Safe in the Fireman's Arms

by Tina Radcliffe

  The teal-blue door of the cottage swung open and Maggie stared at him from behind the screen.

  “I have it on good authority that it wasn’t my fault,” she announced.

  “Hi, to you, too, Maggie.”

  Her cheeks flushed and she crossed her arms.

  Jake glanced past her into the sparsely decorated living room. “Nice house. I presume your smoke detectors are in place and the batteries are up-to-date.”

  “Presume away.”

  “Maggie.”

  “They’re fine. I checked everything when I moved in.”

  “Thank you.”

  “To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Chief MacLaughlin? Or do you routinely make smoke-detector house calls?”

  “I’m following up to make sure you’re okay.” He frowned. “And I thought we were on a first-name basis?”

  “So this is an official visit from the chief of the Paradise Volunteer Fire Department regarding the incident at 1233 Central Avenue?” She began to shut the door. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “Maggie.”

  The door stopped moving. “I told you, it wasn’t my fault.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yes. Beck said so.”

  “Beck said so?”

  “Something about a manufacturer recall due to known fire-related problems.”

  “Great, but I’m not blaming you.”

  “No?”

  “No. May I come in?”

  She averted her gaze. “That doesn’t seem like a wise move to me.”

  Jake paused, realization dawning. “Are you afraid of me, Maggie?”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. Then the screen door opened and Maggie stepped out onto the small porch as though eager to prove him wrong.

  “I know you’re really here to read me the riot act and I’d rather you did it out here, if you don’t mind.”

  He met her gaze head-on. She didn’t even blink as he towered over her and her ponytail. The woman was gutsy. He’d give her that.

  Jake dialed down his menacing facade. It wasn’t working anyhow.

  “This is serious, Maggie.”

  She rubbed her arms against a sudden breeze that kicked up, bringing with it the scent of the pine trees surrounding the house.

  “What exactly is serious?” she asked.

  “When you smelled smoke you should have gotten out of the vehicle and called 9-1-1.”

  “I did call 9-1-1.”

  “After you raised the hood.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Who told you?”

  “Who didn’t?”

  Maggie shook her head in disgust. “It was only an electrical fire.”

  “One out of seven fires involves vehicles. One out of ten fire deaths results from vehicle fires,” Jake said.

  “You memorized those stats?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Fair enough, but I’m telling you it was barely a fire. Barely. Tiny flame. Very tiny.

  “And yet you needed a fire extinguisher.”

  “Well. Um, yes.”

  “Where’d you get the fire extinguisher?”

  “Your father gave it to me.”

  “My father?”

  “Tall man. Silver hair.”

  “I know who my father is. In fact his house is right down the street a couple of blocks.”

  “Well, your father dropped the extinguisher off after the, um, first, um, incident. Said it was a ‘welcome to Paradise’ gift, since I’d extinguished the other one. Apparently all the MacLaughlins have a dark sense of humor.”

  Jake ignored the comment and made a mental note to talk to his father about meddling in his life. Again. “So are we clear?” he asked. “Next time call 9-1-1 immediately and move away from the vehicle.”

  She gave a solemn nod. “I can assure you that there won’t be a next time.”

  “Yeah. Let’s hope you’re right.” He cleared his throat, grasping for a reason to keep chatting, knowing he was being off-the-wall ridiculous. He had things to do at home. Right? Feed the dog. Throw in a load of laundry. Yet, here he stood.

  “Sorry about your truck,” he said. “It’s a complete write-off. You’ll need to call the insurance company.”

  “It’s not mine. It’s Uncle Bob’s shop truck.” Maggie sighed. “Fortunately, I have a perfectly good bicycle that my aunt and uncle have kept for me since my last visit.”

  “Your last visit? When was that?”

  “I was thirteen.”

  “Thirteen?” He stared at her. “You don’t own a vehicle?”

  “I left my car in Denver. It belongs to my parents. So you can see that the chances of another engine fire are pretty much nil.”

  “How did you get to Paradise?” he asked.

  “Cab.”

  “You’re joking, right? A cab all the way from Denver? That’s like three and a half hours.”

  She stood straight and balled her small hands into fists. “Look, for your information, I was in a bit of rush when I left and there aren’t any buses to Paradise.”

  “Whoa there. No need to get all excited.”

  Maggie released a breath and continued to stare him down.

  “Are you in some kind of trouble?” he murmured.

  Her cheeks flushed. She chewed on a ragged thumbnail and glanced around. “No. Of course not.”

  “You’re sure? You can tell me, you know.”

  Maggie began to laugh. “What are you saying? You won’t think any less of me if I confide that I’m a convict on the lam? Gee, thanks. Chief.”

  Somehow her laugh didn’t quite ring true.

  “I guess you’re entitled to your secrets,” he returned.

  “I don’t have any secrets. My life is an open, albeit very short, book. A novella at best.”

  Overhead thunder clapped.

  Maggie jumped. She glanced at the sky and then looked toward the gutters on the cottage. “Too bad. I was hoping to get a permit to install a rainwater-harvesting system before it rained.”

  “Oh, there will be plenty more rain days in the valley.” He paused. “A permit, huh? That sounds like someone who’s thinking about sticking around.”

  She pondered his words for a moment. “Maybe.”

  Suddenly the sky opened up, releasing giant drops that quickly turned into a deluge.

  “I better get going.” Jake tossed his keys into the air.

  Maggie touched his arm, and he glanced down, surprised to see her delicate hand on his sleeve.

  “This is a downpour, Jake. Can’t you wait until it eases up?”

  His brows rose at the concern on her face. “Are you worried about me?”

  “I’m speaking as a soil professional. It’s very dangerous to drive through a downpour in a region indigenous to flash flooding and mudslides.” Her soft brown eyes pleaded with him. “And I know from experience that you don’t do dangerous, Chief MacLaughlin,” she murmured.

  Jack met her unwavering gaze. She was right on both counts. Standing this close to Maggie, surrounded by an intimate curtain of rain, was dangerous all right. Much too dangerous.

  He lifted the collar of his shirt. “I’ll be fine,” he said as he stepped from the porch and straight into the cooling rain.

  * * *

  “Chuck, I’m telling you the woman is hiding something.”

  The black-and-white collie-shepherd mix opted not to answer, nor did he look up from the metal bowl, where his nose was buried in his dinner.

  “We’re going to have to ask Sheriff Lawson to run a background check on Maggie Jones. And while Sam is checking, we’ll do a little online search of our own, as well.”

  Chuck finally looked up, his black eyes round and questioning.

  “Oh, don’t give me that. It’s just a simple precaution. She took a cab from Denver, Chuck. Who does that?”

  Rain continued to tap at the window as Jake stirred the simmering Buffalo chili and then replaced the lid on the pot and turned down the flame. He grabbe
d a sponge and wiped down the stainless steel stove top before sliding cornbread muffins into the oven and setting the timer.

  Almost time to eat. It would have been nice to share dinner with someone besides his dog.

  For a moment his mind flitted back to Maggie. He quickly dismissed the concerned expression he’d seen on her face as he left her house.

  Long ago, he’d resolved himself to being alone. Once a month his solitary life was interrupted when he met his men at the firehouse for training and they put together a meal. Occasionally his father dropped in unannounced, too. Oddly enough, Mack hadn’t done much of that in the last few months.

  A loud rhythmic series of raps on the back door signaled tonight was one of those visits from his father. Jake smiled as Chuck raced to the door and shoved his whiskers into the screen, whining.

  “Jacob,” his father called as he pushed the door open. “Quite a storm out there. Hope it stops before the weekend.” He shrugged off his yellow rain slicker and ran a hand through his damp hair.

  “Hey, Dad. You smelled the chili all the way from your place, huh?”

  “Are you cooking?” Mack leaned down and gave Chuck a rubdown. “Yeah, boy, I’ve missed you, too.”

  “There’s chili in the pot.”

  Mack stood and looked around. “Oh, I guess you are. But that’s not why I’m here. I want to run something by you.”

  “Sure. Have a seat and maybe Chuck and I can help you with your problem.”

  “I don’t have a problem.” Mack eased onto a black leather bar stool and rested his hands on the countertop of the kitchen’s island.

  “This isn’t about the webpage, is it?”

  “No.” His father waved one of his big hands in the air.

  “We’re listening.” Jake looked down at Chuck, who was staring at the stove. “Pay attention, Chuck.”

  “It’s been over ten years since...” Mack avoided Jake’s gaze and ran a hand over the smooth granite counter as he searched for words. “Well, you know...”

  Jake nodded. Was this going to be another of his father’s speeches about getting back into life? Finding a good woman and providing him with grandchildren? Mack usually tossed in a reminder that Jake was his only son and neither of them was getting any younger.

  “I’ll be seventy next month.”

  “Not getting any younger,” Jake mumbled.

  Mack slammed a hand on the counter. “Exactly.”

  The buzzer on the oven went off and Jake donned protective mitts before removing the tin of golden corn muffins.

  “It’s time to get back into the swing of things,” Mack continued.

  “I’ve got a date for the Founder’s Day supper with Maggie Jones. Does that count?” he asked as he turned off the oven.

  “Sure does.” Mack cleared his throat. “But I’m actually referring to me. Not you.”

  Jake froze, and then slowly turned around. “You?”

  There was an unmistakable twinkle in his father’s eyes as he smiled.

  “This is good, Dad. Real good.” Jake was genuinely pleased. It had been a long time since his mother passed—in fact, it had been shortly after Jake lost his wife.

  “Glad you feel that way,” Mack said, his grin becoming wider. “Because I’m thinking of getting married.”

  “Married?” He stared at his father and groped for words. “Whoa, what’s the rush? What about dating?”

  “Dating is for people who don’t know what they want. I know what I want.” Mack narrowed his eyes. “Besides, I wasn’t asking for your permission.”

  Jake grinned. “Right. Right. Just giving you a hard time.” He pulled off the mitts. “So that’s why you haven’t been popping by for dinner. Someone else has been feeding you.”

  Mack’s face flamed. “No comment.”

  Jake settled on a stool opposite his father and crossed his arms. “Marriage, huh? Who is this mystery woman?”

  “You’ll know soon enough.”

  “I’m your son. You can’t tell me?”

  “You’ll know soon enough.” Mack met his gaze, his expression solemn. “So you’re okay with this, Jacob?”

  “Absolutely. Congratulations, Dad.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Big step. So what’s next? You two going to give me the baby brother I always wanted?”

  Mack picked up a towel from the counter and swung it at Jake. “You know, you’ve been hanging around those fire jockeys too long. You’re just a barrel of laughs.”

  Chuck barked and jumped in a circle, his toenails clicking on the tile floor.

  “Now you’ve done it,” Jake said. “I’ll have to play fetch with him for an hour to wear him out.”

  “Your own fault.”

  “So do you want some chili or not?”

  Mack glanced at his watch and stood. “Like to, but she’s waiting on me. I have to run. Oh, and keep this under your hat. I just wanted to feel you out first.”

  “You’re sure you can’t give me a hint?”

  “Nope.” He grinned. “She might not even say yes.”

  “No woman would turn down a MacLaughlin.”

  “Ha. I wouldn’t take that to the bank. But if she does say yes, you’ll be my best man, right?”

  Jake swallowed the lump in his throat. “You bet.”

  Mack smiled even wider.

  “Come here, big guy.” He offered his father a man hug, then stood back. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks, Jacob. It means a lot that my son supports me.”

  “Now get going before you get in the doghouse. I’ll see you tomorrow at the hardware store.”

  He clapped his father on the back as they walked to the door.

  “Thanks, again, son.” Mack slipped his arms into his rain slicker. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Jake smiled as his father ran through the rain, dodging puddles until he reached his car.

  Only then did he walk into his darkened living room and sink to his leather recliner.

  Marriage.

  He’d been excited for his dad just moments ago when he’d revealed he was seeing someone, but marriage? Jake couldn’t imagine his father with someone besides his mom. Thoughts of his petite and unassuming mother filled his mind. She had been the gentle guiding force in their family. He missed her. Jake hung his head, ashamed of his resentful thoughts. Forgive me, Lord. I am happy for my father.

  After all, it had been ten years. They’d both been alone for a long time. His father’s announcement was unexpected, that was all. Being nostalgic was normal.

  Seemed like lately the moment he adjusted himself to some new normal, things changed again. As if confirming his internal argument, Maggie Jones’s warm brown eyes and her full smile filled his mind.

  “Yeah, right,” he scoffed as the words tumbled aloud into the empty room. “Me and Maggie. About as likely as my father marrying Bitsy Harmony.”

  Chapter Five

  According to the Colorado State University Extension webpage, the timing was perfect for planting. Maggie leaned into the shovel, turning over a clod of wet soil. It had been two weeks since the last frost, and she was bound and determined to get some vegetables planted.

  She’d purchased tomato and pepper plants, as well as the various seeds. Maybe she’d be able to squeeze enough from her budget for a few lavender plants, as well.

  “Sphagnum.”

  Startled, Maggie looked up. “Excuse me?” A tall woman stood at the edge of the yard, inspecting.

  Ageless. That was Maggie’s immediate impression. Not young, and certainly not old. She wore navy slacks and a powder-blue blouse with a crisp white collar. A handsome woman with a strong jaw and sharp blue eyes, her silver white hair was twisted into a bun that sat dead center on the top of her head.

  “Soil needs some sphagnum peat.”

  “Any opinion on molasses and alfalfa tea fertilizer?” Maggie asked.

  The woman walked toward Maggie. “New to me. What you really need is a ro
totiller.”

  The woman’s attention had moved beyond Maggie to the long row of scraggly rose bushes at the back of the garden.

  “What a shame. I remember when they produced some of the loveliest blooms in Paradise.”

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ve lived in Paradise most of my life. Hardly a home I haven’t been invited into.” A sigh escaped her thin lips. “My grandmother used coffee grounds. Works wonders. You might try that. Mix them into the soil at the base of the plant about once a week.”

  “I’ll give that a try.”

  The woman’s gaze returned to Maggie and she gave a short nod and thrust out her hand. “Bitsy Harmony.”

  So this was the famous Bitsy Harmony? Using her teeth, Maggie removed a mud-caked glove and took the hand Bitsy offered. The strong, firm grip belied the woman’s years.

  “Hope you don’t mind my stopping by unannounced. I was in the neighborhood. You know Mack MacLaughlin lives right down the street.”

  “Yes. I heard that.”

  Bitsy glanced down, as if just realizing she held a pie in her other hand. “Oh, here. This is for you. Peach. We grow fine peaches in Paradise. My pies generally take a ribbon every year.”

  “That’s what everyone tells me. Thank you,” Maggie said, removing the other glove. “May I offer you a cup of coffee, or some tea?”

  “Tea would be fine. Though I can’t stay long. Due back at the office, soon.” Bitsy chuckled. “The sheriff thinks I’m running errands.”

  “You work for the sheriff?” Maggie asked as she took the foil-covered pie tin.

  “Administrative secretary for the Paradise Sheriff’s Department. That means I do everything except carry a sidearm.”

  “I see,” Maggie said, though she didn’t. The real question was why was Bitsy Harmony at her home on a Tuesday morning?

  As Bitsy followed Maggie around to the side of the house, she paused to give the rest of the yard a once-over. “I’ll bring you some grape hyacinth next time I come. Makes a nice border and brightens up the scenery.”

  “Muscari armeniacum. That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

  “Heard you were a professional. That must be the scientific name for grape hyacinth?”

  “It is.” Maggie smiled as she slipped off her boots.

  “Thought so. You’re a Colorado native?” Bitsy asked.