Her Kind Of Hero. Carol Steward

placed his business card in her hand and left.

      At home two days later, Calli found the switch to turn on the radio, and rocked in the antique chair. Music was the only thing she could enjoy without her sight. Running her fingers over the card in her hand, Calli wondered why Sergeant Luke Northrup had really returned. She inhaled, flustered as much by the fading aroma as she had been the man.

      At first she thought he’d discovered a connection to the apartments when filling out the remainder of the report, but later she began to wonder if the personal interest was mutual. Yet she still couldn’t allow herself to call, even to thank him for his kindness. He was a cop.

      It didn’t matter that he had a soothing voice that made her forget her past. Or manners that her grandmother would applaud. Or enough compassion to rewrite her personal definition of law enforcement officer. He was still a cop.

      Until she met with the doctor to get the bandages removed, Calli could do little besides rest and wonder if Luke Northrup was really as wonderful as first impressions left her believing. Even if the nurse was exaggerating about Luke’s appearance, it wouldn’t matter. Looks weren’t at the top of her list. But then again, cops weren’t, either. In fact, they were no longer anywhere on her list. For more than one reason she reminded herself.

      From the little she’d talked with Luke, her instincts said he wasn’t a typical police officer. When he left her hospital room, Calli felt a longing to be someone she wasn’t. An innocent bystander instead of a silent witness. Suddenly she wished she’d been born to a washer repairman instead of to an army officer. She longed to know Luke better, if only circumstances were different. If only she was different.

      She’d tried to change. Even her grandmother had tried to help. Tried to teach her to crochet baby blankets and bake angel food cakes. Had tried to instill in her the more “delicate” aspects of women’s traditional roles. Calli had almost succeeded in dousing the embers of her fiery temperament. Until that night three years ago.

      The shrill ring of the telephone startled her from the unsettling walk down memory lane. She fumbled for the receiver and answered.

      “I see from the newspaper that you’re still patrolling.”

      The gruff tone caught her off guard, but it didn’t take more than a second to recognize his voice. It had been months since she heard from him, yet she immediately felt herself cowering to his authority. With a blind search for her glass, she took a drink of water to smooth her vocal cords. “Yes.”

      “I worry about you, Calli.” His voice softened.

      Her hand moved to the bandages on her head. She couldn’t even argue that point with him today. So how could she ever make them understand? Patrolling wasn’t something she wanted to do. She had to. Someone had to care enough to stand up against the criminals who were tainting the city. Yet she said nothing.

      “It’s too late to help Mike. It’s not too late to help yourself,” he added.

      Calli took a deep breath, then swallowed. “You taught me to be careful. I know how to protect myself.”

      “Your best protection is to stop. It’s not your job,” he insisted. “Let the police clean up the streets.”

      You taught me to care, to stand up for what’s right. This may not be two countries fighting, but it’s still war. How can you not understand? she wanted to scream at him, but the words caught in her throat.

      “We’ve already lost a son.”

      “I have to go, Daddy. Give Mother my love.” Calli hung up. She rested her bandaged head in the cradle of her hands. Oh, Daddy, don’t you see? Just because I’m a girl it doesn’t mean I can’t fight my own battles. I have to do something to protect the helpless.

      She knew the day would come when she would have no choice but to blow her cover, mission accomplished or not. Once she testified on any case, everything would change. She wouldn’t be able to keep a job working with the public. She’d have to watch over her shoulder. And, she realized, it could even mean losing her own identity. Each night she asked herself the same question: Is it really worth it?

       Chapter Three

      Calli zipped the ski parka, adjusted her earmuffs and pulled on the bulky gloves. She checked her gear then felt her pocket to be sure she had remembered lip ointment, tissues and sunglasses.

      Everything accounted for, she skied toward the footprints marking the loading zone for the tramway that would carry her away from the pressures of the city. Since the accident two weeks ago, she’d done little besides work the checkout lanes at the grocery store, then go home and struggle with the temptation to patrol again. With any luck at all, she’d be too tired tonight to care if the whole town crumbled at her doorstep.

      She wanted this ski trip to revitalize her senses. Wanted it to make her forget the urge to protect the weak and helpless.

      Experts said forgiveness was the key to moving on in life after a tragedy. Yet try as she may, Calli found it impossible to forgive—a hit-and-run driver, an unfaithful fiancé or an elusive murderer.

      Calli took a deep breath of the crisp clean air and closed her eyes. Okay, Father, I’ll quit patrolling. But there has to be some way I can help. Show me how. Take my life, my heart, and change it. Starting today, Lord, remind me how to relax and have fun.

      She watched tufts of clouds floating in from the west. “For I know of the plans that I have for you…plans to give you a hope and a future.” Today she would be carefree. Happy. Relaxed. Today I’m starting over.

      She noticed the broad shoulders ahead of her, and again found herself daydreaming about the cop with the resonating voice and tender touch. Though she’d never actually seen Luke Northrup, her mind had created its own image. His business card was still in her purse, with his home number scrawled on the back. She’d read it over and again, too stubborn to succumb to the temptation to actually call him. As kind as he had been, he was still a cop.

      “Excuse me, sir.”

      He didn’t respond.

      As she waited, another chair passed. She looked at it, then to the man who was now struggling with the binding on his ski.

      Calli watched as the next seat approached, then tapped the man’s shoulder. “Excuse me. Are you going up?”

      “Just a minute.” he snapped. He stepped aside and Calli eased forward, her gaze climbing the ski slope.

      Calli heard a clamor as the chair rounded the curve of the pulley. She hurried past the man to the loading zone for the lift. When the chair bumped the back of her legs, she instinctively sat down and knew immediately that something was wrong. She wasn’t on the chair. She was on somebody. “What’s going on?”

      “Hang on!” a deep voice commanded. Calli grabbed hold of the vertical bar connecting the chair to the cable, then looked down and realized three things. The chair was already twenty feet above the frozen ground. To her right, skis dangled from jean-clad legs, confirming her suspicion that she was sitting on someone. And she didn’t dare let go.

      “How—how did you get here?” she stammered. As Calli yanked the safety bar down in front of them, she felt his hand grab the back of her parka. “What are you doing?”

      “Trying to keep you from falling, ma’am.” He shoved her to one side, then kicked his long legs in a final effort to sit upright.

      The chair jolted from side to side. “Watch out! The pole.” She heard the snap as his skis hit the huge metal post. The chair jerked to a stop, bumping Calli off the seat again. She screamed.

      “Don’t worry. I have you.” He hoisted her back into the chair, then pulled her into the circle of his arms.

      Calli