Page 9 of Flirting With Fire
“No!” I plucked a bandana from my pocket and wiped the sweat off the back of my neck. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell. It’s just… This is my life, Kayla. It’s what I’ve always wanted from the moment Dad made me his little sidekick. I love this ranch—and not only because it’s where we grew up. Sure, that’s part of it, but this land, Junie and the other horses, the herd, the trails I ride—this is where I belong. If I sold the ranch, what would I do? Where would I go?”
“You remind me so much of Dad sometimes,” she said softly. “So, this is my advice. If you love the ranch with all your heart and want to keep it forever and ever, then be a part of Charming. Don’t simply keep your head down and push forward. Look around. Be a part of things. Get to know your town again. You’ve made a decision, Dex. You’ve gone past born and raised. You’rechoosingto be a resident of Charming Butte. So do something to show everyone you’re one of the fine, upstanding citizens.”
“Make the salsa?”
“Yes, Dex. Make the damn salsa.”
Chapter Three
Meyer
The house smelled of lavender and beeswax, as usual. I inhaled deeply, feeling, as I always did, that I was home. The entry was shabby, needing a lick of paint. Probably, the whole house needed renovation. I knew Mom didn’t have the money to do that, and she’d never have asked if I could help her. I followed Mom into the breakfast cum diner nook at the back of the house, dumping my bag by the door. I hadn’t actually asked if she wanted me to stay, so I didn’t run up the stairs to my old bedroom quite yet.
Mom made a pot of coffee, the rich aroma adding to the familiar smells, and brought out the cookie jar decorated with faded Christmas trees and reindeer with red noses. I’d bought the jar for her from a yard sale when I was eleven. The fact she still used it brought a lump to my throat. I swallowed hard and looked out of the window to the yard before I did something stupid, like cry.
We sat down at the table. She poured me a mug of strong black coffee and pushed over the cookie jar.
Mom eyed me steadily. “Now tell me why I had to find out from Dex that you’ve taken a job back in your hometown rather than the promotion in Chicago you told me about?”
Quicksand! Quicksand!
I took a deep breath. I’d anticipated this was going to be an awkward conversation, and I’d always been lousy at lying to my mom. She’d had a sixth sense when I was trying to bullshit her. There was a reason I didn’t play poker. My face showed everything.
“I heard there was an opening here, and I thought it would give me a chance to spend more time with you.”
Mom sighed and took a sip of her coffee. “You mean Mark told you about my angina.”
And tumbling into the quicksand I went.
“Uncle Mark called me,” I admitted and went on the offensive. “More to the point, why didn’t you call me?”
“Because it’s just mild angina. It’s not important.”
I held back an eye roll. My mom was as bad as me at lying. I covered her hand with my larger one. “Mom, I’m a big boy now. I can cope with hearing you had angina attacks and went to the ER.”
“Mark’s got a big mouth,” she muttered.
I chuckled ruefully. “He has. You should have heard him go on at me for not visiting you until he realized I had no clue what he was talking about.”
My uncle had called me selfish and thoughtless and a waste of space, interspersed with curse words I only heard at the firehouse until he’d paused for breath. Then I’d demanded to know what he was talking about.
“Why didn’t you simply call me when you found out?” Mom asked.
“Because you’d have lied to me,” I said, fixing her with the ‘don’t mess with me’ stare she’d used on me my entire life. “You’d tell me everything was all right when it’s clearly not. You should have told me you were ill.”
“It’s not serious,” she protested. “I’m getting older. These things happen.”
“Itisserious, and you’re only fifty-four, Mom. Still young.”
And I’d lost my dad to a sudden heart attack while on a call. I couldn’t face losing my mom, too. I remembered my panic when my uncle calmed down enough to tell me she’d been ill. I was never going to admit to her how scared I was when I heard heart and attack in the same sentence. It had taken me five minutes after putting the phone down from my uncle to call the fire chief of the firehouse in Charming Butte to see if there was a job. I was prepared to volunteer if necessary if it gave me a chance to come home.
I’d known Chief Brannigan all my life. I grew up in the firehouse, and helped my dad cleaning the trucks. Brannigan had been understanding when I called—he knew my mom, of course—and to my surprise, offered me the assistant fire chief’s job immediately. The current assistant chief was due to retire, and nobody among the firefighters was ready for the position.
“They’re good men,” Brannigan said, “but still rookies. I need someone with experience under his belt.”
I was relieved. I didn’t want to walk into the firehouse only to find out another guy had been expecting my job. I didn’t need to face hostility on my first day at work or wonder on every callout whether the men with me would have my back.
We talked for a while, catching up on the gossip, then I put down my phone and expelled a long breath. Turning down the promotion I’d been offered in Chicago was the hardest thing I’d ever done. I’d worked my butt off for that job, but I knew I’d never forgive myself for leaving Mom to face a life-threatening illness alone.
