All Summer Long

“No good deed goes unpunished,” one of the older ladies announced. “You should know that, Marsha. We put in trees to make it pretty and now they’re being used against us.”

The mayor sighed. “While I don’t agree with your theory about good deeds, Gladys, we seem to have inadvertently created something of a problem. The trees have given the parking lot a somewhat secluded feel. Local teenagers have decided to use the lower parking lot as a—” she paused and coughed delicately “—make-out spot.”

An old lady in a bright yellow tracksuit leaned toward Gladys. “Think we could go there and get lucky?”

Mayor Marsha looked at the two women. “Eddie, if you interrupt, I won’t let you sit next to Gladys anymore. I don’t want to have to separate the two of you, but I will.”

Eddie straightened and muttered something Clay couldn’t hear.

“I’ve spoken with Chief Barns,” Mayor Marsha continued. “She’s going to make sure the evening patrols get down there more regularly. That should help.”

“They have to do the wild thing somewhere,” Gladys announced. “Give ’em a break.”

Clay felt his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile. He’d always assumed watching government at work would be boring, but he was wrong. This was fun.

“Call me old-fashioned,” Marsha told her, “but I would prefer to make things a little more difficult for them.”

“Winter will help,” another council member said. “As soon as it gets cold, they won’t be able to stay in their cars for too long.”

“Lucky us,” the mayor murmured.

“Play music.” Eddie shrugged. “I read online somewhere that teenagers can be driven off by playing certain kinds of music. The library has an outside sound system. We could turn on the speakers at the back of the building and use them to play music kids can’t stand.”

“Disco, perhaps?” Mayor Marsha said with a slight smile.

There was more discussion about the kind of music that turned off teenagers. Eddie volunteered to find the article and report back directly to the mayor.

Mayor Marsha glanced back at her sheet. “Under old business, we still have the issue of Ford Hendrix.” She stared at them over her glasses. “I don’t have to remind you that this is a sensitive topic, not to be discussed outside of this room.”

Gladys shook her finger at Clay. “That goes double for you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The name was familiar. There had been several Hendrix brothers back when he’d been a kid, he thought. Sisters, too, but when he’d been five or six, girls had been less interesting to him.

“Ford has been gone nearly a decade,” the mayor continued. “From what I’ve learned, his latest tour of duty ends next year. It’s time for him to come home.”

“I’m not sure we should get involved in this,” one of the younger women said. “Isn’t Ford’s decision to reenlist or not up to him and maybe his family?”

Eddie sniffed. “You young people spend a lot of time with your heads up your asses, if you ask me.”

Mayor Marsha’s expression turned pained. “I don’t believe anyone did ask you.” She turned to the younger woman. “Charity, you’re right. It’s not our place to meddle. Normally I wouldn’t, but Ford needs to come back to where people love him. Being in Special Forces takes a toll on a man. He needs to heal. And Fool’s Gold is the best place for that.”

There was a brief discussion on how to get the mysterious Ford back in the fold, so to speak. At the end of that conversation, the mayor invited Clay to make his presentation.

“Good morning,” he said as he walked to the front of the room. “Thanks for inviting me to speak.”

“We enjoy looking at an attractive man,” Eddie told him with a grin. “We’re shallow that way.”

The mayor sighed, but Gladys gave her a high five. Those two must have been hell on wheels when they were younger, he thought.

He passed out the printed version of his business plan and then connected his laptop to the cord for the screen.

He clicked on the first slide and began to talk about Haycations. He showed pictures of the land he’d bought, a diagram of what would be planted where and a few stock photos of people driving tractors for general interest. He outlined the number of families he hoped to attract, extrapolating about how much they would bring to the local economy. He had a rough idea of what kind of advertising he would do, along with about how many local people he would be employing.

Twenty minutes later, he finished with a request for the three small zoning permits.

“Impressive,” Mayor Marsha told him. She smiled warmly. “We all appreciate how you’ve taken the town’s needs into account as you’ve written your business plan. I believe there are several local business owners who would like to hear about this. They might have some helpful ideas for you.”

“That would be great.”

“You’ll be settling here permanently?” she asked, her blue gaze steady.

“That’s the plan.”

“We’re not exactly New York.”

Something Charlie had mentioned. “I’m ready for a change.”

“You know,” Gladys said, her wrinkled face bright with amusement, “if you really want to help the town, I know a way.”

“Don’t,” Mayor Marsha said, her tone warning.

Gladys ignored her. “You could loan your butt to a campaign we’re planning.”

“Stop it right now,” the mayor said forcefully. “That’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

“He’s got a famous butt. I’ve seen it in the movies. We all have. Work with your strengths, I say.”

Clay was used to faking any expression a client wanted. It was why he’d become so successful. Now he made sure he looked amused rather than angry and uncomfortable.

Gladys slapped a tabloid magazine on the table. The headline was clearly visible. Famous Model Insures Butt for Five Million Dollars.

“Why waste money on something like a Haycation when you only have to flash the real deal to make a mint?” she asked.

The mayor winced. “Clay, I’m so sorry. There was some discussion about asking you to be in our campaign.” She glared at Gladys. “We were going to use your face, however.”

“A waste of resources if you ask me,” Gladys mumbled. “Everybody would rather see his ass.”

CHAPTER THREE

CLAY TOSSED HIS computer case into the passenger seat of the truck, then started the engine. But instead of driving away, he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and told himself not to take it personally. He’d been a model for a lot of years. He understood being talked about like an object rather than a person. He’d had his appearance dissected a thousand times before. He’d been told he was too tall, too short, too big, too small, too young, too old, too handsome, not handsome enough. When a client wanted a “look,” he either had it or he didn’t.

He’d made millions, he’d gotten an education, he’d invested well and he’d moved on. Now he was ready for act two. The problem seemed to be escaping what he’d been in act one. He hadn’t expected to be blindsided by a bunch of old ladies.

“Hell,” he grumbled under his breath, not sure what to do with the frustration boiling inside of him. He didn’t want to go back to the ranch. Putting his fist through a wall would create other problems. Finally he put the truck in gear and drove out of the parking lot.

Five minutes later he pulled into Fool’s Gold Fire Station number one. He could see into the engine bay. The aid car and engine were gone, out on a call. As he watched the Quint—an all-purpose vehicle with a pump, a water tank and various ladders—started up. Seconds later, it pulled out, sirens blaring.

Clay followed, staying back far enough not to get in the way. He stopped at a light and watched the Quint turn into what he remembered as one of the older residential areas. When the signal turned green, he went north, and then east. Two blocks later, he could see smoke rising. As he approached the scene, he pulled over and parked.

A crowd had already collected. Clay joined them, watching several firefighters finishing up what looked like a garage fire. Hoses lay across the driveway. White smoke and steam escaped through the open garage door.

He studied the various firefighters. They wore turnout pants and jackets, and helmets. He was able to pick out Charlie right away. She was one of the tallest firefighters, but he also recognized her confident stride and the way she took charge.

On the other side of the driveway, a mother stood with two boys. They were watching anxiously and Clay figured they owned the house. He wondered if one of the kids had started the fire. If so, someone was going to be in big trouble.

Charlie and her captain approached the family. The woman listened intently. Suddenly her body relaxed and she smiled, nodding. Good news, he thought. A sedan pulled up at the curb and a man jumped out. He rushed to the woman and kids and drew them against him.

The cleanup went faster than he would have expected. Hoses were rolled and stowed, equipment picked up. Charlie continued to talk to the family. Finally she shook hands with everyone, had a word with one of the kids and started toward the engine.

Clay stayed back with the dwindling crowd as he considered what he’d seen. The idea of doing this—helping where it was really needed—appealed to him. He wanted to come in, make a difference, then disappear. Let the folks get on with their lives and forget he was ever there. He wasn’t interested in being a hero. He wanted to get the job done.

Charlie and her captain walked toward the engine. The captain spotted him, said something to Charlie, then approached.

“You must be Clay Stryker,” she said, holding out her right hand. She held her red helmet in her left. “I’m Olivia Fargo. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They shook hands.

Olivia was probably pushing forty, with short red hair and blue eyes. She was tall, nearly as tall as Charlie, and had a no-nonsense air about her.

“I hear you’re thinking about becoming a volunteer firefighter,” Olivia said.

“I’m going to be putting in my application later today.”

“There’s a class starting soon.”

“I heard.”

She looked him over. “It’s a lot of work. You might find the training too time consuming.”

“I’m committed to doing what it takes.”

“You really want to help out?” she asked.

He had a feeling he didn’t like where the conversation was going to go, but nodded anyway.

“We’re always short on money,” she said. “We do a big fund-raiser for new equipment. The extras the town can’t afford to provide.” Olivia smiled. “We were thinking of a calendar this year. You could be in it. That would help a whole lot more. A lot of people can volunteer. Not that many have your...” She paused. “Natural talents.”

* * *

CHARLIE STOOD BY the engine, waiting on Olivia. She could hear everything being said. Nothing about Clay’s expression changed, but she would swear he wasn’t happy. Not about Olivia’s comments or the request he do the calendar. From their brief conversation the other day, she knew he was ready to put his old life behind him...so to speak. But there was a long road from being a model to wanting to put his life, and perfect ass, on the line fighting fires. Why would a guy like him want to take the risk?

There was only one way to find out, she reminded herself. That was to ask the question.

She walked over to the two of them. Olivia glanced at her. “I was telling Clay about the calendar. I don’t think he’s convinced.”

Clay’s dark eyes gave nothing away, but she felt the tension in his body.

Olivia pointed at the Quint. “You left a nozzle,” she said. She turned back to Charlie. “Give me five?”

“Sure.” Charlie waited until she was out of earshot. “I take it the calendar isn’t your dream job.”

“Not exactly.”

“I’m covering a partial shift for a friend until noon.” She glanced at her watch. It was twelve-thirty. “Once we get back to the station, I need to take a quick shower. I’ll meet you at the Fox and Hound in an hour and you can tell me all about it.”

* * *

CHARLIE LIKED TO go to Jo’s Bar for lunch. They cooked her burgers the way she liked and the place catered to women without being too girlie. But she knew that showing up with Clay would lead to more questions than she wanted to answer. Which made the Fox and Hound more neutral ground and therefore safer for her.

She arrived right on time and stepped into the cool interior. It was late enough that there was only one person waiting.

Clay stood when he saw her, uncoiling his long, honed body. He wore gray trousers and a button-down shirt. Sex god does business, she thought, aware that after her shower, her total nod to fussing with her appearance had been to make sure her T-shirt was clean. At least she had on jeans instead of her usual baggy cargo pants. In honor of Heidi’s recent wedding, she’d gotten a pedicure. She couldn’t remember ever wearing polish before, but kind of liked the way the deep pink color looked. Yesterday she’d scrounged up a pair of sandals to show off her toes. She’d worn them to the station at the start of her shift, which meant she was wearing them now.

As testament to how screwed up she was when it came to men, she was actually torn between being pleased she at least had a decent pedicure to show off and being afraid Clay would think she was trying. Most likely the best solution would be years and years of therapy. However, she had neither the patience nor the bank account for that path. She would have to find another way to flirt with normal. A quest for after lunch, she told herself. She always problem solved better on a full stomach.