Kathy Altman - Staying at Joe's

Okay, that hurt. Which pissed him off even more. That son of a bitch Tackett was too damned clever for his own good. No doubt the old man figured Joe would jump at the chance to “reacquaint” himself with Allison Kincaid. Instead he wished she’d kept her pretty little materialistic ass back in the city.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” he ground out. “But not sorry enough to go back.”

“What a surprise. Some things never change, do they?” She shook her head, eyes dark with disgust. “No one mattered but you. Your clients, your projects, your schedule. Everything else came in second. Then something doesn’t go your way and bam! You’re gone, and the rest of us are left scrambling to meet your commitments.”

“Didn’t go my way? My brother died.”

“And that’s why you’re hiding out in this hellhole? Because you’re feeling sorry for yourself?”

Joe set his jaw. Was it wrong to be so damned angry he wanted to put a fist through a wall—preferably one he hadn’t already painted—and at the same time be so incredibly turned on by the hints of nipple he could see through her blouse? He stomped over to where he’d lobbed his shirt, snatched it up and stomped back.

“If you think I told anyone about us, you don’t know me.”

“Exactly the point I tried to make a year ago.”

Another direct hit. She’d learned a lot from her boss. Still, she had it right. He owed her. Hell.

“Fine. I’ll give Tackett a call.”

“And tell him what? That I can handle the client myself? You think I didn’t try that? Mahoney made it clear. He doesn’t get you, he gets another agency.”

Mahoney, huh? Joe grunted. He knew as well as she did that client should be hers.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” he said. “That it’s time for you to move on.”

“It’s a sign that it’s time for you to step up and fix the mess you made. Mr. DIY.”

“You always did put T&P first.”

“They never let me down.”

“Until Tackett decided to make an example out of you.”

“I repeat. They never let me down.”

“You really want to start comparing scars?” he asked softly.

She clenched her teeth. “I want to keep my job.”

“The agency means that much to you.”

“The paycheck means that much to me.”

“So it’s the money.” He should have known. “What, is the gold plating wearing off your toothbrush?”

“You self-centered, egotistical son of a—”

“Children, children, please.” They swung toward the door. Longtime Castle Creek resident Audrey Tweedy marched toward them, clapping her hands as if urging a classroom of first-graders to settle down after recess. The seventy-something woman had a voice like a pixie and a body like a lumberjack, and Joe couldn’t remember ever seeing her without that purple barrette holding her gray hair out of her face.

For one wild, despairing moment, he considered making his escape through the window. But he’d just replaced the screen. And Audrey was faster than she looked.

She wagged a thick finger. “I could hear you kids all the way out in the parking lot. That’s not good for business, Joseph Gallahan.”

“I’m not open for business.”

“That’s not the point.” She gave him a disapproving look—he was getting a lot of those lately—then leaned toward Allison, her expression complicit. “I could tell the trouble right off. You two are having a meat crisis.”

Allison went still. “A what?”

Joe ran a hand over his face as Audrey rummaged through a bright green purse—the one with the oversize “P” on the side. She pulled out a can of Vienna sausages. “You’re grumpy. That’s what happens when you don’t get enough protein. Have a weenie.”

Joe held up his hands, palms out. “I’ll pass.” His gaze cut to Allison, who was staring at the old woman in fascinated dismay.

Audrey gave him a tsk-tsk and shrugged. She jammed the can back into her purse and turned to Allison, thrust out a hand. “I’m Audrey Tweedy, dear. Welcome to Castle Creek. Care for a weenie? No?” She patted her monster of a purse. “I could fit a whole ham in here if I wanted to. I could show you where I got it, if you’d like. The purse, not the ham. ’Course, the initial on the side costs extra.”

“What does the ‘P’ stand for?”

Audrey shot Joe a “where’d you find this one?” look. “Protein.” She turned back to Joe. “Which you, Mr. Vegetarian, obviously don’t get enough of.”

“I had scrambled eggs for breakfast. With cheese. And, Aud? I’m a little busy right now.”

She sniffed. “The way you eat, Joseph, you’d think you didn’t have any teeth. You need something that’ll work that jaw—something besides insulting your visitors. And you’re not getting rid of me that easily. Have some jerky.”

He stared down at the bright yellow stick of processed who-the-hell-knew-what. “You never give up.”

She turned to Allison. “You eat meat, don’t you, dear?” Joe tried not to choke while Allison managed a nod. With a smile worthy of a denture commercial, Audrey swung back to face him. “Sounds like you two have some problems to work out. Why don’t you invite your friend here to stay awhile?”

Oh, hell, no.

Joe gave her his best “mess with me and I’ll break out my pneumatic drill” look. Audrey countered with her “humor me or I’ll hide a dead perch in your pickup” glare.

“Sounds like Allison doesn’t have much of a job to go back to,” Audrey continued smugly. “And, Joseph, you and I both know you could use a hand around here. She has two.”

Allison thrust out her hands, fingers spread. “Uh, and they both just had a manicure.”

“Go ahead, Joseph. Invite her to stay.”

He heard Audrey’s words but they didn’t register. He’d finally given in to the urge to look at Allison, really look at her, for the first time in a year. She watched him back, head tipped to the side, hazel eyes narrowed, chin indignant. She’d changed her hair. Instead of the short, sleek, behind-the-ears style he remembered, she’d let it grow so a smooth, butter-colored curtain skimmed her shoulders. Not as smooth as when she’d first walked in, though. One side looked kind of poufy, as if someone had given her a noogie.

Or she’d just rolled out of bed.

He drew in a breath and focused on Audrey, who looked mighty pleased with herself as she stood there in her pink pants, spotless white trainers and olive drab Go Army T-shirt. A gift from his buddy Reid Macfarland, no doubt. Joe sighed.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Aud?”

“Better than helping two conflicted souls find grace and understanding? Really, Joseph, how self-centered do you think I am?”

He wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot salami. Meanwhile, Allison was looking a little wild-eyed.

Audrey gave her a sympathetic smile. “Does it bother you, dear? That he’s one of those pesky vegetarians?”

“Pesco,” Joe growled. “I’m a pesco-vegetarian.”

“You did call this place a ‘hellhole,’” Audrey continued, her voice suddenly all schoolmarm. “If you stayed you could help change that.”

Allison shook the noogie right out of her hair. “That’s not an option.”

Joe watched her back away toward the door. He should be feeling smug. Why wasn’t he feeling smug?

“Surely, dear, you could spare a few days to help out an old friend—”

“Audrey Tweedy, you’re supposed to be holding a table for us at the diner. If we don’t head over there now, we won’t get any chocolate mousse.” Hazel Catlett appeared next to Allison, tapping her watch. Her gaze slid to Joe’s naked chest and her eyes sparked as bright as the neon-orange color on her lips.