Melinda Curtis - Love, Special Delivery

Mandy gestured to the rolling overhead door that opened to the parking lot. “First off, there’s nothing combustible back there. Second, those boxes before you are empty. And third, I could still get to the front counter if there was a fire.”

Not an apology. Not an admission that she’d taken a safety risk, nor any assurance that it wouldn’t happen again. Mandy was the only person to argue with them today. The only person to work her way sharply under Ben’s skin.

He nudged the bottom box with his boot. The stack tumbled harmlessly to the ground. “I’ll give you the boxes, ma’am, but if you aren’t concerned about your own well-being, what about your employees?”

And there it was—her true expression. A smile so artless and wide it made Ben wonder what her laugh would sound like. “If there was a fire, that rat Riley can burn.”

Ben exchanged a look with Dad that he hoped said, Give her a citation. Please.

Message received. His old man shook his head.

“That was a joke.” Mandy suddenly turned serious, not serious enough for her smile to be wiped off the face of the earth, but serious nonetheless. “Riley isn’t technically a rat. I mean, he has four legs and a tail, sure. But he’s a raccoon.”

Dad chuckled, which morphed into a cough, and then gasps for air as he turned away from them.

Ben stayed on point. “The fact remains that—”

“Look, Officer...” She peered at his name tag. “Libby. Mr....Fireman...Libby...” She paused, seeming to collect herself and her awkwardness. “Are you related to Felix Libby?”

“We are.” It would be just his luck that she’d fostered a kitten from Granddad and was in his grandfather’s good graces. “I’m Ben, his grandson. And this is my dad, Keith.”

“Oh. I can see the resemblance in your face.” She waved her hand in a circle around her features. “If you come back in thirty minutes—” Mandy rushed on with her Mona Lisa smile “—the doorway will be clear and the rolltop counter open. No harm, no foul, right? Look, I’ll even open the loading bay.”

It was a good compromise.

Too bad it’d come too late. His pledge to safeguard the public made it hard to back off and apologize. Not that Ben wanted to back off or go soft on her. He was a firm believer in beginning as he meant to go on. Fire safety was important. Honesty was important.

Mandy pushed the button to open the rolling door.

There was a spark, a flash and then the sharp tang of electrical smoke.

CHAPTER THREE

“FIRE. THAT’S A FIRE,” Mandy said in disbelief at the same time that the seriously hunky fireman demanded, “Where’s the fire extinguisher?”

The flames were about six feet off the ground, eight inches high and growing taller and wider by the second. They climbed up the wall bordering the dock’s opening.

This is going to put me behind schedule.

It’d taken her days to clear away the trash and outdated equipment enough to clean. And for what? A fire to turn her hard work to ash?

“Where...” Large hands took hold of her shoulders. “...is the fire extinguisher?”

In the face of his demand, Mandy had no time to register the strength of Ben’s grip, the odd quirk to his mouth or the intensity of his blue eyes.

Where had she seen the fire extinguisher? Her mind flitted through a jumble of images, landing on one. “The bathroom.”

Ben disappeared, leaving Mandy mesmerized by the ever-increasing flames. This was it. The end of her short stint as postmaster. Finding a territorial raccoon in the post office was inconvenient. Burning the place down was a firing offense. She’d be stuck in Harmony Valley without a job. Wouldn’t her creditors love that?

While Ben searched, the fire chief walked with unhurried steps toward the loading dock. He and his son had the same broad shoulders, the same thick dark hair, the same confident stride and the same sharp blue eyes. Only the pallor of their skin was different. The older man’s complexion was the pasty white of a ball of bread dough.

Keith swiped an old canvas mailbag from the stack in the corner and used it to smother the flames. By the time Ben returned with the fire extinguisher, the fire was out, leaving only a black shroud on the wall as evidence it’d occurred.

“Sometimes the simplest of techniques are the most effective.” The fire chief coughed, turning away from the smoke.

Mandy took a slow step back, and then another. Her hands were shaking.

It was going to be okay. No one was injured. The post office was still standing.

“Good job, Dad.” There was compassion in Ben’s voice, proving he was capable of caring.

She needed to tone it down a notch for the tall, starchy fireman, be more civil, be more cooperative. She was at risk of breaking eggs because he’d caught her on a bad day. She was as touchy as a sleep-deprived college student during finals week.

And then Ben turned on Mandy with anything but compassion in his eyes. “There’s no pressure in this unit.” He held up the fire extinguisher. “It’s useless. And it shouldn’t be stored over the toilet. What would happen if there was a fire and someone was using the bathroom?”

In the face of his blue-eyed intensity, Mandy couldn’t find the words to defend herself. She stood the same way she had when the doctor delivered the news that Grandpa was dying—arms wrapped around her waist, a small, polite smile on her lips. The same position she’d taken when the doctor told her Olivia had cancer. “Um...”

Her reticence seemed to upset Ben all the more. He curled that odd-shaped lip of his. A fat lip, she realized.

Was this the man who’d rescued kittens and caught a falling child? The man the elderly visitors to the post office called charming and heroic?

He wasn’t likely to catch Mandy if she fell. He was more likely to sit on his hands and watch.

“Get out your citation book, Dad. We’re going over this place inch by inch.” Ben peered at the burnt, melted wires. “That wire was cut.”

Mandy gasped, rushing forward for a better look. “How could that be?”

“Now, Ben,” Keith said with the gravitas of an elder statesman. “A raccoon’s been living here. Rodents and pests like snacking on wires.”

“If we’re not issuing citations, Dad, tell me what we are doing.” Ben’s voice was as hard as the look in his eyes. “Do you want to make a list and document the danger now? Or battle more flames with me when this place goes up in smoke because we went easy on her?”

Mandy’s stomach turned. She raised her hand. “I vote for documentation. It’s been more than a decade since this station was in service. If I promise to take care of things by, say, next week? Can we avoid citations?” It didn’t matter that none of this was Mandy’s fault; excessive paper trails would get her fired.

Why couldn’t Grandpa have wanted her to be the postmaster in Cloverdale?

Mr. Intensity stared at Mandy with angry eyes. When she’d first seen him, that anger had been like banked coals. That anger had been accented by the rigid set to his shoulders, the stiffness of his back, the determined set to his strong chin. Here was a man who was serious about his job and protecting others. He’d always fight for what he believed in. Passionately. In a loud voice. And with a fierce scowl.

She approached conflict the opposite way—calmly, softly, with a smile—because she’d learned nothing was solved with loud voices and lines of tears.

“Ben,” his father said in a voice that soothed.

Ben’s intensity faded. His fire banked. To a degree.

His jaw worked as he turned back to Mandy. “What’s that noise?”

She glanced around, looking for a scuttling rat or raccoon. “I don’t hear anything.”