The Firefighter's Refrain. Loree Lough

still have time for the Marks Brothers?”

      “Absolutely.”

      Well, that certainly sweetened the pot. The rumor he’d heard upon arriving in Nashville had proved true: agents, producers and other career makers often paid surprise visits to The Meetinghouse. Maybe if he was in the club more often, one of them would make his career dreams come true.

      “If help is all you need,” Sam pointed out, “I can do that without the whole partnership thing.”

      “You know the old saying, in for a penny, in for a pound?”

      Sam got it: Mark believed he’d work harder if he had more to lose.

      “But why me? Torry already knows the business.”

      “True, but with the movie roles he’s been getting, he wants the freedom to come and go as he pleases.”

      “He said no?”

      “He said no.”

      Sam chuckled. “Not sure I like being second choice.”

      “Does that mean you’re in?”

      Finn stepped up to the table. “Do yourself a favor,” she said, refilling their glasses, “and say no.”

      “Why?”

      One perfectly arched eyebrow rose. “Because it sounds like a pipe dream, and nothing good ever comes of Nashville dreams.”

      Finn turned to leave, pausing just long enough to add, “The sandwiches are on the house.”

      Sam watched until she disappeared into the kitchen, then looked at Mark.

      “What was that was all about?”

      Mark picked up a sweet potato fry. “Y’got me by the feet, but don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. You probably broke ten bucks worth of dishes.” He took a bite. “So? What do you say? Can I count on you?”

      Sam glanced toward the serving counter, where Finn was engaged in an animated conversation with the cook. She shot a glance over one shoulder and locked gazes with him. He’d read somewhere that according to Indian legend, when a man and wolf locked eyes, their spirits merged. In that mind-numbing, heart-pounding instant, he understood how that might be possible.

      Somehow, he found the strength to look away.

      “I thought you were picking up the tab...partner.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      FINN REFILLED MARK’S coffee mug. “How long have you known that guy you brought in here the other night?”

      “Which guy?”

      She could tell by the teasing look on his face that he knew exactly which guy.

      “The firefighter you were in here with the other day.”

      “You mean Sam?” He grinned. “Guess you haven’t heard that curiosity kills that cat, huh?”

      “Then, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a cat.” She winked. “So what’s his story?”

      “Story?”

      Finn held the coffeepot over his lap, and Mark laughed.

      “Okay, all right, I’ll talk...if you sit down.”

      Sliding into the booth across from him, Finn placed the coffeepot on a napkin.

      “Sam came to Nashville for the same reason as most of us did,” Mark explained. “And when he couldn’t find a label to sign him or a band to hire him, he parlayed his volunteer firefighter skills into a full-time job.”

      Part-time musicians, in her opinion, were more determined—maybe even desperate—to become full-time entertainers.

      “Don’t include me in your motley ‘most of us’ group. I was brought here—against my will, I might add—by parents who didn’t give a fig about anyone or anything but a recording contract.” Finn glanced across the way, where her younger sister was laughing and chatting with Rowdy. “Not even Ciara.”

      “But you made the best of a bad situation...”

      True enough. Especially considering the aftereffects of Ciara’s head injury—the one she’d sustained in the accident that had nearly killed the entire Leary family. If not for the firefighters, on their way back to the station after a call...

      Finn pictured Mark’s friend in head-to-toe gear and wanted to know how he’d hurt his leg. Instead, she asked, “Is he any good?”

      He smirked. “You’re talking musically, right?”

      “Of course, musically.” What had she said or done to leave him with the impression that she was interested in anything else?

      “Just making sure we’re on the same page.”

      “What’s his last name again? Maybe I’ve heard of him.”

      “Marshall. But it isn’t likely you’ve heard of him. Sam’s talented, but remember...he keeps a low profile. Besides, he spends too much time in front of a classroom to make a name for himself onstage.”

      A wannabe musician who didn’t flaunt his talent at every turn? Finn didn’t believe it for a minute.

      “Where’s he from?”

      “Big ranch just outside of Denver.”

      “So no family here in Tennessee?”

      “Not that I know of. I think he was the first Marshall who didn’t devote himself to The Double M.” He grinned. “You want his cell number, so you can interview him yourself?”

      She came this close to saying yes, then heard Ciara giggle.

      “Thanks, but no thanks.” My life is already complicated enough without adding another self-centered musician to the mix.

      Mark shrugged, as if to say it wasn’t any of his business anyway.

      “Did he say yes?”

      “Did who say yes to—” Mark nodded. Shook his head. Sighed. “Oh. You mean Sam. And the partnership deal. Like I said, he’s a very private guy, so that’s something you’ll have to ask him directly.”

      In other words, Sam had said yes. Her fleeting interest in him died. Entertainers were trouble enough, leaving shattered hearts and disappointment in their wake. It was one of the only life lessons her parents had taught her, and she’d learned it well. But a musician with access to all the power brokers who frequented The Meetinghouse?

      Finn got to her feet, grabbing the coffeepot. “Coffee’s on me this morning. Have a good one, Mark.”

      Head down and determined to blot the memory of Sam’s arresting smile from her mind, Finn made a beeline to help the middle-aged couple at the cash register...

      ...and plowed right into Sam Marshall.

      Big hands took hold of her shoulders and held on until she was steady on her feet.

      “Good thing that’s half empty,” he said with a nod at the coffeepot, “or you’d have a burn to compound what happened the other night.”

      He was right, but Finn had no intention of admitting it.

      Bean passed by with an empty tray. “Want me to take that off your hands, Finn?”

      She put the pot on to the tray and winked at the girl. “Thanks, sweetie. Add five minutes to your a.m. break.”

      Bean had to stoop to dole out a thank-you hug. “You’re the best, boss. The best!” she said, and hurried away.

      Finn exchanged a few pleasantries with the couple at the cash