by Beth Andrews
When she reached him she gently pressed the box into his stomach. He looked down, and stifled a groan.
Nat clapped her hands. “Isn’t she cute? And she’s just what you need, ’cause you’re always complaining about mice. What’re you going to name her?”
“I...don’t know.”
“I could name her for you, if you want.”
He looked up, away from the kitten’s anxious amber gaze. His arms quivered as he toyed with the idea of pushing the box right back at Nat. But the cat chose that moment to let loose an entreating mewl.
Oh, man.
“We found three,” Nat said. “Harris and I each got a black-and-white one. I brought you the orange one ’cause she’s special.”
A muffled sound, coming from his right. Was that...was Parker laughing at him? He threw her an ominous look.
The kitten meowed again and Joe’s hands tightened on the box. “Uh...what did Harris say when you gave him his?”
Nat watched him, her face expectant. “He said ‘thank you.’”
Another muffled laugh before Parker finally came to his rescue. She scooped the kitten out of the box and cradled it to her chest. “Maybe Joe needs to think about it,” she told her daughter gently. “A pet is a big responsibility. He might need to work his way up to it.”
Too bad he couldn’t enjoy his sense of relief, since it came along with a hefty dose of guilt. Then he saw the hurt in Nat’s gaze and the relief evaporated altogether. He dropped the box, reached out and carefully freed the cat from Parker’s arms. He held the kitten aloft and turned it this way and that, wincing as the needle-sharp claws dug into his skin.
“Looks like a mouser to me.” He held the kitten against his shoulder and regarded Nat solemnly. “Thank you, sport. I’ll take good care of her.”
“I knew you’d love her!”
“I don’t have any—”
“We brought supplies.” Parker gave Nat’s arm a light shake. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s get Joe set up and then be on our way. He has things to do and so do we.” While Nat skipped ahead, Parker made a face, reached over and stroked the kitten’s downy head. “You don’t have to keep her. I tried to convince Nat she should ask you first, but she just couldn’t resist bringing her along.”
“Smart kid.”
“We’ll take her back if it doesn’t work out.” He must have looked grateful at that offer because Parker looked disappointed. Still, she knew how hard he worked to keep his life simple. For some reason she—and most of the women he knew—considered that a challenge. And no one could complicate a situation like a woman.
They walked in silence. She stopped him before they reached her truck. “I am sorry, Joe. About your brother. I didn’t even know you had one, until Hazel mentioned him.”
“It’s not something I talk about. But thanks.” He sucked in a breath as the kitten tried to climb his neck. “For everything.”
Ten minutes later, Joe had yet to figure out where to put the damned litter box. The bathroom was too small, the kitchen didn’t bear thinking about and the bedroom was off-limits—the last thing he wanted to hear in the middle of the night was the scrape of claws on plastic. He finally slid the tray under the reception counter, out of sight of the guests but close enough so he’d know right off when it needed cleaning. In went the cat. She immediately started digging, flinging sprays of clay onto the floor.
He had a name for the creature, all right. But he doubted Nat—or her mother—would appreciate it.
The kitten made him think of Allison. He remembered hearing her once say she wanted a cat but spent too much time at the office to make it practical. He’d mocked her at the time. He looked down at Nat’s gift, currently chewing on an electrical cord. With a sigh he snatched her up.
How about you, Gallahan? Anyone proud of you?
His neck muscles went tight. Damn her for bringing the memories back. For reminding him of the life he’d left behind. Of the person he’d been and never wanted to be again. Of disillusionment and betrayal.
Of what he wanted and could never have.
He was tired of money and he was tired of manipulation, in all its forms. Still, he’d already accepted one responsibility today. What was one more?
With that thought, he set the kitten down, snatched up his phone and followed the orange ball of fluff into the kitchen. It bothered the hell out of him that he still knew the number by heart.
“Tackett here.”
“Vince. It’s Joe.”
A pause. Tackett was trying to decide how to play it. Joe wasn’t in the mood for games.
“Let Allison handle the client. She’s more than capable.”
“Mahoney wants you.”
“Unless he’s passing through northeast Pennsylvania and needs a room for the night, I can’t help him.” Joe squatted and scratched at the leg of his jeans. The kitten tensed then pounced, and Joe couldn’t help but smile. “Give her the promotion. She’s earned it.”
“So did Danielle Franks.”
“Got a feeling they earned it in very different ways.”
“You get back here and give Mahoney what he wants and I’ll make sure Allison gets what she wants.”
Fine. A bluff it would be. Slowly, Joe straightened. “You’re not hearing me. I’m not coming back.”
Another pause, this one measured by a series of heavy breaths. But when Vince spoke again his voice carried a casual shrug. “Then Allison’s done at Tackett & Pike.”
Son of a bitch. “You’re willing to sacrifice one of your best employees for Mahoney’s account?”
“I’ll sacrifice every schmuck in the whole damned company for Mahoney’s account.”
Joe swung around and glowered through the window over the sink. He frowned at the tree line, wondering what exactly Nat had seen earlier.
No. What he was doing was trying to ignore the guilt that had been squirming in his gut ever since Allison had laid into him. The very last thing he wanted to do was return to the rat race—hell, T&P had more rodents than Joe had ever had to chase out of his motel. And he knew damned well that as soon as he stepped foot in Alexandria, Vince would start his campaign to keep him there on a permanent basis.
Allison’s elegant face flashed through his thoughts and he scrubbed his fingers through his hair, as if he could scour the image away. He didn’t have a choice. But before he could voice his surrender, Tackett barked into the phone.
“Put her on.”
“She’s not here. She came by yesterday, delivered her pitch, I said ‘hell, no’ and she left.”
“Only you didn’t, did you? I talked to her afterward. She told me about your offer and I gave her the two weeks you asked for. Guess she decided to wait until today to seal the deal. So when she gets there, why don’t you set her up with some hard labor? None of that sissy stuff. She’s a cocky little thing—it’ll serve her right. And make sure she knows she’s staying with you. I’m not paying for a hotel when you can put her up at your place.”
With his free hand, Joe gripped the edge of the sink and watched his knuckles turn white. “Don’t play me, Tackett. I come back with her and she keeps her job. And you give her that promotion. And I want that in writing. Understood?”
“Let’s wait and see what you can do for Mahoney.”
“That wasn’t the deal, Tackett. You screw her on this and so help me God I’ll convince Mahoney to take his business elsewhere. Then I’ll convince him to take your staff along with him. And if that doesn’t put you out of business, I’ll open my own agency and do it myself.”
“That’s not ethical,” Tackett blustered.
“You wouldn’t know ethical if it grabbed you by the balls.”
Joe let go of the sink and shook the ache from his fingers. While Tackett lectured him about proprietary info
rmation agreements, Joe heard a noise, like something ripping. He tracked the kitten to the bathroom, where she was attacking the cover of a paperback he’d tossed in the corner. He nudged her out with his boot and shut the door. Non-disclosure agreements aside, the threat he’d made was an empty one. He’d start his own agency the day Tackett aced sensitivity training.
He pressed the End button, cutting off Tackett’s monologue, and scowled down at his phone. How the hell did she tolerate that asshole? And more importantly, why? But of course he knew. The money. Apparently whatever she was spending her salary on was worth putting up with Tackett and his crap.
As much as he wanted to despise her for it, he’d once felt the same.
* * *
HE LIFTED HIS head and peered through the trees at the motel across the field. The field that didn’t provide the cover it once had, thanks to the meathead owner and his lawnmower. The dude had no idea he was wasting his time sprucing up this dump.
His breath knifed in and out of his lungs and sweat slicked his skin. Despite his jeans and sweatshirt and the seventy-degree weather, he felt cold as shit.
He huffed out a quiet snort. Make that cold as frozen shit.
No one came back around the corner. The coast was clear. The girl had seen him, but he’d bet that the adults had rolled their eyes and patted her head and discussed in hushed, condescending tones how she must have made it all up. All part of the parental conspiracy to eff up the kiddies.
A hot, sharp anger set his hands to shaking. He gripped his thighs and held his breath, started the usual silent count, felt the fury fade. No sense in unleashing it until he needed it. Slowly he rose out of his squat and leaned against the nearest tree, pine needles rustling under his feet. The uneven bark bit into his shoulder.
He should have backtracked as soon as he’d heard the truck. But he’d almost been inside. Almost had what he needed. And he’d almost been caught. He couldn’t blow this. Wouldn’t blow this. Next time, he’d know.
He turned his back to the motel, and made his way deeper into the sun-dappled woods.
* * *
JOE WASN’T IN #4, where she’d left him the afternoon before. Allison carefully made her way back up the sidewalk toward the office, stepping over and around the cracks that rendered the concrete path less than high-heel friendly. If she’d known what she was getting into, she’d have brought her cross trainers.
Maybe even a Taser.
Then again, what if she did fall and break her neck? She wouldn’t have to humble herself by accepting Joe Gallahan’s deal. And she wouldn’t have to learn how to use that drywall thingy he’d mentioned.
But she wouldn’t have the satisfaction of paying off Sammy, either.
She yanked open the office door and heard a faint buzzing sound as the door closed behind her. Tugging off her sunglasses, she stalked toward the counter. Behind it, a set of pocket doors stood closed. She assumed Joe’s office was in the back. Possibly his living quarters, too.
She eyed the bell, tempted to slap it a few times. But of course the buzzer had already alerted Joe he had a visitor. Antagonize him before she had a chance to announce she’d changed her mind? Kick things off by giving him a reason to change his? Not a good idea.
“Be right out,” he hollered from behind the doors.
She jumped, and dropped her keys. After scooping them up off a pretty hardwood floor, she took a closer look at the space around her. Brightly colored prints and a hanging basket loaded with purple and red blooms accented clean, neutral walls. A wooden bench under the front window, a floor lamp with a patterned shade and a brown-and-scarlet-striped runner in front of the counter added welcoming touches to an otherwise Spartan room.
Given the state of the motel’s exterior, she could only imagine the kind of work Joe had done to make the lobby look this good. Had he done it all himself? And when had he learned to do this stuff, anyway? He’d bought his D.C. condo furnished and his only contribution to the décor had been a few photos of him and his brother.
Regret pinched at her heart. She reached out to touch a flower.
Behind the pocket doors came a thump, then a curse, then a series of rattling thuds that shook the walls. By the time Joe groaned, Allison had already shoved open the doors.
He was stretched out on the floor, facedown, hands under his shoulders as he prepared to push himself up. She rushed forward and squatted next to him.
“You all right?” she asked, even as a familiar bitterness climbed her throat.
“Yeah.” He pushed himself onto his knees and lifted his head, his face inches from hers. She stared into his red-rimmed but clear, blue gaze—clear being the operative word. Her surprise must have shown in her eyes because his narrowed. “Not alcohol related,” he said flatly. He sat, his back against the wall, and slowly exhaled as he stretched his legs out in front of him.
She dragged her gaze away from a body that in the past year she could see had scored some heavy-duty muscles. She blinked a few times, and concentrated on the floor around them. She saw nothing nearby that could have tripped him up.
“What happened?”
He ran a hand through his hair and pointed. “That.”
He was indicating the room at the end of the short hall—she could see shelving and one end of a couch, so she assumed it was his living room. She shook her head, on the verge of asking him what he was talking about, when a tiny orange tabby hopped around the corner and bounced toward them.
Joe scooped up the kitten and tucked it into his shoulder. The tabby proceeded to chew on his hair.
“You have a cat,” Allison said stupidly.
“One determined to break my neck, it seems.”
She stood, and backed away. That Joe had fallen for a kitten—in more ways than one—disturbed her to no end. Joe wasn’t a kitten kind of guy. Dead plants were more his speed. She thought of the geraniums thriving out in the lobby and bit her lip.
“Mind holding her? So I can get up without busting my ass?” The cat dangled from his large hand.
The little tabby was adorable. Still Allison had no intention of letting those claws anywhere near her silk blouse or linen pants. She took the cat gingerly in both hands and held it out in front of her, as if she’d accepted a ticking bomb.
Joe sent her a mocking glance. Once he was on his feet he relieved her of his pet and nodded toward the lobby.
“Let me remind her where the litter box is. Then we can talk.”
Allison trailed behind him, assuring herself she was checking out his backside only to make certain he wasn’t limping. “What’s her name?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Not on anything G-rated, anyway.”
He plopped her into the tray under the counter and straightened. Allison didn’t miss his wince but chose to ignore it. The last thing she needed was for him to think she actually cared.
Grow up, Allie. “Sure you’re okay?”
He nodded, one eyebrow raised. Damn him. “Something to drink?”
“No. Thanks.” She crossed her arms, watching as he sauntered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “You’re not surprised to see me.”
“I talked to Tackett.”
“Of course you did. You are so not my favorite person right now.”
“Feeling manipulated, are you?”
“Touché.” She tapped her fingers against her upper arm. “So. We’re stuck with each other.”
“Looks that way.” He watched her. Waiting for her to beg him to reconsider, no doubt. He’d be waiting a good long time.
“I didn’t come prepared to stay, let alone work,” she said.
“I can see that.” He looked askance at her outfit. “You ever handle a hammer?” She opened her mouth and he added, “Successfully?” She closed her mouth. He grunted and paused before speaking
again. “Ever think about working somewhere besides the agency?”
“You mean because Tackett’s a sexist ass?” She shook her head. “I’ve invested a lot of years at T&P. It’s time I started seeing some dividends. And by the way, I can learn to use a hammer.” She hesitated. “Are you going to make me use a hammer?”
He took another swallow of water and set the bottle on the counter. “Be right back.” When he reappeared he held up a pair of white coveralls that looked roomy enough to hold them both. Allison’s thoughts fled from that unwelcome but cozy image when he tossed the coveralls in her direction. “For you.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“You’ll need work boots, too. I suggest you make a run to the hardware store.”
“Boots. From the hardware store.”
“You’d be surprised. Get something sturdy. No hot pink rubber raingear.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Pick this stuff up for me, too, would you? Put it on my tab. When you get back I’ll give you a tour. And for the record, from now on we start at seven.”
“I’m assuming you have a separate room for me. One with clean sheets and a working toilet.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you get to bunk with the cat.”
“The cat sleeps with me.”
“Huh. Now if I were the type to make tasteless jokes—”
He held up a hand. “You’ll get your own room.” In four steps he was across the lobby and at the door. He pushed it open. “Hardware store’s on State Street. You can’t miss it.”
When she made to walk past him he stopped her with a hand on her arm. His nearness, his scent, the warmth of his fingers and their movement over the silk of her blouse made her shiver. Damn it. She pushed fear into her eyes but the awareness in his told her he wasn’t buying it.
Don’t look at his mouth, don’t look at his mouth, don’t look—
Her gaze lowered. His lips formed a smug curve, and for one desperate, self-hating moment she considered running. But she’d be running from the only solution to her problems.
“If I’m going to delay renovations for a month,” he said, “just to hold the hand of a man convinced there’s a market for PowerBars for pets, then I get two full weeks of labor from you. No complaints, no backtracking, no games. Agreed?”