“Well, maybe you should.” An unsavory twinkle came into her lively eyes, making Joe take an instinctive step back. “I could use a good man to keep me warm at night, rubbing my feet, getting cozy….”

  “Oh, dear God. Stop, please.” Joe shuddered at the images that stampeded into his head. Bea was like a mother to him. He did not need to know about what rubbing she got up to. Thankfully, they fled when Bea whacked him in the arm.

  “Don’t be such a prude. That’s probably why you don’t have a man keeping you warm. Lord knows enough of them try.”

  Unfortunately, that was also true. On a daily basis there were plenty of guys dropping subtle hints, and some not so subtle. He supposed it had something to do with that age-old expression about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach. As much as he wouldn’t mind having someone to keep him warm—as Bea put it—he just couldn’t find it in him to accept any offers, or even flirt back. The fear of losing what had taken him so long to rebuild was too great. He’d tried once. Thought he’d found his happily ever after. It had cost him dearly. He wouldn’t take that chance again. His heart couldn’t take it.

  “Joe, you’re a good-looking man, what with all that pretty blond hair and those gorgeous eyes. Like the ocean, that one man said, remember? Not to mention strong and strapping. Plus, you have a mighty fine ass.”

  Joe’s eyes widened, and he scrambled to cover his ass with his apron. “Please tell me you don’t go around looking at my butt, because I think I just might be sick. And men don’t have pretty hair. You wouldn’t tell Jason Momoa he’s got pretty hair.” Then again, this was Bea they were talking about. Her eyes lit up, and Joe backed away slowly.

  “Oh, now there’s some meat you can sink your teeth into.”

  Joe studied the apron in his hands, and nodded absently as Bea prattled on about the sexy actor. Wrapping the two sashes around his neck, he slowly pulled on the ends.

  “He’s about your age, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know how old he is,” Joe replied casually, still pulling on the sashes. “I’m thirty-eight. Thank you for remembering.” Then again, she had written “Congratulations on turning 40!” on his birthday cake a few months ago. He’d initially believed she meant it as a joke. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  Bea laughed and patted his back so heartily it almost sent him staggering. “I’m just pulling your leg, Joe. Of course I know how old you are. If you start thinking I’m going senile, we’re gonna have words.”

  Joe let out an indelicate snort. “Like you need an excuse.”

  Taking the sashes from him, she unwound them from his neck, shaking her head in amusement. “I’m just saying, honey. You’re quite a catch, and they know it. It’s about time you knew it too. Not everyone’s gonna be like that jackass, Blake. Hell, his name alone should have been enough to warn you off.”

  Joe cringed. “I thought we decided never to speak of him again?” He was not going to think about Blake. Goddammit, now he was thinking about Blake. Bea wrapped him back up in her embrace, petting his hair, and he let out a resigned sigh. Arguing with Bea was like stepping in quicksand. The more you struggled, the quicker you sank.

  “You can’t let him ruin your chances of being happy, Joe. Don’t spend your life alone because of that ass. He didn’t deserve you.”

  “I’m not alone,” Joe said with a smile. He rubbed his face against Bea’s shoulder, purring like a cat. “I got you, and I already know how you feel about my butt.” He pulled away and dodged a playful smack, laughing as he ran back out into the safety of his shop.

  “Everything okay?” Donnie asked, his brows drawn together in concern.

  “Yeah.” Joe grinned and leaned over, whispering loud enough for most of the place to hear. “Keep an eye on your butt. Bea’s on the prowl.”

  The look of sheer terror that crossed Donnie’s face was too much, and Joe doubled over with laughter. Bea came out to see what all the fuss was about, and when Joe couldn’t answer on account of being too busy laughing, she moved her gaze to Donnie. The kid flew from the room like it was on fire, and Joe ended up leaning on the counter for support. The rest of the place erupted into laughter, and Bea looked around as if everyone had lost their marbles. Maybe they had. Joe had that sort of effect on people.

  “Well, that was some mighty fine work, partners.” Joe waved good-bye to the last customer before turning the shop’s sign around to declare the end of another good day. “Donnie, bring the garbage around, will you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Joe headed to the front door beyond the counter, and a few minutes later, Donnie returned dragging two large black bags behind him. He really needed to start feeding the kid some more meat and potatoes. The squirt couldn’t lift a dust bunny. Joe grabbed the bags from him and carried them the rest of the way to the front door and outside onto the sidewalk. Once inside, he locked the front door and headed for the side door to check on the garden between his shop and the fancy shoe boutique next door. It was a strange spot for a memorial garden.

  Decades ago, before the boutique was a boutique, it was a fancy hat shop owned by Mrs. Lowe. Although the shop had been sold long ago, Mrs. Lowe still owned the building, along with the garden she had made in honor of her late father, who’d died during World War II. Although there was an iron gate at the front that remained closed, as well as one at the back, sometimes kids would sneak in to make out or get up to things they shouldn’t be getting up to, so Mrs. Lowe asked Joe to keep an eye on it for her since getting around had become difficult after her hip replacement. Joe didn’t mind. When he needed a little break he’d sit out here on the stone bench and enjoy the trees and flowers. It also happened to be where his fire escape was.

  They’d been busy from open until close, and thanks to Bea, they’d gotten the Rotherford order. The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. He’d never catered a party before. If it was a success, he might have to listen to Bea and think about hiring more help. If things went really well, there was plenty of room in the back kitchen for an extra oven or two, and if he sacrificed some of his savings, he’d be able to manage without too much damage to his finances. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, but a bit more space, new furniture, more staff….

  The question was, could he do it? He’d thought about having a bigger place once, with a bakery inside. That had been before everything had fallen apart, including him. His business had been steadily growing over the years, and with the economy being what it was, more people than ever needed somewhere affordable to eat, and Joe’s shop fit the bill.

  Jesus, what the hell was he thinking? His shop had barely changed in fifteen years. He was nearly forty. Was he really going to start taking such risks now?

  Outside in the garden he noticed the place was a whole lot darker than usual. The black iron stairs leading up to his apartment were shrouded in shadows thanks to the burned-out bulb underneath it. Great.

  “Donnie, grab me a bulb and the ladder, please. Damn wiring’s blown out the lights again.” He heard Donnie’s “okay” and went to check the gate to make sure it was still secure. He picked up a few pieces of stray litter, grumbling to himself. This was the third time in two weeks he’d had to replace the damn bulbs.

  Seconds later, Donnie scurried out and set the ladder in place for him. “I thought Pete fixed it?”

  “Me too.” Seemed every time Pete fixed one thing, another broke. Joe handed the litter to Donnie and was about to climb up the ladder when he heard a low wheezing sound. He froze. “Did you hear that?”

  Donnie listened, then shook his head, but Joe had definitely heard something. He stared down at the damp ground and listened. This time the sound was louder, coming from the shadows farther down the garden. He glanced over at Donnie, and the kid’s bulging eyes told him he’d heard it too. Making quick work of changing the bulb, Joe swore under his breath. The light didn’t quite extend to the far end, but there was enough illumination between it and the moon where he could just about make out various shapes through the shrubbery.

  “What do you think it is?” Donnie whispered.

  Joe rolled his eyes as Donnie’s breath tickled the back of his neck. “You get any closer and you’ll be piggyback riding.”

  “Sorry,” Donnie said sheepishly, backing away.

  “It’s probably just a cat.” Please let it be a cat and not a couple of horny teens getting it on. Joe edged toward the darkness with Donnie once again breathing down his neck, though Joe imagined the kid’s bout of courage had more to do with Elsie watching from the doorway rather than any desire for derring-do. He listened closely for more sounds, but aside from those of the city and Donnie’s breathing, he heard nothing. Then he saw it: a big, dark lump on the ground, highlighted by the soft glow of the moon. Whatever it was, it was moving. Just about. “Jesus, it’s a man.”

  “It’s probably someone who’s had too much to drink, or a displaced person.”

  “We can’t leave either passed-out in Mrs. Lowe’s garden.” Joe carefully inched closer until he stood over the figure curled up into a tight ball. “That leather jacket and those biker boots look expensive.” He crouched down and shifted one side of the guy’s black jacket. “Haven’t seen many displaced folks in designer gear.”

  “Joe, look!” Donnie pointed to the stained grass just under the man’s head.

  “Damn, is that what I think it is?” Joe carefully turned the guy’s head, finding the black hair at the back matted with blood. “Looks like someone got him good. We need to call an ambulance.”

  Donnie hesitated before his instincts kicked in, and then he checked for breathing and signs of a pulse. “His breathing’s shallow, but he’s alive. He’s probably got a concussion, so it’s not good for him to be out.”

  “I don’t know anything about head wounds other than the kind Bea gives me, and luckily, they’re not enough to get me concussed. Not yet, anyway.”

  “If he’s got a concussion and he’s out, it could damage his brain. Problem is, we don’t know how long he’s been out for. We should—”

  The man shot out his hand and grabbed a hold of Joe’s wrist, causing Donnie to shriek and Joe to nearly jump out of his skin. “Sweet Jesus!” Joe was about to tell Donnie to run and call an ambulance when he realized the injured man was trying to talk. “It’s okay. We’re going to get you to a hospital, just hang on.”

  The man made a noise that sounded an awful lot like “no,” but that couldn’t be right. Maybe the poor bastard was out of his head. Joe leaned in when the guy lifted his head. “No cops,” he slurred, tightening his grip on Joe’s arm, his voice so low and gravelly Joe wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn’t been so close. “No hospital.”

  “What?” Joe shook his head and did his best to remain calm. “Listen, buddy, someone knocked you over the head. You need medical attention.”

  “Please, no cops. Help me.”

  “I’m trying to help, but the best I can do is get you to a hospital. I’m not a doctor.”

  “They’ll… kill me. Cops… dead…. No hospital. Please.” With that, the guy collapsed back onto the ground.

  Well, those were certainly words he didn’t care to hear in the same sentence.

  Two

  “Joe, we have to get him upstairs,” Donnie suggested gravely.

  Even if Joe was in the habit of bringing mysterious men home to his apartment—which he wasn’t—they’d at least be conscious, and not possible murderers or criminals. The guy didn’t want them to alert the cops, and that was hardly a good sign. Yet the genuine fear Joe had seen in those gray eyes had rattled him.

  “Even if that wasn’t completely insane, you got a crane stashed somewhere I don’t know about? Because that’s what it’s gonna take to move this guy,” Joe hissed.

  Donnie gave a very helpful shrug. “You’re a big guy.”

  Technically, a poodle was big to Donnie. “Yeah, and he’s bigger. Much bigger. Look at him!” Joe wasn’t about to point out that he’d be the one shouldering most of the weight. The man’s shoes probably weighed more than Donnie did. No way could Joe carry this guy up all those stairs by himself. Not without pulling something.

  “Stop being such a delicate flower,” Bea growled, and Joe nearly keeled over. How in the hell did she do that? Why did she do that? Despite the circumstances, Joe couldn’t help batting his lashes.

  “But I am a delicate flower.” That earned him an unimpressed expression. “You know, one day I might just wake up and realize I’m the boss around here.”

  “Yeah, well, when that day comes, you let me know. Now, if we all pitch in, we’ll get this guy upstairs. Personally, I think we should just call the cops and let them deal with him.”

  “We can’t. What if he ends up dead and it’s our fault because we turned him in?” Donnie said with surprising confidence. “If we get him upstairs and wake him up, we can find out what this is all about. The longer he’s out, Joe, the more damage his head could suffer. We can call Jules afterward.”

  Jules was a good friend and an even better nurse. She would know what to do. What was he thinking? This was crazy. Who knew what or who this man was? Despite all his misgivings, Joe found himself grunting in agreement and walking around to hook his arms under those of their new friend. Donnie grabbed a leg, Elsie the other, and Bea the middle. On the count of three, they lifted, and as quickly as they could manage, they carried him carefully up the iron steps toward Joe’s apartment, with Joe bearing most of the weight—as expected.

  “What’s this guy eat for breakfast? Bricks?” Donnie groaned.

  It certainly would explain why he was so damned heavy. Even with everyone pitching in, Joe’s muscles strained. He picked up the pace so they could reach his apartment before his back gave out. Finally, they managed to get into the living room, where they sat the guy on the couch before they collapsed onto the floor and various furnishings. After catching his breath, Joe stood and walked over to their unconscious guest.

  “Elsie, please grab me some warm water and a couple of towels so he doesn’t bleed on the couch. Donnie, help me get his jacket off.”

  They got busy swiftly removing the man’s jacket and boots in an attempt to make him more comfortable. From the looks of things, the clothes were all high quality. The charcoal-gray long-sleeved tee stretched over firm muscles and a flat stomach, and his dark jeans fit snug around his strong thighs and long legs. Whoever the man was, he certainly wasn’t just some poor displaced person. Joe searched every pocket in the hopes of finding a wallet, some identification, a business card, cell phone, something that might give them a clue as to who their guest was.

  “Did you find anything?” Elsie asked, bringing over the bowl of warm water.

  “Nothing. Just some dirt. Donnie, get on the phone to Jules. Ask her what’s the earliest she can come by and what we should do in the meantime. Elsie, hold that bowl for me, will you? I’m going to try and get some of this blood off. Bea, could you finish up downstairs?”

  Bea gaped like he’d grown three heads. “You want me to just leave you up here with him? What if he wakes up and attacks you? What if he’s a murderer? He might be an assassin hired to take you out!”

  “What? Don’t be ridiculous. No one’s been hired to take me out. I bake pies, Bea. I’m not the political head of a foreign territory. I’ll be fine.”

  Bea looked like she was about to argue some more, but thankfully she also knew when Joe meant business, and so she retreated downstairs. Donnie went off to call Jules, and in the meantime, Joe carefully began to clean away as much blood as he could. Soon, he found the source of it: a thin line about two inches long on the side of the man’s scalp. It didn’t need stitches, but there was one hell of a bump on his noggin. Joe carefully laid him back against the faded brown couch before looking him over.

  The guy was younger than Joe had thought, but it was hard to guess how old he was since he looked a bit scruffy at the moment, what with his hair all over the place and the dark beard, though there were a few gray hairs starting to grow in. His lip was nicked, with several cuts and scrapes visible around his face, neck, and arms. Damn. The guy’s knuckles were scraped and bruised. He’d clearly gotten into a pretty bad fight recently.

  Donnie scurried back in from the kitchen, his chest heaving as if he’d run a lap rather than the few feet it was. “Jules says we need to wake him up and get him to talk. Keep an eye on him in case he’s sick or dizzy, and keep him awake for a few hours. See about convincing him to get to a hospital. He needs to be observed overnight. She says she’s sorry, but she’s working tonight. She’ll try to come by as soon as she can.”

  “Okay.” Joe ran his fingers through his hair as he thought about his next move.

  Donnie took a seat beside Elsie. Both watched him anxiously. “What are we gonna do, Joe?”

  As sure as Joe was that the guy hadn’t been hired to assassinate him, he didn’t know if the man was dangerous. Not to mention his last words hadn’t exactly filled Joe with warm fuzzy feelings. “Why don’t you kids go help Bea? I’ll let you know when he’s awake, or if I need anything.”

  Donnie opened his mouth but caught Joe’s subtle nod toward Elsie, who looked a little pale. The kid quickly jumped to his feet and took her hand. “Come on, Elsie. Let’s go help Bea.” Elsie gazed up at Donnie like he was her knight in shining armor and followed him, smiling, out of the apartment.

  “All right, Joe, you can do this.” Inhaling deeply, Joe crouched in front of the unconscious man and pinched his hand lightly. “Hey. Wake up.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Of course nothing happened.” What did he think would happen with a pinch like that? If Bea had been here, she’d have told him off for it, or more likely, probably given him a tweak that put his own to shame. Bracing himself, he pinched the man’s hand. Hard.

  Nothing.