Chief Wheeler opened the cabinet near Joel’s head. He grabbed a mug with an advertisement for an insurance company plastered on the side. “Everything good at the Amsted residence?”
Joel grabbed the kitchen dish towel and scrubbed it over his wet face and hair. He’d replace it with a fresh one. As the newbie, he’d been assigned laundry duty on his first shift. “If by good you mean their kitchen is charred and their house is no longer structurally sound, then sure.”
“You know what I mean.” Wheeler groaned when he found the coffeepot empty. “These guys act like they think their moms live here.” Yanking open a large drawer, he dug out a packet of coffee and dumped it on top of the used filter and grounds already in the machine. Joel grimaced. That explained why the coffee this morning tasted like tar.
Wheeler jabbed the orange “on” button and then turned around and leaned against the counter so he faced Joel. “Tell me about the fire.”
Why wasn’t the chief seeking out the on-duty lieutenant and asking him?
Joel tossed the dirty towel into the hamper near the doorway. “Mrs. Amsted and the baby were both in the house. It was the usual—she put something in the oven and forgot about it. The baby’s a newborn, so Mrs. Amsted is understandably tired and she’d fallen asleep while the baby was napping. She said they’d yanked the batteries out of their smoke detectors a few weeks ago when she burned dinner. Good thing their neighbor saw the smoke.”
“But everyone’s okay?” He pinned Joel with an intense stare and crossed his arms over his wide chest.
Joel shifted his weight between his feet. He felt like a bug under a microscope. Why the inquisition? “We took them to the hospital to get checked over. They’ll be fine. Some of the windows were open, so the smoke hadn’t gathered in their rooms as much as we often see.”
“Know what I like about fires?” Wheeler spun back to the coffee machine and filled up his cup.
There was nothing to like about fires. Okay, controlled fires were a different story, but they weren’t talking about that kind. “They give us a job?”
“Good point, but no.” He turned back around and took a swig from his steaming mug. “I like that every fire is a chance to start over. A fire offers a unique opportunity to have a new beginning.”
Joel thought back to the empty lot he’d stood in just this morning. New beginning? The church lot had sat untouched for almost fourteen years. Not much of a new start. “I doubt the Amsteds feel the same way right now.”
The chief waved his hand in a dismissive manner. “Mrs. Amsted has been bugging her husband for years about remodeling that kitchen. Now she’ll get a brand-new one.”
“A new kitchen?” Joel fought the edge in his voice. During his years working in Indy and then doing a tour with a hotshot forest fire team, he’d seen too much destruction caused by fires. Too many lives lost and ruined. He couldn’t be flippant about that suffering, and it bothered him that his chief would talk in such a way. “No disrespect meant, sir, but I feel like you’re making light of their pain.”
“Not at all.” The chief’s voice grew softer, kinder. “I know the Amsteds well—just as I’ve known most everything that’s happened and everyone in this town for the past twenty years.” He paused for a moment, made eye contact, then continued. “They’re thankful and praising God their family is safe today. Tomorrow, they’ll rebuild and be stronger, closer, because of the fire. Coming out the other side of a tragedy has a way of teaching you what’s important in this life.”
“Sounds like you’re saying a fire is a blessing, and I can’t agree with you there.” Joel couldn’t look at the chief. He couldn’t make eye contact or he would say something that could get him in trouble. Still, he had to add something so Wheeler would knock off the talk about fire being wonderful. “At all.”
“You’re a firefighter.”
“Right.” On the other hand, perhaps it was best to state a logical case. “So I know how damaging a fire can be. Maybe I’ve pulled one too many...” Stop. Talking about the people he’d failed in the line of duty only brought their images back to his mind. “My job—our job—is to minimize destruction and to rescue people so they don’t get hurt. Not to celebrate when fires happen.”
“Have you ever seen a field the year after a grass fire?”
Joel shrugged.
“It’s healthier. The soil has more nutrients and more animals can thrive off the same piece of land than before.”
“Yeah, and some animals died in the original fire.” Joel grabbed the hamper. He might as well get on the laundry. At the very least, it would give him a reason to bow out of the conversation.
“True. I’m not minimizing the fact that fire causes pain and sometimes has lifelong ramifications. I guess my point, for you to ponder specifically, is that sometimes the rebuilding after a fire—well, you see, that’s when the real rescue comes.”
“If you say so.” Joel stood in the doorway with the laundry basket.
“Just promise me you’ll think about that.”
“Will do.” Joel nodded and headed down the hall, but halted because Shelby Beck waited a couple of feet away. When she smiled, it made him forget about fires and smelling like smoke. He just wanted to stand there, stare at her and forget about everything.
She tilted her head. “He’s right, you know.”
“Who?” What was she talking about?
“Chief Wheeler.” She jutted her thumb to indicate the kitchen Joel had just left. So she’d overheard the conversation. “Rebuilding after a fire can be a really good thing. It can be healing. Like it’ll be with the church.”
He scrubbed his free hand across his jaw. How come the church had to come up every time he talked to Shelby? “The church doesn’t count. No one was hurt by the church fire.” Not that anyone was hurt today, either, but they could have been. A child could have been injured, which hadn’t been the case with the church.
Shelby’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. She looked down at the ground and her voice came out very small. “A...a lot of people were hurt by that fire.” She looked back up at him and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “Lives were ruined.”
Ruined? A queasy feeling washed over his gut. Now it was his turn to stall for time. Joel glanced at the dirty laundry and studied a washcloth with a spaghetti stain shaped like Australia. “What do you mean?”
“I mean...that was the community’s church home.” She studied the floor again. “That’s all.”
He stared at her face. Something about the fire was very personal to Shelby, and for that he was sorry. He wished he could tell her it was his fault. Maybe it would help if she could blame someone. But that wasn’t going to happen.
* * *
That was close. She’d almost blurted out about being in the church. About how personal the rebuild project was to her. Someday maybe she’d share it with him. Joel seemed like the type of person who would be compassionate, but—no, she didn’t want his pity. And that was all it would be. He’d feel bad for the marred girl and then pull away.
Change the topic.
He was watching her closely. With his messy head of black hair, he was an attractive man. It gave him a bad-boy quality that didn’t quite fit the usual firefighter persona. Maybe it was because she knew he rode a motorcycle, and the first time she saw him he’d worn a leather jacket.
Joel shifted the laundry basket and his biceps strained against the sleeves of his blue T-shirt, which was adorned with the fire station’s number.
Shelby fidgeted with the hanger for her dress. Why hadn’t she left it in Paige’s car like they’d planned? “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Sure.” He sighed.
She frowned. A spot of soot dirtied his temple and there were lines around his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Of course.” A lazy grin crept across Joel’s face. “I’m great now.”
“It’s just, you look tired maybe.” She leaned against the wall. He was still
staring.
“No. I’m fine. We just came back from a fire. That’s all.”
“Oh. I can come by some other time.” Shelby moved to head back down the hall.
Joel followed her, laundry basket snug under his arm. “Stay. Now’s a perfect time. Come on.” He motioned for her to follow him. They wove down the hallway until they arrived at the laundry room, which boasted two sets of washers and dryers. Joel tossed open one of the washer’s lids and dumped the contents of the hamper into the tub.
“Aren’t you going to separate the whites from the colors?” Shelby’s fingers itched to fish all the dirty towels out of the washing machine and do the laundry correctly.
“I like to live dangerously.”
“I’m being serious.”
Joel laughed, dumped soap into the washing machine and then hit the start button. “For a bunch of dish towels? No thanks.”
“They’ll fade quicker that way.”
“I don’t think one guy here will mind using a faded towel.”
“But—” She reached around him to stop the washing machine. If she’d learned one thing from living with Caleb, it was that some men needed help in these areas of life.
Joel caught her wrist and her sleeve pulled up a bit. “Shelby—”
She jerked away from his touch. Hard. The force made him bump backward against the washer. Shelby spun around and pulled at the sleeves of her shirt. She balled up her hands so they were completely covered by fabric. Had he felt her scar? He must have. His fingers had been wrapped right around it. What if he’d seen? Would he treat her differently?
Blinking back tears, she debated leaving until Joel placed his hand on her shoulder and slowly turned her around.
“Hey, I’m not sure...did I hurt you?”
“No. I’m fine. Great.” She focused on the ceiling in an effort to keep the moisture inside her eyes.
“Are you sure?” He kept his hand on her shoulder. “Because you’re acting like I hurt you.”
“You didn’t.” Shelby finally met his gaze.
He was in EMT mode again, his eyes roaming back and forth over her face, reading her. “Feelings count, too.”
“My feelings are fine.” Breathe. He either hadn’t noticed her skin or he was choosing to ignore it. Either way, she was happy not to talk about it.
“One thing you pick up when you’ve lived with a bunch of different families is how to read people. Unfortunately, I’ve had a lot of practice.” He dipped his head to look into her eyes. “And you keep using the word fine, but you’re not acting like you are.”
She shrugged. How had stopping by the station for a key turned into a stilted conversation about the church and him almost discovering her secret? “I just wanted to separate the wash.”
“I know.” He nodded. “But it didn’t need to be separated. It’s okay not to do things perfectly sometimes. Live a little, Shelby. It’s fun.” It looked as if he was pressing his lips together to keep a smile under wraps.
“Are you laughing at me?” She narrowed her eyes, but fought a smile, too. All the tension from a moment ago drained from the room. Joel seemed to possess the ability to know when she needed to be encouraged, when she needed a challenge and when she needed to be teased into a lighter mood.
“Maybe.” He winked.
“Not allowed.” She grinned. “I already have an older brother, and it’s his job in life to make fun of me.”
“One, I don’t want to be like a brother to you. And, two, I wasn’t making fun—just trying to help you take things less seriously.”
Less seriously? “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’ve only been back around you for a couple of days, but I already have you pegged.”
“Oh, really? Do expound, Mr. Psychologist.”
“Have a seat.” He patted the top of the dryer and she obliged. Joel laced his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. “Let’s see if that Psychology 101 course paid off.” He winked at her again. “You’ve been sheltered your whole life. Probably not by choice, but there it is. So you do things a certain way. Thanks to Caleb, you probably believe there’s good reason to be cautious and not take risks. Even silly ones that don’t bother anyone and aren’t necessarily wrong.”
“There are lots of reasons not to take risks.”
He tapped his watch. “The doctor’s still in session.”
“Do go on.” She shook her head good-naturedly and laid the dress she’d been clutching next to her on the dryer.
“You’re right. I’ll be the first one to tell you not to take dangerous risks. But something like, say, mixing rags that a bunch of men used to sop up messes—it’s probably okay not to waste energy doing that the correct way. Am I making sense?”
“So, basically, you think I don’t know how to have fun.”
“Well, I didn’t say that.”
“What’s the diagnosis then, Doc? How does a girl cure herself from an overwhelming desire to make sure the laundry is separated even if it doesn’t matter?”
He tapped his chin. “Take a few safe risks.”
“Such as?” She hooked her ankles together and swung her legs.
“Come for a ride on my motorcycle.”
Her mouth went dry. “Right now?”
“No. I can’t. I’m on duty.” He leaned against the washing machine and crossed his arms. “But later this week when I’m off duty.”
“And that’ll cure me?”
“It’ll be a start.” He smiled. “How about if that goes well, we’ll come up with a new risk after that?”
“Don’t get greedy. Only one short motorcycle ride. That’s all I’m agreeing to.” She hopped down from the dryer. “Now, didn’t I come here to get a key from you?” She held out her hand.
“And an address.” Joel fished the spare house key out of his pocket, told her where he lived and gave her instructions for Dante. He dangled the key on a chain over her outstretched palm. “How about we go on our motorcycle ride after we meet on Saturday to talk through donations for the fund-raiser?”
On Saturday the whole town would see them, because almost everyone spent time at the local farmer’s market that took place in the square. And that made her look forward to it even more. For once, she wasn’t going to care what everyone else thought about her.
“Sure, why not?”
“That’s my girl.” He grinned and finally dropped the key into her hand.
She closed her fingers around the warm metal and left the station with the words my girl playing over and over in her mind.
Chapter Six
Joel slowed his motorcycle as he turned down the street leading to the grassy town square. An open patch of concrete near the gazebo worked perfectly as a makeshift parking spot. He left his bike with the helmet resting on top.
In typical early-summer fashion, a slight breeze drifted from the direction of Lake Michigan. It might still have been morning, but the temperature was already higher than normal. If Joel hadn’t ridden his motorcycle, he would have worn shorts, but the motorcycle meant jeans. He’d have to change before he took Dante for his walk.
The people of Goose Harbor loved their weekly farmer’s market. Residents, as well as tourists, mingled between booths and visited near the park benches and small rose garden on the edge of the grassy square, which served as the heart of the town. This was the spot where babysitters were found, rumors were spread and teenagers began hanging out for the weekend.
When Joel last lived in town, the mayor and board members had passed an ordinance prohibiting chain and big box stores within city limits. Because of this, the closest grocery store was in Shadowbend. But townspeople usually only left Goose Harbor when they were low on packaged staples such as flour and sugar. Eggs, milk, bread, baked goods and produce all could be picked up fresh weekly here.
“If it isn’t my sweet little Joel.”
Mrs. Clarkson latched on to his forearm. Her hands were rough with age. She’d been considered an old
lady when he had been a teen. By now, she must have been ancient. In her cat-eye glasses and home-sewn shirt, she was hard to miss. Her shirt looked like it had been made from pieced-together socks.
Once a week, after classes let out at the high school, Mrs. Clarkson used to pay Joel ten dollars to vacuum her house. Even though the chore had taken only thirty minutes to complete, he’d always been at her house for at least two hours afterward visiting. Did she still make those peanut butter cookies with the chocolate kiss in the center? His stomach rumbled at the memory. He probably should have eaten before he’d left his house.
“Look at you.” He placed his hand over hers and gave it a light squeeze. “Still just as pretty and stylish as I remembered.”
“Stylish, my eye.” She swatted at his chest. “You were always a joker, but in the end such a good boy. I’m glad to see you finally decided to return home to us.”
Such a good boy. Hardly. If she knew the truth, even kindhearted Mrs. Clarkson wouldn’t be wasting her breath to welcome him back. She had played the piano for the church choir and had told him once that using the instrument was her only way to serve God. Had Joel, with the fire, taken that from her?
Shelby waved at them from the gazebo and then picked her way through the crowd. A large messenger-type bag bounced on her hip with each step.
“Mrs. Clarkson, is this ruffian bothering you?” She smirked at Joel.
Glad for the change of subject, he placed his hand over his heart and turned to Mrs. Clarkson. “Do you hear how she talks about me?”
The woman patted Joel’s arm. “Shelby, dear, you need to be nice to our prodigal son. We don’t need him getting any ideas and taking off on us again.”
Her words were like a punch to his gut. He swallowed hard. Taking off on us again. Would they ever see him as someone other than that sixteen-year-old kid? If only she knew how much he’d wanted Goose Harbor to be home. That he’d never wanted to leave. Couldn’t they see he really hadn’t had a choice?
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