From Ashes to Honor by Loree Lough

endure exhaust fumes and the angry shouts of frustrated drivers without complaint, because at least Austin was safe.
    Suddenly, she remembered Tommy's card, there on the passenger seat, tucked under her purse. With the windows down, anyone passing by could see it. What if some greedy kid thought it contained a cash gift, reached into the car and grabbed it!
    Mercy dashed back to her sedan, hoping with every slap of her flip-flops that she'd find the card untouched, right where she'd left it. When she saw the tiny triangle of blue peeking out from beneath her purse, she leaned against the driver's door and gasped with relief. Why would a simple thank you card, penned by a grateful boy, mean more than her credit cards and driver's license? Why did it seem more valuable than the GPS and digital camera in her glove box, or the laptop on the floor beneath the dash?
    In a flash, the answer came to her.
    Yes, she'd agreed to deliver it for Tommy, but more significant than that, it provided a legitimate excuse to see him again, in case his promise to call had been nothing more than a polite way of saying "Thanks, but I don't think I'm interested."
    He didn't seem the type to give his word and then break it, but she'd been wrong about people's motives before—men in particular—on both personal and professional levels. Mercy learned the hard way that dwelling on thoughts like that would inadvertently led directly to the dark and heartbreaking memories of her father's murder. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to think of something—anything—that would take her mind off the grisly images of the moment he died in her arms.
    The steady whap-whap-whap of the chopper's blades churned the air above them, kicking up a cloud of dust and road grit.Mesmerized spectators instinctively shielded their eyes with hands and crooked elbows and tight-squinted eyes. Next, a mini-parade of fire engines and ambulances raced by on the shoulder, kicking up more dirt and tiny stones that splattered across all four lanes of traffic. It had been years since Mercy believed in the power of prayer, so it surprised her when she asked God to comfort the families of those killed or injured, and deliver those who'd died to a better place than this brutal world.
    "You all right, miss?"
    She recognized that voice. What cruel thing would he say this time? That he'd said a prayer, too, asking God to let the man on the motorcycle die a slow agonizing death? "I'm fine," she snapped. Go away, she wanted to shout. Find another callous cad like yourself, and the pair of you can curse the poor biker to your heart's content. Funny, but when she met his sparsely lashed pale eyes, he didn't look nearly as much like an ogre as she'd first thought. He looked weary, like everybody else caught up in the tragedy. The oppressing heat that rippled from the blacktop dampened his graying hair. A sheen of perspiration coated his face, and beads of sweat peppered the bridge of his nose. Evidently, Mercy and the Tin Man shared some critical DNA, because if she had a heart, would she consistently jump to the conclusion that every human being had devious and ulterior motives?
    Well, not everyone. Austin had not inspired a single negative thought.
    What could it hurt to give this guy the benefit of doubt? "You look a little flushed," she said, reaching into her back seat, and handing him a bottle of vitamin water, Mercy added "It isn't cold, but it'll replace your electrolytes and hydrate you."
    A thin smile slanted his thinly mustachioed mouth. "Gee," he said, unscrewing the cap, "thanks."
    He leaned close to look over her shoulder, and those old suspicions rose right up again. She flattened against the car and opened her mouth to ask what in the world he thought he was doing when he said, "Just lookin' for angel wings. These days, it's rare to meet a good and decent person, especially in the middle of a mess like this." He toasted her with the bottle."Thanks."
    You must have me confused