Chapter One

      Maggie Jones lifted her head from the pages of the technical manual. Fire-alarm horns blared in the distance.

      Six long blasts and one short.

      Though technology had come to Paradise, Colorado, the old fire horns were still on duty. When Maggie was young and spent all her summers in Paradise, she could pinpoint the location of fires by counting the blasts. Back only a week, she was out of practice.

      Through the repair store’s big glass window she noted the clear, baby-blue sky painted with wisps of clouds. At a little past 1:00 p.m. on a Wednesday, it was cool for June, barely seventy degrees. A breeze blew in through the screened front entrance and slid over Maggie before moving out through the rear of the shop.

      Maggie sniffed the air and sure enough she did smell smoke. It was awfully close, and had a pungent odor. Almost like...eggs.

       Eggs?

      The manual flew through the air as she whipped open the door that divided the store and ran into the back room.

      Black smoke billowed from a small kettle on a hot plate. With the current wind direction, most of the smoke was being sucked outside through the screen door, right into the alley.

      “No. No. No.”

      Two hours ago she’d set the eggs to boil.

      Two hours since she’d been lost reading about the intricacies of a computerized toaster. Who’d have thought three little eggs could produce so much foul-smelling smoke?

      “I am doomed.” As she mumbled the words, the door behind her flew open and bounced on its hinges, then slammed against the wall.

       He filled the doorway.

      A fireman clad in a heavy, mustard-and-gray jacket, carrying a red ax. His features were obscured by a yellow helmet and face mask. Intense eyes assessed her and the situation.

      Although he was a large man, he moved quickly. In two strides he’d crossed the room and reached in front of her to tug the hot-plate cord from the wall. With a gloved hand he grabbed the handle of the blackened aluminum pot and tossed it into the sink.

      Before Maggie could blink, he aimed the shop’s fire extinguisher and blasted away. The little kettle rattled against the porcelain sink. Yanking off his gloves, he propped open the back door to further ventilate the room.

      “Code 10-35. Under control. Over.” His words, spoken into the field radio, were clipped as he nodded toward the front of the store, indicating Maggie should follow. She did, reading the back of his heavy coat. Chief MacLaughlin, PVFD.

      In the front room two more firefighters guarded the store. Chief MacLaughlin waved them outside with the mere flick of his wrist and forefinger.

      Outside on the front walk, yet another set of firemen stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of Paradise’s Engine Number One, where the vehicle’s red and blue lights were still flashing.

      Maggie grimaced. All this because she craved an egg salad sandwich.

      “Don’t move.” The chief’s gaze pinned her. “I’ll be back.”

      Pressing herself against the cool metal counter, Maggie obeyed, while whispering a silent plea for heavenly assistance under her breath.

      He moved through the crowd gathering on the sidewalk to speak to his men, who shot curious glances through the window at her.

      Maggie looked away and hung her head for a moment before attempting to rally. Come on, Maggie. Pull it together. What would Uncle Bob do?

      Her favorite uncle would laugh and say this was good for business and probably announce a fire sale. If only Maggie was that confident. A mere twenty-four hours ago she’d sent Uncle Bob on a three-week fishing trip with assurances that she would run the fix-it shop and take care of everything.

      She’d taken care of things, all right. Nearly burned down his livelihood.

      Though she tried not to, she heard her parents and ex-fiancé whispering accusations in her ear. Maggie Jones has done it again. Gotten lost in her little world, forgetting everything going on around her.

      They were right. Only this time she would have to deal with Captain Macho for her sins. Maggie grasped her ponytail and pulled it tight. She slid her glasses to the top of her head and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

      She began to count to ten. She’d give her Aunt Betty that long to show up. As for her cousin Susan, she could probably stop at five.

      “Mags. Nice job.”

      “Five,” Maggie said aloud as Susan pushed her way through the sidewalk gawkers and firemen groupies and into the store.

      Susan smiled, smoothed her blond coif and adjusted her silk sheath. “I’m so impressed. It seems I have underestimated you, cousin. Leave it to you to think of smoke to attract Jake.”

      Maggie frowned. “Who is Jake?”

      “That would be me.”

      Both women turned.

      “Excuse us, Susan,” Chief Jake MacLaughlin said as he tugged off his helmet. “I’d like to have a word with your cousin.”

      Susan slipped out, and a familiar gray head peeked in; Aunt Betty, wearing a flour-dusted canvas apron over her slacks and a blouse.

      “Margaret. Oh, my dear. Are you all right? I was helping out at Patti Jo’s Café and Bakery when I heard the sirens.”

      “Everything is fine, Mrs. Jones. False alarm. I’ll be through with your niece in a minute. Just a little paperwork. Would you please wait outside?”

      “Yes, Chief,” her aunt said, immediately backing up.

      Maggie looked Jake MacLaughlin up and down.

      “You do that quite well,” she stated.

      “Do what?” He narrowed his eyes.

      “Take charge. You silenced both Susan and my aunt.”

      “Practice.” He shrugged, pulled out a pen and began to write on an official-looking, aluminum clipboard.

      Practice? Or perhaps it was the uniform that added to the aura of power and strength. His well-worn gray-and-mustard coat covered wide shoulders and fell open in front to reveal red suspenders over a navy T-shirt.

      Maggie assessed him with the due diligence granted any new problem. With pragmatic order she took in each detail, from his boots—size thirteen—to his face. She estimated his age somewhere around forty.

      His skin was lightly tanned, an almost golden shade. Laugh lines accented the corners of his eyes. Dark stubble shadowed his cheekbones and chin. He hadn’t shaved today. Maybe it was his day off?

      She knew that Paradise’s fire department consisted of a volunteer crew. So what else did the man do?

      Curious, she continued to stare.

      Chief MacLaughlin rubbed a hand over his forehead, pushing short, sun-streaked brown hair up and away from his damp skin. Turning slightly, his gaze locked with hers. His irises were amber with dark rims. Dark lashes framed his eyes. The entire effect reminded her of a lion.

      Noting her inspection, his eyes widened. He blinked and cleared his throat.

      “So you’re Susan’s cousin?”

      “Yes. I’m Maggie Jones.”

      “You’re nothing like Susan.”

      She