Rescue Me!. Elda Minger

thought about the blond woman. He wondered how she was feeling, where she’d been going, what was going to happen to her now. He wondered what would have happened if there had been no robbery this morning and if he’d been able to talk to her while she’d made her purchases.

      Something about her had pulled at him. A flare of attraction. But something else.

      He sighed. Stretched. Closed his eyes. Tried not to replay the robbery in his mind. Thought of his father’s ranch in Texas, the way it had been. The creek. Quarter horses grazing. The wind singing through the trees, the green tops and silvery undersides of the leaves making that subtle contrast in the sun. The smell of the earth. The feel of that sun on his shoulders.

      It worked. Slowly but surely it worked. Despite the odds, he found a measure of peace.

      JEN DIDN’T FEEL ANYTHING until she saw the young cashier’s mother enter the convenience store. An attractive brunette in her late thirties, she strode right over to her son, enfolding him in her arms.

      “Oh, Johnny, are you all right?” Jen heard as the concerned female voice floated out from behind the counter. And as she watched mother and son, her eyes filled.

      Her own mother had died when she was seven. Cancer had taken her quickly. Her father had provided Jen with every material comfort, except for the things she had really craved—love, understanding, acceptance and his time. Now, in this convenience store, if her father had come to help her, the first words out of his aristocratic mouth would have been blame. He was a master at assigning blame and instilling guilt. Something along the lines of What did you do?

      She wondered if the clerk—Johnny—knew how very lucky he was.

      She answered all the questions put to her by the police officers as best as she could. Concerned for Johnny, Jen sensed he felt the robbery was somehow his fault, or at least he didn’t believe he’d handled it as well as he could have. Needing to reassure him, perhaps as much for herself as for him, she approached the back of the store, where mother and son were now sitting.

      Johnny had told the officers his full name was John McGann. Jen directed her attention to the young man’s mother. She didn’t think Johnny was in any shape to hear what she wanted to say.

      “Mrs. McGann?” she said.

      The clerk’s mother glanced up, her skin pale, her hazel eyes worried.

      “I just wanted you to know your son was very brave. When—when we were behind the counter and we couldn’t see what was going on, he used his body to protect me. He would have—” She didn’t have to go on. All three of them knew what would have happened.

      “Who was this man?” Mrs. McGann whispered, obviously referring to the stranger who had subdued the robber. “Why didn’t he stay?”

      “I don’t know. But—but I thanked him. I—”

      I don’t even know your name or how to thank you or—

      Actually she hadn’t. She’d tried to, but she hadn’t.

      “Well, he was an angel, protecting the two of you,” the older woman said. She eyed Jen. “Are you all right, hon? Would you like to come back home with us and have a cup of coffee or something? Maybe talk about it a little?”

      When Jen didn’t answer, she said, “Do your folks live nearby? Is there anyone I can call to come and be with you?”

      Another employee had arrived, ready to take over, as Johnny was clearly being given the rest of the day off. Jen hesitated. There had always been that part of her that had yearned for a mother, and Mrs. McGann was obviously a very good one, offering nurturing and support to her during the aftermath of this crisis. But Jen had a sudden intuition that if she didn’t get back on the road immediately, she might lose her nerve altogether and hightail it back to Chicago and the life her father wanted for her.

      “That’s very kind, but I have to be in Phoenix later this morning.” Which was a lie. She had no one waiting for her in Phoenix. No one at all.

      “I understand,” Mrs. McGann said, but Jen had the feeling she saw much more than she commented on. Funny how most mothers had that funny little sixth sense that clued them in to what was really going on. “But if you need to talk or anything, here’s my number. I’ll give you both home and work. And my cell. You can call me anytime. Anytime at all.” She scribbled the phone numbers on a piece of paper and handed it to her.

      “Thank you, Mrs. McGann.”

      “Laura. Call me Laura. And thank you for staying with Johnny until the police arrived. Until I arrived.”

      “Of course.”

      After making sure the police didn’t want her to remain for any more questioning and taking their card and giving them her cell number, Jen poured herself a large cup of coffee. She laced it with plenty of milk and sugar, took two of the glazed doughnuts, paid for her purchases over Johnny’s protests and walked outside to her Mustang.

      The sage-scented desert air stung her nostrils as she breathed in deeply, and for one long moment she thought she was going to cry. There had been that moment, inside the store and on the floor, when she’d thought she’d never take another breath, and it felt so wonderful to still be alive. The sky, the air, the coffee—everything felt unbearably new, almost shimmering with life.

      I’ll never take it for granted again.

      Though little more than an hour had passed since she’d first entered the convenience store, Jen felt as if she were entering another lifetime. Though she was profoundly grateful to be alive, something crucial had been lost.

      She’d realized how easy and inconsequential it was for some people to take a life, and that dark knowledge made her exhausted to her bones, to the depths of her soul.

      And afraid.

      As she unlocked her car, she thought of the man who had come to their rescue. He’d been tall and strong, and those blue eyes had been so intense when he’d silently ordered her behind the counter. And she’d obeyed, recognizing his strength and responding to it.

      He’d been a hero in the true sense of the word. He’d acted in a heroic way with no thought for his own safety. He hadn’t had to come into the convenience store; he could have driven on or even considered himself a Good Samaritan by calling the police on his cell.

      But he’d been a hero—her hero. And she couldn’t stop thinking about him; her memories of this man were so incredibly vivid. She felt as if they’d been etched on her soul, she’d been so touched by his selfless actions.

      Jen knew she was being unreasonable, thinking of this man, spinning thoughts about him, wondering if…Most likely he had a family, a wife and a couple of children. She wondered if they all knew how lucky they were to have a man like that in their lives to protect them.

      For an instant, as she slid into the driver’s seat and put her coffee and doughnuts down, she wished he was with her. She had a feeling if she could just lean on him for a few minutes, feel his arms around her, she wouldn’t feel so afraid.

      But that was impossible.

      CODY KNEW HE HAD TO LEAVE the parking lot, but he couldn’t seem to get his body in gear.

      He was worn out. Perhaps weary was a better word. Soul sick, as his father would have said. He hadn’t had a whole lot of energy when he’d started out this morning, and the robbery had finished him off.

      But he knew he had to get to work, so he set himself a limit of ten more minutes. Then he opened the van’s sliding side door and sat on the van’s floor, facing outside with his booted feet on the cement. He took in deep breaths of the cool, morning desert air. It felt fresh and open. Vast and timeless.

      For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt glad to be alive.

      JEN PULLED OUT OF THE PARKING lot, tried to take a sip of her coffee and found that she couldn’t. Her hands were shaking that badly.