With a nod, he silently got in. Just as he closed the door, Cort tapped on it.
Brogan flashed her an indulgent look that said, “I should have known,” and rolled down the window.
Wearing a black rain poncho with a big hood, Cort stood there as if impervious to the weather. “Can’t stop playing hero, I see.”
Shaking his head, Brogan said, “Not on purpose.”
“Guess it has a way of finding some people.” He grinned. “That’s Dee Pearson, by the way. She’s been around Bramble forever. She’s retired now, but she used to be a music teacher. Still gives private piano lessons. Everyone in town loves her.”
“I could have guessed she was a teacher. She has a way about her.”
Cort looked at the mess and blocked traffic. “I know the young guy, too. Gunther Prader. Was he hurt?”
“Banged up. Clunked his head pretty good. He was mostly worried about Ms. Pearson and his dog.”
“He’s a good guy. Works hard as a mechanic and has a young family at home. Any idea what happened?”
“My guess is those threadbare tires combined with the rain and slick roads. I’m just glad it wasn’t worse.”
“Especially with the fire,” Pixie said.
“I think his engine overheated. He said he’d meant to put in coolant, but worked overtime all week.”
Cort’s mouth tightened with obvious worry. “Dangerous. Someone could have been killed.”
Pixie had been thinking the same thing.
“He said he took the dog along today because his wife is sick with a cold.” Brogan struggled a moment, then admitted, “I got his address. I want to check in on him, see what I can do.”
“Good idea.”
“That’s what Ms. Pearson said. She claims I have to come by her house first so she can send a meal over to the family.”
“Even better. Marlow and I will also come up with some way to help. I remember what it was like to be his age, trying to figure it out.”
“Me too.”
“You should take the kids home now.” Cort bent down to see Pixie. “I’ll update Marlow for you. Just go home and get dry.”
“Thank you.”
Brogan glanced at her in the back seat. “Are you going to ride back there?”
“I think so.” She wasn’t about to crawl over the seat with both Brogan and Cort watching. “The kids don’t understand what’s going on, and if the thunder gets noisy again …”
He nodded. To Cort, he said, “Can you make sure it’s clear for me to back up and turn around so I can take a side street out of this mess? Too many people are out of their cars now.”
It took a few minutes’ maneuvering, with so many drivers stopped to gawk, as well as police cars and a fire engine on the road. Once they were clear of the wreck, Brogan drove extra cautiously. By the time they got home, the kids were cranky, the storm was raging, everyone was hungry, and Brogan was withdrawn.
Pixie was lost in her own thoughts.
What did she do with a hero she loved—a man she wanted to keep—when she had so many insecurities, and he didn’t want involvement?
Poor Brogan.
He’d planned to keep his head down, to avoid engaging with people, and yet it kept happening to him because, as Cort had said, those situations seemed to be a magnet to certain people. Pixie had the thought that in any trying time, Brogan would be a man who stepped up and did whatever was necessary.
Being a hero was in his DNA. Despite the life he’d lived, orperhaps because of it, he wanted, needed, to help others—to give them the assistance he hadn’t received.
