One Hot Summer (6 page)

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 and zeroed in on a second vase. She thrust a printout of the wedding's floor plan in front of his face, impeding his progress. “As you can see, we're in one hundred percent compliance with Texas state regulations on tent occupancy codes, number of exits, and exit clearance space.”

He stepped left, away from the printout, and jammed the measuring tape into another vase. “That's a nice story, but you're over the occupancy code by sixteen people. And that's not counting the servers, the band, and your crew. The two extra tables probably also mean some of the aisles are too narrow, which is also against code.”

Impossible. She shook the paper. “You barely glanced at the layout.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You think this is my first rodeo?”

No. No, she didn't. But as she looked at the layout, doing some fast math about the square footage and the number of guests set to arrive, it was becoming embarrassingly obvious that it was hers. What had Alex and Carina been thinking, renting a tent that was too small for the wedding party? And why hadn't Remedy thought to double-check that?

“I'll nix the extra tables.” That shouldn't be a problem. The bride and groom hadn't elected to assign seating, and there was no chance of every single guest showing up.

“See that you do.” Micah retracted the measuring tape again. “You're going to need shorter candles, too. These are off by two inches. If you use Maria Valleros as the florist in the future, you'll have to watch her about that. She's almost as notorious a code violator as Ty Briscoe himself.”

Damn it.
“Done. Fine.” There had to be thirty candles and vases in the storage room next to Remedy's office that her assistants could swap out in time for the wedding.

She turned away before he could catch a glimpse of the heat rising on her neck like a neon sign announcing her mortification. If there had ever been a man she'd wanted to not look like a fool in front of, it was Micah Garrity.

“Funny, isn't it, how raking in buckets of money makes people feel above the law?”

Throughout her life Remedy had found that to be unequivocally true, but she refused to give Micah the satisfaction of her agreement. “What is it with you and money? It's not like it killed your dog or stole your Bible or something.”

“You don't know that.”

With the wedding only a few hours from starting and the addition of the code violations she had to correct, she didn't have the time or patience to stand around and dicker with him. With her professional mask back in place, she spun on her heel to face him again. “Are we done here? It looks like I've got a lot of work to do, so I'd like to get on with it.”

He nodded at a far corner of the tent, to a cluster of brawny men clad in traditional Polynesian tribal attire standing near a side exit. “First, let's talk about what they're doing here.”

Oh, for heaven's sake.
“They're Polynesian dancers. This is a tropical island–themed wedding and they're the entertainment. What's the problem now?”

“And how do you explain those torches they're holding?”

She caught her hands squirming and forced them to still against her clipboard. “Those aren't torches. They're batons.”

This time, there was no “almost” about it. Micah's eyes glowed with genuine amusement. He rolled those full lips over each other like he was formulating the perfect cutting remark to put her in her place. Then he turned to the dancers. “Hey, Tito, are you and your crew planning to set those batons on fire tonight?”

“Hey, Chief. Good to see you, man. Yeah, you bet we are.”

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

“Inside or out?” Micah asked Tito, walking his way.

“Out.”

“They'll be performing on a stage outside during the cocktail reception after the ceremony. Perfectly safe,” Remedy said.

Micah turned to face her again. What she wouldn't give to wipe that smug grin off his face. “Do you know what I'm going to ask next, Ms. Lane?”

Forget wiping off that grin, she'd pay good money to get her hands around his neck. She hated that he made her squirm. She hated that he had all the power in their interaction. Hated that he was getting off on it, too. She dropped her voice an octave, her words coming out as a rumbling hiss. “You want to see the stage.”

“Well, since you offered so sweetly.”

She took off marching toward the exit on to the pavilion. Micah snagged her sleeve and ground their progress to a halt just inside the tent opening. “Hey, California, I know you think I'm asshole number one right now, but—”

The sincerity in his tone caught her off-guard again. Was this another ploy to keep her off-balance? “Got that right,” she muttered, jerking her arm out of his grip.

His cheek twitched. “But you and I both know why the rules are in place. We both know what's at stake. I don't take pleasure in shutting you down or traipsing with you all over hell and creation to prove you're breaking the law. That's not the part of my job I enjoy.”

“I'm not sure about that. That swagger of yours and that smirk you've been wearing since you got here seem pretty self-satisfied.”

His gaze rolled to the heavens, as though he was praying for patience. “I saw that stage you're walking me to when I arrived. I can already tell you that it's too close to the surrounding structures to accommodate fire dancers. It'll need to be moved.”

“Like hell it does.”

His hands went to his hips. “Please tell me that Alex explained to you that the stage can't be so close to the main building. Please tell me he explained to you that Briscoe Ranch Resort is more than fifty years old and made entirely of wood. The original structure in the main building is nearly seventy-five years old. Even the nails in the original building are wooden. This place is a pile of tinder waiting to explode.”

No, Alex most certainly did not tell her that. Any of it. Not about Maria the florist or the too-small tent he'd okayed or, apparently, the very valid reasons Micah Garrity was in contention with the resort.

“Dramatic much?” said a droll voice behind them. Alex. Remedy ground her molars together, tamping down her anger at him. If there was such a thing as a time and a place to confront her new boss, this certainly wasn't it.

Remedy could practically feel the waves of irritation radiating from Micah's body as he faced Alex. “I'll never understand how you can be so flippant about fire safety, knowing what Xavier's family has been through.”

Remedy's ears perked up. Xavier was Alex's husband. Alex's office was wallpapered with photographs of the two of them, along with their sweet twin toddlers, and Remedy had heard innumerable stories about their family, but never once had Alex broached the subject of a fire disaster or something that Xavier's family had gone through.

“I'm not as militant—no,
obsessed
—as you are, but that doesn't mean I'm flippant about fire safety,” Alex said, standing taller. “But there's a balance, Micah, and I'm willing to work with you to find it, like I always am. Just don't bring Xavier into this.”

A vein in Micah's neck had become visible. “Don't bring Xavier into this? Are you bullshitting me? Here's a better question: Do you have any idea how long it took me to make peace with the fact that he married a Briscoe Ranch executive?”

Assuming a bored frown, Alex lifted an eyebrow, droll, his voice flat. “Was it equal to the horror I experienced when I found out my boyfriend was your best friend?”

Remedy had to be hearing this wrong. She angled into Micah's line of sight. “Hold on. You're best friends with Alex's husband? How—”

“Stay out of this, California.”

“I don't think I will,” she countered. There was no staying out of it because Alex had embarrassed her in front of Micah and caused her tons more work because of all the code violations today, work that she and her staff would have to scramble to complete, and yet here he and Micah were snipping at each other as though there was a whole lot more to the story of their animosity beyond a professional disagreement—and she was supposed to mind her own business?

But Micah didn't seem to hear her as he stepped around her to get nearer to Alex. “I was in his life first, and I'm a godparent to your children—who live only a few miles down the valley and would be directly in harm's way if a wildfire swept through the county land toward your house—and I'm the one with the law on my side. So I'll bring Xavier into this if I want to. In fact, I might bring it up with him tomorrow morning at the range. I'm sick of this dance you and I keep doing every wedding at the resort. I'm sick of training your new employees for you.”

Alex fumed silently, his face flushed as red as Micah's.

Micah pushed the tent diagram into Remedy's hands. “Move the stage another twenty feet away from the surrounding structures and you'll be in business tonight. I'll be back this evening to check that you followed through on the changes I ordered, so don't let Alex put any clever ideas in your head.”

Then he was off across the lawn, no swagger in his angry stride in the direction of a massive white diesel truck with a red stripe along the side containing the words
Ravel County Fire Chief
in block white lettering.

“Alex, is all that true? Is Micah Garrity your twins' godfather?”

Alex didn't reply. At the continued silence, Remedy tore her attention from Micah to catch a glimpse of Alex disappearing through an employee entrance to the resort.

 

Chapter Four

A scream sliced through the air as Micah mounted the porch steps of his best friend's house. So much for his worry about waking the sleeping rulers of the Xavier and Alex Rowe household. Apparently, the rulers—or tyrants, as they seemed to be since they turned one and a half—were already awake and terrorizing their poor dad. If Xavier's voice mail from earlier was any indication, they'd been at it for the whole day and most of the previous night.

Before Micah could raise his hand to ring the doorbell, the door flew open.

Xavier, wrangling a whimpering, struggling Isaac. Behind him, in a high chair at the dining room table, sat Ivy, screaming her fool head off. The twins must not have gotten the memo that they weren't supposed to turn into little demons until their second birthday, a whopping five months away.

Xavier's brown eyes were bloodshot and his hair was frizzing out, looking weeks overdue for a cut. His dark skin was sheened in sweat and he had a bit of a funky smell going on. Or maybe it was the sweatpants and filthy T-shirt he was wearing.

Micah held up the paper bag he'd brought. “Trade ya.”

Xavier's shoulders dipped. “That's the sweetest sound I've ever heard, and I don't care if it's dog poop in that bag.”

“Blueberry lemon muffins, actually.” He pulled Isaac from Xavier's arms, though the little guy wasn't eager to let go of his daddy. It took some wrangling to release Isaac's grip on Xavier's shirt. “You look like hell, by the way. Smell like it, too.”

“Gee, thanks. You always were good with the compliments.” He opened the bag and followed Micah toward the dining room table. “Are these muffins from your secret admirer?”

Isaac turned his body in toward Micah and cried into Micah's neck. Micah jiggled Isaac's sweet belly and gave him raspberries on the cheek until Isaac stopped crying and smiled. “Yup. But I figured you could use them more than me today.”

Once or twice a week since before Christmas, Micah had opened his front door to find sweet treats wrapped lovingly in layers of paper plates and foil, then tucked in nondescript paper lunch bags. Often muffins or croissants, sometimes, when he got lucky, huge, sticky, decadent cinnamon rolls. The treats never included a note or any identifying information. He supposed he could play detective and ferret out the person's identity, but that hardly seemed like a way to pay back the mystery person's generosity. Clearly, they didn't want to be discovered. Plus, he kind of figured it was Mrs. Mayfield, an elderly widow who lived in the house behind his, because he'd saved her cat from a tree last year and because tasty aromas often wafted from her kitchen windows.

Xavier bit into a muffin and started to sit down on the chair facing Ivy, but Micah gave him a friendly shove. “I've got both these yahoos. You go eat and take a few minutes to catch your breath. Shower or something. Did I mention that you stink?”