A Regular Joe. Jennifer Drew

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?”

      “Last Saturday?” Mattie’s gaze targeted Joe like a heat-seeking missile. “You chauffeured them down here last Saturday, too?”

      “Don’t go blaming our pal Joe,” Fred broke in. “We wrestled him to the ground and twisted his arms every which way until he agreed to help us make our getaway. He’s totally innocent, isn’t he, boys?”

      Four heads bobbed in agreement.

      “Yeah, right,” Mattie said, then smirked. “Like I can see that happening. You boys tackling Joe and manhandling him? Uh-huh, sure. Now gather up your fishing paraphernalia. I’m taking you back to the home.”

      “It’s only nine o’clock,” Ralph complained. “We have an hour of freedom before we have to worry about curfew.”

      “Tough, you’re AWOL, and we all know it. Pack it up and haul butt!” Mattie ordered succinctly.

      Pouting like children, the senior citizens gathered their gear and cast her mutinous glares at irregular intervals. They were making her out to be the villain here, and she didn’t appreciate it one damn bit. She wasn’t backing down, no matter how many times their glares branded her a traitor.

      “I’ll get the car,” she announced, whirling around.

      “Mattie,” Joe called softly.

      “What?” She didn’t do him the courtesy of looking at him.

      “Maybe I better take the boys home. Although you look spectacular in that flimsy T-shirt, especially when the lantern light shines through it, I don’t advise parading around town, dressed as you are, with these escapees in tow. People might get the wrong impression.”

      Mattie’s face blazed Congo Red. “I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, Joe,” she chirped.

      “You did, all right,” he confirmed, his voice raspy. “You realize, of course, that this is going to affect my perception of you on the job. You may have to fire me for daydreaming.”

      Covering herself as best she could, Mattie pivoted to meet Joe’s ornery grin. He was teasing her, and loving every minute of it, she realized. “Jerk,” she flung at him.

      “Sex goddess,” he tossed back.

      That stopped her cold. Sex goddess? She’d never considered herself any such thing. Furthermore, no man had ever referred to her as such. Obviously Joe was teasing her again. “Very funny. Hardy-har-har. If you’re finished having a laugh at my expense, then you can haul those elderly hoodlums to the home. Plus, I will reimburse you for the refreshments and fishing rods. Catering to my rascally grandfather and his cronies is not part of your job description.”

      He cocked a dark brow. “As my employer, do the sacred rules and regulations state that you can tell me how to spend my paycheck?”

      “You haven’t received your first paycheck,” she reminded him.

      “Yeah so, what’s your point, Ms. Roland?” he smarted off.

      Like Pops suggested, it was best that Mattie see his bad side, his good side, and all sides in between. The fact was that his rioting hormones were making him testy. He’d spent a miserable week following company rules, as well as the Regulations According to Mattie, and not touching her, not kissing the breath out of her had put excessive strain on his willpower and his temperament. He wanted. He ached. He tossed and turned half the night.

      Now, seeing that glorious mane of raven hair cascading over her shoulders, staring at her shapely feminine physique, which was silhouetted against the lantern light and campfire, took his awareness of her to another dangerous level. Her arousing image was probably going to be plastered on the billboard in his brain for the next week—or ten.

      “My point, Mr. Gray,” she growled, “is that these rogue retirees are not your responsibility. They are my family, every blasted one of them. They raised me.”

      “So I’ve heard, but I’ve adopted them. They entertain me. They distract me.”

      She elevated a perfectly sculpted brow. “Distract you from what, may I ask?”

      Joe strode past her to bring up the rear of the procession of senior citizens who were hobbling uphill toward his truck. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

      “Don’t I?” she called after him.

      “Take my word for it, boss lady,” he bit off as he disappeared into the shadows.

      Exasperated, Mattie smothered the small campfire, then tramped up the path that led to her house. She had no idea why Joe needed a distraction. Was he pining for a lost love? Grieving for a