Lissa Manley - Hometown Fireman

Pressure built in her chest. God, I could really use Your help now. Please help me to deal with this crisis in my life with faith and grace....

The sound of tires on gravel crunched behind her. With a fortifying breath, she turned and saw Drew’s bright red pickup truck moving slowly up the driveway.

Great. Just great. Grace must have sent him. Honestly, he was the last person she wanted to see right now. Oh, he was pleasant enough—very pleasant, in fact. But she always felt so off-kilter when he was around.

Maybe she was being paranoid, but it seemed as if he was always watching, weighing and assessing. And he brought up the tough topics, too. Such as when he told her it seemed as if she spoke from experience about covering up versus opening up. She’d shut the conversation down—no way was she talking about her reasons; that was too painful a subject to share. With anyone. But he’d seemed interested, and that made her uncomfortable.

Not to mention that he was flat-out gorgeous. Those brown eyes and his dark blond hair...

She surreptitiously made an effort to look as if her chest weren’t caving in as he pulled the truck to a halt about twenty feet away. After a moment, he climbed out. He was dressed in black dress pants, a white dress shirt and a black-and-blue-striped tie; apparently he’d come from work. What was it about a man in a white shirt and tie, anyway? Just kill her now.

He headed toward her, all confident and strong-looking, and she couldn’t help but notice his broad shoulders under his thin dress shirt, shoulders that seemed as if they could carry any load, anytime.

But not her load. She drew herself up, both literally and figuratively. She knew better than to count on anyone; an endless stream of temporary homes and parents had taught her that lesson early on. Oh, sure, he’d more than likely feel obligated to help her. But she’d seen enough “obligation” in her life to know it didn’t mean much in the long run.

The wind gusted, and she shivered as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. But she held her shoulders straight and tried to look strong. Unbreakable.

He drew near, his eyes scanning the burned-out wreckage that was once the place she wanted to call home. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his chocolate-tinged gaze full of genuine empathy that made her throat thick. Surprisingly, he reached out and squeezed her arm above her elbow. “I know how hard this must be.”

His touch decimated her backbone. She blinked rapidly several times. Crying never helped, and it always made her feel so weak, so vulnerable. She wished he’d skip the empathy; life was less messy that way.

He leaned in close enough so she could smell the faint spice of his aftershave. “You okay?”

No, she wasn’t. But she knew the part too well not to carry on as if she were holding things together. “I’ll be fine,” she said, figuring that if she acted fine, she’d be fine. Eventually. Maybe. But then again, she’d been holding onto that hope forever, and her grip was slipping.

“You look pale.” He put his hands in his pockets as his gaze drifted back to the burned shell of her home. After a significant pause, he rubbed his brow, looked right at her and said, “Listen. I’m...um, worried about you.”

His words swiped an even broader slash at her carefully constructed yet tenuous control. No one had been worried about her for a very long time. “I’m...fine,” she managed, barely, not meeting his gaze for fear of losing it. “This is just a bump in the road.” More like a giant sinkhole, but whatever.

He said nothing right away.

She looked at the scraggly grass at her feet, wanting with everything in her to run away from his concern. From those eyes. From him. He made her feel exposed. Spineless. As if she needed him. Needing him, needing anyone, wasn’t something she could allow. Too much heartache lay down that path.

“Ally, look at me,” he finally said.

Swallowing, she turned to him, drawn to his whisper-soft voice.

“Why are you putting on an act?” he asked.

Guess she wasn’t as good at pretending to be fine as she thought she was. She’d have to work on that. “I’m not—”

He took her hand and squeezed it, cutting off her words with his strong, warm grip. “Yes, you are. You’re pretending to be okay.”

“How do you know?”

“Because my mom does the same thing.”

Oh, yeah. He was familiar with the move. Just Ally’s luck.

When she stayed quiet, he said, “Hey, it’s okay to let us—um, me, help you.”

“Yeah, right.” She let out a heavy breath. “I’ve heard that before,” she said before she could reel the words back.

He canted his head to the side, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

She wished she’d kept her big mouth shut. She couldn’t talk to him about how she’d trusted others to help her in the past and how those choices had been the biggest mistakes of her life. No way. Those memories were too painful—

Gravel crunched again, cutting off her thoughts, and a black SUV pulled into the driveway. The chief.

“Good timing for you,” Drew muttered under his breath.

She pretended not to hear him.

The wind kicked up again, and a light mist started falling. Figured.

He stood there, silent for a moment, then jerked his chin toward his truck. “I’m going to go get my coat. We’ll talk later.”

She watched him walk to his truck, mentally slapping her head, wishing she’d kept the “Yeah, I’ve heard that before” comment to herself. The last thing she wanted to do was arouse his curiosity about her past any more than she already had.

She’d come to Moonlight Cove to make a fresh start in her dream town and put her past behind her. She wasn’t going to trade sob stories with anyone, certainly not with Drew with his soft eyes and broad shoulders and...everything. Just the thought made her stomach pitch.

As she waited for the chief to come over, she told herself that somehow she was going to have to deflect Drew’s interest in picking her apart.

But since she was going to be staying with his parents for a while, keeping his probing questions at bay was going to be tricky.

Even for a seasoned veteran like herself.

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