Josie Day Is Coming Home (3 page)

“It’s no joke.” Flummoxed by Josie’s unexpected
resistance, Tallulah crossed her arms over her chest. “I intend to reward
you. So….” She leaned conspiratorially toward the girl. “If you
could have anything in the world you wanted, what would it be?”

Josie rolled her eyes. “World peace.”

“This isn’t a beauty pageant, Miss Spandex. Be straight
with me.”

“So you can report back to Chuck and Enrique about how
gullible I was? No, thanks.”

“Fine. You won’t tell me what you want?” Tallulah
huffed. “I’ll decide for myself. It’ll be a surprise. Here. Take this
card.”

Again she shoved it to Josie. The girl stubbornly refused
it. Determined, Tallulah marched to the redhead’s vanity space. She jammed the
business card beneath the edge of the light bulb-bordered frame.

“It’s my attorney’s,” she announced to the room at
large. “When you’re ready to get in touch with him, he’ll tell you what
your reward is.”

“Thank you, Don Pardo,” Josie said in an
exaggerated game-show-host voice, sweeping her arm to the left. “And
thanks for playing, ‘April Fool’!”

Tallulah tilted her head. All at once, she felt old. It
wasn’t a welcome sensation.

“Someday, young lady, someone just might surprise
you.”

Then she picked up her purse and swept from the room.

Two weeks later, Josie was leaning toward the mirror to draw
on a fake beauty mark for the Glamorous Nights Revue’s Fosse-inspired number
when the business card caught her eye. Printed on expensive-looking ivory card
stock, it bore a name and address she’d already half memorized. It also seemed
to mock her every time she glanced its way.

Stupid old woman. Tallulah Carlyle.
Right
. She was
probably crazy. Or an actress hired to play a joke.

Okay…so she did resemble the owner pictured in
Jacqueline’s office. Vaguely. And her portrayal of a choking victim had been
pretty darn convincing. But that didn’t mean that card was authentic. Or that
“Tallulah’s” offer of a reward—especially “anything in the world
you wanted”—could be believed.

Josie snorted, then went back to penciling in her beauty
mark. She wasn’t cynical, exactly. But she’d learned a long time ago not to put
too much faith in what other people promised. When push came to shove, the only
person you could count on was yourself.

Leaning back, she adjusted the fringe on her fuchsia
flapper-style costume. She already had everything she needed, she assured
herself, rearranging the navel-length strand of imitation pearls around her
neck. She had lots of friends, a good job, a place to live, a car…

…an ever-increasing feeling of restlessness.

Damn it. Why did that have to keep resurfacing?

Plunking her elbow on the vanity, Josie put her chin in her
hand. She tapped her fingers on her cheek, thinking, as the other dancers
bustled around her. Then she snatched the business card and grabbed her cell
phone.

Time to find out what the score really was.

Chapter Two

Thirty-six hours later

She should have known there’d be a catch.

After all, when it came to second chances, there usually
was. But somehow, Josie had managed to forget that. She’d road-tripped all
night from Las Vegas, powered by Big Gulps and Twinkies and fueled by dreams of
returning in triumph to Donovan’s Corner. Now that she’d seen what was waiting
for her—what Tallulah had “rewarded” her with—she couldn’t believe
she’d been so naïve.

Prompted by Tallulah, Josie had worked up the nerve to
confront her past. She’d packed everything she owned in her beat-up Chevy
convertible. She’d made her way through the twisty, mountainous roads that
divided her old life from her new one. And for what?

For a tumbledown pile of an “estate”—a term she
used
very
loosely—at the edge of a town she’d thought she’d left behind
forever. That’s what.

But this particular estate was hers, she reminded herself.
Every last ramshackle inch of it. That made all the difference.

It was a good thing, too. According to her lawyer, Tallulah
had thought she’d been doing Josie a favor by bringing her back to Donovan’s Corner.
If only she’d known the truth. For Josie, having her big second chance plunked
down here, of all places…. It was like a big cosmic joke. Fortunately, Josie
was always up for a laugh.

Squinting through the springtime sunlight at the two-story
shake-shingled house in front of her, she felt a surge of optimism. Despite the
discouraging reality of peeling paint, crumbling stone chimneys, and overgrown
weeds, she could make something of this place. She knew it.

The thought energized her. Or maybe that was just the
Twinkies talking—she’d polished off the last of her stash upon rounding the
circular gravel drive. Either way, it was time to get started. Through an
unbelievable twist of fate, she finally had something to call her own—something
bigger than a blow-dryer and more durable than a sequin-spangled G-string.
Unreal as it seemed, she’d gotten a lucky break. She intended to make the most
of it.

Pulling her duffel bag from her convertible’s duct-taped
vinyl passenger seat, she palmed her keys and headed across the drive. Her
platform wedgies crunched against the gravel. Her hair swung across her
shoulders, bared in her requisite post-show outfit of terry cloth track pants
and a strappy tank top.

If she’d been smart, she’d have dressed for the chill in the
mountain air. But she’d been too eager to start her new life to bother with
anything but hauling herself out of Vegas the minute the curtain fell on last
night’s show. A part of her still didn’t quite believe this whole thing was
real. She half expected to find the house key in her hand didn’t work at all.

Her gaze fell on the “Blue Moon” sign nailed to a
porch post to her left. Josie smiled. It was a fitting name for the place.
“Once in a blue moon” was about how often a girl like her made good.
At least that’s what people in town might have said…had they known she was
coming back.

“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any.”

The voice—a masculine one—came from someplace above her
head. Startled, she glanced up.

A dark-haired man gazed steadily down at her from the porch
roof, a hammer in one hand and a fistful of cedar shingles in the other.
Clearly he’d been hired to do much-needed work on the place. Or to serve as eye
candy for the newly arriving new owner: her. Either way, Josie relaxed.

Thank you, Welcome Wagon
. Some old houses came with
bats in the attic. Apparently, hers came with a resident hunk on the roof. One
with dreamy blue eyes, whisker shadow, and muscles galore. Her opinion of the
dilapidated estate went up a notch.

An impatient look crossed his face. “Did you hear me? I
said I don’t want any. Thanks, anyway.”

He stuck a nail between his lips, pursing them to hold it in
place. Then he peered at the roof as though preparing to get back to work—as
though their conversation were finished. Just like that. Did he seriously think
she could let a statement like his go unchallenged?

“Unless you find out what I’m here for,” Josie
told him, “you can’t possibly know you’re not interested.”

“Oh, I know.”

He looked as if he did, too. He looked as though he was
always certain about everything around him. He also looked as though he’d been
working up there, belly down, for at least an hour. Dust streaked his face.
Wind tousled his hair. And some kind of black smudge decorated his biceps. But
there wasn’t enough grime in the world to hide his chiseled features,
work-hardened shoulders, and ease in his own skin.

“You must be the handyman. I didn’t know the place came
with a handyman.” Tallulah’s lawyer hadn’t mentioned him.

He ignored her guess. Instead, he rolled his eyes and
removed the nail from his pursed lips, like a man forced to take seriously
something that was really ridiculous. Killer bunnies. Fat-free cookies. Male
pattern baldness.

His speculative gaze touched her pink-polished toenails,
then her bare midriff, then her face and hair. Josie’s skin tingled. Too late,
she remembered that while she’d tissued off the brightest of her stage makeup,
she hadn’t yet ditched her trusty false eyelashes or her auburn ponytail hair
extension—the one she’d affectionately dubbed “Frank.” As in frankly
fake.

He frowned. “You look as if you can probably read. But
maybe you need glasses or something. I can see why you couldn’t get them on.
You know, with all that fringe on your eyelids.”

She gawked, speechless.

“And it looks as though maybe you’re having a little
trouble talking, too,” he continued good-naturedly, “so I’ll help you
out. That sign over there says ‘No Trespassing.’ That means—”

“I know what it means. It doesn’t apply to me.”

He cocked his head, new speculation in his expression.

“A maverick, huh? I’ll bet you beat your sales quotas
all to hell. Good for you.” As though doing her a favor, he nodded toward
the acres of ponderosa forest surrounding them. “Try peddling your wares
over at the Petersen’s. About a half-mile that way. They’ll buy all kinds of
crap. If you’ve got some of those useless knickknack things to sell, you’re
in.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not selling
knickknacks.”

An
ah-hah
look flashed over his face. He shook his
head.

“Sorry. I can’t help you with putting this place on the
market. I’m just here to make repairs.”

He thought she was a real estate broker? Josie opened her
mouth to contradict him, but he was already off and running.

“On the other hand, you’re the hottest agent they’ve
sent out here yet.” Another once-over…this one, entirely complimentary.
He even put down his hammer and shingles. “So I’ll listen if you want to
try to change my mind.”

She should have been offended. But a grin like his—masculine
and cocksure and friendly, all at the same time—somehow made that impossible.
With that remarkable grin, he could have tempted a nun into taking up sin.
Josie couldn’t help but respond to it. On the inside. On the outside, she
merely shrugged.

“Your generosity is mind-boggling.”

“So is my memory of the women in town.” His gaze
lingered on her face, then meandered to her legs. “You’re new here.”

He didn’t know the half of it.

“I’m wearing track pants. You can make a positive ID
just by ogling my calves?”

“I prefer thighs.” A wider grin. “And yeah. I
can.”

“Remind me to avoid miniskirts.”

With a shrug, he slid to the edge of the porch roof. His
movements were steady and practiced. “Doesn’t matter. In a pinch, I’m
willing to ID using other means.”

His gaze traveled north in demonstration, then zipped up to
her face. A cheerful expression lit his features. It was clear he was teasing.
It was just as clear he was flirting. Josie wished that fact didn’t perk up her
morning quite so readily.

She really shouldn’t have slurped through all those Big
Gulps. Caffeine was a stimulant, after all.

“I’ll be in town for quite a while,” she said,
forcing herself to move things in a more businesslike direction.
“Depending on how my plans work out, maybe indefinitely.”

“Good. We have a serious shortage of frivolous shoes
here in Donovan’s Corner. You ought to fill the gap nicely.”

She frowned at her rainbow-patterned cork-soled wedgies.
When she glanced up again, it was to see him dangling from the edge of the
porch roof. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged with the strength
required to hold him suspended. Nimbly, he dropped the short distance between
his booted feet and the new spring grass.

Standing on a level with her, he was both taller and bigger
than she’d thought. He swiped his forehead with his forearm.

Without her permission, Josie’s libido automatically tallied
up the new information his nearness offered. This was a man who didn’t care how
he looked—and was all the more appealing for it. His jeans and black T-shirt
were the uniform of careless bad boys everywhere…but the way they hugged his
body seemed entirely new. So did the cryptic tattoo encircling one taut biceps.
Probably it was a set of ancient symbols, all their inky blackness representing
one simple warning:
think twice
.

It was advice she doubted any of the local ladies heeded.
Around here, they probably watched his every move. Fortunately, Josie had sworn
off inappropriate men. Especially the dangerously appealing ones. She’d dated
way too many of them to be lured by the homegrown version now. Especially with
so many other things she needed to focus on.

Mmm-hmmm
, her conscience jabbed.
Tell me another
one
.

She frowned, enjoying one last look as her new handyman bent
to retrieve something from beside the toolbox at his feet. So she’d flirted
back a little bit. Big deal. Could she help it if there was something about a
guy with talented hands? Not to mention a backside so fine it could have
incited a riot?

He turned. Caught her ogling. Grinned again in that same
swaggering fashion. She would have given anything to dump the water bottle in
his hand all over his know-it-all expression.

“See anything you like?” he asked.

Josie envisioned water dripping from his prominent nose.
“All the time. Admiring the view doesn’t mean staking out a piece of it
for yourself.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No.”

Absently, she watched him drink. He did so greedily, his
tanned throat working to drain most of the bottle. When he lowered it again, he
lifted one thick brow in surprise.

“Especially when we’re going to be working together
from now on.” She shifted her shoulder to keep her duffel in place, then
extended her hand. “I’m Josie Day. The new owner.”