Only His (Fool's Gold #6)(22)

“You’re giving women a bad reputation,” Charlie muttered. “I swear, I need to hold some classes in how to be self-sufficient. You probably can’t fix a leaky faucet, either.”

“I can do that,” Nevada said. “I’m much better with home repair than cars.”

“Not helpful right now.”

Nevada leaned toward Annabelle and Heidi. “She’s not usually so crabby.”

“Yes, I am,” Charlie snapped as she went to the trunk and popped it open. “At least you have a spare. All right, you three. We’re going to do this together. I’ll talk you through it.”

“I’m already late for work,” Nevada said, inching toward her car. “So, I’m going to pass.”

Charlie shook her head. “Don’t even think about it. You’re all going to learn something today.”

“The guys at the construction site put a snake in my truck and I was fine with it. Does that count?”

“Was it poisonous?”

“No.”

“Then it doesn’t count. Come on. Gather ’round.” She held up a tool in the shape of an X. “Anyone know what this is?”

JO FINISHED LOADING the vodka bottles, then flattened the box and folded it into the recycling bin behind the bar. It was a warm, sunny afternoon, the kind of day when nearly anyone would rather be outside than stuck in a bar. Anyone but her. She left the bright blue sky behind and ducked back into the restful quiet of her business.

Everything was going well, she thought happily. A steady flow of customers kept her bank balance healthy. She saved a little each month, putting it aside for emergencies, retirement, whatever. She had a cat whom she adored and plenty of friends. A good life, she thought with only a small quiver of guilt.

She’d heard that people who were really successful sometimes felt like impostors. They worried that they would be told that their good fortune was all a mistake—that they weren’t talented, or they didn’t get the promotion. Sometimes she felt like that. Not about her job, but about her life.

She’d never thought she would be this at peace. This happy. She hadn’t expected to find a warm, welcoming community, to have friends, a nice home. The truth was she didn’t deserve it, but there didn’t seem to be any way to give it back.

She walked back to the kitchen, where Marisol, her part-time cook, scooped avocados into a bowl for fresh guacamole.

“Got everything?” Jo asked.

The tiny fiftysomething woman smiled at her. “You always ask and I always tell you all is well. The suppliers are good people. They deliver when they say.”

“I like to be sure.”

“You like to keep control.” Marisol wrinkled her nose. “You need a man.”

“So you’ve been telling me for years.”

“I’m still right.” She switched to Spanish, probably telling Jo she was shriveling up inside and that all her problems could be solved by the love of a good man.

“You’re hardly an unbiased source,” Jo muttered. “You got married at, what? Twelve.”

“Sixteen. Nearly forty years and we already have eight grandchildren. You should be so lucky.”

“I should, but I’m not. You enjoy your blessings. I’m fine.”

“Fine is not happy.”

Fine was good enough, Jo thought, heading back into the bar. Fine was plenty. Fine was safe and allowed her to sleep. If she had much more happiness in her life, she would worry that some balancing force would want to punish her to keep things even. Better to stay safe.

She carefully wrote the happy hour special of the day on the chalkboard and turned on the television. In the lull between lunch and happy hour, she enjoyed quiet. But soon customers would start to arrive, and they enjoyed the various shows.

The front door opened and a man stepped in. Jo recognized Will Falk and didn’t know if she was pleased or annoyed.

“How’s it going?” he asked as he moved toward her, his stride uneven.

“Good.” She set a napkin on the bar. “What can I get you?”

“I came by to see if I could help put the toys together.”

“Already done. We had two kids in at lunch today and they had a great time.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He slid onto a barstool. “I’ll take a beer. What you have on tap. Want to join me?”

“I don’t drink while I’m working.”

“I’m not that much work.”

She gave him a slight smile. “Sorry, no.”

He was a nice enough guy. Probably decent, the kind of man who enjoyed sports, a home-cooked meal and twice-a-week sex. She’d learned to make quick but accurate judgments about people. She would guess he didn’t cheat at cards or on women, that he had plenty of friends and a strong moral code.

He wasn’t anyone she could get involved with. She’d yet to meet someone she could, but Will was definitely out of the question.

She put the tall glass of beer in front of him and started toward the other end of the bar.

“Is it the limp?”

The question stopped her in her tracks. She turned slowly, then returned to stand in front of him.

“No.”

He shrugged. “Some women don’t like it. They’re into perfect.”