Restore My Heart by Cheryl Norman

Pointing to a white wooden garage, Sally showed him where to park. The garage had been built in the last twenty years, he’d bet, and stood out among the older, narrower ones along the alley. As he nosed the Mustang beside a pick-up truck, a floodlight from the garage’s eave suddenly blinded him.
    “Motion sensor,” Sally said.
    He nodded. After he’d helped her from the car and locked up, he followed her down a narrow sidewalk squeezed between the garage and the fence. Ducking to dodge an overgrown shrub, they made their way across a brick patio, then up a plywood ramp that had been erected over the steps.
    A second motion sensor light clicked on as they stepped onto the ramp. After Sally unlocked the door, Joe grasped her arm. “Are you going to be okay?”
    She nodded.
    “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    “You’re really walking?” She looked up at him, frowning. “I’ll see if Dad can drive you back—”
    “No need. I could use the exercise and a little fresh air after all that smoke tonight.”
    “I hope it doesn’t start raining on you.”
    Grinning, he winked. “It wouldn’t dare.”
    Sally squeezed her eyes shut. She sucked in a ragged breath as she backed into the door jamb. “Ow, ow, ow!”
    “What is it?” Even in the shadows he could see the color drain from her face. He rushed to catch her as she started collapsing. “Sally?”
    “A muscle—spasm.”
    From her pained grimace, it was one hell of a cramp. He scooped her into his arms, pushed the door open with his backside, then carried her into the house. The stench of stale beer and pizza assailed him as he stepped into the kitchen. “Which way?”
    Sally had grabbed his shoulders when he’d lifted her into his arms. Loosening one arm, she pointed to the end of a short hallway. Passing the open bathroom door, he carried her to the end of the hall, using his elbow to nudge open the door of a bedroom.
    She hardly weighed a thing. Holding her, carrying her felt too good. As he lowered her to the bed, a long shadow and a whiff of beer alerted him to her father’s presence. Joe hardly blamed the guy for his wariness, considering a stranger had just rushed in carrying Sally to her bedroom. If her agony hadn’t concerned him so much, Joe might have laughed.
    “Leg cramp,” Joe muttered without turning to look at him. “Let me help you take off your pants.”
    “What?” Sally’s eyes widened into saucers. “W-why?”
    “So I can work out the knot in your muscle. Come on. This is no time for modesty.” He reached for the buckle on her fanny pack.
    “What the hell’s going on?”
    “Dad, this is—” Sally sucked in another breath, unable to finish the introduction.
    “Sir, I’m Joe Desalvo. Sally has a muscle spasm. She’s in a lot of pain. Could you help me here?”
    The man’s shadow didn’t budge. “What’s wrong with her clothes?”
    Joe had forgotten the damage from fire fighting and falling. A tear and stains marred her slacks. Her blazer sleeves had soot marks as well. “Someone set fire to Mustang Sally’s.”
    “Fire?” The man glared at Joe as if he were the arsonist.
    “It’s all right, sir. We arrived in time to put it out.” Her father just stood there. Joe cleared his throat. “Right now we need to help Sally.”
    Joe didn’t take time to analyze the guy’s lack of response. As Sally removed her fanny pack and tossed it aside, Joe unsnapped the waistband of her fly.
    “Sally can undress herself,” her father said.
    “Please!” Sally muttered, pushing away his hands. She unzipped, started to slide the waistband over her hips, then froze. “Dad?”
    Joe turned to face the man. He guessed the disheveled man to be younger than he appeared, which was at least sixty. The man’s gray eyes glared at Sally’s leg, his unshaven face twisted by a grotesque frown. Sally’s father spun from the room, his behavior puzzling Joe.
    Damn the man! His daughter lay writhing in pain and he ignored her? Joe tamped