by Candis Terry
“Sit down,” Cap said when he remained standing. Suddenly feeling like a middle-schooler who’d gotten busted throwing firecrackers down the bathroom toilets, Jackson crossed the room and dropped down into one of two worn chairs in front of the desk.
The captain watched him with a cool expression that worked well with the light gray color of his observant eyes. At only thirty-nine years old, the captain looked as young and rugged as the rest of the men at their station. Lil Bit and Mighty Mouse, the two female firefighters on staff, had been known to declare the cap as “hot.” Especially after they’d had a few after-shift beers. Jackson didn’t know about that, but he did know that the man had earned and deserved respect from every soul in their company.
“So how’s life treating you outside the box?” The captain leaned back, and the chair gave a groaning squeak.
Jackson smiled at the term given to the station many years and many firefighters before. “Can’t complain.”
“Still helping out at your brother’s store while he’s gone?”
“Yep. Rumor has it he’ll be back next week.”
“And you’re still helping out your mom on the ranch?”
“Me and Jesse. Until Reno returns. Then he’ll step back into place.”
“You’ve got quite a full plate.”
Jesus. Where the hell was this heading?
Had he done something wrong? Had there been complaints against him? In the past year and a half, he’d been busting his ass to stay out of trouble. No bar brawls. No one-night stands. He hadn’t gotten so much as a parking ticket.
Jackson shrugged. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can.” Cap leaned forward and braced his thick forearms on the desktop. “Which is why I’m about to throw more on you.”
Great. “Okay.”
“Once upon a time I’ll admit I thought you were headed downhill on roller skates. I know life served you up a bad hand there for a while, but I’ve been impressed how you’ve handled yourself when others might have taken the easy way out.”
“Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.”
“So tell me . . .” The intensity in his superior’s eyes made him shift in his seat. “How do you feel about being a firefighter?”
“Aside from my family, sir, it means everything to me.”
“I’m glad to hear that. So what are your plans?”
“Plans?” Other than trying to be a good dad and putting one foot in front of the other, he hadn’t thought much past next week. But with Abby’s popping back into town, he’d sure given a hell of a lot of thought to his past. “Unless you’re trying to tell me I’m skating on thin ice, I plan to be a firefighter until I’m too old to lift a hose.”
“No complaints about your job performance. I’m asking about your plans because I want you to move up.”
“I’m happy at this station, sir.”
“Not move stations. Move up the ranks.”
“Me?” Jackson flinched. “All I know is how to fight fires. It’s what I love to do.”
“Understood. But you’ve got leadership qualities, and I think you’d be even more satisfied with your career if you put them to use.”
Jackson laughed. “I think you’ve got the wrong man. I’ve always been a follower.”
“The hell you have. Just because you’re one of the youngest in that band of brothers of yours doesn’t mean you weren’t meant to lead.” He pushed a battered, dog-eared folder across the desk. “This is the study material I put together when I started thinking about moving up the proverbial ladder. Take it. Look it over. And start putting together a plan. I’d like for you to apply to be an engineer. Get the whole spectrum of duties under your belt. It will make you a better captain when it’s your turn.”
“Captain!” Jackson sat up straighter. “Me?”
Cap gave him a smile. “Yeah. You.” He nodded toward the folder. “Take a look. I hope it will whet your appetite. Help you make a decision.”
“I . . .” Jackson looked at the folder, then back up at the man he held in the same high regard he’d given to his military superiors. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m not going to bullshit you, Crash. It won’t be easy. Studying takes time away from your family and all those little things you might do, like watch TV. But it’s worth it. And the fire service is always in need of smart, strong, dedicated individuals like yourself. You just have to fight your weaknesses to make it happen.”
The captain stood, pushed the chair away with the backs of his knees, and offered his hand. Conversation over. Jackson rose and accepted the gesture. Then he picked up the folder and tucked it beneath his arm. “Thank you, sir.”
“I believe in you. Don’t let me down.”
“I won’t.” Knowing his superior believed in him meant a lot. Trouble was, Jackson didn’t always believe in himself. He was great in a pinch. Worked like a champ off his instincts. But when he had to think about something first, then react, he tended to stop cold in his tracks.
“Hopefully the woman in your life will understand she may have to share you with the books for a while,” Cap said with a good-natured clap on the shoulder.
“No problem,” Jackson countered. “No woman.”
Not even the prospect of one.
Several days after she’d taken the plunge to come back to Sweet and face-plant into her past, Abby stood in the center of her parents’ living room, taking notes on what needed to be done in order to put the house up for sale.
After she’d gotten the furniture put back in place, she’d taken a couple days to reacquaint herself with the area by taking a long drive through the Hill Country. Each mile had reminded her of how much and why she’d missed the quaint little towns and the friendly smiles of people who didn’t know or judge her.
In Houston, she’d never gotten used to the glares from other women at the mandatory social gatherings that made her feel as though she had toilet paper hanging from the back of her dress. Or the ogling she’d receive from the men, who’d assess her breasts, waist, hip size, and intelligence all in one quick scan.
On the arm of the man who’d briefly chosen her to be his wife, she’d been judged often and harshly.
From Highways 87 to 290 to 46, she’d stopped at antiques stores and tourist sites and walked out with bags of trinkets and geegaws. She had no place to keep any of it. She didn’t exactly have a permanent home or even a plan on where she wanted to settle down yet.
One thing she’d learned about herself in recent days? She was great at making lists.
Everything else she pretty much sucked at.
She glanced at the dingy living-room walls and couldn’t recall the last time they’d seen a brush and new coat of paint. And even though she’d never been allowed to decorate in any of the homes her ex had owned, she’d developed a sense of what worked and what didn’t. With her mind focused on keeping things neutral for a quick and easy sale, she jotted down some color ideas. Then, pen poised above paper, she moved into the kitchen.
Paint. Curtains. New stove. New faucet. Her gaze dropped to the yellowed linoleum. Uck. New flooring. She might not know how to install or apply anything on her list, but she was determined to give it a go. She’d take it slow and learn.
She had nothing but time on her hands.
A quick study of the rest of the house told her each room needed new paint, and the bathrooms would need new sinks, faucets, and flooring as well. She’d replace the worn carpet with a hardwood type of laminate and call it good. By the time she was done with her parents’ house, hopefully she’d have an idea of where she wanted to go and what she wanted to do when she grew up.
Though she held a degree in business, her occupational skills ran the gamut from clerical to flower arranging. Of course, this was ranchland. She could always fall back on the talents she’d developed as a member of the 4-H and FFA, but she wasn’t sure there were any current job openings for a calf chaser or poop picker-upper.
> Which led her to the conclusion that until she discovered where she was going, she needed to guard the remains of her divorce settlement. Unless she happened to find that one thing she just couldn’t resist buying.
Then all bets were off.
A rush of exhilaration tickled her stomach as she grabbed her purse and, list in hand, headed toward one of those big-box stores in San Antonio. Maybe she’d even treat herself to lunch at Whataburger. She hadn’t been to one in years. Hadn’t been allowed. Her mouth watered just thinking of a thick, juicy jalapeño cheeseburger with a side of onion rings.
Typically, the noon traffic in downtown Sweet was the same as morning rush hour or the afternoon rush. Compared to Houston, it was virtually nonexistent. As she leisurely drove down Main Street, she recognized the changes that had recently taken place. Town Square—where birthday parties, weddings, and the Sweet Apple Butter Festival took place had been given a complete overhaul. Instead of a plain patch of grass, some overgrown trees, and a few beat-up picnic tables, there now stood a Victorian gazebo, walking path, water features, and a colorful playground.
Farther down the road sat the building that housed Goody Gum Drops, the candy store she and every other kid in town saved up their pennies to invade on Saturday afternoons. The onetime candy-striped building had been repainted crisp white and given a modest turn-of-the-century appeal. Several other stores had been given a face-lift as well.
Namely Wilder and Sons Hardware & Feed.
Abby’s foot hovered over the brake as she passed by at a crawl.
Why was she taking her business to San Antonio when she could keep her dollars right here in town and help out a family friend at the same time?
She flipped a Uey at the corner of First and Main and parked in front of the cedar-sided Western-style building. A revamped sign hung above a shiny corrugated metal overhang, and a display area now perked up the front window. Daisy-filled red feed buckets hung on the posts out front, and the boardwalk was brand spanking new.
After a quick smoothing of her hands down her clothes to make sure she was put together, she pushed open the glass door. A bell tinkled her arrival while Kenney Chesney sang about “Reality” on the radio. Several other people were milling about the store—an elderly man with a plastic handbasket filled with small boxes and packages of unidentifiable hardware goods and a woman with big hair and painted-on jeans at the paint-samples display booth. Abby vaguely remembered the woman.
Lila Ridenbaugh had been a wild child back when they’d been in high school. Though Abby had tried never to get sucked into the local gossip about who was doing who in the backseat of someone’s car, Lila’s name did happen to come up quite often.
While Abby waited for Reno to appear, she checked out the inside of the store, which felt as new and fresh as the outside. Yet somehow it still managed to preserve the spirit of Joe Wilder, the man who’d given the place life.
She pulled off her Dior Piccadilly sunglasses, shoved them up onto her head, and glanced up at the sepia-toned photos framed by aged barn wood. The pictures were of Joe and his five boys at various stages in their lives.
One was of Jackson, with a grin that displayed his missing two front teeth as he stood on a stool at the cash register with Reno and their father looking into the till. It was cute and animated, and Abby well remembered that toothless smile. Jackson’s teeth had grown in straight and white and gave him that knockout beam she was sure brought women to their knees.
Not that she wanted to think about that.
“Sorry that took so long,” a male voice said, and Abby shifted her gaze to the man coming through the doorway of the stockroom carrying a red box with BALL COCK printed in bright yellow letters down the side. Jackson, not Reno, headed over to the gentleman with the handbasket. While they conversed about toilets, she couldn’t stop her appreciative gaze from traveling down that tall, lean, muscular body.
A gray V-neck T-shirt hugged his wide shoulders and broad chest, then hung loose over his tight abdomen. A pair of worn Levi’s lovingly cupped his generous package, embraced long legs, and broke across the tops of well-worn cowboy boots. Jackson had the type of physique that made a woman’s girl parts tingle. She’d have to be dead not to include herself in that party. Especially since her girl parts had been told “No” way too many times in recent years.
As a deterrent, she joined Lila—who clearly didn’t recognize her—at the paint-sample display. Abby’s fingers immediately plucked out a sunny shade of yellow from the display. She loved color. Especially after being subjected to an all-white everything in Mark’s homes.
“I wouldn’t pick that color if I were you,” Lila said with a frown pulling her dark and a bit shaggy brows together.
“Oh?”
“Uh-uh. I painted my kids’ room with that and the color about blinds me every time I walk in there. Plus crayons and felt markers are impossible to get off. I don’t even want to talk about all the grubby handprints those brats make.”
Abby had no intention of letting Lila know that unfortunately she had no concerns over those types of stains. Or the fact that she was horrified to hear a mother call her children brats. “So you’re here to choose a new color for them?”
“Oh hell no.” Lila’s broad shoulders and double D’s came up. “They’re all with their dads, and . . .”
Dads? As in plural?
“I had a little time to kill and came in for the scenery.”
While the inside of the store was neat and welcoming, Abby glanced around and didn’t see anything that would draw people in unless they had a need for screws or dog food or . . .
“Yeah. I’m talking about the Wilder hunk,” Lila clarified.
“Oh.”
“Didn’t know which one would be working today, but it doesn’t matter. They’re all gorgeous. And since I haven’t had a man in my life for a couple months . . .” Lila leaned in and Abby almost choked on her overpowering floral perfume. No doubt bought at a Dollar Store two-for-one special. “I’m way overdue and looking for somebody new to fill the empty spots.”
She nudged Abby with a sharp elbow. “If you know what I mean.”
Abby was pretty sure Lila wasn’t talking about anything related to the vicinity of her heart except for those massive breasts straining beneath a way-too-tight tank top.
Booted footsteps and a deep voice rescued her from responding to Lila’s remark.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to buy supplies.” Abby looked up at Lila’s walking bull’s-eye and waved her shopping list. “I thought my money would be better spent here in town than heading into San Antonio. What are you doing here?”
“Covering for Reno till he gets back in town.” The corners of that sensuously masculine mouth lifted. “Your business is much appreciated.”
“Hey. I was here first.” Lila’s displeasure came out in a perceptible foot-stamping pout.
“I’ll be with you in a minute, Lila. Let me help Abby real quick.” He tossed her a smile. “Then you can have all my attention.”
Lila’s spiderweb lashes fluttered. “Now you’re talkin’.”
He came closer to Abby, bringing with him the scent of a fresh shower and subtle lemony aftershave that made him smell as delicious as he looked. Casually, he took her arm and led her away from the paint-chip display. And Lila’s bodacious self.
“Now,” he said. “What can I help you with?”
“You sure you don’t want to help Lila out first? I’m thinking it might not take much.”
He chuckled. “Sugar, what Lila’s looking for, we don’t sell.”
Abby’s heart gave a little tumble. He hadn’t called her Sugar in years. She did her very best not to let the endearment warm the pit of her stomach or, heaven forbid, travel any farther south.
“Good to know.” She handed him her paper. “But I do think you might be able to cover everything on there.”
“This is quite the list.” His eyes scanned the contents,
then came back to her face. “You plan to do all this by yourself?”
“I could hire someone to do it all but . . .” She left the real reason hanging in the air. She had nothing better to do with her life right now.
“Landscape lights. New sinks and faucets. New flooring. New . . . paint?” One brow jacked up his forehead, and he grinned. “That has disaster written all over it.”
“Seriously? I figured that was the easiest one.”
“Guess you’ve forgotten about the time we painted your bedroom blue. Which first started out pink. Then pink with white stripes that looked like a racetrack. And ended up with more paint on us than the walls.”
The memory and the laughs they’d shared that crazy weekend her parents had decided to fly to Vegas came rushing back. Once again, he’d come to her rescue when her parents had bailed on her and her sister. In those days, he’d always had her back. And she his.
“That’s because you decided we didn’t need to tape things off,” she said.
“Proof positive you should never follow my lead.”
“And you should have told me that before the time you talked me into ice-block sledding down the hillside.”
“Yeah. We were quite a pair after that. You with a sprained ankle and me with a sprained wrist.”
She grinned at the easy smile on his lips. “Good times.”
“Yeah.” His eyes met hers. “We did have a few.”
When his smile slipped away, she knew he was thinking about more recent times. And because she didn’t want to get back into that ugly discussion, she said, “I guess if I screw up the paint job this time, I’ll only have myself to blame. So maybe I should stick with neutral colors.”
He dropped his gaze back down to her list. “You sure you don’t want to hire someone to do all this? We’ve got a corkboard over by the cash register with a slew of business cards on it.”
She ignored the edge to his tone that might hint that he was curious about her hefty divorce settlement. Or maybe he was only suggesting that since her parents should be footing the bill, she shouldn’t have to do all the work. Heaven forbid he was suggesting she couldn’t handle the work herself.