Josie Day Is Coming Home (4 page)

“Of…?”

“This place. Blue Moon.”

With his hand clasping hers, he stilled. A strange
expression crossed his face.

“I’ve got the key to prove it.” She withdrew from
his grasp and dangled the newest addition to her Enchanté key ring with a
feeling of satisfaction. “Right here.”

A frown. “You’d better let me see that.”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll demonstrate it in
action.”

“Yeah?”

With a skeptical snort, he set his bottle on the grass, then
folded his arms. The gesture made his biceps flex in a way Josie wished she
hadn’t noticed. Unfortunately, she’d have to have been made of stone not to
notice.

He nodded to the front door. “Good luck. I’ll wait
here.”

Puzzled, she rubbed her thumb over her key. Her handyman
sounded as though
he
had his doubts about it working, too. Sheesh. If
this was the kind of prove-it-to-me reception she could expect in town, she had
a lot of work ahead of her. Even more than she’d thought.

Josie glanced up at him. He jutted his chin toward the door
as though inviting her to prove him right. The look on his face activated every
rebellious instinct she possessed.

“Fine.” She lifted her nose in the air. “After
I take a look inside, we’ll discuss the work that needs to be done around here.
There seems to be plenty of it.”

His dubious expression didn’t waver. “Red, you get that
door open with that key of yours, and we’ll talk about anything you
please.”

Generous as his words seemed, his tone clearly communicated
something more. Something along the lines of:
You have about as much chance
of opening that door as you do of growing a goatee
. Josie didn’t have time
to let it bother her.

“Watch and learn,” she said instead, then headed
toward the door.

With interest, Luke Donovan watched the redhead climb his
porch steps in those ridiculous shoes. Too bad the most interesting trespassers
were also the craziest.

There was no way in hell Josie Day owned Blue Moon—his aunt
Tallulah wouldn’t have done that to him. Not again. Josie had to be another in
the long line of local real estate agents, all with dollar signs in their eyes,
who wanted him to sell out. She was new in town—and more determined than most.
That was all.

“If it’s any consolation,” he called, “I
admire your willingness to take this all the way. You must be a hell of a poker
player.”

As he’d predicted, she couldn’t resist answering.

“Poker?”

“Because you’re willing to bluff. Do they teach you
that in Realtor school? Along with wheedling, finagling, and pushing the
hard-sell?”

“Hey, watch it. My mother is a real estate agent.”

“Then we’ve probably met.” Idly, he admired the
curvaceous shape of Josie’s backside as she bent to examine the house’s
old-fashioned lock. Yeah, too bad she was crazy. Or determined to get him to
sell Blue Moon. Either way, it wasn’t good. He had plans of his own for the
place. He wasn’t ready to sell yet. “No hard feelings.”

“You keep that in mind.
After
I prove you
wrong.”

He grinned. She had spirit, he’d give her that. Also, a
jumble of ponytailed red hair he could easily picture spread across his pillow.
Some men had a weakness for gambling or drinking or working ninety hours a
week—like his father. They found those things completely irresistible. Luke
felt that way about redheads. Especially, suddenly, the real estate-selling
variety.

“Bluffing your way into hundred-year-old houses must be
hard work. When you’re finished, I’ll get you a cup of coffee,” he
offered.

Given the circumstances, he thought that was pretty
magnanimous of him. Given her rolled eyes and the impatient jangle of her keys,
she was less than bowled over by the gesture.

“Don’t do me any favors.”

He already had. Ordinarily, he’d have given her the
boot—nicely—from the get-go. But something about her intrigued him. Either
that, or he was bored with nailing shingles to the roof. He’d been working on
that damned splintery cedar for three days now. He wasn’t half done yet.

Another sound came from the porch—this time, jiggling
hardware as Josie rattled the doorknob. He’d have sworn he heard her grinding
her teeth, too.

“Having trouble?” he inquired innocently.

“Yes.” An over-the-shoulder glare. “Someone
won’t shut up long enough for me to concentrate.”

He guffawed. This was a lot more fun than shingling.

“Come on, Josie. Give it up. We both know why you’re
here.”

“To hire myself a new handyman?”

“Ouch.” As though wounded, he put a hand over his
heart. “Take it easy. If you
were
my boss, I’d be filing a workers’
comp claim right now.”

“What, for hurt feelings? Please. You’re obviously not
keeping up with the job. You need to fix this lock.” She jangled the
doorknob again. “There’s something wrong with it—like so many things
around here. All things considered, I know I shouldn’t complain. And I
obviously haven’t seen the whole place yet. But it looks as though I’ve got a
regular money pit on my hands. I was really hoping…oh, never mind.”

Her critical glance took in the house’s weedy flower beds,
the run-down split-log siding, and the hole in the porch roof he’d been
repairing when she’d arrived. Her obvious disregard for the last piece of
Luke’s former legacy stung his pride.

“Yes, ma’am.” He shoved both hands in his back
pockets, then gazed up at the springtime skies. “Whatever you say. I’ll
get right on fixing things.”

Josie
humphed
and got back to the lock.

She was inventive, he admitted to himself. Pretending to own
the place—probably in the hope that he, as caretaker, would open the door for
her himself—was a new one. Unfortunately for Josie, she didn’t have all the
information Luke did. Beginning with the fact that
he
owned Blue Moon.
And ending with the fact that he had no intention of opening the place to
strangers until he was damned good and ready.

Especially strangers who dissed the place.

The estate had been closed up for a long time. His arrival
in Donovan’s Corner had incited a certain amount of interest—there was no doubt
about that. But Luke had plans of his own for the property. It was the key to
everything he needed. Not even a va-va-voom redhead was changing that.

No matter how cute she looked kicking the shit out of his
front door.

“Why is this locked, anyway?” she demanded.
“You’re right here! Nobody’s getting in without you knowing it.”

He shrugged. “I can’t always see who’s here when I’m up
on the roof or out in the carriage house. Locking up when I’m working helps
keep away trespassers.”

Her glare suggested she thought he meant her. Luke couldn’t
quite explain why he wanted to change her mind—or why he wanted to see her
smile at him instead.

“I get quite a few. Mostly local teenagers who used to
use the place for keg parties. Before I got here.” Having revealed more
than he meant to, he frowned. “Ready to give up yet?”

“I never give up.” She bent and rubbed her toe,
grumbling under her breath. “You probably changed the locks since Tallulah
had the keys made, that’s all.”

Josie straightened, glowering accusatorially at him for an
instant. Then, as though fighting for patience, she swept her gaze over the
pine forest bordering the house’s neglected grounds. A thick carpet of
ponderosa needles buried what had formerly been a grassy lawn. Scrub oak
seedlings encroached on the old croquet turf. Weeds—always the first to sprout
when the sun turned warm—dotted the wide expanse like unruly cowlicks.

Seeing the place through her disapproving perspective bugged
Luke in ways he didn’t want to consider. So he swung his attention back to
Josie instead…and was shocked to see tears gathering in her big green eyes.

Considering what he knew of her so far, he guessed they were
tears of frustration, not sadness. Still, he felt sorry for her. Maybe he
should’ve shared the secret jiggle-turn-jiggle method of opening the front
door. She was only trying to do her job.

Her chin wobbled. Her fingers clenched harder on her key.
She blinked—once, twice, several more times in succession, as though trying to
hold back the waterworks. If she wasn’t careful, her fake eyelashes would cause
a forty-mile-per-hour wind gust.

“Hey, hey—” Alarmed, Luke covered the distance
between them in three long strides, his steps loud on the porch’s floorboards.
He touched her arm. “It’s not that bad. Look, who’s your boss? I’m betting
it’s Linda at Round the Corner Realty. I’ll tell her you browbeat me into giving
you a tour.”

He reached past her to open the door.

Sniffling, she whapped his arm out of the way. Then she
dashed the tears from her eyes and elbowed in front of him.

“I can do it,” she croaked.

“Okay.” He held up both hands in surrender.
Clearly, Josie wasn’t ready to admit defeat. “But it’s only fair you know
going in. I’m not changing my mind about selling the place.”

“How could you?
You
don’t own it.
I
do.”

He rolled his eyes. “Look, determination is all well
and good. But this is ridiculous.”

She scoffed. Then she shoved her key in place one last time.
Luke didn’t even try to stop her. What was it with him? Sure, she was cute. But
cute didn’t compensate for crazy.

Or did it? Reconsidering, he took one last look at the curve
of her hips. Maybe if she was just a
little
nuts…

At that instant, he remembered what Josie had said a minute
ago—while he’d been distracted by all the cleavage on display as she bent to
rub her toe:
You probably had the locks changed since Tallulah had the keys
made
.

He froze. Oh, shit. It was happening again.

The lock clicked. For a heartbeat, Josie only stared at it
in apparent disbelief—right along with Luke. Then she pushed open the door and
breezed inside. Turning, she grinned in triumph.

“Never mind. It looks as though I’ve got that tour
covered.” She dropped her duffel bag from her shoulder—the one he’d
thought
contained cheesy knickknacks for sale or real estate contracts—and slung it
possessively in the foyer. “Thanks, anyway.”

Stunned, Luke watched as she gallivanted into
his
house, clearly intent on taking possession of the place. And that was how he
discovered that, for the third time this year, his eccentric aunt Tallulah had
apparently given away his one remaining estate to a total stranger.

And it didn’t look as if this particular stranger was
bailing out anytime soon, either.

Chapter Three

“Hey! Come again?” Luke demanded, clobbering the
porch steps with his work boots as he followed Josie inside. “What was
that about Tallulah?”

Ignoring his question, Josie peered through the early
morning sunlight at his house’s front parlor. Her gaudy shoes made only a muted
clump clump
as she meandered across the antique floorboards, past the
tarp-covered furniture. She poked here and there, then lifted the lids of the
authentic Craftsman-style benches built in the foyer. The tang of old cedar
wafted out.

“You must know Tallulah,” she said casually.
“She’s your boss, right?”

No. She’s my meddling, bullheaded aunt, who’s screwed up
my life almost as much as
— Hell. On the heels of that thought, Luke clamped
his lips shut. Little Miss Rainbow Shoes wasn’t getting to him that easily. Not
until he knew who she was and what she wanted with Blue Moon.

He gave a noncommittal shrug. “How do
you
know
her?”

“Now
that
is a good story. Totally unreal.”

Still in mid-inspection and with no obvious intentions of
sharing that “good story,” Josie waved her hand. Her gesture showed
off five fingers tipped by bubblegum pink nail polish. Nail polish like Barbie
probably wore. If Barbie had fingernails. Luke didn’t know. Maybe she had
little plastic fingernails? Jesus Christ. He was losing it.

“A good story?” he prompted. “I’m all
ears.”

She tossed him a mischievous look. “Looks like you’re
all muscle to me.”

“Feeling is believing.”

“I thought that was seeing.” She rounded the room
and paused beside him, apparently absorbed in examining the wooden ceiling
beams. Her gaze met his. “‘Seeing is believing.’”

“You have your aphorisms. I have mine.”

“Yours seem a little self-serving to me.”

“No, ma’am.” Luke gave in to the grin he’d been
holding back. He might be losing it, but he was having fun. “I believe in
full service all the way.”

“Hmmm. Giving? Or receiving?”

“Either one. I hear it’s the thought that counts.”

“Too bad.” Josie squeezed his biceps. Her eyebrows
arched upward in apparent approval. “I’m more into
doing
than
thinking.”

Proving her point, she sashayed through the archway that led
to the living room, leaving him with a choice view of her backside—and the
feeling that he’d just stepped into the twilight zone. Luke stared stupidly at
his arm. She’d touched him with no hesitation at all. With none of the game
playing evident in the local women—most of whom wanted a husband, babies, and
other unmentionables.

Out of nowhere, the realization struck him. He’d just
encountered the rarest, most bachelor-threatening kind of woman.

The good-time girl.

Most men believed she was a myth. Watching Josie pass by the
archway again, lips pursed in concentration as she absent-mindedly fingered her
tank top strap, Luke knew she was all too real. She was in his living room
right now, letting her skimpy clothes slip seductively down her bare shoulder.

Frowning, he followed her. He needed more information.