A Regular Joe

It was impossible for Mattie to remain irritated with her feisty grandfather. He was right, of course. She had given him a few gray hairs while she struggled through adolescence to reach adulthood.

“So this is payback time, is it?” she asked as she looped her arm around his waist, then gave him a fond peck on the cheek.

“Don’t be doing that around here,” Pops grumbled. “You’ll give all these broads who have the hots for me ideas, don’t ya know. Good thing I carry a cane so I can fight off the feminine attention I’ve been getting.”

Mattie giggled. “I guess it’s true that ladies, no matter what their age, love outlaws. You, being the rebellious ringleader that you are, draw all sorts of attention around here.”

“Well, somebody has to buck the system,” Pops commented as he veered toward his room. “You try eating that slop served on trays and on the plates at the cafeteria. Hell, you wanna know how many ways you can prepare and serve prunes? Have lunch with me tomorrow, Shortcake. I guaran-damn-tee you’ll join the ranks of rioters who are craving a decent meal.”

“Last I heard, a proper diet contributed to health and longevity,” she countered as she watched Pops ease a hip onto his bed. “You know perfectly well that the main reasons you’re here are to adjust your dosage of arthritic medication and balance your diet to prevent diabetic flare-ups. You can’t move back in with me until your doctor gives you a clean bill of health.”

Pops pulled his wire-rim glasses from the bridge of his nose and cleaned the lenses on the hem of his shirt. “So I have a real weakness for fried foods and red meats. So shoot me, Shortcake. What’s the point of living if you can’t enjoy yourself occasionally?”

It was hard to argue with a seventy-eight-year-old redneck who believed in taking each day as it came and making the most of it. “Is the food here really that bad?” she asked as she sprawled warily in the worn-out recliner Pops had insisted on bringing from home.

“Dog food has more taste,” he declared as he shoved his glasses back in place. “The oven-broiled steak they serve here is so tough my dentures come loose when I eat. The smothered chicken tastes like wet newspaper. The beans are cooked to death, and the fat-free desserts taste like wax. Shall I go on?”

“No, I get the picture.”

Pops glanced toward the open door to insure he wasn’t overheard, then leaned toward Mattie. “Here’s my plan, Shortcake. You can slip food to me when you come to visit. You can bring it to my window before you come through the main entrance. No one will be the wiser. Fred, Ralph, Herman and Glen are willing to pay you if you’ll do the same for them.”

Mattie nodded pensively. “I see. You want me to become an accomplice for the Roland Gang.”

He grinned unrepentantly. “You catch on quick, smart girl that you are.”

“Pops, I have a reputation to uphold in Fox Hollow,” she reminded him. “I manage a store for a corporation.”

“So? I have a reputation to maintain here, too,” he assured her. “These old folks—”

As if he wasn’t one of them, she thought to herself.

“—depend on me to lead the way and fight their battles. I bring problems to attention and see that the necessary changes are made. Old folks want and need respect, ya know. We don’t like being put out to pasture on crummy rations. Ask me, boredom and feelings of uselessness are the two leading causes of death around here.” He hoisted himself off the bed, then grabbed his cane. “Let me show you something, Shortcake.”

Mattie frowned curiously when Pops gestured toward the landscape painting and knickknack shelf she’d brought to give his room a homey appearance.

“See this stuff?”

“Yes, but—”

“Just keep it in mind, then come take a gander at this.” Pops shuffled from the room, leading her next door.

“Hey, Fred, my granddaughter is here,” he called out.

Mattie poked her head inside the generic room to see one of her grandfather’s cohorts perched on a straight-back chair, staring through the slats of the miniblinds that covered the window. “Hi, Fred. How’s it going?”

“Lousy, but thanks for asking, girl.”

“Just popped in to say howdy,” Pops said, reversing direction. “Poker at ten o’clock tonight? Your place, right?”

The bald-headed Fred perked up considerably, then winked at Pops. “Right. I almost forgot this was Friday night. One night’s about the same as another around here.”

When Pops returned to his room, he pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and displayed the ace of hearts for Mattie’s viewing discomfort.

“Pops! For heaven’s sake! Those cards have naked women on them,” she grumbled, offended.

“Sure as hell do,” he said, undaunted. “I asked Herman’s grandson to pick them up for me during his last visit. I plan to give the gang a cheap thrill tonight…and don’t give me that look, Shortcake. Ain’t a man in the Roland Gang who hasn’t seen a naked lady a few times in his life. We’re all World War II veterans. Those island women we came across when we were stationed in the Pacific didn’t wear blouses. And you know what else? A bunch of men in our unit pooled some money to buy them brassieres to preserve their modesty. You know what those women did with the contraptions we gave them?”

“No, what did they do, Pops?” she asked, smiling.

“They used them to haul coconuts two at a time,” he informed her.

Mattie cackled. Her grandfather had always been a source of amusement to her.

Pops tucked the racy cards into the pocket of his trousers, then settled himself more comfortably on the bed. “The point of taking you to see Fred is that his room has only the barest of necessities. The place doesn’t feel like home to him because it doesn’t look like home. There’s nothing on the walls, no memorabilia, no family pictures. Zilch, nada. I had to throw a tantrum to get permission to hang your artwork and the shelves in here. I shouldn’t have had to do that. We’re paying hard-earned money for room, board and medical care. Yet, this chicken coop looks like a halfway house for criminal offenders. This place needs your touch of interior decoration to provide some stimulation and aesthetic beauty. If every patient demanded the right to personalize their living quarters we could get some results. That’s my next crusade.”

Mattie cringed at the thought of another crusade for the Roland Gang. Rebel that Bernard Roland had become, he refused to give up until he’d paved the way for improvements. Yet, Mattie was inclined to agree with her grandfather. The convalescent home looked more like perdition—a dull way station to the hereafter. That definitely wasn’t the effect she would be going for if she lived here.

“Next week I’m taking the petition to the director and demanding some rights,” Pops informed her. “If I can push this project through, the patients want you to decorate their rooms like you decorated mine. And believe me, I’ve had compliments piled on top of compliments, Shortcake. The thing is that we’re talking limited budgets at the old fogies’ home. Can you handle interior decor on a skimpy budget?”

Mattie sat there, stunned. Pops was drumming up business for her, adding to her already hectic schedule? Yet, the intense, determined look on his wrinkled features indicated that the upcoming crusade was vitally important to him. He was fighting to improve the quality of life for the senior citizens who required assisted living. Could she spare the time for a project of this magnitude?

How could she not? Several of the patients here had practically helped raise her while her grandfather worked construction. These elderly folks had fed her, baby-sat her and offered her the love and concern her own parents refused to be bothered with.

Now that Joe Gray had hired on at the store, she could make time to fulfill Pops’s request. True, she would meet herself coming and going, but what else was new?

“Okay, Pops, you’ve got a deal,” she told him.

The old man leaned over to give her a high five. “Thanks, Shortcake. This means a lot to me.”

“I can see that. Fortunately, I received a directive from corporate headquarters this morning, allowing me to hire an assistant. I filled the position immediately. Joe Gray is skilled in woodcrafting and—”

“Joe Gray? Never heard of him,” Pops broke in.

“He’s new in town. I rented the garage apartment to him,” she reported.

Pops’s dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Who is this character? Where’s he from? What do you know about him?”

Mattie took a moment to gather her thoughts and realized that she really did know quite a lot about her new assistant, although they had only spent eight hours working together.

“He’s thirty-five, single. He is respectful and has excellent rapport with the customers because he’s knowledgeable about hobbies and crafts. He thoroughly enjoys working with his hands in the workroom, and he isn’t the least bit allergic to hard work. I had to remind him to take a break this morning and this afternoon.”

“Single?” Pops inquired interestedly.

Mattie rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t even think about playing matchmaker. You have too much on your plate already. Besides, Joe and I are business associates, and that is as far as the relationship can possibly go.”

“Baloney,” Pops said, then snorted. “Unless Joe is a serial killer on the loose and hiding out in Fox Hollow, he sounds like your type. Some guys around here feel threatened because you can handle a power tool with the best of them.”

“Thanks to you,” Mattie put in, grinning.

“But if this Joe person shares your common interests and is a decent sort of fellow, I say go for it. Unless there’s something offensive about him. Is there? Ugly as original sin maybe?”

Mattie chuckled. “Just the opposite. My female customers constantly ask for his assistance, just to get a close look at him.”

“He sounds perfect. A Mary Poppins of the male variety.”

“Except that he works for me,” Mattie repeated. “I’d have to fire him if I became interested in him. Either that or I’d have to resign. I can’t do that, not when you’ve just handed me a time-consuming project to perk up your senior citizen friends.”

“Oh yeah, there is that,” Pops mumbled. “But there isn’t a single patient here at the home who wouldn’t tell you to go for it if this Joe character suits you, even if you spend your time with him and the rest of us have to stare at these bare walls an extra month before the interior decorations arrive.”

“Pops,” she said warningly.

He flung up his hand. “Don’t ‘Pops’ me, kiddo. You aren’t getting any younger, and I want you to have a life like your grandmother and I had together. Now that’s something you shouldn’t pass up.”

Mattie squirmed uncomfortably. They’d had this little talk before—about a thousand times, thank you very much. Pops wanted her married and settled before he passed on. She understood that, but you just couldn’t rush love. It either happened or it didn’t. So far it hadn’t. She’d been infatuated once or twice in her early twenties, but the relationships had fizzled out because Mattie kept long hours and took on the responsibility of caring for Pops. Most men didn’t like to compete with Pops. He was such a lively, energetic character that he tended to steal the show when he was underfoot. Her boyfriends—what few she had—demanded that she choose between them and Pops. It was no contest. This man had taken her in, raised her, provided for her, taught her skills and encouraged her to pursue her artistic gift.

Mattie glanced at her watch when her stomach growled, reminding her that she had skipped lunch in order to decorate Alice Dawson’s living room. “I better go, Pops. I haven’t had supper yet.”

“Yeah, well, if you’d eaten at this cafeteria you wouldn’t feel as if you’d eaten, either,” he muttered. “I’m serious about those snacks. Graham crackers, vanilla wafers, pudding cups. Doesn’t matter to me. Just bring some junk food for me and my cronies.”

Mattie sighed, resigned to becoming an accomplice. “Okay, get a list from your gang and call me at the store tomorrow. I’ll bring the goodies Sunday evening when I come to visit.”

“You’re a doll, Shortcake. Did I ever tell you that?”

“Yes, Pops, immediately after you’d dragged me into another of your schemes.”

“Hey, you know I love ya, kiddo. You were always my very best sidekick. Now I have to settle for these yahoos at the home, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you best of all.”

Mattie rose from the chair to give Pops an affectionate hug and kiss. “Love ya, Pops, even if you are the mastermind of the wildest bunch of codgers in Paradise Valley.”

“And you remember what I said about this Joe Gray person. If he’s worth your interest, then bend a few rules. I’m an advocate of that. You go, girl.”

Shaking her head at Pops’s adolescent jargon, Mattie exited. Pops was, without a doubt, the youngest seventy-eight-year-old in the country. He’d told her once that the only thing he regretted in life was not taking more risks—and he’d taken plenty of them, in her opinion. But when it came to her unwilling, unproductive attraction to Joe Gray, Mattie was hesitant.

No, she wasn’t going to fire Joe because she was interested in him, or because she really wanted to get to know him better. She needed him at the store, now more than ever—thanks to Pops’s latest mission. She’d put her feminine needs on hold years ago, after all. She could control her urges. She and Joe were going to be good buddies, best pals, she told herself sensibly. This was one time she was definitely not going to take Pops’s advice.

And that was all there was to that.

3

JOE WAS AMAZED at the number of customers who poured in and out of Hobby Hut on Saturday. When he commented to Mattie, she informed him that Fox Hollow was the closest community to the lake, and that cabin and cottage owners delighted in redecorating their weekend retreats. In addition, the retirees who lived in the wooded hills enjoyed keeping up with the latest seasonal fads.

Joe had never seen the likes of women, young and old, buying fall arrangements, Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations. When he and J.D. came up with the idea of the craft store that had expanded across the Midwest, they’d never dreamed of being so successful. But now that Joe was here in the trenches, watching these women, with a few reluctant husbands traipsing around the store, he realized why the business boomed. People liked to rearrange their homes by adding personal touches they could appreciate, then replacing decorations several times throughout the year. It was the variety that kept life new and interesting.

Twice during the day, the husbands of female shoppers had looked Joe up and down, then muttered “twinkie” half under their breaths. Joe probably should have been offended that he’d been categorized as effeminate because he actually liked creating knickknacks in the workshop and didn’t mind selling them. Once, however, he’d had to bite his tongue when a grumpy old man scowled and referred to the inventory at Hobby Hut as “sissy stuff no man would be caught dead selling, unless it was a last resort to keep the wolves from the door.”

Joe’s thoughts scattered like a flock of geese going airborne when Mattie scrunched in front of him at the cash register. “Here come the Zimmers for a refund,” she murmured confidentially. “Better let me handle them this first time so you’ll know how to deal with them. Lovable as they are, they get their kicks from trying to pull a fast one every now and then.”

Joe stepped aside, frowning curiously at the harmless-looking elderly couple who hobbled down the center aisle, a quart of paint clamped in each gnarled hand.

“Changed our minds about the accent colors in the bedrooms and living room,” Coreen Zimmer announced as she set the cans on the counter, then produced her receipt. “Just want our money back until we can agree on which colors to put where.”

Sounded reasonable enough to Joe. He couldn’t fathom why Mattie thought she needed to handle this simple transaction. But to his surprise, Mattie grabbed a flathead screwdriver from beneath the counter and opened the paint. To his horror, she dipped her finger into the can to taste the contents.

“Colored water,” she said, smiling wryly at her customers. “Pretty sneaky of you two, but no dice. You really are going to have to get up a few hours earlier to outfox me.”

Homer Zimmer shot Mattie a disgruntled glance, then flicked his attention to Joe. “Could’ve pulled it off if you would’ve let him wait on us, I’d bet. We heard there was a new assistant at the store, and we wanted to see how sharp he was.”

Joe was stunned that these old shysters were trying to get a refund on paint they’d obviously used up, then refilled the cans with water. He didn’t know whether to laugh or curse their ingenuity.

Mattie set the four paint cans on the floor beside the trash, then smiled brightly. “Anything else you want to try to fly past me today?”

“Well, now that you mention it.” Coreen retrieved a plastic bag from her oversize purse. “I bought this figurine of an angel a couple of weeks ago and didn’t notice that one wing was broken until I got home. I’d like to exchange it for a new one.”

Joe crossed his arms, waiting to see how Mattie handled this transaction. As usual, she smiled cheerfully, then scooped up the angel with its broken wing. “You realize that I personally shelved these figurines, with all the loving care angels should receive. They are one of my favorites, you know.” She stared at Coreen, then focused unblinkingly on Homer. “Who dropped this accidentally? And don’t even think about lying to me because we are discussing angels. It’d be like telling a lie at church, right there, down on your knees at the altar.”

Seconds ticked by. Joe appraised one wrinkled face, then the other.

Apparently Homer couldn’t stand the silence a moment longer. He caved in.

“Oh, all right, girl, it was me, blast it. I knocked the angel off the shelf. You got any of that industrial-strength glue that’d work on a broken wing?”

“Of course, Homer,” Mattie assured him. “I’ll be happy to get it for you.”

When Mattie strode off, the Zimmers zeroed in on Joe.

“You’re darn lucky to be working for that girl, you know,” Homer declared. “Sweetest disposition in town…argh.” He grimaced when Coreen gouged him in the ribs with her elbow. “Next to my lovely bride of forty-seven years, of course. Mattie’s a talented artist, too, if you didn’t know. I’d buy some of her paintings, but I can’t afford it on our fixed income.”

“The point he’s trying to make is that we don’t want you pulling any fast ones on our sweet Mattie,” Coreen lectured.

This from two shysters who’d tried to exchange water for paint? They were hypocrites, both of them. But it was obvious they were immensely fond of Mattie. Yet, who around this town wasn’t? Joe had heard her praises sung all the livelong day.

“I wouldn’t think of cheating Mattie,” Joe assured the Zimmers. “I like my job, and I plan to keep it.”

“Good for you, boy.” Homer leaned closer. Joe could smell the cheap, sticky-sweet aftershave. “But be warned that some of the ranchers over at the café were poking fun at you during lunch today. They think you’re a sissy for working here.”

“What do you think?” Joe asked.

“I think you’ve got guts to be working in a place like this,” Homer replied. “Just hope you can take the razzing that’s sure to come your way when those cowboys get to feeling ornery and decide to torment you.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Mattie returned, handing Joe the glue. “Please ring them up while I finish my painting project in the workroom. I promised delivery after store hours this evening.”

Joe manned the register, swearing the mold count elevated when Homer pried open his wallet, complaining that it was highway robbery to pay such a high price for one teensy-weensy tube of glue.

When the couple exited Joe reminded himself that working with the public was no picnic. He’d obviously been sitting in his ivory corporate tower too long. His employees deserved an across-the-board raise for working in the combat zone.

DURING HIS AFTERNOON BREAK Joe heard the phone ringing in Mattie’s office. Since she was helping one of her regular customers, Joe made a dash to answer the phone.

“Hobby Hut,” he said politely.

“Where the hell’s Mattie?” came a loud, gravelly male voice.

“She’s with a customer at the moment. Can I take a message?”

“Is this Joe?” the caller demanded.

He blinked. “Yes, sir, it is.”

“Figured as much. This is Mattie’s grandpa. I have my list ready for her. Got a pencil handy, boy?”

“Yes, sir.” Joe plucked up a notepad and pen.

“Don’t give me any more of that sir crapola,” Pops objected. “The name is Pops.”

Joe grinned. “Okay. Fire away, Pops.”

“Double-stuffed Oreo cookies, a jar of peanut butter, smooth not crunchy. Apples and crackers,” he rattled off. “Chocolate chip cookies—the gooier the better. Chocolate snack cakes with vanilla filling. And don’t buy that off-brand stuff. Stick with the brand names. Make a note of that for Mattie.”

Joe scribbled as fast as he could. “Is there some sort of party going on at the convalescent home?”

“Hell no, Mattie has to sneak the junk food into me and my friends. They treat us like a bunch of preschoolers here. Afraid we’ll OD on sugar and caffeine and be bouncing off the walls at bedtime.”

Joe swallowed an amused chuckle. He really was looking forward to meeting this character in person. He wished J.D. could, too. “Anything else, Pops?”

“Yeah, how do you feel about my granddaughter?” Pops asked flat out.

“Er…”

“Not attractive enough for you?” Pops grilled him.

“Plenty,” Joe replied honestly.

“Thought so. I may be old, but I’m sure as hell not blind yet. That girl has a terrific body and a pretty face. I’m sure you must’ve noticed, being a man and all.”

“Er…”

“Do you feel threatened because she can handle a router and circular saw as good as any man?” Pops fired off the question at the speed of a launched rocket.

“Not the least bit threatened,” Joe answered.

“Think she has the personality of a slug, do you?” Pops quizzed him.

“Hardly. Mattie is one of the nicest, most personable women I’ve ever met.”

“So, what’s the problem here?”

“Problem? We have a problem?” Joe questioned, totally dumbfounded. He thought things were going great between them.

“Can’t see why you should have a problem. She’s single, and so are you. She says you’re a decent, good-looking fellow, and you say she’s attractive and personable. So when are you going to ask her out? Hell, you’re practically living in each other’s pockets so you ought to know each other pretty well after only a few days.”

“I think Mattie sees that as a potential problem,” Joe commented. “If things don’t work out, if we have irreconcilable differences, then we are still stuck working together and living next door to each other.”

“So you’re too chicken to give it a whirl. Is that what you’re telling me, Joe?”

“I’m saying nothing of the kind, Pops. As her employee, I’m simply respecting Mattie’s wishes.”

“Hogwash, Joe. Take my advice and ask her out…I gotta go. It’s time for the guards to herd the prisoners to the cafeteria to eat slop. Don’t delay in giving Mattie that list, hear me? She has to make the drop tomorrow night. If you squeal on her, you’ll be damn sorry for pointing the finger and calling her our accomplice. Got that, Joe?”

It was all Joe could do to prevent busting a gut laughing at the threat from this old man. “Not to worry, Pops. I’ll make the drop myself if Mattie can’t do it. Consider your junk food signed, sealed and delivered tomorrow night.”

“You’re okay, Joe,” Pops announced.

Joe hung up the phone, then pivoted to see Mattie approaching him.

“Who was that?” she asked curiously.