Safe in the Fireman's Arms

by Tina Radcliffe

  “Yes. Denver,” Maggie answered, holding the screen for the older woman.

  Bitsy nodded approval at the answer. As they entered the small home she glanced around, pausing to eye the pale gray walls, white beadboard wainscoting and polished wood floors. “Haven’t been inside the cottage in years. It’s lovely.”

  “Thank you. That would be my cousin Susan’s work.” Maggie turned on the burner under the kettle and took two mugs down from the cupboard. She prepared a tray and placed it on the table.

  “Not much furniture,” Bitsy noted.

  “Enough for me,” Maggie said.

  “I’ve got some pieces in storage that are collecting dust.”

  “That’s awfully nice of you, but I’m not even certain I’m staying.”

  “Oh, you’re staying.”

  “Excuse me?” Maggie turned to meet Bitsy’s serious gaze.

  “I’ve got a feeling about you and I can’t say I’m wrong once I get a feeling.”

  “Do you get these feelings often?” she asked.

  “Last time was Dr. Ben Rogers, and he’s still here. Married with twins now.”

  Maggie swallowed a retort, and instead turned up the flame under the teapot.

  “That’s some stove,” Bitsy continued. “Looks like it will do everything, except the dishes.”

  Maggie laughed at Bitsy’s assessment of the stainless steel giant that boasted a regular oven, a convection oven and a griddle next to eight gas burners. “Susan says she bought it during her Food Network phase.”

  “Do you cook?”

  “I get by,” Maggie said, unwilling to verbalize aloud that her skills in the kitchen were rudimentary on a good day.

  “Bake?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe I could show you how to bake a pie.”

  “Really?”

  Bitsy opened an oven door and peeked inside. “Sure. Nothing to it. Most people overthink when it comes to pies. ’Course, you know that it’s the surest way to a man’s affection.”

  Once again, an appropriate response evaded Maggie.

  The oven door slammed shut and Bitsy faced Maggie. “So what do you think of Jake?”

  “Jake?”

  “Jacob MacLaughlin Junior.”

  “I, um... He’s nice.”

  “Nice? That’s how you describe a spring day in Paradise.”

  Maggie blinked at the words, but Bitsy simply forged on.

  “Jake MacLaughlin is good man. Oh, he’s not perfect, mind you. Carries a burden that isn’t his to carry. Set in his ways. Been on his own far too long. I imagine some prayers and the right woman could change all that, and I’m working on both.” She raised her brows and looked Maggie up and down in silent assessment.

  Stunned, all Maggie could do was return a weak smile, as the kettle began its shrill whistle, cutting off Bitsy’s next words.

  “So, I’d like you to give Jake a chance.

  Maggie’s eyes widened as she reached for a pot holder. “Could you run that by me again?”

  “Paradise is a splendid little town, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, yes,” she agreed, pouring the steaming water into the mugs.

  “But we sadly lack a choice population of unmarried females under the age of sixty-five.”

  “I see” was all Maggie could come up with as she returned the kettle to the stove.

  “I knew you would.” Bitsy selected a tea bag and placed it in her mug. “So you’ll keep an open mind?”

  “About what?”

  Bitsy shot Maggie a look clearly accusing her of not paying attention. “Jake.”

  “You understand that we hardly know each other and the Founder’s Day thing isn’t a date or anything.”

  “I understand.” Steely blue eyes pinned her with a determined gaze. “But you’ll give him a chance?”

  Capitulation was the only option. “Yes. Okay, I’ll do that.”

  Without skipping a beat, Bitsy sipped her tea, a satisfied smile on her face. “Now about that garden. You’ll find the soil around here difficult but not impossible. Quality peat moss will loosen things up. At least six bags for a garden that size. Then you’ll need a good fertilizer with nitrogen, phosphorous and potash. And a rototiller. I’ll have to get a rototiller over here. They rent them out at the hardware store.”

  “Really. That’s not necessary.”

  “I know Mack real well. I’ll have one here tomorrow. Morning work for you?”

  “Morning?” Maggie scrambled for an answer. “Um, I suppose I could make it work. Thank you.”

  “What are you doing tomorrow night?” Bitsy asked.

  Her mind raced, as prickles of concern washed over her. “Nothing... Why do you ask?”

  “I’ll have your Aunt Betty pick you up. The Paradise Ladies Auxiliary meets at my house on Wednesday nights.”

  “But...”

  “Community involvement will look good on your résumé, especially to the school board.”

  Maggie’s jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

  Bitsy smiled serenely and sipped her tea. She slowly placed the mug on the table. “This is Paradise. One thing you’ll find out pretty quick is that around here there’s no such thing as a stranger. If you came here for quiet, fine. If you came here for privacy, well, good luck.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Maggie paused to absorb the woman’s words. What had she gotten herself into?

  * * *

  Maggie’s ears perked and she straightened from the counter, where she had been watching the coffee drip—much too slowly—into the glass carafe. Was that a knock? She glanced at the clock as the doorbell rang. It was 7:00 a.m.

  Padding barefoot across the living room, she tiptoed to the peephole. Jake? Now what crime had she committed? Maggie glanced down at her clothes. Well, at least they weren’t wrinkled. Much.

  She removed the chain lock and opened the door. Jake MacLaughlin stood bright-eyed on her porch, in jeans and a crisp denim shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. An enthusiastic black-and-white dog sat eagerly at his feet.

  “Jake? Is everything okay?”

  “Sure. Delivering the rototiller. It’s in my truck. Mack said you wanted it here early.”

  “Mack? But Bitsy is the one who...” She shook her head. “Well, never mind. Thank you for bringing it by.”

  “Do I smell coffee?” he asked.

  “Yes. Would you like a cup?”

  “Now there’s a hearty invitation.”

  “Sorry.” She put on a smile though she was still unconvinced that inviting Jake into her home was a bright idea. “May I offer you a cup of freshly brewed coffee, Chief MacLaughlin?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Maggie glanced at the dog. “Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Chuck.”

  She nodded and opened the screen. “Come on in.”

  “Chuck. Stay.”

  The dog whined, but obeyed.

  “Nice place,” Jake observed as he followed her into the kitchen.

  “All Susan’s doing. She got the domestic gene.”

  “What are you working on?” he asked.

  Across from a small floral sofa and chair in the living room, an oak table was covered with newspaper and on top were a metal toolbox and an array of tools. A small engine sat in the middle of the chaos.

  “Oh, that’s the engine from a garden fountain. One of the ladies from the auxiliary brought it in and I told her I’d see what I could do.”

  Jake looked at the project from all angles. “You know, most women knit or sew or bake cookies in their spare time.”

  “I’m not most women,” she said as she continued to move toward the kitchen.

  “I noticed.”

  She gestured to one of the mismatched chairs positioned around a small nook table tucked beneath a bay window. “A little early for insults, isn’t it?”

  He slid into the chair. “That wasn’t an insult. Being different is good.”

  “Not in my
experience,” she muttered.

  Maggie pulled another mug from the cupboard as the coffeepot sputtered the last drops into the carafe.

  “So, you met Bitsy?” he asked.

  “You mean, Hurricane Harmony?”

  Jake laughed. “That’s Bitsy.”

  “We met yesterday. I’m still picking up the pieces.”

  “No doubt.”

  “The interesting thing is that while I saw it coming—” Maggie shook her head “—I didn’t have a clue how to stop it or even get out of the way.”

  “Don’t let her play that game too often or before you know it she’ll have you signed up for every committee in Paradise and in her free time she’ll manage your personal life.”

  Maggie could only sigh as she poured the coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black, please. And I’m not kidding.”

  “I know you aren’t. It would have been good to have this information before she blew past.”

  “You joined the auxiliary.”

  She nodded and handed him a mug.

  Jake clucked his tongue. “I can’t help you now.”

  “As usual, my own fault.”

  He sipped his coffee. “Good coffee.”

  “Don’t look so surprised.” She pulled open a cupboard and pointed to several boxes. “Did you want a toaster pastry with that?”

  “Uh, no, I’ll pass. Thank you.”

  Maggie leaned against the counter and eyed him. “Do you always make deliveries for the hardware store,” she asked.

  “No, we’ve got a guy who does that. There was some sort of overbooking glitch. We’re computerized, so I don’t know how it happened. But my dad asked me to help out.”

  “Nice of you.”

  “Part of the job.” He shrugged. “You know how to run a rototiller?”

  “No, however I am very big on manuals.”

  “I bet you are—only it doesn’t come with a manual.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll figure it out.”

  He looked out the window at the yard. “That’s a big project. I’m happy to help.”

  “I don’t want to bother you,” she said.

  “I’m here. Allow me to help.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll get the tiller and gasoline can from my truck.” He pulled keys out of his pocket. “Could you do a walk-through for any sticks, or rocks or anything else that might be in the yard, before I come through with the tiller?”

  “Of course.”

  Maggie slipped an old sweatshirt over her head before she pushed open the side door and stepped into the yard.

  A perfect Colorado morning. Perfect for tilling after the recent rain. Or possibly a little too wet. This might prove to be a messy job.

  She tied the laces on her boots and grabbed a trash bag, and began to walk through the garden area, poking at the dirt with a stick and carefully inspecting the mud.

  Jake appeared, pushing the rototiller, with Chuck at his side.

  “Mind if Chuck watches?”

  “No, of course not. Would he like a cup of coffee, too?”

  Jake laughed. “He’s fine, though we appreciate the hospitality.” He put on his safety glasses, rolled down his sleeves and pulled on gloves before yanking on the tiller cord. The machine roared to life.

  Maggie stepped back as he directed the tiller into the area she had just cleared. He steered the turning blades into the soil, making parallel passes through the garden.

  Halfway across the plot, as she stooped down to pick up a stick, Maggie realized something had struck her between the shoulder blades. She twisted her sweatshirt around.

  Dirt.

  She glanced over at Jake but his concentration remained fixed on the ground and the task at hand.

  Probably an accident.

  Maggie proceeded down the next row, stopping after a moment to pick up a large rock. A clod of moist dirt slapped her yet again, this time landing right on the seat of jeans. She narrowed her eyes at Jake.

  Nothing.

  When it happened a third time she grabbed a clump of soil and threw it in Jake’s general direction.

  “What’re you doing?” he yelled above the roar of the tiller.

  “Sorry. Accident.”

  A few minutes later, surprise made her shoot straight up as a blob of mud slapped her backside.

  Jake must have felt her glaring, because he turned and angled his head, assessing the situation. His face wore a puzzled expression.

  Maggie scooped up a good chunk of dirt and carefully tossed it at him. The clod landed squarely on his shirtsleeve.

  Jake turned off the tiller. He patiently shook the soil off the sleeve of his once-pristine shirt. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re throwing dirt at me.” She turned to show him the back of her shirt and jeans.

  Though he wasn’t laughing his amber eyes were bright with amusement. “Not me, it’s the tiller.”

  “Well, your tiller is shooting dirt and hitting my backside.”

  “I suppose I could aim a little better.” He bent down and picked up a fresh piece of wet soil, focused and threw it. The chunk landed on her arm.

  “Aim better? Seriously?” She responded by selecting a generous blob of mud and formed the mess into a ball.

  “Wait. No. Maggie.” Jake took a step backward. “Don’t even think—”

  She wound up like a pitcher on the mound and released. The ball of mud splattered across Jake’s chest, bits decorating his chin. Maggie stood back and admired her handiwork.

  The morning air was quiet as Jake swiped at his chin with the back of his hand. Slowly, and with the utmost deliberation, he used two hands to gather an impressive amount of dirt. Maggie could only be grateful his handfuls weren’t nearly as wet as hers had been.

  He winked, his attention completely upon Maggie. She realized much too late that she might have underestimated him.

  Maggie cringed and narrowed her eyes as Jake targeted her feet. She jumped back as the dirt ball landed hard and exploded.

  With a raised finger, Jake scratched a point on an invisible chalkboard in the air.

  “Truce?” he asked, with an engaging smile that lit up his face.

  She dragged her gaze from his smile, paused and considered the offer, scanning his clothing, then hers. “Truce,” she agreed, trying to keep a straight face.

  Nodding with satisfaction, he yanked on the tiller’s start cord, bringing the machine back to life, and began to turn over the soil in parallel rows.

  She was covered with dirt and yet all she could do was smile. Truce, he’d said. But could she trust him?

  Maggie bit her lip, vowing to keep a watchful eye on Jake MacLaughlin.

  * * *

  Jake grinned at his reflection in the mirror and wiped another streak of mud off his face. He had to give Maggie credit, she was a good shot. His chin and neck were peppered with mud. She was a good sport, as well. He hadn’t expected that. And he hadn’t had that much fun in a long time, either.

  When he came out of the restroom, there was peach pie dished and waiting for him in the cozy kitchen. Maggie had changed clothes and was drying dishes by hand.

  Jake smiled. “That pie for me?”

  “Yes. You certainly earned it. Despite the mud bath, I am very appreciative of your help.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “What do you want with that? Iced tea? Coffee?”

  “Have any milk?”

  “Sure.” She poured a glass for him.

  He bit into the pie and savored the flavors. “Whoa. This tastes like Bitsy Harmony’s pie.”

  “It is Bitsy’s.”

  His head jerked back. “Bitsy gave you a pie?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re on her good side already.”

  “I got the feeling it was more like she was trying to get on my good side.”

  “You’re probably right.” He frowned, trying to put the pieces together. One thing was clear. He’d been outsmarted by
Mack and Bitsy. Yep. They’d gotten him to deliver the rototiller.

  Jake met Maggie’s gaze and she smiled, touching something deep inside him.

  He picked up the fork. Lucky for them he didn’t mind being hoodwinked. This time.

  “Aren’t you having any pie?” he asked Maggie. “You worked as hard as I did.”

  She cut herself a small piece and stood at the counter.

  “I don’t bite.”

  Maggie slid her plate onto the table and pulled out the chair across from him.

  “Looks like you missed a spot.”

  “Hmm?”

  Jake picked up a napkin and wiped a trace of mud off the back of her hand.

  “Thanks.”

  He glanced pointedly at the white band of skin on her ring finger. “Lose a ring?”

  “Engagement ring.”

  His eyes rounded in surprise. Something almost like jealousy stirred inside of him. “You were engaged? Pretty recent?”

  Maggie took a deep breath. “Yes.” She bit her lip. “I was supposed to get married this weekend.”

  “This weekend?” The air whooshed from his lungs as realization hit. “That’s why you took a cab from Denver.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “A runaway bride? Mind if I ask what happened?”

  “I realized at the last minute that I was going along for the ride to make everyone happy—everyone but myself.” She swallowed hard. “And he didn’t love me.”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie,” Jake said.

  He searched her eyes, seeing the pain. “Better you realized before the wedding, right?”

  She met his gaze. “Of course, but I’m not upset about the breakup. Actually I’m relieved about that. I’m upset that I spent so many years trying to please others instead of myself.”

  “Take my advice, sometimes all you can do is make peace with the past and move on.”

  “I’m still working on that part.”

  The ringing of a phone interrupted the silence that stretched between them.

  “Your phone?”

  Maggie turned around and grabbed her cell from the counter. “Hello? Yes. This is Margaret Jones.”

  A tiny gasp escaped her lips and her brown eyes lit up.

  “Thank you so much. Yes. I will. Absolutely. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  Jake raised his brows in question. “Good news?”

  “That was the county school board. They got my résumé and they want me to come in for an interview tomorrow.”