Love Inspired June 2015 - Box Set 1 of 2: The Cowboy's Homecoming\The Amish Widow's Secret\Safe in the Fireman's Arms (43 page)

“Whoa there. No need to get all excited.”

Maggie released a breath and continued to stare him down.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?” he murmured.

Her cheeks flushed. She chewed on a ragged thumbnail and glanced around. “No. Of course not.”

“You're sure? You can tell me, you know.”

Maggie began to laugh. “What are you saying? You won't think any less of me if I confide that I'm a convict on the lam? Gee, thanks. Chief.”

Somehow her laugh didn't quite ring true.

“I guess you're entitled to your secrets,” he returned.

“I don't have any secrets. My life is an open, albeit very short, book. A novella at best.”

Overhead thunder clapped.

Maggie jumped. She glanced at the sky and then looked toward the gutters on the cottage. “Too bad. I was hoping to get a permit to install a rainwater-harvesting system before it rained.”

“Oh, there will be plenty more rain days in the valley.” He paused. “A permit, huh? That sounds like someone who's thinking about sticking around.”

She pondered his words for a moment. “Maybe.”

Suddenly the sky opened up, releasing giant drops that quickly turned into a deluge.

“I better get going.” Jake tossed his keys into the air.

Maggie touched his arm, and he glanced down, surprised to see her delicate hand on his sleeve.

“This is a downpour, Jake. Can't you wait until it eases up?”

His brows rose at the concern on her face. “Are you worried about me?”

“I'm speaking as a soil professional. It's very dangerous to drive through a downpour in a region indigenous to flash flooding and mudslides.” Her soft brown eyes pleaded with him. “And I know from experience that you don't do dangerous, Chief MacLaughlin,” she murmured.

Jack met her unwavering gaze. She was right on both counts. Standing this close to Maggie, surrounded by an intimate curtain of rain, was dangerous all right. Much too dangerous.

He lifted the collar of his shirt. “I'll be fine,” he said as he stepped from the porch and straight into the cooling rain.

* * *

“Chuck, I'm telling you the woman is hiding something.”

The black-and-white collie-shepherd mix opted not to answer, nor did he look up from the metal bowl, where his nose was buried in his dinner.

“We're going to have to ask Sheriff Lawson to run a background check on Maggie Jones. And while Sam is checking, we'll do a little online search of our own, as well.”

Chuck finally looked up, his black eyes round and questioning.

“Oh, don't give me that. It's just a simple precaution. She took a cab from Denver, Chuck. Who does that?”

Rain continued to tap at the window as Jake stirred the simmering Buffalo chili and then replaced the lid on the pot and turned down the flame. He grabbed a sponge and wiped down the stainless steel stove top before sliding cornbread muffins into the oven and setting the timer.

Almost time to eat. It would have been nice to share dinner with someone besides his dog.

For a moment his mind flitted back to Maggie. He quickly dismissed the concerned expression he'd seen on her face as he left her house.

Long ago, he'd resolved himself to being alone. Once a month his solitary life was interrupted when he met his men at the firehouse for training and they put together a meal. Occasionally his father dropped in unannounced, too. Oddly enough, Mack hadn't done much of that in the last few months.

A loud rhythmic series of raps on the back door signaled tonight was one of those visits from his father. Jake smiled as Chuck raced to the door and shoved his whiskers into the screen, whining.

“Jacob,” his father called as he pushed the door open. “Quite a storm out there. Hope it stops before the weekend.” He shrugged off his yellow rain slicker and ran a hand through his damp hair.

“Hey, Dad. You smelled the chili all the way from your place, huh?”

“Are you cooking?” Mack leaned down and gave Chuck a rubdown. “Yeah, boy, I've missed you, too.”

“There's chili in the pot.”

Mack stood and looked around. “Oh, I guess you are. But that's not why I'm here. I want to run something by you.”

“Sure. Have a seat and maybe Chuck and I can help you with your problem.”

“I don't have a problem.” Mack eased onto a black leather bar stool and rested his hands on the countertop of the kitchen's island.

“This isn't about the webpage, is it?”

“No.” His father waved one of his big hands in the air.

“We're listening.” Jake looked down at Chuck, who was staring at the stove. “Pay attention, Chuck.”

“It's been over ten years since...” Mack avoided Jake's gaze and ran a hand over the smooth granite counter as he searched for words. “Well, you know...”

Jake nodded. Was this going to be another of his father's speeches about getting back into life? Finding a good woman and providing him with grandchildren? Mack usually tossed in a reminder that Jake was his only son and neither of them was getting any younger.

“I'll be seventy next month.”

“Not getting any younger,” Jake mumbled.

Mack slammed a hand on the counter. “Exactly.”

The buzzer on the oven went off and Jake donned protective mitts before removing the tin of golden corn muffins.

“It's time to get back into the swing of things,” Mack continued.

“I've got a date for the Founder's Day supper with Maggie Jones. Does that count?” he asked as he turned off the oven.

“Sure does.” Mack cleared his throat. “But I'm actually referring to me. Not you.”

Jake froze, and then slowly turned around. “You?”

There was an unmistakable twinkle in his father's eyes as he smiled.

“This is good, Dad. Real good.” Jake was genuinely pleased. It had been a long time since his mother passed—in fact, it had been shortly after Jake lost his wife.

“Glad you feel that way,” Mack said, his grin becoming wider. “Because I'm thinking of getting married.”

“Married?”
He stared at his father and groped for words. “Whoa, what's the rush? What about dating?”

“Dating is for people who don't know what they want. I know what I want.” Mack narrowed his eyes. “Besides, I wasn't asking for your permission.”

Jake grinned. “Right. Right. Just giving you a hard time.” He pulled off the mitts. “So that's why you haven't been popping by for dinner. Someone else has been feeding you.”

Mack's face flamed. “No comment.”

Jake settled on a stool opposite his father and crossed his arms. “Marriage, huh? Who is this mystery woman?”

“You'll know soon enough.”

“I'm your son. You can't tell me?”

“You'll know soon enough.” Mack met his gaze, his expression solemn. “So you're okay with this, Jacob?”

“Absolutely. Congratulations, Dad.”

“Thanks.”

“Big step. So what's next? You two going to give me the baby brother I always wanted?”

Mack picked up a towel from the counter and swung it at Jake. “You know, you've been hanging around those fire jockeys too long. You're just a barrel of laughs.”

Chuck barked and jumped in a circle, his toenails clicking on the tile floor.

“Now you've done it,” Jake said. “I'll have to play fetch with him for an hour to wear him out.”

“Your own fault.”

“So do you want some chili or not?”

Mack glanced at his watch and stood. “Like to, but she's waiting on me. I have to run. Oh, and keep this under your hat. I just wanted to feel you out first.”

“You're sure you can't give me a hint?”

“Nope.” He grinned. “She might not even say yes.”

“No woman would turn down a MacLaughlin.”

“Ha. I wouldn't take that to the bank. But if she does say yes, you'll be my best man, right?”

Jake swallowed the lump in his throat. “You bet.”

Mack smiled even wider.

“Come here, big guy.” He offered his father a man hug, then stood back. “I'm happy for you.”

“Thanks, Jacob. It means a lot that my son supports me.”

“Now get going before you get in the doghouse. I'll see you tomorrow at the hardware store.”

He clapped his father on the back as they walked to the door.

“Thanks, again, son.” Mack slipped his arms into his rain slicker. “I knew I could count on you.”

Jake smiled as his father ran through the rain, dodging puddles until he reached his car.

Only then did he walk into his darkened living room and sink to his leather recliner.

Marriage.

He'd been excited for his dad just moments ago when he'd revealed he was seeing someone, but marriage? Jake couldn't imagine his father with someone besides his mom. Thoughts of his petite and unassuming mother filled his mind. She had been the gentle guiding force in their family. He missed her. Jake hung his head, ashamed of his resentful thoughts.
Forgive me, Lord. I am happy for my father.

After all, it had been ten years. They'd both been alone for a long time. His father's announcement was unexpected, that was all. Being nostalgic was normal.

Seemed like lately the moment he adjusted himself to some new normal, things changed again. As if confirming his internal argument, Maggie Jones's warm brown eyes and her full smile filled his mind.

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed as the words tumbled aloud into the empty room. “Me and Maggie. About as likely as my father marrying Bitsy Harmony.”

Chapter Five

A
ccording to the Colorado State University Extension webpage, the timing was perfect for planting. Maggie leaned into the shovel, turning over a clod of wet soil. It had been two weeks since the last frost, and she was bound and determined to get some vegetables planted.

She'd purchased tomato and pepper plants, as well as the various seeds. Maybe she'd be able to squeeze enough from her budget for a few lavender plants, as well.

“Sphagnum.”

Startled, Maggie looked up. “Excuse me?” A tall woman stood at the edge of the yard, inspecting.

Ageless. That was Maggie's immediate impression. Not young, and certainly not old. She wore navy slacks and a powder-blue blouse with a crisp white collar. A handsome woman with a strong jaw and sharp blue eyes, her silver white hair was twisted into a bun that sat dead center on the top of her head.

“Soil needs some sphagnum peat.”

“Any opinion on molasses and alfalfa tea fertilizer?” Maggie asked.

The woman walked toward Maggie. “New to me. What you really need is a rototiller.”

The woman's attention had moved beyond Maggie to the long row of scraggly rose bushes at the back of the garden.

“What a shame. I remember when they produced some of the loveliest blooms in Paradise.”

“You've been here before?”

“Oh, yes. I've lived in Paradise most of my life. Hardly a home I haven't been invited into.” A sigh escaped her thin lips. “My grandmother used coffee grounds. Works wonders. You might try that. Mix them into the soil at the base of the plant about once a week.”

“I'll give that a try.”

The woman's gaze returned to Maggie and she gave a short nod and thrust out her hand. “Bitsy Harmony.”

So this was the famous Bitsy Harmony? Using her teeth, Maggie removed a mud-caked glove and took the hand Bitsy offered. The strong, firm grip belied the woman's years.

“Hope you don't mind my stopping by unannounced. I was in the neighborhood. You know Mack MacLaughlin lives right down the street.”

“Yes. I heard that.”

Bitsy glanced down, as if just realizing she held a pie in her other hand. “Oh, here. This is for you. Peach. We grow fine peaches in Paradise. My pies generally take a ribbon every year.”

“That's what everyone tells me. Thank you,” Maggie said, removing the other glove. “May I offer you a cup of coffee, or some tea?”

“Tea would be fine. Though I can't stay long. Due back at the office, soon.” Bitsy chuckled. “The sheriff thinks I'm running errands.”

“You work for the sheriff?” Maggie asked as she took the foil-covered pie tin.

“Administrative secretary for the Paradise Sheriff's Department. That means I do everything except carry a sidearm.”

“I see,” Maggie said, though she didn't. The real question was why was Bitsy Harmony at her home on a Tuesday morning?

As Bitsy followed Maggie around to the side of the house, she paused to give the rest of the yard a once-over. “I'll bring you some grape hyacinth next time I come. Makes a nice border and brightens up the scenery.”

“Muscari armeniacum. That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“Heard you were a professional. That must be the scientific name for grape hyacinth?”

“It is.” Maggie smiled as she slipped off her boots.

“Thought so. You're a Colorado native?” Bitsy asked.

“Yes. Denver,” Maggie answered, holding the screen for the older woman.

Bitsy nodded approval at the answer. As they entered the small home she glanced around, pausing to eye the pale gray walls, white beadboard wainscoting and polished wood floors. “Haven't been inside the cottage in years. It's lovely.”

“Thank you. That would be my cousin Susan's work.” Maggie turned on the burner under the kettle and took two mugs down from the cupboard. She prepared a tray and placed it on the table.

“Not much furniture,” Bitsy noted.

“Enough for me,” Maggie said.

“I've got some pieces in storage that are collecting dust.”

“That's awfully nice of you, but I'm not even certain I'm staying.”

“Oh, you're staying.”

“Excuse me?” Maggie turned to meet Bitsy's serious gaze.

“I've got a feeling about you and I can't say I'm wrong once I get a feeling.”

“Do you get these feelings often?” she asked.

“Last time was Dr. Ben Rogers, and he's still here. Married with twins now.”

Maggie swallowed a retort, and instead turned up the flame under the teapot.

“That's some stove,” Bitsy continued. “Looks like it will do everything, except the dishes.”

Maggie laughed at Bitsy's assessment of the stainless steel giant that boasted a regular oven, a convection oven and a griddle next to eight gas burners. “Susan says she bought it during her Food Network phase.”

“Do you cook?”

“I get by,” Maggie said, unwilling to verbalize aloud that her skills in the kitchen were rudimentary on a good day.

“Bake?”

“No.”

“Maybe I could show you how to bake a pie.”

“Really?”

Bitsy opened an oven door and peeked inside. “Sure. Nothing to it. Most people overthink when it comes to pies. 'Course, you know that it's the surest way to a man's affection.”

Once again, an appropriate response evaded Maggie.

The oven door slammed shut and Bitsy faced Maggie. “So what do you think of Jake?”

“Jake?”

“Jacob MacLaughlin Junior.”

“I, um... He's nice.”

“Nice? That's how you describe a spring day in Paradise.”

Maggie blinked at the words, but Bitsy simply forged on.

“Jake MacLaughlin is good man. Oh, he's not perfect, mind you. Carries a burden that isn't his to carry. Set in his ways. Been on his own far too long. I imagine some prayers and the right woman could change all that, and I'm working on both.” She raised her brows and looked Maggie up and down in silent assessment.

Stunned, all Maggie could do was return a weak smile, as the kettle began its shrill whistle, cutting off Bitsy's next words.

“So, I'd like you to give Jake a chance.

Maggie's eyes widened as she reached for a pot holder. “Could you run that by me again?”

“Paradise is a splendid little town, don't you think?”

“Yes, yes,” she agreed, pouring the steaming water into the mugs.

“But we sadly lack a choice population of unmarried females under the age of sixty-five.”

“I see” was all Maggie could come up with as she returned the kettle to the stove.

“I knew you would.” Bitsy selected a tea bag and placed it in her mug. “So you'll keep an open mind?”

“About what?”

Bitsy shot Maggie a look clearly accusing her of not paying attention. “Jake.”

“You understand that we hardly know each other and the Founder's Day thing isn't a date or anything.”

“I understand.” Steely blue eyes pinned her with a determined gaze. “But you'll give him a chance?”

Capitulation was the only option. “Yes. Okay, I'll do that.”

Without skipping a beat, Bitsy sipped her tea, a satisfied smile on her face. “Now about that garden. You'll find the soil around here difficult but not impossible. Quality peat moss will loosen things up. At least six bags for a garden that size. Then you'll need a good fertilizer with nitrogen, phosphorous and potash. And a rototiller. I'll have to get a rototiller over here. They rent them out at the hardware store.”

“Really. That's not necessary.”

“I know Mack real well. I'll have one here tomorrow. Morning work for you?”

“Morning?” Maggie scrambled for an answer. “Um, I suppose I could make it work. Thank you.”

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Bitsy asked.

Her mind raced, as prickles of concern washed over her. “Nothing... Why do you ask?”

“I'll have your Aunt Betty pick you up. The Paradise Ladies Auxiliary meets at my house on Wednesday nights.”

“But...”

“Community involvement will look good on your résumé, especially to the school board.”

Maggie's jaw dropped. “How did you know?”

Bitsy smiled serenely and sipped her tea. She slowly placed the mug on the table. “This is Paradise. One thing you'll find out pretty quick is that around here there's no such thing as a stranger. If you came here for quiet, fine. If you came here for privacy, well, good luck.”

Leaning back in her chair, Maggie paused to absorb the woman's words. What had she gotten herself into?

* * *

Maggie's ears perked and she straightened from the counter, where she had been watching the coffee drip—much too slowly—into the glass carafe. Was that a knock? She glanced at the clock as the doorbell rang. It was 7:00 a.m.

Padding barefoot across the living room, she tiptoed to the peephole. Jake? Now what crime had she committed? Maggie glanced down at her clothes. Well, at least they weren't wrinkled. Much.

She removed the chain lock and opened the door. Jake MacLaughlin stood bright-eyed on her porch, in jeans and a crisp denim shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. An enthusiastic black-and-white dog sat eagerly at his feet.

“Jake? Is everything okay?”

“Sure. Delivering the rototiller. It's in my truck. Mack said you wanted it here early.”

“Mack? But Bitsy is the one who...” She shook her head. “Well, never mind. Thank you for bringing it by.”

“Do I smell coffee?” he asked.

“Yes. Would you like a cup?”

“Now there's a hearty invitation.”

“Sorry.” She put on a smile though she was still unconvinced that inviting Jake into her home was a bright idea. “May I offer you a cup of freshly brewed coffee, Chief MacLaughlin?”

“Don't mind if I do.”

Maggie glanced at the dog. “Who's your friend?”

“This is Chuck.”

She nodded and opened the screen. “Come on in.”

“Chuck. Stay.”

The dog whined, but obeyed.

“Nice place,” Jake observed as he followed her into the kitchen.

“All Susan's doing. She got the domestic gene.”

“What are you working on?” he asked.

Across from a small floral sofa and chair in the living room, an oak table was covered with newspaper and on top were a metal toolbox and an array of tools. A small engine sat in the middle of the chaos.

“Oh, that's the engine from a garden fountain. One of the ladies from the auxiliary brought it in and I told her I'd see what I could do.”

Jake looked at the project from all angles. “You know, most women knit or sew or bake cookies in their spare time.”

“I'm not most women,” she said as she continued to move toward the kitchen.

“I noticed.”

She gestured to one of the mismatched chairs positioned around a small nook table tucked beneath a bay window. “A little early for insults, isn't it?”

He slid into the chair. “That wasn't an insult. Being different is good.”

“Not in my experience,” she muttered.

Maggie pulled another mug from the cupboard as the coffeepot sputtered the last drops into the carafe.

“So, you met Bitsy?” he asked.

“You mean, Hurricane Harmony?”

Jake laughed. “That's Bitsy.”

“We met yesterday. I'm still picking up the pieces.”

“No doubt.”

“The interesting thing is that while I saw it coming—” Maggie shook her head “—I didn't have a clue how to stop it or even get out of the way.”

“Don't let her play that game too often or before you know it she'll have you signed up for every committee in Paradise and in her free time she'll manage your personal life.”

Maggie could only sigh as she poured the coffee. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Black, please. And I'm not kidding.”

“I know you aren't. It would have been good to have this information before she blew past.”

“You joined the auxiliary.”

She nodded and handed him a mug.

Jake clucked his tongue. “I can't help you now.”

“As usual, my own fault.”

He sipped his coffee. “Good coffee.”

“Don't look so surprised.” She pulled open a cupboard and pointed to several boxes. “Did you want a toaster pastry with that?”

“Uh, no, I'll pass. Thank you.”

Maggie leaned against the counter and eyed him. “Do you always make deliveries for the hardware store,” she asked.

“No, we've got a guy who does that. There was some sort of overbooking glitch. We're computerized, so I don't know how it happened. But my dad asked me to help out.”

“Nice of you.”

“Part of the job.” He shrugged. “You know how to run a rototiller?”

“No, however I am very big on manuals.”

“I bet you are—only it doesn't come with a manual.”

“Oh. Well, I'll figure it out.”

He looked out the window at the yard. “That's a big project. I'm happy to help.”

“I don't want to bother you,” she said.

“I'm here. Allow me to help.”

“But—”

“I'll get the tiller and gasoline can from my truck.” He pulled keys out of his pocket. “Could you do a walk-through for any sticks, or rocks or anything else that might be in the yard, before I come through with the tiller?”

“Of course.”

Maggie slipped an old sweatshirt over her head before she pushed open the side door and stepped into the yard.

A perfect Colorado morning. Perfect for tilling after the recent rain. Or possibly a little too wet. This might prove to be a messy job.

She tied the laces on her boots and grabbed a trash bag, and began to walk through the garden area, poking at the dirt with a stick and carefully inspecting the mud.