by Beth Andrews
Allison steered her mind away from the irony of that thought, snagged a fresh pair of underwear from the dresser and headed for the shower.
The spray of warm water pummeled her face, her throat, her breasts. Her arm muscles shrieked as she lifted her hands to wash her hair but she didn’t flinch, more concerned about what was going on in other parts of her body.
Like a hot, throbbing emptiness...
Damn Joe Gallahan and his tool belt. She wished with all her heart he hadn’t put the wretched thing on. The combination of work boots, faded denim, male sweat and rigid tools sliding in and out of worn leather had made it tough to remember why she was so mad at him.
Hazel Catlett was right. Joe would rock a wet T-shirt contest. And she hated him for it. Hated herself even more for the buzz of excitement that thrummed in her veins at the thought of going out with him tonight—of standing next to him in a crowd, of feeling his heat and breathing his scent while the beat of loud music pulsated behind her breastbone.
While need pulsated in every last corner of her body.
She shifted the water to cold and squealed. The high-pitched sound bounced around in the confines of the shower, mocking her.
Joe had apologized for believing she’d intentionally let him down, but it didn’t excuse his crack about what she was willing to do for Tackett. And he was still bitter about losing his clients.
Which was all just as well. It would only make it easier for her brain to call the shots, and not her body.
Once out of the shower she dressed quickly, not anxious to spend a lot of time alone in her room—in case she really wasn’t alone. Silly, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. Even outside, when she’d followed Joe around the perimeter of the motel as he explained Parker Macfarland’s ambitious plans for sprucing up the grounds, she’d had the feeling they weren’t alone.
God only knew what other kinds of creatures lurked behind the motel’s walls. Or maybe those teenage boys had been watching from the trees?
She shivered, and snatched up her purse and keycard.
She forced her thoughts to something more productive—like her plans for future success.
Luckily she’d brought her electronic notebook along with her, but she could always use a supply of the old-fashioned kind. Maybe she could pick up a few notepads at the dollar store she noticed in town. After all, she did her best thinking with a cup of coffee, a pencil and a fat pad of lined paper.
And she had some serious thinking to do.
First she’d double her efforts with her prospects list and make plans for some hard-core recruiting. She needed to brainstorm ways to lure clients away from the agency’s competitors. She could make cold calls and squeeze every last penny out of her expense account taking potentials to breakfast, lunch and dinner if she had to.
The more work she shouldered when she got back to T&P, the less time she’d have on her hands to brood about Joe. How he didn’t trust her enough to tell her about his brother. How his genuine remorse made her wish things had turned out differently.
And why, even after he believed she’d turned her back on him when he’d needed her most, he had still asked her to move away with him to Castle Creek.
* * *
HE WOULDN’T HAVE cut himself shaving if he hadn’t been in such a hurry. And he wouldn’t have been in such a hurry if he hadn’t spent the better part of an hour alternately staring out the kitchen window and eyeing the bottle of whiskey on the counter. In the end he’d had fifteen minutes to shower and shave, once he’d managed to turn his back on the Glenlivet.
He’d allowed himself just a single glass of the good stuff, to take the edge off the shock Allison had given him. But as soon as they got to Snoozy’s, he had every intention of cutting loose, even if it did mean handing over his truck keys.
He’d spent a year resenting Allison for something she’d never done. And when the truth had come out, she’d apologized to him. If that didn’t call for one hellacious hangover, he didn’t know what did.
With one minute to spare, he smoothed his palms down the front of his navy pullover—anything more than jeans would stand out at Snoozy’s, but he’d dressed up his usual T-shirt by covering it with a V-neck sweater—and patted the cat settling herself at the foot of his bed.
“Don’t wait up.”
Once he’d locked up he saw Allison standing beside his truck. Like him she wore jeans, but she’d dressed hers up with high heels and that slinky-looking blouse she’d had on the first day she appeared at the motel. Which pretty much guaranteed he’d be on nipple watch all damned night.
He stifled a groan and forced his gaze upward. She’d curled her hair, so that it fell to her shoulders in mild waves. As he watched, she leaned over to brush at her knee. Her hair swung forward, and he had a sudden vision of her making that very same move—while straddling his naked body.
Damn it to hell. He should have worn a looser-fitting pair of jeans.
CHAPTER SIX
NEITHER OF THEM said much during the fifteen-minute drive to the bar. Joe pulled into the parking lot, which bore a marked resemblance to his own—he and Snoozy were both in desperate need of a visit from a paving company. But that was one of the last items on his list, and it probably hadn’t even made Snoozy’s. His customers didn’t come for the pristine parking lot. They came for the brew and the crew.
He switched off the engine. Allison leaned forward, her gaze roving over the bar’s shabby exterior, every gouge, crack and water stain visible in the lingering daylight. Yeah, it would have looked better in the dark. But like he’d told his buddy Reid, the beer was cold, the cheese plate was free and the pool table was mostly level.
From inside the bar came the faint, catchy sounds of a Shania Twain song. Already Allison’s shoulders had picked up the rhythm. Joe watched her graceful motions, his pulse picking up its own rhythm. Chill, Gallahan. No way was he going to compound his mistakes by putting the moves on her. Besides, he had a feeling that right about now she’d welcome a pass from him about as much as she’d welcome a hug from Mitzi.
Two soccer-mom types came out of the bar, laughing loudly, releasing a blast of music and energetic conversation behind them. They continued to giggle as they stepped to the side and passed a pack of cigarettes back and forth. The smell of secondhand smoke and overcooked popcorn sidled into the truck’s cab.
“We should get in there.” Allison grabbed her phone and tucked her purse under the seat, hesitated and turned to face him. “Look. I know you don’t want me here. Not at the party, not in Castle Creek. I get it. And you get why I can’t wait to be back in D.C. But we made a deal, and...why don’t we just make the best of it? Like you said before—a cease-fire, right?”
Ouch. She couldn’t have made it clearer she wanted the hell away from him. But if he had his way, making the best of it would involve the two of them getting naked.
She started to cough, and sounded like she was strangling on her purse strap, and that’s when he realized he’d spoken the thought out loud.
He blamed it on the nipples.
Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. Audrey at the window again.
“Let’s go ‘make the best of it,’” he said, and hopped out of the truck.
“Come on, children, the party is starting without us.” Audrey stopped Joe with a hand on his arm. “There’s a tray on my front seat. Grab it for me, would you, please?”
“Let me guess. Sausage balls.”
“Bran muffins and fruit. Someone had to bring the fiber. Cheese is like meat, you know. Too much and it’ll clog your plumbing.” Her glance traveled from Joe to Allison and back again. “And if you ask me, you’ve been looking a little plugged up lately.”
Joe felt heat climb his cheeks as he made a break for the Lincoln. After retrieving Audrey’s tray he followed the
women inside, noting Allison was careful not to catch his eye.
Plugged up.
Was it that obvious?
The regulars had managed to claim their usual spots at the bar, but if one of them got up to use the can, they might as well just hang out in the bathroom—the toilets could very well be the only seats left in the house. Someone shouted Joe’s name and he looked to the right, toward the pool table, saw Noble and his two firefighter buddies surrounded by half a dozen women. Telling tall tales about snake wrestling, no doubt. Joe produced a grin, and gave Noble a thumbs-up.
When he turned back he spotted the Welcome Home, Mitzi banner. It was draped across the mirror behind the bar, and decorated with fluorescent yellow happy faces. Normally something like that would have looked as out of place as a flower arrangement in a man cave, but Snoozy’s was famous for something much more bizarre.
And at that moment, Allison spotted it. Snoozy’s pride and joy—or what used to be his pride and joy, until Mitzi had come back into his life. In the left front corner of the room, a hot pink salon chair faced an ornate-framed mirror tall enough to tower over Noble Johnson. The mirror, sporting a leopard-print-scarf-looking thing, sparkled from a recent cleaning.
Allison gaped. “What is that?”
“Something his ex-wife left behind.”
“But...I thought he was happy she left.”
Snoozy appeared in front of them, taking an unprecedented break from morose. His moustache practically quivered with glee. “Glad my guests of honor could make it. Wouldn’t have a reason to celebrate without you. Good to see you, too, Audrey. Liz was telling me you were ’specially concerned about Mitzi. No need to worry. The vet gave her a clean bill of health. Said she’d live a good long time.”
Audrey took the tray from Joe and shoved it at Snoozy. “How much does she weigh?”
Oh, man. Joe rolled his shoulders back and bounced on the balls of his feet, ready to run interference.
“Hundred and ten pounds, four ounces.” Snoozy winked. “But that was before lunch.”
Audrey harrumphed and walked away, lips moving as she calculated serving size.
Snoozy scratched his head and watched her go, then set the tray aside. He led Joe and Allison over to the pink chair and gave it a slap. “You’re probably wondering about this here chair, Allison. Well, you see, I kept this as a reminder. In case I ever thought about getting married again. It nearly took everything out of me. You know, like Samson, after Delilah cut his hair. Nope, never thought I’d want to take another risk like that....” He offered Allison a shy smile. “Though lately I’ve been thinking differently.”
Joe blinked. He had to give ol’ Snooze credit. The man had taste.
The bar owner was gesturing at the antishrine he’d created. “But the time has come to get rid of all this. I’m raffling it off tonight, as a matter of fact. This’ll be Mitzi’s spot. That way she’ll never be lonely.” He gave Joe the elbow. “If you’re interested in the raffle, be prepared to lay down some serious cash. Noble musta bought a hundred tickets already.”
“Noble?” As soon as he spoke, the big man himself loomed behind Snoozy. He and Joe bumped knuckles—they’d come a long way from pounding each other into Snoozy’s beer-soaked floor. “What do you want with this thing, man?”
“It’s for the library. Thought the kids might get a kick out of it.”
“It looks like a throne,” Allison said. “Who wouldn’t want to read a book curled up in a chair this cool? What a wonderful idea.”
Noble got an aw-shucks expression on his face and moved a step closer to Allison. Snoozy frowned, and crowded in from the other side. Allison’s eyes went wide. Joe smirked, and turned his attention to the chair’s pristine, flamingo-pink vinyl.
“I don’t know, man. You better hide the scissors.”
“How’re you planning to get it over there? Gonna borrow yourself another minivan?” Snoozy asked.
Noble gave the bar owner a red-faced scowl. “Nothing wrong with a minivan. I’m a big man. I need lots of room. Besides, it’s perfect for hauling books around.”
“If that helps you sleep at night.”
“Right, Snooze, and I guess you think chicks dig that death trap you drive?”
“So, um, how’s Mitzi doing?” Allison asked loudly.
The moment she spoke, Snoozy stopped glowering at Noble and stood a little taller. Noble rolled his eyes and headed back to the pool table, muttering about head room and safety features.
“She’s settling in nicely,” Snoozy said. “She’ll be more comfortable in a bigger space, but she does seem happy to be home.”
“You don’t think she’s lonely?”
“Not anymore, thanks to you.”
“She doesn’t seem...fretful?”
Snoozy looked puzzled. Joe kept his own expression carefully blank.
“She’s thinking Mitzi might have left behind a bunch of babies.”
Snoozy’s face lit up like one of the bar’s neon signs. “Wouldn’t that be something?” He sighed, and aimed a light kick at the base of the pink chair. “You know, Mitzi hissed at this here thing when I brought her in. All these years and she remembered who it once belonged to. Now, that’s loyalty for you.” His Adam’s apple bounced and he turned an accusing glare on Joe. “And you wanted to shoot her.”
“If we’d known she was yours, Snooze, we’d have called you first thing.”
“Well. You might not want to get too close for a while. Give her a chance to forgive you.”
“You told her?”
“I thought she had a right to know.”
Allison gave a choking cough, and immediately Snoozy’s expression turned contrite. “What can I get you to drink?” he asked. “Anything you like. On the house.”
“Club soda with lime?” Her eyes had started to water. This time Joe recognized the signs of a laugh fighting to get out. He tried to look appropriately concerned, even patted her back.
Snoozy pointed a finger at him. “And a draft for you. Coming right up.”
* * *
THE INVOLUNTARY LAUGH bubbling up inside her petered out as Joe guided her toward the food tables pushed against the back wall. What kind of shape would he be in by the end of the evening if Snoozy kept offering him beer? Anxiety gnawed. The smell of overripe popcorn edged her stomach closer and closer to nausea.
He made the necessary introductions as they threaded their way through small clusters of guests, but between the noise and the number of names tossed in her direction, she had little hope of remembering much. She did recognize Liz Early behind the bar, so she gave her a wave. Liz beamed, and responded with a furious flapping of her own hand.
“You’ve made a friend for life,” Joe murmured, and the low timbre of his voice made her shudder. Stop that. “It’s not everyone who would sacrifice one of Cal’s cinnamon rolls for a stranger. She’s handling the music tonight, so let her know if you have any special requests. She’d probably play the song five times in a row for you. Ten, if you ask real nice.”
A tall, graying man wearing black pants and a black polo shirt strolled up and gave Joe a light slap on the back. Allison recognized him from the diner—she’d seen him in the kitchen.
“Cal, man, we were just talking about you.” After Joe introduced him to Allison, Cal promised he’d “take care of her” next time she came into the diner. Then some of the cheer seeped from his face.
“I sure am glad you’re breathing life back into that old motel. Not only will you fancy up that stretch of road, you’ll bring more business into town. Of course I won’t mind that one bit. Anyway, it’s about time some good came out of that place.”
Joe nodded grimly. “I got bits and pieces of the story when I was at the courthouse arranging for permits. What I heard was pretty bad. What’s it been,
about ten, twelve years now?”
“Something like that.”
Allison looked from one man to the other. “What happened?”
Cal exhaled. “Child abuse. The worst kind. I never did hear what happened to the kid involved.” He looked down at the floor and rubbed the back of his neck, then squinted up at Joe. “I need to get back to the diner, but I do have a question before I go. You, uh, planning on painting the outside of that motel?”
“Got something against green?”
“I like my peas on a plate. Not on the side of a building.”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” Joe said solemnly. Cal walked away and Joe nudged her toward the tables. “You have to be hungry. If you ate anything at all today, I bet it was peanut M&M’s. I’ll fix you a plate.”
He had to stop doing that—proving he paid way more attention than she’d ever given him credit for.
He selected two paper plates and waved them over the jumble of platters and plastic containers spread across two folding tables. “What sounds good to you? Pasta salad? Chicken parmesan? The ubiquitous deviled egg?” He turned, took one look at her face, dropped the plates and hustled her into the nearest corner, where someone had stashed an oversized trashcan. “You look like you’re about to throw up everything you didn’t eat today.”
“I’ll be all right. I think it’s the smell of the popcorn.” She pulled in a deep breath and managed a wry smile. “Plus, that forgetting-to-eat thing probably isn’t helping.”
“I should have made sure you ate breakfast.” Some emotion she didn’t recognize flashed in and out of his gaze. He backed away. “Let me grab you that club soda.”
He was back almost immediately with their drinks. “Snoozy sends his earnest apologies. Audrey managed to corner him. I got out of there before I found myself tapped as referee. Work on this and I’ll be back with some food. Don’t worry, I’ll go with bland.”
He was gone before she could stop him—food was the last thing she wanted. A drift of blessed fresh air swept across her skin and she peered through the crowd toward the front of the bar, where Snoozy was propping open the door. An uneasy wistfulness welled up inside her.