Falling in Love...Again

by AnonYMous

  My uncle’s business rented Jeeps and provided tours in and around Megalith. Ordinarily, my aunt worked in the office while my uncle and cousin drove the tours and delivered the rental Jeeps. But with Tom laid up, Aunt Betty let him take over the office chores.

  “Tom is the one who’s hurt, but I’m the one who gets the vacation,” she had said when I had agreed to come. “I’ll have a little time to clean my house, work in my garden, shop, and do all the other things I haven’t done in years.”

  She was wrong. I was the one who was getting the vacation. I’d been driving Jeeps since I was old enough to drive. Working for my uncle wouldn’t be like working at all.

  That first morning, I took a pair of fishermen and their gear to a high-mountain lake, where they planned to camp and fish for a week.

  “Don’t forget to pick us up in seven days,” they reminded me.

  Later that afternoon, I dropped a rental Jeep off at the hotel, and I met the fire chief again.

  He walked up to me and said, “Howdy, Jill. Are you ready to go? I thought you might like a ride back to your uncle’s place.” He helped me into an old pickup truck.

  To make conversation, I asked, “How long have you been in Megalith?”

  Roy grinned. “Not long enough. I came here about six months ago to escape the rat race of the city. I used to serve on the fire department in Los Angeles. Besides fighting fires, I found out that my job also involved everything from arson investigations to gang shootouts.”

  “That must have been exciting.”

  “A little too exciting for me,” he confessed. “After a few years, I’d had enough. So I answered an ad for a fire chief in Megalith, and I got the job.”

  “I bet it’s a little different here than what you’re used to.”

  “Yeah. It’s definitely a simpler way of life. Well, here we are.” He pulled into my uncle’s parking lot.

  “Are you coming in?” I asked.

  “Not this time. I’ve got to get back to the station.”

  “Thanks for the ride.”

  My cousin was leaning against the doorframe of the office when I climbed out of Roy’s truck.

  “Where’s Blue?” I asked him.

  “She got tired of hanging around the office and went up to the house. Mom’s probably giving her treats.”

  “Tell me about Roy. What do you know about him?”

  “I know he’s a real live hero,” Tom said. “When he was with the fire department in LA, he saved three kids from a blaze in a crack house. Everyone else got out of the building, but no one knew they were there. Roy found them hiding in a corner of the basement. He managed to get them out just before the building caved in. He got a commendation for it.”

  “Really? Where does he live?”

  “He bought one of those Victorian houses just off Main Street, and he’s restoring it. From what I can see, he’s doing a good job. He told me that carpentry is his hobby. You should drive by and look at it. It’s the third house from the end of Yucca.”

  “I remember that house. It’s the one with all the gingerbread along the roof.”

  “That’s the one. And just in case you’re interested, he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I promised as I walked past him into the office.

  I could understand why Tom would encourage me to be interested in Roy. He had never liked Geoff. The day I had called to tell him I was engaged, Tom didn’t congratulate me.

  “I think you’re making a big mistake,” he had said bluntly. “Geoff wants money and power. Is that what you want?”

  “You only met him once,” I had argued. “How do you know what he wants?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  Of course he wasn’t, but it had taken me a long time to admit it.

  For the next few days, I concentrated on my job. Most days, I drove two tours. In the morning, I took a group of people into the desert to see the red rocks, the blooming cacti, and two old ghost towns. As the desert heat rose in the afternoon, I drove another group of people into the mountains to see the tall timber, rushing streams, and mining camps. We came across wildlife, jackrabbits, deer, lizards, and even an occasional snake. I told them the legends of the Native Americans, the stories of the settlers, and the tales of the miners. Blue rode along with me.

  Every night, I slept in the little room that Aunt Betty had decorated for me when I was a child, and one night, just before I fell asleep, I realized that I was happy again. I hadn’t really been happy since before my parents died.

  On Thursday afternoon, I was scheduled to drive a group of senior citizens on a tour of Native American ruins, but about an hour before we were supposed to leave, they called and cancelled.

  “Someone in the group had an emergency,” Uncle Joe explained, “and they asked if they could change their tour to another day. Since I know most of the members of the group, I told them they could. You can take the afternoon off.”

  I didn’t argue with him. I grabbed some water and some leftovers from the refrigerator, told my dog to get in my Jeep, and headed out of town.

  About ten miles away, Red Rock Mesa rose out of the desert, a table top of rock that stood half a mile above the valley. A dirt road wound its way up the side of the mesa through ruts and over boulders. From the top of the mesa was a spectacular view of the valley below, but I wasn’t going to look at the valley. The prickly pear would be blooming on the mesa, a once-a-year event that I didn’t want to miss.

  Growing close to the ground, the prickly pear cactus has round leaves with nasty spikes that stick to anything unlucky enough to touch them. But for a few weeks every summer, the round cactus puts on a show of waxy flowers in yellow, red, and pink. Red Rock Mesa was covered with prickly pear, and the show went on for miles.

  I blinked back tears as my Jeep rolled the last few feet onto the top of the mesa. The last time I had been there, I was still in high school. I’d been on a picnic with my parents, aunt, uncle, and cousin. Blue had made the mistake of trying to sniff one of the cacti, and she had gotten a spine stuck in her nose. I had reached for her to pull the cactus needle out, but Dad had stopped me.

  “Wait, Jill,” he’d said. “Let me do it. The needle has a little barb on the end. So you don’t want to pull it straight out.” He’d called Blue over to him and shown me the proper way to remove a prickly pear spine.

  Blue still remembered that lesson, because when she got out of the Jeep, she didn’t try to sniff any of the cacti. Instead, she followed on my heels as I marveled at the cactus flowers, the red rocks, and the blue sky. It was just as beautiful as I had remembered.

  “Hello there,” a voice called from nearby, and I looked up to see the fire chief.

  Dressed in a camp shirt and cargo shorts, he took long strides toward me. Hiking boots covered his feet, and a wide-brimmed hat shaded his face. He was smiling.

  “Fancy meeting you up here,” he said.

  “I came to see the cactus flowers.”

  “You came to the right place. I’ve never seen anything like it. I left my truck on the other side of the mesa and hiked up the trail from the valley floor.”

  I nodded. “I’ve seen that trail, but I’ve never been on it. I always take the road.”

  Roy chuckled. “That’s not a road. It’s an obstacle course with ruts that would swallow my truck. It’s getting hot. Would you like some water?” He gestured toward a canteen hanging from his belt.

  “No, thanks. I’ve got a jug of water in the Jeep. I also brought a picnic lunch if you’d like to join me.”

  “Sure, that sounds like a plan. There’s a pile of rocks over there to your left. Maybe we could sit in the shade.” He carried the bag with the food, and I grabbed the water jug.

  When I opened the bag, he peeked in. “What have you got in here?”

  “I raided my aunt’s refrigerator before I left. I brought cold chicken, hard-boiled eggs, some meatloaf, and some bread for sandwiches. There’s also fruit an
d even a piece of cake.”

  “What a deal. The only thing I brought with me was an energy bar. How long has it been since you’ve been up here?”

  “A long time,” I admitted. “The last time I was here, my parents were still alive. They were killed in a plane crash when I was in college. It was a small plane, piloted by one of my dad’s friends. It got caught in a wind sheer. I was in class when I got a message to come to the dean’s office. The dean broke the news to me. I didn’t believe her at first. I thought it had to be some kind of sick joke.”

  “How awful for you.”

  I didn’t know why I had just told him all that stuff. I should have just told him about the plane. I didn’t have to go into details. Suddenly, I felt embarrassed, and I changed the subject.

  “What’s it like to be the fire chief in Megalith? Are there many fires?”

  “In a small town like this, very little of a fireman’s time is spent fighting fires. On a typical day, I might get a cat out of a tree, give a scout troop a lecture on fire safety, or even assist someone who is locked out of their house or their car.”

  “Really? How do you do that?”

  “Well, it depends on the locks involved. Sometimes I can break in by using a metal strip or a credit card, and sometimes I lend them a cell phone to call a locksmith.”

  I giggled. “I would never think to call the fire department if I locked myself out of my car. What’s the most unusual call you’ve had since you’ve been in Megalith?”

  “That would be when old Mrs. Velup wanted me to come over and talk some sense into her husband. He was threatening to leave her.”

  “Did it work?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. They got a divorce after fifty-two years of marriage. Mr. Velup said he was tired of his wife stealing all the covers at night and squeezing the toothpaste in the middle. I guess I’m better at putting out fires than mediating domestic disputes.”

  “Well, don’t feel bad. I remember the Velups. They were always fighting. They couldn’t go anywhere without getting into an argument.”

  “I really do act like a fireman on some days. This morning, I drove over to Windspring Resort to perform a fire inspection on some remodeling they’re doing. I was on my way back when I decided to hike up the mesa trail.”

  We kept up the conversation as we shared the food until suddenly a few drops of water from the sky caught our attention.

  “It’s sprinkling,” I commented, glancing upward.

  Dark clouds had gathered over the mesa, and the rain began to fall faster.

  “Let’s move closer to the rocks so we won’t be exposed,” Roy suggested. He picked up the bag of food.

  I was just about to ask what he meant by being exposed when a bolt of lightning split the sky, and I dashed after him. We huddled together in a shallow cave, and I kept one hand on Blue while the rain pounded the ground so hard that it drowned out our conversation.

  Although it was summer, the rain was cold and the air turned chilly. I shivered a little, and Roy slid his arm around me. I don’t know how long we stayed there waiting for Mother Nature to let up, but the rain finally slowed down to a steady beat.

  When it let up enough that we could hear each other talk, I asked, “What do you like best about living here?”

  He grinned. “You mean besides the sudden downpours and the intense heat, which, by the way, I love. My favorite thing is the clear blue sky. Most of the time, the sky is brown in Los Angeles.”

  “I’ve never been there, but I know the smog is legendary. Whenever I leave Arizona, I miss the clean smell.” I took a deep breath. “I love the way the desert air smells in the rain.”

  At that moment, my dog whined and wiggled out of my grasp. She darted from the cave out into the rain, where she ran around happily sniffing the ground.

  “She must be enjoying herself,” I pointed out. “She hasn’t done that since she was a puppy.”

  “How long have you had her?”

  “Twelve years. My mom gave her to me for my fourteenth birthday, and she’s been with me ever since. I even took her with me to college. Then, after I lost my folks, it seemed like Blue was all I had left of my immediate family. I guess that sounds kind of lame.”

  Roy shook his head. “Not to a man who grew up with a Basset hound named Lowrider. I know exactly how you feel.”

  Then, without warning, Roy pulled me to him and put his lips to mine. It was a quick, gentle kiss, but I felt my blood prickling in my skin.

  When he released me, he said, “I hope you’re not offended. I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just that you look so beautiful here in the rain.” Then he kissed me again.

  My hands crept up around his neck, and I relaxed into his arms. His kisses were tender and teasing, electric and exciting. I never knew kissing could be like that, and I didn’t want to let him go. When we finally stopped to catch our breath, I felt a little embarrassed, and I giggled. Roy smiled.

  Trying to get a handle on my emotions, I said, “It stopped raining.”

  “You couldn’t prove it by me. All I can see is you.”

  As I stepped out of the cave, Blue came up to nuzzle me. “I’m going to have to get back before Uncle Joe sends a search party out looking for me. The storm was pretty intense, and it might have washed out the foot trail. Can I give you a lift back to your truck?” I kept trying to pretend everything was normal, although my heart was pounding and I could still feel Roy’s kisses on my lips.

  “That’s probably a good idea,” he agreed, “and here’s another one—let me take you out on Saturday night. We could go to dinner and see a movie.”

  “Sure. I’d love to.”

  As I drove back down the mesa road, I was aware of an attraction to Roy that I had never felt toward my former fiancé.

  When I told my cousin Tom about my date with the fire chief, he gave me a smug look. Of course, I didn’t tell him about Roy’s kisses or the way my heart sped up every time I thought about him.

  It was exactly six-thirty on Saturday night when Roy arrived in his old truck.

  Aunt Betty greeted him at the door. “Howdy, Roy,” I heard her say. “Jill will be down in a minute. Where are you two going?”

  “Well, if Jill likes Mexican food, we’ll have dinner at the Casita. Then, we’ll see a classic movie at the Bijou.”

  As I walked downstairs, I said, “I love Mexican food. What’s showing at the theater?”

  “A movie with Humphrey Bogart, The African Queen. It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Mine too. It’ll be fun to see it on the big screen.”

  There were a lot of people out and about in Megalith that evening. The Casita was packed, and I thought we would never get a table, but when we walked in, the hostess seated us immediately. Roy had called ahead for a reservation.

  “I didn’t even know they took reservations,” I admitted. “As busy as this town is tonight, I wish we could have made reservations at the theater too.”

  “We did. I already bought our tickets.”

  Over dinner, he told me about his family. His father had been a firefighter, and his brother was still with the department in Los Angeles.

  We arrived at the movie early enough to get good seats. During the film, I glanced over at Roy several times, and each time, I discovered he was looking at me. I felt my cheeks grow hot, and I was grateful that the dark theater hid my blushing face.

  By the time we walked back outside, darkness had fallen on Megalith.

  “Are you getting tired, or can I talk you into letting me show you my house?” Roy asked. I agreed, and he went on, “It used to belong to some people named Turner. The house was a mess when I got it. All the downstairs windows were broken, and it looked like tumbleweeds had moved in to stay. But upstairs, there are several windows that still have the original glass.”

  “Do you know the story of the Turners?” I asked him when he pulled into the driveway.

  “Only that Mr. Turner owned part interest i
n a mine that played out.”

  “That’s just the beginning of the story. When Mr. Turner started to get successful, he built his house and sent away for a mail-order bride. Mrs. Turner had been a short-order cook in Chicago. They say the Turners were very happy until the mine started to play out. At first, Mr. Turner didn’t tell his wife—he didn’t want her to worry about money. But when she discovered they were going broke, she opened a restaurant on Main Street and ran it herself for thirty years. They made another fortune in the restaurant business.”

  “It just shows you that when life gives you lemons—” Roy started to say.

  “You should make lemonade,” I finished for him.

  “It’s a nice story.”

  “It’s a nice house, and it looks like you’re doing a great job bringing it back to life.”

  Right then the phone rang, and Roy went to answer it. When he came back, his expression was serious.

  “There’s a fire at the McClay place just outside town. I have to go. Can I drop you off at your uncle’s?”

  I climbed into his truck.

  “I’ll take your uncle back with me if he hasn’t left yet,” Roy explained. “I’m the only paid fireman on the Megalith department—everyone else is a volunteer. Your uncle and your cousin are two of the best men we have. Too bad Tom’s leg is broken.”

  When I got back home, I discovered Tom pacing around the living room, as much as a man in a cast and crutches can pace.

  “This is the first fire I’ve missed since I was seventeen,” he confided. “Tell me about your date and take my mind off what I wish I was doing.”

  The fire was in a barn that had just been filled with hay. Everyone was talking about it the next day, even the people on the tours I was driving. According to the stories I heard, the bales of fresh hay had been crammed together in the barn. Since there was no air circulation between them, they heated up until they burst into flames. The barn was a total loss, but the fire department had managed to keep the flames from spreading to the house.

  “If it hadn’t been for the fire chief’s quick thinking,” I heard one woman say, “they would have lost everything. I hope they had insurance.”