by Lisa Plumley
Sniffling, Josie grinned. “I know how much you love eau de trout.”
“That’s right. So don’t try to change my mind.”
“Seriously, Parker. Don’t come here. I’m so busy putting everything together for my dance school…. We’d hardly have any time together,” Josie fibbed. It wasn’t strictly true, but she didn’t think she could face her best friend’s sympathetic company right now. She just might crumple. “I’ll be fine. Hey! I feel better already.”
“You do not. Five bucks says you’re wrapped up in a blanket, shivering, right this minute.”
Stunned, Josie stopped in the midst of covering herself with a double layer of chenille bedspread. Whenever she got truly upset, she always got the chills. She’d forgotten Parker had been there for some of those bundling-up episodes—such as the one she’d been through the first time her dad had been a no-show for one of her performances.
“Shows what you know,” she said haughtily, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. “For your information, I’m sprawled out practically naked, like a drunk high-roller at the pool.”
“Really?” Suspicion sounded plain in Parker’s voice.
Josie glanced at the fluffy mounds of chenille. She ducked her head beneath one, cell phone and all. Ah. Blissful heat.
“Would I lie to you?”
Parker was too smart to fall for misdirection. “Why don’t you want me to come?”
Leave it to Parker to ask the tough questions. The truth was, Josie didn’t want her best friend to see her fail. Which was exactly what she was doing at the moment, thanks to Donovan’s Corner’s refusal to let bygones be bygones…and showgirls be dance teachers.
“I do want you to come. I miss you!” At least that part was truthful. “But really, I’m up to my eyeballs trying to get my dance school up and running.”
“You already said that.”
“Besides, you’d hate it here.”
Parker scoffed. “I’ve been to the boonies before.”
Helplessly, Josie smiled again. It was only a small smile, but it was a start. “Your calling it ‘the boonies’ is kind of a red flag. Just give me a couple more weeks, okay?”
By then, Josie figured either her dance school would be up and successful or she’d have been run out of town on a rail. If it was the latter, she planned to have earned every scandalous moment leading up to it. Starting tonight.
“Fine,” Parker relented. “But call me tomorrow to check in. I mean it!”
Josie agreed. She said her good-byes and hung up.
It was finally time to cut loose.
“Hot damn!” TJ said, clattering down the carriage house stairs. “I am looking fine tonight!”
Luke glanced up. His buddy strutted into the garage and posed beside a beat-up Kawasaki, his knobby elbows and lanky frame nearly upsetting the bike. His gelled hair defied gravity. His ensemble for the night defied common sense.
He couldn’t have looked more pleased with himself.
“Look,” Luke deadpanned. “It’s Yahoo Serious, all decked out for the prom.”
“Laugh all you want, monkey boy. When the hottie I met at the Founder’s Day festival sees me looking like this, she’ll be all over me.”
“Either that or she’ll be running away from you. Is that shirt as radioactive as it looks?”
“It’s clean!” TJ sniffed his armpits. “Pretty much. And check out what’s on the front.”
With a game show hostess flourish, he indicated the lettering on his T-shirt. I’m with stupid, it said. The red arrow below the words pointed to his crotch.
“Classy,” Luke said.
“Wait! You haven’t seen the back yet.”
Proudly, TJ pivoted. So is she, the back read. This time, the arrow pointed left.
He looked over his shoulder, grinning. “Funny, right? The only trick will be keeping Amber on this side of me.” TJ pantomimed putting his arm around a girl. “So the shirt’s accurate.”
“Yeah. She’ll love that.”
“All the ladies like a man with a sense of humor.”
Luke wiped his hands on a shop rag. “Where are you taking this laugh-a-minute girl? Provided she doesn’t bolt the minute she sees you?”
“For your information,” TJ said with dignity, “I’m a romantic guy. I’m letting her decide.”
“Wow.” Luke raised his brows. “I’m impressed.”
“Between hanging out at Bubba’s and going cow tipping.”
He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. TJ, a native Los Angelino through and through, had obviously gotten all his ideas about small-town life from the movies.
“This isn’t the Wild West,” Luke informed him. “There aren’t any cows around here.”
“Hmmm.” Momentarily crushed, TJ gazed at the ceiling. A small pucker marred his pierced brow. He brightened. “I guess it’s Bubba’s, then! I’m off to pick up Amber. I didn’t get all decked out in my best clothes for nothing.”
Palming his truck keys, he meandered to the carriage house exit. Luke grinned at the suspiciously shaped scorch mark on the back of his board shorts. Apparently, TJ’s big-date prep had gone beyond putting on an almost-clean novelty T-shirt and sniffing his pits…all the way to actually ironing.
“Hey, your shorts are on fire.”
“What? Where?” Slapping at his backside, TJ turned around like a dog chasing its tail. The minute Luke guffawed, he wised up. “Screw you, Donovan. Josie told me Amber would appreciate the freaking gesture.”
Josie. That explained where he’d gotten hold of an iron. Luke sure as hell didn’t have one.
“You must really like this girl,” he mused. “Next thing you know, you’ll be ironing her clothes.”
Good-naturedly, TJ flipped him the finger.
“Or writing her love letters. Sending her flowers—”
“Flowers?” TJ swore, a strange expression flashing over his face. He hurried upstairs, only to return with a scraggly bouquet of carnations in his hand. “Good thing you reminded me. I don’t want to leave these babies behind.”
Luke plucked out the plastic Get Well Soon spike stuck in the midst of the blooms. “Quickie Mart?”
“Damned straight. And I got Amber these, too.”
“Breath mints?”
“Just in case. Don’t worry, I know how to be subtle.”
Luke doubted it. Before he could make a wisecrack, though, TJ tossed a sealed envelope at his chest.
“Hey, I almost forgot. That came for you today.”
Turning it over, Luke frowned. It looked like an invitation. The envelope was made of thick paper, and his name and address were written on the front in fancy calligraphy.
“I got a phone message for you, too,” TJ added. “From the secretary at Donovan & Sons. Something about a property you were looking at for your mechanic’s shop? The owners couldn’t track you down on the cell phone number you gave them—”
Luke flashed on the cell phone he’d hurled into the woods.
“—so they called the company looking for you.”
TJ fished a crumpled Snickers wrapper from his pocket. He smoothed it against his chest, then handed it over.
“Here’s the 411. Names, phone numbers, all that stuff. I guess the deal they were working on fell through, so the property’s available again. If you work fast.” TJ squinted at Luke. “Is that the place you told me about?”
“The one with six repair bays and most of the equipment intact,” Luke said. “Yeah.”
He knew the one. It was his dream property, the perfect place to locate his motorcycle mechanic’s shop. He’d thought it was a lost cause when he’d left L.A. Evidently, it wasn’t.
If you work fast.
“Dude, that’s awesome!” TJ punched his shoulder, looking psyched. “Once you lock down that place, there’s no way your dad can look down on you. Not if you have a sweet setup like that.”
Silently, Luke turned over the wrapper. There was only one way he could work fast
to snatch this opportunity. He’d have to finally list Blue Moon for auction. He’d have to finally sell the place…right out from under Josie.
“Jesus, Luke. You look like somebody just kicked a puppy. I thought this was what you wanted. To get out of here and go back to L.A.”
“I do.” Or at least he always had. Determinedly, Luke shook off his weird mood. This was good news. News he’d been waiting for. “It’s perfect.”
“Call ‘em,” TJ advised. He plucked out his beloved spyathon-swag PDA and tossed it to Luke. “Use that. It’s got a phone built in. Seal the deal, then take Josie out to celebrate.”
Luke doubted Josie would want to celebrate this news. Not when it meant she’d lose Blue Moon.
He frowned at the wrapper. The contact information there looked clear enough, even written with what must be a permanent marker in TJ’s angled scrawl. No excuses there.
“Maybe we can double-date sometime before you leave,” TJ blathered on, looking as happy-go-lucky as Luke didn’t feel. “You and Josie and me and Amber. That would be sweet. Oh, and dude? Don’t look for me to show up back here anytime soon. I might be out all night.”
“Only if you’re lucky,” Luke said.
“Or Amber’s lucky.” With a chortle, TJ headed out the doors, flowers in hand and spikes in hair, ready for a night of “romance.”
Luke sank onto the nearest vintage Indian bike, the opened invitation in hand. He frowned, bugged not by the innocent invitation to his cousin Melissa’s upcoming wedding but by the handwritten note she’d included. He looked at it again.
I know you and your dad aren’t exactly getting along right now, Melissa had written, and I’m sorry about that. But a wedding is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, Luke. I don’t want a family feud in the middle of it. Maybe it would be better if you stayed away. Just…stay away and give your dad some time.
Stung, Luke stared blankly at the nearest Kawasaki. He guessed his whole family knew about what had happened with his dad. Usually, they kept their perpetual disagreements to themselves. But not this time. This time, Robert Donovan meant business.
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.
The funny thing was, Luke had. Naïve as it seemed now. He had expected his dad to respect him for it. And the rest of the family, too. After all, Robert Donovan hadn’t been born a freight-trucking tycoon. He’d been born the son of a banker and the grandson of a man who’d amassed much of the family fortune in the five-and-dime business.
Every generation of Donovans had made their own way in life, starting with the nineteenth-century lumber mill owner who had—unbeknownst to Josie—built Blue Moon and founded Donovan’s Corner. Even Tallulah had carved out a niche in business before marrying Ernest Carlyle. Donovans came with an entrepreneurial streak in the genes. Luke wasn’t exempt.
“Settle down. Relax. Take advantage of not having to struggle for everything,” his dad had said to him once.
But Luke didn’t mind struggling. He didn’t mind working hard and he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. Hell, he didn’t see how he could live with himself if he didn’t do those things.
There was more to him than a fat bank account. More to him than being the family black sheep or the name at the bottom of somebody’s paycheck. If he’d never laid eyes on a motorcycle, if he’d never felt the urge to take something apart and put it back together again…things might have been different. But he had. There was no going back now—not if he wanted to feel like himself.
It wasn’t the money he missed. Most of that had been tied up in accounts and trust funds and investments anyway. A few assets would have come in handy right now to buy Josie a replacement dance studio, but cash wasn’t really the answer. No, what Luke missed most was trust. Trust and faith.
And open invitations to family events.
Not that he was panting to go to a stupid wedding. Far from it. But he’d grown up with Melissa, damn it. They’d shared summer vacations and Jolly Ranchers and Ping-Pong tournaments. They’d sneaked out to the movies to watch Aliens together when both their parents had declared it off-limits. He deserved to see her walk down the aisle in one of those froufrou dresses, to get shit-faced at the reception, eat wedding cake, and make a cheesy toast…to give her a hug as she started off on her new life.
Jesus, he was getting sentimental over this crap.
Frowning, Luke examined the invitation again, then the note. Melissa wouldn’t have sent it if she wasn’t worried—if she didn’t believe there was a real chance Luke’s feud with his dad would wreck her big day. He owed it to her to stay away.
He had to stay away.
Luke swore. Of all the screwed-up things in life, this definitely fell in the top ten. But telling Josie the truth about Blue Moon would be worse.
“Hey there, handsome,” came a sexy voice from the carriage house entryway. “Can you give a girl a hand?”
He looked up. Just as though he’d conjured her there, Josie stood in the growing night. Framed in the light from his work lamps, she looked wild and free and a little bit loopy. Her hair tumbled loose. She held a sweating glass of something pink in her hand—something, judging by her crooked smile, that was just as intoxicating as the way she looked.
She turned her back to him, exposing a long column of shimmery bare skin. Her dress gaped at its zipper.
“Do me up, would you? I can’t reach.”
Over her shoulder, she batted her eyelashes at him. Her fakes were back, he realized. A ridiculous sense of relief filled him. Josie was back.
He put down Melissa’s wedding invitation. Carefully. In a place where it wouldn’t get soaked in motor oil or covered in screws. He wove his way between the disassembled motorcycles, stopping when he reached the place where Josie stood beneath a shop light.
No, he hadn’t conjured her up. He never could have imagined anything as amazing as the way she looked tonight.
He examined her dress, hesitant to touch it with his big mechanic’s hands. Pale, floaty, and plunging down to there, it somehow seemed innocent and provocative at the same time. Dressed like that, Josie looked every inch the seductive showgirl, accustomed to champagne and glitter and neon nights.
“Just do up the zipper,” she said, lifting her hair out of the way. “I tried, but I couldn’t quite reach.”
Her next over-the-shoulder glance made a lie of her words. Luke would have bet anything—even that perfect L.A. property he wanted—that she hadn’t tried to zip up her dress at all. That she’d shimmied into its whisper-light fabric, walked outside with it threatening to fall off at any moment, and found him here.
Found him speechless. Fumbling. Unable to take his gaze from the smooth expanse of naked skin that stretched from her shoulder blades to the luscious curve of her ass. Just looking at her made him sweat.
He exerted a superhuman effort to reach for her zipper.
“The only thing a dress like this is good for,” he said as he pulled it up, “is making men wonder what you’d look like without it.”
“Maybe.” She smiled, then let her hair tumble over her shoulders. She turned. “But all I’m looking for tonight is a chance to cut loose. Not to make men wonder.”
Luke doubted it. Even zipped, that dress looked indecent.
“It’s been a tough couple of weeks.” She sipped her drink, making a small sound of appreciation as she did. “I could use a night off. It’s exhausting being respectable.”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”
Josie scrutinized him, from the tops of his work boots to the top of his head. She lingered over his tattoos. She smiled.
“No, I guess you wouldn’t. I like that about you.” Brightening, she came closer. She trailed her fingertips over his chest. “I like lots of things about you.”
She weaved, nearly toppling. Luke caught her.
“Whoa. Maybe you ought to ease up on the pink stuff.”
“Are you kidding
me? This is my own invention. A little pre-cocktail cocktail. Chambord plus vodka plus…something else I can’t remember right now. Try it.”
She pushed it toward him. Liquor fumes wafted upward.
“No, thanks.” Making sure she was steady on her feet, he let her go. He didn’t trust himself not to pick up where they’d left off at the Kincaid House. Given how much he wanted Josie, it wouldn’t take much for him to loosen his stance on not seducing tipsy women. “I’m more of a beer guy.”
She squinted. “Maybe. But something tells me you’ve got more than a nodding acquaintance with expensive whiskey, too. Maybe even champagne. After a few years in the casino, a girl learns to size up a fella’s tastes. You’ve got high roller written all over you.”
On the word all, she teetered sideways. Thank God she didn’t know how close to the truth she really was.
“That’s because you’re drunk. I’m just a mechanic.”
“Maybe so.” Josie’s expression zipped from thoughtful to purposeful in that exaggerated way sometimes caused by a few cocktails. She gave him a canny look. “But that doesn’t explain your pony.”
Her ah-hah! tone made him smile.
“My pony doesn’t like whiskey or champagne, either.” He put his hand to the small of her back, inciting a serious urge to drag her upstairs and tell her girls’ night to go screw itself. She’d look good on his apartment’s lonesome bed—and even better on him. “How about some company on your big adventure tonight? You’re going to Bubba’s, right?”
Bubba’s—also the site of TJ’s big date with Amber—was one of Donovan’s Corner’s most popular watering holes. It featured foot-long margaritas, dollar Jell-O shots, and two kinds of beer—regular and lite. Plus pool tables, a regular live band playing covers, and a pack of shit-kicking locals.
Josie nodded vigorously. Several times. Luke grinned, resisting an urge to clap a hand on her scalp like a guy with an overactive bobblehead on his dashboard.
“Yes, Bubba’s. Where the drinks are sloppy and so is the dancing. But men aren’t invited. Sorry.” She touched his arm, seemed to get distracted by the glide of her fingers over his bare biceps, and sighed. She snapped to. “In fact, the girls ought to be here any minute to pick me up.”
