Her Firefighter Hero. Leigh Bale

gritty eyes, she gave the pancakes another flip. From all outward appearances, she didn’t miss a beat. But inwardly, her arms and legs felt like leaden weights. She hadn’t slept well the night before. In fact, she rarely slept through the night these days. Not since Blaine’s death last summer. And boy! Did she ever miss him today.

      “So, what have we got?” Frank lumbered into the kitchen, a burly man of forty-eight years. Pulling his chef’s hat onto his balding head, he gave a deep, hacking cough. At least he covered his mouth. An invisible fog of cigarette smoke seemed to follow him as he stepped over to the double ovens. Megan hid a grimace.

      “That bad habit of yours is gonna kill you one of these days, Frank. I wish you’d give it up,” she said.

      She meant well but tried not to sound too much like his mother. Lately, she sounded like everyone’s mom. An old harpy, that’s what she’d become. She figured if she held on tight enough, she could control the world around her and keep from being hurt again. Her common sense told her that was an insane notion, yet she couldn’t let go completely and allow herself to be the happy, naive woman she’d once been. Not as a widow with two kids to raise and plenty of bills to pay.

      “I know it’s not good for me, but now that my Martha’s gone, I ain’t got nothing but this job to live for,” Frank said.

      His words sank deep into her heart. Blaine was gone, too, but at least she still had Caleb and June, her five- and eight-year-old children. If not for them, she wouldn’t have much to live for, either. And life shouldn’t be that way. Not ever.

      “You’ve always got a place here with us, Frank. You mean a lot to me, which is why I wish you’d give up those cigarettes.” She reached up and squeezed his arm affectionately, meaning every word.

      “Thanks, ma’am.” He flashed an unassuming grin, his ruddy cheeks wobbling.

      She handed him the pancake turner. “You’ve got biscuits in the oven ready to come out and cakes on the grill ready to come off right now. And we’re out of sourdough.”

      He didn’t bat an eye but went right to work assembling plates of food like a pro. Always calm, always steady. Megan thought she could learn something from his example. Outwardly, she appeared serene and collected. But inside, she was screaming. Too much work. Too little money. Too little sleep. And way too lonely.

      The truth was, she didn’t want to be a single mom. She shouldn’t be a young widow. There was so much life ahead of her. So much love she wanted to share. But one thing was certain. She’d never, ever love another man that worked in a dangerous profession. After losing her husband fighting wildfires last summer, her heart couldn’t take it. No, sirree. Not ever again.

      Stepping out into the restaurant, Megan reached behind the front counter for the coffeepot and made the rounds at each table, refilling cup after cup.

      “Thanks, babe,” Connie trilled as she zipped past carrying four steaming plates of food.

      Besides waitressing, Connie was also her dear friend. And after Blaine’s death, she’d been there for Megan. A sympathetic shoulder to cry on. Comforting and encouraging. Someone Megan could confide in.

      “No problem,” Megan called in a light voice. “Just think. Only nine more hours and we can all go home.”

      “You’ve got nine hours, but I’ve got just five,” Connie shot back with a laugh.

      Yeah, Megan was abundantly aware of that fact. She’d opened the restaurant at six that morning and would be here until it closed at nine that evening.

      She pushed that weary thought aside and reminded herself that she had a lot to be grateful for. It hadn’t been easy, but God had taken care of them.

      The bell over the door tinkled, heralding the arrival of another customer. A tall, well-built man stepped inside. In a room filled with people, Megan felt his presence even before she glanced up. Her mouth dropped open and she stared. Not because he was a stranger, but because of how he looked.

      High cheekbones, a chiseled chin, dark blond hair and devil-may-care eyes. More handsome than a man had a right to be. The kind that could have walked straight off the cover of GQ magazine. His blue jeans, cowboy boots and white T-shirt hugged his muscular body to perfection. Tall, lean and strong, he glanced about the room, taking it all in with a confident lift of his head. He radiated self-assurance. As though he owned the place.

      Megan blinked, wondering who he was and what he was doing in a sleepy town like Minoa, Nevada.

      Lifting a hand, he slung his thumb through a belt loop at his waist and glanced around the room. Two tables sat vacant, but Megan hadn’t cleared them yet. His gaze brushed past, screeched to a halt, then rushed back to settle on her. She felt the weight of his gaze like a ten-ton sledge. A frisson of awareness swept over her. She couldn’t move. Her feet felt as if they were stapled to the floor.

      He walked toward her with a masculine swagger that told her he knew where he was going and exactly what he wanted once he got there.

      Megan ducked her head and pretended to organize a panel of hot water glasses, fresh out of the dishwasher. From her peripheral vision, she watched the man sit on a bar stool directly opposite her and lean his elbows on the clean counter.

      “Good morning.” She placed a menu and a glass of ice water in front of him.

      “Morning, ma’am.” His deep voice sounded like rolling thunder.

      She didn’t meet his eyes but could feel his gaze boring a hole in the side of her head.

      A rattle of dishes caused her to turn just as Caleb and June ran past the bar stools in a game of chase. With fast reflexes, Megan snatched both of her kids by the arms and pulled them back behind the counter.

      “Hey, you two little imps. What did I tell you about running through the restaurant?” she scolded in a low voice.

      “Sorry, Mommy.” June gazed at her with wide, uncertain eyes. A smattering of freckles stood out across the bridge of her button nose, her blond ponytail bouncing.

      “Yeah, we’re sorry, Mom,” Caleb crowed happily. So much like his father. Too agreeable to really understand that he’d done anything wrong. He just went along with his big sister.

      As Megan smoothed Caleb’s rumpled T-shirt and flyaway hair, she gazed at her children’s sweet faces. Thinking how much they each looked like their daddy. Thinking this was no place to raise two active little kids. During the school week, she had them in an after-school program. But nights and weekends, they were here with her. She spent so little time with them as it was that she wanted them near her whenever possible, even if she had to keep working. Besides, she couldn’t afford a lot of child care. Not on her tight budget. Thank goodness most of her customers were friends and neighbors who didn’t mind seeing her kids in the diner now and then.

      Megan hugged her children close, breathing deeply of their warm skin. A wave of unconditional love swept over her. Just what she needed to dissolve her frazzled nerves.

      “How about if I take you to the park for an hour later this afternoon to play?” she said.

      “You’re not too busy?” June asked.

      Megan shook her head. “I’ll make time. We’ll go once the lunch rush settles down a bit. I’m sure Connie can handle things for a while.”

      “You know I can. You guys go and have a little fun,” Connie said as she whisked by, carrying a tray of food for table number five.

      “That would be fun,” June said.

      “Yeah, and we can play kick ball,” Caleb said. He drew back his leg and kicked the air for emphasis.

      “Okay. We’ll do it. But aren’t you tired now?” Megan asked.

      She’d gotten both kids up at five that morning. As always, they hadn’t uttered a single complaint. Just rubbed their sleepy eyes and trundled out to the truck in their jammies. They’d changed into their