One Plus One Makes Marriage. Marie Ferrarella

shook his head. “There is no ‘but,’ Ms. McCloud. Something is either a fire hazard or it isn’t. And that,” he tapped the pile of crates nearest him for emphasis, “is a fire hazard. If you had a fire,” he repeated pointedly, “and the people in your store tried to get out this way, they could be burned to death.” Glancing around, he judged that the whole place could go up like a tinderbox.

      There was no reason to feel a fire would start here, Melanie thought. No one was allowed to smoke in the shop, and she’d just had the wiring checked, although, she noticed, according to the stone-faced inspector’s findings, the light switch in the storeroom was suspect.

      “They could use the front door,” she suggested, trying her best to remain cheerful.

      He knew better. Firsthand. “What if that way was inaccessible?”

      He made Melanie think of someone who’d had what he believed to be an epiphany and now knew the “right” way when everyone else around him was still groping around in the dark. Rather than become irritated, she felt rather sorry for him. Inflexibility was a cross.

      “Then I’d push the crates aside,” she responded easily to his question, still hoping to coax him into a smile.

      Lance’s eyes narrowed until they were two gleaming points of a very sharp sword. “Fire isn’t a joke, Ms. McCloud.”

      “I never said it was.” Melanie glanced at his name written in small, precise letters on his badge and cocked her head. “Do you have a hearing problem, Lance?”

      Annoyance deepened the tiny furrow between his brows. He didn’t care for the way she made the leap from being a stranger to someone who was on a firstname basis with him. “No, why?”

      “Well, you didn’t hear me when I asked you to call me Melanie, and you obviously thought you heard me say that fire was a joke when I didn’t.” She raised and lowered one slim shoulder. “I just thought that perhaps you had trouble hearing things.”

      Melanie glanced over her shoulder. The woman she’d left standing before the wall of photographs was still there. Reading her body language, Melanie knew she was ready to make her purchase. Momentarily ignoring Lance, Melanie placed her hand on Joy’s arm.

      “I think that lady’s about to buy something, Joy.” She nodded toward the customer. “Why don’t you go over there and wait on her?”

      There was nothing Joyce wanted to do more than to get as far away from the man with the dark, accusing eyes as possible. He made her feel guilty even when she hadn’t done anything. But she didn’t want to leave Melanie to cope with him by herself, either. Though she was younger than Melanie by several months, Joy felt very protective of her. Walking away right now would be tantamount to tossing a babe to the wolves.

      Chewing her lower lip, Joy weighed obligation against self-preservation. “I don’t know, Mel—”

      Melanie placed both hands on Joyce’s shoulders and turned her around toward the woman. “Never keep a customer waiting, remember?” She gave Joyce a little push in the right direction. “It’s okay,” Melanie assured her with confidence. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

      Melanie turned toward Lance as Joyce made her escape. “Isn’t it?”

      He shrugged noncommittally. “After you pay your fine, that’s up to you.”

      Stubborn, that was the word for him, she thought. Still, she was nothing if not optimistic. Melanie approached the offending stack. “Why don’t you just let me move these crates, and then you can erase the check marks on that line? I was planning to put them in the storeroom, anyway, after I close up tonight.”

      Yeah, right, Lance thought. He’d heard that excuse before.

      There was a dolly standing against the wall. Melanie began to scoot it under the bottom of the stack, but Lance laid a hand on her arm to stop her.

      Fool woman was going to get a hernia, or have her head cracked open with a flying crate Lance thought in disgust. Not his problem, he reminded himself, releasing her. His job was to cite fire code violations, not poor judgment.

      When she raised eyes the color of crystal spring water in January and looked up at him, it took Lance a moment to remember what he was saying.

      He cleared his throat. “That’s not how I operate, Ms. McCloud.”

      Melanie moved the dolly back into place and sighed. He was going to be a tough nut to crack, to use one of Aunt Elaine’s favorite sayings. He seemed determined to keep this on a cold, impersonal level. Okay. For now.

      Melanie tried her best to be cooperative. “Just how do you operate, Lance?”

      When she called him by his first name, she mysteriously seemed to take away some of his leverage. He meant to get it back.

      “That’s Inspector Reed.” An efficient movement of his hand drew her eyes to his badge.

      He could almost feel her eyes scanning his name and absorbing only the part she wanted to. The woman clearly had selective vision. You’d think that with eyes like that, he mused, she could see everything. Not only were they the lightest shade of blue he’d ever seen, they were also the most intense.

      So intense that they looked capable of seeing straight into a man’s mind.

      Now there was a stupid thought, Lance upbraided himself. Where the hell had that come from? He wasn’t here to scrutinize eyes; he was here to judge whether or not her premises were safe for the public that entered them. If they weren’t, he had the power to shut her down. If they were, he was to move on. Simple.

      “And the way I operate,” he continued, rousing himself, “is by the book.”

      A “by-the-book” man. She’d already guessed that part herself. Melanie wondered just how long he’d been on the job and what it would take to make him smile. She bet he had a really nice smile if he made the effort.

      Her mouth curved, as if to coax a mimicking response from him. Maybe he just needed some encouragement and an example to follow. “And the book says you can’t erase a check mark after you made it?”

      His eyes narrowed again. “Only if I made it in error.”

      She placed her hands on the dolly’s red handles, her indication clear. All it would take was a few minutes, the time to juggle a little space. “Well?”

      Lance knew if he bent the rules for her, he’d have to bend them for everyone. He wasn’t about to do that. Besides, in the long run, he was doing her a favor. She couldn’t afford to be haphazard when it came to the possibilities of a fire. No one could.

      He shook his head. “No error. The check stays. As do these.” Moving closer to her, he pointed out several other lines he’d marked off. The scent of something light and airy wafted around him. Was that her, or something in the store, he wondered. There was something very old-fashioned about the scent. It nudged at a memory that was too far removed to catch.

      “Where’s John Kelly?” Melanie asked suddenly.

      “Not here,” was the only answer Lance felt she needed to know. “But I am, and you’re going to have to deal with the consequences of your flagrant disregard for your customers’ safety—and make amends.”

      He made it sound like an ultimatum. She almost expected him to add, “Or get out of Dodge.”

      Something egged her on to ask, “Or else what?”

      She was challenging him, he thought. Not a smart move. “People who don’t follow fire ordinances find themselves shut down.”

      Melanie stared at him in disbelief. Was he actually saying what she thought he was saying? “You’d shut me down?”

      “Not personally, but that would be the upshot.”

      It wouldn’t go that far. Confident that she could handle this to everyone’s