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Staying at Joe's
Kathy Altman
Allison Kincaid can make a great sales pitch. But showing up at Joe Gallahan's motel asking for a favour is her toughest challenge yet.A year ago, they were more than just colleagues at a big PR firm. When work came between them, Joe put the blame on Allison… and his opinion hasn’t changed. She’s shocked, however, when Joe agrees to help. Even though she doesn’t love his terms, she accepts them because she'll get what she needs. If striking a deal with him means donning a pair of coveralls and swinging a hammer, so be it.Working side by side with Joe again, they might be able to repair the past. They just might get a second chance, too!


A deal she can’t refuse!
Allison Kincaid can make a great sales pitch. But showing up at Joe Gallahan’s motel asking for a favor is her toughest challenge yet. A year ago they were more than just colleagues at a big PR firm. When work came between them, Joe put the blame on Allison…and his opinion hasn’t changed.
She’s shocked, however, when Joe agrees to help. Even though she doesn’t love his terms, she accepts them because she’ll get what she needs. If striking a deal with him means donning a pair of coveralls and swinging a hammer, so be it. Working side by side with Joe again, they might be able to repair the past. They just might get a second chance, too!
“Joe, we had good reason for what we did.”
Allison could hear the pleading note in her voice. “Surely after all this time you can accept that.”
“I’m not having this conversation, Allison. I don’t want to talk about the agency, or Tackett, or any lame offer he sent you to make. Unless you want to pick up a paintbrush and dig in, you need to leave.”
“Just…give me a chance to change your mind.”
“And how do you plan on doing that, Allison? Wait. Let me guess.” Joe set the water bottle on the ladder and with one swift motion pulled his shirt over his head. “You and me, Slick. Right here, right now. Remind me how convincing you can be.”
Heat slapped at her cheeks. Her knees felt loose. He was unbelievable. She was unbelievable. While part of her loathed his over-the-top he-man tactics, another part couldn’t help admiring the hard, sculpted plane of his bare chest.
Shame sidled in, jacking her chin high. “That wasn’t what I had in mind, Joe.”
Dear Reader,
Welcome back! I’ve missed you! I’m so very excited to be able to take you on another journey to Castle Creek. After Harlequin Superromance released The Other Soldier last summer (July 2012), I received a number of emails expressing hope that I’d give Joe Gallahan his own book, since readers were curious to know the motel owner’s story. I have to admit I was curious about him myself. :-)
Forgiveness plays a pivotal role in Staying at Joe’s. As the book opens Allison and Joe are both harboring grudges, along with a double dose of heartache. It takes a lot of soul-searching—and sly encouragement from certain matchmaking elders—for the two to realize the life decisions they made were based on bad assumptions. Now not only do they need to forgive each other, they need to forgive themselves. (I just hope that Joe forgives me for everything I put him through!)
By the way, in the latter part of the story Allison samples a rather unusual cake. Occasionally my mother finds all kinds of glee in baking this cake, challenging the unwary to name the two secret ingredients—which no one has ever been able to do! Then, giggling maniacally, she reveals the mystery and the partakers refuse to believe that they ate—nay, relished—such a peculiar blend. If you’d care to have a copy of this recipe (which really is quite delicious!) please send me an email at kathy@kathyaltman.com and I’ll fix you right up. Or send me an email even if you wouldn’t care for the recipe—I’d adore hearing from you!
Thank you again for coming back to Castle Creek!
All my best,
Kathy Altman
Staying at Joe’s
Kathy Altman


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kathy Altman writes contemporary romance, romantic suspense and the occasional ode to chocolate. When she’s not plotting romance novels or writing reviews for USA TODAY’s Happy Ever After blog, she’s probably putting in her forty hours a week as a computer programmer for the air force, watching the Ciarán Hinds version of Persuasion or making other people feel superior by letting them win at Scrabble. Find Kathy online at www.kathyaltman.com (http://www.kathyaltman.com), or email her at kathy@kathyaltman.com—she’d adore hearing from you!
To my own personal PR crew—Mom, Mary, Jerry, Bill and Stephen—you all keep me going and I love you more than ham.
To Toni Anderson—I couldn’t have done justice to Joe without you.
To Kathy Jones—how lucky am I, to be your friend?
And to the sweetest, most thoughtful romance fans ever—Barb Kopsic, Carol Shaffer, Rhonda Sipe, Carol Opalinski, Mary Kennedy, Julia Broadbooks, Louise Hackworth, Edie Faile, Yvonne Cruz, Judy Kuhns, Marlee Soulard, Dolores Finley and especially Linda Esau.
You all are the best and I couldn’t appreciate you more!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For a newly published author, writing that sophomore book (the second published book) is notoriously stressful. Actually it’s downright agonizing. If your first book was well received, you can’t help but fret that readers will find the second a complete and utter letdown. If that first book tanked, you’ll spend every waking moment worrying that the second will disgrace your name beyond all hope of redemption and obliterate any chance of a writing career while everyone reading your words is rummaging for antacid or scrambling for a paper shredder as black rain erupts from the skies and cats begin to bark and small children everywhere demand brussels sprouts for breakfast—
Ahem. Let me pull myself back from the brink and thank the amazing people who made this return to Castle Creek possible. My most heartfelt gratitude goes to:
My ever-patient sweetie, Dan, for his expertise on building renovations;
Harlequin Superromance editor Karen Reid, for a rockin’ set of revisions;
Robin Covington, Entangled author extraordinaire, whose blog introduced me to Matt Nathanson and helped build my soundtrack;
and the brave, insightful and kindhearted Toni Anderson, Robin Allen and Debby Collier, for cheerfully reading early drafts of Joe’s story and generously helping me brainstorm.
Big squeezy hugs to you all.
Contents
Chapter One (#u6627d0ab-b25f-5758-8982-8cabcf9e05ad)
Chapter Two (#u1b5813fe-bfb0-5fd1-bc9f-e7d646e83c9f)
Chapter Three (#ue90ce816-1add-59cc-ae6e-7fa3bf9edf6a)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
THINK OF IT as just another pitch. One more client to woo. Schmooze and booze. Deal and seal. Nothing new here, Allie.
Except they weren’t in a high-end restaurant. He wasn’t a client. She wasn’t sipping wine. And she’d never been so bone-deep desperate.
Nor so ready to rely on bondage and torture, should the whole schmooze-and-booze thing end in an epic fail.
Though the thought of duct taping Joe Gallahan did cheer her immensely. She rolled her shoulders up and back, wiped her palms on her linen pants and stepped into the open doorway of the motel room. And blinked.
She’d never seen him in jeans. Two years of working together and three months of dating and she’d never seen him in anything with the slightest resemblance to denim. He’d never been the casual type. Not when it came to clothes, anyway. Then again, it had been nearly a year since he’d left—of course he’d changed. She had, too. Just...not as noticeably.
He stood with his back to her, in a sweat-stained T-shirt and faded, paint-spattered jeans. A pair of scuffed boots added to the construction worker look she was having a hard time wrapping her brain around. And his hair—once kept regularly trimmed—had now grown so long that the shaggy ends flirted with his shoulders.
She inhaled deeply and the thick, sharp smell of paint made her wish she hadn’t. She fought the urge to cough. A cough would give her away. A cough would mean she couldn’t change her mind.
As if she even had that option. Her pulse kicked up and her fingertips tingled. Easy, Allie. Too much at stake to chicken out now.
At least he seemed sober.
She straightened her spine and moved into the room, watching as Joe pushed the roller up and down the wall in the classic W pattern. The muscles of his back and arms alternately bunched and relaxed. Allie dragged her gaze away from his body, annoyed by flashes of erotic memories.
More than his appearance had changed. It seemed that he’d learned a little DIY somewhere along the way. Or had he always known how to do this home repair stuff? It wouldn’t be the first time he’d surprised her.
A hot flush of resentment bubbled up and prickled across her skin. If it weren’t for Joe Gallahan she’d be back in urban Virginia, less than six miles from the nation’s capital, sitting behind a gold-etched nameplate advertising her hard-earned position of “Account Executive.” And collecting the paychecks to prove it.
Instead she was still a PR rep, stuck with this ridiculous assignment in oh so cozy Castle Creek, Pennsylvania, hoping she wouldn’t get paint on a blouse she couldn’t afford to replace and preparing to plead with a man she’d just as soon tie up, slather with honey and roll onto a colony of fire ants.
Then again, she was lucky she still had a job. Though sending her off to meet with her ex-lover put her boss next in line for the whole fire ant thing.
Stroke by stroke, a thick coat of pale blue covered a hideous shade of green. Allison’s stomach lifted then dropped, like a roller coaster cresting that first big hill. He wouldn’t be happy to see her—which at least put them on equal ground.
“Hello, Joe,” she said.
He went still. The paint roller remained suspended in the air, the muscles of his forearms suddenly pronounced. He turned, slowly, his expression as inviting as his ramshackle, middle-of-nowhere motel. He stared at her and she stared back, fighting the urge to grab handfuls of his shirt and shake the stuffing out of him while screaming, Why?
He moved before she did, thank God, bending down and balancing the roller across the paint tray. When he straightened, his hands went to his hips in a familiar “I’m waiting to be impressed” pose.
“Allison Kincaid,” he said.
Silence, except for the low-pitched hum of the fan blowing the fumes toward the open window. Her gaze roved his face. The start of a beard darkened his jaw—yet another difference between this version of Joe and the clean-shaven, designer-suited marketing shark she’d known a year ago. Her throat closed again. If she was having a hard time reconciling the two, Tackett would, too.
Which promised a whole new set of complications. Damn it. Her neck muscles went tight. No matter their history, she had a job to do. A job to keep.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Want to tell me why you’re here?”
Forget “woo the client.” What she really wanted to do was kick his arrogant ass all the way back to Virginia. She risked another inhale, and willed her voice to remain steady.
“Tackett sent me,” she said.
His laugh was immediate and harsh. “The answer is no.” He pulled a tool from his back pocket, squatted and pried open a can of paint.
She didn’t blame him for saying no. She didn’t want him to say yes. But she had her orders.
She ventured farther into the room, heels clunking across water-stained plywood. “You don’t know the details.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You should hear this.”
“You should leave.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Sure, it is.” He finished pouring paint into the tray and with his fist thumped the lid back onto the can. “Turn around. Walk out the door. Get in your car. Drive away.” He stood, his gaze narrowed. “Don’t come back.”
“Joe.” She passed her keys from one hand to the other, the jingle a taunting echo in the near-empty room. “I wouldn’t be here if my job didn’t depend on it.”
“Then maybe you need another job.” He snatched up a bottle of water, gave the cap a vicious twist. “How long did it take you to drive up here? Five hours? Six? To ask a favor of me? On behalf of Tackett? You’re out of your mind.”
“You’re not the only one here with a grievance.”
“You have a grievance? Do what I did. Quit your job. End of grievance.”
“Can we at least talk about Tackett’s offer?”
“Not interested. Go home.”
“Won’t you at least—”
“Go. Home.” He took a swig of water, the plastic crackling in his grip. She glared at him, half hoping he’d choke. She hadn’t expected this to be easy, but she’d figured after all this time he’d feel some remorse for what he’d done to her. Instead he was still fixated on what had happened his last few weeks at the agency.
Tackett had told her to apologize. Fat chance.
“Tackett and I had good reason for what we did,” she said. “Surely after all this time you can accept that.”
“I’m not having this conversation. I don’t want to talk about the agency or Tackett or any lame-ass offer he sent you to make. Unless you want to pick up a paintbrush and dig in, you need to leave.”
“Just give me a chance to change your mind.”
“And how do you plan to do that? Wait. Let me guess.” He set the water bottle on the ladder and with one swift motion pulled his shirt over his head. “You and me, slick. Right here, right now. Remind me how convincing you can be.”
Heat slapped at her cheeks. Her knees felt loose. He was unbelievable. She was unbelievable. While part of her loathed his over-the-top he-man tactics, another part couldn’t help admiring the hard, sculpted plane of his bare chest.
Shame sidled in, jacking her chin high. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”
“Once upon a time it was all you had in mind.” He balled up his shirt and tossed it aside. “Let me guess why you’re here. One of my former accounts is launching a campaign and he’s asked for me as lead. Tackett smelled big money and picked you to play fetch, said if you didn’t bring me back to Alexandria you could kiss your Christmas bonus goodbye. Am I right?”
“This isn’t about a bonus,” she said carefully. His scorn made it easy to keep her gaze from straying south of his. “This is about my job.”
He shot her a look that was pure disdain. “When Tackett decided to filch my biggest clients, you backed him instead of me. At a time when work was all I had left. And you expect me to hook up with the agency again? Screw that.”
Hook up. Screw. She’d smirk, if only her lips would cooperate. “You know darned well we were trying to—”
“Give it up, slick.”
“At least now I know for sure why you did it.”
“Did what?”
“Are you kidding me?” Her keys gave a furious rattle as she clasped her hands behind her back to keep from yanking at her own hair. “You’re actually going to pretend you don’t know?”
“Know what, exactly?”
“What you did.”
“Why don’t you remind me?” He crossed his arms over his bare chest. Another time, another place, and she’d have started to drool.
“You cost me my promotion,” she said, letting the resentment ring loud in her voice. “And you almost got me fired.”
* * *
JOE SCOWLED. What the hell was she talking about? “Want to run that by me again?”
“Tackett found out about you and me. Want to know how?”
Judas Priest. Joe exhaled. He already knew how.
“Danielle Franks told him,” she said, her tone not quite casual enough to hide the bitterness. “And you know how he feels about fraternization. So Danielle got the promotion he’d promised me.”
“And you’re here because you think I told Danielle.”
“I’m here because Tackett sent me to bring you back to handle a client who won’t work with anyone but you. The company needs you for two months, tops. The fact that you lost me my promotion is the reason I offered to scrub every toilet in the building in exchange for Tackett picking someone else to ‘play fetch.’ Obviously he didn’t accept my offer.”
Okay, that hurt. Which pissed him off even more. That son of a bitch Tackett was too damned clever for his own good. No doubt the old man figured Joe would jump at the chance to “reacquaint” himself with Allison Kincaid. Instead he wished she’d kept her pretty little materialistic ass back in the city.
“I’m sorry for what happened,” he ground out. “But not sorry enough to go back.”
“What a surprise. Some things never change, do they?” She shook her head, eyes dark with disgust. “No one mattered but you. Your clients, your projects, your schedule. Everything else came in second. Then something doesn’t go your way and bam! You’re gone, and the rest of us are left scrambling to meet your commitments.”
“Didn’t go my way? My brother died.”
“And that’s why you’re hiding out in this hellhole? Because you’re feeling sorry for yourself?”
Joe set his jaw. Was it wrong to be so damned angry he wanted to put a fist through a wall—preferably one he hadn’t already painted—and at the same time be so incredibly turned on by the hints of nipple he could see through her blouse? He stomped over to where he’d lobbed his shirt, snatched it up and stomped back.
“If you think I told anyone about us, you don’t know me.”
“Exactly the point I tried to make a year ago.”
Another direct hit. She’d learned a lot from her boss. Still, she had it right. He owed her. Hell.
“Fine. I’ll give Tackett a call.”
“And tell him what? That I can handle the client myself? You think I didn’t try that? Mahoney made it clear. He doesn’t get you, he gets another agency.”
Mahoney, huh? Joe grunted. He knew as well as she did that client should be hers.
“Maybe it’s a sign,” he said. “That it’s time for you to move on.”
“It’s a sign that it’s time for you to step up and fix the mess you made. Mr. DIY.”
“You always did put T&P first.”
“They never let me down.”
“Until Tackett decided to make an example out of you.”
“I repeat. They never let me down.”
“You really want to start comparing scars?” he asked softly.
She clenched her teeth. “I want to keep my job.”
“The agency means that much to you.”
“The paycheck means that much to me.”
“So it’s the money.” He should have known. “What, is the gold plating wearing off your toothbrush?”
“You self-centered, egotistical son of a—”
“Children, children, please.” They swung toward the door. Longtime Castle Creek resident Audrey Tweedy marched toward them, clapping her hands as if urging a classroom of first-graders to settle down after recess. The seventy-something woman had a voice like a pixie and a body like a lumberjack, and Joe couldn’t remember ever seeing her without that purple barrette holding her gray hair out of her face.
For one wild, despairing moment, he considered making his escape through the window. But he’d just replaced the screen. And Audrey was faster than she looked.
She wagged a thick finger. “I could hear you kids all the way out in the parking lot. That’s not good for business, Joseph Gallahan.”
“I’m not open for business.”
“That’s not the point.” She gave him a disapproving look—he was getting a lot of those lately—then leaned toward Allison, her expression complicit. “I could tell the trouble right off. You two are having a meat crisis.”
Allison went still. “A what?”
Joe ran a hand over his face as Audrey rummaged through a bright green purse—the one with the oversize “P” on the side. She pulled out a can of Vienna sausages. “You’re grumpy. That’s what happens when you don’t get enough protein. Have a weenie.”
Joe held up his hands, palms out. “I’ll pass.” His gaze cut to Allison, who was staring at the old woman in fascinated dismay.
Audrey gave him a tsk-tsk and shrugged. She jammed the can back into her purse and turned to Allison, thrust out a hand. “I’m Audrey Tweedy, dear. Welcome to Castle Creek. Care for a weenie? No?” She patted her monster of a purse. “I could fit a whole ham in here if I wanted to. I could show you where I got it, if you’d like. The purse, not the ham. ’Course, the initial on the side costs extra.”
“What does the ‘P’ stand for?”
Audrey shot Joe a “where’d you find this one?” look. “Protein.” She turned back to Joe. “Which you, Mr. Vegetarian, obviously don’t get enough of.”
“I had scrambled eggs for breakfast. With cheese. And, Aud? I’m a little busy right now.”
She sniffed. “The way you eat, Joseph, you’d think you didn’t have any teeth. You need something that’ll work that jaw—something besides insulting your visitors. And you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Have some jerky.”
He stared down at the bright yellow stick of processed who-the-hell-knew-what. “You never give up.”
She turned to Allison. “You eat meat, don’t you, dear?” Joe tried not to choke while Allison managed a nod. With a smile worthy of a denture commercial, Audrey swung back to face him. “Sounds like you two have some problems to work out. Why don’t you invite your friend here to stay awhile?”
Oh, hell, no.
Joe gave her his best “mess with me and I’ll break out my pneumatic drill” look. Audrey countered with her “humor me or I’ll hide a dead perch in your pickup” glare.
“Sounds like Allison doesn’t have much of a job to go back to,” Audrey continued smugly. “And, Joseph, you and I both know you could use a hand around here. She has two.”
Allison thrust out her hands, fingers spread. “Uh, and they both just had a manicure.”
“Go ahead, Joseph. Invite her to stay.”
He heard Audrey’s words but they didn’t register. He’d finally given in to the urge to look at Allison, really look at her, for the first time in a year. She watched him back, head tipped to the side, hazel eyes narrowed, chin indignant. She’d changed her hair. Instead of the short, sleek, behind-the-ears style he remembered, she’d let it grow so a smooth, butter-colored curtain skimmed her shoulders. Not as smooth as when she’d first walked in, though. One side looked kind of poufy, as if someone had given her a noogie.
Or she’d just rolled out of bed.
He drew in a breath and focused on Audrey, who looked mighty pleased with herself as she stood there in her pink pants, spotless white trainers and olive drab Go Army T-shirt. A gift from his buddy Reid Macfarland, no doubt. Joe sighed.
“Don’t you have anything better to do, Aud?”
“Better than helping two conflicted souls find grace and understanding? Really, Joseph, how self-centered do you think I am?”
He wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot salami. Meanwhile, Allison was looking a little wild-eyed.
Audrey gave her a sympathetic smile. “Does it bother you, dear? That he’s one of those pesky vegetarians?”
“Pesco,” Joe growled. “I’m a pesco-vegetarian.”
“You did call this place a ‘hellhole,’” Audrey continued, her voice suddenly all schoolmarm. “If you stayed you could help change that.”
Allison shook the noogie right out of her hair. “That’s not an option.”
Joe watched her back away toward the door. He should be feeling smug. Why wasn’t he feeling smug?
“Surely, dear, you could spare a few days to help out an old friend—”
“Audrey Tweedy, you’re supposed to be holding a table for us at the diner. If we don’t head over there now, we won’t get any chocolate mousse.” Hazel Catlett appeared next to Allison, tapping her watch. Her gaze slid to Joe’s naked chest and her eyes sparked as bright as the neon-orange color on her lips.
“Goodness gracious me. I see what held you up.”
Hell. The Castle Creek paparazza had arrived. Joe shook out his shirt and scrambled to find an opening. Hazel, meanwhile, was brandishing her cell phone.
“Why didn’t you text me?” she fussed at Audrey. The moment before Joe shoved an arm inside his T-shirt he heard a chiming sound, and Hazel shot him a wicked wink. “You’ve been holding out on us, Joe Gallahan.” Squinting at her phone’s display, she hummed her approval at the photo she’d just snapped. “We’ve got that fund-raiser for the citizens’ center coming up. What do you say we have a wet T-shirt contest? You know, the man-chest kind? Honey, who are you?” Another chime as she snapped a pic of Allison.
“She’s a friend of Joe’s, visiting from Virginia. Allison Kincaid, meet Hazel Catlett. She and her sister, June, have the most adorable salt-and-pepper schnauzer named Baby Blue.”
Allison blinked. Joe did his best to turn a laugh into a cough and Audrey thumped him on the back. With her purse.
Ouch.
Hazel glanced from Joe to Allison and back again. “You really have been holding out on us.” She sidled closer to Allison, keeping her gaze on Joe. “Tell me the truth, hon. Does the bottom half look as good as the top?”
“Let’s go get that mousse,” Audrey said, and tugged on her friend’s arm.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Hazel flapped a hand at Joe then elbowed Allison. “Ironic, isn’t it? A piece of beefcake like that, being a vegetarian?”
“I’m standing right here,” he said.
“And God bless you for it,” Hazel beamed.
Audrey led Hazel out the door while Hazel played with her cell phone, no doubt sending copies of that damned photo to the entire population of Castle Creek. As soon as they cleared the door, Allison rounded on him.
“I’m not staying.”
“And I’m not going back. Glad we understand each other. Goodbye.”
She let loose a strangled sound of exasperation and stalked over to the window. The fan-borne breeze huffed through her hair and his traitorous fingers itched to follow. His gaze skimmed downward. Damn. He shoved his hands in his pockets and forced himself to look away from the luscious lines of her ass. Tried to focus on the probability that the pants hugging that class-A ass had cost more than what he’d shelled out to tile ten bathrooms.
Then again, hadn’t he spent thousands on suits during his stint at T&P?
He scowled. If he’d lost her that promotion, then he damned well owed her. He hadn’t said a word to Danielle. But she’d been hovering over him as he cleaned out his desk and the instant she spotted the photo of Allison she’d figured it out. And apparently had gone running straight to Tackett.
And Allison thought he’d turned tattletale. Because she’d rejected him. Because the company had stripped him of his clients. Not a bad way to get revenge, if he’d been that kind of man.
But things had changed since then. He’d changed. And right now revenge was sounding pretty damned good.
“I’m serious.” She turned from the window, her arms wrapped around her waist so tight it was a wonder she could breathe. “I have to get back. And you have to come with me.”
Obviously, she wanted to be here as much as he wanted to be back in the nation’s capital. Maybe Audrey’s idea wasn’t such a ball-buster, after all. Keeping Allison around for a while would be hell, yeah, but he could string that old bastard Tackett along and at the same time score some free menial labor. He pictured Allison trying to handle a roller while fighting to protect her manicure and smiled inwardly. At the very least, he’d get some comic relief.
And maybe, just maybe, she’d see that life in the country—life with him—wouldn’t have been so bad after all.
Scratch that. He’d keep her here because she could help, nothing more. Though he wouldn’t mind getting her naked.
His brain stuttered on the word “naked.”
“Are you even listening to me?”
The buzzing in his ears climbed an octave. As his gaze focused on Allison, he took in her furious pink face and it was all he could do to keep from grinning.
“Two weeks,” he said, then paused. Had he said that out loud? He gave a mental shrug. “You give me two weeks and I’ll give the agency four.”
He expected her to go ballistic—looked forward to it, in fact—but she didn’t give him the satisfaction.
“It’s been a year,” she said calmly. “Can you really still be holding a grudge?”
“There’s a saying. Something about a pot, a kettle and the color black?”
Her arms dropped away from her waist and she clenched her fists. “We hadn’t even been dating for three months when you suddenly asked me to dump everything and follow you up here. Expected me to walk away from my job, my apartment, my life in the city, everything I worked so hard to achieve. And for what? Cracked sidewalks and moldy floorboards? This was your dream, Joe. Not mine.” She relaxed her hands and wiggled her fingers. “But that’s in the past. In the here and now, I’m about to lose my job and you can prevent it. So will you?”
He ran his hands down the front of his T-shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles, pretending to consider. In the past, like hell.
“Two weeks,” he repeated. He pictured her trading in her designer duds for a pair of his old coveralls and this time freed the smile. She snapped her spine straight.
“I’m glad you find this amusing.” She marched to the doorway. “And I’m glad you can afford to...to humor your inner Bob the Builder fantasies up here in Mayberry-by-the-lake.” She swiveled back to face him, as graceful as a model at the end of a runway. “By the way, T&P authorized me to offer you a bonus. Ten thousand dollars. Considering you’ve already been here a year and the sidewalk has more cracks than the San Andreas Fault, I’m thinking you could use the money.”
That did it. Fury kicked at his temples and he tried for a calming inhale, but the air had turned dense. Disappointment, he realized. His throat was thick with it.
It always came down to money.
“Tackett would be proud of you, Kincaid.”
“How about you, Gallahan? Anyone proud of you?”
It hadn’t taken her long to zero in on that soft spot. In another life he would have admired her. Praised her. Pointed her out as an example to new-hires. Now he pitied her. Almost as much as he wanted to find out if she still tasted the same.
She must have seen something in his face she didn’t like because her chin went back up in the air. “So you won’t consider coming back.”
“The moment you consider picking up a drywall taping knife.”
She stared at him for a couple of beats. “Afraid you lost your edge? That you can’t do the job?”
He grunted. “Your job security depends on two weeks of kissing up to the guy who screwed you out of a promotion. Literally. Maybe you’d better stick to worrying about yourself.”
“I had to try.” She hesitated. The already rigid line of her shoulders tensed. “You’re looking good, Joe,” she said quietly. Her gaze locked on to his. “I’m glad.” She turned and walked out, her posture suddenly soft.
He reclaimed the paint roller, dipped it and faced the wall. Struggled to find the strength to raise his arms.
She still talked a good fight, but sometime during the past year her confidence level had taken a massive hit. How much of that was his fault? He looked over his shoulder, at the empty doorway.
He needed a whiskey.
Make that a double.
* * *
ALLISON SEETHED AS she guided her Camry around the pits in the motel parking lot, then slowed for a pair of squirrels that tumbled across the pavement toward a scraggly pine.
Damn Joe Gallahan and his miserable excuse for a motel, anyway. She was the injured party here. She was the one with the grievance. Yet there he had stood, acting all smug and superior, like the advertising hotshot he used to be. Though to be fair, despite the unruly, sun-streaked hair and construction worker getup, the hot part still applied. Or maybe it applied because of those things.
Good grief. Could she be any more pathetic?
She pulled out onto the highway, shaking her head over Hazel Catlett swooning over Joe’s bare chest and Audrey Tweedy knitting her brow over his protein consumption.
Joe Gallahan, still a sensation with the ladies. Her giggle turned into a groan and her fingers clamped tighter around the steering wheel. Sudden tears blurred her vision and she blinked, panic overtaking frustration. Time to pull over before she wrecked her car. Or worse.
Two minutes after passing a sign indicating a picnic area ahead, she parked in a small gravel lot and made her way along a path that led through a grove of shaggy pine trees down to the lake. Arms wrapped around her waist, shoulders hunched, she lingered above the beach, squinting across the choppy, platinum waters toward Canada.
He knew what he’d done. That confused look on his face? Had to be an act. He knew.
Mist-laden air swirled around her, flashing rainbows whenever the spray caught the waning sun. She dragged in a deep breath, smelled fresh water, decaying fish and seaweed. Over the hissing rush of the surf she heard a series of echoing thuds—oars, maybe, banging against the rim of a rowboat? Another breath, and gradually her panic began to recede. Despite the occasional drone of a car traveling the road behind her, she felt more alone than she had in a very long while.
Which was ridiculous. She was on edge only because she was used to having half a dozen people demanding half a dozen things from her, all at the same time—usually during her lunch hour. This “being alone” thing...she never did handle that well. She needed to get back to work. Back to her old self.
Though if she went back without Joe her old self would be out pounding the pavement, looking for a job in a bleak economy. Her stomach gave an unpleasant wriggle.
Maybe that’s why seeing Joe upset her so much. At Tackett & Pike, she was doing what she wanted to do. What she’d struggled to learn the skills to do. She reached out to the nearest tree and snagged a pinch of pine needles. Rolled them idly between her thumb and forefinger, releasing a sharp, sweet scent. Yeah, that was why she’d dreaded this visit.
She steered her mind away from Joe Gallahan, sprinkled the needles into the wind and stepped out of her pumps. Cautiously, she ventured out onto the beach, the sun-warmed stones grinding and clattering beneath her. A glint of green caught her eye and she bent over to get a closer look. Her cell rang, and a glance at the incoming number roused a sigh from the deepest, darkest pit of her belly.
She thought of the produce stand she’d passed on her way into town, pictured the heaping quarts of strawberries lined up for sale. She pasted a bottle of rum, a tray of ice and a blender into the picture, bit back a whimper and answered her phone.
“Mr. Tackett.”
He grunted. “See, the way you just said my name right there, that tells me you don’t have good news. And I need good news, Kincaid. The company needs good news.”
The man was doomed to disappointment. Unfortunately, so was she.
“He’s not interested, Mr. Tackett.”
“Make him interested.”
She’d get right on that. As soon as she solved the energy crisis and invented a toilet seat that put itself down.
“Why don’t you arrange for the client to contact Joe directly?” She bent over, left palm braced on her knee, and scoured the beach for another glimpse of that green. “Mr. Mahoney would have more success talking him around, seeing that Joe’s—” a chauvinist pig “—more likely to respond to a man.”
Tackett’s laugh was sly. “You and I know better.”
Her eyes fluttered shut and her chin sank to her chest. What had she been thinking, all those months ago? She’d compromised her professional image by getting involved with a coworker. A coworker with a reputation for being a player.
Tackett’s disapproving hum dragged her back to the here and now. “Did you offer him the bonus?”
“It made things worse.”
“Because you didn’t do it right.”
She held the phone away from her ear and hefted it in her hand. She looked at the lake, and back at her phone. If she threw it just right she could probably get four, maybe five good skips out of it. But it wasn’t worth losing her job over. Losing the promotion sucked enough.
“Mr. Tackett, I know how to negotiate a deal. The thing is, both parties need to be interested.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“That he wouldn’t consider it.”
“Bastard’s holding out for more money.”
She had no trouble recalling Joe’s contempt at the mention of a bonus. “I don’t think so.”
“Then what? The cliché about everyone having a price is only a cliché because it’s true. So figure out Gallahan’s price.”
Trouble was, she already knew it. And she had no choice but to pass that information on to Tackett. Because if he found out about Joe’s proposal before Allison told him about it, it wouldn’t matter if Joe came back to T&P and brought a dozen big-name clients along with him. She’d still be out of a job.
So, while crossing her fingers and envisioning a giant neon sign endlessly flashing the word NO, she told Tackett about Joe’s proposal. He interrupted before she had a chance to tell him she’d rather spend a winter in Greenland.
“There’s a multimillion-dollar account at stake, here. Mahoney refuses to work with anyone else so I don’t care how you do it. Hammer a nail, bake a cake, perform the dance of the seven veils. Just get Joe back here. Take the two weeks. Stick to him like syrup on a pancake. And, Kincaid? Don’t come back without him. Do what it takes, you hear? You show up two weeks from Monday without Joe Gallahan, you’ll be clearing out your desk.”
Her stomach dropped to her knees and her neon sign went from flashing NO to BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, SUCKER.
She rolled her lips inward and disconnected the call. She had to go back. She had to cave. To him. Her head drooped and her spine sagged. How did she get herself into these messes? After several moments of pointless self-pity she found herself scanning the rocks at her feet.
Before she did anything else, she’d find the source of that glint of green. Maybe she’d snag herself a good-luck charm—she needed all the help she could get. She hitched up her pants and dropped into a crouch, blinking against an annoying eyeball burn.
There. With a quiet squeak of glee she scooped up the square of tumbled glass. The stone felt sleek and cool against her skin. She stroked her thumb across the surface worn smooth by the water.
Her phone rang again. She glanced at the caller ID, lost her balance and almost fell on her ass. Forget the strawberries. Straight rum would do just fine.
The strident sound continued. She rose out of her crouch, her thumb hovering over the connect button. But only for a millisecond.
No way she could handle this. Not now.
Seconds later a much-too-cheerful chime signaled the caller had left a voice mail. Nerves prickled in her chest as she pocketed the piece of polished glass, entered her password and held the phone to her ear.
“Where’s my money, bitch?”
CHAPTER 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.
CHAPTER THREE
JOE’S GAZE WHISKED over her, as if checking for blood, then scanned the room. “What happened?”
“I um, saw a, um...mouse.”
His shoulders relaxed and he leaned against the doorjamb. She could see he was trying not to smile.
“It’s not funny. They’re...unhygienic.”
“Is that even a word?” She glared and he shrugged. “I’ve had an exterminator out here but the suckers are persistent.” He released the smile. “My guess is they’re all female.”
That smile took indecent liberties with her insides. When his mouth took on that playful curve, it reminded her of less-hostile times. Of blissful, sultry, between-the-sheets times.
Easy, Allie.
Her cell rang and she tugged off her gloves. Got a good look at what was left of her manicure and bit back a whimper. She plucked her phone from her pocket and peered at the incoming number.
“I should take this.”
Something flickered across his face and he jerked a nod. “I have to go, anyway. A friend of mine needs help. Why don’t you knock off for the day? Try the diner in town if you’re hungry, and I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” He glanced at the lopsided roll of carpet on the floor behind her, then at the phone in her hand. “Good job, Kincaid.”
She continued to stare at the doorway long after he’d left. He was as distant as he could be. Calling her by her last name, keeping himself busy with other projects so they wouldn’t have to work together. Exactly what she needed him to do, if they were going to make it through the next few weeks without any messy conversations, let alone power tool mishaps.
So why did she feel slighted?
It was almost as if the effort involved in yanking carpet and refitting pipes had chipped away at the bitterness they shared. Well, it had to stop. She needed her bitterness. She and her bitterness were BFFs.
When her cell started a second series of rings she closed her eyes and pressed the phone to her ear. “Hi, Mom.”
“You talked to Sammy.”
Fine, Mom, thanks. And how are you?
Allison exhaled. “You and I agreed you wouldn’t see him, and he and I agreed he wouldn’t loan you more money. But you did, and he did, and I got a threatening phone call. I had to do something.”
“He cut me off.” As usual, Beryl Kincaid’s words were muffled—she did most of her talking around a mouthful of butterscotch candies.
“Mom. We’ve been over this. What happens if you can’t pay your rent and Carlotta kicks you out?”
The moment she asked the question she’d have given anything to take it back. She’d already had to make it clear—more than once—that she wouldn’t sacrifice her privacy. Not on top of everything else.
“I’m working on that,” her mother said, and Allison sagged against the nearest wall. “I wouldn’t mind a roommate who’s a little more appreciative. I made the cleverest centerpiece for the dining room table and you know what Carlotta said? She said it was tacky.’”
A crinkling sound. Her mother had popped another candy into her mouth.
“Tacky. Can you imagine? I spent hours on that piece. I put a little stuffed bear in a doll’s chair with a curved back—you know, kind of like a throne?—gave him a jar and a honey dipper and drizzled wood glue all over him. I wish you could have seen him, he looked so adorably messy. Oh, and I glued a bee to his nose and put a tiara on his head.” She paused, and sucked on her candy. “Maybe I should say her head. Anyway, I think the tiara glows in the dark.”
“That sounds...creative.” Poor Carlotta.
Her mother gasped. “Next time I’ll paint hearts on the jar and I’ll have the perfect Valentine’s Day gift. I could make a fortune, don’t you think? And ruffles. I should add ruffles.” Allison could hear her mom scribbling on a piece of paper. “Anyway, after all the time I put into the centerpiece, Carlotta didn’t want it. So I gave it to Sammy. He was thrilled. Well, not at first, but when I told him to give it to his girlfriend he perked right up.”
Allison turned and rapped her forehead against the wall. “You need to stay away from Sammy. He’s not your friend, Mom.”
“He’s a better friend than Carlotta.”
Allison sighed. “Aren’t your craft projects and your job at the mall enough to keep you away from the tables?”
“I get bored easily. You know I do. And when money’s at stake, hours go by like seconds.”
“Money has been at stake for as long as I can remember. The tables are killing you, Mom. They’re killing me. I can’t stand by while you dig yourself in deeper and deeper with that creep. One way or another, you’re going to end up in the hospital.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous. Sammy would never hurt me.”
“We stop paying and that’s exactly what he’ll do.” She pushed away from the wall and surveyed the room. As messy as it was, it couldn’t compare to the wreckage that was her life. But she was a daughter, with a mother who’d once risked everything to protect her.
She had to ask. “You making your meetings okay?”
“Of course I am,” her mother snapped. “And I wish you wouldn’t feel the need to ask every time we talk.”
“I care about you. I want you to get better.”
“You mean you want me to stop being a burden.”
“Mom—”
“But I think I’ve found a way to fix that.”
Oh, God. Oh, no. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll find out. How long will you be away?”
“Two weeks.” Because Joe Gallahan was determined to be an ass. “Mom. No more gambling. Promise me.”
“It’s not a gamble when it’s a sure bet.”
“Mom?”
“Trust me, Allie girl.”
“Mom.”
She’d disconnected.
Allison gritted her teeth and glared down at the phone. She really should have chucked the damn thing into the lake.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER she was combing her damp hair and trying to convince her empty stomach it could survive until morning when she remembered the packet of M&M’s she’d stashed in the glove compartment. She might be too tired and achy to check out the diner Joe had mentioned, but she could certainly limp as far as her car. When there was chocolate at stake, she’d crawl if she had to.
She shimmied into a pair of jeans and a black, short-sleeved shirt, wishing she’d had the chance to wash her new clothes. But at least she didn’t have to climb back into those grime-encrusted coveralls. Not yet, anyway.
After scooping up her keys she walked barefoot to her car. A sleepy gray haze had crept into the summer evening, heralding dusk. Cool air, crisp as a Granny Smith apple, had her thinking of porch swings, oversize sweatshirts and glasses of red wine. On second thought, scratch the wine.
She forced her mind away from the thought of alcohol and what it could do to a person—to a couple—and looked around. Crumbling asphalt, exterior walls that looked like someone had painted them with mashed-up peas, flowerbeds sporting more weeds than blooms, a construction Dumpster that was no doubt as practical as it was unsightly. But there was also a brand-new professional sign towering over her car, a gracious lobby and...her room. A room that had been more than renovated—it had been lovingly decorated.
By a woman? She hadn’t considered that before. That Joe might be involved. But why should she consider it? And why should she care?
She glanced again at the sign. Sleep at Joe’s. Clever. And something that two days ago she was certain she’d never do again.
The ball of her foot landed on a sharp-edged rock. She hissed in a breath, her limp more pronounced as she approached her car. Suddenly she caught a whiff of something fruity and her stomach perked up. She and Joe hadn’t talked about meals—they hadn’t really talked logistics at all. His earlier recommendation of the diner probably meant she was on her own, food-wise.
Though judging by today, she might be on her own. Period.
Supposedly Joe was looking for payback, but he hadn’t seemed to get much of a kick out of Allison on her hands and knees in filth. And she’d thought for sure he’d enjoy mocking her reaction to the mouse. Instead he’d taken it in stride. Well, mostly.
With a frown, she rummaged through the glove compartment. Nothing edible. She sighed. Next on the agenda? Find a supermarket. And put M&M’s at the top of her list. She needed all the help she could get dealing with not only Tackett and Joe, but her mother’s pleas for money.
And the next time Beryl Kincaid called, Allison would let voice mail do its thing. She might get more sleep that way. Because she knew that if her mother had her way, they’d both be living out of Allison’s car.
She shut the car door just as a dusty blue oversize pickup pulled into the lot and parked beside her. Joe. Allison curled her toes into the pavement, feeling suddenly naked. He rounded the hood of his truck, a mouthwatering package of muscle, denim and shadowed jaw. Considering he had eyes only for her Toyota, she obviously didn’t have the same pulse-pounding effect on him.
Which was good. Great, in fact. Things were complicated enough.
Still, it smarted.
“I meant to ask.” Joe hitched a thumb at her car. “What happened to the Beemer?”
She shoved her fingers into her back pockets. She didn’t want to lie. But she didn’t want to tell the truth, either. “Got something against Camrys?”
He looked as if he wanted to say more, then shrugged. “Didn’t see you at the diner.”
“It’s been a while since I last pulled up fifty-year-old carpet. I had a hard enough time getting in and out of the shower.”
Instantly she regretted her provocative words, but Joe didn’t take the unintentional bait. Though why should he? Their bantering days were long gone. He merely nodded, then turned back to his truck. Moments later he held up a crisp white bag.
“I brought you a sandwich.”
“Ham?”
“Extra pickles.”
Her mouth watered. She squinted. “In exchange for...”
“An answer. To one question.”
“Do I get to ask one, too?”
“Did you bring me dinner?”
They stared at each other over the roof of her car. In his eyes she could see that bitterness she’d been wondering about. She sighed.
“Let me guess. You want to know if it bothers me. That Tackett’s basically holding my future for ransom. Am I right?” An incline of his head signaled that she’d guessed correctly. Her gaze dropped to the bag in his hand. “You realize you’re doing the exact same thing.”
“There’s a difference between two weeks and an entire career. And unlike Tackett, I honor my word. After I’ve served my four weeks he’ll ask for more. He’ll offer a bonus if I stay, forget to pay me if I don’t. I won’t be staying. You shouldn’t, either.”
“So now you’re looking out for me. How very—” Wait a minute. She pushed away from the car, a blush of fury scorching her from head to toe. “You want me to quit. To get back at the old man. Or are you hoping you won’t have me to deal with once you’re there?” When he didn’t answer she swallowed against a pang of...something...and glowered. “You don’t like that question? Fine. Here’s another one.”
A muscle car drove past the motel, engine growling, radio blaring an energetic song. Allison blinked back inexplicable tears.
“Were you and Danielle lovers?” she asked.
Joe took his time positioning the bag on the hood of her car. When he looked back up his face had lost all expression. “We were barely friends.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No. We were never lovers. I had you. I didn’t need anyone else.”
She released the breath she’d been holding, but the pressure in her chest didn’t ease. She turned away. “Good night, Joe.”
“You forgot your sandwich, Allison.”
It would be churlish to refuse, though her appetite had vanished. At least he’d stopped calling her by her last name. When he did that he sounded like Tackett.
She reached for the bag. So did he. He didn’t let go. Instead he held out his free hand. “Truce?”
“So this is a bribe.”
“More like a peace offering.” When she hesitated he wiggled his fingers. “Come on. I’m not asking to be friends. You don’t want to be here and I don’t want to go back. But we’re stuck with each other. And two weeks is a long time to trade dirty looks. So what do you say? Truce?”
“Well.” It was easier just to give in. She put her hand in his. “You did say extra pickles.”
* * *
“JOE?” NO ANSWER. Another rap of her knuckles on the glass, but the lobby remained dark. Damn. She had no way of knowing whether he’d already gone to bed or just couldn’t hear her knock. And she’d never thought to ask for his cell number.
She shivered in the cool night air and glanced around. At each end of the motel lurked a tall, skinny pole, the beams from the lights at the top casting broad puddles of pale yellow onto the broken pavement. The light glinted off the windshield of Joe’s truck. He was definitely here.
She drew in a resolute breath and marched around the side of the building. The sooner they got this settled, the better.
The dew-damp grass slicked her toes, making her feet slide in her flip-flops, every step a rubbery squeak. She hesitated at the corner—no lights back here but for the dim bulb over the door. A pair of moths flirted with the scrawny light, making tiny little pings whenever they connected with the glass.
She yanked at the hem of her top, skirted the wooden box that protected his garbage cans and stepped onto the slab of cement that served as a porch.
Nothing but darkness on the other side of the square window in the door. For God’s sake, it was only ten o’clock. He’d always been a night owl—surely he couldn’t have changed that much?
Then again, there didn’t seem to be a lot to do in Castle Creek. Especially after dark. Except maybe— Allison’s breathing hitched and a prickling heat swept across her skin. An image of what Joe could very well be doing in the dark had her snatching her hand away from the door and stumbling back a step.
After her encounter with the mouse, Joe had said he had to go help a friend. Maybe that friend was female? And maybe she was in his apartment at this very moment, in his bed, and they were shaking their heads at the idiot outside who couldn’t take a hint?
Embarrassment shoved her back another step and she started to turn away. Then suddenly he was there, looming on the other side of the windowpane. Not naked. Not from the waist up, anyway. The door swung inward.
“Come in before the moths do,” he said.
She hesitated. Something in his voice... His hair was rumpled, his feet bare and he wore sweatpants and a T-shirt—clothes that could be pulled on in a matter of seconds.
Or off.
She blinked away an unwanted memory. “I don’t want to interrupt...anything. You alone?”
“Mostly.”
She started to ask what that was supposed to mean when she heard the kitten, meowing softly in the background. Funny guy. She gave a half shrug and sidled past, holding her breath so she wouldn’t breathe in the scent of bed-warmed male.
He shut the door behind her and turned, hand still on the knob. “There a problem?”
“Could you turn off the light?”
“Come again?”
It took real effort to keep her mind from going in an X-rated direction. For God’s sake, Allie, grow up. “The outdoor light. Those poor moths.”
He stretched a hand to the wall. The room went black. Allison blinked and thrust out her hands, feeling suddenly off-kilter.
Asking him to turn off the light might have been a mistake. Still, she couldn’t get that pinging noise out of her head.
“Anything else I can do for you?”
Damn that “throw me to the floor” voice of his. “I know it’s late, but I hoped we could talk.”
“No.”
She frowned in the abrupt silence. Then the refrigerator gurgled and she found her voice. “It won’t take long.”
“Not gonna happen.”
Huh. So maybe “mostly” alone didn’t involve the kitten, after all. Maybe “mostly” meant his date was asleep. Or maybe Allison needed to remember that just because they’d declared a truce, it didn’t mean he was happy she was here in Castle Creek.
She clamped her teeth together. “Fine. We’ll talk in the morning. Sorry I bothered you.”
“My answer will be the same when the sun comes up.” A whisper of fabric—she imagined him folding his arms across his chest. “I mean, I’m assuming you’re here to wriggle out of our deal, right?”
“I didn’t come to wriggle out of anything. I came to have a rational conversation. But obviously this isn’t a good time.” She took a step toward the door. He didn’t move. She blew out an impatient breath. “If you don’t get out of my way I can’t get out of your hair.”
“I can offer more than conversation.”
A mingling of anger and longing sapped the strength from her knees. Had she considered him funny at one time? Try hateful. She sneaked a step to the left and sagged against the counter. Not one of her better ideas, coming here at this hour. Though she wouldn’t admit to it now, she actually had hoped to talk Joe into letting her leave. Now all she wanted to do was scuttle back to her room and lock herself in.
“If you mean coffee,” she managed, “I’m in. Anything else and you’re out of your mind.” Like me.
He grunted, but that was all the reaction she got. His breathing remained steady—unlike hers. She let her hands slap back against her sides.
“Are we really going to just stand here in the dark?”
“I like the dark. It hides a multitude of sins.” When she didn’t—couldn’t—respond, he laughed softly. “Follow me.”
He paused beside her, and ran his fingers down her arm to her wrist, the heat of his touch suggesting an erotic promise she almost wished he could keep. He tugged lightly. She let him lead her out of the kitchen and down the hallway, past a tiny bathroom to the seating area she’d caught a glimpse of before. He let go of her wrist and pressed a palm to her back, encouraging her to cross the threshold.
A rickety-looking card table sat in front of a pair of windows overlooking the field behind the motel. On top of the table sat a bronzed, bottom-heavy lamp, which shed its light on a thick book of crosswords, a mason jar full of pencils, a clear glass tumbler and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. A cold, crawling bleakness filled her belly. She wandered into the center of the room then slowly turned. He watched her, his mouth forming an arrogant slant, his navy eyes glazed with a falseness she’d learned to despise a year ago.
“You’ve been drinking.” Inwardly she winced at the accusation in her voice. None of your business. Not anymore. Still, she couldn’t help mourning the day-old hope that just that moment unwound itself from around her heart and slunk away. She took a breath and added quietly, “I thought you’d given it up.”
“I gave up getting drunk. Drinking? Not so much.”
She jerked her chin at the bottle of Glenlivet. “This is what you meant when you said you weren’t alone.”
He shrugged. “I’m guessing I don’t need to hunt up a second glass.”
A mewling sound. They both looked down in time to see the kitten launch herself at Joe’s leg. He bent and plucked her free of his sweatpants, cradled her in his arms and scratched her belly. A soft, satisfied rumbling filled the room.
Allison swallowed, but the ache in her throat refused to recede. An overwhelming sadness crowded her chest, pressing painfully against her heart, and she shook her head.
“I can’t do this again. I won’t do this again.”
“If you’re talking about renovating it’s obvious you’ve never done it before.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” She strode back to the doorway but Joe stayed put. Why hadn’t she realized the moment he’d opened the door? The moment he’d spoken? She could have left then, instead of finding herself in the position of having to bluff her way past him.
“Excuse me,” she said briskly. “I have to pack.”
“You leave, I stay.”
Damn him. “You gave your word.”
“So did you.”
“When I thought you were sober.”
“Does it matter? We made no stipulations.”
“We did, actually. Something about keeping your hands to yourself?”
He took his time looking her over, from her flip-flops to her brand-new jeans to the baby doll pajama top she hadn’t bothered exchanging for a shirt. His gaze seemed to settle on her shoulders, and she found herself wishing stupidly that she’d taken the time to brush her hair. She was worse than pathetic.
“Just so we’re clear,” he drawled, “the same doesn’t apply to you.”
Despite herself, despite...everything...a heated thrill of remembered pleasure zinged straight from her heart to her belly. Stop that. She struggled to focus on all the long-ago nights she’d been desperate to touch him, to lose herself in his caresses, but instead had lain frozen and aching on her side of the bed. Why? Because he’d been too drunk to realize she was there, let alone to make love to her.
Did he really think it would be that easy? Did he think it was even an option?
You’ve thought about it, too. She had. Of course she had. At one time they’d been good together. Very good. And as different as he’d seemed to be...
Now she knew that only his appearance had changed. And that he’d found a new hobby. Everything else that counted had stayed the same.
“Is this part of the plan? Seduce the woman who plotted against you? Make her fall for you all over again so she’ll beg you to let her stay? Then of course you’ll respond with, ‘Sorry, my sweet. Offer expired. Let me get the door.’” She tipped her head. “I can see the poetic justice.”
“Nice touch, that thing with the door.” He leaned over and released the cat onto the sofa. When he straightened, brushing the orange hairs from his T-shirt, his expression had loosened. “No plan. Just fond memories. I miss the look of stunned bliss on your face when you come.”
She sucked in a breath. “Damn you and damn that bottle, Joe Gallahan. What you miss is your old life. You’re just too proud to admit it.”
“I am not drunk. I’ve been drinking, yeah, but it takes more than a few swallows of hooch to knock me on my ass. And you’re wrong, slick. I sure as hell don’t miss my old life. Right now? I’m missing my beauty sleep. So unless you want to join me...”
“Haven’t we punished each other enough?”
“Hardly.” He yawned, then scrubbed a hand over his hair and headed toward his bedroom. “Lock the door behind you. Don’t forget we start at seven tomorrow.”
“This is ridiculous,” she said to his back. “There’s no reasoning with you.”
“Yet you persist.”
Because that’s what idiots do. She sighed. “Why is it so important for me to stay?”
At the door to his bedroom he turned. “Because I can make you. I may not wear a suit anymore, but I still like to call the shots.” He bared his teeth. “Almost as much as I like to drink ’em.”
* * *
JOE LAY ON his back, one hand cupped around the kitten sprawled on his chest, the other pressed to his head. The cat was snoring, every fur-coated rumble like a buzz saw ripping through Joe’s brain. How the hell could something so small create such a massive sound? And why hadn’t that handful of pills kicked in yet?
Gingerly he raised his head high enough to aim a one-eyed squint at the clock. Almost time to roll. Yeehaw. He lowered his head again, and groaned when it connected with his hard-ass pillow. If he weren’t expecting Allison he’d stay in bed, at least until he could blink without sending pain shooting through his skull.
Then again, if he weren’t expecting Allison he wouldn’t have polished off that bottle of whiskey last night.
Two weeks. Damn. He’d better stock up.
He closed his eyes, pictured her in her borrowed getup and shifted on the bed. Who knew a determined woman sweating through an oversize pair of coveralls could be such a turn-on? Too bad she’d never let him anywhere near that zipper. He let loose an aching moan.
And then, of course, there was the outfit she’d showed up in last night. Tight jeans and some silky, floaty, barely there top with short sleeves. Pale pink, like the polish on her naked toes. When they’d stood in the cool darkness of the kitchen, where he could hear the excited hitch in her breathing, and smell the familiar spicy peach scent she’d stroked across her skin, all he’d wanted to do was strip her, push her against the wall and lick every inch.
But he hadn’t wanted her to smell the booze on him. Because he’d known she’d react...well, exactly how she had reacted. Which was why he’d led her to the living room after all. Where she could see for herself what he’d been up to.
As often as he’d fantasized about taking a horizontal trip or two down memory lane the last couple of days, he knew it would never happen. Allison Kincaid had never been the type for casual encounters. And shame on him, anyway, for lusting after a woman he didn’t trust any more than he trusted Vince Tackett.
What he should have done was get up early this morning and hit the treadmill. An hour-long run would have helped take the starch out of his libido.
Who you kidding, asshole? He’d had to practically crawl to the bathroom to get the ibuprofen.
He exhaled, deposited the kitten on the bed beside him and pushed himself up. The pounding in his head didn’t get any kinder, but at least he no longer felt the need to hurl.
I don’t want to be here. Haven’t we punished each other enough?
So much for a truce. Not that either of them had really wanted it in the first place. Damn it, why’d she have to go all judgmental on him? It was no surprise she hadn’t appreciated his comment about calling the shots. But he deserved some payback of his own and he was going to get it.
He sure as hell wasn’t going to get anything else.
He stroked a palm down the length of his hard-on, his groin somehow managing to out-throb his head. He imagined Allison sinking to her knees in front of him, licking her lips and humming deep in her throat....
He called himself one of the names he’d considered for the cat, peeled off his boxers and staggered to the shower, desperate for the temporary relief of a hot water massage and a personal hand job.
He was showered and dressed and considering a little hair of the dog when the buzzer sounded. Allison called out then appeared in the doorway wearing jeans and a bright green top, the grimy coveralls over one arm, her pale blond hair neatly gathered in a plastic clip. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her ivory cheeks still flushed with sleep, and it was all he could do not to flash back to the rare mornings they’d awakened in the same bed, him reaching out, her instantly arching, pressing close and hot against him—
Judas Priest. How the hell could he still want her, after everything she’d done and who she’d become? He angled away from her. Busied himself pulling mugs out of a cupboard.
“You stayed,” he said curtly.
“You didn’t give me a choice.” She looked around, probably for the kitten, and draped the coveralls over the back of the nearest chair. “Are you feeling as miserable as you look?”
“Just about.”
“Good.”
He banged the mugs down onto the countertop, then flinched.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, with just the tiniest trace of smugness. “I know there are...things we don’t like about each other. Things we both did that we’re finding hard to get past. Simply put, if we have any hope of getting this job done, we have to overlook these things—all of them. For now.”
“You mean, so Tackett can have his way.”
“So we can all move on.”
“To D.C. Where I get to be Tackett’s lackey. Got any pointers for me, Kincaid?”
Her lips went tight and she shook her head. “Got any coffee for me, Gallahan?”
It was like they were playing Go Fish. He set his jaw and slid a mug across the counter, hiding a wince at the loud scraping sound. “Help yourself.” He watched her, wondered what she’d do if he offered her a little Irish to go with her brew. As she hefted the pot, her gaze veered to his yolk-smeared plate in the sink and he closed his throat against an instinctive invite. She already had him by the short hairs. Damned if he’d offer up his balls, too.
And anyway, he didn’t have any eggs left, though where the hell they went, he had no idea. The loaf of bread seemed shorter, too. He hadn’t had that much to drink. Maybe he’d started sleep-eating? Wouldn’t be much of a stretch, considering what he’d dealt with over the past few days.
“Thanks for the coffee,” she murmured.
“Bring it with you.” He grabbed his own mug and headed for the door. But she didn’t move, didn’t even seem to hear him, her attention focused on the microwave he kept on top of the chest-high refrigerator. The kitten bounced into the room and was headed for the food dish when Allison suddenly reached out and stabbed a button on the appliance. The high-pitched ping startled the cat. Tiny claws scratched feverishly over the linoleum as the kitten scurried out of the room.
All Allison had done was zero out the remaining seconds on the display, but she was smiling as if she’d set the thing to detonate the next time he used it.
An hour later they had the carpet in #5 rolled up to within four feet of the far wall. They knelt in opposite corners, each working a hammer into the space between the carpet and the tack strip. As awkwardly as Allison handled her tools, she worked faster than he did. It was the damned hangover.
And his tendency to stop every minute or so and look over at her.
She’d shocked the hell out of him when he’d ordered her to wrestle a carpet lined with decades of grime and she hadn’t told him to go screw himself—because she sure had every reason to. She was used to wining and dining clients in high-end restaurants, facilitating million-dollar contracts and shopping for PR party duds at cutesy designer boutiques in Old Town. Yet here she was, wearing ill-fitting, stain-resistant cotton and big-ass boots, helping him renovate a country motel without giving him anywhere near the grief he deserved.
Which would be more impressive if it weren’t so obvious that the job—the money—meant everything to her. And he was dying to know why. What was the something she needed so desperately? Or was it a someone?
He shifted, relieving the pressure on his knees. How many times did he have to tell himself—?
Suddenly a wolf spider with a body the size of a goddamned golf ball popped out from under the carpet. Joe yelled and fell back on his ass. He stared at the spider as it scuttled toward the door, then over at Allison, whose eyes were rounder than the fried eggs he’d forced himself to eat for breakfast.
He started to laugh, and she started to laugh, and at the sight of her dirt-smudged face lit with unrestrained humor, the late morning sun gilding her hair and gleaming on her pale skin, he realized that he had screwed himself. Big time.
Because at that precise moment, what he wanted most in the world was the freedom to pull her into his arms, kiss her breathless, inhale her sweetness and absorb her heat. And that freedom was the last thing she’d ever grant him.
He jerked to his feet. “I have paperwork. We can finish this later.” He motioned with his chin at the nearest wall. “Next step is tearing down the paneling. Feel up to tackling that yourself?”
She rose more slowly, her face adopting the polite and professional mask she’d always worn for T&P clients. She nodded. “My trusty hammer and I won’t let you down.”
“Don’t forget your goggles,” he said, and got the hell out of there.
* * *
HE HOVERED AT the edge of the tree line, his gaze sharp on the open window. Surprisingly the meathead who’d convinced himself he could run a motel had had the sense to ventilate the room while painting it. Kind of a shame, really. ’Cause with all those fumes trapped in that tiny space, one flicker of flame was all it would take to burn the whole place down.
Whoosh. And a hellish history would be...history.
He shivered, glad that despite the bright morning sun he was wearing his hoodie. Not that he had much choice. If he had to make a run for it he’d just as soon nobody got a good look at him. An inhale rewarded him with a whiff of the lake—seaweed roasting on summer rocks. An answering ache in his stomach. He distracted himself by concentrating on the task at hand.
Pay attention.
Meathead must have finished painting because he’d moved on to the next room—and he had a partner now. Pulling up carpet—how much help could that skinny blonde be? Didn’t matter. What did matter was that his chances of being caught had just doubled. Uneasiness sparked at the base of his spine. He worked up a mouthful of saliva and spit.
He’d come too far, waited too long to back out now.
Keeping his eyes on that fifth window, he loped toward the only door on the back side of the building. Locked, of course. Meathead was smarter than he looked. But not smart enough to install a keycard lock, like the ones on the guest room doors. With the help of a torque wrench and a paperclip, he was in.
He carefully closed the door behind him, shoved back the hood of his sweatshirt and looked around. Three times, now, he’d broken into this dump. Still, he took a moment to bask in his accomplishment, to enjoy his triumph over the new owner and his cheap-ass locks.
At least, that’s what he let himself believe. The real reason for his hesitation was too complicated—too painful—to think about.
At the end of a long, narrow counter was a once-white stove, now yellowed with age, pushed into the corner. On the other side of a faded strip of linoleum crouched an undersize refrigerator. Beside it stood a small sink and a square of countertop big enough to support all four feet of a stainless steel toaster, the gleaming mass of which mocked the rest of the kitchen.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and curled his fingers into his palms, fighting the desperate need to bash, to bellow, to burn the whole godforsaken pile down to the goddamned ground. One shaking hand went to the pouch at his belly, pressed against the slim bulk of the lighter he kept there.
Not yet. He didn’t understand why, but he just knew he had to wait.
He opened his eyes, inhaled, yanked open the refrigerator door. Milk, cheese, apples, salad stuff. And the ever-present beer. He rubbed at the sudden tightness in the center of his chest.
The dude needed to shop. And he’d eaten the rest of the eggs, damn him. But he still had potatoes. And ketchup.
His belly let loose a pleading gurgle as he contemplated hash browns and toast. But he couldn’t risk taking the time to cook again, let alone wash up. With a grunt he grabbed an apple and hit the cabinets next. Not much he could take that wouldn’t be missed. Finally he eyed the loaf of whole wheat bread on the counter and sighed. Peanut butter and jelly it would have to be. Again.
He was drying the knife he’d used when the buzzer in the hallway sounded. Shit. Luckily the pocket doors were closed, but he should have thought to check them before.
Someone mumbling. It was Meathead. And he sounded pissed.
Soundlessly he set the knife on the counter, wrapped a paper towel around his sandwich and backed quietly down the hall and into the bathroom. He wedged himself into the narrow space behind the door, the backs of his legs mashed up against the toilet. Meathead would definitely see him if he poked his head in—or if he had to use the john.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
A muted rumble as the pocket doors slid along the track. Footsteps pounded on the linoleum. A frustrated sigh, the slam of a cabinet door, the soft rush of water as Meathead held a glass under the faucet.
The thick smell of peanut butter rose up around him, and his belly begged loudly for a bite. He held his breath. A clack as the water glass was put on the counter, more muttering, then footsteps coming closer, and closer.
Even as he fought to hold his breath, to keep quiet, the memories crowded in. Ugly, aching, relentless snatches of the past. Sweat dribbled from his scalp and into his ear. A rushing sound, punctuated by the echoing thud of his heart. He pressed his left fist to his mouth while the fingers of his right hand curled into the sandwich. If Meathead found him, he wouldn’t get another chance. He’d have to run, lay low and wait a hell of a long while before coming back.
A soft sound, near the floor. His stomach went into free fall. He looked down and saw a little orange tabby looking back up at him and almost pissed himself as his muscles loosened. The dude had a cat? Since when?

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