Читать книгу Love, Special Delivery - Melinda Curtis - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“FIRE. THAT’S A FIRE,” Mandy said in disbelief at the same time that the seriously hunky fireman demanded, “Where’s the fire extinguisher?”

The flames were about six feet off the ground, eight inches high and growing taller and wider by the second. They climbed up the wall bordering the dock’s opening.

This is going to put me behind schedule.

It’d taken her days to clear away the trash and outdated equipment enough to clean. And for what? A fire to turn her hard work to ash?

“Where...” Large hands took hold of her shoulders. “...is the fire extinguisher?”

In the face of his demand, Mandy had no time to register the strength of Ben’s grip, the odd quirk to his mouth or the intensity of his blue eyes.

Where had she seen the fire extinguisher? Her mind flitted through a jumble of images, landing on one. “The bathroom.”

Ben disappeared, leaving Mandy mesmerized by the ever-increasing flames. This was it. The end of her short stint as postmaster. Finding a territorial raccoon in the post office was inconvenient. Burning the place down was a firing offense. She’d be stuck in Harmony Valley without a job. Wouldn’t her creditors love that?

While Ben searched, the fire chief walked with unhurried steps toward the loading dock. He and his son had the same broad shoulders, the same thick dark hair, the same confident stride and the same sharp blue eyes. Only the pallor of their skin was different. The older man’s complexion was the pasty white of a ball of bread dough.

Keith swiped an old canvas mailbag from the stack in the corner and used it to smother the flames. By the time Ben returned with the fire extinguisher, the fire was out, leaving only a black shroud on the wall as evidence it’d occurred.

“Sometimes the simplest of techniques are the most effective.” The fire chief coughed, turning away from the smoke.

Mandy took a slow step back, and then another. Her hands were shaking.

It was going to be okay. No one was injured. The post office was still standing.

“Good job, Dad.” There was compassion in Ben’s voice, proving he was capable of caring.

She needed to tone it down a notch for the tall, starchy fireman, be more civil, be more cooperative. She was at risk of breaking eggs because he’d caught her on a bad day. She was as touchy as a sleep-deprived college student during finals week.

And then Ben turned on Mandy with anything but compassion in his eyes. “There’s no pressure in this unit.” He held up the fire extinguisher. “It’s useless. And it shouldn’t be stored over the toilet. What would happen if there was a fire and someone was using the bathroom?”

In the face of his blue-eyed intensity, Mandy couldn’t find the words to defend herself. She stood the same way she had when the doctor delivered the news that Grandpa was dying—arms wrapped around her waist, a small, polite smile on her lips. The same position she’d taken when the doctor told her Olivia had cancer. “Um...”

Her reticence seemed to upset Ben all the more. He curled that odd-shaped lip of his. A fat lip, she realized.

Was this the man who’d rescued kittens and caught a falling child? The man the elderly visitors to the post office called charming and heroic?

He wasn’t likely to catch Mandy if she fell. He was more likely to sit on his hands and watch.

“Get out your citation book, Dad. We’re going over this place inch by inch.” Ben peered at the burnt, melted wires. “That wire was cut.”

Mandy gasped, rushing forward for a better look. “How could that be?”

“Now, Ben,” Keith said with the gravitas of an elder statesman. “A raccoon’s been living here. Rodents and pests like snacking on wires.”

“If we’re not issuing citations, Dad, tell me what we are doing.” Ben’s voice was as hard as the look in his eyes. “Do you want to make a list and document the danger now? Or battle more flames with me when this place goes up in smoke because we went easy on her?”

Mandy’s stomach turned. She raised her hand. “I vote for documentation. It’s been more than a decade since this station was in service. If I promise to take care of things by, say, next week? Can we avoid citations?” It didn’t matter that none of this was Mandy’s fault; excessive paper trails would get her fired.

Why couldn’t Grandpa have wanted her to be the postmaster in Cloverdale?

Mr. Intensity stared at Mandy with angry eyes. When she’d first seen him, that anger had been like banked coals. That anger had been accented by the rigid set to his shoulders, the stiffness of his back, the determined set to his strong chin. Here was a man who was serious about his job and protecting others. He’d always fight for what he believed in. Passionately. In a loud voice. And with a fierce scowl.

She approached conflict the opposite way—calmly, softly, with a smile—because she’d learned nothing was solved with loud voices and lines of tears.

“Ben,” his father said in a voice that soothed.

Ben’s intensity faded. His fire banked. To a degree.

His jaw worked as he turned back to Mandy. “What’s that noise?”

She glanced around, looking for a scuttling rat or raccoon. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly. No fire alarm.” Ben pointed to the ceiling and a round, age-yellowed fire alarm. “It should have gone off.” He dragged a stool to the sorting counter. “Dad, sit down over here and get out your pen. We’re making a list.”

Mandy couldn’t thank him quickly enough.

“What’s this?” Ben tilted the coffee tin on the counter, the one filled with matches.

“The guys who used to work here were heavy smokers.” Utley and her grandfather. “I’ve been collecting their matchbooks for days so I can throw them out all at once.” Filling the tin gave her a sense of accomplishment.

“I’d feel better if we trashed them now.” He waited for her response, not that he wanted her to argue.

“Fine.” She’d never complain about Olivia’s teenage drama episodes again.

Or at least, she’d think twice before complaining.

“Don’t let Ben rattle you.” Keith settled on the stool. “My son is all about the unvarnished truth when it comes to the job. It’s why he’s still single. But he’s raising his godchild, which proves he has parenting potential.”

“Thank you, oh wise one.” And then Ben’s intensity dialed back even further. His lips curled up in a lopsided, rueful smile that implied he’d be irresistible if he had a sense of humor and a heart.

Focus, girlfriend. Focus. Her career. Those bills. Olivia.

She didn’t have time to create a picture that smoothed over the faults of a man.

For the next fifteen minutes, Ben pointed out what needed fixing to bring the station up to code and why. New lighted Exit signs. New fire alarms. New extinguishers. New, new, new. As if the cost wasn’t a consideration.

Mandy’s head hurt.

Ben was so sure of himself. If Mandy was to succeed here, she’d need some of his confidence.

“The fire control panel should be outside.” Ben led her down the outdoor concrete steps of the loading bay and across the graded space where mail trucks backed in so their beds were even with the loading dock. He walked the building’s perimeter with long strides. Being a good six inches taller than she was, his legs ate up more distance than hers.

Mandy’s mother would have said Ben had excellent posture. She would’ve said his attention to detail meant he was a good man. She would’ve said his thick dark hair was dreamy. Mandy’s mother would’ve asked Ben out, offered to have his babies and then left those kids in the care of her oldest child.

Mandy was getting as overly dramatic as Olivia.

She smiled harder, closing the distance between them. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I can’t find it.” Ben halted his search, arms akimbo, scowling down at Mandy, but not nearly as sharply as before. “And yet, you’re smiling.”

“I...uh...” Mandy had to stand up for herself if she was to succeed as postmaster. “I find a smile helps me through tough times. It keeps all the bad stuff at bay, you know?”

“Not really.” His stare tried to pierce her words, but they were the truth and held up to his inspection. After a moment, Ben smiled enigmatically and turned his attention back to the gray, warped and peeling siding. “It should be right here.” And then he stepped closer to the overgrown hedges bordering the wall, moving branches aside.

Mandy braced herself for Riley’s now-familiar growl. The raccoon had been hunkering down in the bushes since she’d nailed a board over the hole he’d made in the siding.

But not even Riley was courageous enough to stand up to the ferocious Ben Libby.

“There it is.” Ben angled so she could see the panel. He tapped the gauge. “See this? There’s no water pressure. And when I open up the valve...” He turned the spigot.

Nothing happened.

Ben’s gaze connected with hers the way a teacher’s did to a student’s when waiting for an answer to an easy question.

“I’m assuming there’s supposed to be water flowing somewhere?” she said tentatively.

“And an alarm going off.” Ben shut the valve. “This needs to be fixed before you open. Priority one.”

Such a long list. Mandy nodded numbly.

But she kept smiling.

* * *

“IS THAT...” Ben moved branches aside. “Cat food?”

“Yes.” Mandy’s cheeks bloomed with soft color. “I evicted Riley. I owed him something.”

“Owed a raccoon?” Ben stood and studied Mandy once more. She didn’t look as if she’d be full of surprises. This close, he could see the fabric of her striped postal shirt was worn at the collar, the thickness of her lashes, the weariness in her brown eyes. And yet, despite her fatigue and her smile, there was a determination to the set of her shoulders. She was a surprise, all right. “Won’t free food keep him coming back?”

That smile of hers wavered, and she stared into his eyes as if he confounded her as much as she did him. “Have you ever wondered where you’ll live?”

“No.” His answer came too quickly. “Well, yes. Recently.” After Erica died, he’d realized raising a little girl wouldn’t work in his studio apartment. He’d sublet his unit and moved in with his parents. “It was unsettling.”

“Then you understand,” she said in a voice that said volumes about the uncertainties she’d faced in life. “Change is hard, even for a raccoon.”

He owed her a smile. How could he not? They’d both ended up with more than they’d bargained for by coming to Harmony Valley. Suddenly, he was glad they weren’t writing her citations. “My grandfather would approve of you. He rescues stray cats.”

“Felix? I doubt he’d approve of me.” She blinked, adding quickly, “I mean, who would?”

“I would. I do.” The words spilled out, past the long list of safety regulations she was breaking and his professional standards. He wasn’t here looking for her phone number. With all the balls he was juggling—Dad’s health, launching the fire department, caring for Hannah while trying to find her real dad—he had no energy to put himself out there, no time for the slow ramp that led to friendship or perhaps something else. It was just...she had a way of making his gaze linger.

Mandy’s gaze slid to the bushes, and the color in her cheeks deepened. She hadn’t expected his endorsement, and given his intensity inside, he couldn’t blame her.

“What’s the word?” Dad called from inside the post office.

Thankfully, Dad couldn’t see them from where he sat because Ben would never hear the end of it if Dad witnessed how near he stood to Mandy, how long he’d been staring at her, the near foolish tilt to his grin.

“It’s as expected,” Ben called back gruffly, feeling just the opposite. He took a step back. Straightened. Cleared his throat. “The fire panel is offline.” Offline. It was where he needed to store his unexpected fascination with Mandy.

* * *

THAT NIGHT, MANDY was too tired to cook.

She was too tired to wash dishes.

Good thing it was Olivia’s day to do both.

Mandy dropped her purse and shoes in the middle of the living room floor and collapsed into a recliner. She stared at the black screen of the small TV, too tired to get back up and look for the remote. Although perhaps not too tired to indulge in a brief fantasy where a hunky fireman retrieved it for her.

And, despite the hunky fireman of her dreams bearing some resemblance to Ben, her hunky fireman didn’t lecture. He just smiled and looked hunky, as Ben had when they’d talked about her feeding Riley cat food. For a few minutes, she’d felt as if they were as comfortable with each other as a pair of well-worn sneakers. And a moment later, she’d felt as if she’d been caught wearing those sneakers on prom night when everyone else was in new sparkly heels.

“I’m home,” she called out for Olivia’s benefit, spotting the remote across the room next to Grandma’s sewing basket.

“I heard.” Olivia drifted in, blowing on her painted fingernails. Except for her manicure, everything about Olivia was minimal—light makeup, bare feet, lemon-colored spaghetti-strap blouse and those dreadful short-shorts. “Look what I did. It’s an American flag.” She angled her hand so Mandy could see. There were red-and-white stripes on some fingernails and white glittery stars on blue backgrounds on her thumbs.

“Very nice.” It was hard to deny her sister had talent when it came to nails, but, “How long did that take you?”

“All day.” Olivia flopped onto the blue plaid couch. It said something to their cleaning skills that no dust billowed.

“I thought we agreed that you’d apply for work today,” Mandy said carefully. That was the trick with teenagers. You had to walk on tiptoe when what you really wanted to do was screech about laziness and lost opportunities and, therefore, break some eggs. That’s what Mandy called the loss of control over her emotions. And losing control meant a pile of eggshells.

Olivia’s innocent brown eyes turned Mandy’s way. “I couldn’t go out without doing my nails.”

Eggshells. Eggshells.

“You realize you have one more day to find a job and then you’re coming to work for me.” Mandy could use her help. Anticipating that need when she’d landed the job, she’d made Olivia take the postal employee test. “I don’t like the idea of you being home alone.” What she would have preferred to have said was Olivia needed to earn her own nail polish money. But that would have been unnecessarily mean.

Olivia admired her nails, as relaxed as Mandy was uptight. “I looked online and there were no job listings.”

“Hence the obvious need to do your nails.” Unable to filter a brief spurt of sarcasm, Mandy drew a deep breath and tried again. “A town as small as Harmony Valley won’t have jobs posted online.”

“We might just as well have moved to the north pole.” Olivia flopped back against the couch, resorting to her best defense—drama. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no mall or movie theater. What if there’s an emergency? What if I get sick?” She was winding up like a pitcher about to throw a third strike. “What if—”

“We’ve been over this.” Mandy was afraid her smile was slipping. “The nearest hospital is thirty minutes away. Plenty of time to seek care.”

Olivia changed tactics as swiftly as a guppy changed course in a fishbowl. “I didn’t want to move here.”

“Harmony Valley isn’t so bad.” Mandy stared longingly at the remote, wondering how much longer her sister’s energy for an argument would last.

“Mandy.” Olivia said her name as if Mandy was the one being unreasonable. “I meant I didn’t want to move here.” She patted the couch cushion with the heel of her hand, careful of her patriotic nails.

Mandy’s battered patience felt as brittle and treacherous as a thin layer of ice on a blind curve. “I told you. We have bills.” From Olivia’s follow-up medical care, the extras her insurance hadn’t covered. “And we need two months’ rent saved to get a house.” The town had only a few apartments available, and those were mostly studios above the old shops on Main Street.

The size of a place was a moot point. They didn’t have the cash. End of story.

“We’re squatting, Mandy,” Olivia said in a judgy tone, sitting up. “Are postal workers supposed to break the law?”

“No one is supposed to break the law,” Mandy said as stiffly as Ben had given his safety lecture earlier. “I’m the trustee of Grandpa’s estate. I pay the bills that keep the lights on in this house. We can stay here temporarily.” She should have stopped there. She didn’t. “Mom won’t mind.”

Hey, lightning didn’t strike.

Olivia’s chin jutted at the mention of their wanderlusting mother. “If you wouldn’t argue with Mom, she’d come by and see us.”

Mandy refrained from asking where Mom had been during Olivia’s bout with cancer. She refrained from raising her voice or rolling her eyes or giving in to the urge to cry. She’d become quite good at soldiering on, so she swallowed annoyance, gulped back uncertainty and washed it all down with despair, dredging up her most chipper voice. “Do you remember how Grandma and Grandpa danced in the kitchen on New Year’s Eve?” Remembering the good times was often the only thing that held Mandy and her smile together.

“No.” Olivia sniffed and slid her thumbnail along her cuticle. “I don’t remember stuff like that. I’ve got chemo brain.”

Or she just didn’t want to admit she remembered. Someday Mandy was going to find a memory her sister recalled. And then they’d sit together reminiscing. “Did you remember to cook dinner?” she asked, knowing the answer because the house lacked the enticing smell of food in the oven.

“I was busy.” Olivia hadn’t taken her eyes off her nails.

“Brat.” Mandy removed a band from one ponytail and shot it at her sister. It bounced harmlessly off her shoulder and to the brown shag carpet.

“Jailer.” Olivia’s lips twitched.

“Baby.” Mandy’s smile felt more real now.

Olivia grinned. “Old maid.”

Before they could get in another round of insults, someone knocked on the door.

They stared at each other with wide eyes. Mom always knocked. Although per Grandpa’s will, this was their mother’s house. Not that it would be much longer. Grandpa’s money was running out. And their mother couldn’t or wouldn’t pay for property taxes, insurance and utilities.

Mandy’s lips stuck over her dry teeth in what was most certainly more grimace than smile. She wanted to ignore the summons and pretend they weren’t home. Or better yet, escape out the back.

Responsible people don’t run.

That’s what Grandpa used to say.

Clearly, they didn’t always rise to the occasion either, because Mandy didn’t move from her seat.

“Do you think it’s the pizza delivery man?” Olivia stood, holding out a hand to Mandy. “I was just wishing for a pizza.”

Mandy couldn’t be a coward in the face of her sister’s bravery. Besides, for all Olivia’s talk about wanting to see their mother, she wasn’t rushing to the door to greet her. Her little sister played a good game of emotional poker. Too bad Mandy had no time to evaluate the stakes.

She accepted Olivia’s help to stand. “I think it’s the man of my dreams, coming to take me away to his castle.” And pay off her mountain of debt.

Olivia rolled her eyes and then reached over to remove Mandy’s other ponytail band.

Mandy fluffed her hair, which did little good. It fell like two thick handlebars over her shoulders. “It’s probably the neighbors.” The house on one side was vacant, but the house on the corner next to them had a driveway and front door on the cross street.

It wasn’t the pizza delivery man or Prince Charming.

Three older women stood on the front stoop. None of which was their mother.

“Welcome to Harmony Valley.” The first old woman at the door was pint-size with a pixie-cut hairstyle more silver than gray. “I’m Agnes.”

“We brought broccoli casserole.” The willowy woman behind Agnes had a ballerina’s posture and a snow-white chignon. She held a square casserole dish. “I’m Rose.”

Mandy’s stomach growled.

“That’s not pizza.” Behind Mandy, Olivia drew a deep breath. “But I’m not complaining.”

“How about some cookies?” A woman with white fluffy curls peered at Mandy through thick lenses. She pushed her walker forward, clutching a plastic bag full of chocolate chip cookies. “I’m Mildred.”

Mandy’s stomach growled again. She opened the door wider and stepped aside, not complaining that their visitors weren’t her knight in shining armor.

Ballerina Rose glided past and delivered the casserole to the kitchen. “Oh,” she said upon reaching the cluttered sink. She set the casserole on the counter and began to wash their dirty dishes.

Mandy hurried into the kitchen, hoping no one ventured into her bedroom and noticed the clothes she’d worn yesterday in a pile on the floor. “You don’t have to do that.”

I should have broken some eggshells. Maybe then Olivia would’ve completed her chores.

“I don’t mind,” Rose kindly said. “You look like doing dishes would do you in.”

“Rose is right.” Agnes drew Mandy back to the living room. “Sit down and have one of Mildred’s cookies.”

Cookies. Mandy’s stomach growled a third time. She sat like a well-trained dog awaiting a deserved treat. Olivia did the same. In their love of chocolate, they were united.

Mildred positioned her walker next to Mandy, flipped the seat down and sat on it. She handed Mandy the cookie bag. “Agnes, do you think these girls have low blood sugar? Diabetes ran in the Zapien family, and they look pale.”

Olivia managed to bite her lip and frown at the same time. She needed to work on her smile.

“No. They’re clear-eyed.” Agnes pushed the top of Mandy’s chair, sending her into recline. “More likely they’re just tired. Can you imagine moving here, and then cleaning out George and Utley’s mess at the post office?”

“I can.” Mildred patted Mandy’s arm. “I’ve seen Utley’s living room. You take it easy tonight, honey.”

Mandy couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of her. It gave her a warm feeling. She grabbed a cookie and took a big bite.

“Hey,” Olivia protested, scurrying over to get one.

“That’s it.” Agnes patted Mandy’s crown. “We need milk, Rose.”

Luckily, they had some. Unluckily, to find it Rose had to open the refrigerator.

The sticky fridge door protested being opened, and Rose protested, too, opening it with a strangled noise.

Mandy’s grandmother would be horrified that one of the neighbors had evidence Mandy wasn’t Suzy Homemaker. Sadly, Mandy was her grandmother’s kin. She didn’t like the idea either.

That called for another bite of rich chocolate. “Remind me. How do I know you three?” They seemed so familiar and yet they were strangers, not to mention taking over the house. “Do you live next door?”

“No. We’re the town council.” Mildred’s gaze floated in an unfocused manner over Mandy’s face, blue eyes huge and distorted behind those thick lenses. “Been serving since you were... Well, we’ve been serving a long time.” Despite the bug eyes, Mildred had a Mrs. Claus vibe that was oddly comforting, almost as good as chocolate.

Their faces—younger, yet not young—came back to Mandy. Growing up, she’d seen them at town festivals, at school events, at the ice cream parlor.

“One day you’ll have to tell us about your grandfather,” Agnes said in an I’m-so-sorry tone of voice, the kind that always brought tears to Mandy’s eyes. “I always admired George and Blythe for taking you kids in when Teri was—”

“A flake.” Rose returned to the living room with a glass of milk and indicated Mandy sit up. “Your mother is a flake.”

Olivia stopped chewing. She claimed a blind admiration for their mother. Mandy had given up arguing with her about Mom years ago.

Rose handed the milk to Mandy, paused and put on an apologetic smile. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Mandy bit into another cookie, making short work of the sweet treat. So much for casserole. “Have you seen my mother in town recently?”

“No.” Rose returned from the kitchen almost immediately and handed Olivia a glass of milk. “You need some fresh baking soda in that fridge.”

“Vinegar,” Mildred said.

“It smells like there might be something dead underneath.” Agnes leaned down to admire Olivia’s handiwork. “Those are very pretty nails.”

Her praise won Olivia over. She preened. “If you like that, look at my feet.” She’d done them yesterday.

Agnes bent over, hands on knees. “Are those fireworks or chrysanthemums?”

“Fireworks.” Olivia wiggled her toes.

“Are you licensed?” Rose drifted closer to Olivia. “We’ve got a hairstylist in town, but not a nail lady.”

“Not yet. I’m going to cosmetology school in a few months. My grandpa left me money, but said I have to wait until I’m eighteen to collect.”

Mandy’s feeling of comfort evaporated. She couldn’t look at her sister.

“We heard your grandfather had dementia.” Mildred’s hand found Mandy’s and squeezed. “Was it bad?”

“It was,” Olivia said before Mandy could do more than nod.

“It was worse at the end,” Mandy said in Grandpa’s defense. As his kidneys failed and his organs shut down, his touch with reality hung by a thread. He hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time. He’d wake up and sing at the top of his lungs, and not always with the right words.

Glory, glory hallelujah. Glory, glory with a poodle.

“Well...” Agnes tilted her head toward the door, perhaps noticing the mist in Mandy’s eyes. “We won’t take up any more of your time. Let us know if you need anything.”

Now that Mandy was full of sugar and dinner was in the kitchen, her smile felt uncharacteristically carefree. “We’re looking to rent a place.” Too late, Mandy realized that statement opened the door to unanswered questions about why they couldn’t live in this house.

Other than a fleeting display of creased silver brows, the town council didn’t seem to care.

“Oh.” On her way out, Rose pivot-turned at the door. “There’s a cute place around the corner that used to have a beauty salon in the garage. It might be the perfect place for a nail salon.”

“We’ll get you the owner’s information,” Agnes promised.

Olivia beamed, while Mandy wondered how much more expensive a home would be to rent with a salon inside.

After the town council left, Mandy and Olivia stared at each other.

“Just this once,” Olivia said with a sly grin, “can we have cookies for dinner?”

“I hate that we think alike.” But she loved that no eggshells had been broken between them.

They each ate three more cookies and drained their glasses of milk.