Читать книгу Safe in the Fireman's Arms - Tina Radcliffe - Страница 10
ОглавлениеMaggie Jones lifted her head from the pages of the technical manual. Fire-alarm horns blared in the distance.
Six long blasts and one short.
Though technology had come to Paradise, Colorado, the old fire horns were still on duty. When Maggie was young and spent all her summers in Paradise, she could pinpoint the location of fires by counting the blasts. Back only a week, she was out of practice.
Through the repair store’s big glass window she noted the clear, baby-blue sky painted with wisps of clouds. At a little past 1:00 p.m. on a Wednesday, it was cool for June, barely seventy degrees. A breeze blew in through the screened front entrance and slid over Maggie before moving out through the rear of the shop.
Maggie sniffed the air and sure enough she did smell smoke. It was awfully close, and had a pungent odor. Almost like...eggs.
Eggs?
The manual flew through the air as she whipped open the door that divided the store and ran into the back room.
Black smoke billowed from a small kettle on a hot plate. With the current wind direction, most of the smoke was being sucked outside through the screen door, right into the alley.
“No. No. No.”
Two hours ago she’d set the eggs to boil.
Two hours since she’d been lost reading about the intricacies of a computerized toaster. Who’d have thought three little eggs could produce so much foul-smelling smoke?
“I am doomed.” As she mumbled the words, the door behind her flew open and bounced on its hinges, then slammed against the wall.
He filled the doorway.
A fireman clad in a heavy, mustard-and-gray jacket, carrying a red ax. His features were obscured by a yellow helmet and face mask. Intense eyes assessed her and the situation.
Although he was a large man, he moved quickly. In two strides he’d crossed the room and reached in front of her to tug the hot-plate cord from the wall. With a gloved hand he grabbed the handle of the blackened aluminum pot and tossed it into the sink.
Before Maggie could blink, he aimed the shop’s fire extinguisher and blasted away. The little kettle rattled against the porcelain sink. Yanking off his gloves, he propped open the back door to further ventilate the room.
“Code 10-35. Under control. Over.” His words, spoken into the field radio, were clipped as he nodded toward the front of the store, indicating Maggie should follow. She did, reading the back of his heavy coat. Chief MacLaughlin, PVFD.
In the front room two more firefighters guarded the store. Chief MacLaughlin waved them outside with the mere flick of his wrist and forefinger.
Outside on the front walk, yet another set of firemen stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of Paradise’s Engine Number One, where the vehicle’s red and blue lights were still flashing.
Maggie grimaced. All this because she craved an egg salad sandwich.
“Don’t move.” The chief’s gaze pinned her. “I’ll be back.”
Pressing herself against the cool metal counter, Maggie obeyed, while whispering a silent plea for heavenly assistance under her breath.
He moved through the crowd gathering on the sidewalk to speak to his men, who shot curious glances through the window at her.
Maggie looked away and hung her head for a moment before attempting to rally. Come on, Maggie. Pull it together. What would Uncle Bob do?
Her favorite uncle would laugh and say this was good for business and probably announce a fire sale. If only Maggie was that confident. A mere twenty-four hours ago she’d sent Uncle Bob on a three-week fishing trip with assurances that she would run the fix-it shop and take care of everything.
She’d taken care of things, all right. Nearly burned down his livelihood.
Though she tried not to, she heard her parents and ex-fiancé whispering accusations in her ear. Maggie Jones has done it again. Gotten lost in her little world, forgetting everything going on around her.
They were right. Only this time she would have to deal with Captain Macho for her sins. Maggie grasped her ponytail and pulled it tight. She slid her glasses to the top of her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
She began to count to ten. She’d give her Aunt Betty that long to show up. As for her cousin Susan, she could probably stop at five.
“Mags. Nice job.”
“Five,” Maggie said aloud as Susan pushed her way through the sidewalk gawkers and firemen groupies and into the store.
Susan smiled, smoothed her blond coif and adjusted her silk sheath. “I’m so impressed. It seems I have underestimated you, cousin. Leave it to you to think of smoke to attract Jake.”
Maggie frowned. “Who is Jake?”
“That would be me.”
Both women turned.
“Excuse us, Susan,” Chief Jake MacLaughlin said as he tugged off his helmet. “I’d like to have a word with your cousin.”
Susan slipped out, and a familiar gray head peeked in; Aunt Betty, wearing a flour-dusted canvas apron over her slacks and a blouse.
“Margaret. Oh, my dear. Are you all right? I was helping out at Patti Jo’s Café and Bakery when I heard the sirens.”
“Everything is fine, Mrs. Jones. False alarm. I’ll be through with your niece in a minute. Just a little paperwork. Would you please wait outside?”
“Yes, Chief,” her aunt said, immediately backing up.
Maggie looked Jake MacLaughlin up and down.
“You do that quite well,” she stated.
“Do what?” He narrowed his eyes.
“Take charge. You silenced both Susan and my aunt.”
“Practice.” He shrugged, pulled out a pen and began to write on an official-looking, aluminum clipboard.
Practice? Or perhaps it was the uniform that added to the aura of power and strength. His well-worn gray-and-mustard coat covered wide shoulders and fell open in front to reveal red suspenders over a navy T-shirt.
Maggie assessed him with the due diligence granted any new problem. With pragmatic order she took in each detail, from his boots—size thirteen—to his face. She estimated his age somewhere around forty.
His skin was lightly tanned, an almost golden shade. Laugh lines accented the corners of his eyes. Dark stubble shadowed his cheekbones and chin. He hadn’t shaved today. Maybe it was his day off?
She knew that Paradise’s fire department consisted of a volunteer crew. So what else did the man do?
Curious, she continued to stare.
Chief MacLaughlin rubbed a hand over his forehead, pushing short, sun-streaked brown hair up and away from his damp skin. Turning slightly, his gaze locked with hers. His irises were amber with dark rims. Dark lashes framed his eyes. The entire effect reminded her of a lion.
Noting her inspection, his eyes widened. He blinked and cleared his throat.
“So you’re Susan’s cousin?”
“Yes. I’m Maggie Jones.”
“You’re nothing like Susan.”
She winced. The man had a knack for the obvious. No, she was nothing like Susan. Maggie was the geeky tomboy, and Susan, the beautiful former beauty queen.
Why was it that this time, in front of this particular man, the truth pinched like a pair of too-small shoes, constantly reminding a person they didn’t fit?
Maggie found herself suddenly conscious of her shapeless gray T-shirt, ancient jeans and well-worn, black high-tops. She clamped her arms tightly across her chest and resisted the urge to hide her glasses in her pocket.
“I didn’t mean—” he said.
“Oh, I get it,” she interrupted, with a dismissive wave of her hand.
His lips formed a tight line, as Jake frowned. “No, ma’am. I don’t think you do.”
A knock on the glass outside the window caught her attention. A young fireman grinned at them, and then offered a thumbs-up gesture with a questioning expression.
Jake returned the thumbs-up and turned back to Maggie. “Look, it’s the middle of the week and I’ve got four men outside who left their regular jobs to be here. I’ll have to leave explanations for another time.”
A palpable silence stretched between them as he flipped open the metal notebook.
“Identification?”
“Identification? But I told you. I’m Maggie Jones. You know my aunt, Betty Jones. This is Uncle Bob’s shop.”
He nodded. “Still need your ID.”
“Sheriff Lawson can vouch for me.”
“Sam and his deputy are on a call. Normally they’d be here taking a report, as well.”
Maggie reached over the counter for her purse. She released a short breath and handed him her driver’s license.
He took the laminated card and placed it on top of the paperwork. “Denver? What brings you to our town?”
“I’ve been coming to Paradise for years. Why, I spent every summer here with my aunt and uncle when I was a kid. I’m practically a native.”
“For years?” His gaze met hers. “How is it I’ve never met you?”
“You’re older than me.”
“Ouch.” This time he winced.
“I didn’t mean... I just meant...” She closed her mouth before her other foot attempted to jump in, as well.
“You know, I think I vaguely remember you,” he returned. “Skinny kid with big glasses and braids. You followed Susan around.”
“Touché,” Maggie muttered. “And as you can see, I haven’t changed all that much.”
He raised a brow. “A little sensitive?”
“Not at all.”
“If you say so.” His face gave away nothing. “Denver is your current address?”
“No. I’m, well, sort of in flux.” Maggie pulled on a hangnail. “Right now, I’m staying on Mulberry Lane.”
“Susan’s old place?”
She nodded as her distracted gaze took in his large hands. Capable hands.
“Phone number?”
“Phone number?” she repeated, confused.
He tapped the clipboard. “For the paperwork.”
Maggie rattled off her cell-phone number. “You aren’t going to charge me for this little visit, are you?”
“The fire department is a service of the town. Can’t remember charging anyone before.” His gaze met hers. “Unless you plan to be a repeat offender.”
Her head jerked up. “Of course not.”
His lips twitched. “How long will you be in town?”
“That’s a little hard to say. At least three weeks. I’m managing the shop while my Uncle Bob is fishing.”
“Fly-fishing. Best time of year. Spring runoff. We’re really going to be slammed with tourists when tournament registration begins.”
“Tournament?”
“Fishing tournament on the Rio Grande.”
“I imagine that’s good for the economy,” she said.
“It is.” He nodded. “Then back to Denver?”
“What?” She cocked her head.
“Then you’ll be heading back to Denver?”
“Is this for your report, as well?”
“Just being neighborly, ma’am.”
Ma’am? The cockles of her heart were officially rankled. “I don’t know what I’ll be doing in three weeks, Chief MacLaughlin. Praying about what I want to be when I grow up, I imagine.”
He blinked and froze. Then he began to laugh, a deep, rich sound that took Maggie by surprise. His eyes did crinkle at the corners as she suspected they would, making his face open up with even more masculine appeal.
Charming. That was the first word that popped into her head. Yes. He was charming. Far too charming for her own good.
“I was being serious,” she finally said. More serious than he would ever understand.
“I’ll bet you were.” Chief MacLaughlin grabbed his helmet and gave her a short salute. “Pleasure to meet you, Maggie Jones. Stay safe.”
“Ah, um, yes. Thank you,” Maggie said, her face heating at the sound of her name on his lips.
Her gaze followed him out to the street, where he climbed into the passenger side of the truck, his movements lithe and easy, despite the heavy layers of gear.
The fire engine’s horn sounded before the vehicle pulled away from the curb.
Maggie shook her head, willing herself out of the daze that had wrapped itself around her.
“I’m simply going to have to stay out of his way,” she murmured. “Because Jake MacLaughlin is an exceptionally dangerous man.”
* * *
“Attention, shoppers. We’re serving free coffee and carrot-cake muffins with lemon icing from Patti Jo’s Café and Bakery at the front of the store.”
Jake looked up from the paperwork on his desk as the announcement blared over the hardware-store loudspeaker.
What’s he up to now? Ever since he’d semiretired, Jake’s father spent his extra time divided between his newly self-appointed roles as marketing director for the store and head of Jake’s nonexistent reelection committee. Jacob “Mack” MacLaughlin Senior was oblivious to the fact that Paradise Hardware was the only hardware store in Paradise. There was no competition.
Jake set aside the monthly inventory folder and shoved back his chair. Taking long strides through the aisles he followed the scent of fresh coffee.
“Nice picture, Jake.”
“Huh?” Jake turned.
At the end of aisle one, near the cash register, several customers were gathered around the Paradise Gazette as they munched their muffins.
One of the regulars shoved the front page of the paper at Jake. Smack-dab in the middle was a photo of him in turnout gear standing next to Maggie Jones.
She looked like she’d taken a bite out of something sour.
Great. Just great. It had been pretty obvious yesterday that she wasn’t in awe of the truck or the uniform like most of the women in town. He could almost feel her glare from the two blocks that separated the hardware store and the fix-it shop. Somehow the photo op would turn out to be his fault, adding fuel to her ire. The woman didn’t like him. Of that, Jake was certain. Why that bothered him, he didn’t know, but it did.
His father clapped him on the back. “Nice picture, huh?”
“Dad, how did they get this picture?”
Ever happy-go-lucky, Mack grinned and ran a hand through his thick, silver hair. “Me. I took it through the window of Bob’s shop. Told you that photography class would come in handy. Great publicity, huh? The election is coming up, after all.”
“I’m running unopposed.”
“No matter. This will hit home with the voters. You’re a hero, Jacob.”
“Burned eggs, Dad. It was a 10-35. Unnecessary alarm system activation.”
“Who’s that in the picture with you?” Mack asked.
“Maggie Jones. You’ll note that she doesn’t look real happy.”
Mack narrowed his eyes and pulled the paper close to his bifocals. “Can’t hardly see her face. Bob’s niece, right?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s a smart one, that girl. I brought that broken reel of mine to her and she figured out what was wrong with it before I even left the shop. You know, the one you’ve been working on?”
Jake gave a tight nod.
“I heard from Duffy that you two really hit it off.”
“Duffy said that?”
“Said it sure took you a long time to get her statement.”
Jake folded up the newspaper. “Don’t listen to Duffy, Dad. He’s a troublemaker.”
“He’s your best friend.”
“Not anymore.” Jake handed his father the paper.
Mack laughed and shot a glance at the big, stainless-steel wall clock. “Hey, I nearly forgot. Bitsy Harmony called. She said to remind you that you’ve got an appointment at the photographer’s.”
“Tell me again why I’m going to the photographers?”
“The fire department fund-raiser at the Paradise Fair.”
“The raffle.” Jake bit out the words.
“Right.”
“Bitsy says it’s going to bring in lots of revenue for the fire department as well as the auxiliary. A win-win for everyone.”
“Since when did you get so tight with Bitsy?”
“We’re friends. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
Jake grunted in response, as his mood moved south. Bitsy’s first idea had been a bachelor auction. He’d thought he’d effectively torched that notion, but when he hadn’t been looking the raffle had taken off like a bottle rocket.
He had to give the woman credit. This time the head of the Paradise Ladies Auxiliary had played it smart. She’d gotten a fire started on the raffle before he’d had a chance to snuff it out. The entire town, including Jake’s own men, had embraced the idea. All he could do now was smile and go along with it.
Because, yeah, it was an election year.
“Think you could watch the store while I go?” Jake asked.
“Sure. Glad to help you out. But come right back. I’ve got a meeting with our web guy at noon. He drove all the way up here from the Springs.”
“We have a web guy? I thought Duffy was doing the webpage.”
“Bitsy says it’s time for us to go pro, son.”
Bitsy again?
His father continued. “This guy is going to redesign the site and get the store some social media. Good for business. Might even get us Tweeter next.”
“Twitter.”
Mack released a hearty chuckle. “Is that what it’s called?”
Jake shook his head as he exited and walked across the blacktop to his truck.
He started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, making a hard right at the last minute. Why not take the long way around to the photography studio, past Bob Jones’s shop? Make sure everything was okay with his fellow shopkeepers.
Or possibly, just one Maggie Jones.
He’d never admit it to anyone, but he’d been thinking about her a lot since yesterday. Maybe it was her jaunty ponytail the color of warm caramel. Or the way she chewed on her lower lip as she concentrated. Or the way she looked at him, with those owlish brown eyes that seemed to see...everything. Next to her cousin Susan, a man might overlook the mousy brunette.
That would be a mistake.
It was the strangest thing, he mused. The incident report paperwork should have taken five minutes, tops. But he couldn’t stop asking questions. Couldn’t say what had gotten into him, either. Except that Maggie Jones disturbed him. That concerned Jake, because he hadn’t been disturbed in a very long time.
At his age he had no energy to put into women. Generally he didn’t have to, either. Since his wife died, women naturally seemed to think he needed taking care of. He didn’t. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop them from trying to get his attention, though he’d never shown an interest before.
Thankfully things were slowing down. Of the twenty-two men on the Paradise Volunteer Fire Department, he was one of the oldest. Lately he’d started to feel his age.
Jake inhaled as he glanced out the window of his pickup toward the outline of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in the distance. The scent of pine and clean air, mixed with all that was Paradise, filled his senses.
Paradise had healed Jake more than he deserved. More than he could have ever hoped. He could never finish paying penance for his sins. For the life lost that day ten years ago. He knew it and he assumed God knew, as well. Still he managed to get through each day with a smile and a sense of humor. That was all a man could ask. Right?
Or maybe not. All he knew for sure was that in the last twenty-four hours he’d started thinking about things he never imagined he’d have a chance to ever consider again.
The wind shifted and Jake smelled something else in the breeze. Change. Yeah. He knew it was coming, yet he didn’t embrace the fact. No, these days he was only wary. Maybe a little scared, too.
“What lies ahead, Lord?” Jake murmured. “Prepare me. Whatever it is.”
