The New Guy in Town

by Teresa Southwick

“Then we better get it over.” His smile was weary.

  For the next hour they served food, distributed water, accepted and organized food donations dropped off by concerned townspeople—and tried to lighten the load of every exhausted man and woman who was taking a break from the fight to save other people’s homes and property from the fire.

  Faith handed Desmond Parker a plate. He was the last man in this group, having waited until each of his guys had been taken care of. “Hi, Des.”

  “Hey, Faith.”

  “You look terrible.” Her heart went out to him, but she hadn’t meant to be so blunt. “I mean that in the nicest possible way. No offense.”

  He laughed. “None taken. I get it.”

  The man was in his thirties and had dark hair and blue eyes. Suspenders from his insulated pants seemed to highlight his broad shoulders, and his black T-shirt with BLFD—Blackwater Lake Fire Department—in bold white letters stretched tightly across his impressive chest. He was really handsome, even with the grime all over him. But Faith didn’t feel a single flutter in the vicinity of her heart. Not like she did with Sam.

  “How’s it going?” she asked him.

  “This is a tough one.” Worry etched in the soot on his face told her it was worse than he would say. “Wind speeds pick up late in the afternoon and the fire jumps from hill to hill. That stretches our resources even thinner.”

  “So no containment yet.”

  “Maybe ten percent.” His eyes darkened. “Don’t you live somewhere near Crawford’s Crest?”

  “Yeah. Phoebe and I had to evacuate yesterday.” A vision of Sam Hart pouring her coffee that morning flashed before her eyes. He was a very good host, but with all the women in his life he’d probably had a lot of practice. “Do you have any information about the area?”

  “Sorry.” He shook his head. “Got my hands full on the fire line.”

  “My bad. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Of course you want news about your property. Wish I had something for you.” His expression was sympathetic. “Well, I better get some food.”

  “Right. Sorry. Didn’t mean to hold you up.”

  Faith watched Lucy fill his plate without saying a word to him. That was weird since she’d chatted with the other guys who came through—teased and talked and lifted their spirits. But not a syllable or a smile for Des Parker. What was up with that?

  When the rush was over the three of them replenished supplies at their respective stations, then looked at each other.

  Delanie glanced at the plume of red-tinged smoke that just seemed to expand and obscure any blue in the sky. “I wish there was more I could do to help.”

  “You’ve already taken people into your home,” Lucy pointed out.

  “So have you.”

  “The families you gave shelter to are pretty lucky,” Faith pointed out. “There are worse places to stay than with the proprietors of Bar None and the Harvest Café.”

  “Yup.” Delanie nodded. “Except for the part where they could lose their homes and all their worldly possessions.”

  “Oh my God, Faithie.” Lucy pressed a hand to her forehead. “I forgot. Your house is in the evacuation zone, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She kept trying to tell herself that as long as she and Phoebe were healthy and safe nothing else mattered, that worry wouldn’t do any good. But sometimes it slipped past her defenses.

  “How are you?” Delanie’s voice was full of concern. “Where did you and Phoebe go? You should have called me.”

  “Or me,” Lucy said.

  “The mayor came to tell me personally and as it happened Sam Hart was there. Loretta had something to do with him opening his home to us.” He’d actually been very gracious about the whole thing and she wasn’t sure why that was so surprising.

  “I’ve seen him in Bar None.”

  “And the café.” There was a “hmm” in Lucy’s voice. “He doesn’t seem the sort to be pushed around. Not even by Madam Mayor.”

  Delanie nodded her agreement. “I know what you mean. The man owns a successful financial company with a lot of employees. It’s highly unlikely she could intimidate him into something he didn’t want to do.”

  “You’re both right. And obviously observant,” Faith said. “I didn’t mean to imply that the mayor shamed him into volunteering. Like I said, she came by my cart in the lobby of Sam’s building to tell me I couldn’t go home. She said she had a full house but could find floor space and air mattresses for Phoebe and me.”

  “So he was shamed,” Lucy said.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. He spontaneously offered because he has a big house. And Loretta said it would be a relief not to have to worry about us, what with all the problems she was handling.” Then Sam had made his case to talk her into staying with him.

  “So you were there last night,” Delanie commented. “How was it?”

  “He didn’t lie about it being big. And beautiful.” And the man had gone out of his way to make sure they were comfortable and had everything they needed. He’d even cooked dinner.

  “What’s he like?” Lucy asked, as if reading her mind. “I mean, obviously he’s nice looking.”

  “Nice?” Delanie shook her head. “You can do better than that, Luce.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” The blonde looked appropriately chastised. “This whole fire crisis has thrown me off my game. Sam Hart is so hot he could melt a lesser woman than me into a pathetic puddle at his feet.”

  Faith would admit, if only to herself, that she’d dipped a toe into that puddle. “And what’s your point?”

  “We want details. What is it like living with him?” Delanie folded her arms over her chest. “Did you see him naked this morning?”

  “Of course not.” But wouldn’t that have been something. “And I’d hardly call it living together—”

  “Don’t split hairs. You both spent the night under the same roof. By any definition that is living together.”

  “Temporarily. That’s quite a different dynamic.”

  “Don’t rain on our parade,” Lucy begged. “We’re doing our best to live vicariously. And if there’s a little matchmaking behind it, where’s the harm? The least you can do is meet us halfway.”

  “This is where I tell you guys to get a life.”

  Delanie grinned. “I have all the life I want, thanks. And right now yours has gotten exciting. In an interesting way, not the part where your house is in danger. And, for the record, we’re trying to take your mind off that. So, when life gives you lemons...”

  “What she’s trying to say,” Lucy interrupted, “is that details would be most appreciated.”

  “I love you guys for trying to take my mind off things, but I still don’t know what you want me to say.” Faith looked from one woman to the other. “Is he handsome? Check. Does he have money? Judging by his house that gets a big check mark, too.”

  “How’s Phoebe doing with it?” Lucy asked.

  “Pretty well, all things considered. She’s distracted by the house and pool. He even let her use the TV remote.” She couldn’t help smiling at the memory of him explaining what each button meant and letting her daughter push them, even though that meant jumping through hoops to restore settings. “She’s Team Sam.”

  “He sounds like a good guy,” Lucy summed up and Delanie nodded her agreement.

  Faith gave them a warning look. “He and I are just friends. I’ve gotten to know him because he buys a lot of flowers for women.”

  “Sounds romantic to me.” Lucy stirred the beans on the steam table.

  “Trust me. It’s not. Just a gimmick. A smoke screen. An elaborate ruse in which he appears to participate but really doesn’t at all.”

  “How do you know?”

&nb
sp; “He told me. I asked him, as a flower professional, whether or not I should look forward to the revenue a wedding could generate.”

  “You didn’t.” Delanie’s expression oozed admiration. “Look at you going all TMZ on him.”

  “What did he say?” The other woman stopped stirring. Apparently that revelation had the persnickety chef’s rapt attention.

  “It was a definite no on walking down the aisle.”

  “Oh, pooh. That’s not what I wanted to hear. So I shouldn’t count on a wedding reception catering contract from him.”

  “Sad but true, ladies. Commitment is not on his to-do list.”

  Her friends looked disappointed, but Faith was fine with it. Better than fine, actually. This conversation had put things into perspective. The fact that neither she nor Sam was open to romance was tremendously freeing. She could be herself around him because there was no chance of any weird man/woman stuff.

  * * *

  Sam was trying to decide whether or not to worry.

  At breakfast Faith had told him she was going to volunteer at the fire staging area after work, do what she could for the firefighters. Her lobby cart had been locked up several hours ago when he’d left work for the day.

  Was it time to do something stupid and go look for her?

  Before he could make up his mind, he heard the front door open and female voices in the entry. He’d given her a key and moments later Faith and Phoebe joined him in the kitchen.

  “Hi, Sam.” Phoebe gave him a wave.

  “Hey, Squirt.” He looked at Faith. “Long day?”

  “Yeah.” She looked tired, dirty and worried.

  Again, Sam had the most absurd urge to pull her into his arms and tell her that everything would be all right. “Any news on your house?”

  “No. And the evacuation order is still in effect.” She shrugged. “The guys have been too busy saving houses to keep track of the ones lost.”

  Were the black streaks on her cheeks and chin soot? He frowned. “How close were you to the fire?”

  “A couple of miles, I think. Why?”

  “Because you smell like smoke.”

  “You should have been in the car.” Phoebe wrinkled her cute freckled nose. “Stinks in there now.”

  Humor relaxed the tension on Faith’s features. “You do realize that I was doing a good thing? Serving food to firefighters who are working very hard to save our home. And your toys.”

  “Uh-huh.” Phoebe looked unrepentant. “You still smell like smoke.”

  “The wind is brutal.”

  Sam thought about that. “If it was blowing smoke in your direction, doesn’t that mean the fire was headed toward where you were?”

  “Are you asking whether it was safe?”

  “Was it?”

  “Of course.”

  He hadn’t given in to stupid and gone to look for her, but now it was coming out of his mouth, this unreasonable concern for her safety. He was going to stop now. “Okay.”

  “The problem is the wind keeps changing direction. It’s one of the reasons they’re having such a hard time getting a handle on containment.”

  “I see.”

  “Until the crisis is over, there’s a volunteer schedule,” Faith said.

  “So you’ll be going back into the fire area?” He glanced at Phoebe, keeping his voice conversational so as not to alarm her. But for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely, he needed reassurance. And yes, he was aware that the stupid was continuing in spite of his effort to suppress it.

  “Everyone is pitching in.” She shrugged as if that explained everything.

  “Can’t you just make a casserole? Or cookies?”

  She glanced at her daughter now. Phoebe was staring up wide-eyed. “The firefighters have safety protocols in place. That’s one of the few things they can control. It’s the variables like wind and thick, dry underbrush that are giving them fits.”

  “Mommy, you don’t get too close, do you?”

  “No, absolutely not.” She thought for a moment. “Do you remember Des Parker?”

  Phoebe’s forehead furrowed in thought. “Is he the rancher who took you to the Grizzly Bear Diner?”

  “No. That was Logan Hunt.”

  “He’s my cousin,” Sam volunteered. Estranged, but still family. Although that distinction didn’t ease the feeling of disapproval sliding through him.

  “Really?” Faith’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Long story,” he said. “So who’s Des Parker?”

  “The fire captain.”

  “I remember,” Phoebe said. “He let me sit in the fire truck on the Fourth of July and bought us ice cream. And Valerie Harris babysat me and you went out to dinner with him.”

  “Yes.”

  “I like him,” her daughter said.

  Funny, Sam thought, he didn’t. “So he’s not going to let anything happen to his girlfriend.”

  “It’s not like that. And in case you’re wondering, there was no breakup bouquet. Come to think of it, that would be awkward. Making it for myself.” Faith laughed. “No, my point is that he’s cautious and wouldn’t let anything happen to anyone on his watch.”

  Sam didn’t miss the look she gave him that said he was being weird, but he already knew.

  Phoebe wrinkled her nose again, apparently satisfied that her mother was in good hands. “You still stink.”

  “It’s not that bad.” She looked at Sam.

  “I wasn’t going to say anything...” He rested his hands on the granite-topped island between them. “However, I strongly suggest you soak in a hot bath while Phoebe and I cook dinner.”

  “You cook? I thought last night was a fluke.”

  “No.” Sam took a little satisfaction from her obvious surprise. “I’m a bachelor.”

  “And yet I, the plant lady, know that—” she glanced at her child, obviously trying to figure out how to give her comment a G-rated delivery “—from time to time you have visitors who can cook.”

  “That is blatant gender profiling.” He smiled at her unease. “Some of the world’s best chefs are men. And I actually like to cook.”

  “I can help, Mommy. Please let me do it.” The eight-year-old was quivering with excitement. “And Sam is right. You need a bath.”

  “And the child becomes the parent.” Faith tenderly traced a finger down her daughter’s cheek. “Two against one. Fortunately for both of you I’m in the mood to get rid of this grime. I won’t be long.”

  Sam watched until her slender shoulders and excellent backside disappeared from sight. She was a smart, beautiful woman raising a child on her own. As far as he could tell there was no father in the picture. Why? For that matter, it was clear from what Phoebe had said that she dated. His cousin had inherited the Hart good looks and his mother’s integrity. His father, Sam’s uncle, had the morals of an alley cat and Logan had distanced himself from the Harts a long time ago. He was a very successful rancher and from a woman’s perspective would be a good catch.

  Des Parker was a question mark because Sam had never met him. What was Faith’s relationship with the two men? He really didn’t like that he was acutely curious, which was only a small step up from jealousy.

  “Sam?” A small, firm voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you listening?”

  He looked at the little girl. “Yes.”

  “I want to help. But Mommy won’t let me touch sharp stuff.”

  “That leaves out knives, then.” He thought for a moment. “How about setting the table?”

  “Okay.”

  Since plates and glasses were too high for her, he ended up getting everything down then backed off and let her put it all on the round oak table in the nook.

 
When she finished, she came to stand by the counter where he was working. “Whatcha doing?”

  “I’m making fried chicken the easy way. After I dip the pieces in this stuff, it goes on a cookie sheet and into the oven.”

  “Are you making vegetables?” she asked suspiciously.

  There was a loaded question. More data was required before answering. “Do you like them?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm. Does your mom make you eat them?”

  “Yes.” It didn’t seem possible for such a small, sweet face to hold that much loathing and hostility.

  “They have vitamins and minerals that make you strong and healthy.”

  “That’s what my mom says. They still make me want to throw up.”

  “I feel your pain.” He thought about what he’d planned for tonight. “What’s your opinion of corn on the cob?”

  “I like that. We have these things that go in the ends so you can hold it better. But they’re in my house.” Phoebe’s anxiety that her house might be gone was easy to read in her expression.

  Sam wanted to fix things so this little girl didn’t have to worry about whether or not all of her worldly possessions were gone. But he wasn’t God. All he could do was fix this moment for her.

  “I have corn holders. In that drawer.” He pointed out the one closest to the table. “Why don’t you put them by the plates?”

  She opened the drawer and spotted them. “They’re sharp.”

  “Technically, but you’re not going to cut anything with them. I think you’re big enough to do the job without hurting yourself.”

  “Hurt yourself on what?” Faith walked into the kitchen. Her blond hair was a shade darker because it was still wet and the store tags were still hanging from her T-shirt and sweatpants.

  The jeans he’d always seen her in were a good look but what she was wearing now hugged every curve in soft, clingy material. His fingers ached to find out for himself if she felt as good as he thought she would.

  “Mommy.” Phoebe proudly held up the sharp objects. “Sam has corn-on-the-cob holders. They’re animals, see? It’s a cow. This one is the head and here’s the tail.”

  “Very cute.” She met his gaze. “Something so whimsical seems out of character for a high-powered businessman like you.”