Step Into My Parlor

by Jan Hudson

  With a mischievous smile she stood and waited, as if she were determined not to help him out of his predicament.

  He cleared his throat. "You're gorgeous. You've always been gorgeous. Now you're just gorgeous in a different way." He grinned. "How's that?"

  "You wiggled out of it quite nicely. I like your friend Trish. And she's very good."

  "Yeah. And I really think your new look should fool most people. Do you feel better?"

  She nodded.

  "Good. You about ready for lunch?"

  "Starved."

  "Hey, Fred!" A hefty man with thinning brown hair and a gap between his front teeth ambled in from one of the back rooms, and Spider said, "Molly will be here in a few minutes. Anne and I are going out for a bite. Beep me if you need anything."

  As they started out the front. Spider held open the door for a small woman with a mink cape over her black dress. "How are you, Mrs. Bremmer?" he asked the gray-haired lady.

  "Fine, Spider, just fine." Her blue eyes twinkling, she looked at Anne, then back at him. She leaned close and whispered, "Lovely girl."

  He grinned. "Mrs. Bremmer, this is Anne. She's going to be working here for a while. We were on our way to lunch, but may I help you with something today?"

  "Oh, no, Spider. You young people run along. I'm just going to browse a bit."

  Anne had selected only a tossed salad from the cafeteria line, but Spider, between smiling and speaking to several people who seemed to know him, filled his tray and insisted on heaping more on hers. By the time they reached the register, there wasn't space left for an extra pat of butter.

  "I can't eat all this," she said as they unloaded their trays at a table.

  He waved her off. "Eat what you want, and well take the rest home and microwave it for supper."

  Her eyes widened. "You mean like a doggy bag?"

  He grinned. "No, I mean like a people bag. The food's great here, and I do it all the time. So does everybody else—see the Styrofoam boxes on the tea cart? Since this is Boots' day off, we won't be able to go out to eat this evening. I have to hold down the Parlor tonight by myself."

  "I’ll be happy to help if you'll show me what to do."

  "I know you would. Try this fish," he said, sliding a serving of baked haddock in front of her. He cut into a slice of rare roast beef and began eating.

  "It's very good," she said after consuming a half-portion with her salad. "You're spending too much on me. I'm going to have to start earning my keep. When may I begin work?"

  He started to say something, then paused. "We can look around this afternoon, and you can decide what needs to be done."

  "I’ll need some books from the library to—" She dropped her head and heaved an exasperated sigh.

  Frowning, Spider reached for her hand across the table. "What's wrong, darlin'?"

  "I can't even get a library card."

  "Don't you worry about that. Well scrape up some ID for you. The first thing you'll need is a driver's license."

  "Don't I need a birth certificate or a passport for that?"

  He nodded. "That's no problem. I’ve got a buddy who can provide you with one."

  Her eyebrows shot up. Leaning forward, she whispered, "You mean a forgery?"

  Shrugging, his lips curved in a you-do-what-you-gotta-do grin. "Any particular name you fancy? Personally, I don't think Smith is a good choice."

  Anne had been shocked by the idea of forged identification. The most dishonest thing she had ever done was cheat on a second-grade spelling test, and she'd been so guilt-ridden over the incident that she'd confessed three days later. But common sense reminded her that her present situation called for desperate measures. Being dishonest was better than being dead. Besides, she convinced herself. It wasn't as if she were trying to deceive anyone for nefarious purposes.

  "Okay. I’ll do it," she declared, as much to herself as to Spider.

  By the time they had finished a second glass of iced tea and filled take-home containers with food, they had settled on a new birthday for her and decided that she would use Jennifer Anne Webb and be Spider's cousin.

  "I always wanted to be named Jennifer," she told him as they walked through the parking lot.

  "And I always wanted a cousin," he said as he helped her into the Silverado. He stowed the briefcase and food on the floor, propped one black booted foot on the step plate, and hung his elbow on the open door. "I guess we've come a long way if you'll let me carry that satchel of yours, but you still haven't told me what's in it."

  Anne nibbled on her lower lip and looked up into bold blue eyes that seemed to peer into places she dared not allow them. She glanced away quickly. "May we discuss it later?"

  'That's what you said last night. Don't you know by now you can trust me, sugar?" When she was silent, his mouth curled into a wry grimace. "No, I guess not."

  Without another word, he closed the door. Indecision sawed back and forth in her mind as Spider drove to the shop. Instinct prompted her to trust him. Yet, another primitive mechanism whispered that she must not be lulled into revealing her secrets. Her life was too high a stake to gamble on a man she had known only two days. No, she'd wait. She must.

  Spider seemed to take in stride her decision to remain silent. That he didn't push said something for his character.

  "You're not angry with me?" she ventured after a long silence.

  "Nah. I'm not mad. Just curious. I figure you've got some kind of goods on your husband in that thing. Something that could get him in deep grease."

  She gasped. "How did you know?"

  "Seems logical. He's after you; you're scared witless; you guard that thing like the crown jewels. I figure you've got the goods on him somehow." He glanced over at her with a troubled expression. "Darlin", he's not some honcho with the mob, is he?"

  "Why would you ask that?"

  "You said he had powerful friends. You're scared of the police. Either you're overreacting or he's tied in with a heck of a network."

  "I'm not overreacting," she said fiercely. "And as far as I know Preston doesn't have any connection with the mob."

  'Thank God for little miracles."

  "Would it matter?"

  "You mean would I toss you to the big boys? No, my momma didn't raise me that way. I stick by my friends, but it helps to know the line you're up against." He waited for a response, but she clamped her lips together, determined not to say any more. "Okay, sugar, I figure you'll talk when you're ready. But if I promise nobody will sneak a peek, will you at least lock that thing up in my vault? It's safer than lugging it around with you. I’ll even give you the combination."

  "I’ll think about it."

  "Fair enough."

  By the time they reached the shop, she had made a decision. The case would be safer in the vault than with her. If Spider trusted her enough to provide the combination, she would trust him with the documents. She couldn't live her life being suspicious of everyone.

  Once they were inside and had stowed the containers of food in the refrigerator, she drew a deep breath and held out the briefcase. "Here."

  He smiled as he took it from her. "I’ll take good care of it, darlin'. And instead of putting it in the vault at the back of the shop. I’ll put it in the one in my bedroom. Nobody has the combination to that one or knows it's there except me. Come on. I’ll show you."

  He led her into the room with the big brass bed. Her attention zeroed in on red satin sheets, tangled as If a wrestling match had taken place on the mattress. Before her imagination could take flight, she averted her face and followed him to the corner where the pump organ stood.

  He rolled the scarred instrument away from the wall to reveal a large gray safe set in the panel. Black jeans taut across his muscled thighs, he squatted in front of the steel door and dialed the combination, calling out the numbers as he went.

  When the door swung open, Anne peered over his shoulder as he rearranged several small bags and stacks of bills. Her eyes widened as s
he noticed that the currency was in hundreds.

  "Don't you believe in banks?" she asked.

  "Sure, but I like knowing I’ve got capital handy. I learned my lesson the last time." He grinned. "I don't trust everybody either." He shoved the briefcase inside, locked the door, and pushed the organ back in place.

  When he stood, Anne touched his upper arm. The silver cutlass in his ear gradually stilled as she looked up into his rugged face, shadowed by a faint black stubble. "Thank you for trusting me," she said, "I won't betray you."

  "I know you won't."

  His hand, large and strong, closed over hers, and his thumb gently stroked the length of her index finger. Sensation swelled from the spot in warm, widening ripples until a shiver chased down her back. Like twin blue fires, his eyes sparked and captured hers, and something in them pulled at her central core. Tiny rings of azure encircling the softly tinted irises seemed to darken and pulsate behind the curve of thick black lashes.

  His callused thumb continued its stroking. Her breath caught as tingles spread through her breasts. His eyes were so beautiful, so compelling that she couldn't look away. The muscles beneath her hand hardened and trembled.

  Unconsciously, her lips parted and her chin lifted a fraction. His eyes flashed, then shuttered, and his hand drew away.

  "I've got to check on something." His tone was gruff, and he turned and strode from the room.

  A hollow ache clutched at her chest and a stinging flush crept up her throat. She was mortified by her behavior. And his. She'd almost thrown herself at him. And had been rebuffed.

  She looked at the boar's head on the wall. He seemed to be grinning. "I guess I'm not his type."

  It was just as well. If he'd kissed her, things could have gotten complicated. Right now she needed a friend more than she needed a lover. Yet—she touched her lips—she couldn't help but wonder how it would have felt.

  Business had been slow that evening. They had settled into mismatched easy chairs in the work room off the rear of the shop, where Spider was watching a colorized World War II movie on television. Just before closing time. Anne glanced up from the magazine she was reading to find him staring at her, his eyes narrowed so that only a sliver of blue shone through his lashes.

  Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she quickly looked back down at the magazine and shifted her position in the chair, drawing her feet under her. After she'd read the same paragraph four times, she glanced up again. He was still staring, his face drawn into a mask so tight that the scar on his cheek stood in bold relief. His gaze was so intense and ominous that fine hairs on her arms rose with a ripple of chill bumps.

  Determined not to put herself in the embarrassing position that she had earlier, she said casually, "Is something wrong?"

  "No. Nothing's wrong." He turned back to the TV.

  Although he'd been the soul of patience showing her around the various rooms where merchandise was stored, explaining their ticketing procedures, and answering questions, something was different. Since their strange encounter in his bedroom, it was as if a subtle, but impenetrable, wall had been erected between them. He had gone from open and friendly to aloof, and his mixed messages were confusing. His behavior was so peculiar that she was beginning to dread the next three weeks of close company. If he didn't want her around, it was time she found out.

  "Spider, are you—"

  The door to the shop buzzed. He looked relieved as he sprang to his feet. "Customer."

  Married, he told himself for the umpteenth time. But Lord she looked so great cuddled up in that chair that he'd almost ground his teeth to the gums to keep from dragging her into his lap and cuddling her up to him. And when she looked at him with those big brown eyes ... He knew he was acting like a first-class jerk, but he sure as hell couldn't tell her what was the matter with him. What a mess!

  He strode into the shop with Anne hot on his heels, glad to see Willie Triner.

  "Hey, Willie, how's it going, buddy?" He grabbed the weasel-faced man's hand and pumped it up and down as if they hadn't seen each other for years. The truth was they got together for a beer a couple of times a month. "What can I do for you?"

  Looking at Spider as if he'd lost his mind, Willie frowned over the top of his wire-rimmed glasses. "I got the stuff you ordered. You said it was a rush job." His eyes darted to Anne, then back to Spider.

  "She's okay, Willie. This is my cousin Jennifer Anne Webb."

  The man gave a curt nod, pulled a brown envelope from his battered briefcase, and handed it to Spider. "One birth certificate, aged; one social security card; two credit cards." His prominent Adam's apple jiggled up and down as he chuckled. "I used Spider's number on the plastic, ma'am, so they'll pass if anybody checks, but don't run up his account too much."

  Anne lifted her chin and said, "I wouldn't do that."

  Spider threw his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. "He was just kiddin', sugar."

  She gave an embarrassed little "Oh," and Spider couldn't help but squeeze her again.

  "Well, I’ll be getting along. The missus and the kids are waiting in the car."

  "Thanks, Willie," Spider said. "I owe you one."

  "Nah, I haven't caught up with the ones I owe you yet." He gave Anne a nod and left.

  When the door closed behind him. Anne said, "He's an interesting little man. I've never met a professional forger before."

  Spider grinned down at the bundle of sweet innocence still tucked under his arm. He ought to let her go, but she felt so damned good close to him that he pushed his luck and kept her there. "He's not a professional forger. He owns the biggest string of print shops in town. Hell, he's a deacon in the church."

  "Then why? ..." She seemed bewildered.

  "Willie and I go way back. I used to work for him when I was a kid, running errands, sweeping up. Back then, he only owned a one-man shop on the east side. He might have pulled a shady deal or two to keep bread on the table, but he's a good man."

  She put her hand on his chest and looked up at him with eyes big enough to swim in. "You have a lot of friends, don't you. Spider?"

  When she touched him, he thought his heart was going to rip itself out it was pounding so hard. The flowery smell of her, the soft feel of her had worked itself into his pores. At that moment, he'd have given everything he owned to kiss her.

  He tried to tell himself to pull away, but he felt as if the whole Pittsburgh line had piled on top of him. He couldn't move. He ached to taste her, just once.

  Anne stood spellbound, fascinated with the contour of his lips, with the line that creased the lower one and divided it into two curves, sensuous and full. How soft, how warm his lips would feel.

  His mouth parted slowly, and hers responded in kind. A yearning, deep and unbidden, unfurled within her and beckoned him with ethereal fingers. It swelled and swayed, like the eerie enticement of water plants rippling in gentle currents along the ocean's floor.

  His face moved toward hers in maddening gradual descent, as if pulled by the force of longing inside her. His eyes glittered like blue crystals, and as he drew closer, his distinctive scent filled her nostrils. She breathed in, savoring the delicious sensation. Her lids fluttered shut, and her hand pressed and moved across the solid expanse of his chest.

  "Oh, Lord, darlin'," he groaned, and his mouth captured hers with a consuming power that stole the strength from her bones.

  He kissed her with a devouring hunger. Overwhelmed by the intensity of his kiss, she clutched the front of his shirt for support. Growls from his throat reverberated in her mouth as he moved and tasted and laved with his tongue.

  Her fingers left the hold on his shirt and threaded through the thick hair curling over the nape of his neck. His other arm snaked around her, pulling her close along his rock-hard length. Whimpering, she strained toward the wonderfully ravenous siege of his lips and tongue.

  Suddenly, he went still. His breathing ragged, his chest heaving, he pulled away and spat out a curse. "I've go
t to lock up." His brows drawn together in a single black slash, he thrust her away and stalked off.

  Five

  Anne sat at the yellow Formica table in the small kitchen, buttering toast and watching Spider beat eggs as if he held a personal grudge against them. His face was drawn into a fierce scowl, and he looked as if he hadn't slept any better than she had.

  Except for one or two grunts, he had said barely a word to her this morning, and he kept his back to her as he worked at the stove. Things couldn't go on like this. She poured coffee into each of their mugs and waited for him to sit down.

  When he did, she looked up from the food he'd set in front of her. He sat hunched over, fork poised, studying the heap of scrambled eggs on his plate.

  "Spider." she said quietly, "I think it would be better if I found another place to live."

  His head flew up, his swarthy scowl even more ferocious. "No!"

  She flinched and her fork clattered to her plate.

  He let out his favorite expletive of disgust and swiped his hand across his face. "Lord, Anne, I didn't mean to scare you. I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world. And I'm sorry about last night. Hell, I don't know what got into me. I promised I'd take care of you, told you I didn't mess with married women, and damned if I didn't come on to you like a pumped-up bull."

  His hand swiped his face again, sliding over the dark stubble on his chin to rub across his throat as if he'd have liked to choke himself. "I want you to stay here with me so I can protect you. I swear-I’ll swear it on a stack of Bibles a mile high—that I won't touch you again if you'll stay."

  His face softened, and pale blue eyes implored. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she wasn't married and that she'd wanted the kiss as much as he. But something stopped her. He had frightened her. And she had frightened herself. She'd never experienced sexual feelings as potent as those unleashed by his kiss. Jolted to the core of her being, she hadn't known that emotions as intense as those existed. She'd wanted to rip off her clothes and make wild love to him on top of the gun case. She shuddered with the memory. Anne Foxworth Jennings just didn't do things like that.