by Marina Adair
“Are you saying I’m not fired?” Ford asked, wondering when another few weeks of settling dog disputes had become important.
“Not yet,” Harris said with a smile. “As long as you promise not to mess with the single-mom code.”
“I’m not into single moms or taking advantage of vulnerable women.” Although Liv hadn’t looked like a mom the other night in her sundress and bare feet.
“You think Liv is the vulnerable one here?” Harris let out a big, obvious laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. “Man, good luck with that.”
Two hours later, Ford was still trying to figure out what Harris had meant by his comment. Not that he was going to ask the prick, since Harris had Ford reviewing a pile of volunteer forms for the new K-9 trailing team.
Harrison wanted a solid team of ten identified by the time Ford left, but after flipping through the applicants, he knew he’d be lucky to find one person who had the time to dedicate to becoming a solid team member. It wasn’t qualified applicants he was lacking. There were a dozen or more who were fit outdoor enthusiasts—and working sixty-hour-a-week careers. What he needed were people who had the time to train their dogs and the flexibility to drop everything at a moment’s notice for a call-out.
He was just finishing up a call to Ms. Pines, who was asking if he’d received the flowers she’d sent for helping rescue Bubbles, when there was a knock at the door.
Ford looked at the horseshoe of white lilies in the corner of the room, then at Bullseye, who was eyeing the cluster of THANK YOU helium balloons that Ms. Moberly had sent more than an hour after the flowers arrived.
Another knock sounded.
Needing a vacation from his vacation, Ford said, “Come in.”
The door opened, and in walked the prettiest bouquet he’d ever seen. Liv looking fresh-faced in a yellow sundress with tiny little white flowers on it and even tinier straps. In fact, the whole thing seemed to be held up by this belt that was thin enough to snap with a single tug, and it was fastened right under her morning glories.
Holy hell, her morning glories—something Ford was doing his best not to notice, but when they were placed on display the way they were, it made not looking impossible. So he gave himself one glance, a split second to take it all in, in one of those forget-what-you-saw kind of situations that made his head spin.
And okay, maybe it was two seconds, but Ford was a morning-glory aficionado—and Liv deserved a blue ribbon.
“Nurse Cupcake,” he said, standing, uncertainty weighing heavily.
Bullseye let out a joyous bark and raced over to give her a big doggy welcome to the office, which included running around her legs and getting hair all over her dress. Not that she seemed to mind.
“Hey, Bullseye,” she said, giving him a big scratch that had the dog’s eyes rolling back into his head. One last belly rub—lucky dog—and Liv straightened. Her expression was as uncertain as Ford’s heartbeat. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Just being the department receptionist.”
She smiled, small, but it gave him hope. “I came to ask some questions about permits, and I saw you in your office and decided to see if you had a minute.” She looked around the office, her lips curving when she saw the balloons. “But you look busy. Was there a funeral I didn’t know about, or did I miss your birthday?”
“More like I got stuck in the middle of a feud,” he said, feeling himself relax.
“Yes, the great Baby Bubbles in the Vent rescue—I heard about it from several of my patients,” she informed him primly. “There’s even talk about selling Team Doolittle T-shirts at Wagon Days.”
“Please tell me you’re making that up,” he moaned.
“Sorry, you’re a big-time hero around here.”
Ford considered her warm smile and found himself hoping that if she knew the truth she’d still think the same. For some reason, the idea of disappointing her was worse than saying goodbye. “That’s a direct result of Harris being an ass.”
“That’s the result of you being kind.” He rolled his eyes, and she laughed. “What? You’ve made an entire group of residents feel safe and heard. It’s sweet.”
“Sweet?” he choked. “Somewhere across town Harris just high-fived himself.”
She laughed, then leaned in, showing him a little slice of her morning glories encased in black lace. “Most guys would love to have their own fan club.”
The only fan he was interested in gaining after yesterday’s slip was Liv. Admiration came from compassion and understanding and usually led to respect. And Ford needed her respect to convince her to slow down long enough to enjoy the life she was working so hard to build.
“I’m not most guys,” he warned her.
“I’ve noticed that.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Which is why I wanted to apologize for how I reacted yesterday at the market.”
“I was out of line,” he said honestly.
“No, you were just being honest,” she said, and Ford felt the guilt clog his throat. “I’m not ready for an open conversation because that would require me to be open. And opening up is scary. Which is why I snapped at you.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Yes, I do.” She met his gaze head-on. “You said some really sweet things to me the other night, and I didn’t know how to handle it, so I hid. But I’m tired of hiding, which is why I’ve come up with a plan to put myself out there, and I need your help.” Liv pulled two files from her purse and held them to her chest. “Based on how I reacted the last time you tried to help, I would understand if it made you uncomfortable. So if you say no, you won’t hurt my feelings.”
“There you go with the warnings again,” he teased, but his shirt felt a little tight around the neck.
“I just like to be up front so no one feels obligated.”
Ford didn’t feel particularly obligated to anything at the moment. Even his promise to be a stand-up guy for Liv. He was too busy watching the way she worried her lower lip, her eyes never leaving his as if she preferred to see what was coming. Her posture was sturdy, ready for whatever was around the next corner. It was as impressive as it was disheartening.
“As long as there’s no casserole involved, we’re good.”
Liv laughed. “I needed that.”
So did he. His chest felt as if it were about to explode with tension. “What’s going on, Liv?”
“I need a favor,” she asked, and Ford was on board with whatever it was. Because Liv was a petite powerhouse with melt-your-soul eyes and an easy grace that reminded him of a warm summer day in the Sierras. Tempting combination for a guy who’d made a career out of walking into the eye of the storm.
Which was the only reason he could think of for why he said, “Whatever it is, I’m in.”
“Really?” she said, her shock causing her to sputter a little. Ford did a little sputtering of his own, because this was exactly how he’d gotten in this mess in the first place. “I haven’t even told you what it is.”
“You don’t have to,” he said, doing what Harris told him to do. Get to know her. “You asked, and I said yes.”
“But what if I was asking you to come mow my lawn shirtless so I can watch you while I eat a box of Fudgsicles?”
He thought about that and grinned. “Would you return the favor?”
“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly, plus the spark in her eyes said that she wasn’t as opposed to the idea as she’d thought. And Ford had to admit that Liv was tougher than he’d given her credit for.
“Would I at least get a Fudgsicle when I was done?”
She shook her head. “That would lead to flirting. And while flirting is your second language, it leaves me feeling off balance,” she admitted, her tone so genuine his chest clenched. “So if you say yes, then there will be a strict no-flirting rule in effect because this is too important of an opportunity for me to complicate.”
Liv’s smile didn’t falter, but there was something abou
t the way she held the papers to her chest, something as uncertain as the emotion in those big brown eyes that had his warning bells blaring. Maybe it was the way she pulled back inside herself, her emotions rounding down until it was as smooth as a lake, without even a noticeable ripple. Or the fact that she was staring at his mouth. But the easy humor faded, and Ford felt himself being sucked in.
“I’m in charge of entertainment for Wagon Days,” she said, and the look of abject horror on her face made him want to laugh.
“I haven’t been in town long, but even I know that most women would give their favorite handbag to be approved.”
“My favorite handbag is a canvas tote from Bunny Slope Supermarket, and I’m not most women.”
“Is that another warning?”
“Just being up front. From my experience, misunderstandings tend to complicate things more.”
Her comment should have turned him off, but instead he wanted to see just how complicated things could get. Which was the one thing he’d promised Harris he wouldn’t do.
Ford rested his elbows on the desk and leaned in. “So how can I help?”
“Be the celebrity judge for the Wagon Days Darling pageant.”
First doggy yoga and now this. Ford dropped his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. The guys were going to give him so much shit.
“And before you answer, remember you already said yes,” she reminded him. “But it isn’t a big commitment. All you have to do is watch a bunch of dogs parade in front of you, then interview them, and announce the winner at the start of the parade.”
He opened one eye. “You want me to interview a dog?”
“I think you interview the owners about their dogs. But hey, you’re Officer Doolittle, so you do what feels right.”
“Whatever feels right, huh?” he asked, and when she smiled, releasing a sassy grin in his direction, doing the wrong thing had never felt so good. “Fine,” he said, resting his forearms on the desk and leaning forward. “But it will cost you.”
“Oh,” she said softly, and the growing panic in her eyes at the idea of owing him one surprised him.
Yet the way her breath quickened when she did one of those pretend not to look at his mouth glances intrigued him. “Cupcakes. One of the fancy ones you had the other night. With all the frosting intact.”
She let out a startled laugh. “You drive a hard bargain, but my mom warned me about sharing my cupcake secrets. You tell one person the secret, and the next thing you know everyone in town is using your recipe, and everything that was special is now commonplace.”
“I guess your mom left out that the special ingredient is you,” he said, watching her closely.
“That,” she said a little above a whisper. “That scares me.”
“Scares you or challenges you to see yourself differently, Liv? Because that’s a big difference.”
She thought about that, then finally sighed. “I’m not sure.”
He softened his expression. “Then I won’t say it again until you’re sure.”
“I like predictability,” she admitted, knowing that they weren’t talking about cupcakes any longer. “But I’m starting to see the appeal of the unexpected.”
“Your binder says different,” he said, looking at the stack of lists and spreadsheets clutched in her hands. They were itemized, color coded, and had more blank boxes than checked ones.
She looked at the dog-eared and worn pages and sighed. “This right here is seventy-five years of history and traditions that prove predictability is overrated.” She opened the file and pulled out a stack of printed emails and blog posts. “I looked at what they’ve done in the past for Wagon Days, and I get why they needed some new ideas. And since the biggest party I’ve ever planned included myself, Paxton, and his grandparents, I talked to my mom posse.”
“You have a mom posse?”
“It’s something new I’m trying,” she said. “Only it turns out mom posses have ideas. Lots of ideas. And they aren’t shy about sharing them.”
She spread the contents of the file across his desk, and Ford felt his eyes blur over. There were sketches, magazine clippings, lists, and even color swatches. “Is this a community event or the inaugural dinner?”
“I’m not sure,” Liv said. “But I promised to make this Wagon Days amazing, so I have to bring the fun back to the event. Except fun involves a lot of opinions, suggestions, and paperwork.”
“I’ve become a ninja at paperwork. Maybe I can help you with some of it.”
“And what will that cost me?” she asked, but instead of looking suspicious, she looked genuinely interested.
“This one’s on the house.” Ford grinned and picked up a stack of kid-friendly craft ideas to flip through them. “There must be five dozen ideas here.”
“And that’s just the Stroller Patrol and Living for Love. I haven’t talked to the senior center, the Wag and Waddle, or any of the other local clubs.” Liv opened the second file and handed Ford a smaller, more realistic stack. They were permit forms, already completed and waiting for a signature. “Here are the top five ideas and the list of local businesses who have agreed to donate the supplies.”
He glanced at the firms and gave a low whistle. “When were you appointed?”
“Wednesday.”
Impressive. In two days, she’d managed to organize a team, secure donors, and complete the majority of the paperwork for the county. Some of his search teams in Reno weren’t this prepared.
“But the new paperwork needs to be signed and in to the county by Tuesday morning. Which means I need to get someone from this department to sign off on it before the city will consider granting me the permit.”
She sat back and quietly encouraged him to read the forms. Her eyes following his every move and her teeth worrying that lip again made concentrating on anything else damn hard. But he warriored on.
He turned to the second page and met her gaze. “A bounce-house lagoon and kid-zone island?”
“Yeah, the Stroller Patrol didn’t have to worry about gaining departmental approval.” She snatched the packet back and handed him a new one. “These are the ones I thought would get kids excited, make parents feel comfortable, and be a slam dunk for your department to approve.”
She leaned in to point to the first one, and it took everything he had to keep his gaze on her face, because the V-neckline of her dress puckered, giving him a lovely peek of silky skin and the scalloped edge of what he knew was the black lace from earlier.
“This one is simple,” she continued. “It’s just a giant tent at the end of Lake Street for a make-your-own Wild West badge for the little ones. I already have the team to run it, and Mavis will donate the fabric. I just need a signature.”
“Easy.” He scribbled his John Hancock and flipped to the next page. “A s’mores bar?” He looked up at her through his brows. “A raging fire on the middle of the beach is your idea of a permitting slam dunk?”
“A controlled fire on a safe section of the beach, and yes, I thought it would be a fun nighttime thing for the whole family,” she explained, her face so animated he couldn’t look away. “Ned from Neddy’s Lumber and Garden Gnomes offered to donate the wood, and Bunny Slope Supermarket will donate the rest. All I have to do is find the right location.”
“And get safety-first Harris to agree to an event that includes giving fire and sticks to a sugared-up pack of preschoolers.” He set the papers down. “He’d never sign off on this, and he’d have my ass if I did.”
She crossed her arms a bit smugly and said, “Then why did he suggest it?”
“Harris suggested a bonfire and s’mores bar?”
“Adult s’mores bar, but I went with the family-friendly experience,” she explained, and Ford corrected his earlier assessment. She wasn’t impressive. She was a force.
Nurse Cupcake might be a tiny thing, but she had a will big enough to save the world and enough soft curves to make things interesting.
“Well then, we’ll make sure Harris is listed as the officer in charge,” Ford said, scribbling his good buddy’s name down in the respective box. “What’s next?”
“Just wait,” she said, flipping the page, the spark in her eyes telling him this was the one she’d come up with. The one that had her smile on full tilt.
She sat back, patiently waiting for him to read the outline. He loved how her eyes followed his every move, proving that her earlier huff was for show, because she was as excited as a kid on Halloween.
Ford got to the grand finale and looked up. “You want to do a fireworks show? You do know that we’re in fire country, right?”
“Keep reading—there’s more.” Her elegant finger pointed to the schedule of events that was long enough to fill a state fair.
He closed the packet and looked her in the eye. “What’s your goal here?”
“A perfect old-fashioned carnival to honor the founders of Sequoia Lake, with some added modern pizzazz for the newer generations. A perfect old-meets-new day of fun for the entire family,” she said, as if she had this in the bag.
It was complete bullshit, of course, which made him even more eager to help. Her voice was all sweet enthusiasm and big dreams, but her uncertainty was right there beneath the surface, if one knew what to look for.
And when it came to this woman, Ford knew what to look for, and right now she was too busy troubleshooting to have any kind of fun.
“Been rehearsing that long?” he mused.
She sighed. “It sounded good when I pitched it in the mirror today. Better than the whole ‘I need to prove to my boss that I can be a company girl.’ To do that, I need to prove I’m a community girl and kick the Carson City carnival’s butt with the best Wagon Days since its inception.”
“That I can help you with,” he said. “But the petting zoo, milk-can toss, and gold panning are way too mother-approved to beat out a paint-gun alley with glowing pellets,” he said, and she opened her mouth to say fireworks—he could see her lush lips forming the sound. “And wagon rides down Main Street and fireworks are permitting nightmares—and not the answer.”