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

by Beth Andrews

  Allison’s fork clattered against her plate and she grabbed for her iced tea. Dear God in heaven.

  “Hazel Mae. How could you think I’d do a thing like that?”

  “Oh, I know you would, June Evelyn. You and that mouth of yours that’s just as big as Pete Lowry’s—”

  “Trust me, ladies.” Allison sang out, a little too loudly. “I wouldn’t ask.” Cross my heart and hope to die. She scanned the table, desperate for a reason to change the subject. Plump breadsticks, oversize dill pickles, cream-stuffed cannoli—the remains of their lunch didn’t help a lick.

  Oh. God. No pun intended.

  She dropped her head into her hand.

  “Even if you did ask,” June sniffed. “I wouldn’t tell you. Some things are simply not for public consumption. Right, Hazel?”

  “Right.” Hazel swung back around, picked up a fork and pushed it into Allison’s hand. Four times, she mouthed. She waggled four fingers and winked. Over her shoulder June was alternately stabbing a finger at her sister and tracing a big fat zero in the air.

  Allison peered down at the fork in her hand and considered stabbing herself in the eye.

  “Maybe she’s still hungry for real food.” Audrey sat at the other end of Hazel’s lace-draped dining room table, sorting the decks of cards they’d used in two hours’ worth of canasta. Allison had learned how to play Pennies from Heaven and she’d loved every minute of it. Who’d have thought mild-mannered June Catlett had such a competitive streak?

  “Want some more ham, dear?”

  Hazel answered before Allison could. “No, Audrey, she doesn’t want ham, she wants to try my cake.” She gave Allison an encouraging smile. “Go ahead, hon. Take a bite and tell us what you think.”

  It looked delicious. It smelled delicious. But instead of taking a bite of the Catlett sisters’ most notorious recipe, Allison would almost rather listen—for the third time—to June catalog all of the advantages of living in Castle Creek while Hazel recounted Joe’s good qualities—focusing on the physical ones, of course—and Audrey listed all of the reasons Joe needed a dedicated non-vegetarian as a life partner.

  But there were times when politeness demanded sacrifice. Even when it meant eating cake made with canned sauerkraut and beer.

  Allison drew in a breath, speared a forkful and closed her lips around it. Chewed. Moaned. Swallowed. And paused.

  “Scrumptious,” she pronounced, not bothering to hide her shock. “This is one of the best chocolate cakes I’ve ever had. If you hadn’t told me what was in it, I’d never have guessed.”

  Hazel beamed, June clapped and Audrey got up to make herself a ham sandwich. Baby Blue followed, his hind parts wiggling.

  “Glad you like it.” Hazel patted Allison on the shoulder and refilled her tea. “You’ll have to learn to make it for Joe. It’s one of his favorites.”

  “Hazel.” Allison set down her fork. “You have to understand that Joe and I aren’t—”

  “Who is that, hon? Standing next to your car?” Hazel was peering through the lace curtains, the afternoon sun catching the cut-glass pitcher, backlighting the slices of lemon floating in the tea.

  Allison’s stomach fell into a slow tumble. Joe. But of course that didn’t make sense—Hazel would recognize Joe. Even in a shirt.

  She did her best to ignore a hot blast of longing, pushed back her chair and joined Hazel at the window. A lean, twenty-something guy stood at her front bumper, head bent, thumbs busily tapping at the device cradled in his hands. The combination of crisp white shirt, tie, close-cropped hair and earnest posture made him look like a salesman. Or a church member sent forth to recruit for the congregation.

  But Allison knew that clean-cut appearance hid all kinds of corrupt.

  Sammy.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  OH, GOD. HOW had Sammy tracked her down?

  Why had he tracked her down?

  The nerves in her stomach morphed from the turned-on kind to the “I’m about to lose my lunch” kind.

  June came up behind them. “He looks lost.”

  Audrey followed, swiping at the mayonnaise on her chin. “He looks underfed.”

  “Do you know him, hon?” Hazel’s gaze was sharp.

  Allison nodded. “He’s from D.C.” She swiped her palms down the front of her pants and attempted an unconcerned smile. “I’ll go see what he wants.”

  She half expected Hazel to demand an introduction. Luckily all three ladies seemed more than willing to wait inside. And watch from the window, no doubt.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She pushed her hands into her pockets and strolled down the driveway, determined not to give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing her fingers shake. In her right pocket she found the good-luck charm she’d forgotten about—the piece of green glass she’d plucked from the beach. Some luck, since the darned thing seemed to have the power of summoning her least favorite person in the world—first over the phone, and now in person.

  Next time she was near the lake she’d stop and toss the worthless charm into the water.

  When Sammy heard her coming he snapped his phone shut and looked up, the lack of expression on his face more daunting than any sneer. The driver’s side door of a black Mercedes parked across the street opened. A short, powerfully built man stepped out and assumed the bodyguard stance—face impassive, legs spread, hands folded at his belt.

  Allison’s body shook for one brief, spine-rattling moment. She knew Sammy never traveled anywhere without Mr. Muscle, but the deliberate show of force unnerved her. Especially since rumor had it that Sammy was more than capable of delivering his own “messages.” And enjoyed doing so.

  Inside her pockets her hands grew slick. Then she thought of her mother at the mercy of these bullies and anger surged. The moment Mr. Muscle stepped away from that Mercedes, she’d start screaming. The image of three old ladies flogging him with frying pans cheered her no end.

  Sammy took off his sunglasses and ran his free hand slowly down his tie, his gaze locked deliberately on Allison’s chest. “Aren’t you going to ask how I found you?”

  “I don’t care how you found me.” That Sammy had approached her at Hazel’s house made Allison so angry she wanted to lock him in the bathroom with Mitzi. A week should do it. “And no, I don’t know why you’re here. The next payment’s not due for another two weeks. I’ll be back in D.C. by then. I told you that.”

  “The next payment’s due now.”

  His words punched the air from her lungs. She fell back a step, yanking her hands from her pockets and curling her fingers into fists. His driver watched, irritatingly serene.

  “But...we had an agreement.”

  Sammy shrugged and turned his attention back to his BlackBerry. Allison blinked in the afternoon sun, feeling suddenly trapped and despairing, resenting the muted shrieks and laughter of children splashing in a nearby pool, the distant drone of a plane passing slowly overhead.

  “You can’t renege on our agreement. How are you going to make money if no one trusts you enough to borrow it?” She heard the pleading in her voice and despised herself for it. She sounded like her mother.

  I need some cash, Allie girl. Just enough to break even. I know things are tight but all it takes is one big win. Please don’t let me down.

  “That old argument? Won’t work this time. People need money. When you’re desperate you don’t care so much how you get it.”

  Her panic mounted. “I don’t get paid for another week.”

  “Not my problem.”

  The squeal of brakes, the growl of an engine and a familiar blue pickup charged down the street. Allison gave an inward moan and aimed a glare at the house. All three women stood in the window. Two of them held plates of cake. The third held up her cell phone—no doubt in ca
mera mode.

  Mr. Muscle crossed the street and stood beside Sammy, arms flexed at his sides, jacket hanging open. Dear God, he didn’t plan to pull a gun, did he?

  Sammy straightened his tie. “This guy better not be trouble, blondie.”

  “Just give me a minute. I’ll take care of this.” Allison hurried over to the truck, but not in time to stop Joe from getting out. She pressed a hand to his chest. He didn’t even look at her. He yanked off his shades and glared over her shoulder at Sammy and Mr. Muscle.

  “What the hell is going on here?”

  “I’m sorry Hazel called you. You need to leave. You’re going to make things worse.”

  He looked down at her, the steel in his jaw and the frost in his eyes making him seem far less cuddly than Mr. Muscle. “Did they threaten you?”

  “No.” Not yet, anyway. “They’re here for a, uh, business meeting. You can go, Joe. Please.”

  It would be a gross understatement to call his glance incredulous. “No way in hell I’m leaving you here.” He squinted over her shoulder and raised his voice. “You two don’t have anything better to do than play bully?”

  Allison spoke through gritted teeth. “You. Are. Not. Helping.”

  He stepped around her. “What’s the deal here?”

  “The deal doesn’t concern you.” Sammy took off his shades, polished them on his tie and slid them back into place. “And this isn’t helping her old lady any.”

  Joe stiffened, and Allison knew he’d noticed the same thing she had. He turned his back to Sammy and spoke in a low voice.

  “What does he want?”

  “An early payment.”

  “You don’t have it.” She shook her head and he exhaled. “Borrow from me. Against the signing bonus.”

  “What if that falls through?”

  “It won’t.”

  “But if it does I’ll owe you instead of him.”

  “Wouldn’t that be an improvement?”

  “It wouldn’t be anything more than a shift in power.”

  His head went back and his nostrils flared. “And you think I’d take advantage of that?” He cut off her reply with a string of swear words. “This control thing is getting out of hand. You need to let go.”

  “You need to let me handle this.” She turned her back on his fury, faced a smirking Sammy and a somnolent Mr. Muscle. “You can threaten all you want, but I can’t give what I don’t have.”

  Sammy smiled, and jerked his chin at a spot up the street, away from the others. “This is between you and me, blondie. Let’s go work it out.”

  That’s when she got it. He’d hoped to back her into a corner so she’d sleep with him. The bastard wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Not only was she not following him anywhere, but if she didn’t get rid of him soon, Joe would catch on and raise his hostile factor, and Mr. Muscle would pull his gun, and Hazel would call 9-1-1, and Allison really would get booted out of Castle Creek.

  Though she shouldn’t care. She was leaving in a week, anyway.

  “That’s not an option,” she said coldly.

  The loan shark popped a shoulder. “I’m not leaving empty-handed.”

  “You work with your uncle, right?” Joe’s voice was deceptively smooth.

  Sammy scowled. “It’s a family business. So what?”

  “Does he know you’re on drugs?”

  Silence. Sammy slitted his eyes and Allison tensed. No one moved. Sammy and Joe stared each other down. Then Sammy turned his head and spit, and glared at Allison.

  “Better not be one minute late with that payment, bitch.”

  Joe surged forward. “What did you call her?”

  Mr. Muscle finally made his move. But instead of reaching for his gun, he wheeled around and headed for the car. Sammy watched over his shoulder and when he turned back, a wariness had crept into his expression. With a less-than-subtle gesture he cracked a few knuckles, leered at Allison and strode after his driver. As the Mercedes disappeared down the street, Allison could hear Hazel and company cheering at the window.

  But the trouble was far from over.

  She grabbed Joe’s arm and hauled him behind a spruce tree. “Thank you for coming to my defense,” she said tightly. “But for the last time, I can’t let you pay him off. Can’t this be about honoring me instead of your stupid pride?”

  “My pride?”

  “All right, then, your need to make amends, or... You know what? It doesn’t matter why you’re so determined to have your own way because you’re not going to get it. This is my problem. Not yours.”

  “Do you hear what you’re saying? It’s not your problem. It’s your mother’s problem. And I’m sorry, but I’m determined to have my own way so I can keep your ass out of danger.”

  “At my mother’s expense.”

  He shook his head and turned away, slapped at the branches of the spruce. The smell of Christmas wafted past them. “The hell of it is, you’re telling yourself it’s all about doing the right thing. About paying your mother back for looking out for you. Which, by the way, is what parents are supposed to do. But the real reason isn’t so admirable, is it?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re not taking responsibility, you’re hiding from it.”

  She folded her arms. This ought to be good.

  “You have an instant out,” he continued. “A built-in excuse for not making a decision about us.”

  She dropped her arms. “I have made a decision. We made a decision. We said we’d take advantage of the five weeks we have together. Afterward I’ll be staying in D.C. and you’ll be coming back here.”

  “You said that, not me. Think about it, Allison. Letting me pay off that loan means cutting the ties to not only your mother, but your job. Which would leave you with just one last reason for not giving us a second chance—the city you supposedly don’t want to leave behind.” He put his hands on his hips and dropped his chin to his chest. When he lifted his head again his face radiated a grave intensity. “Tell me you haven’t fallen in love with Castle Creek.”

  It took Allison several seconds to realize she’d stopped breathing. For a second there she thought he’d figured her out. Yes, she’d fallen in love. And not only with the town. She’d known that even before she’d jumped Joe’s bones.

  But nothing had changed. Nothing except that in a month, when he left D.C., he’d be taking her heart with him this time.

  She backed away, her heels catching in the thick grass. “You’re making this all about you. Just like before.”

  “No, Al. I’m trying to make this about us.”

  “By conveniently forgetting the years I’ve dedicated to T&P?”

  “And how much joy have they brought you? Judas Priest, you can’t tell me you find it fulfilling, playing these asinine games with Tackett. I’m not asking you to give up your career. I’m asking you to give up T&P. Start your own firm. Offer your services online. I could help you.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “It is if you want it badly enough.”

  She was shaking her head, her chin traveling from left to right. What was he trying to do to her? They’d talked about this. “You’re not being fair.”

  “Fair? How can you expect me to be fair when I’m fighting for—” He broke off, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re not doing your mother any favors, Al. As long as you keep paying the consequences, she’s going to keep racking them up.”

  “You’re right. She’s my mother. So back off.”

  “Are you trying to get her hurt? Or worse?”

  A violent tremor of outrage jarred Allison’s bones and she hugged herself to keep those bones from crumbling to the ground. “You are a son of a bitch. And I’m going back inside
.”

  She swung around and plowed straight into the spruce tree. With Joe’s help she untangled herself from the branches, then shook her elbow free of his grip and veered toward the front door. He didn’t try to stop her. Hazel met her on the stoop, took one look at her face and tugged her inside for a group hug.

  * * *

  FOR THE LONGEST while Joe sat in his truck and stared at the door to #2. He had some heavy-duty groveling to do. He didn’t begrudge Allison the groveling—she’d more than earned it. But he couldn’t help wondering if they’d ever stop hurting each other long enough to enjoy more than a couple hours’ togetherness at a time.

  ’Course he already knew the answer to that. She’d made it more than clear—their relationship was temporary. Until he accepted that, things would continue to be tense.

  Little did she know he had no intention of accepting it.

  He scooped up the bag he’d tossed in the passenger seat and got out of the truck. He’d left Marcus painting the bathroom in #4—might as well check on him before braving Allison’s wrath.

  Not that he was scared.

  Much.

  He moved toward the bathroom, stopped in the doorway just as Marcus was finishing up a patch on the wall.

  “Hey, man. What’s up?”

  The way Marcus jumped, anyone would think he’d been caught stealing the tile off the wall. Poor guy would have backed into the corner if there weren’t a shower in the way. “I leaned too hard on the roller,” he said, his voice gruff, and though he met Joe’s gaze squarely, Joe could tell he didn’t want to.

  Sadness, rage, helplessness. Joe wasn’t sure how to handle the feelings that crowded in on him whenever he was with this kid. And if he couldn’t handle his own feelings, how the hell was he supposed to handle Marcus’s?

  He leaned against the doorjamb, and chose his words carefully. “You figured I’d be mad because you made a mistake. Thought maybe I’d even want to hit you. Marcus, you know what I’d really like to do? I’d really like to beat the shit out of the person who made you think that way.” First Allison’s father, and now Marcus’s...whatever. What the hell was wrong with people?