Josie Day Is Coming Home (28 page)

“Here you go! My treat. Try it. You might like
it.”

Skeptically, the attendant examined the cupcake. She looked
as if she expected it to grow legs and do a rumba.

“Just one nibble,” Josie coaxed. “You can’t
judge a cupcake by its sprinkles, you know.”

If anything, the woman’s look of sprinkle mistrust grew. But
she did pick up the cupcake and sniff it. Gingerly, she took a bite. She
chewed.

Her face brightened. “It’s good!”

“See?”
Whew
. “It’s pretty
and
it’s delicious.”

“Just like you,” Luke whispered in her ear.

Feeling herself flush, Josie grinned.
Score one for the
showgirl
. People in Donovan’s Corner might not have welcomed her back with
open arms, but that was all starting to change. Once everyone got used to the
new Josie Day, they’d change their minds about her
and
her so-called
scandalous dance school. Just like the bake sale lady had changed her mind
about the cupcake she was finishing.

“It’s really, really good,” the woman said.
“Even with the sprinkles.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Mmmm!”

“I hope you’ll tell everyone to buy one.”

The attendant nodded, her mouth full. She licked chocolate
icing from her fingers, looking a little stunned. Either she
really
liked that cupcake or Josie had overdone it with the double layer of icing
she’d applied.

Nah. There was no such thing as too much embellishment.
Josie reminded herself of that fact as she said good-bye and pulled Luke toward
the rest of the festival events. No such thing as too many sprinkles. Fanciness
and fantasy were good for people sometimes—just like Luke was good for her. She
couldn’t remember why she’d ever hesitated to get involved with him.

“That was an impressive job you did with the bake sale
lady,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I think you made a
convert.”

“I ought to be good at it by now. Making converts, I
mean. I’ve been practicing for weeks.” She’d had the occasional positive
result to show for it, but for the most part success still felt frustratingly
elusive. “Weeks and weeks and—”

“Don’t worry,” Luke told her, stopping her with a
smile. “You’ll get there. One cupcake at a time.”

With those simple words, Josie knew she would. She’d conquer
the world…one cupcake at a time.

All around them, the park overflowed with families and
teenagers and retirees out for a carefree afternoon. The sun shone down, the
pine trees perfumed the air, the whoops of children laughing filled the park.
Josie felt happy to be a part of it. For the first time ever, it seemed as
though coming home to Donovan’s Corner might turn out okay.

Hand in hand, she and Luke walked past the apple-bobbing
booth and a stand selling Indian fry bread. They smiled at the costumed
“frontiersmen” who meandered by, spurs jangling. They cheered on the
people lining up for the Frontier Days 10K—including Nancy and Warren Day. They
stopped to chat with some friends of Luke’s in Harley-Davidson T-shirts and
bandanas.

It was plain to Josie how impressed they were with Luke’s
knowledge of motorcycles.

“He’s got a knack for ‘em,” one of the men said.
“Plain and simple. If Luke had himself a bigger shop, or another mechanic
to work for him, he’d have all the work he could handle. There’d be bikers from
clear across the state stopping in, especially with the highway so close.”

“Maybe someday he will,” Josie said, hugging Luke
closer. She tilted her face up, giving him a proud look. “Maybe someday
he’ll open his own mechanic’s shop. Maybe it’ll be right here in Donovan’s
Corner!”

Luke remained silent—a tactic that would have worried her
more if she hadn’t already known, via TJ, about his secret. As it was, it only
made sense that Luke didn’t want to talk about his plans until they were
official. Until then, the least she could do was encourage him. So she did.

“I’m convinced Luke can do anything he wants to
do,” she said, and everyone agreed.

It should have been a perfect afternoon. And it would have
been…if not for the whispers dogging Josie’s every step. For every old friend
she reconnected with, another,
less
friendly Donovan’s Corner resident
stood nearby, staring and pointing at her. For every local vendor she
successfully networked with, another huddled in the next booth, whispering.

“Just look at them,” she told Luke, shaking her
head. “I’ve been here
weeks
now, and still I’m the scandal du
jour—only without the scandal! It doesn’t matter what I do.” She crossed
her arms. “This is a major case of two steps forward and one step
back.”

“Isn’t that ‘one step forward and two steps
back’?”

“Hey, you have your truisms and I have mine. I’m trying
to be optimistic.”

It was tough, though. No matter how she tried to ignore it,
the finger-pointing and gossiping still got to her.

Frustrated, Josie tried to counter it by handing out free
dance lesson cards. She talked with more people. She met many, many more of
Luke’s motorcycle-repair customers. But no matter what she did, the people she
really needed to reach remained tooth grindingly elusive. The upper crust of
Donovan’s Corner—and the parents who could afford dance lessons—ignored her.

Josie didn’t know what else they expected from her. She’d
tried to prove her trustworthiness and respectability. She’d applied for a
business license, completed all the paperwork for her chamber of commerce
membership, and lunched with the ladies’ auxiliary. She’d abandoned her cute
clothes and learned to bake. She’d even resisted having a torrid,
scandal-producing affair with her handyman. If those weren’t serious
sacrifices, Josie didn’t know what was.

What did they think she was going to do? Strip down to a red
feathered costume and start doing Rockette kicks?

Seeing the expression on her face, Luke slipped his arm
around her waist. Gently, he tugged her in the opposite direction.

“I hear they’re giving tours of some of the old Victorian
houses at the edge of the park. Let’s go check one out.”

“Sure,” Josie agreed, raising her chin.

She refused to let a few setbacks—and a little gossip—get
her down. If nothing else, maybe she’d get a few good decorating ideas today.
Her mother’s comments about how “neutral” Blue Moon was hadn’t been
lost on Josie. In Momspeak, that meant “boring.” In Realtor, it meant
“saleable.” Neither one was exactly the effect she’d been going for.

To start, they chose the Kincaid House, an 1880s
timber-framed manor with several gables and an elaborate wraparound porch. The
line for Founder’s Day admission snaked along the house’s wrought iron fence.
After Josie and Luke stepped in place, the line grew even longer behind them.

“Wow, this is even more popular than the—ouch!”

Somebody
pinched
her! She whirled around, looking for
the culprit. The four men behind her raised their gazes innocently to the sky,
but Josie wasn’t fooled. This was hardly the first covert butt pinch she’d
received since returning to town. She knew all the signs. She glared at them.

“Go figure,” Luke said, not noticing as he watched
the line inch forward. “Here I thought the line for deep-fried Twinkies
was long.”

“Only when you go through it three times, Hungry
Man.”

He grinned. Thirty seconds later…another pinch.

This time, Luke felt her flinch. “What’s the
matter?”

“Nothing. I’m just excited to get inside, that’s
all.”

Hopping forward in faux enthusiasm, Josie managed to put
just enough distance between her derrière and the happy-fingers guy. She was
home clear until the ticket attendant stopped her at the house’s front door. He
kept his hand on the velvet rope cordoning off each tour group.

“Hey! You’re that showgirl, aren’t you?”

She nodded. Warily at first, then with a smile. The ticket
attendant hadn’t called her a stripper. He’d call her—correctly—a showgirl.
He’d even looked interested in her job. Maybe she really was making progress in
Donovan’s Corner…changing her image for good.

“Yes, I’m Josie Day. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Heck, no! I’d have remembered meeting you. You’re
practically a celebrity around here.” The man leaned closer. “Tell
you what.
Your
admission’s free.”

“Thank you! That’s so nice of you.”

“Free for an autograph, that is.” He thrust a
printed tour brochure her way. “Or maybe something a little more
personal
.
Like a private dance?” He leered. “How ‘bout it? I’ve never had a
‘private dance’ from a showgirl before.”

He chuckled, looking eager.

“You’re not having one today, either, pal.” Luke
stepped forward, looking menacing.

Josie waved him back. She’d been wrong.
Now
she knew
what she was dealing with. A showgirl groper. Never mind that they were two
hundred miles away from Las Vegas. She recognized the type. She knew how to
deal with it, too.

Unfortunately, kneeing this guy in the
cojones
probably wouldn’t help her win friends and influence dance students.

“Sorry, I don’t do private lessons,” she said,
pretending to misunderstand. She handed him her card. “But if you’re
interested in a group session, you might be in luck.”

“A group session?”

She nodded. “Mmmm-hmmm. I’m planning to do five a
week.”

The pinchers gawked. Two of them shoved forward.

“Hey, I’ll take one of those cards!”

“Me, too!”

Sweetly, Josie passed them out—even to the jerk with the
wandering fingers. Who knew? Maybe he had a sister who wanted to learn how to
fox-trot. “Tell a friend,” she reminded them. “The first time is
free.”

Clutching his card and grinning, the attendant waved them
through for the next group tour. Feeling as though she’d handled that awkward
situation pretty well, Josie traipsed into the cool, dim interior of the
Kincaid House. She paused in the foyer to breathe in the familiar, calming
smells of lemon oil, wallpaper paste, and antique upholstered furniture.

“Oooh, look at the banister.” Raising her face to
the intricately carved and polished wood, she followed it to the second story
landing. “It’s so pretty.”

“Let’s get a closer look.” Luke pulled her toward
it.

“Wait!” She pointed to the floor. “We’re
supposed to stay on the red carpet track.”

“Since when do you follow the rules?”

He kept going, wearing an inscrutable expression as he
pulled Josie in his wake. She glanced over her shoulder in dismay. The crimson
runner laid along the tour’s velvet-roped path fell farther and farther away as
they headed in the other direction.

“Stop,” she protested. This was exactly the
opposite of the sensible behavior she’d been trying so hard to stick to.
“Everybody else is heading toward the parlor. We’re missing the
tour.”

“We’ll make our own tour. Come on.”

Their group vanished from sight through the next passageway.
But Luke only held up the velvet rope blocking off the stairs and gestured for
Josie to duck beneath it. Goaded by his I-dare-you demeanor, she did.

They wound up strictly off-tour, in an upstairs bedroom
furnished in shades of red and beige, with tasteful tasseled accents and lots
of mahogany furniture. The view took Josie’s breath away.
This
was what
a historical house was supposed to look like. It was really impressive. Cozy,
too, after Luke shut the door behind them.

“Wow, will you look at the light fixtures? And the
bureau? And the
bed
. Fantastic!” Josie wandered through, skimming
her fingers over it all. “I wonder why they made it so high? I thought
people in the olden days were supposed to be munchkins compared with us.”

She bent at the waist, trying to peer under the enormous
four-poster.

“They’d have needed a stepstool to get into this
thing,” she mused, raising the hem of the fancy spread. Beneath it were
two more layers of lacy dust ruffles. “Maybe it’s built in?”

“Forget the bed.” Luke’s big feet stepped into her
field of vision. He loomed over her, powerful and determined. “Do you know
what those guys thought you were promising them?”

“What guys? The guys in line?” She followed the
edge of the bed, feeling for a built-in stepstool. She guessed Luke’s silence
was confirmation enough. “Who cares what they thought? All I’m offering
are dance lessons, and you know it.”

“If I do, I’m the
only
one who knows it.”

“Hey. Whatever brings people through the door is okay
by me. After that, I’ll hook them with my skill and personal charm.” Still
bent by the bed, she angled her head sideways and grinned up at him. “I’m
not exactly in a position to be choosy when it comes to potential dance school
students. Besides, who knows? Maybe one of those guys is a tangoing savant. Or
a closet Baryshnikov. At the least, they might turn out to be great dance
school publicity—future stars in my dad’s cable TV ads.”

Luke stared her down. He was serious.

She wrinkled her brow. “Geez. From this angle, you
really look mad.”

“I
am
really mad. Jesus, Josie! What’s the
matter with you?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s the matter with
me
.”
She levered upward, the bed forgotten. She stuck her hands on her hips, all the
frustrations of the day boiling over in a single instant. “And speaking of
me, why are these things always my fault, anyway? Huh? How come it’s never
their
fault? The pinchers and the whisperers and the stupid lechers?”

“All I’m talking about is—”

But she was on a roll. She wasn’t stopping now. “Am I
just supposed to sit back and take it? Huh? All the gossiping and the groping
and the—”

“Somebody
groped
you?” Luke looked fit to
spit nails.

She waved it off. “Happens all the time. The point
is—”