Love Inspired June 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: The Cowboy's Homecoming\The Amish Widow's Secret\Safe in the Fireman's Arms (41 page)

When the stage was cleared, poster boards were set on display stands. Each had the handsome, smiling face of one of Paradise's single and therefore apparently, very eligible volunteer firefighters. If the excited thrum of female chatter was any indicator, this was going to be the highlight of the raffles.

Maggie glanced at each poster, noting Jake MacLaughlin's face on the last board. He took a good picture, she'd give him that. The photographer managed to catch that wounded-hero look in the black-and-white shot of him with his helmet on, the chin strap loose. The piercing cat eyes seemed to follow Maggie. And then there was that barely there smile on his full lips. It was almost as though he held a secret deep inside.

She pondered the thought for a moment, and then shook her head. What an imagination she had. Jake was hardly wounded. He seemed to be a carefree bachelor. No doubt there was a long trail of broken hearts behind him.

She turned and scanned the crowd, spotting him at the back, taking what looked to be a good-natured ribbing from his buddies. When his gaze connected with hers he shrugged his shoulders and grinned, unabashed.

“Unbelievable. Church ladies auctioning off men,” Maggie said to Susan.

“No, no. Jake shot down the auction idea.”

“Jake did?”

“Uh-huh. This is a raffle. No auctioning. If you win, for your ticket you get a date to the Founder's Day supper next Saturday with the fireman whose helmet your ticket was picked from. We raise money for a great cause, too.”

“Remind me what cause that is.”

“The Paradise Volunteer Fire Department and the Ladies Auxiliary. The auxiliary supports all the local churches, missions and other charitable causes. So we're giving to the Kingdom of God, as well. He would be very pleased.”

Maggie opened her mouth at the logic and then gave up. Who was she to judge? Besides, she suspected the Lord would advise staying out of this particular discussion.

Hoots and whistles exploded through the crowd as winning names were gingerly plucked from the inverted yellow helmets. Each winner enthusiastically claimed their poster and an envelope with tickets inside.

As each moment passed the mayor inched closer to Jake's poster. The crowd began clapping in a rhythmic pattern, chanting the name of Paradise's fire chief.

“This is getting exciting,” Susan chirped.

“You think so?” Maggie barely resisted rolling her eyes.

“You bet I do.” Susan leaned over to her large leopard satchel sitting on the floor. “Oh my. Silly me. I almost forgot. I bought you a few tickets.” She thrust a stack of tickets at Maggie.

“Tickets?” Maggie startled, nearly falling out of her seat in an effort to gather the chain of paper as the roll tumbled from her lap onto the ground. “Susan. A few is like two or three.” She blinked, stunned as realization hit. “Wait. A. Minute. What exactly are these tickets for?”

“Why, for Jake, of course. There's only a hundred and forty-seven.” She frowned. “I thought I brought more money, but I left my checkbook in my other purse.”

Maggie choked.
“One hundred and forty-seven tickets for Jake? Are you nuts?”

“There's nothing I wouldn't do for my cousin and the firemen of Paradise. You know, Al's on the board of the PVFD. He'd be so proud of me for this.”

As Maggie folded the tickets into an orderly pile the clapping ceased. People looked around the tent in wide-eyed anticipation.

A cold chill passed over Maggie. Mouth dry, she looked up at the stage and then to Susan.

The microphone screeched and crackled. “Is Margaret Jones here?”

“Susan,” she slowly whispered through terse lips.

“Hush, now. You'll embarrass us in front of the mayor. Go on up there,” her cousin admonished.

Maggie stood, swallowed and took a shuddering breath. Amid the cheers and applause she marched stiffly to the stage, grateful they were seated so close.

The mayor put his hand on her arm and spoke into the microphone. “Ah, just a minute there, Margaret.” He glanced around. “I'm sure our citizens would like to meet Bob and Betty's niece. Margaret is managing the fix-it shop while Bob is gone fishing, and of course you all saw her face on the front page of the Paradise paper this week.”

A wave of chuckles spread across the audience.

Maggie attempted a smile, knowing the result was sickly at best. She moved from the stage, down the stairs and directly past Susan and the crowd, her eyes fixed forward. Without thinking she kept walking until she reached the sanctuary of the bait tent.

Stunned, one hand clutched the envelope against her hammering heart. Her other hand held the tangled ball of ticket stubs. Jake's poster slid from under her arm as she sagged against the nearest table.

“So, we have a date.” Jake's cheerful voice reached her before he did.

Startled, Maggie straightened. She carefully gathered her pride around her, but didn't face him. “I imagine you're used to this sort of thing.

“Used to it? No way. Though I will admit I'm relieved one of the ladies from the retirement home didn't win.”

She dared to finally turn and look at him. Oh, those laughing eyes.

“Out of curiosity, how many tickets do you have there?” he asked.

“One hundred and forty-seven.”

His eyes rounded. “Whoa. I'm not sure if I should be flattered or terrified.”

“Neither. Susan bought them.”

He frowned. “You don't sound very enthusiastic.”

“Don't I?” She shoved the envelope into her back pocket, and slid the poster and tickets under the table.

Jake rubbed his chin. “I hope you're not planning to back down. It wouldn't look good for the chief to get stood up.”

“Yes, and in an election year, too.”

Jake paused. “How'd you know about that?”

“Lucky guess.” Maggie picked up a bottle of water from the table. Lifting it to her lips, she drained the entire eight ounces and then aimed for the recycle bin. Her shot was impeccable, echoing through the tent.

Fortified, she met Jake's gaze again. “Rest assured, I wouldn't dream of standing you up, Chief MacLaughlin. I'm going to think of this as my civic duty.”

Chapter Three

“H
ere's the problem, Susan. I don't do dresses.” Maggie glanced around the boutique from the door's threshold and shivered.

Susan patted Maggie's hand before gently urging her farther into the shop. “I know, honey, but you're going to have to work with me. I consider it a personal challenge to my creative genius to find you the perfect ensemble for this appointment with destiny.”

Maggie closed her eyes and then opened them slowly. She was pretty certain she'd fallen into a Colorado rabbit hole and would never find her way out.

“Dresses aside, your entire wardrobe is a cry for help. Why, you don't own anything, besides blue jeans, that isn't in the neutral family.”

Maggie would concede that on that particular point, unfortunately her trendy cousin was spot-on.

Susan continued. “You probably are unaware that I am the personal shopper for Bernice Harris.”

“Bernice who?”

“Bernice Harris, the reigning Bison Queen of Paradise Valley. She'll be on a float during the parade Saturday.”

“Parade?” Maggie frowned. “What parade?”

“This weekend is huge in Paradise. The Founder's Day parade is Saturday morning before the supper. Why, this weekend heralds the onslaught of tourist season. So you can see why we have our work cut out for us.”

“We do?”

“Oh, yes. It's already Monday. You'll need several new outfits, besides a dress.”

Maggie uttered a noncommittal sound as she considered a dash for the door. What was the point? Since they were kids Susan and her long legs had always arrived everywhere first.

“Did I tell you that Bernice asked me to go on tour with her? Naturally I turned her down. I'm needed here. This boutique is my calling. I'm sort of a missionary to the fashionless.” Susan offered a benevolent smile. “You, my dear cousin, shall be my coup de grâce. If I can make you look good I can make anyone look good.”

Maggie flinched at the words, before glancing at her utilitarian leather watch. “I'm on my lunch break.”

“Enough time to get started.”

Susan reached out a hand and plucked Maggie's tan cotton shirt between her thumb and forefinger. “These clothes you wear. They do nothing for you.” She released the fabric and rubbed her hands together.

“What exactly did you have in mind, Susan?”

Susan's finely shaped brows knit together in deep thought. “Well, first, I'd like to see Chief MacLaughlin brought to his knees.”

“This is not about Jake MacLaughlin,”
Maggie sputtered.

“When men are in the equation it's always about them.”

“No! My goal is simply to not embarrass myself. Couldn't you help me to blend in? Not stand out.”

Susan shook her head and sighed. “Maggie. Maggie. Maggie. You're the smartest woman I know. Assistant professor of physical science at age thirty-two. Dr. Margaret Jones. Very impressive.” She crossed her arms and tapped her toe. “Why is it, do you suppose, that you have set such a low bar for your personal life?”

Susan's words hit the target with impeccable precision. “Um...I...” The air whooshed from Maggie's lungs, deflating her outrage.

Okay, fine. Susan was right. Maggie had spent a lifetime making her parents' priorities her priorities, barely eking out a life of her own. Truth be told, she'd never even lived on her own until now. Pretty much everything in her life was a reflection of her parents' choices.

“Well?” Susan asked as she continued to tap an annoying beat on the tile floor.

Resistance was futile. Maggie took a deep breath. “Fine. Let's do this.”

“That's the attitude. Nothing like a little martyrdom to spark a well-deserved change.”

Maggie glared.

“You go right into that first dressing room.” Susan wiggled her fingers toward the back of the shop. “I'll bring you some things to try on.”

No sooner had Maggie stepped into the tiny dressing room than the louver doors burst open and Susan entered with a tall stack of clothing in her arms.

“You can't be serious,” Maggie said.

“We're simply checking for sizing. If they fit, put them in one pile. Those that don't fit you can put in another pile.”

“Fit. I'll give you fit,” Maggie muttered as she quickly held up each garment, discarding most as too revealing, clingy or outrageous.

“How are you doing in there?”

“All done.” Maggie came out holding two hangers. One with an eyelet-trimmed, peach peasant blouse and the other with a pair of forest-green capris.

Susan looked from the garments to Maggie. “They aren't neutral, I'll give you that.”

“Good. Right?”

“It's a start. Now look what I found in today's shipment from Denver.” Susan waved a coral dress on a pink satin hanger through the air.

The fabric shimmered and shined in a manner that definitely said “look at me.”

“A dress?” Maggie asked.

“Not just any dress, this is your dress for the supper. No point in trying anything else on. This is you, and there isn't another one like it in the area. You will be the envy of every woman in a twenty-five-mile radius.” Susan shoved the dress at her. “I'll wait right out here.”

Maggie slipped the confection over her head. “I can't breathe,” she muttered, easing the fabric over her waist and setting it on her hips.

“Breathe later. Come on out here.” Susan tugged on Maggie's arm, pulling her to the center of the shop.

“Oh, yes. Definitely, yes,” Susan murmured.

“
Yes
what?”

“It's perfect.”

Maggie smoothed down the bodice, appreciative of the modest neckline. The fabric nipped her waist then flared. A layer of sheer material covered the skirt as well as the cap sleeves, adding to the gossamer illusion.

Could she, Maggie Jones, pull off wearing a dress like this?

“Now wait right here, I'll pin the hem and—” Susan stopped midsentence. “I nearly forgot. I need to call and make a hair appointment for you at the Emporium before they're booked solid.”

“There's nothing wrong with my hair.”

Susan simply shook her head and walked away.

“I said, there's nothing wrong with my hair,” Maggie called after her cousin. She pushed several loose strands back into her ponytail. Wandering around the shop, she stopped to examine a colorful array of silk blouses lined up on hangers like ice-cream parlor flavors in rainbow shades of raspberry, pistachio, lemon and peach.

Turning, Maggie caught her reflection in the mirror. At least she thought it was her. Hmm, it was like her head was on someone else's body. There was something special about the dress. Susan was right.

“Whoa.”

“Excuse me?” Maggie whirled around, bumping into a display of scarves. Lace and satin slithered to the floor. Her gaze moved from the puddle of color on the floor to Jake MacLaughlin, who stared at her, his mouth agape.

He reached down to scoop up the material at the same moment she did. Their heads knocked.

“Sorry. You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” She rubbed her forehead. “Are you supposed to be in here?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Isn't it bad luck or something?”

“I think that's brides,” Jake said, handing her back the pile of scarves.

“Oh.” Maggie shoved the tangled material onto the glass display counter. “Did you need Susan?”

“Nope.” He eyed her for a moment longer.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” she asked, her voice rising an octave.

His mouth curled into a slow grin. “I'm trying to decide.”

“Stop that,” she demanded, flustered.

“Stop what?”

“That smile.”

“What's not to smile about? That's a nice dress.”

“Right.” Maggie inhaled. “Look, you're a very handsome man, and I am sure you are accustomed to women drooling over you—”

“Drooling?” He choked on a laugh.

“Yes.”

“Wait, back up there a minute. You think I'm handsome?'

“Don't mess with me, Chief MacLaughlin.” She headed toward the dressing room.

“Jake, it's Jake,” he called after her. “And trust me, I am not messing with you.”

Maggie stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “I guess you haven't noticed that half the women in this town are in love with you.”

“Big on sweeping generalities, aren't you?”

“I'm not blind.” She opened the louver door. “Stay right there.”

Jake cleared his throat. “What is it about you? We always seem to get off on the wrong foot. You notice that?”

Maggie closed and locked the door before she quickly pulled off the dress, and tugged her jeans and shirt back on.

“Hello?” Jake called.

“I heard you.” She marched out of the dressing room, her sneakers dangling from her fingers.

He tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and leaned back on the heels of his boots, watching her. “I'm here because I was across the street when I saw you go into your cousin's shop. I need your phone number.”

She shoved her feet into her sneakers and glanced across the street to the neatly painted gray building with gleaming windows. The perimeter of the property was surrounded by trimmed bushes and several black benches. A black awning announced it was a hardware store.

Maggie eyed Jake with renewed interest. “Nice store,” she said as she leaned over to tie the laces on her high-tops.

“It is.”

“I don't remember that building being there when I was a kid.”

“Brand-new. Opened up about five years ago.”

Silence stretched as Maggie again stared across the street.

“Your number?”

“Hmm?” She turned back to Jake. “I gave you my number the other day.”

“That was for the report. I didn't actually save it. That would be a tad bit unethical.” He handed her his cell.

“You need my number, why?”

“In case, oh, say I'm running late on Saturday due to a fire. Or I get lost.”

Maggie narrowed her eyes and took the phone. She punched in her digits, casually, as though she gave men her number all the time.

“Well, well. Look who's here,” Susan purred. “Can I interest you in anything, Chief MacLaughlin?”

“I'm good for now.” He winked at Maggie as she handed him back his cell, then he did a neat about-face and headed out of the shop.

“What was that all about?” Susan asked.

“He needed my number for the...the Founder's Day thing.”

Susan looked at his retreating form and then back to Maggie. “You have an appointment at eleven Thursday for your hair. I thought we could do lunch while we're out.”

“Susan, I can't just leave the shop in the middle of the day. On a Thursday, no less. One of the busiest days of the week.”

“Of course you can. Mother told me Beck Hollander is back from vacation. He'll cover for you.”

“Beck who?”

“Didn't Daddy tell you? Beck works part-time a few days a week. He's going to be a senior this year. Kind of a strange nerdy kid, but real smart, too. He's been helping Daddy for a few years now.”

“I'm sure Beck and I will get along just fine. I speak fluent nerd.” Maggie's gaze drifted across the street to the hardware store. “Um, Susan, I have to run.”

“What about the dress? It needs to be hemmed.”

“Can we do that later? Maybe tonight?”

“Sure. I'm taking mom to Four Forks in about thirty minutes.”

“Four Forks?”

“Little town, north of us. They have a yarn shop she likes to visit.”

“Got it.”

“I'll call you when we get back. We'll need to talk makeup and accessories, too.”

“Makeup and accessories.” She sighed, resigned. “Okay. Whatever.”

Leaving the shop Maggie hurried crossed the street and pulled open the expansive glass doors of the hardware store. A heady excitement raced through her. She breathed deeply, and forced herself to relax. Now she was in her element. No need to rush the pleasure. Her steps slowed as she moved with purpose down the aisles, getting the lay of the land.

Birdseed and birdhouses. Nuts and bolts. Shiny tools. Pails and buckets. Even pots and pans. Oh, wow, there was even stick candy. Sassafras, horehound and peppermint.

Oh, this was a real, old-fashioned hardware store.

Her pulse quickened.

What clothing stores did for women like Susan, and bookstores did for her parents, well,
that
was what hardware stores did for Maggie. It was like coming home.

“Can I help you?”

Jake?
Maggie's head jerked as she turned around. “What are you doing here?”

He glanced around curiously. “Why shouldn't I be here?”

Over an intercom a voice boomed. “Chief, you have a phone call.”

“You work here?” She arched a brow.

“I own the place, Maggie.”

A small gasp slipped from her lips.
“You own a hardware store?”
She barely squeaked out the words.

“Yeah, why?” He glanced back at her with a confused frown. “Hang on a second, I'll be right back.”

“He owns a hardware store,” she murmured. How could she resist such a man? Handsome, charming, bigger than life and he owned a hardware store.

Certainly the Lord never promised life would be fair, but this was more than even she could handle at the moment.

She strode to the exit.

“Maggie, wait.”

His words only increased her pace, as though a scary dog nipped at her heels.

“Maggie.”

“I. Have. To. Go.” Hands on the glass, she shoved open the door and ran, passing nearly a half a dozen small shops, until she was well around the corner and nearly to her uncle's place.

Dear Lord. Help me. I've only just gotten the pieces of my life glued back together.