Mick rolled his eyes but followed his friend down the hall and around the corner. They stopped in front of a second half-glass door, this one frosted at the top.
“How long have they been in there?” He pointed to the window.
“A while. She wanted to wait. And, like I said before, we expected you a lot earlier.”
“Great,” Mick ground out.
“Go easy on her, okay, Chief? She’s had to deal with a lot in the past year.”
That made two of them. But if he hoped to earn the respect of his crew, he couldn’t have disgruntled family members of former employees camping out in his office. He gestured for the younger man to step aside.
“I’ll meet you in the day room. Ten minutes tops.”
Peter rolled his lips inward and stared at his shoes. “See you in there.”
His friend wasn’t the only one who doubted he would escape this moment easily. Wasn’t it challenging enough that he’d assumed a position he might not be ready for, surrounded by a crew who had to be equally skeptical? Now, before he could pick up his keys and wolf down a pizza in his empty apartment, he would have to face a woman with more reason than most to want him out of Mount Isabel.
Chapter 2
Mick’s low-lit office appeared to be the antithesis to the rest of the fancy building he’d toured so far. Just the glow from a fire-hydrant-shaped lamp on the filing cabinet, a steel desk, an office chair that had probably been breaking backs since the ’90s, an old sofa against the wall and two straight-back visitors’ seats.
He slid out of his coat, releasing a slow breath as he recognized that the room was also unoccupied. Maybe he’d dodged a bullet, and his unwelcome visitor had given up and gone home. Though he couldn’t avoid the former chief’s sister altogether if she was determined to speak with him, he hoped she would at least wait until he’d officially punched the clock. But since he’d already located his new office, he decided to look around before navigating the back halls to the day room, which would include the station’s kitchen, dining room and living area.
A yelp came from what had been a dark corner the moment he flipped the wall switch. He blinked the now-bright room into focus. On the far end of the sofa sat a pretty brunette with a pair of dark-haired little girls draped over her like a blanket, both sound asleep.
The woman, who had to be Rachel Hoffman, struggled to sit up under the children’s dead weight. Wispy tresses that poked out every which way from her loose bun, along with a coat she’d balled up as a pillow, offered hints that the kids weren’t the only ones who’d been napping in his office.
“Uh, hello.” He fought a grin but lost the battle.
His guest squinted at the rude invasion of light as she scooted the girls off her lap, earning a chorus of groans. Once they were on the cracked leather cushions, their matching dark pink jackets draped over them, they spooned together and settled back into their dreams.
If only all that cuteness had been enough to keep him from noticing the girls’ mother as she struggled to a seated position. She yanked down her short red V-neck that had ridden high enough to reveal a slice of pale midriff. That image, combined with those still sleepy eyes, the soft-looking mouth and the mussed hair that might as well have been fanned on a real pillow, hit him squarely below the belt.
But the ice storm in her sable-colored eyes when she caught him watching warned him to never stare at her again. At least not without wearing a cup. Why the devil had he looked in the first place when Peter had given him a heads-up over who to expect in his office? He wouldn’t recommend checking out any woman he met at the firehouse, but gawking at a relative of the ejected official whose fingerprints still lingered there topped the list of lousy ideas.
He focused on the gaudy lamp over his shoulder, giving the woman time to situate herself. When he turned back, she’d righted her clothes and patted down her hair. Still not looking his way, she rubbed a finger along her lash line, removing makeup smudges that formed shadows on her light olive skin.
“I should say ‘Wake up, Goldilocks,’ but it looks like you’re already awake.”
Again, she glared at him, grading his attempt at humor—his go-to in uncomfortable situations—a fail.
“If you say, ‘Who’s been sleeping on my couch?’ don’t be surprised if you get punched in the face.”
At least it was justthe face. “I’ll keep that in mind. Besides, we wouldn’t want to cause a ruckus by calling in the Mount Isabel PD and awakening the two little bears.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” she deadpanned.
When his guest sat forward and crossed her arms, causing the upper curves of delicate skin to peek from her sweater’s vee, he averted his gaze. Even if only a monk—oneactivelypraying—could have avoided noticing Rachel Hoffman, he didn’t have a death wish.
“Why don’t we start over? I’m Mick Prentiss…the new fire chief.”
The tight shift of her shoulders told him he should have stopped with the name. He lowered his outstretched hand and stepped behind the desk, figuring that a barrier between them would be wise. After draping his coat over the back of the office chair and settling in it, he gestured for her to take one of the visitors’ seats. Her gaze narrowed, but she surprised him by following his instruction.
“You must be Mrs. Hoffman.” He cleared his throat, recognizing that she shared her brother’s surname. “I mean, Ms.”
“It’s Rachel. And, actually, it’sMiss.”
His gaze shifted to her hands that she’d stacked on her lap. The third finger on her left one was bare, like his was these days, but she wore an emerald ring with a cluster of tiny diamonds on her right. Catching him watching, she crossed her arms, covering both.
