Burning Up by Susan Andersen

thrust back into the chaos of That Night at the post–football game kegger in Buzzard Canyon, where the senior class had been celebrating a victory over their arch rival, the Pateras Billygoats…until a slip of the foot from the brake pedal of Auntie Lenore’s Buick had destroyed the football careers and scholarships of three of the players. Jerking herself out of it, she drew a deep breath and shakily exhaled it.
    “All I can say now, as I said then, is I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It was an accident, Mrs. Sorenson, not anything I ever, ever intended to happen. I felt horrible about it at the time and I feel horrible about it now.”
    “You should feel horrible,” the older woman said fiercely. “I hope you take that guilt straight to hell with you when you die.” And ramming forward with her cart, she ricocheted off Macy’s as she stormed past her.
    God. Macy rubbed her forehead where a headache was brewing. Had this been the busiest-beaver dayor what? And it wasn’t even three o’clock yet. It felt as if it ought to be midnight, she was suddenly so exhausted.
    Well, get over it, girl. Squaring her shoulders and putting on her game face, she pushed her cart up to the checkout stand. Life didn’t stop because of a couple unforeseen encounters. She had to get over to the pool to keep an eye on Tyler and Charlie the way she’d promised Janna she would do.
    But man. Wasn’t that just bound to be one big barrel of giggles. Who knew how many more people who hated her guts might be there?

CHAPTER SEVEN
    G ABE STEPPED OUT onto the wraparound porch after dinner, the wooden screen door slapping softly closed behind him. The scent of Bud’s barbecue lingered in the evening air and the homey clatter of Lenore cleaning up drifted from the kitchen window at the back of the big farmhouse.
    He’d come out specifically to find Macy, and he located her sitting in the swing at the short end of the porch’s L. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he gave her a nod while keeping his gaze on the post over her right shoulder. “Hey,” he said, feeling somewhat at a loss. He was accustomed to sparring with her, not having to hit her up for a favor.
    It didn’t help that she hugged her knees to her chest and demanded in a don’t-get-comfortable tone, “Something I can help you with, Fire Chief?”
    “Yeah. I want to ask your help on something.”
    Her bark of laughter was not amused. “Trust me,” she said flatly, “that’s the last thing you want. Any cause near and dear to your heart will not benefit from having me be part of it. Not in this town.”
    He’d been avoiding looking at her too closely for fear of getting sucked into that vortex of heat andtemptation he’d been dodging ever since he’d first clapped eyes on her. But the matter-of-fact way she put herself down made him give her a good, hard look.
    And he discovered she didn’t look like she usually did. He’d noticed before that she didn’t dress provocatively around her aunt and uncle yet still managed to look dolled up, if in a more girl-next-door way than the ramped-up sex-squared look she adopted whenever she went to town. But it just went to show how assiduously he’d not looked at her at dinner tonight, because until this moment he hadn’t noticed that her hair had been pulled back in a plain braid, her lipstick was chewed off and she was wearing a baggy pair of shorts with a loose T-shirt that should have been tossed in a ragbag a long time ago.
    “Whoa,” he said. “Who are you and what have you done with Macy?”
    She curled her lip at him. “You’re a laugh a minute, Donovan.”
    “You’re saying that is you?” He made a rude noise, then narrowed his eyes at her. “Unless… You on your period, or something?”
    “What?” She jerked upright, setting the swing’s chains to creaking. Her bare feet slapped against the porch decking and put an end to the seat’s sudden off-kilter wobble. “No!” she snapped.