Safe in the Fireman's Arms. Tina Radcliffe
be serious,” Maggie said.
“We’re simply checking for sizing. If they fit, put them in one pile. Those that don’t fit you can put in another pile.”
“Fit. I’ll give you fit,” Maggie muttered as she quickly held up each garment, discarding most as too revealing, clingy or outrageous.
“How are you doing in there?”
“All done.” Maggie came out holding two hangers. One with an eyelet-trimmed, peach peasant blouse and the other with a pair of forest-green capris.
Susan looked from the garments to Maggie. “They aren’t neutral, I’ll give you that.”
“Good. Right?”
“It’s a start. Now look what I found in today’s shipment from Denver.” Susan waved a coral dress on a pink satin hanger through the air.
The fabric shimmered and shined in a manner that definitely said “look at me.”
“A dress?” Maggie asked.
“Not just any dress, this is your dress for the supper. No point in trying anything else on. This is you, and there isn’t another one like it in the area. You will be the envy of every woman in a twenty-five-mile radius.” Susan shoved the dress at her. “I’ll wait right out here.”
Maggie slipped the confection over her head. “I can’t breathe,” she muttered, easing the fabric over her waist and setting it on her hips.
“Breathe later. Come on out here.” Susan tugged on Maggie’s arm, pulling her to the center of the shop.
“Oh, yes. Definitely, yes,” Susan murmured.
“Yes what?”
“It’s perfect.”
Maggie smoothed down the bodice, appreciative of the modest neckline. The fabric nipped her waist then flared. A layer of sheer material covered the skirt as well as the cap sleeves, adding to the gossamer illusion.
Could she, Maggie Jones, pull off wearing a dress like this?
“Now wait right here, I’ll pin the hem and—” Susan stopped midsentence. “I nearly forgot. I need to call and make a hair appointment for you at the Emporium before they’re booked solid.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”
Susan simply shook her head and walked away.
“I said, there’s nothing wrong with my hair,” Maggie called after her cousin. She pushed several loose strands back into her ponytail. Wandering around the shop, she stopped to examine a colorful array of silk blouses lined up on hangers like ice-cream parlor flavors in rainbow shades of raspberry, pistachio, lemon and peach.
Turning, Maggie caught her reflection in the mirror. At least she thought it was her. Hmm, it was like her head was on someone else’s body. There was something special about the dress. Susan was right.
“Whoa.”
“Excuse me?” Maggie whirled around, bumping into a display of scarves. Lace and satin slithered to the floor. Her gaze moved from the puddle of color on the floor to Jake MacLaughlin, who stared at her, his mouth agape.
He reached down to scoop up the material at the same moment she did. Their heads knocked.
“Sorry. You okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” She rubbed her forehead. “Are you supposed to be in here?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Isn’t it bad luck or something?”
“I think that’s brides,” Jake said, handing her back the pile of scarves.
“Oh.” Maggie shoved the tangled material onto the glass display counter. “Did you need Susan?”
“Nope.” He eyed her for a moment longer.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” she asked, her voice rising an octave.
His mouth curled into a slow grin. “I’m trying to decide.”
“Stop that,” she demanded, flustered.
“Stop what?”
“That smile.”
“What’s not to smile about? That’s a nice dress.”
“Right.” Maggie inhaled. “Look, you’re a very handsome man, and I am sure you are accustomed to women drooling over you—”
“Drooling?” He choked on a laugh.
“Yes.”
“Wait, back up there a minute. You think I’m handsome?’
“Don’t mess with me, Chief MacLaughlin.” She headed toward the dressing room.
“Jake, it’s Jake,” he called after her. “And trust me, I am not messing with you.”
Maggie stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “I guess you haven’t noticed that half the women in this town are in love with you.”
“Big on sweeping generalities, aren’t you?”
“I’m not blind.” She opened the louver door. “Stay right there.”
Jake cleared his throat. “What is it about you? We always seem to get off on the wrong foot. You notice that?”
Maggie closed and locked the door before she quickly pulled off the dress, and tugged her jeans and shirt back on.
“Hello?” Jake called.
“I heard you.” She marched out of the dressing room, her sneakers dangling from her fingers.
He tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and leaned back on the heels of his boots, watching her. “I’m here because I was across the street when I saw you go into your cousin’s shop. I need your phone number.”
She shoved her feet into her sneakers and glanced across the street to the neatly painted gray building with gleaming windows. The perimeter of the property was surrounded by trimmed bushes and several black benches. A black awning announced it was a hardware store.
Maggie eyed Jake with renewed interest. “Nice store,” she said as she leaned over to tie the laces on her high-tops.
“It is.”
“I don’t remember that building being there when I was a kid.”
“Brand-new. Opened up about five years ago.”
Silence stretched as Maggie again stared across the street.
“Your number?”
“Hmm?” She turned back to Jake. “I gave you my number the other day.”
“That was for the report. I didn’t actually save it. That would be a tad bit unethical.” He handed her his cell.
“You need my number, why?”
“In case, oh, say I’m running late on Saturday due to a fire. Or I get lost.”
Maggie narrowed her eyes and took the phone. She punched in her digits, casually, as though she gave men her number all the time.
“Well, well. Look who’s here,” Susan purred. “Can I interest you in anything, Chief MacLaughlin?”
“I’m good for now.” He winked at Maggie as she handed him back his cell, then he did a neat about-face and headed out of the shop.
“What was that all about?” Susan asked.
“He needed my number for the...the Founder’s Day thing.”
Susan looked at his retreating form and then back to Maggie. “You have an appointment