Small Town Girl by Patricia Rice Page A

hips. She laughed and touched people on the shoulder as she passed by. Flint suffered a mild resentment at watching male faces brighten everywhere her hand lit. With his newfound maturity, he squashed the negativity. No more bad-boy fistfights, he reminded himself. He had to get up in the morning and call the kids, and he didn't want to do it from jail. Joella was her own woman, not his, and he had no reason for jealousy.
    To his surprise, she led him out the back door and up the fire escape. Summer thunder rolled in the distance, and the air was thick with humidity as she took a seat on the plank landing and doffed her fringed coat. The clingy red shirt blatantly emphasized her curves, and standing on the stair below her, Flint could see straight down her cleavage.
    He eyed the narrow space beside her with misgiving. Sit and avoid staring at her breasts? Or fry in hell smelling her mouthwatering scent without nibbling her nape?
    "Did my tenant move out or don't they mind people using their stairs?" he asked in self-defense. The rent wasn't a lot, but it covered some of his mortgage.
    She flashed that taunting smile again, and he had to sit down or fall down.
    He'd climbed his way to the top of the musical heap by using all the resources available to him and hanging on by his fingernails when necessary. Miss Joella's smile was a challenge to match any competition he'd faced. He took the seat offered.
    "I'll give you my rent check in the morning. Charlie didn't mind waiting until the first weekend of the month after I got paid."
    Flint gazed out at the heat lightning playing across the mountain until he fully comprehended this new slap in the face. " You're my tenant. If I fire you, you can't pay the rent, and I don't get paid."
    Her voice filled with mock admiration. "You are quick, Mr. Clinton. On the other hand, you could also appreciate the convenience in the winter. Charlie stayed home snug and warm while I opened up for the macho men showing off their four-wheel drives."
    Flint leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, trying not to get too close to the source of that sultry voice. He wanted to kiss the mockery away and make her purr, but that was one of those wrong turns he'd made the first time around, thinking he could control life with sex, as his counselor had so thoughtfully pointed out. He didn't think Joella was the type who could be controlled. Besides, he had other priorities these days.
    "Business is bad in winter?" he asked nonchalantly.
    "Once there's a snowpack down, we get the skiers on their way up the mountain, but, yeah, people don't have much reason to vacation here in winter. That's why we've got to find ways to bring in more jobs."
    Flint nodded knowledgeably, fighting the growing fear in his gut. He'd known the opportunity had been too good to be true. "I looked at Charlie's books. He seemed to be doing okay." He'd hoped to do better.
    "That was last year. The mill laid off half its workforce last Christmas. People living on nothing can't pay topic from the one we're out here to discuss. How much trouble are you in, Mr. Big Shot?"
    He refused to let her scorn get under his collar. "None now. The law is done with me, and I'm setting out on a clean slate."
    Joella caught a firefly and peered into her fist to admire its flash. Her casual acceptance of his statement reduced the last frustrating, humiliating years to an old song, encouraging him to continue. After today's tirade, he'd feared she would push him down the steps, but she apparently didn't believe in grudges.
    "Melinda and I parted a few years back because I gave up trying to make her happy. I'd quit playing on the road when she complained about my traveling, but then she bitched about my songwriting income not being enough to buy the pretty things she liked."
    "You don't have to tell me this part, if you don't want." She opened her fist and let the firefly go. "There's a reason I don't sing love songs."
    Maybe someday, in his old age,