Kathy Altman - Staying at Joe's

After scooping up her keys she walked barefoot to her car. A sleepy gray haze had crept into the summer evening, heralding dusk. Cool air, crisp as a Granny Smith apple, had her thinking of porch swings, oversize sweatshirts and glasses of red wine. On second thought, scratch the wine.

She forced her mind away from the thought of alcohol and what it could do to a person—to a couple—and looked around. Crumbling asphalt, exterior walls that looked like someone had painted them with mashed-up peas, flowerbeds sporting more weeds than blooms, a construction Dumpster that was no doubt as practical as it was unsightly. But there was also a brand-new professional sign towering over her car, a gracious lobby and...her room. A room that had been more than renovated—it had been lovingly decorated.

By a woman? She hadn’t considered that before. That Joe might be involved. But why should she consider it? And why should she care?

She glanced again at the sign. Sleep at Joe’s. Clever. And something that two days ago she was certain she’d never do again.

The ball of her foot landed on a sharp-edged rock. She hissed in a breath, her limp more pronounced as she approached her car. Suddenly she caught a whiff of something fruity and her stomach perked up. She and Joe hadn’t talked about meals—they hadn’t really talked logistics at all. His earlier recommendation of the diner probably meant she was on her own, food-wise.

Though judging by today, she might be on her own. Period.

Supposedly Joe was looking for payback, but he hadn’t seemed to get much of a kick out of Allison on her hands and knees in filth. And she’d thought for sure he’d enjoy mocking her reaction to the mouse. Instead he’d taken it in stride. Well, mostly.

With a frown, she rummaged through the glove compartment. Nothing edible. She sighed. Next on the agenda? Find a supermarket. And put M&M’s at the top of her list. She needed all the help she could get dealing with not only Tackett and Joe, but her mother’s pleas for money.

And the next time Beryl Kincaid called, Allison would let voice mail do its thing. She might get more sleep that way. Because she knew that if her mother had her way, they’d both be living out of Allison’s car.

She shut the car door just as a dusty blue oversize pickup pulled into the lot and parked beside her. Joe. Allison curled her toes into the pavement, feeling suddenly naked. He rounded the hood of his truck, a mouthwatering package of muscle, denim and shadowed jaw. Considering he had eyes only for her Toyota, she obviously didn’t have the same pulse-pounding effect on him.

Which was good. Great, in fact. Things were complicated enough.

Still, it smarted.

“I meant to ask.” Joe hitched a thumb at her car. “What happened to the Beemer?”

She shoved her fingers into her back pockets. She didn’t want to lie. But she didn’t want to tell the truth, either. “Got something against Camrys?”

He looked as if he wanted to say more, then shrugged. “Didn’t see you at the diner.”

“It’s been a while since I last pulled up fifty-year-old carpet. I had a hard enough time getting in and out of the shower.”

Instantly she regretted her provocative words, but Joe didn’t take the unintentional bait. Though why should he? Their bantering days were long gone. He merely nodded, then turned back to his truck. Moments later he held up a crisp white bag.

“I brought you a sandwich.”

“Ham?”

“Extra pickles.”

Her mouth watered. She squinted. “In exchange for...”

“An answer. To one question.”

“Do I get to ask one, too?”

“Did you bring me dinner?”

They stared at each other over the roof of her car. In his eyes she could see that bitterness she’d been wondering about. She sighed.

“Let me guess. You want to know if it bothers me. That Tackett’s basically holding my future for ransom. Am I right?” An incline of his head signaled that she’d guessed correctly. Her gaze dropped to the bag in his hand. “You realize you’re doing the exact same thing.”

“There’s a difference between two weeks and an entire career. And unlike Tackett, I honor my word. After I’ve served my four weeks he’ll ask for more. He’ll offer a bonus if I stay, forget to pay me if I don’t. I won’t be staying. You shouldn’t, either.”

“So now you’re looking out for me. How very—” Wait a minute. She pushed away from the car, a blush of fury scorching her from head to toe. “You want me to quit. To get back at the old man. Or are you hoping you won’t have me to deal with once you’re there?” When he didn’t answer she swallowed against a pang of...something...and glowered. “You don’t like that question? Fine. Here’s another one.”

A muscle car drove past the motel, engine growling, radio blaring an energetic song. Allison blinked back inexplicable tears.

“Were you and Danielle lovers?” she asked.

Joe took his time positioning the bag on the hood of her car. When he looked back up his face had lost all expression. “We were barely friends.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No. We were never lovers. I had you. I didn’t need anyone else.”

She released the breath she’d been holding, but the pressure in her chest didn’t ease. She turned away. “Good night, Joe.”

“You forgot your sandwich, Allison.”

It would be churlish to refuse, though her appetite had vanished. At least he’d stopped calling her by her last name. When he did that he sounded like Tackett.

She reached for the bag. So did he. He didn’t let go. Instead he held out his free hand. “Truce?”

“So this is a bribe.”

“More like a peace offering.” When she hesitated he wiggled his fingers. “Come on. I’m not asking to be friends. You don’t want to be here and I don’t want to go back. But we’re stuck with each other. And two weeks is a long time to trade dirty looks. So what do you say? Truce?”

“Well.” It was easier just to give in. She put her hand in his. “You did say extra pickles.”

* * *

“JOE?” NO ANSWER. Another rap of her knuckles on the glass, but the lobby remained dark. Damn. She had no way of knowing whether he’d already gone to bed or just couldn’t hear her knock. And she’d never thought to ask for his cell number.

She shivered in the cool night air and glanced around. At each end of the motel lurked a tall, skinny pole, the beams from the lights at the top casting broad puddles of pale yellow onto the broken pavement. The light glinted off the windshield of Joe’s truck. He was definitely here.

She drew in a resolute breath and marched around the side of the building. The sooner they got this settled, the better.

The dew-damp grass slicked her toes, making her feet slide in her flip-flops, every step a rubbery squeak. She hesitated at the corner—no lights back here but for the dim bulb over the door. A pair of moths flirted with the scrawny light, making tiny little pings whenever they connected with the glass.

She yanked at the hem of her top, skirted the wooden box that protected his garbage cans and stepped onto the slab of cement that served as a porch.

Nothing but darkness on the other side of the square window in the door. For God’s sake, it was only ten o’clock. He’d always been a night owl—surely he couldn’t have changed that much?

Then again, there didn’t seem to be a lot to do in Castle Creek. Especially after dark. Except maybe— Allison’s breathing hitched and a prickling heat swept across her skin. An image of what Joe could very well be doing in the dark had her snatching her hand away from the door and stumbling back a step.

After her encounter with the mouse, Joe had said he had to go help a friend. Maybe that friend was female? And maybe she was in his apartment at this very moment, in his bed, and they were shaking their heads at the idiot outside who couldn’t take a hint?