It Had to Be You Part 22

She tried to brace herself for what was certain to be another painful encounter, but it had been a difficult, exhausting day, and she didn't have many resources left.

He looked down at the fluffy white poodle trying to la.s.so his ankles with her leash. "Hey there, dawg."

"Her name is Pooh."

"Uh-huh. I guess it's just one of those words I don't like to use too often. Like 'snook.u.ms'." The breeze rumpled his dark blond hair as he took her in from sweats.h.i.+rt to sneakers. "You look different. Cute."

She'd been called many things, but never cute. "What do you want?"

"How about a little meaningless chitchat for starters? Nice evening, isn't it?"

She couldn't let herself be pulled into whatever game he was playing, so she tugged on Pooh's leash and began walking. He fell into step next to her, adjusting his long stride to accommodate her shorter one.

"Weather's real nice. It's still hot during the day, but at night, you can tell fall's coming."

She said nothing.

"This is a real pretty area."

She continued walking.

"You know, you might think about contributing a little something to this conversation."

"We bimbos don't think."

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and said quietly, "Phoebe, I'm sorry. My temper got the best of me. That's no excuse, I know, but it's the truth. If anybody's a bimbo, it's me."

She had expected anger, not regret, but his attack that morning had wounded her too deeply, and she said nothing.

"It seems I'm always apologizing to you for something. It's been like that from the beginning, hasn't it?"

"I guess we're oil and water."

He ducked beneath a tree branch that dipped too low over the path. "I'd say we're more like gasoline and a blowtorch."

"Either way, I think we should try to avoid each other as much as possible." She stopped near one of the streetlamps. "I can't do anything about the suspension, you know. Ron refuses to lift it, and I won't countermand his orders."

"You know you're violating my contract."

"I know."

"The last thing you need right now is a lawsuit."

"I know that, too."

"How about we make a deal?"

"What kind of deal?"

"You keep me company next Sat.u.r.day afternoon, and I keep my lawyers away from you."

That was the last thing she'd expected.

"I'm going to fly south for a couple of days to Gulf Sh.o.r.es. We call it the Redneck Riviera, and I have a place on the beach there. When I get back, I'll have some spare time on my hands. That big old house. Nothing to do. There's a local art show on Sat.u.r.day, and since I know how much you like art, I thought we might check it out."

She stared at him. "Are you telling me you're not going to fight this suspension?"

"That's what I'm telling you."

"Why?"

"I've got my reasons, and they're private."

"I won't tell."

"Don't push it, Phoebe."

"Please. I want to know."

He sighed and she thought she saw something that looked very much like guilt flash across his features. "If you repeat this, I'll call you ten different kinds of a liar."

"I won't repeat it."

"The suspension is going to hurt the team, and I don't like that. It'll take a miracle for us to win this Sunday, and it'll be tough to recover from one and four. But I'm not fighting it because Ron finally did the right thing. I was way out of line. I just never expected him to call me on it."

She finally smiled. "I don't believe it. You actually called him Ron."

"It slipped out, so don't count on it happening again." He began walking. "And don't think I've changed my opinion about him just because he finally showed some gumption. The jury's still out as far as I'm concerned. Now what about Sat.u.r.day?"

She hesitated. "Why, Dan? We've already agreed that we don't mix well."

"I'm not siccing my lawyers on you. Isn't that a good enough reason?"

They had reached the end of the cul-de-sac. As they came around the curve, she gathered her courage. "I'm not a toy. You can't use me to amuse yourself and then toss me away when you're done."

His voice was surprisingly soft. "Then why do you act like one?"

Although he sounded more puzzled than accusatory, the hurt came back, and she picked up her stride.

He stayed with her. "You can't have it both ways. You can't flirt with everything in pants, wear clothes that look like they've been shrink-wrapped on your body, then expect people to treat you like you're Mother Teresa."

Because she knew there was truth in what he was saying, she stopped walking and turned to confront him. "I don't need a lecture from you. And since you're into personal a.s.sessment, maybe you should consider looking in the mirror and figuring out why you can't control your temper."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I already know the answer to that one. And I'm not talking to you about it, so don't even let yourself get warmed up to ask."

"Then you shouldn't ask me why I act like a- The way I do."

He gave her a long, searching look. "I don't understand you. You're not like any woman I've ever met, except I keep thinking you're exactly like so many of the women I've met, and that's when I get into trouble."

Even as she gazed at him standing in a pool of golden light with the wind rustling his hair, she could hear the creak of the paddle wheel fan overhead. "I'm not going to bed with you again." She spoke softly. "That was a terrible mistake."

"I know."

She wished he hadn't agreed so quickly. "I don't think Sat.u.r.day is a good idea."

He refused to be brushed off. "It's a great idea. You like art, and we'll be out in public, so we won't be able to paw each other."

"That's not what I meant!"

He grinned and chucked her under the chin, looking much too pleased with himself. "Pick you up at noon, hot stuff."

As he walked away from her toward his car, she raised her voice. "Don't you call me hot stuff!"

"Sorry." He opened the door and slid inside. "Hot stuff, ma'am ma'am."

She stood beneath the streetlamp and watched him drive away. It was only an art show, she thought. What harm could there be?

Ray Hardesty could see Phoebe's blond hair s.h.i.+ning in the streetlight from his vantage point on the hillside that ran behind the luxury condos. He had parked his van on a narrow road that led to a small residential development, and now he set the binoculars down on the seat. The rumors were true, he thought. Calebow had something personal going with the Stars' new owner.

He was storing up information about Dan Calebow like nuts for winter, ready to be drawn out if he had to use it, but so far Calebow was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g himself over. The Stars had won only a single game since the season opener, and all their turnovers made them look like a college team. With each loss, Ray felt a little better. Maybe Calebow was going to get himself fired for incompetence.

He waited until the Stars' coach had driven away before he drove home himself. Ellen met him at the door and right away started fussing over him. He walked past her without a word, heading into the den, where he locked the door, slumped down in his favorite chair, and lit a cigarette.

The small room was paneled in knotty pine, although hardly any of it was visible because every foot of wall s.p.a.ce was covered with memorabilia: action photographs of Ray Junior, trophies, jerseys tacked up with pushpins, framed certificates, and newspaper stories. When he was in here, Ray sometimes pretended all these honors belonged to him. For the past few months he'd even been sleeping on the old couch under the room's only window.

He sucked on his cigarette and coughed. The spasms were lasting longer all the time and his heart had been kicking up again, but he wasn't going to die yet. Not until he'd made Calebow pay. He wanted the Stars to lose every game. He wanted the whole world to know that b.a.s.t.a.r.d had made the biggest mistake of his life when he'd cut Ray Junior. Then maybe Ray could go back to some of his old hangouts and have a few drinks with his buddies. Just once before he died, he wanted to feel like a big shot again.

Ray got up from his chair and walked over to the built-in cupboards, where he pulled out the whiskey bottle he kept behind some boxes. He unscrewed the top and took a swig, then he carried the bottle over to the couch. As he sat, he picked up the gun he'd left on the end table when he'd gotten home from working the auto show at the Midwest Sports Dome yesterday.

The Dome's empty tonight, he thought, but tomorrow night they had a religious crusade coming in. The next night, it was some n.i.g.g.e.r rap group. He hated working concerts, but other than that, he liked being a security guard at the dome. Especially on Sunday afternoons when the Stars were losing.

Taking another swig, he stroked the gun in his lap and listened to the crowd call out his name.

Hardesty!

Hardesty!

Hardesty!

15.

Phoebe slid back the curtain she had been peering through as Dan pulled his Ferrari into the drive at precisely noon on Sat.u.r.day. Her stomach quivered like a teenager's on her first date. She went to the bottom of the stairs and called up to Molly. "Dan's here. Let's go."

"I don't want to."

"I understand that, but you're coming with us anyway. I need a dog sitter."

"That's just an excuse, and you know it. You could leave Pooh here with me."

"She needs some exercise. Stop stalling, Molly. Just give it a chance. It's a beautiful day, and we'll have fun." She wanted her words to come true, but she knew it was more likely that she and Dan would have an argument. She was hoping Molly's presence would act as a buffer.

The story of Dan's suspension had broken in Tuesday morning's papers, and both she and Ron had been hounded by reporters all week. Some of the press had even managed to locate Dan at his vacation home in Alabama. Dan and Ron had issued separate statements, neither of them substantive, and she had finally been forced to take the NFL commissioner's phone call. Needless to say, he wasn't happy with her. On the positive side, the suspension had squashed rumors about her affair with Dan.

Molly appeared at the top of the stairs wearing one of her new pairs of jeans, a plaid, oxford collar blouse, and a scowl. Phoebe had thought about calling Dan to let him know she was bringing Molly along, but something had held her back, maybe the intensity of her desire to hear his voice.

Molly had pulled her hair back to show off the small gold studs in her newly pierced earlobes. Phoebe was delighted that she had also somehow managed to talk Molly into a shorter, breezier cut, so that her hair no longer overpowered her small features. She thought Molly looked darling, but her sister refused to accept any of Phoebe's compliments.

"It's not fair," Molly complained. "I don't know why you're making me do this."

"Because I'm mean and heartless."

The day was warm, and Phoebe was wearing a pair of pleated khaki shorts with a daffodil yellow blouse, matching socks, and white canvas Keds. Just before she picked up Pooh, she plunked a floppy-brimmed straw hat on her head, positioning the sa.s.sy pink silk rose that held up the brim exactly in the center.

"That hat's stupid."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Molly. A lady always likes to know she's looking her best."

Molly's eyes dropped. "I just think you should look your age, that's all."

Ignoring that ego-booster, she opened the front door. Dan was coming up the walk in a pair of faded jeans and white T-s.h.i.+rt, with a black and red Chicago Bulls' hat on his head. She reminded herself that she had met any number of men more physically beautiful. His nose wasn't entirely straight, his jaw was too square, and he was too muscular. But everything about him touched a hidden source of warmth inside her. She felt a connection with him that she couldn't explain, and she didn't like to remember how many times she'd thought of him during the week.

He greeted her with that drop-dead grin of his and stepped inside, while she busied herself scolding a yipping Pooh, who was twitching ecstatically in her arms in an effort to get to him.

"Quiet, Pooh, you're being obnoxious. Molly, would you get her leash?"

Pooh's pink tongue lapped and her eyes filled with adoration as she regarded Dan. He contemplated her warily.

"Tell me this is a bad dream, and you're not planning on bringing that major embarra.s.sment with us."

"I've invited Molly along to watch her. We can take my car. I hope you don't mind."

He smiled at Molly. "Not at all."

Relieved, she stepped outside.

Molly's mulish expression made it obvious she wasn't happy, but Dan acted as if he didn't notice. "It's a good thing you could come with us, Miz Molly. You'll be able to keep that Chinese hors d'oeuvre away from me."

Molly forgot to look sullen. "Don't you like Pooh?"

"Can't stand her." He began leading both of them to the Cadillac Phoebe'd left at the curb.