Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Amos had already fired up the second grill, so I took a breather to lean on the counter. “So, newbie, what brings you to town?”
“He thinks you’re a rookie.” Caleb made a sound between a cough and a laugh, which made me wish Sean had come in without the audience. “Tom was joking earlier. Sean’s not really a newbie. Captain out of Seattle. But he’s Chief Murphy’s son. Mount Hope royalty.”
“Hardly.” Sean snorted. “But to answer the question, I’m helping out an old friend and making my folks happy at the same time.”
“Ah.” I’d had a vague sense of knowing the dude all week, and the pieces finally clicked into place. “Bumped into you at Doc Wallace’s service, didn’t I?”
I didn’t know exactly why I’d gone to that funeral. Neighborly thing to do, but I was hardly known as the neighborly type. And while Dr. Wallace had been my doctor and someone who’d helped me, I wasn’t sure I’d call him a friend. I’d run into Sean here on my way out of the church when my head had been a jumble of conflicting thoughts, and it was no wonder I’d needed time to place the connection.
“Yep.” Sean’s ready answer said he’d known who I was all along. “I’m staying with Eric and covering for a firefighter on maternity leave.”
“Good for you.” Tammy floated over to refill the coffee cups again. “I’m sure those Wallace-Davis kids need all the help they can get.”
“Yep.” I gave a last nod before turning to clean my grill and get ready to clock out. Figuring out where I knew Sean from had unsettled me some, but the cleaning routine cleared my head. Honey’s Hotcake Hut was located in the same aging building it had occupied for fifty-something years. Not the fanciest or newest joint, but with so many nurses and first responders among the regulars, the place prided itself on cleanliness, something I appreciated too.
I heard Tammy ring up the firefighters shortly before we clocked out at seven. Already counting down to a hot shower, I headed for my ancient red Chevy. To my surprise, I found Sean standing next to a much shinier blue truck. A deep scowl had replaced his dimples.
“You still here?” I asked as I approached. “Truck problems?”
“Locked my dumbass out. Not even sure how.” He made a sour face as he pointed at the keys laying on the passenger seat. “I’ve got a spare back at Eric’s, but I don’t want to wake him or the kids up early on a Saturday. And God knows I’m not calling the station.”
“The teasing might do you in,” I agreed. The firefighters were among my favorite customers, but they could be a rowdy bunch.
“Guess I might as well start walking.”
“Nah.” I shook my head and pointed at my truck. “Get in.”
Chapter Two
Sean
Short on sleep, I blinked at the burly cook from Honey’s Hotcake Hut. Was he serious about the offer of a ride? Tammy had referred to him as Denver, but I wasn’t sure if it was a nickname or his actual name. I’d been surprised earlier in the week to discover the big guy from Montgomery’s funeral behind the griddle at the longtime Mount Hope diner. Honey’s had been there for weekend breakfasts with my dad and grandad, hungover college days, and meals with my crew, but this Denver person was new.
“You don’t need to give me a ride.” I kept my voice easy. No need for him to suspect I’d suggested Honey’s for breakfast again in hopes of getting another look at him. No harm in looking. “It’s my own dumb fault, and it’s not that long of a walk.”
“It’s damn cold and a good two miles.” Denver gave me a stern look, and perversely, heat gathered low in my belly. Fierce looked good on the dude, giving him the air of grumpy warrior king with the wild hair and broad build. He’d shed his white chef coat in favor of a battered leather jacket over a plain T-shirt, which added to the vibe. And he wasn’t wrong. It was only a hair over thirty degrees, and the historic Prospect Place street where Eric lived was clear on the other side of downtown, a decent hike from the fire station and Honey’s. “And I live on the same street. Get in.”
Denver motioned again at his truck, an older two-door Chevy.
“You live on Prospect Place?” Deciding it was easier and warmer to let the guy give me a ride, I climbed in. But I wasn’t sure I bought the coincidence.
“I rent a studio in the old McGregor house down the street from your pal.” Denver let his truck warm up while turning down the stereo set to a driving hard rock tune. “Doc Wallace hooked me up with the vacancy.”
“You knew Montgomery?” Another shocker. Eric’s late husband had been older than us by a few years, elegant in that East Coast elite way, and while friendly with everyone, a surgeon was hardly the type to pal around with a rough-around-the-edges guy like Denver.