Page 81 of Up In Smoke

But the street was empty behind him. Despite his hyperventilating at pulling up to the light, today would not be the day he got slammed.

It was over five years ago that his young wife and son had been plowed into from behind while sitting right where he was now. For a long time, the black marks had stayed on the road, telling the fatal story again every time he passed. He almost thought the city might have finally paved it over as a kindness to his family and Siorse’s.

The two of them should have survived that hit. It shouldn’t have killed them. But the car had been pushed into oncoming traffic and they’d been hit again from the side. The small compact car hadn’t stood a chance getting t-boned by a huge pickup.

Paddy had died instantly.

Siorse had died in the hospital the next day. A-shift had been called to the scene of the accident and Ronan had been held back, screaming, as his team members pried his dead child from the wreckage.

It happened to all of them—not usually as bad a scene as his was—but it happened. In a small town, the accidents were people you knew. You heard the address over dispatch and it was your parents’ house, your sister’s apartment building, your best friend’s car on fire. That day had been his turn.

But he couldn’t just leave town and leave it all behind. His family was still here. This was where he’d grown up. He’d been in no shape in the early days to be away from that, and as he’d gotten better and grown past it, he’d been able to handle staying.

Looking up at the light, he watched the other direction as it changed to yellow. There was still no one coming up behind him, and that helped him slow his breathing a bit. As the light turned green, he let out his breath and pulled forward, the panic finally fading.

He didn’t even see the huge SUV that completely missed the red light. He only felt the impact as it smashed into the side of his car and flipped him like a rag doll.

* * *

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Chapter 1

There should always be fine liquor on hand, you never know when a gentleman might want some. You never know when you might need some yourself.

“Bailey Ann Mayfair, when are you going to marry me?”

Bailey spun around on the street, looking for the voice that was a pure blast from her past. The sound was both sweet and spun with regret. She peered into a wind that felt far more bitter than it should have, but that was likely just her mood.

He’d asked that same question of her more than once before. He’d asked it in jest and in full sincerity. And now he was asking on the street of Breathless, Georgia, where anyone could hear. But Bailey Ann hadn’t seen him in at least five years.

Her eyes searched the street until she landed on him. She didn’t recognize him by sight, but she knew just by feel that the broad-shouldered form standing down the street was Finn Malloy. Her face lit up; she could feel it. “Finn! I didn’t know you were in town.”

She fought the urge to run and throw herself into his arms, to sink there and let him lift away all the world. But she was out in public, so she couldn’t do it. She’d also answered that same question in the negative before—a good indicator that he wasn’t going to take kindly to her using him as a crying shoulder if she tried it.

He walked closer, the straight nose and bright eyes so familiar. The broad mouth almost smiling, but not quite. Typical black Irish coloring marked him. His hair was so dark as to be inky, his eyes blue enough to be startling. She’d once told herself she couldn’t marry a man with prettier eyes than her own.

Even in his twenties, he’d been slim but cut. Something had happened, and he now filled out that suit he was wearing. She blinked. “You’re wearing a suit.”

“Yeah,” his mouth got closer to smiling, but still didn’t quite achieve it. “I do that. I wear a suit.”

She only nodded, because what else could she say? That she didn’t think he’d been the type? That she’d never seen him in one before? Weren’t jeans more his style? It all sounded vaguely insulting and she’d been carefully taught to never insult someone unless she meant it. Tears pushed at the back of her eyes, and Bailey fought them back. “Are you doing something specific here?”

Breathless wasn’t the kind of place a person visited without a purpose. It was full of families and homes and schools. The shops were cute, the diner was full-scale Southern with a capital S, and the main street was named “Main” and lined with the basic stores with pretty lettering, but it wasn’t a tourist town.

“I’m taking care of my parents’ house,” he finally answered her, the words not quite sinking in.

“Oh, did they move out? Somewhere flatter?” She was thinking of old knees and all the stairs in the house. It was a kind way of asking if they’d been moved to a nursing home, or more, when she noticed he was looking at her oddly.

“No. The house is all that’s left. They died in a car accident about a year ago.”

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