Finders Keepers (12 page)

Fuck. All the way to infinity and back. I was about to shake
hands with her dad with a hard-on. Not a proud moment.

Mr. Gibson extended his hand with a sigh and shook mine with
another sigh. “Good to see you, too, Garth.” He gave Josie a look before his
eyes zeroed back in on me. I don’t know if he knew the thoughts I was having
about his daughter and the way my body was responding to those thoughts or if he
just downright hated my guts, but that was one look I would take to the grave.
“Keep your hands off my daughter. I have no problems going back to prison.”

I lifted my eyebrows. “Duly noted.”

With a huff, Josie broke our handshake by stepping between
us and leveling her dad with a look that wouldn’t have only leveled me; it
would have obliterated me. “That’s your idea of—”

“That’s all I’m capable of right now, Josie Belle. I don’t
hand out second chances just because. If Garth proves himself worthy of me changing
my less-than-stellar opinions of him, I will do it with a smile. But until then
. . .” Mr. Gibson patted Josie’s cheek, the same one I’d just had my hand
around. “He’s serving his sentence for all the years he’s spent building a bad
reputation.”

I totally got where Mr. Gibson was coming from. If I ever
became a father and my daughter hung around a guy like me, I’d be faced with
two options: serve a life sentence for putting a bullet into the kid’s head or
sequester my daughter to her own private iceberg in the middle of the Bering
Sea. I’d die before I’d let a daughter of mine get involved with someone like
me. Mr. Gibson and I spoke the same language there.

There was a problem, though. Mr. Gibson didn’t know Josie
and I’d slept together. He and Mrs. Gibson didn’t have a clue I’d been the
reason Josie and Jesse—their golden son-in-law who could have been—broke up.
The three of us had come to some sort of unspoken agreement not to talk about
what had happened. We didn’t talk about what had taken three best friends and
split them apart. He didn’t know I’d been intimate with his daughter, and he’d
still formed the opinion of me that I was about as worthless as a bull with no
buck. If and when the day ever came that he found out . . . well, I would never
get a second chance because I’d spend the rest of this life and my next serving
time for the first chance I’d
ruined.

Josie hitched her hands on her hips, and I knew it wasn’t a
matter of if, but when she got back into it with her dad. So instead of
carrying on what I knew to be a stalemate, I turned to the other guy. The one
who made my fists ball the instant I looked at him. As expected, he was running
his eyes all over Josie. When they stopped on her ass, I stepped forward, and I
swear to god if his gaze hadn’t shifted right then, I would have hammered him
into the ground.

“Colt.” I shifted until I was between Josie and his leering
gaze.

“Garth.” He crossed his arms and stood taller. I still had
the douche by two inches. “Looks like your face healed up okay.”

As expected, getting in a bar fight with me was the
highlight of Colt Mason’s life. “What? From those butterfly kisses you gave me?
It was like a day at the spa.” Instead of refereeing her dad and me together,
Josie shifted to trying to referee me and Colt apart. Wasn’t happening.

“Don’t spa days cost money? Something you don’t have any
of?”

Josie let out a small gasp. I lifted an eyebrow at him that
said
Is that all you’ve got?
“You know, there are plenty of things you
can’t buy with money. Like respect. Or integrity. Or a dick that doesn’t
malfunction.”

“Garth,” Mrs. Gibson hissed. Of course she’d missed Colt’s
insult.

Colt stepped forward. “Given all of your conquests that
might have a little . . .
mileage
on them, I suppose you know about
malfunctioning dicks.”

Why was I letting the asshole still run his mouth? Oh, yeah,
no reason. I was so close to bringing my left fist around until to smash that
stupid little smirk off his face when Josie’s hand slipped into my fist. With
one touch, she’d diffused a bomb. Her hand didn’t stay in mine long—just long
enough to calm me down. It slipped out before Colt or her parents saw.

“If either of you boys want to stay around for dinner, you’d
better watch your mouths. And your fists.” Mr. Gibson gave me a pointed look. I
guess he hadn’t missed that I was ready to send Mason across the living room
with one hit.

“Sorry, Mr. Gibson.” Colt turned his back to me and headed
to the table. “This guy just has a way of getting under my skin. Along with
everyone else’s.”

“Garth is a guest here. So are you. The better man isn’t the
one who hits first or the hardest or the most. The better man is the one who
uses his head instead of his fists.”

I had so many smart-ass responses to that, but I tried
something I’d been trying more and more and bit my tongue until it almost bled.
Mr. Gibson sat at the table and waited for us to do the same. Mason, the ass
kisser, sat next to Mr. Gibson before I’d stepped toward the table.

“Hey, Josie. We’re still on for next month, right?” Mason
asked.

Two points for knowing just how to push my buttons. My hands
were back into fists as I approached the table. He might have sat beside Mr.
Gibson to get so far up that man’s ass he’d need the damn enema of enemas to
get him out, but I wasn’t there for Mr. Gibson. I was there for someone else.
Sliding out a chair, I glanced at Josie and raised an eyebrow. She smiled. She
was still smiling when I sat beside her.

“Josie? Have you gone deaf, child?” Mrs. Gibson set a big
roast in the middle of the table. “Colt asked you a question.”

Her smile dropped. “I must have missed it. Sorry, Colt, what
did you ask?”

He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I asked
if we were still on for next month?”

“What’s next month?”

Colt’s shoulders dropped just enough to make me grin. “The
big winter dance and barbecue at Wild Bill’s.”

I wanted to make like Josie and roll my eyes. Our town and
its fondness for seasonal get-togethers at the local honky-tonk. As a rule, I
avoided “community” get-togethers since community made me nauseous. The only
reason I’d been to a few of them was because there were so many single and
willing women at those things, it was like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.” Josie grabbed the basket of
rolls and handed them to me. She knew I’d never met a roll I didn’t like.
“We’ll see.”

Colt did not look pleased. Mrs. Gibson looked horrified. Me?
Well, I still hadn’t stopped grinning.

Mrs. Gibson peered at Josie as she sliced into the roast.
“If you promised Colt you’d go with him to the dance, it’s only right you keep
your word. That’s just good manners.”

“And lecturing your grown daughter at the dinner table while
we have a couple of guests sitting around it is the opposite of good manners.”
Josie peered right back at her mom as she heaped a couple servings of mashed
potatoes on to her and my plates. Josie probably didn’t think anything of
it—she was too distracted by her flaring temper to realize what she was
doing—but no one had ever taken care of me the way she was. Handing me the
biscuits even though she didn’t take one, dropping a spoonful of potatoes on my
plate, giving me only a small portion of peas because I wasn’t hot on them . .
. I wasn’t used to people showing me that level of care and concern.

“Thank you,” I said and waited for her to look at me. When
she did, I slid my hand beneath the table. I let it rest on her leg, just above
her knee. She didn’t gasp, she didn’t jolt, she didn’t even look surprised. The
look on her face said she’d almost been expecting it. Then her hand found mine,
and our fingers tangled together. I couldn’t imagine ever getting tired of
holding Josie’s hand.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

After that, dinner was pretty uneventful. Other than Colt
keeping his lips vacuum-sealed to Mr. Gibson’s ass and Mrs. Gibson criticizing
each of her dishes by what was missing and which ones needed more salt, it was
a pleasant dinner. Mostly thanks to Josie’s and my hands never separating.
Thankfully, Mrs. Gibson’s roast was tender. I would have rather picked it up
and eaten it with one hand than let go of Josie’s to cut it.

Plates were being cleared when Colt cleared his throat and
made his move. I knew that look in his eyes. I’d practically invented that
look. I didn’t like that look when some douche had it aimed at Josie. No, that
wasn’t quite true . . . I
hated
that look aimed at Josie.

“My mom was just saying as I left tonight that if I didn’t
bring you home so you two could catch up, she was considering disowning me.”
Colt wiped his mouth with his napkin and shoved back from the table. “She had
the actual disownment paperwork signed and ready to go. So what do you say?
Will you come over to my place tonight? Or will I be homeless and motherless
tomorrow?”

I hated Colt Mason. If there was any question before, his
cheap move confirmed it. I knew exactly what Colt had in mind about bringing
Josie to his place, and it had nothing to do with talking or parents being
anywhere around.

“I don’t know. It’s late, it’s freezing, I’m tired, and
Garth’s here. It’s his first night.” I didn’t miss the quick glance she threw
my way. Nothing like sharing a secret that would probably get both our asses
thrown out if her parents found out about my first
first
night. “Maybe
some other time?”

Mrs. Gibson was just about to say something when Colt cut
in. “It’s barely nine o’clock, coats and car heaters do a pretty good job of
taking care of the cold, I’m guessing your mom threw on a pot of coffee to
serve with dessert, and Garth’s a big boy capable of tucking himself in. Isn’t
that right, Garth?” Colt glanced at me for a fraction of a second, making it
clear I wasn’t worth his time or attention.

“I don’t know about that. I’d take Josie tucking me in over
myself any night. Strictly hypothetically speaking here,” I added when Mr. and Mrs.
Gibson’s heads snapped my way.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you’re used to some woman tucking you
into bed, or your truck cab, or the bathroom counter of Brandy’s, or beneath
the grandstand bleachers, or—”

“The bathroom counter at Brandy’s? Have you seen that thing?
It’s a hazmat team’s wet dream. I might not be picky, but I would not choose to
be tucked in there.” I knew Colt was trying to get to me, to turn me into a
cussing ball of instinct. I also knew why he was trying to release my inner
Hulk. He wanted Mr. and Mrs. Gibson to have front row seats to the Garth Black
Loosing his Shit Show. I wasn’t sure what I wanted more: to ruin Colt’s baiting
me plan or to not let the Gibsons see I was the guy they assumed I was. Both
were strong motivators for fighting Colt’s traps.

Before Colt could decide what to hit me with next, Mrs.
Gibson paused before heading into the kitchen with the tower of dirty dinner
plates. “Josie, why don’t you head over to Colt’s after dessert? You made two
pies, after all. You could take one over for his family to enjoy. I know you’re
tired,” Mrs. Gibson added when Josie looked ready to argue, “but I’m sure Colt
will get you home before it gets too late. Isn’t that right, Colt?”

“Of course, Mrs. Gibson. I’ll make sure she’s home by
eleven.”

Eleven? That would give them at least a couple of hours at
the Masons’. That was way, way,
way
too much time for Josie to be at
Colt Mason’s. Assuming he was the one-pump wonder I’d always believed he was,
thirty seconds was too long for Josie to be at his place.

“Thank you, both of you”—Josie stood, her gaze flicking from
Colt to her mom—“but I am twenty-one and able to decide
if
I want to go
out and what time I want to be back by. But thank you for your efforts to treat
me like a thirteen-year-old. Always appreciated.” Without another word, Josie
charged past her mom into the kitchen. I wasn’t sure if I should expect her to
start breaking stuff or if she’d come back with a butcher knife in her hands.
Based on the blaze in her eyes, I was betting on the butcher knife. Josie and I
had quick-flare tempers, and I knew from fighting my own that it was best for
me to work it out myself.

That was why I stood up and headed for the kitchen. Josie’s
words from that morning were on my mind—about how I didn’t know what was good
for me. If she was right, that meant working my temper out on my own wasn’t the
best case scenario, which meant leaving her to work out hers wasn’t either.
Either way, I just wanted to be with her. Mrs. Gibson was setting the dishes in
the sink, and Josie had her head in the . . .
freezer
. That was a form
of cooling down from a temper high I wasn’t familiar with.

“Joze?” I ignored Mrs. Gibson’s looks and headed for the
fridge. “If you’re looking to vent your temper, I’ve got a whole list of effective
ways to go about it without crystallizing your brain.”

“Oh, yeah? Do you have a whole list of effective ways to go
about getting ice cream out of the freezer?” Holding out a tub of vanilla ice
cream, she closed the freezer.

“You know me, I’ve got a list of effective ways for doing
everything.”

“I wouldn’t use the work
effective.
More like
creative
.”
She smirked at me as she grabbed a scoop out of a drawer.

Mrs. Gibson stationed herself next to Josie and tried to
grab the scoop. “I’ve got dessert. Why don’t you go back out there and keep
Colt company?”

Josie whipped it out of her reach. “I made dessert. I’m
serving dessert. Why don’t
you
go keep Colt company since you’re his
number two fan?”

Mrs. Gibson put a hand on her hip and let out a sigh of
exasperation before heading back to the dining room. “With an attitude like
that, it’s no wonder you’re twenty-one and still single. You’re my only child.
I’m counting on you for grandbabies—lots of them—preferably before I’m dead.”
She stopped just outside the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t want some help
with dessert, honey?”