Bucking the Rules(95)

Lord, these people were high on power. “Jo—Josephine—Tallen, owner of Jo’s Place, and I’m here to, uh, argue the case against me?”

The woman rolled her eyes, but waved a hand to indicate she should go on.

Okay then. The town wanted a little show … she’d give them a show.





Chapter Twenty-two


“There’s not much to say, really. I served Jeff one beer, which he drank. That’s on the receipt. I didn’t hand him another one. He was gone quickly. He didn’t even eat his dinner. I’m not sure where he got the alcohol, or what he did after he left the restaurant. But it wasn’t from me.”

Good old Bill on the end motioned for her attention. “If you have no proof, such as security footage or witnesses—”

“I’m a witness.” Stu stood, imposing and, okay, a little bit scary, in his height and girth.

“You’re an employee,” Bill said. “You don’t exactly count as an impartial witness.”

Stu grumbled, but sat back down.

“If you have no other witnesses,” Judy put in, “ones that can clearly agree you didn’t over-serve J. J. Effingham, then I’m afraid we have no choice but to investigate further. I move to suspend her liquor license until we have completely investigated the entire matter.”

Jo dared a quick glance at Miranda, who was all but bouncing in her seat with glee.

“You can’t do that. I’ve done nothing wrong. There’s no proof to go on.”

“I’d like to speak.”

Jo turned and saw Mr. Meldon walking to the middle of the aisle. Oh, God. Was he going to blame her for all this? A parting shot at the competition?

“This young lady runs a nice establishment. Her bar’s been a good thing for the community. God knows that building was torn up before she got here. And I think many of the others here would agree she’s done a good job with the place. I’ve never seen anything get too out of hand over there before.”

“There’ve been a few bar fights,” Judy argued.

“There will always be fights where liquor is concerned. If fights are the problem, you should yank the liquor license of everyone who serves in this town. And none of them have resulted in anything—or anyone—being seriously injured or broken.”

Judy settled back in her chair, not pleased with being shot down.

“Jo Tallen is a sweet girl.”

Sweet girl? Stu mouthed to her with a grin. She kicked him in the foot.

“She brought me a potted plant when she heard I was leaving. Stayed to chat with me, ask my advice on things, really listened to what I had to say. Can’t say the same for other people in this room.” His eyes, still sharp and steely, cut through the people at the front table. “If nothing else, her efforts to bring more business to downtown should be recognized and acknowledged. She’s been here a year now. She’s not some fly-by-night operator.”

The back of Jo’s eyes burned, but she blinked rapidly.

“That’s about all I have to say.”

Soft, polite applause ushered him back to his seat one slow, careful step at a time. As he sat, he caught her eye and nodded. She mouthed her thanks.

Jo slipped her professional, impersonal mask back on and turned to the council. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to warrant such a reaction to a single unfounded accusation, but I’m telling you, I’m innocent and I’m not going to stop saying it. And you’ll have the fight of your life if you try to yank my license.”

More applause echoed off the ceilings.

The chairwoman scooted her chair back and the other six followed her into some sort of pseudo-huddle, like a peewee football game.

“I’m sorry.” Miranda stood again, a look of disgust covering her face. “What about her … illicit actions above the bar?”

“Are you kidding—?”

“I’d like to say something about that.”

Jo froze. Trace. There was no mistaking his voice. She turned to the right and caught him standing out of the corner of her eye. And in that moment, she realized something she’d been trying to circle around, step over, and ignore for weeks.

She loved him. He’d done this—brought these people together—for her. Even after she’d turned him away, he’d done it for her.

“I hardly think anyone believes Jo is running an old-fashioned bordello here. This isn’t 1890. Plus, I’m not sure how she’d manage it, since she spends about ninety percent of her time behind the bar anyway.”

Murmurs of agreement sounded in soft waves.

“I have witnesses that place men in her apartment.”