Josie Day Is Coming Home (24 page)

Hurt, she watched her father turn away. He seemed at a loss
as to what to do with the sodas in his hands. He settled on clunking them on
the workbench, then grabbed his jacket.

At the sight of it, a familiar melancholy gripped her. That
was the same banded-collar red windbreaker her dad had always worn in the springtime,
whether the weather demanded it or not.

“Don’t want to get caught in the rain,” he’d
always told her and Jenna, cheerfully shoving his arms in the ratty thing.
“Better to be ready.”

“Yeah. Ready for the nerd parade,” she or her
sister would say. And everyone in the family would laugh. It wasn’t for nothing
Josie had cultivated her love of knock-knock jokes.

Now, though, her father avoided her gaze.

“Josie,” he mumbled tersely, then turned to leave.

Another hello-good-bye.

That was it
. On the heels of Luke’s defection and
days’ worth of being beaten down by skeptical, snooty townspeople, Josie had
finally had enough. She wanted her father back.

“That’s
it
!” she cried. “I’ve had
enough
of men who won’t talk to me—men who bolt at the sight of me!” She stepped
in front of her startled father, blocking his exit. “We’re going to talk,
and we’re going to do it right now.”

He frowned. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Fine. I’ve got
plenty
to say.”

Her father seemed wary—justifiably so, Josie figured. She
wanted answers, and she was finished worrying about offending him while getting
them. After all, how could things possibly get worse?

Her dad barely spoke to her. He looked vaguely queasy at the
sight of her. He’d tried to
shake her hand
as a greeting a couple of
weeks ago. If she was going to stay in Donovan’s Corner—and she was—this
couldn’t go on.

She moved forward, hands on hips. “Let’s just lay
things out on the table, okay? Jenna tells me you think I’m a stripper.”

“Uh, I’ve got to, um, go do…something,” TJ
blurted.

He scurried upstairs, setting a land speed record for Hasty
Retreats from Family Squabbles.

“I still want to talk to you about Luke!” she
yelled.

“Uh-huh. Okay. Later.”

As his footsteps faded, Josie turned back to her dad.

“Jenna tells me you’ve believed I’m a stripper for
years—”

“Your sister ought to mind her own business.”

“—ever since,” Josie persisted, “Howie
Maynard told you I’d given him a lap dance. A lap dance!” The very mention
of it irritated her all over again. “I don’t know what planet Howie’s been
living on. But here on earth, I don’t give lap dances to anybody. Much less to
Tiffany Maynard’s dad!”

Her father stubbornly stared at a can of Pennzoil, just as
though the notion of Josie erotically entertaining the father of a girl she’d
been on her high school prom planning committee with
weren’t
unthinkable. Apparently his complaint about Jenna was as far as he was willing
to go.

“Dad, how
could
you?” She stared at him,
hands fisted, willing him to answer her. “You swallowed that whole stupid
story—hook, line, and sinker.”

The Pennzoil remained as riveting as before.

Josie wasn’t having it. “You didn’t even ask me about
it,” she said, determined to get to the bottom of things. “Does
Howie’s word mean more to you than mine does?
Somebody
raised me to be
honest, you know.”

At that mention of her childhood, her father compressed his
lips. He seemed determined not to weaken. “Howie Maynard and I go way
back. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Silence.

“Fine. Why don’t I float my own explanation,
then?” Josie gazed at the motorcycle banners hung on the walls, trying to
summon some patience. “Okay. Let’s say Howie went to Vegas. Let’s say he
went to a topless show. It happens.”

Grudgingly, her father darted a look at her. Hmmm. Maybe she
was getting somewhere.

“Let’s say that when he came home,
Mrs.
Maynard
found out about that topless show,” Josie continued, warming to her
hypothetical scenario, “as wives often do. What’s she going to say next?
‘That’s nice, dear. See any good boobies?’”

Her father chuckled.

Looking shocked, he immediately sobered.

“No! She’d be mad,” Josie cried, flinging her arms
up in exasperation. “Furious, even. She’d demand an explanation.”

“Women,” her father admitted wryly, “usually
do.”

“So what if Howie, remembering his good buddy Warren’s
daughter—
me
—who’d recently gone to Vegas, grabbed at the closest straw?
What if he said, ‘Gee, honey. I just wanted to see if that story was true about
Josie Day working in a strip club. That’s all. I didn’t even
look
at the
boobies.’”

Her father shifted. He stuck his hands in his jacket
pockets, looking uncomfortable—possibly at her repeated use of that juvenile
description.

“Dad.” Earnestly, Josie moved closer. She wanted
to shake him, to hug him, to make him see reason. “Isn’t it possible,”
she asked very, very quietly, “that Howie lied to you?”

Her father puffed out his cheeks in his classic thinking
pose. He refused to look at her.

“Isn’t it possible,” she asked further, “that
Howie just made a mistake? That he got befuddled by the sight of so many—”

“Don’t say it!”

“—
topless women
that he only
thought
he
saw me?”

Her father frowned. He scrubbed his hand over his jaw. Then,
reluctantly, “Howie did admit later that he’d overheard Tiffany telling
some of her friends she thought you’d gone to Vegas to become a stripper.
That’s what gave him the idea.”

She’d guessed right
. Stunned, Josie gawked at him.

“You
knew
Howie made it up?”

“No!” Her father drew himself up to his full
six-foot-three, reminding her exactly where her showgirl height had come from.
“He didn’t make it up. He got the idea to go see you…
there
“—the
there
seemed to pain him—“because of what Tiffany said. At least
that’s what he told me later.”

Josie shook her head. “You can
not
be the same
man who told me Jimmy Stone was lying about the ‘money tree’ his family
supposedly planted beside their jungle gym.”

He frowned at the Pennzoil. He gave no sign he remembered
that conversation when Josie had been a gullible fourth grader. Or that he
intended to back down now.

“Howie never saw me, Dad! I’m not a stripper!” She
thought of another tactic. “Didn’t Mom and Jenna tell you that? They came
to Vegas enough times to know.”

“Yes, they covered up for you. But—”

“‘Covered up’ for me?” Astonished, Josie felt her
mouth drop open. “What? Why? Even if that were true—which it’s not—why in
the world would they do that?”

“To keep seeing shows. And to keep going
shopping.” Her father gave her a defensive glare. “Your mother loves
that Fashion Show Mall on the Strip. She tells me so every time. It’s
‘Nordstrom this’ and ‘Neiman Marcus that’ for days whenever she comes back
home. There’s nothing like that mall around here. Half her jewelry collection
came from that place.”

Looking beleaguered, he hunched his shoulders.

“Oh, Dad.” Josie sighed, feeling sad. Her father
had been two conversations away from the truth for years, but he’d never
realized it. “Mom does love to shop, but that’s not the only reason she
and Jenna came to Las Vegas.”

“Yeah. There were shows, too. That Lance Burton
guy.”

And me. The so-called
“
stripper
.”

Biting back a frustrated retort, Josie strived for patience.
“Howie was wrong, and Mom and Jenna aren’t covering for me. They never
were. I’m telling you the truth. I’m a
dancer
, nothing more.”

She waited, but he remained silent.

Josie couldn’t do the same. “If you’d ever come to see
me, you’d have found that out for yourself.”

And that was the crux of the matter. All these years, she’d
been hurt by her father’s refusal to watch her perform at Enchanté. She’d
waited for him to show up. She’d sent free tickets, show schedules, brochures
and promotional photos. But it had all been a waste of time.

“I lost jobs because I refused to dance topless,”
she said. This might be a lost cause, but she needed to tell him the whole
story anyway. “I lost
good
jobs, jobs I needed. Because I knew that
if I was wearing nothing but two pasties, a G-string, and a smile,
you
wouldn’t come to see me.”

Refusing to see her even now, her father looked away. The
setting sun’s light slanted through the carriage house’s window, casting an
orange glow on his aged features. How had so many years gone by?

“I never quit hoping you’d come to watch me
dance.” Her eyes filled with tears. It was hard to force the rest of her
explanation through her suddenly tight throat. Her next words came out wobbly.
“All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me.”

Her dad’s chin quivered. He darted a glance at her—and that
glance held. His eyes, as green as her own, turned red-rimmed and misty. Still
he held himself stiffly apart.

“Jenna had no right to tell you any of this.”

“Why not?” Josie sniffled, gesturing wildly.
“Half the town’s talking about your ‘scandalous stripper daughter.’ The
other half’s already beaten the subject to death down at Frank’s Diner.”

“It’s none of Jenna’s business.” Her father looked
grim. “Ever since she married David, she’s been nosy and—”

 “Oh, no. Don’t you dare take this out on Jenna! She’s
happy with David, and that’s good enough for me.” No matter that her
brother-in-law had perpetual plumber’s butt and was so uptight even his
nostrils were pinched. “Don’t you dare upset Jenna anymore, because I
won’t let you. And one more thing!” Reminded of something else, Josie
straightened, gathering all her strength. “Jenna’s sensitive. She needs
you. So don’t you dare wreck things with her, too.”

A suspicious frown. “What’s that supposed to
mean?”

“It means….” She remembered her talk with her
sister and decided to just go for it. For Jenna’s sake. “It means I’m not
the only daughter who’s disappointed you.”

He scoffed. “Jenna doesn’t disappoint me.”

You’re the only one who does that,
was the silent
rejoinder.

“Well. Fine. Next time you see her, you might try
telling her that. She could use hearing it.” Impending tears squeezed
Josie’s voice again, making it hard to go on. “While you’re at it, tell
Jenna you love her. She needs to hear that, too.”

Her father looked skeptical. “She already knows
that.”

“Really?” Blinking back tears, Josie gave him one
last, long look. “Like I do?”

He didn’t say anything.

A minute later, he left.

Chapter Fourteen

Sitting at Frank’s Diner with a slice of pie at his elbow
and a cup of coffee in his hand, Luke waited for the pay phone to be free.
Since he’d arrived, an out-of-towner had been monopolizing the thing,
complaining to his cell phone company about the lack of transformer stations
“out here in the boonies.” Not even Luanne’s repeated glares had been
enough to scare the guy away from the phone alcove.

Nearby, all the usual suspects filled the diner’s red vinyl
booths. Retirees chatted, couples shared an early dinner, a few teenagers
forked up Frank’s famous pie. Putting down his coffee, Luke stared at his own
slice of apple à la mode. He didn’t know why he’d ordered it. Force of habit,
he guessed. He sure as hell didn’t have any appetite today. Not after what had
happened with Josie.

I don’t talk about the future
.

Damn. That was the mother of all lame excuses. But he’d been
backed into a corner. He didn’t want to lie to Josie anymore—especially given
the way he felt about her. But he couldn’t tell her the truth yet, either. Not
until he got things settled with Tallulah and Blue Moon.

Which explained what he was doing here at Frank’s.

Casting an impatient look at the pay phone hog, Luke pushed
aside his pie. He signaled Luanne for the check. There were other pay phones in
town. He’d find one, he’d call Ambrose, and he’d sort out this whole mess.
Pronto. Because until he did, his secret was only going to get bigger.

I don’t talk about the future
.

How could he? How could he tell Josie he planned to sell
Blue Moon, use the profits to open his own mechanic’s shop back in L.A., and
put Donovan & Sons behind him for good? How could he tell her how much all
that meant to him?

He couldn’t.

Pursuing his future would crush hers. At the least it would
put her dance school dreams in limbo. Luke refused to do that to her. Until he
had Tallulah’s assurance that she’d give Josie another property, he intended to
keep his ownership of Blue Moon a deep, dark secret. Especially from the woman
who thought the place was hers.

Swearing under his breath, he signaled Luanne again.

He’d never thought it would come to this. He’d been sure
he’d hear from Ambrose by now. Especially after the two follow-up e-mails he’d
sent. But he hadn’t. And Luke wasn’t sure where to go from here. If he refused
to lie to Josie and he couldn’t tell her the truth, what else was there?

Damn. He frowned, impatiently fiddling with his
paper-napkin-wrapped fork. Things never should have gone this far. He’d
expected Josie to give up—or himself to get bored. But neither of those things
had happened.

Instead, he’d gotten sucked deeper and deeper into a
relationship he’d never planned for…with a woman he’d never expected. A woman
who looked good to him in burlap, who induced him to cha-cha, who turned
misty-eyed over detergent names. A woman who worked wholeheartedly, and who
hugged him with exactly the same intensity.