What a Girl Wants

“Luke’s bachelor party is tonight … if you’re not doing anything, stop by.”

“Stop by?” Bailey asked, staring incredulously at Ethan. “To Luke’s boys’ night?” She hung out with the guys all the time, but a bachelor party?

“Yeah, why not?”

“Well, for one, I have Victoria’s bachelorette tonight. A wine and cheese at the Brookhollow Inn.” The poker and beer was so much more appealing.

“That sounds awful. Why would you go to that?”

Bailey shook her head. “Because I’m a woman, and women go to boring bachelorette parties and talk about you guys, while you guys have all the fun and forget we exist.”

“Huh.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed as he studied her.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I guess I just never really see you that way. As a woman, I mean.”

Dear Reader,

Real-life love stories happen in many different ways, but one of my all-time favorite stories is when a friendship develops into a different kind of love. In What A Girl Wants, it was so much fun exploring what could happen when the hero begins to see his best friend, the heroine, in a new light. Two people who know each other’s secrets, who share a common history and who respect and appreciate each other can create the biggest spark when one or both are awakened to the awareness that maybe there’s something more… .

Of course the real pleasure of these stories lies in the mystery of the pathway from awareness to happily ever after. I hope you enjoy reading Bailey and Ethan’s journey to love as much as I’ve enjoyed helping them overcome the odds to get there.

Hugs,

Jennifer

What a Girl Wants

Jennifer Snow

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNIFER SNOW has been writing fairy tales with happy endings from a very young age, and she is excited to be sharing her new small-town contemporary series with her fans. Living in Edmonton, Alberta, with her husband and three-year-old son, she is dedicated to creating lasting, heartfelt romances that readers can share with those they love. Visit www.JenniferSnowBooks.com.

Acknowledgments

Thank you as always to my family, my agent, Stephany Evans, and my editor, Victoria Curran—whose encouragement and support make it possible for me to realize this dream.

Also, a special thank-you to Richard Hynes of the St. John’s Regional Fire Department and Trevor Zawaski of Edmonton Fire Rescue for their much-appreciated assistance in my research for this book.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

FEW SIGHTS IN Brookhollow, New Jersey, were as jaw-dropping as the scene taking place in front of fire station number five: fire truck washing day. Watching five of the twelve firefighters, shirtless and a little sweaty, soaping up and hosing off the big red engines was by far the highlight of any summer’s day in the small town.

Cutting the engine of her cherry-red Kawasaki Ninja, Bailey Sheppard removed her helmet, letting her dark hair cascade over her shoulders. She swung her leg over the bike and, tucking the helmet under her arm, unlatched her tool kit from the back of the motorcycle. Squinting in the bright, early-morning sunlight, she weighed her options. Should she attempt to enter through the open bay doors or go around to the side entrance?

Knowing she’d never make it through the front bay doors where the men were working without getting drenched with the freezing water, she jogged unnoticed around the big brick building. The dousing would be refreshing, but her dark blue coveralls with her name embroidered on the left front pocket would take forever to dry, even in the blazing August heat.

A long line of women waited at the door and Bailey hid a smile as she approached. It was almost nine o’clock on the first Friday of the month, the day the fire hall provided free blood pressure and cholesterol screening. The Bishop brothers, Jim and Ethan, had set up the free program after their grandfather had experienced a series of strokes the year before. Like many seniors in the community, he’d neglected to visit the local medical clinic regularly, and his high blood pressure had gone undetected.

The fire hall’s staff was continually looking for ways to give back to the community. While there were always a few women, young and old, waiting to be checked at the free screening, today there was quite a lineup. Bailey suspected some of the blood pressure results were going to be a little higher than usual. Brookhollow’s local heroes were as handsome as they were brave. Having grown up with them in the small New Jersey town of less than ten thousand residents, she’d dated most of them at one time or another throughout their junior high and high school years, all except Ethan Bishop—the one she wanted.

Pushing through the west door to the fire hall, she entered the main office where the fire chief, Ken Clarke, sat behind his desk. An open box of doughnuts was within arm’s reach and white confectioners’ sugar covered his top lip. Quite a contrast to the image of his twentysomething self still hanging on the wall with the rest of the staff photos. New shots of the twelve-member crew were taken yearly. Well, everyone except Ken, who preferred the image of his younger self.

He stood as she approached. “Hey, Bailey, you here to get your heart racing—” he pointed to the shirtless men washing trucks outside “—or checked?” With a grin, he nodded toward the fully uniformed men running the free clinic. With two of the fire trucks outside, they’d transformed the big open bays into a makeshift medical facility.

Derek Johnson, the newest recruit, handed out the prescreening questionnaire and waiver to a group of sitting women who were waiting the required five minutes to allow their heart rate to settle before testing. Mark Adams took blood pressure readings in the fire hall’s dining area several feet away. He waved at her.

“Neither,” Bailey said, smiling as she leaned her hip against the desk. “Why aren’t you outside helping?”

Ken shook his head. “My days of six-pack abs and bulging biceps are over, I’m afraid. No one wants to see this out there.” Rubbing his large stomach, he shuddered.

“That’s the truth,” Mark called from his post, where he secured the blood pressure cuff around Mrs. Norris’s arm.

The older woman, the owner of Ginger Snaps, the bakery on Main Street, shot Chief Clarke a look that suggested he was past his prime, though Bailey suspected Ginger Norris was at least ten years his senior.

“You looking to get assigned nightshift duty, Adams?” Ken warned.

“You can’t. I’ve had nights for three weeks now. Tonight is my first one off and the beginning of a rotation of days.” Mark removed the cuff and recorded the reading on a wallet card for Ginger. He handed it to her and accepted her hug, before gathering her purse and jacket for her.

“Are you sure about that?” Ken asked, checking the rotation schedule on the pegboard behind him, which was covered with pictures of his grandchildren. To say he was a proud grandfather would be an understatement.

“Positive.”

“Darn,” Ken muttered. “Well, that doesn’t prevent me from putting you on bathroom duties.”

“You already put Craig on bathroom duty for pouring salt in the sugar dish in the lunchroom last week, remember?”

Bailey watched the scene with unconcealed amusement. The men were always pulling pranks on each other at the fire hall and Ken was often on the receiving end. It was all in good fun and the guys knew they’d pay for it with extra shifts or unwanted responsibilities. Injecting some fun into their routine helped to break up the monotony of quiet days and ease tension whenever there was a real emergency.

“Anyway, I’m not here to check out the guys,” Bailey said, though it was an added bonus. “I’m here to check on truck number two.” The ladder engine was rarely used, causing the hydraulic fluid lines to clog and making it untrustworthy in the event of an emergency. While most buildings in Brookhollow were no more than two stories high, some of the newer structures in the downtown business sector were four stories or more.

“Great timing. The hydraulic motor didn’t work last week during a routine test.” He motioned behind her. “There’s Ethan. Get him to show you the problem with the rotating gear on the motor.”

Bailey held her breath as she turned to face her best friend. He was in full uniform, on clinic duty. She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Relieved, she decided, yet... She cleared her throat.

“Hey, you. How’s the arm?” She nodded toward the small hand-shaped purple-and-yellow bruise visible on the inside of his strong, perfectly smooth left biceps, just below the firefighter crest on the sleeve of his dark blue shirt.

Ethan’s broad smile revealed perfect, straight white teeth and a deep dimple in his left cheek. “It’s fine. You don’t really think that move you pulled on me last night actually worked, do you? I was just playing along...for the sake of the class.”

“Yeah, sure. That’s why you looked ready to cry when I wrenched your arm behind your back?” Bailey taught a weekly self-defense class at her brothers’ gym and mixed-martial-arts—MMA—club, Extreme Athletics, and Ethan had volunteered to act as the attacker for demonstration purposes.

“I told you—it was all for show. Besides, I’ll do anything I can to get you closer to your trip to Venice.”

It had been his suggestion to charge for the self-defense class, knowing she’d been saving money for the trip to Italy. Her parents had honeymooned in Venice years before and her mom had told Bailey stories about its beautiful scenery and culture when she was growing up. She’d always wanted to go and decided it was time, but having just bought the garage from her uncle Doug the month before, funds were limited.

“Well, your injuries are definitely appreciated.”

“Come on, I’ll show you the problem with the truck.” Ethan led the way to the ladder truck in the last bay. “So where’s your sidekick today?”

Bailey followed him to the engine. “Are you kidding me? Nick would never be up this early. He works in the shop from about ten to three-ish three days a week...and even that’s too much.” Doug’s son, her cousin Nick, had started to work in the shop that summer after dropping out of the computer program he’d been attending at the New Jersey Institute of Technology the previous year. He knew nothing about mechanics and had even less interest, but Doug had insisted that he apprentice with her that summer. She only prayed he planned to return to school in the fall. Her cousin was a great guy, but having him around the shop proved to be more work than help, and he certainly didn’t enjoy being there.

“Probably a good thing. You said yourself, the guy doesn’t know a wrench from a screwdriver,” Ethan said with a shake of his head.

Climbing up onto the roof of the fire engine, she studied the hydraulic motor. “So what’s wrong with this?”

“The rotating piece of the motor—it won’t shift left to right.”

“Probably just a fluid buildup in the lines.”

“If you say so,” Ethan said with a laugh. “You’re the expert.”

“Ethan, quit flirting with our mechanic and get over here,” Mark called.

Bailey paused and glanced at Ethan.

A slow teasing grin spread across his face. “Are we flirting?” he asked loud enough for Mark to hear.

Bailey played along. “Well, if the biggest flirt in town thinks so...”

“Very funny, you two,” Mark grumbled, nodding toward Sheila Mason, who awaited her turn for the blood pressure check, her cell phone to her ear and her sandaled foot tapping against the concrete floor.

Bailey frowned. “Mrs. Mason is here?”

“Yeah, she’s helping Victoria plan the wedding. I wouldn’t be surprised if her blood pressure is a little high.”

Sheila Mason’s daughter, Victoria, had returned to Brookhollow eight months before to buy out Legend’s, the local sporting-goods store, on behalf of her client, Play Hard Sports. She’d not only acquired the store, but also rekindled the flame with her former fiancé, Luke Dawson. Bailey could understand Sheila’s anxiety. Her daughter had called off her first wedding twelve years ago just two weeks before it was to take place.

Turning her attention to the engine, Bailey fiddled with the rotating gear just as her beeper chimed on her hip. The fire-hall phone rang seconds later and Ethan dived for it. “Fire hall five...Yes, no problem...South of exit forty-eight,” he said, repeating the information flashing on her pager. Grabbing her tool kit, she climbed back down as he replaced the receiver.

“Car stranded on I-95?”

“Looks like we’re heading in the same direction,” he confirmed.

* * *

ETHAN’S CELL PHONE vibrated against the console of the fire truck and he barely heard the familiar ringtone above the wail of the sirens as he sped along the highway toward exit forty-eight. His gaze flew to the call display and his grip tightened on the steering wheel. The Miami number flashed on the screen for a torturous five rings before the call went to voice mail. Emily wouldn’t leave a message. She never did. Yet lately the calls from his ex-girlfriend were becoming more and more frequent...as were the text messages that simply said she needed to talk. Yeah, well, the time for talking had long passed.

“Her again?” his brother and coworker Jim asked from the passenger seat of the engine. He’d just finished washing the truck when the call had come in and had offered to go along as the other men were busy running the clinic.

“Yeah,” Ethan mumbled, avoiding Jim’s expression. One he’d seen too many times over the past six months since his long-term girlfriend, Emily Parsons, had dumped him and left Brookhollow to follow a big corporate executive from Play Hard Sports to Miami. Greg Harrison, the vice president of sales, had arrived in town to train the new store managers and Emily had caught his attention and interest. For weeks, all Ethan had heard was Greg this, Greg that, and while he wasn’t normally a jealous person, he’d suspected Emily was interested in the man who’d driven into Brookhollow in his Audi R8 and designer suit.

So when the executive had offered her an opportunity to join the management trainee program to become a corporate trainer, Emily had jumped at the opportunity. That hadn’t surprised Ethan. Emily had always talked about leaving Brookhollow to live in a big city, but he wondered how much of her decision had been based on the job offer and how much on her new boss.

“Why don’t you ever answer it?”

“I’ve got nothing to say to her.” In fact, he had a lot to say, but he preferred to take the high road. Emily had made her choice, and while her decision to end a ten-year relationship on a whim had made him angry, there had been nothing he could do about it when she was standing right there in front of him. He doubted he could talk sense into her when she was in sunny Florida, living the life she’d always claimed she wanted.

“I can think of a few things to say. Can I answer it next time?” Jim drained the contents of his iced cappuccino and set the cup in the holder.

“There’s no point, Jim. Nothing we say will bring her back.” Ethan checked the rearview mirror and noticed Bailey’s tow truck speeding along in the lane beside him.

“Is that what you think I want?” Jim scoffed. “Tell me you’re not crazy enough to want that.”

Ethan remained silent. His brother didn’t get it. Jim and his girlfriend, Jill, had only been seeing each other for two years. They were sickeningly in love and Jim had never had to experience the pain and humiliation Ethan had suffered. Emily’s leaving had shocked him, along with almost everyone else in town. Sure, things hadn’t been great between them for a while, but they’d still loved each other. At least, he’d still been in love. And to leave him for a man she’d known less than a month was a blow to his ego, difficult to recover from.

“Oh, come on, man. She ran off the first opportunity she got.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.” And his family hadn’t allowed him to forget. They expected that his anger over the situation should help to erase the pain and longing he felt for the woman who’d been a major part—maybe even the biggest part—of his life since high school. His sister, Melody, was probably the most understanding, having lost her husband two years before in a car accident, but even she thought that he would have moved on by now. And for the most part, he thought he was doing well. At least, until the phone rang and it was her. Not answering her calls when he longed to hear her voice was torture.

The phone chimed with a text message and he reached for it.

But Jim got to it first. “We need to talk?” he read aloud.

Ethan sighed. “That’s all she ever says.” Above everything else was a nagging curiosity about what she obviously needed to say to him. He wondered how long he could remain strong and continue to ignore her. Admittedly, his resolve was weakening. Angry or not, he missed the life they had created together. He had liked knowing where he was headed—his job was solid, one he enjoyed and did well, and his relationship had been comfortable, secure.... Maybe that had been the problem. Emily thrived on new and exciting, changing jobs every few months. He wondered how long the new Play Hard opportunity would keep her happy.

“Do you think she wants to come back?”

Ethan denied himself that hope. “I don’t know.”

“Would you take her back if she did?”

The million-dollar question. He hesitated before saying, “I’m not an idiot, Jim.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

Ethan snatched the phone away before Jim could answer the text, which he knew he was aching to do, and slid it into his shirt pocket. He pulled the truck to the side of the highway behind an old rusted red Volkswagen Jetta and jumped down onto the gravel. He positioned two traffic cones in the inside lane, forcing the oncoming traffic to take the outside lane, as Bailey’s tow truck pulled in front of the Jetta and she climbed out, clipboard in hand.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” Jim called from inside the truck, reclining the seat and shutting his eyes.

“You’re not even going to get out of the truck?”

“It’s a simple backup call. I only came along to get out of clinic duty.”

Ethan shook his head as he closed the truck door. It amazed him how their work ethic differed so drastically. Jim was four years older, yet he’d never shown any interest in advancing his rank at the fire hall. Ethan had worked hard, proving himself to his senior coworkers and landing the position of captain by the time he was twenty-four.

He approached Bailey at the front of the vehicle where she was speaking to a short, frazzled-looking bald man. “I’ll just need your driver’s license and your credit card...and I’ll have you hooked up and ready to go in just a few minutes. Feel free to sit in the truck to wait. The air-conditioning is on and it’s much cooler in there.”

The man disappeared inside the cab of the tow truck and Ethan waited until he was out of earshot before saying, “This car has to be at least thirty years old.” He leaned against the bumper to watch her work, and the metal frame creaked in protest.

“That thing looks about to fall off,” she warned as she put the tow dolly’s coupler in open position by lowering the locking lever all the way down and inserting the locking pin to secure it in place.

Good point, he thought as he stood. “So, before I forget, we’re holding Luke’s bachelor party at the fire hall tonight—poker, darts, beer, the baseball game.... If you’re not doing anything, stop by.” Bailey was a regular at their weekly poker games, much to the dismay of the other guys, whose wallets she emptied.

“Stop by? To Luke’s bachelor party—the ultimate boys night?” She sounded incredulous as she inserted the electrical plug from the dolly into the switch on the back of the tow truck. That way the brake lights and turning signals on the dolly would work while en route to the shop.

“Yeah, why not?” He knew Luke wouldn’t mind. Bailey had always been like a third, less-annoying sister to the groom-to-be, and she kept his ancient, rusted-out truck on the road.

“I have Victoria’s bachelorette party tonight. A wine and cheese in the backyard of the Brookhollow Inn.” She crisscrossed the chains and connected them to the eyelets on the bumper of the car.

“That sounds awful.”

“You’re telling me.”

A loud boom sounded and they both swung around to see smoke and flames coming from the hood of the Jetta.

Great, the piece of crap car was on fire.

Quickly, he pushed Bailey toward the guardrail on the side of the highway and said, “Stay right here!” Then, running to the truck, he rapped on the passenger door to get Jim’s attention before grabbing a jump line of two lengths of forty-four-inch hose and a nozzle.

“What happened?” Jim asked, joining him.

“That car should never have passed its last road-safety inspection,” he muttered as he grabbed his coat and self-contained breathing apparatus from inside the fire truck. Nothing annoyed him more than accidents that could have been prevented. This car was long past retirement and posed a safety threat.

He secured the mask in place before advancing toward the car, spraying the flames that had spread around the base of the vehicle. The last thing he wanted was for the flames to spread to the tow truck. Bailey had just purchased the wheel-lift truck the month before after buying the garage from her uncle. She loved that four-wheel drive almost as much as she loved her motorcycle. It would serve as her primary vehicle in the winter months.

Jim grabbed the Halligan bar to gain access to the fire under the hood. Hurrying, he pierced a hole in the hood and used the tool to pry it open. Moving closer, Ethan sprayed a stream of water, extinguishing the flames.

After a thorough walkabout and once satisfied that the fire was completely out, he put the tools away and approached Bailey while Jim filled out the report inside the truck. “You okay?” He rubbed her shoulders, noticing the goose bumps on her forearms, despite the heat waves radiating from the highway.

“Yeah... That was just so sudden.”

The car’s owner had jumped out of the tow truck and run some twenty-five yards away while his vehicle was consumed by flames. He joined them now, shaking slightly.

“My car,” he said, wide-eyed as he stared at the charred mess.

“It only takes a small spark to ignite into major flames,” Ethan told him, then turned once more to Bailey. “I think you should unhook the car. That thing is a hazard. You don’t want it in your shop.” Who knew what else was wrong with that wreck? In his professional opinion, it was a chance too risky to take...not to mention his personal concern as her friend.

“What? You won’t tow it?” The man looked frantic at the thought of being stranded on the side of the highway any longer.

“I seriously doubt there’s a whole lot Bailey can—” Ethan started, but Bailey interrupted.

“Of course I will.”