Josie Day Is Coming Home (21 page)

Flashing another impossible smile, Josie held up the
clipboard. The chamber of commerce paperwork fastened to it fluttered, partly
covered with her loopy, curlicue handwriting. She wrapped her hand tighter
around Luke’s arm, then tugged him toward the seating area with her.

“Come on. I’ll just wing it with this paperwork.”

Frowning, Luke let himself be led—but not without another
cautionary look at the clerk. He made a mental note to make sure Josie’s
application eventually got filed. If it were up to this employee, it might
accidentally get “lost.” He was just familiar enough with paper
shuffling—thanks to his unwanted days at Donovan & Sons’ corporate
headquarters—to know those things happened sometimes.

Josie wiggled onto the seat next to him. She studied the
clipboard. “Okay. This can’t be that tough, right?”

But as she peered at the application, frown lines puckered
her forehead. Her lips moved as she reread the instructions. Her shoulders
hunched. Josie filled out a few more blanks, hesitated, then scribbled out her
answers and wrote new ones. She chewed her pen, looking worried.

Finally she drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and
banged her head against the wall behind them. Thump.

Luke couldn’t stand it. “Want some help?”

“Sure.” She groaned, rubbing her head. “Have
you got a brain transplant handy?”

At her obvious frustration, tenderness filled him. He wanted
to make things right, to crush everyone who’d disappointed her, to fix it so
Josie was never unhappy again. Luckily, her eyes were still closed. She
couldn’t see any of those cornball feelings on his face.

“Let’s see. Brain transplant…brain transplant.”
He patted his jeans pockets, then his dark blue T-shirt. He shrugged. “I
must have left it in my other suit.”

A fleeting smile passed over her features. That was better.

“It figures.” She opened her eyes, treating him to
a disarmingly vulnerable gaze. “Me plus paperwork? Ugh. You might have
noticed, but brainpower isn’t really my strong suit.”

Luke remembered her mother trotting out the same tired
theory. But he didn’t believe it.

“Anybody who can figure out how to get TJ to dust all
twelve of the chandeliers has plenty of smarts,” he said. “And who’s
the genius who dreamed up those peanut butter and pineapple sandwiches last
night?”

She waved her hand. “That doesn’t count. We were out of
bologna. I was only improvising.”

He gave her a mock fierce look. “Who?” he
demanded.

Another wavering smile. “Me.”

“I told you so. They were good.” He’d polished off
two of those freakishly tasty sandwiches himself, and not just because the Ding
Dongs were gone. “And who figured out how to work the power buffer to
polish those miles of Blue Moon flooring?”

Josie had. “That was simple. It was a
weight-counterweight question. Intuitive body mechanics. Anybody could have
done it.”

Luke disagreed. “
You
did it. You’ve got
brainpower. It’s just nontraditional. Like mine.”

“Yours? Oh, yeah?” Raising her eyebrows, Josie
leaned back in her chair, her clipboard across her knees. She gave him an
interested look. “How’s that?”

“Well, look at me. I’m educated, talented—”

“Modest.” She grinned.

“—and ambitious. I was brought up in a good household,
with every advantage. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t do or have or try.”
Whoops
. At Josie’s curious look, Luke scaled back on the
Silver
Spoons
routine. “The way most people figure it, I ought to have a
skinny-ass pencil-pusher job someplace. Withering under fluorescent office
lights. Punching out the guy in the next cubicle because he stole my stapler.
Bulldozing my way up the corporate ladder. Right?”

“Well, I think a bulldozer would pretty much destroy
the corporate ladder. But I get your point.”

“But I wanted to work with my hands.” Luke held
them up, turning them over, spreading his fingers wide. They were callused.
Scratched. Even scrubbed clean of motor oil, they bore all the signs of being
workingman’s hands. “Fixing things was what I was good at. What I’ve
always been good at. Taking things apart, putting them back together again,
tweaking whatever I can get a grip on. I was
made
to be a
mechanic.”

At the words, he felt it. Now more than ever. Why couldn’t
his damned father see that?

“But most people don’t count that as a smart career
move,” he said. “Most people don’t count that at all.”

Josie took his hand. She enfolded it between her soft palms,
then lay her cheek against their joined hands. Her gaze met his. Steadily.
Knowingly.

“Most people don’t know how brilliant you are at it. Or
how much you love it.”

Luke scoffed. Feeling weird and raw, he withdrew his hand.
He hadn’t meant to give away so much. He frowned. “‘Love it’ is pushing
it.”

“No, it’s not.” Her intent gaze never left his
face. “You
do
love it. When you’ve got something scattered in
pieces around you—the furnace at Blue Moon, a bunch of motorcycle thingamabobs,
that lawn mower TJ accidentally broke—”

“He was racing it against the push mower.” Luke
knew, because he’d been driving the old-fashioned version. Damn it.

“—you get this look on your face,” Josie insisted.
She took his hand again and squeezed it. “I think…I think it’s the same
look I get when I’m dancing.”

Struck by the comparison, he gazed back at her. In that
moment, a connection grew between them—a connection born of understanding.
Similarity. Acceptance.

And lies,
his conscience niggled at him.
She
thinks you’re a handyman
.

Screw you,
Luke told his damned conscience silently.
He had more important things to think about right now. Like the admiration in
Josie’s face. The sparkle in her eyes. The warmth in her touch. He couldn’t
remember the last time anyone had touched him with so much affection…so much
faith. Until now, he hadn’t known how hungry he was for both.

“I haven’t seen that look,” he told her, giving
her hand an answering squeeze. “I haven’t seen you dance.”

Josie’s eyes widened. “No kidding? Now that my ankle’s
better, I practice every day in the studio—even
without
a ballet barre
and mirrors and a sound system.”

He made a face, trying to joke about the improvements he
never intended to make. Still, her reminder stung.

“I’ve got to be ready for my students,” she went
on. “I really want to
give
something to them, you know? Something
good. I think that was what was missing in my Las Vegas life. Giving.” She
tilted her head, studying him. “Come on. You mean you’ve never sneaked a
peek at me?”

Luke shook his head. He’d heard the music coming from her
boom box, had heard the muffled
shump-shump
of her feet as she’d moved
across the former ballroom, had seen her emerge afterward all sweaty and
glowing. But he’d never watched her.

The guilt had kept him away.

“I never wanted to watch,” he said honestly.

Which, it turned out, was
exactly
the wrong thing to
say.

Luke didn’t know how or why, but all of a sudden Josie stiffened.
Tension ratcheted up between them. Even the clerk sensed it. She scurried to
some chamber of commerce back room, leaving him and Josie alone in the dingy
reception area.

I never wanted to watch,
he reviewed. Nah, that
seemed harmless to him.

“You’re afraid.” With an expression of dawning
revelation on her face, Josie let go of his hand. “You’re afraid you’ll
see something you don’t want to see. You’re afraid they’re right!”

“What? Who’s right?”

“You’re afraid everyone in this town is right. You
don’t want to see for yourself that I
am
a stripper!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not a stripper.”

“Don’t try weaseling out of it now. The truth is beside
the point. It’s
perceptions
that matter!”

“But you’re a dancer,” he protested. “In a
revue.”

“Hmmph.” Josie slung her purse over her shoulder.
She picked up her clipboard with jerky motions. “So you
say
.”

Her emphasis on
say
wasn’t lost on him. His “get
out of jail free” card had just gone belly up.

“Josie.” Confused, Luke watched as she ripped off
her paperwork and stuffed it in her purse. “If you were a stripper,”
he asked reasonably, “don’t you think that’s something I’d
want
to
see?”

“Hah!”

Hmmm. His enthusiasm to see her naked wasn’t working in his
favor. Go figure. Luke scratched his head.

“As
if
I’d let you see!” She stomped to the
door.

He recognized his cue. “Wait. Hang on, damn it. I
thought you were mad because I
hadn’t
tried to sneak a peek at you. Now
you’re pissed because I said I want to?”

Josie opened her mouth. She seemed to think better of whatever
argument she’d been about to make and shoved open the chamber of commerce door
instead. A blast of mingled pine and exhaust scents—the ambiance of
downtown—whooshed toward Luke.

Her clodhoppers clattered down the crumbled steps.

“Okay,” Luke tried stubbornly, grabbing their
motorcycle helmets so he could follow. “Never mind. I
don’t
want to
see you naked.” It was almost true…when she was wearing that burlap bag
dress. Sort of. Okay, so it wasn’t true at all. But he was in a corner here.
“How’s that?”

Josie’s angry over-the-shoulder gaze shot to his foot. He
forced himself to limp. Maintaining that toe cramp was going to be a pain in
the ass.

“Are you trying to say I’m fat?” She jabbed her
finger at his chest. “Because
you’re
the one who got me hooked on
Ding Dongs, buddy. I was a perfectly moderate Twinkie user until you came
along. This last five pounds is your fault.”

“You’re not fat.” He knew the correct answer to
that question. Always. In the middle of the mostly empty sidewalk, he looked
her up and down. “You’re perfect just the way you are. Even,” he
added with flagrant generosity, “in that dress.”

Not mollified, she crossed her arms. “You’d be
lucky
to see me naked.”

“Fine. Next time, I
will
watch you dance,”
Luke said, fighting for patience. “I’ll invite TJ. We’ll make nachos.
We’ll tap a keg. It’ll be a party.”

“Let me guess. A skanky bachelor party, right?
Hmmph.”

“Huh? Who’s getting married?”

Clearly exasperated—however nonsensically—Josie whirled. She
stopped beside his motorcycle at the curb. He hoped she didn’t kick it. Those
shoes of hers could snap a strut.

“For the last time, I’m not a stripper!” she
yelled, flinging her arms to the sides. “Hello, Donovan’s Corner! I. Am.
Not. A. Stripper!”

A dozen sparrows fluttered from the trees.

“Jesus, you’re scaring the birds.”

Josie glared. “You know what?” she announced.
“I don’t want to see
you
dance naked, either.”

“Uhhh…” Bummer.

“And,” she added, waving her arm with a crazy,
triumphant gleam in her eye, “I
do
! So there.”

“Which is it?”

“Both!”

Judging by her victorious smirk, Josie thought she had him.
She thought she was winning. Feminine logic. It made about as much sense as
sweaters on cocker spaniels.

There was only one way to settle this.

“Whatever you say.” Luke set down the pair of helmets
he’d been carrying, getting ready.

“Good.” Josie tossed her head. She looked confused
for an instant—probably missing the usual swoosh of her ponytailed red
hair—then snatched her helmet from the sidewalk. “I’m glad we got that
straight.”

“Me, too.” Luke pulled off his T-shirt. He dropped
it beside his waiting helmet, then paused.

Josie headed for his Harley. “Let’s go.”

He waited until she glanced backward again, then put his
hand on his hip. He rotated his pelvis, Elvis-style. He gave her a wink.

“Hey! What are you—where’d the—what the—where’d your
shirt go?” Her gaze whisked up and down his naked torso. She goggled.
“What are you
doing
?”

Improvising
. Refusing to say so, Luke hooked his
thumbs near the top button of his jeans. He gave Josie a smile as he went on
gyrating.
And winning
.

“I’m dancing naked,” he said. Shit, mountain towns
were cold in May, even in Arizona. Was that snow in the air? “And
not
naked. Half-naked dancing. Just like you wanted.”

Her eyes widened. “I….”

“You…?” He raised his brows.

“Uhhh. I forgot.”

He had her. Leisurely, Luke moved his hand lower, as though
preparing to drop trou right there on the Main Street sidewalk. Hell, there was
a decent landscaped shrub cover. No one was around. He was wearing boxer
shorts. So what if he showed a little skin? A little beefcake?

At least he’d win this damned nonsense argument.

Grinning, he swiveled his hips again.

At the same time, Josie lunged forward. “Stop it!”

Her hand clapped over his, right on his fly. Her shocked
gaze traveled the same path. Just for an instant, her expression went from
shock to…curiosity. Heat flared in his groin. Luke quit worrying about snow.

“What are you, crazy?” Her warm breath tickled his
icy chest hair. She sounded scandalized. “You’ll get arrested!”

“If you keep your hand there, we might both get
arrested.” He looked down. “That feels pretty good. Just a little to
the left—”

Flustered, she whisked her hand away. Her cheeks turned
pink.

I win,
he thought. Triumph filled him. Luke took a
minute to savor the sensation, then scooped up his T-shirt. He pulled it over
his goose bump-covered flesh, feeling a grin tug at his lips.

“Want me all to yourself, huh? No sharing with downtown
Donovan’s Corner?” He winked. “I knew you were bluffing. You
do
want to see me naked.”