Hometown Fireman. Lissa Manley

“It just confirms that even the strongest love has problems.”

      Her eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth to respond. But then she just as quickly clamped it shut. “I’m not discussing that.”

      Of course not. No wonder she was clueless about his feelings. Everything was off-limits these days.

      She belatedly lifted her chin, undoubtedly to strengthen her stance, and then went on. “Ally needs help, that’s all.” Mom fiddled with the buttons on her coat. “Do I really have to make that clear? Honestly, where’s your compassion?”

      Chastised, he could only give her a blank look. There was the guilt thing she wielded so well, cutting him down to size with one swipe. Maybe he deserved it. Honestly, right now, he didn’t know which way was up with his parents.

      Tut-tutting, Mom moved toward his office door, looking over her shoulder. “Try to stop reading so much into everything, all right?” She stopped and turned around, then nailed him with a pointed look. “Just do the Christian thing and help Ally face her burned-down house, knowing she has someone on her side.”

      His face heating, he watched Mom disappear, feeling as if she’d given him what for. Could anyone lay guilt on like an opinionated mother?

      The problem was, his mom’s guilt trips were usually right on target. And this one was no exception. He was being uncharacteristically uncharitable. Guess the stress of his life, what with his parents’ problems and the upcoming changes looming in his own future, really had him in a funk.

      Adjusting his attitude, he closed down his computer with a few keystrokes, grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and headed out his office door. Seemed he was going to be spending the morning being Ally’s much-needed support system. Whether he was comfortable with the idea or not.

      * * *

      As she waited for Chief McCoy to arrive for their meeting, Ally stared at the blackened shell of what used to be her home. Rising from the far edge of the house, the brick fireplace was all that was still intact. Worse yet, a huge pile of charred furniture was piled in the middle of the yard, a stark, undeniable testament to the devastating effect of the fire.

      Though she was standing twenty yards away from the pile of burned rubble, the scent of fire-scorched debris drifted to her on the persistent breeze.

      The smell of broken dreams.

      She pressed a hand to her mouth, realizing that she’d somehow hoped that maybe the fire hadn’t done as much damage as she’d imagined. But, no. Everything was gone.

      She had nowhere to live, with two sweet dogs depending on her. Guess she’d be staying with Drew’s parents for the foreseeable future. And while Grace was one of the nicest women Ally had ever met, she was still a stranger. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. But her options were nonexistent, so she’d do what was necessary, as she always had.

      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