Josie Day Is Coming Home (13 page)

Helpfully, he pointed.

“All
right,
you damned nag. Being around you is
like having a wife or something.”

TJ stuck his corn dog in the mustard like a candle on a
birthday cake, then slouched to the tool bench. He wiped his hands on his baggy
jeans—every inch the trained mechanic who’d learned not to sully the tools. He
retrieved the wrench.

“Thanks.”

TJ plucked out his corn dog, saluted with it, then went on
munching.

Luke raised his eyebrows.

“I know. I should’ve brought you one,” TJ said,
waggling the dog. “But I didn’t think you’d eat it.”

Luke waited, knowing there was more to come. He hadn’t spent
the past five or six years around TJ without figuring out a few things about
him.

He didn’t disappoint.

“Dude, you’re slipping.” TJ shook his head
sorrowfully. “I saw a box of Wheaties in your kitchen. Wheaties!”

“Hey. It’s the breakfast of champions.”

“It’s the breakfast of kids. Or old geezers with their
pants pulled up to their armpits. Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft out here in
the country.”

“I’m about as soft as this casing.” Luke thumped
on the solid metal shock, preparing to pry off the top piece so he could test
the hydraulic unit. “Besides, what are you, the bachelor police?”

“If I was, you’d be
so
busted.”

“Like hell, I would. I’ve got a sink full of dirty
dishes and my socks don’t match. I think.” He frowned, considering it.
“Who knows? Anyway, I’ve got a gallon of ketchup to go with that mustard.
So you can just back off.”

TJ nodded. “Excellent.”

They were back on even footing. All bachelors understood
Luke’s theory of grocery shopping. If a little was good, a lot was better.
Buying massive quantities of everything ensured you only had to schlep a
shopping cart once every few months. Hence, two gallons of condiments and a
fridge full of economy size corn dogs. He’d grabbed both on a
search-and-destroy mission through the warehouse zone of the local Shop ‘N
Save.

“You’ve got to watch yourself, though.” TJ peered
at the half-built carburetor on the nearby worktable, then at the rejiggered
set of Earles forks by the window. “You get to liking it out here, you’ll
never come back to L.A.”

Luke shook his head. “This is strictly temporary. Once
I’ve sold Blue Moon and converted this place into cash, all this stuff is
moving into a real shop.” He scanned the carriage house, seeing past its
hundred-year-old makeshift space to the modern mechanic’s shop he planned to
buy when he left Donovan’s Corner. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Yeah? You’re that close?” Looking interested, TJ
chomped the last bite of his corn dog. He started in on the spare he’d tucked
in the back pocket of his jeans, first dipping it in the tub o’ mustard.
“Is that why you were working inside the house last night? Getting it ready
to show to buyers?”

The last thing Luke wanted to do was discuss what he’d been
doing last night. He grimaced, twisting the shock cover. “This is stuck.
I’m going to need the blowtorch to heat it up.”

“Come on,” TJ prompted, not buying it for an
instant. “You looked like
something
was going on.”

With a sigh, Luke glanced up. He’d dodged this conversation
last night, thanks to a few beers and the Suns game he and TJ had watched on TV
after unloading the bike. He wouldn’t be so lucky twice.

“You reporting this to my father?”

“Hell, no. He’s still chewing on that piece of info I
gave him last time.” TJ grinned.

“What, that I’m spending all my time building a tree
house out of empty Budweiser bottles?”

TJ chuckled, obviously pleased. “Yeah. That was a good
one. I made you a drunk
and
a loony, both at the same time.”

“Right. Really good.” Luke rolled his eyes, then
got to his feet. Giving up on the BMW’s shock for now, he grabbed a rag to wipe
his hands with. “You’re very efficient.”

Given the outlandish stories TJ had been reporting, Luke
almost felt sorry for his dad. Thanks to TJ’s flair for the dramatic, he’d been
suckered into buying into some pretty bizarre things. But Robert Donovan had
always been prepared to believe the worst about Luke. A long line of former
headmasters, college deans, and European friends of the family had proven that.

He remembered why his father thought it was necessary to
send TJ to spy on him in the first place, and all warmhearted feelings
evaporated.

“Hell, yeah, I’m efficient,” TJ agreed, not
noticing Luke’s frown. “Efficient enough to snag myself a new truck
and
a new trailer to go with it. I’ve gotta say, the bribes are a nice perk of the
corporate family spy business. Who knew?”

Cheerfully unbothered that he was both pretending to be
spying
and
lying about what he’d learned to the man who’d hired him to
do so, TJ put down his mustard. He wiped his mouth with the hem of his Spidey
shirt, then glanced outside.

“I dunno. I’d be tempted to keep this place,” he
said. “It’s not bad. Sort of like the Playboy Mansion, only without the
bunnies. You could fix it up and keep it for weekends.”

“I can’t. It’s either this or my mechanic’s shop.”

Luke wanted that mechanic’s shop. Aside from disappointing
his family, fixing things was his major talent. At the age of four, he’d
recalibrated his Big Wheel for more torque. At fourteen, he’d spent shop class
building his first street racer. He loved taking apart an engine and rebuilding
it again. When he was fixing something, he could forget everything else.

“Dude, the last time I checked, your family owned one
of the biggest freight trucking empires in the country,” TJ pointed out.
“Not to mention a whole bunch of other stuff. I hate to break it to you,
but you’re practically a freaking tycoon. You’re rich. Wealthy. Loaded.
Well-to-do.
Rolling
in dough.”

“Not anymore.”

TJ scoffed. “That’s only temporary. You go to your dad,
you apologize, everything’s cool again.”

“No. Screw that.” Luke crossed his arms, glancing
down at the tattoos that set him apart from his father’s upper-crust,
cocktails-and-country-club life. He’d never been able to satisfy Robert
Donovan. He was finished trying. This might be the latest in a long line of
standoffs, but this one had an important difference. It was permanent.

“Whatever. It’s your stupid inheritance that’s on the
line, not mine.” TJ sat on a ‘76 Yamaha TT500 flat tracker. He pretended
to steer, making revving sounds like the oversize kid he was. “The longer
you hold out in this feud, the longer my payola lasts.”

“Glad I can keep your cash cow mooing.”

“Hey. You’re just lucky I’m an
honest
spy.”

Luke had to admit TJ was right. He’d met TJ during one of
his corporate stints at Donovan & Sons, and they’d hit it off right away.
When TJ had first come to visit him after Luke’s exile to Blue Moon, Luke
hadn’t suspected a thing…until TJ had explained that his father had asked him
to check up on his wayward son and report back. Nothing like a little corporate
espionage—with a family feud twist.

“You suck as a spy,” Luke had told TJ then, hardly
able to believe the lengths his father would go to keep tabs on him.
“You’re not supposed to tell me what you’re up to.”

But TJ had laughed off the idea. “Why not? It’s more
fun this way. I’m a freakin’ double agent. Besides, it serves your dad right
for checking up on you at all.”

Luke couldn’t help but agree. Especially with his father’s
last words ringing in his ears.

If you want to live like a blue-collar grease monkey, you
go right ahead. But don’t expect me to respect you for it
.

It sounded harsh. It sure as hell had felt that way. But
Luke should have expected it. After all, Robert Donovan wasn’t the kind of man
who allowed his wishes to be ignored—and that was exactly what Luke had done.

He’d been stuck in the corporate offices of Donovan &
Sons, fielding mounds of paperwork in an attempt to fulfill the optimistic
“& Sons” portion of the company letterhead. He’d been trying to
turn his attention from carburetors to spreadsheets, from disassembling big
rigs to managing the men who drove them. But it was no use. Luke didn’t want to
be upstairs having some candy-ass meeting with the rest of the company vice
presidents. He wanted to be downstairs taking apart diesel engines with the
company mechanics.

That afternoon, Robert Donovan had discovered his only son
in the shop—suit jacket and tie thrown to the side, both hands full of engine
parts, rolled-up shirtsleeves blackened with motor oil. He threatened to
disinherit Luke on the spot if he didn’t quit tinkering with the freight company’s
trucks and start managing the freight company’s paperwork.

Luke had refused.

Apparently, given Luke’s past, that had been the last straw.
To everyone’s surprise but Luke’s, his father made good on his threat.
Overnight, Luke found himself stripped of his trust fund, his various
residences, his cars, and most of his resources. All he’d had left was Blue
Moon—an estate his father couldn’t touch because Luke’s grandfather had
bequeathed it to him directly.

Luke figured that part pissed off his father to no end. He
didn’t know for sure. They hadn’t spoken since that day.

To hear TJ tell it, Luke’s dad had gotten softhearted
afterward. He’d felt sorry for the way he’d treated his only son, and had sent
TJ to make sure Luke was “handling things okay.” Luke didn’t buy it
for a second. As far as he could tell, the only thing Robert Donovan cared
about—had ever cared about—was his freight trucking empire.

The only thing Luke cared about, he told himself now, was
proving that he could succeed on his own terms—proving that success
could
be found outside a corporate executive office. So he’d been cut off from the
family fortune. Big deal. Luke didn’t care about passing up bucketsful of cash
and country club memberships. What he cared about was being publicly splintered
from the family tree. That hurt.

And he had too much pride to let it continue.

If it was the last thing he did, Luke intended to make his
mark…
his
way. Blue Moon would provide the seed money, and his
mechanic’s shop would provide the means. He’d force his father to respect
him—and, in the process, turn the famous Donovan determination in a whole new
direction.

“What you need in this place,” TJ said
thoughtfully, “is a girlie calendar. You know. One of those freebies from
a hubcap company or something. You don’t have a single picture of a hot babe in
a bikini lounging on the hood of a Mustang.”

“Does it have to be a Mustang?” Luke grinned.
“Because I’m a motorcycle mechanic.”

“Seriously. You call yourself a professional, but—
hang
on
. Who’s
that
?”

TJ pointed outside. His mouth hung open. A flush rose on his
face, making his cheeks match Spidey’s superhero outfit.

Hell. Those signs could only mean one thing. TJ had just
spotted Josie.

To make sure, Luke went to the window. Through its smeared
glass, he saw his showgirl stowaway. She was decked out in some kind of
miniskirt-plus-tank-top combo, crutches, and a determined expression that could
not bode well for anyone in her path. Another minute and she’d make her way
across the weeds to the carriage house.

“I take it back,” TJ said, sounding awed.
“You don’t need a girlie calendar. You just need to look out your window
once in a while.
Damn
. No wonder you didn’t tell me what you were doing
last night. You were doing
her
.”

“Shut up, Hardison.” Luke shoved his hand through
his hair, acutely aware, all of a sudden, that he hadn’t showered yet. He’d
gotten up, brushed his teeth, and started disassembling the shock on the BMW
bike. He’d planned to shower afterward. “You don’t know what you’re
talking about.”

Hastily, Luke wiped his hands on the shop rag again. Then he
pulled down his T-shirt and checked his reflection in the shiny chrome of a
Kawasaki’s side mirror. He was in the midst of cupping his hand over his mouth
to check his breath when TJ turned around.

And caught him.

TJ’s eyes widened. “You’re…what’s it called?
Primping
!
Jesus, Donovan. What the hell’s the matter with—”

He broke off. Comprehension dawned.

Frowning, Luke jerked his hands down. It didn’t help. His
breath was fine. But he felt a nearly overwhelming urge to go upstairs and
shower. Maybe even to shave. All in the thirty seconds before Josie got there.

“What’s the matter?” TJ asked, grinning wider than
ever before. “Trying to figure out whether or not your socks and shirt
match?”

Luke glanced down. God help him.

“Holy shit.” TJ strode closer. He peered at Luke
like a bratty kid gawking at the monkeys in the zoo. “I honestly don’t
believe it. You’ve got it baaaad for this girl.”

“I do not.” Damn it. If TJ would move his big fat
head, Luke would be able to see how far Josie had made it toward the carriage
house. “What do you know?”

“I know
plenty
.” Looking irritatingly
self-satisfied, TJ crossed his arms over his chest. Casually, he scraped his
thumbnail over the dried mustard on his T-shirt. “I know you’re probably
hoping there’s still time to slap on some Aqua Velva and
really
wow
her.”

Luke crossed his arms, ignoring him.

“I know I’m dying to find out who this mystery woman
is.”

Luke scoffed.

“I know,” TJ said, “that you’re probably
praying I don’t go outside right now and introduce myself to her.”

Luke’s insides froze. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, yeah?” TJ glanced outside. “Watch
me.”

Grinning, he bolted for the open carriage house doors.

Luke scrambled after him, one arm extended. He caught a whiff
of mustard, a fleeting fistful of T-shirt, and then…nada. TJ twisted like a
championship running back breaking a tackle, laughed like a hyena, and bounded
into the Arizona sunshine.