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Ben took Dad’s arm. “Why don’t you wait in the truck with an oxygen mask?”
Dad tugged his arm free. “Because I’m the one who signs off—” gasp-wheeze “—on inspections and citations.”
“You haven’t issued any citations. Only warnings.” In Ben’s twelve-plus years’ experience as a fireman, you had to operate by the book or have the book thrown at you.
The post office was a plain, boxy gray building with an air of neglect. It looked in need of about ten citations. There was a small grove of trees behind it. Beyond the trees was a field with waist-high wild grass. Beyond that was a two-story farmhouse that was more tear-down than fixer-upper.
“I’m almost sorry I raised you in the city,” Dad said. “You don’t understand the role of a small-town fireman. These people are our friends.” Dad’s glare was boss-man defiant.
Ben had a defiant glare of his own. Too bad Dad wasn’t looking at him. “Friends don’t let friends burn their businesses down. Issue some citations.”
“A warning will suffice.” His old man lumbered toward the post office door, his breath sounding like an out-of-tune accordion. “You’ll understand someday.”
“Maybe...” Ben chewed on the tether binding his sarcasm until it broke. “Maybe when I’m old and dotty, like you.”
Dad mumbled something about ungrateful sons and fire captains who were wet behind the ears. In turn, Ben mumbled something about passing up a fire inspector promotion and fire chiefs who were softies.
“Walk with a purpose, son,” Dad said as if Ben was twelve and lagging behind at the mall. “We have plenty more inspections to do.”
They had a list of overdue inspections as long as Ben’s arm. After more than a decade without a fire department, father and son were playing catch-up on safety measures in Harmony Valley. Ben was trying to time the inspections to coincide with the least amount of traffic possible. Why disrupt businesses and inspect them during peak hours? Why not sneak around on little-used side streets until midafternoon when many of the elderly would be having a siesta?
Reel in the sarcasm, dude.
Covering for Dad was wearing on Ben. And he’d barely been on the job a week!
The post office door was unlocked, but the counter window was closed. Classic country music drifted out to them from the back. Ben knocked on the door that said Employees Only.
There was no answer.
Dad leaned against the wall, scowling when he noticed Ben looking at him. “I’m old. Get used to it.”
He’d take old over dead any day. “Why don’t you wait in the truck?” Ben repeated.
“Because I’m the fire chief,” Dad rasped, a welcome spark of energy in his blue eyes.
“At least use your inhaler.” Ben pounded harder on the door while his father dug in his pocket for his medicine.
Again, no answer. The music was too darn loud. It reminded him of Hannah’s mom.
Erica had lived for the adrenaline rush—fast cars, base jumping, parachuting out of planes. She’d had a soundtrack for every experience, blaring it through booming speakers or her earbuds. If she’d lived to be eighty, she would’ve been deaf. He’d assumed little reserved Hannah was the opposite of her mother. She wasn’t. Erica’s love of life had taken a different tangent with Hannah, a softer, quieter tangent. Right now, he was thankful for it.
Ben tried the door. It was unlocked. He had to push aside a mail cart to get inside, and even then there were boxes stacked in front of the cart. Other than that, the mail room floor was relatively clear. There was a large rolling door in one wall that presumably opened to the parking lot for mail truck deliveries.
On the far side of the room a thin, tall woman was clad in postal service blue shorts and a baggy striped shirt. Her dark brown hair was bound in messy ponytails that hung beneath each ear. Back to Ben, she mopped the floor, singing off-key to a crazy tune about drinking too much.
Dad chuckled.
Ben found nothing funny about it. A fire to the rear of the building by the loading dock and this woman would be trapped.
“Fire!” Ben shouted.
The mop clattered to the floor. The woman whirled, sneakers slipping slightly on wet linoleum. Wide brown eyes landed on Ben with a gut-dropping thud. She wasn’t smiling, but she had the kind of face that carried a smile 99 percent of the time, the kind of face that aged gracefully with few lines because she never had a care. And Ben, who carried cares like other people lugged too much spare change, was struck with envy.
She switched off the music.
The sudden silence rang in Ben’s ears as he breathed in cleanser fumes and waited to see if the woman had a frown in her arsenal, some hint that her life wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns.
“I’m Mandy, the new postmaster.” She blinked, and with that blink her expression seemed to reset. A small smile. A carefree tone of voice. A kick in Envious Ben’s shin. “Is there a fire?”
“This is a fire inspection.” Dad had drawn himself up to his full height. With Mandy in his sights, he wasn’t wheezing or sagging. He should’ve hired an attractive woman as his fire captain instead of Ben. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
Here we go again. Letting an offender off with a warning.
“Not so fast, Chief.” This one wasn’t getting off the hook. This woman could use a care or two. Ben planted his feet more firmly on the floor. “Ma’am, did you realize you’ve blocked two of three primary exit routes?”
“Not permanently.” Her smile never wavered. “Just while I’m cleaning.”
“I mention this for your own safety.” Ben surveyed the post office, counting more than five citations already. “If there was a fire at your loading dock, you’d be trapped.”
Mandy gestured to the rolling overhead door that opened to the parking lot. “First off, there’s nothing combustible back there. Second, those boxes before you are empty. And third, I could still get to the front counter if there was a fire.”
Not an apology. Not an admission that she’d taken a safety risk, nor any assurance that it wouldn’t happen again. Mandy was the only person to argue with them today. The only person to work her way sharply under Ben’s skin.
He nudged the bottom box with his boot. The stack tumbled harmlessly to the ground. “I’ll give you the boxes, ma’am, but if you aren’t concerned about your own well-being, what about your employees?”
And there it was—her true expression. A smile so artless and wide it made Ben wonder what her laugh would sound like. “If there was a fire, that rat Riley can burn.”
Ben exchanged a look with Dad that he hoped said, Give her a citation. Please.
Message received. His old man shook his head.
“That was a joke.” Mandy suddenly turned serious, not serious enough for her smile to be wiped off the face of the earth, but serious nonetheless. “Riley isn’t technically a rat. I mean, he has four legs and a tail, sure. But he’s a raccoon.”
Dad chuckled, which morphed into a cough, and then gasps for air as he turned away from them.
Ben stayed on point. “The fact remains that—”
“Look, Officer...” She peered at his name tag. “Libby. Mr....Fireman...Libby...” She paused, seeming to collect herself and her awkwardness. “Are you related to Felix Libby?”
“We are.” It would be just his luck that she’d fostered a kitten from Granddad and was in his grandfather’s good graces. “I’m Ben, his grandson. And this is my dad, Keith.”
“Oh. I can see the resemblance in your face.” She waved her hand in a circle around her features. “If you come back in thirty minutes—” Mandy rushed on with her Mona Lisa smile “—the doorway will be clear and the rolltop counter open. No harm, no foul, right? Look, I’ll even open the loading bay.”
It was a good compromise.
Too bad it’d come too late. His pledge to safeguard the public made it hard to back off and apologize. Not that Ben wanted to back off or go soft on her. He was a firm believer in beginning as he meant to go on. Fire safety was important. Honesty was important.
Mandy pushed the button to open the rolling door.
There was a spark, a flash and then the sharp tang of electrical smoke.
CHAPTER THREE (#u57945a2e-938e-5c0d-96c7-e6c0b5161a40)
“FIRE. THAT’S A FIRE,” Mandy said in disbelief at the same time that the seriously hunky fireman demanded, “Where’s the fire extinguisher?”
The flames were about six feet off the ground, eight inches high and growing taller and wider by the second. They climbed up the wall bordering the dock’s opening.
This is going to put me behind schedule.
It’d taken her days to clear away the trash and outdated equipment enough to clean. And for what? A fire to turn her hard work to ash?
“Where...” Large hands took hold of her shoulders. “...is the fire extinguisher?”
In the face of his demand, Mandy had no time to register the strength of Ben’s grip, the odd quirk to his mouth or the intensity of his blue eyes.
Where had she seen the fire extinguisher? Her mind flitted through a jumble of images, landing on one. “The bathroom.”
Ben disappeared, leaving Mandy mesmerized by the ever-increasing flames. This was it. The end of her short stint as postmaster. Finding a territorial raccoon in the post office was inconvenient. Burning the place down was a firing offense. She’d be stuck in Harmony Valley without a job. Wouldn’t her creditors love that?
While Ben searched, the fire chief walked with unhurried steps toward the loading dock. He and his son had the same broad shoulders, the same thick dark hair, the same confident stride and the same sharp blue eyes. Only the pallor of their skin was different. The older man’s complexion was the pasty white of a ball of bread dough.
Keith swiped an old canvas mailbag from the stack in the corner and used it to smother the flames. By the time Ben returned with the fire extinguisher, the fire was out, leaving only a black shroud on the wall as evidence it’d occurred.
“Sometimes the simplest of techniques are the most effective.” The fire chief coughed, turning away from the smoke.
Mandy took a slow step back, and then another. Her hands were shaking.
It was going to be okay. No one was injured. The post office was still standing.
“Good job, Dad.” There was compassion in Ben’s voice, proving he was capable of caring.
She needed to tone it down a notch for the tall, starchy fireman, be more civil, be more cooperative. She was at risk of breaking eggs because he’d caught her on a bad day. She was as touchy as a sleep-deprived college student during finals week.
And then Ben turned on Mandy with anything but compassion in his eyes. “There’s no pressure in this unit.” He held up the fire extinguisher. “It’s useless. And it shouldn’t be stored over the toilet. What would happen if there was a fire and someone was using the bathroom?”
In the face of his blue-eyed intensity, Mandy couldn’t find the words to defend herself. She stood the same way she had when the doctor delivered the news that Grandpa was dying—arms wrapped around her waist, a small, polite smile on her lips. The same position she’d taken when the doctor told her Olivia had cancer. “Um...”
Her reticence seemed to upset Ben all the more. He curled that odd-shaped lip of his. A fat lip, she realized.
Was this the man who’d rescued kittens and caught a falling child? The man the elderly visitors to the post office called charming and heroic?
He wasn’t likely to catch Mandy if she fell. He was more likely to sit on his hands and watch.
“Get out your citation book, Dad. We’re going over this place inch by inch.” Ben peered at the burnt, melted wires. “That wire was cut.”
Mandy gasped, rushing forward for a better look. “How could that be?”
“Now, Ben,” Keith said with the gravitas of an elder statesman. “A raccoon’s been living here. Rodents and pests like snacking on wires.”
“If we’re not issuing citations, Dad, tell me what we are doing.” Ben’s voice was as hard as the look in his eyes. “Do you want to make a list and document the danger now? Or battle more flames with me when this place goes up in smoke because we went easy on her?”
Mandy’s stomach turned. She raised her hand. “I vote for documentation. It’s been more than a decade since this station was in service. If I promise to take care of things by, say, next week? Can we avoid citations?” It didn’t matter that none of this was Mandy’s fault; excessive paper trails would get her fired.
Why couldn’t Grandpa have wanted her to be the postmaster in Cloverdale?
Mr. Intensity stared at Mandy with angry eyes. When she’d first seen him, that anger had been like banked coals. That anger had been accented by the rigid set to his shoulders, the stiffness of his back, the determined set to his strong chin. Here was a man who was serious about his job and protecting others. He’d always fight for what he believed in. Passionately. In a loud voice. And with a fierce scowl.
She approached conflict the opposite way—calmly, softly, with a smile—because she’d learned nothing was solved with loud voices and lines of tears.
“Ben,” his father said in a voice that soothed.
Ben’s intensity faded. His fire banked. To a degree.
His jaw worked as he turned back to Mandy. “What’s that noise?”
She glanced around, looking for a scuttling rat or raccoon. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Exactly. No fire alarm.” Ben pointed to the ceiling and a round, age-yellowed fire alarm. “It should have gone off.” He dragged a stool to the sorting counter. “Dad, sit down over here and get out your pen. We’re making a list.”
Mandy couldn’t thank him quickly enough.
“What’s this?” Ben tilted the coffee tin on the counter, the one filled with matches.
“The guys who used to work here were heavy smokers.” Utley and her grandfather. “I’ve been collecting their matchbooks for days so I can throw them out all at once.” Filling the tin gave her a sense of accomplishment.
“I’d feel better if we trashed them now.” He waited for her response, not that he wanted her to argue.
“Fine.” She’d never complain about Olivia’s teenage drama episodes again.
Or at least, she’d think twice before complaining.
“Don’t let Ben rattle you.” Keith settled on the stool. “My son is all about the unvarnished truth when it comes to the job. It’s why he’s still single. But he’s raising his godchild, which proves he has parenting potential.”
“Thank you, oh wise one.” And then Ben’s intensity dialed back even further. His lips curled up in a lopsided, rueful smile that implied he’d be irresistible if he had a sense of humor and a heart.
Focus, girlfriend. Focus. Her career. Those bills. Olivia.
She didn’t have time to create a picture that smoothed over the faults of a man.
For the next fifteen minutes, Ben pointed out what needed fixing to bring the station up to code and why. New lighted Exit signs. New fire alarms. New extinguishers. New, new, new. As if the cost wasn’t a consideration.
Mandy’s head hurt.
Ben was so sure of himself. If Mandy was to succeed here, she’d need some of his confidence.
“The fire control panel should be outside.” Ben led her down the outdoor concrete steps of the loading bay and across the graded space where mail trucks backed in so their beds were even with the loading dock. He walked the building’s perimeter with long strides. Being a good six inches taller than she was, his legs ate up more distance than hers.
Mandy’s mother would have said Ben had excellent posture. She would’ve said his attention to detail meant he was a good man. She would’ve said his thick dark hair was dreamy. Mandy’s mother would’ve asked Ben out, offered to have his babies and then left those kids in the care of her oldest child.
