TableofContents

Blurb

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

AbouttheAuthor

ByKimFielding

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Copyright

DearRuth

ByKimFielding

DearRuth,

I’mnotinthemoodforChristmas.Afteraromanticrelationshipwentupinflames,I

returnedtomyhometowninruralKansas.Thenmymotherpassedaway.I’mreallybusy
with my job as fire marshal—and now with my mother’s advice column, which I
reluctantly took over. There’s a sexy newcomer down the street, a guy with a young
daughterandanunfortunatedisregardforfiresafety.Heseemstowanttobefriends,but
that creates problems that may be too hot for me to handle. The last things I need right
nowareflammableholidaydecorationsandtoomuchholidayfood.HowamIsupposedto
givegoodadvicetootherswhenIcan’tseemtogetmyownlifestraight?

—BahHumbuginBaileySprings

ONE

DearReaders,

It is with much sorrow that I announce the passing of my close friend, Becky

Reynolds. Most of you knew Becky and are aware of the outstanding contributions she
madetoourcommunity.ShemadeBaileySpringsabetterplaceforusall.

Whatmostofyoudidn’tknow,however,wasthatBeckywasalsoabelovedcolumnist

forthisnewspaper.AsDearRuth,sheprovidedvaluableadviceforoverthirtyyears.Iam
sorrytoannouncethatDearRuthisnowonindefinitehiatus.

Beckyissurvivedbyherson,BaileySpringsFireMarshalBryceReynolds,andbya

largegroupoffriends,students,andadmirers.Sheenrichedusall.

—AlmaBernard,PublisherandEditor-in-Chief

“HOWARE

youholdingup?”

Brycedidn’tanswerrightaway.Insteadhefirmedhisjaw,gazedoutthewindowof

Louella’sCafé,andwatchedafewintrepidpedestriansbravetheslipperysidewalk.He’d
beenplacingbetswithhimselfonthelikelihoodhe’denduprushingouttoadministerfirst
aid, but so far he’d remained indoors, enduring Alma Bernard’s sharp scrutiny. Since
Almawasn’tgoingtogranthimmercy,hesighedandturnedtofaceher.

“I’m fine. I’m thirty-eight, which is plenty old enough to survive without my

mommy.”

“Iturnsixty-fivenextmonth,andIstillmissmineeveryday.”

BrycepattedAlma’shand.“I’msorry.I’mbeing…I’mbeinganass.YouknewMom

longerthanIdid.Herdeathhityouhardtoo.”

“Itdid.AndthestoriesIcouldtellyouaboutourteenageyears!”Shesmiledasshe

sippedhertea.ThenshesethercuponthetableandpeeredatBrycethroughherpurple-
rimmedglasses.“Ireallydowanttoknowhowyou’redoing,Bryce.Yourmotherwould
neverforgivemeifIletyoupineaway.”

“She’dprobablycomebackandhauntusboth.”

“Probably.”

He rubbed the back of his head while he thought. It was an old habit that his ex,

Owen, used to tease him about, asking Bryce whether he was trying to get the circuits
firingfaster.“I’mallright,”Brycefinallysaid.“Alittle…lostmaybe.Youknow?Ikeep

expectinghertocallortextme.”

Almanoddedslowly.“Metoo.Youknowhowsheusedtowakeupinthemiddleof

thenightandsendlinkstorandomnewsstoriesshethoughtwereinteresting?Istilllook
forthosemessageswhenIwakeup.”

“Yeah.”Brycehadsavedabunchofthoseoldtextsandsometimesscrolledthrough

them.Butsincethatwasmorbidandpathetic,hedidn’ttellAlma.

Outside,amaninanavyparka,plaidscarf,andgraystockingcapslidfivefeetand

almost went down on the ice but managed to catch himself in time—a good trick,
consideringhewascarryingtwobulkybagsfromToysandJoys.AbitofearlyChristmas
shopping, no doubt. Bryce couldn’t be sure due to all the winter wear, but he thought it
mightbehishandsomenewneighbor.Hehopedtheguymadeithomesafely.

Returning his attention to the café, he gazed at the Christmas trees. Bryce thought

threewasexcessive,butatleast—aftersomescoldingfromhim—theownershadreplaced
thestringsofvintagebubblelights.Sure,thelightswerepretty,buttheywerealsoabig
attractionforsmallchildren.Ifoneofthelightsbroke,achildcouldbecutontheglassor
burnedbythehotliquid.

“Can I ask about your plans?” Alma’s tone was uncharacteristically hesitant. This

wasthewomanwho’dcrackedthescandalregardingthemayor’sembezzlementsbackin
’93, leading to the crook’s tearful admissions and subsequent stint in the El Dorado
Correctional Facility. Alma was usually more blunt than gentle. But apparently she
thoughtBrycerequiredcarefulhandling.

“Myplans?”heasked.

“AreyougoingtocontinueonhereinBaileySprings?Orpackupandheadbackto

theWichitaFireDepartment?”

Bryceshrugged.“Stayhere,Iguess.”

“You’renotbored?”

“Nah.Therearefirestoputoutheretoo.Andotherexcitement.Likethatwreckout

onthehighwaytheotherday.”

Almatsked.“Stupidpeopledrivingtoofastfortheweather.”

“There’salwayssomeofthose.”

Brycehadreturnedtohishometowntwoyearsago,fleeingafailedrelationshipand

wantingtospendmoretimewithhissolebloodrelative.He’dassumedhe’dremainonlya
shorttimebeforemovingontoanewcity.Buthe’ddiscoveredthathelikedhislow-key
newjobasfiremarshalanddeputychief.AndBaileySpringsfithimlikeafavoritepairof
boots.Notflashy,notstylish,butcomfyandreliable.Ifhehadtodriveahundredmilesto
get laid and his local romantic thrills involved stealing glances at the sexy stranger who
livedattheendoftheblock?Hecouldlivewiththat.

Almatappedthetable.“You’recomingoverfordinneronFriday,right?”

“Wouldn’tmissit.”

“Good.Genehasanewtoytoshowyou.”

That made Bryce smile. Gene Bernard collected antique nautical navigation

equipment, an odd hobby for a man who’d spent his entire life in Kansas. When Bryce
wasveryyoung,Genehadallowedhimtoopenthecarvedwoodencasesandhandlethe
heavybrassinstruments,andevennow,BryceenjoyedadmiringGene’slatestfinds.“I’m
lookingforwardtoit.”

“Andthere’ssomethingIwantyoutothinkabout.”

“I’vetoldyou,Alma.IhavetoworkonChristmas.”He’dvolunteeredfortheholiday

shiftsooneoftheotherguyscouldstayhomewithhisfamily.

“Not that.” She briefly scrunched up her face. “Okay, that too. We’ll miss you if

you’renotthere—andwecanworkaroundyourschedule.ButIhavearequestforyouto
consider.”

Brycestraightenedinhischair.“Request?”

Therewasthebriefesthesitationbeforeshespokeagain,andheknewitwasgoingto

besomethingmajor.HebarelyhadtimetobracehimselfbeforeAlmasaidthewords.

“Iwantyoutotakeupyourmother’scolumn.”

“I….What?”Heblinkedinconfusion.

“DearRuth.IwantyoutobethenewDearRuth.”

“ButMomwasDearRuth.”

“Yes,sweetie,”Almarepliedwithfalsepatience,asifBrycewereaparticularlydim

kindergartner.“YourmomwasDearRuth.AndshewasanexcellentDearRuth.Butshe
can’tgiveanybodyadviceanymore.”

“I’mnotsosureaboutthat,”Brycemumbled.HadaOuijaboardbeenathand,he’d

halfexpecthismothertostartdictatingadvicetothelovelorn.

Alma chuckled. “You have a point. But since it’s kind of difficult for her now, I’m

askingyoutofollowinherfootsteps.Wecanchangethenameofthecolumnifyoulike,
butIdon’tthinkDearChiefReynoldshasquitethesameringtoit.”

“I’mnotanadvicecolumnist.”

“Neitherwasshe,atfirst.Yourmother,asyoumayrecall,hadadegreeinbiology.”

Brycescowled.HismomhadbeenpremedattheUniversityofKansas,butshe’dmet

and married another student and agreed to support him while he was in med school. He
was supposed to return the favor once his practice was established. Instead she got
pregnant,hedumpedherforhisreceptionist,andRuthhadcomebacktoBaileySpringsto
raise her son. She’d eventually earned her credentials and taught high school, and she’d
beendamngoodatit.Butsheneverbecameadoctor.

“HowdidMomendupwritingthatcolumn?”heasked.“Shenevertoldme.”

Almalaughed,thenfinishedthelastofhertea.“Desperation.PattyElversonusedto

writeaweeklypieceforthepaper,backwhenmyfatherranit.Evenbefore,maybe.Hell,

I’m fairly certain that Patty Elverson was writing that column back when mammoths
roamedtheplains.Shegavehouseholdcleaningtips.”Almarolledhereyesdramatically.

“And?”

“And completely out of the blue, one day she announced that she’d had enough of

that.Neverwroteanotherword.Shetookupcanastainsteadandlivedtobeeighthundred
years old. So I needed to fill that space pronto. Your mother was always telling people
whattodoanyway,soIfiguredshemightaswelldosomegoodwithit.”

Bryce wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and grinned. Some of his earliest

memoriesinvolvedhismothersittingatthekitchentablewithapadofpaperinfrontof
her and a pencil in hand, gleefully solving problems for the good citizens of Bailey
Springs.

“Itwasagoodcolumn,”Brycesaid.

“Itwas.Shewasasmartlady,compassionatebutlogical.”

“Butthatwasher.I’m…afireman.”

Alma’seyebrowsrose.“Firemencan’tgiveadvice?”

“Ofcoursetheycan.Idoitallthetime.Butmostlyit’sstufflikecheckyoursmoke

detectorbatteriesandremembertostop,drop,androll.Idon’tthinkanyonewantstoread
thatinthepaper.”

Forabriefmoment,Alma’syouthfulfacelookedoldandtired.Thenshestraightened

her shoulders and leaned forward. “Here’s the thing, kiddo. Nobody buys newspapers
anymore.What’stheneedwhenRussianwebsitesspewcrapthroughyourFacebookfeed
all day? The Bailey Springs Gazette has been operating since 1884, but we’re in real
dangerofgoingunder.”

Brycewinced.“Jesus,Alma,I’msorry.”

“Timeschange,andsometimestheoldwaysarelost.ButI’mstillfighting.Westill

bring in decent revenue from website ads, and do you know which feature gathers the
mostclicks?I’llgiveyouthreeguesses,andthefirsttwodon’tcount.”

“DearRuth,”Brycesaidwithasigh.

“Youbetcha.”Sheshookherheadslowly.“Ithoughtabouttakingitovermyself,but

youknowhowIam.PrettysoonhalfthetownwouldbegatheringonMainStreettohang
meineffigy.Tactanddelicacyarenotmystrongpoints.”

ThatmadeBrycesnortinagreement.“Notwhatyou’reknownfor.”

“Butyou,mydear,areyourmother’sson.YouwouldmakeanexcellentDearRuth.”

“ButI’venever—”

“My kids turned to you whenever they were troubled, even though you’re a little

younger.True?”

Hetwitchedhisshoulders.“Yeah,but—”

“Student body president, as I recall. And Chief Thomas snapped you right up the

minuteyousteppedfootbackintown.Youmakesense,Bryce,andpeoplelistentoyou.
You’llbegoodatthis.”

“Butmostofthelettersaskaboutrelationships.HowamIsupposedtogiveadviceon

that?Myowntrackrecordsucks.”Hislovelifeconsistedofawkwardfirstdatesthatnever
became seconds, occasional hookups, and one long-term thing that had spectacularly
crashedandburned.

Alma pointed at him. “Your mother’s romantic life was a disaster too. Just because

we’refoolishinourpersonaldecisionsnowandthendoesn’tmeanwecan’thelpothersbe
wiseintheirs.”

Hewantedtoargue.Theentirepropositionwasridiculous.ButtheBernardswerethe

closestthinghehadtofamily.They’dstoodbyhismotherwhenshe’dbeenastruggling
singleparent,andtheycontinuedtostandbyBryceashergrievingson.Heatleastowed
Almatheeffort.

“Let’snottellpeoplewhothenewDearRuthis,okay?”

Shetookhishandinbothofhersandsqueezedfirmly.“Deal.”

TWO

DearRuth,

I recently became engaged to a really great guy. He works hard, he treats me like

royalty, and we have a lot of fun together. There’s just one problem. Almost every night
after work, he smokes pot. He says it’s no big deal and it’s just the same as if he had a
couple of beers or something. But I’m worried because it’s illegal and might lead to
harderdrugs.WhatshouldIdo?

—Stoner’sfiancée

BRYCESQUINTED

at the computer screen and considered telling her to make

sureherguystubbedouthisjointscarefullyanddiscardedtheminafireproofcontainer.
Butthatprobablywasn’ttheadviceshewaslookingfor.Withanoisysigh,hestoodup
fromthetableandploddedacrossthekitchentopeeroutthewindow.Awarmspellhad
passedthrough,meltingtheiceandsomeoftheaccumulatedsnow,buteventhoughthe
afternoonsunwasbright,thetemperatureshaddippedagain.Itwascoldenoughtofreeze
one’snosehairs.Still,he’dbeensittingaroundallday.Heneededtogetoutofthehouse
beforethefewremaininghoursofsunlightended.

Changing into his running clothes took several minutes, and as soon as he stepped

throughthefrontdoor,thecoldhithisfewbitsofexposedskinlikeaslap.Goodincentive
torun.Hetookoffatafasterpacethanusual,hisfeethittingthegroundwithsatisfying
thuds.

As he navigated his familiar neighborhood, he acknowledged that this was another

thing his mother had been right about. When he moved back to Bailey Springs, he’d
intendedtorentoneofthetown’sfewapartments,aloftlikespaceoveracoupleofshops
onMainStreet.Hismotherhadpersuadedhimtobuyahouseinstead.“Lessnoiseduring
the day, when you might be trying to sleep after a night shift,” she’d pointed out. “And
you’llhavepeopletotalkto.MainStreet’sdeadoutsideofbusinesshours.Plusahouseis
agoodinvestmentandyougetataxbreak.”

Sohe’dboughtalittlebungalow.Itwasn’tinBaileySprings’fanciestneighborhood,

where Queen Annes loomed like firetraps waiting to happen, but it was within walking
distance of downtown and the fire station. He’d spent a good deal of time fixing up the
house, making it comfortable and even charming. The neighbors were friendly; he’d
known many of them since he was a kid. After his mother died, they’d brought him
casserolesandpiesandsharedkindmemoriesofher.

Speakingofneighbors,whenBrycewasnearlydonewithhisrun—justroundingthe

corner onto his part of the block—he caught sight of the new guy. He’d moved in the
previousmonth,butsincethenBrycehadcaughtonlyafewglimpsesofhim.Enoughto
see that the man was gorgeous. A few years older than Bryce, perhaps, with silver
threadinghisdarkbrownhairandneatbeard,andwithacompactbuildandapleasantbit
ofsoftnessaroundhismiddle.Nowthenewguyteeteredatopaladderproppedagainstthe
front of his one-story house, while a young girl in a green parka stood on the lawn and
lookedupathim.

Bryce jogged in place for a moment before sighing and hurrying over. “You should

havesomeonestabilizethatladder!”hecalledashecamenearer.Themantwistedaround,
whichverynearlycausedtheladdertotopple,butBrycesteadieditjustintime.“You’re
gonnaenduphurtingyourself,”hesaidbreathlessly.

PeeringdownatBryce,themanmadeanannoyedgrunt.“Iwasdoingfineuntilyou

distractedme.”

“No, you weren’t. The ground’s too frozen for the ladder to sink in and give you a

littlestability.Youwereonemoveawayfromdisaster.”

Thegirlcameupclose.Ared-and-goldscarfobscuredmostofherfaceandmadeit

hardtojudgeherage.Five?Six?Somethinginthatrange.

“My dad’s gonna hang Christmas lights,” she announced. “Purple ones that blink.

Andthenwe’regonnaputreindeersonthelawn.Theyhavewhitelights,exceptone’sgot
arednose,likeRudolph.”

“Soundsnice.Santa’sgoingtobeimpressed.”

“Santa’snotreal.He’sjustsomeguyinacostume.”

BeforeBrycecouldrespond,theguydescendedtheladder,andBrycesteppedaway

sohecouldreachtheground.Theman’scheeksandnosewereredfromthecold.“Iwas
doingfine,”heinsisted.“Butthankyou.”Thenhestuckoutaglovedhand.“NoahCosta.”

Bryceshookhishand.“BryceReynolds.Ilive—”

“Downthestreet.Iknow.AndthisisHarper.”

When Bryce shook her hand, she giggled. “Are you a real fireman?” she asked.

“’Causeyoudon’thavearedtruck.Firemenaresupposedtohavebigredtrucks.”

“Wekeepthetrucksatthestation,”hereplied,thenliftedhiseyebrowsatNoah.

“Mrs. Foster gave us the rundown on everyone on the block. Does she keep a

spreadsheetorsomething?”

That made Bryce laugh. “Probably. The NSA could learn things from that woman.”

HewonderedwhatelsetheirmutualneighborhadtoldNoah.NotthatBrycehadanyugly
secrets, but it slightly discomfited him to know that this stranger might be aware of the
detailsofhislife.

“Well,eversincethen,Harper’sbeenreallyexcitedabouttheprospectoflivingnear

areal-lifefireman.”

Harpernoddedsolemnly.“I’mgonnabeafirefighterwhenIgrowup.”

“Ibetyou’llbeawesomeatit,”Brycesaid.Thenonimpulseheadded,“Ifyouwant,

youcanstopbythestationoneofthesedaysandI’llgiveyouatour.Maybeyoucantry
outthehook-and-laddertruck,seehowyoulikeit.”

Her eyes grew huge, she squealed at such a high pitch that Bryce was surprised

anyone other than dogs could hear it, and she took off running across the lawn, pausing
nowandthentoleapintotheair.“Wow,”Brycesaid.

“She’s a little, um, exuberant.” Noah had an unexpectedly deep voice, the kind that

rumbleddownlowandmadeBryce’sheartrace.

Now was not the time for a racing heart, however. “I’m jealous. Not a single thing

thathaseverhappenedtomeasanadulthasmademethathappy.”ThenBryceblushedas
herealizedthatwaskindofapersonalthingtoadmittoamanhe’djustmet.

ButNoahonlybeamedathim.“Thanks,man.Thatwasareallyniceoffer.Youdidn’t

havetodothat.”

Bryce was two seconds away from saying Aw, shucks and tipping his nonexistent

Stetson. “No big deal. I’m usually at the station on Saturday afternoons, if you want to
bringherby.”

“Done.”

Harper had finished running and leaping and was now turning somersaults instead.

Just watching her made Bryce slightly dizzy. He was cooling down from the run, and
Noahstillstoodclosetohim,eyessparkling.

“Doyou,um,wantsomehelpwiththelights?”Bryceasked.

Which was how he came to spend the next hour working closely with Noah—

sometimescloseenough totouch—whilehis nosegrewprogressively colderandHarper
danced and twirled around them. Nobody fell off the ladder, and Bryce made sure the
outdoorelectricaloutletsandextensioncordswereingoodcondition.

“That’s gonna look awesome,” Noah said when they were finished. “I really

appreciateyourhelp.I’veneverhungChristmaslightsbefore.”

“Ithinkwedidagoodjobofit.”

“Yeah. But Jesus, you must be freezing your ass off.” Noah stole a guilty look at

Harper, who apparently hadn’t heard him as she pretended to feed dead grass to the
decorativeRudolph.“Howaboutsomecoffee?”

Bryceshouldhaverefused.SixtyminuteswithNoah,andBrycewasalreadysliding

dangerouslyintoCrushville.NotonlywasNoahhandsome;hewasfunnytoo,andslightly
awkwardinanadorableway.Andhehadthatdeepvoice,and—Shit.Onecupofcoffee
couldn’thurt.

Thehouse’sinteriorwasdated,withscuffedpaint,threadbarecarpeting,andakitchen

straightoutof1972.Cardboardboxeslurkedincornersandtotteredinpiles.“Sorryabout
the… general state of things,” Noah said as he gestured Bryce to a kitchen chair. “It’s a
workinprogress.”

“Movingisrough.”

“Yeah. Especially with the kid and the holidays. I’ll tackle some of the renovation

afterNewYear’s,whenHarper’sbackinschool.”Noahnoddedtowardthelivingroom,
where Harper had disappeared as soon as they’d entered the house. The unmistakable
sound of cartoons wafted through the doorway. With a quick grin in Bryce’s direction,
Noah unearthed a coffee maker from a cabinet, plugged it in, and filled the carafe with
water. He mumbled to himself as he searched through drawers. “Where the hell are the
filters?”

“Ifit’stoomuchtrouble—”

“Nope!”Noahheldaboxtriumphantlyaloft.“Found’em.”

WhileNoahfussed,measuringgroundsandtryingtofindsugar,Brycefoundhimself

staring at Noah’s ass, which was beautifully encased in denim. Bryce looked away and
clearedhisthroat.“Sowheredidyoumovefrom?”

“California.”

“Wow.Thatmusthavebeenashock.”

“Theweatherpart,sure.Harper’sstillstokedaboutsnow,butI’mnotsosureaboutit.

I’m perfecting my shoveling skills.” Smiling, Noah carried a sugar bowl and carton of
milktothetable,thenreturnedtotheburblingcoffeemaker.

“If you want to avoid that particular skill, you can always hire the Patterson kids.

They’ll do a decent job of keeping the snow cleared. They can mow your lawn in the
summertoo.”

“I’llkeepthatinmind.Fornow,though,Icouldprobablyusetheexercise.Youcan

probably tell that, unlike you, I’m not doing much jogging.” Noah glanced down at his
ownsomewhatsquishybelly.ItwasthekindofbellyBrycewouldhavelovedtorunhis
handsover,rubhisfaceover.Itwasthekindofbellythatwouldhavefeltgoodpressed
againsthisback,remindinghimhewasinbedwithsomeonerealandsubstantial.

Bryce cleared his throat and gazed up at the ceiling. “The cover on that smoke

detectorismissing.”

“What?”Noahinterruptedhiscoffeepouringtoglanceoverhisshoulder.“Oh.Yeah.

ItstartedbeepinginthemiddleofthenightandIhaven’treplacedthebatteryyet.”

“You should check all your detectors monthly and replace the batteries yearly. I’d

recommendpickingparticulardatessoyoudon’tforget.Oryoucangetnewerdetectors
thatrunofflithium-ionpower.Thosewilllasttenyears.Haveyoucheckedyourcarbon
monoxidedetectors?”

Carrying over a pair of mismatched mugs, Noah shook his head. “I’m not sure we

havethose.”

Bryce scowled. “You need to find out right away. Especially at this time of year,

whenyou’rerunningagasfurnacenonstop.”

“Okay.”NoahsetthefilledmugsonthetableandtookthechairoppositeBryce.

UnsatisfiedwithNoah’scavalierattitude,Bryceshookhishead.“Seriously.Look,the

stationusuallyhasdiscountcouponsfordetectors.StopbyforthattourandI’llfindyou
some.”

Noahgavehimasunnysmile.“Really?That’dbegreat.Thanks.”

The coffee burned Bryce’s tongue, but it also thawed him a little. He wrapped his

hands around the cup and, for a few moments, enjoyed the homey company. But when
Noah’s quiet, friendly presence became almost too much to endure, Bryce ventured a
question.“IbetyoumissStarbucks,huh?”

“Sometimes,” Noah said with a chuckle. “But I’m pretty sure I can survive without

it.”

“Ifyoudon’tmindmeprying,howthehelldidyouendupinBaileySprings?”

“Everyone keeps asking me that, like Bailey Springs is the second level of hell or

something.”

“Nothell.Purgatory,maybe.”

Noahlaughedagainandsippedhiscoffee.“Itisalittlechillyfortheinferno.AndI’m

surprisedMrs.Fosterhasn’tgivenyoumylifestory.”

“OnlybecauseIhaven’tseenherinacoupleweeks.I’msureshe’llfillmeinonceI

do.”

“Well, I guess I can beat her to the punch.” Noah glanced toward the living room

doorway and dropped his voice slightly. “I got fired from my job in California. I was
marketingdirectorforawinery.”

“ThatsoundslikeaveryCaliforniakindofjob.”

“Hella California.” Noah walked to the counter, grabbed the coffeepot, and refilled

theirmugs.“Itwasn’tabadjob,”hesaidaftersittingagain.

“NotalotofwineriesinBaileySprings.Ormarketingdirectors,forthatmatter.”

Noahleanedforwardoverthetabletop,excitementmakinghiseyesgleam.“Iknow!

I’mdoingsomethingdifferent.Thethingis,mybossandIdidn’texactlyseeeye-to-eye
on politics. Which was bearable for a while, but when the election process got into full
swing,well,notsomuch.HeshoweduponemorninginaredMAGAhatandIsortoflost
myshit.Hecannedme.”Hesatbackinthechairwithhisarmscrossed,lookingpleased
withhimself.

“Um,ifyou’relookingforabastionofprogressivepolitics,BaileySpringsain’tit.”

Bryce was out—had been for years—which hadn’t caused him any problems beyond a
fewsourlooksandmumbledslurs.Buthe’dadoptedadon’t-ask-don’t-tellapproachtohis
neighbors’andcoworkers’votingpreferences.

“Yeah,Igotthat.Butthistownhasonereallygoodthinggoingforit.It’sdirtcheap

tolivehere.Marketingwasjustawaytoearnaliving,youknow?I’vealwayswantedto
be a writer. I make a little off magazine articles and some other freelance work, but not
enoughtomakeagoofitinCalifornia.SoIdecidedtotakearisk.Soldmyhousethere,
boughtthislovelyestatehere,andIstillhaveenoughtosupportusforafewyearsatleast.

I’m going to give full-time writing a shot. Plus this way I get to spend more time with
Harper.”

As if on cue, his daughter bounced into the room. She’d shed her winter outerwear

andnowsportedmismatchedfuzzysocks,tornyellowleggings,asparklytutu,andared
Fire&Rescuetee.Brycewonderedifthelastitemwasinhishonor.Harperzoomedover
tothetableandgentlyhead-buttedherfatheruntilhekissedthetopofherhead.Thenshe
skipped to the fridge, pulled out a string cheese, and hopped back into the living room.
Noahshookhisheadfondly.

“Your, um, family didn’t object to you moving so far away?” Bryce asked. Which

was nosy of him, but he hadn’t heard or seen any indication of a Mrs. Costa, and he
couldn’tbeblamedforwondering.

Expressionunreadable,Noahgavehimalonglook.Thenhestareddownathismug,

turningitbetweenhishandsforatimebeforelookingup.“It’sjustmeandHarper.”

Bryce’s heart twinged in sympathy, probably because his own loss was so fresh.

Instead of acknowledging that, though, he pasted on a smile. “Well, welcome to Bailey
Springs.Itdoeshaveafewthingsgoingforitbesidescheaprealestate.”

“Yeah?”Headcocked,Noahwascharming.Dammit.

“Theschoolsaresurprisinglygood.Wekeepsomededicatedteacherschainedtotheir

desks. Louella’s Café makes the best pies you’ve ever tasted. Walmart never discovered
us,sotherearestillsomedecentshopsleftdowntown.Whentheweatherturnswarm,you
cangodowntotheriverandhaveaniceswim,maybedoalittlefishing.”

“Andthelocalfiremarshaltakeshisjobveryseriously.That’sgoodtoo.”

Smiling,Brycestood.“Ihavetogo.Thanksforthecoffee.”

“Thankyouforthehelpwiththedecorations.HavingthemupmeansalottoHarper.”

Togethertheywalkedthroughthelivingroom,wherethewallswerestillbareanda

modernsectionalsofalookedoutofplace.Harper,sprawledontheflooranddistractedby
whateverwasonTV,wavedbriefly.Bryceputhisouterwearbackon.ThenheandNoah
stoodinthelittleentranceway,aslightawkwardnesshangingbetweenthem.

“Imeanitaboutthefirehousetour,”Brycefinallysaid.

“Good,becauseI’mtakingyouuponthatoffer.”

Bryce ached to offer a lot more than that, but he had nothing else Noah wanted—

exceptfiresafetytipsandtheabilitytohangChristmaslights.InsteadhetookNoah’sbare
hand in his gloved one and gave it a brief shake. “It’s good to meet you,” he said with
slightlyfalsecheer.

“Youtoo.”

Hispaceasheranhomewasalotfasterthanajog.

THREE

DearRuth,

After getting married, my wife and I moved in with her parents, who have a big

house.MywifeandIarestillpayingoffmycollegeloans,sothismadesensetoeveryone.
Mostlyweallgetalong.Butayearagoourfirstchildwasborn,anditturnsoutIhavea
verydifferentchild-raisingphilosophythanmyin-laws.Mywifeagreeswithme.Butmy
in-lawskeepinsistingthatsinceit’stheirhouse,weshouldfollowtheirrules.Ithinkthis
problemisonlygoingtogetworseasoursongetsolder.WhatshouldIdo?

—FrustratedFather

THETHING

abouttheDearRuthletterswasthatthey…niggledathim.Ithadbeen

only two weeks since he’d taken over his mother’s column, yet he found himself
preoccupiedwiththelettersduringmuchofhissparetime,thinkingaboutthedilemmas
and how to answer them. It was a relief, really, because mulling over other people’s
dramaskepthisthoughtsfromstrayingtoNoahCosta,tohiswarmsmileandreadylaugh,
tothesolidtherenessofhisbody,tothewayhiseyescrinkledwhenhe—

Danger,danger,BryceReynolds!Herebedragons!

So,yeah.Letters.

The thing was, after sweating through the first two or three, Bryce had found his

groove. Maybe he’d simply gained some false confidence because nobody had come
poundingatAlma’sdoor,threateninglawsuitsorbloodretribution,cryingthathe’druined
their lives. In fact, Alma told him that once people realized the column had been
resurrected, readership had spiked to new highs. She hadn’t revealed the identity of the
newRuth,socuriositywasprobablyamajorfactor.Butinanycase,nodisasters.Yet.

Today he’d worked a day shift, during which he’d done a final inspection on the

newly refurbished United Methodist Church, mediated a payroll dispute between one of
the firemen and the department’s accountant, and helped extinguish a fire in someone’s
gardenshed.Thecauseofthatcallwaseasytofind—ateenagerwho’dthoughtawooden
structurefilledwithoilyragsandadecadeofoldnewspaperswasagoodplacetosneaka
joint.Atleastthekidwasn’thurt,althoughhisparentslookedliketheywantedtomurder
him.

Inthelastoftheday’slight,Brycejoggedhome,carefullynotlookingatthehouse

withthepurplelightsandfront-lawnreindeer.Whenhegottohisownplace,heshowered,
nuked a potato and then some frozen broccoli, and pan-fried a steak. His belly full, he

clearedthekitchentableandsettledinwithhislaptop.

He’ddevelopedaroutineforthis.Hekeptabeveragenearathand—coffeeorbeer,

depending—andheplayedmoodmusiconhisBluetoothspeakers.TonightitwasRobert
Johnson because most of the Dear Ruth letters could easily have inspired Delta blues
lyrics.Withhisfeetwarmedbythicksockshismotherhadknittedandwithhismother’s
favoritepennearby,Bryceclosedhiseyesandthoughtabouttheletter.

DearFrustratedFather,hetyped.Itwasalittlelikeaséance.Notthathebelievedin

thosethings.Butwhenheseteverythingupjustrightandputhimselfinthecorrectframe
ofmind,itwasalmostasifhecouldchannelhismother.Hecouldhearhervoiceclearly
inhishead,usingtactandcommonsensetounknotthepersonalproblemsofthecitizens
ofBaileySprings.

It’simportantthatyouandyourwifeactasyourson’sparentsandraisehimtheway

youthinkisright.Nowisthetimetosettlethisdispute,sincewaitingwillonlyconfusehim
andcause more havocin the family.You have a fewcourses of actionyou can take, but
whateveryoudo,youandyourwifemustbeonthesamepage.

First,youmight—

Abellrang,startlinghimsothoroughlythatheleaptfromhischair.Ittookamoment

forhimtorealizeitwasn’tafirealarmbutratherthedoorbell.Heswallowedhard.The
lasttimesomeonehadcomeunexpectedlytohisdooratnight,ithadbeenthelocalpolice
chief,theretoinformBrycethat—

Pushing the memory into the depths where it belonged, Bryce marched to the door

andyankeditopen.

Noah Costa stood on the front porch, holding a plate covered in foil and looking

startledatBryce’sabruptdemeanor.“Hi,”Noahsaidafteramoment’shesitation.

“Hi.”

“SorryifIinterrupted.Ican—”

“Youdidn’t.”ThefrigidairmadeBryceshiver.“Comeonin.”

Appearing relieved, Noah stomped his feet a few times on the doormat before

entering. Bryce closed the door and switched on the living room light. “No sidekick
tonight?”

“Notyet.Harperandafriendfromschoolareatthemovies.Coco,I’mtold.Thisis

thefirsttimeHarper’sbeentoatheaterwithoutme,andit’sveryexcitingforbothofus.”
Hesmiledwryly.“It’salsoslightlytraumaticforme,soI’vecompensatedbybaking.But
thenIfiguredthatHarperdoesn’tneedanymoresugar,andIdon’t…well,Idon’tneed
anyofit.SoI’msharingaspaymentforservicesrendered.”

Bryce’smindimmediatelywentnaughtyplaces.Heshiftedhisfooting.“Services?”

“Decorating.”

“Ah.That.”

Noahraisedtheplate.“Chocolatechip.”

In truth, Bryce tried to avoid sweets at home. Food was always lurking around the

firestation—donuts,cake,somecheese-and-doughthingsthechief’swifelikedtomake—
and those temptations were hard to resist. Almost as hard to resist as the sexy man
standingsoveryclose,alightdustingofflourinhishair.

“DoyouhavesometimebeforeCocoends?”Bryceasked.Damn.Hehadn’tmeant

to.

ButNoahgrinned.“Anhour.”

They ended up on Bryce’s couch, munching on cookies and sipping beer. The

combinationwassurprisinglygood,eventhoughthecookieswereabitoverbaked.“Does
yourhousehavethesamefloorplanasmine?”Noahaskedcuriously.

“Mostly.Minehasanadditionontheback.”

“Sothiswassomekindofprimitivesubdivision?”

“Not exactly. A hundred years ago, folks used to order their house plans from

catalogs.YouandIhaveoneofSears’popularlow-endmodels.”

“Huh.”Noahgazedaroundtheroom.“Yoursisinwaybettershape.”

“ItwasadumpwhenImovedin,butI’vehadsometimetoimproveit.”

“IunderstandyouleftBaileySpringsforalongtimebutmovedbackacoupleyears

ago.”

Brycemanagednottosigh.“Mrs.Foster?”

“Ofcourse.Althoughtheguyatthehardwarestore….What’shisname?”

“DelmerStolz.”

“That’sright.Hegavemesomedetailstoo,mostlyaboutwhatyoudidtoyourhouse.

Theofficialwordisthatyou’veimproveditconsiderably.”

Itfeltalittleweirdthatsomuchdiscussionhadgoneonbehindhisback.Notthatthe

locals didn’t gossip; he was pretty sure gossip beat football as the most popular sport in
theseparts.Butwhyhim?Noahhadplentyofotherpeopletolearnabout,mostofwhom
wereprobablymoreinterestingthanBryce.

“Doyouwantaquicktour?”Bryceasked.Againwithoutintendingto.

“I’dloveone.”

They spent quite a bit of time in the kitchen. Noah was intrigued by Bryce’s

reworking of the floor plan, which allowed more efficient movement as well as a more
open feel. He also liked the idea of the half bath tucked between the kitchen and back
door. “That would be a handy place for Harper’s premeal washups,” he mused. “And
guestswouldn’thavetousethehallbathroom.It’sHarper’s,soit’sfullofbathtoysand
stuff.”

“Ionlyhavethemasterbathbesidesthisone.Butthat’sfinesinceit’sjustme.”

Theypeekedintothesmalladditionthatthepreviousownershadusedasabedroom

but Bryce used for storage. They trekked down the hall to a former small bedroom now

kittedoutasahomegym.

“Impressiveequipment,”saidNoah.

“I guess. We have a couple of machines at the firehouse, but I like to get a decent

workoutevenonmydaysoff.”

“I’ve never been very good about sticking to an exercise routine.” Noah ruefully

pattedhisbelly.

Bryce longed to pat it too but instead fixed his gaze on the weight machine. “Well,

you’re really busy, between work and Harper. My mom was a single parent, so I have
someideawhatatoughjobthatis.”

“Iguess.ButIstilloughttoexercisemore.”

Theyendedupinthemasterbedroom.Notawkward,Brycetoldhimself.Nope.Not

atall.Atleasthisbedwasmade,andnodirtyunderwearorpornmagazineswereinview.
He didn’t actually own any porn magazines, but he still had the guilty feeling that one
wouldsomehowmanifestatophiscomforteralongwithanarrayofsextoys.

Noah, on the other hand, seemed pretty comfortable. He admired the room’s layout

and nodded at the french doors Bryce had installed to replace a window. “That’s a nice
idea.Easyaccesstothebackyard.”

“Andaneasyemergencyexitincaseoffire.”Brycesmiledtoshowhewaskidding.

Mostly. But when Noah paused to inspect the crown molding, a clear image sprang into
Bryce’smind:Noahnaked,spreadacrossthemattress,leeringupathiminvitingly.

“Areyouokay?”Noahasked,afterturningaroundtolookathim.

“Huh?”

“IthoughtIheardyougroan.Shit.I’mkeepingyoufrom—”

“No!You’renot.Ijust,um,movedthewrongway.I’malittlesorefromworktoday.”

Horriblebald-facedlie.

“Well,Ishouldgethomeanyway.Harperwillbereturningsoon.”

Bryceresistedtheurgetotacklehimontothemattress.Theywalkedbacktothefront

door,andNoahputonhiscoat.

“Oh,yourplate,”Brycesaid.

“Returnitwhenthecookiesaregone.CanIaskyousomething?”

“Sure.”

“Do you not celebrate Christmas? You don’t have any decorations. No tree or

anything.”

“Firehazard.”

Noahrolledhiseyes.“Howcomenononflammabledecorations,then?”

Brycescruncheduphisfaceandscratchedanimaginaryitchonhisbicep.“Notinthe

mood,”hemumbled.

As Noah took a step closer, his expression softened. A man could drown in those

warmbrowneyes.“That’sright.I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantoremindyou.”

Great. So Mrs. Foster had divulged those details too. Had she informed Noah that

Brycewasgay?Probably.Hedidn’tseemputoffbyit,though,whichwasgood.Butthen,
he was from California, where people were undoubtedly more comfortable with such
thingsthanweretheresidentsofruralKansas.

“It’s fine,” Bryce said with a shrug. “I’ve never been all that into the holiday thing

anyway.” His ex, Owen, had been. He’d dragged Bryce to endless parties and festooned
theirhousewithpineboughs,sparklingglass,andtinsel.Itwouldn’thavebeensobadif
hehadn’tinsistedthateverythinglookabsolutelyperfectallthetime,likescenesfroma
magazine.They’dhadmorethanonenastyargumentoverOwen’sinsistenceoncandles.
In the end they’d compromised with the electric kind, but Owen had complained they
weren’tthesamesincetheydidn’tsmellnice.Bitterfeelingshadprevailed.

WhenBrycewasakid,heandhismotherlovedChristmas.He’dmakepaperchains

and popcorn garlands, and she helped him cut snowflakes from folded sheets of
newspaper.Theybakedcookiesandwatchedalltheholidayspecials—theGrinch,Charlie
Brown,Frosty,Rudolph—andiftherewasenoughsnow,theybuiltsnowmenonthefront
lawn.TheyalwayshadaChristmasEvedinner,justthetwoofthem,withplacematsand
fabric napkins and the good dishes. Then they’d meet up with friends for eggnog and
mulled cider and for caroling if the weather wasn’t too cold. After opening presents on
Christmas Day, they’d go over to the Bernards’ for another feast and lots of good
company.

Butthathadbeenalongtimeago,andnowhismomwasgone.

Noahnoddedsolemnly.“Iunderstand.Well,thanksforthetour.”

“Andthanksforthecookies.”Brycewantedtothankhimformorethanthat—foran

hour’sworthofnonjudgmentalcompany,forhisbrightsmileandrumblyvoice.Yeah,that
wasagoodidea.Scarethepoorguyaway.

Still, Bryce had to say something. “Tomorrow’s Saturday and I’m on shift,” he

blurted.“Imean,ifyouandHarperwanttostopby—”

“Yes!”

They both laughed at Noah’s eagerness, and he shrugged. “She’s been bugging me

aboutit,butIdidn’twanttoannoyyou.”

“Youwouldn’t.”Understatement.“Myofferwastotallysincere.”

“She’llbeseriouslythrilled.”

“I’llseeyouthen.”

Brycestoodintheopendoorway,ignoringthecoldashewatchedNoahwalkaway.

Afterthedoorwasclosed,heleanedbackagainstitlikealovesickteenager.

Shit.

FOUR

DearRuth,

I’m14.IreallywantasmartphoneforChristmas,butmyparentswon’tbuymeone.

They say I don’t need one and it’ll only distract me or get broken. I’m a really good
studentandIdoallmychores,andallmyfriendshavesmartphones.HowcanIconvince
myparentstojointhe21stcenturyandgetmeonetoo?

—TechnologyDeprived

SATURDAYMORNING

wasbusierthanusualatthestation,mostlybecauseof

a kitchen fire at the greasy spoon out near the highway. Despite passing Bryce’s
inspections and those of his predecessor, the diner had fires on a fairly regular basis.
Nobody had ever been hurt, and the mess from the fire-retardant foam was often worse
than the fire itself. The restaurant crew, well practiced at cleaning up, would be back to
servinggristlyburgersandlimpfriesinnotime.

Onceeveryonegotbacktothestationandcleanedup,itwaslunchtime.Mostofthe

guyswentafewdoorsdownforpizza,butBrycestayedupinhiscubbyholeofanoffice
withsomepaperworkandasandwich.He’doverindulgedoncookiesthenightbefore.

He was halfway through an endless state-mandated report when a loud male voice

calledfrombelow.“Hey,Reynolds!Yougotcompany!”

ItwasfortunatenobodysawhoweagerlyBryceshotoutofhischair.

The entire crew stood looking at Harper and Noah, both of whom were swathed in

winterclothing.Brycemarchedintothemiddleofthegroup.“Hey,guys.ThisisHarper
Costa.Inafewyearsshe’sgoingtobejoiningus,soIthoughtmaybewecouldgivehera
joborientationtoday.Whaddayasay?”

Noveltyanddistractionwerealwayswelcomeatthestation,anditwashardtoresist

such an eager visitor. Within minutes Harper was out of her parka and scarf and nearly
hiddenunderahelmetandturnoutjacket.Whilethemenstartedhertour,BryceandNoah
hungbacknearthedoor.

“Thisisseriouslycoolofyou,”Noahsaid.“You’vemadeheryear.”

“Gladtodoit.IwantedtobeafiremantoowhenIwasakid.”

“Thatcertainlyturnedoutwell.”

“Howaboutyou?Whatdidyouwanttobe?”

Noah huffed quietly. “Not a marketing director, that’s for sure. I dunno. I sort of…

floated,Iguess.Ittookmeawhiletofindmyself.”Hisgrinflashed.“I’malatebloomer.”

“Haveyou,uh,bloomednow?”

Thelaughhereceivedinreplyechoedthroughthegaragebay.“I’mpastthebudding

stage.AndIdon’tknowifI’mfullyinfloweryet.”

Harper’s tour was thorough and took a long time. The crew let her inspect all the

equipmentandexploretheladdertruck,includinghowtoworkthelightsandsiren.She
lookedreadytodieofhappinesswhenoneoftheguyssuggestedthatthetruckneededto
betakenoutforatestrunandNoahgavepermissionforhisdaughtertoridealong.The
truckrumbledaway,leavingNoahandBrycealoneinthefirehouse.

“That’s kind of a waste of taxpayer money, isn’t it?” Noah asked. “And possibly a

safetyviolation?”

“Eh.Takeitupwiththechief.”WhowasoutoftownvisitingfamilyinNebraskaand

wouldn’tcareevenifhe’dbeeninBaileySprings.“Oh,hey.Ihavethosecouponsforyou.
Wantthemnow?”

Shortly after they arrived in the office, Bryce realized that the space felt far too

intimate. Desperate to deflect another wave of lust, he focused on his search through a
desk drawer. “Glamorous place, huh? Let’s not let Harper see this little corner of the
station.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bryce saw Noah gazing at the photos that hung

crookedlyonthewall.“You’reonabaseballteam?”Noahasked.

“Weplayagainstthesheriff’sdepartmenteverysummer.Wekicktheirasses.”

Bryce found the coupons, but Noah was too busy looking at the pictures to notice.

“What’sthisoneoverhere?”NoahpointedtooneofBryceinhisdressuniform,shaking
thehandofthemayorofWichita.

“Oh.Um,yeah.Iwasgettingacertificate.”

“For?”

“Therewasthis,um,kid.”Scrunchinguphiseyesandrubbingthebackofhishead

wasn’tkeepingBryce’scheeksfromburning.

“Akid?”

Shit.“Carwreck.Asedanendedupwedgedunderneathasemi,toddlertrappedina

carseatinthebackofthesedan,wholemessonfire.”

“Jesus!Butthecertificate?”

“I got him out. He had a broken leg and smoke inhalation, but he ended up fine.”

Which was good, because Bryce could still remember the sensation of the seemingly
lifeless little body in his arms, the small ash-gray face splattered with blood. But that
imagewascounteredbythesoundofthekidcryingoncehe’dhadalittleoxygen;thathad
beenasweetsoundindeed.

Noah’seyeswerehuge.“Youwentintoaburningcarwreckandsavedachild.”

“It’smyjob.”

“You’reahero.”Noahshookhishead.“Mymarketingcopyneversavedanyone.”

“You’reasingleparent.That’sheroicenough.”

They stared at each other, and for a moment Bryce almost thought…. But then the

fire engine rumbled into the bay beneath them, and Noah glanced away. “We probably
bettergorescueyourguysfrommydaughter.”

Asitturnedout,nobodyneededrescuing.Thecrewwasobviouslyhavingalmostas

muchfunasHarper,whowastotallywoundupwithexcitement.“Irodeonafiretruck!”
shescreamedtoNoah.

“Iseethat.”

“Areallyrealfiretruck!Andwedidthesirenandmadethelightsgoandwedrove

downthestreetandIgottowaveatpeople!”

Theyweren’tsupposedtorunthesirenunnecessarily.Brycehopedtheywouldn’tget

anycomplaints.

Noah took a lot of photos of Harper in gear and on the truck, and then the guys

hammeditupforsome“actionshots”ofHarperhandlingthehosesandwieldinganax.
Finally,everyonegatheredforagroupshot.

“C’mon,Reynolds,”saidoneofthecrewmembers.“Youtoo.”

“Oh,Idon’tthink—”

“Definitelyyou,”Noahsaid.Hewinced.“Um,youarrangedit,afterall.”

SoBryceendedupkneelingbesideHarperwhilehiscrewmadejokesabouthowhe

oughttoappearinacharitymusclecalendarinstead.

“Take off your shirt, Reynolds, and we could earn a fortune for the widows and

orphansfund.”

Anotherguyquipped,“Wedon’thaveawidowsandorphansfund.Butifhetakesoff

hispants—”Thatearnedhimanelbowintheribsfromthecolleaguestandingnexttohim,
areminderthatalittlekidwasintheirmidst.

Bryce, meanwhile, went as red as the truck behind him, and Noah covered his own

facewithhishands.

“Timetogetbacktowork!”Bryceyelled.

IttooksometimeforHarpertogethercoat,hat,scarf,andglovesbackon,evenwith

Noah’s help. After he had donned his own outerwear, he and Bryce stood at the door,
Brycewitharenewedfeelingofawkwardness.

“Thanksagain,”Noahsaid.HeglancedatHarper,whowasdeepindiscussionwith

oneofthecrew.“Thiswas…amazing.Truly.”

“Glad we could do it.” And that was true. Aside from the thrilling but dangerous

opportunitytobenearNoahagain,Brycelovedthathe’dmadeHarpersohappy.Afterall,
how often did someone have the chance to bring pure delight into someone else’s life?

Andperhapscultivateafuturefirefighter?

“Maybe,um….I’msortofamediocrecook,butIcanmanageafewthingspassably

well.MaybeIcouldrepayyouwithdinnersometime?”

Bryce wanted that very much. But he had to be honest with himself—he was

developingathingforNoah,anditwasn’tfairtotheguyifNoah’sthoughtswerepurely
platonic. It was the opposite of leading someone on. Was there a name for that? “Sure.
Sometime,”Brycerepliedvaguely.

Afterapause,NoahnoddedandpattedBryce’sshoulder.“Yeah.Well,thanks!We’ll

seeyouaround.”HetookHarper’shandandledheroutthedoor.

The entire crew stared as Bryce trudged toward the stairs. “Work?” he reminded

them,andhedidn’tstickaroundtoseetheirresponse.

THATNIGHT,

Bryce ignored the cold and dark and went running. Fast. Through

downtown—whereonlyLouella’s,thepizzaplace,andthetheaterremainedopen—across
the railroad tracks, and past the grain elevator and the pet food plant. Up and down the
streetsintheexpensivepartoftownandthenintheneighborhoodofpostwarbungalows
that had been built for employees of a candy factory. The factory was long gone; it had
burned to the ground when Bryce was a baby. Years later, he’d heard stories about the
historicallyspectacularfirefromsomeofthedepartmentveterans.Nothingremainedbuta
largeflatlot,weedyinsummerandnowdottedwithpatchesoficeanddirtysnow.Bryce
ranpastthattoo.

Heran,infact,allthewaytoMemorialBridgeoutsideoftown.Itwastoodarktosee

the river flowing beneath him, but he could hear it churning along on its way to the
Missouri.Heturnedandranbacktowardhome.

Theweatherwasalittlewarmerthanithadbeeninrecentdays,theskytooovercast

toshowstars.Theforecasterssaidsnowwasontheway,andalthoughsomepeoplewere
happy at the prospect of a white Christmas, Bryce was not. A lot of people traveled on
Christmas,andslickroadsincreasedthelikelihoodofholidaymishaps.

As he ran he tried to keep his thoughts in safe territory. But most of the houses

sparkledwithholidaylights—white,redandgreen,blue—andfrontyardssportedSantas,
reindeer,penguins,andvariousotherseasonalcharactersgrinningaway.Thedecorations,
ofcourse,remindedhimofNoah.Dammit.

Thethingofitwas,Brycedidn’thavealotoffriends.Evenwhenhewasakid,he

had only a couple of close pals, and that was it. In Wichita he’d slept around a bit but
hadn’treallysocializedallthatmuch.Thenhe’dfoundasteadyboyfriend,andthey’dhad
mutualfriends,andthatwasfine.Untiltheybrokeup.BackinBaileySpringsagain,well,
thereweretheguysatthestation,buthewastheirboss.

Noahwasprobablyjustaslonely.Hewasnewintown,afterall,anddidn’tevenhave

coworkerstohangoutwith.

NoahandBryceenjoyedeachother’scompany.Theycouldbefriends,right?Bryce

had straight friends. Except… he wasn’t attracted to those men. He didn’t imagine them
naked, didn’t picture them when he jacked off, didn’t dream about them. Bryce could
either fess up to drooling after Noah or keep his big mouth shut, but that elephant was
goingtobeintheroomwhetherheacknowledgeditornot.

Maybe the best thing was to give up on Bailey Springs entirely. Move back to

Wichita.Moveanywhere.Becausetherewasnothingtotiehimtothisdumblittletownin
themiddleofaflyoverstate.

Nothingbuthistory,blood,andmemories.Nothingbuthismother’sgrave,thejobhe

loved,thelittlespeckofrealestatehe’dpainstakinglymadehisown,andtheBernards—
whowerethenextbestthingtofamily.

Gaspingforbreath,hereachedhisfrontdoor.TheBernards.MaybetalkingtoAlma

wouldhelp.Heglancedathisphoneandsawthatitwasn’ttoolate,soheturned,jogged
downtheporchsteps,andheadedsouth.

“BRYCE!WHAT

onearth!”

“CanIcomein,Alma?”

Shetsked.“Ofcourse,ofcourse.”

AlmaandGenehaddecoratedlavishlyforChristmas,butnotthewayOwenusedto.

His décor had said Martha Stewart Living or House Beautiful; theirs said Walmart
clearance bin. Not that Bryce minded. In fact he preferred the Bernards’ choices, which
weregaudyandcheeryanddidn’tlooklikethey’dbankruptanyone.Evenbetter,alotof
them were handmade by the Bernard grandchildren—mysterious conglomerations of
popsiclesticks,cottonballs,constructionpaper,andtemperapaint.

AlmaledBrycetothecouchandgentlypushedhimontoit,thenstoodlookingdown

athimwithhandsonhips.“Gene’sathisbrother’s,playingcards.”

“That’sfine.Wantedtotalktoyou.”

“Okay.Stayput.”

While he caught his breath, Alma bustled around the kitchen. It looked as if she’d

beenenjoyingaquieteveningathome.Aglassofwinesatbesideasplayed-openmystery
novelonasmalltablenexttoherarmchair.Flamescrackledmerrilyinthefireplace,and
thestereosystemshowcasedBingCrosbycrooningaboutsilverbells.Brycewalkedover
andpeeredsuspiciouslyatthefire.“Alma?”hecalled.“When’sthelasttimeyouhadyour
chimneycleaned?”

Shecamebackintotheroomholdingaladentray.“September.Wehaveitinspected

everyyear.”

“Andyoualwaysmakesuretheembersarecompletelydousedbeforeyouleaveorgo

tobed?”

“Sitdown,Bryce.You’reoffduty.”

She’d made him cocoa with little marshmallows, which she served along with

chocolate balls that tasted of rum. “I’m going to end up too fat for my uniform,” he
protested.

“Thenbuy a biggersize.” She satin her chair and,after taking asip of wine, fixed

himwithasharpstare.“Whatareyoutryingtorunawayfromtonight,Bryce?”

“I’mnot.Iwasexercising.”

“Uh-huh.” Another swallow of wine, bigger this time. Atop the fake tree in the

corner,anangelmadeofpinecones,lace,andglitterwatchedthem,herpipe-cleanerhalo
slightly askew. The fire popped and crackled. Frank Sinatra promised to be home by
Christmas.

“Thecolumn’sgoingokay,”heblurtedatlast.

“Whichisn’twhyyoucamehere,butfine.Wecangotherefornow.Yes,it’sgoing

well.I’vebeengettingalotofemailsoverit.”

“Complimentaryones?”

“Uh, about 70 percent. Which isn’t bad. Your mother averaged about 80. Besides,

eventhecomplainingonesaregood.Itmeanspeoplearereading.”

“Whatdoyouthinkofthecolumn?”Hepoppedanotherrumballintohismouth.

“I like it. You’re more blunt than your mother, but there’s nothing wrong with that.

Youradviceisclearandlogical.Compassionatetoo.Iwasespeciallypleasedwiththeone
theotherday—thetransgendergirl.”

He’d been terrified about that one, actually. The girl was seventeen and not out to

anyoneintown.Shewantedtoknowwhethertotellherparents.

Almacontinued.“Ilikedyouremphasisonhersafetybeingparamountandhowshe’s

the best one to anticipate the outcome of her disclosure. You did a good job
acknowledgingthatherfeelingsaregenuineandthatnobodyhastherighttodefinewho
sheis.Thelistofwebsitesandphonenumberswashelpfultoo.”

“Doyouthinkshe’llbeokay?”Bryceasked.

“Ihopeso.”

“Doyouknowwhosheis?”Notthatheharboredfantasiesofswoopingintorescue

her,but….

“Noidea,”Almarepliedcrisply.“It’sdifficultinsuchasmalltown,butItryhardnot

tospeculateaboutwhowritestheletters.Itwouldbebestifyoudidthesame.”

“Okay.”Hehadburnedhistongueonthehotchocolatebuttookanother,morecareful

sip.Itwasgood—madefromscratch,notthepowderedstuff.

“HaveyoureconsideredjoiningusforChristmas?”sheasked.

“Itoldyou.Ihaveto—”

“AndItoldyou.Wecanworkaroundit.”

“Iappreciatethat,butthisyearIjustwantquiet.”Bryceleanedbackintothecouch

cushionsandclosedhiseyes.He’dspentalotoftimeinthishouse.Whenhewasakid,
hismotherwouldbringhimalongandpasshoursininscrutable—anddreary—adulttalk
while Bryce played with the Bernard kids. They had a big video collection, which they
werehappytoshare,orthey’dallgooutintothebigbackyardtoplayballorrunaround
withthefamilydogs.

Maybeheshouldgetadog.

“There’sthisguy,”hesaid,eyesstillclosedasNatKingColeproclaimedthatSanta

wasonhisway.

“And?”

“I…likehim.”Jesus.Hesoundedlikehewasthirteen.

“Doeshelikeyou?”

Bryce opened his eyes to see a small smile playing around the corners of Alma’s

mouth.“He’sstraight.”

“Thatsoundslikeareallybadidea.”Shetappedherchin.“Oradecentporno.”

“Alma!”

“Whatdoyouwantmetotellyou,honey?”

“CanIstillbefriendswithhim?”

She picked up her wineglass, downed the rest, and looked sorry there wasn’t more.

“That’suptohim,I’dthink.”

“Butthat’sthething.Ihaven’ttoldhimIhaveathingforhim.Itwouldbe…weird.

SodoItellhimandwatchhimbackaway,ordoIkeepmylipszippedandhopemylibido
changesitsmind?”

“Wow.” She blew out a noisy burst of air. “That’s a tough one. If someone wrote a

DearRuthletterwithyourproblem,whatwouldyoutellhim?”

Hewhimpered.“Thathonestyisthebestpolicy.”

“Well,thereyougo.”

Thistimehemoaned.Thenheatetwomorerumballsandguzzledcocoa.“It’sgoing

tohurtwhenhebacksaway.MaybeIshouldmakethepreemptivestrikeandbackaway
first.Justsortof…stoptalkingtohim.Idon’thavetotellhimwhy.”

“Ifhe’syourfriend,won’tthathurthim?Oratleastconfusehim?”

Ugh. Of course it would. And why couldn’t Bryce face this issue like a mature,

grown man instead of like a socially stunted adolescent? “I’m going to leave Bailey
Springs,”hemuttered.“Icangobeafiremanin…what’stheoppositeofKansas?”

“Hawaii,” Alma responded immediately, as if it were a question she’d already

considered.

“Hawaii. Palm trees. Ocean breezes. Mai tais. Dolphins. There are dolphins in

Hawaii,right?”

“Ibelieveso.AndI’msuretherearefiresthatneedputtingout.Buthoney,Hawaii

might be the opposite of Kansas, but you’d still be the same Bryce Reynolds. You can’t
runawayfromyourself.”

“Can’teventakeavacationfromthebastard.”

Hehadasecondmugofchocolateandaglassofwine,thendeclinedAlma’sofferto

drive him home. Instead he walked slowly through the dark and the cold, a plastic
containerofrumballsclutchedinhishands.

FIVE

DearRuth,

Idon’tknowwhattodo.IjustfinishedmyfirstsemesteratKU,whereI’mmajoring

inchemistry.Ilikeitokay,andLawrenceisn’ttoobad.MyparentsarehappyI’mnottoo
faraway.ButIwanttoknowwhatit’sliketoliveinareallybigcity.SoI’mthinkingof
transferringtoCUNYnextyear.IthinkitwouldbesuperexcitingtoliveinNewYorkCity,
butmyparentsarefreakingout.WhatshouldIdo?

—WishIWasn’tinKansasAnymore

“EVERYONEWANTS

toescape,”Brycesaidtohislaptop.ExceptNoah,who’d

cometoBaileySpringsknowinglyandwillingly.

Hebegantocomposeareply:

DearWishIWasn’t,

Run.Runawayfast.Don’tlookback,because

Shit.Ifhesubmittedthatresponse,rioterswouldshowupattheGazetteofficesand

demand his head. People in Bailey Springs were always worried about declining
population, although things weren’t as bad here as in many other small towns. A meat
processing plant had opened up a few years ago in nearby Lauper, and many of its
employeeselectedtoliveinBaileySpringsbecausetheschoolswerebetter.Andalthough
quiteafewyoungpeoplemovedelsewhere,alotofthem—likeBryce—eventuallymoved
back.

“Thistowngrowsonyou,”hismotherhadsaidwhenhereturned.

“Likemold.”

Yetherehewas.Still.

Maybe he wasn’t in the right mindset for this particular letter. No problem; he had

otherstochoosefrom.

DearRuth,

I’m really interested in a certain man. He’s sexy, smart, funny, brave, and sweet. I

don’t know him all that well yet, but I love spending time with him. The problem is, I’m
prettysurehe’swayoutofmyleague,andIdon’tknowifhethinksofmeinaromantic
wayatall.SoI’mafraidtomakethefirstmove.WhatshouldIdo?

—Lovelorn

“Oh, sweetheart. I feel your pain.” Although Bryce empathized with many of those

who wrote to him, he related to this woman more than usual. He knew exactly how she
mustfeelwhilehangingoutwithherguyfriend—smitten,yetafraidtoshowitforfearof
embarrassingherselforscaringhimaway.Atleasthecouldgiveadvicethatwasn’tlikely
toresultincivilunrest.

DearLovelorn,

Hesoundslikeagreatguy.Ifhe’schoosingtospendtimewithyou,thenatthevery

leasthemustenjoyyourcompany.It’spossiblehejustwantstobefriends,butmaybehe
sharesyourfeelingsandistooshytodoanythingaboutit.Maybehethinksyou’reoutof
hisleague.Somemencanbealotmoreinsecurethantheyleton.

Somemencanalsobeblindtosubtlety,soifyouwantthistogosomewhere,youmay

need to take a more direct approach. With the holidays here, you have the perfect
opportunity.Considergivinghimasmallgiftthatshowshowyouthinkofhim,ormaybe
justinvitehimtodinneratyourplace.Ifhe’sreallynotintoyouinaromanticway,either
oftheseoptionswouldallowbothofyoutobackawaygracefully.

—Ruth

Itwasstillalittleweirdtosignhismother’spennametothesethings,buthesentoff

theresponsetoAlmawithasatisfiedsmile.ItwasFriday,whichmeanttheletterwould
appearintheGazette’s weekend edition, and if Lovelorn wanted to take action, she had
timebeforeChristmas,whichwasonMonday.

ThefactthatitwasFridayalsomeantBrycehadtoworkthenexttendaysinarow.

His own choice, and far better than moping around the house, but still exhausting to
contemplate.Sowhatifitwasn’tevennoonyet?Hewasgoingtotakeanap.

Becausehestrippedashewalked,hewasshiveringbythetimehereachedhisbed.

Hedoveundertheheavycomforter,thankfulfortheflannelsheetshismotherhadgiven
himforhisbirthdayinSeptember.She’dseemedperfectlyhealthythen,awomaninher
midsixtieswhoatesensiblyandexercisedregularly.Shewas,infact,afontofenergy—a
personwhocouldspendadaywranglinghighschoolkidsandthencomehometomake
dinner,cleanthehouse,gradepapers,andwriteanadvicecolumn.Shespentthesummers
bicycling in national parks. She sat on the library board, attended meetings of the tiny
groupoflocalUnitarians,andonoccasionbinge-watched1980ssitcoms.

God,Brycemissedher.

Whenhetried,hecouldfindsomesolaceinthewayshe’ddied.She’dbeenoutwith

one of her friends, knocking on doors to persuade people to post yard signs for
Democraticcandidates.Achallengeintheseparts,butonesherelished.Onalark,sheand
the friend had decided to cut through the cemetery near the center of town instead of
walkingaroundit.Halfwayacrossshe’dputherhandtoherheadanddroppedlikeafelled
log.Aneurysmandamassivestroke.ShewasdeadlongbeforetheEMTsarrived.Atleast
she didn’t suffer. And since Bryce wasn’t on duty that night, he hadn’t been forced to
watchthefirstrespondersworkonherlifelessbody.Thefactthatshe’dkeeledoverina
graveyard?Shewouldhavethoughtthatwasreallyfunny.

So her death was a terrible thing that could have been worse. And he was slowly

gettingusedtoherabsenceinhislife.Butitwasstillafreshwound,andithurtlikehell.

Naptime.Heshouldbethinkingpeacefulthoughts.Althoughthebedroomlightswere

off,theweakwintersunsnuckinaroundtheedgesofthecurtains,andhecouldmakeout
the details of his room. The crown molding he’d painstakingly installed, the pale blue
paintthathadtakenhimweekstochoose,theframedphotosofmountains.Heevenhad
anoriginalpainting,alandscapebyalocalartist.Brycelikedhisbedroom;itwasanoasis.
Buthisbedwassoempty.

“IsweartoGod,”hesaidoutloud,“ifyoudon’tstopthepityparty,I’mgoingtodo

somethingdrastic.”Hemeantthethreatseriously,althoughhewasn’tsurewhatthedrastic
thing would be. An extra mile tacked on to his usual run? A Grindr-fueled weekend in
Kansas City? Trading in his dependable old pickup for something exotic and entirely
unsuitable?

Out of desperation, he pulled out his phone, logged into his favorite porn site, and

turnedoffhisbrain.

SIX

DearRuth,

I’mapart-timebookkeeperforasmallfamily-ownedbusiness.Mybosses—husband

andwife—arefantasticandIloveworkingforthem.Thepay’snotgreat,butIgetdecent
benefits,andmyhoursareflexiblesoIcanpickupmykidsafterschool.Butoneofthe
otheremployeeshasbeencomingontomelately.Nothingcompletelyinappropriate,but
he compliments me a lot and he’s asked me out a few times. I’ve told him I’m not
interested,buthewon’tleavemealone.HeseemstothinkthatsinceI’mdivorced,I’mfair
game.NormallyI’dcomplaintomybosses—buthe’stheirson!HowcanIgetthisguyoff
mybackwithoutjeopardizingmyjob?

—Harassed

ONSUNDAY

afternoon,Brycesatinthefirehouse,squintingathislaptopscreen.A

lunchtimefeasthadbeenarrangedforfiremenandcopswho’dpulledChristmasEveduty,
and now he was full and drowsy. Too drowsy, probably, to give sensible advice to
Harassed—who must surely realize that there was a good chance her employers would
readherletterandrecognizethemselves.Nottoomanylocalsituationsfittheoneshe’d
described. Well, maybe they would read it and the problem would solve itself. If that
obnoxiousmanhadbeenhiskid,Brycewouldhavefiredhisass.

DearHarassed,

I’m sorry you have to deal with this situation. As you probably know, the law

prohibits harassment that’s severe enough to create a hostile work environment—and it
soundsasifyourco-workermayhavecrossedthatline.Talkingtoalawyerisalwaysan
option. But you don’t have to begin there. Instead, you could sit down with your bosses
andexplainthesituationtothem,muchasyoudidinyourletter.Concreteexamplesmight
help.Iftheytrulyarefantasticemployers,andiftheyvalueyouasanemployee,theywill
takeappropriateactions.Iftheyrefusetodoanythingoriftheyretaliate—

AsBrycehoveredhisfingersoverthekeyboardwhileheconsideredhowtowordthe

nextpart,oneoftheguysdowninthebaycalleduptohim.“Someoneheretoseeyou,
Reynolds!”

With a sincere hope that Alma hadn’t followed through on her threats to bring

Christmas celebrations to him, Bryce trotted down the stairs. Only to come to an abrupt
haltwhenhespiedNoahstandingnearthedoor,gnawingonhislip.

“Harper’sreadytoclockinforherfirstshift?”Bryceasked,eventhoughtherewas

nosignofher.

Noah’slaughtersoundedslightlyforced.“Ah,no.Imean,shetotallywould.Butright

now she’s over at her bestie’s house, working on some kind of supersecret gift-creation
project.I’mafraiditinvolvesglitter.”

“Soundsdangerous.”

“Yeah.” Noah glanced at the rest of the crew, who were watching this little

interchangewithgreatinterest.“Um,doyouhaveacoupleofminutes?”

“Sure. Unless something starts burning. Um, c’mon up.” Bryce glared at his men,

wholookeddisappointedtobemissingout.Why,hehadnoidea.Boredom,maybe.Ithad
beenaveryslowafternoon.

Upintheoffice,Brycegesturedathisextrachair,butNoahchosetoremainstanding.

He’dunzippedhiscoatandstuffedhisglovesinapocket,buthestillworeascarfaround
hisneck.Hefidgetedwiththetassels.“IhopeI’mnotinterruptingyou.”

“You’re not. My choices so far have been eating or paperwork. I think I’ve done

enoughofbothforoneday.”

Noah,hisbootsloudontheoldwoodenfloor,wanderedoverandstaredatthephoto

ofBrycereceivingthatdamncommendation.Everyonehadmadesuchabigdealoutofit,
butanyofhiscolleagueswouldhavedonethesamething.Brycejusthappenedtobefirst
onthescene.

“Harperisstillgoingonaboutourvisitherelastweek,”Noahsaidwithoutturningto

facehim.“I’mprettysurewe’regoingtoberelivingthedetailsforsometime.”

“I’mgladwemadeanimpression.”

Noahglancedoverhisshoulder.“Youdid.”Hishairwasstickingupfromeitherstatic

electricityorthejackethood.Brycewassotemptedtosmoothitdownthatheshovedhis
handsintohisjeanspockets.Butthatgesturedidn’tchangethefactthatNoahwasright
here,rightwithinreach,andwhenNoahspunaround,Brycejumpedbackafootortwo.

“Tomorrow’sChristmas,”Noahsaid.

“Yes.”Ooh,niceresponse,Reynolds.Verysuave.

“Harper and I—it’s just the two of us. We’re used to that. But I always make this

bigasshamanyway,withakillerpomegranatemapleglaze.It’soneofmyfewstardishes.
AndHarperlikesbrusselssproutsbecauseshe’saweirdkid,soImakethosetoo.AndI
havethosefrozenbreadrollthings,youknow?Sotheytastekindahomemade.”

A heavy silence fell. Bryce frantically tried to figure out what Noah was getting at.

Oh!Maybehewantedtoaskanotherfavorbutfeltuncomfortableaboutit.“Didyouwant
metostopbytomakesureyouroven’sventingproperly?”

Noah goggled at him. “What? No! I just thought—I mean, I’m sure you have

Christmasplansalready,butifyoumaybewantedtostopby….”

Oh.“Youdon’thavetorepaymeforthestationtour,Noah.Iwasgladtodoit.”

“That’snot….”Noahsighednoisily.

“Thankssomuch,though.It’sreallyniceofyoutooffer.Ihavetoworktomorrow.”

“Ah.Yeah,Iguessfiremenhavetostayondutyevenonholidays.”

“Especially then. Lots of fires this time of year, plus idiots driving drunk. And it’s

startingtosnow.”

Noah looked down for a minute, then up again. “Well, have a merry Christmas

anyway.”

“Yeah.Youtoo.”

Noahbegantowalktowardthestairs.Butitwasasmalloffice,andhehadtopass

very close to Bryce. When he did, he stopped suddenly, grabbed Bryce’s shoulders, and
pulledtheirbodiesclose.

Noah’slipsweresurprisinglysoft,andhetastedlikespearmintgum.Whenheletgo

ofBryce’sshoulders,hishandsfeltstrongandwarmastheycuppedBryce’scheeks.Then
he spoke, his deep whisper felt as much as heard. “Uninterested, Bryce? Or blind to
subtlety?Forthelifeofme,Ican’ttell,andit’skillingme.”

As soon as their bodies had touched, Bryce’s entire nervous system had gone into

overload,sendinghisbraincompletelyoffline.HecouldbarelyprocessNoah’swords,let
alone formulate a coherent response. Then his mouth kicked in without his brain’s
assistance.“Butyouhaveakid!”

“She’snothere.Anyway,sheadoresyou.FromwhatIunderstand,shespentagood

chunkofherfiretruckrideaskingthecrewwhetheryoucouldmarryme.”

“OhGod.”Notasingleoneofthemenhadmentionedthatlittletidbit,thebastards.

Thatwasamatterhe’ddealwithlater.Rightnowhehadahandsomemaninhisface.

“Areyougay?”Bryceasked.Wow.Goodone.

“Ican’tthinkofagoodreasonwhyI’dbekissingyouifIwasn’t.”

“But…Harper.”

“She’s always known, and it’s totally no big deal to— Oh. You know, gay people

have kids too. Harper’s adopted, if you must know.” He was still pressed to Bryce, his
palmsstillwarmonBryce’scheeks.

ButBryce’sheadcontinuedtowhirl.“Didyouwritethatletter?”

“Yep.”

“DidyouknowI’m—”

“Ruth?Alsoyep.”

“Nobody’s supposed to know that.” Even Mrs. Foster didn’t know. Surely Alma

hadn’t spilled the beans. Bryce didn’t think she knew Noah, and even if she did, she

wouldn’thavesaidanythingaboutthecolumn.

“I, uh…. Remember when you gave me your house tour? I sort of peeked at your

laptop.Youneedtouseascreensaver,dude.Anyway,Isawwhatwasthereandmadea
fewinferences.Sorry.”Hesteppedbackalittle,andBrycestifledaprotest.

“It’s no big…. Jesus.” Bryce briskly rubbed the back of his head. “Man, I totally

didn’texpectthis.”

Noah winced. “Yeah. A couple times I kind of thought you might…. But then you

didn’t,andIdidn’t….”

“Youdon’thonestlythinkI’moutofyourleague,doyou?”

“Lookinamirrorlately?Ortakenagoodlookatmeunderneathallthis…down?”

Noahpattedhiscoat.

Timeforhonesty.“ThefirsttimeIsawyou,Ithoughtyouweredeadsexy.Stilldo.”

ThatbroughtaslightflushtoNoah’scheeks,alongwithashysmile.“Yeah?ButI’m

justanunemployedmarketingschlump,whileyou…you’reonlyacapeandtightsaway
frombeingSuperman.”

Bryce was opening his mouth to respond when the alarm blared. “Dammit! Gotta

go!”HecastadesperatelookatNoahbeforehurtlingdownthestairs.

SEVEN

DearRuth,

ItturnsoutthemanIhadasecretcrushonisgayandhadasecretcrushonme.And

hekissedmeanditwasfuckingamazingandIneverwantedittostop.ButevennowthatI
knowmyfeelingsarereciprocated,I’mstillconfusedbecauseGod,he’sreallygreat,and
I’mthewhinyguywhoscrewsrelationshipsupand

Andwritinganadvice-seekinglettertohimselfwasn’thelpingonebit.Brycedeleted

thewholething.

The Christmas Eve fire had turned out to be a big one. Someone in one of those

ancientVictorianheapsintheritzypartoftownhadlettheirChristmastreedryout.Not
onlywasthathouseengulfedinflames,butthefirehadspreadtotheplacenextdoor,a
larger heap that had been vacant for years. Firehouses from neighboring communities
contributedmanpowerandequipmenttomanagetheblaze.Fortunatelynobodywashurt,
butbothstructuresburnedtotheground,andthefamilywiththeneglectedChristmastree
lost everything. By the time it was all over and the basic cleanup complete, it was late.
Brycetookalonghotshoweratthestationandcollapsedintoadeepsleepononeofthe
cots.

Christmas Day dawned with a skeleton crew on shift. The other guys were playing

cardsinthefirehouselounge,butBrycehadhiddenhimselfinhisoffice.Hewasn’tready
to confront them over the whole Noah thing—not when he didn’t have his own mind
straightonthematter.Mostlyhefoundhimselfstaringoutthetinywindow,wherehuge
whiteflakesdrifteddown,addingtothethickeningblanketonMainStreet.

“Awinterwonderland,”hemurmured.

On a whim he picked up his phone and called Alma. “Merry Christmas,” he said

whensheanswered.

“Andtoyou.Didyougetanyrestlastnight?”

“Yeah.Icrashedatthestation.”

“Anyofficialwordonthecauseofthefire?”

“Christmastree.”

She clucked her tongue. “Too bad. Well, considering that the Shaffers own an

insuranceagency,I’msuretheyhaddecentcoverage.”

“Dotheyhaveaplacetostay?”

“Ihearthey’rewithfamilyinLauper.Haveyoueatentoday?”

Helaughed.“Westillhavetonsofleftoversfromyesterday.Yourfeastisallsetfor

tonight?”

“It is. Jennifer and Bobby are already here with their families, so nobody’s out

driving,andwe’recozyasbugsinarug.You’repositiveyouwon’tjoinus?Wealways
haveroomformore.”

He was surprised to find himself tempted. But he said, “No, thanks. God knows

whosetreeisgoingtocauseaninfernotonight.Giveeveryonemylove,okay?”

“Willdo.MerryChristmas,honey.”

His heart felt a little lighter after he hung up, and if there was an afterlife, he

imaginedhismothernoddinginapproval.“Missyou,Mom,”hewhispered.Thistimeit
hurtonlyabit.

Afterstaringsomemoreatthefallingsnow,hedecidedtoleavethingsbewithNoah

for the moment. Let thoughts settle until after the holidays, and then… then everything
wouldmagicallymakesenseandhe’dhavealltheanswers.MaybeSantawouldbringhim
solutionstohispersonaldilemmas.Thatshouldallfitdownthechimney.ToobadBryce
hadn’tthoughttohangastocking.

Dammit!Hehadtotakesomeaction!Andsuddenlyheknewexactlywhattodo.

Thecrewlookedupfromtheircardgamewhenheappeared.Oneofthemen,aguy

namedPerry,leeredatBryce.“Hey,Reynolds,areyouandthatguy—”

“Don’t.Don’tevenstartoryou’regoingtobecoilinghosesuntilyourarmsfalloff.”

“Butareyoucoilingyourhose,Reynolds?”Perryaskedwithachortle.

“Ha. I’m glad to know your fireman-related innuendos are as good as any twelve-

year-old’s.Dowestillhavethatoldgearlyingaroundsomeplace?”

“Most of it, yeah. The chief hasn’t figured out what to do with it. I suggested the

landfill.Why?”

Brycenoddedbriskly.“Thechiefwon’tnoticeifahelmetgoesmissing,willhe?”

“Nope.Andasafefiremanalwayswearsahelmet,right?”

Ignoringthelaughter,Bryceglancedaround.“Where’stheoldgearstored?”

“Thatcloset,”Perryanswered,pointing.

The space was dark and smelled like mildew and feet. But Bryce pawed through it

anyway, grunting with triumph when he unearthed a helmet, an intact belt, and a
flashlight.Thehelmetandbeltweredirtyandthelighthadasmallcrack,buthefigured
that only added to their authenticity. He stuffed them in a canvas gear bag that was
probably older than he was, and then he stepped back into the lounge. “I don’t suppose
anybodyhassomeribbon?”

That question was never answered because the alarm began to blast. The crew

abandonedtheircards,Brycedroppedthebag,andeveryonehurriedtogearup.“Two-car
injuryaccident.SeventeenthandMonroe,”Perrycalled.

ThatwasjusttwoblocksfromBryce’shouse.

Technically the whole crew didn’t need to muster out for this call, but nobody had

anythingbettertodo.Theengineroaredoutofthebaywiththerescuetruckrightbehind.
The slick streets slowed their progress, but from the fire engine’s front seat, Bryce
admiredhowtheredemergencyflashersilluminatedthefallingsnow,asifaddingtothe
holidaycheer.

Three squad cars had already arrived, and cops in heavy winterwear swarmed the

scene.AbigpickuptruckappearedtohaveT-bonedasedan.Therewasnosmokeorfire,
butpiecesofmetalandplasticwerescatteredwidelyoverthearea.Onecopleanedtoward
thesedanwindow,apparentlytalkingtothedriver,whileanotherthreeprovidedfirstaid
toafigurelyingflatinthesnow.Afewbystandersstoodintheirfrontyards,ignoringthe
fallingsnowastheywatched.Mrs.FosterwavedatBryce,whowavedback.

Hewasabouttostartshoutingorderswhenhecaughtsightofthelastcop,aguyhe’d

gonetohighschoolwith.Hewaskneelingonthesidewalknexttoastandingchild.His
hand rested on the shoulder of a familiar green parka accessorized with a red-and-gold
scarf.

Oh,fuck.Nononono.

“Harper!”Heartracing,BryceturnedtoPerry.“Youtakeover,okay?Please.Ineed

—”

“Gotit.Gotoher,man.”

HarpersawBrycerunningtowardherandrushedtomeethim,throwingherselfinto

hisarmswithanoisywail.Hetriedtolookatherasheheldher.“Areyouokay?Areyou
hurt?”

Insteadofanswering,sheburiedherfaceinthecrookofhisneckandsobbed.

Thecopstoodandjoinedthem.“Shewasinacarseat.She’sfine.Scaredisall.”He

pattedHarper’sback,butshedidn’tloosenhergriponBryce.

AlthoughBrycewasenormouslyrelievedtoknowshewasunharmed,hisheartstill

feltlikeachunkofheavyice.“Herfather?”heaskedquietly.Hewantedtoshout.

The officer pointed at the sedan. “He’s shook up a little, a few cuts and bruises

probably. Way better off than that unlucky bast—” He glanced guiltily at Harper. “—
gentleman.”

Bryce’s legs went slightly wobbly, and he took a few steadying breaths. “Good.

Good”wasallhecouldsay.Hewastryingnottopuke.

SeeminglyoblivioustoBryce’sstormymentalstate,thecopshruggedandshookhis

head. “Looks like the guy in the truck ran a stop sign, probably speeding. No seat belt.
I’vecitedthatSOBtwiceoverthepastcoupleyearsforDUI.Ibethe’sblitzed.”

“Crap.Look,I’lltakechargeofHarper,okay?Iknowher.”

“Surething.”

BrycecarriedHarpertotheidlingfireengineandsatherinthepassengerseat.Bythe

timehe’ddrapedanemergencyblanketoverhershoulders,hertearshadstoppedandshe
waslookingaroundwithinterest.“CanIdothesirens?”sheasked.

“Not right now, sweetheart. We don’t want to disturb everyone while they’re

working.”He’dcalmedhimselfenoughtospeaksteadilyandsoothingly.Thatwasgood.

“Wecrashed.”

“Iknow.Butit’sgoingtobeallright.”

“Ithinkourcar’sbroken.”

Heshotalookthroughthewindshield.Broken,ohyeah.Totaledmostlikely.“Your

daddy will get it fixed, or else he’ll get a new one. Don’t worry. Where were you guys
going,anyway?”

“Daddy burned the ham and we didn’t have any dinner for Christmas, so we were

goingtothegasstation’causetheygotpizza.Ilikepizza.”

Bryce chuckled, and the lump of ice in his heart slowly thawed. The convenience

storegasstationbythehighwaywasprobablytheonlybusinessopentoday.Noahmust
havebeenattemptingtosalvagewhathecouldofholidaycheer.“Doesyourdaddyhavea
lotofkitchendisasters?”

“Lotsandlots.”

“Well,assoonasthismessiscleanedup,I’msurehe’llgetyousomethingtoeat.”

“Okay.”

Anambulancetooktheinjuredtruckdriveraway.Afewminuteslater,Noahfinished

with the police officer and walked toward the fire engine. He limped a little and had a
Band-Aidoveroneeyebrow.WhenNoahdrewclose,BrycehelpedHarperdownfromthe
cab,andsheranintoherfather’sarms.Hescoopedherup,holdinghertightly.

Theymadeavividtableau,theirclothesbrightagainstthesnow,theemergencylights

flashing,copsandfiremenandtowtruckdriversmovingaroundbehindthem.Noahand
Harperwereoblivioustoitall—atthemoment,theywereauniverseuntothemselves.

“Family,” Bryce said through a tight throat as he watched them. “Such a beautiful

family.”

And a funny thing happened. As the snow continued to spiral down like giant

confetti,Bryceknewwithcertaintythathewantedtobeapartofthatbeautifulfamily.He
evenbelievedtheymightwantittoo.

Andheknew,soclearly,whathisfirststepshouldbe.

Noahapproachedtheengine,stillcarryingHarper.Brycehoppeddowntomeetthem.

Foralongmoment,heandNoahsimplystaredateachother.

ItwasBrycewhospokefirst.“Areyousureyou’reallright?”

“I’mfine.”

“Icouldtakeyoutothehospitalandhavethemcheckyouout.”

“Theparamedicalreadydid,andshesaidI’mgoodtogo.”

Brycegaveajerkynod.“You’llbestiffinthemorning.Yourmuscles.”

“Icanlivewiththat.”

Another long moment of silence while Bryce tried to gather his courage. Noah set

Harperdown,andsheimmediatelyscrambledovertoconversewithanidlememberofthe
firecrew.

“Look,” Noah finally said. “It’s cold out here. I need to get Harper home and find

somethingtofeedher.Therewasanincidentwiththeham.”

“I heard.” Bryce took a deep breath. This was scarier than running into a burning

building.“Howaboutifyouguysjoinmefordinneratafriend’shouseinstead?They’re
nicepeople.I’msurethey’dlovetomeetyou.”

“Ithoughtyouhadtowork.”

“Idid.Butthere’ssomeoneIcancalltocovermyshift.He’llbehappyforanexcuse

toescapehisin-laws.”

“Idon’twantyourpity!”

Brycehelduphishands.“Idon’tpityyou.Actually,Ienvyyou.”WhenNoahlooked

incredulous, Bryce sighed. “Look. I can be kind of slow on the uptake. Obviously. And
yesterday when you— Well, you really took me by surprise. I don’t deal well with
surprises.”

“I’d think that would be a liability in your line of work.” A hint of lightness had

appeared in Noah’s eyes, and although it was hard to tell with the parka, Bryce thought
Noah’sshouldersseemedslightlylesstense.

“If the surprise involves towering flames and screaming sirens, then I’m okay. But

whenitinvolveskissesfromthemanI’vebeendreamingabout,Istumble.”

“Dreamingabout?”

“Allnight.Allday.Fantasies,reveries.Younameit.”

“What’sincludedinthosedreams?”Definitelythestartofasmileonthathandsome

face.

“Well,tobeginwith,this.”

EchoingNoah’smovefromthepreviousday,Brycesurgedforward,tookNoahinhis

arms, and kissed him. But this kiss was different. Today Noah grabbed him back, and
despitethefrigidtemperatureanddriftingsnow,thiskisswasheated.Scorching.Anair-
fedpropanetorchburnsatthirty-sixhundreddegreesFahrenheit,butthiskissfelthotter
thanthat.Thefirstkisshadbeenashock,atest,butthisonewasapromise,apledgefor
allthebrightthingstocome.

And it was also accompanied by the hoots and applause of the entire on-duty

emergencypersonnelofBaileySprings.

Audiencenotwithstanding,BrycewouldhavehappilyswoopedNoahintoafireman’s

carryandtakenhimtoBryce’shouse—tohisbed.Butwhentheymomentarilypartedto
catchtheirbreath,Harperdashedtothemandtriedtoembracethembothatonce.

Yes,Brycedecided.Thiswasdefinitelywhatfamilyfeltlike.

“Whydon’tyouguysgohomeandgetreadyfordinner?”hesuggested.“I’llcatcha

ridetothefirehousesoIcandrivemytruckbackhere.”Andpickupapresent—buthe’d
surpriseHarperwiththatlater.Hedidn’thaveagiftforNoah,butjudgingfromtheblaze
inNoah’seyes,they’dfindsomethingtoexchangeafterHarperwasasleep.

“Andwhenyougetbackherewithyourtruck?”askedNoah,smilingwidely.

“WegototheBernards’forChristmasdinnerandgoodcompany.Thenwereturnto

my house and watch holiday movies until we can’t stand them any longer. Maybe I can
massagesomeoftheachesoutofyourbody.”

“Ihavethefeelingyou’regoingtoalleviatealotofmyaches.”Noahbrieflylaida

hand over his heart. Then, with Harper still clutching their legs, he pulled Bryce’s
foreheadagainsthisown.“MerryChristmas,Bryce.”

“Youknowwhat,Noah?Itreally,reallyis.”

EIGHT

Oneyearlater….

DearBaileySprings,

ThiscolumnwillbeonhiatusfortwoweekswhileI’monvacationwithmyhusband

andstepdaughter.They’vepromisedtoshowmeCalifornia’smanydelights.Ifallgoesas
planned, we’ll be celebrating this Christmas by hanging out with a giant mouse and his
friendsandthendippingourtoesinthePacificOcean.

Here’ssomeunsolicitedadvicetolastyouwhileI’mgone.

MakesureyourChristmastreesstaywell-hydratedandyourelectricalcircuitsaren’t

overloaded. Check your smoke detector batteries. Practice escape routines in case of
emergencies. Don’t burn wrapping paper or pine boughs in your fireplace. Drive safely,
especiallyonslickroads.Andhugyourlovedonesoftenandtellthemhowmuchyoucare.

Happyholidaystoyouall!

—Ruth’sSon

KIMFIELDING

is very pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. Her

bookshavewonRainbowAwardsandspanavarietyofgenres.Shehasmigratedbackand
forthacrossthewesterntwo-thirdsoftheUnitedStatesandcurrentlylivesinCalifornia,
whereshelongagoranoutofbookshelfspace.She’sauniversityprofessorwhodreamsof
beingabletotravelandwritefull-time.Shealsodreamsofhavingtwoperfectlybehaved
children,ahusbandwhoisn’tobsessedwithfootball,andahousethatcleansitself.Some
dreamsaremoreeasilyobtainedthanothers.

Blogs:kfieldingwrites.comand

www.goodreads.com/author/show/4105707.Kim_Fielding/blog

Facebook:www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites

Email:[e-mail]

Twitter:@KFieldingWrites

ByKimFielding

Alaska

AnyplaceElse

Astounding!

TheBorder

Brute

DearRuth

Grateful

AGreatMiracleHappenedThere

Grown-up

Housekeeping

Motel.Pool.

NightShift

OnceUponaTimeintheWeirdWest(MultipleAuthorAnthology)

Pilgrimage

ThePillar

Phoenix

Rattlesnake

WithVenonaKeyes:RunningBlind

SaintMartin’sDay

Speechless•TheGig

SteamedUp(DreamspinnerAnthology)

TheTinBox

VenetianMasks

Violet’sPresent

BONES

GoodBones

BuriedBones

BoneDry

TheGig

DREAMSPUNBEYOND

#8–AnteUp

GOTHIKA

Stitch(MultipleAuthorAnthology)

Bones(MultipleAuthorAnthology)

Claw(MultipleAuthorAnthology)

Spirit(MultipleAuthorAnthology)

Contact(MultipleAuthorAnthology)

LOVECAN’T

LoveCan’tConquer

LoveIsHeartless

Publishedby

DREAMSPINNERPRESS

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Publishedby

DREAMSPINNERPRESS

5032CapitalCircleSW,Suite2,PMB#279,Tallahassee,FL32305-7886USA

www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductof
authorimaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,living
ordead,businessestablishments,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

DearRuth

©2017KimFielding.

CoverArt

©2017AlexandriaCorza.

http://www.seeingstatic.com/

Covercontentisforillustrativepurposesonlyandanypersondepictedonthecoverisa
model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or
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to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook
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permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW,
Suite2,PMB#279,Tallahassee,FL32305-7886,USA,orwww.dreamspinnerpress.com.

DigitalISBN:978-1-64080-288-9

PublishedDecember2017

v.1.0

PrintedintheUnitedStatesofAmerica