The New Guy In Town. Teresa Southwick
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idea.” Sam looked at Faith. “Not taking sides here, but how about if she tries sleeping in the green room. If you change your mind, you can always crawl in with your mom.”
“You’re okay with that?” Faith asked.
“Of course. There are five bedrooms in this house. I have one. The other four are up for grabs.”
Faith was wearing an uncertain expression as she nodded. “I promise when we’re able to go home, we’ll leave the rooms in the same condition we found them.”
“Don’t sweat it. I have a cleaning service.” He set the pink backpack just inside the door of the green room.
“Okay.” She smiled. “I’m grateful for your hospitality.”
“Don’t do that,” he said.
“What? Thank you? It’s the polite thing to do.”
“Mommy always tells me to say thank you,” Phoebe chimed in, then disappeared.
“I meant don’t be nice to me,” he told Faith. “It’s just weird.”
She laughed and for a few moments the tension in her expression disappeared. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Mommy! There’s a pool!”
“Phoebe?” She set her bags inside the doorway then called out, “Where are you?”
“In the big family room upstairs.” The reply was muffled because she was around a corner and down the hall.
Sam put his palm to the small of Faith’s back as they walked in the direction the little girl had gone. Touching her wasn’t the dumbest thing he’d ever done, but it ranked fairly high up on the list. Awareness tingled in his fingers and crackled through his entire body. The whole point of opening his home to evacuees was to be neighborly. But touching her opened up something else, too. What had she called it? Oh, yes. Connecting in a physical way. The idea of that was entirely too appealing.
They found the little girl looking out the window at the backyard. The pool was big, one could say proportional to the rest of the property. He’d put it in for swimming laps and staying in shape. Also for summer parties and entertaining. And he was particularly proud of the built-in barbecue area and outdoor kitchen. There was also a covered patio and the yard was meticulously landscaped.
“Do you want to go outside?” Sam asked.
“Yes!” Phoebe didn’t wait for further invitation. She took off ahead of them.
“Does she always speak in exclamation points?” he asked.
“Only when she gets her choice of bedroom and there’s a pool outside.”
Shoulder to shoulder, he and Faith followed, but this time Sam made it a point not to touch her. No one could say he didn’t learn from his mistakes.
They met Phoebe at the family room’s French doors, where she waited impatiently for him to unlock and open them. Outside, he watched the little girl stop and stare, taking everything in. It wasn’t long before she moved closer to the water.
“Don’t fall in,” Faith warned.
Sam positioned himself close enough to pluck her out if necessary. “I have arm floaties for my niece if you want them.”
“I can swim,” Phoebe informed him. “My camp is at the lake and they taught me how.”
“Good.”
“Can I go swimming?” she asked.
“That’s up to your mom.”
“As long as there’s an adult outside with you.” Faith held up a hand, obviously aware protest was coming. “I know you’re not a baby and can swim but water safety starts with never swimming alone.”
“Your mom is right,” Sam agreed.
“Okay. They told us that at camp, too.” The little girl moved closer to him and looked up. “I like you, Sam.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, Squirt.”
“None of my friends have a pool,” she continued.
“What am I? Chopped liver? I thought I was your friend,” he protested.
“You are. So,” she continued, “does that mean I can go swimming anytime I want? As long as there’s an adult there with me?”
“Whoa, kiddo,” Faith said. “Remember we’re only here temporarily. One day. Maybe two. Just until the fire is contained and it’s safe to go home.”
“You told me that a million times, Mom.” She went over to explore the outdoor kitchen.
“You know, Faith, she’s welcome to come swimming anytime,” Sam offered.
Faith glanced at her daughter, who was opening drawers and the outdoor refrigerator and too far away to hear. “Please don’t make promises to my child that you don’t intend to keep.”
“I have every intention of keeping that promise.”
“Maybe right this minute,” she said. “But life will go back to normal and there will be female visitors. Two strikes and out. Breakup bouquets and peonies. A promise to a little girl could get in the way of that lifestyle and your women.”
“So much for you being nice to me.”
“I wasn’t being mean. Just stating a fact.” She looked past him and frowned. “Phoebe Catherine, I told you not to touch anything. Stop right now.”
Sam watched her walk away and realized several things, starting with the fact that Phoebe’s father didn’t seem to be in the picture. One could presume that Faith had been let down big-time by a man. The self-reliant message was a big clue, as was the warning to keep his promise to her child or she’d come after him like a pack of wolves. She hadn’t actually said that but the expression in her eyes had conveyed the message loud and clear.
But she needed to realize a few things, too. There weren’t as many women in his life as she thought and he made sure none of them had expectations. He wasn’t a bad guy and wanted Faith to know it. He was very careful not to make promises he couldn’t keep. Starting with commitment.
Very soon he was going to set her straight about all of the above.
Faith left work early the next day and headed to the fire staging area for a volunteer shift. At the base of the mountain she saw auxiliary fire trucks parked, and soot-covered, exhausted men slumped against them. Not far away there was a tarp, and underneath it were picnic benches and a propane steam table where food was being kept warm. After parking her van she got out and instantly was hit by a gust of hot wind that whipped her hair around. She slid a scrunchie from the pocket of her jeans and pulled the strands off her face into a ponytail, then walked over to the food area.
Delanie Carlson, who owned the local pub, Bar None, transferred a case of water bottles to a large insulated chest then poured a bag of ice in to cool them down quickly. At a stove stirring food she saw Lucy Bishop, chef and co-owner of the Harvest Café. Both women were good friends.
“It’s really windy.” That was stating the obvious and there was no point in doing that. They all knew what could happen and worry clawed at her. But she was here to do her part and take her mind off the fact that she could lose her home.
“What can I do?” she asked Lucy.
“Organize the paper plates and utensils for an assembly line. The firefighters are on a regular rotating schedule,” the blue-eyed blonde said. “They need the breaks to cool off, eat and rest. Otherwise someone could make a deadly mistake.”
“That sounds like Desmond Parker’s