From Ashes to Honor by Loree Lough Page B

cackled again. "So . . . ," he teased, "you want I should set aside a few blues for you?"
    He blinked away the sunset image of Jed's lifeless body, floating out to sea as flames devoured him and his humble cabin cruiser. "Much as I hate to," Austin said, "I'd better pass, 'cause it's likely I'll pull a double shift today." Waving the banana, he increased his pace. "I'll take a rain check, though."
    "Drive safe."
    "You bet."
    "I'm not talkin' about that bucket o' bolts you call a truck," Jed said. "I mean in the ambo. Take care not to drive it into any innocent civilians, y'got me?"
    Chuckling, Austin tossed back, "And you take care not to ram that hunk of tin foil into any real boats."
    Last thing he heard before turning over the pickup's motor was Jed's robust laughter, and Austin smiled. Despite the dream, his spirits were high, thanks to Jed and the Callahans.His mood rose even higher as he realized that at this hour he'd have an easy drive to the station, and higher still knowing that when he got there, he'd be greeted with a hearty slap on the back and noisy enthusiasm, especially from the lucky night shift guy who pulled the long straw and won the chance to head home a couple hours early.
    He tuned the radio to WPOC in time for the last half of an old Garth Brooks tune. Most days, he would have belted out the lyrics, but today, he tapped the beat onto the gear shift knob while making a short list of things that might explain Flora's snoring. Bud's midnight meanderings. Regret that he'd turned down free steamed crabs, Baltimore style.
    "Say," he said, giving the steering wheel a light thump, " that's what I'll serve when Mercy comes to dinner."
    She didn't seem the type who'd go all prissy when faced with the mess, traditional part of cracking into the spice-androck-salt–covered crustaceans. And if she did? Well, that would settle things, once and for all. Because what choice would he have but to see it as a sign that she wasn't the woman God intended him to share the rest of his life with!
    He might have laughed at the image of her, pinkies in the air and nose wrinkled as she recoiled from the rust-colored crustaceans on butcher paper. But his last thought smothered any enjoyment that might have resulted. The rest of his life? he replayed. Where had that come from? Austin scrubbed a palm over his face and muttered, "Great Scott." Because if he added up all time he'd spent with her—both in New York and here in Baltimore—he couldn't legitimately tally more than a dozen hours. "Oh, you're losin' it, old boy. Definitely losin' it."
    Not a big leap from 'losing it' to 'lost.'
    Lost in love?
    Shaking his head, Austin added to the mental list of things he'd been compiling:
    What in this crazy, out-of-control world had put Mercy Samara front and center in his head and way, way too deep in his heart?

11
     
     
    M ercy dialed Tommy Winston's room number at Bayview Hospital, and, after a dozen unanswered rings, hung up and tried the main switchboard.
    "Mr. Winston was released this morning," the operator said, and abruptly ended the call. Which meant in order to retrieve his contact information and arrange a visit, she'd need to drive to the school. Not her favorite way to spend a summer Saturday, but as Tommy's counselor, she felt duty-bound to do it.
    After donning jeans and a Yankees T-shirt, Mercy pulled her hair back in a clip and hurried to the foyer, where she stooped to give Woodrow a hearty goodbye backrub. "I'll be back before you finish your kibbles," she said, popping a kiss to his fuzzy brow. He emitted a happy chirrup and wound a figure eight around her ankles, then leaped onto the arm of the sectional. "So what do you think," she asked, grabbing her keys and purse, "which will cheer our injured football player more, a CD or a DVD ?"
    Whiskers twitching, the fat tabby responded with a breathy "R-rup."
    "Maybe I'll buy you a brand new catnip mouse while I'm out, just for being so adorable." And with that, she