Safe in the Fireman's Arms

“How many tickets did you buy for the peach pie?” Maggie asked.

“A few.” Susan’s laughter trilled into the air.

A moment later, the mayor picked up the microphone and, after a few ear-piercing squeals, began the event. It was a simple, organized process. Names were drawn from glass bowls that sat in front of each baked item.

After seeing all those tickets in her purse, it was no surprise when Susan’s name was drawn for a peach pie. Her cousin claimed her prize with loud gushing noises of total and complete amazement. As she thanked the mayor, Susan made a brazen plug for her boutique.

One by one, the desserts began to disappear. Maggie was more than thrilled not to win one of the éclairs. There was absolutely no way was she going up on stage in front of the entire town.

When the stage was cleared, poster boards were set on display stands. Each had the handsome, smiling face of one of Paradise’s single and therefore apparently, very eligible volunteer firefighters. If the excited thrum of female chatter was any indicator, this was going to be the highlight of the raffles.

Maggie glanced at each poster, noting Jake MacLaughlin’s face on the last board. He took a good picture, she’d give him that. The photographer managed to catch that wounded-hero look in the black-and-white shot of him with his helmet on, the chin strap loose. The piercing cat eyes seemed to follow Maggie. And then there was that barely there smile on his full lips. It was almost as though he held a secret deep inside.

She pondered the thought for a moment, and then shook her head. What an imagination she had. Jake was hardly wounded. He seemed to be a carefree bachelor. No doubt there was a long trail of broken hearts behind him.

She turned and scanned the crowd, spotting him at the back, taking what looked to be a good-natured ribbing from his buddies. When his gaze connected with hers he shrugged his shoulders and grinned, unabashed.

“Unbelievable. Church ladies auctioning off men,” Maggie said to Susan.

“No, no. Jake shot down the auction idea.”

“Jake did?”

“Uh-huh. This is a raffle. No auctioning. If you win, for your ticket you get a date to the Founder’s Day supper next Saturday with the fireman whose helmet your ticket was picked from. We raise money for a great cause, too.”

“Remind me what cause that is.”

“The Paradise Volunteer Fire Department and the Ladies Auxiliary. The auxiliary supports all the local churches, missions and other charitable causes. So we’re giving to the Kingdom of God, as well. He would be very pleased.”

Maggie opened her mouth at the logic and then gave up. Who was she to judge? Besides, she suspected the Lord would advise staying out of this particular discussion.

Hoots and whistles exploded through the crowd as winning names were gingerly plucked from the inverted yellow helmets. Each winner enthusiastically claimed their poster and an envelope with tickets inside.

As each moment passed the mayor inched closer to Jake’s poster. The crowd began clapping in a rhythmic pattern, chanting the name of Paradise’s fire chief.

“This is getting exciting,” Susan chirped.

“You think so?” Maggie barely resisted rolling her eyes.

“You bet I do.” Susan leaned over to her large leopard satchel sitting on the floor. “Oh my. Silly me. I almost forgot. I bought you a few tickets.” She thrust a stack of tickets at Maggie.

“Tickets?” Maggie startled, nearly falling out of her seat in an effort to gather the chain of paper as the roll tumbled from her lap onto the ground. “Susan. A few is like two or three.” She blinked, stunned as realization hit. “Wait. A. Minute. What exactly are these tickets for?”

“Why, for Jake, of course. There’s only a hundred and forty-seven.” She frowned. “I thought I brought more money, but I left my checkbook in my other purse.”

Maggie choked. “One hundred and forty-seven tickets for Jake? Are you nuts?”

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my cousin and the firemen of Paradise. You know, Al’s on the board of the PVFD. He’d be so proud of me for this.”

As Maggie folded the tickets into an orderly pile the clapping ceased. People looked around the tent in wide-eyed anticipation.

A cold chill passed over Maggie. Mouth dry, she looked up at the stage and then to Susan.

The microphone screeched and crackled. “Is Margaret Jones here?”

“Susan,” she slowly whispered through terse lips.

“Hush, now. You’ll embarrass us in front of the mayor. Go on up there,” her cousin admonished.

Maggie stood, swallowed and took a shuddering breath. Amid the cheers and applause she marched stiffly to the stage, grateful they were seated so close.

The mayor put his hand on her arm and spoke into the microphone. “Ah, just a minute there, Margaret.” He glanced around. “I’m sure our citizens would like to meet Bob and Betty’s niece. Margaret is managing the fix-it shop while Bob is gone fishing, and of course you all saw her face on the front page of the Paradise paper this week.”

A wave of chuckles spread across the audience.

Maggie attempted a smile, knowing the result was sickly at best. She moved from the stage, down the stairs and directly past Susan and the crowd, her eyes fixed forward. Without thinking she kept walking until she reached the sanctuary of the bait tent.

Stunned, one hand clutched the envelope against her hammering heart. Her other hand held the tangled ball of ticket stubs. Jake’s poster slid from under her arm as she sagged against the nearest table.

“So, we have a date.” Jake’s cheerful voice reached her before he did.

Startled, Maggie straightened. She carefully gathered her pride around her, but didn’t face him. “I imagine you’re used to this sort of thing.

“Used to it? No way. Though I will admit I’m relieved one of the ladies from the retirement home didn’t win.”

She dared to finally turn and look at him. Oh, those laughing eyes.

“Out of curiosity, how many tickets do you have there?” he asked.

“One hundred and forty-seven.”

His eyes rounded. “Whoa. I’m not sure if I should be flattered or terrified.”

“Neither. Susan bought them.”

He frowned. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“Don’t I?” She shoved the envelope into her back pocket, and slid the poster and tickets under the table.

Jake rubbed his chin. “I hope you’re not planning to back down. It wouldn’t look good for the chief to get stood up.”

“Yes, and in an election year, too.”

Jake paused. “How’d you know about that?”

“Lucky guess.” Maggie picked up a bottle of water from the table. Lifting it to her lips, she drained the entire eight ounces and then aimed for the recycle bin. Her shot was impeccable, echoing through the tent.

Fortified, she met Jake’s gaze again. “Rest assured, I wouldn’t dream of standing you up, Chief MacLaughlin. I’m going to think of this as my civic duty.”