Love, Special Delivery. Melinda Curtis

pasty white of a ball of bread dough.

      Keith swiped an old canvas mailbag from the stack in the corner and used it to smother the flames. By the time Ben returned with the fire extinguisher, the fire was out, leaving only a black shroud on the wall as evidence it’d occurred.

      “Sometimes the simplest of techniques are the most effective.” The fire chief coughed, turning away from the smoke.

      Mandy took a slow step back, and then another. Her hands were shaking.

      It was going to be okay. No one was injured. The post office was still standing.

      “Good job, Dad.” There was compassion in Ben’s voice, proving he was capable of caring.

      She needed to tone it down a notch for the tall, starchy fireman, be more civil, be more cooperative. She was at risk of breaking eggs because he’d caught her on a bad day. She was as touchy as a sleep-deprived college student during finals week.

      And then Ben turned on Mandy with anything but compassion in his eyes. “There’s no pressure in this unit.” He held up the fire extinguisher. “It’s useless. And it shouldn’t be stored over the toilet. What would happen if there was a fire and someone was using the bathroom?”

      In the face of his blue-eyed intensity, Mandy couldn’t find the words to defend herself. She stood the same way she had when the doctor delivered the news that Grandpa was dying—arms wrapped around her waist, a small, polite smile on her lips. The same position she’d taken when the doctor told her Olivia had cancer. “Um...”

      Her reticence seemed to upset Ben all the more. He curled that odd-shaped lip of his. A fat lip, she realized.

      Was this the man who’d rescued kittens and caught a falling child? The man the elderly visitors to the post office called charming and heroic?

      He wasn’t likely to catch Mandy if she fell. He was more likely to sit on his hands and watch.

      “Get out your citation book, Dad. We’re going over this place inch by inch.” Ben peered at the burnt, melted wires. “That wire was cut.”

      Mandy gasped, rushing forward for a better look. “How could that be?”

      “Now, Ben,” Keith said with the gravitas of an elder statesman. “A raccoon’s been living here. Rodents and pests like snacking on wires.”

      “If we’re not issuing citations, Dad, tell me what we are doing.” Ben’s voice was as hard as the look in his eyes. “Do you want to make a list and document the danger now? Or battle more flames with me when this place goes up in smoke because we went easy on her?”

      Mandy’s stomach turned. She raised her hand. “I vote for documentation. It’s been more than a decade since this station was in service. If I promise to take care of things by, say, next week? Can we avoid citations?” It didn’t matter that none of this was Mandy’s fault; excessive paper trails would get her fired.

      Why couldn’t Grandpa have wanted her to be the postmaster in Cloverdale?

      Mr. Intensity stared at Mandy with angry eyes. When she’d first seen him, that anger had been like banked coals. That anger had been accented by the rigid set to his shoulders, the stiffness of his back, the determined set to his strong chin. Here was a man who was serious about his job and protecting others. He’d always fight for what he believed in. Passionately. In a loud voice. And with a fierce scowl.

      She approached conflict the opposite way—calmly, softly, with a smile—because she’d learned nothing was solved with loud voices and lines of tears.

      “Ben,” his father said in a voice that soothed.

      Ben’s intensity faded. His fire banked. To a degree.

      His jaw worked as he turned back to Mandy. “What’s that noise?”

      She glanced around, looking for a scuttling rat or raccoon. “I don’t hear anything.”

      “Exactly. No fire alarm.” Ben pointed to the ceiling and a round, age-yellowed fire alarm. “It should have gone off.” He dragged a stool to the sorting counter. “Dad, sit down over here and get out your pen. We’re making a list.”

      Mandy couldn’t thank him quickly enough.

      “What’s this?” Ben tilted the coffee tin on the counter, the one filled with matches.

      “The guys who used to work here were heavy smokers.” Utley and her grandfather. “I’ve been collecting their matchbooks for days so I can throw them out all at once.” Filling the tin gave her a sense of accomplishment.

      “I’d feel better if we trashed them now.” He waited for her response, not that he wanted her to argue.

      “Fine.” She’d never complain about Olivia’s teenage drama episodes again.

      Or at least, she’d think twice before complaining.

      “Don’t let Ben rattle you.” Keith settled on the stool. “My son is all about the unvarnished truth when it comes to the job. It’s why he’s still single. But he’s raising his godchild, which proves he has parenting potential.”

      “Thank you, oh wise one.” And then Ben’s intensity dialed back even further. His lips curled up in a lopsided, rueful smile that implied he’d be irresistible if he had a sense of humor and a heart.

      Focus, girlfriend. Focus. Her career. Those bills. Olivia.

      She didn’t have time to create a picture that smoothed over the faults of a man.

      For the next fifteen minutes, Ben pointed out what needed fixing to bring the station up to code and why. New lighted Exit signs. New fire alarms. New extinguishers. New, new, new. As if the cost wasn’t a consideration.

      Mandy’s head hurt.

      Ben was so sure of himself. If Mandy was to succeed here, she’d need some of his confidence.

      “The fire control panel should be outside.” Ben led her down the outdoor concrete steps of the loading bay and across the graded space where mail trucks backed in so their beds were even with the loading dock. He walked the building’s perimeter with long strides. Being a good six inches taller than she was, his legs ate up more distance than hers.

      Mandy’s mother would have said Ben had excellent posture. She would’ve said his attention to detail meant he was a good man. She would’ve said his thick dark hair was dreamy. Mandy’s mother would’ve asked Ben out, offered to have his babies and then left those kids in the care of her oldest child.

      Mandy was getting as overly dramatic as Olivia.

      She smiled harder, closing the distance between them. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

      “I can’t find it.” Ben halted his search, arms akimbo, scowling down at Mandy, but not nearly as sharply as before. “And yet, you’re smiling.”

      “I...uh...” Mandy had to stand up for herself if she was to succeed as postmaster. “I find a smile helps me through tough times. It keeps all the bad stuff at bay, you know?”

      “Not really.” His stare tried to pierce her words, but they were the truth and held up to his inspection. After a moment, Ben smiled enigmatically and turned his attention back to the gray, warped and peeling siding. “It should be right here.” And then he stepped closer to the overgrown hedges bordering the wall, moving branches aside.

      Mandy braced herself for Riley’s now-familiar growl. The raccoon had been hunkering down in the bushes since she’d nailed a board over the hole he’d made in the siding.

      But not even Riley was courageous enough to stand up to the ferocious Ben Libby.

      “There it is.” Ben angled so she could see the panel. He tapped the gauge. “See this? There’s no water pressure. And when I open up the valve...” He turned the spigot.

      Nothing happened.