Harlequin Superromance August 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: What Happens Between FriendsStaying at Joe'sHer Road Home

by Beth Andrews

  “Suddenly you’re hungry?”

  “I mean, as a name for your kitten.”

  “No. Go to sleep.”

  “Why not?”

  “I am not going to yell out ‘Pumpkin’ every time I need my cat to come running.”

  “Fine.” She readjusted her pillow and tried to relax. Not happening. Her eyes popped open. “Joe.”

  “Yeah?” he drawled.

  “I’m sorry I said the wrong thing. To Eugenia.”

  “No way you could have known. She proposed and Harris turned her down. They’re together, they’re just not married.”

  She winced. “I also want to apologize for what happened in the storeroom. You wanted to comfort me and I tried to turn it into more. Can we go back to the hands-off policy?”

  “I don’t know. Can we?”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so she didn’t say anything. For a while.

  “Joe?”

  “That’s my name.”

  “Are they really called Pests R Us?”

  “What’s the matter? Sorry the name’s already taken?”

  “Bite me.”

  He chuckled and rolled onto his left side and spoke into the space between the seats. “Whatever happened to that idea, by the way? Of starting your own firm?”

  Her fingers curled into the blanket. “The timing. It wasn’t right.” She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t pursue the topic. He didn’t. Instead he grunted, and faced forward again.

  Long moments passed before Allison realized she may never get a better chance to ask something personal. Not that Joe would necessarily agree to answer. But it was worth a try.

  “Joe?”

  “Still here.” He mumbled something else along the lines of “unfortunately,” but Allison refused to take the hint.

  “What was your brother like?”

  * * *

  O-KAY. HE HADN’T SEEN that one coming. Joe stared at the inspection sticker at the base of the windshield—was she aware it expired this month?—and rubbed at his chest. A strong breeze nudged at the car, and tumbled a gray-looking azalea bloom along the sidewalk.

  “Why?” Joe winced when the word came out sounding gritty.

  “I just... You never talked about him.”

  He heard what she didn’t say. I’d like to know what you’re not forgiving me for.

  “Braden pretended to be tough,” he finally said, and cleared his throat. “Wore muscle shirts, had a habit of scraping his knuckles across the bricks of our front steps so it’d look like he’d been fighting. Even got a tattoo when he was thirteen. Kept the bullies away.”

  “From him or from you?”

  His silence was answer enough.

  “It sounds like you two were close.” The blanket rustled as she changed position. He pictured the fabric gliding across her skin, slipping to reveal a bare leg or hip or belly, and his body tightened. Couldn’t ask for a better distraction from—

  “What did he do for a living?”

  Damn it. He pulled his thoughts out of the backseat. “He was a mechanic. And a cabinetmaker.”

  “So you both inherited the carpentry gene. From your father?”

  No way in hell was he going there. “My turn. How much trouble are you in?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re so determined to get me back to Alexandria that you’ll pass up a king-size bed in a comfortable hotel just to avoid breaking our deal. You’re sleeping in your car. That doesn’t seem desperate to you?”

  “I already admitted I was desperate.”

  “So why not tell me the rest of it? Starting with why you were so upset at the bar tonight?”

  “That’s private.”

  “Like memories of my brother are private?”

  “Is that why you shared them? To guilt me into answering your questions?”

  He sighed. “Not everyone is out to exploit you, slick. We meant something to each other, once upon a time.”

  “This isn’t a fairy tale.”

  “Tell me about it.” He reached for the rearview mirror, made a show of adjusting it so he could get a good look at her. “Sleeping Beauty, you’re not.”

  “Bite me twice.”

  “If you insist.” He pushed up and around and started to climb into the backseat. Allison shrieked, and hit him with her pillow.

  “Kidding! I was kidding!”

  He brushed the hair out of his eyes and gave her his fiercest scowl. “So you’ll go to sleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “No more questions?”

  “I promise.”

  He grunted, and lay back down. Yawned, and realized he missed his cat. Which he would not be naming—

  “A motion detector. You could put one in every room and that way—”

  “Don’t make me come back there.”

  “That wasn’t even a ques—”

  He whipped around again. Allison shut her mouth, flung herself onto her left side and started to snore. Joe stretched out again and folded his arms across his chest. A long while later he realized he was still grinning.

  * * *

  A DEEP, DROWSY growl coaxed Allison toward consciousness. The sound tumbled gently through her, leaving a delicious heat in its wake, and she responded with a low-pitched, approving hum before rolling toward the other side of the bed. But instead of warm masculine skin, she got a face full of carpet. What the—?

  Above her head, someone swore.

  She blinked awake, registered birds singing in the distance, the scent of cinnamon-laced air freshener, a rustling sound nearby. Joe. Her Camry. The motel parking lot. And oh, dear God, muscles as cramped as...well, as the backseat of a compact car.

  She opened her eyes wider. The gray morning light revealed a single candy-coated, chocolate-covered peanut inches from her nose. Brown? No, red. Good to know she wouldn’t starve to death if she ever got stranded in her car during a blizzard.

  She pushed herself off the floor and rolled back onto the seat, threw an arm over her head and smacked her knuckles against the window. Damn it.

  “Good morning,” she mumbled.

  Joe struggled into a sitting position and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Please tell me we’re not doing this again tonight.”

  “Depends.” She yawned, pressed her feet against the window and pushed into a stretch. “Does our deal still stand?”

  A few beats of silence, then he grunted. “Deal’s on. But you need to go home.”

  “What?” She jolted upright. “Wait.” But he was already out of the car. She scooted over to the door, fumbled for the handle and scrambled out onto the pavement. The blanket twisted around her legs. For God’s sake. She struggled to kick herself free as she hurried after him, feeling like a crippled penguin when she couldn’t manage more than an awkward, flapping string of half steps.

  “Wait.” She muttered a breathless litany of curses as she stumbled over the loose gravel scattered across the lot. “What do you mean, I need to go home? Joe? Joe! If I show up without you I’ll lose my job.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JOE GRUNTED, AND yanked open the office door. When she followed him inside he rounded on her. “I need a shower. And coffee. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Wait. Just...wait a minute.” She finally managed to shimmy free of the blanket. She gave it an irritated flap, draped it around her shoulders and glared. “When Tackett called last night I promised you were committed to coming back. He insisted I stay the entire two weeks. So you can’t send me home. Not yet.”

  “’Course he wants you here. He wants us to be lovers again. That way T&P gets a two-for-one deal.”

  The way he said it, so matter-of-factly, nipped at her ego. That he was
right made her feel guilty, as if she were in on the scheme. And maybe on some level she was. She’d never approved of her boss’s tactics, yet she had no intention of walking out on their deal.

  “Is that why you pushed me away last night?” she asked. “So Tackett wouldn’t get his way?”

  “I pushed you away because you deserve better than a handful of hookups for—how did you put it?—‘old times’ sake.’”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “Plus, I didn’t want to have to wonder whether it was you or Tackett screwing me.”

  Shock sucked the air right out of her chest. “You really are a son of a bitch, aren’t you?” she whispered. She swung away, heaved against the door and somehow found herself out on the sidewalk. Keycard. She needed her keycard.

  “Allison, wait.” Joe moved in front of her and gripped her shoulders. She kicked out blindly, but only managed to get herself tangled up in the blanket again. Damn it. Good thing he didn’t laugh, because once she got herself free...

  He pulled her toward him slowly, carefully, and held her close, palms pressed to her back.

  “I ought to knee you,” she muttered into his shoulder.

  “You should. I’ll remind you later. Right now I need to tell you I’m sorry. I am a son of a bitch. I’m worse than a son of a bitch.” He leaned away, raised his hands to smooth her hair. “I’m grumpy as hell because I haven’t had my coffee yet and I spent the night cooped up with you less than two feet away smelling good enough to eat and I couldn’t touch you. Well, I could have, if I’d climbed into the backseat, but you know what I mean.”

  He looked at his hands and lifted them away, backed up a step. “Can we start the morning over?”

  She glanced at him sharply, but his face didn’t indicate anything other than a desire to shake off a bad mood. She forced herself to stop imagining what might have happened if he had climbed into the backseat. “Fine.” He raised an expectant eyebrow and she rolled her eyes. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning to you, too. How about some coffee?”

  “I’d love some.”

  “Follow me.”

  While Joe fussed with the coffeepot, Allison excused herself to use the bathroom but was cut off by the kitten who bounded down the hallway, making a beeline for the kitchen. Joe yelped as she climbed his sweatpants, and Allison couldn’t help but laugh.

  “She missed you.”

  “She missed breakfast.” Carefully he worked her paws free, tucked her in the crook of his arm and set about filling her food dish. A rush of affection caught Allison by surprise, and she ducked into the bathroom. When she came back out, Joe offered her a slice of apple.

  “How about I take you over to Ivy’s after breakfast? I’ll get the pest people over here today. If they give us the green light we can start work again tomorrow.”

  “What if they can’t come today?”

  “I’ll make it worth their while.”

  She blinked. That wouldn’t be cheap. “You’d do that for me?”

  He busied himself gathering mugs and pouring coffee. “It’s a sound business decision. If you’re nervous about being here, others will be, too. How do you feel about French toast?”

  She stared at him, at his sleep-tousled hair and warm blue gaze. He wore sweatpants snagged by the claws of a marmalade kitten and looked exhausted after keeping Allison company all night. Dear God in heaven, she was in trouble. Big, fat, hairy trouble.

  “You know what,” she started, and nearly cringed at the quiver in her voice. “I’m not all that hungry and...the sooner we can get back to work, the better. Would you mind if I headed over to Ivy’s now?”

  “Now?” Joe frowned. “Because I was an ass?”

  She managed a smile. “Because it’ll be easier if I just get out of your way and let you do your thing. Trust me—I’d have no trouble calling you an ass if you earned it.”

  “True enough.” He watched her a moment more, then shrugged. “I’ll give her a call.”

  * * *

  AS JOE DROVE away from Ivy’s after promising to return for a late lunch, the dairy farmer who looked anything but, even in jeans and rubber boots that reached up to her knees, stared at her guest in fascinated disbelief.

  “Did you really spend the night in your car?” When Allison nodded Ivy gave her an admiring once-over. “You’re tougher than you look. Good for you for not letting that snake run you out of Castle Creek.”

  “I didn’t have an option. It’s...complicated.”

  “No kidding.” She gestured Allison to follow her to the house, which wasn’t at all what Allison had expected. Instead of a weathered farmhouse with a wraparound porch, Ivy lived in a cozy brick A-frame with a glassed-in sunroom slanting off the left side.

  “Joe seems grumpy. I’m guessing he didn’t get any action in that car of yours last night?”

  Allison sputtered a laugh and followed Ivy up the front steps. “That was never the plan. We’re not... We’re just friends. I think I ticked him off by turning down his French toast this morning.”

  “I never heard it called that before. Ever tried it with syrup?”

  Allison gurgled a response and Ivy grinned. “Don’t mind me. I’m in a bit of a dry spell and the only action I get these days is the vicarious kind.” She led the way into a sunny kitchen with pale green walls and a dark polished floor. “Since you didn’t get any—and by ‘any,’ I mean breakfast—let’s see what I can do.”

  “Please don’t go to any trouble,” Allison managed, even as she wondered if Joe kept syrup in his cupboard. “Coffee and fruit will be fine. You must be crazy busy, running an operation like this on your own.”

  “I have an amazing manager who is no doubt ecstatic to have the place to himself for once. And it’s a nice treat, having the morning off.”

  Allison smiled her gratitude and gazed around the room, at the baskets mounded with produce, the lush hanging plants and the bright red and yellow pottery on display. “What a gorgeous space.” Huh. “You helped Joe decorate?”

  “I gave him a few suggestions. When he wouldn’t take those I offered him design advice instead.”

  Allison gasped out a surprised laugh.

  Ivy handed her a cup of coffee. It came with a wink. “Okay, I’ll behave. Let me hull some strawberries and put some muffins on a plate and we can have our breakfast in the sunroom. I’ll tell you all there is to know about running a dairy farm.”

  * * *

  WHEN JOE GOT back to the motel after dropping off Allison, the Catlett sisters’ baby blue Buick—the car they’d named their schnauzer after—was parked in the lot. Joe sagged against his seat. The trio of old ladies meant well, but they could stretch a man’s patience further than old man Katz could stretch a nap.

  Joe pulled up beside the car and recognized June behind the wheel. It looked like she’d come alone. Aw, hell. Apparently it was time for another heart-to-heart and he’d bet his brand-new 8-amp rotary hammer that the subject of this particular chat would be Allison Kincaid.

  With a heavy exhale he got out of the truck. June stayed put. He knew what she expected—the Buick acted as her confessional. He opened the passenger door, slid inside and did his best to look penitent.

  “June.”

  “Joseph.” She beamed over at him and he couldn’t help but smile in return. Like her sister, she preferred her hair short and her makeup bright. Today she’d painted on some kind of metallic green color, all the way from her eyelids to her eyebrows. Together with her navy pantsuit, goldfish earrings and shell necklace, she looked...seaworthy.

  “So what’s up?”

  Her smile turned mysterious and she faced forward again, tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. It wasn’t often June was at a loss for words. Which meant this wouldn’t be the usual ‘we need to find you a nice
girl’ conversation.

  Or would it?

  Had Audrey shared her concerns about his being “plugged up”?

  Judas Priest, just shoot me now.

  To distract himself he studied the car’s interior. He spotted an open box of cough drops—likely the source of the too-sweet cherry odor. A travel mug adorned with a purple lip imprint was jammed into the console. The inside of June’s seat was marred by a tiny rip, probably made by one of Baby Blue’s toenails. The door to the glove compartment sat slightly askew—

  “Was there a point to this visit?” he asked.

  June shot him a look, reached over to the floor beside his leg and yanked up her purse. Something inside made a clinking sound. No jerky then, thank God.

  She settled the bag on her lap and gave the side pocket a pat. “Know what I have in here?”

  “Salt and pepper shakers from the diner?”

  Another glower. “Of course not.”

  “Nail polish? Baby food? Sperm samples?”

  She slapped his knee. “Enough with the sass.”

  “Why don’t you show me what you have, then tell me why it is you think I need to see it?”

  Her expression turned speculative as she considered his words and Joe felt a flush sidle into his cheeks. June chuckled, pulled two items from her purse and propped them on the dash between them. Joe’s cheeks went from hot to cold in an instant.

  Son of a bitch.

  He slumped back against his seat and stared. June reached out a reverent finger and touched the faded labels barely clinging to a pair of mini liquor bottles. Empty mini liquor bottles.

  “Do you know why I carry these around with me?”

  He swallowed. “In case you can’t find a bathroom?”

  Another slap on the knee. “Don’t be rude. And before you start asking, no one said anything to anyone. No one had to. We live in a small town, Joseph. Besides—” she knotted her hands in her lap “—it doesn’t take much for one alcoholic to recognize another.”

  “You think I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Don’t you?”

  He shifted in his seat, and fought a hot rush of anger. Struggled to find the respect her admission deserved. He came up empty. Like June’s little trophies.