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Hidden Away
by Jennie Marts

Copyright © 2015 by Jennie Marts. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

The siren wails of the fire engine were a welcome sound as Cherry Hill shot another burst of white foam from the extinguisher. Panic welled in her chest as she watched the flames creep up the diner’s wall above the griddle.

Holy shiz-buckets.

What started as a small grease fire was rapidly turning into a desperate situation.

Cherry swore as she battled to save the only thing she had left.

“Make sure everyone’s out of the building,” she yelled at Stan, the diner’s cook. Thankfully the breakfast crowd had thinned, and only a few people had been left in the restaurant when the grease flamed on the griddle and the fire began. “You should get out, too. I got this.”

Stan attacked the fire with a dish towel, keeping the flames from spreading across the kitchen counter. “No way, dude! I’m not leaving you.”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and three large firemen filled the small room.

Well, two large fireman and one skinny guy, the best you could hope for on a small-town volunteer fire squad. One of the men dragged a fire hose through the door, and Cherry groaned as she heard glassware hitting the floor, unlucky bystanders in the path of the thick hose.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to use water on a grease fire,” she said, dredging up old advice her granddad had given her when she’d taken over the diner.

One of the fireman stepped toward her. He held a fire extinguisher in his hands. “Don’t worry. You can trust a fireman to always have the right equipment.”

Recognizing the voice, Cherry’s head snapped up, and she looked into the grinning face of Taylor Johnson.

What in the hamhock is he doing here?

Still not used to having him back in town, Cherry’s heart did a flip each time she saw him. She gulped. He had the right equipment for just about anything.

But Taylor was the new Sheriff—since when did he fight fires?

Before she had a chance to ask, another flame shot up, this one catching the side of her arm, and she cried out.

The grin disappeared as Taylor stepped forward, now all business, and put his body between hers and the fire. He yelled at the cook and pointed at Cherry. “Get her out of here before one of you gets hurt even worse!”

The whoosh of the water jetting from the hose drowned out his words, but Stan must have got the idea because he wrapped an arm around Cherry’s middle and pulled her out the front door and onto the street in front of the restaurant.

Gasping, Cherry took in great gulps of clean air and prayed that the fireman could save the diner.

Even if they saved the kitchen, the diner would be shut down for days, maybe weeks, as she battled the insurance company and made repairs.

Mentally calculating the lost earnings, she wondered, not for the first time, if the inheritance of the diner from her grandparents had been a blessing or a curse.

Within fifteen minutes, the fire was out, leaving only gray wisps of smoke rising into the air above the building. An ambulance arrived shortly after the fire truck, and Stan had guided Cherry toward the vehicle.

An EMT had just finished wrapping a large bandage around Cherry’s burned arm. She looked at the white gauze, bright against her smoke-stained skin, and smiled at the woman. “Thanks, Marge.”

She’d known Marge for years. Just like she knew almost everyone in the small town of Broken Falls, Montana.

If she hadn’t gone to school or church with them, they were her neighbors or her store clerks or bank tellers. Anyone she might not have known growing up in this town, she’d met through the diner over the last ten years that she’d worked there.

She looked toward the café, the curvy pink letters of Cherry’s Diner emblazoned on the windows, and saw Taylor emerge from the smoky building.

He peeled off his fireman jacket and tossed it on the truck. He wore his standard brown uniform shirt and jeans, and the sun winked off the gold sheriff star pinned to his chest.

Why had he moved back here?

She’d seen him a few times since he’d been back, in the diner and once when a friend of hers had needed his help.

Each time she saw him, she was taken aback at the change from the skinny light-haired boy who’d taken her to the prom and stolen her virginity.

Okay, so maybe he hadn’t exactly stolen it. Maybe she’d given it. Freely.

And with abandon.

But she didn’t want to think about that.

Taylor’s hair had darkened to a dirty blond, and the years in the military and the police academy had hardened his body and strengthened the muscles that so nicely filled out his uniform.

He strode toward her now, a look of concern in his eyes.

Those were just the same. His eyes hadn’t changed. They were the same deep blue color.

And they bore the same intensity that she remembered from all those years ago when he had looked into hers and pledged to love her forever.

To always be there for her.

The same blue eyes that haunted her dreams after he left. Leaving her alone with a broken heart and a handful of empty promises.

Well, not quite alone.

“Are you all right? How’s your arm?” Taylor asked, drawing her out of the years-old memories. He picked up her arm and looked down at her bandage as if inspecting the quality of the work.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with me. I’m fine.” She pulled her arm back, wincing at the pain of the burn but not really caring.

An injured arm was the least of her worries right now.

How was she going to pay for the repairs to the diner? Did she have enough insurance to cover the damage?

The upkeep of the restaurant had eaten into her savings for years, and she wondered even now if she had enough to cover the looming electric bill.

At least she didn’t have to pay rent. She looked at the blackened windows above the diner where she lived in a small apartment.

Like everything else about the building, the apartment was old and a little run-down.

But it was free, and she didn’t have a commute to work.

Taylor followed her gaze. “I imagine you’re gonna need to find a place to stay for a few days. The fire burned a hole through the ceiling, and I’m sure your apartment’s gonna have some pretty extensive smoke damage.”

How did he know that was her apartment?

Oh right, small town.

“You can stay with me,” Stan offered. He sat on the curb at her feet. “My place is small, but I’ve got a comfy couch.”

Cherry smiled down at her employee and friend. Stan always found a way to look at the positive side.

He’d left Chicago three years ago, tired of the city and seeking an adventure out west. He’d wandered into the diner one day looking for work and had been with Cherry ever since. Of Chinese descent, his name was actually Qingshan Lee.

After several attempts at trying to teach the townspeople the correct pronunciation, old Doc Beam had thrown up his arms and declared, “Oh forget it, I’m just going to call you Stan.”

Liking the nod to the Marvel hero creator, Qingshan accepted the moniker and had been Stan Lee ever since.

Cherry looked down at her soot-covered uniform, the pink color of the dress barely recognizable, and groaned.

A layer of black dust lay across her pale skin, the light freckles camouflaged under gray smudges. Her substantial cleavage threatened to pop free of her uniform, and she adjusted the bodice of her dress.

She looked at Stan’s normal attire of skater shorts and a tie-dyed T-shirt. “Forget the sofa, I may have to borrow some clothes.”

Taylor brushed a hand over his chin as he contemplated the apartment, and Cherry had a flash of memory of his hand on her face, caressing her chin before he’d leaned in to kiss her. “She may not be joking, Stan. I don’t think you’re getting into your apartment any time soon. With the hole in the floor, you’ll have to wait until the fire inspector clears it to make sure it’s safe for you to be walking around in there.”

Great. Now she not only didn’t have enough money to keep the power on, she was going to have to find a place to stay and buy some new clothes.

She glanced down, thinking tie-dye and skater shorts might look good on her. She could pull it off. Except all those colors might clash with her red hair.

What didn’t clash with her red hair?

As if the name Cherry Hill wasn’t bad enough, she’d been gifted with a mass of strawberry-colored hair to go with it.

She reached up, trying to collect the loose strands along her neck, gathering them up and stuffing them back into her ponytail. Her hair must look a mess, and she hoped the stretched-out elastic of the band securing her massive shock of long, curly hair would hold out for another few days.

Her phone buzzed in her front pocket. Thank goodness she’d had it in her pocket instead of floating around the kitchen.

She checked the display and sighed at the number she recognized as her Great Aunt Bea.

Bea was the matriarch of the Hill family. Her grandmother’s sister and complete opposite. Bea was stingy and rude, a female mixture of Scrooge and the Grinch. But with gray hair, a raspy voice, and a keen intellect whose words could slice through you quicker than a knife.

Gram had been kind and generous and had a heart the size of Montana.

And was the closest thing Cherry had to a mother.

She waved her phone at Stan and Taylor. “I’ve gotta take this. I’m sure my family has heard about the fire, and my aunt is calling to remind me what a colossal screw-up I am.”

She stepped away from the curb and the crowd gathering around the diner, the townsfolk anxious to see what had caused all the fuss and if it was gossip-worthy.

She imagined someone had already started a prayer chain, and the ladies of the church were probably baking casseroles and pies to bring to her aid.

Although where they would bring them, she had no idea.

After pressing the screen to accept the call, she put the phone to her ear. “Hello.”

Her heart stopped as she heard her aunt gasping for breath, trying to speak through shuddered cries.

And with a few simple words, Cherry’s world fell apart.