Page 46 of A Spot of Trouble
“What are the odds everyone in town will forget about what happened and it won’t make the gossip rounds tomorrow?” Sam said.
“Zero, my dude.” Griff grinned into his beer. “Absolutely zero.”
Sam’s phone chimed with an incoming text. Had the rumor mill started already?
He pulled the phone from his pocket and snuck a glance, fully expecting to see a reprimand of some sort from Chief Murray pop up on his screen. The message wasn’t from Murray, though. It was from Jameson Dodd, Sam’s fire chief back in Chicago.
Don Evans just turned in his notice of retirement.
Interesting. Don Evans was his old department’s fire marshal. He had a good five or six years to go before he was eligible for a full pension, so he must have decided to take an early retirement package.
Another text popped up on the screen.
The job is yours if you want it.
Sam went still.
When he’d left Chicago, it had been for good. He‘d had no intention of ever going back.
Not that he had any ill will toward Jameson or any of his other former colleagues. Jameson had been like a surrogate father for years, especially after Sam’s father had died from a heart attack five years ago. Sam would have laid down his life for anyone at his old station in a heartbeat. He still would…especially if it meant he could undo all that had gone wrong in that last fire.
He’d just needed to start over again someplace new—someplace that wasn’t steeped in loss and painful memories. Someplace where he could keep to himself. Turtle Beach was supposed to be the beginning of a simple, stress-free life with no emotional attachments.
Of course that had been before Sam realized that the only reason Murray had hired him was because he’d been a college baseball star.
It had also been before he made the mistake of kissing Violet March.
“You know how to stop small-town gossip in its tracks, don’t you?” Griff gestured toward Sam’s phone with his beer bottle.
Clearly he’d assumed the text had been about the latest bingo night fiasco. Sam opted not to correct the misconception. There was no reason to tell his new friend about a job offer he had no interest in accepting.
“How?” Sam asked.
“You just give everyone something else to talk about. It’s as simple as that.” Griff shrugged. “Hitting a few home runs at the game on Saturday would definitely do the trick. If there’s one thing Turtle Beach loves more than gossip, it’s softball.”
A few homers.
Sam could definitely arrange that. Maybe he’d go up to Wilmington and hit some balls at the batting cages before Saturday’s game. Maybe he’d take a few of the guys from the fire station with him and teach them a thing or two. Hedidhave a bet to win.
“This town is nuts,” Sam said. “You realize that, don’t you?”
“Everyone does,” Griff said. He pulled another bottle of beer from the cooler and offered it to Sam. “But it’s home.”
Is it?
Sam took the beer and twisted the cap off it. There was another gull hovering overhead, angling for a peanut. He tossed one up in the air, and his phone chimed with another incoming text from his old boss in Chicago.
Evans’s last day is next month. You’ve got thirty days to decide.
And then one last message, just as Sam was sliding his phone out of view.
Give it some thought. Maybe it’s time for you to come on home, son.
Chapter 11
In the days following the minor fire at bingo night—emphasis onminor, because really, Violet had seen votive candles with a bigger flame—Violet did her best to avoid Sam Nash.
He made it annoyingly easy.
