Carol Finch – A Regular Joe: A Regular Joe / Mr. Right Under Her Nose (страница 10)

“Oh yeah, you’re a devious, lying impostor, and Mattie is too damn sweet and tenderhearted to deserve your deceit. If you had the sense God gave a gnat you would hand in your resignation and hightail it back to the city.”

“Joe!” Mattie called on her way down the center aisle. “There’s been a change of plans. Gladys wants her new painting and shelves hung now. Her bridge party has been changed to seven o’clock this evening to accommodate one of her friends. I need a rain check on supper.”

Joe nodded agreeably. He figured this was for the best. Fate had intervened, or perhaps the powers that be in the universe decided that that kiss was a very bad idea. But you couldn’t convince his rowdy male body of that, not without a bolt from the blue that fried him to the tiled floor.

“I’ll count the till and lock up,” he offered. “That is, if you trust me.”

She smiled, stared him squarely in the eye, and said, “I trust you, Joe. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be here, and we wouldn’t have been on the threshold we were standing on five minutes ago, either.”

Now he really felt like a card-carrying jerk. He had lied to her, deceived her, misrepresented himself, and she trusted him. He suspected each and every one of her acquaintances felt the same way, when honored and graced by Mattie’s trusting nature. Hurting someone like Mattie Roland ranked right up there with the seven deadly sins that could earn you a one-way express flight to hell.

Gee, maybe he should author a book on how many ways there were for a man to screw up without really trying, he thought to himself.

While Joe was counting the till, he heard someone pounding on the back entrance that opened into the alley. “Now what?” he muttered crabbily.

He yanked open the steel door to see five elderly men staring back at him. The Roland Gang, he presumed. He appraised the ringleader, who leaned on his three-pronged cane. Pops wore knit jeans that were snagged with twigs and a faded cotton shirt that emphasized his sunken chest. Pops had a full head of silver hair, wire-rimmed glasses and an attitude that shouted spirit.

J. D. Grayson would fit right in with this bunch, thought Joe.

Behind Pops stood four men—more or less bald—sporting spare-tire paunches, glasses and outdated clothes. Joe nodded a greeting to them.

“So you’re Joe,” Pops said, still appraising him astutely. “So, whaddya think, boys?”

Boys? thought Joe. That obviously implied these old codgers were enjoying their second childhood.

“Looks all right to me,” said Fred. “What do you think, Herman?”

Herman raked Joe up and down—twice. “Decent stock, I’d say. What’s your vote, Ralph?”

“Okay by me,” said Ralph. “What about you, Glen?”

Glen’s gaze narrowed solemnly behind his thick glasses. “You got a criminal record, son?”

“No, do I need one?” Joe asked straight-faced.

“A smart ass, I like that,” Pops said. “Has Shortcake seen this side of you yet?”

“Shortcake? As in Mattie?” Joe guessed.

“Yup. So has she?”

“No.”

“Well, don’t hold back on her, son. Make sure she knows the real you, right off. Always better that way.”

Joe inwardly grimaced. He couldn’t follow Pops’s good advice. Joe had already lied six ways to Sunday.

“I saw Mattie drive off a minute ago,” Pops said. “Figured that clunker truck parked back here belonged to you. Are you about finished here?”

“Yes,” Joe said carefully.

“Don’t give me that look,” Pops muttered. “We’re not going to ask you to join in a bank heist or anything like that. We just need to hitch a ride is all. Don’t want Mattie to know we broke loose until after the fact. We’ve had all we can stand at that funny farm this week. We’re going fishing.”

Pops raised his pointy chin, all but daring Joe to protest.

He didn’t.

“The poles are in the shed at Mattie’s house,” Pops informed Joe. “We already walked a mile. Can you give us a lift?”

Joe finished counting the till, switched off the lights, then locked the door behind him. Although this wasn’t as good as losing himself in a kiss with Mattie, aiding and abetting the Roland Gang was the next best thing.

“It’ll be crowded in my pickup. It only has one seat,” Joe commented as he lead the way.

“Sardines don’t complain about cramped cans, so neither will I,” Pops said, hobbling at his swiftest pace. “You ask her out yet?”

“No,” Joe grumbled as he scrunched himself against the driver’s side, giving the gang every inch of space the cab of the truck would allow.

“You have our stamp of approval, so what are you waiting for?” Glen demanded.

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from the nursing home escapees,” Joe shot back wryly.

“Fine, pal, you keep pussyfooting around and you’ll end up like us, all alone and on the prowl,” Herman put in. “They don’t come better than Mattie. I watched her grow up. Hell, I helped raise her when her grandpa was in a bind with a job that took him out of town for a week at a time.”

“So did I,” Ralph added proudly. “Me and Wilma, God rest her, were honorary aunt and uncle in the old days.”

“Same went for me and Jean,” said Fred. “Even attended her high school and college graduation as part of her family. You don’t think Mattie is good enough for you, just because she’s a tomboy at heart? Is that the problem here?”

“She’s better than I deserve,” Joe murmured.

“Speak up, son,” Pops demanded. “The batteries on my hearing aids are fizzling out.”

“I like Mattie just fine,” Joe all but yelled.

“Sheesh, keep it down,” Glen groused. “We’re hard-of-hearing, not stone-deaf.”

Joe pulled out from the alley and took the back streets to Mattie’s house. Amused—in an exasperated sort of way—he listened to the old coots give sales pitches about why he needed to see Mattie socially. If she had the slightest idea that the fearsome five were trying to play matchmaker, she’d probably pitch a fit.

Joe, however, thought it was touching to observe their loyalty and devotion to Mattie. She might not have excessive material wealth to rank her among Fortune’s 500, but she was well respected and loved here in Fox Hollow. Her customers heaped glowing accolades on her. Her grandfather and honorary uncles adored her. Mattie had a wealth of friendship, while Joe had numerous acquaintances and associates, but few valued and trusted friends.

Joe had come to Fox Hollow to regain his touch with reality, to wander among the real people in this world. In forty-eight hours he’d received a full dose of life. His own life had become an endless string of profit-loss spreadsheets, cabinets filled with files, corporate meetings and shallow social gatherings. But here in the timberland he felt himself coming alive, not merely existing.

“You boys had supper yet?” Joe inquired.

The question drew a round of scoffs, snorts, and a couple of colorful obscenities.

“I told you on the phone that we were herded to the cafeteria for the slop-of-the-day special, topped off with glazed prunes for dessert. If you call that eating, then yeah, we already ate,” Pop grumbled. “You got any junk food at your apartment?”

Joe grinned. “You bet your asses, boys. You provide the fishing poles, and I’ll bring along the junk food and dig a few worms for bait.”

Pops beamed in approval, then leaned sideways to give Joe a high five. “You’re my kind of people, son.”

“So, what time do you have to report to the home tonight?” Joe asked as he turned into the driveway.

Glen grinned. “We already crammed our pillows and spare blankets under the bedspreads and switched off the lights to make it look as if we hit the sack early. We’ve got hours to burn before they call out the dogs and begin the search.”

Joe chuckled while the old men squirmed restlessly in the cramped space of his truck. Ah yes, life here in Fox Hollow was interesting, to say the least.

Briefly Joe wondered how Mattie would react when, and if, she discovered he’d acted as chauffeur and accomplice for the Roland Gang this evening. Then he decided Mattie should thank him for keeping an eye on these old coots. After all, if one of the men tripped and fell in the river, he had enough brawn and muscle to handle the rescue. He was actually doing Mattie a favor, now that he thought about it.

4

MATTIE SQUATTED ON HER HAUNCHES, then assembled the miniature deacon’s bench. Grabbing the nail gun, she secured the boards in place. While the whack-thump of the gun serenaded her, she reflected on the enjoyable hours she’d spent the previous Sunday, while she and Joe designed drop-leaf tables, storage chests, curio shelves and peg racks for the convalescent home. Using spare lumber from previous projects, leftover paint, and damaged merchandise from the store, she and Joe had created arts and crafts that depicted country life. They had worked side by side for hours on end, chatting about little or nothing, really. They’d just talked, discussed their projects, and got to know each other better.

Joe hadn’t mentioned the Near-Kiss Incident and neither had she. She told herself it was for the best that they had been interrupted. But that incessant little voice kept repeating, You go, girl.

For a full week now, Mattie had worked alongside Joe, who proved to be a dream employee. She had heard the razzing he’d taken from the macho types who happened into town to gawk and taunt the “girlie-man” who had hired on at Hobby Hut.