Читать книгу Staying at Joe's - Kathy Altman - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
OH, NO. OH, no, no, no, no, no. Staring blindly down the rocky expanse of beach, Allison listened to the remainder of the message. Her mother had hit Sammy up for another two thousand. He’d staked her, even though he’d promised to cut her off. And she’d lost it all playing blackjack.
Allison swallowed against the bitter panic rising in her throat. Sammy wanted his money, and he wanted it now. All of it.
I’m talking lump sum, bitch. No more of this payment shit.
She didn’t have it. Her mother knew it. Sammy knew it. Which was why he’d previously offered to take payment in trade.
The bastard.
In his dreams.
God, what a nightmare.
Her fingers started to ache. She relaxed her grip on the phone, felt suddenly graceless as rocks shifted and rattled beneath her feet.
She’d call Sammy back. Try to negotiate more time.
She stumbled forward, almost stepped on a half-decayed fish. Her throat tightened. The bottom line was, she would have to deal with Joe. Assuming he hadn’t changed his mind. Though why would he? Having someone he considered a traitor at his beck and call for the next two weeks? Considering how he felt about Tackett and his methods—and her, by association—no way he’d make it easy on her.
But she could handle it. For a guaranteed paycheck at the end of every two weeks she could handle anything. She had to.
Sammy was the most merciless—hence the most successful—moneylender in the Washington metropolitan area. But if she could convince him that padding loans was bad for business, maybe he’d cut her a break.
She shoved her feet back into her pumps. She’d downsized her apartment, her car, her wardrobe. In view of the debts her mother had racked up—not to mention the money she’d siphoned out of Allison’s bank account—a PR rep’s salary didn’t stretch anywhere near far enough. Allison had looked for other jobs, with no luck. Not a shocker, given the state of the economy.
She had to keep her job. Yes, her mother had messed up. Big time. But no matter what she’d done, there was no way Allison would let her own mother spend her days fretting that one of the people in line with her at the supermarket might just be someone sent by Sammy to deliver a “friendly reminder.”
She marched back to her car. She’d return to Castle Creek first thing in the morning because she’d had more than enough of Joe Gallahan for one day, thank you very much. And since T&P was paying her expenses, she’d snag a room at the Hampton Inn the next town over, call room service and order up a strawberry daiquiri.
Or two.
Then she thought of Joe as he’d been a year ago and winced.
Club soda would have to do.
* * *
THE FAMILIAR RUMBLE of a truck outside the room provided just the excuse Joe needed to set aside his trowel. He winced as metal clanged on ceramic. No, the relentless throbbing in his head was just the excuse he’d needed. Or it should have been. But instead of pausing and taking something to ease the pain he’d decided to punish himself. Not for drinking—hell, he’d have to punish himself every damned day for that. No, his crime was in wishing, even for a moment, that Allison Kincaid had come to see him simply because she’d wanted to.
Not because she’d had to.
He pushed up onto his knees and went still, the sudden greasy churn in his gut making him grateful he was inches away from a toilet. Hell. He breathed in deeply, slowly. The nausea passed.
With a grunt he pushed to his feet, grimacing at the stiffness in his legs, the ache behind his eyes. He brushed the grit from his palms and studied the floor. Once he got it grouted and scrubbed and got the walls repainted, he could cross another unit off his list.
Three down, six to go. He had ten rooms altogether, but the one at the far end was currently his personal gym, and no way was he giving that up. No matter what Allison had implied the day before, he was making progress. He already had a good head start on this room and, hell, he and a crew had spent an entire month replacing the roof—
He blew out a frustrated breath. Why did it have to come back to her? Why should he care what she thought? This was why he’d moved four hundred miles north. To get away from the expectations and the guilt. The responsibility. And the woman who’d cared about her job more than she’d cared about him.
He lifted his hands over his head and leaned left, then right, in a careful stretch. Here in Castle Creek he had no one depending on him but himself. And whenever he let himself down, he invited himself for a drink at Snoozy’s and got over it. Life was good.
He was well rid of her.
So why did he suddenly feel so damned restless?
Two truck doors slammed. Parker had brought Nat with her, a realization which both cheered and saddened him. If the kid kept seeing him like this, it wouldn’t take long for her to decide he was more zero than hero. He sucked in another deep breath, swiped the hem of his T-shirt over his face and headed out to the parking lot.
Parker Macfarland, a tall, pretty redhead with an unfortunate love of baggy overalls, held up a hanging basket dripping with purple and red blooms. “A little something to cheer up your lobby, since you insisted on painting it brown.”
“Not brown. Buff.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s still brown.”
He took the basket and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, my sweet.” He managed a grin, pleased by the gift, and by the conspicuous absence of a certain nine-year-old. He made a show of sniffing the flowers.
“Funny thing,” he said. “These smell like fresh-baked muffins.”
Parker’s carbon-copy daughter popped out from behind the pickup, a foil-covered plate in her hands. “Surprise,” she shouted.
Joe staggered backward, hand to his heart. Giggling, Nat offered him the plate.
“Tell you what, sport. Can you hold on to that for me? I need to wash my hands.” He led them through the lobby and headed for his apartment while Parker found a place to hang the basket of flowers and Nat helped herself to a glass of milk. Joe closed himself inside his tiny bathroom and took a swig of Pepto, praying Nat wouldn’t push a muffin on him. He purposely avoided looking in the mirror.
When he returned to the lobby, Parker was trying to explain why it wasn’t the best idea for Nat to share her milk with the geraniums. She turned to Joe and made a “what will she think of next?” face.
“I hope you don’t mind us dropping by so early. I drew up some plans for your landscaping and I was hoping you’d look them over, let me know what works for you and what doesn’t.”
Joe frowned. “That’s great, but...you sure you have time? With Reid overseas, I figured you’d be struggling just to keep the greenhouses going.”
“With Reid overseas, I’ll take all the work I can get. Helps keep my mind off...you know.”
He did know. Parker’s first husband—Nat’s father—had been in the Army, like Reid. Only he hadn’t survived his tour in Afghanistan, a tragedy that Parker’s new husband, Reid, had been responsible for. Several months ago, Reid had shown up on Parker’s doorstep, determined to make amends for the friendly-fire disaster. They’d ended up falling in love. Just two months ago, and only two weeks into his marriage, Reid had been deployed for the third and final time and Parker was terrified that something would happen to him, as well.
“Anyway.” She smiled brightly. “Don’t forget Nat’s out of school for the summer, if you need extra help. She and Harris have already picked up where Reid left off, clearing junk from the outbuildings.”
“How’s the old man feeling?” Had to be tough for someone as active as Harris, a former Marine, finding out he had a heart condition.
“Ornery, since we’re all making sure he takes it easy.”
“We play poker during our breaks.” Nat swiped the back of her hand across her mouth and flashed a smile. “Harris owes me fourteen ice cream cones.”
“Yeah? I like ice cream. Maybe you guys could deal me in sometime.”
The smile turned sly. “I found something yesterday. I brought it for you.”
“Another surprise? You’ll spoil me, kid. Well, first, I have a surprise for you. Bring your milk. I want to show you something out back.”
Parker’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no. We’re not going back there. That grass has to be three feet tall. You won’t catch me wading through that sea of ticks.”
“Gross.” Nat gave an exaggerated shudder.
“Just follow me.”
Despite the threat of ticks, Nat jogged ahead of them and disappeared around the front left corner of the building. When Joe and Parker rounded the same corner, Nat was already standing at the rear edge of the motel. She glanced back, looking nervous.
“I saw something.”
Joe moved in front of her and scanned the trees. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. It was at the edge of the woods.”
“An animal? A person?”
“I think it was a person, but I—I’m not sure.”
Parker palmed her daughter’s shoulder. “Could it have been a deer?”
“Maybe. I only saw it for a second.”
“I’ll check it out.” Joe tugged once on Nat’s ponytail. “Be right back.”
He crossed the field, his boots making scuffing sounds as he waded through the layer of freshly cut grass. The sharp, sweet scent of the leavings reminded him of his brother. Braden had reveled in the smells of a lakeside summer. Joe’s stride faltered and his chest went suddenly hollow.
“See anything?” yelled Nat.
Shake it off, man.
He held up a hand to buy himself time, and finally registered a trail through the dew-damp grass, parallel to the one he’d just made. Kids, cutting through the woods on their way to the lake? Wouldn’t be the first time. As long as they didn’t start lighting matches he had no problem with it.
He paused at the edge of the field, peering into the shadowed depths. Watching. Listening. The occasional dart of a squirrel, the stirring sound when a gust of air pushed through the leaves. With a series of loud nasal screeches, a blue jay warned him to mind his own business.
Good advice. Excellent advice. He strode back across the field, doing his damnedest to pull away from the thoughts of his brother and the plans they’d made. When he reached Nat and Parker he stopped, and shaded his eyes with the flat of his hand.
“You must have scared off whatever it was.” Nat peered around him, ponytail dangling. “You okay?” She nodded.
“Thanks for checking.” Parker wandered a few feet into the newly shorn field. “When did you do this?”
“Couple days ago.” He raised his eyebrows at Nat. “What do you think?”
“Of the grass?”
He reached behind the square wooden structure that stood outside his back door—if he didn’t have something sturdy protecting his garbage cans, the raccoons would scatter trash all the way to the lake—and retrieved a battered pair of wooden sticks. Each stick had a slight hook at the bottom.
“Of our hockey field,” he said.
“Cool!” Green eyes sparked.
Parker shot him a look drenched with gratitude. He winked and offered one of the sticks to Nat, who was bouncing up and down. “I’ll rake up the cuttings and rig a couple of goals. I figured with softball over, you might be ready to try something new, Nat.”
The girl took the stick and proceeded to whack at a nearby dandelion. The bright yellow head popped off and sailed across the field and Nat giggled.
“When can we start?”
“No way you’re bringing that home with you,” Parker said quickly. “I can see it now—petals all over the greenhouse floor. Please give that back to Joe. He’ll let you know when the field is ready.” When Nat protested, Parker gave her an arch look. “Aren’t you forgetting something? In the truck?”
Nat shoved the stick at Joe and ran off. “Take your time,” Parker hollered after her. Thumbs tucked in the straps of her overalls, she turned back to Joe.
“You’re not looking so hot.”
“Reid would be relieved to hear you say that.”
“I’m serious.”
He shrugged. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”
“Because of Allison?” He reared back and she chuckled. “Hazel was here. You know what that means. All of Castle Creek is clued in by now.”
So much for privacy. Yet another reason to be pissed at yesterday’s visitor.
“You two were coworkers?”
He took his time putting the hockey sticks away. “She’s a PR rep for an advertising firm near D.C. I worked there as an account exec before moving here.”
“And you quit because your brother died?”
Parker wasn’t the pushy type. She’d back off if he asked her to. But she’d brought muffins. And he still owed her for patching him up after that brouhaha at Snoozy’s bar.
“That was one of the reasons. I had a hard time handling it. Afterward I was ready for a change.”
“So with Allison here, you’re reliving some tough times.”
He hesitated. She showed him any more compassion and he’d be draped all over her, weeping like a grand showcase winner on The Price Is Right.
Apparently she sensed that, too, because she changed the subject. “Thanks for taking such good care of Nat. It makes it easier for Reid, knowing you’re looking out for her. You should have heard the two of them on the phone when she told him you’d taught her to rappel—she was so excited and he was so jealous.” She put a hand on his arm. “I don’t know if you realize how much she depends on you. We both do. We all do.”
He managed a nod. As nice as it was to hear, he could feel the familiar heaviness pressing against his rib cage, coiling like a cobra around his windpipe. He breathed in deep, filling his lungs. An open field at his back and still that closed-in feeling.
Parker gave him a sympathetic smile edged with concern. “Too much touchy-feely? You’re looking a little green. Even more than before, I mean.”
Nat came back around the corner, a cardboard box cradled in her hands. Joe’s throat went tight again. The way the kid was beaming—he had a bad feeling about this.
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 information 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?”
She shrugged free of his touch. “It’s cleaning products that Mahoney’s into this time. And you and I both know it’s all one big game to you. Always has been. But don’t worry, I’ll do my part. Your part is to keep your hands to yourself.”
“You might change your mind about that. You might discover power tools turn you on.”
Oh, for God’s sake. “You start putting your hands where they don’t belong and I’ll start swinging my hammer. And my aim—” her gaze dropped suggestively “—might leave a lot to be desired.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your aim, slick. The problem has always been your choice of target.”
* * *
ALLISON ZIPPED UP the front of her “uniform” and let loose a laugh that came out sounding disturbingly frantic. What in God’s name had she gotten herself into? The only paint she’d ever applied had been to her fingernails. And any experience with hand tools had almost always ended in bloodshed and bandages.
She grimaced at her pale-faced image in the mirror and thought back to Joe’s earlier comment. By describing himself as a target he’d made it sound like she’d plotted against him a year ago. He didn’t understand she’d been trying to save the company’s reputation. And Joe’s along with it.
You always did put T&P first.
No. She’d done what she had to do. He didn’t remember it right. How could he, considering he’d been in a constant state of drunk at the time?
She bit her lip, turned her back on her reflection and regarded the piles of clothes on the bed. At least she’d found an honest-to-goodness mall, instead of having to do her shopping at a hardware store. When she’d arrived in Castle Creek the day before she’d planned on staying no more than an hour or two. Thank God for company credit cards.
Someone pounded on her door and she jumped.
“Move it, Kincaid. We have work to do.”
This could not be the same guy who’d cuddled a kitten two minutes after the thing had nearly made him break his neck. She’d picked up and already delivered his stupid PVC piping. What more could he want?
But of course, she knew. He wanted to teach her a lesson. She’d invaded his territory. Tried to make him feel guilty. The last place an ad-man wanted to be was on the receiving end of a sales pitch.
She closed her eyes and pulled in a slow breath. Pictured herself sitting behind that Account Executive nameplate, handing a bewildered and infuriated Sammy a stack of cash, wandering around an elegant apartment double the size of the place she lived in now.
Walking her mother into rehab. Again.
More pounding. She squeezed her eyes tighter and pictured a line of fire ants marching toward a trussed up Joe.
“Don’t make me come in there.”
She stalked to the door and yanked it open, bracing herself for a litany of smart-ass comments. Joe looked down at her clunky, sand-colored boots, and with the toe of his own boot nudged the nearest one.
“Show me.”
She hiked her pants leg and he nodded.
“This way.”
She followed him down the sidewalk, admiring the snug fit of his jeans despite herself. He stopped three doors down, in front of #5, and she raised her gaze just in time. Or maybe not, because he shot her an amused look as he searched his pockets for the keycard.
“How’s your room?” he asked idly.
“Fine.” Allison adjusted the clip in her hair and thought back to the soft lemon walls, the cozy tiled bathroom and the down comforter on the bed. She lowered her arms and sighed. “That’s not true, actually.”
She almost missed it—the subtle tightening of his fingers on the card.
“Problem?”
Huh. What she said mattered to him. Or rather, what she said about the motel mattered. Her chest cramped. He’d been a natural at advertising. Reveled in the challenge, expertly wooed his clients, basked in his many successes. But how much had he really cared? How much could he have cared, if he’d been able to walk away from it all?
Well, then. She’d have to make him care.
“Kincaid?” One eyebrow went up. “Problem with your room?”
“No. No problem. Just the opposite. The room is lovely.”
That one eyebrow remained suspended while wariness leaked in to replace the mockery. The fact that he didn’t believe her ticked her off, but she wasn’t going to beg the man to take a compliment. Besides. She’d cured herself of begging him a year ago.
He pushed open the door and stood back to let her in. She stopped on the threshold and stared.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
He’d traded an elegant capital-city condo with a killer location and a doorman for this? For God’s sake. One glimpse and she needed a drink.
The paneling on the walls bore so many scrapes and gashes, there wasn’t a lot of brown left to see. The ceiling sagged. The carpet was stained beyond color recognition—except for the duct tape holding it together. And even with the window wide open, the room smelled like well-used gym shoes.
She could only imagine the condition of the bathroom.
“You turned this—” she tipped her head in the direction of her own room “—into that?”
“First step is pulling up the carpet. I’ll let you handle that while I fix the sink next door. After that we’ll be yanking out paneling.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to burn the place down and start over?”
“Maybe in the beginning. Yell if you need anything.”
She backed out the doorway. “No way I’m working in there. Not without a tetanus shot and a hazmat suit.”
“What’s the matter? Afraid you’ll break a nail?”
Yes, as a matter of fact. “More like step on one.”
“That’s what boots are for.” He motioned at the room with his chin. “You don’t go in there, deal’s off.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah. I would.”
Tackett wouldn’t, though. The unspoken words danced like dust motes in the air between them.
“Fine,” she grumbled at last, rolling her eyes and drawing out the word so it came out fiiii-nuh.
With the faintest trace of a smirk, Joe pointed to a five-gallon bucket just inside the door. A mask and a pair of leather gloves lay on the carpet beside it, and from the bucket’s rim hung a well-used hammer.
“Use the claw side to pry the carpeting free of the tack strips along the walls. Then start rolling.”
He made it sound so easy. But she’d almost rather accept Sammy’s sickening proposition than crawl around in the filth at her feet. She shuddered. She’d have to go out and buy herself a loofah. Or twenty.
Joe swept out an arm, as if offering paradise. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thank you so much.” Her hands tangled as she stared at the ruined carpet. “What if there’s something under there?”
“There is. It’s called a floor.”
An hour later, Allison had called Joe Gallahan every dirty name she could think of. She’d hoped to have the entire carpet up before he came back, just to show she could, but pulling the thing up had proved to be a lot harder than she’d imagined. It was heavy and thick with dirt, and kept sticking to the floor. Finally she’d resolved herself to cutting it free, inch by disgusting inch.
A mixture of sweat and dust coated her face and the back of her neck. It trickled down her spine and soaked into the waistband of her panties. Her skin crawled and she wondered if Joe had another pair of coveralls because she couldn’t help fantasizing about burning the pair she was wearing. Hell, she might as well burn her entire outfit.
How did he do this all day? Her knees and lower back were killing her.
With a groan she sat back on her heels and surveyed the section of floor she’d uncovered. She’d never thought of herself as a complainer. But here, in a run-down motel, amidst cigarette butts and mouse droppings, she wanted nothing more than to indulge in a good cry. When her throat thickened in automatic response she pushed her mask up off her face and grabbed her water bottle. A few deep swigs and the tightness eased.
A mouse scurried across the floor, inches from her knees. Allison shrieked and jolted to her feet. The water bottle went flying and slammed against the wall with a sloshing thud. She was almost at the door when Joe appeared, a wrench in his hand and concern on his face. Sweat formed a dark V on the front of his T-shirt and slicked his muscled arms. All that moisture her body had been producing nonstop over the past hour? Apparently she’d used it all up, because her throat chose that particular moment to go bottom-of-the-well dry.
