The Firefighter's Refrain

He smirked. “You’re talking musically, right?”

“Of course, musically.” What had she said or done to leave him with the impression that she was interested in anything else?

“Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

“What’s his last name again? Maybe I’ve heard of him.”

“Marshall. But it isn’t likely you’ve heard of him. Sam’s talented, but remember...he keeps a low profile. Besides, he spends too much time in front of a classroom to make a name for himself onstage.”

A wannabe musician who didn’t flaunt his talent at every turn? Finn didn’t believe it for a minute.

“Where’s he from?”

“Big ranch just outside of Denver.”

“So no family here in Tennessee?”

“Not that I know of. I think he was the first Marshall who didn’t devote himself to The Double M.” He grinned. “You want his cell number, so you can interview him yourself?”

She came this close to saying yes, then heard Ciara giggle.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” My life is already complicated enough without adding another self-centered musician to the mix.

Mark shrugged, as if to say it wasn’t any of his business anyway.

“Did he say yes?”

“Did who say yes to—” Mark nodded. Shook his head. Sighed. “Oh. You mean Sam. And the partnership deal. Like I said, he’s a very private guy, so that’s something you’ll have to ask him directly.”

In other words, Sam had said yes. Her fleeting interest in him died. Entertainers were trouble enough, leaving shattered hearts and disappointment in their wake. It was one of the only life lessons her parents had taught her, and she’d learned it well. But a musician with access to all the power brokers who frequented The Meetinghouse?

Finn got to her feet, grabbing the coffeepot. “Coffee’s on me this morning. Have a good one, Mark.”

Head down and determined to blot the memory of Sam’s arresting smile from her mind, Finn made a beeline to help the middle-aged couple at the cash register...

...and plowed right into Sam Marshall.

Big hands took hold of her shoulders and held on until she was steady on her feet.

“Good thing that’s half empty,” he said with a nod at the coffeepot, “or you’d have a burn to compound what happened the other night.”

He was right, but Finn had no intention of admitting it.

Bean passed by with an empty tray. “Want me to take that off your hands, Finn?”

She put the pot on to the tray and winked at the girl. “Thanks, sweetie. Add five minutes to your a.m. break.”

Bean had to stoop to dole out a thank-you hug. “You’re the best, boss. The best!” she said, and hurried away.

Finn exchanged a few pleasantries with the couple at the cash register, and as they exited, two more diners entered. Bean raced up to lead them to a table.

“Meeting your partner for breakfast?” Finn asked him. Maybe changing the subject would change her attitude, too. She saw no reason to treat him any differently than any other paying customer.

Sam looked over her left shoulder and fixed his gaze on Mark, who seemed oblivious to his presence.

“I’m surprised he told you.” He met her eyes again. “He’s usually tight-lipped, especially where the business is concerned.”

“Funny, he said pretty much the same thing about you.”

“Did he, now? And yet he spilled the beans about our meeting.”

“Actually, he didn’t. I put two and two together.”

“Don’t defend him,” he said, grinning.

“I wasn’t—”

“Hey, Marshall,” Mark called. “Is this block-the-aisle thing becoming a habit?”

Sam snapped off a light salute. “I’d better get over there before he takes a second whack at breaking the sound barrier.”

She started a fresh pot of coffee, then leaned her backside against the stainless-steel counter. It was only ten o’clock in the morning, so why did it feel like midnight?

Ciara copied her stance. “Who-who-who’s that man?” she asked, pointing at Sam.

“A friend of Mark’s.” Thankfully, the men were deep in conversation, and she could stare to her heart’s content...for now.

“Is he—is he new to Nashville?”

“Mark says he’s been here for a couple of years.”

Her sister—a younger, shorter version of their once-beautiful mother—hid a giggle behind pink-and-black polka-dot fingernails. “I’d remember if he was in here before, because he’s handsome,” she said, drawing out the word. Shouldering Finn, Ciara added, “Is he one of those movie stars who lives in town?”

“I don’t know anything about him, except that his name is Sam Marshall. His family has a ranch out west somewhere. He’s a firefighter, and hurt his leg, probably on the job. He sings a little, and unless I’m mistaken, he’s part owner of The Meetinghouse.”

“Sounds to me like you know almost as much about him as his mama does,” Rowdy teased, leaning his beefy forearms on the serving counter.

Ciara grinned as Finn pointed at the revolving order rack. “By my count, you have half a dozen orders to cook up.” She grabbed her pad and headed for the dining room. “Better get busy, because I’ll be back in a minute with a couple more.”

Ciara feigned a look of disapproval. “Now, Finn, is that—is that any way to talk to your assistant manager?”

“Hey. Whose side are you on?” Finn wrapped her in a fierce hug, then finger combed Ciara’s wavy brown bangs. “You have customers, too, sister dear,” she said, turning her toward the counter. “You’d better get crackin’, too.”

Rowdy filled the twelve-slice toaster and pushed the lever. “Don’t mind her, kid. Finn’s old before her time, but it ain’t her fault.”

“I know,” Ciara said.

Before the accident, her sister had been an athletic, straight-A student. Afterward, she’d become a stumbling, stuttering girl who didn’t remember the drunken argument that had made their dad stomp on the gas until the already battered Jeep rolled end over end before coming to a screeching, grinding halt alongside the highway. She didn’t remember spending weeks in the hospital, enduring six operations, the months of physical therapy that followed, or the fact that Misty and Connor had left town instead of dealing with their parental duties or taking responsibility for what they’d done to her.