One Hot Summer by Melissa Cutler Read Free Book Online Page A

assistant of yours that you just reamed out to let you know I’d arrived.”
    â€œInspecting the event setup is the fire marshal’s job.”
    He shifted his weight to his heels and hooked his thumbs on his belt, a clipboard tucked under his arm. “Which is why I’m here.”
    â€œBut you’re the fire chief.”
    He rocked on his boot heels. “I’m sure in California, what with all your sophistication and rivers of money, even the smallest community can afford to spread the public servant jobs around to a lot of men—”
    â€œOr women.”
    â€œI was gettin’ to that, but thanks all the same for making me sound like a sexist asshole.”
    God, she wanted to rip that toothpick out from between those smirking lips and snap it in two. “I’m sure you didn’t need my help to achieve that.”
    As if hearing her thoughts, he produced a second toothpick from his pocket and held it out to her. “Toothpick?”
    It was her turn to sneer. “Disgusting.”
    The triumph in his eyes made her wish she’d taken the damned toothpick. It would’ve given her something to grit her teeth around.
    â€œAs I was saying, as opposed to California, out here in the sticks the fire budget isn’t large enough to support a separate chief and marshal. The good folks of Ravel County voted to combine the jobs years ago. So as long as you’re working at this resort, you’re going to have to deal with me. Every week, every event. You think you can handle that?”
    No. “Of course I can. You’re not my first fire marshal.”
    â€œLet’s not start comparing the notches on our respective bedposts, darlin’.”
    Oh, this man. “Moving on.” From her clipboard she pulled a diagram of the tent’s interior layout and handed it over. “Follow me.”
    She strode through the main entrance of the tent as if it hadn’t been on the verge of collapsing only minutes earlier, her heels clicking on the wood flooring in time with her pounding pulse. Three steps in, her messenger bag snagged on something. She lurched forward, then snapped backward, staggering. A rolling cart loaded down with centerpiece arrangements of hurricane vases and bright, exotic flowers and greens careened past her, the florist scrambling after it. It banged into a rack of chairs, sending birds-of-paradise flying like javelins.
    Remedy scurried after them and up the fallen stems. “Sorry about that,” she said to the florist. “Maybe lock the brakes next time?”
    The florist muttered in Spanish, shaking her head as she took the birds-of-paradise from Remedy.
    Remedy pasted that cool smile on her lips again and glanced in Micah’s direction. That annoying almost smile was back on his face, accompanied by a twinkling in his eyes as he whipped out a measuring tape and walked to the florist’s cart.
    Was he actually going to measure the distance between the top of the candle and the top of the vase? Sure, she’d watched fire marshal deputies do that occasionally before weddings in Los Angeles, but they were always overeager newbies, not seasoned professionals like Micah, who probably did hundreds of fire inspections every year at the resort. He had to know already that the resort was in compliance. Weren’t they?
    Those centerpieces had been constructed weeks ago, and not under Remedy’s supervision. Swallowing hard, she hustled to his side. “Look, I know size matters, but isn’t this a little extreme?”
    The measuring tape retracted with a snap. “Size does matter, Ms. Lane. And I’m glad you’re savvy enough to recognize that. But if you think my adherence to the law is too extreme, then that’s only because you have no idea what foolish fire risks this resort has attempted to get away with in the past, the special events planners included.”
    He pulled the measuring tape out again