Page 66 of Protecting What's Mine

She was so distracted she almost tripped over Captain Brody Lighthorse, who was kneeling in the flower bed that paralleled her walkway.

“What the—”

Sunshine exploded into delirium.

“There’s my Sunny girl!” Brody shucked off his gloves and gave the dog a full-body scruff.

There were firefighters all over her lawn. One, a young woman, presumably the rookie, was energetically push-mowing the grass. Another, an older, rounder man, was on a stepladder cleaning the first-floor windows.

Two more were weeding the front flower beds, and yet another was greasing the hinges on the storm door that squealed like a banshee every time it opened.

Someone had brought a wireless speaker that was blaring eighties pop. They all bopped to the beat in varying degrees of dancing prowess.

“What’s all this?” she asked.

Brody rose. His shaved head gleamed in the mid-morning sunshine. He had tattoos, intricate tribal designs, down both forearms. His teeth were blindingly white against copper-toned skin. “The BFD—Benevolence Fire Department, also Big Fucking Deal—thought we’d lend a hand to a sister. Sorry you’re out of action for a while. That sucks.”

It did suck.

“Thanks. But you don’t have to.”

He shrugged and reached for the gloves again. “There’s nothing ‘have to’ about it. You put yourself between a dumb fuck and a patient. You’re good people. Plus, there’s no way in hell you’re going to be up for mowing the lawn anytime soon.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Still, she preferred to mope in solitude. Now, she had a dog that was sniffing the butt of a firefighter with a lopsided mustache and a yard full of half the town’s fire department.

“Thanks,” she said again. Then remembered her manners. “Do you guys want something to drink?” She could do tap water. Or maybe some iced green tea.

“Nope. We brought our own cooler. Now, we just need you to go on inside, elevate that foot, and prepare to be waited on.”

“I don’t need the fire department to wait on me,” she insisted.

“We’re the yard and maintenance crew. The waiting-on crew comes later. You might want to grab a nap to mentally prepare or at least start drinking now.”

She thought about the Tom Collins Mrs. Washington promised her.

“I don’t nap,” Mack told him.

He grinned. “Suit yourself.”

She turned toward the house, then paused again. “I’m being rude. I’m tired. Everything hurts. And I’m feeling sorry for myself. I’m sorry for being a dick,” she said.

“You earned it. You go on and feel any damn way you want. Just think of us as Santa’s elves. We’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

“Thanks for all this,” she said. “Really.”

“My wife and girls made Amish cinnamon bread. It’s on your table.”

Mack paused again to make small talk with Skyler Robinson, the rookie and Dr. Russell Robinson’s daughter. Then openly admired the gleaming windows and squeal-less front door before finally, finally gimping inside.

She flopped down on the couch. Sunshine, having greeted all her friends, climbed up next to her. Maybe a nap wasn’t such a terrible idea.

It was her last thought before the buzz of the doorbell woke her. Sunshine hurled herself off the couch and threw herself at the front door, yelping enthusiastically.

“Vicious guard dog, huh?” Mack dragged her aching self to the door and opened it.

Two women, both near carbon copies of the other, grinned at her. Blonde, pretty, dimpled chins. They bore a striking resemblance to—