Книга - Love, Special Delivery

Love, Special Delivery
Melinda Curtis


What we do for family...and love?Third-generation firefighter Captain Ben Libby is sworn to keep Harmony Valley safe. But a recent series of fires point to arson. Not that Ben really suspects Mandy Zapien, who’s back in town to reopen the defunct post office--a potential fire hazard.Turns out Ben and Mandy—she of the incredible smile--have a lot in common. They’re both trying to rebuild their lives. Mandy’s raising her teenage sister, just as Ben’s devoted to his godchild. Though lately, he’s started to suspect she’s his biological daughter. Amid secrets and family dramas, do Ben and Mandy have what it takes to go the distance together?







What we do for family...and love

Third-generation firefighter Captain Ben Libby is sworn to keep Harmony Valley safe. But a recent series of fires points to arson. Not that Ben really suspects Mandy Zapien, who’s back in town to reopen the defunct post office—a potential fire hazard.

Turns out Ben and Mandy—she of the incredible smile—have a lot in common. They’re both trying to rebuild their lives. Mandy’s raising her teenage sister, just as Ben’s devoted to his godchild. Though lately, he’s started to suspect she’s his biological daughter. Amid secrets and family dramas, do Ben and Mandy have what it takes to go the distance together?


“You’re always smiling,” Ben said. “How do you keep it up?”

“I...” It was easy talking to him in the darkness, easy to overshare. But he’d half thought she was the cause of all his trouble. Mandy gave him a generic answer. “It takes as much effort to smile as it does to frown.”

“And you’re incredibly honest.”

“I’m not. I just... I have very little to hide.” Only her feelings and her debt and the fact that she’d lied to her sister about their inheritance and the reason their mother stayed away.

“I doubt that. Everyone has layers.” His head bent toward hers, almost as if he was going to kiss her. And then he pulled back, tilting his head to the side.

The kiss impression was totally the moon’s fault.

Stupid moon.


Dear Reader (#u57945a2e-938e-5c0d-96c7-e6c0b5161a40),

Welcome to Harmony Valley!

Just a few short years ago, Harmony Valley was on the brink of extinction with only those over the age of sixty in residence. Now the influx of a younger generation is making life in Harmony Valley more fun for its gray-haired residents than afternoon television.

Fire captain Ben Libby wants to investigate fires rather than fight them, but before he takes the next step in his career he needs to help his father reopen the Harmony Valley Fire Department. Ben expects the assignment to be easy, but suddenly there’s a rash of fires in town and they coincide with the return of Mandy Zapien. All Mandy wants is a fresh start for her and her teenage sister. She’s not an arsonist. But proving that to Ben turns out to be a challenge.

I hope you enjoy Mandy and Ben’s journey to a happily-ever-after, as well as the other romances in the Harmony Valley series. I love to hear from readers. Visit my website at www.melindacurtis.com (http://www.melindacurtis.com) to learn more about upcoming books, sign up for email book announcements (and I’ll send you a free sweet romance read) or chat with me on Facebook (MelindaCurtisAuthor (https://www.facebook.com/MelindaCurtisAuthor)) to hear about my latest giveaways.

Melinda


Love, Special Delivery

Melinda Curtis






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author MELINDA CURTIS is an empty nester. Now instead of car pools and sports leagues, her days go something like this: visit the gym with her husband at 5:30 a.m., walk the dogs, enjoy a little social media, write-write-write, consider cooking dinner (possibly reject cooking dinner in favor of takeout), watch sports or DIY shows with her husband, read and collapse in bed. Sometimes the collapse part happens before any TV or reading takes place.

Melinda enjoys putting humor into her stories because that’s how she approaches life. She writes sweet contemporary romances as Melinda Curtis (Brenda Novak says Season of Change “found a place on my keeper shelf”), and fun, steamy reads as Mel Curtis (Jayne Ann Krentz describes Cora Rules as “wonderfully entertaining”).


This book is dedicated to my dad and

my mother-in-law, both of whom supported

me on my writing journey. It wasn’t easy losing

them both just months apart. I thought of them

and their last wishes a lot during the writing

of this story.


Contents

Cover (#ueabdc7f1-a243-5563-90be-4328d8c789d0)

Back Cover Text (#ub98adb63-162f-5f9d-b5fe-8a01232927b1)

Introduction (#u263c6f8b-b1aa-505d-9ecb-bfa544d5ebc1)

Dear Reader (#u3637beaa-9553-5d0b-a39e-c35c5d446eda)

Title Page (#u1b73ac29-1627-5553-bbb5-ecb0b382ed69)

About the Author (#u1b4478a0-ebfb-521a-bd8c-c88cf331853e)

CHAPTER ONE (#ua46a4c5d-9ee3-5480-a65d-ff917e691481)

CHAPTER TWO (#u6f401418-2dc7-5e75-9385-8157339cc3cc)

CHAPTER THREE (#u807b5211-e166-5b9c-8d6c-ee4f713cef9f)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u13458c19-b9fd-5647-bd5c-b84507ac4395)

CHAPTER FIVE (#u927011bd-4721-559a-953d-4d88410478fe)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u57945a2e-938e-5c0d-96c7-e6c0b5161a40)

“TELL ME THIS isn’t where we’re going to live. It’s too...too...icky.”

“What’s wrong?” Mandy Zapien’s heart had been clinging to a position in her throat for the last hour of the drive to Harmony Valley. It clawed a degree higher as she pushed past her teenage sister to get a good look inside the house they’d left seven years earlier.

Same dark chocolate shag. Same tan-and-navy plaid couch under the front picture window. Same oak side table with Grandma’s sewing basket next to it and the fake ficus in a plastic planter Mandy had Bedazzled when she was ten. Nothing was new or out of place.

Mandy’s heart slid back into her stress-strapped chest.

Icky? It was home and it was vacant. The choke hold on her emotions loosened. “It’s perfect.” Just the way Grandpa, Mandy and Olivia had left it after Grandma died. A testament to the life Grandma and Grandpa had built together before lost jobs had forced them to move. Just the way Grandpa had wanted it to be when he returned after retirement.

“Seriously?” Olivia darted around Mandy, holding her cell phone and panning around the room, videotaping. “I opened the door and there was a nuclear explosion of dust.” Her yellow flip-flops snapped as she made her way into the kitchen. Her pale bare legs looked long because her jean shorts were too short.

Mandy had considered asking Olivia to change this morning and throw away the shorts, or at the very least roll down the thin cuffs, but as the guardian of a seventeen-year-old, she had to pick her battles and not break eggs. Today, moving day, was not the time to upset her little sister.

Mandy moved to the fireplace, pressing her hand against the solid red brick. It was as sturdy as their grandparents had once been. Would they approve of what she was doing? “I have good memories of this place.”

“Really? I don’t remember much about Harmony Valley.” Olivia’s voice bounced off bare walls.

The dust. The emptiness. The relief.

Mandy breathed deeply. Their grandparents may be dead, but they were going to be all right. It didn’t matter if her sister didn’t remember life here. Olivia claimed not to recall the tinsel-covered Christmas tree their grandparents put in the corner every year. Or the photos they’d staged of the girls on the hearth on Christmas morning wearing the annual holiday sweaters Grandma had knitted.

“Hey, the fridge is running.”

“Is it...” Mandy’s heart crept back into her throat. “Is it empty?” Mandy hurried into the kitchen in time to see Olivia pry the sticky refrigerator door open.

“Ew. That’s disgusting.” Olivia stopped filming and covered her nose.

Mandy peeked in. What once might have been a small basket of strawberries (based on the fermented smell) was now a glob of mold. That hadn’t happened overnight. Mandy shut the door, more convinced than ever that no one had lived here recently. More hopeful that no one would visit while they stayed a few weeks.

Olivia and her flip-flops snapped their way down the hall toward the bedrooms. “Hey, I recognize our room.” She disappeared inside. “Why did we leave the bunk beds?”

“Why?” Mandy leaned against the door frame. There were more good memories in this room than bad. “Because I’d slept on top for ten years, and at twenty-five I wasn’t going to do that anymore. And don’t get any ideas.” At thirty-two she was too old to be sleeping on a bunk. “These are out. We’re bringing in your bed and you’re sleeping in here alone.” She’d take her grandparents’ room. “No arguments.”

“It’s freaky how you can read my mind.” But Olivia looked happy, which was a welcome change since they’d had to leave her friends and support group behind.

“Do you remember this?” Mandy closed the door, shutting them inside. They had time for a little reminiscing before the day’s summer heat made it too hot to unload their truck. “This is where Grandma tracked our height.” On the white frame of a tall slim mirror on the back of the door.

The two crowded into the reflection. Mandy, the tallest of the pair, looking too thin and too young with her slight smile and thick dark hair in messy ponytails. Her red tank was as baggy as the circles under her eyes. She’d been worried about her new job, about the move, about the bills, the house, Olivia, about...well...everything.

Olivia’s frame was deceptively solid, as if she’d put on extra adolescent weight preparing for a growth spurt. Her soft brown hair was only an inch long, making her brown eyes and wide mouth seem more prominent.

“Was I ever that short?” Olivia leaned closer to the door, peering at a mark about three feet off the floor.

“You were a petite thing.” Mandy nudged her aside and opened the door, leading the way to the master bedroom. “You should feel lucky you didn’t get my height or my shoe size.”

Neither one of them opened the second bedroom door.

Grandma’s wide bureau sat in the master bedroom in front of a wall with maroon-striped velvet wallpaper. The solid cherry dresser had a white marble top and a large framed mirror attached to the back.

“Grandpa and I couldn’t lift this, so we left it when we moved.” Mandy opened a top drawer. It was filled with her grandmother’s colorful polyester scarves. “He left most of her things.” And then she said with forced casualness, “Do you remember Grandma’s wedding ring?”

“Only because you told me it was made of brass.” Olivia opened the closet. “Her clothes are still here. They smell of lavender.” While Mandy fingered her grandmother’s scarves, Olivia moved clothes across the rod, scraping wire hangers over wood. “There aren’t very many clothes in here.”

Dismay made a special delivery to Mandy’s gut with a one-two punch. “That can’t be.” Grandma had never walked out of a clothing store without a purchase. She’d believed in retail therapy. When they’d moved after her death, Grandma’s closet had been jammed full of pants, blouses and dresses, many with the tags still on.

But the clothes with price tags were gone. Mandy rummaged through the mostly empty bureau. Only the scarf drawer seemed untouched.

An old memory lurched from her past, like a zombie coming to life after a long restless sleep.

Grandma’s voice, pitched low. “If you need money, Teri, ask. Don’t go searching through my drawers.”

“I was just admiring your scarves.” Mandy’s mother slid the drawer closed, looking like a model in a short, clingy black cocktail dress and black heels more appropriate for a hotel bar than Harmony Valley. “They’re so pretty.”

Neither one of them acknowledged eight-year-old Mandy lingering in the hallway, eavesdropping as she held on to the hope that Mom wasn’t going to leave again.

“Save that tone for your father. You hate those scarves.” Her grandmother’s voice wasn’t sweet. It didn’t comfort, not the way it did when she talked to Mandy. “Those scarves remind you of my cancer. They taunt you because I didn’t die.”

Mandy had stumbled back in the hallway and then ran into her room. It wasn’t until the door was closed and she’d burrowed under the covers that she’d realized her mother was laughing.

“Do you think...?” Olivia came to stand near Mandy, unable to complete her question.

It didn’t matter. Mandy knew what her sister had been thinking. They both stared at the closed door across the hall. Grandpa had left the house to their mother, a woman who didn’t value roots or generosity or family. “If Mom stayed here, it was a long time ago.” The dust. The strawberries in the fridge. The drawer full of untouched scarves. “You know how Mom is. She comes for a very brief time and then goes away for a lot longer.”

Still, neither one of them moved toward their mother’s room. Neither one seemed to want to know how long it’d been since Teri Zapien had been here.

“I want to see her.” Olivia’s words sounded like they came from a young girl lost on a once-familiar playground.

“She might show up.” Mandy hoped not.

Their mother was no good at keeping secrets, especially ones that would hurt Olivia.

* * *

“KITTENS?” CAPTAIN BEN LIBBY drove Harmony Valley’s fire truck around the corner toward the crowded town square. “We’re taking the engine out for the first time for kittens?”

“It’s not just kittens.” From the passenger seat, his father, Fire Chief Keith Libby, pointed to the large, sweeping oak tree in the middle of the square and the gathering crowd. “There’s a boy up there, too.”

Sure enough. There was a flash of red hair and knobby knees between the branches.

Dad’s eyesight was still sharp even if the rest of his body wasn’t in its prime.

“Kids seldom need rescuing from trees.” Ben’s godchild came to mind. Seven-year-old stoic Hannah would never find herself in such a predicament.

Dad scoffed. “Need I remind you of a boy who fell out of a tree and broke both wrists?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Ten-year-old Ben had been pretending to battle a blazing high-rise. That’s what third-generation firefighters in the making did—pretend to battle blazes. Unfortunately, his feet had tangled in the garden hose and ladder rungs, sending him tumbling to the ground. He’d had a healthy dislike of ladders ever since.

“Give Harmony Valley a chance, son.” Dad laid his hand on Ben’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t grow up here like I did, but I didn’t ask you to come with me.”

“No. That request came from Mom.”

Decades of sleep-depriving forty-eight-hour shifts and the inhalation of too much toxic smoke in the busy Oakland, California, fire department had taken their toll on his father. Dad’s weakened heart and lungs made the fifty-five-year-old move like the octogenarians who made up the majority of Harmony Valley’s population. Breathing had become a daily struggle. He’d be deadweight on a fire crew in a busy fire station, a danger to himself, those under his command and those in need of rescue. Ben had put his firefighting career on hold to help his father reopen the rural fire department for the ten months his old man had left until retirement. Reaching full retirement meant a 25 percent bigger stipend each month.

No. Dad hadn’t asked. Vanessa Libby had. And despite his father missing out on much of Ben’s childhood to pursue a career in fire, Ben couldn’t live with himself if he wasn’t here to watch over him. So he’d quit his job in the Oakland Fire Department, too, purposefully putting his career on hold.

“Let’s finish this quick and move on to fire inspections,” Ben said. There hadn’t been any fires in Harmony Valley in more than five years, and Ben wanted to keep it that way. He pulled to the curb and put the truck in Park. The engine shook, shuddered and shot out a gasping blast of black smoke. Not exactly the community entrance Ben had hoped for. “I guess we need one more tune-up.”

“Deploy the ladder,” Ben’s dad said in his best I’m-in-charge voice.

“Deploy the...” This was the fire truck’s maiden voyage after fifteen years in storage. They’d barely gotten the engine running and hadn’t had a chance to check the truck’s hydraulics before receiving this call. “Are you going in the bucket?”

“I will. If you don’t have the stomach for it.” A challenge if there ever was one.

“Stay right here.” Ben had a take-charge voice of his own. There was no chance he was allowing Dad to test the ladder. What if he couldn’t catch his breath? What if he got light-headed and tumbled to the ground? What if the town realized Keith’s health wasn’t 100 percent and that Ben was covering for him?

This last was almost as imperative as keeping Dad safe. If Ben’s complicity was exposed, he’d never work as a firefighter again.

Ben hopped out of the truck and headed toward the oak tree. He’d heard there was a farmers market today, but the farm part was hard to see for all the other offerings—quilts, afghans, paintings, metal sculpture. He crossed onto the grass, working his way through a maze of folding tables and elderly residents. Sprinkled through the crowd were a few babies, small children and people who looked to be about his age—early thirties.

More than a decade ago, the grain mill—once the largest employer in town—had exploded and most people in the workforce had moved away, leaving the town more like a retirement community. But now there was a new employer in Harmony Valley, a winery. And people of working age were returning to town, hence the two job openings for full-time firemen.

It was a clear day, and the summer sun beat down on Ben’s shoulders. Given the call had come with the detail that felines were at risk, he hadn’t put on his turnout gear or helmet.

“Look at that! A tall man in uniform.” An elderly woman with short, purplish-gray curls waved at Ben as if he was a returning veteran in a homecoming parade. She stood out from the crowd in her Easter-egg pink tracksuit. “A fireman! And a handsome fireman to boot.”

If there was a bright spot to working in Harmony Valley, it was that its residents were outgoing and welcoming. And yet, that little bright spot couldn’t make up for the fact that their first few calls weren’t exactly what Ben would classify as emergencies—lost house keys, a stuck spigot, a runaway dog. “Who called the fire department?”

“I did.” The mayor separated himself from the crowd. He had a thin face made thinner by a long gray ponytail. The yellow-and-black tie-dyed T-shirt he wore over black khaki shorts made him look like an aging psychedelic bee. “Those kittens have been up there for a good thirty minutes. Breaks my heart.” He leaned in closer to Ben and said in a low voice, “And I thought it’d be the perfect time to show the town we have emergency services again after so long going without.” The mayor craned his neck to see around Ben. “Where’s the chief?”

The truth pressed in on Ben. He couldn’t quite meet the mayor’s gaze. “He’s waiting on my assessment of the scene.”

Ben’s grandfather stood beneath the oak tree next to a folding table stacked with cans of cat food.

“Granddad.” Ben gave the empty cage near his grandfather a disapproving look.

“It’s not my fault.” Granddad brushed white cat hair from his navy T-shirt and looked like he wanted to slink away with his empty cat cage. Felix Libby was the retired fire chief and just as thickly muscled as he’d been when he was active. Now he ran a feline rescue. “Truman wanted a kitten and he got the cage open before I could stop him.”

There were two furry miscreants in the tree with the kid. One was black with white paws. The other was white with a black mask. They mewed from positions too far out on a branch to support a little boy and too far within the canopy for the ladder and bucket to be of any use.

“Granddad,” Ben said again.

“It’s not my fault,” the retired fireman repeated.

Truman, aka the ginger-haired boy in the tree, grinned down at Ben in a way that made it hard to be annoyed at him. “Whichever kitten comes to me first is the one going home with me.” His expression turned earnest. “Here, kitty-cat. Here, boy.”

“Those kittens are girls,” said a small, solemn voice at Ben’s side.

Ben smiled down at his godchild. Her fine blond hair was windblown, and the ankles of her socks were dirt-rimmed. “What are you doing here, Han?”

Hannah didn’t take her bespectacled blue eyes from the felines in the tree. “Granny Vanessa was cleaning, so I went for a bike ride.”

“Please tell me you left Granny a note.” Or Ben’s mother was going to be calling him any minute, frantic with worry over where her small charge had gone to this time.

“Tru, come down.” A petite redhead used her mom-voice and pointed to the ground.

Several spectators chuckled.

“But, Mom.” Truman’s wide grin was on a first-name basis with mischief. “I don’t have a kitten yet.”

“Truman...” Immune to the boy’s charm, his mother was cranking up for a good lecture.

Ben tuned her out. In his experience, one of the two treed parties—kid or kittens—needed to come down to entice the other to the ground. Seeing as how Truman wasn’t budging, that left two felines to convince.

Hannah had come to the same conclusion. She pushed her glasses firmly in place, opened a can of cat food on Granddad’s table and called, “Here, kitty-kitty-kitty.”

Two small noses twitched. Two furry tails swished. Two pairs of innocent green eyes turned calculating.

“We need to ensure capture.” Ben lowered the empty cage to the ground, put the can of food Hannah had opened inside, and backed away.

“Kitty-kitty-kitty,” Hannah crooned.

The kittens leaped from one branch to the next, bounced to the ground and raced to the food. Once they were inside, Hannah closed the door.

The crowd applauded.

“Way to go, peanut.” Ben knelt and gave Hannah a quick hug.

Hannah didn’t so much as crack a smile. She was a quiet child by nature, but since her mother had died three months ago and Ben had become the temporary guardian to his firefighting coworker’s child, her smile had been as AWOL as the man listed as father on her birth certificate. He hoped she’d smile freely when he found the man. He hoped by the time his own father retired in nine months that Hannah would be settled with her biological dad and Ben would be free to pursue a career in fire investigation.

“Well, now I don’t know which one to pick.” Truman reclined on his stomach on the thick branch, arms and legs hanging down as if he was a lion readying for a nap. “We’ll have to take both.”

Before Granddad could do more than perk up his silver eyebrows in glee, Truman’s mother put the kibosh on that idea. “I don’t think Ghost would appreciate you bringing home one kitten, let alone two. Old cats don’t like to share their turf with other cats. Time to come down.”

“Okay.” Truman sounded disappointed, but he did as his mother asked. And he did a good job of it, too, moving quickly and with confidence.

Until his sneaker slipped and he fell, tumbling through the air in a slow-motion cartwheel that sent the crowd gasping.

Ben was ready. Arms outstretched, he was in the perfect position to catch the boy.

And a sneaker to the mouth.


CHAPTER TWO (#u57945a2e-938e-5c0d-96c7-e6c0b5161a40)

“IT’S NOT LIKE the busy hub in Santa Rosa,” Utley Rogers said in a voice thick with age and cigarette smoke. “But your grandfather and I loved the place.”

Mandy clutched the Harmony Valley Post Office key ring tightly in her hand. She and Olivia had moved what little furniture they had into their grandparents’ house. They’d seen no one and had been visited only by Mandy’s memories, many of them bittersweet.

The memories were less bitter here. She used to stop by the post office after school, get a Popsicle from the freezer in the break room and sit on her knees at the interior window of Grandpa’s office so she could watch Grandpa and Utley sort mail and work the counter. When she was in high school, she’d been hired to help during the holiday season, which turned into a full-time job. Back then, everything about the post office was neat and tidy. The outside as well kept as the inside.

And today...

The gray wood siding was warped and peeling and in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. The white flagpole was speckled with rust. The lines of the parking spaces were barely visible on the asphalt. So why did the tire swing Grandpa had hung from the oak tree in back look like it was ready for a good spin?

“I always thought I’d be the next postmaster.” Utley’s expression wavered on the edge of tearful. He cleared his throat and settled a faded blue U.S. Postal Service cap more firmly on his thin white hair. His shoulders were stooped beneath his maroon Hawaiian shirt, as if still weighed down by a mailbag. “Are we going inside or what?”

Mandy forced herself to smile as she shook the key ring, trying to shake off the feeling that her life was being shaped by her past.

Inside, the lobby had the same white walls and scuffed gray linoleum she remembered. Everything else had changed. Dust motes drifted lazily in the sunlight. Cobwebs draped like valances over the grimy front windows and connected handles of the post office boxes like modern-day data network servers. Instead of feeling comfortable with its vacant neglect as she had at the house, Mandy felt trepidation. The building and its operations were her responsibility now. There was a lot to be done before it was functional.

Utley rang the bell on the counter, but he didn’t hit it squarely and the sound was off-key, jangling Mandy’s already raw emotions.

After Grandma died, the grain mill in town had burned to the ground, incinerating jobs with it. With people moving away in droves, Harmony Valley’s post office had been shut down as a result of budget cuts. Luckily, Grandpa had been offered a postmaster job in Santa Rosa, and he’d found a position for Mandy there, as well. The three Zapiens had moved into a small apartment and tried to build a new life. And for several years, they’d been happy. Maybe Grandpa was a bit grumpier and a bit more forgetful than when Grandma had been alive, and maybe Olivia’s teenage angst was drama-laden, and maybe Mandy had to sacrifice a social life and take on a bit more to keep their family together, but they had enough money to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table.

And then complications from Grandpa’s diabetes forced him to retire. And the forgetfulness Mandy had once thought was endearing intensified until no one could deny he had dementia. It had all been downhill from there.

They’d buried Grandpa eighteen months ago. And during his last few weeks in hospice care, the former Santa Rosa postmaster had received visits from many work colleagues. He’d made it clear—in the moments when dementia allowed him to be clear—that his last wish was for Mandy to be postmaster in Harmony Valley. And every time he expressed the request, Mandy had smiled and patted his hand, certain it wasn’t possible, certain no one would take his request seriously, certain she’d never return to Harmony Valley.

And yet, here she was.

Mandy unlocked the door to the back room, took in the state of things and sagged against the door frame. “I’m supposed to have this running in a week.” It would take at least two.

She’d expected the post office to be outdated, without a single modern feature or machine. She hadn’t expected infestation. The place smelled musty, tinged with the aroma of dead things. The sides of the canvas mail carts had holes eaten through them on the bottom, and would have to be replaced. Animal footprints (possum? raccoon?) ran across the long sorting counter.

Something scuttled in the corner and squeaked. The sound of unwanted visitors had Utley banging against the wall and Mandy shrieking.

“This isn’t my finest hour,” she said when she’d caught her breath.

“Ditto,” Utley replied.

Responsibilities and deadlines loomed over Mandy like stacks of full mailbags the week before Christmas. Too many people had been passed over for this assignment. Mandy had a target on her back wider than a turkey platter.

“It can’t be like this everywhere.” Utley led Mandy to the back with shuffling steps that spoke of two knee surgeries. His leather sandals left footprints in the dust. “Let’s give George’s office a look-see.”

Mandy didn’t want to upset whatever beastie was living in the post office anymore, but Utley left her no choice. She couldn’t let him go it alone.

Grandpa’s office was next to the bathroom. It was impossible not to glance at the lavatory and gasp. Hard water had made dark rings around the toilet bowl. A tiny frog croaked and disappeared into the drain of the sink. The mirror had a jagged crack that split her reflection crosswise.

She’d been torn like that as a child. Heart ripped apart by a divorce that left her estranged from her father and with a mother who disappeared for months, or years, at a time. And those rare occasions when Mom had returned? Mandy had been torn between wanting to earn her mother’s love and wanting to be loyal to her grandparents.

Utley entered Grandpa’s office and pulled the chair from behind the desk. “It was George’s proudest achievement, earning the title of postmaster.” He brushed the dust and cobwebs from the chair, hesitating for a moment as if he was considering sitting there. But then he turned to Mandy. “Have a seat, Madam Postmaster.”

Mandy pictured her grandfather’s round, patient face, remembered him sitting in that chair behind the metal desk with postmarks stamped on top. She recalled his booming laughter and how he’d say she was a big help to him—whether she was changing the date on the postmark stamp when she was ten or changing his adult diapers when she was thirty.

She sat, trying to feel proud for having earned a postmaster position before she turned thirty-five, trying not to think about what failure would mean. A demotion. A pay cut. Angrier debt collectors wanting her to make good on Olivia’s medical bills.

The chair listed to the right, as if missing some ball bearings.

Utley brushed off a metal folding chair opposite her. “When does the cleaning crew arrive?”

“She’s already here.” Mandy would need to add specific repairs to her to-do list. Dave, her superior in Santa Rosa, wasn’t going to be pleased. He’d made it clear that reopening the office wasn’t a priority. She had to prove its profitability.

“You always were a hard worker.” Utley settled in the folding chair with a contented sigh, as if deaf to the creaks and groans of the old metal. “I can’t wait to see how your newfangled equipment works. You know, I have a smartphone.” He produced a flip phone from his blue checked shirt pocket. “Now I understand why people send fewer letters. I can send mail from here.”

Mandy blinked. “You mean texts.”

Utley blinked back. “Aren’t texts and electronic mails the same?” He tucked his phone away, shrugging. “I never thought I’d see portable phones in my lifetime, much less all the fast, fancy stuff I expect you’ll be bringing in here. A lot has changed since I retired.”

“We’re not as far ahead as you might think. Equipment and supplies are coming next week.” A credit card reader. A computer and scale to calculate postage. Stamps, shipping boxes, envelopes. The bare minimum to get the town’s services up and running.

Utley gave her a proud smile with wrinkles so like Grandpa’s, she had to look away. “You must’ve done something wonderful to have been given this opportunity.”

She hadn’t done anything wonderful.

But Grandpa expected her to.

* * *

“CHEAPEST WAY TO fight fires is to prevent fires.” Winded and wheezy, the fire chief stood outside the Harmony Valley Post Office in his navy blue uniform, one sunspotted hand on the wall.

It didn’t help his lungs that there was a wildfire burning forty miles away on the other side of nearby Parish Hill. Ten wildland firefighter crews were battling that blaze, and it was over 50 percent contained. Smoke from the fire tinged the midday sky gray-brown and would for days.

“Cheapest way,” Dad repeated.

Ben didn’t care about budgets. He cared about safety. “The town council should have approved funding for a four-man crew.” He stopped next to his father, scoping the empty street like a burglar about to do business. The fire code required a minimum of four firemen on active fire calls, which left them dependent upon other nearby fire crews. And by nearby, he meant thirty minutes or more away. Harmony Valley was in a remote corner of Sonoma County.

“You’ve driven around town.” Dad sucked in a shallow breath, as if he were simply winded, rather than coping with lung disease. “Our district constituents are old.” Suck-wheeze. His face lost more color. “We’ll be handling more medical calls than fire emergencies.” Suck-wheeze. “Which is the way of the world now it seems.”

Kitten and medical calls were turning out to be their charter. Once they put a volunteer program in place, they wouldn’t have to rely on Cloverdale for backup if there was a fire.

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.

Mandy was getting as overly dramatic as Olivia.

She smiled harder, closing the distance between them. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I can’t find it.” Ben halted his search, arms akimbo, scowling down at Mandy, but not nearly as sharply as before. “And yet, you’re smiling.”

“I...uh...” Mandy had to stand up for herself if she was to succeed as postmaster. “I find a smile helps me through tough times. It keeps all the bad stuff at bay, you know?”

“Not really.” His stare tried to pierce her words, but they were the truth and held up to his inspection. After a moment, Ben smiled enigmatically and turned his attention back to the gray, warped and peeling siding. “It should be right here.” And then he stepped closer to the overgrown hedges bordering the wall, moving branches aside.

Mandy braced herself for Riley’s now-familiar growl. The raccoon had been hunkering down in the bushes since she’d nailed a board over the hole he’d made in the siding.

But not even Riley was courageous enough to stand up to the ferocious Ben Libby.

“There it is.” Ben angled so she could see the panel. He tapped the gauge. “See this? There’s no water pressure. And when I open up the valve...” He turned the spigot.

Nothing happened.

Ben’s gaze connected with hers the way a teacher’s did to a student’s when waiting for an answer to an easy question.

“I’m assuming there’s supposed to be water flowing somewhere?” she said tentatively.

“And an alarm going off.” Ben shut the valve. “This needs to be fixed before you open. Priority one.”

Such a long list. Mandy nodded numbly.

But she kept smiling.

* * *

“IS THAT...” Ben moved branches aside. “Cat food?”

“Yes.” Mandy’s cheeks bloomed with soft color. “I evicted Riley. I owed him something.”

“Owed a raccoon?” Ben stood and studied Mandy once more. She didn’t look as if she’d be full of surprises. This close, he could see the fabric of her striped postal shirt was worn at the collar, the thickness of her lashes, the weariness in her brown eyes. And yet, despite her fatigue and her smile, there was a determination to the set of her shoulders. She was a surprise, all right. “Won’t free food keep him coming back?”

That smile of hers wavered, and she stared into his eyes as if he confounded her as much as she did him. “Have you ever wondered where you’ll live?”

“No.” His answer came too quickly. “Well, yes. Recently.” After Erica died, he’d realized raising a little girl wouldn’t work in his studio apartment. He’d sublet his unit and moved in with his parents. “It was unsettling.”

“Then you understand,” she said in a voice that said volumes about the uncertainties she’d faced in life. “Change is hard, even for a raccoon.”

He owed her a smile. How could he not? They’d both ended up with more than they’d bargained for by coming to Harmony Valley. Suddenly, he was glad they weren’t writing her citations. “My grandfather would approve of you. He rescues stray cats.”

“Felix? I doubt he’d approve of me.” She blinked, adding quickly, “I mean, who would?”

“I would. I do.” The words spilled out, past the long list of safety regulations she was breaking and his professional standards. He wasn’t here looking for her phone number. With all the balls he was juggling—Dad’s health, launching the fire department, caring for Hannah while trying to find her real dad—he had no energy to put himself out there, no time for the slow ramp that led to friendship or perhaps something else. It was just...she had a way of making his gaze linger.

Mandy’s gaze slid to the bushes, and the color in her cheeks deepened. She hadn’t expected his endorsement, and given his intensity inside, he couldn’t blame her.

“What’s the word?” Dad called from inside the post office.

Thankfully, Dad couldn’t see them from where he sat because Ben would never hear the end of it if Dad witnessed how near he stood to Mandy, how long he’d been staring at her, the near foolish tilt to his grin.

“It’s as expected,” Ben called back gruffly, feeling just the opposite. He took a step back. Straightened. Cleared his throat. “The fire panel is offline.” Offline. It was where he needed to store his unexpected fascination with Mandy.

* * *

THAT NIGHT, MANDY was too tired to cook.

She was too tired to wash dishes.

Good thing it was Olivia’s day to do both.

Mandy dropped her purse and shoes in the middle of the living room floor and collapsed into a recliner. She stared at the black screen of the small TV, too tired to get back up and look for the remote. Although perhaps not too tired to indulge in a brief fantasy where a hunky fireman retrieved it for her.

And, despite the hunky fireman of her dreams bearing some resemblance to Ben, her hunky fireman didn’t lecture. He just smiled and looked hunky, as Ben had when they’d talked about her feeding Riley cat food. For a few minutes, she’d felt as if they were as comfortable with each other as a pair of well-worn sneakers. And a moment later, she’d felt as if she’d been caught wearing those sneakers on prom night when everyone else was in new sparkly heels.

“I’m home,” she called out for Olivia’s benefit, spotting the remote across the room next to Grandma’s sewing basket.

“I heard.” Olivia drifted in, blowing on her painted fingernails. Except for her manicure, everything about Olivia was minimal—light makeup, bare feet, lemon-colored spaghetti-strap blouse and those dreadful short-shorts. “Look what I did. It’s an American flag.” She angled her hand so Mandy could see. There were red-and-white stripes on some fingernails and white glittery stars on blue backgrounds on her thumbs.

“Very nice.” It was hard to deny her sister had talent when it came to nails, but, “How long did that take you?”

“All day.” Olivia flopped onto the blue plaid couch. It said something to their cleaning skills that no dust billowed.

“I thought we agreed that you’d apply for work today,” Mandy said carefully. That was the trick with teenagers. You had to walk on tiptoe when what you really wanted to do was screech about laziness and lost opportunities and, therefore, break some eggs. That’s what Mandy called the loss of control over her emotions. And losing control meant a pile of eggshells.

Olivia’s innocent brown eyes turned Mandy’s way. “I couldn’t go out without doing my nails.”

Eggshells. Eggshells.

“You realize you have one more day to find a job and then you’re coming to work for me.” Mandy could use her help. Anticipating that need when she’d landed the job, she’d made Olivia take the postal employee test. “I don’t like the idea of you being home alone.” What she would have preferred to have said was Olivia needed to earn her own nail polish money. But that would have been unnecessarily mean.

Olivia admired her nails, as relaxed as Mandy was uptight. “I looked online and there were no job listings.”

“Hence the obvious need to do your nails.” Unable to filter a brief spurt of sarcasm, Mandy drew a deep breath and tried again. “A town as small as Harmony Valley won’t have jobs posted online.”

“We might just as well have moved to the north pole.” Olivia flopped back against the couch, resorting to her best defense—drama. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no mall or movie theater. What if there’s an emergency? What if I get sick?” She was winding up like a pitcher about to throw a third strike. “What if—”

“We’ve been over this.” Mandy was afraid her smile was slipping. “The nearest hospital is thirty minutes away. Plenty of time to seek care.”

Olivia changed tactics as swiftly as a guppy changed course in a fishbowl. “I didn’t want to move here.”

“Harmony Valley isn’t so bad.” Mandy stared longingly at the remote, wondering how much longer her sister’s energy for an argument would last.

“Mandy.” Olivia said her name as if Mandy was the one being unreasonable. “I meant I didn’t want to move here.” She patted the couch cushion with the heel of her hand, careful of her patriotic nails.

Mandy’s battered patience felt as brittle and treacherous as a thin layer of ice on a blind curve. “I told you. We have bills.” From Olivia’s follow-up medical care, the extras her insurance hadn’t covered. “And we need two months’ rent saved to get a house.” The town had only a few apartments available, and those were mostly studios above the old shops on Main Street.

The size of a place was a moot point. They didn’t have the cash. End of story.

“We’re squatting, Mandy,” Olivia said in a judgy tone, sitting up. “Are postal workers supposed to break the law?”

“No one is supposed to break the law,” Mandy said as stiffly as Ben had given his safety lecture earlier. “I’m the trustee of Grandpa’s estate. I pay the bills that keep the lights on in this house. We can stay here temporarily.” She should have stopped there. She didn’t. “Mom won’t mind.”

Hey, lightning didn’t strike.

Olivia’s chin jutted at the mention of their wanderlusting mother. “If you wouldn’t argue with Mom, she’d come by and see us.”

Mandy refrained from asking where Mom had been during Olivia’s bout with cancer. She refrained from raising her voice or rolling her eyes or giving in to the urge to cry. She’d become quite good at soldiering on, so she swallowed annoyance, gulped back uncertainty and washed it all down with despair, dredging up her most chipper voice. “Do you remember how Grandma and Grandpa danced in the kitchen on New Year’s Eve?” Remembering the good times was often the only thing that held Mandy and her smile together.

“No.” Olivia sniffed and slid her thumbnail along her cuticle. “I don’t remember stuff like that. I’ve got chemo brain.”

Or she just didn’t want to admit she remembered. Someday Mandy was going to find a memory her sister recalled. And then they’d sit together reminiscing. “Did you remember to cook dinner?” she asked, knowing the answer because the house lacked the enticing smell of food in the oven.

“I was busy.” Olivia hadn’t taken her eyes off her nails.

“Brat.” Mandy removed a band from one ponytail and shot it at her sister. It bounced harmlessly off her shoulder and to the brown shag carpet.

“Jailer.” Olivia’s lips twitched.

“Baby.” Mandy’s smile felt more real now.

Olivia grinned. “Old maid.”

Before they could get in another round of insults, someone knocked on the door.

They stared at each other with wide eyes. Mom always knocked. Although per Grandpa’s will, this was their mother’s house. Not that it would be much longer. Grandpa’s money was running out. And their mother couldn’t or wouldn’t pay for property taxes, insurance and utilities.

Mandy’s lips stuck over her dry teeth in what was most certainly more grimace than smile. She wanted to ignore the summons and pretend they weren’t home. Or better yet, escape out the back.

Responsible people don’t run.

That’s what Grandpa used to say.

Clearly, they didn’t always rise to the occasion either, because Mandy didn’t move from her seat.

“Do you think it’s the pizza delivery man?” Olivia stood, holding out a hand to Mandy. “I was just wishing for a pizza.”

Mandy couldn’t be a coward in the face of her sister’s bravery. Besides, for all Olivia’s talk about wanting to see their mother, she wasn’t rushing to the door to greet her. Her little sister played a good game of emotional poker. Too bad Mandy had no time to evaluate the stakes.

She accepted Olivia’s help to stand. “I think it’s the man of my dreams, coming to take me away to his castle.” And pay off her mountain of debt.

Olivia rolled her eyes and then reached over to remove Mandy’s other ponytail band.

Mandy fluffed her hair, which did little good. It fell like two thick handlebars over her shoulders. “It’s probably the neighbors.” The house on one side was vacant, but the house on the corner next to them had a driveway and front door on the cross street.

It wasn’t the pizza delivery man or Prince Charming.

Three older women stood on the front stoop. None of which was their mother.

“Welcome to Harmony Valley.” The first old woman at the door was pint-size with a pixie-cut hairstyle more silver than gray. “I’m Agnes.”

“We brought broccoli casserole.” The willowy woman behind Agnes had a ballerina’s posture and a snow-white chignon. She held a square casserole dish. “I’m Rose.”

Mandy’s stomach growled.

“That’s not pizza.” Behind Mandy, Olivia drew a deep breath. “But I’m not complaining.”

“How about some cookies?” A woman with white fluffy curls peered at Mandy through thick lenses. She pushed her walker forward, clutching a plastic bag full of chocolate chip cookies. “I’m Mildred.”

Mandy’s stomach growled again. She opened the door wider and stepped aside, not complaining that their visitors weren’t her knight in shining armor.

Ballerina Rose glided past and delivered the casserole to the kitchen. “Oh,” she said upon reaching the cluttered sink. She set the casserole on the counter and began to wash their dirty dishes.

Mandy hurried into the kitchen, hoping no one ventured into her bedroom and noticed the clothes she’d worn yesterday in a pile on the floor. “You don’t have to do that.”

I should have broken some eggshells. Maybe then Olivia would’ve completed her chores.

“I don’t mind,” Rose kindly said. “You look like doing dishes would do you in.”

“Rose is right.” Agnes drew Mandy back to the living room. “Sit down and have one of Mildred’s cookies.”

Cookies. Mandy’s stomach growled a third time. She sat like a well-trained dog awaiting a deserved treat. Olivia did the same. In their love of chocolate, they were united.

Mildred positioned her walker next to Mandy, flipped the seat down and sat on it. She handed Mandy the cookie bag. “Agnes, do you think these girls have low blood sugar? Diabetes ran in the Zapien family, and they look pale.”

Olivia managed to bite her lip and frown at the same time. She needed to work on her smile.

“No. They’re clear-eyed.” Agnes pushed the top of Mandy’s chair, sending her into recline. “More likely they’re just tired. Can you imagine moving here, and then cleaning out George and Utley’s mess at the post office?”

“I can.” Mildred patted Mandy’s arm. “I’ve seen Utley’s living room. You take it easy tonight, honey.”

Mandy couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of her. It gave her a warm feeling. She grabbed a cookie and took a big bite.

“Hey,” Olivia protested, scurrying over to get one.

“That’s it.” Agnes patted Mandy’s crown. “We need milk, Rose.”

Luckily, they had some. Unluckily, to find it Rose had to open the refrigerator.

The sticky fridge door protested being opened, and Rose protested, too, opening it with a strangled noise.

Mandy’s grandmother would be horrified that one of the neighbors had evidence Mandy wasn’t Suzy Homemaker. Sadly, Mandy was her grandmother’s kin. She didn’t like the idea either.

That called for another bite of rich chocolate. “Remind me. How do I know you three?” They seemed so familiar and yet they were strangers, not to mention taking over the house. “Do you live next door?”

“No. We’re the town council.” Mildred’s gaze floated in an unfocused manner over Mandy’s face, blue eyes huge and distorted behind those thick lenses. “Been serving since you were... Well, we’ve been serving a long time.” Despite the bug eyes, Mildred had a Mrs. Claus vibe that was oddly comforting, almost as good as chocolate.

Their faces—younger, yet not young—came back to Mandy. Growing up, she’d seen them at town festivals, at school events, at the ice cream parlor.

“One day you’ll have to tell us about your grandfather,” Agnes said in an I’m-so-sorry tone of voice, the kind that always brought tears to Mandy’s eyes. “I always admired George and Blythe for taking you kids in when Teri was—”

“A flake.” Rose returned to the living room with a glass of milk and indicated Mandy sit up. “Your mother is a flake.”

Olivia stopped chewing. She claimed a blind admiration for their mother. Mandy had given up arguing with her about Mom years ago.

Rose handed the milk to Mandy, paused and put on an apologetic smile. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Mandy bit into another cookie, making short work of the sweet treat. So much for casserole. “Have you seen my mother in town recently?”

“No.” Rose returned from the kitchen almost immediately and handed Olivia a glass of milk. “You need some fresh baking soda in that fridge.”

“Vinegar,” Mildred said.

“It smells like there might be something dead underneath.” Agnes leaned down to admire Olivia’s handiwork. “Those are very pretty nails.”

Her praise won Olivia over. She preened. “If you like that, look at my feet.” She’d done them yesterday.

Agnes bent over, hands on knees. “Are those fireworks or chrysanthemums?”

“Fireworks.” Olivia wiggled her toes.

“Are you licensed?” Rose drifted closer to Olivia. “We’ve got a hairstylist in town, but not a nail lady.”

“Not yet. I’m going to cosmetology school in a few months. My grandpa left me money, but said I have to wait until I’m eighteen to collect.”

Mandy’s feeling of comfort evaporated. She couldn’t look at her sister.

“We heard your grandfather had dementia.” Mildred’s hand found Mandy’s and squeezed. “Was it bad?”

“It was,” Olivia said before Mandy could do more than nod.

“It was worse at the end,” Mandy said in Grandpa’s defense. As his kidneys failed and his organs shut down, his touch with reality hung by a thread. He hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time. He’d wake up and sing at the top of his lungs, and not always with the right words.

Glory, glory hallelujah. Glory, glory with a poodle.

“Well...” Agnes tilted her head toward the door, perhaps noticing the mist in Mandy’s eyes. “We won’t take up any more of your time. Let us know if you need anything.”

Now that Mandy was full of sugar and dinner was in the kitchen, her smile felt uncharacteristically carefree. “We’re looking to rent a place.” Too late, Mandy realized that statement opened the door to unanswered questions about why they couldn’t live in this house.

Other than a fleeting display of creased silver brows, the town council didn’t seem to care.

“Oh.” On her way out, Rose pivot-turned at the door. “There’s a cute place around the corner that used to have a beauty salon in the garage. It might be the perfect place for a nail salon.”

“We’ll get you the owner’s information,” Agnes promised.

Olivia beamed, while Mandy wondered how much more expensive a home would be to rent with a salon inside.

After the town council left, Mandy and Olivia stared at each other.

“Just this once,” Olivia said with a sly grin, “can we have cookies for dinner?”

“I hate that we think alike.” But she loved that no eggshells had been broken between them.

They each ate three more cookies and drained their glasses of milk.


CHAPTER FOUR (#u57945a2e-938e-5c0d-96c7-e6c0b5161a40)

“HANNAH, THAT SNAKE is not coming inside.” Ben’s mother sounded flustered. She’d raised two boys and been around firemen all her life. Nothing ruffled her feathers.

Except, it seemed, a seven-year-old girl.

“But the snake is already inside.” Hannah’s calm voice, stating a fact.

Another crisis. Ben hurried to unlace his boots. Still in his navy blue uniform, he ran to the kitchen, assessing the situation as quickly as he would an emergency call.

Hannah held a slender gray snake that was about two feet long. Its small head rested between her thumb and forefinger. The rest of it was coiled around her forearm. Thankfully, it was only a garter snake.

Looking frazzled, his mother stood on sandaled tiptoe, backed into the corner of the dark kitchen cabinets. Her hands clutched her orange flowered tunic. Her short blond hair was uncharacteristically spiked up in front. If Hannah brought the snake any closer, she’d probably climb into the double metal sink. “Ben, thank heavens. Hannah slipped away again and she—”

“I didn’t slip away.” Hannah sounded weary of overprotective adults. Where Hannah used to deal with one parental unit, now she dealt with three. “You were taking a nap, so I went for a bike ride.”

Ben bit back a smile.

“Fine. Yes. I took a nap. That’s what grannies do because children are exhausting.” There was a hysterical edge to his mother’s voice. She gripped the counter so ferociously Ben was surprised she didn’t embed a fake French nail in the butcher block. “But for once, honey, can you go on a bike ride and not bring home a critter?”

Hannah pushed her glasses up her nose with her free hand. Her knees were dirty, and her thin blond hair hung half out of its single braid. “I only bring home the lost and the injured.”

Sensing an opportunity, Ben knelt next to Hannah. “That snake looks fine to me.”

“He has a kink.” Han gently pulled the snake’s tail away from her arm so he could see.

“Take it out of the house, please.” Mom shuddered. “I cook meals in this room.”

“Hannah,” Ben said in the patient voice he’d had to use a lot since he’d taken his godchild in. “That kink isn’t something a stay in the infirmary can fix.”

The infirmary. That’s what Han called the wall of cages and terrariums in the garage. Mom hadn’t wanted to keep animals in the house, period. But Hannah had insisted. It was the only time since her mother’s death that the little girl had cried.

“But...” Hannah’s eyes turned watery. “Iggy needs a friend. The other snakes make fun of him.”

Mom gave Ben a look that said: you better set that kid straight.

Ben stood and took Han’s snakeless hand. “Little Iggy might have had friends back where you found him. They might have been better at hiding without a kinked tail.”

“We have to take him back?” Han asked, lips drawing into a pout.

Ben would’ve relented, if not for Mom’s vehement nod of the head.

“Come on, peanut,” he said. “I’ll drive you back where you found him.” Which turned out to be an empty field near the river about a mile from the corner house his parents were renting.

On the return drive home, Hannah stared out the window, her forehead pressed to the glass. “I’m like Iggy. I don’t have any friends. No parents. And now, no snake.”

Ben tried to make light of the situation. “As your godfather, I’m crushed.”

“You don’t count.” She turned those large, solemn blue eyes his way. “You don’t want to keep me.” Her voice was thin, but not whiny or accusatory. Just factual.

“That’s not true.” Her birth certificate said he wasn’t her real father. His dedication to his profession said he wasn’t the right person to raise her. He wanted to be a fire investigator. That involved long hours and unpredictable schedules. Jobs were scarce. When his time here in Harmony Valley was done, he planned to apply everywhere. “I love you, peanut. Would I have taken you to Sylvia Steinway’s princess-themed birthday party if I didn’t?”

She tilted her head and smirked at him. “Wearing princess dresses is stupid. I didn’t want to go.”

Ben didn’t believe that for a moment. He’d caught Hannah gazing at her reflection in the mirror before they’d left for the party, fingers knotted in her poufy pink skirt. And she still kept her tiara on top of her dresser. But that wasn’t the point. “Would I have taken you to see the latest Disney movie if I didn’t love you? And don’t forget I bought popcorn and Goobers.”

Her smirk threatened to turn into a smile. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and looked away, such an old soul for being only seven. “And when my dad shows up? Will you want me then?”

“I’ll want you always, peanut.” Ben gently tugged what was left of her braid. “Just remember, dads have first dibs.”

Later that night after Hannah had gone to bed, Mom pulled Ben into the garage. It was crowded with plastic storage tubs from the move except for the space they’d carved out along one wall for Hannah’s infirmary. “I’m sorry Han got away from me again, Ben. I can’t let my eyes off her even for a minute.”

Dad sat in a burgundy camp chair next to the hot water heater, chewing on a cigar, which was the only vice left to him—chewing, not smoking. “You shouldn’t worry so much, Vanessa. Harmony Valley isn’t the Bermuda Triangle. Kids can safely roam free here.”

“She isn’t ours to let roam.” Mom was wound up tighter than the snake had been around Hannah’s arm. “What if she fell in the river? What if she got hit by a car? Her real father would have our hides. And who could blame him?”

“Time to face facts.” Keith mouthed the cigar. “It’s been three months. We may never find Han’s dad.”

“Don’t say that.” Ben had been searching since Erica died. A few weeks ago, he’d hired a private investigator to aid in the search. “Her father is out there.”

Erica’s parents couldn’t take Hannah because her grandfather had Alzheimer’s and her grandmother couldn’t handle caring for a child on top of that. Nothing in Hannah’s records—not even her birth certificate—said more than John Smith. There were thousands of John Smiths in California. And what if good ol’ John had moved to another state?

Ben stared at the wall with cages. A rabbit with a broken leg. A guinea pig missing an ear. A bird with a broken wing. A baby possum that required bottle feedings. Hannah was a magnet for animals, especially those in need. Would her biological dad appreciate that?

“What Han needs are friends.” It was too bad it was summer and school was out. “Let’s ask around and see if we can’t get her some playdates.” Ones without princess dresses, at least at first.

“Fine.” Mom slipped her arm around Ben’s waist, smelling of the garlic she used in nearly everything she cooked. “But we need to start thinking about what we’ll do with Hannah if you can’t find her father.”

“She’s always got a home with the Libbys.” Dad removed the cigar from his mouth and stared up at the ceiling, perhaps imagining he was blowing smoke rings.

Mom frowned.

Ben’s lungs felt as if he was fighting a fully engaged house fire from the inside and had run out of oxygen in his tank. It was unfair to ask his mother to raise a child when she’d already raised two of her own. And firefighter hours? He couldn’t walk away from a raging house fire if his shift was over. His father was the perfect example of absentee parenthood—gone for days at a time, never home when he promised, always rushing to pick up an extra shift or attend a union meeting. When other kids had dads in the stands for Little League or end-of-the-year school awards, Ben had had none. Those crazy hours? It was why Ben had been staying with his parents since Erica’s death. It was why he’d moved in with them in Harmony Valley.

“All I’m asking is we think about it.” Mom’s frown disappeared. She gave him another squeeze. “You’ll do the right thing, Ben. You always do.”

Ben was doing the right thing. He was caring for another man’s child. It blew his mind that he’d never met and couldn’t find John Smith.

He’d formed many friendships at the fire academy, but none stuck like the connection between himself, Steven and Erica. They shared the same family lineage of firefighters and a drive to succeed. They’d all been hired by the Oakland Fire Department and assigned to the same busy, downtown station. And then one night Steven had been killed on-scene when a drunken driver plowed into the ambulance he’d been standing in front of. Ben had been the first to reach him.

That night, Ben had shown up at Erica’s apartment with a six-pack. Six beers and several whiskey shots later, he woke up in her bed. They’d both been horrified. Erica had a boyfriend. They’d made a pact never to mention it again. And Ben hadn’t until three months later when Erica announced she was pregnant. Ben had asked if it was his, because despite not wanting kids it’d been the right thing to do. When Erica denied it, Ben had been unable to hide his relief.

He wondered again for the umpteenth time... Was John Smith real?

If he wasn’t real, that might mean...

Ben needed space to think. Space to stop himself from thinking. Space from Mom and Dad and even sleeping Hannah. Space from the nagging feeling that he’d been lying to himself for seven years. He and Erica had been friends. He should have met her boyfriend at least once.

Ben went outside and called the private investigator he’d hired to find Hannah’s dad. His report? Still a dead end.

“But now that I have her laptop,” Fenway said, referring to the computer Ben had given him last weekend, “I’m going through her pictures and reverting them back to the original photo. You’d be amazed what and who people crop out before posting to social media.”

If John Smith existed, Hannah deserved to be with him. Being a fireman’s kid wasn’t a bowl of cherry-filled chocolates. There’d be missed meals, missed school events, missed ball games. Much as Ben wouldn’t trade his parents, he wouldn’t wish a fireman’s family on anyone.

He sat on top of the wooden picnic table in the backyard and stared at the sky. It was peaceful in Harmony Valley at night. There were no sirens. No gunshots. No road-raging shouts. Instead, there were wind-rustled leaves, curious owls and singing crickets. It was peaceful, safe, boring. The kind of slow-paced place where a man had little to think of other than his own hard truths.

Was he Hannah’s dad?

A branch snapped to his left.

“Ouch,” a female voice said, sounding more annoyed than hurt.

The four-foot-tall shrubbery separating the Libby backyard from the rear neighbor shook. More branches protested a bodily intrusion.

“For the love of gardenias!” A figure moved beneath the shadows created by a large tree.

Ben hopped off the picnic table. “Need any help?”

The woman and the bushes stilled. “Um. No. I’m looking for... I’m trying to...” The woman huffed as if the weight of the world was too much for her patience. “I like to look at the moon, and this humongous tree is in my way.”

Her hesitation and intensity gave her away. “Mandy?”

The very air seemed to go still. No crickets chirped. No owl hooted. Even the offending tree had gone still.

He peered into the shadows, trying to discern if she was still there, imagining her holding on to that calm smile of hers. “Mandy from the post office?”

“It’s Ben, isn’t it?” She spoke as if this was the worst news of the evening. “How did I not know the fire marshal was my neighbor?”

He chalked up the defeat in her voice to the stress of his fire inspection. His opinion of the post office didn’t reflect on her. She... He had to admit, she and her unflappable smile were more interesting than most things in Harmony Valley. “We’ve both been busy working.” And he went down Harrison to the firehouse, while she probably drove in the opposite direction to the post office.

“If our house looks vacant, it’s because I park in the garage and walk to work.” Gone was the postmaster with her defensive stubbornness. In her place was a neighbor shooting the breeze, one who fed displaced raccoons.

“Speaking of looking...” His lips turned upward for the first time that night. “I can see the moon clearly over here.”

“Rub it in,” she said, less pained than when she’d discovered he was on the other side of the hedge.

He was near enough now to see the outline of her face, although not a clear expression. Not her smile.

He wanted to see her smile.

Which was beyond ridiculous. A stranger’s smile shouldn’t matter.

Dad liked to say everything was different in Harmony Valley. If Dad were out here, he’d say Mandy wasn’t a stranger. She was a neighbor. Practically a friend. Friends found solace in each other’s smile.

“There used to be a fence here,” she said from her backyard in a voice as neutral as Switzerland.

“You lived there before?” Ben moved closer until the thick hedge that separated them nearly touched his chest. He tried to take a bead on her feelings. Was she happy to be back?

“My grandparents raised me here. Back then the Morrettis lived in your place.”

“My mom said a windstorm recently knocked down the fence and the Morrettis cleared out the debris, but didn’t rebuild.” He couldn’t see Mandy’s face in her shadowy backyard, couldn’t fathom why she wanted to see the moon. He wasn’t very patient or much good at beating around the bush. “Why do you want to look at the moon?”

More silence. He waited her out.

“I’m raising my sister,” she said in a low voice he had to strain to hear. “She’s seventeen going on thirty-seven.”

“I’m raising my goddaughter,” he said without thinking. “She’s seven going on seventy.”

Mandy chuckled. It was a warm sound that reached across the shrubs to ease the neck cramp he hadn’t realized was there.

“You can see the moon over here,” he repeated, adding quickly, “There’s a break in the hedge toward the back of the yard.” He’d discovered it when he’d checked the property to make sure it was safe for Hannah. He hadn’t realized she’d use the front door and a bicycle to go exploring.

They walked side by side to the opening.

Mandy entered his yard. The moon cast her in soft light, illuminating her gentle sanity-holding smile. She’d taken out her ponytails, and her hair hung loosely over her ears. She still wore her postal shorts and baggy shirt. She was comfortable in her own skin, disheveled as it was. Little about her should have been attractive or intriguing.

She intrigued him anyway. Opening a post office. Raising a girl. Giving him grief.

Mandy tilted her face to the heavens. “Hello, Mr. Moon.”

Talking to the moon.

Ben bit back a grin. Of course, a woman who smiled through her troubles would talk to the moon.

Erica had been a firm believer in everything having energy and heart. She’d talked about cars and fires as if they were alive and had a personality. It was probably why Hannah projected personalities on every animal she came upon.

“Mr. Moon keeps all my secrets,” Mandy whispered, bringing Ben back to the present.

He had the strongest urge to be pale and round and silent. He wanted to know the secrets Mandy told the moon, especially about her smile. He’d never been one to keep things inside. The few secrets he had, like the night he’d spent with Erica, were too personal to share with anyone.

Thinking better of his wish for Mandy’s secrets, he took a step back.

Life was cruel. Bad things happened. People let you down. And it was best to scowl and go it alone, like the big full moon Mandy was sharing her secrets with. If only the moon were scowling and not smiling, like Mandy.

“Okay,” she said with a burst of expelled air, the kind of breath that indicated she felt the awkwardness of the situation as palpably as he did. “Thanks for giving me my nightly sliver of sanity pie.” She turned. There was no smile on her face.

No smile.

He couldn’t believe it.

Ben almost reached for her, almost fell to the impulse to cup her cheek with his palm. “Come back anytime,” he said instead.

“Do you mean it?” She grinned a happy grin, one full of joy.

He grinned back. “I do.”

“Thank you.” She slipped through the hedge to her backyard. “The moon helps me deal with Olivia without breaking any eggshells.” She turned back to him, everything but her voice lost in shadow. “That’s what I call losing my temper. You know, because kids are fragile...and frustrating. And she’s taken more hits than any kid deserves.”

Like Hannah. “Wouldn’t want to be Humpty Dumpty.”

“No.”

There was another awkward pause, awkward because he felt the need to fill it and couldn’t find the right words. Mandy had her act together. He respected that. She had a way to deal with stress. He respected that. He was just worried that there were other things he liked about her that had to do with the distraction of an attractive, fascinating woman.

The last thing he needed in his life was a distraction.

“Good night,” she said softly.

Her sneakered footfalls made soft noises in the darkness.

“Good night,” he called after too long of a pause.

Ben waited until he heard Mandy’s door latch, waited until Mandy and her secrets were locked safely inside. Only then did he turn back to the house.

Without looking up at Mr. Moon.


CHAPTER FIVE (#u57945a2e-938e-5c0d-96c7-e6c0b5161a40)

“THERE IT IS,” Dad said as he and Ben drove toward a small grass fire on a solitary stretch of two-lane highway on the outskirts of town.

It was their first fire operating as the Harmony Valley Fire Department. Ben was excited. Finally, the work he’d become a firefighter for had materialized. The peppery smoke was thick, the red-gold flames low, and a twenty-foot patch of ground blackened.

“You knock it down, son.”

Ben stepped on the brakes too hard. “What about calling for backup?” They were only two men. “What about protocol?” A four-person crew.

“We can have this fire out long before the Cloverdale team gets here.”

“Since when did you become a renegade?” His father had always played by the rules.

“Things are different in a small fire department.” Dad grinned. “And I happen to be the fire chief.”

No one would have their backs if things got out of hand. It would just be Ben and his father. It’d never been just Ben and his father, not even when he was a kid.

Ben leaned forward to study the fire again. It was a small fire, about the size of his parents’ living room. The grass here was sparse, having survived several years of drought. Little fuel, little wind, little fire. Odds were in their favor.

“Okay, boss. We’re saving Cloverdale Fire some gas.” Ben would rather his father stay in the truck, but he needed a second pair of hands to run the system, monitor water pressure and occasionally help him with the hose. With adrenaline-fueled speed, he hopped out and strapped on his breathing apparatus—his mask and a tank on his back. Then he pulled a hose free and connected it to the truck, while Dad readied the pump.

The fire crackled and popped as lazily as a ringed campfire. Ben wasn’t fooled. One strong gust of wind and the flames would sprint to the hills and then the Mayacamas mountain range separating Sonoma County from Napa. The fire would feed on the sparse grass until it found something meatier, like an abandoned house or a grove of drought-thirsty trees.

Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Ben aimed the nozzle toward the fire. “Let’s do this!”

Dad gave him juice, and soon water doused flames. The resulting steam sent a wave of heat rolling over him.

They were lucky. In no time, they were done. They’d caught the grass fire early. It died a quick death.

Goodbye, little fire.

Shades of Mandy, talking to inanimate objects.

Ben glanced skyward, where the moon made a daytime appearance.

A flash north of them caught Ben’s eye. At the bend in the highway, a small gray car backfired as it pulled out from under the trees and drove away. It was too far off for Ben to make out the license plate or even discern the make.

“Shut it down.” Ben called it. When the water stopped, he removed his mask and pointed to the trees. “Did you see that car?”

“I was busy.” Dad sank onto a bumper, gulping air. His mask-less face was ashen. “Watching you. And the gauges.”

A rush of anger drowned Ben’s adrenaline high. He stepped forward and clutched Dad’s shoulder, giving it a shake. “Why didn’t you wear a mask?”

Dad tugged off a glove and wiped his face. “I forgot.”

“You don’t forget. You can’t forget. You’re the fire chief.” Ben bit back a rant that might break eggs.

“Well, I did.” Dad produced his inhaler and took a hit. “What did you say before?” He drew in a labored breath that gave Ben sympathy gasps. “Something about a car?”

“I’m taking you to the doctor.” Ben tried to help him up, tried to be patient, tried not to be mad toward or disappointed in or scared for his role model.

“No doctor.” Dad shrugged him off. “Your mother will worry.”

“As opposed to her grieving...” Ben began to shout. “...when you die!” He glanced down to count the eggshells he’d broken and stomped on the urge to break more. He couldn’t let his father get to him.

“Don’t be maudlin.” The color was slowly returning to Dad’s face. “Do you suspect arson?”

Ben fumed quietly for a moment, trying to decide if he should call Dad’s doctor, or Mom, or no one at all. He made a choice. The choice to respect his father and his fire chief. “Doesn’t it seem suspicious? A car left right after we put the fire out.” Arsonists often stayed to watch the havoc.

“Maybe the driver was the one to call it in.”

“Maybe.” His mind wouldn’t let the idea of arson go. He’d studied to be a fire investigator for years. It was hard not to put any of that training into play.

Granted, the fire hadn’t been fast burning, which seemed to rule out accelerant. And it was within cigarette flicking distance from the two-lane, which would lead him toward suspecting a careless driver. But their audience... It felt like someone was flaunting their dirty work.

The wind shifted, sending smoke in their faces.

Dad bent over, hacking deeply. Ben had to help him inside the truck, where the air was cool and filtered. After Dad was settled and breathing almost normally, Ben stowed the gear, keeping an eye on the blackened ground in case an ember flared to life again. Nothing did.

“Sorry I couldn’t help with the cleanup,” Dad said when Ben returned to the cab. He looked like a defeated old boxer who’d tried unsuccessfully to make a comeback.

“It’s okay. I knew what I was getting into when I came here.” Double duty. Hiding Dad’s secret. Locking away his principles for the better part of a year.

Ben put the engine in gear and headed into town, letting his mind wander. It meandered to a tin of matchbooks.

“I just didn’t think I’d feel so worthless,” Dad said, his voice barely audible above the engine.

If Dad had been among the new generation of firefighters, like Ben, he’d have worn a breathing apparatus at every fire—big or small. He wouldn’t have developed heart and lung disease. He’d be finishing a long and illustrious career in Oakland. He’d be planning retirement and trips with Mom, making jokes about poor working stiffs.

And Ben would be switching gears, working as a fire investigator.

Those matchbooks...

“Where are we going?” Dad asked when they missed the turn to the firehouse.

“I have a hunch.” There was one person in town he knew of who’d started a fire and been mesmerized. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped he was being paranoid, falling prey to a worst-case-scenario hypothesis. But being a worst-case-scenario thinker was a plus when it came to fire prevention, and Dad had just proved his judgment wasn’t the greatest.

Ben pulled in front of the post office and wished he hadn’t.

There was a small gray sedan parked in the lot.

* * *

EVEN WITH COUNTRY music blaring from the radio in the post office, Mandy knew when the town’s fire engine pulled up. The big engine rivaled the beat of the country song on the radio.

“I’m not ready for a fire inspection,” Mandy muttered, turning the music down. It hadn’t been a week since the first one.

What she really wasn’t ready for was seeing Ben again. The past few nights, she’d stayed up late before going out to see the moon because their exchange had seemed too intimate. She’d told him about eggshells. She’d told him about sharing secrets with the moon. He must think she was an idiot!

Not that this was anything new when it came to Mandy and men.

Mandy didn’t have her act together when it came to the opposite sex. And especially not when faced—literally—with a confident handsome man like Ben. He probably liked women who were petite and polished and wore heels the likes of which Mandy didn’t have in her closet. She was launching a post office and raising a teenager. She didn’t have time for pretty clothes, stylish hair or makeup. Who was she kidding? She didn’t like clothes that showed how reed-thin her body was. She didn’t like spending more than a minute on her hair. And makeup? It gave her acne.

On nervous legs, Mandy dodged the postal service maintenance crew, their ladder and the stack of boxes they’d brought containing fire alarms, extinguishers and lighted Exit signs. They’d claimed the sorting counter as their personal staging area, but they’d spread out like high tide on a flat marsh.

Utley sat in the sunshine on the loading dock in a webbed camp chair, a burning cigarette in his fingers. How long had he been sitting there? She hadn’t noticed his arrival.

Mandy touched his shoulder as she passed.

The old man startled, dropping the cigarette on the concrete, barely missing the tin of matchbooks he’d saved from the trash several days ago.

She paused at the top of the stair. “Did I wake you?” It was hard to believe anyone could sleep through her music or the whine of drills installing new signage and fire alarms.

“No.” Utley’s eyes were heavy-lidded. “I was meditating.” He lifted his fingers to his lips as if to take a drag from his cigarette, noticed his fingers were empty, and immediately brushed at his lap as if dozing and dropping cigarettes was a regular occurrence.

“It’s on the ground,” Mandy told him, hurrying down the concrete steps to meet Ben. “Don’t light another.” She’d already told him twice he couldn’t smoke on the premises.

She’d received her first mail delivery this morning and wasn’t sure how much of a stink Ben would put up about her operating without the fire control panel working. She didn’t want to admit all her safety measures weren’t in place, but she didn’t want to disappoint her supervisor and delay mail delivery either.

She reached Ben in the middle of the parking lot.

He wore his turnout gear and smelled pleasantly like the wood fires her grandfather used to make when they went camping. She’d wondered about their next meeting. Would he be the rigid fireman or the compassionate neighbor?

Question answered. Ben wore his intimidating scowl, as if they’d never spoken in the darkness about eggshells or the moon.

The post office phone rang.

Mandy yelled to Olivia to take a message before turning to Ben with a smile she hoped didn’t betray how nervous he made her feel. “Has it been a week already? It’s been a challenge to pull work crews out here. But they’re here today.” She was babbling faster than a political talk show host. “And I’m checking things off my list.” If she sounded any perkier, she might puke.

Ben stared at her as if he’d sat down at a poker table with people he didn’t like. Namely her. And then his glance moved over the cars and trucks in the parking lot. “Have you been here long?”

“All morning. I just finished sanding the flagpole.” She held up her red, raw hands, waving to Keith in the fire truck. The fact that the fire chief wasn’t getting out had to mean this wasn’t a fire inspection...she hoped. “I only went up about eight feet. I’m not very good on a ladder. I get vertigo.”

“The flagpole out front?” Ben walked backward a few feet, every step magnetically drawing Mandy, too. He stopped where they could both see the front of the post office.

“Yes, the one and only flagpole.” She’d left the ladder and supplies at its base. Was that a fire hazard? “Are you here for my inspection?” Or just to torture her?

“No one inside can see or hear you when you’re out there,” Ben noted, poker-faced. His lip was no longer fat, making the hard line of his mouth that much harder.

“It’s a two-way street. I can’t see or hear anyone inside either.” Which was a blessing when Olivia was in drama mode. “Is there something wrong? I mean, I didn’t dance naked out here. I was just sanding.”

“It’s hard work getting this place in shape.” Utley shuffled up to them, adjusting his blue postal cap to shield his eyes from the sun. He always looked like he was on a tropical vacation. Today he wore a green Hawaiian shirt with white flowers over his khaki shorts. “Glad I could help.”

If by helping, Utley meant lending moral support while he napped or reminisced about the old days, the retired postal worker was doing a bang-up job.

“Are you going to tell us about the fire?” The old man planted his sandals hip distance apart and rocked from side to side. “That’s why you’ve got your gear on, isn’t it?”

A flicker of fear for Ben skimmed Mandy’s spine, so light she barely recognized it. But not so light that it didn’t send heat into her cheeks. “Are you okay? Is Keith okay?”

“We’re good. It was just a little grass fire,” Ben said carefully, staring at her face. “It went down quickly.”

“Oh, good. I’m glad.” The heat in her cheeks changed to a prickle of discomfort at his continued scrutiny. Did she have something on her face? Ink? Rust? Cookie crumbs?

“Is that...” Ben leaned around Mandy, peering at the loading dock. “Is that the tin of matches I threw away?”

“It’s my tin of matches.” Utley patted his pockets as if searching for something. “I’ve been using them. I never let anything go to waste.”

“I tried to stop him.” Mandy tried to keep her voice down, brushing her fingers over her cheeks.

“You should have tried harder.” Yep, that was her überprincipled fireman Ben.

Few men were taller than she was, which meant few men made her feel feminine. Mandy glanced down at her tennis shoes and her blue work shorts, and sighed. Honestly, Ben was right about the matches. She was the postmaster. She shouldn’t have let Utley keep the matches after the fire department wanted them removed. At the very least, she shouldn’t have let Utley keep them here.

She continued to explain her case to Ben in a voice below hearing aid range. “He’s having a hard time adjusting to me in charge. He thought he’d be the next postmaster, and he’s heartbroken. So he nags and he criticizes, but it doesn’t mean much. The matches were a compromise.”

A crease strobed between Ben’s brows, and his lips twitched downward. She’d probably ruined her credibility by admitting she talked to the moon. She had to reestablish herself.

“Utley.” Mandy turned to her grandfather’s friend and coworker. “The matches will have to go home with you.”

Utley stopped patting pockets and reached in one, most likely for a pack of cigarettes.

She laid her hand over Utley’s, preventing him from taking it out. “And you’ll have to respect the no-smoking rule at this facility.”

“So that’s how it is.” Utley worked his wrinkles into a deeply lined frown. “All those years of service and now I’m like a stack of unclaimed mail.”

“Well, we never throw unclaimed mail away,” Mandy said, trying to lighten the mood.

“It’s not right.” Utley turned and shuffled back toward the loading dock.

“About the cars back here,” Ben began.

“Wait.” Mandy snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot. I got a special shipment today. Keith has a package.” She hurried past Utley and up the stairs. “It must have broken open during transit. Someone along the way resealed it.” She picked up the white plastic bag, but something fell out. “Shoot.” They hadn’t resealed it very well.

A pill bottle rolled across the floor toward where Ben stood on the loading dock.

Mandy swooped it up and checked the name on the prescription to the address label. Satisfied they matched, she handed both the bag with several other prescriptions and the escaped pill bottle to Ben. “You might want to check the shipping manifest to make sure all the meds he needs are in there.”





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