“You know, like Garth Brooks style. Telling the story of a band of four desperadoes moving across the plains, rolling thunder, lightning strikes, that sort of thing.”
That gets another laugh from him, incredulous. “Where you gonna find a horse big enough for me, then?”
“Ahhh, that’s why we’re lucky it’s fiction.” I hold a finger up. “Just a little pinch of truth. Just enough to make it feel real.”
“So no names,” he says, a touch warily.
I get the feeling he’s heard his name said too many times, in all the wrong ways.
“Well, since I don’t even know yours...” I tease.
“You know.” He gives me a dry look. “Or you wouldn’t be talking to me about your song. I’m probably the easiest person to ID in town.”
I incline my head. “Fair. I hope you’re not mad.”
“Nah.” He chuckles. “I don’t mind. Just no more of that tabloid shit.”
“Nothing of the kind.” I cock my head, hugging my arms to myself.
It’s bright out, the sun reflecting warmly off a thin new layer of snow that settled in overnight, but even with the sky bright and blue and soaring overhead, I’m numb through my coat.
At least I remembered gloves this time.
“So should I call you Nine or Mr. Regis?” I ask.
“Leo’s fine.” His smile is wry, self-deprecating. “Don’t think I’ve ever been Mr. Regis except on national TV. And ‘Nine’ is full of some memories.”
“Yeah? What kind?”
“Prison,” he says. It’s honest, but grim and a touch regretful. “I did the wrong thing for the right reasons, wound up in jail. My prisoner number started with nine. And when I escaped, living like a wild man around these hills...it just stuck.”
I glance at the candy store across the street, visible past the hood of my little purple nugget of the compact rental car I’ve left on the sidewalk. The shop is called Sweeter Things, and a tall, beautiful woman with rich mahogany hair moves around inside busily, an adorable little chestnut-haired boy trailing in her wake.
“Anything to do with her?”
“My wife?” Leo chuckles. “Yeah. Everything to do with Rissa.”
“Sounds like one hell of a love story.”
“One for the ages.” He studies me discerningly. “You gonna write a song about that, too?”
“Maybe.” I bite my lip, and I know I’m not being subtle, but... “So where does Blake fit into this?”
He blinks, leaning back a little. “Blake Silverton?”
“Um, I guess.” I grin nervously. “He does the radio show, right? I haven’t heard him on the air lately...”
Something about the way Leo looks at me makes me feel like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. “So you’ve been listening for him?”
Crap. Crap. Crap!
Wincing, I duck down into my shoulders. “Mayyybe. Can we keep that between us, though? Oh, God.” I drop my face into my lumpy purple hand-knitted gloves. “This is so high school.”
“Don’t worry, Peace. I won’t tell the hunky fireman you got a crush.”
“Leo!” I sputter.
But I’m laughing, and he’s grinning, and it’s just nice.
It’s cool making a friend out here when I’ve avoided putting down roots for so long.
He lets out a hoarse laugh, then shakes his head. “He hasn’t been at the radio station all week because Andrea’s been grounded, I hear. Girl’s slipperier than her pet snake. If he takes his eyes off her, she’ll be gone like a cat in the night.”
“Wowza.” I wince. “I feel like I might’ve had something to do with that. I was there the night she almost set the inn on fire. Hid her out in my cabin until he came to get her.”
“Yeah? No wonder Blake hasn’t said a frigging word about you,” he laughs.
Ouch. I deflate.
“...Not even a little?”
“Well, he usually doesn’t talk about things that get under his skin,” Leo says, stroking his stubble, and I almost want to kick myself for the way that makes my heart jump. “You looked after his kid? If you’re really into him, that’s a big favor. He ought to appreciate it.”
I glance over my shoulder.
No fooling, this really does feel like high school, making sure my secret crush isn’t eavesdropping.
“He’s a good dad, isn’t he?” I ask tentatively.
I can’t help but remember that night. He’d pulled Andrea close and wrapped her in a hug that could’ve stopped time.
He’d been angry, sure, it wasn’t hard to see.
But it was the kind of protective fury that comes from a man who’s afraid someone he loves has done something reckless that could take her away forever.
And as he’d hugged her, the way his brows knit together and crumpled left an impression, all right.
I’m melting just thinking of it.
The warmth in his face was written so clearly, utterly real and unashamed, because he loves Andrea that much. That’s not something you find in most places.
Maybe Leo’s right and he doesn’t talk much about his feelings, but when his guard comes down, they come pouring out like a rushing waterfall.
“Hey. Earth to Peace.”
“Uh?” I blink, then shake myself, warmth chasing the chill from my cheeks. “Sorry. I drifted a little.”
“Somebody’s moonstruck.”
“Am not!” I splutter. “I don’t even know him. Not really.”
“Then you’d best get on that—”
He breaks off, eyes widening, his entire body going stiff as he stares past me and then bites off, “Oh, fuck.”
Too many things happen in the next ten seconds.
Leo bolts to his feet, digging his hand into his pocket and grabbing his phone. My stomach clutches nervously tight as I scramble to my feet after him, turning so fast I almost slip on the icy sidewalk, whirling to see what he’s looking at.
Then I see the thick plume of smoke billowing up from behind the candy shop.
Oh, no.
Oh, crap.
It’s like fire follows me everywhere, I swear.
But Leo’s already barking something into the phone, while I stand there helplessly, watching him charge across the street, waving his arm over his head. Inside the shop, several customers and the mahogany-haired woman and boy look up quickly before rushing to the door.
Suddenly, the street’s pure chaos.
People pour out of the candy store and every shop around, from the diner to whatever store is in the back. Looks like there’s a narrow alley, and the smoke could be coming from either building. Alarms shrill, doors fling open, people’s voices burst the quiet.
It’s all happening so fast.
I feel like I’m the only bit of stillness in the entire space, helpless and frozen, not knowing what to do.
It’s a relief, though, to see Leo ushering his wife and the boy outside, getting clear, even as the fat plume of greasy-looking, thick black smoke thickens.
Then the sound of sirens rips through the morning, drowning out the panicked voices. The crowd scatters like a flock of pigeons as a fire truck comes careening down main street, lights flashing.