Her Holiday Fireman. Kathleen Y'Barbo

to watch Leah and Brooke for a moment. “My grandbabies are the blessing I never expected I would have.”

      “Oh?”

      The Realtor returned his attention to Ryan. “I married young but my first wife and I were never able to have children. When she passed away I didn’t think I’d marry again, much less inherit grandchildren in the bargain. Then I met Susan at church and got to know her. Before long she and the Lord changed my mind about marriage.” He shook his head. “Her son Eric’s the town veterinarian. He’s married to Amy, who gave birth to my grandson six weeks ago.”

      “That’s great, Riley,” Ryan said.

      Brooke squealed, and Ryan turned to see that the girl had indeed caught something. Leah had kicked off her sandals and now stood with the waves lapping at her ankles as she held the fishing line a few inches away from the hook. At the end of the line was a wriggling fish. From this distance it looked like a small flounder. November in Texas. Ryan smiled. Where else could a trip to the beach less than two months before Christmas include getting wet without shivering?

      “Be right there, honey,” Riley called before he once again regarded Ryan. “All I know is that God sure turned my world upside down, but everything worked out okay.”

      He watched Burkett trot away. God had turned his world upside down, too. Would he ever feel that way? By the time he’d said goodbye to Burkett and his granddaughter and deposited Leah back in front of the beauty salon, he still had no answer to the question.

      “You’ve been awfully quiet,” she said as she reached for the door handle.

      “Just thinking,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

      Her smile was genuine. “No, it’s fine, actually,” she added after a moment’s silence.

      “Leah,” he said slowly as he once again attempted to ask about the fire. “Tell me about what happened to your home. The fire, I mean. If you want to.”

      “Not any more than you want to tell me why you’re in Vine Beach, apparently.”

      She looked away. “I had a nice time.”

      So he’d hit a nerve. Ryan paused only a second before deciding to allow her abrupt change of topic. “Me, too.” He slid her a grin he hoped matched hers. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around Vine Beach.”

      “Count on it,” she said, as she returned her attention to Ryan. “Especially if you like the food at Pop’s.”

      “Which I do.”

      She climbed out to lean against the door. “Banana cream pie’s our specialty, you know, but my favorite’s the buttermilk.”

      “Buttermilk pie? No, thanks.”

      She straightened to close the door then regarded him through the open window. “Have you tried it?” When he shook his head she continued. “Then don’t knock it until you have. Now take care, fireman. I’ve played hooky from the restaurant for too long. Orlando’s going to be wondering where I’ve been.”

      “Yes, ma’am,” he said to her retreating back.

      A thought occurred and he leaned out the window to call her name. When she turned to face him, he said, “You didn’t tell me what days you offer buttermilk pie.”

      Again she smiled. “Every day,” she said. “Lunch and dinner.”

      His laughter echoed in the suddenly empty Jeep as he watched her toss her red hair in the breeze then climb into an SUV parked a few spaces down. He was still watching as the vehicle pulled away and disappeared down Main Street.

      Again the question of what God might be doing tugged at his mind. And again, no answer came. But he did have a new job to prepare for and a dog waiting back in Houston for a ride to his new home. And that was enough to think about for now.

      That and the twinkle in Leah Berry’s eyes when she invited him to Pop’s for buttermilk pie.

      What would happen to that twinkle when Leah found out he was about to start digging for information on the mysterious fire that destroyed her family’s home?

      Chapter Four

      Ryan shifted into Reverse and was about to pull out onto Main Street when he spied Mayor Jack Murdoch standing beside his truck. As their gazes met, the mayor motioned for him to stop.

      “What’s up, Mayor?” Ryan called.

      The old man crossed the road to lean against the fender of the Jeep. “Got a minute? I thought maybe we’d take a ride. Save me the time of showing you around come Monday morning.”

      He thought about it. With nothing back in Houston to hurry home to, there seemed no harm in taking a spin around town with his new boss.

      “Sure. Why not?”

      Nodding, the mayor gestured toward his vehicle. “We’ll take mine.”

      By the time Ryan reached the truck, the mayor had the windows down and the engine humming. They made their way along Main then turned left at Vine Beach Road as silence reigned, which was fine by Ryan. He never did well with small talk anyway.

      “Where’d you end up settling?” the mayor finally asked.

      “Here, actually,” Ryan said as the collection of beach houses came into view around a bend in the road. “The yellow one with the green shutters is mine.” For six months, anyway went unsaid, but barely.

      Murdoch answered him with an agreeable nod then adjusted his hat and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You were something over in Houston. A regular HFD superstar.”

      Ryan stole a sideways glance at the mayor and wondered what else the man knew about his days at HFD. “I just watched and learned, and I guess did all right.”

      “You did more than all right, boy.” He paused and worked his jaw a bit, looking as if he were chewing on the words he would say next. “I’m sorry about the loss of your wife.”

      So he knew. Ryan mustered up a nod of thanks but otherwise kept silent. The polite conversation that went with being a widower had yet to get any easier.

      “Must have been tough,” Murdoch said. “What with you being a first responder and nothing you could do to save your bride.”

      The image that statement brought forth was one Ryan knew would never permanently leave his mind. The image of his wife floating unconscious, his inability to revive her. It was all there just as if it had only occurred.

      “Yeah,” he managed to say, but only because he figured no response would cause Murdoch to keep talking. “So what’s out here that you wanted to show me?” he asked to change the subject.

      Up ahead, Pop’s Seafood Shack loomed, its tin roof and pale weathered boards shining almost golden in the afternoon sun. Mayor Murdoch pulled the vehicle to a stop at the edge of the lot and shut off the engine. Instantly the dull roar of the waves filled the air.

      While Ryan watched, the mayor reached into his pocket and pulled out a tin. Offering a mint to Ryan, who declined, he then popped one into his mouth. Murdoch chewed on the spearmint for a moment. Finally, he shook his head.

      “I’m just going to be plain honest, Ryan. That all right with you?” When Ryan nodded, the mayor continued. “You’re young.”

      “Yes, sir,” he said, though it had been a long time since he’d felt it. With thirty on the horizon, old seemed as if it was heading toward him like a freight train.

      “When your uncle Mike called me, I didn’t see how I could manage a full-time fireman’s position here in Vine Beach, what with the winter here and the tourists pretty much gone. But Mike and me, we go way back, so I decided I’d do what I could. ’Sides, we were gonna have to replace Carl Berry before tourist season anyway. Thing is, he never took a salary for it, though