Safe in the Fireman's Arms. Tina Radcliffe

“No ID, no entry.”

      “Turnabout, huh?”

      “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “Right.” He flipped out his billfold and Maggie took her time reading the birth date on the license. It was exactly as she suspected. Midlife crisis waiting to happen.

      “Here you go,” she said. “Your entry ticket, plus a coupon for a free cupcake from Patti Jo’s Café and Bakery.”

      “You keep the coupon.” He patted his stomach. “I’m watching my calories.”

      Her gaze was drawn to his flat abdomen, broad muscular chest and biceps. Oh, he looked good in the navy T-shirt with the fire-company logo on it, the cotton fabric stretched taut against his muscles. And he knew it. She barely managed to maintain her “I am not impressed” stance.

      They both turned as a crowd of people entered the tent. When the group moved toward the registration table, Jake was effectively trapped behind the table with Maggie.

      “Hey, Chief. Working hard?” A young man with a navy shirt that matched Jake’s smiled and winked at Maggie.

      “You know it,” Jake returned.

      To Maggie’s surprise he didn’t leave her side but began to hand out forms and pens.

      “You don’t have to stay,” Maggie murmured.

      “Are you trying to get rid of me?” Jake asked with a wry grin.

      “No. I’m simply saying that I’m sure you probably have other places you need to be.”

      “Nope.”

      As the license lines grew, they developed a companionable and efficient pattern. Maggie collected the money, slipping it into her apron pockets, and Jake took the completed forms. She noted he didn’t check ID as she had. Apparently he knew everyone in Paradise.

      She remained acutely aware of his presence, especially the occasional moments their hands collided.

      “Sorry,” she said, drawing back quickly.

      He mumbled an apology in return.

      “Do you need to be somewhere?” she asked when there was a momentary lull.

      “Trying to get rid of me yet again, huh? You know, a guy could get a complex around you.”

      “I’m trying to be polite. I appreciate your help. I don’t think I could have handled that crowd alone.”

      Jake smiled. “Anytime.”

      “Anytime, what?” Susan interrupted as she walked into the tent.

      “Anytime is a good time for fishing.” Jake grinned. “Right, Maggie?”

      “Yes. Correct.” The brochures in her hand slipped to the table and she carefully collected them.

      “Well, ladies,” Jake said, “I guess I’ll be off.” He gave Maggie a quick wink.

      Embarrassed, she only nodded, while Susan scrutinized them both.

      “We should go,” Susan said. “They’re closing the tents for an hour during the raffle. I’ve already gotten us seats up close and personal.”

      Maggie took off her apron, turned her money in to the cashier and followed an impatient Susan.

      “Hurry, hurry,” her cousin urged, linking her arm through Maggie’s. “We don’t want to miss a thing.”

      “Isn’t your mom here today?” Maggie asked, looking around.

      “She’s backstage helping the Paradise Ladies Auxiliary with the pies.”

      “Pies? Some sort of blue-ribbon thing?”

      “Sort of. They raffle pies and cakes that were awarded ribbons earlier this morning. Then they’ll start raffling all sorts of other delectable things.”

      Maggie followed Susan to a reserved seating area close to the stage. “How did you get these great seats?”

      “Al is a sponsor.”

      “You know, I don’t remember any fairs when I was growing up.”

      “That’s because this is the first year.” Susan handed Maggie five tickets. “For the dessert raffle. I put yours in for the chocolate éclairs. We want this to be a memorable day for you. Oh, and keep an eye on Bitsy Harmony’s peach pie. Third from the left. I’m not letting anyone else beat me to that pie.”

      “Who is Bitsy Harmony?”

      “Oh, you remember her. She’s a close friend of my mother’s. Tall with a silver-white bun on the top of her head? Bitsy runs the auxiliary and she’s just the best pie baker in the valley.”

      “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

      “That’s probably a good thing. It’s best to stay under Bitsy’s radar if you can.”

      “Duly noted.”

      Susan shoved a fistful of tickets into her purse.

      “How many tickets did you buy for the peach pie?” Maggie asked.

      “A few.” Susan’s laughter trilled into the air.

      A moment later, the mayor picked up the microphone and, after a few ear-piercing squeals, began the event. It was a simple, organized process. Names were drawn from glass bowls that sat in front of each baked item.

      After seeing all those tickets in her purse, it was no surprise when Susan’s name was drawn for a peach pie. Her cousin claimed her prize with loud gushing noises of total and complete amazement. As she thanked the mayor, Susan made a brazen plug for her boutique.

      One by one, the desserts began to disappear. Maggie was more than thrilled not to win one of the éclairs. There was absolutely no way was she going up on stage in front of the entire town.

      When the stage was cleared, poster boards were set on display stands. Each had the handsome, smiling face of one of Paradise’s single and therefore apparently, very eligible volunteer firefighters. If the excited thrum of female chatter was any indicator, this was going to be the highlight of the raffles.

      Maggie glanced at each poster, noting Jake MacLaughlin’s face on the last board. He took a good picture, she’d give him that. The photographer managed to catch that wounded-hero look in the black-and-white shot of him with his helmet on, the chin strap loose. The piercing cat eyes seemed to follow Maggie. And then there was that barely there smile on his full lips. It was almost as though he held a secret deep inside.

      She pondered the thought for a moment, and then shook her head. What an imagination she had. Jake was hardly wounded. He seemed to be a carefree bachelor. No doubt there was a long trail of broken hearts behind him.

      She turned and scanned the crowd, spotting him at the back, taking what looked to be a good-natured ribbing from his buddies. When his gaze connected with hers he shrugged his shoulders and grinned, unabashed.

      “Unbelievable. Church ladies auctioning off men,” Maggie said to Susan.

      “No, no. Jake shot down the auction idea.”

      “Jake did?”

      “Uh-huh. This is a raffle. No auctioning. If you win, for your ticket you get a date to the Founder’s Day supper next Saturday with the fireman whose helmet your ticket was picked from. We raise money for a great cause, too.”

      “Remind me what cause that is.”

      “The Paradise Volunteer Fire Department and the Ladies Auxiliary. The auxiliary supports all the local churches, missions and other charitable causes. So we’re giving to the Kingdom of God, as well. He would be very pleased.”

      Maggie opened her mouth at the logic and then gave up. Who was she to judge? Besides, she suspected the