Safe in the Fireman's Arms

“Hi, to you, too, Maggie.”

Her cheeks flushed and she crossed her arms.

Jake glanced past her into the sparsely decorated living room. “Nice house. I presume your smoke detectors are in place and the batteries are up-to-date.”

“Presume away.”

“Maggie.”

“They’re fine. I checked everything when I moved in.”

“Thank you.”

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Chief MacLaughlin? Or do you routinely make smoke-detector house calls?”

“I’m following up to make sure you’re okay.” He frowned. “And I thought we were on a first-name basis?”

“So this is an official visit from the chief of the Paradise Volunteer Fire Department regarding the incident at 1233 Central Avenue?” She began to shut the door. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Maggie.”

The door stopped moving. “I told you, it wasn’t my fault.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. Beck said so.”

“Beck said so?”

“Something about a manufacturer recall due to known fire-related problems.”

“Great, but I’m not blaming you.”

“No?”

“No. May I come in?”

She averted her gaze. “That doesn’t seem like a wise move to me.”

Jake paused, realization dawning. “Are you afraid of me, Maggie?”

She opened her mouth and closed it. Then the screen door opened and Maggie stepped out onto the small porch as though eager to prove him wrong.

“I know you’re really here to read me the riot act and I’d rather you did it out here, if you don’t mind.”

He met her gaze head-on. She didn’t even blink as he towered over her and her ponytail. The woman was gutsy. He’d give her that.

Jake dialed down his menacing facade. It wasn’t working anyhow.

“This is serious, Maggie.”

She rubbed her arms against a sudden breeze that kicked up, bringing with it the scent of the pine trees surrounding the house.

“What exactly is serious?” she asked.

“When you smelled smoke you should have gotten out of the vehicle and called 9-1-1.”

“I did call 9-1-1.”

“After you raised the hood.”

Her eyes rounded. “Who told you?”

“Who didn’t?”

Maggie shook her head in disgust. “It was only an electrical fire.”

“One out of seven fires involves vehicles. One out of ten fire deaths results from vehicle fires,” Jake said.

“You memorized those stats?”

“It’s my job.”

“Fair enough, but I’m telling you it was barely a fire. Barely. Tiny flame. Very tiny.

“And yet you needed a fire extinguisher.”

“Well. Um, yes.”

“Where’d you get the fire extinguisher?”

“Your father gave it to me.”

“My father?”

“Tall man. Silver hair.”

“I know who my father is. In fact his house is right down the street a couple of blocks.”

“Well, your father dropped the extinguisher off after the, um, first, um, incident. Said it was a ‘welcome to Paradise’ gift, since I’d extinguished the other one. Apparently all the MacLaughlins have a dark sense of humor.”

Jake ignored the comment and made a mental note to talk to his father about meddling in his life. Again. “So are we clear?” he asked. “Next time call 9-1-1 immediately and move away from the vehicle.”

She gave a solemn nod. “I can assure you that there won’t be a next time.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope you’re right.” He cleared his throat, grasping for a reason to keep chatting, knowing he was being off-the-wall ridiculous. He had things to do at home. Right? Feed the dog. Throw in a load of laundry. Yet, here he stood.

“Sorry about your truck,” he said. “It’s a complete write-off. You’ll need to call the insurance company.”