The Best Way to Lose (15 page)

It was midmorning when Pilar stopped at the antique shop, simply named the Antique Corner, for a last-minute check with Florence Barslow before leaving town. There had been one inquiry for a particular medicine bottle, which Florence had been able to refer to a dealer who specialized in antique bottles.

“I cleaned this up last night.” Pilar unwrapped the tissue protecting the silver tray. “You might want to put some complementing pieces with it and arrange it on that banquet table if you have free time today.”

“I will.” The older woman was skilled at displaying pieces to their best advantage. “Don’t forget to keep an eye out for a chair to match Mrs. Aulderson’s dining room table set.”

“I won’t.” The long strap of her purse was
pushed higher onto her shoulder as she gathered up her leather briefcase-pouch containing her notes, papers, and a list of items clients had indicated an interest in purchasing. “See you tomorrow, and wish me luck.”

The bell above the door tinkled as she walked out into the street. Her glance ran absently to the man standing in front of her shop window. Pilar halted with a bit of a jolt when she recognized Trace. His jacket was hanging over his shoulder and a hand was thrust nonchalantly in a pocket.

“Hello.” Trace spoke first and glanced at the window display. “The business looks prosperous.”

“It is,” she assured him. “Go inside and take a look around. We welcome browsers.”

“I’ve seen it before.” A slow smile touched the corners of his mouth at the dubious look on her face. “You were away somewhere.”

“Oh.” Florence probably hadn’t thought it was important to mention. “Well, I’m off again today.” She smiled quickly at him and started for the compact car parked at the curb.

“Where are you going?” Trace angled away from the window to follow her.

“An auction north of town,” she explained and walked around the car to the driver’s side. After opening the door, she tossed her purse and leather pouch onto the opposite seat.

“Mind if I come along?”

Pilar straightened, not sure that she could possibly have heard him correctly. She stared
at him across the roof of the car. His steady gaze didn’t waver, the faint question staying in his expression.

“I’ll be gone for the rest of the day,” she pointed out to him, faltering in vague confusion. “You … you have to be at the office.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of playing hookey?” Trace chided.

“But you’re in charge.” His suggestion sounded so irresponsible that Pilar was dumbfounded, doubting that he was serious and wondering if he was. “You can’t just walk away.”

“Can’t I?” He opened the passenger door and threw his jacket into the back seat. “If the boss can’t take a day off when he wants it, who can? Besides, I’ll go stir-crazy if I have to sit behind that desk for the rest of the morning and afternoon.”

“You’re welcome to come along.” Since he had already invited himself, her agreement to the arrangement seemed almost superfluous. Pilar crawled behind the wheel and fished her purse and case out of his seat so he could get in. “But don’t blame me if you get bored.”

“Boredom would be a pleasant change of pace,” he declared dryly and folded his long length into the compact quarters.

“Do you want me to drive by the office so you can let them know you won’t be back?” The motor rumbled when she turned the ignition key, then hummed steadily.

“No.”

“Trace—” Pilar began.

“Are you trying to be my conscience?” He interrupted with a half-amused look. “All right,” he conceded partially. “I’ll call when we reach this place we’re going. Believe me, they’ll be relieved to have me off their backs for the rest of the day.”

“I thought things were going smoothly.” She glanced at him as Trace leaned back in the seat and made use of the elevated headrest. Strain and tension had left tracks in his bronzed features, creasing its leanness.

“With the business they are.” His eyes were closed. “It’s just everything else that’s lousy.” There was a small pause. “I don’t mean to destroy things—or to hurt anyone.”

Those were the words she had used last week when he’d kissed her with such cruelty. Her fingers nervously clenched at the steering wheel, flexing and tightening their grip on it. With an effort Pilar kept her gaze fixed on the road, struggling with all the raw emotions that churned inside her.

“Pilar.”

“Yes.” All her attention stayed on the traffic.

“I had no right to take my frustration out on you. So you have my apology.”

Under the circumstances she felt obligated to reciprocate as magnanimously as he had. “It’s forgotten.”

She turned onto the parkway out of Natchez and headed north. Not once did Trace ask
their destination as they traveled along the scenic highway. At nearly every bend in the picturesque, tree-lined road, there was a historic marker. They passed Emerald Mound, an ancient temple mound built hundreds of years ago by some unknown tribe of Indians.

Once Trace commented, “My mother named me after the Natchez Trace. There was a time when I believed that this long trail had put the restless wanderlust in me.”

Cars of spectators and buyers were already arriving at the auction when Pilar located the turnoff to the old, rambling house. She parked the car where it would have afternoon shade on it, then gathered her things from the rear seat.

“When does it start?” Trace stepped out and stretched his cramped back and shoulders.

“Not for another hour and a half,” she answered. “But I like to come early and look over the items before they’re put on the block. I told you,” she reminded him, her lips slanting in a faint smile, “you might get bored.”

“We’ll see.” He didn’t appear concerned and trailed after her when she went to the registration table to sign up and receive her number.

Most of the larger items were sitting in the side lawn. Pilar took her time wandering through their maze, stopping for a closer look at a particular item or to examine the manufacturer’s mark. Several times she paused to poke through boxes of dishes and knick
knacks. All along the way she jotted down notes.

“What are you writing?” Trace attempted to read her scribbling, but it was her own indecipherable brand of shorthand.

“There was some Depression glass in that one box. I was just making a note of it. Of course, one of the larger bowls had a chip in it.”

“That sounds like sour grapes.”

“I guess it is,” she laughed briefly. “I can always console myself with the knowledge that there was a chip in it if someone else gets it besides me. But it’s little things like that which alter the value of a piece.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed how thorough you are, grubbing through those boxes like a packrat,” he observed and let his gaze slide down to the grass stains on the knees of her denim jeans. “I also understand why you’re wearing jeans and a cotton shirt.”

“If I want to look at something, I don’t want to worry about getting my clothes dirty. This might not be fashionable,” she admitted, glancing down at the slim-fitting jeans, “but it sure saves on the cleaning bill.” As her glance came up, she happened to look over his shoulder and spied a tall chifforobe. “Look at that,” she breathed quickly. “It looks like a mate to that four-poster bed Mrs. Kenyon owns over in Hattiesburg.”

Eager to confirm it, she fumbled with her notepad and pencil while she tried to open the pouch for the list. Finally she shoved part of it into
Trace’s hands to rummage for the customer list.

“Is it?” he asked.

“Let’s go take a look at it,” she said and chewed thoughtfully at her lip.

“It appears someone else is interested in it, too.” Trace drew her attention to the couple who were standing back to study it and talking between themselves.

“Yes.” Pilar took no notice of them as she walked over to the chifforobe, opening its drawers and doors and checking on various details. Then she stepped back to stand next to Trace.

“It looks to be in pretty good shape,” he commented.

“It’s too bad the drawer pulls and handles don’t match. They aren’t the original ones anyway so I guess it doesn’t matter,” she declared. “The doors are warped, too. Did you notice the way they nailed a board on the back to brace that rear leg?”

“No, I didn’t notice that.” Trace eyed her with the beginnings of a gleam.

“It’s a beautiful piece of furniture.” Her deep sigh was heavy with regret as Pilar ran an absently stroking hand over the wood’s smooth patina. “It’s a shame anyone let it get in this condition.”

All her comments were taken in by the eavesdropping couple who had been initially admiring the chifforobe, and the avid excitement that had been in their expressions began to fade. They exchanged a look, and the
man shrugged faintly in apparent dismissal. Together they moved with reluctance onto the next item.

“You’re a calculating woman.” Trace chuckled in his throat. “Those are just minor things, right?”

One shoulder lifted in an expressive shrug as Pilar made some quick notes on her ringed tablet. “They are obviously amateur collectors. I would never have been able to fool a dealer. Maybe this way, the price will stay reasonable. Private buyers, especially the ones who aren’t knowledgeable, usually drive the price up and pay more for something than it’s worth.” Finished, she looked up and met his amused study of her.

“So you conned them.” He murmured the accusation without any criticism.

The small, rueful smile that touched the corners of her lips was only faintly apologetic. “Maybe I saved them some money,” Pilar suggested. “All’s fair in the antique business.”

“So I’m learning.”

After checking the description of the next item on the sales list, Pilar wandered over to examine it. On the surface she gave her attention to her work, but Trace’s presence at her side gave a little edge of excitement to the afternoon. She knew when he was watching her or standing close to read her notes. All her senses seemed finely tuned to him.

Before the auction started, Trace left her to locate a telephone and called his office. Pilar
retreated to the shade of a tree to sit on the grass and used the trunk for a backrest while she refined her notes, the pad balanced on her bent knees.

When Trace rejoined her, the auctioneer had already begun his rhythmic spiel to exhort bids from the large crowd on the first item, but Pilar was still sitting under the tree. He crouched down, rocking onto his heels, and idly plucked a blade of grass to chew on.

His arrival briefly distracted her from the last-minute checklist she was making. In case he was wondering, she explained absently, “The first items are almost always small, unimportant stuff—to warm up the crowd and allow time for all the latecomers to arrive. They save the best until last to keep as many people as long as they can.” Pilar tucked the papers she wouldn’t be needing into the leather pouch and rolled to her feet with an assisting pull from Trace. “I warned you we’d be all afternoon,” she reminded him again.

“I’m not complaining.” There was a disturbing darkness in the gray of his eyes as he looked down at her.

The rhythm of her pulse became slightly erratic. Making an effort to steady it, she moved away from him and led the way into the semicircle of bidders until she found a space that gave her a good vantage point of the proceedings.

A hot wind kept the air circulating and prevented the afternoon heat from becoming oppressive and stifling. Several times Pilar
sent a glance over her shoulder at Trace, who had taken a position slightly behind her, just to see if he was still there. But as the afternoon wore on and the items she was most interested in came up for bid, her concentration centered more and more on the auctioneer and her various competitors for an item. There were a few familiar faces she recognized in the crowd, other dealers like herself.

Although she bid on many items, she was successful on less than a handful. When the bidding went higher than she thought the piece was worth, Pilar dropped out of it. Happily the chifforobe wasn’t among the items she lost.

The satisfaction that came from knowing it had been a successful day more than made up for the tension that came from all the intense bidding. Details had to be handled before she could savor her success. The items had to be paid for, bills of sale obtained, and arrangements made to transport them to her store.

When the last transaction had been completed, she was finally able to turn to Trace and announce, “I’m all done.”

There was a radiance to her face, her dark eyes shining with that inner glow of satisfaction. She was oblivious to the heat that had her cotton blouse sticking to her damp skin and profiling the roundly jutting contours of her breasts.

The running wind had made a black tangle of her shoulder-length hair, tousling its
curling thickness in attractive disarray. But it was more than the allure of her looks or body that made it so difficult for Trace to take his eyes off her. It was her sparkle and vitality, the inner flame that pulled him.

Taking a grip on his senses, Trace forced a tight smile onto his mouth. “Do you think we can make it to the car without being run over in this traffic jam?” He made a light reference to the confusion of vehicles all trying to leave at once.

“We can try,” she said with an exuberant lilt in her voice.

Automatically Trace took her hand to negotiate the moving maze of cars turning and reversing and trying to meld into an exit line. There was a lightness about the way she moved, a bounce and a glide that seemed filled with a zesty lust for life.

“Want me to drive?” Trace asked when they finally reached her compact auto, parked in the long shadow of an oak.

“Sure.” Pilar slipped her hand from his grasp and dug out the car keys from the bottom of her purse. They jangled as she dropped them in his outstretched palm and then split away from him to walk to the passenger side.

After sitting all afternoon in the summer heat, the car’s interior was stuffy and suffocatingly close. Hurriedly Pilar rolled the window down to let out some of the hot, stale air and allow some circulation.

When Trace started the engine, she adjusted the vent openings so the full force of the blowing air was directed at her. With both hands she lifted the weight of her hair off her neck, then shook it loose. All the while the small smile of satisfaction continued to soften the curve of her lips.