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up the pace and ran, full-out, slippers flapping against my feet, and my throat burning from exertion and the smoke. The closer I drew to Brandon’s store, the harder it was to delude myself.
    Flames shot into the sky. Wood popped and crackled as it burned. My nose stung, my eyes burned, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. Glass from an upstairs window shattered, and a woman’s scream pierced the night.
    I could only wrap my arms around myself and watch in horrified disbelief as the upper floor crumbled, and the fire consumed Brandon’s store right before my eyes.

Chapter 3

    By two o’clock in the morning, the excitement was over. I wandered home, climbed back into bed, and lay staring at the ceiling for a couple of hours before finally giving up on the idea of sleep. I couldn’t concentrate enough to read, and even with satellite TV—the only hope for clear reception in our little valley—there was nothing on worth watching. After what seemed like a long time, I dressed and went downstairs to Divinity’s candy kitchen.
    Aunt Grace used to always say that when she had a case of jangled nerves, nothing soothed her like a session at the stove. I don’t know about that, but I did have a couple of orders to fill, so I decided to do something productive with my time.
    I’d just finished coarsely chopping enough hazelnuts to keep everyone in Paradise happy when I saw a familiar red truck pull into the parking strip. Seeing Wyatt in town almost before sunrise was even stranger than seeing him driving around late at night. He parked, taking up at least two spots, and would have climbed the stairs to my apartment if I hadn’t banged on the window to get his attention.
    When he saw me waving at him through the glass, he pivoted on his heel and strode across the narrow parking strip. He’s five years older than I am, and if you ask me, he looks every minute of his forty-four years, plus a few. I like to think the years have been a little kinder to me, but I’m probably just deluding myself.
    He was dressed for work in jeans, a T-shirt, and a ratty pair of cowboy boots his wife has thrown away twice. Wyatt has rescued them both times. That ought to tell you something about him.
    Throwing open the kitchen door, he came inside wearing a deep scowl that was almost hidden by the thick swag of mustache he’s been cultivating since the summer he turned eighteen. “You’re up early.”
    I pulled bags of dried cherries from the cupboard and carried them to the chopping block. “Couldn’t sleep.”
    “Yeah? Well, I guess that means you’ve heard.”
    “About the fire?” I nodded sadly. “I was there half the night. I still can’t believe it.”
    Wyatt hooked one of the stools and dragged it across the room so he could talk to me. “It’s a damn mess, that’s for sure. The guys have been over there all night trying to make sure the fire’s completely out.”
    The blaze must have sent our volunteer fire crew into shock. They’re used to the occasional brush fire, but Paradise has never had a fire like this. I yawned hard enough to bring tears to my eyes and nodded toward the coffeemaker on the far counter. “I just made a fresh pot,” I said. “Pour me a cup, would you?”
    Wyatt almost got to his feet, but he stopped and shot a skeptical glance across the room. “Is it real coffee or that sugary crap you like so much?”
    “Don’t get your boxers in a bunch. It’s regular, and it’s strong. It won’t hurt a bit.”
    He made a face at me. I tore open a package of cherries and dumped them onto the board. “Any idea what Brandon’s going to do now? It didn’t look like there was much left last night.”
    “There’s nothing left.” Wyatt filled two cups, handed me one, and turned his attention to one of the two refrigerators humming away on the other side of the kitchen. We keep candy supplies in the new one and personal items in the white Frigidaire that’s as old as I am.
    He dug around in the old