Flirting with Fireworks

Oh, please. Cherry barely kept from saying the words out loud. Jason Strong might look like a prince, but charming he was not.

“Believe me, we are not talking Prince Charming. Take care of yourself, Nona. I’ll call after I’ve been to the Realtor.”

Nona hung up the phone, her thoughts still with her granddaughter until a voice broke into her musings.

“You were talking about men, right? With your granddaughter?” Tom Baxter asked. An ex-cop with broad shoulders and lots of pewter-colored hair, he was here recuperating from a blown-out knee. “I understand the reference to the Big Bad Wolf, but what does Prince Charming mean in this day and age?”

The big Texan’s attention flustered Nona. Lord, she hadn’t felt so nervous around a man since her Grant first courted her a million years ago. Sweet Grant, he’d been her Prince Charming. She’d known the first time he touched her he was her soul mate. They’d had twenty wonderful years together before she lost him to a heart attack. Now she was seventy-one and could barely walk across the room. She certainly had nothing to offer this Big Bad Wolf.

Still, she answered his question about Prince Charming. “It means her one true love.”

Chapter Two

Leaving the BeeHive, Blossom pushed open the door and came face-to-face with Jason Strong.

“Lady Pandora.” He held the door for her. “Still in town?”

“Mr. Mayor.” She pasted a smile on her face; not all that hard to do when he was such an almighty joy to look at. She stepped past him onto the sidewalk. “Of course. I don’t plan on going anywhere. I have a date with the fair in a few days.”

His light blue eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up. I won’t change my mind. Too many people stand to get hurt if I do.”

Cherry just smiled more brightly; because he honestly didn’t know the insult he’d dealt her. “I’m very careful not to hurt people. When you have a talent such as I have, you learn early that it comes with a responsibility to shield people from the answers they’re so eager to hear.”

“Very honorable of you. Except you’re wasting your time. I don’t believe in your special talents.” He broke off to greet two ladies exiting the diner. “Mrs. White, Mrs. Davis, good afternoon.”

The women were complete opposites one, tall, thin, and dark; the other, short, sturdy, and silver. They greeted their mayor, then turned twin looks of interest in Cherry’s direction.

Unaffected, she met their stares. “Afternoon. Wasn’t the apple cobbler exceptional?”

Brilliant smiles broke over their faces. The taller of the women rolled her eyes and patted her chest. “My, yes. The cobbler was delicious today.”

“Excellent, just excellent,” her companion voiced her opinion. “Just a tad too much cinnamon.”

“Oh Mary Ellen, everything always has too much cinnamon for you.”

“Well, I don’t care for a lot of cinnamon.” The two women moved on down the street, discussing the merits of spice versus flavoring.

Enjoying their good-natured squabbling, Cherry didn’t notice the mayor’s eyes had narrowed again until he stepped in front of her.

Her humor disappeared. “Oh, please. You think that was a demonstration? That was nothing, I saw them eating the cobbler. It looked good, so I ordered some. You want a demonstration, talk to your secretary. Did she find the document she was looking for? It had something to do with a city building.” She cocked her head, seeing by the look on his face that his secretary had indeed found the missing papers. “The library, I think.”

Oh yeah, that nailed it. That had him thinking. Emboldened, she invaded his space and lowered her voice to a husky drawl.

“I can do even better than that.”

Careful not to touch him—that would be too daring—she reached for his tie. Savoring the feel of silk warm from the heat of his body, she slid the soft fabric through her fingers. A low-volume buzz tingled through her.

Hmm. That had never happened before.

Her eyes on his, she opened her senses the tiniest bit. It didn’t take much to connect with his energy; to align with his nagging need to find a specific item.

One of the fastest ways to convert nonbelievers was to help them find something. It was personal and almost everyone had something they were looking for at any given time. The nagging factor also helped. Easier to pick up something that was close to the surface of someone’s mind.

In Jason Strong’s mind, she saw a ring. A wedding ring.

The mayor was married. Something inside her flinched at the revelation. But no. He had been married. A widower, then. Because the sorrow she saw in his eyes spoke of death.

Emotions bombarded her: loss, grief, sadness, anger, loneliness. Desire. Guilt. And an absolute resolve to keep her from the fair.

She dropped his tie and stepped back. Too much, too fast, too personal. And way too close for comfort. She’d seen way more than she usually allowed herself. Out of respect for him and self-defense for herself, she put even more distance between them.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said softly.

His head went back in surprise and a frown slammed his eyebrows together. “What?”

She’d blocked his emotions, but hers were all over the place as well. Focusing on compassion, she shook her head and simply repeated, “I’m sorry.” Then, because it would give him peace, she added. “You’ll find what you’re looking for under the nightstand beside your bed. The one on the right, by the back left leg.”

Knowing she’d said more than enough, she turned and walked away.

“I want that woman gone.” Jason slid into the gold-and-brown booth across from Sheriff Trace McCabe inside the BeeHive. Brown-haired, hazel-eyed, Trace had the look of the boy next door with a military edge. He had two traits Jason wanted in his sheriff—calm in a crisis and the perseverance of a bulldog. “What did you find?”

The younger man reached for his coffee, then nodded toward the door Jason had just come through. “That her?”

“Yeah.” Feeling exposed after his run-in with the troublesome gypsy, Jason averted his gaze to the window overlooking City Hall Park. His gaze fell on the gazebo and he made a mental note to check with Parks and Recreations on the search for the fair banner. With the fair due to start in about a week, the banner should have been up a month ago.

“She seemed awfully friendly.”

Focusing on his friend, Jason nodded at the file on the table. “What did you find out about Lady Pandora?”

Trace cocked his head but allowed the evasion. “Well, for starters, her real name is Blossom Ann Cooper. Goes by Cherry. Bet she took some ribbing for that. Here’s the interesting part. She was born twenty-six years ago right here in Blossom City. Her mother died from complications of childbirth. Other than that only a few nuisance offenses in her youth, they didn’t even bother to seal the record. Nothing beyond a speeding ticket in the last ten years.”

Stunned by the revelation she’d been born in Blossom, Jason said, “I saw her arrive on a Harley this morning.”

Trace shrugged. “Nothing against the law in that.”

“I know. I just…She was born in Blossom? That’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?” Jason didn’t like the sound of this, not one bit.

“Too much of one for my comfort, but I couldn’t find anything to indicate she’s up to anything. Her address is a P.O. box in Florida. Besides the Harley, she has a fifth-wheel trailer and a Ford truck in her name and that of Rose Cooper, her grandmother. Cherry was given into Rose’s custody after her mother died. They work the fair routes together.”

“Where’s her grandmother now?”

Trace set down his coffee. “No file on her yet. Nothing of interest, anyway. They usually travel together, so she’s probably at the last fair they worked. I’m pulling the security checks we did. This troupe has the best reputation in the country, but we’ll go back, ask specifically about the fortune-tellers.”

Jason nodded. “In the meantime, keep an eye on her, will you? Let me know if she leaves town.”

“You’ll be the first to know.” Trace cocked his index finger at Jason, a sign they’d developed ages ago indicating Jason owed Trace a beer for his efforts.

“Sheriff, Mayor, just the gentlemen I’ve been looking for.” Bitsy Dupres stopped next to their table. The pale, blond woman wore a dark gray pantsuit, appearing colorless in the cheerful honeybee-themed diner.

Bitsy still mourned her late husband. To fill her days, she’d taken on the self-appointed task of keeping Blossom’s children safe. With a few other overzealous citizens, she’d formed the Committee for Moral Behavior. A worthy cause for certain, except if left up to them, the children of Blossom would be wrapped up in cotton wool and tucked away in their rooms for safe keeping.

“Good afternoon, Bitsy,” Trace returned her greeting. “What can we do for you?”

“I wondered if you had any news for me regarding the CMB’s request to have the carnival banned from the fair this year.”

“Bitsy.” Jason reached down deep for patience. “We’ve explained that it’s too late to ban the carnival.”

“Yes. But I believe the morals of our children are more important than the few dollars involved in breaking a contract.”

“More than a few dollars. The economy can’t absorb another hit.”

“So it’s of no matter that the children will be exposed to a bad element? Everyone knows these carnival people are little better than transients and thieves. Look at what happened with poor Melissa Tolliver.”

Trace fielded that one. “It’s not like you, Bitsy, to be so judgmental. Let me reassure you this troupe is the best in the country. They may travel from town to town, but they are professionals at what they do.”

“I’m afraid that’s not good enough.” Bitsy’s shoulders went back and pink tinged her cheeks from the sheriff’s gentle rebuke. “Trouble is what they are. I can assure you, you’ll be hearing more about this from the committee.”

Tucking her gray purse into the crook of her elbow, she inclined her head. “Good day, gentleman.”

Full dark had fallen by the time Jason carried his daughter, Rikki, into the house that night. He dropped his briefcase inside the door, adjusted her slight weight against his shoulder, and carried her upstairs.

She didn’t stir once, not even when he laid her on the bed. She lay with arms sprawled, half turned on her side. If he left her like this, she’d still be in the same position when he came in to wake her tomorrow morning.

The girl had two speeds, full tilt and full stop.

He envied the first and lived for the second. Just looking at her made his heart melt, but sometimes he loved her best just like this, blessedly still and blessedly quiet.

Hard to believe she’d be three in a week.

He pulled off her shoes and socks, amazed at the dirt accumulated in both. He replaced her shirt and shorts with bunny pajamas, giving her a quick swipe with a disposable wet cloth in between—what his mother didn’t know couldn’t hurt him—then he tucked her between the sheets.

He bent to kiss her soft curls. When he rose and turned, he caught sight of the picture on the dresser.

His wife, Diane. Taken when they were on a ski trip in Colorado.

He lifted the frame, angled it so the light from the hall caught it. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright with laughter, her blond hair tucked under a red-and-white knit cap. They’d still lived in Lubbock when the picture was taken, before she’d gotten pregnant.

They’d lived for the moment then, lived for each other. Those had been the best of times.

She’d been so happy to learn she was expecting Rikki. It’s what they both wanted. A family. A lifetime together. They’d moved back to Blossom City as their life plan dictated. They opened an office, he practiced law and Diane and his sister Hannah sold real estate.

Then Rikki was born. Their beautiful baby girl. A miracle. Life was good, the best ever.

Then it was over. Gone. The heart of his life destroyed by an accident. Rikki’s mother stolen from them because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A car crossed the median when the driver suffered a heart attack.

And suddenly Jason was alone with a one-month-old baby girl. He hadn’t had time to grieve, to mourn the loss of his wife. His life.

He’d missed Diane so much.

Still did. Or the long, lean lady in leather wouldn’t get to him so easily.

He’d handled Diane’s loss just like he’d handled every crisis in his life—by taking one day at a time, following a routine, keeping everyone close and accounted for.

So why did he have the feeling life was slipping out of his control? Maybe because his mother had run off to Europe with Aunt Stella. Or because his sister had become secretive lately. Or just because his baby was growing up.

It couldn’t be because he’d begun to chafe under his own need for control. Keeping life on track meant keeping his loved ones safe.

He set the picture down, pulled the door half-closed and made his way down the hall to his room.

He dated, more out of expedience than for romance. But the women knew the score, and he had no desire for entanglements. Especially not a sultry brunette with a talent for riling his temper. And for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

Just to prove her wrong, he went to the nightstand to the right of his bed, and lifted it away from the wall. Fully prepared to find nothing.

Almost hoping to find nothing.

No such luck. Gold sparkled against the dark blue carpeting.

Bending, he scooped up his wedding ring, flung in guilty rage the first night he went out with another woman and had more than dinner with her. He’d gotten over the guilt of living when Diane died. Yet losing the symbol of their love had stuck with him.

Finding the ring helped.

Being attracted to the sexy gypsy that helped him find it was another thing altogether.

Two days later, after making arrangements for Carlo Fuentes to drive her rig into Blossom when the troupe came to town in a few days, Cherry walked into the Cut N Curl.

No better place to jump into the thick of things in a small town than the local beauty parlor.

The bell over the door jingled. Orange, yellow and pink bright enough to require sunglasses greeted her along with a cheerful hello from a tiny woman with a big voice and big hair the same color as the orange seats.

“Welcome to the Cut N Curl. I’m Wanda Mae.” A blast of hairspray accompanied her words.

“Do you take walk-ins?” Cherry asked. As she’d hoped, the place was packed with women in the process of beautifying themselves.

“Well, of course we do. Hang on just a sec.”

Cherry took a seat and absorbed the scene. Besides Wanda Mae, two other women worked on hair while another three did nails. A posted sign advertised everything from waxing to tattooing.

Tattooing? My, my, weren’t they progressive in Blossom?

Wanda Mae whipped the protective cover from the lap of her customer, an older woman with decidedly pink hair piled into a helmet of curls. “All done, Miss Ellie. You’re all set to turn Big Al’s eye at bingo tonight.”

The woman had to be close to eighty, yet she twittered like a teenager. “Do you have any of that peppermint pink lipstick? Peppermint pink drives Big Al wild.”

“’Course we do.” Wanda Mae rang up the order, then sent Miss Ellie on her way with a few wise words. “You practice safe sex, you hear?”

Progressive indeed.

Cherry bit back a grin and put in her request for a pedicure. Wanda Mae warned Cherry there was a wait, then directed her to a massage chair with a basin at the foot.

She didn’t mind waiting. It gave her a chance to observe and get acquainted. Smiling easily, she introduced herself as Lady Pandora to the woman next to her. Minnie Dressler, plump and past sixty, wore her gray hair held back by barrettes. They chatted, Cherry making sure to mention how sad she was not to be performing at the fair.

Then she sat back and opened a magazine. Sneaking a glance over the top every once in a while.

She saw suspicion, she’d expected that, but she also saw curiosity and interest in the glances sent her way.

Twenty minutes later, the whispers about her had faded away. The door opened, the bell jingled and a very pregnant blonde with a cranky toddler in tow entered the shop.

The women went into full cluck mode.

The expectant mama, Tammy, received a rush of attention. The crying baby plucked from her arms, she was helped into a seat, her feet lifted.

The toddler calmed down under the immediate barrage of attentiveness, but after being passed from woman to woman his mood began to suffer.

Cherry’s heart went out to little Jimmy. Within the troupe, she was known to have a talent for healing, for having a special touch with babies.

Some day she hoped to have a career as a midwife. She hadn’t spoken of that particular dream in a while. It upset Nona to think Cherry hesitated because of her. In truth Nona was only part of the problem. Cowardice accounted for the other part.

Cherry preferred not to dwell on either.

She longed to cuddle Jimmy, to ease his distress, but felt that would be pressing her luck.

He had other ideas. He looked at Cherry from the lap of her neighbor, his brown eyes dewy with tears. She smiled at him, and he slid down to stand in front of Cherry.

“Hello, Jimmy.” He had fine blond hair and couldn’t be more than eighteen months old. She leaned forward. “My name is Cherry.”

He tugged a lock of her hair. “Pretty.”

“Thank you.” She carefully removed her hair from his chubby little fist.

“Up.” Jimmy held his arms up.

Cherry’s heart melted. She met his mother’s gaze. “May I?” she asked. “I’m good with kids, and I’d like to help.”

Tammy studied her for a moment, then nodded.

Smiling gently, Cherry lifted the boy into her lap. He immediately went exploring. He pulled her earrings, fiddled with her watch and the crystals in her bracelet. She did enjoy her baubles.

Eventually, he laid his head on her shoulder and fell asleep.

“Poor little tyke, he’s tuckered out.” Wanda Mae started the water in the whirlpool. “Do you want the massage? I recommend level three.” She winked. “We call it the Erogenous Zone.”

Mmm. Sounded tempting. Her erogenous zones could certainly use some attention. Now why did that bring to mind the dark hair and blue-gray eyes of Jason Strong?

“I’d better not. It might disturb Jimmy.”

“Oh, Miss Pandora.” Tammy pushed to her feet. “You need to do the massage. I’ll take Jimmy.” She arched her back.

She stood close and Cherry felt her tension, her exhaustion, her pain. More, Cherry felt the baby’s readiness to be born. Tomorrow morning, Tammy would be holding her little girl in her arms.

Tammy reached for Jimmy. “I’m just glad he got a bit of a nap.”

Cherry waved her away. “He’s fine. Let him sleep. Have a manicure. It’ll be a while before you get another chance.”

Both Tammy and Wanda Mae gave Cherry odd looks.

She simply smiled serenely. “Trust me, when it comes to predicting births, I’m never wrong.”

Not at this anyway. She always knew when an expectant mother would deliver. Even as she appreciated the gift, she recognized the cosmic joke. She’d lost her mother because she’d gone into labor in the middle of nowhere. Cherry had not come easily into the world. By the time they got her mother to Blossom, it was too late to save her.

Yet her daughter had the talent to make sure the same thing never happened to anyone she knew.

To Tammy, Cherry said, “You’d better pack your suitcase when you get home because you’re going into the hospital tonight.”

The announcement shook the rafters. Everyone started talking at once. “Cherry, you need to ante up for the baby pool,” someone suggested.

“What’s the pool up to?” Cherry didn’t believe in using her talents to gamble, but if she won, the word of mouth would really help her cause.

“Two hundred twenty-two dollars. It’s two dollars a guess. Tammy knows it’s another boy, so you just need to guess the date, time, weight and height.”

Another boy? Cherry ruminated on that for a moment, but no, it didn’t feel right.

Thirty minutes later, Cherry logged in her official guess: tomorrow at 6:58 in the morning, Tammy would give birth to a seven-pound, two-ounce, nineteen-inch baby girl.

Word spread all over town. The fortune-teller instigated an uprising over at the Cut N Curl. Seems she’d thumbed her nose at modern medicine by predicting Tammy Wright would have a girl when the doctor said she’d be having a boy.

Cherry had said she’d take her case to the people; now Jason knew what she meant. She sure had a talent for making a big splash. And for making his life miserable.

He needed to put a stop to this now.

He found her at the Dairy Dream, an ice cream and burger joint with a blue-and-silver, moon-and-stars theme. Rikki particularly liked the glow in the dark stars on the navy ceiling.

Cherry sat tucked up in a booth in the corner. She read a book, a romance by the look of the cover. She wore blue jeans and a white, off-the-shoulder peasant shirt. Her waves of dark curls were subdued into a loose braid.

Little fool, didn’t she understand she risked the people turning on her? Courtesy of the Swindle, he’d dealt with angry crowds more than once. The thought of Cherry facing down a mob turned his blood cold. She might act tough, but he could span her waist with his hands and her long, slim neck, enticingly revealed by the wide-necked shirt, had a decidedly delicate look to it.

He slid in across from her, stretching his long legs in front of him. She glanced from the page to him. Immediately, pleasure lit up her eyes and she flashed him a smile.

Whoa Nellie. He took the impact right in the gut. God she was beautiful.

In the next instant, she returned her attention to her book, carefully marking her place and setting it on the banquette next to her. She shifted in her seat, pulling her legs up to sit Indian fashion. When she looked up again, the intensity of her welcome had dimmed. Those lovely dark chocolate eyes were once more guarded and her smile held a rueful edge.

“Good evening, Mayor.” She pushed her fries toward him. “You look like you need something to gnaw on. Have a fry.”

“I’m not here to chew you out.” He reached for a golden fry dusted with crystals of salt. He grunted. Nobody did burgers and fries better than the Dairy Dream. “Hey, Stan,” he hollered over the noise of the patrons, “bring me a burger to go with these fries.”

Stan, the owner, waved an acknowledgement. Jason pulled his wallet out and set a five on the table. He helped himself to another fry.

“Well, you’ve been busy.”

She shrugged and the sleeve slipped lower on her shoulder exposing creamy skin. He tried not to look, not to be tempted. Not to want her.

He had his daughter, his mom and his sister to care for and keep him company, and the town to keep him busy. That’s all he needed, all he could handle.

His boring life suited him fine. In fact, he’d worked hard to achieve boring. Losing his wife had been brutal, facing each new morning alone was difficult, raising his daughter alone was hard. So yeah, he savored his peace.

Giving in to his attraction for this woman threatened the balance he’d fought so hard to achieve.

He dragged his gaze back to Cherry’s face and his mind back to the matter at hand.

“You’re causing an uproar in my town, Ms. Cooper.”

“Since we’re getting to be so cozy—” she reached for a fry, dipped it in ketchup, then bit it in half “—call me Cherry.”

“Cherry. That’s an unusual name. Especially since I know your real name is Blossom.”

She cleared her throat. “My mom named me after the city I was born in so I could always find my way back to her. She died giving birth to me here in Blossom City. I had red hair when I was born. My grandmother called me Cherry Blossom. The Cherry stuck.”