Melody rescued him from an awkward, staring silence. “Hey, Ginny. LouAnn. Have you met Fire Chief Bradley?”
The redhead flashed the kind of smile a person couldn’t help but return—the kind with dimples on both sides—and winked at him. “Sure have. LouAnn and I met you at Rawley’s a while back. You remember, don’t you, LouAnn?”
“Mmm-hmm,” LouAnn purred and sent him the kind of smile that made him want to slap a mag-lock on his zipper. Especially since everybody knew LouAnn dated Junior, and Junior had a gun, which, by recent accounts, he wasn’t afraid to use.
“Nice to see you both again. Call me Josh.”
The redhead tipped her head to one side, crossed her toned arms over her reassuringly normal-sized chest, and braced a hip against Melody’s side of the booth. “Nice to see you, too, Josh. I heard you dealt with quite an inferno this afternoon.”
Inquiring blue eyes swung his way. “You did?” Melody said. “How’d I miss this?”
“By inferno, she means a flaming bag of dog shit some delinquent left on Mr. Cranston’s porch. I was on my break, walking back from Jiffy Java, when I heard him hollering ‘fire.’ I ran over, assessed the situation like the trained professional I am, and then, using my lightning-fast reflexes, tossed my iced double-shot on the blaze.”
“I hope Cranky Cranston thanked you,” Ginny said.
“He expressed some disappointment about the world in general, and what it was coming to when a man couldn’t feel safe in his own home.”
Ginny’s sharp green eyes rolled heavenward. “The man ought to take a burning bush—or a burning bag, in his case—as a message. I suggest he start picking up after his Saint Bernard when he walks that monster around town. Somebody’s sick of his shit.”
“I have a fairly good idea who took it upon himself to light a fire under Cranston.” Josh homed in on a corner booth where a group of teenage boys held court. Smack in the center sat Justin Buchanan.
Ginny, LouAnn, and Melody turned their heads to follow his gaze. Justin stared back, all defiance and challenge, then wagged his brows at Ginny and lic
ked his lips.
She sneered and turned her back on him. “Oh, Justin, king of the shit-bagging Buchanans, if only I was ten years younger…and brain-dead.”
Melody covered her mouth with her hand. LouAnn cracked up. Josh didn’t miss the way Justin continued to stare a hole through Ginny, his face turning an angry red as he correctly inferred his charming invitation had been rejected.
A hothead. A well-connected hothead with a sense of entitlement. Awesome. Hell, yes, he would be keeping an eye on him.
“Josh, it was nice to see you again. Mel, save me a seat at church on Sunday, ’kay?”
“Will do,” Melody promised. “Have fun, girls.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” LouAnn called back as they sauntered away.
Ginny raised a brow and grinned at them. “Which leaves your options wide open.”
…
“You do realize our date is going to be the talk of the town tomorrow.” Melody took a bite of her dinner and smiled at Josh. His white shirt set off his bronze skin and the sun-burnished highlights in his hair. Who could blame her for staring?
He smiled back and shrugged. “Not much else to talk about in a town this size, I guess.”
“How are you finding Bluelick?”
“It’s fine. For now.”
“But?” she prompted and sipped her chardonnay.
“But…it’s not for me, long-term. I miss action. I miss challenge.”
“You’re appreciated here, you know. Ms. Van Hendler will be singing your praises for rescuing Rocky, because for her, he really is her baby. A thank-you may never pass Mr. Cranston’s stingy lips, but deep down, he’s glad someone came when he called.”
“They’d be just as happy, maybe more, with Cooper or Rusty or someone else born and raised here.”
She took another bite of chicken and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. “We’re really not as insular as you think. Bluelick’s not a cult. We welcome newcomers.”