Maggie found herself suddenly conscious of her shapeless gray T-shirt, ancient jeans and well-worn, black high-tops. She clamped her arms tightly across her chest and resisted the urge to hide her glasses in her pocket.
“I didn’t mean—” he said.
“Oh, I get it,” she interrupted, with a dismissive wave of her hand.
His lips formed a tight line, as Jake frowned. “No, ma’am. I don’t think you do.”
A knock on the glass outside the window caught her attention. A young fireman grinned at them, and then offered a thumbs-up gesture with a questioning expression.
Jake returned the thumbs-up and turned back to Maggie. “Look, it’s the middle of the week and I’ve got four men outside who left their regular jobs to be here. I’ll have to leave explanations for another time.”
A palpable silence stretched between them as he flipped open the metal notebook.
“Identification?”
“Identification? But I told you. I’m Maggie Jones. You know my aunt, Betty Jones. This is Uncle Bob’s shop.”
He nodded. “Still need your ID.”
“Sheriff Lawson can vouch for me.”
“Sam and his deputy are on a call. Normally they’d be here taking a report, as well.”
Maggie reached over the counter for her purse. She released a short breath and handed him her driver’s license.
He took the laminated card and placed it on top of the paperwork. “Denver? What brings you to our town?”
“I’ve been coming to Paradise for years. Why, I spent every summer here with my aunt and uncle when I was a kid. I’m practically a native.”
“For years?” His gaze met hers. “How is it I’ve never met you?”
“You’re older than me.”
“Ouch.” This time he winced.
“I didn’t mean... I just meant...” She closed her mouth before her other foot attempted to jump in, as well.
“You know, I think I vaguely remember you,” he returned. “Skinny kid with big glasses and braids. You followed Susan around.”
“Touché,” Maggie muttered. “And as you can see, I haven’t changed all that much.”
He raised a brow. “A little sensitive?”
“Not at all.”
“If you say so.” His face gave away nothing. “Denver is your current address?”
“No. I’m, well, sort of in flux.” Maggie pulled on a hangnail. “Right now, I’m staying on Mulberry Lane.”
“Susan’s old place?”
She nodded as her distracted gaze took in his large hands. Capable hands.
“Phone number?”
“Phone number?” she repeated, confused.
He tapped the clipboard. “For the paperwork.”
Maggie rattled off her cell-phone number. “You aren’t going to charge me for this little visit, are you?”
“The fire department is a service of the town. Can’t remember charging anyone before.” His gaze met hers. “Unless you plan to be a repeat offender.”
Her head jerked up. “Of course not.”
His lips twitched. “How long will you be in town?”
“That’s a little hard to say. At least three weeks. I’m managing the shop while my Uncle Bob is fishing.”
“Fly-fishing. Best time of year. Spring runoff. We’re really going to be slammed with tourists when tournament registration begins.”
“Tournament?”
“Fishing tournament on the Rio Grande.”
“I imagine that’s good for the economy,” she said.
“It is.” He nodded. “Then back to Denver?”
“What?” She cocked her head.
“Then you’ll be heading back to Denver?”
“Is this for your report, as well?”
“Just being neighborly, ma’am.”
Ma’am? The cockles of her heart were officially rankled. “I don’t know what I’ll be doing in three weeks, Chief MacLaughlin. Praying about what I want to be when I grow up, I imagine.”
He blinked and froze. Then he began to laugh, a deep, rich sound that took Maggie by surprise. His eyes did crinkle at the corners as she suspected they would, making his face open up with even more masculine appeal.
Charming. That was the first word that popped into her head. Yes. He was charming. Far too charming for her own good.
“I was being serious,” she finally said. More serious than he would ever understand.
“I’ll bet you were.” Chief MacLaughlin grabbed his helmet and gave her a short salute. “Pleasure to meet you, Maggie Jones. Stay safe.”
“Ah, um, yes. Thank you,” Maggie said, her face heating at the sound of her name on his lips.
Her gaze followed him out to the street, where he climbed into the passenger side of the truck, his movements lithe and easy, despite the heavy layers of gear.
The fire engine’s horn sounded before the vehicle pulled away from the curb.
Maggie shook her head, willing herself out of the daze that had wrapped itself around her.
“I’m simply going to have to stay out of his way,” she murmured. “Because Jake MacLaughlin is an exceptionally dangerous man.”
* * *
“Attention, shoppers. We’re serving free coffee and carrot-cake muffins with lemon icing from Patti Jo’s Café and Bakery at the front of the store.”
Jake looked up from the paperwork on his desk as the announcement blared over the hardware-store loudspeaker.
What’s he up to now? Ever since he’d semiretired, Jake’s father spent his extra time divided between his newly self-appointed roles as marketing director for the store and head of Jake’s nonexistent reelection committee. Jacob “Mack” MacLaughlin Senior was oblivious to the fact that Paradise Hardware was the only hardware store in Paradise. There was no competition.
Jake set aside the monthly inventory folder and shoved back his chair. Taking long strides through the aisles he followed the scent of fresh coffee.
“Nice picture, Jake.”
“Huh?” Jake turned.
At the end of aisle one, near the cash register, several customers were gathered around the Paradise Gazette as they munched their muffins.
One of the regulars shoved the front page of the paper at Jake. Smack-dab in the middle was a photo of him in turnout gear standing next to Maggie Jones.
She looked like she’d taken a bite out of something sour.
Great. Just great. It had been pretty obvious yesterday that she wasn’t in awe of the truck or the uniform like most of the women in town. He could almost feel her glare from the two blocks that separated the hardware store and the fix-it shop. Somehow the photo op would turn out to be his fault, adding fuel to her ire. The woman didn’t like him. Of that, Jake was certain. Why that bothered him, he didn’t know, but it did.
His father clapped him on the