37. Chapter 37
thirty-seven
Motherfucker. My jaw goes slack as I stare at the shop camera monitors. One second I’m half smiling like an idiot—watching her shopping in my store, picking out a tricycle for Bowie—and the next everything in me goes cold.
She didn’t ask for me.
She didn’t come looking for me.
She just came to shop.
And Darla fucking ambushes her.
I didn’t even realize Darla saw Laurel come in. She was tied up with customers. I was watching them both on the monitor—Laurel minding her business shopping, Darla ringing people up, bagging screws and bolts, smiling like nothing was wrong.
The second the counter cleared, she didn’t even take a breath. Didn’t straighten a shelf, grab a drink of water, or check inventory. She beelined straight for the toy aisle.
My stomach turned. My hands went cold. I knew that walk. I knew that look.
I couldn’t tear my eyes off the screen. Darla came up behind Laurel—close enough to touch her—and I saw Laurel jolt, spin, pull back like she’d been hit with something sharp. Whatever Darla whispered, it landed hard.
I didn’t need sound to know it was meant to wound.
A hot, ugly pressure climbed up my spine.
Laurel leaned into her and said something.
Darla crowded her—I thought I was about to have a fight on my hands.
Then Laurel’s shoulders went tight—hurt, defensive, trying to hold her ground. I couldn’t hear a damn thing, and somehow that made it worse. My mind filled in every cruel thing Darla could’ve said, and each one was worse than the last.
Pride knocked the breath out of me when Laurel leaned back, crossed her arms over her chest, and tilted her head. Whatever she said made Darla take a step back.
That was my girl. That was the Laurel I knew.
Then behind it came something sharper—guilt.
Shame. She shouldn’t have had to defend herself in my damn store. Not from someone who works for me. Not from someone I should’ve reined in a long damn time ago.
That was it. That was the line.
I dialed Tanner. “Can you get over here?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“We need to decide how to handle Darla.”
“I can tell you right now how to—”
“No. We’ve got to be smart. I don’t want to fight a wrongful termination claim.”
“On my way.”
I’m not going to yell. I’m not going to make a scene. But Darla’s ass is out of here.
After watching the video, Tanner’s clenching his fists. “She can’t do any customer that way.”
“Exactly. We don’t make this about Laurel. If we do, she can claim retaliation. We make this about how she treated a customer. Any customer.”
“Okay… but we’re supposed to give her a written warning, right. You can’t just fire someone for their first offense.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. “This video is the documentation. I’m the witness. We call her in here, show her the video, tell her that’s a violation of customer conduct policy. Otherwise, she’ll scream wrongful termination.”
“You ready?”
“More than ready.” I punch the intercom. “Darla Peterson, come to the office.”
My heart’s pounding like a bull trying to break out of a chute.
“You need me?” She sticks her head in the door—dripping sugar. Then her face shifts when she sees Tanner. Seeing this isn’t a social visit and she knows it.
“I need you to look at something, Darla. Have a seat.”
Her eyes wide, she takes the chair beside Tanner, whose mouth is drawn in a tight line, his upper lip curled like he smelled something dead.
I hit play.
Her face goes still. Caught. Trying to weasel a way out.
“You want to explain that?” Tanner asks.
Nothing. Darla sits quiet.
“Darla. I watched that play out.” I lean my forearms on my desk. “You need to explain that.”
“I—I was asking her if she needed help.”
Tanner guffaws loud. “You want to clean that up? This is your chance.”
Her gaze drops to her lap. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry won’t cut it. That’s a customer,” I bite. “We don’t treat customers that way. Forget who she is. She came in here to buy something and after your interaction, she walked out empty-handed. We sell products in here. We don’t insult customers.”
Darla nods.
“We’re giving you a written warning this time. You’ll need to sign it. If it happens again, you’ll be replaced with someone who can treat customers with respect.”
Tanner leans forward just enough to make her look at him. “And Darla? This is your One—And—Only warning.”
I slip the paper in front of her, handing her the pen.
Darla stares at it long and hard before taking the pen and scribbling her name. Her eyes meet mine. “You know—”
I shake my head, cutting her off. “This is about your conduct with a customer. Nothing else.”
Might be the hardest fucking thing I’ve ever done, not to tell her it’s everything to do with how she treated Laurel and Bowie.
With her out of the office, Tanner says what I’m thinking. “We need to find her replacement. And Laurel needs to make sure her tires don’t get sliced.”
“I had no idea,” I whisper, even though it’s just the two of us.
“That’s because you’re fucking clueless when it comes to women. Everyone in town’s known she carried a torch for you.”
Well fuck me.
How clueless can one man be?
Our phones go off together with the alarm screeching. “Fire.”
Leaving—for the first time ever—I lock my office behind me.
It’s a damn mobile home fire—I can tell by the thick, dark cloud roiling for the sun. The crap they make mobile homes out of burns like… nothing else. Plastic melting. Rubber. Thin metal. All of it melting into poison.
“I hope nobody’s trapped inside.”
“Me, too.” Tanner mutters a curse under his breath as we hit the gravel shoulder.
We crest the hill and there it is—flames ripping through the roof, the whole structure roaring like a jet engine.
Heat hits us even through the windshield—the pasture behind the house a fast-moving inferno.
The mobile home is too far gone to save anything. I can only pray the people standing outside are the residents—everyone out safe.
Chief heads their way while the rest of us go into team mode.
Tanner grabs the pump panel while I yank the attack line off the bed. “Water!” I shout, and the hose jumps in my hands.
I sweep the stream along the front of the trailer—it’s front porch disintegrated—knocking back the flames licking toward the propane tank.
Jesus Christ. The paint is blistering. If that thing goes, we’re done.
“Brush crew! Get around back!” Chief yells and points while I focus on killing the flames around the propane tank and cooling it down.
“Get everyone back!” I holler over my shoulder. “Back!”
The grassfire’s racing, pushed by a merciless wind. We can’t let it reach another house.
Little-known fact—fire actually creates its own wind, feeding off itself. It’s a monster like no other. Sweat pours down my back inside my gear. My gloves steam. My mask fogs. I keep moving.
“Tank’s cooling!” Tanner calls from behind me.
Good. One less thing to blow us to hell.
A gust hits us—fire-fed—lifting embers straight into the air like sparks off a grinder. Flames race up the fence line, faster than a man can run.
“Shit—Tanner!” I bark.
“I see it!” He’s already spinning the pump panel, giving me more pressure.
I swing the line, hit the base of the flames, but the wind’s a bastard—scorching our faces.
“Chief!” someone yells. “It’s jumping!”
And it is.
A tongue of fire leaps the dirt break and catches dry grass on the other side. For a second—just a second—the whole world is heat and noise and smoke and the sound of water hammering flame.
Then the fire hesitates. Stutters. Loses its teeth.
By the time the last hotspot’s drowned, my arms are shaking and sweat’s running into my eyes. Tanner drops onto the bumper of the engine, coughing. “Damn near got away from us.”
“You alright?” I ask.
“Lungful of smoke,” he wheezes. “I’ll be okay.”
Chief steps up and clamps a hand on both our shoulders. “Good work. Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.”
“Fuckin’ right,” Tanner mumbles. “We need that other truck back.”
I look out over the blackened pasture, the twisted skeleton of what was once someone’s home, watching the people who lived here. Homeless—just like that.
Where will they go?
Then it rolls over me the same way the fire wind did.
Home. Last night. How perfect it was having them there.
How do I protect them?