The New Guy In Town

“So much for you being nice to me.”

“I wasn’t being mean. Just stating a fact.” She looked past him and frowned. “Phoebe Catherine, I told you not to touch anything. Stop right now.”

Sam watched her walk away and realized several things, starting with the fact that Phoebe’s father didn’t seem to be in the picture. One could presume that Faith had been let down big-time by a man. The self-reliant message was a big clue, as was the warning to keep his promise to her child or she’d come after him like a pack of wolves. She hadn’t actually said that but the expression in her eyes had conveyed the message loud and clear.

But she needed to realize a few things, too. There weren’t as many women in his life as she thought and he made sure none of them had expectations. He wasn’t a bad guy and wanted Faith to know it. He was very careful not to make promises he couldn’t keep. Starting with commitment.

Very soon he was going to set her straight about all of the above.

Chapter Three (#ue5bca3b3-68b7-5b47-b9d2-dd34c7ed68d4)

Faith left work early the next day and headed to the fire staging area for a volunteer shift. At the base of the mountain she saw auxiliary fire trucks parked, and soot-covered, exhausted men slumped against them. Not far away there was a tarp, and underneath it were picnic benches and a propane steam table where food was being kept warm. After parking her van she got out and instantly was hit by a gust of hot wind that whipped her hair around. She slid a scrunchie from the pocket of her jeans and pulled the strands off her face into a ponytail, then walked over to the food area.

Delanie Carlson, who owned the local pub, Bar None, transferred a case of water bottles to a large insulated chest then poured a bag of ice in to cool them down quickly. At a stove stirring food she saw Lucy Bishop, chef and co-owner of the Harvest Café. Both women were good friends.

“It’s really windy.” That was stating the obvious and there was no point in doing that. They all knew what could happen and worry clawed at her. But she was here to do her part and take her mind off the fact that she could lose her home.

“What can I do?” she asked Lucy.

“Organize the paper plates and utensils for an assembly line. The firefighters are on a regular rotating schedule,” the blue-eyed blonde said. “They need the breaks to cool off, eat and rest. Otherwise someone could make a deadly mistake.”

“That sounds like Desmond Parker’s doing. Everyone says he’s a really good fire captain,” Faith said.

“That’s the rumor. I’ve seen for myself that he’s hard-core about enforcing breaks.” Lucy’s tone said she respected him for doing a great job, but in other areas he was not deserving of her high opinion.

“Ice is really cold.” Delanie joined them, shaking water off her hands.

“That’s kind of the point.” Faith smiled.

The auburn-haired woman returned it. “But I wish someone could invent ice that didn’t give you frostbite.”

“Get ready, ladies. We’re almost up.” Lucy pointed to a group of men who had just disembarked from a truck that’d pulled into the staging area. They were wearing thick coats and pants plus heavy boots and other firefighting gear. Their first stop was a comfort station, where they poured water over their heads. Then the grimy jackets were shucked before they lined up at the food station.

Faith handed the first guy a plate and plastic utensils wrapped in a paper napkin. “How are you?”

“Hot. Hungry. Beat.”

There was nothing else to say. Clearly he didn’t have the energy to make small talk. She couldn’t imagine how difficult the working conditions were.

Lucy piled the man’s plate with food. It wasn’t fancy but there was plenty. “Is there progress?”

“Hard to tell.”

“There’s a table over there with cookies,” Delanie said, handing him an icy-cold water bottle. “And thanks for what you’re doing.”

“It’s my job,” he said simply.

“I know. But thanks. When this is over there’s a round of drinks waiting for you guys at Bar None.”

“Then we better get it over.” His smile was weary.

For the next hour they served food, distributed water, accepted and organized food donations dropped off by concerned townspeople—and tried to lighten the load of every exhausted man and woman who was taking a break from the fight to save other people’s homes and property from the fire.

Faith handed Desmond Parker a plate. He was the last man in this group, having waited until each of his guys had been taken care of. “Hi, Des.”

“Hey, Faith.”

“You look terrible.” Her heart went out to him, but she hadn’t meant to be so blunt. “I mean that in the nicest possible way. No offense.”

He laughed. “None taken. I get it.”

The man was in his thirties and had dark hair and blue eyes. Suspenders from his insulated pants seemed to highlight his broad shoulders, and his black T-shirt with BLFD—Blackwater Lake Fire Department—in bold white letters stretched tightly across his impressive chest. He was really handsome, even with the grime all over him. But Faith didn’t feel a single flutter in the vicinity of her heart. Not like she did with Sam.

“How’s it going?” she asked him.

“This is a tough one.” Worry etched in the soot on his face told her it was worse than he would say. “Wind speeds pick up late in the afternoon and the fire jumps from hill to hill. That stretches our resources even thinner.”

“So no containment yet.”

“Maybe ten percent.” His eyes darkened. “Don’t you live somewhere near Crawford’s Crest?”

“Yeah. Phoebe and I had to evacuate yesterday.” A vision of Sam Hart pouring her coffee that morning flashed before her eyes. He was a very good host, but with all the women in his life he’d probably had a lot of practice. “Do you have any information about the area?”

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “Got my hands full on the fire line.”

“My bad. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t worry about it. Of course you want news about your property. Wish I had something for you.” His expression was sympathetic. “Well, I better get some food.”

“Right. Sorry. Didn’t mean to hold you up.”

Faith watched Lucy fill his plate without saying a word to him. That was weird since she’d chatted with the other guys who came through—teased and talked and lifted their spirits. But not a syllable or a smile for Des Parker. What was up with that?

When the rush was over the three of them replenished supplies at their respective stations, then looked at each other.

Delanie glanced at the plume of red-tinged smoke that just seemed to expand and obscure any blue in the sky. “I wish there was more I could do to help.”

“You’ve already taken people into your home,” Lucy pointed out.

“So have you.”

“The families you gave shelter to are pretty lucky,” Faith pointed out. “There are worse places to stay than with the proprietors of Bar None and the Harvest Café.”

“Yup.” Delanie nodded. “Except for the part where they could lose their homes and all their worldly possessions.”

“Oh my God, Faithie.” Lucy pressed a hand to her forehead. “I forgot. Your house is in the evacuation zone, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She kept trying to tell herself that as long as she and Phoebe were healthy and safe nothing else mattered, that worry wouldn’t do any good. But sometimes it slipped past her defenses.