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What a Girl Wants
Jennifer Snow


Friendship is overrated, if you ask her.She’s always just been one of the guys…until she falls in love with one of the guys. Except Bailey Sheppard has carried a torch for fire-fighter Ethan Bishop since high school. And now that his long-term girlfriend has left him broken hearted, she’s free to go after what she’s always wanted.Not that Ethan sees Bailey as anything but a friend. A best friend maybe, but still not a woman he’d be interested in. Pining for his ex has made him blind to the possibility of happiness with anyone else…But can Ethan resist a woman who knows what she wants?







“Luke’s bachelor party is tonight … if you’re not doing anything, stop by.”

“Stop by?” Bailey asked, staring incredulously at Ethan. “To Luke’s boys’ night?” She hung out with the guys all the time, but a bachelor party?

“Yeah, why not?”

“Well, for one, I have Victoria’s bachelorette tonight. A wine and cheese at the Brookhollow Inn.” The poker and beer was so much more appealing.

“That sounds awful. Why would you go to that?”

Bailey shook her head. “Because I’m a woman, and women go to boring bachelorette parties and talk about you guys, while you guys have all the fun and forget we exist.”

“Huh.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed as he studied her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I guess I just never really see you that way. As a woman, I mean.”


Dear Reader,

Real-life love stories happen in many different ways, but one of my all-time favorite stories is when a friendship develops into a different kind of love. In What A Girl Wants, it was so much fun exploring what could happen when the hero begins to see his best friend, the heroine, in a new light. Two people who know each other’s secrets, who share a common history and who respect and appreciate each other can create the biggest spark when one or both are awakened to the awareness that maybe there’s something more… .

Of course the real pleasure of these stories lies in the mystery of the pathway from awareness to happily ever after. I hope you enjoy reading Bailey and Ethan’s journey to love as much as I’ve enjoyed helping them overcome the odds to get there.

Hugs,

Jennifer


What a Girl Wants

Jennifer Snow




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


JENNIFER SNOW has been writing fairy tales with happy endings from a very young age, and she is excited to be sharing her new small-town contemporary series with her fans. Living in Edmonton, Alberta, with her husband and three-year-old son, she is dedicated to creating lasting, heartfelt romances that readers can share with those they love. Visit www.JenniferSnowBooks.com.


Acknowledgments

Thank you as always to my family, my agent, Stephany Evans, and my editor, Victoria Curran—whose encouragement and support make it possible for me to realize this dream.

Also, a special thank-you to Richard Hynes of the St. John’s Regional Fire Department and Trevor Zawaski of Edmonton Fire Rescue for their much-appreciated assistance in my research for this book.


Contents

CHAPTER ONE (#ud0e09c6a-634f-5b44-933d-20db446d8c52)

CHAPTER TWO (#u0313ae98-c483-5a3c-bf9e-81a6894abdfc)

CHAPTER THREE (#u5c06194b-f9a3-5e43-ba0b-04c4bda71711)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u216352d5-86b0-5dfc-b4c4-966ac9f16404)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE

FEW SIGHTS IN Brookhollow, New Jersey, were as jaw-dropping as the scene taking place in front of fire station number five: fire truck washing day. Watching five of the twelve firefighters, shirtless and a little sweaty, soaping up and hosing off the big red engines was by far the highlight of any summer’s day in the small town.

Cutting the engine of her cherry-red Kawasaki Ninja, Bailey Sheppard removed her helmet, letting her dark hair cascade over her shoulders. She swung her leg over the bike and, tucking the helmet under her arm, unlatched her tool kit from the back of the motorcycle. Squinting in the bright, early-morning sunlight, she weighed her options. Should she attempt to enter through the open bay doors or go around to the side entrance?

Knowing she’d never make it through the front bay doors where the men were working without getting drenched with the freezing water, she jogged unnoticed around the big brick building. The dousing would be refreshing, but her dark blue coveralls with her name embroidered on the left front pocket would take forever to dry, even in the blazing August heat.

A long line of women waited at the door and Bailey hid a smile as she approached. It was almost nine o’clock on the first Friday of the month, the day the fire hall provided free blood pressure and cholesterol screening. The Bishop brothers, Jim and Ethan, had set up the free program after their grandfather had experienced a series of strokes the year before. Like many seniors in the community, he’d neglected to visit the local medical clinic regularly, and his high blood pressure had gone undetected.

The fire hall’s staff was continually looking for ways to give back to the community. While there were always a few women, young and old, waiting to be checked at the free screening, today there was quite a lineup. Bailey suspected some of the blood pressure results were going to be a little higher than usual. Brookhollow’s local heroes were as handsome as they were brave. Having grown up with them in the small New Jersey town of less than ten thousand residents, she’d dated most of them at one time or another throughout their junior high and high school years, all except Ethan Bishop—the one she wanted.

Pushing through the west door to the fire hall, she entered the main office where the fire chief, Ken Clarke, sat behind his desk. An open box of doughnuts was within arm’s reach and white confectioners’ sugar covered his top lip. Quite a contrast to the image of his twentysomething self still hanging on the wall with the rest of the staff photos. New shots of the twelve-member crew were taken yearly. Well, everyone except Ken, who preferred the image of his younger self.

He stood as she approached. “Hey, Bailey, you here to get your heart racing—” he pointed to the shirtless men washing trucks outside “—or checked?” With a grin, he nodded toward the fully uniformed men running the free clinic. With two of the fire trucks outside, they’d transformed the big open bays into a makeshift medical facility.

Derek Johnson, the newest recruit, handed out the prescreening questionnaire and waiver to a group of sitting women who were waiting the required five minutes to allow their heart rate to settle before testing. Mark Adams took blood pressure readings in the fire hall’s dining area several feet away. He waved at her.

“Neither,” Bailey said, smiling as she leaned her hip against the desk. “Why aren’t you outside helping?”

Ken shook his head. “My days of six-pack abs and bulging biceps are over, I’m afraid. No one wants to see this out there.” Rubbing his large stomach, he shuddered.

“That’s the truth,” Mark called from his post, where he secured the blood pressure cuff around Mrs. Norris’s arm.

The older woman, the owner of Ginger Snaps, the bakery on Main Street, shot Chief Clarke a look that suggested he was past his prime, though Bailey suspected Ginger Norris was at least ten years his senior.

“You looking to get assigned nightshift duty, Adams?” Ken warned.

“You can’t. I’ve had nights for three weeks now. Tonight is my first one off and the beginning of a rotation of days.” Mark removed the cuff and recorded the reading on a wallet card for Ginger. He handed it to her and accepted her hug, before gathering her purse and jacket for her.

“Are you sure about that?” Ken asked, checking the rotation schedule on the pegboard behind him, which was covered with pictures of his grandchildren. To say he was a proud grandfather would be an understatement.

“Positive.”

“Darn,” Ken muttered. “Well, that doesn’t prevent me from putting you on bathroom duties.”

“You already put Craig on bathroom duty for pouring salt in the sugar dish in the lunchroom last week, remember?”

Bailey watched the scene with unconcealed amusement. The men were always pulling pranks on each other at the fire hall and Ken was often on the receiving end. It was all in good fun and the guys knew they’d pay for it with extra shifts or unwanted responsibilities. Injecting some fun into their routine helped to break up the monotony of quiet days and ease tension whenever there was a real emergency.

“Anyway, I’m not here to check out the guys,” Bailey said, though it was an added bonus. “I’m here to check on truck number two.” The ladder engine was rarely used, causing the hydraulic fluid lines to clog and making it untrustworthy in the event of an emergency. While most buildings in Brookhollow were no more than two stories high, some of the newer structures in the downtown business sector were four stories or more.

“Great timing. The hydraulic motor didn’t work last week during a routine test.” He motioned behind her. “There’s Ethan. Get him to show you the problem with the rotating gear on the motor.”

Bailey held her breath as she turned to face her best friend. He was in full uniform, on clinic duty. She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Relieved, she decided, yet... She cleared her throat.

“Hey, you. How’s the arm?” She nodded toward the small hand-shaped purple-and-yellow bruise visible on the inside of his strong, perfectly smooth left biceps, just below the firefighter crest on the sleeve of his dark blue shirt.

Ethan’s broad smile revealed perfect, straight white teeth and a deep dimple in his left cheek. “It’s fine. You don’t really think that move you pulled on me last night actually worked, do you? I was just playing along...for the sake of the class.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s why you looked ready to cry when I wrenched your arm behind your back?” Bailey taught a weekly self-defense class at her brothers’ gym and mixed-martial-arts—MMA—club, Extreme Athletics, and Ethan had volunteered to act as the attacker for demonstration purposes.

“I told you—it was all for show. Besides, I’ll do anything I can to get you closer to your trip to Venice.”

It had been his suggestion to charge for the self-defense class, knowing she’d been saving money for the trip to Italy. Her parents had honeymooned in Venice years before and her mom had told Bailey stories about its beautiful scenery and culture when she was growing up. She’d always wanted to go and decided it was time, but having just bought the garage from her uncle Doug the month before, funds were limited.

“Well, your injuries are definitely appreciated.”

“Come on, I’ll show you the problem with the truck.” Ethan led the way to the ladder truck in the last bay. “So where’s your sidekick today?”

Bailey followed him to the engine. “Are you kidding me? Nick would never be up this early. He works in the shop from about ten to three-ish three days a week...and even that’s too much.” Doug’s son, her cousin Nick, had started to work in the shop that summer after dropping out of the computer program he’d been attending at the New Jersey Institute of Technology the previous year. He knew nothing about mechanics and had even less interest, but Doug had insisted that he apprentice with her that summer. She only prayed he planned to return to school in the fall. Her cousin was a great guy, but having him around the shop proved to be more work than help, and he certainly didn’t enjoy being there.

“Probably a good thing. You said yourself, the guy doesn’t know a wrench from a screwdriver,” Ethan said with a shake of his head.

Climbing up onto the roof of the fire engine, she studied the hydraulic motor. “So what’s wrong with this?”

“The rotating piece of the motor—it won’t shift left to right.”

“Probably just a fluid buildup in the lines.”

“If you say so,” Ethan said with a laugh. “You’re the expert.”

“Ethan, quit flirting with our mechanic and get over here,” Mark called.

Bailey paused and glanced at Ethan.

A slow teasing grin spread across his face. “Are we flirting?” he asked loud enough for Mark to hear.

Bailey played along. “Well, if the biggest flirt in town thinks so...”

“Very funny, you two,” Mark grumbled, nodding toward Sheila Mason, who awaited her turn for the blood pressure check, her cell phone to her ear and her sandaled foot tapping against the concrete floor.

Bailey frowned. “Mrs. Mason is here?”

“Yeah, she’s helping Victoria plan the wedding. I wouldn’t be surprised if her blood pressure is a little high.”

Sheila Mason’s daughter, Victoria, had returned to Brookhollow eight months before to buy out Legend’s, the local sporting-goods store, on behalf of her client, Play Hard Sports. She’d not only acquired the store, but also rekindled the flame with her former fiancé, Luke Dawson. Bailey could understand Sheila’s anxiety. Her daughter had called off her first wedding twelve years ago just two weeks before it was to take place.

Turning her attention to the engine, Bailey fiddled with the rotating gear just as her beeper chimed on her hip. The fire-hall phone rang seconds later and Ethan dived for it. “Fire hall five...Yes, no problem...South of exit forty-eight,” he said, repeating the information flashing on her pager. Grabbing her tool kit, she climbed back down as he replaced the receiver.

“Car stranded on I-95?”

“Looks like we’re heading in the same direction,” he confirmed.

* * *

ETHAN’S CELL PHONE vibrated against the console of the fire truck and he barely heard the familiar ringtone above the wail of the sirens as he sped along the highway toward exit forty-eight. His gaze flew to the call display and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. The Miami number flashed on the screen for a torturous five rings before the call went to voice mail. Emily wouldn’t leave a message. She never did. Yet lately the calls from his ex-girlfriend were becoming more and more frequent...as were the text messages that simply said she needed to talk. Yeah, well, the time for talking had long passed.

“Her again?” his brother and coworker Jim asked from the passenger seat of the engine. He’d just finished washing the truck when the call had come in and had offered to go along as the other men were busy running the clinic.

“Yeah,” Ethan mumbled, avoiding Jim’s expression. One he’d seen too many times over the past six months since his long-term girlfriend, Emily Parsons, had dumped him and left Brookhollow to follow a big corporate executive from Play Hard Sports to Miami. Greg Harrison, the vice president of sales, had arrived in town to train the new store managers and Emily had caught his attention and interest. For weeks, all Ethan had heard was Greg this, Greg that, and while he wasn’t normally a jealous person, he’d suspected Emily was interested in the man who’d driven into Brookhollow in his Audi R8 and designer suit.

So when the executive had offered her an opportunity to join the management trainee program to become a corporate trainer, Emily had jumped at the opportunity. That hadn’t surprised Ethan. Emily had always talked about leaving Brookhollow to live in a big city, but he wondered how much of her decision had been based on the job offer and how much on her new boss.

“Why don’t you ever answer it?”

“I’ve got nothing to say to her.” In fact, he had a lot to say, but he preferred to take the high road. Emily had made her choice, and while her decision to end a ten-year relationship on a whim had made him angry, there had been nothing he could do about it when she was standing right there in front of him. He doubted he could talk sense into her when she was in sunny Florida, living the life she’d always claimed she wanted.

“I can think of a few things to say. Can I answer it next time?” Jim drained the contents of his iced cappuccino and set the cup in the holder.

“There’s no point, Jim. Nothing we say will bring her back.” Ethan checked the rearview mirror and noticed Bailey’s tow truck speeding along in the lane beside him.

“Is that what you think I want?” Jim scoffed. “Tell me you’re not crazy enough to want that.”

Ethan remained silent. His brother didn’t get it. Jim and his girlfriend, Jill, had only been seeing each other for two years. They were sickeningly in love and Jim had never had to experience the pain and humiliation Ethan had suffered. Emily’s leaving had shocked him, along with almost everyone else in town. Sure, things hadn’t been great between them for a while, but they’d still loved each other. At least, he’d still been in love. And to leave him for a man she’d known less than a month was a blow to his ego, difficult to recover from.

“Oh, come on, man. She ran off the first opportunity she got.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.” And his family hadn’t allowed him to forget. They expected that his anger over the situation should help to erase the pain and longing he felt for the woman who’d been a major part—maybe even the biggest part—of his life since high school. His sister, Melody, was probably the most understanding, having lost her husband two years before in a car accident, but even she thought that he would have moved on by now. And for the most part, he thought he was doing well. At least, until the phone rang and it was her. Not answering her calls when he longed to hear her voice was torture.

The phone chimed with a text message and he reached for it.

But Jim got to it first. “We need to talk?” he read aloud.

Ethan sighed. “That’s all she ever says.” Above everything else was a nagging curiosity about what she obviously needed to say to him. He wondered how long he could remain strong and continue to ignore her. Admittedly, his resolve was weakening. Angry or not, he missed the life they had created together. He had liked knowing where he was headed—his job was solid, one he enjoyed and did well, and his relationship had been comfortable, secure.... Maybe that had been the problem. Emily thrived on new and exciting, changing jobs every few months. He wondered how long the new Play Hard opportunity would keep her happy.

“Do you think she wants to come back?”

Ethan denied himself that hope. “I don’t know.”

“Would you take her back if she did?”

The million-dollar question. He hesitated before saying, “I’m not an idiot, Jim.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

Ethan snatched the phone away before Jim could answer the text, which he knew he was aching to do, and slid it into his shirt pocket. He pulled the truck to the side of the highway behind an old rusted red Volkswagen Jetta and jumped down onto the gravel. He positioned two traffic cones in the inside lane, forcing the oncoming traffic to take the outside lane, as Bailey’s tow truck pulled in front of the Jetta and she climbed out, clipboard in hand.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” Jim called from inside the truck, reclining the seat and shutting his eyes.

“You’re not even going to get out of the truck?”

“It’s a simple backup call. I only came along to get out of clinic duty.”

Ethan shook his head as he closed the truck door. It amazed him how their work ethic differed so drastically. Jim was four years older, yet he’d never shown any interest in advancing his rank at the fire hall. Ethan had worked hard, proving himself to his senior coworkers and landing the position of captain by the time he was twenty-four.

He approached Bailey at the front of the vehicle where she was speaking to a short, frazzled-looking bald man. “I’ll just need your driver’s license and your credit card...and I’ll have you hooked up and ready to go in just a few minutes. Feel free to sit in the truck to wait. The air-conditioning is on and it’s much cooler in there.”

The man disappeared inside the cab of the tow truck and Ethan waited until he was out of earshot before saying, “This car has to be at least thirty years old.” He leaned against the bumper to watch her work, and the metal frame creaked in protest.

“That thing looks about to fall off,” she warned as she put the tow dolly’s coupler in open position by lowering the locking lever all the way down and inserting the locking pin to secure it in place.

Good point, he thought as he stood. “So, before I forget, we’re holding Luke’s bachelor party at the fire hall tonight—poker, darts, beer, the baseball game.... If you’re not doing anything, stop by.” Bailey was a regular at their weekly poker games, much to the dismay of the other guys, whose wallets she emptied.

“Stop by? To Luke’s bachelor party—the ultimate boys night?” She sounded incredulous as she inserted the electrical plug from the dolly into the switch on the back of the tow truck. That way the brake lights and turning signals on the dolly would work while en route to the shop.

“Yeah, why not?” He knew Luke wouldn’t mind. Bailey had always been like a third, less-annoying sister to the groom-to-be, and she kept his ancient, rusted-out truck on the road.

“I have Victoria’s bachelorette party tonight. A wine and cheese in the backyard of the Brookhollow Inn.” She crisscrossed the chains and connected them to the eyelets on the bumper of the car.

“That sounds awful.”

“You’re telling me.”

A loud boom sounded and they both swung around to see smoke and flames coming from the hood of the Jetta.

Great, the piece of crap car was on fire.

Quickly, he pushed Bailey toward the guardrail on the side of the highway and said, “Stay right here!” Then, running to the truck, he rapped on the passenger door to get Jim’s attention before grabbing a jump line of two lengths of forty-four-inch hose and a nozzle.

“What happened?” Jim asked, joining him.

“That car should never have passed its last road-safety inspection,” he muttered as he grabbed his coat and self-contained breathing apparatus from inside the fire truck. Nothing annoyed him more than accidents that could have been prevented. This car was long past retirement and posed a safety threat.

He secured the mask in place before advancing toward the car, spraying the flames that had spread around the base of the vehicle. The last thing he wanted was for the flames to spread to the tow truck. Bailey had just purchased the wheel-lift truck the month before after buying the garage from her uncle. She loved that four-wheel drive almost as much as she loved her motorcycle. It would serve as her primary vehicle in the winter months.

Jim grabbed the Halligan bar to gain access to the fire under the hood. Hurrying, he pierced a hole in the hood and used the tool to pry it open. Moving closer, Ethan sprayed a stream of water, extinguishing the flames.

After a thorough walkabout and once satisfied that the fire was completely out, he put the tools away and approached Bailey while Jim filled out the report inside the truck. “You okay?” He rubbed her shoulders, noticing the goose bumps on her forearms, despite the heat waves radiating from the highway.

“Yeah... That was just so sudden.”

The car’s owner had jumped out of the tow truck and run some twenty-five yards away while his vehicle was consumed by flames. He joined them now, shaking slightly.

“My car,” he said, wide-eyed as he stared at the charred mess.

“It only takes a small spark to ignite into major flames,” Ethan told him, then turned once more to Bailey. “I think you should unhook the car. That thing is a hazard. You don’t want it in your shop.” Who knew what else was wrong with that wreck? In his professional opinion, it was a chance too risky to take...not to mention his personal concern as her friend.

“What? You won’t tow it?” The man looked frantic at the thought of being stranded on the side of the highway any longer.

“I seriously doubt there’s a whole lot Bailey can—” Ethan started, but Bailey interrupted.

“Of course I will.”

Ethan shot her an annoyed look and lowered his voice. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea, Bailey.”

“I appreciate your concern, Ethan, but it’s not your decision to make. We both know Uncle Doug would never leave this car stranded.”

She was right, and while he wanted to argue, he knew his words would fall on deaf ears. Bailey had been on her own since she was seventeen. She’d lost her mom to cancer at twelve, and she’d been desperate to escape her family home where her father and two overprotective brothers had driven her crazy. Listening to the advice of others was not her strong point. She insisted on doing things her way. That stubborn independence was one of the things he liked about his friend, unless he was going up against it.

“Fine, it’s your shop.” He shrugged, but he couldn’t resist taking a jab at her. “Oh...and be sure to have fun tonight,” he said with a smirk as he hopped back into the fire truck.

* * *

ARRIVING BACK AT the shop fifteen minutes later, after dropping the frazzled Mr. Huntley at the Brookhollow Inn for the evening, Bailey wasn’t surprised to find the door locked and no one around. Nick wouldn’t be there unless he had to be. She let herself in and picked up the mail on the floor. Flicking through the envelopes, she was happy to see payments for work completed last month.

Her uncle had run the shop on an invoicing system for the town locals. Only out-of-towners were required to pay at the time of delivery and even then he accepted personal checks. When she’d taken over the bookkeeping and accounting side of the business several months before, there had been many outstanding, unpaid invoices. In a few short weeks, she’d collected on almost all of them and the shop’s finances were in much better shape. Unfortunately the surplus in revenue had been one of the reasons her uncle had been able to talk her into giving Nick the job as her apprentice that summer.

She pushed through the swinging door that led to the bays where two vehicles awaited paint jobs. Might as well get them ready for pickup and parked outside before bringing in the Jetta. Though she wasn’t sure what she could do to fix the old car. She’d try her best, but she suspected it was headed for the junkyard in town.

Sighing, she tied her hair back into a ponytail at the base of her neck, tucking the strands beneath her collar. Detail work was her least favorite job. She’d rather be under the body or peering under a hood any day.

Approaching the workbench where all the paint supplies and air-brush color cans were, she noticed several detail brushes in containers of warm, soapy water and six or seven spray cans in the trash under the desk. Had Doug come by and completed the work himself? Since retiring, he sometimes came by to tinker with a vehicle or two. Bailey suspected he was going crazy at home with nothing to do. However, she couldn’t remember the last time the older man had taken on any paintwork, claiming his less-than-rock-steady hands and less-than-perfect eyesight couldn’t be trusted anymore.

Bailey flicked the light switch on the wall to see the vehicles more clearly. Checking the work order, she approached the first one. A Toyota Corolla brought in a few days ago by Mrs. Norris. There had been body damage to the left side of her front bumper after she’d hit a newly placed concrete divider in the grocery store parking lot. Inspecting the bumper, she was shocked to see the expert paint job. Doug could claim he wasn’t as good as he used to be, but his work rivaled hers any day. The second vehicle, a Ford Focus that belonged to Dr. Carson, the local pediatrician, was done with the same precision and care. Bailey felt herself relax. One less thing to worry about.

* * *

ETHAN STRAINED UNDER the weight of the three cases of beer he balanced on his forearms as he continued to wait in the long line at the liquor depot. The beer-can-shaped clock hanging above the register revealed it was six-thirty. The men would be arriving at the station in less than an hour. The blood pressure and cholesterol screening had gone on past five o’clock, putting them a little behind in their bachelor-party preparations. Each month there seemed to be even more women in Brookhollow coming to the free clinic, and today he’d even caught a few getting in line for a second time in one day.

He loved his involvement with the local fire hall and its contributions to the town. His father was the head of the police department in Brookhollow, and his older brother, Jim, and he had inherited their dad’s sense of pride and responsibility for the community. As kids they’d spent a lot of time at the police station and the fire hall, learning about the trucks and the duties of the fire chief and crew. As soon as they were old enough, they’d signed on to become firefighters.

The line moved, creating an empty space on the conveyor belt, just as his grip slipped from the side of his load. That was close. As he set the beer down and rubbed his aching forearms, his eye was caught fleetingly by a blonde disappearing at the far end of the store’s middle aisle. Emily? His mind raced, but his feet remained frozen to the floor as he leaned around the end of the register to try to catch another glimpse. Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself. She’d just called a few hours ago from Miami. Just pay for the beer....

“Just a second,” he told the clerk as he moved past the other customers waiting in line behind him. “Go ahead and take the next person.” Quickly he made his way toward the center aisle. “Emily?”

The woman turned immediately and smiled when she saw him. “Ethan, hi. How are you?” Emily’s younger sister Kimberly rushed forward to hug him.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans before wrapping one arm around her in a brief hug. The sisters wore the same perfume.

“Hi, Kim. Sorry, I thought you were...”

“Emily. I know. I’ve been getting that a lot since I highlighted my hair.” She tossed the wavy golden locks over her shoulder. “Sorry,” she said with a sympathetic smile.

Ethan flinched, hating that look. It had been the only way anyone had looked at him for months after Emily had left, and he’d felt uneasy to be on the receiving end of sympathetic smiles and gossipy whispers.

“No, don’t apologize. I should have known anyway—Emily always wore her hair straight....” He coughed. Not doing a great job recovering here, man. Get a grip. “Anyway, how is she?” He closed his eyes and shook his head. He was hopeless. “I mean you. How are you?”

Kimberly gave him a knowing look. “She’s good...I think,” she said with a shrug as she reached for two bottles of merlot from the shelf. “I mean, she hardly calls, but she texts me every few days.... She was just offered a promotion to the senior management team—corporate trainer, I think.” She paused, her expression sheepish. “I’m sorry if all of this is hard to hear.”

“No,” Ethan lied. Of course he was happy that she was doing well, wasn’t he? “I’m glad she’s doing okay. How’s everyone else?”

“My parents just got back from a Caribbean cruise and I’ve been accepted to the media-design program at NYU for the fall semester.”

“Wow, Kim, that’s great.” He really meant it.

“Thank you. You know, that invite to dinner always stands. With or without Emily, you’ll always be part of the family.”

Ethan shuffled his feet, avoiding the sympathy in her ocean-blue eyes—Emily’s eyes. Just one of the features the sisters shared.

“Tell your folks I said hello....” He wasn’t ready to commit to anything with the family just yet. And though he suspected Kim might be genuine in the offer, he wasn’t sure Mayor and Mrs. Parsons would be as comfortable seeing him. Part of him believed they held him responsible for the relationship breakdown. Who knows, maybe they were right. His unwavering commitment to life in Brookhollow hadn’t made Emily happy. “And maybe think about changing that hair color, huh?” he teased.

“I promise to think about it,” she said, struggling to grab another bottle of wine from the rack.

“Here, let me help,” he offered, picking up the extra bottle. “Having a celebration tonight?”

“Victoria’s bachelorette party at the B and B. Actually, it’s a bridal shower, but they’re calling it a bachelorette party to make it sound more fun.” Kimberly followed him to the counter.

“Well, then, allow me.” He waved Jim’s credit card in the air. “Consider it a gift from the best man,” he said as he took the wine from her and added it to his own items on the counter.


CHAPTER TWO

JIM PROPPED OPEN the west entrance door of the fire hall with a brick as they carried the cases of beer into the fire hall later that evening. He plucked the receipt from the top case and shot his brother a questioning look. “What’s this wine on the bill?”

“I ran into Kim Parsons at the liquor depot. She was picking up wine for Victoria’s bachelorette party. I took care of it.... Rather, you took care of it.”

Ethan shut the back door of the Jeep. His brother, Jim, had been friends with Luke Dawson since grade school and he knew, despite his grumbling, Jim had been honored when Luke asked him to be his best man.

“Last time I send you to get the booze,” Jim huffed as Luke’s truck pulled into the driveway of the fire hall. The old clunker rattled and gurgled as Luke cut the engine and a dark puff of exhaust escaped the tailpipe.

Ethan watched in amusement. “What happened to his new truck?” Owner of a successful architecture firm that had contracts in New Jersey, New York and Boston, Luke had bought a new Ford F-250 just before Christmas, but whenever Ethan saw him, he was driving that old beater.

“Victoria is using it. As long as Bailey keeps reviving that thing, he’ll keep driving it,” he said, nodding toward the truck where Luke was trapped inside, struggling with the door handle.

“Must be love,” Ethan said. “So explain to me why Luke and Victoria are holding their prewedding parties so early. The wedding isn’t for another month.” His brother’s longtime best friend had gotten engaged for the second time to his childhood sweetheart on New Year’s Eve and the wedding was scheduled for the Labor Day weekend.

“Luke’s out of town a lot working on that restaurant in Boston for the next few weeks. His crews are under a tight deadline for a grand opening the first weekend in September. This was really the only time we could do it, and holding it at the fire hall made sense because I somehow got stuck on night rotation this weekend.” He turned as Luke entered, a case of beer under his left arm. “Hey, man. You weren’t supposed to bring your own drinks,” Jim said, taking the beer from him and putting the bottles in the cooler filled with ice near the poker table.

“My mother says you shouldn’t go anywhere empty-handed. Hey, great setup.” Luke scanned the transformed fire hall. A poker table stood ready to go, stacks of multi-colored chips at each place. A dartboard hung on the wall and the scoreboard had each of their names already written in white chalk. The old tan leather sofa and matching recliner had been moved to the side of the room and a small flat screen was set up on the coffee table. The first inning of the baseball game lit up the screen.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to run out to get the pizza and wings before my shift starts,” Jim said, grabbing his truck keys from the hook on the wall near the door.

Ethan glanced at the clock on the wall. “Your shift started five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but I’m usually fifteen minutes late, so technically I’ve got ten minutes,” Jim said as he disappeared out the side door.

“Can’t argue with logic like that,” Luke said.

“Brother or not, I’m going to have to start writing him up.” Ethan shook his head. “Anyway, ready to get wild and crazy?” he asked, slapping Luke on the back.

Luke laughed, suppressing a yawn. “As long as we’re done by ten. I’m exhausted.”

“Working a lot these days?” Ethan stocked the small bar fridge with extra beer, removing bottles of water and Gatorade to make more space.

“Around the clock. This restaurant chain I’m working on has me commuting to Boston three or four times a week. And then I’m helping Vic plan the wedding....” Luke pulled out a chair at the poker table and sat. He reached for a chip and flicked it between his fingers.

“I thought women loved to do all the wedding planning themselves?” Ethan opened a beer and handed it to Luke. “A game of darts before everyone else gets here?”

“Sure.” Luke headed over to the board and took out the darts. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. When I say helping, I mean acting as a buffer between our moms.” He handed Ethan three red darts, keeping the blue ones.

Ethan gestured for him to throw first.

Aiming carefully at the bull’s-eye, Luke released the dart with one easy, smooth motion. It landed in the black zone just millimeters from the center.

“Nice,” Ethan said, positioning himself for his turn. “But I thought your mom and Mrs. Mason were getting along again.” When Victoria had called off their wedding years before, it had created a feud between the mothers, one that had lasted over twelve years, but the couples reuniting last Christmas had brought the two women close again. Ethan threw his dart, landing it square in the bull’s-eye.

Luke let out a low whistle. “Impressive.”

“We have a lot of downtime,” Ethan explained.

“Our mothers are getting along, until there’s a decision to be made about flowers or cake....” Luke shook his head. “I swear they call Victoria at least four times a day. Then, of course, she calls me.”

“Women. I don’t know how you survive.”

“Hey, I’m just grateful she agreed to marry me—again. I’ll do whatever it takes to get her down the aisle this time,” he joked. “She left me once—twice actually....” he corrected, releasing his last dart. “I won’t be letting her go this time.” The dart missed by a mile and he turned to Ethan. “Sorry, man, I didn’t mean...”

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Ethan said, tossing his final dart and reaching for his beer.

“You know, Victoria still feels partly responsible for the whole Emily thing. She says so all the time.”

“What?” Ethan shook his head as he removed his darts and wrote the scores on the board. “She shouldn’t. Emily leaving town had nothing to do with her.”

“Well, if Play Hard Sports hadn’t come to town...”

“Look, tell your pretty fiancée she has enough to worry about with running the bed-and-breakfast and planning the wedding. Besides, if it hadn’t been the executive from Play Hard Sports, someone else would have caught Emily’s eye eventually. She hadn’t been as committed to our relationship in the months before she left.” Ethan shrugged. “Victoria did a good thing. I know better than anyone about the positive impact that Play Hard has had on the community.”

He was the first to admit that the big chain store had improved the town’s sports facilities, paying for an extra rink at the hockey arena and maintaining the soccer and football fields.

“Yeah, but you’ve also taken the biggest hit on your personal life because of it.” Luke took a sip of his beer and waved to John Bentley, a member of their bowling league, who had just entered the fire hall.

“Ah, it’s been six months. I’m done feeling sorry for myself.”

His cell phone chimed in his pocket with a new text message. Bailey’s familiar ringtone. He opened it and read Get me out of here. “It’s Bailey.”

Luke turned to look around the room. “Hey, where is she?”

“At the B and B.”

“Oh, man, didn’t anyone tell her she’s welcome here tonight?” Luke said. “She took a bunch of my money last weekend playing pool. I was kind of hoping to get some of it back at poker.”

“Or lose even more.”

“Good point.”

* * *

“THANKS FOR YOUR help cleaning up, Bailey.”

Rachel Harper, coowner of the Brookhollow Inn, carried another load of dirty dishes into the newly remodeled kitchen of the bed-and-breakfast. In the past six months, Brookhollow’s historic landmark had undergone a complete makeover thanks to the new ownership team of Victoria Mason and Rachel Harper. The main common areas and guest quarters had been freshly painted and the original hardwood floor refinished. The chipped stained glass windows had been replaced with large bay windows, complete with a window seat and lined with small bookshelves for the enjoyment of their guests. The living quarters had been transformed into a home for the Harper family of mom, dad and five kids.

The dishwasher was already running with a full load, so Bailey stood at the double sink washing dessert plates. The stack of plates, cups and cutlery piling up on the granite counter seemed never ending. The turnout had been even better than expected—Victoria Mason was well liked in Brookhollow.

“No problem,” Bailey assured her.

Victoria entered the kitchen with several empty wine bottles gathered in one arm and a big garbage bag of discarded wrapping paper from the shower gifts, which were now stored inside the gazebo in the yard. She tossed the bottles into the blue recycle bin and dropped the bag near the kitchen door. “Thanks, Bailey,” she said, reaching for a dish towel and a handful of cutlery.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be cleaning up after your own party,” Rachel chided, taking the dish towel from her. “Go sit. We’ve got this.”

“I’m not arguing.” Victoria surrendered the towel and slumped into a wicker chair at the table with a yawn. Glancing at her watch, she gasped. “What? Nine-thirty, that’s it?” Her emerald-green eyes were wide with disbelief. “We must be getting old. The sun’s not even completely set and I’m done.”

“We’re not old, we’re responsible,” Rachel defended, abandoning the dishes and joining her at the table. She reached for a half bottle of white wine and said, “Bailey, come sit. Have a drink with us. We’ll finish cleaning up in the morning.” She poured herself a glass of pinot grigio and took a sip before handing the bottle and an unused wineglass to Victoria. “I’d forgotten how much I missed wine.”

Bailey dried her hands on a dish towel and pulled out a chair at the table. With the fire hall off-limits to the female species that evening, she really had nowhere else to go.

“Wasn’t I right about that breast pump?” Rachel’s sister-in-law, Lindsay Harper, entered the kitchen with a bowl of veggie straws and dip.

“Yes. I never used one with the other children, but it’s been a lifesaver this time with the girls.” Rachel’s eight-month-old twins, Abigail and Mackenzie, were the most recent addition to the Harper clan.

Bailey glanced between the women, almost afraid to ask. “Breast pump?” It didn’t sound like something she wanted to know about, but she suspected she was about to get an education.

Victoria handed her the bottle of wine. “Don’t worry, I knew nothing about mommy life eight months ago, either.” She turned to Rachel and Lindsay. “And you know what, ladies, I think we should allow Bailey to live in her wonderful breast-pump-and vomit-free oblivion a little longer. I’m actually dying to hear about her exciting single life.”

“Definitely a better topic,” Lindsay agreed, climbing onto a kitchen stool at the counter and reaching for a carrot stick.

“What do you mean, Lindsay? You’re single, too, and I’m sure you have better stories,” Bailey said, desperate to take the attention off herself. Lindsay, a nurse at the medical clinic in town, was known for her serial dating and late-night partying. While Bailey refused to date just anyone, hoping to find the right person, Lindsay adopted a different approach. The voluptuous blonde believed you had to kiss a lot of frogs before finding Mr. Right.

But Lindsay just shook her head. “Not lately. My shifts at the clinic have been crazy. All I do is work and sleep. So come on, let us live vicariously through you.”

Bailey stretched in the wicker chair. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve got nothing to report.”

“That can’t be true,” Lindsay protested. “You’re always with the men. I know for a fact you have a VIP card to the fire hall.”

Not tonight.

“And weren’t you dating Jonathan Turner for a while?” Rachel asked.

“Yeah, that didn’t work out.” Jonathan was a great guy, but they had very little in common. He was bookish and serious and she was a grease monkey who loved loud music. Their three weeks of dating had confirmed one thing for sure—compatibility was key to a successful relationship.

“Why not? Jonathan’s gorgeous and so sweet,” Victoria said, standing and pouring a cup of coffee.

The phone rang on the wall and she checked the caller display as Rachel reached for the cordless on the table. “Don’t!” Victoria said.

Rachel froze.

“It’s my mom,” Victoria explained. “Since leaving here an hour ago, she’s texted me three times about different types of fabric for the wedding dress. I’m ignoring her.”

“Understood,” Rachel said, letting the phone ring. “Although, Vic, you really do need to make a decision about your dress. I know the B and B and your position on the New Jersey tourism board have kept you busy this summer, but you need to take some time to focus on you for a bit. All of the other wedding details have been sorted out, except that one. Your mom is a fantastic seamstress, the best in town, but even she can’t perform miracles.”

“I know, I know. It’s just every time I think I’ve decided on a style, I see something else I love even more.... I just want to look perfect, you know?” Victoria waved a hand and turned to Bailey. “Anyway, back to Jonathan....”

“Um...we’re just too different,” Bailey said with a shrug. “I mean, he spent most of our date trying to convince me that my motorcycle is too dangerous and that I should buy something safer.” Bailey knew she was more vulnerable on a bike, but in a small town like Brookhollow where traffic was minimal, the bike was often the only vehicle on the road, especially in the early morning when she started her shift at the garage.

“He was concerned about you—that’s a nice thing,” Rachel pointed out.

“There were other things, too—he said the UFC was barbaric.” She just couldn’t date someone who didn’t like the Ultimate Fighting Championship. She watched it all the time, knew all the fighter stats and even trained in mixed martial arts with her younger brothers at Extreme Athletics.

“Again, not exactly an invalid point,” Victoria pointed out.

“Either way, it’s important for me to date someone with similar interests, but then most of the guys in town just see me as one of them.” A no-win situation. “In fact, they even invited me to Luke’s bachelor party tonight.”

The women gasped and exchanged looks.

“What?”

Victoria sipped her coffee and Rachel toyed with the edge of a paper napkin. Even Lindsay held her tongue.

“Come on... What?”

“Well, I guess we all just figured you had your pick of them,” Victoria said.

“Yeah, I mean, look at you.” Lindsay stood and tugged an old elastic band from Bailey’s hair. The loose, dark waves fell around her thin shoulders. “Look at this beautiful virgin hair. I’d kill for these thick, healthy strands.” Lindsay’s voice was filled with pure jealousy as she examined Bailey’s hair. “Nope, not a split end to be found, despite using elastic bands.” She dropped Bailey’s hair and crossed her arms.

“And you’re in great shape, too. I’d kill for your flat tummy,” Rachel said, frowning as she touched her own stomach.

“I guess I’m just waiting for the right one, that’s all,” Bailey said. The challenge had never been finding someone interested in her, it was finding someone who could hold her interest. She wanted someone who made her laugh, someone she could have fun with but who also understood her need for independence and admired her strength. She wasn’t prepared to change who she was just to fit someone else’s idea of the perfect partner.

“Okay, well, if you aren’t seeing anyone, who have you been texting all night?” Rachel asked. “I saw those smiles, and it definitely wasn’t a female friend.”

Wow, these women were observant. She waved a hand. “Oh, that was just Ethan.”

“Ethan, huh?” Lindsay pulled out the chair next to her and sat, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands. “Tell us more about that dreamboat.”

“You two are awfully close,” Victoria said, then added quickly, “not judging.”

No, just interested in gossip like everyone else in town. “There’s really not much to tell. We’re friends...and lately I’ve served as a shoulder to cry on,” she said wryly.

“He has to be getting over Emily by now.” Lindsay refilled her glass, emptying the bottle.

“I don’t know about that, but he’s not moping around town as much anymore.”

Silence filled the room as all three women stared at her expectantly.

“What?”

Victoria finally spoke for the three of them. “We’re just wondering when you plan on asking him out yourself.”

Bailey hesitated. It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought of it since Emily had left town, but to hear it suggested by others...

“Didn’t you just say you wanted a guy with similar interests?” Victoria asked. “Personally, I think you two would be perfect together.”

“Don’t say you haven’t thought about it,” Lindsay insisted.

These women were relentless. “Ethan’s a great guy and I like him...as a...”

“If you say brother, I’ll die,” Victoria interrupted. “I’ve met your brothers. Ethan couldn’t be more different than Brandon and Jordan. Those two are big and burly and tough....”

“Hot in their own way,” Lindsay chimed in.

“But not Ethan hot,” Rachel interjected.

“Agreed,” Lindsay said with a nod.

These women were insane and they wouldn’t ease up until she confessed. “Fine, I’m attracted to him, but who in this room isn’t?” Bailey countered.

Victoria’s lone hand shot up, then she slowly lowered it. “He’s a firefighter, it’s the uniform. I may be getting married, but I’m not blind.” She took another sip of her coffee, then added, “Don’t tell Luke I said that. Poor guy is terrified that I’m going to back out of this wedding again and take off to New York while he’s out of town. As if I’d be that stupid again.” Her eyes took on a faraway, dreamy look.

“Anyway, I think you should make a play for him,” Rachel said with a definitive nod.

“No way.” Bailey stood. She had to get out of there before they suggested that they call him right now and ask him out for her. A little too much wine had been consumed that evening.

“Why not?” Lindsay asked.

“He’d never go for it.” There. The truth was out. The main reason she would never gather the courage to ask Ethan out was her fear of being rejected. The same reason she hadn’t approached him years before and had stood by while Emily had asked him to prom. It didn’t matter, though. Ethan had only ever seen her as a friend, and with or without Emily, that didn’t seem to change.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, Bailey arrived at the shop to find four vehicles parked in the lot and a frazzled-looking Nick behind the service counter. Not quite eight o’clock in the morning and the shop was busier than it ever was. That couldn’t be good news. Joining him on the other side of the counter, she quickly stashed her motorcycle helmet under the desk and unzipped her leather jacket in the humid heat of the unair-conditioned shop.

“What’s going on?” she asked, recognizing the annoyed, impatient faces on the other side. They’d all been in earlier that week to pick up their vehicles after repairs. All four had been worked on by Nick.

He stabbed the enter key and moved the mouse anxiously around the Corvette-shaped mouse pad, staring at the frozen computer screen. He muttered under his breath as he moved away from the computer. “Stupid thing is frozen again and it won’t let me bring up last week’s work orders.”

“Let me try,” she said, shrugging free of her jacket and approaching the monitor. A new computer system was on her list of upgrades, as soon as possible. The dinosaur program they were currently using was more trouble than it was worth. “Sorry about the wait. Please help yourselves to coffee.”

Nick cleared his throat behind her. “We’re out.”

Bailey swung around. “How is that possible? I asked you to pick some up yesterday....”

He shrugged. “Forgot.”

Of course he’d forgotten. Why was she surprised? She couldn’t count on him for anything. How was she supposed to train a guy who didn’t want to learn and had no interest in the family business? The work orders popped up on the screen and she scanned them quickly. All four were basic oil-and-filter changes. Well, luckily whatever the issues were, they should be easy to fix.

She turned to the first two people in line. “Please drive your cars into the bays. I’ll have you out of here in fifteen minutes.” As they moved away from the counter, she told the others, “Give us half an hour and you’ll be on your way, as well.”

The angry expressions disappeared as they took seats in the small waiting area.

A half hour later, Bailey wiped her forehead and fanned herself with a newspaper as she updated and closed off the work orders on the computer. Glancing up at the sound of the chime above the door, she saw Ethan enter the shop. She loved how he looked in his firefighter’s uniform. It wasn’t just the clothing, it was what the uniform represented—bravery, courage, strength, compassion and heart. His sense of duty and loyalty was admirable. Then there were those smoky dark eyes. She busied herself with the work order for the Volkswagen Jetta.

“Hey, Ethan, what brings you by?”

“It’s inspection time again,” he said.

“Aren’t you supposed to give us a heads-up?” she asked, glancing around the shop. They’d been extrabusy that morning, so some things weren’t as organized as she would have liked them to be before an inspection.

“We did. Chief left a message with Nick yesterday.”

“You know that doesn’t count,” Bailey said as Ethan scanned the shop. “We had a crazy busy morning, so go easy on us this time, okay?”

“No.”

Friends or not, she knew Ethan took his job seriously. Inspections were a yearly occurrence, and he always found something not up to code. She knew his intentions were good, but she wasn’t looking forward to having to make any expensive updates at the moment. Heck, she still hadn’t changed the ownership sign out front.

Taking out his inspection checklist, he started at the door, examining the exit signs and lights that were required to be illuminated when the building was occupied. “You know this extinguisher is too high, right? The handle height should be between three and five feet. This is at least five foot one....”

Bailey cocked her head to the side. “It’s in the exact same spot as last year.”

Ethan hesitated. “I really should insist on lowering it,” he said before signing the inspection tag with his initials and the day’s date.

“Thank you for letting it slide.” Her voice held a note of sarcasm. Ethan could be so uptight about these things. She doubted one inch higher would make that big of a difference in the event of an emergency.

Heading toward the back, he pushed through the shop door and tested the emergency lighting. “Have you given any more thought to that sprinkler system I suggested?”

Bailey shrugged, “I mentioned it to Doug, but since I just bought the place, I don’t think it’s quite in the budget at the moment.”

Ethan clenched his jaw. “I really hate that I can’t insist on it. I should be able to enforce the new building codes,” he said, shaking his head.

The building had been constructed in the sixties and the standard codes at the time hadn’t required a sprinkler or ventilation system for the permit. Unless upgrades were done, the fire department couldn’t apply the new codes so that the shop failed the inspection. “Look, I promise to check the sprinkler thing out myself, okay?”

“Promise?” he asked.

“I just did,” she said as he disappeared through the swinging door toward the bays in the back of the shop.

The bell chimed again and Bailey was surprised to see Victoria coming through the front door of the garage, wedding planner stuck under her arm and her cell phone cradled between her right ear and shoulder. Bailey waved in greeting and Victoria rolled her eyes, gesturing to the phone.

“Mrs. Dawson,” she whispered, covering the speaker with her left hand.

Bailey nodded her understanding. Victoria and Darlene were more acquaintances than friends. As the head of the social committee in town, Luke’s mother was sure to be very hands-on with the wedding preparations. She suspected Victoria had very little to say about her wedding, between Mrs. Dawson and her own mother weighing in on each decision. Grabbing a box of motor oil, Bailey stocked the metal racks along the wall, listening to one side of the conversation.

“Yes, Darlene, that’s fine. If you think the pale pink Gerbera daisies work better in the bridesmaids’ bouquets instead of the dark fuchsia ones, please go ahead and make the switch, as long as Pearl is okay with it...No, I’m not sure what Luke’s favorite flower is....”

Bailey hid a smile. Luke, local architect and business owner, didn’t strike her as a man who would have a favorite flower.

“Okay, thanks, Darlene. I appreciate your help.” The words sounded forcibly polite even to Bailey’s ears.

Victoria disconnected the call and shook the phone. “Wow!” she said as she approached. “Forty-three minutes of that, just to decide between two shades of pink.... I’ll be happy once this wedding part is over and the house renovations are done.” She let out a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m through venting. Hi, Bailey.” Her shoulders visibly relaxed and her smile was now genuine.

“What brings you by?” Outside, Luke’s new Ford F250 sat parked on an angle, taking up two stalls. Victoria wasn’t the best driver in town. Twelve years living in New York City hadn’t provided her with much driving experience. “Is something wrong with the truck?”

“Besides the fact that it’s huge and I can’t park it? No, it runs like a dream. I really wish Luke would drive it when he travels for work,” she said. “You have to stop fixing the old one so well.”

“I’ll try.” Luke’s other truck was at least thirty years old and Bailey knew he kept it for sentimental reasons, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it in running condition. “Believe me, I’ve told him a million times that the truck won’t last forever.”

“One can only hope. Anyway, I’m actually here because I need your help with something else.”

“Okay,” Bailey said, reaching into the box for the last two bottles of oil, and aligning them on the shelf. She broke down the carton and tossed it onto the stack of other stock boxes near the door, scanning the shop for Nick. Nowhere to be found—how unusual. Biting back the annoyance she felt at his relaxed work ethic, she asked, “What can I do for you?”

“I need you to be a bridesmaid in the wedding.”

Bailey’s mouth gaped. “I’m sorry, what?” She couldn’t have heard right.

“My cousin Adele was supposed to be back from her mission trip to South Africa in time for the wedding, but her grant from the university was extended until the end of September. The dress was made to fit her and, well...you’re just the right size. If I have to ask my mom to make a new one or even alter that one, she’s going to kill me.”

Bailey stared at the bride-to-be, a good excuse eluding her. The last thing she wanted was to be in a wedding party and stand in front of the whole community in a dress...holding a bouquet of flowers. She’d be forced to wear makeup and do her hair...and be in the photos. The mere thought made it difficult to breathe. She remained silent.

Victoria looked desperate as she moved closer. “I know it’s a lot to ask and it’s really short notice, but please.”

“Wouldn’t you rather a family member or a close friend? What about your friend Heather from New York? She looks tiny in those photos you have on Facebook of the two of you.”

Victoria shook her head. “Weddings are not exactly Heather’s thing. If she wasn’t such a close friend, she’d never even have agreed to attend, and her work schedule at Clarke and Johnson is busy—the way mine used to be—so I can’t rely on her. Besides, Luke has always thought of you as another sister. I know he’d be thrilled if you agreed to do it.”

Bailey hated to disappoint Victoria and Luke, but weddings weren’t exactly her thing, either. They always made her sad when she saw the mother of the bride looking on as her daughter said the vows. Even if she did find someone she wanted to spend her life with, her own mother wouldn’t be there to be part of the wedding, not in the physical sense, anyway. She had been hoping to skip the ceremony and just attend the reception if at all possible. “There has to be someone else.”

“Bailey, it’s either you or Lindsay, and I can’t ask her for obvious reasons....”

Bailey nodded her understanding. “She’ll try to steal Luke away at the altar. Yes, I get that, but...”

“Bailey, please. It would mean a lot to both of us.” She cocked her head to the side. “You get to keep the dress,” she said in an attempt to persuade.

“That doesn’t really sell it for me, Vic,” Bailey said with a laugh. She owned one dress, a black knee-length formal that worked for both funerals and weddings. She hesitated. “Fine, okay, I’ll be your bridesmaid, but I’ll warn you now—I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Neither do I. Don’t worry, Reverend Miller said he will walk us through everything at the rehearsal the day before. Thank you, Bailey.” Victoria looked relieved.

“Sure.”

“So I told my mom you would stop by sometime tomorrow to try on the dress...just to be sure.”

Bailey shook her head. Victoria had really assumed she would say yes. “Okay.”

“Great, thanks again, Bailey.” Her cell phone beeped with a new text message and she sighed as she read it. Turning the phone toward Bailey, she asked, “Do you know the difference between these two flowers?”

“Amaryllis and hyacinth,” she read. “I wouldn’t even have known they were types of flowers. Sorry, Vic.”

“No worries, you’ve done enough,” she said as she typed amaryllis into Google search on her cell phone.

Ethan reentered the front of the shop. “Hey, Vic. How are the wedding plans coming along? All set for the big day?”

Victoria’s eyes narrowed.

He held up his hands in defense. “Forget I asked.” Turning to Bailey, he handed her the inspection report.

She scanned it, noticing several fail marks, including the extinguisher. “Hey, I thought you were going to let the extinguisher position slide?”

“Changed my mind,” he said, placing a yellow tag on it. “Are we still on for the UFC tonight?”

“How can you switch back and forth from mean fire inspector guy to my good friend like that?” She placed her hands on her hips.

“Easy—both guys care about your safety. Eight o’clock at the fire hall?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she mumbled, tucking the report into a drawer.

Victoria watched his disappearing figure before turning to Bailey. “So are you making any progress with that one?”

“What?”

“With Ethan. Come on, don’t tell me you’re not completely in love with him. Whenever he’s around your eyes look excited and your cheeks turn red.”

“That obvious, huh?” And she thought she’d been doing a good job hiding her true feelings. “Think anyone else knows?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he knows?”

“I figure you’re safe there. He’s completely oblivious. Is he really still pining over Emily?”

“Unfortunately.” How was she supposed to make a play for a man who refused to get over his ex? “I swear, he’s making himself miserable on purpose. He still listens to her CDs in his Jeep, even though he hates country music and always complained about having to listen to it before. There are photos of them everywhere in his place....” She shook her head. It annoyed her that he didn’t seem to be making an effort to move on.

Victoria frowned. “I guess I don’t get it. Granted, I didn’t know Emily as well as the rest of you, but in the two months that I saw them together, they were always fighting. What exactly is he holding on to?”

“The past. The way they were in the beginning. The truth is, they’d been growing apart for years, and then once Emily met Greg Harrison from Play Hard Sports, that was it. Anyway, you can understand why I’m not about to put myself out there, especially since he’s always thought of me as one of the guys.” She hated that saying. So she liked to work on cars and enjoyed sporting events and beer? She was still a woman. A woman who was much better for him than Emily had ever been.

“I guess you’ll just have to open his eyes,” Victoria said.

“How?” If the bride-to-be had any suggestions, she was more than willing to try them. After over a decade of believing that the man she loved was off-limits, she’d be willing to make a play for him if she thought she actually had a chance.

“Sorry, that’s where you may have to talk to Luke. He was the one to open my eyes to the possibility of love...but I remember it had something to do with a mistletoe kiss.” She smiled, obviously lost in the memory of it.

“Well, it’s August, Victoria, and unless you know where I can find some mistletoe, I may have to come up with a different plan.”


CHAPTER THREE

“WOW, DID YOU see that takedown defense? That guy is insane.” Mark Adams used the sleeve of his shirt to twist the cap off a beer.

Inside the fire hall, the four men on duty and their friends had dragged every available chair to crowd around the thirty-six-inch television to watch the Saturday-night ultimate-fighter fight. Eight men and Bailey. Cold leftover pizza and wings from Luke’s party the night before sat on the table, and once again, Bailey was annoyed that she’d missed the celebration. At least here with the guys she wouldn’t have been forced to admit her feelings about Ethan. Not admitting to them had made them easier to ignore.

“There’s no way that takedown defense should have worked.” Sitting on the couch, Ethan extended his long legs out in front of him and raised his arms above his head.

Bailey tore her eyes away as his shirt rose, exposing his abs. She could blame it on the women the night before, but in recent months, she’d been finding it increasingly hard to conceal her long-repressed feelings for him. Without Emily around as a reminder that Ethan was unavailable, every time she looked at him, all she saw were the gold flecks in his chocolate eyes or the deep dimple in his chin or the six-pack under his shirt. Those things hadn’t escaped her notice before, but now it was near impossible to push the feelings of attraction away whenever she looked at him. And after watching him put out that car fire the day before...

She forced her gaze back to the television. “It totally works,” she argued, watching the slow-motion replay at the end of the fourth five-minute round of the champion match for the light heavyweight title.

“Prove it,” Ethan said, jumping up and turning to her in challenge.

“I think Sanchez just did,” Bailey scoffed, leaning around him to see the television screen. She took a sip of her diet soda, fighting to calm her raging pulse. Any other time, dropping him on his butt in front of the guys would be fun, but now the idea of physical contact made her heart race.

“I think he just got lucky.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah, come on, bring it on.” He danced sideways from one foot to the other.

The other men encouraged her.

“Come on, Bailey. Show him how it’s done,” Jim said, taking his wallet from his back pocket. He pulled out several bills and turned to the other men. “You guys want to place bets? My money’s on Bailey.”

Bailey stood as the men placed their twenties in a pile on the coffee table. Eyeing the stack as it grew, she reached into the pocket of her jean shorts. “My money’s on me, too,” she said, tossing two ten-dollar bills onto the pile, then she rolled the sleeves of her favorite UFC shirt.

“You really think I can’t take you down?” Ethan’s eyes shone with amusement.

“You do remember that both of my brothers train mixed martial arts, right? Aren’t you afraid I may have picked up a skill or two?”

“You may have me on skill, but I am a little bigger,” Ethan said, moving the coffee table to the side to make room for his attack. “Ready?”

“Let’s go.” Bailey got into defensive position as he approached.

Grabbing both of her arms, Ethan moved in closer. Bending quickly, he grabbed for her left leg.

Ah, a single-leg takedown. How many times had Brandon taught her to defend that one?

As his hand wrapped around the back of her knee, Bailey rotated her hips to the left, quickly switching position until she was now behind Ethan in a mount position. Freeing her leg, she straightened, forcing him off-balance, taking control.

The others whooped and hollered.

Removing her hand from his shoulder, Ethan turned to face her, towering over her, head down, nodding slowly. “Not bad,” he said, but in one swift motion he swooped her off her feet, slowly dropping her toward the floor.

Caught off guard, Bailey clutched at his shirt and stopped just inches from the concrete floor. Ethan hovered above her, a firm grip on her arms, holding her in place. Staring up into his eyes, she saw the amused look on his handsome face and felt her pulse quicken and her cheeks flame. Pushing him away, she scrambled to her feet and turned to the others. “That doesn’t count—you all saw I had him first.” She pointed to Jim.

“Hey, my money was on you, I’m not arguing,” Jim said with a laugh, handing over her portion of the winnings as the last round of the fight began.

Reclaiming her place on the sofa next to Ethan, she struggled to calm the pounding in her chest. It was just Ethan. So what if he was hot, fun, exciting...still brooding over his ex?

The sound of the guys cheering interrupted her thoughts. The fight had ended and the current champion had his arms raised in the air. His opponent was out cold on the mat inside the octagon. Crap, she’d missed the knockout.

“Did you see that?” Ethan exclaimed, turning to face her.

She forced enthusiasm into the lie. “Yeah, amazing.” So were his dark eyes, full mouth, solid chest.... She took a breath and stood, needing to put some distance between them. Opening the bar fridge, she took out a bottle of water and gulped its contents, aware of those mesmerizing eyes on her. She was in trouble; there was no more denying it. She was in love with Ethan, and without Emily standing in the way, there was nothing stopping her from going after what she’d always wanted.

* * *

ETHAN STOOD AND stretched. “Okay, guys, I think that’s it for me. Thank you for stealing my money. Good night.” He checked his watch. A little past one o’clock. Everyone else had taken off after the fights, but he’d stayed to play cards with his coworkers on duty that evening. He was spending a lot of his free time at the fire hall these days, which only reminded him how much time he’d devoted to his relationship with Emily. His shifts at the fire hall and coaching his nephew’s soccer and hockey teams just weren’t enough to keep him occupied. The days weren’t the challenge; it was the lonely nights.

He grabbed his wallet and keys from the table and waved as he left the hall. Taking the steps two at a time, he jogged upstairs to his loft-style bachelor suite. It had been a long-standing tradition in Brookhollow for the captain of the fire team to live in the apartment if he or she was single. While it essentially meant he was always on call, he loved his nine hundred square feet and the fact he was only seconds away if he was needed in an emergency.

Inside, he kicked off his shoes and headed straight for his upstairs bedroom. He was exhausted after the late night and early morning. He just hoped that his inability to keep his eyes open would mean a good night’s sleep for a change. In the six months since Emily had left, sleep had constantly eluded him. He wished that for just one night, the last thought he had wouldn’t be of her. Removing his shirt, he tossed it into the corner laundry basket as his cell phone rang on the bedside table.

Oh, come on, it was almost one-thirty in the morning. She couldn’t possibly expect him to answer. He sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his forehead. What was he supposed to do? He reached for the phone just as the emergency alarm sounded downstairs. Dropping the ringing phone onto his bed, Ethan bounded back down the stairs and out the front door of the apartment without even stopping for his shoes.

Inside the fire hall, the men had rushed to the duty racks. Derek’s face paled as he listened to the call from dispatch. “Yeah, okay. Yeah, two units are on it.” He motioned for the other men to suit up.

Ethan grabbed the report as it came over the machine. The familiar address in bold, block letters on top of the emergency reporting page caught his attention. Doug’s Motors. Grabbing the report, he ran toward the duty racks and grabbed his boots.

Derek approached and grabbed the report. “What are you doing? You’re off duty.”

“It’s the shop, man. I’m coming.” Ethan slid his jacket over his bare shoulders and grabbed his gear.

Derek followed behind him toward the unit. “I think you’re a little too close to this one....”

Jim jumped into the passenger seat of the first response vehicle. “He’s right, Ethan, you’re out. Your emotions are running too high right now.”

Ethan ignored him and jumped into the driver’s seat of the truck. “Any fire in Brookhollow would be close for any of us. Now let’s go.”

“Ethan, I’m not speaking as your brother, but as a member of this squad. I think you should sit this one out.”

“As captain, I respect your opinion, Jim, but on duty or not, I’m leading this one.”

Jim looked about to argue, but Derek said, “We’re wasting time, guys.”

“Fine, but for the safety of everyone involved, you’re on pump only,” Jim insisted.

“No, you’re faster on pump. I’m going in.”

“Only if you can get a grip.”

Ethan just nodded as he flicked on the emergency lights and sirens and tore through the bay door into the street. His thoughts ran wild—the garage, Bailey’s shop. His hands shook on the wheel and he tightened his grip in an effort to steady them under Jim’s watchful gaze. He forced a calming breath. Jim and Derek were right. He was a little too close to this one and he needed to keep a clear head. Not only did Bailey depend on him keeping his focus and his safety training in mind, but his team, as well. One of the many benefits of small-town life was that everything was close, and at this hour of night the streets were deserted, but as the speedometer reached forty, Jim shot him a look.

“I said, get a grip.” His brother’s voice was stern.

Ethan slowed just a fraction as the big truck made a right off Main Street onto Vermont Avenue and the shop came into sight. Thirty-six seconds later—it felt more like thirty-six minutes—they pulled into the lot, followed by the wailing sirens of the ladder truck behind them. Thick, dark gray smoke billowed from the side bay doors and he could see flames through the shop’s big front window.

“Okay, let’s do a 360.” He motioned to Jim as they jumped down from the first truck. The perimeter check was important to locate the fire and confirm that no one needed immediate rescue, as well as identify any possible hazards to their own safety. A propane tank or any flammable waste materials near the building could cause serious problems. He wasn’t taking any chances with his team.

Jim nodded his understanding as he put on his self-contained breathing apparatus and followed Derek around the side of the building.

“Back door is locked, preventing access,” Jim called over the radio to Derek and Mark as Ethan secured the nozzle of the hose on the back of the truck.

Bailey always kept the back door dead bolted at night. Even in a town as safe as Brookhollow, she didn’t take chances with her clients’ vehicles.

“Is there an internal sprinkler system?” Derek asked.

“No.” Why hadn’t he insisted that Doug install the proper security measures years before? Without a doubt the damage this fire would cause could have been eliminated or at least reduced had a system been installed to respond to the first signs of smoke or flames. There was nothing he could do about it now. “Check for open windows and doors,” Ethan said.

“Small open window on the left side of the building,” Mark confirmed.

Thank God. An open window eliminated several possible dangers in a situation like this one. An airtight space had the potential for a backdraft or flashover when a firefighter had to force entry. The last thing they needed was an unexpected explosion increasing the danger level.

“Parameter check complete,” Jim announced. “Several discarded car engines and an old battery have been transferred off the premises.”

Ethan tried the front door.

“Front door is locked. I’m breaking in.” He grabbed an ax and shattered the thin pane of glass in seconds.

Derek and Jim joined him with the hose line, and all three dropped to their knees to crawl under the heavy blanket of thick, dark smoke that made it impossible to see past several feet. The emergency lighting through the back of the shop and the illuminated exit signs were their only source of light.

Ethan stood as he reached the swinging door to the back bays and peered through the small window. The Volkswagen Jetta in the middle bay was completely engulfed in a violent orange blaze and the flames extended to the surrounding walls. He scanned the area and his pulse quickened at the sight of spray-paint cans lining the shelves just inches above the reach of the flames. That wasn’t good. In another minute those cans would start to explode. Pushing the door open, he stood back and motioned the other guys through, pointing to the burning car.

Jim and Derek moved closer and opened the nozzle on the flames.

When the fire was mostly contained, he said, “Bulk of the fire is knocked down. Let’s create a cross draft of air flow. I don’t want any airtight areas and we need to get this thick smoke out of here to secure the remaining area.”

“All clear,” Derek reported.

“Windows are all broken out,” Mark said.

“Heavy smoke only, no more flames.” Ethan gave the final all clear and a collective sigh of relief could be heard over the radios. Jim shut off the water access and disengaged the hose.

Great, now for the hard part, Ethan thought as he scanned the charred walls and ceiling above the bays. The sound of Bailey’s motorcycle approaching made him sigh. He’d hoped to do this without her watching.

* * *

FRANTICALLY, BAILEY CUT the engine on the bike and pulled off her helmet.

“What happened?” she asked, approaching Ethan, who was exiting through the broken glass in the front door.

The sound of crunching glass under his boots made her cringe, and she stared blankly at the burned shop with its broken windows and melted bay doors.

“I was just here a couple of hours ago.” She’d stopped by the shop on her way home from the fire hall and noticed that Nick had left the back door wide open. Nick... She’d bet almost anything that he had something to do with this. Why had she agreed to let him work in the shop for the summer? Anger mixed with her shock and confusion.

Ethan met her gaze, but hesitated.

“What are you not telling me?”

“The fire was started by a short circuit of that Volkswagen Jetta’s battery cable.”

The disabled car on the highway. Her knees weakened and she placed a hand to her stomach as a wave of nausea made her dizzy. She’d brought the car in...disregarding Ethan’s advice not to. This wasn’t Nick’s fault; it was hers.

“You okay? Here, sit.” Taking her arm, Ethan guided her to the back of the fire truck and gently forced her to sit. “Take a deep breath.” His voice sounded far away.

“We’re about to start the overhaul.” Jim’s voice came over Ethan’s shoulder radio and Bailey saw him flinch before giving the go-ahead.

She forced herself to sit straighter. “Overhaul? What does that mean?” Her mouth was dry, but her skin was damp with sweat as she fought another wave of nausea.

Ethan cleared his throat, and despite the August heat, he retrieved a blanket and draped it over her shoulders. “He means the teardown—we need to make sure there isn’t any hidden fire in the walls or ceiling.”

The loud crashing noises behind her made her jump, and discarding the blanket, she stood and moved closer to the garage. Ethan’s hand on her arm prevented her from going too close.

“No farther,” he said.

The front wall of the shop collapsed in front of her and her hand flew to her mouth. “They are destroying the place.” She turned to Ethan. “Make them stop.” The damage from the fire was more than enough mess to clean up.... If they kept tearing down the main structures, the entire garage would need to be rebuilt from the ground up.

“I can’t, Bailey. This is protocol. It’s a safety—”

“You know what? I’m sick to death of your safety measures. This is my shop, Ethan, it’s my life, my livelihood—they can’t just tear it down.” Enraged, she blinked away the tears that stung her eyes.

“There could be more fire somewhere in there. We can’t take the chance. I’m sorry.” His voice was calm but she heard a note of anguish.

Desperate to argue but knowing it was no use, she watched the back ceiling give way, falling to the floor of the shop in a heap of rubble. Her shoulders slumped as she lowered herself down to the gravel parking lot, tucking her knees under her. “So that’s it. They’re just going to continue pulling down the entire building?” she said, more to herself than to him.

Ethan knelt beside her, wrapping an arm around her bare shoulders. “We won’t leave until we’re certain that we’ve put water on anything glowing.”


CHAPTER FOUR

“SO WHEN YOU left last night at midnight, everything looked fine?”

The insurance adjuster from Newark, who’d introduced himself only as Phillips, had arrived early the next morning. The area around the garage had been roped off with caution tape to prevent anyone from going near the ruins of the building. The fire crew had instructed Bailey not to touch anything or attempt to clean up until the insurance adjuster had time to assess the full extent of the damage. She understood the reasoning, but driving away the night before from the shop that had been a major part of her life for ten years and was now lying in a heap of rubble had been difficult.

“Yes. I noticed the back door ajar when I drove past, so I stopped to close and lock it.”

“An employee left a door open?” Phillips raised an eyebrow as he glanced up from his paperwork.

Bailey nodded, her jaw clenched. Nick.

“You know that your insurance wouldn’t cover theft if the premises were left unsecured?”

“Yes...but this is Brookhollow. No one would ever think of stealing anything. Heck, I’m sure if someone in town had noticed the door open, they would have just locked up themselves.” It was one of the things she loved most about her hometown—the neighborly comfort the residents enjoyed. Everyone looked out for one another.

“Maybe, but you can never be too sure,” he said, stepping over the broken glass in the metal shell of the door frame to enter the shop. “Wow, quite a lot of damage.” He studied the scene, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook.

Bailey found it difficult to look as she followed him inside, stepping over the large wooden ceiling beams that now lay on the ground.

“Yes. The fire from the vehicle spread very quickly, so the firefighters were forced to tear everything down.” An image of the fire crew using their axes and hammers to bring down the walls and ceiling flashed in her mind and she cringed. She knew they had been doing their job, but they’d destroyed everything. All she had.

The man nodded. “Happens often,” he said dismissively.

Not to her. What he casually shrugged off as just another insurance claim was one of the most stressful and heartbreaking events in her life. Bailey had worked in the shop since she’d moved out on her own at seventeen, and it had become a familiar and comfortable place. She knew what she was doing inside the shop, something she couldn’t say for many other aspects of her life. Memories were buried within its walls and the building had stood in Brookhollow for over forty years. Noticing her calendar sticking out from under the charred desk, she bent to retrieve it. She dusted off the image of the St. Mark’s, the August picture on the calendar of Italy that Ethan had given her for Christmas to keep her motivated to save for her trip. Rolling the calendar, she tucked it into her back jeans pocket.

Inspector Phillips continued to walk through the rubble, making several notes, until he stopped beside the charred Volkswagen Jetta. “This was the one that started the fire?”

“Yes.” The one she never should have towed.

“Fire report says it had caught on fire on the highway the day before, as well.”

It wasn’t a question, so she remained silent. No doubt Ethan’s report was detailed. Her palms sweat slightly.

“You were advised not to bring it here,” he continued to read. “In Newark, a vehicle like this would have been impounded and deemed undriveable by the police.”

This wasn’t Newark. “We don’t have an impound lot and I couldn’t leave the man stranded.” She fisted her hands at her sides. Maybe she should have called the police at the time, but it had been her first experience with this kind of thing. Unfortunately, her ignorance had cost her the shop. “The danger seemed to be past....”

“But the firefighter on the scene thought otherwise,” he said, glancing at her, a look of disapproval behind his dark, thick-rimmed glasses.

“I made a judgment call,” she said, knowing she sounded defensive.

“The wrong one, it seems,” he said, then continued on before she could say anything else. Not that she had a great case. “Based on these fire inspection reports, it wasn’t the first suggestion you ignored.... A sprinkler system was recommended on numerous occasions.”

“The upgrades weren’t exactly in the budget.”

“I don’t think I need to point out the irony there.”

That was enough. “Did any part of your training teach you to have at least a little compassion for the business owners you are dealing with?”

He stopped, dropping his folder to his side. “Ms. Sheppard, I understand that this is the first time you’ve had to deal with this sort of thing, but try to see this from my tired perspective. Every day I see situations just like this one with people gaming the system. I’m not saying that is the case here, but let’s go over the facts....” He paused and scanned what remained of her garage. “This place is at least forty years old. It needs upgrades. You just bought it from...” He skimmed his paperwork. “A Doug Sheppard—your father?”

“Uncle.”

“You just bought the place from your uncle a month ago and you brought in a vehicle that you knew was a potential fire hazard?”

Put that way, it did look suspicious.

“Look, I’m not saying that I think you did this on purpose, but forgive me if I follow protocol on this one.”

This was not good. “So my claim may be denied?”

“That’s always a possibility, but I’ll do my best to try to find something...anything to make this claim not look so much like a fraud.”

* * *

FRAUD. THE WORD rang repeatedly in her head as Bailey parked her motorcycle outside of Joey’s café on Main Street a short time later. In twelve hours, she’d lost her business, and was suspected of arson and fraud. Fantastic.

Right now Main Street was quiet, as most of the shops didn’t open until nine o’clock. Bailey always loved the street at this time of day when the buildings blocked the sun’s heat, casting a shadow over the brick-patterned sidewalk. Everything was calm. Within an hour, the merchants’ displays would extend onto the walkway and the cafés would set up their outdoor seating areas and colorful umbrellas, ready for business. But today she couldn’t enjoy the peace, desperate to get inside where her coffee waited.

Removing her helmet, she waved to Pearl Richards, who was flipping the sign on the door of her flower shop, Pearl’s Petals, to Open. The family-owned business was located in one of the oldest buildings in town on the corner of Main and Temple Streets. Pearl was the great-granddaughter of the original Pearl who’d owned the store eighty years before. She’d not only inherited the pretty name but the store as well, when the older woman had passed away. That’s how things worked in Brookhollow. Businesses were kept in the family.

“Bailey.” Pearl’s greeting was terse as she hung several potted plants on an iron hook above the door before hurrying inside.

Weird. Bailey usually exchanged pleasantries with the woman on Sunday mornings before her weekly breakfast with her dad and brothers. It was just as well; she wasn’t really in the mood to chat after the meeting with the insurance adjustor.

Entering the fifties-style diner, Bailey scanned the crowded room for her family. The Sunday-morning breakfast was a tradition they’d started when she and the boys had still lived at home.

“Hey, Bailey. Your dad’s just in the kitchen, checking out a leaking pipe under the sink. Your brothers are sitting at your usual booth near the window.” Tina Miller set the tray of steaming coffee cups she carried onto the nearest table, then reached forward and enveloped Bailey in a tight hug.

The smell of the woman’s lavender perfume made her eyes water.

“I’m so sorry about the garage...and we were all so relieved to hear no one was hurt.”

“Thank you. It’s been a tough morning,” Bailey admitted, the tray of coffee tempting her to reach out and grab one. With literally no sleep at all the night before, it was a wonder her eyes were staying open.




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