Page 4 of Love Songs (Harmony Lake #3)

THE DAY FLEW by in a flurry of activity. The truck and Eldi were a big draw with the kids and teenagers alike, even some adults, and kept us busy. We made a point of talking to parents about fire safety while they watched their kids climb up into the engine and turn on the siren and the lights.

My temples were already throbbing from the siren chirps.

Phillip, the dream crusher, came by, and I eyed him dubiously.

He was a big guy. Maybe an inch shorter than me and broad shouldered, but he’d be no match if he hurt Haider.

Not only did my job keep me fit, but I also had a purple belt in judo.

This guy probably sat around eating chocolate made from the tears of all the small businesses he destroyed.

Except it was obvious he had some muscle under his casual but very cosmopolitan tan chinos, raspberry-colored polo, and bright white sneakers. No socks. I made a point of not looking at his, as Haider had described them, “sexy ankles”. But still. Nobody messed with my friends and got away with it.

Phillip smiled cautiously at me as he approached. “Good morning.”

Ugh , why did he have to have a cool accent?

I didn’t reply, earning a curious look from Jackson. Eldi trotted right on over and sat at Phillip’s feet, her tailing sweeping the ground and tongue lolling. There had to be something wrong with her good-people detector. Either that, or she was a traitor.

“Hallo, hübsches M?dchen,” Phillip said as he kneeled to her level and petted her. She leaned into him, soaking up the attention.

“What was that you said to her?” Jackson asked. I was curious too, but I wasn’t about to ask.

“German for hello, pretty girl.” Phillip said with a smile that made him look far more handsome than the leader of a chocolate cabal had any right to. “What is her name?”

“Eldi,” Jackson answered.

“Icelandic for fire,” Phillip said. Great . He was multilingual, too. “Lovely.”

With one more pet behind Eldi’s ears, he stood and glanced over at the fire engine, smiling at the kids climbing all over it.

His gaze slid back to mine, and we stared at each other for a few long seconds.

I didn’t know what was going on in his head, but in mine I mentally told him he’d better not screw Haider over, and his expression answered said he would throw himself at our mercy if he ever did.

I huffed out loud, ending our silent standoff. We’ll see .

“It is good work that you do,” he said, as he pulled his wallet from his pants pocket. He stuffed two one-hundred-dollar bills into the donation box for the firefighter’s burn fund.

I forced a smile and grudgingly said, “Thank you.”

Because even though he was a dream crusher, he’d received Eldi’s approval and that had been generous of him to donate. He nodded at me and wandered off to the next booth. Maybe he’d turn out okay for Haider after all.

Adam came by as I was finishing showing some kids the ‘stop, drop, and roll’ safety technique, and this time, I didn’t have to force a smile. I’d only met him the once, when Ryan had brought him to our regular beers and burgers night at Lucy’s Pub last week, but he seemed like a genuinely nice guy.

“Hey, Conor,” Adam said as I sent the kids off to their parents. “How’s things going here?”

He had a couple of bags in his hand with logos I recognized—Harmony Chocolates and Stonebridge Maple Syrup. My smiled widened at the support he was showing my friends. I knew there was a reason I liked him.

“Busy and—” The engine siren double chirped. “That.”

Adam winced, and I didn’t blame him. The siren on the old truck wasn’t as loud as the ones on the more modern engines, but standing this close, it could still give the eardrums a good ring.

We tried to keep the kids to one chirp, so we didn’t inflict headaches onto the whole of Caldwell Crossing, but sometimes they got carried away.

“I’m getting a headache already,” I added lightly as I brushed some dirt off my station pants from when I’d been rolling around on the ground with the kids.

“I feel for you, having to listen to that all day.” His eyes were wide in either disbelief or sympathy. Both worked for me.

I shrugged. “Comes with the job. I’m used to it.” Then, with no segue, I said, “Hey, I started reading your book.”

“Right.” Adam’s cheeks colored. “The first book in the Harmony Lake Murders series. Uh, how do you like it so far?”

“I’m not too far in,” I said. I got little downtime at work to read, and when I wasn’t on shift, I preferred to be outside doing things. “I can tell you’ve been here before, even though some of the details aren’t quite right.”

“ Finally ,” Adam breathed. The air whooshed from his lungs and his shoulders relaxed. “Someone who gets it.”

“Uh . . .” I tilted my head, confused, but Adam didn’t elaborate. “You’re welcome?”

Adam’s face lit up and his teeth flashed.

The siren went off again, and I gave Adam an apologetic look, as though it was my fault. Though I suppose I was guilty by association.

“And on that painfully high note.” He rocked back on his heels. “I think I’ve had enough people-ing and noise for one day.”

I waved him off with a laugh and a see you around .

I was close to having had enough of today, too.

Except I still had to oversee all the bands’ stage setups, continue with fire safety demonstrations, help break down the booth, and later, stuff myself into a claustrophobic penguin suit for the charity bachelor auction.

I cursed Mamie for the millionth time since she’d voluntold me I would be participating.

When I finally slipped away for a quick break, I wandered over to check out my friends’ booths.

They were all doing brisk business, and it looked like they would wrap up early because they were running low on inventory.

I loved to see the support for our town’s local businesses, farmers, and artisans.

I bought the biggest jug of maple syrup that Sam had left for the fire station kitchen and a smaller bottle for myself.

At Haider’s booth, I bought a box of truffles that he had stashed for me.

Man, I loved that guy. He gave me a wink and tried to hand my money back, but I wasn’t having that.

I needed to do my part to help him fight the evil candy syndicate.

Ryan was deep in conversation with someone inquiring about a custom-made headboard for their bedroom, and when he was done, I bought one of his animal wood carvings.

He’d made a dragonfly that I had to have because they symbolized living life to the fullest and I loved how iridescent their wings were.

I had more than a few dragonfly-themed T-shirts and knick-knacks in my house.

My last stop was the library’s Buck-A-Book Bargain booth, where Sam’s boyfriend Ben was helping.

He’d dressed casually today, in jeans and a forest green T-shirt with Yoda one for me stenciled on the front.

I only noticed because when he’d first arrived in town, he’d still dressed like the city boy he’d been.

“Hey, Conor. Looking for anything in particular?” Ben asked as I perused the display of old paperbacks.

I shook my head. “Not really, but what would you recommend?”

Ben’s face lit up. “What genres you like to read?”

I thumbed my chin while I thought about it. I didn’t read too often, but—

“I do like a good mystery. Just started reading the first Harmony Lake Murders novel. It’s pretty good so far. Have you read those? Did you know Adam is—”

Ben frowned, his expression tightened, and the light in his green eyes dimmed.

“Uh . . . Not a fan I take it?”

“No. It’s not that.” He shook his head, lips pursed. “It’s . . .” He turned away without finishing his sentence and rifled through some books that were still in a box. “Here. This is an excellent murder-mystery series.”

He handed me a well-worn book with a colorful cover, the title “Bourbon Street Blues” in bright yellow, and . . .

“Is that a go-go dancer?”

I frowned at the image of a near naked man with dollar bills tucked into his G-string. Don’t get me wrong. I loved a good go-go dancer, but the cover didn’t exactly say mystery.

Ben laughed at my expression. “This is the first of nine books set in New Orleans with a gay protagonist. I dare you to put it down once you start.”

“ Dude . Did Sam not tell you never to dare me?” He laughed as I handed him a dollar bill. But it was true. I had yet to meet a dare I wouldn’t accept. “I’ll take it.”

“And the author knows his city,” Ben added ominously as he handed me the book.

I tucked it under my arm, wondering what that was about, and headed back to the fire booth.

By the time late afternoon rolled around, I felt like I’d already been there for two weeks, and I was still far from done. The country band from the next township over had finished their set, and it was time for my now ex favorite band to take the stage.

My heart pounded with a mix of excitement and aggravation as I walked over, my legs a combination of heavy and shaky, and found Brian barking orders at a couple of sweaty roadies wearing black T-shirts with “CREW” in big white letters stamped across the back.

Anger flared in my chest, and I flattened my mouth.

The manager was a pompous ass and a dick.

“Lawton,” I called his name louder than necessary, but I wanted his attention away from the roadies. Dudes were only trying to make a living. They didn’t need a tyrant of a boss berating them while they were at it.

“Lieutenant,” Brian said with a groan in his voice.

Yeah, buddy. I feel the same way .

“Can you show me your pyro set up?” I asked, biting back a remark about his attitude and treatment of his employees. Captain Burgess would not be happy with me making a public scene.

Brian waved an arm toward the front of the stage. I scanned the immediate area and what I could see of backstage through the greenroom door as I crossed the wooden floor, but I didn’t see Dallas, the elusive rock star.

Shoving down an unexpected flare of disappointment, I turned my attention to their setup.

They’d set a microphone stand in the middle toward the front.

About a dozen feet behind it was a shiny chrome drum kit on a foot-high riser.

Two towers of amplifiers flanked the drums, and another set of amplifiers stacked two-high sat flush with the frame of the band shell.

Black curtains with the Dallas Blade Band logo screen-printed on them ran along the curved wings.

Stagehands had placed the band’s two flash pots at the very front, about midway between the amps and the mic stand.

“These are too close to the edge of the stage.” I pointed at the flash pots.

“That’s where we always put them,” Brian argued, his expression tight.

“If you want me to sign off on them, you’ll need to move them back.” I propped my hands on my hips to keep from wringing some sense into the guy. “I can’t have them hitting any fans at the front of the stage because there’s no security pit here to keep them a safe distance away.”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to argue with me.

“In fact,” I added before he could speak, taking another scan of their setup.

“You should push everything back a couple of feet. And make sure you aim the pots directly up, so the sparks fall back on themselves. It’s not windy today, but that doesn’t mean we won’t get the odd breeze that could blow sparks into the crowd or back onto the stage. ”

“I think they’ll be fine,” Brian hedged, pulling at the collar of his navy polo shirt.

“Hmm.” I made a point of looking him over from head to toe. “I don’t see a fire department badge on your shirt.”

“Fine.” Brian huffed under his breath and whistled to call the roadies over.

This guy is such a dick .

With a manager like that, my doubts grew that Dallas Blade would be any better. If he was, why would he work with someone like Brian?

I helped the roadies adjust the pots, making a point of thanking them, and satisfied that everything was safe, I did the final sign off on their permit.

As I crossed the stage to leave, I saw Dallas Blade standing on the other side, leaning against the staging area doorframe. I stumbled over my own damn feet.

The larger-than-life singer was frowning at me, but that didn’t stop my heart from lurching in my chest.

Holy . Shit .

I’d thought Dallas was hot in photos and videos, but in person .

. . My childhood crush came roaring back to life with a vengeance.

Dallas was tall, though not as tall my six-foot-four.

Maybe four or five inches shorter. The bottom half of his long brown hair faded into a sun-kissed blond, giving him a bohemian vibe.

He was wearing soft-looking jeans that hugged his long legs, shiny cowboy boots, and an open-collared white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows that showed off his muscular tattooed forearms.

I gulped. Please don’t be an ass .

“Have a good show,” I called out to Blade with a smile and wave.

His expression didn’t change. If anything, his frown deepened, but he tipped his head in acknowledgement.

Sigh. Of course, he’s an ass, too .