Bucking the Rules (21 page)

“And you liked that, as a kid?”

“Hated it,” she answered automatically, then cursed herself. “It doesn't matter. We're not talking about husband hopping here. This isn't about my mom. We're talking about a kid who needs adults in his life who can be there for him and handle childrearing. Who won't one day wake up and regret having him in their life because they're over being a parent and want to try some . . . thing . . . new . . . .”

Stu smiled smugly. “This isn't about your mom, huh? Sounds like you just lapsed there. Mixing up your past and your present.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, then realized she was wrinkling the electric bill. Smoothing it back down, she nodded to the door. “Don't you have a grill to man?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He stopped by and kissed the top of her forehead. “You know, you've got more people in your life you can count on now. People who give a damn and don't see you as inconvenient. Who want to watch you move up in the world and are willing to give you a boost to get there.”

“Thanks.” She watched him walk out the door, then stood and took the sippie cup from the kitchen. “This is stupid. Why am I keeping this?”

The sippie cup, predictably, didn't answer.

“You're not some magical talisman binding me to them. I'm not going to die if I throw you away. They're not going to die. It's not like I'll never see them again, right? Small town. I'll catch glimpses now and then. And the gossip . . . well, maybe I'll have to start paying attention. Why am I talking to you again?”

She wasn't sure, but she thought one of the cowboy boots might have mocked her.

“Whatever.” She slammed the cup back down on the counter and headed for the bathroom. She was losing her mind, all over a fucking cup.

As she ripped off layer after layer of clothing, she acknowledged Stu had a point. Maybe her lack of a normal, steady childhood had something to do with her inability to see herself having a typical, Cleaver-style family. Or some variation thereof. But again, it wasn't just her who would be screwed if she didn't listen to her instincts. It was Seth.

Were her selfish desires worth possibly throwing him in the middle of a clusterfuck?

T
race brushed over Lad's coat in slow, even strokes, front to back, following the lines of the horse's muscle. He'd been doing this far too long, but as if Lad understood he needed the time, the horse patiently stood, leaning into each brushstroke and letting him think.

He'd checked the tack every morning since discovering Bea's little secret. He'd asked once, just to test her, if she wanted to go riding with him one afternoon. She'd stared at him as if he'd grown two extra heads. So she was sticking to her act. He could do the same. At least for now.

Lad snuffled and shuffled his feet. Trace soothed with some cooing and a few clucks of his tongue. Much as his touch calmed Lad, the rhythmic motions soothed Trace's chaotic mind enough to let thoughts truly connect and form more coherent ideas.

He needed to try again. Bringing Seth over to Jo's apartment had been a mistake, one he should have anticipated. Though he had meant it to be just a short visit, and they'd been getting along so well. She'd bought Seth a sippie cup to keep at her place. That meant something.

Bea's accident was ill-timed, but just because Seth had had a crabby afternoon, that didn't mean Jo was doing anything wrong. She needed to see that. Needed to get it through her mind that Trace wasn't in this for a nanny. That he wanted her. Just her. He could get his own flipping nanny if he needed to. But he had a feeling that wouldn't be necessary. He'd watched Seth's face, entranced with Jo's attention. And her own eyes lit when she made Seth smile. They were crazy about each other . . . she just wasn't ready to admit it yet. Wasn't ready to look past her own fears to see it.

But how the hell did he prove to her he wanted her, bar and all?

“Trace?”

“Yeah, hey, Morgan.” He sighed quietly and kissed his introspective time good-bye.

Their vet, and Trace's childhood friend, walked over to Lad's stall and rested his elbows on the door. “How are things?”

“You know, trucking along.” He let the brush fall into the bucket by the door and stepped out. Over the door he handed Lad a carrot and rubbed the animal's nose in silent thanks for giving him some alone time. “What are you up to? Red call you over?”

“Nah.” Morgan pushed at his glasses, smudging the lenses a little. It was a habit from childhood he'd never grown out of. “I actually came by to see if Bea was okay. And Ma wanted me to bring something over. I've got the basket in my car.”

Poor guy. Smitten. That would lead nowhere good. “She's at the house, milking the accident for all it's worth. The day after, she suddenly developed a sore neck.” Sore neck, his foot.

“She wasn't hurt too badly, was she? Rumors have her with everything from a concussion to broken ribs.”

Of course. The Marshall grapevine hard at work. “Nothing more than a sore neck for a few days. It's likely fine by now, but you couldn't tell by the sounds she makes. Girl's got the pathetic whine down to a science. She probably taught it to that rat she calls a dog.”

“She was in a car accident, Trace,” Morgan scolded. “She's entitled to rest a little.”

“Rest, sure. No problem there. But she's a very loud . . . rester.” He nodded to the house. “I need to grab lunch myself. I'll walk up with you.” He waited while Morgan retrieved the basket his mother had sent over from the back of his truck. “What'd your mom pack?”

“Nothing for you. It's for Bea.”

Trace sighed and walked on. “So how are things coming along with your practice? Take on any help yet?”

“No, but I need to.” He shrugged. “I've got an interview with a woman next month. She's finishing up her current contract, then wants to try country life for a while. Livestock and all that.”

“She's nuts. Who would trade petting pampered pooches in the city for getting a hoof to the balls?”

“Someone without balls?” Morgan shrugged and slowed his pace a little. With legs like his, he was constantly outpacing others. “I need another receptionist, too, since mine wants to train up to become a vet tech. Which is great, but annoying to have yet another person to find.”

“Easier position to fill,” Trace pointed out. “Fewer requirements.”

“True there. So anyway, if you hear of anyone looking for a job, and you think they'd fit in, let me know.”

“Sure thing.” They walked in silence a few more feet.

“Was over at Jo's Place the other day. Talked to Stu, the cook.”

“Yeah?” Trace stuck his hands in his pockets and slowed down a little more, hoping to drag out any mention of Jo without being too obvious.

“Apparently, Jo has a hearing with the city council at the end of the week. She has to basically give her account of the facts with that whole drunk driving situation, and hope they don't launch a further investigation that might result in her business license being revoked. Or liquor license, which is almost as bad, given the nature of her business.”

“Damn.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “How did I not know about that?”

“I dunno. You guys are kinda removed from town, unless you need something. And since I'm guessing you haven't been in to the bar lately . . .” He gave Trace a pointed look. Damn grapevine. “I just assumed you didn't know.”

He hadn't. And he might have missed it had Morgan not swung by to talk. “Is she planning to go and fight?”

“Of course. She's not backing down. Pissed, from what it seems, but coldly so. Ready to kick ass and take names, according to Stu.”

That was his Jo. “I hate that she has to go through this.” It hurt her, he knew. She wanted to belong, be a part of the community, and having unfounded accusations tossed so easily at her was a stab to her heart. A heart that was far more tender than she ever wanted anyone to know.

“Well, between us, and everyone else I've heard from, they all think it's bull. Jo might be new, but plenty of people love what she's done with the place, and they respect the hell out of her.” Morgan reached to open the front door, waited while Trace headed in, then took off his boots. He knew the drill as well as anyone.

“I wish there was something I could do.”

“Maybe there is.” Morgan shrugged and set the basket on the table. “All I know is, there's gonna be plenty of people who will be pissed if Jo's Place shuts down.”

Trace considered that while Morgan followed the sounds of TV to the living room to check on Bea. If everyone else in the town wanted Jo to stay, maybe he had a shot at doing something productive.

Sometimes the grapevine had its advantages.

 

Jo straightened her suit jacket—the only one she owned—and tried to keep her hands from shaking. This was just a simple council meeting. Nothing would actually happen today. She just had the opportunity to go in there and explain what had happened.

So why did her body tremble at the thought of the possible outcome?

“Let's get this over with,” Stu grumbled behind her. At her request, he'd agreed to come with her. But he'd balked at putting on a suit. His concession had been a simple polo shirt and his best jeans.

She'd take it.

They walked into the meeting room together and looked around. A long table sat up front, with seven people behind it talking amongst themselves. They had the air of being more important than they needed to be.

Not the time to crack jokes, Tallen.
These people might decide your fate later.

In the rows of chairs facing the table, only four others were seated.

“This is it?” she mouthed to Stu.

“What were you expecting, a prom?” He shrugged. “It's a city council meeting for a small town in the middle of nowhere. Biggest issue that gets brought up here is likely some neighbor complaining about dog crap on their lawn.”

She stifled a laugh, then swallowed impulsive giggles. Okay, so she had nerves. Nerves could be a good thing. They kept you on your toes. But as she nearly hiccupped with the effort to keep the giggles at bay, she knew these were not helpful nerves. “At least there won't be many witnesses to my humiliation.”

They took seats in the middle row, off to the left. Jeff wasn't there yet. Or maybe he wouldn't show up at all. Would that work in her favor, or against her?

The cold metal of the folding chair was uncomfortable, and she couldn't get settled. Did they have to crank the AC in this place? Why was it so cold? And why was it bothering her that there were no friendly faces? She hadn't issued engraved invitations, for cripes sake. So it shouldn't settle so sourly on her that she was fighting this one alone.

Alone. On her own. The way she wanted it, right? Shouldn't count on anyone else.

The council members straightened to face forward, and something about the woman in the middle looked familiar. But it didn't click right away, so she brushed it off. Right as the woman in the middle started to speak, Officers White and Nelson entered. They took seats a few rows in front of her and Stu. Nelson turned to give her a smile, and she felt her whole body relax in response. How bad could this be, anyway? It appeared the law—at least—was on her side.

“We call this meeting to order. My name is Judy Plumber, and I am the chairwoman.”

Judy Plumber. The woman who'd caught her and Trace in a standoff in the frozen foods aisle the day she first saw Seth. Right . . . great.

Good old Judy called attendance for those at the table, and started to read the minutes of the last meeting. Jo felt her eyelids droop and she bit back a yawn. Stu elbowed her in the side.

“We're getting to the good stuff.”

“—brought to our attention that Jo's Place, a bar and restaurant, illegally over-served a driver and failed to offer him alternative transportation, i.e., calling a taxi service.” She paused, then sneered, as if hating to say, “Allegedly. Said driver was then in a car accident, which caused substantial property damage, though no extensive injuries.”

No question which side of the fault line the chairwoman sat on. Jo bit her lip and clenched her hands around the metal of the chair seat. Jumping up to shout, “It's all a pack of crap!” probably wouldn't go over so well.

“We have an investigation pending by Officers White and Nelson. Are they present?”

Officer White stood. “Yes, we are. The investigation is still pending. However, there is no evidence to suggest Ms. Tallen, or any of her employees, over-served the driver, or that she refused to call him a cab.”

Jo released the breath she'd been holding.

Judy the Righteous checked her notes over the rims of her glasses. “But there is no evidence fully disproving this same fact, am I correct?”

“Ms. Tallen produced the receipt, which does show the driver only purchased a single beer, along with his meal.”

“But does this prove he was not given complimentary alcohol?”

Nelson cleared his throat. “No, that's not possible to see on the receipt.”

“So it seems, as far as evidence is concerned, we are at square one. Nothing proves, nor disproves, the claim.”

White nodded, then sat down, looking like a chastised child rather than an upholder of the law.

Jo couldn't blame him. He'd tried, and he'd been honest. How do you produce evidence of something that didn't exist?

The chairwoman checked her notes again. “I see here Miranda Effingham has asked to speak.”

“Yes, I'm here, thank you.” A woman with a pinched face and impossibly straight posture stood, facing forward.

“Miranda, hello!” The man on the end of the table beamed. “How's Jeffrey? I haven't seen him on the course lately.”

“He's fine, Bill.” She smiled. “Busy. How are the kids and Nancy?”

“Oh, you know. Nancy's got that Christmas board thing coming up. You're on that, aren't you? She's dying for some grandbabies but so far—”

“Ahem.” Judy coughed. “Can we proceed?”

The man—Bill—flushed straight to the top of his bald head. “Sorry,” he mumbled and bent over his paper as if he were writing something. Jo would bet he wasn't.

Miranda stiffened, poker face back on. “As most of you know, I am J. J.'s mother.”

Jo's mind echoed the words Jeff had mentioned about his mother. Community leader. Charity board member, on every committee known to man.

She was so screwed.

“J. J. wanted to be here, but he had to be back at school. He's in law school, you know.” She said it with an odd mixture of pure maternal pride and snotty one-upmanship. “I think we all know J. J. made a mistake. One he regrets most deeply.” Miranda fluttered a hand over her heart for emphasis. “But he was led down the path of bad choices by someone older, one who had a responsibility she chose to ignore. My son trusted Josephine Tallen and he was let down. For that, I think the blame lies solely on the bar owner's shoulders.”

“Breathe,” Stu muttered. “You're turning blue.”

She tried—really, she did—but it hurt too much.

“I think we all know . . .” Miranda's gaze finally moved from the front of the room toward the door seconds before it opened. Trace Muldoon strode in, a little extra swagger to his hips Jo hadn't seen before.

Jo's breath caught again, but for a different reason this time. He'd come. Without being asked, he'd come to support her. And he'd brought the cavalry. Peyton, followed by Red and Emma, walked in behind him. Her chest ached with gratefulness.

“Sorry we're late,” he announced to the room at large. “Got the times mixed up.” He winked to her, then took a seat two rows behind. His family followed.