A Regular Joe: A Regular Joe / Mr. Right Under Her Nose

When she focused those beguiling amethyst eyes, fanned with long, thick lashes, on him, Joe’s knees wobbled. He propped against the doorjamb for support.

“Pops has a legitimate point, and he’s petitioning the director for changes. If you would have seen his friend Fred sitting next door in his room, surrounded by blank walls, staring through the miniblinds, I bet you would have caved in, too.”

Joe held up his hands like a victim of a robbery. “Hey, don’t get defensive on me, boss lady. I’m not judging or objecting. If my grandpa was in a bland convalescent home and requested paraphernalia and memorabilia to make him feel more at home, I’d do the exact same thing. Furthermore, I’ll be glad to help you design, construct and paint whatever you need for the projects. I assume we’re working for elderly customers on a limited budget.”

“You’ll help?” Mattie smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Joe, I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“But it’ll cost you,” he warned in mock seriousness. “You have to promise to fix Sunday dinner while I’m ripping lumber on the table saw and constructing curio shelves, keepsake chests and benches for the patients.”

“How do you know I can cook?”

“Boss lady, thus far I haven’t seen anything you can’t do exceptionally well,” he complimented. “From handling power tools, creating art and interior design to dealing with devious customers, you can do it all.”

She cocked her head and studied him from a different angle. “Are you buttering me up, hoping for a raise?”

“No, just stating the facts, ma’am.” Yet, there was one fact Joe was reluctant to state. He had the wild, crazy impulse to walk right up to Mattie, snatch her from her chair and kiss the living daylights out of her.

It was the damnedest thing he’d ever experienced. He, who had escorted glamorous socialites and seen his name and picture linked with a half-dozen women in tabloids, was turned on by a carpenter’s elf who had sawdust in her hair. Penny Candy Red, Frosty Glade Green, and Biscuit White were splattered on her fingers and on the hem of her T-shirt. None of that mattered. When she smiled at him it never failed to knock him for a loop and leave him wanting things he knew he couldn’t have.

“And may I say that after two days of nonstop work, without a single complaint, I can give you nothing less than a rating of exceptional on your evaluation sheet, Mr. Gray. I suspect the head honcho, lounging on his throne in the city, will applaud your work ethics.”

Joe inwardly flinched. Every time Mattie mentioned the all-powerful CEO, his conscience took a bite out of him. Maybe he should tell her the truth.

Or maybe not. Mattie lambasted the high king of woodcraft often enough that she would feel deceived and mortified. No, he was willing to bet that his Employee of the Year would take this the wrong way, wouldn’t understand why he was here, incognito.

“So, how about if I treat you to a burger and fries before I hang Gladys Howser’s painting and curio shelves this evening?” Mattie offered.

“Have you already locked up for the night?” he asked.

“Yes, right before I came back to the office. I’ll count the till and we can be on our way.”

“Fine, except I’m buying.” When she tried to protest, Joe touched his forefinger to her lips to shush her. That simple, seemingly harmless touch sent a jolt of awareness sizzling through him. Joe swore he’d been electrocuted. Her lips felt like velvet beneath his fingertip, and he had to battle another insane urge to replace his fingertip with his lips and make a feast of her.

Damn it, if he’d had the slightest idea that he’d have such an incredible reaction to Mattie Roland he never would have hired on. Now it was too late. He felt involved in this particular store, involved in her life, and in the complications she faced with her rebellious grandfather.

Of course, if he followed Pops’s advice, he’d just thumb his nose at his own rules and go for it. For sure and certain, his male body would applaud his decision.

“Buying dinner is my way of thanking you for this job, for the apartment and the chance to buck the establishment, on behalf of your grandpa, my grandpa, and everybody else’s grandparents who want to improve the quality of life during their golden years…”

His voice trailed off when her gaze lifted and locked with his. Time screeched to a halt. The office shrank and silence descended around him. Joe had the unmistakable feeling that Mattie, despite the rules and regulations, was wondering the same thing he was. Did they dare to test this mutual attraction and risk what seemed to be the makings of a beautiful friendship?

Scratch that, Joe decided. Being the devious jerk that he was, there couldn’t be a trusting friendship between them. He’d botched that up the instant he’d introduced himself as Joe Gray and allowed Mattie to confide that she thought the head honcho of Hobby Hut had lost touch with the purpose of his multimillion-dollar business.

In effect, Joe Gray was Daniel J. Grayson’s corporate spy, an internal investigator who was staking out one of his store managers. He hadn’t considered those ramifications when he came to Fox Hollow, hoping to rediscover his purpose and enthusiasm. But Mattie wouldn’t view the situation the same way he did. He could sugarcoat his actions however he wished, rationalizing that his intentions were honorable and that he had tried to guard against being catered to so he wouldn’t have to endure preferential treatment because of his title and position. However, he didn’t think any of that garbage would fly with Mattie. She would misunderstand, he predicted.

Damn, he’d dug such a deep hole that he’d need an extension ladder to climb out.

Mattie stared into the entrancing amber eyes that were embedded in that all too handsome face and heard her grandfather’s words echoing in her ears. According to Pops, every risk ignored was a chance never taken. Challenge the rules, he’d said, don’t meekly accept them. Pops advocated grabbing for the gusto.

Should she or shouldn’t she kiss Joe? This was really tricky, after all. She was the manager, and he was the hired assistant. If she up and kissed him, would he kiss her back because he thought his job might be in jeopardy or because he truly wanted to? If he kissed her—and he looked as if he, too, was pondering the prospect, for whatever reason—would he wonder if he was putting his job at risk, a job he claimed he was pleased to have.

Catch twenty-two, she thought. This was the proverbial two-edged sword, yadda, yadda.

After what seemed a century of standing on uncertain ground, wrestling with consequences, Joe traced the curve of her lips. Mattie’s knees wobbled unsteadily beneath her.

“Mattie, I think we’ll both feel a lot better if we just get this over with. You’re the boss, so you need to call a time-out from the job. It is after hours. Despite my good intentions, I just don’t think this good-buddy relationship between us is going to work. I’m too damn aware of you as a woman. Sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

Mattie didn’t pretend to misunderstand what he meant. Apparently, they were on the same wavelength here. He was wondering, as she was, if an experimental kiss would relieve the sexual tension that had been building since he set foot in the store.

Yes, Mattie had tried to ignore the frissons of desire that assailed her when he was in close proximity. Which was like trying to ignore an emotional cyclone spinning around you all the livelong day. Impossible.

“I’m thinking that you’re thinking that you don’t want to step on a land mine of sexual harassment by kissing me,” Joe murmured huskily. “You’re probably thinking that I’m thinking I might risk losing my job—which you know I really like—if I kiss you first and you end up not liking it very much. So, what say, we meet in the middle like two consenting adults. All rules and regulations will be dispensed with for the moment. If things don’t work out, we’ll just slip back into our roles as boss and assistant, chalk this up to an experiment gone sour, and get on with our lives. Sound fair to you?”

“And if this experiment isn’t sour?” she asked, afraid to breathe too deeply for fear the tantalizing scent of him would wrap itself so completely around her senses that her brain would fog up and she’d lose the common sense she’d spent thirty years cultivating.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he murmured, his voice rough and raspy. “The suspense is killing me, Mattie. On three. One, two—”

Repetitive, staccato raps on the glass door forced Joe and Mattie to leap apart.

“Yo, Mattie! Yoo-hoo, it’s me, Gladys Howser. Are you still in there?”

Mattie didn’t know whether to curse or bless her impatient customer. “Coming!” she hollered.

When Mattie sailed off like a flying carpet, Joe half collapsed against the desk. Damn, he probably should have kept his trap shut, but his unruly hormones had stormed his brain and executed a coup d’état. He’d wanted to kiss that cute little elf. Badly. Worse than badly, he amended. It was as if he were starving for the taste of her and wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d sampled her petal-soft lips.

“You’re nuts,” Joe said to himself, then scowled. “Just goes to show how desperately you needed this vacation from the office. Of all the glamorous women you’ve dated, you go bonkers over a tomboy who smells like paint and sawdust rather than expensive perfume, a tomboy who dresses in faded jeans and T-shirts instead of sequined evening gowns. And to complicate matters she actually works for you, despite what she thinks. She also thinks Double H is a money-grubbing executive whose bottom line is profit. Have you left anything out?

“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.

For the most part Joe ignored the teasing, secure enough in his masculinity that he didn’t feel intimidated by the cowboys and sportsmen who frequented Watering Hole Tavern on the outskirts of town.

Grimacing, Mattie rose from a crouch to work the kinks from her back and legs, then glanced at her watch. It was long past closing time at the store, and she had made good progress on the three projects for customers who purchased her landscape paintings and requested theme shelves to display their folk art and Americana knickknacks. Working with Emerald Pool Green, Footprint Cream and Longjohn Red, Mattie had added colorful, hand-painted designs to the shelves and benches.

She’d managed to fill another lonely Saturday night, she thought glumly.

Her social life stank.

Mattie had offered to buy Joe’s supper after work, but he’d left the store at closing time, commenting that he’d already made plans for the evening. However, he promised he’d start bright and early Sunday on the projects for the nursing home. Mattie wondered if he’d grown tired of her company and lost interest in the kiss that never happened—and probably never would.

Story of her life, actually, she thought as she unplugged the power tools, tapped the lids onto the paint cans, then swept up sawdust. She’d always been one of the guys during her high school and college days. She was the misfit female in woodwork classes who took her projects seriously. No one had been interested in dating a girl who showed the guys up in class through her skills with a saw, drill and can of paint.

Same probably held true with Joe, she mused. Undoubtedly, he had decided to look elsewhere for a hot date. Women had been hovering around the store for a solid week, flirting outrageously, asking his opinions and making purchases, just so he would wait on them, spend a few extra moments with them.

So why was she complaining if Joe had a hot date on Saturday night? Hadn’t she wanted to keep their relationship platonic? Hadn’t she been wishing for a skilled assistant to mind the store while she created new window displays, which usually sold within a few hours of being set up? Hadn’t she craved more spare time to pursue her private craft projects? She was getting what she wanted, and she wasn’t as happy as she thought she’d be. And all because she had developed an infatuation for a man whom she’d labeled as off-limits.

You go, girl.

“Just shut up,” Mattie muttered at that annoying little voice. She was going home to soak in a hot bath, stuff her face with snacks and sprawl in her recliner. Another exciting, fun-filled evening at the Roland homestead.

Feeling immensely sorry for herself, Mattie closed up the shop, piled into her old model car and drove home. An hour later, dressed in an oversize T-shirt that served as a nightgown, flip-flops, and not much else, Mattie stood at her kitchen window, staring at a distant campfire that cast swaying shadows on the trees that lined the creek behind her house.

“Well, damn,” Mattie grumbled as she headed for the back door. She suspected Pops and his cohorts had sneaked away from the nursing home to fish in the creek. Either that or aliens had landed their flying saucer on the far side of the hill and were conducting scientific experiments.

Annoyed, Mattie picked her way down the dirt path and peered around a tree. Sure enough, Pops was tossing his fishing line into the creek with one hand and holding an aluminum can in the other. Damnation, if he upset the chemical balance his doctor and nurses were trying to align, she’d murder him. This nonsense had to stop!

As far as the other old men were concerned, Mattie would threaten to tattle to their families if they didn’t cease these moonlight capers…

Her murderous thoughts scattered like buckshot when she saw Joe Gray rise up from his lounging position near a tree. She knew it was him. His broad shoulders and narrow hips gave him away as he leaned over to retrieve a beer can from the ice chest.

That did it! Mattie was plenty mad. She stalked forward to put a stop to this latest shenanigan. She was royally PO’d, and she didn’t care who knew it.

“All right, party’s over,” she snapped brusquely. “Blast it, Pops!”

Pops clutched his chest and staggered to support himself on the three-pronged cane beside him. “Damn it, Shortcake, what are you trying to do? Give us a collective heart attack?”

“Why not? It’s bound to come sooner or later if you and your friends hang out in this damp night air, chugging beer and munching on high-cholesterol snacks.” Her chest heaved with frustration. “Have the whole bunch of you lost your minds? When the director finds you missing he’ll have a conniption, order you restrained or boot you out, depending on his mood. And you—” She rounded on Joe, gearing up to read him every paragraph of the riot act.

Pops waved his arms in expansive gestures to gain Mattie’s attention before she laid into Joe. “Calm down, Shortcake. We just came down to the creek to try out the new rods and reels Joe bought for us. And this isn’t booze,” he informed her. “It’s sugar-free, decaffeinated fruit juice. See?” He held the aluminum can in front of the lantern so she could read the label. “And besides, that uppity director at Paradise Valley didn’t catch us when we sneaked off last Saturday. So what are the odds that he’ll notice we’re missing when the other patients agreed to cover for us?”