Serving Trouble (7 page)

 

Chapter Nine

“Y
OU HAVEN'T STOPPED
by the club.” Daphne's voice was lighthearted and upbeat. But even at eight in the morning after too little sleep, Josie could hear the hurt.

Josie sat on the edge of the twin bed she'd slept in until she'd gone away to college. “I've been working every night at Big Buck's.”

With this crazy AWOL marine and a boss whom I want to see naked.

“I heard about the Hoppy Heaven,” her friend said. “Sounds like he'll keep you around, and for the right reasons.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I have a payment due at the end of the month.”

Reality was like an anchor holding her ship in place and preventing her from sailing straight for happiness. Not that Noah's bed was a beacon of bliss. OK, maybe it was—­for a few hours, a single night, maybe two . . . But it wasn't a long-­term destination. Not unless she was willing to fall in love with him again and suffer the heartbreak.

Sure, she could push past fear for a night or two. Just like she could march into Oregon's hottest brewery and win a contract. She could reach for a strength she wasn't sure she possessed and play at being bold, even daring. But deep down, she was still terrified she'd stumble headfirst into a heartache she couldn't handle.

“So how's Noah?” Daphne asked. “Still surly? Or have you helped him find his smile?”

“He's convinced that he's not the hometown hero anymore,” she said. “He claims he's a jerk. And I swear he's trying to prove it.”

By pressing me up against the side of his truck.

Silence. Josie couldn't even hear the clink of dishes in the background.

“Daph?” she said. “Did I lose you?”

“You love jerks,” Daphne pointed out.

She sighed. “I know.”

“He's working tonight?”

“Noah is always working.” She stood and headed for the pile of shoes by the closet. She'd dumped her suitcase out, but she hadn't put her shoes away. This wasn't permanent. She'd come home to get back on her feet. She wasn't giving her shoes a forever home in her childhood closet.

“He's coming by to pick me up soon. We're heading to the brewery to pick up another keg,” Josie added, plucking her cowgirl boots off the top of the pile. She might as well wear them here. They seemed out of place in downtown Portland. Not that she had a reason to go back. She'd shed her friends, her job, her scholarship, her apartment—­every piece of her life in that city had drowned in her depression and mounting dept.

“He might do something nice today and then you won't fall for him,” Daphne said, teasing.

“Maybe.” But he'd already taken in two women running from pasts that refused to let go. That was sweet of him and she still bought his asshole act. “I suppose there is always the chance we find an old lady who needs help across the street or a kitten who needs to be rescued from a tree,” she added.

Daphne laughed, but Josie didn't join in. Because even if Noah saved every lost kitten from here to Portland, she'd still hope for another kiss, another touch, another taste beside his truck.

Maybe I can push my fears aside again and take the risk. . .

“I'll stop by tomorrow morning,” Josie said. “I promise.”

“Visiting a strip club instead of church on a Sunday?” Daphne said with feigned horror. “What will ­people say?”

“That I'm still a lost cause. That I haven't changed.” She sat on her bed and pulled on her boots that would walk straight back to Noah's barn if she let them. “And they might be right,” she added. “Because I want him to be a jerk.”

N
OAH PARKED HIS
truck in front of the chief of police's old farmhouse and pressed the horn. He hoped Josie's dad had already left for the station. Chief Fairmore would start asking questions if he found Noah grinning like a damn fool while waiting for his daughter. And what the hell would he say to Josie's father?

I want your daughter in a way that promises to leave her boots beside my bed—­or next to the bull in the barn.

Chief Fairmore might tell him to steer clear of his daughter, or threaten to tell his dad, Big Buck himself, that his son was messing around with an employee. And yeah, Noah probably should have served himself a heaping plateful of regret alongside his eggs this morning. He shouldn't have kissed Josie. But he sure as shit hoped they found their way back to that moment. If she gave him a chance, he'd steal a kiss and then some.

The front door opened and Josie stepped out. She'd skipped the black dress today. And for a split second he missed the tight fit of her red sundress. But then she stepped off the porch and headed for his truck. Between her tight, short jean skirt, boots, and top, his attention splintered, drawn to the legs he wanted to feel wrapped around his hips. And those boots . . .

But his gaze zoned in on her top. She wore the old Big Buck's T-­shirt he'd given her that first night. Only she'd tied the loose fabric into a knot at her back, pulling the words “Big Buck's” tight across her chest.

He wanted to replace the worn letters with one word—­“Noah's.”

He was one helluva jerk. But ever since he'd come home, he'd wanted to lose himself for a little while, forgetting about all the shit that had happened while he served his country.

A blow and a beer—­that's what I want.

He'd had a beer, but he'd steered clear of meaningless oral sex with a willing woman. Because he'd wanted Josie since he walked out of that barn five years ago. Smart, sexy, brilliant Josie.

“Morning,” she said as she opened the passenger side door to his truck. “You look good for three hours of sleep.”

“I've gotten by on a lot less,” he said.

“I know.” She climbed in and fastened her seat belt. “How is Caroline?”

Still living in a nightmare.
But he didn't feel right talking about how he'd heard his houseguest crying through the thin walls in his childhood home.

“All right.” He turned onto the two-­lane country road leading toward the highway. “She found out about your dad being chief of police.”

“I didn't tell her, but I'll make it clear that my father won't find out about her from me,” she said. “And I don't think Josh clued her in either. But he did offer to make her a pie.”

“What?”

“He likes her,” Josie said.

Oh shit.

“If he lays a hand on her,” Noah growled, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “If he touches her—­”

“Calm down. You don't need to rush in and save her. Not from Josh Summers,” she said. “I have a feeling Caroline can decide for herself. And one day she might want to say yes to sharing a pie.”

“I hope you're right,” he murmured. They drove in silence, speeding past one farm after another. Mountains rose in the distance, but they were still firmly in the valley. Cows, goats, and horses dotted the landscape.

“But you're sweet to stand by,” she added. “Ready to protect her.”

“Yeah? You think your brother is a big old teddy bear for jumping to your defense?” he challenged.
Sweet.
Jesus. He couldn't wear that label, not anymore.

“My brother's not so bad. Especially when he's stationed on the other side of the world. But this isn't about Dominic.”

“No?”

“Go ahead,” she said, her green eyes sparkling with daring. “Tell me what a jerk you are.”

“A damn big one,” he muttered.

“I want details.” Her low, sultry voice flipped a switch, turning him on.

“Josie, I would strip off a lot more than your panties if we ever found ourselves in a hay wagon. But I'd prefer someplace we wouldn't be discovered.” His voice was a low growl and his fingers tapped on the wheel, itching to turn the truck around and take her . . . where?

They couldn't go back to his place. His dad was there. And Caroline. And he wasn't about to seduce the police chief's daughter in her father's house. But Big Buck's?

“Like right here on the side of the road?” she asked. “We haven't passed another car in while. And I don't think the farm animals would breathe a word to anyone. Not that they can see inside the truck.”

He glanced over at her, noting the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath the letters across her breasts. Her T-­shirt would go first, out the window. Then, he'd push her skirt up to her waist and draw her panties down her legs.

“Josie, there isn't enough room in the cab of my truck for the things I want to do to you,” he murmured, surprising himself by saying the words out loud. He was so caught up in the mental picture of Josie's legs spread and her breasts bared under the sunny Oregon sky. But she'd pressed, asking to see him for who he was now, not the man everyone else wanted him to be, and he didn't want to hold back.

“I'm not asking for anything until I've proven that I have a lot more to offer than a kiss,” he added, shifting in his seat. His boxer briefs felt as if they were made of spandex. His dick begged for freedom, eager to greet her in the truck, on the side of the road—­anywhere.

She made a tsk-­tsk sound. “I thought you had abandoned chivalry. Pull over and we'll draw straws to see who comes first.”

He let out a low laugh partly in response to her words, but mostly to keep himself from begging. Sure, sex—­oral or otherwise—­with a woman he shouldn't touch made him an ass. But there were some lines he refused to cross. He was going down first and he wouldn't take no for an answer.

And that wasn't chivalry. He was being practical. If she wrapped her full lips around him, and if he came in her sweet mouth, hell, he'd probably pass out. The picture racing through his imagination left him damn near dizzy. If she offered the real thing, here, now, she'd have to drive him home.

“Of course, the customers might complain if we don't make it to the brewery to pick up the beer,” she added. “But it might be worth the risk.”

“Hell yeah.” He looked over at her and found her lips parted, her tongue darting out to lick them. She was so damn sexy, so beautiful . . .

He forced his attention back on the road, scanning the shoulder for a safe place to pull over. Wire fencing stretched for miles. The only houses were set back far enough the ­people inside would need binoculars to know what they were doing on the side of the road. Up ahead the road changed to dirt for a few miles before they hit pavement again. Here was better, less dusty. And he wanted her
now
.

He spotted a road sign up ahead listing the number of miles to the highway and the neighboring towns. He eased off the gas, his gaze fixed on the shoulder and his body taut with anticipation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Josie's arm crossing the console separating the passenger side from the driver's seat. Her fingers brushed his thigh as if urging him on. Like he needed encouragement. He needed to focus and park the damn car before he reached for her. He needed—­

“Shit!” He slammed on the brakes and swerved off the road. His desire shut off as if someone had flipped a switch and his training kicked in, driving him to throw the truck into park.

“Noah?”

He heard the alarm in her voice. In his peripheral vision, he saw the hand she'd quickly withdrawn from his leg clutching the seat belt stretched across her chest.

“Stay here,” he ordered. “If I give the signal, drive away.”

“Wait. Noah, please.”

Not a chance. He opened his door. The need to act fact, to eliminate the threat, pulsed through him. He couldn't let anything happen to her. And God only knew what was in the cardboard box at the base of the street sign.

He ran forward and dropped to his knees. His hands hovered over the open box, the realization sinking in that he was in Oregon, not Afghanistan. He couldn't defuse a bomb out here. He wasn't prepared to dismantle a roadside IED.

He blinked and peered into the box for the first time. He felt light-­headed and it had nothing to do with Josie's mouth on his dick. The cardboard shifted and a soft mewing sound pulled him firmly back to reality.

“Fucking kittens.” He reached inside and picked one up. “Ah, hell.”

Dizzy from the rush of relief, he clutched the kitten to his chest and closed his eyes. It wasn't an IED, just some jerk who'd seen a bunch of farms and decided to abandon a litter of kittens on the side of the road for some bleeding-­heart farmer to take home to their barn.

He heard the truck door slam, followed by the distinct click of Josie's boots on pavement. But he didn't open his eyes. She'd been ready and willing to get naked on the side of the road until he'd freaked out.

Because of a box of kittens.

Hero. Jerk. The labels didn't apply. He was a fool. The bundle of fur in his hands sank its sharp teeth into his thumb, and he welcomed the prick of pain, anything to drive away the lingering traces of fear and his own embarrassment.

He opened his eyes and looked up at Josie. She stood to his right with an open field that looked nothing like a war zone to her back.

“You know, this might ruin your I'm-­an-­ass image,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. She offered the shifting meowing box a cursory glance before looking back at him.

“I thought it was . . .” His throat went dry. “I wasn't trying to . . . Jesus, I thought . . .”

I thought the box would explode and steal you away from me. I needed to save you because . . . Because I want you and I'm so damn selfish. . .

“I wasn't trying to be a hero,” he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Says the man clutching an abandoned kitten,” she said.

He set the biting, clawing animal back into the box and met her gaze. He expected to see pity in her green eyes. The poor war hero who mistook a box of kittens for a bomb. But it wasn't there. She looked as if she was waiting for him to get a grip and return to the truck.