Heroes Are My Weakness: A Novel

TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT.

NO QUESTIONS ASKED.

She climbed down from the ladder and scowled at him, daring him to make fun of her, but he merely shrugged. “Works for me.”


OVER THE COURSE OF THE next few days, Annie came to a decision. Not about Theo. Her relationship with him was as clear-cut as she could wish. She loved being Sex Queen of the World, and insisting on separate beds kept her from becoming a chump. Instead, her decision involved the legacy. She’d found nothing, and it was time to face reality. Mariah had been on so many painkillers that she hadn’t known what she was saying. There was no legacy, and Annie could either fall apart because her money problems weren’t going to magically disappear, or she could keep moving forward, one step at a time.

The interisland ferry was due to arrive on the first of March, only a few days away, and she began packing up everything in the cottage that had value to ship to the mainland. She arranged for a van to meet the ferry and take it all to Manhattan. Her mother’s name was still worth something, and her things were going to the best resale shop in the city.

Annie had sent photos of everything to the owner, including the paintings, lithographs, art books, the Louis XIV “Pile Driver” chest, and barbed-wire bowl. He’d agreed to advance the money for transportation against future sales.

The centerpiece of the collection and the item the dealer was certain would fetch the most money was one she’d nearly overlooked. The cottage guest book. Some of the autographs were of well-known artists, and a few signatures had small doodles next to the names. The dealer hoped to get as much as two thousand dollars for it, but he took a 40 percent commission. Even if everything sold, Annie wouldn’t be able to settle her debts, but she’d put a dent in them. She was also healthy again. When her sixty days were up, she’d try to get her old jobs back and start all over again. A depressing thought.

Then something happened on the last day of February that cheered her up.

Theo had been out riding longer than usual, and she kept dashing to the windows at Harp House looking for him. It was nearly dusk when she spotted him riding up the drive. She hurried out the side door, grabbing her coat on the way but not bothering with her hat and gloves.

He reined up as he saw her running toward him. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing. Put your happy face on. I got my period!”

He nodded. “That’s a relief.”

No big smile. No high fives or “Thank Gods.” She regarded him curiously. “Somehow I expected a little more enthusiasm.”

“Trust me. I couldn’t be more enthusiastic.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Unlike you, I’m not in the habit of jumping up and down like a twelve-year-old.” He rode off toward the stable.

“You should try it sometime,” she called after him.

As he disappeared she shook her head in disgust. One more reminder that the only connection between them was physical. Did he let anybody see what was going on inside his head?


OF COURSE HE WAS RELIEVED. Annie had a lot of gall suggesting he wasn’t. A pregnant Annie would have screwed up his life in more ways than he could begin to fathom. He was irritable because of his work. He always got testy when his writing wasn’t going well, and it definitely wasn’t going well now. He’d killed off Diggity Swift a week ago and been blocked ever since.

He didn’t understand it. He’d never had a problem killing off a character, but now he couldn’t seem to garner any interest in Quentin Pierce and his band of miscreants. Today he’d actually been happy to get a call from Booker Rose about his hemorrhoids, and how whacked was that?


ANNIE KEPT THE PINK VELVET sofa and the beds, but shipped off most of the rest of the furniture, including the mermaid chair. She wrapped old blankets around the larger paintings and packed up smaller items in boxes she brought down from Harp House. Judy Kester’s son Kurt had to make two trips in his truck to get it all to the wharf. She paid him with the taupe armchair he wanted to give his pregnant wife for her birthday.

Since the new locks had been installed a little over a week ago, there’d been no more incidents at the cottage, although she couldn’t be certain whether the locks were responsible or the sign she’d hung. Once Theo was satisfied she could handle a gun, he’d made certain everyone in town knew she was armed, and she’d begun to feel safe again.

Theo wasn’t happy about the missing furniture. “I need a place to write,” he complained as he surveyed the nearly bare living room.

“You can go back to the turret. I’ll be fine here now.”

“I’m not going anywhere until we figure out who’s been behind this. It’s amazing what people tell me when I’m bandaging them up. I keep hoping if I ask the right questions, I’ll learn something.”

She was touched by his attempts to help her. At the same time, she didn’t want him to think she was leaning on him—expecting him to play the hero to her hapless heroine. “You’ve had enough of needy women,” she said. “You’re not responsible for me.”

He acted as if he didn’t hear her. “I’ll bring some furniture down from Harp House. There’s a bunch of stuff in the attic that nobody’s using.”

“But do I really need a mummified corpse?”

“It’ll make a great coffee table.”

He was more than true to his word. She expected him to show up with a desk and maybe an easy chair, but he also brought the round, drop leaf table that now sat in the front window along with four spindle-backed chairs. A small, three-drawer painted chest rested between two overstuffed easy chairs slip-covered in faded navy and white checks. He’d even brought a dented brass lamp shaped like a huntsman’s horn.

Mariah would have hated it all—especially the huntsman’s lamp. Nothing was modern, or even coordinated, but the place finally felt like what it was—a humble Maine cottage instead of an artsy Manhattan living room.

“I borrowed Jim Garcia’s truck in exchange for my medical services,” Theo told her. “He had a small accident with his power saw. These lobstermen are so damn stubborn. They’d rather risk gangrene than make a trip to the mainland to see a doctor.”

“Lisa was up at the house again,” Annie told him. “She’s still mad at you for not taking the jelly bean out of Alyssa’s nose. I did a Web search and showed her what could have happened if you’d tried to handle it yourself.”

“Three other people are pissed at me, but I’m already doing more than I’m qualified for, and they can just deal with it.”

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was becoming increasingly absorbed in island life. It must be good for him because he seemed to laugh more, and he no longer looked quite as tense. “You haven’t killed anybody yet,” she said. “That’s good news.”

“Only because I have a couple of doctor buddies helping me over the phone.”

She was so used to thinking of Theo as a loner that she found it hard to imagine him having friends.


AFTER ANOTHER LUSCIOUS BOUT OF sexual depravity, they fell asleep in their separate beds, something that seemed to annoy Theo more each night. A pounding on the door jerked Annie upright in bed. Shoving her hair from her face, she untangled her legs from the blankets.

“Don’t shoot!” an unfamiliar voice called out. She was glad someone was taking her sign seriously, but she still reached in her bedside table for the pistol.

Theo was already at the front door when she got to the living room. The early March winds had picked up and snow tapped against the front window. She kept the pistol at her side as he turned the knob. Judy Kester’s son Kurt, the one who’d helped her move the furniture, stood on the other side. “It’s Kim,” he said frantically. “She’s gone into labor early, and the medevac helicopter’s grounded. We need you.”

“Shit.” Not the most professional response, but Annie didn’t blame Theo. He gestured Kurt inside. “Wait here.” He passed Annie on his way to grab some clothes. “Get dressed. You’re going with me.”