Safe in the Fireman's Arms. Tina Radcliffe

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ