A Regular Joe: A Regular Joe / Mr. Right Under Her Nose
Carol Finch
Jennifer Drew
A Regular Joe by Carol Finch Mr. Ordinary, he's not!CEO Daniel Grayson wanted to escape his frustrating corporate world. So he assumed a fake identity to go mingle with the masses. When store manager Mattie Roland hired Joe Gray, he seemed a godsend. And, against company policy, she was soon shamelessly exchanging kisses with her handsome new hire. Until the day she found out that he was no regular Joe….Mr. Right Under Her Nose by Jennifer Drew Reconfiguring Mr. WrongOne minute, Kim Grant was stuffing spilled lingerie into her busted suitcase. The next, her fingers connected with steel–under silk–as white knight Rick Taylor helped her to save face. Her rescuer was sexy, intelligent…and stood between her and the sole rental car she needed to get home. So, before long, Kim found herself on a crosscountry adventure with a man who had all the makings of Mr. Right–except that he was dead-set against marriage….
Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!
Duets Vol. #45
Popular Carol Finch always “presents her fans with rollicking wild adventures…memorable characters and fun from beginning to end,” says Romantic Times Magazine. Joining her this month is mother-and-daughter writing team Jennifer Drew with a delightful spin-off to their first Duets title, Taming Luke.
Duets Vol. #46
The West will never be the same after Debbi Rawlins serves up her first dynamite Double Duets. Affaire de Coeur says “Rawlins’s books are jammed packed with witty dialogue, crazy situations, excellent characters and a lot of laughs!” Enjoy!
Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!
A Regular Joe
Carol Finch
Mr. Right Under Her Nose
Jennifer Drew
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
A Regular Joe (#u35961063-e038-5f75-b2d2-f51687938896)
Chapter 1 (#uf987ce84-e6e8-5d93-b1b6-af1e18673f53)
Chapter 2 (#ub55a593a-6b15-5c5f-8879-df5e86519a4f)
Chapter 3 (#u8bf1413b-d78f-5432-8646-c6148e4b1d8e)
Chapter 4 (#u55a2de41-dbe0-576c-bb81-1c01d2dc5b18)
Chapter 5 (#ua4efcf9b-be4f-5a8d-b8d2-11e8ae77d34a)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Mr. Right Under Her Nose (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 2 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
A Regular Joe
Carol Finch
Man oh man, what a perfect day this was turning out to be!
Mattie Rowland had happened onto an employee who shared her love of art and woodcraft, and whose masculine, dynamic presence put a quick-charge on her feminine battery….
Mattie’s thoughts skidded to an abrupt halt. Good heavens, what was she thinking? Joe Gray, as attractive and appealing to the eye as he was, was off-limits. She was his employer and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, jeopardize their working relationship.
No, the head honcho, who sat on his duff on his velvet throne at corporate headquarters, would undoubtedly frown on a personal relationship developing between his store manager and an employee.
“Strictly business, and you’d better not forget that,” Mattie told herself. It didn’t matter that she was mesmerized by Joe’s whiskey-colored eyes and dark hair. It didn’t matter that she was thirty years old, and her biological clock was ticking loudly. She was his boss and he was her hired assistant and never the twain shall meet, as the saying goes.
Who ever made up that dumb saying, anyway?
Dear Reader,
One of my favorite old movies, Teacher’s Pet, starring Clark Gable and Doris Day, inspired me to create a hero who masquerades as someone he’s not. Combine that potentially explosive ingredient with a lively, trusting heroine who takes truth, honesty and honor very seriously and you have a recipe for trouble. No matter what pretty name, or justifiable reason, you attach to deception, it is what it is and, inevitably, it returns to haunt you—usually in the worst way, at the worst of all possible moments.
Just ask Daniel Grayson, the hero of A Regular Joe. Too late, he realizes he’s on a collision course with self-imposed disaster and that he’s head over heels in love with Mattie Roland, the bubbly, unique female he thoroughly deceived. If Mattie discovers the truth, the fur will fly—most of it Daniel’s, no doubt. Since Daniel lied about his identity, how can he convince Mattie that he speaks the truth when he says he loves her? Like she’ll believe that, coming from his lying lips!
The moral of this story? The lies you tell are gonna get you if you don’t watch out! And so, dear readers, the charade begins…
Enjoy!
Carol Finch
Books by Carol Finch
SILHOUETTE SPECIAL EDITION
1242—NOT JUST ANOTHER COWBOY
1320—SOUL MATES
This book is dedicated to my husband, Ed, and our children, Kurt, Jill, Christie, Jon and Jeff, with much love. And to our grandchildren, Blake, Kennedy and Brooklynn. Hugs and kisses!
A special thanks to my editor, Karen Kosztolnyik, and my agent, Laurie Feigenbaum.
It is a privilege to be working with you!
1
DANIEL JOSEPH GRAYSON, co-founder and CEO of Hobby Hut Enterprises, was running away from home. He wished he’d done it a year ago, because this hiatus was long overdue.
Daniel was desperate to regain his enthusiasm for the family-owned business. He needed to get back in touch with himself, because sitting in his plush executive office, surrounded by yes-men and -women, constantly staring at profit-loss spreadsheets, was distorting his perception of life. Hobby Hut’s version of Stepford wives—those nauseatingly agreeable robots whose sole purpose was to protect their high-dollar salaries and prestigious positions—were driving him absolutely nuts!
No longer could Daniel bounce ideas off his junior executives or expect constructive and innovative input, because he couldn’t trust their hidden motives. A year ago, when his grandfather officially retired, things rapidly deteriorated. J. D. Grayson was the only person Daniel could depend on to tell him the truth, and now the old man was spending his golden years in leisurely pursuits.
Therefore, Daniel decided to leave his executives holding the bag, forcing them to earn their exorbitant wages. He was hotfooting it out of Oklahoma City—without leaving a forwarding address. For one month Daniel was going to become a regular Joe and hope like hell that the working stiffs in this world were nothing like corporate society with its patronized schmoozing—along with a little treacherous backstabbing thrown in for good measure. Daniel craved a breath of fresh country air, longed to shed the cloak of executive privilege, and dodge the entourage of glossy females who saw him as a blue-chip bachelor.
Hell’s jingling bells! He wasn’t sure if he was liked for himself these days, or if his power, wealth and influence formed the world’s perception of him. There was only one way to find out, Daniel mused. When he became your everyday average regular Joe Schmo he would discover how many true friends he could acquire.
Daniel steered the clunker truck that he’d borrowed from his grandfather off the interstate and cruised down the two-lane road toward Fox Hollow. The town was situated in a valley, surrounded by timbered hills and clear blue streams. The community was only a hop, skip and jump away from a scenic lake.
The quaint, off-the-beaten-path hamlet was just what the doctor ordered, he thought to himself. This area of the state catered to hunters, fishermen, lake-goers and retirees. This was the perfect getaway for a cynical, jaded executive—namely him—who needed to get back in touch with the simple pleasures in life.
Feeling his tension and frustration ebb, Daniel cruised his bucket-of-rust truck from one end of Main Street to the other. It took three minutes—less if he hadn’t stopped for the white-haired old woman who jaywalked in front of him. There was one stoplight, dozens of parking spaces without meters, and several wooden barrels—belching riotous collections of flowers—sitting in front of each business establishment. A hardware store, with a sign that read If We Don’t Have What You Need We Can Special Order It, sat on one corner. A floral shop, antique store, tractor-mechanic shop, mom-and-pop grocery, hole-in-the-wall café, tag agency and furniture store lined the street. There were no traffic jams in which road-raging motorists shouted at one another and saluted with their middle fingers. Daniel didn’t hear the screech of brakes or blast of horns. What he heard was the sound of peace and quiet, the warble of birds and local citizens greeting one another as they passed friends and acquaintances on the sidewalk.
Ah, so this was what life was like in the real world. He’d almost forgotten. Daniel glanced down to check the time, then remembered he had stuffed his Rolex into the corporate safe. It was his intention to blend into the scenery and keep a low profile. He’d just as soon no one knew he could afford more than these casual clothes and clunker truck.
Looking west, Daniel spotted the local Hobby Hut. The doors should be opening soon, and he wanted to be first in line to apply for a job. He had selected this specific town for his hiatus for two reasons. Number one—it was only forty-five minutes from his office in the city. And two—this store manager’s sales reports were impressive. Mattie Roland was doing more business in this little town than other Hobby Huts were doing in major cities in a five-state area.
Determined to acquire a job at his own store, Daniel hiked down the street, amazed that strangers nodded and greeted him as if he were a long-lost friend. He felt welcome immediately, and he hadn’t been here more than ten minutes.
Daniel pulled up short and stared in amazement at the window displays at Hobby Hut. They were divided into four sections—nautical, folk art, colonial and Americana. Original and print reproductions of landscape and still-life paintings, accentuated by Hobby Hut frames, were bookended by hand-painted curio and knickknack shelves that boasted figurines and collectibles. Small console tables, deacon’s benches and storage chests had been painted to match the theme of each display. Daniel stood there for several minutes, absorbing the ambiance, admiring the artwork and cleverly arranged displays. No wonder Mattie Roland was one of the top managers in the company. Her displays practically reached out and grabbed you off the street and lured you into her store.
The words inspiring and imaginative came quickly to mind. These examples of decor made you want to give your home a makeover, to fill each cubbyhole, niche and wall with these intriguing combinations of art, woodcrafting and antiques that created a homey, welcoming appearance.
Finding the door unlocked, Daniel entered, hearing the tinkling sound of delicate chimes that announced his arrival.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” came a sultry female voice from somewhere in the near distance. “Browse to your heart’s content.”
Daniel blinked, startled. Who was minding the store? A dozen expensive items could be shoplifted before the manager emerged from the back room. Maybe Mattie Roland wasn’t Employee of the Year after all.
While Daniel surveyed the items on the aisles the white-haired woman who’d jaywalked in front of his rattletrap truck waddled inside. She nodded cordially to him, then stared toward the workroom in the back of the store.
“Mattie? How’s my project coming along? You about finished, hon? My son and grandchildren are coming tomorrow, ya know. I want to have my shelves and family pictures hung before they arrive.”
“Not to worry, Alice,” said the disembodied voice. “I’m putting the finishing touches on your shelves right now. Come on back and have a look-see.”
Daniel was surprised the hunch-shouldered senior citizen could move so fast. She scurried off in her orthopedic shoes, her cotton dress swishing around her as she went.
While Alice and Mattie did their thing in the workroom, Daniel circumnavigated the store, marveling at several other eye-catching displays of woodcrafts, ceramics and unusual antiques. Mattie Roland was obviously a whiz when it came to interior decorating. Daniel never would have thought to assemble these particular items and arrange them as she had, but the effect was extraordinary. The woman definitely had a gift!
Daniel’s brain short-circuited when he glanced over his shoulder to see a petite but voluptuous female, dressed in paint-splattered jeans and T-shirt, walking toward him. There was a smudge of Lucky Shamrock Green on the tip of her nose and a streak of Longjohn Red on her elbow. Her raven-colored ponytail was slightly off center, but amethyst-colored eyes, rimmed with incredibly long lashes, dominated her pixielike face. Mattie Roland was five feet four inches, one hundred fifteen pounds—give or take—of arresting female who reminded him of an enchanting leprechaun.
Mesmerized, Daniel stood there like a tongue-tied doofus. This vivacious young woman was Mattie Roland? Employee of the Year?
“Hi,” Mattie greeted cheerily. “Is there something I can help you find in Hobby Hut?”
The sizzling jolt of awareness caused his tongue to stick to the roof of his mouth. He, who spent the past several years with prima donnas latched to his arms like English ivy, had suddenly encountered the girl-next-door variety of female. Mattie wasn’t what Daniel was accustomed to, but he definitely approved of the look of her.
Daniel was excessively pleased that he’d selected Fox Hollow for his hiatus. And speaking of fox, Mattie Roland was definitely that, in his opinion. She appealed to everything male in him. She had that wholesome, vital appearance that he much preferred over the bottled variety and surgically implanted artificial beauty women relied on to enhance their facial features and figures. The indifference he’d been experiencing with his shallow, glamorous companions of late took a flying leap when Mattie, with an energetic spring in her walk, strode up to him and blessed him with a two-hundred-watt smile.
“Sir?” she prompted when he continued to stand there, absorbing the refreshing sight of her. “Are you looking for a gift for your wife or girlfriend? Need supplies for a woodcrafting project?”
“No wife, no girlfriend,” he said when his vocal apparatus began to function. “I’m looking for a job.”
“Really?” She seemed startled. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I just arrived in town, and I’m looking for work,” he lied convincingly. Then he inwardly winced when he realized he was no better than his yes-executives who would lie through their smiles if it would get them onto a higher rung on the corporate ladder.
“I’m surprised you came in here,” she said, as she absently reached over to rearrange a porcelain figurine that wasn’t perfectly aligned on the shelf.
“Why?” He wanted to know.
“Most men in town consider this a sissified store where their wives and girlfriends shop. Most of my customers are women.”
“Other men think woodcrafting is sissy stuff?” he asked, affronted. “That is beyond ridiculous. Table saws, miter saws, and nail guns are not for the faint of heart. You could lose a finger if you accidentally cut skin and bone rather than wood. I spent my teenage years in a workshop, creating shelving, tables and cabinets. Sissy stuff?” He snorted in objection. “No, I don’t think so!”
Her bubbling laughter filled the space between them. Her violet eyes danced with amusement, and Daniel blushed, realizing this was the first time in a year that he’d expressed much sentiment on any subject. Mattie probably thought he was wacko because he had such strong feelings about woodcraft—the same kind of passion that he and his grandfather experienced while they labored on their craft projects in the old days.
“Obviously you have experience and a love for woodcrafting,” she said, chuckling. “I share and appreciate your enthusiasm. And you probably won’t believe this, but I just received a fax from the corporate office an hour ago, indicating that I should hire an assistant.”
Of course he believed it. Daniel had sent that fax from his office immediately before he headed south to Fox Hollow. He was here to fill the position he had created.
“As it happens,” she was saying when he tuned back in, “I’ve been swamped, and my only other employee is a high school art student who helps out after class and on Saturdays. I have so many special projects going that I can’t keep up, even though I’ve been working double days.”
She pivoted on her heels, allowing Daniel an alluring view of her inverted heart-shaped derriere wrapped in faded denim. “Come back to my office and fill out the application.”
He followed the enticing sway of her hips like a kitten on the trail of fresh cream. The past few years Daniel had begun to think his sex drive had withered away. However, one look at Mattie Roland’s hourglass figure and infectious smile and his male body woke up and was ready to party on. It had been a long time since Daniel felt such a spontaneous attraction.
He really shouldn’t have been surprised Mattie affected him instantaneously, he told himself as he followed his fantasy version of the Pied Piper. Mattie was real people. She was warm, outgoing, friendly and seemingly content with life. She was obviously doing what she loved and loved what she was doing. Daniel envied that about her.
Enthusiasm personified, he realized. That’s what she was. Mattie was exactly what he needed—someone who cared as deeply for his business as he once had. He could use an injection of her spirit and zest. He needed to bottle her up so he could take daily doses to counteract the mounting frustration he had been experiencing in his corporate office.
“Here you go,” she said, handing him the application. “Park yourself at my desk and fill this out. This is just red tape sent down by Double H at Double H.”
“Double H?” he questioned curiously.
“The head honcho at Hobby Hut,” Mattie informed him. “Ask me, the man requires entirely too much paperwork, which prohibits a manager from going one-on-one with customers. But you know how those highbrow executives are. They don’t trust us little guys and gals to manage business properly, especially way down here in the boondocks. Probably think that we small-town folks only operate with half a brain.” She shrugged, and her dark ponytail rippled over her shoulder. “But the big boss in corporateland didn’t ask my opinion, even if I’m the one out here in the trenches selling his products.”
Daniel inwardly cringed when she confided her complaints about the head honcho. If Mattie knew she was talking to the CEO of Hobby Hut, she’d be thoroughly embarrassed.
“So, do you dislike all company executives on general principle or just this big boss in particular?” he asked as he plunked down in her chair at the desk.
“I had a personal run-in with a hotshot executive before I landed this job,” she explained. “He seemed to think it was my company duty to offer him fringe benefits and that he was doing me a tremendous favor by suggesting that I join his corporate harem. He also thought who he was should impress me enormously, which it didn’t. I quit and applied for this position.
“I strongly dislike the type of executive who uses his power and position to get what he wants. Although I don’t know Double H personally, I suspect he possesses the same character flaws.” Mattie relocated a stack of papers to give him the needed space on the desktop so he could fill out the application. “I bet I can peg Double H,” she declared. “High-dollar Rolex on his wrist to match the expensive rings on his fingers. BMW sitting in his personal parking space that no one else is allowed to use under penalty of death. Glitzy cover-model types of females on his arm. A different glamour goddess for each day of the week, no doubt. Carries a state-of-the art cell phone, dresses in the best clothes his money can buy, and surrounds himself with every power and prestige symbol known to mankind to impress the rest of us peons.”
Daniel inwardly grimaced. So far, Mattie had been right on target. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the rest of her speculations.
“Double H’s interest, I suspect, is the enterprise’s bottom line of dollars and cents. He probably doesn’t give a rip if customers are getting their money’s worth, only that the profit margin pads his pocket. And his sales policy,” she added with a snort. “His so-called big sales are his way of getting rid of stuff no one wants. I’d like to see a sale on expensive items that customers on fixed incomes can purchase, instead of stare at whimsically.”
Head downcast, Daniel filled in the blanks on the application, while listening to Mattie comment on company policy.
From behind him, Mattie glanced over his shoulder. “Joe Gray, is it? Nice to meet you. I’m Mattie Roland, your new employer.”
He lifted his head. “You’re pretty trusting. I haven’t even filled in the blank about whether or not I have a criminal record.”
“You don’t,” she said with great confidence. “You aren’t the type.”
“You know several criminals personally, do you?”
She laughed, and the sound whispered through him like a breath of spring air. God, she was good for him—all that vibrant spirit and enthusiasm. Not to mention the arousing effect she had on him when she was close enough for him to pick up her enticing scent.
“The small-time criminals I deal with in Hobby Hut are easy to spot. In your case, the way you dress, the way you speak, and your passion for working with your hands comes through loud and clear. I think you’re just what this store needs. It’s time some of the Neanderthal males in Fox Hollow realized that art, woodcraft and interior decor are not sissy stuff. Having you mind the shop will put them at ease—once they get used to the idea,” she tacked on, then took another peek at his application.
“Thirty-five years old. Last permanent address in Oklahoma City. Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “Got tired of the hustle and bustle, did you? I presume you like to hunt, fish, and get in touch with nature. You’ll like it here in Fox Hollow. I also expect the eligible females hereabout will be on your trail once they’ve spotted you.”
Daniel—or rather, Joe Gray—glanced over his shoulder to see Mattie grinning impishly. “You think I’m a babe magnet? Me? In my faded polo shirt that’s been through too many spin cycles in the washing machine, and these old jeans?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Clothes don’t make the man. It’s what’s inside, but yeah, I’d have to place you in the babe magnet category, Joe. You’re tall, handsome, and those amber eyes of yours are gorgeous. They remind me of sunrise and sunset all rolled into one. But not to worry, you won’t get the slightest pressure from me. I’m your employer, and we’ll be friends who share mutual interests.”
He was disappointed to hear that, he really was.
“If you need background information on prospective dates, I’ll be happy to fill you in, since I’ve lived here most of my life.”
They were going to be just pals? Damn, his suddenly rowdy male body didn’t like the sound of that one little bit. After a long dormancy, his masculine engine was revving up, only to be shut down by this spunky, spirited little pixie who had captured his interest without trying. Maybe that was what he deserved for being lukewarm toward those cover-model types who fluttered around him because of his wealth and reasonably good looks.
Having completed his application—falsified though it was, and his conscience was nipping at him for that—Joe handed her the paper. He watched as she perched a shapely hip on the edge of her desk to scan the information.
“You left your current residence blank,” she noted. “Where do you plan to live, Joe?”
He shrugged. “I noticed that Hush-a-Bye Inn on the outskirts of town rents rooms by the week. I can store my stuff there while I’m looking for something else.”
“Or you could move into the furnished garage apartment where I used to live,” she suggested. “Now that my grandfather has moved into Paradise Valley Convalescent Home I’ve taken over his house. At Pops’s insistence, I might add. He wouldn’t be in the nursing home if his arthritis and diabetes hadn’t flared up on him.”
“Judging by the sound of your voice, I presume Pops isn’t enthused about the assisted living center.”
“Hardly.” Mattie bounded to her feet and paced the narrow confines of her office.
He noticed that standing or sitting in one place wasn’t Mattie’s thing. She had so much energy that she needed to be in constant motion.
“Pops is a lot like me, I’m afraid,” she confided. “He has to be doing something constantly, and inactivity has never agreed with him. Lately, he’s been giving me fits because he keeps escaping from the home at odd hours, putting the doctors and nurses into one tizzy after another, because his ability to escape reflects on their reputations. They don’t like to keep losing him, and he delights in sneaking off.”
Joe chuckled in amusement. Pops reminded him of his own grandfather. One year ago, J. D. Grayson announced he was leaving the company to take life easy. Since then, J.D. had taken an Alaskan and Caribbean cruise, offered his supervisory services for two Habitat for Humanity projects, and volunteered as director of activities for the nearby senior citizen center.
“Mattie!”
Mattie gestured for Joe to follow her. “You might as well take a tour of the work area while I wrap it up with Alice Dawson. Part of your job involves handling tools for special projects.”
Curious, Joe followed in Mattie’s wake, his gaze still magnetically drawn to the hypnotic sway of shapely hips wrapped in denim that molded to her fanny like gloves. Damn, there was such an intriguing aura about this woman, he marveled. An hour ago, he’d felt tense and frustrated. Then, poof! It was as if he’d been transported into another dimension in time with this delightful pixie as his tour guide.
Joe skidded to a halt the instant he entered the workroom. His eyes popped as he panned the area that reminded him so much of the workshop where he and J.D. had designed crafts almost two decades earlier. It was where Joe had spent his spare time, working with his hands, dealing with the frustration of his parents’ abandonment, then the loss of his grandmother. Together he and J.D. had poured their grief and disappointment into creative projects that somehow turned into an enormously lucrative business.
“Does all this equipment belong to you?” Joe croaked. It had to, because he knew perfectly well that the work space at Hobby Hut Enterprises did not come equipped with state-of-the-art power tools like these!
Mattie glanced up from her consultation with Alice Dawson, then nodded. “Most of the tools are mine. Some of them were donated by my grandfather. He used to help me until his arthritis hampered him.”
Amazed, Joe surveyed the various and sundry of saws, drills, sanders and clamps that Mattie had at her disposal. A woman who shared his love of working with his hands? A woman who felt as at home in a workshop as he did? This woman was every woodcrafter’s dream come true. Joe couldn’t believe his luck. Working here would be the therapy he needed.
An amused smile pursed Mattie’s lips as she watched him inspect one tool after another. “You look surprised, Joe. But then, it’s not the first time I’ve gotten that reaction from men. Although I have a degree in art, my minor is woodcrafting and carpentry.”
“I really do get to play with your tools?” he asked, delighted.
She nodded, causing her shiny raven ponytail to shimmer in the florescent light. “Although Hobby Hut sells generic wood furniture and crafts, I customize and personalize projects for customers. Like this project, for instance.”
When Mattie motioned him forward, Joe strode over to study the framed original painting and shelves she had designed for Alice Dawson. His jaw dropped to his chest as he studied the artwork that featured what he presumed to be the old Dawson homestead, done in earth-tone colors. The shelves that were to be placed on either side of the painting—made of barn wood that probably came from the Dawson barn—boasted country antiques, small decorative frames, and portraits of Alice’s children and grandchildren.
“Doesn’t Mattie do fabulous work?” Alice said, smiling proudly at the display. “She came out to my place to gather up odds and ends so they could be included on the shelves. When I saw Josie Foreman’s homestead painting and antique display last month at our home extension club meeting, I knew I had to have one of my own.”
“Impressive,” Joe complimented.
“Now that you’re employed here, Joe, I can run over to Alice’s place during my lunch hour to hang the painting and shelves without worrying about being back a minute too late.” Mattie glanced at him hopefully. “You are willing to start work immediately, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “No problem, boss.”
Alice clapped her hands together in delight. “You can decorate my wall this afternoon? Wonderful!”
When Alice scuttled away, beaming like a fog light, Mattie chuckled. “I hope you’re getting the impression that working at Hobby Hut isn’t just a job for me. Making customers happy, rather than tallying dollars and cents, is the name of my game.”
Yes, he could see that. Mattie Roland was the epitome of Joe’s, and his grandfather’s, vision for their company. She kept what had become commercialized on a personal level by making specialized projects for her customers.
A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through Joe’s body. Oh yes, this hiatus in Fox Hollow was exactly what the doctor ordered. This was the cure for the affliction of frustration and indifference that had been tormenting Joe—or rather, Daniel Joseph Grayson, CEO. For that, and a few less than honorable masculine-oriented reasons, Joe wanted to hug the stuffing out of this little carpenter’s elf. A month in Mattie’s company and Joe was reasonably certain that he’d recapture his lost enthusiasm.
The chime above the front door heralded the arrival of another customer. Mattie smiled up at him, displaying the cute dimple in her left cheek. “You wanna handle that? I need to measure and mark another project this morning. If you want, you can make the cuts, since you look as if you’re eager to get your mitts on my power tools.”
“My pleasure,” he said, then wheeled around and strode toward the front of the store, a renewed spring in his steps.
Mattie watched her new employee depart, her gaze magnetically drawn to his six-foot-one-inch, powerfully built physique. Her artist’s eye approved of the looks of her employee. Joe Gray was definitely the answer to a prayer, and she couldn’t believe her good fortune. She had received the directive from corporate headquarters, indicating that she could hire a full-time staff member. And wham! Joe Gray showed up out of the blue.
It was almost as if fate had dealt her a winning hand. She needed someone responsible to mind the store so she could devote time to special projects requested by customers. She also needed someone to rent the efficiency apartment so she’d have extra money to pay her grandfather’s expenses at the convalescent home.
Man, oh man, what a perfect day this was turning out to be! Mattie had happened onto an employee who shared her love of art and woodcraft, someone eager to tackle the hands-on projects, someone who saw this business as more than a job that paid rent and put food on the table, someone whose appealing, dynamic presence put a quick charge on her own feminine battery…
Mattie’s thoughts skidded to an abrupt halt. Good heavens, what was she thinking? Joe Gray, as attractive and appealing to the eye as he was, was off-limits. She was his employer and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, jeopardize their working relationship. Although Joe was the first man to come along since her college years to inspire arousing feelings, she couldn’t possibly allow herself to form an interest in him. That would be unethical. Probably even went against company policy, if she sat herself down to read the fine print in her managerial contract.
No, the head honcho, who sat on his duff on his velvet throne at corporate headquarters, would undoubtedly frown on a personal relationship developing between his store manager and an employee. Mr. Higher than the Almighty head honcho would not approve of her feminine admiration for Joe Gray.
“Strictly business, and you better not forget that,” Mattie told herself as she grabbed the tape measure to mark the lumber. It didn’t matter that she was mesmerized by Joe’s whiskey-colored eyes and dark hair, that his good looks and masculine scent inspired basal reactions. She was his boss, and he was her hired assistant and never the twain shall meet, as the saying went. Who ever made up that saying, anyway? Well, she had to strive for a pleasant but ethical working situation, a mutual love for hobbies and crafts. Anything else was out of the question.
Too bad, really, she mused as she designed the new curio shelf. She was thirty years old, and her biological clock was ticking. She wanted a family, wanted children who would not be raised and abandoned the way she had been. If not for her beloved grandfather, there was no telling what would have become of Mattie. Bernard Roland had taken her in, shared what little worldly possessions he had with her, put a roof over her head, placed food on the table, and instilled his love for creating with his hands. True, he had inadvertently turned her into a hopeless tomboy who would rather wield saws, drills and create unique woodcrafts than power shop. Yet, she was content with her life. Well, except for the fact that managing the store, teaching a class in art during the winter at the local vo-tech, and working on special projects prevented her from having time to enjoy any kind of social life whatsoever.
“Stop whining, Roland,” Mattie muttered as she laid out the one-by-six board for Joe to cut. “And don’t get any ridiculous ideas where Joe is concerned. You can’t be anything but friends.”
2
WHAT A DAY HE’D HAD! Joe thought as he ambled down the street toward his rattletrap truck. He’d manned saws, routers and drills to his heart’s content, then waited on customers and familiarized himself with the layout of the store. He had thoroughly enjoyed himself, and the hours had whizzed by at amazing speed.
Joe also gave Mattie Roland high marks for her rapport with customers. Everybody in Fox Hollow adored her. He’d heard her praises sung by every woman who entered the store.
Joe grinned, remembering how he’d been given the third degree by female customers he’d waited on. Everyone wanted to know where he was from, when he’d hired on and where he was staying. He was invited to a church supper and community bazaar by several customers. Typical small-town activities that he wouldn’t mind attending if time allowed.
He had artfully dodged a few personal questions by offering half-truths so he wouldn’t blow his cover. As far as anyone in town knew, he was just a regular Joe who liked the looks of this town, and the surrounding area, and decided to make a life for himself here.
Joe applied the brakes and slowed down so Mattie could pull out in front of him and lead the way to her house. He hadn’t quite figured out what had happened between them after he exited the workroom to wait on his first customer this morning. Mattie, friendly and outgoing though she had been when he arrived, had become standoffish and reserved around him. What the hell had happened? They’d hit it off big time. Then suddenly, she was careful not to invade his personal space, nor he hers.
While she was giving directions for cutting and constructing the customized knickknack shelf, she had maintained a noticeable distance from him. He hadn’t wanted distance. He’d wanted to work shoulder to shoulder with her during the lull in customer traffic at the store. Instead, Mattie gave him directions for the project, then ambled off to work on another customized design.
For a man who’d never had a problem attracting females, he was beginning to think his theory that money and corporate power lured the opposite sex to him was on the mark. Maybe he wasn’t all that personable, he mused pensively.
Doubts clouded his thoughts as he followed Mattie through a residential section to a small acreage located in a grove of blackjack trees. His thoughts scattered when he turned into the driveway of a small but well-manicured gingerbread-style home. His gaze swung to the detached two-car garage that had been converted into an efficiency apartment. Joe, who had been living in a five-thousand-square-foot brick home in the city’s suburbs, figured he was in for another culture shock.
Climbing from his truck, he ambled alongside Mattie, noting that she refused to encroach on the minimum requirement of three feet of personal space surrounding him. Damn, what was there about him that repelled her?
“I don’t know what you’re accustomed to, Joe, but this garage apartment is cramped quarters,” she said as she pulled a set of keys from the purse that was slung over her shoulder. “The rent is reasonable and the utility bills minimal.”
She opened the door, and Joe immediately fell in love with the place. The open area was paneled in glossy pine. Bay windows provided a spectacular view of trees that skirted the creek. A large mural on the west wall created an optical illusion that the inhabitant of this cracker-box apartment could wander through the tall pines and scale the mountains that lay in the background.
“Did you paint this mural?” he asked, incredulous.
Mattie nodded. “It was Pops who framed the art to give it the three-dimensional effect. It keeps the apartment from crowding in on you.”
“You are an exceptionally talented artist, Mattie,” he complimented as he strode across the carpet to closely examine the detailed artwork. “With the right backing and promotion you could go places in the art world.”
“I’m not interested in national recognition,” she informed him as she came to stand beside him, maintaining a respectable distance. “I paint for the love of it, not the money. I reside here in Fox Hollow because it’s my hometown and because I feel a fierce loyalty to my grandfather who raised me.”
“What happened to your parents?” he asked curiously.
Mattie’s smile became reflective, rueful. “I’m sorry to report that I’m the biological product of parents who were too young to want a kid toddling along, cramping their lifestyle. My parents never married. My father wanted to shake the dust of this small town off his heels and see the world. My mother dumped me on my grandparents’ doorstep when I was four and took off for parts unknown. I lost my grandmother three years later and the people in this community have become extended family to Pops and me.”
Joe nodded in understanding. “Parents can be the pits sometimes, can’t they? I was twelve when my dad took off to find himself. Hell, I never even realized he was lost! My mother is still looking for Mr. Right. At last count, none of her three ex-husbands fit the bill. It was my grandfather and grandmother who raised me, too. Gramps was determined that I didn’t turn out to be the huge disappointment my dad was to him.”
“I can tell you one thing for certain, Joe. If I ever have a family, my kids are going to be top priority, and they won’t be given a bunch of empty promises,” she said with firm conviction.
“Same goes for me. I didn’t enjoy feeling like unwanted baggage.”
“Ditto.”
“So, do you want to have kids together?” Joe popped off.
Mattie stepped back a pace and gaped at him. “I beg your pardon?”
When she shifted uncomfortably, Joe cursed under his breath. That was a dumb thing for him to say. They’d bonded on some level, and he’d blown it with his playful question. “Sorry, I was only trying to lighten up our serious conversation. I really enjoy working for you, and with you, Mattie. I don’t want to do anything to spoil our friendship. Which compels me to ask if I already did something to offend you this morning. I couldn’t help but notice that your attitude toward me changed.”
Mattie inwardly winced. Had she been so obvious, so transparent after having that heart-to-heart talk with herself this morning? Apparently so. Well, she supposed now was the time to get things out in the open, explain the ground rules, just so there wouldn’t be any misunderstandings between them. She was an open, forthright person, after all.
“The truth is that I like you, Joe,” she admitted, keeping her gaze fixed on the gigantic mural.
“I hear a but coming,” he murmured.
She nodded and managed the semblance of a smile. “The head honcho at corporate headquarters has a policy about relationships between managers and personnel. I know for a fact, because I dragged out my contract this afternoon and looked at the fine print. But even if Double H didn’t frown on fraternizing with hired assistants, I have my own ethics. As much as we have in common, personally and professionally, we can have only a business relationship—”
“And nothing more, no matter what the potential,” he finished for her. “I’m getting the picture, boss lady. Is there a significant other in your life as well?”
Mattie couldn’t help herself; she burst out laughing.
Joe frowned, bemused. “That wasn’t such an absurd question. One look in the mirror is all the assurance you need that you’re attractive. And hell, isn’t it every he-man’s dream to happen onto a woman who shares his love for power tools?”
“Is it?” she asked. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never tapped into the male psyche. But experience has taught me that some men don’t like their male territory encroached upon by a woman. It’s not feminine, or some silly nonsense. In addition, I’ve never had time for a social life, aside from community activities and projects. Up until two months ago I’d been caring for my grandfather and managing a store that brings in more business than I can keep up with. I put myself through college, commuting so Pops wouldn’t have to be alone. Until God decides to add a few more hours to the day, I don’t have time for more than professional and personal obligations.
“Which reminds me,” she said, glancing at her watch, “I need to stop by the nursing home to check on Pops. He’s a bit of a renegade. According to the staff, he’s always stirring up trouble. Last month he and his gang of cantankerous senior citizens escaped before bed check. He sneaked over to our storage shed to confiscate fishing poles. To this day I don’t know how those old rascals managed to get hold of the six-pack they were nursing while fishing at our creek.”
Joe chuckled at the verbal picture she painted. Pops sounded like quite a character. J. D. Grayson would undoubtedly approve of Pops’s shenanigans. J.D., after all, was a bit of a rascal himself.
“It wasn’t funny,” Mattie insisted, though she couldn’t contain her grin. “The nursing staff was put out with Pops because booze doesn’t mix with his medication. The staff warned him that he could have gotten dizzy, had a seizure and fallen into the water. His doctor threatened to put him in solitary confinement if he didn’t behave himself.”
Mattie pivoted, directing Joe’s attention to the features of the small apartment. “Let me give you the quick tour before I go. The kitchen area is small but efficient,” she said, gesturing toward the cabinets and appliances on the north wall. “The Hide-A-Bed sofa has a queen-size inner spring mattress for your sleeping comfort. The bathroom is on the back side of the closet. This place is yours if you’re interested, Joe.”
“I’ll take it,” he said without hesitation, even though the square footage of the apartment would fit easily into his living area in the city.
“The riding lawn mower is in my personal workshop behind the house. You’re welcome to use it,” she offered.
“I’ll mow your lawn as part of our deal. That’ll free up some of your time.”
Mattie stopped short and gazed up at him. He fell into the depths of her violet eyes—and not for the first time, either. Damn, this woman had a fierce, intense effect on him. Too bad there were restrictions placed on their potential relationship. Also, too bad the head honcho had placed restrictions between managers and assistants. Joe would like to strangle himself for that.
“That is really nice of you,” she murmured. “I accept your offer.”
When she turned and walked away, his gaze followed her out the door. Joe glanced around his diminutive apartment, which Mattie had given such a homey, welcoming appearance. This apartment had her personality, her personal touch. It was going to be hell on him, feeling her presence, observing her rules. Damn, he wished the head honcho’s policy didn’t exist. Of course, he had himself to thank for those blasted rules. What irony, thought Joe.
Muttering at himself, and at the complexity of this situation he had created, he ambled outside to grab his suitcase from the truck.
Look, appreciate, but don’t get close enough to touch, he mused sourly. Okay, he could deal with a limited relationship with Mattie, he tried to reassure himself. After all, he’d only be here a month, and the prospect of explaining that he wasn’t exactly who he pretended to be would be horribly awkward.
Better that Mattie never knew her hireling was really her corporate boss. She claimed to like Joe dandy-fine now, but he predicted she would despise him if she knew he hadn’t been totally honest with her.
No, he would simply play out the role he had designed to recapture his enthusiasm for this business, then he would put what he learned in Fox Hollow to good use. End of story.
Great idea, Joe, he thought to himself. So how do you plan to cool your heels when this pixie is so damn appealing to you, huh?
Joe decided he’d figure that out on his way to the grocery store to stock the empty fridge and kitchen cabinets.
MATTIE SIGHED AUDIBLY when she entered Paradise Valley to see one of the staff wagging an acrylic-tipped forefinger in her grandfather’s scowling face. More problems, Mattie predicted. What kind of trouble had Pops gotten into now?
Mattie braced herself when Nurse Gamble pelted forward, wearing an annoyed frown.
“Now what?” Mattie asked warily.
Gertie Gamble knotted her fists on her ample hips and harrumphed loudly. “Now that old rascal has incited a riot against the cafeteria staff. I swear he enjoys being labeled a troublemaker.”
“Hi, Shortcake!” Pops called cheerfully. “Glad you could stop by. Don’t pay any attention to Admiral Gamble. It’s her job to keep this place shipshape.”
Gertie flung Pops a withering glance, then focused on Mattie. “See what I mean? Now he’s got most of the bedpan crowd referring to me as ‘The Admiral.’ Deal with him, Mattie. I’ve had enough of him for the week.” She spun around, then turned back to Mattie. “By the way, I saw that original painting and decorative shelving you designed for Arthella Lambert. It’s so gorgeous. Could you do something for me in greens and maroon that will enhance the colors in my living room furniture?”
“Sure, Gertie, stop by the store when you have time and we’ll work out the details.”
“Thanks.” Gertie’s smile faded as she hitched her thumb toward Pops. “It’s time for your weekly talk about behavioral modification. Your grandpa’s memory only lasts seven days—tops.”
Mattie trailed after Pops, who had turned toward his room, propelled along with the aid of his three-pronged cane that lent additional support for his arthritic knees.
“The bad boy of Paradise Valley strikes again, so I hear,” Mattie commented. “What prompted this most recent rebellion, Pops?”
Pops half turned, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “So now you know what I went through during your teenage years, Shortcake. How do you like reversing roles?”
It was impossible for Mattie to remain irritated with her feisty grandfather. He was right, of course. She had given him a few gray hairs while she struggled through adolescence to reach adulthood.
“So this is payback time, is it?” she asked as she looped her arm around his waist, then gave him a fond peck on the cheek.
“Don’t be doing that around here,” Pops grumbled. “You’ll give all these broads who have the hots for me ideas, don’t ya know. Good thing I carry a cane so I can fight off the feminine attention I’ve been getting.”
Mattie giggled. “I guess it’s true that ladies, no matter what their age, love outlaws. You, being the rebellious ringleader that you are, draw all sorts of attention around here.”
“Well, somebody has to buck the system,” Pops commented as he veered toward his room. “You try eating that slop served on trays and on the plates at the cafeteria. Hell, you wanna know how many ways you can prepare and serve prunes? Have lunch with me tomorrow, Shortcake. I guaran-damn-tee you’ll join the ranks of rioters who are craving a decent meal.”
“Last I heard, a proper diet contributed to health and longevity,” she countered as she watched Pops ease a hip onto his bed. “You know perfectly well that the main reasons you’re here are to adjust your dosage of arthritic medication and balance your diet to prevent diabetic flare-ups. You can’t move back in with me until your doctor gives you a clean bill of health.”
Pops pulled his wire-rim glasses from the bridge of his nose and cleaned the lenses on the hem of his shirt. “So I have a real weakness for fried foods and red meats. So shoot me, Shortcake. What’s the point of living if you can’t enjoy yourself occasionally?”
It was hard to argue with a seventy-eight-year-old redneck who believed in taking each day as it came and making the most of it. “Is the food here really that bad?” she asked as she sprawled warily in the worn-out recliner Pops had insisted on bringing from home.
“Dog food has more taste,” he declared as he shoved his glasses back in place. “The oven-broiled steak they serve here is so tough my dentures come loose when I eat. The smothered chicken tastes like wet newspaper. The beans are cooked to death, and the fat-free desserts taste like wax. Shall I go on?”
“No, I get the picture.”
Pops glanced toward the open door to insure he wasn’t overheard, then leaned toward Mattie. “Here’s my plan, Shortcake. You can slip food to me when you come to visit. You can bring it to my window before you come through the main entrance. No one will be the wiser. Fred, Ralph, Herman and Glen are willing to pay you if you’ll do the same for them.”
Mattie nodded pensively. “I see. You want me to become an accomplice for the Roland Gang.”
He grinned unrepentantly. “You catch on quick, smart girl that you are.”
“Pops, I have a reputation to uphold in Fox Hollow,” she reminded him. “I manage a store for a corporation.”
“So? I have a reputation to maintain here, too,” he assured her. “These old folks—”
As if he wasn’t one of them, she thought to herself.
“—depend on me to lead the way and fight their battles. I bring problems to attention and see that the necessary changes are made. Old folks want and need respect, ya know. We don’t like being put out to pasture on crummy rations. Ask me, boredom and feelings of uselessness are the two leading causes of death around here.” He hoisted himself off the bed, then grabbed his cane. “Let me show you something, Shortcake.”
Mattie frowned curiously when Pops gestured toward the landscape painting and knickknack shelf she’d brought to give his room a homey appearance.
“See this stuff?”
“Yes, but—”
“Just keep it in mind, then come take a gander at this.” Pops shuffled from the room, leading her next door.
“Hey, Fred, my granddaughter is here,” he called out.
Mattie poked her head inside the generic room to see one of her grandfather’s cohorts perched on a straight-back chair, staring through the slats of the miniblinds that covered the window. “Hi, Fred. How’s it going?”
“Lousy, but thanks for asking, girl.”
“Just popped in to say howdy,” Pops said, reversing direction. “Poker at ten o’clock tonight? Your place, right?”
The bald-headed Fred perked up considerably, then winked at Pops. “Right. I almost forgot this was Friday night. One night’s about the same as another around here.”
When Pops returned to his room, he pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and displayed the ace of hearts for Mattie’s viewing discomfort.
“Pops! For heaven’s sake! Those cards have naked women on them,” she grumbled, offended.
“Sure as hell do,” he said, undaunted. “I asked Herman’s grandson to pick them up for me during his last visit. I plan to give the gang a cheap thrill tonight…and don’t give me that look, Shortcake. Ain’t a man in the Roland Gang who hasn’t seen a naked lady a few times in his life. We’re all World War II veterans. Those island women we came across when we were stationed in the Pacific didn’t wear blouses. And you know what else? A bunch of men in our unit pooled some money to buy them brassieres to preserve their modesty. You know what those women did with the contraptions we gave them?”
“No, what did they do, Pops?” she asked, smiling.
“They used them to haul coconuts two at a time,” he informed her.
Mattie cackled. Her grandfather had always been a source of amusement to her.
Pops tucked the racy cards into the pocket of his trousers, then settled himself more comfortably on the bed. “The point of taking you to see Fred is that his room has only the barest of necessities. The place doesn’t feel like home to him because it doesn’t look like home. There’s nothing on the walls, no memorabilia, no family pictures. Zilch, nada. I had to throw a tantrum to get permission to hang your artwork and the shelves in here. I shouldn’t have had to do that. We’re paying hard-earned money for room, board and medical care. Yet, this chicken coop looks like a halfway house for criminal offenders. This place needs your touch of interior decoration to provide some stimulation and aesthetic beauty. If every patient demanded the right to personalize their living quarters we could get some results. That’s my next crusade.”
Mattie cringed at the thought of another crusade for the Roland Gang. Rebel that Bernard Roland had become, he refused to give up until he’d paved the way for improvements. Yet, Mattie was inclined to agree with her grandfather. The convalescent home looked more like perdition—a dull way station to the hereafter. That definitely wasn’t the effect she would be going for if she lived here.
“Next week I’m taking the petition to the director and demanding some rights,” Pops informed her. “If I can push this project through, the patients want you to decorate their rooms like you decorated mine. And believe me, I’ve had compliments piled on top of compliments, Shortcake. The thing is that we’re talking limited budgets at the old fogies’ home. Can you handle interior decor on a skimpy budget?”
Mattie sat there, stunned. Pops was drumming up business for her, adding to her already hectic schedule? Yet, the intense, determined look on his wrinkled features indicated that the upcoming crusade was vitally important to him. He was fighting to improve the quality of life for the senior citizens who required assisted living. Could she spare the time for a project of this magnitude?
How could she not? Several of the patients here had practically helped raise her while her grandfather worked construction. These elderly folks had fed her, baby-sat her and offered her the love and concern her own parents refused to be bothered with.
Now that Joe Gray had hired on at the store, she could make time to fulfill Pops’s request. True, she would meet herself coming and going, but what else was new?
“Okay, Pops, you’ve got a deal,” she told him.
The old man leaned over to give her a high five. “Thanks, Shortcake. This means a lot to me.”
“I can see that. Fortunately, I received a directive from corporate headquarters this morning, allowing me to hire an assistant. I filled the position immediately. Joe Gray is skilled in woodcrafting and—”
“Joe Gray? Never heard of him,” Pops broke in.
“He’s new in town. I rented the garage apartment to him,” she reported.
Pops’s dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who is this character? Where’s he from? What do you know about him?”
Mattie took a moment to gather her thoughts and realized that she really did know quite a lot about her new assistant, although they had only spent eight hours working together.
“He’s thirty-five, single. He is respectful and has excellent rapport with the customers because he’s knowledgeable about hobbies and crafts. He thoroughly enjoys working with his hands in the workroom, and he isn’t the least bit allergic to hard work. I had to remind him to take a break this morning and this afternoon.”
“Single?” Pops inquired interestedly.
Mattie rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t even think about playing matchmaker. You have too much on your plate already. Besides, Joe and I are business associates, and that is as far as the relationship can possibly go.”
“Baloney,” Pops said, then snorted. “Unless Joe is a serial killer on the loose and hiding out in Fox Hollow, he sounds like your type. Some guys around here feel threatened because you can handle a power tool with the best of them.”
“Thanks to you,” Mattie put in, grinning.
“But if this Joe person shares your common interests and is a decent sort of fellow, I say go for it. Unless there’s something offensive about him. Is there? Ugly as original sin maybe?”
Mattie chuckled. “Just the opposite. My female customers constantly ask for his assistance, just to get a close look at him.”
“He sounds perfect. A Mary Poppins of the male variety.”
“Except that he works for me,” Mattie repeated. “I’d have to fire him if I became interested in him. Either that or I’d have to resign. I can’t do that, not when you’ve just handed me a time-consuming project to perk up your senior citizen friends.”
“Oh yeah, there is that,” Pops mumbled. “But there isn’t a single patient here at the home who wouldn’t tell you to go for it if this Joe character suits you, even if you spend your time with him and the rest of us have to stare at these bare walls an extra month before the interior decorations arrive.”
“Pops,” she said warningly.
He flung up his hand. “Don’t ‘Pops’ me, kiddo. You aren’t getting any younger, and I want you to have a life like your grandmother and I had together. Now that’s something you shouldn’t pass up.”
Mattie squirmed uncomfortably. They’d had this little talk before—about a thousand times, thank you very much. Pops wanted her married and settled before he passed on. She understood that, but you just couldn’t rush love. It either happened or it didn’t. So far it hadn’t. She’d been infatuated once or twice in her early twenties, but the relationships had fizzled out because Mattie kept long hours and took on the responsibility of caring for Pops. Most men didn’t like to compete with Pops. He was such a lively, energetic character that he tended to steal the show when he was underfoot. Her boyfriends—what few she had—demanded that she choose between them and Pops. It was no contest. This man had taken her in, raised her, provided for her, taught her skills and encouraged her to pursue her artistic gift.
Mattie glanced at her watch when her stomach growled, reminding her that she had skipped lunch in order to decorate Alice Dawson’s living room. “I better go, Pops. I haven’t had supper yet.”
“Yeah, well, if you’d eaten at this cafeteria you wouldn’t feel as if you’d eaten, either,” he muttered. “I’m serious about those snacks. Graham crackers, vanilla wafers, pudding cups. Doesn’t matter to me. Just bring some junk food for me and my cronies.”
Mattie sighed, resigned to becoming an accomplice. “Okay, get a list from your gang and call me at the store tomorrow. I’ll bring the goodies Sunday evening when I come to visit.”
“You’re a doll, Shortcake. Did I ever tell you that?”
“Yes, Pops, immediately after you’d dragged me into another of your schemes.”
“Hey, you know I love ya, kiddo. You were always my very best sidekick. Now I have to settle for these yahoos at the home, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you best of all.”
Mattie rose from the chair to give Pops an affectionate hug and kiss. “Love ya, Pops, even if you are the mastermind of the wildest bunch of codgers in Paradise Valley.”
“And you remember what I said about this Joe Gray person. If he’s worth your interest, then bend a few rules. I’m an advocate of that. You go, girl.”
Shaking her head at Pops’s adolescent jargon, Mattie exited. Pops was, without a doubt, the youngest seventy-eight-year-old in the country. He’d told her once that the only thing he regretted in life was not taking more risks—and he’d taken plenty of them, in her opinion. But when it came to her unwilling, unproductive attraction to Joe Gray, Mattie was hesitant.
No, she wasn’t going to fire Joe because she was interested in him, or because she really wanted to get to know him better. She needed him at the store, now more than ever—thanks to Pops’s latest mission. She’d put her feminine needs on hold years ago, after all. She could control her urges. She and Joe were going to be good buddies, best pals, she told herself sensibly. This was one time she was definitely not going to take Pops’s advice.
And that was all there was to that.
3
JOE WAS AMAZED at the number of customers who poured in and out of Hobby Hut on Saturday. When he commented to Mattie, she informed him that Fox Hollow was the closest community to the lake, and that cabin and cottage owners delighted in redecorating their weekend retreats. In addition, the retirees who lived in the wooded hills enjoyed keeping up with the latest seasonal fads.
Joe had never seen the likes of women, young and old, buying fall arrangements, Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations. When he and J.D. came up with the idea of the craft store that had expanded across the Midwest, they’d never dreamed of being so successful. But now that Joe was here in the trenches, watching these women, with a few reluctant husbands traipsing around the store, he realized why the business boomed. People liked to rearrange their homes by adding personal touches they could appreciate, then replacing decorations several times throughout the year. It was the variety that kept life new and interesting.
Twice during the day, the husbands of female shoppers had looked Joe up and down, then muttered “twinkie” half under their breaths. Joe probably should have been offended that he’d been categorized as effeminate because he actually liked creating knickknacks in the workshop and didn’t mind selling them. Once, however, he’d had to bite his tongue when a grumpy old man scowled and referred to the inventory at Hobby Hut as “sissy stuff no man would be caught dead selling, unless it was a last resort to keep the wolves from the door.”
Joe’s thoughts scattered like a flock of geese going airborne when Mattie scrunched in front of him at the cash register. “Here come the Zimmers for a refund,” she murmured confidentially. “Better let me handle them this first time so you’ll know how to deal with them. Lovable as they are, they get their kicks from trying to pull a fast one every now and then.”
Joe stepped aside, frowning curiously at the harmless-looking elderly couple who hobbled down the center aisle, a quart of paint clamped in each gnarled hand.
“Changed our minds about the accent colors in the bedrooms and living room,” Coreen Zimmer announced as she set the cans on the counter, then produced her receipt. “Just want our money back until we can agree on which colors to put where.”
Sounded reasonable enough to Joe. He couldn’t fathom why Mattie thought she needed to handle this simple transaction. But to his surprise, Mattie grabbed a flathead screwdriver from beneath the counter and opened the paint. To his horror, she dipped her finger into the can to taste the contents.
“Colored water,” she said, smiling wryly at her customers. “Pretty sneaky of you two, but no dice. You really are going to have to get up a few hours earlier to outfox me.”
Homer Zimmer shot Mattie a disgruntled glance, then flicked his attention to Joe. “Could’ve pulled it off if you would’ve let him wait on us, I’d bet. We heard there was a new assistant at the store, and we wanted to see how sharp he was.”
Joe was stunned that these old shysters were trying to get a refund on paint they’d obviously used up, then refilled the cans with water. He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse their ingenuity.
Mattie set the four paint cans on the floor beside the trash, then smiled brightly. “Anything else you want to try to fly past me today?”
“Well, now that you mention it.” Coreen retrieved a plastic bag from her oversize purse. “I bought this figurine of an angel a couple of weeks ago and didn’t notice that one wing was broken until I got home. I’d like to exchange it for a new one.”
Joe crossed his arms, waiting to see how Mattie handled this transaction. As usual, she smiled cheerfully, then scooped up the angel with its broken wing. “You realize that I personally shelved these figurines, with all the loving care angels should receive. They are one of my favorites, you know.” She stared at Coreen, then focused unblinkingly on Homer. “Who dropped this accidentally? And don’t even think about lying to me because we are discussing angels. It’d be like telling a lie at church, right there, down on your knees at the altar.”
Seconds ticked by. Joe appraised one wrinkled face, then the other.
Apparently Homer couldn’t stand the silence a moment longer. He caved in.
“Oh, all right, girl, it was me, blast it. I knocked the angel off the shelf. You got any of that industrial-strength glue that’d work on a broken wing?”
“Of course, Homer,” Mattie assured him. “I’ll be happy to get it for you.”
When Mattie strode off, the Zimmers zeroed in on Joe.
“You’re darn lucky to be working for that girl, you know,” Homer declared. “Sweetest disposition in town…argh.” He grimaced when Coreen gouged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Next to my lovely bride of forty-seven years, of course. Mattie’s a talented artist, too, if you didn’t know. I’d buy some of her paintings, but I can’t afford it on our fixed income.”
“The point he’s trying to make is that we don’t want you pulling any fast ones on our sweet Mattie,” Coreen lectured.
This from two shysters who’d tried to exchange water for paint? They were hypocrites, both of them. But it was obvious they were immensely fond of Mattie. Yet, who around this town wasn’t? Joe had heard her praises sung all the livelong day.
“I wouldn’t think of cheating Mattie,” Joe assured the Zimmers. “I like my job, and I plan to keep it.”
“Good for you, boy.” Homer leaned closer. Joe could smell the cheap, sticky-sweet aftershave. “But be warned that some of the ranchers over at the café were poking fun at you during lunch today. They think you’re a sissy for working here.”
“What do you think?” Joe asked.
“I think you’ve got guts to be working in a place like this,” Homer replied. “Just hope you can take the razzing that’s sure to come your way when those cowboys get to feeling ornery and decide to torment you.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
Mattie returned, handing Joe the glue. “Please ring them up while I finish my painting project in the workroom. I promised delivery after store hours this evening.”
Joe manned the register, swearing the mold count elevated when Homer pried open his wallet, complaining that it was highway robbery to pay such a high price for one teensy-weensy tube of glue.
When the couple exited Joe reminded himself that working with the public was no picnic. He’d obviously been sitting in his ivory corporate tower too long. His employees deserved an across-the-board raise for working in the combat zone.
DURING HIS AFTERNOON BREAK Joe heard the phone ringing in Mattie’s office. Since she was helping one of her regular customers, Joe made a dash to answer the phone.
“Hobby Hut,” he said politely.
“Where the hell’s Mattie?” came a loud, gravelly male voice.
“She’s with a customer at the moment. Can I take a message?”
“Is this Joe?” the caller demanded.
He blinked. “Yes, sir, it is.”
“Figured as much. This is Mattie’s grandpa. I have my list ready for her. Got a pencil handy, boy?”
“Yes, sir.” Joe plucked up a notepad and pen.
“Don’t give me any more of that sir crapola,” Pops objected. “The name is Pops.”
Joe grinned. “Okay. Fire away, Pops.”
“Double-stuffed Oreo cookies, a jar of peanut butter, smooth not crunchy. Apples and crackers,” he rattled off. “Chocolate chip cookies—the gooier the better. Chocolate snack cakes with vanilla filling. And don’t buy that off-brand stuff. Stick with the brand names. Make a note of that for Mattie.”
Joe scribbled as fast as he could. “Is there some sort of party going on at the convalescent home?”
“Hell no, Mattie has to sneak the junk food into me and my friends. They treat us like a bunch of preschoolers here. Afraid we’ll OD on sugar and caffeine and be bouncing off the walls at bedtime.”
Joe swallowed an amused chuckle. He really was looking forward to meeting this character in person. He wished J.D. could, too. “Anything else, Pops?”
“Yeah, how do you feel about my granddaughter?” Pops asked flat out.
“Er…”
“Not attractive enough for you?” Pops grilled him.
“Plenty,” Joe replied honestly.
“Thought so. I may be old, but I’m sure as hell not blind yet. That girl has a terrific body and a pretty face. I’m sure you must’ve noticed, being a man and all.”
“Er…”
“Do you feel threatened because she can handle a router and circular saw as good as any man?” Pops fired off the question at the speed of a launched rocket.
“Not the least bit threatened,” Joe answered.
“Think she has the personality of a slug, do you?” Pops quizzed him.
“Hardly. Mattie is one of the nicest, most personable women I’ve ever met.”
“So, what’s the problem here?”
“Problem? We have a problem?” Joe questioned, totally dumbfounded. He thought things were going great between them.
“Can’t see why you should have a problem. She’s single, and so are you. She says you’re a decent, good-looking fellow, and you say she’s attractive and personable. So when are you going to ask her out? Hell, you’re practically living in each other’s pockets so you ought to know each other pretty well after only a few days.”
“I think Mattie sees that as a potential problem,” Joe commented. “If things don’t work out, if we have irreconcilable differences, then we are still stuck working together and living next door to each other.”
“So you’re too chicken to give it a whirl. Is that what you’re telling me, Joe?”
“I’m saying nothing of the kind, Pops. As her employee, I’m simply respecting Mattie’s wishes.”
“Hogwash, Joe. Take my advice and ask her out…I gotta go. It’s time for the guards to herd the prisoners to the cafeteria to eat slop. Don’t delay in giving Mattie that list, hear me? She has to make the drop tomorrow night. If you squeal on her, you’ll be damn sorry for pointing the finger and calling her our accomplice. Got that, Joe?”
It was all Joe could do to prevent busting a gut laughing at the threat from this old man. “Not to worry, Pops. I’ll make the drop myself if Mattie can’t do it. Consider your junk food signed, sealed and delivered tomorrow night.”
“You’re okay, Joe,” Pops announced.
Joe hung up the phone, then pivoted to see Mattie approaching him.
“Who was that?” she asked curiously.
“Pops.” Joe grinned when Mattie winced. He waved the junk food list in front of her face. “Does he turn you into his accomplice often?”
Mattie slouched in her chair, hunched and rolled her shoulders, then nodded. “Pops is on a crusade to improve conditions at Paradise Valley. His latest mission involves me and the interior decoration of the generic rooms for other patients. According to Pops, the place is screaming for that lived-in, homey atmosphere to perk up the morale of the elderly.”
“Naturally, you couldn’t turn Pops down, even if you have enough extra projects to keep you busy for…oh, say, the next two years.”
When she focused those beguiling amethyst eyes, fanned with long, thick lashes, on him, Joe’s knees wobbled. He propped against the doorjamb for support.
“Pops has a legitimate point, and he’s petitioning the director for changes. If you would have seen his friend Fred sitting next door in his room, surrounded by blank walls, staring through the miniblinds, I bet you would have caved in, too.”
Joe held up his hands like a victim of a robbery. “Hey, don’t get defensive on me, boss lady. I’m not judging or objecting. If my grandpa was in a bland convalescent home and requested paraphernalia and memorabilia to make him feel more at home, I’d do the exact same thing. Furthermore, I’ll be glad to help you design, construct and paint whatever you need for the projects. I assume we’re working for elderly customers on a limited budget.”
“You’ll help?” Mattie smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Joe, I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“But it’ll cost you,” he warned in mock seriousness. “You have to promise to fix Sunday dinner while I’m ripping lumber on the table saw and constructing curio shelves, keepsake chests and benches for the patients.”
“How do you know I can cook?”
“Boss lady, thus far I haven’t seen anything you can’t do exceptionally well,” he complimented. “From handling power tools, creating art and interior design to dealing with devious customers, you can do it all.”
She cocked her head and studied him from a different angle. “Are you buttering me up, hoping for a raise?”
“No, just stating the facts, ma’am.” Yet, there was one fact Joe was reluctant to state. He had the wild, crazy impulse to walk right up to Mattie, snatch her from her chair and kiss the living daylights out of her.
It was the damnedest thing he’d ever experienced. He, who had escorted glamorous socialites and seen his name and picture linked with a half-dozen women in tabloids, was turned on by a carpenter’s elf who had sawdust in her hair. Penny Candy Red, Frosty Glade Green, and Biscuit White were splattered on her fingers and on the hem of her T-shirt. None of that mattered. When she smiled at him it never failed to knock him for a loop and leave him wanting things he knew he couldn’t have.
“And may I say that after two days of nonstop work, without a single complaint, I can give you nothing less than a rating of exceptional on your evaluation sheet, Mr. Gray. I suspect the head honcho, lounging on his throne in the city, will applaud your work ethics.”
Joe inwardly flinched. Every time Mattie mentioned the all-powerful CEO, his conscience took a bite out of him. Maybe he should tell her the truth.
Or maybe not. Mattie lambasted the high king of woodcraft often enough that she would feel deceived and mortified. No, he was willing to bet that his Employee of the Year would take this the wrong way, wouldn’t understand why he was here, incognito.
“So, how about if I treat you to a burger and fries before I hang Gladys Howser’s painting and curio shelves this evening?” Mattie offered.
“Have you already locked up for the night?” he asked.
“Yes, right before I came back to the office. I’ll count the till and we can be on our way.”
“Fine, except I’m buying.” When she tried to protest, Joe touched his forefinger to her lips to shush her. That simple, seemingly harmless touch sent a jolt of awareness sizzling through him. Joe swore he’d been electrocuted. Her lips felt like velvet beneath his fingertip, and he had to battle another insane urge to replace his fingertip with his lips and make a feast of her.
Damn it, if he’d had the slightest idea that he’d have such an incredible reaction to Mattie Roland he never would have hired on. Now it was too late. He felt involved in this particular store, involved in her life, and in the complications she faced with her rebellious grandfather.
Of course, if he followed Pops’s advice, he’d just thumb his nose at his own rules and go for it. For sure and certain, his male body would applaud his decision.
“Buying dinner is my way of thanking you for this job, for the apartment and the chance to buck the establishment, on behalf of your grandpa, my grandpa, and everybody else’s grandparents who want to improve the quality of life during their golden years…”
His voice trailed off when her gaze lifted and locked with his. Time screeched to a halt. The office shrank and silence descended around him. Joe had the unmistakable feeling that Mattie, despite the rules and regulations, was wondering the same thing he was. Did they dare to test this mutual attraction and risk what seemed to be the makings of a beautiful friendship?
Scratch that, Joe decided. Being the devious jerk that he was, there couldn’t be a trusting friendship between them. He’d botched that up the instant he’d introduced himself as Joe Gray and allowed Mattie to confide that she thought the head honcho of Hobby Hut had lost touch with the purpose of his multimillion-dollar business.
In effect, Joe Gray was Daniel J. Grayson’s corporate spy, an internal investigator who was staking out one of his store managers. He hadn’t considered those ramifications when he came to Fox Hollow, hoping to rediscover his purpose and enthusiasm. But Mattie wouldn’t view the situation the same way he did. He could sugarcoat his actions however he wished, rationalizing that his intentions were honorable and that he had tried to guard against being catered to so he wouldn’t have to endure preferential treatment because of his title and position. However, he didn’t think any of that garbage would fly with Mattie. She would misunderstand, he predicted.
Damn, he’d dug such a deep hole that he’d need an extension ladder to climb out.
Mattie stared into the entrancing amber eyes that were embedded in that all too handsome face and heard her grandfather’s words echoing in her ears. According to Pops, every risk ignored was a chance never taken. Challenge the rules, he’d said, don’t meekly accept them. Pops advocated grabbing for the gusto.
Should she or shouldn’t she kiss Joe? This was really tricky, after all. She was the manager, and he was the hired assistant. If she up and kissed him, would he kiss her back because he thought his job might be in jeopardy or because he truly wanted to? If he kissed her—and he looked as if he, too, was pondering the prospect, for whatever reason—would he wonder if he was putting his job at risk, a job he claimed he was pleased to have.
Catch twenty-two, she thought. This was the proverbial two-edged sword, yadda, yadda.
After what seemed a century of standing on uncertain ground, wrestling with consequences, Joe traced the curve of her lips. Mattie’s knees wobbled unsteadily beneath her.
“Mattie, I think we’ll both feel a lot better if we just get this over with. You’re the boss, so you need to call a time-out from the job. It is after hours. Despite my good intentions, I just don’t think this good-buddy relationship between us is going to work. I’m too damn aware of you as a woman. Sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”
Mattie didn’t pretend to misunderstand what he meant. Apparently, they were on the same wavelength here. He was wondering, as she was, if an experimental kiss would relieve the sexual tension that had been building since he set foot in the store.
Yes, Mattie had tried to ignore the frissons of desire that assailed her when he was in close proximity. Which was like trying to ignore an emotional cyclone spinning around you all the livelong day. Impossible.
“I’m thinking that you’re thinking that you don’t want to step on a land mine of sexual harassment by kissing me,” Joe murmured huskily. “You’re probably thinking that I’m thinking I might risk losing my job—which you know I really like—if I kiss you first and you end up not liking it very much. So, what say, we meet in the middle like two consenting adults. All rules and regulations will be dispensed with for the moment. If things don’t work out, we’ll just slip back into our roles as boss and assistant, chalk this up to an experiment gone sour, and get on with our lives. Sound fair to you?”
“And if this experiment isn’t sour?” she asked, afraid to breathe too deeply for fear the tantalizing scent of him would wrap itself so completely around her senses that her brain would fog up and she’d lose the common sense she’d spent thirty years cultivating.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he murmured, his voice rough and raspy. “The suspense is killing me, Mattie. On three. One, two—”
Repetitive, staccato raps on the glass door forced Joe and Mattie to leap apart.
“Yo, Mattie! Yoo-hoo, it’s me, Gladys Howser. Are you still in there?”
Mattie didn’t know whether to curse or bless her impatient customer. “Coming!” she hollered.
When Mattie sailed off like a flying carpet, Joe half collapsed against the desk. Damn, he probably should have kept his trap shut, but his unruly hormones had stormed his brain and executed a coup d’état. He’d wanted to kiss that cute little elf. Badly. Worse than badly, he amended. It was as if he were starving for the taste of her and wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d sampled her petal-soft lips.
“You’re nuts,” Joe said to himself, then scowled. “Just goes to show how desperately you needed this vacation from the office. Of all the glamorous women you’ve dated, you go bonkers over a tomboy who smells like paint and sawdust rather than expensive perfume, a tomboy who dresses in faded jeans and T-shirts instead of sequined evening gowns. And to complicate matters she actually works for you, despite what she thinks. She also thinks Double H is a money-grubbing executive whose bottom line is profit. Have you left anything out?
“Oh yeah, you’re a devious, lying impostor, and Mattie is too damn sweet and tenderhearted to deserve your deceit. If you had the sense God gave a gnat you would hand in your resignation and hightail it back to the city.”
“Joe!” Mattie called on her way down the center aisle. “There’s been a change of plans. Gladys wants her new painting and shelves hung now. Her bridge party has been changed to seven o’clock this evening to accommodate one of her friends. I need a rain check on supper.”
Joe nodded agreeably. He figured this was for the best. Fate had intervened, or perhaps the powers that be in the universe decided that that kiss was a very bad idea. But you couldn’t convince his rowdy male body of that, not without a bolt from the blue that fried him to the tiled floor.
“I’ll count the till and lock up,” he offered. “That is, if you trust me.”
She smiled, stared him squarely in the eye, and said, “I trust you, Joe. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here, and we wouldn’t have been on the threshold we were standing on five minutes ago, either.”
Now he really felt like a card-carrying jerk. He had lied to her, deceived her, misrepresented himself, and she trusted him. He suspected each and every one of her acquaintances felt the same way, when honored and graced by Mattie’s trusting nature. Hurting someone like Mattie Roland ranked right up there with the seven deadly sins that could earn you a one-way express flight to hell.
Gee, maybe he should author a book on how many ways there were for a man to screw up without really trying, he thought to himself.
While Joe was counting the till, he heard someone pounding on the back entrance that opened into the alley. “Now what?” he muttered crabbily.
He yanked open the steel door to see five elderly men staring back at him. The Roland Gang, he presumed. He appraised the ringleader, who leaned on his three-pronged cane. Pops wore knit jeans that were snagged with twigs and a faded cotton shirt that emphasized his sunken chest. Pops had a full head of silver hair, wire-rimmed glasses and an attitude that shouted spirit.
J. D. Grayson would fit right in with this bunch, thought Joe.
Behind Pops stood four men—more or less bald—sporting spare-tire paunches, glasses and outdated clothes. Joe nodded a greeting to them.
“So you’re Joe,” Pops said, still appraising him astutely. “So, whaddya think, boys?”
Boys? thought Joe. That obviously implied these old codgers were enjoying their second childhood.
“Looks all right to me,” said Fred. “What do you think, Herman?”
Herman raked Joe up and down—twice. “Decent stock, I’d say. What’s your vote, Ralph?”
“Okay by me,” said Ralph. “What about you, Glen?”
Glen’s gaze narrowed solemnly behind his thick glasses. “You got a criminal record, son?”
“No, do I need one?” Joe asked straight-faced.
“A smart ass, I like that,” Pops said. “Has Shortcake seen this side of you yet?”
“Shortcake? As in Mattie?” Joe guessed.
“Yup. So has she?”
“No.”
“Well, don’t hold back on her, son. Make sure she knows the real you, right off. Always better that way.”
Joe inwardly grimaced. He couldn’t follow Pops’s good advice. Joe had already lied six ways to Sunday.
“I saw Mattie drive off a minute ago,” Pops said. “Figured that clunker truck parked back here belonged to you. Are you about finished here?”
“Yes,” Joe said carefully.
“Don’t give me that look,” Pops muttered. “We’re not going to ask you to join in a bank heist or anything like that. We just need to hitch a ride is all. Don’t want Mattie to know we broke loose until after the fact. We’ve had all we can stand at that funny farm this week. We’re going fishing.”
Pops raised his pointy chin, all but daring Joe to protest.
He didn’t.
“The poles are in the shed at Mattie’s house,” Pops informed Joe. “We already walked a mile. Can you give us a lift?”
Joe finished counting the till, switched off the lights, then locked the door behind him. Although this wasn’t as good as losing himself in a kiss with Mattie, aiding and abetting the Roland Gang was the next best thing.
“It’ll be crowded in my pickup. It only has one seat,” Joe commented as he lead the way.
“Sardines don’t complain about cramped cans, so neither will I,” Pops said, hobbling at his swiftest pace. “You ask her out yet?”
“No,” Joe grumbled as he scrunched himself against the driver’s side, giving the gang every inch of space the cab of the truck would allow.
“You have our stamp of approval, so what are you waiting for?” Glen demanded.
“Thanks, that means a lot coming from the nursing home escapees,” Joe shot back wryly.
“Fine, pal, you keep pussyfooting around and you’ll end up like us, all alone and on the prowl,” Herman put in. “They don’t come better than Mattie. I watched her grow up. Hell, I helped raise her when her grandpa was in a bind with a job that took him out of town for a week at a time.”
“So did I,” Ralph added proudly. “Me and Wilma, God rest her, were honorary aunt and uncle in the old days.”
“Same went for me and Jean,” said Fred. “Even attended her high school and college graduation as part of her family. You don’t think Mattie is good enough for you, just because she’s a tomboy at heart? Is that the problem here?”
“She’s better than I deserve,” Joe murmured.
“Speak up, son,” Pops demanded. “The batteries on my hearing aids are fizzling out.”
“I like Mattie just fine,” Joe all but yelled.
“Sheesh, keep it down,” Glen groused. “We’re hard-of-hearing, not stone-deaf.”
Joe pulled out from the alley and took the back streets to Mattie’s house. Amused—in an exasperated sort of way—he listened to the old coots give sales pitches about why he needed to see Mattie socially. If she had the slightest idea that the fearsome five were trying to play matchmaker, she’d probably pitch a fit.
Joe, however, thought it was touching to observe their loyalty and devotion to Mattie. She might not have excessive material wealth to rank her among Fortune’s 500, but she was well respected and loved here in Fox Hollow. Her customers heaped glowing accolades on her. Her grandfather and honorary uncles adored her. Mattie had a wealth of friendship, while Joe had numerous acquaintances and associates, but few valued and trusted friends.
Joe had come to Fox Hollow to regain his touch with reality, to wander among the real people in this world. In forty-eight hours he’d received a full dose of life. His own life had become an endless string of profit-loss spreadsheets, cabinets filled with files, corporate meetings and shallow social gatherings. But here in the timberland he felt himself coming alive, not merely existing.
“You boys had supper yet?” Joe inquired.
The question drew a round of scoffs, snorts, and a couple of colorful obscenities.
“I told you on the phone that we were herded to the cafeteria for the slop-of-the-day special, topped off with glazed prunes for dessert. If you call that eating, then yeah, we already ate,” Pop grumbled. “You got any junk food at your apartment?”
Joe grinned. “You bet your asses, boys. You provide the fishing poles, and I’ll bring along the junk food and dig a few worms for bait.”
Pops beamed in approval, then leaned sideways to give Joe a high five. “You’re my kind of people, son.”
“So, what time do you have to report to the home tonight?” Joe asked as he turned into the driveway.
Glen grinned. “We already crammed our pillows and spare blankets under the bedspreads and switched off the lights to make it look as if we hit the sack early. We’ve got hours to burn before they call out the dogs and begin the search.”
Joe chuckled while the old men squirmed restlessly in the cramped space of his truck. Ah yes, life here in Fox Hollow was interesting, to say the least.
Briefly Joe wondered how Mattie would react when, and if, she discovered he’d acted as chauffeur and accomplice for the Roland Gang this evening. Then he decided Mattie should thank him for keeping an eye on these old coots. After all, if one of the men tripped and fell in the river, he had enough brawn and muscle to handle the rescue. He was actually doing Mattie a favor, now that he thought about it.
4
MATTIE SQUATTED ON HER HAUNCHES, then assembled the miniature deacon’s bench. Grabbing the nail gun, she secured the boards in place. While the whack-thump of the gun serenaded her, she reflected on the enjoyable hours she’d spent the previous Sunday, while she and Joe designed drop-leaf tables, storage chests, curio shelves and peg racks for the convalescent home. Using spare lumber from previous projects, leftover paint, and damaged merchandise from the store, she and Joe had created arts and crafts that depicted country life. They had worked side by side for hours on end, chatting about little or nothing, really. They’d just talked, discussed their projects, and got to know each other better.
Joe hadn’t mentioned the Near-Kiss Incident and neither had she. She told herself it was for the best that they had been interrupted. But that incessant little voice kept repeating, You go, girl.
For a full week now, Mattie had worked alongside Joe, who proved to be a dream employee. She had heard the razzing he’d taken from the macho types who happened into town to gawk and taunt the “girlie-man” who had hired on at Hobby Hut.
For the most part Joe ignored the teasing, secure enough in his masculinity that he didn’t feel intimidated by the cowboys and sportsmen who frequented Watering Hole Tavern on the outskirts of town.
Grimacing, Mattie rose from a crouch to work the kinks from her back and legs, then glanced at her watch. It was long past closing time at the store, and she had made good progress on the three projects for customers who purchased her landscape paintings and requested theme shelves to display their folk art and Americana knickknacks. Working with Emerald Pool Green, Footprint Cream and Longjohn Red, Mattie had added colorful, hand-painted designs to the shelves and benches.
She’d managed to fill another lonely Saturday night, she thought glumly.
Her social life stank.
Mattie had offered to buy Joe’s supper after work, but he’d left the store at closing time, commenting that he’d already made plans for the evening. However, he promised he’d start bright and early Sunday on the projects for the nursing home. Mattie wondered if he’d grown tired of her company and lost interest in the kiss that never happened—and probably never would.
Story of her life, actually, she thought as she unplugged the power tools, tapped the lids onto the paint cans, then swept up sawdust. She’d always been one of the guys during her high school and college days. She was the misfit female in woodwork classes who took her projects seriously. No one had been interested in dating a girl who showed the guys up in class through her skills with a saw, drill and can of paint.
Same probably held true with Joe, she mused. Undoubtedly, he had decided to look elsewhere for a hot date. Women had been hovering around the store for a solid week, flirting outrageously, asking his opinions and making purchases, just so he would wait on them, spend a few extra moments with them.
So why was she complaining if Joe had a hot date on Saturday night? Hadn’t she wanted to keep their relationship platonic? Hadn’t she been wishing for a skilled assistant to mind the store while she created new window displays, which usually sold within a few hours of being set up? Hadn’t she craved more spare time to pursue her private craft projects? She was getting what she wanted, and she wasn’t as happy as she thought she’d be. And all because she had developed an infatuation for a man whom she’d labeled as off-limits.
You go, girl.
“Just shut up,” Mattie muttered at that annoying little voice. She was going home to soak in a hot bath, stuff her face with snacks and sprawl in her recliner. Another exciting, fun-filled evening at the Roland homestead.
Feeling immensely sorry for herself, Mattie closed up the shop, piled into her old model car and drove home. An hour later, dressed in an oversize T-shirt that served as a nightgown, flip-flops, and not much else, Mattie stood at her kitchen window, staring at a distant campfire that cast swaying shadows on the trees that lined the creek behind her house.
“Well, damn,” Mattie grumbled as she headed for the back door. She suspected Pops and his cohorts had sneaked away from the nursing home to fish in the creek. Either that or aliens had landed their flying saucer on the far side of the hill and were conducting scientific experiments.
Annoyed, Mattie picked her way down the dirt path and peered around a tree. Sure enough, Pops was tossing his fishing line into the creek with one hand and holding an aluminum can in the other. Damnation, if he upset the chemical balance his doctor and nurses were trying to align, she’d murder him. This nonsense had to stop!
As far as the other old men were concerned, Mattie would threaten to tattle to their families if they didn’t cease these moonlight capers…
Her murderous thoughts scattered like buckshot when she saw Joe Gray rise up from his lounging position near a tree. She knew it was him. His broad shoulders and narrow hips gave him away as he leaned over to retrieve a beer can from the ice chest.
That did it! Mattie was plenty mad. She stalked forward to put a stop to this latest shenanigan. She was royally PO’d, and she didn’t care who knew it.
“All right, party’s over,” she snapped brusquely. “Blast it, Pops!”
Pops clutched his chest and staggered to support himself on the three-pronged cane beside him. “Damn it, Shortcake, what are you trying to do? Give us a collective heart attack?”
“Why not? It’s bound to come sooner or later if you and your friends hang out in this damp night air, chugging beer and munching on high-cholesterol snacks.” Her chest heaved with frustration. “Have the whole bunch of you lost your minds? When the director finds you missing he’ll have a conniption, order you restrained or boot you out, depending on his mood. And you—” She rounded on Joe, gearing up to read him every paragraph of the riot act.
Pops waved his arms in expansive gestures to gain Mattie’s attention before she laid into Joe. “Calm down, Shortcake. We just came down to the creek to try out the new rods and reels Joe bought for us. And this isn’t booze,” he informed her. “It’s sugar-free, decaffeinated fruit juice. See?” He held the aluminum can in front of the lantern so she could read the label. “And besides, that uppity director at Paradise Valley didn’t catch us when we sneaked off last Saturday. So what are the odds that he’ll notice we’re missing when the other patients agreed to cover for us?”
“Last Saturday?” Mattie’s gaze targeted Joe like a heat-seeking missile. “You chauffeured them down here last Saturday, too?”
“Don’t go blaming our pal Joe,” Fred broke in. “We wrestled him to the ground and twisted his arms every which way until he agreed to help us make our getaway. He’s totally innocent, isn’t he, boys?”
Four heads bobbed in agreement.
“Yeah, right,” Mattie said, then smirked. “Like I can see that happening. You boys tackling Joe and manhandling him? Uh-huh, sure. Now gather up your fishing paraphernalia. I’m taking you back to the home.”
“It’s only nine o’clock,” Ralph complained. “We have an hour of freedom before we have to worry about curfew.”
“Tough, you’re AWOL, and we all know it. Pack it up and haul butt!” Mattie ordered succinctly.
Pouting like children, the senior citizens gathered their gear and cast her mutinous glares at irregular intervals. They were making her out to be the villain here, and she didn’t appreciate it one damn bit. She wasn’t backing down, no matter how many times their glares branded her a traitor.
“I’ll get the car,” she announced, whirling around.
“Mattie,” Joe called softly.
“What?” She didn’t do him the courtesy of looking at him.
“Maybe I better take the boys home. Although you look spectacular in that flimsy T-shirt, especially when the lantern light shines through it, I don’t advise parading around town, dressed as you are, with these escapees in tow. People might get the wrong impression.”
Mattie’s face blazed Congo Red. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, Joe,” she chirped.
“You did, all right,” he confirmed, his voice raspy. “You realize, of course, that this is going to affect my perception of you on the job. You may have to fire me for daydreaming.”
Covering herself as best she could, Mattie pivoted to meet Joe’s ornery grin. He was teasing her, and loving every minute of it, she realized. “Jerk,” she flung at him.
“Sex goddess,” he tossed back.
That stopped her cold. Sex goddess? She’d never considered herself any such thing. Furthermore, no man had ever referred to her as such. Obviously Joe was teasing her again. “Very funny. Hardy-har-har. If you’re finished having a laugh at my expense, then you can haul those elderly hoodlums to the home. Plus, I will reimburse you for the refreshments and fishing rods. Catering to my rascally grandfather and his cronies is not part of your job description.”
He cocked a dark brow. “As my employer, do the sacred rules and regulations state that you can tell me how to spend my paycheck?”
“You haven’t received your first paycheck,” she reminded him.
“Yeah so, what’s your point, Ms. Roland?” he smarted off.
Like Pops suggested, it was best that Mattie see his bad side, his good side, and all sides in between. The fact was that his rioting hormones were making him testy. He’d spent a miserable week following company rules, as well as the Regulations According to Mattie, and not touching her, not kissing the breath out of her had put excessive strain on his willpower and his temperament. He wanted. He ached. He tossed and turned half the night.
Now, seeing that glorious mane of raven hair cascading over her shoulders, staring at her shapely feminine physique, which was silhouetted against the lantern light and campfire, took his awareness of her to another dangerous level. Her arousing image was probably going to be plastered on the billboard in his brain for the next week—or ten.
“My point, Mr. Gray,” she growled, “is that these rogue retirees are not your responsibility. They are my family, every blasted one of them. They raised me.”
“So I’ve heard, but I’ve adopted them. They entertain me. They distract me.”
She elevated a perfectly sculpted brow. “Distract you from what, may I ask?”
Joe strode past her to bring up the rear of the procession of senior citizens who were hobbling uphill toward his truck. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Don’t I?” she called after him.
“Take my word for it, boss lady,” he bit off as he disappeared into the shadows.
Exasperated, Mattie smothered the small campfire, then tramped up the path that led to her house. She had no idea why Joe needed a distraction. Was he pining for a lost love? Grieving for a loved one? Getting over a broken marriage? Just because he claimed to be sans wife or girlfriend did not mean that he hadn’t had one or the other in the recent past and that he wasn’t trying to cope with the emptiness in his life.
The more she pondered that possibility, the more she was convinced that Joe had run away from an upsetting situation, or was on the run from himself and tormenting memories. It would explain why he’d shown up in Fox Hollow with little more than a few changes of clothing and no personal possessions.
Now what was she supposed to do? she asked herself as she mounted the back steps. Should she apologize for digging up unpleasant memories when she interrogated him? Should she pretend the conversation hadn’t happened, just like she tried to pretend they hadn’t almost shared a kiss?
Mattie grabbed a glass of water, then plunked into her recliner. The drone of the television provided very little distraction from her thoughts. Damn, there was that word again. Why did Joe need a distraction? Was he battling private demons? Should she offer to listen to his woes?
The roar of an engine and headlights glancing off the windows brought Mattie upright. She set aside her glass and padded to the front door.
What now? Had the Five Musketeers been overtaken before they could sneak in the same window they sneaked out? Had they been evicted from the home?
It only took a moment to recognize Joe’s rattletrap truck and note that he was alone. “Did you get them tucked into bed?” she asked as he strode purposefully toward her porch.
“May I come in?” He didn’t await a reply, just shouldered past her, moved her aside, then closed the door.
He loomed over her, looking more intense and somber than she’d ever seen him. Mattie involuntarily stepped back and attempted to shield herself, because she was still wearing the revealing T-shirt he’d commented on down at the creek.
“First off, I like your grandfather and his cronies. A lot,” Joe declared. “I grew up with my grandfather, and I miss having him around, like in the old days. He’s healthy enough to enjoy an active retirement and he travels, so I don’t see him as much as I used to. So, if I enjoy a substitute grandfather, times five, that’s my business.
“For your information, I got permission to take the gang out for the evening. They don’t know that, of course, because I don’t want to spoil their fun thinking they’ve pulled a fast one on the director and the nursing staff. In fact, I also have permission to take the gang on outings, as long as the joy rides don’t interfere with taking their medication on time. I realize that this leaves you playing the heavy, but that’s the role they’ve come to expect of their honorary, concerned granddaughter.”
Mattie was greatly relieved to hear Joe had gone through the proper channels for these evening outings. She could kick herself for not thinking to ask permission when the breakouts started.
“I’m sorry I came down on you like a semi load of bricks,” she murmured.
“Don’t be, because I’m not finished yet,” he assured her. He took a step closer, his gaze bearing down on her, making her squirm self-consciously. “I’ve decided you need to know what is causing the problem that requires a distraction.”
“If you don’t want to discuss it, I understand,” she bleated, her voice reacting to his overpowering nearness. “Really, Joe, if it’s personal and you aren’t comfortable confiding in me, it’s okay. If you’re recently divorced, or have ended a serious relationship, I know it must be difficult to discuss. Considering that you arrived here with little more than a suitcase of clothes and a clunker truck, I put two and two together. But believe me, I—”
At that point, he barked a laugh, confusing her.
“Is that what you thought?” He raked his fingers through his tousled dark hair. “I guess I did invite that impression, didn’t I? The truth is that I ran away from home, from a job that was bringing me down. I had to get away because I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. Or maybe I didn’t like what I’d become. Whatever the case, leaving that other life behind seemed the only solution. I just needed to be…away.”
That much he could confide in her. As for the rest of it, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he was the high king of woodcraft, who left his tufted throne to regain touch with a company that had ballooned out of proportion. He couldn’t tell her that tonight anyway. Not when he’d come here to straighten out her misconception. The fact of the matter was that he was going berserk because he’d vowed not to touch her—thanks to some stupid rule he’d made in his office, during a momentary lapse in judgment. And it was a dumb rule that he was going to rescind, soon as he returned to corporate headquarters.
Didn’t it stand to reason that people who hired on at Hobby Hut shared mutual interests? Who was he to discourage what might turn out to be a mutually satisfying relationship between business associates? If, however, a relationship interfered with production or caused problems that affected the store, then that was something else entirely. As far as Mattie’s rule of thumb went, then it was up to her to make the choice. Joe had made his decision during the return drive from Paradise Valley.
Joe sighed audibly, then glanced down to see Mattie staring up at him, waiting for him to continue. Damn, she looked so tempting in that ragged T-shirt, her glorious hair tumbling over her shoulders, those expressive violet eyes dominating her pixielike face.
Desire landed a blow below his belt buckle. Nothing new there. Joe had been in a permanent state of arousal for damn near a week. Mattie, however, seemed oblivious that he worked extra hard at maintaining self-control while she was underfoot. It was high time she knew the effect she had on him. If he had to deal with it, maybe she should have to, too.
“You are the problem that requires distraction,” he blurted out.
Her eyes popped. Her jaw sagged on its hinges. She stared at him as if artificial ivy dangled from his ears. “Me?” she peeped. “What did I do?”
“You live, you breathe,” he muttered, annoyed at her because she was so unaware of how attracted he was to her.
She stared quizzically at him, as if trying to decide if he was teasing her again.
“Hell yes, I’m serious,” he answered her unspoken question. “You want me to quit before or after I kiss you? But I definitely plan to kiss you, unless you are totally repelled by the thought. If so, speak up, Mattie.”
She didn’t speak up, didn’t say a word, just smiled at him. Then she looped her arms around the taut muscles on his neck and tilted her face to his.
His hands molded against the trim indentation of her waist and he pulled her against him. His body reacted instantaneously to the feel of her supple curves meshed to his masculine contours. “On three,” he whispered, hypnotized by the sparkle in her eyes. “One, two, three…”
Joe felt her lips part invitingly beneath his. That’s all it took to set him aflame. Need burgeoned, overriding thought. He responded mindlessly, devouring her, savoring her, plundering her mouth until he swore he was about to go into cardiac arrest. His heartbeat went off the charts when he heard her moan, and then she pulled his head down to devour him as thoroughly as he had devoured her.
His hands glided lower, mapping the swell of her hips, her bottom, then ventured up to cup her breasts. He teased the beaded nipples beneath her cotton T-shirt and felt her arch helplessly toward him. When she ground her hips against the hard length of his arousal, he restrained himself from throwing back his head and howling in torment.
“Oh, Mattie,” Joe croaked, pretty sure his voice sounded as if he’d been sucking helium.
He opened his eyes, then stared down at her kiss-swollen lips. All the while, the heat of unappeased passion swamped and buffeted him, egged him on. He slanted his lips over hers and clutched her tightly to him, delivering and receiving a kiss that packed enough wallop to send his senses reeling.
Mattie felt her mind whirling like a pinwheel. Her body sizzled with sensations she couldn’t begin to describe. She’d known she was attracted to Joe. That was a given. But my gracious! She hadn’t expected to feel so completely out of control the moment his lips first touched down on hers, the moment his hands glided over her quivering body, setting fires that burned deep in her very core.
Even now, when he raised his head and came up for breath, she still felt as if her bones were melting into puddles and her skin was turning into steam. She’d never known anything like this, certainly not that one time in college when she allowed sexual curiosity to sweep her away momentarily. She’d realized her mistake immediately afterward. The encounter had left her feeling foolish and ashamed, and she had never allowed another relationship to go beyond casual dating.
This, she decided, was what desire and passion was supposed to feel like—this spontaneous, ungovernable, delicious and wildly disconcerting wave of sensations that left no part of her untouched. Mattie had always regarded herself as an in-control kind of person. But when Joe kissed her, caressed her, she felt helplessly out of control—and didn’t mind that she was.
The fascinating discovery made her bolder, giddy. She draped her arms around his shoulders, marveling at the feel of his body’s reaction to her, feeling empowered by the intimate knowledge that she aroused him.
“Pretty impressive kisses, Mr. Gray,” she said playfully. “What do you say to the best two out of three? We’ll suspend my rules and the king of woodcraft’s regulations for a few minutes. You know, that whole space-out-of-time scenario you mentioned and see how this goes.”
A rakish grin quirked his lips. He was intrigued by her playful sense of humor and aroused because she was asking for more. He trailed his thumb and palms from the underside of her breasts, over the flat plane of her belly to rest possessively on her hips. He felt her shivering reaction, and a ripple of satisfaction streamed through him.
“You nearly gave me a coronary with those first two kisses, Mattie. I’m not sure I can survive another one. If I do survive, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to stop with a kiss and caress. You turn me on, Mattie, in case you don’t know it, and I can’t imagine how you could miss the way my body reacts to you. Are you willing to risk what comes next? We’re talking serious, intimate stuff here, Mattie. Are you ready for that?”
Her smile wavered when sanity crowded past the tantalizing sensations. She admired and respected Joe for giving her a choice, not overwhelming her. And she had no doubt that he could, because he was a devastatingly sensual man who obviously had oodles of experience with intimate relationships. In comparison, she was practically a novice. She was talking years since she’d allowed herself to get caught up in the heat of the moment. But it hadn’t been so long that she hadn’t forgotten that it had turned out badly.
Her arms slowly retreated from his shoulders. Her fingertips lingered to encircle the buttons on his chambray shirt. “You’re probably right…no, you’re exactly right, Joe,” she amended. “We’ve only known each other ten days. And though we’ve spent an enormous amount of time together, it is a little too soon. I don’t do affairs, rarely even have time to date because of my job and obligations to Pops.”
Which was exactly why Joe had called a halt—though his body was screeching at him to go with the flow. He knew Mattie well enough to know she wasn’t into one-nighters. She didn’t feed her sexual desires the way she regularly fed her appetite.
She was not a woman who gave sexual favors heedlessly, or without forethought. In short, she was absolutely, positively nothing like the women in his previous social circle. Joe had too much respect and affection for Mattie to screw up their business and personal relations, just to scratch this itch—maddening though it most certainly was.
Gently he reached over to limn the velvety texture of her lips, the curve of her jaw, the rise of her cheeks. “You’re one of a kind, Mattie,” he murmured huskily.
She forced a smile. “Yeah, I know, that’s a polite way of saying I’m the tomboy next door who gets a bigger kick from power tools than power shopping.”
He didn’t like to hear her put herself down that way, especially when he admired her unique qualities and talents. Joe shook his head in contradiction. “You’re way wrong, sweetheart. You possess amazing gifts and creative skills. Power tools may be the tools of your trade, but it’s what you create, the love and intensity you put into your art and crafts that make you special. You fix things and make them right, whether it’s repairing broken knickknacks or solving problems in your grandfather’s and his friends’ lives. You are caring and generous of heart, and your neighbors and customers come to you for ideas, help and advice. And furthermore, glamour is superficial and short-lived. It rubs off with soap and water and it hangs in a closet. You have inner beauty that runs soul deep.”
Mattie stared at him, amazed that he perceived her as something special when she considered herself unremarkable and had never put forth the effort to make much of her physical assets. But what really hit her where she lived was that Joe didn’t care that she didn’t gussy herself up in attempt to gain attention and impress others. He seemed to appreciate her for who and what she was. She wanted to hug him for that, but, considering their explosive physical reaction to each other, she predicted they’d wind up naked on the living room floor—and things would get totally out of hand, or in hand, in this case.
“There’s something else you should know, Mattie,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her and drew her full length against him, nuzzling his chin against the top of her head. “I like who I am when I’m with you. I had to get away from the life I was living because I wasn’t sure if I was liked for myself anymore. You helped me find the person who got lost somewhere along the way. I enjoy being a part of your life. If the intimacy is too much for you to handle, then I’ll suffer the raging hormones. I’ll leave it totally up to you to let me know if, and when, you’re ready to take the intimate step.”
Willfully, Joe set her away from him, though he preferred to hold her, to absorb her into him. He glanced over her head to notice several large paintings, surrounded and accentuated by curio shelves, a plant stand, deacon’s bench, and Shaker-style reading table. Studying the interior decor of her home was the distraction he needed to keep himself from doing something crazy—like tossing good sense to the four winds and succumbing to the unruly urges of his body.
“Damn, woman, do you know how talented and gifted you are?” he said as he strode up to the painting that had reached across the room to draw him closer. “You put so much life, detail and color into your artwork that it grabs hold and won’t let go.”
Joe forced himself to move to the next landscape painting that depicted the old wooden bridge south of town that he’d noticed while cruising with the Roland Gang. Mattie’s artwork transported him to the scenic location, filled him with a sense of peace. It dawned on him while he appraised the third painting that Mattie’s artwork depicted all those safe, serene havens where a person might go to achieve a sense of inner tranquillity. When she added memorabilia and collectibles to the surrounding shelves and tables, the entire wall became a peaceful sanctuary of sorts.
Lord, what a creative, artistic knack she had. She always managed to come up with just the right combinations of arts and crafts. Oh, how he’d love to have her in the creative design department of Hobby Hut Enterprises. She was a font of unique ideas.
“Joe, would you like a cup of hot chocolate? I get the feeling you’ll be wanting the whole tour of my arts and crafts, considering how fascinated you seem to be with the living room walls.” Mattie was enormously pleased and proud that Joe appreciated and admired her art—and said so.
“Cocoa would be great, thanks,” he said without glancing at her, so intent was he on the seaside painting that hung above boat-shaped shelves filled with hand-painted knickknacks. “When did you find time to do these detailed paintings?”
“It’s been several months since I’ve worked on time-consuming paintings like these. The store monopolizes my time, and customized jobs for clients fill up my evenings. Running back and forth to check on Pops takes up the remainder of my spare time. I keep thinking the custom projects will slow down, but word of mouth appears to be promoting my work, and clients keep showing up with requests.”
While Mattie ambled into the kitchen to mix and heat the hot chocolate, Joe went from one wall to the next, mesmerized, fascinated. Mattie’s home was a veritable showcase of art and crafts that gave the place a personality all its own. Subtle, understated themes were carried out in each display. But it was the painting hanging above her bed, bookended by curio shelves, that sucker-punched him.
Children, laughter etched in careful detail on their faces, played in the shade of a sprawling oak tree. In the background was the depiction of an old clapboard homestead, barn and outbuildings. A young couple was cozied up on the porch swing, watching contentedly while their children played on the lawn.
Joe stood there, motionless, feeling himself drawn into the circle of the loving, close-knit family he’d never had—and probably never would if he remained on this same course in his corporate world. He felt as if he was falling into the artist’s unspoken dream of a simple life, surrounded by a caring family.
Suddenly Joe wanted to be there, sitting on the swing, watching his children, cuddling up with his wife. He wanted it all—the good life—not the executive suite, surrounded by yes-men and -woman who kept telling him what they thought he wanted to hear. He wanted honesty, true friendships, the opportunity to create with his hands as Mattie did. Love. He wanted that most of all. To love and be loved. To matter, to be wanted and needed. To make a difference…
Feelings, deep and intense and sentimental, bombarded him with the force of tornadic winds. He staggered, realizing how empty and materialistic his life had become. Mattie’s life was full, and complex, because of her dedication to customers, friends and to Pops. Yet, he realized that on some level this painting depicted what Mattie needed to complete her life. She filled her time with substitutes for love, but this painting was her elusive dream.
“Joe, the hot chocolate is ready.”
He pivoted to see her smiling at him, and he just couldn’t bear to be alone with her until he pulled himself together, got these spinning emotions under control. If he didn’t leave now, the feelings squeezing at his heart, and this abrupt sense of desperation, were going to overpower him. He might do something stupid—like appease the sense of vulnerability that had overcome him by seducing Mattie, right here, right this minute. He just couldn’t do that to her, not after he promised he would give her time to make her choice.
“I gotta go,” he said as he whizzed past her, refusing to glance at her.
“Joe? What’s wrong?” she called as he made fast tracks toward the front door. “Are you feeling okay?”
“No, definitely not.” He was feeling too much, too fast, too intensely…and it scared the hell out of him. He had to sit himself down and think. He would go to his apartment, park himself in front of that gigantic mural of towering pines and sky-scraping mountains, and stare at them until he pulled himself together.
“Joe?”
Mattie’s shoulders slumped when the door closed on his heels. Damn, he’d been in a strange mood. Curious, Mattie retraced her steps to the bedroom and stood where he’d stood, peering at the painting of an old homestead and family. Is that what had shaken him up?
“Why on earth…?” Mattie’s voice evaporated when she remembered what had compelled her to paint this picture. This was the family she decided she was never going to have, after she gave up on meeting the man of her dreams, a man who shared her need and desire for a loving family, shared her appreciation for art and crafts.
Had this painting reminded Joe of what he didn’t have?
Mattie couldn’t answer that question, because Joe had only confided bits and pieces of his past to her. Oh yes, he told her that his parents had taken off, much as hers had. Told her that his grandparents had raised him. But she didn’t know where he’d worked during the years in between. Didn’t know who had come and gone and influenced his life. Obviously something was bothering him, something he hadn’t confided in her.
“Give it up, Mattie. Dr. Freud you’re not,” she told herself as she ambled to the living room to sip the two cups of hot chocolate. “This is your life, and you liked it well enough until Joe showed up. Just be thankful for what you have and don’t dwell on what you don’t have.”
Having given herself that sound advice, Mattie flicked on the TV news broadcast and lounged in her chair.
There was no sense wasting time trying to figure out Joe, when she couldn’t even diagnose what caused this restless, edgy feeling that was thrumming through her. Must be the caffeine in two cups of cocoa, she tried to convince herself. But deep down, Mattie had the unshakable feeling that the affliction ailing her went by the name of Joe Gray. She was becoming emotionally involved with him, whether that was a good idea or not. She sensed that he was only going to be a temporary resident in Fox Hollow, considering what he’d told her tonight. If she let herself fall in love with the man she would get her naive heart broken.
Take a few risks, Shortcake. You’ll always regret the opportunities missed.
Mattie vaulted to her feet, shut off the TV, the lights, then went to bed. The last thing she needed right now was Pops’s devil-may-care philosophies spinning in her head. What she needed most of all was a good night’s sleep.
5
SITTING IN THE DILAPIDATED recliner, Joe stared at the large mural of pines, a crystal-clear lake and towering mountains. A sense of peace stole over him—as long as he concentrated on the lifelike scenery. He still wasn’t sure why the painting hanging over Mattie’s bed had shaken him so badly. He hadn’t spent much time dwelling on what lay in his future, or regretting his past, just worked to build the company until it exploded into a multimillion-dollar business. But that painting represented a circle of family he’d never had as a kid and probably wouldn’t have as an adult. He’d programmed himself to be satisfied with the life he led—until he just couldn’t take it anymore.
“God, listen to you,” Joe muttered at himself. “There are people all over the planet who would like to be in your shoes.”
On impulse, Joe bounded up to retrieve his cell phone, then punched in his grandfather’s number. The phone rang three times before J. D. Grayson picked up.
“Hello?”
“Gramps, it’s me.”
“D.J., where the hell are you? I’ve tried to reach your cell phone, but all I get is voice mail,” J.D. said. “Your junior executives have been calling and leaving messages all week, wondering where to reach you so you can tell them what to do.”
“That’s why I skipped town,” Joe replied. “It was time to force the whole lot of them to earn their salaries and stop depending on me to make every decision.”
J.D. obviously noted the undertone of bitterness and frustration in Joe’s voice, because he chuckled. “Told you that you’d spoon-fed them too long. They definitely need weaning, but it’s not like you to just take off to parts unknown without leaving a forwarding address. So where the devil are you, D.J.?”
“First you have to promise you won’t disclose my whereabouts,” Joe requested.
“Me? Shoot, no. I won’t tell those candy-ass executives where you are if you don’t want me to.”
“I’m in Fox Hollow, working incognito as hired assistant at the local Hobby Hut.”
“What the blazes are you doing that for?” Gramps crowed.
How to explain without sounding like the irresponsible, self-serving father who had bailed out to follow his own rainbows. It was a touchy subject with Gramps. “Because I needed to get back in touch with the reason you and I started designing and constructing crafts and knickknacks in our garage workshop,” he said finally.
Dead silence.
“Gramps?” Joe prompted.
“Tell me you’re not turning into your father or your social butterfly of a mother,” J.D. said, then scowled.
Joe was afraid Gramps would get the wrong impression. Sure enough. “No, I’m not my father, Gramps. I just needed to take the off-ramp from the fast lane of life and wander the backroads to recapture the enthusiasm the business held for me when it was just the two of us pitching our woodcraft creations to other companies.”
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