Love, Special Delivery

Ben took Dad’s arm. “Why don’t you wait in the truck with an oxygen mask?”

Dad tugged his arm free. “Because I’m the one who signs off—” gasp-wheeze “—on inspections and citations.”

“You haven’t issued any citations. Only warnings.” In Ben’s twelve-plus years’ experience as a fireman, you had to operate by the book or have the book thrown at you.

The post office was a plain, boxy gray building with an air of neglect. It looked in need of about ten citations. There was a small grove of trees behind it. Beyond the trees was a field with waist-high wild grass. Beyond that was a two-story farmhouse that was more tear-down than fixer-upper.

“I’m almost sorry I raised you in the city,” Dad said. “You don’t understand the role of a small-town fireman. These people are our friends.” Dad’s glare was boss-man defiant.

Ben had a defiant glare of his own. Too bad Dad wasn’t looking at him. “Friends don’t let friends burn their businesses down. Issue some citations.”

“A warning will suffice.” His old man lumbered toward the post office door, his breath sounding like an out-of-tune accordion. “You’ll understand someday.”

“Maybe...” Ben chewed on the tether binding his sarcasm until it broke. “Maybe when I’m old and dotty, like you.”

Dad mumbled something about ungrateful sons and fire captains who were wet behind the ears. In turn, Ben mumbled something about passing up a fire inspector promotion and fire chiefs who were softies.

“Walk with a purpose, son,” Dad said as if Ben was twelve and lagging behind at the mall. “We have plenty more inspections to do.”

They had a list of overdue inspections as long as Ben’s arm. After more than a decade without a fire department, father and son were playing catch-up on safety measures in Harmony Valley. Ben was trying to time the inspections to coincide with the least amount of traffic possible. Why disrupt businesses and inspect them during peak hours? Why not sneak around on little-used side streets until midafternoon when many of the elderly would be having a siesta?

Reel in the sarcasm, dude.

Covering for Dad was wearing on Ben. And he’d barely been on the job a week!

The post office door was unlocked, but the counter window was closed. Classic country music drifted out to them from the back. Ben knocked on the door that said Employees Only.

There was no answer.

Dad leaned against the wall, scowling when he noticed Ben looking at him. “I’m old. Get used to it.”

He’d take old over dead any day. “Why don’t you wait in the truck?” Ben repeated.

“Because I’m the fire chief,” Dad rasped, a welcome spark of energy in his blue eyes.

“At least use your inhaler.” Ben pounded harder on the door while his father dug in his pocket for his medicine.

Again, no answer. The music was too darn loud. It reminded him of Hannah’s mom.

Erica had lived for the adrenaline rush—fast cars, base jumping, parachuting out of planes. She’d had a soundtrack for every experience, blaring it through booming speakers or her earbuds. If she’d lived to be eighty, she would’ve been deaf. He’d assumed little reserved Hannah was the opposite of her mother. She wasn’t. Erica’s love of life had taken a different tangent with Hannah, a softer, quieter tangent. Right now, he was thankful for it.

Ben tried the door. It was unlocked. He had to push aside a mail cart to get inside, and even then there were boxes stacked in front of the cart. Other than that, the mail room floor was relatively clear. There was a large rolling door in one wall that presumably opened to the parking lot for mail truck deliveries.

On the far side of the room a thin, tall woman was clad in postal service blue shorts and a baggy striped shirt. Her dark brown hair was bound in messy ponytails that hung beneath each ear. Back to Ben, she mopped the floor, singing off-key to a crazy tune about drinking too much.

Dad chuckled.

Ben found nothing funny about it. A fire to the rear of the building by the loading dock and this woman would be trapped.

“Fire!” Ben shouted.

The mop clattered to the floor. The woman whirled, sneakers slipping slightly on wet linoleum. Wide brown eyes landed on Ben with a gut-dropping thud. She wasn’t smiling, but she had the kind of face that carried a smile 99 percent of the time, the kind of face that aged gracefully with few lines because she never had a care. And Ben, who carried cares like other people lugged too much spare change, was struck with envy.

She switched off the music.

The sudden silence rang in Ben’s ears as he breathed in cleanser fumes and waited to see if the woman had a frown in her arsenal, some hint that her life wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns.

“I’m Mandy, the new postmaster.” She blinked, and with that blink her expression seemed to reset. A small smile. A carefree tone of voice. A kick in Envious Ben’s shin. “Is there a fire?”

“This is a fire inspection.” Dad had drawn himself up to his full height. With Mandy in his sights, he wasn’t wheezing or sagging. He should’ve hired an attractive woman as his fire captain instead of Ben. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

Here we go again. Letting an offender off with a warning.

“Not so fast, Chief.” This one wasn’t getting off the hook. This woman could use a care or two. Ben planted his feet more firmly on the floor. “Ma’am, did you realize you’ve blocked two of three primary exit routes?”

“Not permanently.” Her smile never wavered. “Just while I’m cleaning.”

“I mention this for your own safety.” Ben surveyed the post office, counting more than five citations already. “If there was a fire at your loading dock, you’d be trapped.”

Mandy gestured to the rolling overhead door that opened to the parking lot. “First off, there’s nothing combustible back there. Second, those boxes before you are empty. And third, I could still get to the front counter if there was a fire.”

Not an apology. Not an admission that she’d taken a safety risk, nor any assurance that it wouldn’t happen again. Mandy was the only person to argue with them today. The only person to work her way sharply under Ben’s skin.

He nudged the bottom box with his boot. The stack tumbled harmlessly to the ground. “I’ll give you the boxes, ma’am, but if you aren’t concerned about your own well-being, what about your employees?”

And there it was—her true expression. A smile so artless and wide it made Ben wonder what her laugh would sound like. “If there was a fire, that rat Riley can burn.”

Ben exchanged a look with Dad that he hoped said, Give her a citation. Please.

Message received. His old man shook his head.

“That was a joke.” Mandy suddenly turned serious, not serious enough for her smile to be wiped off the face of the earth, but serious nonetheless. “Riley isn’t technically a rat. I mean, he has four legs and a tail, sure. But he’s a raccoon.”

Dad chuckled, which morphed into a cough, and then gasps for air as he turned away from them.

Ben stayed on point. “The fact remains that—”

“Look, Officer...” She peered at his name tag. “Libby. Mr....Fireman...Libby...” She paused, seeming to collect herself and her awkwardness. “Are you related to Felix Libby?”

“We are.” It would be just his luck that she’d fostered a kitten from Granddad and was in his grandfather’s good graces. “I’m Ben, his grandson. And this is my dad, Keith.”

“Oh. I can see the resemblance in your face.” She waved her hand in a circle around her features. “If you come back in thirty minutes—” Mandy rushed on with her Mona Lisa smile “—the doorway will be clear and the rolltop counter open. No harm, no foul, right? Look, I’ll even open the loading bay.”

It was a good compromise.

Too bad it’d come too late. His pledge to safeguard the public made it hard to back off and apologize. Not that Ben wanted to back off or go soft on her. He was a firm believer in beginning as he meant to go on. Fire safety was important. Honesty was important.

Mandy pushed the button to open the rolling door.