5. The Rules

Chapter 5

The Rules

Joy awoke in a fog, her head pulsing with pain and her mouth as dry as a packet of silica gel. How much wine had she put away last night, anyway? Too much. Wine was usually something she saved for business dinners, and she never had more than two glasses. One before, as people and conversations warmed up, and one during, so her dinner companions believed she was keeping up with them. She would nurse the hell out of that last glass, rarely finishing it.

Always remain in control.

Being sober among a group of drunk bigwigs had served her well during her career, but overindulging last night in the company of Fall River oddballs hadn't served her in the least, and she went into self-rescue mode. First order of business: a strong cup of coffee to wash down a few ibuprofens.

She slipped a silk shorty robe over her matching nightgown and dialed the front desk. "Can someone please send up a carafe of coffee and artificial sweetener?"

A female clerk who sounded both young and earnest replied, "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, but we're having a minor problem with the plumbing. The coffee ran out, and we can't make more at the moment."

"Plumbing problem?"

"Yes, ma'am. A pipe broke, and they had to turn the water off at the main."

Joy came fully awake. "So there's no running water in the entire hotel?"

"No, ma'am. There should be a note under your door explaining the situation. For now, there are no showers or washing hands or things of that nature, but you should have one flush left in your toilet." The clerk announced the last bit with an overabundance of brightness.

"When do you expect the water to be turned back on?"

"Um, we have no way of telling, ma'am. They're working on it now. We do have vouchers here at the reception desk for bottled water if you'd like to pick some up."

"Where do I take the vouchers?"

"To the general store, three blocks down. They open in two hours."

Two hours? That was so not going to help. Joy hung up, her head pounding even harder. God, she needed that ibuprofen, but she'd gag if she swallowed the pills dry. Remembering the water bottle she'd been handed in first class, she reached for her Tumi carry-on. Only half the contents remained, but it was enough to take the pills and give her teeth a quick brush. That left a drizzle, and she debated between cleaning off the makeup she hadn't bothered removing last night or slicking down her unruly bedhead so she could gather her waves into a ponytail. She went with taming her hair, sparing a few drops to finger-swipe at the mascara smudging her puffy under-eyes. This of course left no water for her to take her meds, though she couldn't muster any regret and kinda liked that she had a semi-legitimate excuse to skip them.

She quickly dressed, pulling on the soggy sneaker that still smelled of beer—it was either that or the stilettos—and exited the room. When she opened her door, her gaze was pulled to a folded note that had been propped against the frame. Scanning the message, Joy let out a sardonic chuckle. The message informed her of the "plumbing problem" and the vouchers she could collect, but only two per person—a whole half gallon.

She marched down the sidewalk toward Mountain Coffee. On the way, she phoned Estelle but only reached her voicemail. "Just checking in to find out if you called to get the utilities turned on yesterday after we spoke. Let me know." Right now her mother's musty shop was her best hope to scrub herself and her shoe clean. Talk about irony!

When she reached the coffee shop, the line was practically out the door. The place's popularity surprised her, though the scene was no different than her favorite coffee spot in Chicago. She expected lines in Chicago, but not in Mayberry of the Mountains. Usually, Estelle fetched Joy her cappuccinos in the morning, but on the rare occasion Joy had to get her own, her favorite barista always had her drink ready before she reached the counter. He'd hand it to her with a wink, and she'd hand him an extra-big tip. That's how it worked in her world. A well-oiled system that saved her wasting time in line, and one she appreciated the hell out of—especially now.

This morning she was like everyone else clamoring for caffeine, and she reined in her impatience and let her gaze wander over the overflowing bookshelves lining one wall. The "bookstore" would barely fill one corner of the box store close to her work, but it offered a surprisingly sophisticated array of fiction and nonfiction, and its pleasing arrangement gave her a little hit of dopamine. Illustrated signs that reminded her of Charlie's artwork on the Miners Tavern menu told customers they could order any titles they didn't find on the shelves. It was all very cute, cozy, and small-town. Definitely not for her, but she could see the vibe working in Fall River.

She searched for Lacey Dewinter, knowing she wouldn't find any of her books, though she did recognize other authors in the same genre. Someday . Someday she'd see her own covers adorning a bookstore's shelves and tables. Maybe there'd be a line like this one out the door as people waited for her to sign the title page. Someday she'd—

A phone rang somewhere ahead of her, breaking the spell. A familiar voice picked up the call. "Yeah? Good. Glad to hear it." Charlie Hunnicutt's voice was low, as though he was trying not to be "that guy" and stand out. "Listen, I'm at Mountain Coffee, so let me call you back in a few. You want me to grab you something while I'm here?" A pause, and he chuckled softly. "You got it."

Joy stared at the back of his head, which towered above the people surrounding him. Why hadn't she noticed him before? The guy was kinda hard to miss. Everyone else seemed to be aware of his presence, greeting him, smiling at him, orbiting around him—especially the female clientele .

As if he could feel her watching him, Charlie swiveled his head. His neatly groomed face went through a series of telling expressions: his eyes widened at first, then narrowed, and finally shifted into neutral. An instant later, he broke out in an easy smile that reminded her of a mask—pleasant enough, but not real. "Oh, hey. How was your stay last night?"

"Terrible," she blurted out. "There's no water."

Seeming nonplussed, he nodded. "It happens. Old pipes."

"Just there, or everywhere in this town?" Heads turned her way, and some of the expressions bordered on hostile. Too late, she realized that she'd just insulted these people's town.

His grin broadened. "Just there." He held up his phone. "I just got word that water's back on at the store, so you're golden."

"It is?" How come he knew this and she didn't?

"Yep. I'm on my way there now."

People shuffled ahead, and a pretty dark-skinned woman with glossy black hair gave him a warm smile from behind the counter. "What can I get you today, Charlie?"

He rattled off a list of items, then looked over his shoulder at Joy. "What are you ordering?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your order. Coffee? Tea? Something fancy?" Then he glanced at the people separating him and Joy. "You guys don't mind if I add her order to mine, do you?"

A few grumbles passed through the line, and heat blazed up Joy's neck. "N-no, it's okay. I'll get my own." Sheesh! Nothing like being put on display, especially in front of people who didn't appear terribly fond of her interloping ass. Jumping the line hadn't been her idea, she wanted to remind them. It belonged to the jocular celebrity among them.

Meanwhile, Charlie almost looked … hurt. Like a puppy with sad eyes. "No, really. Let me get this."

The customers' impatience was almost palpable, so she caved to speed things along. "Um, okay. Thanks. I'll have a grande cappuccino."

"What size is that?"

Oh. They spoke a different coffee language here. Of course they did.

The woman taking the order looked around Charlie at Joy. "Sixteen ounces?"

"Yes, please. With nonfat milk. And artificial sweetener. "

Charlie motioned Joy up to the front of the line.

She squirmed with embarrassment. "No, I'm fine back here."

Charlie chuckled. "Then who's going to help me carry all this stuff?"

Oh, right. She scurried to the counter, apologizing and excusing herself as she pressed past the grumpy customers.

Charlie looked down at her with that white-toothed smile. Joy was tall, but he was … way taller. And those eyes. Gray-green, like a spruce tree, with slashes of gold. Wow.

Suddenly, she recalled her own mascara-smudged eyes and took another swipe at them. She also remembered her smelly shoe. Had she put on deodorant before she ran from her room? Shambling several steps to the side, she put distance between them, just in case she was overripe. She didn't even want to think about what her hair looked like right now. God, she was a mess!

And why, exactly, did she care?

"Hi, Joy!" Hailey's greeting from behind the counter nearly rocketed Joy out of her stinky sneakers. She hadn't noticed that the tavern's bartender was one of the baristas working the machines—she'd been too distracted by one tall contractor.

"You work at the bar and here too?"

"Uh-huh. Amy and I are partners. She's coffee, and I'm books." She squeezed the other woman's shoulder. "This is Amy. Amy, meet Joy, Helene's daughter."

Amy beamed her a smile, and Joy flashed one of her own, along with a quick, "Nice to meet you."

Were these people on some kind of happy pills? Everyone was so cheerful —except the people in line who'd given up their spots to accommodate her.

Hailey pointed at a glass case that housed a variety of plump, gooey pastries. "Fresh this morning. Which one can I tempt you with?"

"Oh, I, uh …" Joy's stomach rumbled. After consuming the entire burger—and all the fries—last night, she didn't expect to be hungry for at least a week, but those pastries were making her mouth water.

Hailey plucked out a chocolate brioche with a pair of tongs. "You look like a chocolate lover to me. Will this do? Or are you more the almond type?" She pointed the tongs at other scrumptious selections, some dusted with powdered sugar. Joy contemplated checking for drool. "We have some melt-in-your-mouth fruit tarts if you're looking for something healthier." Hailey sent her a sly wink.

"We'll take one of each," Charlie declared.

"Wait. No, I—" Joy babbled.

"Whatever you don't eat, my crew will. They won't go to waste," he soothed.

"But you're already paying—"

"Can you hurry it up already? Some of us need to get to work," someone groused. When Joy looked back, the grouser's beady eyes were laser-focused on her , not the Fall River local who was the real culprit in the delay. No, him they treated like royalty.

His highness elbowed her playfully. "You'll buy next time."

There's going to be a next time? Not if Joy could help it. She'd be back in Chicago shortly, enjoying her daily routine that didn't include her standing in a long coffee line without the benefit of a shower.

Charlie handed Amy a credit card and pivoted toward the crowd. "Sorry for the wait, folks. Your coffees are on me."

The grouches cheered, whistled, and hollered out his name. "Thanks, Charlie!"

He rested the back of his hand against the side of his mouth and leaned down to Amy. "Keep the card so you can add their orders, and put a hefty tip on there for you and the staff. I'll swing by later and pick it up."

Amy nodded as if this were an everyday thing, while Joy stood rooted to the spot, dumbstruck. Charlie leaned down to her next. "Don't worry. When I said you could buy next time, I didn't mean the entire coffee shop. Just me."

She nodded dumbly. Maybe there was going to be a next time.

The dazzling morning light nearly blinded her when they exited the coffee shop. It seemed to bounce off buildings and the shimmering clouds moving across the azure vault above. The sky didn't look like this in Chicago. She would have shielded her eyes, but she was laden down with coffee and white paper bags filled with goodies.

Charlie was equally weighed down, though his armful included a stack of books. He took a long stride toward the same shiny white pickup she'd seen the day before and opened the door for her while balancing his load and relieving her of the bakery items. "Hop in. I'll take you to your mother's place. I assume that's where you were going? "

"Um, yes. Thank you." She clambered into his surprisingly neat cab. She'd only had the M3 for one day, yet she'd already cluttered it up with the few belongings she'd brought. How did a contractor manage to keep his vehicle as tidy as an unopened package of screwdrivers?

After he handed her back their booty, he closed her door. She studied him as he rounded the hood of his truck. He was dressed about the same as he'd been yesterday—work boots, belted blue jeans that hung low on his hips, and a tucked-in, short-sleeved black T-shirt that seemed to struggle containing his biceps. The shirt itself didn't cling tightly, but it molded just enough to accentuate his broad shoulders, squared-off chest, and flat stomach. He sported the same jewelry, and she vaguely wondered if it posed a hazard. The only part of him that appeared messy was his dark blond hair, which looked like someone had been ruffling it.

Probably someone had, like that beer-pouring Germaine or lusty Lauren or Neve.

He must have noticed Joy watching him because when he hoisted himself behind the steering wheel, his brows scrunched together. "What?"

Heat flooded Joy's cheeks. "I w-was just wondering …" she stammered. The creases between his brows deepened. Her eyes drifted down while she ransacked her brain for a plausible excuse for ogling him, unfortunately landing on his chest. A white graphic she'd barely noticed grabbed her attention. It displayed a stylized old house with the letters PPR inside it. Beneath the logo, Past Perfect Restorations was spelled out.

"Did you design that?" she blurted out.

He glanced down at his chest. When he raised his head, he was all smiles again. "I did. Want one?"

"Want one what?"

"T-shirt. I give them to all my clients." He quickly scanned her frame. "Not sure any of them would fit you, though. You'd probably swim in the smallest one I have."

She wasn't that skinny! "Yes, I want one," her obstinate side piped up.

His grin broadened. "Sweet. I'll drop one off later."

What was she going to do with a T-shirt, of all things? She didn't wear T-shirts. Well, none that advertised a business, were cut for a man's body, and were probably a polyester-and-cotton blend.

He started up the truck and rolled it slowly along one block before taking a left onto a packed dirt road—one of Fall River's side streets .

"Where are we going?"

"It's going to be a busy day for tourists, so I thought I'd park in the lot behind the store instead of taking up a parking spot."

"Isn't that someone's private property?"

He side-eyed her. "Yeah, it's your mother's—sorry, the estate 's private property."

"My mother owns, er, owned that lot in addition to the store?" Why did Joy not know this? Some executor!

"Yep. Fantastic opportunity to expand and turn the building into something truly spectacular."

"You're wasting your breath," she muttered. "Again."

They drove the next few minutes in charged silence. Well, they didn't talk. Instead, Charlie sang along softly to a tune on the radio.

Inexplicable sadness crept over her. She felt as though she'd been locked out of his world—which was preposterous for so many reasons. There was no world to be locked out of, she didn't want to be in anyone's world in this town, and the mere act of singing along to a song didn't mean she was on the outside of … whatever, looking in.

What the hell was wrong with her? She was missing her meds, that's what was wrong. Right on cue, the aroma of fresh pastry wafted up from the bags she held on her lap, and her tummy groaned with need.

"Someone's hungry," Charlie remarked as he eased the truck behind Crystal Harmony Haven's scraggly backyard. The landscaping—what there was of it—looked as though it hadn't been watered … ever. Beyond it, the back of the building looked even more neglected than the front, and Joy's hopes sagged further under the sheer mass of the looming project.

Inside, Charlie flipped on lights and turned on the kitchen faucet. Knocking sounded, and the faucet vibrated so hard Joy thought it might launch. Seconds later, water spurted out. Obviously, Estelle had contacted the utilities, and surprisingly, the company had not only responded quickly, but on a weekend. That wouldn't have happened in Chicago.

The utilities being on was the good news. The bad news was the color of the water pouring from the spout: brown, like Coke.

Charlie grinned. "Excellent."

"Icky water is excellent? "

"No, running water is excellent. It means your pump is working. We weren't sure without the power turned on. You're on a well here, so you might have iron or rust or manganese in the water."

" Might have?" Joy yelped. "How would that stuff get into the well?"

"They're minerals, and they leach in through the soil. It's natural, and it's really common, especially in a town with a history of mining." Amusement danced in his gray-greens, and he smiled at her like she was a dummy who needed to be helped along.

"Can I bathe in it, or is it toxic?"

"It should be fine. Might turn your clothes a funky color when you use the washing machine, though."

Oh, there wasn't going to be any using of the washing machine. She wouldn't be here that long, and if she was …

"Does the Majestic have laundry service?"

"No idea."

"Is there a laundromat in town?"

He bent his inked arm to scratch the back of his head, elbow pointing at the ceiling. The movement caused his sleeve to ride up, exposing more of the tattoo and his gorgeous bicep that flexed, blowing a few circuits in her brain. "Closest laundromat is about a forty-minute drive on a good day. Each way."

He kept scratching, and she kept staring. What the hell had he just said? One side of his mouth curled up as if he knew exactly what she was checking out, and embarrassment spread through her, turning her cheeks hot. He'd caught her blatantly ogling, damn it!

She recovered quickly—she was smart that way. "I've been trying to figure out what your tattoo means."

Lowering his arm, he eyed said tattoo. "It's a mountain scene that reminds me of home." He began pointing. "That's Red Mountain there, there's Mount Sneffels, and there's Mount Eolus."

"And lots of pine trees."

"Lots of pine trees," he agreed and began naming the various species. She didn't register any of it because she was too busy tracing the corded veins crisscrossing his sculpted forearms and the light golden hair dusting them. And his hands. She was fascinated by those big, rough, man hands with their long, tapered fingers and square-cut nails. Why did such beautiful features belong to a man who was a thorn in her side ?

Waking herself up from the testosterone-induced haze she'd been lost in, she caught the final words of his description: "And that's Silver Lake."

He lowered his arm, thank God, and she could re-focus. "Did you design it yourself?"

"I did, with a lot of help from a phenomenal tattoo artist. This way, I can take home with me wherever I go. Now back to your water …"

"My what?"

"The store's water? If you want, we can run some tests, but it takes a while to get the results back, and in the end it won't matter."

Oh, right. The water. "Because …?"

"Remember what I said about bringing things up to code? Switching to the municipality's water source is one of those requirements. Your well will have to go."

"Is that expensive?"

"Capping a well? No. A water tap, though, that can get pricey." He rubbed his fingers against his thumb in the universal sign for money.

She parked a hand on her hip and stared at him, waiting for him to … to what? Give her instructions on how to turn brown water clear so she could take care of her showering dilemma? Offer her another solution besides tapping into town water for some exorbitant amount?

He did neither, instead giving her a lift of his eyebrow. What did he want from her?

"All righty, then." With a sigh, he pulled out his notebook and opened it to a sketch of a floor plan labeled with numbers. The shop's floor plan. As if she wasn't standing right there, he extracted the measuring thingie and jotted down more numbers, whistling as he went. How could he be so damn happy? Oh, right. The dollar signs were piling up. Ka-ching, ka-ching!

So what if he had biceps she was tempted to lick? The annoying tune Mr. Happy was whistling sounded like something straight out of Snow White . Did he think he was one of the seven dwarfs? His name would no doubt be "Perky" or "Pesky." Her irritation climbed. Or was the lack of coffee and a hot shower getting to her?

She pointed at the bags. "Don't you want coffee first? A pastry?"

"No, thanks. I had breakfast."

"Then who's all this for?"

"It's for you and—"

"I smell Amy's coffee," a man's voice called from the front door .

"Come on in and meet the woman in charge of this project," Charlie called back.

A youngish, mustachioed, brown-haired man appeared in the doorway separating the apartment from the store. He reminded Joy of the guy on the Brawny paper towel wrapper, complete with green plaid shirt. "You must be Joy Holiday."

"Yes, and you are …"

Charlie flicked a hand toward the guy. "This is Jimmy Culbertson. He works for Past Perfect. You'll see a lot of him."

What if I don't want to see a lot of him? "Nice to meet you … Jimmy?"

"Call me Cully." His voice sounded friendly enough, but it held a cautious undertone that matched the questioning look in his bright blue eyes. Was he as convinced as Mr. Happy that it was sacrilege to tear down the building? If so, a second battle front had just opened up. Just what she needed.

Without another word, Cully prowled toward the goodies sitting on the chipped kitchen counter. Reaching into a bag, he plucked out two pastries—including the chocolate brioche, which Joy had secretly dibsed for herself—and stuffed half of one into his mouth. Then he grabbed two coffees and plunked his butt down on one of Helene's three flaking wooden chairs. It wobbled under his weight, and Joy made a mental note to check on the store's liability insurance coverage.

Charlie gave Cully a chin jerk. "Clients first, dude. Don't eat them all." The smile was gone, replaced by a series of pleats between his dark brows, but his tone and expression remained even. He turned to Joy with a low, conspiratorial voice, "If I were you, I'd grab what you want in case Cully can't stop himself from inhaling it."

Joy's hunger roared to the fore, and she didn't hesitate to swipe one of the bags that held two almond croissants. Cully watched with hawk eyes as she bit into the first one. Oh, that was good! She quickly polished it off and attacked the second one, sure she'd reach her limit one bite in. She didn't. Instead, she finished that one, washed it down with cappuccino, and eyed a fruit tart hungrily. One corner of Cully's mouth curled up, and he snaked out a hand, but she darted in and got to it first—and she didn't give it up. Whether it was because he'd sparked her competitive streak or that something about the man bothered her, she couldn't say. Maybe it was because he worked for Charlie Hunnicutt, and Charlie Hunnicutt bothered her. Annoyance had a way of spilling over onto innocent associates.

She chomped into the tart, nearly moaning aloud at the burst of fruit on her tongue. Why did everything taste better in this dusty little town?

Cully's eyes flared with surprise, and he burst out with a laugh. "I see how it is."

"Good. I'm glad we've got that much established. Now that you understand the rules, we'll get along much better." If only she could say the same about Cully's annoyingly cheerful boss.