Josie Day Is Coming Home

by Lisa Plumley

  Her face brightened. “It’s good!”

  “See?” Whew. “It’s pretty and it’s delicious.”

  “Just like you,” Luke whispered in her ear.

  Feeling herself flush, Josie grinned. Score one for the showgirl. People in Donovan’s Corner might not have welcomed her back with open arms, but that was all starting to change. Once everyone got used to the new Josie Day, they’d change their minds about her and her so-called scandalous dance school. Just like the bake sale lady had changed her mind about the cupcake she was finishing.

  “It’s really, really good,” the woman said. “Even with the sprinkles.”

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Mmmm!”

  “I hope you’ll tell everyone to buy one.”

  The attendant nodded, her mouth full. She licked chocolate icing from her fingers, looking a little stunned. Either she really liked that cupcake or Josie had overdone it with the double layer of icing she’d applied.

  Nah. There was no such thing as too much embellishment. Josie reminded herself of that fact as she said good-bye and pulled Luke toward the rest of the festival events. No such thing as too many sprinkles. Fanciness and fantasy were good for people sometimes—just like Luke was good for her. She couldn’t remember why she’d ever hesitated to get involved with him.

  “That was an impressive job you did with the bake sale lady,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I think you made a convert.”

  “I ought to be good at it by now. Making converts, I mean. I’ve been practicing for weeks.” She’d had the occasional positive result to show for it, but for the most part success still felt frustratingly elusive. “Weeks and weeks and—”

  “Don’t worry,” Luke told her, stopping her with a smile. “You’ll get there. One cupcake at a time.”

  With those simple words, Josie knew she would. She’d conquer the world…one cupcake at a time.

  All around them, the park overflowed with families and teenagers and retirees out for a carefree afternoon. The sun shone down, the pine trees perfumed the air, the whoops of children laughing filled the park. Josie felt happy to be a part of it. For the first time ever, it seemed as though coming home to Donovan’s Corner might turn out okay.

  Hand in hand, she and Luke walked past the apple-bobbing booth and a stand selling Indian fry bread. They smiled at the costumed “frontiersmen” who meandered by, spurs jangling. They cheered on the people lining up for the Frontier Days 10K—including Nancy and Warren Day. They stopped to chat with some friends of Luke’s in Harley-Davidson Tshirts and bandanas.

  It was plain to Josie how impressed they were with Luke’s knowledge of motorcycles.

  “He’s got a knack for ‘em,” one of the men said. “Plain and simple. If Luke had himself a bigger shop, or another mechanic to work for him, he’d have all the work he could handle. There’d be bikers from clear across the state stopping in, especially with the highway so close.”

  “Maybe someday he will,” Josie said, hugging Luke closer. She tilted her face up, giving him a proud look. “Maybe someday he’ll open his own mechanic’s shop. Maybe it’ll be right here in Donovan’s Corner!”

  Luke remained silent—a tactic that would have worried her more if she hadn’t already known, via TJ, about his secret. As it was, it only made sense that Luke didn’t want to talk about his plans until they were official. Until then, the least she could do was encourage him. So she did.

  “I’m convinced Luke can do anything he wants to do,” she said, and everyone agreed.

  It should have been a perfect afternoon. And it would have been…if not for the whispers dogging Josie’s every step. For every old friend she reconnected with, another, less friendly Donovan’s Corner resident stood nearby, staring and pointing at her. For every local vendor she successfully networked with, another huddled in the next booth, whispering.

  “Just look at them,” she told Luke, shaking her head. “I’ve been here weeks now, and still I’m the scandal du jour—only without the scandal! It doesn’t matter what I do.” She crossed her arms. “This is a major case of two steps forward and one step back.”

  “Isn’t that ‘one step forward and two steps back’?”

  “Hey, you have your truisms and I have mine. I’m trying to be optimistic.”

  It was tough, though. No matter how she tried to ignore it, the finger-pointing and gossiping still got to her.

  Frustrated, Josie tried to counter it by handing out free dance lesson cards. She talked with more people. She met many, many more of Luke’s motorcycle-repair customers. But no matter what she did, the people she really needed to reach remained tooth grindingly elusive. The upper crust of Donovan’s Corner—and the parents who could afford dance lessons—ignored her.

  Josie didn’t know what else they expected from her. She’d tried to prove her trustworthiness and respectability. She’d applied for a business license, completed all the paperwork for her chamber of commerce membership, and lunched with the ladies’ auxiliary. She’d abandoned her cute clothes and learned to bake. She’d even resisted having a torrid, scandal-producing affair with her handyman. If those weren’t serious sacrifices, Josie didn’t know what was.

  What did they think she was going to do? Strip down to a red feathered costume and start doing Rockette kicks?

  Seeing the expression on her face, Luke slipped his arm around her waist. Gently, he tugged her in the opposite direction.

  “I hear they’re giving tours of some of the old Victorian houses at the edge of the park. Let’s go check one out.”

  “Sure,” Josie agreed, raising her chin.

  She refused to let a few setbacks—and a little gossip—get her down. If nothing else, maybe she’d get a few good decorating ideas today. Her mother’s comments about how “neutral” Blue Moon was hadn’t been lost on Josie. In Momspeak, that meant “boring.” In Realtor, it meant “saleable.” Neither one was exactly the effect she’d been going for.

  To start, they chose the Kincaid House, an 1880s timber-framed manor with several gables and an elaborate wraparound porch. The line for Founder’s Day admission snaked along the house’s wrought iron fence. After Josie and Luke stepped in place, the line grew even longer behind them.

  “Wow, this is even more popular than the—ouch!”

  Somebody pinched her! She whirled around, looking for the culprit. The four men behind her raised their gazes innocently to the sky, but Josie wasn’t fooled. This was hardly the first covert butt pinch she’d received since returning to town. She knew all the signs. She glared at them.

  “Go figure,” Luke said, not noticing as he watched the line inch forward. “Here I thought the line for deep-fried Twinkies was long.”

  “Only when you go through it three times, Hungry Man.”

  He grinned. Thirty seconds later…another pinch.

  This time, Luke felt her flinch. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I’m just excited to get inside, that’s all.”

  Hopping forward in faux enthusiasm, Josie managed to put just enough distance between her derrière and the happy-fingers guy. She was home clear until the ticket attendant stopped her at the house’s front door. He kept his hand on the velvet rope cordoning off each tour group.

  “Hey! You’re that showgirl, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. Warily at first, then with a smile. The ticket attendant hadn’t called her a stripper. He’d call her—correctly—a showgirl. He’d even looked interested in her job. Maybe she really was making progress in Donovan’s Corner…changing her image for good.

  “Yes, I’m Josie Day. I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Heck, no! I’d have remembered meeting you. You’re practically a celebrity around here.” The man leaned closer. “Tell you what. Your admission’s free.”

  “Thank you! That’s so nice of you.”

  “Free for an autograph, that is.” He thrust a printed tour brochure her way. “Or maybe something a litt
le more personal. Like a private dance?” He leered. “How ‘bout it? I’ve never had a ‘private dance’ from a showgirl before.”

  He chuckled, looking eager.

  “You’re not having one today, either, pal.” Luke stepped forward, looking menacing.

  Josie waved him back. She’d been wrong. Now she knew what she was dealing with. A showgirl groper. Never mind that they were two hundred miles away from Las Vegas. She recognized the type. She knew how to deal with it, too.

  Unfortunately, kneeing this guy in the cojones probably wouldn’t help her win friends and influence dance students.

  “Sorry, I don’t do private lessons,” she said, pretending to misunderstand. She handed him her card. “But if you’re interested in a group session, you might be in luck.”

  “A group session?”

  She nodded. “Mmmm-hmmm. I’m planning to do five a week.”

  The pinchers gawked. Two of them shoved forward.

  “Hey, I’ll take one of those cards!”

  “Me, too!”

  Sweetly, Josie passed them out—even to the jerk with the wandering fingers. Who knew? Maybe he had a sister who wanted to learn how to fox-trot. “Tell a friend,” she reminded them. “The first time is free.”

  Clutching his card and grinning, the attendant waved them through for the next group tour. Feeling as though she’d handled that awkward situation pretty well, Josie traipsed into the cool, dim interior of the Kincaid House. She paused in the foyer to breathe in the familiar, calming smells of lemon oil, wallpaper paste, and antique upholstered furniture.

  “Oooh, look at the banister.” Raising her face to the intricately carved and polished wood, she followed it to the second story landing. “It’s so pretty.”

  “Let’s get a closer look.” Luke pulled her toward it.

  “Wait!” She pointed to the floor. “We’re supposed to stay on the red carpet track.”

  “Since when do you follow the rules?”

  He kept going, wearing an inscrutable expression as he pulled Josie in his wake. She glanced over her shoulder in dismay. The crimson runner laid along the tour’s velvet-roped path fell farther and farther away as they headed in the other direction.

  “Stop,” she protested. This was exactly the opposite of the sensible behavior she’d been trying so hard to stick to. “Everybody else is heading toward the parlor. We’re missing the tour.”

  “We’ll make our own tour. Come on.”

  Their group vanished from sight through the next passageway. But Luke only held up the velvet rope blocking off the stairs and gestured for Josie to duck beneath it. Goaded by his I-dare-you demeanor, she did.

  They wound up strictly off-tour, in an upstairs bedroom furnished in shades of red and beige, with tasteful tasseled accents and lots of mahogany furniture. The view took Josie’s breath away. This was what a historical house was supposed to look like. It was really impressive. Cozy, too, after Luke shut the door behind them.

  “Wow, will you look at the light fixtures? And the bureau? And the bed. Fantastic!” Josie wandered through, skimming her fingers over it all. “I wonder why they made it so high? I thought people in the olden days were supposed to be munchkins compared with us.”

  She bent at the waist, trying to peer under the enormous four-poster.

  “They’d have needed a stepstool to get into this thing,” she mused, raising the hem of the fancy spread. Beneath it were two more layers of lacy dust ruffles. “Maybe it’s built in?”

  “Forget the bed.” Luke’s big feet stepped into her field of vision. He loomed over her, powerful and determined. “Do you know what those guys thought you were promising them?”

  “What guys? The guys in line?” She followed the edge of the bed, feeling for a built-in stepstool. She guessed Luke’s silence was confirmation enough. “Who cares what they thought? All I’m offering are dance lessons, and you know it.”

  “If I do, I’m the only one who knows it.”

  “Hey. Whatever brings people through the door is okay by me. After that, I’ll hook them with my skill and personal charm.” Still bent by the bed, she angled her head sideways and grinned up at him. “I’m not exactly in a position to be choosy when it comes to potential dance school students. Besides, who knows? Maybe one of those guys is a tangoing savant. Or a closet Baryshnikov. At the least, they might turn out to be great dance school publicity—future stars in my dad’s cable TV ads.”

  Luke stared her down. He was serious.

  She wrinkled her brow. “Geez. From this angle, you really look mad.”

  “I am really mad. Jesus, Josie! What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing! Nothing’s the matter with me.” She levered upward, the bed forgotten. She stuck her hands on her hips, all the frustrations of the day boiling over in a single instant. “And speaking of me, why are these things always my fault, anyway? Huh? How come it’s never their fault? The pinchers and the whisperers and the stupid lechers?”

  “All I’m talking about is—”

  But she was on a roll. She wasn’t stopping now. “Am I just supposed to sit back and take it? Huh? All the gossiping and the groping and the—”

  “Somebody groped you?” Luke looked fit to spit nails.

  She waved it off. “Happens all the time. The point is—”

  “The point is, you’re supposed to tell me this stuff.”

  He paced as he said it, crushing the delicate carpet beneath his work boots. Energy crackled from him—that, and a certain fierceness Josie didn’t quite understand.

  She frowned, her aggravation fading. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why in the world should I tell you this stuff? It’s my problem, not yours.”

  His face darkened. “You should tell me so I can kick some ass in your defense.”

  She rolled her eyes, refusing to see his Neanderthal gesture as anything less than ridiculously protective. Okay, also a little sweet. But still ridiculous.

  “Settle down, Cro-Magnon Man. I can take care of myself. I don’t need defending.”

  His mouth straightened. “Sometimes you do.”

  Puzzled, Josie angled her head. “I’m fine. So there’s a little pinching going on. So what? That doesn’t mean you have to pick fights with half the town.”

  “Yes. Yes, it does.” From across the bedroom, Luke sent her a beseeching look. “You don’t get it. I can’t give you Blue Moon. I can’t buy you presents or fancy jewelry.”

  “Don’t worry. My mom’s got a lock on all the jewelry within a fifty-mile radius, anyway.”

  He didn’t even crack a smile.

  “Come on,” she protested. “I’m kidding.”

  But Luke wasn’t.

  “Hell, I can’t even buy you four dozen freaking cupcakes!” he said, spreading his hands in frustration. “All I can do is keep everybody out of your damned way until you get what you need for your dance school. That’s it.”

  And it’s not enough, his tense shoulders said. Not nearly enough.

  “Oh, Luke. That’s enough. It really is.”

  He stood rigidly apart, not looking at her.

  “Nobody’s ever wanted to stick up for me before. That’s huge! Are you kidding me? I’m the trailer park tomboy who grew up to be a showgirl. That didn’t exactly make people cheer for me.”

  “It should have,” he said gruffly.

  “Or love me.”

  He glanced her way. “I don’t see why not.”

  “So the fact that you go against the crowd and stand on my side…well, either that means you’re just as much a knee-jerk rebel as I am, or it means you actually think I’m okay.”

  He crossed the room. “I think you’re okay.”

  “Then show me,” she said, smoothing her hands over his broad chest. She glanced up into his face, wanting to erase the lines of tension there. “Show me we’re okay together.”

  Relenting, Luke did. He lowered his head and kissed her, tunneling his finger
s through her hair in an expression of urgency Josie couldn’t deny. Faced with it, she held on and kissed him back, a whole waterfall of feelings pouring through her. Gratitude. Pride. Love. She didn’t know what touched her more—Luke’s desire to help her or the unabashedly fierce way he’d insisted on doing it. Either way, she thought it was wonderful.

  When their kiss ended, she fixed him with a no-nonsense look. “I just want to make one thing perfectly clear, though. Technically, I’m way too strong to need defending.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Luke raised a brow. “Well, technically, I’m way too smart to argue with you about that.”

  “That is smart of you.”

  “But I will say this. You deserve respect, Josie.” He brought his hands to her cheeks and cradled them tenderly—the way he might have touched a delicate flower. “Until you get that respect, I won’t stand by and let people hurt you.”

  She glanced down. “I’m okay. It’s not a big deal.”

  “I don’t believe that.” He flexed his wrists, bringing her face to his again with gentle insistence. He searched her eyes. “And if you do, we’ve got some talking to do.”

  Something in the way he said it finally got through to her. Luke believed in her. He honestly did. No matter what she did or didn’t do, he believed in her. That meant the world to her.

  Josie drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

  “Why do they do it?” she heard herself ask. “Why do they all think the worst of me?”

  Luke’s gaze softened. To Josie’s absolute dismay, she felt tears building in her eyes. A lump rose to her throat. Swallowing past it, she croaked out the question again.

  “Why, Luke? Why do they all think the worst of me?”

  For a long moment, he was silent. Then…

  “Because they don’t know you,” he said simply. Surely. “No one who really knew you could ever think the worst of you.”

  “Ha.” She sniffled, wanting desperately to take back the question. This would teach her to turn over rocks she didn’t really want to look underneath. “My dad thought the worst of me.”

  “I can’t talk about dads. I haven’t had the greatest experience in that department. But I can talk about you. I know I’m right. Someday, I swear, everybody will see the truth about you.”