Josie Day Is Coming Home (9 page)

“You’re not one of those girls who orders salad on a
date, then,” he observed, reaching in the paper sack for a napkin to give
her. “You eat real food. I like that.”

“Are you kidding me? I hate salad. It’s
so…healthy.” She shuddered. “Seriously. If salad were actually
good
,
would people have to put all that stuff on it? Dressing and croutons and bacon
bits? No, they’d wouldn’t. I say, skip the salad and go straight to the bacon
bits.”

“Interesting theory.”

“I’ve got a million of ‘em.” Happily, Josie took
another cheeseburger bite. This was nice, actually. Friendly. With Luke she
felt comfortable, even while swabbing up a ketchup drip. “Mmm-mmm.”

“Good?”

“Delicious.”

“Good.” Luke paused. “Luanne says you’re a
stripper.”

“Gaaack.” Josie put a hand to her throat, sure she
must have choked on that blunt statement. She swiveled to face Luke, heedless
that she was still mid-bite. “A
stripper
?”

He shrugged. “That’s what everyone in town is—”

“Hang on.” She narrowed her eyes. “How do you
know Luanne?”

“I go to Frank’s sometimes. It’s no big deal.”

Josie’s bite of cheeseburger suddenly seemed way too big to
handle. It tasted exactly like the Styrofoam it had come in, too. Chewing
mightily, she forced it down. She dropped the rest of the burger into the
take-out container, then daintily wiped her pickle-juice-smeared fingers on a
napkin and dropped it inside, too. She snapped the lid closed. Shoved the whole
thing back to Luke.

“You can keep your pity burger. I don’t need it.”

“‘Pity burger’? What the—?”

But Josie was already on her feet. Already heading for the
front door.
He’d been there
. Luke had been there at Frank’s Diner when
half the town had given her the cold shoulder. The feeling of humiliation that
had swamped her then was nothing compared with the embarrassment she felt now.
She didn’t know why his opinion of her mattered—only that she didn’t want it
to.

This was
way
more than the “reward” she’d
signed up for. It was past time to get her stuff and clear out. Josie jammed
her key in the lock and rattled it, trying to remember the secret method Luke
had shared with her during her tour of Blue Moon. Was it turn-jiggle-turn? Or
jiggle-turn-jiggle? Damn. He was headed right for her. But she was ready for
him.

Josie whirled. If there was any feminine justice in the
world, there’d be sparks shooting from her eyeballs. Just to scare him.

He didn’t even look alarmed.

“Hey.” Luke held up both hands in surrender. He
even had the gall to grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t be
mad at me. I
like
strippers.”

“I’m
not
a stripper!”

His gaze zipped to her hips, then back again. “You sure
about that? Because you’ve got all the right equipment.”

“So do you. I’ll alert Chippendales.”

“Thanks. But I like my job here.” He leaned his
shoulder against the porch post, as aggravatingly relaxed as ever. Clearly,
feminine justice was busy elsewhere. “I guess you prefer to be called
‘exotic dancers’ these days, right?”

“Unless you’re stocked up on fivers for my
G-string.” Josie pantomimed tucking money in her imaginary stripper
regalia, then offered up an over-the-top hip swivel. “Then you can call me
whatever you want.” She batted her eyelashes.

He frowned over her sarcasm. “I like…Josie.”

“Awww. Even though you think I take my clothes off for
money, you
still
see me as a real person. That’s sweet.” Josie
rolled her eyes. “Nice try, Lothario. Save it for the local girls. I moved
out of Completely Gullible a long time ago.”

Feeling battered, she shook the doorknob again. Nada.

Fine. She’d overcome difficult odds before. She could do it
again. Josie wrenched out her keys, lifted her chin, and marched to the parlor
window overlooking the porch. There was more than one way into this dump, and
she was about to prove it.

“What’s got me stumped,” Luke mused from behind
her, “is how you met my—Tallulah. She’s not much into girlie shows.”

“It wasn’t a ‘girlie show,’ you Neanderthal. It wasn’t
even topless. I don’t ‘do’ topless.”

God, she couldn’t
wait
to get out of here. Gritting
her teeth, Josie raised the window sash. She threw her keys on the parlor
floorboards inside, then hoisted herself on the windowsill in a straddle
position. With dignity, she pushed her chin a notch higher. “It,” she
informed him, “was a revue.”

As a snappy comeback, it was short-lived. Because the minute
Josie toed the floorboards and stepped into the house, her ankle went
pop
.
It gave way beneath her.

With a yelp, Josie fell.

Luke sprawled in one of the beat-up waiting room chairs at
Donovan’s Corner General, a six-month-old issue of
Sports Illustrated
on
his lap. Not surprisingly, articles about last season’s NFC playoffs weren’t
exactly riveting. He stared at them anyway, trying to take his mind off Josie.

No good. Tossing the magazine on a side table, he looked
around. Unless you counted one grubby rug rat with a runny nose, the kid’s
harried-looking mom, and two construction workers—one with his thumb wrapped in
a makeshift tube sock bandage—the place didn’t offer much in the way of
distraction.

He drummed his fingers on the chair arm. Propped one booted
ankle on his bent knee. Switched legs. Stood, stretched, and paced the cramped
length of the emergency room waiting area.

That weird hospital smell lingered in the air, some
unavoidable combination of antiseptic cleaners and cafeteria food. The overhead
intercom crackled with calls for doctors to come to various departments, and
the receptionist tapped on her computer keyboard. Somewhere down the long
mustard-colored corridor to his left, an alarm buzzed. In the curtained-off
room to his right, Josie was being examined.

The glass double doors at the entrance swooshed open,
admitting a jingly middle-aged brunette. She made a beeline for the reception
desk. Her movements—brisk, no-nonsense, and vaguely tottering due to her high
heels—made sunlight glint from her gold jewelry. She was covered in the stuff.
Two thick necklaces, big dangly earrings, a pair of bracelets on one wrist and
a shiny watch on the other, a lapel pin. In a town other than Donovan’s Corner,
that might not have been unusual. But around here, women didn’t get gussied up
much. She stood out.

“I’m Nancy Day,” she told the receptionist,
hitching her purse on her shoulder. “Here to see my daughter, Josie.”

Luke’s ears perked up. Josie’s mother? No wonder she’d stood
out. It ran in the family.

“Your daughter’s being examined.” The receptionist
shot a curious glance at Luke—no doubt wondering why Josie’s two visitors
didn’t seem to know each other. “She should be out in a few minutes, if
you’d like to wait, ma’am.”

With a hushed thank-you, Nancy Day teetered to the waiting
area. Her bright clothes were as dressed-up as her jewelry was—several heads
turned as she examined the available chairs. Seeing her hesitate, one of the
construction workers rose partway. He cleared away a newspaper from a nearby
chair, then motioned chivalrously for Nancy to take the seat.

Special treatment. Luke didn’t doubt that Josie’s mother
received it all the time. She definitely seemed to accept it as her due—a lot
like Josie probably would have. She smiled, then offered a gracious murmured
comment to the construction worker. He grinned in a bashful, secretly pleased
way—just like all the retirees at Frank’s Diner had when Josie had greeted
them. Nancy sat and crossed her legs, staring intently toward the examining
area.

As though she’d willed him to do so, a doctor emerged.

Luke glanced from the familiar doctor to Nancy. He looked
back again, impressed. Handy trick. If he could do that with his refrigerator
and an endless supply of Budweisers, he’d be the most popular man in town.

“We’re all set here,” the doctor told Luke,
obviously recognizing him as the man who’d all but carried the patient over the
emergency room threshold. “You can see Josie now.”

The doctor held back the curtain, indicating that Luke
should follow him inside. Was that a frown on his face? Was the news bad? Luke
bolted for the examining area.

He arrived there only moments before Nancy did. Despite that
she was a head shorter and about sixty pounds lighter, she paused and raised an
eyebrow at him. Clearly she expected him to make way for her to see her
daughter.

“He was talking to me,” they said in unison.

Nancy blinked in surprise. Then, evidently deciding Luke was
delusional, she turned to the doctor.

“Is it bad? How is she?”

The doctor hesitated, looking confused.

“Oh, God,” groaned a voice from inside the
examining room. “Mom, is that you?”

“No need to sound so petulant, young lady.” With a
victorious glance at Luke and the doctor, Nancy swept past the curtain. Her
high heels clip-clopped against the tile. “Of course it’s me. I came as
soon as I heard. Left in the middle of showing a new listing, in fact.”

Luke followed. Josie sat on a padded green examining table
in the middle of the tight-squeezed room, her leg extended and her pink track
pants rolled up to the knee. Her ankle was wrapped in what looked like a
stretchy Ace bandage. She seemed uncomfortable—although whether that was due to
pain or her mother’s arrival, Luke couldn’t tell.

At the sight of her vulnerable bare leg and cantaloupe-size
ankle, the lump of guilt in his gut got worse. He should have fixed the
floorboards. Or warned Josie not to go gallivanting over the windowsill like
that. But she’d looked so damned cute, all cocksure and full of determination.
He hadn’t thought twice about the potential condition of the flooring, so he
hadn’t tried to stop her.

Self-importantly, Nancy stepped forward. “Did Josie
give you any trouble”—she squinted at the doctor’s name badge—“Doctor
Villanova? I’m afraid my daughter has never been the most cooperative of
patients.”

“Mom.” Josie crossed her arms. She rolled her
eyes.

The doctor looked nonplussed. “She was fine. Now,
about—”

“Oh, that’s
so
kind of you to say so.”
Nancy winked, as though sharing a private joke with everyone. “I have to
tell you, some people just don’t quite understand my Josie.”

Sensing his opportunity, Luke jumped in. “Especially
people who think she’s a
stripper
.” With a knowledgeable shake of
his head, he moved to stand closer to Josie. “They don’t understand her at
all.”

Josie, Nancy, and the doctor all gaped at him.

“She doesn’t even ‘do’ the topless stuff,” he
added.
That
was going to score points, big time. It might even make up
for the crumbling floorboard Josie’s foot had plowed through. He glanced at her
injured ankle. It looked swollen to the size of the moose head on the billiard
room wall. “Or girlie shows. She’s in a revue.”

Silence.

“Tell me, Luke.” Josie cocked her head toward him,
looking as though she was stifling a wiseass smile. “Exactly what
is
a revue?”

Crap. Didn’t she know he was trying to help her out, here?

“It’s a…” Remembering her plans for Blue Moon’s
abandoned ballroom, he decided to take a shot in the dark. He was good at
improvising. “Dance…thing.”

He didn’t know if it was his delivery or his stance or just
dumb luck, but Josie bought it. So did Nancy and the doctor, judging by their
awed expressions. He felt as though he’d just rebuilt a vintage Indian Scout
741. Blindfolded.

Josie got over it quickly. She straightened atop the
examining table with practiced—and, Luke would have sworn, exotic
dancer-style—elegance. She addressed the doctor.

“So, what’s the story?”

“Yes, is it serious?” Nancy cast a dramatic,
concerned glance at her daughter’s wrapped ankle. “Will she ever dance
again?”

All that was missing was the violin music.

“It’s just a sprain,” Luke assured Nancy.
“She’ll tough it out.”

Josie’s mother looked at him as though he’d just pulled down
his pants and flashed her.

“Er, who are you, again?”

“Luke Donovan. I’m Josie’s—”

“Friend,” Josie interrupted hurriedly. “He’s
my friend.”

Not handyman,
her fierce gaze telegraphed to him.

Whatever. Luke extended his arm to shake Nancy’s decked out
hand. He’d forgotten to account for the two rings on her right hand and the
three on the left. Jesus. The woman was a walking QVC special.

Her smile enveloped him. It was like being walloped with a
charm stick.

“Nancy Day. Sunshine Realty.” Somehow she palmed
over her business card in one deft move. “If you’re ever in the market for
a new home, please keep me in mind. I cover the entire county, including
condos, vacation homes, and rentals.”

Damn. For an older broad, she was dazzling. Also a little
scary in her intensity. Luke would have gone back to roof shingling before
admitting it.

“Mom, save the sales pitch. I promise you, Luke isn’t
interested in a new house.” Josie looked at the ever-patient Doctor
Villanova. “I’m okay to leave now, right?”

“Yes.” He consulted his chart. “You have a
mild sprain. I ordered some precautionary X-rays, but no bones are broken. Your
ankle is wrapped up now, but you should stay off your feet as much as possible
for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.” He explained procedures
for icing and elevating the injury. “You can take an over the counter pain
reliever as needed for any discomfort.”

“Fine, I will. I know the drill. Thanks, Doc.”
Josie offered him a handshake, then watched him leave. The moment he
disappeared through the curtain, she slid to the edge of the table, clearly
intending to get down and—what? Hop to the exit?