by Teri Wilson
Yoga came naturally to most dogs, because unlike people, they reveled in being present and living in the moment. Violet loved this about her dog, even if living in the moment sometimes involved a tiny amount of chaotic disobedience. That was okay, though, wasn’t it? No dog was perfect. Sprinkles might be a little extra on occasion, but Violet loved her. Everyone in Turtle Beach did.
Besides, it wasn’t as if Sam’s Dalmatian could actually fight fires. That just wasn’t possible. Come to think of it, Violet wasn’t sure what a fire dog’s job actually entailed. Cinder certainly hadn’t written out Violet’s citation with her sweet, dainty paws. When it came down to it, what could Cinder do that Sprinkles couldn’t?
Not much, probably.
Violet glanced at the clock over the entrance to the senior center. Its oversized numbers indicated that Sam would be walking through the door in approximately fifteen minutes. Time to start winding down.
She led the group through a few gentle stretches, finishing in the final relaxation pose, with her students lying flat on their backs and remaining perfectly still for three to five minutes. In recent weeks, the seniors had taken to calling final relaxation “murder victim pose.” Like Joe, they really needed to stop watching so much Criminal Minds.
Sprinkles sat down beside Violet’s shoulder, and Violet kept her eyes closed. She took three deep breaths and then ended the class the way she always did—with a feel-good inspirational quote.
“May all beings be happy, may all beings be healthy, and may all beings be free from suffering. Namaste.”
When she opened her eyes, she found two Dalmatian faces staring down at her instead of one. She glanced back and forth between them, and for the life of her, she couldn’t tell the two dogs apart. It was as if someone had cloned Sprinkles during murder victim pose. But then a throat cleared somewhere above her and she looked up to find Sam towering over her.
He stared pointedly at her chest, arched a brow, and the stern, ultra-manly knot in his jaw made another angry appearance. “Namaste.”
***
#FreeCinder.
Sam’s entire body clenched as he glared at the lettering printed across Violet’s T-shirt. He’d been dreading this awkward visit to the senior center since the minute he’d woken up this morning and engaged in another back-and-forth with Cinder over the making, unmaking, and remaking of the bed. As unenthused as he’d been about begging forgiveness for simply trying to ensure the safety of Turtle Beach’s elderly population, he hadn’t anticipated having to do so in front of Violet March.
He definitely hadn’t foreseen the offensive hashtag. Or the T-shirts. Or the forbidden zing that Violet’s saucy little grin sent coursing through him when she opened her eyes and found him glaring down at her. He felt electrified all of a sudden—jittery, as if he’d just downed two or three of her sugary, delectable cupcakes in rapid succession.
Were his hands actually shaking?
Wait a minute.
Sam stiffened. He was supposed to be angry. He was angry—thoroughly annoyed, as a matter of fact. The woman was even more of a menace than her unruly Dalmatian, which was really saying something.
But there was something about her that captivated him. He couldn’t deny it and, weirdly enough, the more adversarial their exchanges became, the more he wanted to kiss the obstinate smirk right off of her face.
What the hell was happening to him? Sam had never understood couples who thrived on drama and constant arguing. That sort of relationship had always seemed more like misery than anything remotely resembling love or romance.
Being around Violet made him feel alive, though—more alive than he’d felt in a long, long time. After months of numbness, the shock of adrenaline flowing through his veins was so potent that it made his head spin. As messed up as it seemed, he delighted in the sudden delirium.
It’s simple chemistry, that’s all. He swallowed hard. It doesn’t mean anything.
“Oh, look,” Violet said to the matching Dalmatians. “It’s Cinder’s dad.”
Sam chose not to point out that Cinder’s “dad” was, in fact, a dog with black-and-white spots, not a human being. He was Cinder’s partner and best friend, but somehow he didn’t think Violet would appreciate the difference.
#FreeCinder.
Sam forced himself to avert his gaze from Violet’s chest. Wordlessly, he offered her his hand to help her up off the floor.
She bit her lip and eyed his outstretched palm as if it were full of expired dog treats, while Sam meditated briefly on the sublime pleasure of her perfect pink mouth.
Finally, she placed her fingertips in his hand and let him lift her to her feet. Fireworks skittered across every inch of Sam’s skin at the contact. He couldn’t help wondering if she felt it too, but then he reminded himself of the unflattering hashtag. A Dalmatian provocation if he’d ever witnessed one.
“Thank you,” Violet said. Her hand felt warm and impossibly soft in his palm, especially contrasted with his rough calluses from years of working in a firehouse.
They stood touching for a prolonged moment until her cheeks flushed and she jerked her hand back.
“Nice shirt.” Sam gave her a tight smile and then spun on his heel and walked away. Thankfully, Cinder followed without having to be asked.
“Oh, good. He likes the T-shirts,” one of the seniors in Sam’s rearview gushed.
He didn’t have the heart to correct her. In fact, it made him smile a little bit. They wanted cute? Sam was about to bombard them with it. Those bingo-loving elderly people wouldn’t know what hit them. Violet and Sprinkles were about to be toppled right off their favored pedestal.
“Good morning, Marshal Nash.” A woman strode into the lobby from one of the offices behind the front desk. “I’m Barbara Nichols, the activity director here at Turtle Beach Senior Living Center. We’re glad you could come by today.”
“Call me Sam. Please.” He shook her hand and then tipped his head toward Cinder. “This is my partner, Cinder.”
Barbara’s dark eyes lit up. “Isn’t she just beautiful? How funny. For a second there, I thought she was Violet’s Dalmatian, Sprinkles.”
“Right. We get that a lot.” Sam forced a smile and glanced toward the lobby where Sprinkles was playing keep-away with Violet’s yoga mat. The effort it took not to roll his eyes was monumental.
Barbara shifted her gaze from Cinder back toward Sam. If the pursing of her lips was any indication, she seemed far less impressed with him than she was with his dog.
“You have my sincerest apologies about the other night,” he said, trying his best to sound sorrier than he actually felt. “I know how important bingo night is to the community. I’m happy to work with you and the residents to come up with a plan to reduce the number of people in the lobby and ensure the safety of everyone involved.”
Sam glanced down at Cinder and gave her a nearly imperceptible silent command, and she bobbed her spotted head up and down as if in agreement with what he’d just said.
Barbara’s lips twitched, as if she were trying her best not to smile at him. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that without having to turn away tourists? The rental beach houses tend to attract repeat customers year after year. Families are accustomed to all of our Turtle Beach traditions. It’s not only the locals who love bingo night, but our guests too. Plus it’s become one of the most vital ways for our senior residents to remain an active, important part of our little beach town.”
“I understand.” Sam nodded. He couldn’t agree more with the idea of keeping the town’s population of retirees involved in community events. So far, it was one of the things he liked best about Turtle Beach, even if most of the retirees in question were wearing #FreeCinder shirts at the moment.
“I was thinking that my colleague Griff and I could help set up an outdoor overflow area for bingo nights. You have plenty of space out
front. We could set up picnic tables and a flat-screen television to broadcast the bingo caller’s announcements. That way, no one would be left out, but it would be a safe environment for everyone involved.”
Barbara’s eyebrows rose. “You’d volunteer to help us get an outdoor overflow area up and running?”
Sam glanced down at Cinder again and she nodded her head, throwing in a bat of one of her paws for good measure.
“It’s a deal,” Sam said.
“Indeed it is.” Barbara beamed at him.
Over her shoulder, Sam noticed Violet watching them as she finally liberated her yoga mat from Sprinkles. Her smug little grin stiffened in place and another zing of electricity skittered through Sam.
He felt himself smile. If he was being forced on a cutesy apology tour, he may as well enjoy himself a bit.
You haven’t seen anything yet.
Sam flashed Violet a wink.
Game on.
***
Did he just wink at me?
Violet’s face burned with the heat of a thousand suns. What did Sam think he was doing? He was supposed to be groveling right now. He was also supposed to be completely flustered by the #FreeCinder movement. Although, could she really call it a movement when she’d practically had to beg the seniors to wear the T-shirts?
In any case, Sam was playing things way too cool for her comfort. And from where Violet stood, it seemed to be working. Barbara had been livid when she’d heard about Sam shutting down bingo night, and now it looked as though she were batting her eyelashes at him all of a sudden.
Violet’s vision went hazy and an uncomfortable knot formed low in her belly. If she didn’t know better, she’d think she might be jealous.
Ha. The very idea was laughable. Ha ha ha ha ha.
Sam could turn on the charm all he wanted, and it might be effective with Barbara, but it would never work on her. Never ever. It wouldn’t work on the residents either, particularly Mavis, Ethel, and Opal. Why did people always underestimate senior citizens? They’d been around the block a few times, and were far too perceptive to fall for the charms of a firefighter, of all people.
“Gather ’round, everyone,” Barbara called as she sashayed past Violet toward the sitting area dotted with plush recliners and an overstuffed sofa. “Marshal Sam is here for a visit, and he’s got a fire safety demonstration for all of us to enjoy.”
It was all Violet could do not to snort. What could possibly be enjoyable about a fire safety demonstration? This was going to be the lamest apology she’d ever witnessed. She almost felt sorry him.
“Are you staying, Violet?” Opal asked.
Mavis nodded. “You really should. It sounds like it might be fun.”
Ethel tucked her yoga mat into the basket on her walker and pointed the aluminum legs in the direction of the sitting area where Sam was standing with Cinder leaning calmly against his leg.
Violet glanced down at Sprinkles, who’d just begun chasing her tail. Violet’s face burned even hotter.
“Maybe I should,” she heard herself say. Not that she wanted to stick around for a fire safety demo, of all things.
She couldn’t leave before Sam’s big mea culpa, though. She’d thought of little else for the past sixteen hours or so. And even though an alarm bell had suddenly started sounding way in the back of her head, she couldn’t leave. She wouldn’t.
It was an apology, followed by a boring lecture about the fire code. What could possibly go wrong?
Sprinkles collapsed in a wiggling heap at Violet’s feet, spent from her tail-chasing efforts. Her ears flopped back like spotty little airplane wings and she opened her mouth wide and let out a squeaky dog yawn. And for a brief, shameful sliver of a moment, Violet wished that just this once her dog would act dignified. Not robot-dignified, just a tad less like a topsy-turvy swirl of black-and-white spots.
Violet immediately felt terrible for wishing such a thing. She loved her dog—completely, wholly, unconditionally. Sam was to blame for the sudden disruption of her equilibrium. Ever since he’d strolled into Turtle Beach with his perfect dog, his perfect face, and his near-perfect batting average, she’d been thrown off balance. Up was down, down was up. She’d willingly gone inside the firehouse…with cupcakes, no less.
No more. She straightened her #FreeCinder shirt, clipped Sprinkles’s leash onto her collar, and joined the group in the sitting area. There was no reason to be nervous. Sam’s dog wasn’t actually perfect, and neither was his face. In fact, when she looked at him hard enough, she could see a tiny scar near the corner of his left eyebrow. See? Not so perfect after all.
Except he probably got that scar rescuing someone from a burning building. Perfectly imperfect in every way.
Sam’s eyes narrowed as he watched Violet watching him. Her face went even hotter, burning with the heat of a thousand and one suns. Possibly one thousand and two.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” Barbara clapped her hands and then gestured at Sam with a Vanna White-style flourish.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Sam.” He shifted from one foot to the other in an endearing aw shucks kind of way.
Violet glanced at Sprinkles. Can you believe him? But the Dalmatian wasn’t paying her the slightest bit of attention. She was too busy gazing at Sam with hearts in her soft brown eyes, the canine embodiment of Violet’s favorite emoji.
Violet seethed while Sam continued.
“First off, I want to apologize for closing your bingo game the other night. I did so purely out of concern for the safety of everyone in the building, but if I could go back in time, I would have handled the matter differently. I’m truly sorry.” He pressed a hand to his heart, and Violet wanted to vomit. Surely no one here besides Sprinkles was going to fall for his humble act.
But then Sam arched a brow at Cinder and she covered her face with one of her paws, as if she too was completely embarrassed by the bingo night fiasco. The seniors let out a collective awwwwwww.
Wow. Just…wow.
This apology was not going the way Violet thought it would. The residents were falling like dominoes. Even Mavis, Ethel, and Opal were grinning at Sam from ear to ear.
She took a deep breath. Okay, fine. That move by Cinder had been super cute, but one dog trick could only go so far.
Except it wasn’t just one trick. Sam and Cinder had clearly come prepared. Once he assured the assembled retirees that he and the TBFD had come up with a workable plan for the following bingo night, Sam launched into his fire safety spiel. Immediately, Violet realized she’d underestimated her nemesis. Big time.
“Cinder.” Sam looked down at his Dalmatian, who gazed up at him with adoration. “What phone number should people dial when they smell smoke?”
Cinder let out nine sharp barks in rapid succession, paused, barked once, paused again, and then woofed one last time.
“That’s right, girl. 911.” Sam gave the dog a tender scratch behind her ears.
Violet’s mouth fell open in astonishment. The seniors burst into applause, and the sudden commotion prompted Sprinkles to hop to her feet and howl like a coyote.
Not now, Sprinkles. Please.
“Cinder, what should people do if their clothing catches fire?” Sam crossed his arms and angled his head toward his dog.
The smarty pants Dalmatian dropped to her belly and rolled over—once, twice, three times.
“Good girl,” Sam gushed. “That’s exactly right. Stop, drop, and roll.”
Another chorus of cheers followed, and Sprinkles’s entire back end wagged. Even Violet gave a reluctant clap.
“Cinder, can you show the folks the best way to exit a burning building?” Sam tapped his pointer finger against his temple like he might be struggling to think of something.
Cinder immediately dropped to her belly again and did a commando crawl across the floor.
Sam nodded. “Good dog. Stay low and go. Smoke rises, so it’s best to stay as close to the ground as possible and make a quick exit.”
The seniors whooped and hollered. To Violet’s horror, she spotted Mavis banging the legs of her walker against the floor—the elderly version of a stomp cheer, apparently. Others followed along, and soon the entire senior center was practically quaking with love for Marshal Sam and his insanely talented canine sidekick.
In the midst of the commotion, Sam’s gaze fixed with Violet’s and his lips twisted into a cocky grin. A boyishly charming set of dimples flashed in his sculpted face, mocking her. Ugh, he was even more handsome without the scowl he wore all the time like it was part of his uniform.
Violet longed for the rumbling floor to split open and swallow her whole, much like Sprinkles had done to one or more cupcakes on bingo night. Now she knew what all the flirting and winking had been about, even after Sam had seen her #FreeCinder shirt. She’d been hoodwinked. The demise of bingo night was rapidly becoming a distant memory. He hadn’t just come here to apologize. He’d come with a well-formed agenda.
And part of that agenda had clearly been to give Violet a full-blown Dalmatian education.
Chapter 7
“You’ve gone from being the bingo villain of Turtle Beach to dethroning Violet March as the unofficial town sweetheart.” Griff shook his head as he sat on the bench beside Sam on the first official day of Guns and Hoses. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
Sam frowned into the emerald-green distance of the softball diamond. They were in the top of the third inning, and the TBFD was up to bat. Cinder sat right alongside the firefighters waiting for their turn on deck.
“Please don’t say that. I’m hardly a sweetheart,” Sam said.
He’d readily admit that he’d enjoyed the fire safety demo at the senior center a bit too much. When Cinder barked out 911, the look on Violet’s face had been priceless. The way her mouth dropped open had bordered on comical, although there’d been nothing funny about the exaggerated thump-thump of his heart as he’d delighted in the fact that he’d managed to surprise her.
