by Lisa Plumley
“Oh. Oh, Luke.” Eyes widening, Josie reached for him. She patted him tentatively on the biceps. Then, as though suddenly making a decision, she hugged him. “Mmmmph. Mmmmph.”
He couldn’t understand a word. Putting his hand over her hair, he turned her head so she wasn’t being smothered in his T-shirt. When Josie decided to hug you, she really decided to hug you. She went all out.
“What?” he asked.
“I said I’m so sorry. That must have been awful for you. Oh, my God. I’m a complete idiot to have said something so thoughtless.”
“It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not!”
“My dad bought me a pony right afterward.” He shrugged. “I think that was supposed to make up for it. That, and the riding lessons with my nanny.”
Josie leaned back, gawking at him with a stricken look. Her pretty green eyes shimmered with tears. Whoops. He knew better than to tell that damned pony story—especially with the nanny chaser. He’d learned that a long time ago. What was the matter with him?
And what was the matter with Josie? She seriously looked about to cry. Given her usual bravado, he was surprised.
“Wow, are you a soft touch,” he said.
Her mouth opened. Then her nose crinkled. Ah-hah, that nose crinkle said. I’m in on the joke, buster.
“You’re so full of it!” She sniffled. “Your nanny. As if. And a pony. Hah!” She gave him a feeble smack on the arm. “I can’t believe you’d kid about something like that.”
“It was a long—”
—time ago, he started to say, but she lunged at him again before he could finish. Her next hug knocked the wind out of him. She squeezed so hard, he thought his balls might pop.
“And just to make me feel better about saying something so terrible, too, I’ll bet,” she mumbled into the shoulder of his T-shirt. “You big softie.”
“Hey. Watch it. That’s not a nickname guys appreciate. Although the ‘big’ part is okay. Under the right circumstances.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Big.”
“That’s better.”
“Just remember,” Josie said, suddenly serious, “I’m here if you want to talk about it. You don’t have to be tough with me.”
“Okay.” He patted her back.
Just as he started enjoying having her in his arms, Josie pulled away. And as she released him, even as she gave him one last “chin up” gesture of solidarity, Luke knew she was wrong.
He did have to be tough with her. He had to be tough with everyone. It was the only way to survive.
“Damn it! I should have known she’d double-cross me.”
With a sinking feeling, Josie stared at the shiny SUV pulling into the driveway at Blue Moon. In the passenger seat, she recognized her sister—aka, the parent-pleasing traitor. Behind the wheel, she spotted Jenna’s husband, David. And in the big white pimpmobile behind them, she glimpsed her mom and dad.
Damn it. She’d told Jenna to come alone.
“This is all your fault.” She aimed a frustrated look at Luke, then glanced back at her family. “I give out one teensy-weensy little chance, and look what happens.”
He glanced toward the driveway. “What?”
If he was too clueless to realize it, Josie wasn’t enlightening him. “I’m going inside. Tell them I’m not here.”
“Hold on.” Luke grabbed her arm when she would have run from the porch. “I need you here. Don’t let go.”
He nodded toward the porch crossbeam, which she’d been holding over her head while Luke hammered it in place. Josie sighed. Because of its length and diagonal position, he couldn’t hold it and hammer it simultaneously.
“You don’t understand. I’m not ready for all of them at one time. I called my sister, but only because—”
“Yoo-hoo!” Jenna waved from beside her SUV’s open rear door. She reached inside, unbuckled Emily from her car seat, and pulled her on her hip. On the opposite side, Hannah scrambled out. “The gang’s all here!”
Josie felt a rising sense of panic. “Only because,” she hissed to Luke, “I thought I’d, you know, give her a chance.”
“Like I said to do.”
“No, not like you said to do.” Of course like he’d said to do. What did he think, she was made of stone? Knowing that Luke had lost his mother had really gotten to her. It had made her look twice at her own family…and the way she and her dad had been semi-estranged for years. “I was planning to do this anyway.”
He only looked at her, his gaze filled with understanding. “If you say so.”
She raised her chin. “I do.”
“Okay.” Luke flipped his hammer, then caught it in a fancy move that seemed effortless. He set it on the porch railing, looking cheery. “I can’t wait to meet the rest of your family.”
Josie frowned, still holding up the two-by-four. “What about needing to hold this?”
“Drop it. It’ll keep.” He crossed the porch, his gaze fixed on her family making their way toward the house. His work boots thumped the floorboards with authority—almost as though he owned the place. “We’ve got company.”
He’d tricked her. Damn it. He’d kept her there just long enough that everyone in her family must have seen her standing on the porch. Josie was more than willing to run away—but not when anybody could see her doing it. She did have her pride.
“I don’t want company,” she said.
“Don’t be a baby. Come on.”
Well, that clinched it. Nobody called her names and got away with it. Deliberately, Josie dropped the lumber, leaving it to hang crookedly by its one hammered-in nail. It would serve Luke right if it fell off.
She wiped her sweaty palms on her Sunday-best cropped white denim pants. She straightened the knot she’d tied at the waist of her pink gingham shirt. She tossed back her ponytail. There. Primped, poised, and posture-perfect, thanks to her showgirl training.
All she needed was a feathered fan and a sequined headdress, and she’d have been able to tackle anything. In lieu of her usual accessories, Josie slipped her feet in the rainbow wedgies she’d left by the welcome mat and plastered on a smile.
Time to face her family.
That was easier said than done. Crossing the porch in Luke’s wake felt more terrifying than crossing a Las Vegas stage ever had. The sounds of conversation, of gravel crunching beneath her family’s feet, of her niece making chattering noises with her Barbie doll, seemed weirdly surreal.
She stopped at the top of the porch steps beside Luke, watching her family troop up to greet her. It had been years since she’d confronted them all together…not since she’d been crowned Miss Saguaro at the age of eighteen and had skedaddled for Las Vegas to try her luck as a dancer shortly afterward.
“There she is!” her mother sang out gaily, ascending the steps in front of the group with her usual self-confidence. She glanced over her shoulder, as though making sure everyone noticed she was in the lead. “Hello, pumpkin.”
“Mom.”
They shared an awkward hug. Her mother’s perfume—Tabu, her longtime favorite—tickled her nose, more strongly than when they’d seen each other in the hospital emergency room. She must have applied it freshly for the occasion.
“I told you I’d track you down! Shame on you, for ducking your mother all this time.”
“I’ve been busy.” Josie gestured vaguely toward Blue Moon.
“You’re never too busy for your family. Isn’t that right, Warren?”
Nancy Day dragged her husband forward. She looped her arm through his, clearly intending to keep him there by force if necessary. Given their past, it just might be necessary.
Her father stood there stiffly. At the sight of him, Josie felt tears well up. No, no, no. Rapidly, she blinked them back. So what if it had been years since she’d last seen him? It wasn’t her fault he’d refused to visit her in Las Vegas. And she’d been way too busy to come back to Donovan’s Corner.
He cleared his throat. He nodd
ed.
Josie waited. Her stupid hands trembled. She took a step forward, hoping to dispel some nervous energy. Her stomach tightened, then somersaulted. The tension was killing her.
Would he apologize? Make excuses? Pretend nothing had happened between them? She wasn’t sure if she should hug him, or maybe shake his hand, or nod, like he had. Was that what fathers did after their daughters grew up? Nodded?
She’d bet he didn’t nod at Jenna, the perfect daughter.
Time slowed, leaving Josie plenty of opportunities to notice the new gray in her father’s formerly dark hair, the new laugh lines around the corners of his eyes, the slight potbelly he’d developed. He’d aged, just in the few years she’d been gone. Seeing him was like watching a time-lapse film—one she’d never expected to find on the marquee.
“Josie,” he said, nodding again.
Breathlessly, Josie waited. His voice sounded gruff. Clearly, he was having trouble expressing himself. But that was okay. Sometimes men were like that—especially men of her father’s generation. Words didn’t come easily to them. Thinking she’d be mature and try to make things easier, she took a step forward to hug him.
At the same moment, Warren Day turned to Luke. He extended his hand. Introductions were made all around. Josie was left standing there, off-balance in more ways than one.
She lowered her arms. Had her father actually ducked her hug? Or had he not realized what she’d been about to do? She couldn’t tell. She chewed her lip, feeling confused.
Maybe that had been the problem all along. Her choices were completely obvious, while her dad’s…her dad’s had a way of hurting like hell.
She moved to the side while her family chattered and laughed. They all shook hands with Luke. He ruffled Hannah’s hair and cooed over Emily’s chubby little cheeks, looking unbelievably handsome and lovable and charming. Everyone gradually progressed up the porch steps until they stood in the shade of Blue Moon’s newly repaired porch roof.
“Nice place,” David said. They all moved inside.
Nobody noticed Josie wasn’t with them. Alone on the porch, she listened as the hubbub faded. Footsteps clattered away from her. A weird mixture of relief and disappointment roiled around her insides. She clenched the porch railing and turned away, letting her gaze fall on her convertible.
Just a few hours’ drive and she could be gone….
New footsteps sounded, coming closer. They dragged her—unwillingly—away from her fantasy of hitting the open road.
“I told them you’re putting away the hammer,” Luke said.
He met her gaze seriously, silent understanding in his expression. Josie didn’t know how Luke could possibly understand what she was going through. Her own family had waltzed right past her without noticing she hadn’t come with them.
She tossed her head. “They’ll never believe it. You should have chosen an alibi that didn’t involve me being responsible.”
He looked puzzled.
“Did you notice?” she asked, nodding toward the driveway. “They all parked behind my car. They fenced me in.”
He didn’t even glance at her convertible. “Come inside.” Luke touched her arm, making her realize how tightly she’d been gripping the porch railing. “I’ll be your buddy.”
For a minute, she was flummoxed. Then, “Like in third grade? ‘Everybody find a buddy’?”
“Right.” He held out his hand. “Grab my hand, buddy.”
“Hmmm. I’d have pegged you as the kid shooting spitballs from the school roof while everybody else obediently filed off for the field trip. You know, the loner type.”
“No psychoanalyzing your buddy. And quit screwing around. Tiffany Koenig would’ve given up her whole Rainbow Brite collection to be in your shoes right now.”
“Her whole collection? In that case….”
Nervously, Josie put her hand in Luke’s. His fingers intertwined with hers, leaving her feeling safe and protected and almost willing to face the firing squad inside.
“See? That wasn’t so tough,” he said. “Come on.”
Grudgingly, she took a step forward. But even as she did, even as she enjoyed the simple togetherness of her hand in Luke’s, Josie knew he was wrong.
It was going to be tough and she would be alone. When it came right down to it, she always was. It looked as though she always would be. Accepting that was the only way to keep going.
At least it had worked so far.
“Hey, Luke. Knock, knock.”
By now, he’d learned the routine. “Who’s there?”
“Freddie.”
“Freddie who?”
“Freddie or not, here I come.”
When Josie entered the shadowy house, she found everyone clustered in the kitchen around the butler’s table—her mother and Jenna sitting side by side, David holding Emily in another chair, Hannah plopped on the floor, and her father standing nearby pretending to be engrossed in the latest wardrobe change for his granddaughter’s Barbie.
TJ had arrived from somewhere—probably another of his experiments to see if he really could make Pop-Tarts burst into flames in the toaster he’d plugged outside. He’d propped one hip on the table edge, amiably chatting with everyone.
Luke leaned against the nearest counter. Josie moved with him, sticking by her safety zone. As though sensing her unease, he rubbed his thumb over the heel of her palm. The gesture felt reassuring. And ticklish.
Jenna glanced up. Her gaze skittered to Josie and Luke’s linked hands. Her usual cheerleader-style smile faded a little.
“Nice place, Josie,” she said. Her attention darted to Josie and Luke’s hands again. “Your friend TJ was just telling us how the owner of Enchanté actually gave it to you?”
Josie nodded.
“Gave it to you? But I thought Luke was the—” Her mother broke off, glancing at him with a slight frown. After another few seconds, she shrugged, then scoped the room as though mentally auctioning off the fixtures and moldings. “Why in the world would he give you something so valuable?”
“He is a she, Mom. Tallulah Carlyle. It’s kind of a long story, but—”
“Maybe Josie’s the best stripper in the joint,” her father said. “And this place is one gigantic tip.”
“Warren!”
Jenna and David gaped. Even Hannah, apparently sensing the instant tension in the room, looked up from her Barbie.
“If I was a stripper,” Josie informed her father, “you can bet your ass I’d be the best.”
“Don’t say ‘ass,’ dear.”
She rounded on her mother. “It’s okay for Dad to call me a stripper, but I can’t say ‘ass’?”
The tension notched higher.
“There are children in the room,” Jenna pointed out, leaning over to clap both hands over Emily’s ears. “You might consider that.”
David frowned his best offended-plumber’s frown. “I knew this would happen. Something always does when Josie is—” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t I take Emily and Hannah for a walk outside?”
He stood with the toddler in his arms, then held out a hand for Hannah to grab. They hotfooted it out of the kitchen.
“This has got to be some kind of record,” Josie said, shaking her head. She let go of Luke’s hand and strode across the floor, deftly avoiding the cracked slate they still hadn’t replaced. “Two minutes, and already you’re ganging up on me.”
“We’re not ganging up on you.”
“Don’t be so sensitive.”
“It’s not as though ‘stripper’ is an insult.”
Of course it was. “The way Dad says it, it is!”
Her father stood. “I’ll get the donuts.”
“What?” Josie stared at his departing back.
“We just came from church,” Jenna explained as their father made his way to the foyer. “We noticed you weren’t there, so we decided to bring the coffee and donuts to you.”
Another wave of disapproval washed over Josie. She felt
it as keenly as she did the tension in her shoulders.
“Strippers don’t go to church,” she shot back.
Silence. Then her mother looked up. “You used to.”
With a pang, Josie remembered. She remembered getting dressed up in a Sunday’s best outfit that didn’t involve a belly baring gingham shirt and sexy white denim. She remembered sitting beside her family in a pew, singing hymns—and happily swaying to the organ music, even then. She remembered filing down to the church basement after mass to share coffee and donuts with the other parishioners.
She remembered feeling as though she’d belonged.
“I was six years old. I didn’t know any better,” she lied.
Her mother and Jenna exchanged a look. Ignoring it, Josie crossed her arms and went on pacing. If she just kept moving, maybe things would feel okay.
TJ glanced up with his usual obliviousness. “Hey, no problem. There’s always next Sunday, right?”
Oh, no. Josie shot him a shut up look, but the damage had already been done.
“Yes!” Jenna cried, her face shining. “You can come with us next Sunday, Josie. Seriously, the kids would love it. They hardly get to see you.”
“It would make your father very happy. He’s getting on in years, you know.”
“Mom. You’re both the same age.”
“Still.” Her mother waved off the notion, obviously seeing her technically advancing years as immaterial when compared with her husband’s. “He won’t be around much longer, you know. Would it kill you to sing one harmless hymn with him next Sunday?”
It just might. Josie looked to Luke to save her.
Blithely, he examined his fingernails. “You’d probably find lots of potential dance school students at church. Good networking.”
Wham. No help from that corner. She frowned at him.
At the table, her mother and Jenna gasped. They both turned to Josie wearing excited expressions.
“Dance school? You’re finally going to open your dance school? Here?”
“Oh, pumpkin! That’s wonderful!”
See what you’ve done? she mouthed to Luke, but it was too late. Her mother and sister were already off and running, chattering about lessons, students, and—she could not be hearing this correctly—family discounts.
