Smoke and Ash (The Firemen of Waterford TN #3)

Chapter 1

Carli

I've had many baking disasters but whatever it is,

I'll cover it with icing and sprinkles

and say a child has made it.

~ Rylan Clark-Neal

“I’m here! I’m here!” I skid to a stop inside the kitchen of Baker From Another Mother. The back door clatters shut behind me.

The bakery already smells like cinnamon, sugar and warm dough. Silver worktables fill the center of the room. Ovens and prep stations line the edges.

I’m not usually in a rush, but when Emberleigh called me before the sun was even up, I scurried out of the barn, washed all residue of hog down the drain and drove my pickup into town as quickly as I could.

“Thank you. Thank you,” Emberleigh sighs. “You’re literally the best.”

“I thought I was the best,” Sydney says, a mock pout on her face.

“You’re the best too,” Emberleigh says, grinning softly at both of us.

“That one hundred percent obliterates the meaning of the best,” Sydney says. “It’s like peewee sports nowadays. Everyone gets a trophy or medal. What’s become of the world?”

I chuckle. “Okay …” I grab an apron off the hooks on the wall. “Put me to work.”

It’s Valentine’s weekend and the bakery part-timers called in. Our town loves a holiday, and this one is no exception.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Emberleigh asks, concern etched in her face.

“You know ranchers are like bakers—up at what most people call an ungodly, pre-dawn hour every morning.”

“I know. I just feel bad …”

“Stop it already,” I tell her with a smile. “I’m glad to be the one you count on in a pinch. Okay?”

“Okay.” Emberleigh breathes in a deep breath, blows it out and says, “Syd’s going to be back here manning the ovens. If you can cover the register, I’ll toggle between the two of you.”

Her frantic state of mind seems to be easing up.

“We’ve got this,” I assure her, flipping my braid over my shoulder.

An hour later, the doors to the bakery open—a line already wraps out the door. I greet customers, ringing up orders, sometimes bagging easier items like a single donut or cookie so Emberleigh doesn’t have to do it all.

Between baking, Syd pops out into the main room, her apron dusted in flour and a smile on her face. She boxes donuts or cakes, and answers customer questions.

“One moment,” I tell Mrs. Hellman. “I’ll be right with you.” Then I turn to another customer and answer her question. “Yes. We have gluten-free heart cookies. Can you step over there to the end of that line and Emberleigh will box some up for you.”

I glance over the tops of the customers’ heads when the door pops open again. The attention of every female in the room—and even some of the guys—pivots to the three men in station uniforms striding through the doorway. Patrick, Dustin and Cody.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Dustin shouts. “Especially to my beautiful fiancée.”

Emberleigh blushes, but she continues filling orders. Cody and Patrick wear twin expressions of amusement over Dustin’s antics.

“We heard you were short-handed,” Dustin says, cutting through the crowd and saying, “Good morning,” or “Excuse us,” as he passes people.

Everyone moves aside for the three firefighters. It’s like Moses parting the sea, only if Moses worked out two to three hours a day and didn’t stutter when he spoke.

Cody’s eyes meet mine, and he mouths, “Morning.”

I smile back and silently mouth, “Morning,” back to him—reflexive, easy, the way I always do.

I don’t stare at Cody across the bakery counter. I just … notice him. How can I not? My pulse accelerates into that same traitorous lope it’s done since I was fifteen.

“Carli?” Mrs. Hellman says, drawing me back to the task at hand.

“Yes?”

“I asked if you had the cake I ordered, dear? I’m having a little gathering of single women at my home tonight. You’re welcome to join us.”

Mrs. Hellman is seventy if she’s a day. She means well, bless her. But nothing says I need to rethink my life choices like spending Valentine’s with a group of our town’s single seniors.

“Oh. I wish I could,” I tell Mrs. Hellman. “But I’ve got to get my sleep. I’m picking McKenna up from the airport tomorrow.”

“Maybe next time, then,” Mrs. Hellman says. “And you tell McKenna hello for me. She’s a cutie, that one.”

I nod and duck into the back to look for Mrs. Hellman’s cake since it was a preorder.

The line inches forward, and it’s not long before Cody and the other two firemen are standing in front of me like they're posing for a social media post where firefighters run from flames with their shirts off. Only, our local heroes’ shirts are on—thankfully.

Valentine’s Day at a bakery is chaotic enough without releasing the kraken.

“We’re here to pitch in,” Cody says, his eyes warm and focused on me.

“You’re what?”

Dustin steps in as if I need a translator. Pointing to himself and then Cody and Patrick, he says, “Three firefighters—hot and ready.”

I let out a little snort-laugh. Smooth, Carli.

Patrick steps in. “What they’re trying to say is that Captain heard about the rush and sent us over to pitch in. We’re here until we get a call or until the crowd thins.”

Emberleigh has made her way over to the register. “Is there a problem?” she asks. Then she addresses her fiancé. “You three are holding up the line.”

“You’re cute when you’re busy,” Dustin says, winking at Emberleigh like she’s his world.

They are holding up the line, but the town makes exceptions for our firemen, so no one’s griping—yet.

“Dustin,” Emberleigh huffs out.

“We’re here to help. I just told the guys to come in the main door because I know you get upset when people stomp through your kitchen. It’s sacred space. So …” He splays his arms wide, bumping another customer in the shoulder and apologizing. “... here we are!” He finishes with less flourish.

Emberleigh looks at Patrick, Dustin and Cody as if they’re kindergarten classmates offering to finish the delicate job of icing the pastries.

“Fine.” She points at them. “But no going into the kitchen. And … Thank you.”

They walk to the end of the counter, weaving between customers who are now so crowded into the bakery we might be breaking the fire ordinance. I guess if we are, we’re covered.

Lifting the hinged section of the counter, the three of them shuffle in and take up twice the space of normal humans. It’s suddenly hot and crowded … and Cody is right behind me, speaking in a low voice from over my shoulder.

I turn to face him.

“Can I cover the register for you?” he asks. “I think I’ll mess up less than I would if I were trying to box baked goods.”

“Sure.” He already knows the drill—we’ve manned plenty of farmers’ market booths side by side.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Chuck.” He gives me that familiar smile—the one that sometimes feels like it’s meant just for me. I know better than to read into it.

And, yes. He calls me Chuck—a nickname he made up when I was a gangly preteen and never let go of. I pretend to roll my eyes. But secretly? I don’t hate it.

“Emberleigh called me,” I say by way of explanation.

Cody nods, knowingly.

The firefighters wash their hands. Dustin grabs a half-apron and puts it on, posing with his hands on his hips. Emberleigh rolls her eyes at him and puts the guys to work. The line starts moving more quickly with the three of them helping.

She calls me into the kitchen. “Carli, you’re free to go home. You have a ranch to run. You’re picking McKenna up tomorrow. And you have your interview this week. You’ve done plenty.”

“I’ll stay until the rush settles. Morning chores on the ranch are finished.”

“You always step up,” Emberleigh says. “You don’t have to say yes to everything.”

“I don’t say yes to everything. Just … important things. Where I’m needed.”

She smiles a soft smile and then turns to get back to business.

The rush continues all morning. Emberleigh has me frosting cupcakes.

I’ve done this hundreds of times for parties or girls’ nights.

I’m grateful she’s given me something I can’t mess up.

I hum my favorite songs while I work, just like I do when I’m out in the hog barn—only the bakery smells infinitely better than a pigsty.

I squeeze the bag, ready to make another perfect swirl of buttercream frosting on top of the next red velvet cupcake. Easy, breezy—baking 101.

Nothing comes out, so I squeeze harder.

The bag balloons slightly. “Okay, buddy,” I say to the bag. “I know your type. I’ve sorted swine far more stubborn than you.”

I squeeze the blockage and it budges a little.

Phew. Emberleigh’s waiting for the frosted cupcakes.

“Got it!” I shout. Not that anyone could hear me.

A dollop drops out.

I hold the bag in the air so we can talk eye to eye. “Come on, buddy. Don’t make me resort to violence.”

Lowering the bag and readjusting my grip, I massage the end of the bag with the same patience I use on a sow in labor. “Come on, push!”

I put a little more muscle into it, and the frosting budges.

Okay, now we’re good.

Bracing the bag in both hands, I squeeze with all my might.

The bag makes a high-pitched, ominous squeal—like it’s digging in its heels.

Air. Air’s good. Frosting will come next. Probably.

Only, the frosting doesn’t come out the front through the tip. Buttercream blasts out the back of the bag in a white explosion, coating my hands, apron, and hair.

And then it keeps coming—right onto the hot fireman who just popped through the kitchen door.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

Shirt. Pants. Shoe.

Cheek. Eyebrow.

Cody stares at me.

I stare at him.

A thick drop of frosting slides down his eyebrow.

And then I burst into laughter.

Cody swipes at the frosting and holds his finger out in front of himself. And then his loud, full laughter layers with mine.

“I’m officially a bakery crime scene!” I say, looking down at myself.

Cody’s still laughing. “Should I call Grey to bring around the hazmat truck?” He flicks frosting off his cheek—and misses. It just smears.

“The bag was clogged! I had the situation under control.”