Thursday's Hero Dylan from Choices By Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor

A car horn blared. She froze. How dumb. Visions of being a patient in the intensive care unit flashed through her thoughts. An arm caught her around the waist and pulled her from the path of an oncoming car. Brakes screeched.

            “Lady, there are better ways to commit suicide. Lucky thing I stepped out for a breath of air before the lunch crowd descends. What in heaven’s name made you dash into the street like you’d been shot from a cannon?”

            Johanna’s feet touched the sidewalk. Her rescuer’s arm remained around her waist. He pulled her toward Blarney’s. The deep voice continued scolding. Unable to speak without revealing how scared she’d been, she studied his hands. Tanned, square fingers, short nails.

            The kitten squirmed. Needle claws raked furrows on her arms. They reached the door of Blarney’s. Instead of allowing herself to be dragged inside, Johanna sank on a bench. Reaction to the earlier surge of adrenaline made her body shake. She looked up and her eyes widened.

            He was like and unlike the warrior in her fantasy world. His unruly, auburn hair needed a trim. Green eyes tinted with blue reminded her of the sea. His rugged face bore laughter lines.

            “I’m waiting for an explanation of your rush toward oblivion.” His voice held concern and amusement. “Hope it wasn’t thoughts of the food.”

            Her cheeks heated. How could she deal with the glint of humor she saw in his eyes? “The kitten ran into the street.”

            “And look what the ungrateful creature’s doing to you. He’s not feeling an ounce of remorse. You’ll be lucky to escape with your skin intact.”

            Johanna tried to contain the kitten on her lap. “Guess it was a foolish thing to do.”

            “An act of kindness.” He plucked the animal from her hands. “See here, my boy, you’ve got to treat this lady with more respect.”

            Johanna smiled. She wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what would end the tension that pulsed between them.

            He put one foot on the bench and held the squirming kitten. “Dylan Connelly at your service. Next time you need a rescue, be sure to call me.”

            A bubble of laughter escaped. “Johanna Gordon.”

            “Aha. Hudson Community’s Director of Nursing. My niece has told me a lot about you.”

            “Your niece?”

            “Bridget Long.”

            When he laughed, Johanna knew her expression showed dismay. Bridget was a talented nurse and the most vocal of the union leaders. Johanna wondered if she and the younger woman would ever agree about anything.

            “Don’t look so shocked. The girl likes you.” He reached for Johanna’s hand. “You’re needing to see to your wounds. No telling where the wee beast has been.”

            Without a protest, Johanna rose. She frowned. Why was she following him? In ten minutes, she could be home using her own first aid supplies. When he opened the restaurant door, cool air rushed over her flushed face. She blinked to adjust to the dim light.

            Empty stools lined the curved oak bar. A younger version of the man whose hand cupped her elbow slid wine glasses into a rack above the bar. Dylan Connelly ushered her to the ladies room and vanished down the hall. Johanna attacked the multitude of scratches with soap and water.

            Dylan tapped on the door. “Peroxide. I’ve bandages if you need them. We have our share of kitchen mishaps.”

            “No need for them.” Probably not for the peroxide either, but she took the bottle.

            “I’ve boxed the kitten.” He paused with one hand on the door. “Would you be interested in joining me for a bit of lunch before you leave?”

            Not sure what she saw in his eyes or his smile, she nodded. “I’d like that.”

            “Then you’re on. I’ll put in our order.”

            “But—” The door closed leaving her with second thoughts. He hadn’t given her a chance to choose her meal. She poured peroxide on her arms. What had she done? When the liquid no longer foamed, she patted dry. She had to tell him she’d changed her mind. She opened the door and stepped into the hall. Maybe she could slip away.

            Dylan leaned against the wall across from the door. “I was wondering if you’d gone out the window.”

            She frowned. “There’s no window.”

            “Good thing you noticed before you tried to escape.”

            Had he read her mind? Johanna felt thankful the hall was dimly lit. “I wanted to be thorough.”

            He grinned. “Your lunch awaits.”

            What, no chariot? The frivolity of this thought surprised her. Maybe she was in shock from accepting his invitation. Having lunch with a stranger wasn’t her style.

            He showed her to a booth across from the bar. High back church pews formed the seats. She saw a shoebox on the bench and heard a faint meow. “What am I going to do with a kitten?”

            “Become a slave. The creatures have a way of creeping into your life and letting you know how much you need them. The pair of you are bonded for life. I’ve a memory of the time my oldest brought home a bedraggled cat. Next morning, there were six. Makes one think twice about rescue missions.”

            Johanna stared at the box. Did Dylan feel responsible for her? How could she tell him there was no need? Before she framed a reply, a significantly pregnant waitress set two plates on the table.

            “Dina, love,” Dylan said. “I thought you were hostess today.”

            She made a face. “You and Patrick...I’m not an invalid. Colleen’s late, so I’m filling in ’til she gets here.”

            “Make sure you’re not on your feet too long.”

            Johanna smiled. The caring in his voice raised a bit of envy. She wished someone cared for her in that way.

            She watched him drip catsup on his burger and fries. Did he realize how much fat the food contained? She inhaled and the aroma of the burger made her realize how hungry she was.

            As they ate, he related stories of the bar he’d bought from his father-in-law and how it had evolved into a restaurant. “First there were the snacks. Then a bit of soda bread. When Colleen’s husband graduated from the Culinary Institute, he was needing a job, so we bought the building next door and expanded.”

            Before she finished the savory burger, Johanna learned Dylan had been a widower for two years. His oldest children were his partners, and the youngest two were in college and spending the summer on work/study projects.

            The town clock struck twelve times. Johanna glanced around the room. The other booths and the tables near the windows were occupied and so were most of the seats at the bar. She slid toward the aisle. “I should go.”

            “Feel free to stay for a bit of dessert,” Dylan said. “Time I was headed to the bar. I’ll call and see how you and the wee beast are dealing with each other and if your wounds have healed.”

            “There’s no need. I’ll be fine.”

            He winked. “I’m not one for doing a thing I don’t want to do. Remember, if you need another rescue from an iron dragon, I’m your man.” He strode to the bar.

            Johanna waved the waitress away. “No dessert. Thanks.” She’d eaten more this noon than she had for months. She slipped a bill beneath her plate and rose. As she lifted the shoe box, she heard a mournful cry. What was she going to do with a kitten?

            “Take care crossing the street,” Dylan called.

            Johanna stepped outside. Forgotten were her plans for the antique shops and the library. She had a kitten, the promise of a phone call and lighter spirits. At the curb, she turned to look at the restaurant, saw Dylan and waved.

DYLAN PLACED TWO GLASSES of wine on one of the window tables. Instead of returning to the bar, he watched Johanna walk away. When she waved, he grinned.

            Why had he promised to phone? What he knew about Johanna Gordon came from his niece. Bridget admired the older woman, and often spoke about her fairness to the nurses and her uncluttered life, a thing Bridget’s certainly wasn’t. His niece worked full-time to support four children and a husband who tossed his shoes beneath any woman’s bed.

            The strength of his attraction to Johanna rocked Dylan. Though there was no logical reason, he knew he would call and invite her to dinner.

            Since Maureen’s death, he’d had no desire to become involved with another woman. If he could find one like her, he might reassess his notion that the coupled part of his life had ended. Maureen had met his passion, his laughter and his temper with her own.

            Johanna Gordon was nothing like Maureen.  There’d been shadows in the depths of Johanna’s  brown eyes. The sadness had stirred a need in him to see them gone.

            “Nice going, old man.” Dina poked his ribs with a finger. “Glad to see you haven’t lost your touch with the ladies.”

            “Get out of here with your nonsense. I was only being the gentleman.”

            “Looked to me like she got to you.” She danced away and collided with her sister-in-law. “Your father invited a lady to lunch.”

            “And I missed it,” Colleen said. “What’s she like?”

            “In her forties. Tall, slender, brown hair. Kind of stiff, but she had a sweet smile. He saved her life.”

            Colleen giggled. “My dad, the hero. What happened?”

            Before Dina had a chance to answer, Dylan put his hand on her shoulder. “Get to work, the pair of you.”

            Dina laughed. “This is for the way you teased Patrick and me. Payback’s a—”

            He put a finger on her lips. “Watch your mouth. If music can effect the unborn, just think what that kind of language can do. I don’t want my grandson arriving with a sewer mouth.”

            “What if he’s a girl?”

            “You’re having a boy. I’ve the second sight. It’s a family trait.”

            Patrick’s loud guffaw interrupted the verbal sparring match. “My lovely wife, you’ll never win a battle of words with Dad. Who do you think this place is named for?”

            Dylan winked at Dina and walked to the bar. He pushed Patrick to the opening. “Get out there and give your wife and sister a hand with the tables.”

            “On my way. I liked her looks. You know, I’m amazed an old man can move so fast.”

            “I’ll give you old. Three rounds in the backyard in the morning.”

            Patrick chuckled. “Be sure to call her. You need more of a social life than family gatherings and watching Colleen’s boys.”

            “Hey, he volunteers to babysit. Just wait ’til Dina pops and we’ll see who calls Dad.” Colleen patted Dylan’s arm. “I’ll add my vote for the lady.”

            Dylan laughed. Even thinking about Johanna made him eager to see her. He filled four mugs with beer and slid them down the bar. Tomorrow, he thought. Let her get used to life with a kitten.