt.
    Fearing an eruption of violence in which Jim would be the
loser, for the stranger clearly would feel no pain from whacks and punches in
his inebriated state, Rachel threw a look of appeal toward her sister. Sharon
burst into song—a loud and off-key rendition of “Let It Snow”—as she slid down
the stairs and between the stranger and Jim. Her instincts were good. The
stranger joined in, slinging an arm around Sharon’s shoulder. Then Rachel
merged her voice, then Scott scrambled out of the bushes to sing, and finally
Jim loosened up enough to drone a phrase or two. The blizzard was losing its
blast, and snowflakes few but steady glittered and swirled in the air around
the impromptu choir.
    As the group repeated the chorus for the third time, Sharon
removed the man’s arm from her shoulder and converted the motion to a
handshake. “Thanks so much for your help,” she said. “We’re all fine, thanks to
you. Now you hurry on to a warm place.” She gave his arm a pat along with a
slight push to start him off. “Goodbye,” she said when he began to move.
    “Goodbye,” “So long,” “Thanks,” “Good luck,” came from the
rest of the group. The man turned around to wave, the hugest smile lighting up
his face, before he trudged off.
    “Whew. That was close,” said Rachel.
    “There’s a bar down the street that he must have escaped
from,” Jim said. “Quick thinking on Sharon’s part to ease him away.”
    “And,” added Sharon, “thanks to Jim for being ready to
protect us if need be.”
    As the four made their way back up the stairs and through
the front door, Sharon whispered to Rachel, “That’s quite a guy you have there.
I think he would have fought dragons for you.”
    “You forget, I don’t have him.”
    “I don’t know. He looked pretty protective to me.”
    Rachel stopped and considered. Was Jim trying to mend
fences? Did he want to explore a romantic connection? He hadn’t mentioned
anything like that, but he