The December Market (Shelter Springs #2)

18

Three hours later, after the market officially closed and the few remaining merchants and shoppers made their way to the exits, Rafe was still asking himself why he had volunteered to spend even more time with Amanda Taylor.

He should have been coming up with a better strategy to stay away from the woman. Instead, he jumped at the first excuse to extend their time together. Worse, they would be alone here at the market, with only the empty stalls and darkened holiday decorations as company.

He had a vague feeling of dread, that he had made a huge mistake, but knew he couldn’t back out now. He wouldn’t, even if he managed to figure out a way.

He truly wasn’t comfortable with the idea of her being here alone. He could only imagine someone with nefarious intent lurking around a corner, ready to attack her as soon as she was alone in the hall.

Yeah. He probably read too many thrillers. This was Shelter Springs. While the town certainly had its share of crimes, those were usually petty. Vandalism, theft, shoplifting. Kids who hid out in a bathroom on a dare. That sort of thing. Violent crimes were rare—but certainly not impossible.

Even if he hadn’t volunteered to stay with her, Amanda most likely would be perfectly fine here until the night watchman came on duty.

He still didn’t like the idea, and he would be able to sleep better that night knowing he had done his best to keep her safe.

After checking to ensure all the first aid supplies were locked away in the cabinets and making a quick note on his phone about the few items he and the other EMTs had used up the past few days so he could replenish stores for the following week, Rafe locked the door to the small room behind him and walked out into the hall. The lights had been dimmed in all the nearby stalls except one. The Lucky Goat.

He could see Amanda inside, illuminated by the glow of the Christmas lights that lined her shop. Her auburn hair seemed to glow in the lights, reflecting them like a halo around her head.

She was lovely, a vision of warmth in the midst of darkness.

She looked up as he approached, and he caught a fleeting expression in her eyes he couldn’t immediately identify. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hello. How was your evening? Your shop seemed busy, especially when the crowds came in after the boat festival.”

“We had a good night. I’ve been thrilled with our first-week sales numbers. The market will still be open all this week and we already have almost matched last year’s total numbers.”

“That’s great. Good work.”

She gestured to him. “You really do not have to stay with me, Rafe. I’m sure you’re anxious to get home to rest your arm after your long day.”

Most of the time, he felt fine but sometimes his arm ached like somebody had come along and banged it against a brick wall for a few hours. He wasn’t about to admit that to her, though.

“I don’t mind at all,” he said. “What’s another half hour?”

She sighed. “You’re not going to budge on this, are you?”

He shook his head, his expression firm.

She sighed. “Fine. I need to finish up here and close down the shop, then we can do the final walk-through.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I’m only trying to refill the shelves so Scarlet, who is working first thing Monday, doesn’t have to worry about anything but unlocking the store. I’m sorry to make you wait for a moment. I wanted to finish this earlier but, as you said, we were too busy for me to do anything but deal with customers.”

“How can I help?”

“If you want to hand me items out of the box, I can put them in their designated spot.”

They fell into an easy rhythm as he pulled out various scented soaps and lotions that she shelved in the appropriate slot. She clearly had a system and knew where everything belonged.

“What made you open a soap business?” he asked after a moment.

She gestured around the aromatic little wooden shop. “I sell far more than just soap, as you can see. The Lucky Goat offers natural lotions, skin care products, candles, lip balm. We also sell safe and organic cleaning products and certain carefully curated handmade items.”

He smiled at the unmistakable note of pride in her voice. “What led you in this direction? I mean, you could have opened a shoe store or a candy shop or a clothing boutique. Why this?”

Her brow wrinkled as she pondered the question.

“I guess you could say I sort of fell into it. After college, I had two good friends in the area who were interested in augmenting their family incomes with something they could do around the schedules of their small children. They started experimenting with soaps and lotions. They wanted to sell their items at farmers’ markets and festivals in the area but neither had the time available for a weekly commitment. I was working an online marketing job with a flexible schedule so I volunteered to handle their retail sales.”

She returned the lid to the container and slid it out of sight under the counter. “Through that experience, that summer of traveling around the area going to fairs and markets, I realized there was a huge community out there of people looking for natural products to use in their homes and on their skin. On the other side of the equation, there were also many people, mostly women, who were making those products and trying to gain traction by selling on Etsy and other marketplaces like that. But it’s hard to choose a scent from an online description, so I decided to fill both needs.”

She glowed with enthusiasm when she talked about her store. Rafe was fascinated by the whole thing. Though he had taken a few business classes in school, he had never really been interested in commerce. Still, he respected the hell out of those willing to hustle to build something worthwhile that they enjoyed.

“It’s not a huge moneymaking venture but that doesn’t really matter to me. It’s fun and rewarding and I’m surrounded by good people and lovely fragrances all the time. There are certainly worse ways to make a living.”

Rafe could not disagree, though he expected his hands would smell like lavender for the rest of the weekend.

“What about you?” she asked, turning the tables. “What led you to a career as a firefighter and paramedic?”

He considered all the choices, good and bad, that had carried him to this place in his life. “While I was working on my degree, I spent summers fighting wildfires around the country.”

“Were you a smoke jumper?”

“Hotshot.”

“Sorry to be dense but what’s the difference?”

“Smoke jumpers do exactly that. They parachute into a fire. Hotshots, on the other hand, hike up to remote areas carrying their gear. Both of them are badasses, though.”

Her smile was slow and sweet and adorable. “And you were...a badass?”

“Still am,” he deadpanned.

Her smile widened and he had to fight the urge to kiss her right there in the darkened market.

He cleared his throat. “I fought fires for a few years after I graduated from college while I was working as a volunteer firefighter and EMT here. I found the calls I enjoyed the most were the medical ones. I liked feeling like I was helping people. It seemed a natural progression to become a paramedic, especially since Shelter Springs had a big need.”

“I’m sorry to sound stupid again but what is the difference between an EMT and a paramedic?”

“Mostly training. Paramedics have to undergo more extensive training in lifesaving methods. We can still do all the things EMTs can do, plus we can intubate, start IVs, read EKGs, etc. It took another two years of training.”

Her eyes widened with surprise. “Wow. With all that training, you still fight fires?”

“I’m technically a firefighter paramedic. Chief Bennett and I are the only two here in Shelter Springs, though a few others are working toward it.”

“So that means Shelter Springs is now down to one, at least until your arm heals.”

He made a face. “A few more weeks and I’ll be back on the job.”

“The whole town will be better for it.”

She grabbed her coat from a hook in the corner of the stall, and he stepped forward to help her into it, trying not to notice that she smelled far better than anything else found in her shop.

He helped her close up and lock the wooden stall tightly. When she had double-checked the locks, she stepped back.

“Where do we start?” Rafe asked.

“I guess we walk through row by row to make sure everything is secured for the night and there are no stragglers. We definitely need to check the restrooms.”

“Do we need to check the outside section of the market as well?”

“Yes. Probably. I know the security guards walk through it every so often. Let’s work through the inside first, though. By then, Walt should be here.”

They walked together in a comfortable silence for a few moments before she spoke in a low voice. “I don’t think I have said this before but I’m very sorry about Caitlin. She used to come into the shop after she had Isaac. I liked her a lot. I was sad to hear what happened to her after she...she left town.”

Rafe didn’t like talking about the pain and loss and guilt associated with that time, but he was also grateful when people didn’t try to pretend that part of his life had never happened.

“Thank you. I’m never quite sure what to say when people express their condolences to me. By the time she overdosed, I hardly recognized her. The woman I once loved had been lost somewhere along the way.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t miss the person she was before she gave in to her addictions,” she said, her voice quiet.

“Yeah. I do.” He paused. “It’s hard not to blame myself. I knew she was struggling with her depression and anxiety and self-medicating with alcohol. When that no longer helped, she turned to other things. I tried to get her help. I tried to persuade her to go into rehab. I talked to various professionals about what steps I could take to help her. Nothing worked.”

That feeling of helplessness those last few months of his marriage had been torture, dealing with Isaac basically as a single father by that point while trying to be the husband Caitlin had needed—compassionate and loving while walking the fine line between enabling her behavior.

Amanda stopped walking and turned to him, her features soft with compassion in the vast hall lit by only a single row of lights near the entrance. “You can’t blame yourself, Rafe. I’m sure you tried everything you could. A person struggling with addiction needs to sometimes hit bottom before they can claw their way out.”

She understood, he realized. Few others did, but Amanda had lived through the same thing from a child’s perspective.

Everyone in town had known Dennis Taylor drank to excess—and that he was a mean drunk. It had been a poorly kept secret. He had to wonder what her life had been like, growing up under those circumstances.

Isaac had only been two when Caitlin started drinking more heavily, three when she left. Even then, as young as he had been, Rafe knew his son had suffered. During that time, Isaac had become anxious, irritable, prone to tantrums one moment and inconsolable tears the next.

Amanda had lived with an addict for a father throughout her childhood and her teen years. How difficult that must have been for her. After Dennis died in the fiery crash that killed four innocent teenagers, she had been forced to bear her own grief as well as the pain of knowing what her father had done.

Not long after that, she had lost her boyfriend when Jake Shepherd had died in that avalanche.

He had been under the influence, too. Rafe had definitely smelled alcohol on him while he had been working with Amanda’s brother to resuscitate him.

Thinking of that teenager she had been, scarred by so much pain, made his heart hurt.

“You are a remarkably strong woman, Amanda.”

She gazed at him, color suddenly tinting her cheeks. “Why do you say that?”

“You’ve been through trauma most people couldn’t endure. The accident, your dad’s death, Jake. Despite that, I’ve never seen you be anything other than generous and compassionate with everyone. Even those in town who aren’t necessarily as generous and compassionate to you in return.”

She flashed him a quick look, then glanced away. “I understand that sometimes people act without thinking, out of pain.”

“A pain you had nothing to do with, other than being your father’s daughter.”

“That’s more than enough reason.”

“Can you honestly tell me it doesn’t wound you when people don’t come to your shop or refuse to serve on a committee with you because of your father?”

She released a heavy sigh. “It hurts,” she admitted. “But I try to give grace where I can.”

“Like I said. Remarkably strong.”

She looked up at him, her expression a tangled mix of emotions. She hitched in a little breath, only a tiny puff of air, and her gaze shifted to his mouth for only an instant before she quickly looked away.

Rafe caught his breath and took a step toward her, framing her face with his hands.

“Remarkable,” he murmured. A woman he simply couldn’t resist.

He shouldn’t be doing this. Even as he touched her soft skin, lowered his head, Rafe knew he was about to make a massive mistake.

Days after their previous kiss, he still hadn’t managed to get it out of his mind. He remembered the scent of her, the softness of her skin, the taste of her, like maple syrup and coffee and heaven.

What was it about Amanda Taylor that seemed to burrow under his skin? That strength he was talking about, yes. Most definitely. But there was also vulnerability about her, a soft sweetness that made him want to shield her from anything rough happening to her ever again.

He had it bad for her.

He wasn’t sure how it happened but he had begun to ache for this woman with the kind eyes and the generous heart. This certainly wasn’t going to help, he thought in the instant before he lowered his mouth to hers.

Her mouth was everything he remembered and more. This time she tasted of hot cocoa and marshmallows with a little hint of cinnamon. She hesitated for only a moment, her body tight in his arms before he felt a small sigh against his mouth. Her hands slid around his neck and her mouth softened and he was lost.