For two seconds, indecision warred. Fire Chief Nattingly's decision to finally step down from his post after nearly four decades was breaking news. It proved at least one of the rumors circulating through the town about the city’s leaders was true. After decades of service, the chatter was that the chief, mayor, and sheriff might all be ready to pass the baton to the next generation.
I’d been chomping at the bit for this moment to become a reality. In my eight years with the Swift Rivers Fire Department, I’d earned my bachelor’s and master’s, aced every fire service exam I could, and packed my resume with experience. I’d put in extra hours with the county fire marshal and even used vacation time to train at the CAL FIRE schools. I’d done everything I could to prove I wasn’t just hungry for the job, but that I was ready for it.
If it was true, if Nattingly was retiring, sitting next to Delilah might getme information I needed, but it would be at the cost of her thinking she’d gotten her hooks into me, and that wasn’t something I could afford. I’d played that game once and lost. We’d both lost.
When I glanced toward the exit, Maisey had already disappeared. My need to protect her overcame any remaining temptation to stay with Del.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I said, starting for the door again.
“They’re not going to hire you,” she called after me, and her words halted me once more. “And I know why.”
My chest tightened, the alcohol in my stomach turning sour. She would know. Not only because she still lived at home with her parents, but because she had an ear for gossip. An ear and a mouth that could spread news like a wildfire burning through dry brush.
I was also smart enough to know she was using this not just to get me to sit back down, but specifically to keep me from going after Maisey. Delilah’s beef with the Campbell sisters would likely live until she took her last breath.
“I’m not up for your games tonight, Del. If you got news you feel like sharing, I’ll hear about it tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll figure it out myself.”
I didn’t wait for her response. I just jogged through the crowd and onto the street, determined to catch Maisey before she wandered too far on her own.
Chapter Three
Maisey
SECOND WIND
Performed by Kelly Clarkson
ELEVEN YEARS AGO
HER: She left me taking care of the chickens by myself…AGAIN. When I asked if she’d be back to collect the eggs, she just shrugged.
HIM: You need to tell your mom she’s been sneaking out and not coming home.
HER: Mom’s been really preoccupied lately. I think she and Dad are having more than their usual troubles. And you know I can’t tell on Chelsea. She barely talks to me anymore. If I got her in trouble now, it would be the end of our relationship.
HIM: What relationship? The one where she uses your unjustified guilt to get what she wants?
Moments passed.
HIM: Don’t be mad at me for telling you the truth. We agreed we’d always be honest with each other.
HER: We’ll just have to agree to disagree when it comes to my sister.
PRESENT DAY
I cursed the disappointment that welledthrough me as I made my way out of Frank’s alone and stood staring across the street at the Emporium where my truck was parked. I wasn’t really much of a drinker, and the couple I’d had tonight meant I was in no shape to drive. My apartment building was on the opposite side of town. I could walk it, but it was at least twenty minutes on foot, and I was even more exhausted now than I’d been before.
So instead of heading toward my apartment, I crossed the street, starting in the direction of the neighborhood behind the Emporium and mychildhood home.
A voice rang out from the parking lot. “Hey, Maisey, hold up!”
I turned, trying not to wince as I saw the last person I’d expected jogging toward me. Carter Smythe had a finger hooked in the suit jacket he’d thrown over his shoulder. His shirt sleeves were rolled above his elbows, and his tie was loosened. These days, he was all slick businessman, the complete opposite of when I’d made the unfortunate mistake of going with him to the homecoming dance in high school. Back then, he’d been more of a blue-collar man in work boots and plaid shirts—at least that’s what I’d thought of him whenever he’d been at our house, hanging out with Chelsea and her crew.
Since graduating, Carter had turned his family’s construction business into a high-powered real estate development company. Smythe & Sons had a hand in almost every change happening in Swift Rivers, no matter the size, from the fancy new streetlights on Main Street to the entertainment complex being built just past my apartment.
He came to a halt a few inches from me, running a hand over his icy-blond hair and giving me a good look at the expensive watch slipping out from his shirt sleeve.
“You’re just the person I wanted to talk to,” he said.