Tina Radcliffe - Safe in the Fireman's Arms

“I handle most of the computerized repairs. Before your uncle left I rewired the shop’s security alarm system. Now it can be set remotely.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Bob, uh, Mr. Jones isn’t into digital stuff.”

“So, do you get a lot of computerized repairs in Paradise?”

“No, but we get a lot of people stopping by for computer help.”

“Uncle Bob dispenses computer advice?”

“No. I do. Mr. Jones doesn’t even have a computer.”

Maggie laughed. “Now that sounds like Uncle Bob. So, do you charge for this advice?”

“No. It’s free. I’m like a tutor.”

“A tutor? I like that. Maybe we can share the workload.”

Beck grinned. “Sure. Yeah.”

“How many hours are you working in the summer?”

“Three or four hours a day. Four days a week. I’m taking a few online classes, as well.”

“All right. Works for me. I’m closing up shop here shortly.” She met his gaze. “I’ve got an appointment Thursday around eleven. Think you could come in then and cover for me for a few hours?”

“Sure.”

“And we can talk some more, maybe work on your schedule?” she added.

His eyes lit up. “Yeah. That’d be sweet.”

“Sweet it is.” Maggie stuck out her hand. “So I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He shook her hand. “Thanks, Ms. Jones.”

“Maggie. Just Maggie.”

“Um, Maggie?”

“Yes?”

He adjusted his glasses with his thumb and forefinger. “Chief MacLaughlin was wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“The 2003 Ford F-150 was recalled for suspected engine fires caused by a cruise control switch.”

Maggie’s mouth opened as his words sank in. “What?”

“Apparently, the problem is that the brake fluid leaks through the cruise control’s deactivation switch into the system’s electrical components, leading to corrosion and producing a buildup of electrical current that causes overheating and, in your case, fire.”

“You know this, how?”

He shrugged. “I read a lot.

“You read a lot,” she murmured. Suddenly his words clicked. “So it’s not my fault?”

“Nope.”

This time she smiled.

“I, uh, just thought you should know.”

Vindication!

Her elation was short-lived as she realized she was the designated adult in this conversation.

“Thank you, Beck. I appreciate that. More than you know.” She took a deep breath. “However, let’s not be too hard on the chief. He’s doing his job, and keeping everyone in Paradise safe certainly can’t be easy.”

Beck nodded yet again, and then looked at his sneakers.

“Was there something else?” she asked.

“Yeah. There’s an opening at the high school.”

“An opening? For what?”

He barely met her gaze. “Science teacher. I heard my dad talking about it last night. Mrs. Janson is going on maternity leave early. I thought maybe you might be interested.”

Maggie’s heart soared. She swallowed. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. My dad is the principal.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll tell him to call you,” he added with a small smile, before he loped out of the shop.

“Yes. Please. Do that.” Maggie was still staring after him, minutes later.

A job in Paradise?

Why not? Her credentials were impeccable. Of course, she’d have to be extremely careful from now on. No more accidental fires. Low profile. That was the ticket.

Mustn’t get your hopes up, Margaret. The voice of her mother—the eternal pessimist—whispered in Maggie’s ear.

“You’re wrong, Mom. This job is mine. The Lord brought me to Paradise and He’s not going to leave me sitting outside the Promised Land.”

Maggie smiled and lifted her hand in a high five.

“Thank You, Lord.”

* * *

Jake gripped the keys to his pickup tightly in his hand as he stood on the bottom step of Maggie’s house. Bright red ceramic pots were arranged on her small porch with small painted signs identifying the plants—lemon thyme, cinnamon basil, chocolate mint and pineapple sage. He shook his head. He’d never even heard of half the stuff she’d planted.

Overhead the sky rumbled a warning that a storm was imminent. Undeterred, Jake walked up the steps and pushed the doorbell.

The teal-blue door of the cottage swung open and Maggie stared at him from behind the screen.

“I have it on good authority that it wasn’t my fault,” she announced.

“Hi, to you, too, Maggie.”

Her cheeks flushed and she crossed her arms.

Jake glanced past her into the sparsely decorated living room. “Nice house. I presume your smoke detectors are in place and the batteries are up-to-date.”

“Presume away.”

“Maggie.”

“They’re fine. I checked everything when I moved in.”

“Thank you.”

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Chief MacLaughlin? Or do you routinely make smoke-detector house calls?”

“I’m following up to make sure you’re okay.” He frowned. “And I thought we were on a first-name basis?”

“So this is an official visit from the chief of the Paradise Volunteer Fire Department regarding the incident at 1233 Central Avenue?” She began to shut the door. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

“Maggie.”

The door stopped moving. “I told you, it wasn’t my fault.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. Beck said so.”

“Beck said so?”

“Something about a manufacturer recall due to known fire-related problems.”

“Great, but I’m not blaming you.”

“No?”

“No. May I come in?”

She averted her gaze. “That doesn’t seem like a wise move to me.”

Jake paused, realization dawning. “Are you afraid of me, Maggie?”

She opened her mouth and closed it. Then the screen door opened and Maggie stepped out onto the small porch as though eager to prove him wrong.

“I know you’re really here to read me the riot act and I’d rather you did it out here, if you don’t mind.”

He met her gaze head-on. She didn’t even blink as he towered over her and her ponytail. The woman was gutsy. He’d give her that.

Jake dialed down his menacing facade. It wasn’t working anyhow.

“This is serious, Maggie.”

She rubbed her arms against a sudden breeze that kicked up, bringing with it the scent of the pine trees surrounding the house.

“What exactly is serious?” she asked.

“When you smelled smoke you should have gotten out of the vehicle and called 9-1-1.”

“I did call 9-1-1.”

“After you raised the hood.”

Her eyes rounded. “Who told you?”

“Who didn’t?”

Maggie shook her head in disgust. “It was only an electrical fire.”

“One out of seven fires involves vehicles. One out of ten fire deaths results from vehicle fires,” Jake said.

“You memorized those stats?”

“It’s my job.”

“Fair enough, but I’m telling you it was barely a fire. Barely. Tiny flame. Very tiny.

“And yet you needed a fire extinguisher.”

“Well. Um, yes.”

“Where’d you get the fire extinguisher?”

“Your father gave it to me.”

“My father?”

“Tall man. Silver hair.”

“I know who my father is. In fact his house is right down the street a couple of blocks.”

“Well, your father dropped the extinguisher off after the, um, first, um, incident. Said it was a ‘welcome to Paradise’ gift, since I’d extinguished the other one. Apparently all the MacLaughlins have a dark sense of humor.”

Jake ignored the comment and made a mental note to talk to his father about meddling in his life. Again. “So are we clear?” he asked. “Next time call 9-1-1 immediately and move away from the vehicle.”