The New Guy in Town

by Teresa Southwick

  So all she said was “Thanks.”

  Faith drove to downtown Blackwater Lake as fast as the speed limit allowed and pulled the van into the parking area behind her primary shop on Main Street. She hopped out of the driver’s side and by the time the rear door of Every Bloomin’ Thing was propped open, Sam had driven into the lot and was getting out of his pricey luxury SUV. That was fast. Had he observed the speed limit?

  At this moment she was too happy help had arrived to care. It meant she could get to her daughter faster. She reached into the van and started to grab a vase of flowers.

  “Let me unload and you can put everything away. Since you know where it all goes that will probably be faster,” he said.

  He was right and she nodded. A short time later everything was secured inside. They walked out the back door of the shop then she turned the key in the deadbolt to lock it up.

  “I’m going to get Phoebe now,” she told him.

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No.”

  The negative was automatic. If Loretta or almost anyone else in town had offered she would have accepted the moral support without question. But today she was afraid. Her home was in danger. That was bad enough, but she’d flirted with a different kind of danger when she’d flirted with Sam. It never occurred to her that she would ever be living with him, even for a short time. Damage control started right now.

  “You’ve already done enough, Sam. Besides, I need to talk to her alone, prepare her before she meets you.”

  “Why? Do you think I scare small children?” He put his hands on his hips. “I have a niece who’s not quite three and she isn’t afraid of me.”

  “It’s not that. I don’t think it’s a good idea to hit her with too much all at once.” She shrugged. “Bad enough I have to break the news that her house could go up in flames, but then she meets a strange man and is going to stay in his house...”

  His gaze narrowed. “Are you talking about Phoebe being nervous? Or you?”

  “I’m an adult. I understand what’s happening. She’s just a kid and I want to reassure her that everything’s all right.”

  “You know best,” he said. “And you’ve got my card and cell number. Call if you need anything at all.”

  “Thanks.”

  Faith put a foot on the van’s running board and slid inside, then closed the door. She turned her key in the ignition and drove slowly away, glancing quickly in her rearview mirror. Sam was standing there, almost protectively, watching her leave. Her heart did that fluttering thing, which didn’t make her feel any better about accepting his offer of shelter.

  Evacuating to the mayor’s house or with old Brewster Smith and his wife, Aggie, would feel comfortable and normal. But Sam Hart was a bachelor. Even worse, she was attracted to him.

  * * *

  Sam had been watching out the front window for Faith so he opened the door before she could ring the doorbell. The little girl standing on the front porch beside her had to be Phoebe. Her Mini-Me had the same blond hair and freckles on her nose.

  “Hi,” he said to both of them, then smiled down at the little girl. “You must be Phoebe.”

  Long straight bangs caught in the thick eyelashes framing big, brown eyes that were wide with apprehension. “How did you know?”

  “Your mother told me about you.” Poor kid. No matter how the truth had been censored, she had to know that her home was in danger. That was scary for an adult let alone a child. “Come on in.”

  Sam pulled the door open wider and stepped back to let them pass. The little girl clutched her mother’s hand tightly as she looked around wide-eyed.

  “Wow. This is big.” She was looking up at the chandelier in the two-story entryway. For the moment, awe distracted her from fear and worry.

  He could keep the distraction going for a while because this was a big house. Glancing at Faith, he saw that she looked the tiniest bit impressed, too, and that didn’t bother him a bit. “Would you like to see the rest of the place?”

  Faith looked at her daughter who nodded eagerly. “Okay.”

  “Follow me.” Sam noticed she was carrying a couple of bulging bags.

  “Since we couldn’t go home, I had to pick up some clothes and toiletries for us,” Faith explained.

  He held out his hand. “Let me take those for you.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve got it.”

  “I can see that. But guys are supposed to carry things for girls.”

  “Why?” Phoebe asked. “Is that a rule?”

  “No. But boys are usually bigger and stronger and it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

  “Oh.” The little girl thought about that and frowned. “At summer camp the girls carry stuff and the boys let us.”

  “Girls have to be able to take care of themselves,” Faith explained. “It’s called being self-reliant.”

  “And that’s a good thing,” Sam allowed. “But in certain situations, like now for instance, what with you being guests in my home, it’s appropriate for a man to help a lady.”

  “And sometimes a lady just wants to tell a man to take a flying leap because she’s perfectly capable of carrying her own things.”

  “Can I look at your house?” Phoebe was staring up at them, clearly impatient and not the least bit interested in the undercurrents of the adult standoff.

  “We can,” he said. “Follow me.”

  “You can carry this if you want.” Phoebe held out a pink backpack with two female cartoon characters on it, one in a sparkly turquoise dress.

  “It would be my pleasure,” he said, taking it from her. “This way.”

  He led them straight ahead to the kitchen and family room, with its leather corner group and two-story river rock fireplace.

  “That’s the biggest TV I ever saw,” Phoebe said.

  Sam looked down at her and realized that when you were small, everything must look gigantic. “I’ll show you how to turn it on later.”

  Faith cleared her throat loudly and, when she had his attention, shook her head. “Sensitive electronic remote controls and an eight-year-old are not a good combination.”

  “She thinks I’m still a baby.” The little girl made a face. “I’m not.”

  “I can see that. Maybe your mom would be okay with it if there’s an orientation.”

  Phoebe frowned. “What’s that?”

  “I’ll show you how to use it and you can practice for a while with me supervising. Your mom might be okay with that.”

  “I don’t think so. Mom doesn’t let me do very much. She’s a little overprotective.”

  “Hey,” Faith said. “I’m standing right here. And I’m not overprotective. Where did you hear that?”

  “I don’t know. Around. And anyway, in the car you told me not to touch anything in his house,” the child said. “And that’s kind of hard unless I stand in the corner.”

  Sam looked from one to the other and said, “I’ve never been the rose between two thorns.”

  “How long have you been waiting to drop that into a conversation with me?” One corner of Faith’s beautiful mouth quirked up.

  “I thought you’d like that one, plant lady. And, moving on—”

  He showed them the rest of the downstairs, with its spacious home office and media room. On the second floor he took them past the master where he slept to the wing with three other bedrooms and a large open space set up as another entertainment area.

  “How big is this house?” Faith asked.

  “A little over five thousand square feet.”

  “No one else lives here with you?” Phoebe asked, wonder in her voice.

  “You do now.” He looked at her mom. “Told you I had lots of space. Do you want to pick out a room?”

 
; “Yes!” Phoebe raced down the hall and disappeared around a corner.

  Faith went after her and Sam realized he’d never had the opportunity to look at her from the back. She was always facing him with a counter in between them. She had quite a superior rear view and now he knew what he’d been missing all this time.

  He caught up with them in the room that overlooked the front lawn with a spectacular view of Blackwater Lake beyond it. There was a queen-size bed, walk-in closet and bathroom.

  “There’s a bed in here even though no one lives here?” Phoebe asked.

  “Yes.” He’d never thought about that. Furnishing the whole house seemed like a good idea when you didn’t want it to be a big, empty shell.

  “I think you and I can share this room, Phoebs,” her mother said.

  “But no one is using that other room. The green one. Sam said so.”

  “I know, sweetie. But I know you. It seems like a good idea right now but when the sun goes down you’re not going to want to be in there by yourself.”

  “I promise I will,” Phoebe begged.

  “I have an idea.” Sam looked at Faith. “Not taking sides here, but how about if she tries sleeping in the green room. If you change your mind, you can always crawl in with your mom.”

  “You’re okay with that?” Faith asked.

  “Of course. There are five bedrooms in this house. I have one. The other four are up for grabs.”

  Faith was wearing an uncertain expression as she nodded. “I promise when we’re able to go home, we’ll leave the rooms in the same condition we found them.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I have a cleaning service.” He set the pink backpack just inside the door of the green room.

  “Okay.” She smiled. “I’m grateful for your hospitality.”

  “Don’t do that,” he said.

  “What? Thank you? It’s the polite thing to do.”

  “Mommy always tells me to say thank you,” Phoebe chimed in, then disappeared.

  “I meant don’t be nice to me,” he told Faith. “It’s just weird.”

  She laughed and for a few moments the tension in her expression disappeared. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Mommy! There’s a pool!”

  “Phoebe?” She set her bags inside the doorway then called out, “Where are you?”

  “In the big family room upstairs.” The reply was muffled because she was around a corner and down the hall.

  Sam put his palm to the small of Faith’s back as they walked in the direction the little girl had gone. Touching her wasn’t the dumbest thing he’d ever done, but it ranked fairly high up on the list. Awareness tingled in his fingers and crackled through his entire body. The whole point of opening his home to evacuees was to be neighborly. But touching her opened up something else, too. What had she called it? Oh, yes. Connecting in a physical way. The idea of that was entirely too appealing.

  They found the little girl looking out the window at the backyard. The pool was big, one could say proportional to the rest of the property. He’d put it in for swimming laps and staying in shape. Also for summer parties and entertaining. And he was particularly proud of the built-in barbecue area and outdoor kitchen. There was also a covered patio and the yard was meticulously landscaped.

  “Do you want to go outside?” Sam asked.

  “Yes!” Phoebe didn’t wait for further invitation. She took off ahead of them.

  “Does she always speak in exclamation points?” he asked.

  “Only when she gets her choice of bedroom and there’s a pool outside.”

  Shoulder to shoulder, he and Faith followed, but this time Sam made it a point not to touch her. No one could say he didn’t learn from his mistakes.

  They met Phoebe at the family room’s French doors, where she waited impatiently for him to unlock and open them. Outside, he watched the little girl stop and stare, taking everything in. It wasn’t long before she moved closer to the water.

  “Don’t fall in,” Faith warned.

  Sam positioned himself close enough to pluck her out if necessary. “I have arm floaties for my niece if you want them.”

  “I can swim,” Phoebe informed him. “My camp is at the lake and they taught me how.”

  “Good.”

  “Can I go swimming?” she asked.

  “That’s up to your mom.”

  “As long as there’s an adult outside with you.” Faith held up a hand, obviously aware protest was coming. “I know you’re not a baby and can swim but water safety starts with never swimming alone.”

  “Your mom is right,” Sam agreed.

  “Okay. They told us that at camp, too.” The little girl moved closer to him and looked up. “I like you, Sam.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself, Squirt.”

  “None of my friends have a pool,” she continued.

  “What am I? Chopped liver? I thought I was your friend,” he protested.

  “You are. So,” she continued, “does that mean I can go swimming anytime I want? As long as there’s an adult there with me?”

  “Whoa, kiddo,” Faith said. “Remember we’re only here temporarily. One day. Maybe two. Just until the fire is contained and it’s safe to go home.”

  “You told me that a million times, Mom.” She went over to explore the outdoor kitchen.

  “You know, Faith, she’s welcome to come swimming anytime,” Sam offered.

  Faith glanced at her daughter, who was opening drawers and the outdoor refrigerator and too far away to hear. “Please don’t make promises to my child that you don’t intend to keep.”

  “I have every intention of keeping that promise.”

  “Maybe right this minute,” she said. “But life will go back to normal and there will be female visitors. Two strikes and out. Breakup bouquets and peonies. A promise to a little girl could get in the way of that lifestyle and your women.”

  “So much for you being nice to me.”

  “I wasn’t being mean. Just stating a fact.” She looked past him and frowned. “Phoebe Catherine, I told you not to touch anything. Stop right now.”

  Sam watched her walk away and realized several things, starting with the fact that Phoebe’s father didn’t seem to be in the picture. One could presume that Faith had been let down big-time by a man. The self-reliant message was a big clue, as was the warning to keep his promise to her child or she’d come after him like a pack of wolves. She hadn’t actually said that but the expression in her eyes had conveyed the message loud and clear.

  But she needed to realize a few things, too. There weren’t as many women in his life as she thought and he made sure none of them had expectations. He wasn’t a bad guy and wanted Faith to know it. He was very careful not to make promises he couldn’t keep. Starting with commitment.

  Very soon he was going to set her straight about all of the above.

  Chapter Three

  Faith left work early the next day and headed to the fire staging area for a volunteer shift. At the base of the mountain she saw auxiliary fire trucks parked, and soot-covered, exhausted men slumped against them. Not far away there was a tarp, and underneath it were picnic benches and a propane steam table where food was being kept warm. After parking her van she got out and instantly was hit by a gust of hot wind that whipped her hair around. She slid a scrunchie from the pocket of her jeans and pulled the strands off her face into a ponytail, then walked over to the food area.

  Delanie Carlson, who owned the local pub, Bar None, transferred a case of water bottles to a large insulated chest then poured a bag of ice in to cool them down quickly. At a stove stirring food she saw Lucy Bishop, chef and co-owner of the Harvest Café. Both women were good friends.

  “It’s really windy.” That was stating the obvious
and there was no point in doing that. They all knew what could happen and worry clawed at her. But she was here to do her part and take her mind off the fact that she could lose her home.

  “What can I do?” she asked Lucy.

  “Organize the paper plates and utensils for an assembly line. The firefighters are on a regular rotating schedule,” the blue-eyed blonde said. “They need the breaks to cool off, eat and rest. Otherwise someone could make a deadly mistake.”

  “That sounds like Desmond Parker’s doing. Everyone says he’s a really good fire captain,” Faith said.

  “That’s the rumor. I’ve seen for myself that he’s hard-core about enforcing breaks.” Lucy’s tone said she respected him for doing a great job, but in other areas he was not deserving of her high opinion.

  “Ice is really cold.” Delanie joined them, shaking water off her hands.

  “That’s kind of the point.” Faith smiled.

  The auburn-haired woman returned it. “But I wish someone could invent ice that didn’t give you frostbite.”

  “Get ready, ladies. We’re almost up.” Lucy pointed to a group of men who had just disembarked from a truck that’d pulled into the staging area. They were wearing thick coats and pants plus heavy boots and other firefighting gear. Their first stop was a comfort station, where they poured water over their heads. Then the grimy jackets were shucked before they lined up at the food station.

  Faith handed the first guy a plate and plastic utensils wrapped in a paper napkin. “How are you?”

  “Hot. Hungry. Beat.”

  There was nothing else to say. Clearly he didn’t have the energy to make small talk. She couldn’t imagine how difficult the working conditions were.

  Lucy piled the man’s plate with food. It wasn’t fancy but there was plenty. “Is there progress?”

  “Hard to tell.”

  “There’s a table over there with cookies,” Delanie said, handing him an icy-cold water bottle. “And thanks for what you’re doing.”

  “It’s my job,” he said simply.

  “I know. But thanks. When this is over there’s a round of drinks waiting for you guys at Bar None.”