Josie Day Is Coming Home

by Lisa Plumley

Frowning, he followed her. He needed more information.

  Or maybe just a closer look.

  “I knew the place came with furniture,” Josie said as he entered the room, her voice echoing in the cavernous, twenty-foot-ceilinged space, “but I didn’t expect this much of it.”

  Face alight, she perched on the tarp-covered sofa near the gigantic stone fireplace. Then on its mate directly opposite. Next she skipped to the wing chairs near the window and tested them, too. She looked like a kid in a candy store, like a road racer eyeballing a new Suzuki SV650…like a woman who’d never owned anything as elaborate as a folding lawn chair, much less a twenty-room, thirteen-thousand-square-foot mansion.

  Which was ridiculous. She owned things. A banana-colored wreck of a car, for one—he’d seen that himself. Also a lot of makeup, Chia Pet false eyelashes, and crazy shoes. What she didn’t own was his house. But the ecstatic expression on her face right now….

  Was none of his damned business. Unlike her business at Blue Moon, which Luke figured he had every right to know about.

  “How long are you here for?” he asked.

  “I dunno. Depends on how things go.” Bounce. Bounce. “They told me this place was ready to move into, so I took the weekend off from work to check things out. There’s another girl filling in for me. The way things are going, I might be here a loooong time.” She popped upright and pointed to the left. “What’s this way?”

  “The east wing.”

  “Oooh! I have wings? No way!”

  She flounced toward the library, leaving him admiring her backside again. It was a nice view. But it wasn’t helping him get to the bottom of things. No pun intended.

  Luke caught up with her as she left the book-filled, wood-paneled room. Her nose wrinkled in apparent disinterest.

  “Not much of a reader?” he asked.

  She gave an evasive sound, then glanced toward the next stop on her tour. “Not when I’ve got this to look at. Wow! You could park my whole trailer in here, awnings and all.”

  Josie hurried to the billiards room—all manly dark colors, carved wood, and mullioned windows. Big and comfortable, it was one of the few rooms Luke had actually bothered to open while working on the necessary repairs.

  “Hey.” He jerked his thumb sideways, offering his sternest look. “Get off the pool table.”

  “Isn’t it fabulous?” She posed, pinup-style, from atop the green felt. She flicked a fingertip, sending the eight ball rolling toward the nearest pocket. She flung her head backward in obvious delight, shaking out her hair. “I feel as if I’m living in a movie! Or a game of ‘Clue.’” Her eyes widened, and she bolted upright. “Hey. Do I have a conservatory?”

  “No. About Tallulah. Whatever she told you—”

  “That’s okay.” She gave a carefree wave. “To tell the truth, I’m not even sure what a conservatory is.”

  With an engaging grin, Josie hopped down from the pool table. She ooh-ed and aah-ed her way down the east wing hallway, investigating every room she came to. The servants’ quarters. The study. The sitting room, the summer parlor, and each of the closets. Partway up the oak staircase to the second floor, she stopped.

  “Hey. I don’t even know your name.” She fixed him with an interested look, one hand on the banister. “Give it up, mystery man. Who’s the guy taking care of all this?”

  “Luke Donovan.”

  Her mouth quirked. “You’re kidding me. ‘Donovan’? Like the town, Donovan’s Corner?”

  He tilted his head sideways—the most acknowledgment he dared to give.

  “I guess you were fated to come here,” she teased. “Mr. Luke Donovan of Donovan’s Corner.”

  Fated to come here? He hoped not. This was temporary. With a noncommittal sound, Luke nudged her to keep going upstairs. He didn’t like having her curiosity focused on him—or on his coincidental name. “I’m just here to fix up the place. Once that’s done, I’m gone.”

  “You’ll like it better that way, trust me.” With a carefree bump and grind, Josie began climbing the stairs again. She craned her neck this way and that to see the fixtures, chandeliers, and carved wood moldings. “I was never happier than when I left this town in the dust.”

  Surprised, Luke glanced up. She didn’t look like a local—or act like one. “You used to live in Donovan’s Corner?”

  She nodded. “‘Used to’ being the operative words. Nothing short of this“—stopped at the landing halfway up the staircase, she flung out both arms to indicate Blue Moon—“could have brought me back, that’s for sure. I had no idea what I was in for. Thank you, Tallulah!”

  She grabbed the banister and looked around, beaming. To her left, sunlight streamed through one of the house’s antique Tiffany windows, brightening the dusty interior. To her right, Luke frowned, telling himself to just give it to her straight.

  Tallulah made a mistake. You don’t belong here.

  Except he couldn’t. He didn’t want to. Not yet.

  “Of course,” Josie continued confidently, “the place is totally run down. The floors are wrecked. There are holes in the plaster. Things are falling down, literally crumbling away.” She gave him a scolding look. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how few of the light switches actually work.”

  Stiffening, Luke scowled. He didn’t know why he’d gone all candy-ass sensitive for a nitpicker like her.

  “It’s a good house.”

  “Are you kidding me? It’s a freaking mansion! I’ve never seen anything like it. Not in person, at least. But let’s face it—it needs work. A good scrubbing, too. The dust bunnies were definitely multiplying downstairs.”

  Luke scoffed. “Repairs come before cleaning.”

  “With an attitude like that, it’s no wonder things look this bad. Come on. Show me the west wing.”

  She pranced upstairs like Queen of the Cleaning Products. Obviously she expected him to follow. Like an obedient puppy. Screw that. Luke might not want to disillusion her right away—say, before he’d gotten another cleavage shot—but that didn’t mean he had to follow orders. Obstinately, he held his ground.

  “Are you coming?”

  “Look, Miss”—he cast about for the name of a cleaning product and came up with the only one he knew—“Armor All. You’re new here, so I’ll let this slide. Once. But I’m not here to give you the grand tour. I’ve got things to do.”

  Josie crossed her arms. The gesture nudged her cleavage one notch closer to centerfold status. It was just his luck. Curvy girls were his weakness. Even redheaded, bossy, pain-in-the-ass ones.

  “Like?” she inquired.

  “Like working on the porch roof.”

  “Those shingles?” She made a face, dismissing them with a wave. “They’ll keep. Nobody ever sees the roof, anyway. If it rains you’ve got buckets for the porch, right? We should move on to more important things.”

  “Like?”

  “Like uncovering all the furniture. Vacuuming. Making the place livable. Painting. That paneling is really dingy in the rec room. You know, where the pool table is? It could use something.” Josie scrunched up her nose, mulling it over. “Like wallpaper. My friend wallpapered her bathroom and it turned out great.”

  Visions of flowered wallpaper danced through Luke’s head. Five seconds later he realized that potpourri, pink-painted pool tables, and useless throw pillows were bound to follow. Holy shit. He had to hold his ground.

  “Roof first.”

  “Don’t be a party pooper. It’ll be fab. But for now, how about the west wing?” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Wouldn’t you rather show me around than get all grimy up on the roof?”

  What he’d rather do was pretend she’d never sauntered up his driveway, all feminine curves and nonsense talk. But since that was impossible….

  “Nope.”

  “Fine. I’ll check out the west wing myself. In the meantime, would you mind carrying in my stuff from my car? I know technically you’re here to take care of the house, but some of those
boxes are really heavy, and—”

  “Nope.”

  She looked perplexed. She regrouped quickly.

  “Okay, then. I’ll do that. I guess it really would’ve been too good to be true if my new mansion came with a hunky butler, too.”

  She raised her eyebrows meaningfully, letting an expectant flirtatiousness hang in the air. In response, a tingle shot all the way down Luke’s spine. Damn, it had been a long time since he’d met a woman who got his blood pumping. Since before he’d been exiled to Donovan’s Corner.

  “Hunky, huh?” he repeated.

  Josie let her gaze wander over him, starting at his work boots and ending at his eyebrows. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

  “I’m still not hauling in your stuff.”

  “Fine.” In a huff, she yanked up her wandering tank top strap again. She straightened to her full height. “But I do wish Tallulah had hired a more helpful handyman.”

  With her nose in the air, she headed farther upstairs. Hell. He’d gone and pissed her off. If she didn’t watch where she was going, she’d break her neck. Especially with the—

  “Aaaah!”

  Thump.

  The minute Luke heard Josie shriek, he knew what had happened. He galloped up the remaining stairs two at a time, stopping beside Josie near the top. She sat in a terry cloth-covered heap, blowing wisps of red hair from her eyes. A glance told him she was okay—just exasperated.

  “That fourteenth step’s a doozy,” he said.

  “Now you tell me.” Groaning, she accepted his outstretched hand for support and got to her feet. Warily, she navigated around the hole he still hadn’t fixed. “Okay. So ‘ready to move into’ might have been an exaggeration. I can accept that. Just give it to me straight. Is there anything in this place that isn’t falling apart?”

  “It’s a good house,” he repeated stubbornly.

  Josie searched his eyes. Whatever she saw there apparently satisfied her.

  “Good. Because if I’m getting in over my head, I want to know right now. Before I go to all the trouble of picking out a bedroom and moving in.”

  “Moving in? You just said ‘ready to move into’ was an exaggeration.”

  “I was exaggerating.” She waved her hand. “I’ve rented worse. Besides, where else would I spend the weekend, except my very own free mansion?”

  Newly energized, she dodged the stairway hole in one surprisingly athletic leap. From the other side of it at the top of the stairs, she beamed at him, ponytail swinging. She pointed down the leftmost hallway. “West wing that way?”

  In a flash, she was gone. Not waiting for Luke’s reply, not waiting for the truth…not waiting for anything. If her plans for Blue Moon were as impulsive and off-the-wall as everything else about her, he was in for a world of hurt. Not to mention pink carpets, disco balls, and—God help him—ruffles.

  Ugh. Grimacing at the havoc Josie might wreak on her own, Luke climbed the stairs and followed her.

  What the hell. It was better than shingling.

  By the time Josie had viewed all of the east wing (dusty), the attached greenhouse (moldy), and the great room (huge) dividing the house’s two main halves, she felt seriously schizophrenic.

  One minute, she couldn’t believe her good luck. The next, she wondered if she was nuts to even consider accepting the reward Tallulah Carlyle had given her. Blue Moon had clearly been magnificent once, but now it was an eyesore. Run-down, neglected, and critically lacking in several modern amenities.

  She couldn’t possibly live in it—at least not for much longer than this weekend. Discouraged, Josie realized that she hadn’t quite thought this through. So far, she’d been lounging on pool tables and bopping from room to room, caught up in the fantasy of living in her very own mansion. The truth was, this was a time for decision-making, not fantasizing.

  She thought about her new, improved circumstances. And realized that the idea of moving back to Donovan’s Corner was trouble enough. Moving here without a job was unthinkable. Even if her rent—or mortgage, in this case—were covered, she wouldn’t be able to support herself. Her savings were pretty good, but they’d only stretch so far.

  Resigning herself to the fact that her unexpected reward was both more incredible and less usable than she’d hoped, Josie wandered through the rooms in the west wing. Every one of them bore signs of faded elegance. Inlaid parquet floors. Crystal chandeliers. Carefully protected furniture. But the floors were warped or scuffed, the chandeliers were missing their crystals or were simply nonfunctioning, and the furniture smelled of mildew and mouse droppings.

  It must have been a very long time since Tallulah had seen this house. Either that, or Luke Donovan was a terrible handyman. In fact, to have let the place get this run-down, he had to be the antihandyman. Whoever eventually took over Blue Moon would have to keep a close eye on him—not that that would be tough to do—to make sure he was actually working. Instead of bench-pressing boxes of roof shingles, or whatever he’d done to become so buffed-up.

  Sighing, Josie toed aside an empty mousetrap, then kept going. She’d wanted to believe this reward would be something special. A real second chance. The answer to all her restlessness and dissatisfaction. Undeniably, Tallulah’s giving her Blue Moon had been a truly grand gesture. But Josie didn’t see how she could possibly make something of it.

  When she’d visited Tallulah’s lawyer, Ambrose, after her initial phone call, she’d been understandably skeptical. As it turned out, he’d been expecting her. With—according to Tallulah’s instructions—papers drawn up and house keys waiting.

  “According to Mrs. Carlyle, you didn’t give her much to work with, as far as this reward business goes,” Ambrose had said with a wink, thumping the stack of legal papers in front of Josie. “But that’s never stopped Mrs. Carlyle in the past.”

  “She’s done this kind of thing before?”

  “Only on the rare occasion. Only when she felt a reward seemed particularly warranted,” Ambrose had confided. “Not, of course, that you heard that tidbit from me.”

  “Of course.” They shared a smile.

  “In any case, Mrs. Carlyle has decided that you, Miss Day, deserve better than a shared double-wide trailer to live in. More to the point, she just happens to have the perfect solution to your housing dilemma…in your hometown. Quite the coincidence, hmmm?”

  Coincidence. Yeah. Josie had wanted to bolt right then.

  No way was she going back to that Aqua Net-soaked, small-minded gossip haven she’d been raised in. No way. But then the photographs of the house had come out, and the excitement of feeling like a lottery winner had taken over. By the time Ambrose had dangled the key over Josie’s waiting palm, she’d been too filled with a sheer sense of impending adventure to resist.

  Recklessness had always been her downfall.

  Or maybe that was rebelliousness.

  She shrugged. Either way, in the clear light of today’s mid-April morning, second thoughts were setting in. Maybe she’d been too hasty in packing up all her things—not that there’d been that many of them. Her life’s possessions had fit easily in her Chevy. Depressingly easily. She was twenty-seven years old. Was a trunkload—and backseat—full of clothes, shoes, and pink throw pillows all she had to show for her life?

  The thought spurred her on. Continuing through the house with one ear cocked for sounds of Luke, she explored the upstairs bedrooms and the downstairs second living room. She tugged back musty velvet draperies to look at the weedy grounds. She closed her eyes and tried to sense if she belonged there.

  Dispiritedly, Josie concluded that for her, Blue Moon was a pipe dream. She was a showgirl. Showgirls didn’t belong in small-town northern Arizona, sweeping up pine needles. They belonged someplace where they could dance—where they could perform and come alive. Not to mention earn a living doing those things.

  Deciding she had nothing to lose by finishing her tour anyway, she traversed a short hallway. She rounded a corner, opened a pair o
f double doors and stepped between them…and everything changed.

  Wow. The room before her spanned at least a gymnasium’s length and width, but it held none of a gymnasium’s sweaty practicality. To Josie’s surprise, this room held magic.

  Painted in pale pink, floored in blond wood with arched windows along one whole wall, it was easily the most breathtaking in the entire house. Unlike the rest of Blue Moon, it contained no tarp-covered furniture, no old landscape paintings, no tumbleweed-size dust bunnies. Only beauty.

  And possibility.

  “Ahh,” came Luke’s voice from someplace behind her. “I see you found the ballroom.”

  Ballroom. Of course. Josie breathed in deeply.

  “It’s not a ballroom.” She said the words slowly. Reverently. A few more steps carried her farther inside.

  “Not anymore. But once upon a time—”

  “No, it’s a dance studio. A dance school.” Trailing her fingers along the wall, testing her lightest dance steps on the dust-muted floor, Josie twirled in place. Yes. This could work. “My dance school.”

  Luke boggled at her. “Dance school.”

  “Yes. I’ve just decided it.” This place was a lot like she’d been once. Before she’d headed to Las Vegas to become a showgirl. Full of potential, but in dire need of polishing. The realization filled her with a weird sense of affection for Blue Moon—and for this room in particular. “I’m going to open my own dance school.”

  He frowned. “Here?”

  To her dismay, he even looked gorgeous while raining on her parade. He also looked as though he thought she’d gone completely bonkers. Defiantly, Josie lifted her chin.

  “It’ll be a huge success. I’ll teach little girls to perform perfect pirouettes and little boys to samba like pros. I’ve got the training, the ambition—and now, the location.” Picturing the place already, she swooshed her fingers through the air, pretending to unfurl a gigantic banner. “I can see it now. ‘Dance lessons for all ages.’”

  “No.”

  “Hmmm. What’ll I call it? I know! Josie’s Dance World. Dance Time. Dancers ‘R Us.”

  “No way in hell.”

  “That’s no good. It’ll alienate my students’ parents.”