Flame (Firefighters of Montana Book 5) (2 page)

One bite of that sponge and they’d each agreed. Cady finally got to follow her big dreams, leaving Montana four years ago to go to that fancy school, once they’d all saved up enough for her tuition fees. Her fancy dreams hadn’t worked out quite the way she’d planned, so she’d come home a year ago to start her own business in a safe place.

And now, Cady got to go to work every day in her bright pink shop which had her name emblazoned across the front window. Kinda funny because she wasn’t even remotely close to being what some people might describe as a girly girl. Her style was practical and simple. She spent most of her time elbow deep in dough and pastry, for Pete’s sake. It was all she could do at work to smudge on a bit of tinted lip gloss. She loathed high heels, preferring chef clogs when she was whipping up her creations. She had never once in her life ever worn the color pink and was more usually found in T-shirts and worn through the knee jeans than anything that might be mistaken for a dress.

But she knew, from the moment she’d signed the lease on the shop, that it had to be pink. She had dreamt about her shop before she had ever owned it and she created it exactly as she’d dreamt it—sweet and pale pink like the icing on a little girl’s cupcake. If the little girl was a girly girl, of course. And if she wasn’t? Easy. Cady had made all kinds—with smears of brown and khaki camouflage for children who liked playing soldiers; red, blue, yellow and purple for Wiggles fans; and she couldn’t count how many she’d iced in the pale blue and silver of the character from that super popular animated film with the princesses, the name of which escaped her.

Cady surveyed her shop with a ridiculous sense of exhausted satisfaction. Cady’s Cakes look as sweet as the cookies and cakes and muffins she baked. As tantalizing as sugary icing and donuts, as tempting as the chocolate and mint slices she stacked neatly in her display cabinets. Its white painted bentwood chairs and wooden tables, photographs of the Montana sky framed in rows on each wall, its pale pink painted walls and its high ceilings were exactly as she’d imagined, but only better because it was real and it was hers. Her cake shop was light and big and the counter with glass display cabinets on top ran down one side, the cash register at the counter dogleg at the front. She’d painted the chairs, sewn the pink gingham curtains and hung them, and decorated the place all by herself and she still shimmered with delight every morning when she came down the stairs of her apartment above, turned left on the sidewalk and slipped her key into the front door lock and flicked on the lights. Even when she was tired. Even when snow was piled up on the footpath and she had to jump over it to push open the half-frozen front door. Even when she’d had an ill-advised extra glass of wine at The Drop Zone the night before and was still feeling just the teensiest bit lightheaded.

None of that got in the way because Cady’s Cakes was
hers
.

Every day, she was her own boss. Every day, she was in control of her own destiny, her own career, her own choices, her own life. All of that had become super important to her after what had happened. She knew if her mom and gran were still alive today, they’d be so proud of her. Even in Glacier Creek, Montana, her customers expected nothing but the freshest cakes and the hottest coffee—every day except Sunday—when she had her one and only sleep in day of the week, and she made sure she lived up to the expectations of her customers.

That getting up before the birds thing she had going on? Early nights were a small price to pay for this freedom, this independence, this strength in herself that having her own business gave her.

So, when Dex McCoy drove slowly down Main Street on Saturday morning, Cady was already wide awake and alert to everything happening in her shop and in the street out front. She’d just served a crew of smokejumpers from Glacier Creek service station, a bunch of guys who were regulars—black coffee and sugared donuts—when she saw him.

She had some kind of sixth sense when it came to that man. The connection was made the day after his mom’s funeral, their senior year at high school. He’d looked so wounded, so hurt and so angry. Until he’d seen her, until he’d let her wrap her arms around him because she couldn’t say anything meaningful enough to take away his pain.

He’d left Montana soon after, still wounded and hurt and angry and they hadn’t really spoken again until four years ago at The Drop Zone, the bar in Kalispell where all the smokejumpers hung out. She tried to push the memory of that night aside.

Cady tried to shake off the awareness of him but it was stuck in her head like a sliver of sliced almond in between her teeth. Her attention caught like a falcon seeing a mouse scamper in the grass a hundred feet below its extended wings. She looked outside, past the display of cupcakes on top of her glass counter, and the heads of her customers, and saw him in his truck, driving slowly past.

Without realising it, Cady let out the breath she’d been holding for three months, since Dex had driven off to Missoula to smokejump with another crew. There was absolutely no reason she should have been scared for him. She was born and bred in Glacier Creek and her best customers were the smokejumpers who parachuted out of DC-3s to tackle wildfires in the Montana mountains before they became truly wild and even more dangerous. She knew those men and women were highly trained, extremely skilled, strong as oxen, and fit.

So why had her heart been in her mouth the whole damn time he’d been away? Why had she dreamt about him, so vividly, over and over? Why had a tall, scarred smokejumper called Dex McCoy, a man who continued to cross The Drop Zone with a whiskey in his hand rather than say hello to her, gotten inside her head like he had? She huffed. It was inexplicable. How could she be so worried about a man who—not once,
ever
—had come into Cady’s Cakes and bought one single damn thing?

“Cady?”

Cady tore her attention back to the familiar face staring at her across the counter.

“Sorry. Did you say something, Jacqui?”

“Honey, you gave me too much change.”

O
ne of Cady’s
best friends, Jacqui Edwards, was now staring at her strangely from across the counter, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“What?”

“You gave me five dollars too much, Cady.” Jacqui smiled. “I don’t know how you expect to make a living if you keep giving you hard-earned cash away.”

Cady found a laugh, tried not to see Dex’s face.
Oh, get it together, Cady
.
You’re a grown woman. A capable, responsible woman. You are in your cake shop. Cady’s Cakes. Yes, that’s right. The pink shop on Main Street. The one all the smokejumpers laugh at but can’t walk past without coming inside for their coffee and donuts.
Well, all of them except one. And then she was thinking about Dex again. Why hadn’t he been in her shop? Was he a health nut who wouldn’t go near sugar? Or carbs. Did he know she made trail mix bars for the jumpers? They were healthy and nutritious, energy-sustaining for all those days and nights in the mountains.

He didn’t come in to buy those, either.

Cady shook her head, willing each and every thought about Dex McCoy to sink to the bottom of Flathead Lake.

“Damn. Thanks, Jac.” Cady accepted the five dollar bill Jacqui slapped in her hand.

She curled her fingers around it and allowed herself a smile. She still got a thrill out of serving customers. Her customers. One year on and she was making this thing work. One year of, admittedly, little sleep and no social life whatsoever, but she was running her own business and that was something to be damn proud of. Cady’s heart swelled with pride and then a familiar ache at the fact that her mom and gran weren’t there to share it with her.

Jacqui quirked an eyebrow. “What’s up with you today? You wouldn’t by any chance be a little distracted by a certain smokejumper in a red truck that just drove by?”

Cady looked down at the counter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jacqui picked up her cupcake—red velvet with vanilla frosting. “Sure you don’t.”

Cady took a moment to enjoy the tease in Jacqui’s voice and in her eyes. She’d come a long way since losing her husband, in the days when grief seemed to control her. Her new pixie cut really suited her, made her look more worldly than her braids had. Cady ran her fingers through her own high ponytail. Shoulder length hair was practical and hygienic because she could pull it back, but it meant her hair was neither long nor short. A bit of nothing, really.

Cady opened the register and stacked the bill on top of the others under the clip in the tray before shoving it closed with her hip. She may as well address the elephant in the room.

“I suppose you’re talking about Dex McCoy.”

“Uh huh. Him. Red truck guy. The one who seems to be able to make you blush just by driving by, judging by how pink your cheeks are.”

Cady examined the cash register. Snatched a paper napkin from the napkin holder, scrunched it up into a ball and began polishing the display on the register. “The whole town is on edge when the smokejumpers are away. You know that. I’m glad he’s back safely, is all.”

“Of course you are.” Jacqui leaned closer, checked over each shoulder to ensure no-one else could hear what she was about to say. She waited a beat until two grey-haired women tucked their purses away and headed towards the door. “Listen, Cady. You’re a grown woman. Single. Hot. And downright available. And Dex is single and hot and also downright available. What’s stopping you two?”

What was stopping them? Cady didn’t want to go over the feelings she’d had about Dex since high school—
high school
, for Pete’s sake—and especially about what had happened between them that night at The Drop Zone just before she left to go to the culinary institute in California. She didn’t want to remember the fight. Or especially the kiss. She wasn’t even sure it qualified as a kiss if he’d stood there like an old oak tree and hadn’t even kissed her back. The feelings of rejection still stung.

“Let’s just say we’re very different people,” Cady said, brushing off Jacqui’s suggestion like it was a stray hair on her shoulder.

Jacqui’s grin said more than her words did. “Different can be good you know, but hey, your loss. And his, too.” She turned towards the door, and then looked back. “Hey, did Miranda talk to you about the catering for the ceremony on Saturday?”

“Yeah, she did.” Cady wiped her hands on her apron, glad for the change of conversation. “She came by yesterday and I’ve got it all sorted out.” Cady stopped. In her relief at the change of subject, she’d forgotten. Damn. How on earth could that have slipped her mind? It was a year now since Jacqui’s first husband, Captain Russ Edwards, had died doing what he loved. He was smokejumping when he was caught by a rogue wind and slammed into trees up in the mountains. His parachute hung in the fire station now, with his name and the date of his passing embroidered in the red and white, stripes. Everyone was gathering that weekend to attend the ceremony to remember, reflect, and give thanks for his life and sacrifice.

Cady’s slapped a hand to her mouth, as if the physical act would stop more words tumbling out. “Oh, Jac, I’m sorry. I didn’t think… you okay?”

Jacqui nodded, a sad smile on her face. “I know I will be. You’re coming, right? We don’t just want your there for your cakes, you know.”

“Of course I’m coming.” Cady reached over the counter and squeezed her friend’s hand. “I’ll be right beside you. If I can elbow Vin out of the way, that is. You two are so great together. Have I told you that?”

“Yes. Only about a million times,” Jacqui said with a happy smile, which faded quickly into seriousness. “It’s not just me who lost Russ, Cady. The town, his friends, the crew at the fire station.” Her voice trailed off. “It was a nice thing for the new captain to do. God, Sam Gaskill has been there a year already and I still think of him as the
new
captain.”

“He and Laurel are a good fit, aren’t they?”

“They are. They’ll be at The Drop Zone tonight. You coming by?”

Jacqui had obviously noticed the hesitation on her face. “C’mon, Cady. It’s Saturday night. I know you have the rockingest cake shop in the whole of western Montana, but you need to have a life, too.”

“Hey! Only Western Montana?” Cady joked, propping her hands on her hips, which were covered by the pink and white striped apron which bore the logo Cady’s Cakes across her chest.

“I’ll give you the whole damn state if you come tonight to have just one drink.”

Cady ruminated on it. She straightened the napkins in the napkin holder. Tidied the stack of white paper bags next to it. Checked the time again.

She sighed. “Okay. Just one.”

Jacqui winked at her friend. “I’ll see you at seven. That early enough for you?”

“If I start to look droopy-eyed and, worse than that, if I start to snore, poke me.”

“It’s a deal. See you tonight!”

Cady waved back and watched her friend head out the front door and turn left onto Main. She sighed, crossed her arms. Baker’s hours were hardly conducive to dating. She was in bed by eight o’clock every night. When other people were heading out to dinner or a beer at The Drop Zone, she was in bed trying to get through at least one chapter of the latest book everybody was reading before falling asleep.

But she would push herself to go to The Drop Zone tonight. It had been ages since she’d been out in the dark. God, that thought made her feel like a hermit. It was the hours she worked that got in the way of her love life. That was what she liked to tell herself, anyway. So, she’d been asked out on a couple of dates since she’d been back in Glacier Creek. A few dates. There was the one guy with the beard but no moustache that had looked so strange she couldn’t help but stare at his naked upper lip all night. And not in a good way. She’d lied and gone home early, saying she had to make a wedding cake in the morning. There was the insurance guy who was in Glacier Creek to settle on the Kingsley property, after the old man had died leaving no heirs and had donated his property to the adjoining Flathead National Forest. Insurance guy had doused himself in too much aftershave and Cady spent the entire night gasping for air. And there was the wilderness tour guide who had been the most promising of the lot, but he’d spent the whole evening talking about his broken heart and his ex-wife and Cady had gone to the bathroom and slipped out through the back door of The Drop Zone.