He raised a brow. “And you think I was with a woman, why?”
“You were too annoyed at being called back to have been alone.” She smiled knowingly, aware she had him there. “I’m too tired to hoof it back to my own place. I’m crashing in my old room. ’Night, big brother.”
“’Night, Bea-Bea.”
Her door closed, and a few moments later the light went out from under the door frame.
Trace stared up at the ceiling once more. Yeah, he was annoyed, though less so than he thought he might have been. Seth was safe, Bea was going to survive, and that’s what mattered.
But damn, why tonight? He’d been so close. Since the first night he’d caught sight of Jo, he’d wanted her. That curvy body packed into jeans and those polo shirts everyone at the bar wore haunted his dreams. Her long hair, that thick rope of black silk, begged for his hands to wrap themselves in it. And though he’d never have guessed it before, the piercings even intrigued him.
Where else was she sporting some metal?
He needed to investigate. He smiled a little at that. Ah, the mysteries of women. Kept a man happy and healthy.
He’d have another chance. Though he had no clue when, since he’d gone out twice in a short time, and wasn’t comfortable just leaving Seth with either of his sisters again. They weren’t last-minute nannies, and he tried hard to remember that whenever he got the itch to do something or go somewhere.
So he’d bide his time and wait. Hopefully, when he got the chance, Jo would be ready.
Jo grabbed her shoes and started lacing up. She was running way too late to count, thanks to sleeping late. At least, late in Jo’s world, which was really about half an hour early. But was it her fault restless dreams kept her up most of the night?
No, it most certainly was not. The blame there would rest solely on the shoulders of one Trace Muldoon, and whatever it was that had pulled him away the night before.
After both shoes were ready to go, she stood and grabbed her cell phone, shoving it in her back pocket. But as she was grabbing her keys to lock up the apartment and open the bar, her apartment phone rang. She debated for two seconds, then answered.
“Hello?”
“Josephine, how are you?”
Resigned, she sat back down and mentally deleted at least three tasks she normally completed before the lunch crowd came through. “Hey, Mom.”
“Oh, no, no, no. What did we talk about?”
Jo sighed. “Hey, Regina.”
“Ah, that’s better. So much more mature, don’t you think?”
No. She didn’t think. Mature would be a woman of her mother’s age realizing it was okay to be called “mom” by her own daughter, rather than wanting to pretend they were sisters and BFFs. But then again, when one was constantly between meal tickets—oh, sorry, husbands—one couldn’t stand to appear one’s real age. “What’s up? I’ve got to open the bar soon.”
“Oh, sweetheart. I just needed to let you know I’ve moved.”
“Moved, past tense? As in, already happened?” Most kids might be shocked to hear about such a thing after the fact. Jo was just asking for clarification.
“Yes, about a month ago. I met the nicest man from Oklahoma City and …”
Jo tuned Regina out. What was the point? Same song and dance. In fact, Jo could probably tell it better than Regina herself. Met a nice guy, who just happened to be rich—how shocking!—and was willing to move her in with him. Or, even better, find her a sweet apartment just around the corner where she could do whatever she wanted. Of course, this meant uprooting her sweet daughter, but that’s okay. A new city was a great place to start over. Again. And cities were just full of educational opportunities, weren’t they?
“Don’t you think?”
“Hmm?”
Regina blew out a harsh breath. “Honestly, Josephine, were you even listening?”
Not really. “Sorry, Mo—Regina. Something distracted me. What were you saying?”
Her mother gave a long-suffering sigh, as if mentally asking why was I saddled with such an ungrateful child?“I was simply saying that I think Rich will make a wonderful husband. He’s got all the qualifications.”
Wealthy, not hideous looking, wealthy …
Actually, Rich was a perfect name for someone her mother would target.
Regina laughed, a well-practiced little trill that sounded something close to a cross between a nightingale singing and angel wings fluttering. Well-practiced, indeed. “After all, fifth time’s the charm!”
“Seventh,” Jo muttered, looking for something to throw without damaging property.
“That’s not right.”