The Fireman Finds a Wife. Felicia Mason

at how well they turn out.”

      Vanessa had been coming in a couple of times a week to get out of the house. But this was her first time actually working in the kitchen. She usually served meals to the people who came to Manna at Common Ground. Many of them were homeless and came in for a meal before checking in at the homeless shelter, which was one of four community outreach programs operated by the Common Ground ministry.

      The faith-based ministry known as Common Ground was formed by the pastors of three diverse congregations. Its mission was to strengthen Christian ties, unite the churches and to work together in community outreach and service.

      Still looking doubtful, Vanessa eyed the recipe. “If you say so.”

      Confident that the casseroles would be just fine, Summer went to check on the progress of her cookies, and then one of the other volunteers. Just a handful of the volunteers at the soup kitchen came in on regular schedules—a fact she quickly ascertained, so she never knew how many people might be available to help cook on any given day.

      That was one of the situations that Ilsa Keller, as director of the soup kitchen, should have addressed. When Summer suggested setting up a schedule, she’d been told that things operated just fine and essentially to mind her own business.

      For the Wednesday lunches and dinners, Manna needed at least four helpers in the kitchen, because of the extra baking required for the coffee fellowship after the weekly Bible study. At the volunteers’ meeting last month, when Summer noted that Wednesdays were especially strained and could use a dedicated roster of volunteers, Ilsa had shot her down until someone else said the same thing. And then the soup kitchen director had been forced to promise she would consider their suggestions.

      But when only two volunteers showed up today, Summer talked Vanessa into assisting in the kitchen.

      She grabbed a couple of heavy potholders, and then from one of the two double industrial-sized ovens, pulled out a tray of white chocolate macadamia cookies and an oversized flat pan filled with red velvet bars. She would whip up the creamy vanilla frosting for the bars after they’d cooled and she got the chicken soup on simmer.

      “Summer, there’s someone here to see you,” Mrs. Davidson trilled from the doorway.

      Startled, Summer glanced up. “Me? Here?”

      The plump woman with the face, voice and disposition of everyone’s favorite auntie, smiled. “Yes, dear. Don’t keep him waiting.”

      What him would be calling on her, and at the soup kitchen no less?

      She placed the baked goods on cooling racks and slipped off the gloved potholders. “I’ll be right there,” she told Mrs. Davidson. But the woman was already gone.

      Pulling the ever-present tube of lip gloss out, she touched up her mouth using the bottom of a baking pan as a mirror, making sure she didn’t have flour or some other ingredients on her face, then headed to see who’d come calling.

      Summer was stunned to see him.

      Cameron Jackson, the city fire chief, was at the soup kitchen and had come to see her?

      She blushed at the thought that two days ago he’d carried her when she’d actually fainted on him at her front door.

      Summer almost didn’t recognize him as he stood waiting in the dining hall, near the brick fireplace, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt sporting the Cedar Springs Fire Department logo. He looked like a regular guy, a handsome one, but a regular guy. Gone were the starched and pressed dress blues of his fire chief’s uniform. His blond hair looked slightly tousled, as if he’d just run his hands through it.

      She looked around to see if someone else might possibly be waiting for her, but they were the only two people in the room. As she approached him, he stepped forward.

      “Chief Jackson. This is a surprise.”

      “Please, call me Cameron.”

      “Cameron.”

      She said the name tentatively, as if not quite sure she wanted to commit to the familiarity of it. She had pretty much spent the last two days trying to get him out of her mind—to no apparent avail.

      She’d also tried to put out of her mind the conversation she’d had with her older sister the night of “the incident.” Spring had called to check in and see how things had gone. And she’d insisted that Cameron was interested in Summer, interested that way, not just as a new city resident.

      It had taken a couple of days but Summer had finally stopped thinking about him. And now here he was.

      Spring’s words came back to her: He wants to take you out, silly. On a date.

      Summer didn’t see it that way. Spring insisted that Summer also hadn’t seen the way the fire chief looked at her Monday afternoon when he thought no one was watching, the way he’d gently cradled her and seemed to take a slightly more than professional interest in her.

      Summer had countered that his interest was in making sure one of the small city’s new residents didn’t die on him. Spring just tsk-tsked, and told her to take a chance.

      But Summer didn’t date. And she surely wouldn’t start with someone as...well, as male as Cameron Jackson.

      He was muscular, not bulked up like a bodybuilder, but he possessed a strength and a sturdiness that said he was used to being a protector. She’d already noticed his dark blond hair, and now she took in his eyes, an easy blue that was comforting in an odd way—odd, because she didn’t need any comforting, at least not now.

      “May I call you Summer?”

      She noticed his eyes also seemed to light up when he talked.

      “Y-yes. Everyone calls me Summer. My sisters are Spring, Autumn and Winter. Our parents had something of a twisted sense of humor. We were teased about it when we were younger. But now...”

      Realizing that she was babbling, she closed her mouth, clasped her hands together and stared at the floor.

      “I brought something for you,” he said, walking toward one of the long dining tables. The tables were already dressed for the evening meal with linens and functional centerpieces—clear bowls filled with apples, oranges and bananas for their guests to help themselves.

      Her heart tripped a bit. He brought her a present?

      “Well, for you to use,” he said, clarifying as if she’d spoken the question aloud.

      Oh, dear. Had she?

      “We’ve been collecting food over at the station houses,” he said. “I’ve tried to set a standard without preaching at the crews. Every time one of the guys uses profanity, he has to pay up with a canned good or non-perishable item that gets donated to Manna. I figured that would be an easy way to get the message across about the language while doing something helpful for the community.”

      Summer glanced down at the half-filled brown paper bag.

      “Congratulations. Looks like it’s working since you only have a few items.”

      Cameron groaned.

      “This is just what I carried in,” he said. “There are three big boxes in the truck.”

      “Oh.”

      “Yeah,” he said. “Oh.”

      An awkward silence fell between them. Summer didn’t know what to do with her hands. She’d been so long removed from the dating scene that she had no clue about how to act. Plus, Cameron made her nervous, like a filly not yet acquainted with the new trainer at a stable.

      But the manners she and her sisters learned at Lovie Darling’s School of Raising the Seasons kicked in when Summer’s feminine wiles deserted her.

      “Would you like...”

      “I guess I should get...”

      They both started at the same time.