Page 1 of Flirting With Fire
Chapter One
Meyer
Riding into Charming Butte on the back of a chestnut horse with my arms around a hot guy wasn’t the entrance I’d planned, but there were worse ways to return to my childhood home.
The Impala had started sputtering a mile outside of the town limits right by what used to be old man McKay’s farm. I pulled off the road as the dang car died.
“Daisy, just a few more miles,” I begged, but she stubbornly refused to start again.
I slammed the steering wheel with my right hand, cursing loudly at the pain that shot through my wrist. It had to be the one I fractured playing basketball last year. I needed to remember to treat my wrist with more respect, otherwise my new job as Assistant Chief of Charming Butte Firehouse was going to be a bust before I’d even started.
I popped the hood and got out of the car, rolling my shoulders and easing tired muscles after a long drive. Here’s hoping I could find the source of the problem, or I’d be walking the rest of the way into Charming Butte. My knowledge of car mechanics was limited. Give me a fire, and I was your man, butmodern cars defeated me. I raised the black hood and studied it, surmising any quick fix on my part was impossible.
So much for surprising my mom. I’d planned to greet her with a smile, lunch from the Bobcat Stump coffee shop, and a, “Hey, Mom, guess what, I’m gonna be living here now.”
It was going to be a late lunch unless I started walking. It wasn’t far, five miles at the most, and thankfully, the temperature was only in the low eighties. Anything more, and I’d melt before I ever got to surprise my mom.
First job, no, second after surprising Mom, was getting Daisy towed into town. I couldn’t remember the name of the only auto shop in Charming, but Mom would know. She knew everyone. I slammed the hood down and reached into the Impala to get my pack, then locked the car. Good luck to anyone who attempted to steal it. My girl wasn’t going anywhere.
The road into Charming Butte was empty. I’d not seen anyone since I turned off the highway. The desert magic was working its charm again. I sucked in a lungful of the clean desert air, feeling the wind off the Butte whip through my hair, better than a shot of any caffeine.
Each time I returned to visit with my mom, I wondered why I ever left Charming Butte. From the deep colors of the desert to the quirky town and its inhabitants, I remembered how much I loved the place, and how desperate I’d been to leave it at eighteen. Then I would return to the hustle and bustle of city life, and the joy of small-town living would fade until the next time. But not this time. This time I was here to stay…I hoped.
I was almost grateful for the walk. It gave me time to clear my head and stretch my legs after the long journey.
“You mean work out a cover story so Mom doesn’t get annoyed with you,” I muttered.
She was either going to be annoyed or overwhelmingly sympathetic depending on which story I gave her. I wasn’t that keen on either option.
I heard a noise some distance behind me. It didn’t sound like a car. I looked over my shoulder to see a horse gently plodding toward me. The driver wasn’t pushing the horse, and I kept walking, waiting for it to catch up.
I saluted as the horse reached my side. “Mornin’,” I said cheerfully.
“Good morning.” The rider smiled in return, slowing his horse so they walked at the same pace as me. He looked to be about my age, which put him about thirty, with huge blue eyes and honey hair from the bangs that had escaped under the brim of his hat. He was handsome with the kind of stubble I loved on a man, especially grazing over my skin.
“Good looking horse,” I offered, tearing my eyes away and admiring the chestnut coat and the white blaze and socks.
He patted the horse’s neck. “Juniper is a beauty,” he agreed. “That your Impala a mile back?”
I nodded, telling myself to cool down before I freaked out the locals. “Yup. It died on me. Gonna find a tow truck when I reach town.”
“There’s only one. Smith’s on Orchard Lane.”
I frowned, searching my memory. “Wasn’t that Timsons?”
“You’ve been here before?”
“I grew up in Charming,” I said. “It’s been a while since I was back home.”
The rider furrowed his brow as he studied me. “I don’t remember you.”
“As I said, it’s been a while. Name’s Meyer Jones.”
The rider’s big baby blues opened comically wide. “Jones? Lindy Jones’ boy?”
Being called a boy always made me grit my teeth. I was taller than everyone for Chrissakes. And he was my age. “Well, not so much of the boy, but yes. Who are you?”
“What are you doing here?” the rider snapped, ignoring my question.
