Teresa Southwick - The New Guy In Town

“Hi, Sam.” Phoebe gave him a wave.

“Hey, Squirt.” He looked at Faith. “Long day?”

“Yeah.” She looked tired, dirty and worried.

Again, Sam had the most absurd urge to pull her into his arms and tell her that everything would be all right. “Any news on your house?”

“No. And the evacuation order is still in effect.” She shrugged. “The guys have been too busy saving houses to keep track of the ones lost.”

Were the black streaks on her cheeks and chin soot? He frowned. “How close were you to the fire?”

“A couple of miles, I think. Why?”

“Because you smell like smoke.”

“You should have been in the car.” Phoebe wrinkled her cute freckled nose. “Stinks in there now.”

Humor relaxed the tension on Faith’s features. “You do realize that I was doing a good thing? Serving food to firefighters who are working very hard to save our home. And your toys.”

“Uh-huh.” Phoebe looked unrepentant. “You still smell like smoke.”

“The wind is brutal.”

Sam thought about that. “If it was blowing smoke in your direction, doesn’t that mean the fire was headed toward where you were?”

“Are you asking whether it was safe?”

“Was it?”

“Of course.”

He hadn’t given in to stupid and gone to look for her, but now it was coming out of his mouth, this unreasonable concern for her safety. He was going to stop now. “Okay.”

“The problem is the wind keeps changing direction. It’s one of the reasons they’re having such a hard time getting a handle on containment.”

“I see.”

“Until the crisis is over, there’s a volunteer schedule,” Faith said.

“So you’ll be going back into the fire area?” He glanced at Phoebe, keeping his voice conversational so as not to alarm her. But for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely, he needed reassurance. And yes, he was aware that the stupid was continuing in spite of his effort to suppress it.

“Everyone is pitching in.” She shrugged as if that explained everything.

“Can’t you just make a casserole? Or cookies?”

She glanced at her daughter now. Phoebe was staring up wide-eyed. “The firefighters have safety protocols in place. That’s one of the few things they can control. It’s the variables like wind and thick, dry underbrush that are giving them fits.”

“Mommy, you don’t get too close, do you?”

“No, absolutely not.” She thought for a moment. “Do you remember Des Parker?”

Phoebe’s forehead furrowed in thought. “Is he the rancher who took you to the Grizzly Bear Diner?”

“No. That was Logan Hunt.”

“He’s my cousin,” Sam volunteered. Estranged, but still family. Although that distinction didn’t ease the feeling of disapproval sliding through him.

“Really?” Faith’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”

“Long story,” he said. “So who’s Des Parker?”

“The fire captain.”

“I remember,” Phoebe said. “He let me sit in the fire truck on the Fourth of July and bought us ice cream. And Valerie Harris babysat me and you went out to dinner with him.”

“Yes.”

“I like him,” her daughter said.

Funny, Sam thought, he didn’t. “So he’s not going to let anything happen to his girlfriend.”

“It’s not like that. And in case you’re wondering, there was no breakup bouquet. Come to think of it, that would be awkward. Making it for myself.” Faith laughed. “No, my point is that he’s cautious and wouldn’t let anything happen to anyone on his watch.”

Sam didn’t miss the look she gave him that said he was being weird, but he already knew.

Phoebe wrinkled her nose again, apparently satisfied that her mother was in good hands. “You still stink.”

“It’s not that bad.” She looked at Sam.

“I wasn’t going to say anything...” He rested his hands on the granite-topped island between them. “However, I strongly suggest you soak in a hot bath while Phoebe and I cook dinner.”

“You cook? I thought last night was a fluke.”

“No.” Sam took a little satisfaction from her obvious surprise. “I’m a bachelor.”

“And yet I, the plant lady, know that—” she glanced at her child, obviously trying to figure out how to give her comment a G-rated delivery “—from time to time you have visitors who can cook.”

“That is blatant gender profiling.” He smiled at her unease. “Some of the world’s best chefs are men. And I actually like to cook.”

“I can help, Mommy. Please let me do it.” The eight-year-old was quivering with excitement. “And Sam is right. You need a bath.”

“And the child becomes the parent.” Faith tenderly traced a finger down her daughter’s cheek. “Two against one. Fortunately for both of you I’m in the mood to get rid of this grime. I won’t be long.”

Sam watched until her slender shoulders and excellent backside disappeared from sight. She was a smart, beautiful woman raising a child on her own. As far as he could tell there was no father in the picture. Why? For that matter, it was clear from what Phoebe had said that she dated. His cousin had inherited the Hart good looks and his mother’s integrity. His father, Sam’s uncle, had the morals of an alley cat and Logan had distanced himself from the Harts a long time ago. He was a very successful rancher and from a woman’s perspective would be a good catch.

Des Parker was a question mark because Sam had never met him. What was Faith’s relationship with the two men? He really didn’t like that he was acutely curious, which was only a small step up from jealousy.

“Sam?” A small, firm voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you listening?”

He looked at the little girl. “Yes.”

“I want to help. But Mommy won’t let me touch sharp stuff.”

“That leaves out knives, then.” He thought for a moment. “How about setting the table?”

“Okay.”

Since plates and glasses were too high for her, he ended up getting everything down then backed off and let her put it all on the round oak table in the nook.

When she finished, she came to stand by the counter where he was working. “Whatcha doing?”

“I’m making fried chicken the easy way. After I dip the pieces in this stuff, it goes on a cookie sheet and into the oven.”

“Are you making vegetables?” she asked suspiciously.

There was a loaded question. More data was required before answering. “Do you like them?”

“No.”

“Hmm. Does your mom make you eat them?”

“Yes.” It didn’t seem possible for such a small, sweet face to hold that much loathing and hostility.

“They have vitamins and minerals that make you strong and healthy.”

“That’s what my mom says. They still make me want to throw up.”

“I feel your pain.” He thought about what he’d planned for tonight. “What’s your opinion of corn on the cob?”

“I like that. We have these things that go in the ends so you can hold it better. But they’re in my house.” Phoebe’s anxiety that her house might be gone was easy to read in her expression.

Sam wanted to fix things so this little girl didn’t have to worry about whether or not all of her worldly possessions were gone. But he wasn’t God. All he could do was fix this moment for her.

“I have corn holders. In that drawer.” He pointed out the one closest to the table. “Why don’t you put them by the plates?”

She opened the drawer and spotted them. “They’re sharp.”

“Technically, but you’re not going to cut anything with them. I think you’re big enough to do the job without hurting yourself.”

“Hurt yourself on what?” Faith walked into the kitchen. Her blond hair was a shade darker because it was still wet and the store tags were still hanging from her T-shirt and sweatpants.