Step Into My Parlor (10 page)

"Oh," she said, feigning nonchalance, "I may. And while we're out, I'm going to check into renting a car."

"Why do you need a car?" He sounded offended. "
I’ll
take you anywhere you need to go."

"I know you will, and that's very sweet of you, but I'd like to have one of my own. You have a business to run; you don't need to act as my chauffeur every time I want to go to the library or a gallery."

"But I like taking you places."

Twisting out of his grasp, she turned to face him. "Spider, I want a car of my own. I don't like
depending on someone to do everything for me. It makes me feel like a leech. I'm perfectly capable of driving myself."

"You can borrow my pickup any time you want, sugar." He grinned.

She didn't grin back; she rolled her eyes in her best imitation of Molly and said, "Give me a break."

"Then
I’ll
buy you a car. What color do you want? Blue? I've got a friend who'll give me a good deal on a Mercedes. Would you like a Mercedes? Or maybe you'd rather have a BMW. They're cute little cars."

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Spider, you are
not
going to buy me a car. I am going to rent one. The subject is closed."

“
Just a minute!" Anne called, twisting to look over her shoulder at the back of her dress and wishing for a full-length mirror. She wanted to look especially nice tonight.

Had it been a conscious or unconscious decision that had made her select the blue silk jacquard at the resale shop? Blue was Spider's favorite color, and she had to admit that the dress and the color were flattering. She straightened the matching cummerbund and put on her pearls.

Spider had even provided a mink stroller for the occasion. "It's mine now," he'd told her. "The sixty days were up day before yesterday. You'll need something warm tonight. It's going to be cold."

"But it was almost eighty degrees today."

'Texas weather is always crazy. There's another norther moving in. Besides," he'd added with a grin, "the coat matches your hair."

She draped the jacket over her arm, picked up a card and a small package with a blue ribbon from the desk, and opened the door. Spider was waiting for her.

To say that she was stunned was an extreme understatement.

He was Adonis in a charcoal-gray suit. His white shirt emphasized his dark good looks, and his silk foulard and handkerchief were a silvery blue that matched his eyes. His clothes were urbane, well
tailored, and worn with casual ease.

Her gaze traveled from polished black shoes to tamed black hair, still curved below his collar in back but lending, with the spider earring, a tempting touch of savagery to his elegance.

She gave a low whistle and smiled.

He grinned. "I was about to say the same for you, gorgeous." He gave her a peck on the nose. "You look beautiful. But then you always look beautiful. Ready to go?"

Holding the package and the card out, she said, "I wanted to give you this first. Happy Valentine's Day."

"For me?" He looked as pleased as a child on Christmas morning.

He opened the card and smiled as he read every word of the sentimental verse. He untied the ribbon on the small package and laughed at the key chain with the gold cupid hanging from its ring. Hugging her, he said, "Thank you, sugar. This is perfect. It's the best valentine I've ever had."

"
I’ll
never think of Valentine's Day without remembering you in your cupid costume. I looked
and looked, but I couldn't find one with running shorts."

He laughed again and said, "Come on, darlin', I'm getting hungry." Giving her a lecherous wink, he added, "And the sooner we eat, the sooner we can get home. I
’
ll change into my cupid outfit for
you.”

"You're a crazy man," she said, laughing.

Outside, he led her to a Mercedes, blue, and opened the door. "What is this?" she asked.

"My new car. I got a real deal on it. You like it?"

"Where is your pickup?"

"Oh, I still have it."

She narrowed her eyes. "What are you going to do with two cars?"

He shrugged. "I thought maybe you might like to drive this one."

"Spider Webb, I told you that I'm going to rent a car. I'm picking it up tomorrow."

"You can cancel it, sugar. No use in letting this one just sit idle."

Anne wanted to stamp her foot and yell at him. And she never yelled. "You are, without a doubt, the most overbearing—"

He silenced her with a quick kiss. "Darlin', you can fuss at me later. Let's go eat."

By the time they arrived at the Inn on the Park, he had coaxed her out of her pique, and she was laughing. If she had been surprised by Spider's stylish dress, she was doubly so when the
maître
d' of La Reserve greeted him by name and when Spider ordered Corton-Charlemagne—eighty-two
or eighty-three, he'd said offhandedly—with their dinner. The difference in him was amazing.

Looking up from the raspberries and cream they were having for dessert, she studied him for a moment. The elegantly dressed, polished man across from her could easily fit into an embassy reception or a gallery showing. His kind of natural manner and self-confidence lent itself to any setting.

"What's wrong? Did I use the wrong fork?"

She laughed. "You know very well you didn't. I was just thinking how comfortably you fit into these surroundings."

He looked around the posh restaurant. "It's okay once in a while. And the food's good here. Nearly as good as Shorty's ribs. Did you enjoy your dinner?"

"Very much."

"Would you like coffee or a liqueur?"

She shook her head.

He grinned. "Good. Let's go home. Eating those raspberries reminded me that there are a couple of other luscious things I'd rather taste tonight."

He wanted time to stand still, but even with Spider squeezing every minute of every hour, the week after Valentine's Day flew by. He knew he was being possessive of Anne, following too close, not giving her room to breathe sometimes—Lord knew, she'd stamped her cute little foot at him more than once—but he couldn't seem to help himself.

He hadn't known that there was a big hole
i
n his life until Anne came along. In three short weeks, she had burrowed into his heart and become a part of him. Now he didn't know what he'd do without her. He loved her. He was about to burst with love for her. He wanted to tell her, but he wasn't sure how she'd take it, and he didn't want to scare her off.

Sometimes she hated to admit it, but she needed him. And he liked being needed. He'd do anything for her. He'd gladly walk barefoot through the fires of hell and take on the devil with a baseball bat to keep her safe and beside him for the rest of their lives. To hell with Preston Ames and those damned files.

One night, in the quiet aftermath of their love-making, they lay snuggled close together, replete, drowsy. Taking pleasure in the feel of her soft skin, Spider's hand slid slowly up and down her arm. He wished they could stay like this forever, content in each others arms. The thought that she might leave caused him to break out in a cold sweat. But when Vicki came back—

"Sugar?"

"Hmmmm?"

"With all the hotels and stuff you own, you've got a lot of money, don't you?"

"Quite a bit. Does that bother you?"

"Nah, not really."

"Why did you ask?"

"I thought it might bother you. Hell, I'm just a broken-down ex-jock who owns a pawnshop. I don't
run with the same kind of crowd you're used to. I don't mingle with the elite at disease balls."

Anne raised up and looked at him. "What's a disease ball?"

"You know, those big charity dances where the bigwigs get gussied up in tuxedoes or Paris dresses with lots of beads and big bows and try to outdo each other." He gave a disdainful snort.

Eyes twinkling, she pursed her lips and cocked her head. "Why, it sounds like great fun to me. I think you'd look kind of cute in beads and big bows."

He growled and she giggled as he flipped her on her back and started nibbling her neck.

Anne, dressed in western garb, complete with boots and red bandanna, stood by the gun case waiting for Spider to finish with some paperwork. Wearing his black cowboy hat with a rattlesnake band—complete with rattles—pulled low on his forehead and his hair curved over the collar of his blue-jean jacket, he looked like a desperado. She smiled. A magnificently handsome desperado.

"My, my, don't you look like a regular cowgirl?" a sweet voice said.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Bremmer. I didn't see you come in." She glanced down at her jeans and snap-front blue shirt. "Spider's taking me to the rodeo. May I help you with something?"

"No, dear, I'm just browsing. You young people have fun." The gray-haired lady smiled, settled
her mink stole around her shoulders, and wandered away.

"Isn't she sweet?" Anne commented as Spider laid his arm around her shoulders. "She always seems to be browsing. Does she ever buy anything?"

Spider snorted. "Not a dime's worth. But she comes in at least three times a week to
bro
w
se
."

"Surely you can't begrudge a dear old lady's whims. Maybe she's simply lonely."

His mouth curled into an expression of wry amusement. "Keep your eye on the 'dear old lady.' You might be surprised."

"What do you mean?"

"Just watch her."

"Looking into the circular mirrors mounted high in each corner of the shop, Anne watched Mrs. Bremmer wander up and down the crowded aisles. The old lady picked up a pair of binoculars, looked around, then popped them in the oversized purse she carried.

"Spider!" Anne whispered. "She's
stealing
those binoculars."

He chuckled. "Keep watching."

Mrs. Bremmer added a camera to her purse and stuffed an electric can opener in the pocket of her mink stole before she wandered out the door.

Anne was incensed. "Aren't you going to stop her? Shouldn't you call the police?"

"Nah."

"But that sweet little old lady is a thief!"

He shook his head. "Kleptomaniac."

"But that's even worse. She needs to see a psy
c
hiatrist. You're not helping her by allowing her to get away with stealing."

Spider laughed and hugged her. "Aw, sugar, don't get your tail feathers up. She does see a shrink. Has been for a couple of years. Once a week, regular as clockwork."

"It doesn't seem to be helping."

"Sure it is. She brings everything back the next time she comes in. She thinks I don't see her."

Narrowing her eyes, she looked at him suspiciously. "How did you know about the psychiatrist?"

"The first week Pinky and I had this place, I caught her pinching a spinning reel and an answering machine. I checked up on her and found out that her husband had died the year before and she'd moved into one of the ritzy high rises a few blocks from here. Her son is the president of a bank. The second time we saw her cop something, I talked to her son, and he got her some help. I understand she's been stealing for years, but her husband always covered up for her."

"Spider, how dear of you to get help for Mrs. Bremmer. Most people wouldn't get involved. You always amaze me, though I don't know why I continue to be surprised. You're a genuinely nice person."

He struggled with a grin. "Aw, shucks, ma'am."

She laughed at his effort to sidestep the compliment. "Well, you are. Is it time to go see the pigs and cows now?"

"And the bull riders, and the calf ropers."

"And George Strait."

He sighed theatrically and picked up her suede
coat. "And George Strait. What is it with you women? What's George got that I haven't got, bigger and better?" He gave her a cocky grin.

"Well"—Anne lifted an eyebrow and looked him up and down with languid eyes—"he can sing."

"So can I, darlin'. So can I." With an arm slung around her neck, he steered her out to the Siverado, crooning "Amari
ll
o by Morning" and strumming his imaginary guitar. "Does that turn you on?"

He kept her laughing all the way to the Astrodome. Looking at him now, she wondered how she could have ever been afraid of him. He had brought a whole new dimension, a richness, a delightful abandon to her life that had been missing.
Sometimes she wished that this magical interlude could go on and on.

But Vicki was due back any day now. In fact, she was overdue. Knowing that she couldn't trust Spider's phone message to prompt an immediate response from Vicki, she had written a note to her friend, sealed it in a large red envelope, and printed CRITICAL AND CONFIDENTIAL across the front. She had personally delivered it through the mail slot at Vicki's town house several days ago. As soon as Vicki read it, she would call.

In some ways Anne was anxious for Vicki's return; in other ways she dreaded it. Things would change, perhaps irrevocably. She might wish that her carefree time with Spider could stretch into infinity, but her awareness of Preston's threats and crimes never completely abated. Even in the best of times they hovered at the edge of her consciousness, reminding her that she had an
o
ther life. And responsibilities. She wondered how her gallery was faring. Could Spider ever be a part of that life?

They pulled into the crowded parking area near the Dome, and he stopped the truck.

"Spider?"

"Yes. darlin?"

"Have you ever considered living someplace else?"

"Besides Houston, you mean?" She nodded.

He hesitated a moment. "Nah. When I was traded to the Oilers, I was glad to get back home. I imagine
I’ll
hang around here. I'm a Texas boy all the way."

She wanted to ask him how he felt about Virginia, but she didn't. Instead she smiled and said, "Which way to the pigpens?"

"For a city gal, you sure do seem to have a thing for hogs," he teased as he led t
h
e way to the livestock exhibit.

The huge Astrohall reeked of cedar fiber and animals, and a cacophony of squawks, grunts, and bleats vied with bellows, snorts, and gobbles.

"All these are part of the junior show," Spider explained as they wandered up and down aisles between pens. He touched his hat and smiled to several people who called out to him. "Kids in 4-H and Future Farmers of America compete for places. Later on in the week, after the judging, the top animals in each class will be auctioned off. The auction is always quite a show."

"Oh, look, there are the pigs," she said, tugging at his arm.

"You don't call them pigs. Those are barrows."

Leaning over a rail, she watched a boy groom the big, snorting animal. "It looks like a pig to me. What's the difference?"

He looked amused. "Well, let's put it this way— these poor fellows can no longer enjoy a sex life. They're destined for bacon and ham and barbecue ribs."

"Spider!" a feminine voice shouted.

They saw a teenaged girl waving from another pen a few yards away. "Hi, Margie," Spider called, steering Anne toward the girl.

He introduced Anne to the pigtailed young lady with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and said, "Margie had the grand champion barrow last year. Are you going to make it two in a row?"

"I sure hope so," Margie said. "Are you bidding again?"

He grinned. "I thought I might."

To Anne, Margie explained, "Spider bought my barrow last year. It was the highest bid ever made for the class," she added proudly. "Seventy-four thousand dollars."

They chatted a moment longer and walked on, but Anne's brain was still trying to synthesize the information Margie had divulged. "Seventy-four thousand dollars? You paid seventy-four thousand dollars for a neutered pig?"

"I could afford it, and it's good publicity." He shrugged. "Everything over market value is tax-deductible."

"Do I hear another 'and' in there?"

'I'm a sucker for pigtails and freckles."