“Griff’s right,” the chief said. “Not only is it mandatory, but it’s also the whole reason you were hired. Guns and Hoses starts Saturday.”
Guns and Hoses. Sam’s mouth quirked into a half grin, despite himself. The name of the tournament was cute, like everything else in this whimsical beach town.
Except maybe the oddly competitive nature of said softball tournament. And whatever unfortunate thing had happened to Violet March.
He knew he shouldn’t worry about it. In fact, all signs thus far had pointed to the obvious conclusion that if he was going to survive here, he needed to stay as far away from Violet and Sprinkles as possible. Had the ongoing Dalmatian situation taught him nothing?
Chief Murray slapped him hard on the back—hard enough to rattle all thoughts of the police chief’s daughter and her troublesome spotted sidekick right out of his head. “Welcome to Turtle Beach, slugger.”
***
In retrospect, Violet realized she’d been a tad hasty at the dog beach this morning. The firefighter had tried to explain what was going on, and she hadn’t let him. As her brothers Josh and Joe had oh-so-helpfully pointed out after the chaos died down and her yoga friends aimed their walkers back toward the Turtle Beach Senior Living Center, she’d treated a fireman like he was the fireman. The result had been nothing short of a complete and utter Dalmatian humiliation.
The poor man had apparently been a resident of Turtle Beach for a grand total of twelve hours—information which Josh had managed to discern with a single call to the town’s one and only Realtor, who’d conveniently been his prom date back in his days at Turtle Beach High. As much as Violet hated to give the new-in-town fireman the benefit of the doubt, she realized he’d probably never heard of Guns and Hoses.
Yet.
That would change, obviously. In the meantime, she might owe him a teensy apology for trying to get him arrested. Softball season hadn’t even officially started yet. If she was going to get through the annual tournament with a modicum of dignity intact, she needed to try to defuse the situation.
Besides, his dog was awfully cute. Despite the uniform, he clearly possessed one of her favorite qualities in a man—an appreciation for Dalmatians. How terrible could he possibly be?
Careful, there. Remember what happened the last time you let your guard down around a pretty face in a fire helmet.
As if she could forget.
But she didn’t want to date the man. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Never again. Violet was over romantic relationships. From here on out, all she cared about was Sprinkles and her shiny new cupcake truck.
And her family, obviously. And her friends. And the police department completely annihilating the fire department this Saturday in the opening game.
Okay, fine, she cared about a lot of things, but dating occupied the last spot on the list. Absolute rock bottom. The fact that she was currently standing in front of the fire station with a pink bakery box in her hands and Sprinkles at her feet was a simple matter of self-respect. She hated the weird combination of guilt and sadness she always saw in Chief Murray’s eyes when he looked at her, and she knew good and well that every cupcake the TBFD bought and consumed was a pity purchase. Not that her cupcakes weren’t good—they were amazing, thank you very much. She just wanted to move on and return to despising firemen in a normal, healthy, sports-related way.
Violet squared her shoulders and glanced down at Sprinkles. “We can do this. Five quick minutes inside the belly of the beast, and then we’re out of here.”
But when she took a step toward the bright red door of the firehouse, the Dalmatian didn’t budge. Violet gave the leash a gentle tug, and still…nothing.
Across the street, one of her brothers’ fellow officers exited the police station and came to an abrupt halt when he caught sight of her. The donut in his hand fell to the ground.
Super. This was already turning into another embarrassing episode.
“We’re fine!” She waved at the policeman. “Just dropping off some cupcakes. No cause for concern.”
Translation: please don’t run and tell my dad and brothers.
The last thing she needed was for her family to come marching over here as if she were a hostage.
“Sprinkles, please. Just listen for once. There’s a vanilla bacon maple cupcake with your name on it if you’ll just follow me into the firehouse and stick by my side for moral support,” Violet whispered.
The promise/bribe worked, thank goodness. Sprinkles sprang forward and bobbed happily at the end of her leash as Violet pushed through the red door. She didn’t normally feed her dog cupcakes, for the record. Desperate times and all that.
“Violet.” Griff Martin blinked hard from his seat in the dispatch area when he caught sight of her. “Um…what are you doing here?”
He looked past her, no doubt expecting her to be accompanied by Joe, Josh, or other various members of the TBPD.
She raised her chin. She was a grown woman, and she could take care of herself and get her life back on track all on her own. “I’m here to see the new fireman. We had a little misunderstanding earlier this morning.”
“Look.” Griff held up his hands. “I told him to give the dog back and he insisted it wasn’t yours.”
“Oh, I know.” Violet tipped her head toward Sprinkles. “Sprinkles is fine, see?”
Griff’s gaze narrowed. “They really do look an awful lot alike, don’t they?”
Thank you! She shot him a victorious grin. “Yes, they do.”
Sprinkles was cuter, though. Obviously.
“Can you just tell him I’m here?” She glanced down at the pink bakery box in her hands and then back up at Griff’s bewildered face. “I have a little peace offering for him. It was the least I could do after his near-arrest. I’ll just give it to him, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Hoo boy. Near-arrest?” Griff winced. “I’m not even going to ask. Sam’s getting set up in his new office. Follow me.”
He rose from his creaky office chair and led Violet toward the common area of the firehouse, where her appearance in enemy territory brought everything to an immediate standstill. No one moved. Or breathed. Or uttered a word. A firefighter who Violet recognized as the Hoses’ first baseman spilled coffee down the front of his shirt from a ceramic mug that read WTF Where’s the Fire as he gaped at her. A pair of firemen on opposite sides of a Ping-Pong table froze comically in place while their tiny white ball bounced across the room.
Sprinkles’s toenails click-clacked against the tile floor as she scrambled after it, nearly jerking Violet’s arm out of the socket in the process. The bakery box came perilously close to slipping from her grasp. She managed to keep hold of it long enough for Sprinkles to trot back to her side with the Ping-Pong ball in her doggy mouth.