“And?”
I dried my hands on a dishtowel and went to the pantry for the first aid kit. “And I handled it.” Eventually I’d tell him what happened—in the office anyway—but I wanted to look at his injuries first. Setting the small metal box on the table, I retrieved a clean towel and wet it. “Now hold still.” Gently, I tilted his head and dabbed at the blood on his face.
“Ow. I can do it myself.” He tried to grab the towel, but I held it away from him.
“Be quiet! I’ll do it.” Staring him down until he dropped his arm, I returned the wet cloth to his cheek.
He sniffed. “You burn something in here?”
“Yeah. Dinner.” When he grinned, I frowned at him. “I said hold still. Where were you tonight?”
“I went with Sam and a few guys to collect at a couple different places. One asshole didn’t want to pay, and he had some friends. Ow!”
“Sorry.” Easing up on the pressure, I wiped his skin clean of blood, holding his thick matted hair back with the other hand. I leaned closer to examine the slice on his temple. “What was the weapon?”
“A broken bottle.”
I sighed. “That’ll do it.” Reaching into the kit for a cotton swab and some iodine, I dotted some along each of the cuts on his face, rolling my eyes when he winced at the sting. After putting a bandage over the bottle cut, I rinsed the towel. Wringing it out, I returned to him and wiped some of the dirt and blood from his hair and neck. “You’re a mess.”
“Thanks. You know, I could do this myself.”
“Shut up already. Coat off.” He shrugged out of his brown jacket and pulled his gun from the waistband of his pants, laying it on the table. Gooseflesh spread across my arms.
“My God, Joey. You’re lucky they didn’t have guns! I’ve got no experience with bullet wounds.”
“They did have guns,” he said. “But nobody was willing to shoot first tonight.”
Tomorrow night could be another story.
I clenched my jaw. Would Joey have to participate in the rum heist? I hoped he wouldn’t, but something told me he would insist on it, the idiot. I moved in front of him and stood between his knees, running the wet cloth under his chin and behind his ears. His shirt was already loose at the collar, but I undid another button to wipe the back of his neck.
“Somehow I pictured this moment differently, you undressing me. But I do like your outfit.” He was staring at my chest, his wicked grin in place.
I looked down and noticed my belt had come loose and my robe was hanging open. “Enough.” I slapped the cloth onto the table and tightened my robe again. “Or I’ll beat you myself.”
He laughed, clutching his ribs. “Ouch. Don’t make me laugh.”
“Take a few punches in the gut, did you?”
“One or two.” He looked up at me quickly. “But I gave as good as I got.”
“I’m sure you did.” I backed up. “Now take off your shirt.”
“Removing my pants would be more fun, don’t you think?” He stood and slipped both braces from his shoulders at once.
“Will you stop? I want to check for bruises.”
“Sorry.” He tugged his shirt from his pants and began unbuttoning it. “It’s actually a relief to hear you razzing me. I was worried about you tonight.”
I ignored the tug in my chest at his words and the quickening in my stomach when he took off his shirt. Underneath he wore a white, athletic-style tank that hugged his chest and torso. His shoulders and biceps were thick and defined with hard curves, and I was tempted to touch them.
Stop it, you’re the nurse here. And this is pain-in-the-ass Joey, not Enzo.
But I was still worked up from tonight’s twin episodes of sexual frustration, and Joey was right here in my kitchen. And probably willing.
The thought unnerved me. “Take off your undershirt too,” I snapped.
“Yes, ma’am.” He grabbed it from the back and yanked it over his head. “Are you going to be this bossy when you’re a real nurse?” he asked as I circled him, checking for bruises or other abrasions.
“Only to problem patients like yourself.” But the problem was me—or at least my reaction to him. His chest was as muscular as his arms, and the lines on his abdomen made my insides flutter. I resisted the craving to run my hands over them and instead examined a red and purple patch of skin on his left shoulder blade. “Deep breaths.” He did as I asked, without wincing. “OK. You’ll hurt for a while, but nothing looks serious. Let me see your hands.”
He held them out, and oddly, it was the sight of his hands that finally proved too much—I had to touch them. I ran my fingers over each one, saddened at the cuts and swollen knuckles. Images of them working in the moonlight flickered in my mind. “Wash them.” I pointed toward the sink. He soaped and rinsed his hands while I stared at his naked back, watching the muscles flex. It would be so easy. I could go up behind him, press my breasts against his back, run my hands around to his stomach, lay my cheek on his warm skin. I swayed to the side before catching my balance and grimacing.
What is with me tonight?
Turning around as he dried them, he asked, “Now can you tell me what happened at the club?” He set the towel aside and picked up his undershirt from the table, and I was grateful when his chest disappeared under the white cotton. The last thing I needed was to mess around with Joey right in the middle of this. Even if his body was swoon-inducing.
“Like I said, I walked into Angel’s office with an envelope that was six hundred bucks short.” I sat as far as I could from him, on the opposite side of the table.
“What did he do?” He grabbed his blue shirt and shrugged into the sleeves, but left it unbuttoned when he sat down.
“He handed it to Enzo, who counted it and said it was all there.”
Joey’s wide mouth fell open. “You’re kidding me. Enzo covered for you?” He grimaced. “Now you owe him. You don’t ever want to owe these guys a favor,” he scolded, like it was my fault Enzo had lied about the money.
“Thanks for the tip, but I didn’t ask him for a favor. He just did it.”
“Nobody just does a favor like that in this business. He must want something.”
Damn right he does. I blushed under Joey’s menacing stare but said nothing.
“Who else was there? Did it look like Angel had a lot of muscle?”
“Guarding every room,” I said, glad to move off the topic of Enzo’s want. “The only other guy I recognized was his son Raymond. And Raymond’s friend Harry. Don’t know his last name.”
Joey scowled. “Coupla idiots, both of them. Nasty mean streaks, though.” He rubbed his chin, which was shadowed with whiskers. “You hear anything about the rum?”
“Yeah. Raymond said it’s tomorrow night.”
Joey blinked at me. “Raymond? How’d you get him to do that?”
“Hidden talent, remember?” At his shocked expression, I said, “Don’t worry. I didn’t have to do anything drastic. A little flattery goes a long way with a guy like that.”
He didn’t look convinced but let it go. “All right.” He stood as he buttoned his shirt. “I gotta go tell Sam.”
“Right now?” I checked the kitchen clock. “It’s two in the morning! You’re hurt and you need rest!”
He tucked in his shirt and stuck his gun back into his pants. “I’m fine. Thanks for the help, and I’m sorry I didn’t show tonight.”
“Turns out I didn’t need you.” Anger bubbled to the surface of my skin, hot and itchy. Why was he choosing to put himself at the center of this mess when he didn’t have to? It’s not like he didn’t have other options—his mother ran a boarding house with a restaurant. He could work for her, or for Henry fucking Ford, or for anyone with a legitimate business where he wouldn’t have to carry a gun in his pants!
He reached for his jacket. “Are you all right here by yourself?”
“What difference does it make?”
As he shoved his left arm through the sleeve
, he winced a little. “Because I can come back.”
I crossed my arms, jerking my chin at him. “Forget it. I don’t need you.”
He looked at me, his expression a mix of apology and irritation. “Yes, you do. I’ll negotiate with Sam so you can make your money this week.” Digging into his coat pocket, he pulled out a stack of bills and tossed it on the table. “Here. Pay Enzo back. Immediately.”
I stared at the money on the table, wishing I didn’t have to accept it. How badly I wanted to tell him to take his cash and his gun and his stupidity and go jump in the lake. But I had no promise from Enzo that he wouldn’t tell his father I’d been short. Better to pay him than to risk Daddy’s life. “The whisky I couldn’t sell is at the boathouse,” I told Joey. “It’s yours.”
“No. You need to sell that whisky. This money’s just a loan until your pop’s back.” I opened my mouth to argue but he held up his hand and raised his voice. “Enough backtalk. You’re gonna take that and pay Enzo off, and then we’ll figure out how to get the next five G’s, capisce?”
Without thinking, I raised my voice too. “I really hate it when you tell me what to do like that. I’m not a child!”
He dropped his hand. “I don’t think you’re a child.”
“Tiny?” The small voice at the kitchen doorway made us both jump.
“Hey, kiddo,” Joey said softly.
“Mary Grace, what are you doing up?”
“I heard noises, and I was scared.” She rubbed one side of her head, where her hair was twisty and matted. When she’s nervous about something or can’t sleep, she twirls her hair in the same spot, which gives her tangles that take forever to comb out. “What happened to your face, Joey?”
“I’m clumsy as heck, that’s what happened. I opened the door of my car too quickly, and smack!” He mimed the door hitting him in the face. “Right in the kisser!” Mary Grace giggled. “Your big sister the nurse was helping me get it bandaged up.” He leaned toward her and whispered. “But she’s awful bossy about it.”
Mary Grace smiled. “She is bossy.”
“OK, that’s enough. Back to bed now.” Taking Mary Grace by the shoulders, I turned her toward the hall.
She looked up at Joey. “My Daddy isn’t here. Are you staying for the rest of the night?” The hope in her voice was undeniable, and I realized she wanted him to stay—she probably felt better having a man in the house. My heart sank to the bottom of my chest.
He glanced at me. “Well, I have to go someplace right now, but maybe I’ll come back.”
“Good,” she said. Then she looked at me. “I miss Daddy.”
“He’ll be home soon, honey.” God, I hoped that was the truth. “Now go on upstairs. I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?” With her worried blue eyes on me, I couldn’t say no.
“OK, just this once. Scoot.” I swatted her backside lightly and sent her down the hall. The stairs creaked as she went up.
“She’s scared,” Joey said softly.
I nodded and turned off the light, my throat closing. “She’s not the only one.” When I started for the back door, Joey stopped me with a hand on the shoulder. My heart began to beat faster. I shouldn’t have turned off the light.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered. “Or to them.”
“You can’t tell the future.”
“I’m not talking about telling the future. I’m making you a promise.”
My throat was too tight for words.
“I’ll be back tonight.”
I struggled to speak. “Do you…do you want a key?”
“Yes.”
I retrieved our extra house key from a pantry shelf. When I handed it to him, our fingers brushed, and I pulled mine away quickly.
“Thanks. Now try to get some sleep.”
“Won’t be easy with Mary Grace in my bed. She kicks,” I said, feeling the need to make a joke.
“You can always come down and sleep on the sofa with me. I can’t promise to keep my hands to myself, but I won’t kick you.”
I love your hands. “Joey?”
“Yeah?”
“You better go.”
Chapter Eleven
I woke the next morning to the sound of music and the smell of frying sausage. Breathing deeply, I stretched, checked the clock, and blinked in surprise. After nine already? It was hard to believe I’d slept that long, considering everything that happened last night, but for the first time this week I felt somewhat rested. The spot next to me was empty except for Mary Grace’s stuffed bear, so I pulled on my robe and headed down the stairs, hoping Molly had put coffee on with whatever they were scrounging up for breakfast.
First thing, I need to get those forty bottles sold, place another order, and—
I stopped short at the doorway to the kitchen, my mouth falling open.
Joey stood at the counter with a red apron over his clothes, stirring something in a mixing bowl. Molly was pouring coffee, and Mary Grace sat on top of the kitchen table nibbling a sausage patty. Someone had turned up the radio in the front room, and Henry Burr’s throaty Irish tenor filled the air. I pulled my robe tighter around me.
“She wakes!” shouted Joey. He wiped his hands on the apron and faced me. “And she looks funny in the morning. I didn’t know a girl’s hair could stick out that way.”
The girls giggled as I tried to smooth my wayward hair. “What are you doing?”
“I’m making breakfast, although it’s not easy with the scarcity of groceries in this house. For cryin’ out loud, Tiny, no wonder your growth is stunted!” My sisters screeched with laughter while I frowned.
“So what are you making then?”
“Well, when I saw the bare cupboards and the poor hungry children living here, I ran down to Bridget’s and begged for food. Mary Grace helped me fry the sausage, Molly made coffee, and now I’m making pancakes.” He gestured toward the mixing bowl.
“You know how to make pancakes?”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s not hard, Tiny. You measure, mix, and throw them on the griddle.” He’d removed the bandage from his temple. The welt had gone down but the jagged cut above it looked red and angry. He was still wearing his clothing from last night, although he’d wet his hair in an effort to tame it.
“Joey said he’d teach me how to make spaghetti sauce this afternoon,” said Molly, beaming as she sat down at the table.
“Gravy,” he corrected. “And I have to get some ingredients first, so that won’t be till later. We’ll make supper.” He turned on the gas under a cast iron skillet and threw a hunk of butter in it. As it melted and sizzled, Joey stirred the batter and sang along with Henry, loudly and totally off key.
“Lord, Joey, that’s awful.” Molly put her hands to her ears. “You’re worse than Tiny, and she’s pretty bad.”
I shot her an evil eye, and crossed my arms. Something about the scene was throwing me off-kilter, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was.
“Can I pour the batter on?” Mary Grace pleaded, hopping off the table. She grabbed the ladle from a drawer.
“Sure. Come here.” Joey let her stand in front of him and put his hands over hers, one on the ladle and one on the edge of the bowl. “Now, scoop some…and carefully bring it over to the skillet…then dump it in.” He guided her arms and she managed to do it without dripping any batter on the floor or counter. I watched his hands over hers and felt a ridiculous tug of envy, but I also felt a ripple of warmth. It was good to see my sisters laughing, unaware of the trouble brewing outside their door.
“I need to get dressed,” I said, backing out of the room. Ascending the stairs slowly, I put a hand over my stomach and wondered why it felt so unsettled. The girls were safe, they didn’t know anything was amiss with Daddy, and I was halfway to making the ransom. I’d gotten the information Sam wanted, and Joey had said he’d negotiate with Sam. Maybe he’d even let me buy some of the stolen rum. I dropped my hand, my
shoulders straightening up. Yes, that’s it. Authentic rum was a rarity around here—our regular customers might not need more whisky yet, but perhaps they’d be willing to buy something more exotic.
Relieved for the moment, I decided I’d take a bath and wash my hair before dressing. I locked the bathroom door and turned on the water, letting it run over my hand as it warmed up. Tonight I’d go back to the club and deliver the six hundred to Enzo. I was thinking about buying a new dress to wear when a jolt of good sense struck me.
You’re supposed to stay away from him, remember? It shouldn’t matter what you look like—you’re going to give him the money and get out.
I put the stopper in the drain and let the tub fill. Dropping my robe and nightgown to the floor, I climbed in and stretched out in the warm water. I could still hear the music from downstairs, and Joey’s off-key baritone carried too. Humming along, I ran my hands over my stomach and small breasts. They’d taken forever to grow beyond walnut-size but they were a little bigger now, maybe half-an-orange-sized. I squeezed them gently, and when my nipples beaded I circled my palms over them lightly. I’m going to hell for this. But I closed my eyes and imagined the hands were someone else’s.
#
By the time I was dressed, my hair neat and dry, the girls had finished eating and the dishes were done. “I don’t believe it,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee. “I didn’t even hear any yelling down here.”
“They never complained once.” Joey had taken off the apron and was seated in a chair at the table, tilting its legs back. “Just did them without being asked, then disappeared out the back door.”
“Where’d they go?”
He looked blank and let the chair’s front legs hit the floor. “Oops—I didn’t ask.”
“It’s all right. They can’t get far.” I took a seat next to him.
“Are you hungry?” He slid a plate of pancakes and sausage across the checkered tablecloth.
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