Secrets in a Still Life, Kari Ganske [best fiction books to read .TXT] 📗

"Great. So much for sneaking back in quietly," I said into the dust.

"Holy Christmas! Are you okay?" a voice asked from beside me.

I jolted in my seat and turned to see the freckled face of a curly redhead staring back at me. Despite my less than triumphant return, I smiled. Those flaming red curls and emerald eyes could only belong to one person this side of the Mason-Dixon—my childhood best friend, Colleen McMurphy. Probably the one person, except my parents, genuinely glad to see me.

"Alex? Is that you?" she asked, waving her hand to try to clear the air.

"What gave me away? My exceptional grace and poise?" I managed to unbuckle, finally, and stepped out of the car onto wobbly legs.

Before I could move to the front of the vehicle to assess the damage, Colleen threw her arms around me in an exuberant embrace. "Girl! It's been too long since I last saw you!"

I hugged Colleen back. "Well, you'll be seeing a lot more of me now."

Colleen held my shoulders at arm's length, eyes wide with surprise and excitement. "You're really staying? Your mom hinted as much when I saw her at our book club, but I didn't really believe her. Especially since my best friend didn't say anything to me about it."

I winced. "Sorry. It happened kind of fast. I wanted to simply sneak back in. I would've called you when I got settled."

"Eh, I forgive you." She leaned back even more to look me over. "Besides a small cut on your forehead, you seem to be okay. Are you okay? That was quite a hit."

"I'm fine. A little shaky, but fine." I reached up to touch the cut. My fingers came away sticky. I wiped them unceremoniously on my leggings. Must have been from the airbag smashing my sunglasses against my face.

At least I hoped that was the crunch I heard and not my nose. I gently pinched the bridge between my fingers, but it didn't feel overly tender. Hopefully I wouldn't have two black eyes.

"What were you doing just sitting in the middle of the road?" Colleen asked. "I almost ran right into the back of you."

I shrugged. How to sum up all those feelings. "I—"

"Never mind," Colleen cut me off. "I know exactly why, Miss City Slicker. But you'll see that Piney Ridge isn't all that bad. Some of us are actually happy making our life here." She gave me a pointed look.

She still knew me so well. We could go months without talking, especially if I was on location for a shoot, but when we did reconnect, it was like no time passed at all.

"I know. My hesitation has more to do with a crippling sense of failure and less to do with the town. I'll get over it. I just need to wallow a little longer."

I moved away from Colleen to walk around the car and assess the damage. The front fender wrapped neatly around the sign pole. It didn't look terribly bad, but what I knew about cars could fit comfortably inside a change purse. I couldn't tell if the smoke came from the airbag, the lingering dust storm, or my poor, crumpled car.

Colleen joined me. "Not drivable. But probably not totaled."

"Goody. I guess I should call my parents for a ride." I gave another glance at the sign on the ground. "And the police."

"Funny you should mention the police," Colleen mumbled.

Chapter 2

That's when I heard the sirens. Yes, plural. A pang of homesickness for New York blew through me at the sound. Add the smell of exhaust and hot dogs, and I'd be home. The homesickness was quickly replaced by a different kind of queasiness.

Many sirens in New York? Totally normal.

Many sirens in Piney Ridge? Juicy gossip. Every busybody and their brother had a police scanner going nonstop in their kitchens. My grandmother, Nana Klafkeniewski—known lovingly as Nana K by everyone who can't pronounce her very Polish surname—included.

"Who exactly did you call?" I asked Colleen.

"Listen, I wasn't sure how hurt you were," Colleen said defensively. "So I asked for paramedics. And then I saw the sign wobble, so I suggested they also send a fire truck. And, of course, the police always respond to a roadside accident..." She trailed off as a shiny red fire truck screeched to a halt on the shoulder. Compared to the battered and dented New York City trucks, this one looked barely used. In fact, the only time I remembered seeing fire trucks were for the biyearly parades—Fourth of July and Christmas.

Colleen rushed to add, "To be fair, I didn't know it was you when I called."

The flashing lights from the truck illuminated the still settling dust from the sign's demise, creating a retro dance club vibe on the side of Rural Route 97. I squinted my eyes as the first firefighter emerged from the truck. He came into focus slowly through the dust and lights, one glorious muscle after another taking shape as he neared. His station-issued T-shirt fit snug across broad shoulders and sculpted abs. He might be the only man who looked good in suspenders. Maybe Piney Ridge did have something to offer after all.

"Is it too late to fake a more serious injury?" I asked Colleen, smoothing out my rumpled T-shirt. Even though I swore off men after my last experience, I wasn't dead.

She laughed. "Just wait."

"Wait for wha—" I started to ask. Then Mr. Bulging Bicep's face came into full focus through the dust. The sexy club music playing in my head scratched to a halt, replaced immediately with the Darth Vader theme. How fitting that one of my burned bridges grew up to be a firefighter.

Lincoln Livestrong—childhood nemesis-slash-best friend-slash-silly crush-slash-broken heart-slash-biggest regret. We'd been thrown together all