Page 100 of The Clover Chapel (Jamison Valley 2)
The whole community would turn out to support the station and our volunteers. And for the last few years, we’d raised a ton of money. The proceeds always went toward upgrades that I couldn’t fit within my normal operating budget, which was already stretched too thin. This year I was hoping to collect enough to get four new sets of gear and at least five new top-of-the-line radios.
So after morning sex, I’d loaded Emmy up and driven to the closest city, Bozeman, to buy bulk breakfast supplies.
“How much money do you want to raise?” she asked me as we meandered through the warehouse aisles.
“Ten grand would go a long way.”
She whistled. “That’s a lot of pancakes.”
“Yeah. We might not make it all this year but every little bit helps.”
“You may recall, Chief Slater, I once had a career in fundraising.”
“Yeah? I had no idea,” I teased.
“It’s true. This isn’t raising money for political candidates, but I’d be happy to help brainstorm ideas. Maybe think of a few things that could make you some extra cash.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” She smiled.
I’d thought to pick her brain for ideas earlier but I hadn’t known how she’d react. Anytime she talked about her former career and working for her father, she sounded hurt and bitter. But now that she had volunteered, I was going to take advantage.
She could have just offered to donate a big chunk of change. Ten thousand was probably nothing for her. And it meant a lot to me that she didn’t throw her money around. Instead, she was using her time and talent to help me reach the goal.
We finished our shopping and over the next hour, Emmy tossed out ideas as we drove home.
Her intelligence astounded me. Her ideas were creative and smart. And when she landed on a good one, the belt barely kept her in the passenger seat. I loved that she’d nix an idea before I ever had a chance to respond, telling me, “Never mind. Never mind. That won’t work in Prescott,” while she flapped her hands in the air.
By the end of the trip, we had come up with two fundraisers in addition to the breakfast.
One was a raffle to win what she called a “restaurant tour.” She was going to get in touch with the local restaurants and arrange for a winning couple to have a multi-course feast, each course from a different chef.
Her second idea was a photo contest for a Prescott Fire Department calendar featuring local businesses. Though no money would be collected right away, she thought announcing the contest at the breakfast would create a buzz of excitement.
“I love these ideas, Emmy,” I said. “But how are you going to pull all this together for tomorrow?”
“Don’t you worry. I’ve done last-minute things like this for years. Usually it was because my father ordered me to do it. At least these are my ideas and I have a clear vision of the end product. This is going to be perfect!”
I loved her enthusiasm. The way her beautiful gray eyes danced with excitement. How she’d flip her hair around her shoulders, sending the faint scent of coconut floating through the air.
I bit my tongue before I could tell her that I loved her. I’d loved her for a decade and she’d never heard me say the words.
But today wasn’t the day. I had too much I needed to do. When I did tell her that I loved her, and I prayed she’d say it back, I wanted it to happen on a day when we could spend all of it in bed.
No. Not today.
But soon.
Emmeline
Nick was in his element.
We had been up since four a.m. prepping the fire station for breakfast. Not long after we’d arrived, Nick’s volunteer firefighters had followed. He’d held a quick meeting to outline the plan for the day and then everyone had split to do their assigned tasks.
The fire truck was moved outside. The center of the station’s floor was filled with round tables and folding chairs. The furniture in the on-call pit was moved to the back and a food station set up in its place.
Griddles and camp stoves were lined up on two long tables in order to cook pancakes and scrambled eggs. Outside, one of the volunteers was manning a huge barbeque, cooking bacon and sausage links.
