Kathy Altman - Staying at Joe's

He should have backtracked as soon as he’d heard the truck. But he’d almost been inside. Almost had what he needed. And he’d almost been caught. He couldn’t blow this. Wouldn’t blow this. Next time, he’d know.

He turned his back to the motel, and made his way deeper into the sun-dappled woods.

* * *

JOE WASN’T IN #4, where she’d left him the afternoon before. Allison carefully made her way back up the sidewalk toward the office, stepping over and around the cracks that rendered the concrete path less than high-heel friendly. If she’d known what she was getting into, she’d have brought her cross trainers.

Maybe even a Taser.

Then again, what if she did fall and break her neck? She wouldn’t have to humble herself by accepting Joe Gallahan’s deal. And she wouldn’t have to learn how to use that drywall thingy he’d mentioned.

But she wouldn’t have the satisfaction of paying off Sammy, either.

She yanked open the office door and heard a faint buzzing sound as the door closed behind her. Tugging off her sunglasses, she stalked toward the counter. Behind it, a set of pocket doors stood closed. She assumed Joe’s office was in the back. Possibly his living quarters, too.

She eyed the bell, tempted to slap it a few times. But of course the buzzer had already alerted Joe he had a visitor. Antagonize him before she had a chance to announce she’d changed her mind? Kick things off by giving him a reason to change his? Not a good idea.

“Be right out,” he hollered from behind the doors.

She jumped, and dropped her keys. After scooping them up off a pretty hardwood floor, she took a closer look at the space around her. Brightly colored prints and a hanging basket loaded with purple and red blooms accented clean, neutral walls. A wooden bench under the front window, a floor lamp with a patterned shade and a brown-and-scarlet-striped runner in front of the counter added welcoming touches to an otherwise Spartan room.

Given the state of the motel’s exterior, she could only imagine the kind of work Joe had done to make the lobby look this good. Had he done it all himself? And when had he learned to do this stuff, anyway? He’d bought his D.C. condo furnished and his only contribution to the décor had been a few photos of him and his brother.

Regret pinched at her heart. She reached out to touch a flower.

Behind the pocket doors came a thump, then a curse, then a series of rattling thuds that shook the walls. By the time Joe groaned, Allison had already shoved open the doors.

He was stretched out on the floor, facedown, hands under his shoulders as he prepared to push himself up. She rushed forward and squatted next to him.

“You all right?” she asked, even as a familiar bitterness climbed her throat.

“Yeah.” He pushed himself onto his knees and lifted his head, his face inches from hers. She stared into his red-rimmed but clear, blue gaze—clear being the operative word. Her surprise must have shown in her eyes because his narrowed. “Not alcohol related,” he said flatly. He sat, his back against the wall, and slowly exhaled as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

She dragged her gaze away from a body that in the past year she could see had scored some heavy-duty muscles. She blinked a few times, and concentrated on the floor around them. She saw nothing nearby that could have tripped him up.

“What happened?”

He ran a hand through his hair and pointed. “That.”

He was indicating the room at the end of the short hall—she could see shelving and one end of a couch, so she assumed it was his living room. She shook her head, on the verge of asking him what he was talking about, when a tiny orange tabby hopped around the corner and bounced toward them.

Joe scooped up the kitten and tucked it into his shoulder. The tabby proceeded to chew on his hair.

“You have a cat,” Allison said stupidly.

“One determined to break my neck, it seems.”

She stood, and backed away. That Joe had fallen for a kitten—in more ways than one—disturbed her to no end. Joe wasn’t a kitten kind of guy. Dead plants were more his speed. She thought of the geraniums thriving out in the lobby and bit her lip.

“Mind holding her? So I can get up without busting my ass?” The cat dangled from his large hand.

The little tabby was adorable. Still Allison had no intention of letting those claws anywhere near her silk blouse or linen pants. She took the cat gingerly in both hands and held it out in front of her, as if she’d accepted a ticking bomb.

Joe sent her a mocking glance. Once he was on his feet he relieved her of his pet and nodded toward the lobby.

“Let me remind her where the litter box is. Then we can talk.”

Allison trailed behind him, assuring herself she was checking out his backside only to make certain he wasn’t limping. “What’s her name?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Not on anything G-rated, anyway.”

He plopped her into the tray under the counter and straightened. Allison didn’t miss his wince but chose to ignore it. The last thing she needed was for him to think she actually cared.

Grow up, Allie. “Sure you’re okay?”

He nodded, one eyebrow raised. Damn him. “Something to drink?”

“No. Thanks.” She crossed her arms, watching as he sauntered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “You’re not surprised to see me.”

“I talked to Tackett.”

“Of course you did. You are so not my favorite person right now.”

“Feeling manipulated, are you?”

“Touché.” She tapped her fingers against her upper arm. “So. We’re stuck with each other.”

“Looks that way.” He watched her. Waiting for her to beg him to reconsider, no doubt. He’d be waiting a good long time.

“I didn’t come prepared to stay, let alone work,” she said.

“I can see that.” He looked askance at her outfit. “You ever handle a hammer?” She opened her mouth and he added, “Successfully?” She closed her mouth. He grunted and paused before speaking again. “Ever think about working somewhere besides the agency?”

“You mean because Tackett’s a sexist ass?” She shook her head. “I’ve invested a lot of years at T&P. It’s time I started seeing some dividends. And by the way, I can learn to use a hammer.” She hesitated. “Are you going to make me use a hammer?”

He took another swallow of water and set the bottle on the counter. “Be right back.” When he reappeared he held up a pair of white coveralls that looked roomy enough to hold them both. Allison’s thoughts fled from that unwelcome but cozy image when he tossed the coveralls in her direction. “For you.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“You’ll need work boots, too. I suggest you make a run to the hardware store.”

“Boots. From the hardware store.”

“You’d be surprised. Get something sturdy. No hot pink rubber raingear.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Pick this stuff up for me, too, would you? Put it on my tab. When you get back I’ll give you a tour. And for the record, from now on we start at seven.”

“I’m assuming you have a separate room for me. One with clean sheets and a working toilet.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you get to bunk with the cat.”

“The cat sleeps with me.”

“Huh. Now if I were the type to make tasteless jokes—”

He held up a hand. “You’ll get your own room.” In four steps he was across the lobby and at the door. He pushed it open. “Hardware store’s on State Street. You can’t miss it.”

When she made to walk past him he stopped her with a hand on her arm. His nearness, his scent, the warmth of his fingers and their movement over the silk of her blouse made her shiver. Damn it. She pushed fear into her eyes but the awareness in his told her he wasn’t buying it.