The Treasure Man

by Pamela Browning

  “There’s a little place called Paquita Juanita’s a few miles west of town. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. The fajitas are pretty good.”

  “Not as good as mine. My nieces tell me that my fajitas are the best in the world,” she said, daring to brag.

  “Any chance I could talk you into cooking them sometime?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Good, I’ll hope for it.” He grinned at her across the table.

  “Everything okay here? You ready for more iced tea?” The waitress had shown up again, her shirt now tied under her breasts to expose a bit of midsection and a ring in her navel.

  “None for me, thanks,” Ben said. “Chloe?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

  Chloe could swear that Liss had winked at Ben, but he didn’t respond. Instead, after Liss swished away, he said to Chloe, “How’s that toe of yours? All healed?”

  “Just like new.”

  “Let’s dance. Want to?”

  A band had started playing outside in the thatched hut, and the music floated through the open windows. The song was slow, suggestive, with a blues beat, but Chloe, after a moment’s hesitation, said, “Sure.”

  Ben followed her past the bar, where a couple of local yokels swiveled their heads when she passed by. She forgot all about them, however, when Ben turned to her and, with a smile, took her in his arms.

  With him so close, she caught a whiff of aftershave, a scent with overtones of sandalwood and spice. She was accustomed to his smelling of sun and sea, but this was pleasant. Sexy.

  “You’re not relaxing,” he pointed out when she stepped on his toe.

  “Sorry,” she said as she fielded an assessing glance from Liss, who was carrying a tray of drinks past the small dance floor.

  “Just let the music take us away,” he murmured in her ear, and even though she tried, she couldn’t get past the dirty look that Liss gave her as she hurried back to the bar.

  “I—I’m not accustomed to this kind of dancing,” she said, holding herself away so that she could gaze up at him. She had never suspected that he was a good dancer.

  “You’re doing fine,” he said. “Look, this is a blues beat. Step to your right, sway left—that’s right—now we take that step to the right that we started but didn’t finish.”

  “Cool,” she said, because he made it easy to follow.

  “Now we twirl around and go the other way. You’re getting it, Chloe. You’re good.”

  “Not really. My dancing skills mostly center around the Texas two-step.”

  “You’re doing fine,” he said, drawing her so close that her hair brushed his cheek.

  “Some guys don’t like to dance. They can’t lead. You’re different,” she told him.

  “That’s because I have a teachable partner. Isn’t this fun?”

  “Yes,” she said, though she would rather not have been in the line of vision of Liss, who was now glaring with no pretense of doing otherwise. So maybe he’d come on to Liss at some time, and she resented seeing him with Chloe. Or perhaps Liss had staked him out and didn’t appreciate the interference of some other woman before she could make her own move.

  The song ended, and the band struck up another number. Ben kept his arms around her. “Let’s try that again,” he said.

  “I’ll only step on your feet a few more times,” Chloe said. She was ready to call it quits.

  “Relax,” he said.

  If Chloe wasn’t mistaken, Ben was dancing so that his back remained toward the aisle between tables where Liss had to traverse between the bar, kitchen and tables. That made it easier for the waitress to scan the crowd and locate them, which, of course, Ben didn’t realize.

  As they danced, Chloe tried to make up her mind; should she tell Ben about Liss, or was it better to ignore the whole thing? By this time, if Liss had been able to fire daggers from her eyes, Chloe would have been dead meat.

  “You’ll have to show me the Texas two-step,” Ben said.

  “And the cotton-eyed Joe, and a good old-fashioned schottische. We Texans are versatile.”

  “I gathered that. What else do people do in Farish?”

  “Go to church. Eat Sunday dinner with the family. Follow the high-school football team.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” Ben said, looking intrigued. “Tell me more.”

  “They gossip about one another, but usually it’s nothing harmful. They stop in the aisles at the grocery store and say things like, ‘If that Lucille isn’t the darnedest thing! Did you hear she bought Jakey a new Corvette? I wonder how long it’ll take him to wreck it! Why, just last week, he sideswiped Odell Higham’s new mailbox out on the bypass in that old Ford of his.’”

  Ben threw his head back and laughed. “That doesn’t tell me much about Farish, except that I’d rather be Jakey than Odell Higham.”

  “You’re right. Jakey is the favorite son in that family. And by the way, it took him only two months to wreck the Corvette. He’s okay, though, and now his mom has bought him a motorcycle. I bet they’re talking about it all the way to Kettersburg.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “A town about ten miles away. It’s where my grandmother moved when she went into an assisted-living facility.”

  “How old is your grandmother, Chloe? I’ve heard Tayloe and Gwynne mention her when they discussed your family, but I don’t recall much about her.”

  “Grandma Nell is eighty, and she broke her hip a while back. She had surgery, went through therapy and decided she wanted to move to the assisted-living place where her friends are. So she closed her antique store, and I no longer had a job.”

  “You sound as if you’re happy about it.”

  “I was chomping at the bit to get back to designing jewelry.”

  “And you have.”

  As the song ended, he pulled her close. With her temple resting gently against his cheek, she felt excitement ripple down her spine, quick as the heat lightning in the distance. She would have passed it off lightly if she hadn’t felt him tense, also. She glanced up at him. Deep in his eyes she read a longing, a bleakness, even as his arms tightened around her.

  Before she could make sense of it, he released her. She tried to recall what they’d been discussing, couldn’t remember, settled on a quick, glib, “Thanks for the dancing lesson.” Then she turned abruptly and preceded him back to the table, where their empty plates had been cleared.

  “Ready for dessert?” asked Liss, popping up from nowhere.

  Ben raised inquiring eyebrows, and Chloe shook her head. “No, thanks,” he said. “I’ll take the check.”

  “I’m paying my share,” Chloe said quickly as Liss retreated.

  “No, you’re not. My treat.”

  “I asked you out tonight.”

  “The man should pay.”

  “According to what you’ve told me, you’re not in any better financial shape than I am,” she retorted.

  “Ah, but I just got paid for teaching scuba classes.”

  Liss brought the check and slapped it on the table.

  He tossed down a bill. “Keep the change,” he said.

  “Yes, sir. And do come back soon.” This Liss delivered in an unmistakably come-hither tone.

  When Liss had gone, Ben regarded Chloe with a glint of humor in his eyes. “I can’t help it if I’m irresistible to women,” he said.

  Chloe laughed. “I guess not. I get the idea that Liss wishes I’d disappear.”

  “Well, maybe so, but I don’t.”

  “Is—um, is she a good friend of yours?” Chloe ventured.

  “No, I’ve never had any conversation with her that didn’t involve ordering food.”

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to dig into your personal life.”

  “There aren’t any women in it at present. Except you,” he added after a few seconds.

  She stood. “Who needs to get her beauty sleep. I’ll be up early tomorrow morning, working on my designs to show Pa
trice.”

  On the way out, they had to pass Liss at the waitress station, and she shot Chloe a scowl that was pure venom before she flounced off to the kitchen. Chloe was tickled to see that Liss was trailing a long streamer of toilet paper from one shoe.

  The night air was cool as they headed toward Ben’s Jeep. The beat of the music followed them, and her arm brushed his. She wondered if he was thinking what she was thinking—that it would be so easy to escalate their relationship into something more. All it would take was not moving in the opposite direction when their arms made contact, so that their hands would meet and clasp. In the span of a heartbeat, they’d turn their heads exactly the right way and touch lips. Or maybe he would reach for her in the shadows of the poinciana tree and draw her to him. His hands would rest warm on her bare shoulders, and her skin would tingle from his touch, and suddenly, his lips would close over hers. Or she would seize the initiative and stop beside the Jeep, pin him back against the hood as she had her way with him. This made her smile, and though she meant to keep it to herself, Ben noticed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. I was only having an amused moment.”

  “Something about me? About Liss?”

  “Not about Liss,” though her answer would have been different a minute or so ago.

  “You’re smiling at me, then,” he guessed, but she shook her head.

  They had reached the Jeep, deep under the shadows of the poinciana tree, where he made no move to kiss her. She climbed in while Ben walked around to the driver’s side.

  The drive home was short, past the dock, across the bridge and a half mile down Beach Road. When he pulled up at the Frangipani Inn, they heard a clatter and a scrambling from somewhere near the back porch.

  “A possum,” Ben said. “Look.” An animal with silver-gray fur scuttled under the cover of the sea grapes.

  The uninvited visitor had overturned the garbage can. Fortunately, they had frightened the possum soon enough that it hadn’t torn open the bags inside and strewn their contents all over the place.

  Chloe jumped out and went to inspect the damage. Ben followed and helped her restore the bags to the container, then clamped the lid on.

  He turned to her. “Thanks for a pleasant evening. I enjoyed being with you, Chloe.”

  “It was fun for me, too,” she said as Butch bounded out of the bushes. Chloe bent to pet him. “I’m glad he didn’t tangle with the possum. They can be vicious.”

  “Butch comes down to see me in the annex sometimes,” Ben said. “I hope you don’t mind if I let him in.”

  “Of course not, but he could eat you out of house and home.” The cat twined around her ankles and went to stand at the door, waiting to be let in.

  Ben rested one foot on the bottom porch step. She was poised slightly above him on the next one, torn between wanting the evening to be over and wanting to prolong it.

  “I opened a can of sardines for Butch last night,” Ben said. “He ate all of them and wanted more.”

  “You have my permission to indulge him, but don’t get him used to lobster or clams. They’re a little pricey.”

  He stared at her, his eyes dark in the light of the rising moon. “Am I also allowed to indulge myself? Would that be okay?”

  “I—I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, though she had an idea.

  “This,” he said, one hand coming up to cup the back of her neck.

  Caught unawares, she protested. “I—”

  “Don’t talk,” he murmured before drawing her head down toward his. “Just do it.”

  His lips closed over hers, as firm as she’d expected them to be and even more tantalizing. His mouth was hot and hungry, but there was more, too. A certain jangling of the nerves, a breathlessness, a fierce yearning to feel more. As if this trembling, heart-pounding passion wasn’t enough. As if she needed to savor it, pull it into her, breathe him in and out like the very air.

  His hand on her neck—she wanted it elsewhere, exploring, exciting her beyond all caution and control. His lips—she needed them to trail down her neck, linger at her breasts, find the tender spot in the hollow of her throat.

  They didn’t, though. He wound up the kiss neatly and with an air of finality.

  “Good night, Chloe,” he said.

  “Good night,” she whispered. She could still taste him on her lips.

  Stop it, she told herself. Don’t be silly. You don’t want a romance, and this could be complicated.

  Could be complicated? She almost laughed out loud. It already was.

  Chapter Six

  Ben was sure that Chloe Timberlake, with her provocative glances, voluptuous body and tinkling earrings, was going to drive him to distraction. Not that it was all sex. He admired her. She was a gifted artist, original and clever. He’d appreciated her penchant for fun, the unexpected, the different.

  Ben liked all women. He’d freely admit it. He didn’t want to give his heart to one, that was all. At times when he was tempted, he usually took a hot shower; cold showers were vastly overrated as a deterrent to sex, he’d found. But with the weather so warm, taking hot showers only made him more miserable. So what was a fellow to do?

  After that steamy kiss on the back porch when they came back from the Sand Bar, Ben had some very definite ideas. He’d wanted Chloe right then and there—on the porch swing, the kitchen table, the floor, anywhere at all. She’d responded to his kiss with enthusiasm and verve. So why hadn’t he tried for more?

  He didn’t want to put her off him for good, and although Chloe was sassy and spirited, one of his favorite combinations, he didn’t like to mix business with sex. Or romance, whichever this was.

  In order to stop thinking about Chloe all the time, he took to hanging out at the Sand Bar, playing pool at night. He went to AA meetings, which helped him in his determination to stay sober. In the daytime, he went for long rides in his Jeep, chasing sandpipers out of the way, sand crabs into their holes and dogs back to their masters. Some days he wandered the streets of Sanluca hoping he’d run into Andy McGehee, who would offer him a job on sight.

  Yeah. Sure thing.

  One night at the Sand Bar, Liss turned up, off duty and showing more skin than usual. For the first time he noticed that she sported a silver tongue stud. She was wearing a slinky top that gave away the secret that she had breast implants; a line of definition under her skin was a dead giveaway. She undulated over to his table and sat down, leaning forward so that her breasts were in danger of surging out of her top.

  A deep bass rumbled from the speakers mounted on the wall over the bar, some funky driving beat intended to bludgeon all the good sense out of a thinking man’s brain. Liss started to rub his knee, but he kept his hands strictly to himself.

  “I just moved out of my parents’ house this week. I’ve got my own place now,” she said.

  “Congratulations. That’s a big step.”

  “I’ve planned to do it for just aeons.” She lowered her lashes. “I could use some help,” she said.

  “What kind?” he asked, knowing he should nip this in the bud but still curious to see where it went. When you got to be his age, the attentions of a pretty young girl went a long way to enhance a guy’s ego.

  “Maybe you could help me move a big old couch from the living room to the second bedroom,” she said. “I intend to make a den out of it.”

  “Where do you live?” he asked, figuring that he could still get out of this if necessary.

  “I rented a trailer at Ducky Hester’s RV park.” Her voice had taken on a husky tone.

  “I’ve got to get up early in the morning,” he lied. “I can’t stay out late.”

  Liss pouted and moved her hand a few inches closer to her goal. “You’re the first person I’ve ever invited to my place. I sure would like to show it off.”

  Throwing reason to the wind, Ben followed her home in his Jeep. Liss drove a small sedan, and when she slid out of the car at her place, her short skir
t hiked up to reveal almost everything.

  “I’ll get us something to drink,” she said as soon as they were inside the mobile home. He had barely taken in the dark paneling and the fake fur rug on the floor when she slid her arms up and around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. After they broke apart, he retreated to the other side of the room and said, “Is this the couch you want to move?”

  “Sure, but no hurry,” she said. “How about a screwdriver?”

  For a second or two, the question confused him. He didn’t need a screwdriver to move the couch. Then he caught on that Liss was talking about a drink made with orange juice and vodka.

  To avail himself of such means to uninhibiting himself was tempting, but he realized that there was no such thing as drinking one. He’d soon want another and another and be back where he started. Andy would hear about it and would never rehire him.

  “No, thanks,” he said.

  Liss poured vodka in a glass and drank it straight. “Forgot to mention I’m out of orange juice,” she explained with a wink when she saw him looking at her.

  He wasn’t liking this scene one bit. “This couch can’t be so heavy,” he said. “If you’ll take that end, we can manage it easily.”

  Liss walked around the dining-room table and rubbed her shoulder suggestively against his chest. “I didn’t really want to move a couch tonight,” she said, her voice low and suggestive. “I had something else in mind. It could involve a couch if you like.” She laughed a long throaty laugh.

  Suddenly, as his gaze angled down her neckline at those breasts that were spectacular but not real, Ben didn’t want to do this.

  He tried to soften the blow. “You’re a beautiful girl, Liss. You deserve someone better than me.”

  “Say again?” she said in a disbelieving tone.

  “Someone closer to your age who will care about you. Who has a good future, a decent job and is available.”

  “What are you talking about?” She was staring at him as if he’d grown an extra eyeball in the middle of his forehead.

  “I need to go. I’m sorry if I let you think—” He shrugged, sure that she’d be angry and not blaming her a bit.