Tough Going (Tough Love Book 2)

by Trixie More

  “Allison?” There was no answer, but an odd thunk came from the office. “Allison!” He hurried into the office.

  “Who are you?” An old man sitting in an incongruous recliner asked in a testy voice. “The office is closed. Come back tomorrow if you want to open an account.”

  Derrick blinked. “I’m, um, Derrick. Who are you?”

  “Harry Walton, CPA.” The old man pushed at the arms of the chair and Derrick realized the thunk must have been him putting down the footrest.

  “Well, Harry, do you know where Allison is?”

  “Allie Girl?” The man seemed puzzled. “She said she’d be right back.” Now the man looked around the office as if seeing it for the first time.

  “Well, I smelled something burning, so I came over,” Derrick said, leaving the man to follow him as he headed to the kitchen. He pushed open the door only to be assaulted by a fine cloud of gray smoke and a horrible odor. The source was immediately apparent. On the stove, smoke rose from a saucepan, the blue flames of the gas burner lapping at the sides. It was anyone’s guess what had been in the pot. Derrick turned off the flame, opened the back door and used a brick to keep it open. Next, he found the oven mitts, took the whole mess to the sink and ran water over it. The smoke cleared somewhat. By the time he had the pot soaking and the door locked, he was good and angry. Allison had left a man with dementia to stay here unattended? The poor guy might have been hurt. Not to mention his grandparent’s building might have burned down. He found Harry back in his chair.

  “Hi, Harry?”

  The man looked at him over his glasses.

  “Who are you?” Harry Walton glanced at his watch. “Oh, sorry. My lunch break must be over. What can I do for you?” He put aside his book and let the foot rest down with a thunk.

  “We’re ready for you to review our books now,” Derrick tried.

  Harry looked warily left and right, then said brightly, “Absolutely. I’ll just step lively.”

  Seeing the man’s confusion and willingness to be led just confirmed Derrick’s sense of injustice. How could Allison be so irresponsible? He guided Harry over to the bar.

  “Are you hungry, Harry?”

  “I could do with a bite, but I’m going to insist on paying,” Harry said brightly.

  Derrick gave him a coffee and a set of old ledgers and watched him thumbing happily through the pages, making notes in the margins.

  It sounded to Allison like she’d backed over a roadster. Panic gripped her. Please don’t let her have just backed into someone. She got out of the van, her feet blazing with agony. No car. There was no telephone pole that she could see, so what had she hit? She limped around the van and found the source. She’d backed over the curb, and now, the rear passenger tire was flat. Abso-freakin-lutely flat. The exhaustion she felt as her shoulders sagged was like nothing she’d ever experienced. She stood there for a minute just trying to reconcile the fact that she would need to change the tire on a van she didn’t own, and therefore, wasn’t familiar with. She would have to do it in these stupid shoes, and she would have to do it tonight, before she could get back to her shop, collect her father, bring him home and then finally, finally, sleep. She looked around. There was no help coming. There never was, and there wouldn’t be now. If she wanted this day to end, she was going to have to end it herself. She walked around the van and started looking for the jack.

  Being the child of a man who was always working had some advantages. Basically, everything that ever went wrong in her life, she’d had to fix on her own. And while it might sound like she was bitter, she wasn’t—God’s honest truth. She understood, that because she had that type of childhood, the kind some people called not having a childhood, she was more capable than most. Being capable was a point of pride. She loved knowing that she had the power to solve her own problems. But sometimes, like now, it would be nice not to have to.

  She put the jack on the walk, got in the van, rolled it off the sidewalk, then got out, walked back, the pain in her feet so bad now it was starting to be funny. She took a step and her knee buckled to one side. She took another step and held onto the fender as she limped along.

  I look completely drunk off my ass, she thought. Sadly, there were no cops around to notice her and offer help. She placed the jack and inserted the tire iron. Behind her, the door to Culter’s house opened, admitting someone she hadn’t seen arrive.

  “Hey!” It was Mark’s voice, calling out to her. “Do you need help?” She was amazed. She’d half expected him to threaten to call the police on her.

  “Nope, I’m good,” she called over her shoulder. Help would be excellent, truth be told, but she never even considered saying yes. He was her customer, and she shouldn’t inconvenience him further.

  “You sure?”

  “Yep, almost done,” she lied.

  “OK. Come and knock if you change your mind,” the man said, sounding much kinder now that the food issue was over. The door closed and Allison finished jacking up the van. Next, it was time to take the lugs off. This was always an iffy moment. In the end, she had to kick the wrench to loosen a couple of them, but she got the tire off. Next step, find the damn donut. Of course, it was under the van. It took her several minutes to find something to lie on. Using a flattened cardboard box to protect Dot’s clothes, Allison eventually slid under the van, praying the whole time that the heavy vehicle wouldn’t fall on her as she worked the donut out of its holder. When she was able to get it loose, she was so grateful, she considered just lying there, under the van and having a bit of a cry. She compromised by remaining still for a minute. Looking along her body, down past her ridiculous skirt and unsuitable shoes, she could see snow, just starting to fall again, sparkling in the street light. Underneath the van, it was damp and dark. A part of her considered just staying there, maybe napping.

  But it was cold on the asphalt, and she wanted to get home, so out she rolled. She changed the tire, lowered the van, cleaned up the mess, and heaved herself into the driver’s seat, praying the whole way home, to any angel that might hear her, to please, please let her get back to the shop in one piece.

  It was almost midnight when she pulled up in front of Allison’s Kitchen and parked the van with an enormous exhale. She could practically feel her fluffy robe. Could imagine her soft, soft, soft slippers. Everything was waiting for her in her dad’s guest room where she kept a set of clothes. All she had to do was go in, close up and get her father. She locked the van for what felt like the millionth time that night and headed inside. She pulled the door open, and at the very first inch, her heart began to pound. Yanking the door wide, sweat beaded on her forehead and under her arms. What did she smell? Her eyes went immediately to the overhead sprinklers. They were there, and they were dry, so there hadn’t been heat—yet. Next, her focus bounced to the fire extinguisher. It was still bracketed to the side of the front door. She opened the clip and picked the weighty red cylinder up. Holding the nozzle away from herself, she entered.

  “Dad?” No answer. That was bad. Really bad. She started to run, jogging to the office door, skidding to a stop. Nobody was there. Panic bloomed over her skin in a rising spattering of goose bumps.

  “DAD!” Screeching now and getting no answer, she raced into the kitchen. The smell was stronger in here, but nothing indicated an actual fire. She looked around. Nothing out of place on the stove, no sign of anything burning. She turned and hurried back to the stairs, hustling down them, but there was less odor here. The good news was, the place seemed to be in one piece. Allison checked the whole shop more carefully, looking for small fires, holding the extinguisher at the ready. Everything was fine except for one thing: her father was nowhere to be found.

  Chapter 6

  “Who’s that?” Sophie asked, watching Harry Walton work through the numbers for a restaurant that didn’t even exist anymore.

  “I think that might be bossy butt’s father.”

  “Bossy who?”

  “From next do
or.”

  “And you call her bossy butt?” Sophie raised her brows.

  “Or Allison,” he said. “She left her father alone there, and he’s obviously got Alzheimer’s or something.”

  “And you know this how?”

  He was just wrapping up his explanation when Allison burst through the door. She was dressed to the nines, wearing fancy shoes, makeup, and jewelry. Oh, this just got better and better. It was clear she’d been out at a party or on a date. He wondered who she’d been with and if she had a partner. Not that it mattered.

  “Have you seen …” Her worried eyes roamed the bar and landed on her father. “Dad!” She rushed over to him. “Dad, what are you doing here? I was so worried, the shop smells like something burned in there. Are you all right?”

  Harry looked up at his daughter. “Allie Girl. You’re back, great. I’m going to finish up here and then we can go.”

  Allison glanced up at Derrick, her face flushed, hazel eyes worried. “OK, Dad, finish your coffee, but what happened at the shop?”

  Her father glanced at her and then his eyes darted around the room. He set the ledger aside absently as if he hadn’t just been poring over it. He shrugged.

  “Did something burn?” Allison pressed the issue, her voice rising.

  Derrick leaned his ass against the back counter, arms crossed over his chest. Either this woman didn’t know her father had a problem or she was a great actress. There was no way acting was bossy’s thing. She was unpretentious to a fault. But how could she not know? It had taken Derrick all of two sentences with Harry to figure it out. No, she had to know. The thought just fed his anger.

  “Dad?” she asked again. “What burned?”

  Sophia elbowed Derrick. “This is going to go on all night. Take her over there and show her.”

  He pushed off from the counter, came out from behind the bar, and grabbed Allison by the elbow.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, resisting his tug. Derrick just pulled her along, Allison tripping over herself until they were outside. He opened her shop door and held it wide while she passed by. As soon as they were inside, she turned on him. Of course. Fifteen seconds of civility was all this woman could muster.

  “How dare you pull me around like a two-year-old! And what are you doing with the keys to my shop again?” She pressed herself into his space, stopping just inches from him and had the nerve to cross her arms and tap her foot at him.

  “How dare I? How about you, smart-ass?” He shot back. Her eyes went wide, and her nostrils flared. He was angry with her, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to being a bit aroused too, which just made him madder. He wasn’t the kind of guy who got off pushing women around. And now that they were so close, he could see that some of what he’d thought was makeup, was just dark circles. She pushed a handful of curls back from her face, and her fingers trembled. She was exhausted. Well, too bad.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You left a man with dementia alone. He almost burned the place down.” Derrick gestured toward the kitchen and watched her eyes go wide.

  “Dementia! What are you talking about? I was in the kitchen! It looks fine. Was it the office?” She turned and hustled over to the office, flicking on the light. He watched her. If he was honest, he watched her ass, as she took in the room. She turned back to him, and he jerked his gaze back to her face. It had to pass her chest to get there. She narrowed her eyes. “What is going on?”

  “I smelled it coming from the door …” he started and watched in surprise as her face paled dramatically. She stepped forward, her hand on the counter. “I came over and found Harry in the office. A pot was on the stove, whatever was in it, was cooked down to cinders.”

  Her shoulders slumped a bit, her face crumpled, and to his amazement, she started to cry.

  The last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of Derrick, but she was just so damn relieved. Something had burned on the stove. It had been closer than she guessed, but her father was safe. She hadn’t lost him, or her business or anything. Derrick had been there and handled things. Everything was OK. And just like that, she started to weep. Not classy little delicate sniffles with a single tear to brush away, the way Dorothy cried. No, Allison cried big, just like she did everything, so this was serious waterworks. Oh, God. She dodged into the bathroom, leaving her handsome neighbor standing there, looking both angry and stunned.

  When she got into the bathroom, she took one look in the mirror and started to laugh along with her crying, so that now she was a big, snotty, hiccupping mess. She’d forgotten she had makeup on. It was all down under her eyes, making her look like a demented raccoon. And, since she’d also felt all the blood drain out of her head when Derrick had mentioned the smoke billowing under the door, she was now more like a demented albino raccoon, complete with red eyes and nose. The thought made her laugh harder, and cry harder. Pounding started on the door.

  “Hey! Are you OK in there?” Derrick. Poor Derrick. He’d washed her dishes, taken Marley home at an insane hour of the morning and here he was, back tonight, rescuing her father. Now he was cooling his heels while she had a breakdown in the bathroom. For a construction god, he was being pretty nice, considering. She blew her nose on a rough paper towel and splashed her face with cold water.

  “Hey, bossy!”

  Bossy? He calls me bossy? she thought.

  “I’m fine!” Her voice warbled in the most humiliating way. She swiped away the mascara from beneath her eyes.

  “Are you decent?”

  She laughed. “You mean, as a human being?”

  “Fuck. Cover up Allison, I’m coming in.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  The door opened, pushed by a broad shoulder, followed by an intent male. Something about him just walking in, not waiting for her permission set her heart pounding and made her breathing short and quick. “I would.”

  Allison blotted her face and dried her hands. “As you can see, I’m ugly, but I’m fine.”

  He snorted. “Don’t pull that ‘I’m ugly’ shit. I’m not taking the bait.”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about. I don’t want anything from you,” she retorted. Stop it, she thought. She sighed and tossed out the towel, turned toward Derrick and really looked at him. His gorgeous face had spots of color high on his cheeks, his hair was messed up a bit and that mouth, that stubborn, stubborn mouth. She stared at it a moment too long. “I don’t want anything from you, but I do owe you.” Her voice was softer now. “Thank you so much.” Her attraction to him was strong. She stepped closer to him, almost against her will. Almost. Not that it mattered. Albino raccoons didn’t date gods. She smiled a little, feeling the exhaustion sink deep into her bones. “I can’t thank you enough for coming to check on my dad. If I had lost him, to a fire?” She shuddered and felt those stupid tears come up again, felt all the words leave her. She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek, watched his jaw tense, his nostrils flare. A bit of stubble prickled under her hand. Gently, slowly, bemused by her own boldness, she smoothed his hair, standing on her toes to do it, pressing close to him. He’d leaned against her back last night, and her heart had pounded in her chest. It was nothing compared to what she felt as she stretched against him now.

  He grabbed her wrist and held her arm high, where it was, keeping her close to him. She put her other hand on his shoulder to keep herself from falling into him. His eyes stared into hers, his face gave away nothing. When she had regained her balance, she moved her free hand behind his neck, and that did it. He let go of her wrist and stepped away. Allison felt the last bit of energy she possessed evaporate. She was too tired to be depressed about the rejection.

  “Sorry about that,” she said. “I really just meant to thank you.”

  “By kissing me? After you just came back from a date? No thanks.” He started to open the door.

  “Excuse me?” Did he think she meant to offer herself to him as a thank you? And what date? He pu
lled open the door.

  “Hey! What the heck does that mean?”

  “Whatever you think it means, bossy girl,” he said. He sounded furious. She trotted after him, stopping to pull off the stupid shoes. Her mangled feet were showing, but she was too focused on Derrick to worry about that.

  “What date?” she called out.

  He turned and gestured to her clothes sweeping his hand down until it pointed directly at her feet, at which point, he stopped in shock. Allison didn’t look down. She knew what her feet looked like. Derrick’s eyes went wide, and then they jerked back up to her face. He cleared his throat but didn’t go all wishy-washy on her. She admired that about him, even if he was a pain in the ass. Funny thing, yesterday, he hadn’t seemed so … feisty. He’d just wandered around the kitchen, watching her and helping out. Today, he was a man with an agenda, only Allison didn’t know what it might be.

  He raised his brows and widened his eyes mockingly. “You’re dressed up. You weren’t working.”

  Aha! She had him there. “The hell you say! I never left! After you took Marley home, I stayed.” He looked surprised. Good. “These clothes? They don’t even belong to me.”

  “Too bad,” he drawled.

  She didn’t miss a beat. “My roommate brought them and that van out front so I could clean up and make deliveries.

  “You expect me to believe you were dropping off food dressed like that?” He gave her an “oh please” kind of laugh.

  “No! I expect you to believe that I made the deliveries, and then I changed a tire on a fucking van dressed like this!”

  He scoffed and turned to look at the van. Only a moron could have missed the donut tire on the rear side by the curb. Derrick wasn’t a moron. He turned back to her. “Tonight?”