Safe in the Fireman's Arms. Tina Radcliffe
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They drove down the main drag of Paradise, toward the outskirts of town, where the ballpark and the new fairgrounds waited.
“Where am I volunteering?” Maggie asked, taking in the view of the tall conifers that lined the road.
“The bait shop.”
Maggie shot straight up in her seat. “The bait shop? Of all the places to volunteer, you pick the bait shop? I don’t know anything about fishing.”
“Think, Maggie. Where will all the men be? Where they sign up for their fishing license, of course.”
“Yes. Of course. No-brainer.” Maggie nodded. “What I don’t understand is why you think I care? I only just recently got rid of a man. I am not looking for another.”
“Margaret Jones, are you going to sit there and tell me you didn’t find Jake MacLaughlin to be the best-looking man you have ever set your eyes upon.”
“What does he have to do with this conversation?” Maggie sputtered.
“Answer my question.”
“Oh, he’s handsome, all right, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I thought so.” Susan released a satisfied smile.
“You’re married. Why are you looking?”
“I’m merely prescreening the field as my duty to you.”
Maggie released an unladylike snort.
“You never know,” Susan continued, “Jake could be your one.”
“One what?”
“The one.”
“Susan, I already met the one, and as it turned out he was only interested in me because of the potential for a tenure recommendation from my parents.”
“That man was one loser. You were smart to run.”
“Tell that to my parents, who are no doubt, right this moment, returning several dozen wedding presents.”
Susan shrugged. “So the timing wasn’t the best.”
An understatement. Maggie sighed, recalling the hefty check she’d sent her parents to cover the cost of the last-minute wedding cancellations.
“Let’s focus on the positive.” Susan reached over and patted Maggie on the arm. “Lucky for you, Al and Daddy won’t be back for another nineteen days. I can devote all my extra time to helping you.”
Maggie slouched down against the hand-stitched, leather bucket seats. “Save me, Lord,” she mumbled as Susan zipped the little red car into the fairgrounds parking lot.
The bright banner across the front entrance proclaimed Paradise’s annual Fair. In smaller print attendees were reminded that all proceeds supported the Paradise Volunteer Fire Department and the Paradise Ladies Auxiliary. Susan quickly located a spot dismissed as too small in the sea of monster pickup trucks and pulled in.
Maggie got out of the car and stretched while she waited for Susan to remove her stuff from the trunk. Barely holding back a huge grin she glanced around at all the families headed toward the fairgrounds. Tipping her head back she let the warm sun kiss her face. It didn’t get any better than this—small town, population seventeen hundred and four, unobstructed view of the San Juan Mountains to the west, the Sangre de Cristo Mountains to the east and brilliant powder-blue skies as far as she could see.
A thud from the trunk interrupted her musings. Maggie turned. “Susan, do you need help?”
“No, no, I’m just doing a quick check. One of my girls is manning a booth for the boutique. I brought along some extra inventory.” She popped her head up from the car’s trunk and waved a hand. “Go ahead. I don’t want to make you late... The bait-shop tent is right next to the information booth. I’ll come and get you for the big raffle. Remember, it’s in about two hours.”
Maggie set off, a silly grin on her face as she took in the sights. The smell of waffle cakes, sausages and barbecued turkey legs teased her senses. Barely eleven in the morning, and already lines were forming.
She dodged a teenage couple with arms looped around each other, and then stopped midstep at a huge poster tacked to the side of the information booth.
Jake MacLaughlin, his strong profile set against a background of muted red, white and blue. The sign read Reelect the Chief.
The man was everywhere. She hurried her steps, navigating around people to get to the large bait-shop tent set up by the chamber of commerce. There was a crowd gathered outside, waiting to get licenses. Fishing was one of the biggest tourist draws to Paradise in the summer months.
Maggie grabbed a carpenter’s apron and an instruction sheet from the cashier and got to work. It took less than thirty minutes for Maggie to get through the first deluge of customers. She turned her attention to stocking a table with applications for fishing licenses and entry forms for the upcoming midsummer fishing tournament on Paradise Lake.
Suddenly goose bumps danced over her arms. She looked up. Jake MacLaughlin had walked into the tent. Maggie slipped her glasses into her pocket and adjusted her ponytail. When Jake’s glance met hers she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Trouble.
She read the words on his face. The man thought she was trouble. He turned slightly as though to leave, then he suddenly did an about-face, and walked over.
“Don’t say it,” she said.
“Say what?” he asked. His jungle-cat eyes twinkled and it was clear he had failed at all attempts to keep a straight face.
“‘Burned any eggs, lately?’”
“You got it all wrong. I was going to ask if you’d seen your picture in the newspaper,” he said.
“Could we not talk about that, either?”
“Fine by me.”
She willed herself to concentrate on dividing up the supply of pens.
Jake cleared his throat. “Mind if I fill out an application?”
Maggie’s face warmed. “Sorry. Fishing license or tournament application?”
“Both.”
Of course he was an overachiever. She handed him the forms and tried not to stare as he filled them out. Maggie was used to tall, wiry academics with pale skin. Jake MacLaughlin was larger than life, with the build of a football player. Yet, he seemed keenly intelligent. A puzzle. She liked puzzles.
He lifted his head and met her gaze.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She glanced away, her face heated yet again.
When she turned back he held out two twenty-dollar bills.
“May I see some ID?” she asked.
“You’re kidding, right?
She shrugged. “No ID, no entry.”
“Turnabout, huh?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Right.” He flipped out his billfold and Maggie took her time reading the birth date on the license. It was exactly as she suspected. Midlife crisis waiting to happen.
“Here you go,” she said. “Your entry ticket, plus a coupon for a free cupcake from Patti Jo’s Café and Bakery.”
“You keep the coupon.” He patted his stomach. “I’m watching my calories.”
Her gaze was drawn to his flat abdomen, broad muscular chest and biceps. Oh, he looked good in the navy T-shirt with the fire-company logo on it, the cotton fabric stretched taut against his muscles. And he knew it. She barely