Bucking the Rules (18 page)

Peyton elbowed him. “A good one, right?”

Red exaggerated a wince that made Jo smile. “Of course, sweetheart. A great one. A brilliant eye-opener.”

Trace gagged a little.

“Oh, please. Like you two aren't adorbs over there,” Bea accused. “Just bring Seth down and you'd be the cutest little fam . . . ily. . . .” she ended lamely, realizing her mistake a beat too late.

There was a moment when the only sound was the huffing of Bea's little dog-child panting under the table.

“Well, this was great,” Peyton said, pushing back from the table. “We should do it again. Jo, you need to come during the day so you can get the full tour. Do you ride?”

“Ride? A horse? I'm more of a subway kinda gal, myself.”

“We'll get you up on one. Everyone learns to love it. Except that one,” she added with distain, pointing at Bea.

Red gave Bea a look Jo couldn't quite interpret, then reached over and started gathering plates. “It's our KP night. So you guys are free to escape.”

“We're free! We're free! Come on, Milton. Let's go watch whatever's on the DVR.” Bea sauntered out toward the living room without a backward glance. The dog trotted behind her, tiny legs working furiously to keep up with Bea's mile-long stride. The tinkle of his tags, like a bell, made Jo smile.

“That dog is something else.”

“I'm still not sure it is a dog, frankly.” Trace looked disgusted at the whole thing, which made Jo swallow a laugh. “But she loves that damn animal. I don't have the heart to tell her no dog likes getting dressed in the morning and . . .
accessorizing
.” He broke out the air quotes for that last one and shuddered.

She started to crack a joke, but broke off when he glanced around her.

“Sorry, hold on a sec.” He rubbed her arm and walked around her and up to the stairs. “Yeah?”

“Sorry.” Emma's voice, unnaturally soft, came back. “But he's having a hard time going back down and I thought maybe you could just give him five minutes. But if not, I—”

“I'll be right there.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I didn't wanna play Daddy tonight but needs must.”

“Go, it's fine.” It made her smile a little that he didn't hesitate to drop her like a hot potato because his son needed some cuddle time. She might not get it from a maternal standpoint, but she did know it made him a good man.

A good man deserved a chance, didn't he? Was she tossing the, well, the man out with the baby and the bathwater?

She took a breath and held it, listening. Footsteps above, and they sounded like they were moving in a circle. Curiosity tugged at her, and she tried hard to battle it back.

But then, damn it, she heard what she thought was the start of a lullaby, and she couldn't resist. Taking the stairs slowly, trying not to creak, she snuck up the steps. She wasn't sure what to expect, but it felt as if she'd left one house and entered another. The sleek, modern artwork and showroom quality furniture had given way to a simple, comfortable, lived-in family room. The carpet was a beige shag, the couches were a dark brown, and there was a flat screen hung on one wall. From the top of the stairs, she could count several doors. Some to bathrooms, she assumed, others to bedrooms. Pausing, she waited to hear more of the song Trace crooned to his son.

Emma's silver-tipped head popped over the top of the couch, nearly startling Jo into falling back and tumbling down the stairs. The woman's grin was infectious, and she tilted her head toward the door with a sliver of light peeking through the opening.

Jo took this for an invitation and crept over to the door, pushing it open just a little. And what she saw made the breath catch in her throat.

Trace walked the floor with his son over one shoulder. The little boy looked sad, almost angry, but he was quiet. One fist was up by his mouth, the fingers red and a little wet as if he'd been sucking or biting on them. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes watchful. They caught sight of her before Trace did. The boy struggled against Trace's hold, twisting to watch her.

Trace glanced over and saw her.

“Sorry,” she mouthed and started to step back. But he shook his head and motioned her in.

Frozen, Jo tried to move—
pick a direction and just go!
—but she couldn't. Couldn't step back, couldn't move in. She was completely tied to the doorway, as if unable to make a choice one way or the other.

Sensing her problem, Trace walked over and held out the hand not cradling the boy to his shoulder. “He's fine, just a little cranky. Another tooth coming in.”

“Ah,” she said, as if that made any sense to her at all. But when he took her hand, she let him lead her into the room.

“Seth,” he said quietly, turning so the boy faced her over his shoulder, “this is Jo. Remember her? You scared her at the grocery store last week.”

“He did not,” she whispered back. Seth watched her with big eyes, exactly like Trace's deep blue ones. He was a miniature of his daddy. In twenty years, he'd be beating women off with a stick.

Or not. She smiled at that and tentatively reached up. His little fuzzy head, with wisps of dark hair curling around his ears, begged to be smoothed over. Then she snatched her hand back. Not her kid. Not hers to touch.

“It's okay,” Trace murmured. “He likes the attention.”

Once more, she lifted her hand and let it smooth from the boy's forehead down to his back. She was going on instinct, mostly. Seth moved into the caress, like a faithful dog wanting another scratch behind the ears. Okay, maybe she shouldn't be comparing someone's baby to a dog, but she was adrift on the whole kid thing.

“Hey, Seth,” she said softly. “I hear you're not having fun with a tooth. I'm sorry to hear that.”

Between Trace's gentle sway and the soft words, it seemed Seth struggled to keep his eyes open.

“You look a lot like your daddy, you know.” She glanced up to see Trace watching her. “Lucky for you, he's a handsome guy. So it seems like you scored the genetic lottery on that one.” Taking a chance, she let one fingertip trail down his forehead, between his eyes to land on the tip of his nose with a near-imperceptible touch.

The touch seemed to soothe him, and he closed his eyes, nestling one ear against his father's shoulder, and smiled a little. Or maybe it was gas. Jo couldn't help but smile back. He was so darn cute, all snuggly and bundled up in his cowboy pajamas with feet meant to look like boots. What kind of woman could resist the picture these two men made?

“He's pretty calm now. You want to hold him?”

And then the spell was broken. She stepped back, knocking into a table holding a lamp. She managed to reach back and grab the lamp before it crashed to the floor, but the damage was already done. Seth's head jerked up, and his lower lip quivered.

Shit.

“I'm gonna get going.” She backed up, rapped her elbow on the open door and cursed under her breath. Then louder, “Sorry, I didn't mean to say that. I'm gonna . . . thanks for dinner.”

The sound of Seth's wail and Trace calling her name chased her down the stairs. Bea poked her head up from the living room couch and called to her as well, but Jo didn't even bother waving.

Escape. It was the only thing she could think of. Escape the domestic bliss she'd nearly slid into like a comfortable pair of sweatpants. No. No, no, no. Not her thing. And she'd almost forgotten. She didn't do the kid thing. She was nobody's stepmother.

Damn it. How had she let herself be lured into that?

She settled her bag on the passenger seat and started the car. She waited for one moment, then two, but realized what she was doing and forced herself to back up and turn around in the dirt road. She didn't need Trace chasing after her. And waiting for him to come down behind her smacked of manipulation.

So back to the drawing board. It annoyed her she hadn't seen this coming. Hadn't realized the two males together—one big, one little—would hit her so hard. Make it so easy to forget what she needed in life, what she wanted.

Back to just using each other for sex, she supposed. It wasn't a bad idea, over all. But now it felt a little hollow. A little shallow compared to what she'd just left.

What she'd just left wasn't for her. She was a bar owner who lived alone and liked it. The end.

She just had to keep repeating that to herself.

J
o opened the bar the next morning and greeted her first two patrons of the day with something close to dread.

“Officers,” she said, holding the door she'd just unlocked open for them. “Here for lunch?”

They both shook their heads, though Nelson gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, ma'am.”

“Jo. And it's all right.” She walked back behind the bar and set two coasters down in front of them. “Something to drink while we chat?”

Nelson ordered a water, White a soda. She poured both, got herself another water, and leaned in. None of her servers would barge in on the obviously private conversation. But still, she'd rather keep things as quiet as possible. “Do you have more questions for me?”

“First off, do you have the receipt from the other night?” White took a sip of his soda. “And any names you could think of that would serve as witnesses in the restaurant that night?”

“I do. Just a second.” She headed to her tiny office and came back with a folder containing the few scraps. “It's a copy of the receipt. Is that a problem? I have the original but I'd like to keep it for my normal records.”

“No, though I wouldn't toss out the original just yet.” White took the folder and opened it, glancing down the list. “Thanks for this. Saves us a little legwork and helps to close things faster.”

“Best all around,” Jo said, agreeing with that. “Can I do anything else for you?”

“Well . . .” White looked around, then leaned in a little farther. “Just so you know, there's been a petition to the city council to shut you down.”

“What?” she shrieked, then clamped a hand over her mouth. She saw her servers staring at her from the back wall, but she waved off their curious glances. “Sorry,” she tried again, quietly. “Why in the world would—”

“Jeffrey Junior's mom.” White shrugged, as if it wasn't any big deal. “She's sticking by his story that you're an alcohol pusher. Took advantage of the kid, led him astray, it's not his fault, yadda-yadda.”

“I'm assuming she thinks if she gets you shut down, or even just tosses suspicion at you, it makes her son's story look more legit.” Nelson gave her a sad smile. “She's got some pull, I hate to say. Unfortunately, that's not police business. What we do doesn't have too much to do with licenses and the like. I don't know how easily she could have you actually shut down for any period of time, but the odds are good she will at least give you a headache.”

“I've got aspirin,” she murmured, and they both chuckled. She stared off into the distance for a moment. “So what, I have to just go plead my case to the city council? Tell them my side of the story and let them know I'm not an irresponsible businessowner?”

“Well . . .” White said.

Jo's stomach plummeted.

“She's also mentioning something about you running a bordello in the bar, or just above the bar, or something like that. That men are seen coming and going often.”

Jesus. A bordello. What was this, 1880? “I don't even know how to respond to that.”

Nelson looked completely uncomfortable with the whole thing. “We are supposed to give a quick glance around today, with your permission. We don't have a warrant, but it was asked that we try.”

Jo shrugged. “You can look wherever you want.” She dug in her pockets and held out her key ring by one key. “My apartment is upstairs. Lock up behind you when you're done.”

The officers looked at each other, as if debating the wisdom of taking her at face value. Then Nelson took the keys with an outstretched palm. “We won't be long.”

“I'm sure you won't.” The implication of
because I have nothing to hide
wasn't lost on either of them, she noted, as they nodded.

The moment the door closed behind them, she turned on her heel and walked through the kitchen, ignoring Stu's questioning look, and straight into the back alley. She doubted anyone would follow her.

And there, in the quiet morning, she bit her lip to fight back the tears.

She'd been praying this was her fresh start. She'd been here a year, damn it. And suddenly, because one stupid kid had done something dumb, and one community leader decided she didn't want her precious boy to face the consequences, the city was ready to toss her out on her ass.

She pinched her arm to focus on something other than the tears. Focus on the anger. Focus on her resentment at being treated like a second-class citizen because she was new. Not being considered trustworthy, despite her spotless records and fair business management.

She'd show them. Maybe someone else would take this as a sign to skip town and start over somewhere else. She wasn't going to. Hell, no. She'd been drawn to this place, this bar, before she even knew what the town's name was. And she wasn't going to give up on it without a fight. This was her chance to grow some roots, and she was doing it.

Jeff—J. J.—freaking Effingham be damned.

 

Trace walked into the bar, hands in his pockets. He had a real purpose for being there, other than seeing Jo. He was grabbing lunch to take back to the ranch, giving Emma a break and thanking her for babysitting the night before. But still, he could have chosen the diner, or one of the few fast food joints in town. Jo was the main draw, and he had no shame in admitting it.

“Hey, cutie.” Amanda walked up and grabbed his arm, pulling him around the bar and behind it.

“Should I be back here?” he said, looking around.

“You should because I say you should.” She pushed open the swinging doors to the kitchen, firm grip still on his arm. “Hey, Stu. Bye, Stu.”

The massive man at the cooktop didn't even turn to look at them as they passed behind. Either the man was really intense about his work, or he just wasn't easily fazed.

“She's out there, and she's had a really shitty morning. So go do something to change it.” Amanda halted at a door that clearly led outside.

“What happened?”

“Cops were back. They dropped off her keys with me and took off, so I have no clue what's going on now. But you need to go out there and fix it. Whatever it is, fix it.” With that, she planted both hands on his back and shoved until he was out the door and into the alley.

Jo's head snapped up from her position leaning against the opposite brick wall. “What are you doing out here?”

He looked behind him, but Amanda's face was already gone from the small window on the door. “Your head server is really pushy.”

Jo smiled a little. “Yeah, she is.” She pushed off the wall and walked toward him. “Sorry I ran out last night.”

“Too much, right?” He rubbed her upper arms with his hands, pulling her into his chest for a hug. “I hadn't intended . . . but then he needed me and I couldn't—”

“It wasn't that. I mean, I get why you went up to him. I'm not upset by that. It was the right thing to do. I just shouldn't have gone in there. I wasn't . . . ready for it.”

“Ready for it. You need to psych yourself up for meeting a kid?” He dropped his head until his cheek rested on the top of her hair.

“Yes, actually. I told you, kids and I don't get along. I made Seth cry.”

“Honey,” he said with a chuckle, “he was already in a horrible mood. I made him cry ten minutes later by stepping on his stuffed dragon. He's teething. Anything and everything ticks him off right now. It's nothing personal. Five seconds before he adored you.”

“But I scared him. I don't know what to do with kids. I've never really wanted them. You know?” She pulled away so their chests were apart but their legs were still tangled together. “I feel like girls hit this wall in their twenties where they suddenly know they want kids, and it's time to find the right guy to make them with. They pass by the baby section of Target and they get all gooey over the shoes or they see a commercial for formula and they tear up and whine about how they want one. And I never did that.”

“That's a good thing. Seth doesn't need any more shoes.” Her lips twitched, and he knew he had her. “I don't need someone to play mommy. I'm his father, and although I have help, I think I've been doing an okay job by myself. I'm not in this for a stepmom. I'm in it for you. How we fit together, both you and me, and then the three of us, that'll come later. Or it won't. But don't let this one experience stop you trying, please?”

She took a deep breath and let it out, burrowing back into him. “Fine,” she muttered into his neck.

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, next to her ponytail. “Thank you.”

She let out a laugh full of sarcasm. “I'd invite you up to have some lunch, but since I'm busy running a bordello upstairs, I don't think I have room for another man.”

“A what? Run that by me again, please?”

She stepped back and wiped a hand down her face, clearing the lingering emotion from her eyes as she did. Now she was back to Bar Owner Jo, tough as nails and nothing penetrated the shield. She explained about the city council, the mother taking her son's side, the hints and implications of some makeshift whorehouse upstairs above the bar. The idea that she wasn't a responsible business owner and shouldn't have a liquor license.

“That son of a bitch,” he muttered, wanting to put his fist through a wall. But since he was surrounded by brick, he wisely decided not to try. “That slimy, underhanded, lying sack of—”

“Yes, yes. All that and more.” Jo waved it away. “That's not the point. The point is, I need to figure out what to do to make this as uncomplicated as possible. The charges are false, and I know I won't lose my license over this. But it could get annoying very fast if I don't just head this off at the pass. Lock down the rumors once and for all.”

It hurt her, he could see it. Despite the shield she'd put up, he could see the fact that she had to even bother defending herself stung. “I'm sorry, baby.”

She stepped back from his comforting hand and shook her head. “It happens. And I'll make it go away. I just have to figure out how.”

Knowing snuggle time was over, he stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from instinctively reaching for her again. “Let me know if there's anything I can do to help. I know people . . .” Not many, not since he'd been gone almost a decade. But he knew who to ask to find out information. Get the names of more influential people.

“I'll let you know.” She put on a smile, a little strained at the corners, but a smile nonetheless. “Did you come for lunch?”

He opened the door for her, and waited for her to walk in front of him. “I owe Emma a meal.”

“We'll make it a good one.”

 

Jo flipped the TV off, then turned and found Trace dead asleep beside her. He'd given her his baby-free night again, and instead of jumping on each other like wild monkeys, they'd lounged in bed and watched a movie. Lightly, she traced the planes of his face. He'd been so exhausted when he showed up on her doorstep. Not that he'd said a word. But when she suggested a movie, he'd jumped at the chance to slide horizontal and do nothing but veg.

He'd lasted ten minutes before she'd felt the deep, even breathing beneath her ear that signaled he was out cold. The man was working too hard. The ranch required so much of his time, energy, emotions. His connection to the place was intense. And though she didn't have personal experience with family, she'd watched her mother struggle to be a single parent . . . in between husbands, anyway. Even with the support of his family, she knew Trace took the brunt of the parenting himself. Which he should.

Not for the first time, Jo wondered where Seth's mother was. Single moms were a dime a dozen. But single fathers . . . a little more uncommon. Had the mother walked out on them? Had she broken Trace's heart when she left? Or maybe she'd left . . . permanently. An accident, or illness. Jo's heart clenched a little for Seth, thinking he might never know his mother.

Either way, she knew it added to Trace's overall appeal that he met the challenge of single fatherhood head on, with gusto, and even pleasure. That was the kicker. Nobody could say he regretted his son, or didn't enjoy being with him. Those two were peas in a pod. True love.

Love.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Love was such a complicated, messy thing. Attachments and relationships were bad enough, but love? No. Love meant permanency of a completely different kind. A kind she absolutely wasn't going to be talked into.

Trace straightened beside her, shifted, and then rolled over until his arm wrapped around her middle in an unconscious gesture of possession. She loved when he did that. As if his body knew they shouldn't be apart.

Okay, so it wasn't in keeping with her
no strings attached
motto. But every girl has a fantasy. And hers just happened to be . . . this.

Dangerous waters, girl
. Jo had to tread carefully, or else she'd drown in a pool she'd never even intended to swim in.

 

Trace woke up to Jo's soft body curled up in the protective shell he'd unconsciously created in his sleep. He'd been so dead on his feet he hadn't let her even think about sex. But after a quick catnap, he was feeling just a little more in the mood. One hand snuck in the tight wedge she'd created of her body and found her breast, thumbing the nipple.

She stretched and yawned, twisting in the hollow of his body to face him. His hand cupped the heavy weight of her breast, kneading the flesh filling his hand.