“Fine.” He closed her door and walked around to the driver’s side. Once he’d buckled up and turned on the truck, he added, “But you’re responsible for the entire litter.”
“As long as you don’t mind if I stop by your place twice a day.” She scooped the smallest of the plain grey cats from the box. The animals meowed, but curled up on her lap once she started petting it. “And maybe if you’re nice, I’ll take care of you too.”
“Nice.” He shook his head, but his lips curled into a smile a
t the sensual suggestion. “Don’t count on it, Josie.”
“I’m not.” And she liked the surly, I’m-not-so-perfect Noah better. “I might just wait for you to do the ‘things you want to do to me’ that require more space than the cab of your truck.”
“Jesus, Josie,” he said as he merged onto the two-lane road. “Let’s go pick up the beer.”
NOAH NODDED TO the range safety officer and headed for the viewing area of the Willamette Valley Gun Club’s range. He’d unloaded five rounds into paper targets, but he still couldn’t escape the haunted feeling that had followed him around since he’d spotted the box on the side of the road.
“Noah!” a familiar female voice called.
He glanced over his shoulder and spotted Lena walking beside Georgia Moore. Out of everyone he knew in the Willamette Valley—apart from the World War II vets who camped at the bar in the late afternoons sipping one beer at the pace of a snail—these women would understand the mistake he’d made while driving to Portland. They’d served, though not together, and both returned home with PTSD. Georgia had tried to fight her demons by taking risks. And Lena had hidden away, afraid to let anyone close. Different ways of coping with the same root problem.
But he didn’t have PTSD. Sure, he’d had the odd nightmare here and there. But who didn’t? He’d seen a box and thought bomb. And he’d had to act because, shit, Josie had been in the truck. No, he didn’t have residual and reoccurring anxiety from the war. Just a pain-in-the-ass need to keep Josie safe.
“Didn’t expect to find you here on Saturday,” Georgia said. “I thought your weekends were all work and no play. Or did the kittens change that?”
“April’s opening for me today,” he said to the petite brunette standing beside Lena. “Wait, how did you hear about the kittens?”
“Katie said her brother Josh stopped by the bar to see your new dishwasher and met the kittens,” Georgia explained. “Josh told Chad, who mentioned it to Lena. And Lena told me on the way over here.”
Noah stared back the two women. Any other day, he’d welcome the chance to shoot with them. But right now he wished Dominic and Ryan would walk through the door, offer a “hey” and ask what he’d been firing on the range. He wanted to run from the small-town gossip train that now included half the valley. Hell, Georgia lived over an hour from his bar and she knew about the damn cats.
“They’re not mine,” he said. “Josie rescued them. I’m just keeping them in my barn for a while.”
Because I can’t seem to stop taking in strays. . .
“Aww,” Lena said softly. “That’s so—”
“I need to get back to the bar,” he said, moving past the ladies to the door. He held an unloaded pistol in his hand, a round of ammunition in the other, and he couldn’t escape the mental picture of Josie in his barn, ready and willing to explore all the things he wanted to do to her. He was a lot of things right now, but sweet wasn’t one of them.
Noah walked to his truck and stored his gun. He’d come here to feel calm and in control. And he’d walked out on edge. Shooting wasn’t going to cut it. Not today. Right or wrong, he needed Josie.
THE BIG BUCK’S parking lot was lined with cars and trucks when Noah pulled up an hour or so later. He’d stopped home to shower, stow his gun, and check on his dad. His grumpy old man had asked a few questions about the bar before settling in front of the television for the night with a glass of whiskey to ease his aching leg.
Noah headed for the back door, waving to Caroline and ignoring the kittens.
“It’s crazy in there tonight,” Caroline called to him as she loaded a tray of pint glasses into the dishwasher. “Josie said it’s a strange mix of locals, mostly guys who’ve been working on cutting the trees on that big piece of land nearby, the one Josh thought I was trying to protect?”
Noah nodded and paused by the door. He spotted the pie on the counter, untouched, but didn’t say a word. He’d talk to Josh another time. Right now, he didn’t want to add Caroline’s feelings about apple pie to the list of things he needed to fix.
“Josie says the loggers and the frat boys make a wild combination,” Caroline added.
“Thanks for the warning.” He pushed through the door and headed into the chaos, welcoming the tangible problems a bar full of people who’d been drinking posed.
“Good to see you, boss,” April said as he joined her behind the bar. “Can you fill Josie’s orders? I’m slammed here.”
He nodded and scanned the lines of people demanding drinks. The DJ hadn’t even started yet and Big Buck’s was packed. Caroline had been right—the juxtaposition of young guys wearing flannel shirts to make a fashion statement and the ones who looked as if they’d spent the better part of the day holding a chainsaw gave the bar a weird vibe. He wasn’t expecting a fight to break out. But if they ran out of Hoppy Heaven . . .
“Hey. You’re here.” Josie rushed up to the service end of the bar. “Show those paper targets who is the boss?”
“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I gave them hell.”
“I need three Hoppy Heavens and a shot of tequila,” she called as she punched the order into the computer. Her voice was calm despite the chaos around her.