by Lisa Plumley
He frowned. “I’ve got nothing to say.”
“Fine. I’ve got plenty to say.”
Her father seemed wary—justifiably so, Josie figured. She wanted answers, and she was finished worrying about offending him while getting them. After all, how could things possibly get worse?
Her dad barely spoke to her. He looked vaguely queasy at the sight of her. He’d tried to shake her hand as a greeting a couple of weeks ago. If she was going to stay in Donovan’s Corner—and she was—this couldn’t go on.
She moved forward, hands on hips. “Let’s just lay things out on the table, okay? Jenna tells me you think I’m a stripper.”
“Uh, I’ve got to, um, go do…something,” TJ blurted.
He scurried upstairs, setting a land speed record for Hasty Retreats from Family Squabbles.
“I still want to talk to you about Luke!” she yelled.
“Uh-huh. Okay. Later.”
As his footsteps faded, Josie turned back to her dad.
“Jenna tells me you’ve believed I’m a stripper for years—”
“Your sister ought to mind her own business.”
“—ever since,” Josie persisted, “Howie Maynard told you I’d given him a lap dance. A lap dance!” The very mention of it irritated her all over again. “I don’t know what planet Howie’s been living on. But here on earth, I don’t give lap dances to anybody. Much less to Tiffany Maynard’s dad!”
Her father stubbornly stared at a can of Pennzoil, just as though the notion of Josie erotically entertaining the father of a girl she’d been on her high school prom planning committee with weren’t unthinkable. Apparently his complaint about Jenna was as far as he was willing to go.
“Dad, how could you?” She stared at him, hands fisted, willing him to answer her. “You swallowed that whole stupid story—hook, line, and sinker.”
The Pennzoil remained as riveting as before.
Josie wasn’t having it. “You didn’t even ask me about it,” she said, determined to get to the bottom of things. “Does Howie’s word mean more to you than mine does? Somebody raised me to be honest, you know.”
At that mention of her childhood, her father compressed his lips. He seemed determined not to weaken. “Howie Maynard and I go way back. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Silence.
“Fine. Why don’t I float my own explanation, then?” Josie gazed at the motorcycle banners hung on the walls, trying to summon some patience. “Okay. Let’s say Howie went to Vegas. Let’s say he went to a topless show. It happens.”
Grudgingly, her father darted a look at her. Hmmm. Maybe she was getting somewhere.
“Let’s say that when he came home, Mrs. Maynard found out about that topless show,” Josie continued, warming to her hypothetical scenario, “as wives often do. What’s she going to say next? ‘That’s nice, dear. See any good boobies?’”
Her father chuckled.
Looking shocked, he immediately sobered.
“No! She’d be mad,” Josie cried, flinging her arms up in exasperation. “Furious, even. She’d demand an explanation.”
“Women,” her father admitted wryly, “usually do.”
“So what if Howie, remembering his good buddy Warren’s daughter—me—who’d recently gone to Vegas, grabbed at the closest straw? What if he said, ‘Gee, honey. I just wanted to see if that story was true about Josie Day working in a strip club. That’s all. I didn’t even look at the boobies.’”
Her father shifted. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, looking uncomfortable—possibly at her repeated use of that juvenile description.
“Dad.” Earnestly, Josie moved closer. She wanted to shake him, to hug him, to make him see reason. “Isn’t it possible,” she asked very, very quietly, “that Howie lied to you?”
Her father puffed out his cheeks in his classic thinking pose. He refused to look at her.
“Isn’t it possible,” she asked further, “that Howie just made a mistake? That he got befuddled by the sight of so many—”
“Don’t say it!”
“—topless women that he only thought he saw me?”
Her father frowned. He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. Then, reluctantly, “Howie did admit later that he’d overheard Tiffany telling some of her friends she thought you’d gone to Vegas to become a stripper. That’s what gave him the idea.”
She’d guessed right. Stunned, Josie gawked at him.
“You knew Howie made it up?”
“No!” Her father drew himself up to his full six-foot-three, reminding her exactly where her showgirl height had come from. “He didn’t make it up. He got the idea to go see you…there“—the there seemed to pain him—“because of what Tiffany said. At least that’s what he told me later.”
Josie shook her head. “You cannot be the same man who told me Jimmy Stone was lying about the ‘money tree’ his family supposedly planted beside their jungle gym.”
He frowned at the Pennzoil. He gave no sign he remembered that conversation when Josie had been a gullible fourth grader. Or that he intended to back down now.
“Howie never saw me, Dad! I’m not a stripper!” She thought of another tactic. “Didn’t Mom and Jenna tell you that? They came to Vegas enough times to know.”
“Yes, they covered up for you. But—”
“‘Covered up’ for me?” Astonished, Josie felt her mouth drop open. “What? Why? Even if that were true—which it’s not—why in the world would they do that?”
“To keep seeing shows. And to keep going shopping.” Her father gave her a defensive glare. “Your mother loves that Fashion Show Mall on the Strip. She tells me so every time. It’s ‘Nordstrom this’ and ‘Neiman Marcus that’ for days whenever she comes back home. There’s nothing like that mall around here. Half her jewelry collection came from that place.”
Looking beleaguered, he hunched his shoulders.
“Oh, Dad.” Josie sighed, feeling sad. Her father had been two conversations away from the truth for years, but he’d never realized it. “Mom does love to shop, but that’s not the only reason she and Jenna came to Las Vegas.”
“Yeah. There were shows, too. That Lance Burton guy.”
And me. The so-called “stripper.”
Biting back a frustrated retort, Josie strived for patience. “Howie was wrong, and Mom and Jenna aren’t covering for me. They never were. I’m telling you the truth. I’m a dancer, nothing more.”
She waited, but he remained silent.
Josie couldn’t do the same. “If you’d ever come to see me, you’d have found that out for yourself.”
And that was the crux of the matter. All these years, she’d been hurt by her father’s refusal to watch her perform at Enchanté. She’d waited for him to show up. She’d sent free tickets, show schedules, brochures and promotional photos. But it had all been a waste of time.
“I lost jobs because I refused to dance topless,” she said. This might be a lost cause, but she needed to tell him the whole story anyway. “I lost good jobs, jobs I needed. Because I knew that if I was wearing nothing but two pasties, a G-string, and a smile, you wouldn’t come to see me.”
Refusing to see her even now, her father looked away. The setting sun’s light slanted through the carriage house’s window, casting an orange glow on his aged features. How had so many years gone by?
“I never quit hoping you’d come to watch me dance.” Her eyes filled with tears. It was hard to force the rest of her explanation through her suddenly tight throat. Her next words came out wobbly. “All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me.”
Her dad’s chin quivered. He darted a glance at her—and that glance held. His eyes, as green as her own, turned red-rimmed and misty. Still he held himself stiffly apart.
“Jenna had no right to tell you any of this.”
“Why not?” Josie sniffled, gesturing wildly. “Half the town’s talking about your ‘scandalous stripper daughter.’ The ot
her half’s already beaten the subject to death down at Frank’s Diner.”
“It’s none of Jenna’s business.” Her father looked grim. “Ever since she married David, she’s been nosy and—”
“Oh, no. Don’t you dare take this out on Jenna! She’s happy with David, and that’s good enough for me.” No matter that her brother-in-law had perpetual plumber’s butt and was so uptight even his nostrils were pinched. “Don’t you dare upset Jenna anymore, because I won’t let you. And one more thing!” Reminded of something else, Josie straightened, gathering all her strength. “Jenna’s sensitive. She needs you. So don’t you dare wreck things with her, too.”
A suspicious frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means….” She remembered her talk with her sister and decided to just go for it. For Jenna’s sake. “It means I’m not the only daughter who’s disappointed you.”
He scoffed. “Jenna doesn’t disappoint me.”
You’re the only one who does that, was the silent rejoinder.
“Well. Fine. Next time you see her, you might try telling her that. She could use hearing it.” Impending tears squeezed Josie’s voice again, making it hard to go on. “While you’re at it, tell Jenna you love her. She needs to hear that, too.”
Her father looked skeptical. “She already knows that.”
“Really?” Blinking back tears, Josie gave him one last, long look. “Like I do?”
He didn’t say anything.
A minute later, he left.
Chapter Fourteen
Sitting at Frank’s Diner with a slice of pie at his elbow and a cup of coffee in his hand, Luke waited for the pay phone to be free. Since he’d arrived, an out-of-towner had been monopolizing the thing, complaining to his cell phone company about the lack of transformer stations “out here in the boonies.” Not even Luanne’s repeated glares had been enough to scare the guy away from the phone alcove.
Nearby, all the usual suspects filled the diner’s red vinyl booths. Retirees chatted, couples shared an early dinner, a few teenagers forked up Frank’s famous pie. Putting down his coffee, Luke stared at his own slice of apple à la mode. He didn’t know why he’d ordered it. Force of habit, he guessed. He sure as hell didn’t have any appetite today. Not after what had happened with Josie.
I don’t talk about the future.
Damn. That was the mother of all lame excuses. But he’d been backed into a corner. He didn’t want to lie to Josie anymore—especially given the way he felt about her. But he couldn’t tell her the truth yet, either. Not until he got things settled with Tallulah and Blue Moon.
Which explained what he was doing here at Frank’s.
Casting an impatient look at the pay phone hog, Luke pushed aside his pie. He signaled Luanne for the check. There were other pay phones in town. He’d find one, he’d call Ambrose, and he’d sort out this whole mess. Pronto. Because until he did, his secret was only going to get bigger.
I don’t talk about the future.
How could he? How could he tell Josie he planned to sell Blue Moon, use the profits to open his own mechanic’s shop back in L.A., and put Donovan & Sons behind him for good? How could he tell her how much all that meant to him?
He couldn’t.
Pursuing his future would crush hers. At the least it would put her dance school dreams in limbo. Luke refused to do that to her. Until he had Tallulah’s assurance that she’d give Josie another property, he intended to keep his ownership of Blue Moon a deep, dark secret. Especially from the woman who thought the place was hers.
Swearing under his breath, he signaled Luanne again.
He’d never thought it would come to this. He’d been sure he’d hear from Ambrose by now. Especially after the two follow-up e-mails he’d sent. But he hadn’t. And Luke wasn’t sure where to go from here. If he refused to lie to Josie and he couldn’t tell her the truth, what else was there?
Damn. He frowned, impatiently fiddling with his paper-napkin-wrapped fork. Things never should have gone this far. He’d expected Josie to give up—or himself to get bored. But neither of those things had happened.
Instead, he’d gotten sucked deeper and deeper into a relationship he’d never planned for…with a woman he’d never expected. A woman who looked good to him in burlap, who induced him to cha-cha, who turned misty-eyed over detergent names. A woman who worked wholeheartedly, and who hugged him with exactly the same intensity.
Even if he couldn’t stick around to see her succeed, he wanted to make sure she did. Josie deserved it.
With a nod for Luanne, Luke tossed down a five and headed for another pay phone. It was time to take serious action.
“Come on, TJ. Come down here. I won’t bite.”
Peering upstairs toward the carriage house apartment, Josie waited. After all the hullabaloo with her father, TJ had made himself scarce. She didn’t blame him. Family arguments were no fun for anybody—least of all Josie, the family black sheep. But despite her puffy eyes and tear-smudged cheeks, she still wanted answers. There was no time like the present to get them.
Mustering up an encouraging singsong, she tried again. “Yoo-hoo! TJ! I’ve got Pop-Tarts.”
Gently, she shook the box. At the familiar rustle of the wrapped pastries, TJ’s shaggy-haired head popped into view.
“Pop-Tarts? Why didn’t you say so?”
He rambled down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to look around. Seeing nothing but Josie’s Chevy, motorcycle parts, and the usual mechanic’s accoutrements, he shrugged. He accepted the Wild Berry frosted pastry she held out.
Josie had snared her informant. “So, tell me. What’s Luke got planned for the future?”
“Wow. You don’t waste time.”
“Not today, I don’t.” Heck, she’d already annihilated her relationship with her father and outed her sister’s familial insecurities. Although she’d meant well in both instances, she figured she had nothing to lose by jumping in with both feet now. “Well?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you.” TJ took a bite of Pop-Tart. His expression turned from cautious to blissful. “Luke doesn’t want anybody to know until it’s a done deal.”
“Until what’s a done deal?”
TJ remained mum. He shook his head.
So Luke was hiding something. “Why the secrecy?”
A shrug. “If it was anybody else, I’d say he didn’t want people to know what he was up to in case he screwed up.” TJ poked at his Pop-Tart, pushing in some of the jam-like filling. He licked his thumb. “But Luke never screws up. Not when it counts. With him…I think he just wants to be left alone.”
“Alone? Why?”
“I dunno. Because he’s a solitary kind of guy?”
“Seriously, TJ. Be straight with me.”
He gave her a contemplative look. Then he sighed. “When Luke left L.A., he was pretty pissed. He’d had it. A lot had happened, and….” TJ stopped. “Nah, I shouldn’t talk about it.”
But it was just starting to get good! Perkily, Josie lifted the snack box. “I’ve got more Pop-Tarts,” she coaxed.
He looked hurt. “I can be bribed, but I can’t be bought.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s cool.”
“It’s just that I care about Luke, okay? I do. I didn’t want to, but it happened, and now it’s too late. So I want a little information. I want to know about him.”
To her dismay, tears filled her eyes. Damn it. Angrily, Josie swiped them away. After all she’d been through today, something as innocuous as TJ’s reluctance to talk couldn’t possibly be the one thing that pushed her over the edge.
“I just”—she sucked in a gulp of air, determined to continue—“want”—another gulp—“to know”—gulp—“if we have a future together.”
TJ looked concerned. Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder.
“Because—Luke said—he doesn’t talk”—huge gulp—“about the future. Ever.”
Ever emerged in one long wail, despite her b
est efforts.
“Oh, come on, now. Don’t do that,” TJ pleaded. “Don’t cry. I didn’t mean…you know. I’m not trying to be an asshole about this. It’s Luke’s no-talk rule, not mine.”
“I know.” She sniffed. Blinked up at him. “It’s not your fault. It’s just so frustrating!”
He nodded.
“It’s worse than wearing these clothes!”
He looked surprised.
“Worse than running out of Ding Dongs!”
He looked impressed. Reluctantly, he patted her again.
“Maybe I can tell you a little bit. Luke doesn’t have to know you heard it from me, right?”
She brightened. “Right! I won’t tell him, I swear.”
Josie crossed her heart. The gesture seemed to convince TJ of her sincerity, because he finally dished.
“He wants to open a motorcycle mechanic’s shop. Kind of like this one.” TJ swept his arm sideways, indicating the renovated carriage house. “Only bigger and mondo-successful. So he can show his dad.”
That made sense. Luke did love working on motorcycles.
“Does his dad like motorcycles, too?” she asked.
“Nah, he pretty much thinks they’re the scum of the open road. To Luke’s dad, nothing beats a big rig loaded up to hit the highway.”
He must be a truck driver, Josie decided. Tough, no-nonsense, all-American. But woefully misguided when it came to his son. How else to explain his resistance to Luke’s idea?
“Hey, motorcycles aren’t so bad.” She felt indignant on Luke’s behalf. And protective of his dream, now that she knew he had one. “They’re fun. They’re easy to park. And you can personalize them with custom paint jobs, just like a manicure.”
TJ nodded, giving her a what can you do? face. “You can’t tell that to Bob Donovan, that’s for sure.”
They shared a moment, linked in their disapproval of a father who looked down on his own son’s dream.
“I know about stubborn fathers, believe me,” Josie said. “But I still don’t get why Luke’s plan is supposed to be such a big secret. People open mechanic’s shops all the time.”
TJ pretended not to hear her. Very deliberately, he grabbed another Pop-Tart. He tore into it like a man belting down one last tequila shot for courage.
